Desperate Measures Page 4

I kind of really wanted him to get close enough to find out.

  “All right,” I said when I was dressed, and he turned again, his eyes moving up and down my body. I tried to act nonchalant, pretending I was unaffected as I unbraided my hair and shook it out, then climbed into bed.

  He hadn’t moved an inch.

  I watched him for a second expectantly. “You okay?”

  Beck shook his head, effectively snapping himself out of whatever he’d been in. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” And with that, the hottest boy left in the world climbed in bed with me.

  I clicked off the light, shrouding us in near darkness — I always left one of the lights on in the main part of the basement. Life was too real, in the dark. There was nowhere to hide.

  We lay there on our backs, staring up at the ceiling for a little while.

  “You asleep?” he whispered.

  I turned my head to look at him. “Nope.”

  “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

  “A little, but it’s a good weird.”

  “Can I ask you if I can make it weirder?”

  I rolled over, facing him. “Depends.”

  “Can we just …”

  I waited for him to finish, but he didn’t. “Go on, spit it out, Beck.”

  He sighed. “Nah, it’s too weird.”

  I scooted a little closer, needing to know. “Maybe it’s not. Either way, I won’t kick you out of bed. Unless you ask to lick my feet or something. Then the deal’s off.”

  Beck chuckled and looked back up at the ceiling. “It’s been a long time before today since I’ve had a hug.”

  A laugh burst out of me. “You need hugs? Aww, Beck, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Ugh, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  I was still laughing. “No, no. Can I heat up some YooHoo for you? Do you need me to tuck you in? I think I’ve got a copy of Goodnight Moon lying around here somewhere if a story would make you feel better.”

  He rolled over, putting his back to me. “Goodnight, Annie.”

  “Don’t be like that,” I said with a giggle, propping myself on my elbow, tugging at his arm. “Come on, Beck. I’ll hug you. I’ll hug the hell outta you. Don’t be mad.”

  He didn’t budge.

  “I mean, you saw my entire, extensive vibrator collection and unknowingly gave me batteries for one of the lucky bastards. Give me this one, small thing.”

  He rolled over at that. “I guess that’s fair.”

  “Thank you.” I lowered my eyes and settled in next to him, draping my arm over his chest. His own arm wrapped around my back, hand resting on my hip. My leg was uncomfortable, so I scissored it between his. And just like that, Beck and I were wrapped up in each other.

  He let out a sigh — the sound must have weighed a thousand pounds. And it should have felt strange, being in his arms. But it didn’t. It felt good, not to be alone. He smelled so good, too. It was my soap, but it smelled different on him, something about his chemistry changing it into an almost unrecognizable thing.

  “Annie?” he said after a minute.

  “Mmhmm?” I hummed.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He shifted, turning his body to mine, our legs twining together, his arms caging me. His eyes sparkled in the dark, catching and reflecting the only light in the room.

  “I mean it. I don’t think you realize what you’ve given me today.”

  “What’s that?” The words were soft, my breath shallow.

  “Hope.” He said it simply, expecting nothing, but I wanted to give him everything all the same.

  Starting with a kiss.

  I closed my eyes and breathed him in, pressed my lips to his, and I kissed him. And he kissed me back, tender and sweet, then less tender and more intent. My heart sped. My hands roamed. Our bodies wound around each other, the two of us breathing together, heavy and hot.

  It had been a long time, longer than I’d been down in the basement, and I felt the need for him acutely. Felt the fire under his fingertips as he trailed them across my skin. I felt his need for me, pressed against me, and my hips rolled against him.

  He hovered over me, pulled away, leaving me panting.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, worry waving over me. I’d read him wrong, thrown myself at him like I swore I wouldn’t, and it was too late.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” his voice was gravelly and hot, and the words touched me low in my belly.

  “Yes,” I breathed and pulled him to me again, and he let himself go. I felt the relief from his lips, his hands, and I didn’t care at all what would happen tomorrow or a week from now. I needed him so badly, there was little he could say or do to convince me it was a bad idea.

  No, I wanted to feel like this forever. I wanted to lay in his arms forever. But if I couldn’t have forever, the night would do just fine.

  It was my turn to pull away. “Hang on,” I said softly as I slipped out of bed and trotted across the room.

  I didn’t know if I’d ever see a man again when I locked myself in there, but if I did, I was absolutely committed to not getting pregnant during the zombie apocalypse. Hence the Costco box of Trojan’s I’d purchased with foresight I praised myself for in that moment.

  I climbed back in bed and handed the foil packet over.

  He laughed. “Prepared.”

  “Always,” I answered with smile.

  “You’re kind of amazing,” he said, brushing my hair from my face.

  And then I laughed and kissed him again.

  Seconds and we’d slipped back into the heat, the frantic heat that tore through me like wildfire. My hands trailed down his chest, across more scars, the ridges of his abs and lower, slipping under the band of his sweatpants to grip him.

  He hissed against my lips, his body flexing at the contact, and then it was his hands moving, pulling the hem of my shirt over my breasts so he could cup them, thumb my nipple, close his hot lips around the peak.

  I bit down hard on my lip to stop myself from crying out.

  My trembling fingers scrambled at the band of his pants, tugging and pulling, wanting them gone, and he let me go to wiggle out of them. The sheets were kicked back, and I could see all of him, every inch, up until he reached for me, and I closed my eyes as he kissed me again.

  He got rid of my shorts as he bit my neck and shoulder gently.

  “I don’t think I can go slow, Annie.” He nearly growled the words, and I actually quivered.

  “Please, don’t,” I whispered. And he didn’t.

  He turned me onto my back and moved between my legs as I pulled my shirt off, not wanting anything between us. I watched him as he knelt between my legs and ripped open the packet, gripping himself as he rolled the condom on. And then he descended on me, crushing his lips against mine as his hand slipped between my legs, a single finger trailing up the length of me, dipping inside as he cupped me, and I moaned, hips rising to press against his palm.

  His hand disappeared and was replaced by the very tip of him. I rolled my hips, whimpering, trying to force him in, and in a breath, he filled me to the hilt.

  I couldn’t breathe, not until he pulled out, slamming back into me. Then again — I was close already, there was no stopping it. I opened my eyes to find him watching me, his face wearing the emotion I felt, and when he pumped his hips again, that was it. I cried his name, my body flexing, pulsing, and he whispered mine, flexing harder, coming right behind me.

  He collapsed on top of me, but it wasn’t uncomfortable at all. The weight of him was everything, pressing me into the bed. Every sensation was familiar in only the most distant sense — mostly it felt brand new, like the first time. Like I’d forgotten everything. How to live. How to feel. And he’d brought me back to life in a time where life was scarce.

  I could feel his heartbeat through his chest and into mine, and within a moment, they matched pace, slowing to meet each other.

  B
eck propped himself on his elbows, arms bracketing my head, hands in my hair.

  “Guess I don’t need those batteries after all,” I said, and his laugh could have stopped the world from spinning.

  He smiled down at me and kissed me softly.

  “Will you stay for a while?” I asked, terrified of his answer.

  “Annie, I’ll stay until you tell me to go.”

  I knew without a doubt that it was true. And not just because of the cheese doodles.

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  4

  Tonic

  joel

  “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  Shep glanced over at me, his sidelong smile mocking from behind his dark beard. “I thought you were through being salty?”

  I glared at him. My shirt was too tight — the tie around my collar may as well have been a noose as we stood in our tattoo parlor that night, waiting for some hotshot producers to meet with us. The steaming heat building inside my stiff clothes ratcheted up my irritation degree by degree.

  “I’ll be through being salty when this show is over.”

  “Well, our agent said we could get signed on for years, if we’re lucky.”

  A laugh shot out of me. “Right. Lucky. How are we supposed to work with cameras in our faces and people telling us where to stand and what to say?”

  “It’s reality TV. Telling us what to say would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

  I gave him a look. “You really think they’re not going to give us some kind of objective or script or something?”

  He shrugged, not seeming to mind. But that was my brother. A younger version of me without a care in the world. Not that I minded bearing the brunt of the responsibility. In exchange, he could remain carefree, though in times like these, I wished he’d had an iota of self-preservation.

  “Listen,” he said, his voice a little softer, his smile a little less mocking. “I know you’re not happy about all this, but it’s going to be good for business, not bad. They’re not going to follow you around at all hours, you know? There are rules, man.”

  The look I’d been giving him hadn’t quit. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

  “It’s better than the show going to Hal, isn’t it?”

  The muscles in my face tensed at the sound of his name. Hal, owner of the second biggest parlor on the West Side — the first being mine. Hal, the current husband of my ex-wife. Hal, the burr in my ass that I could never get rid of.

  I shifted, rolling my shoulders to square them as I shifted my gaze to the door. “Fuck Hal.”

  “Exactly,” he said, his tone pleased. He had me. It was how he’d roped me into the situation in the first place.

  When we’d been approached to do a show about our shop, Tonic, by a big network that mostly ran reality TV, I’d immediately said no. There was no question — not a single molecule in my body was on board with putting any part of my business or self out there for the masses to binge on Netflix. But Shep was so on board, he could have driven the train.

  In fact, he did end up driving the train. He spearheaded an effort to convince me, starting with his girlfriend Regina, our piercer. She’d then gotten her two roommates, Veronica and Penny, on board, and they’d spread the excitement through the shop. They didn’t see it as selling out — they all thought it would make them famous, set their careers up for life. I supposed it would, but at what cost? That was my question.

  To my credit, I’d held my ground with only one person on my side — Patrick. He was as interested in exposing his personal life as he was exposing himself to chlamydia. And as outnumbered as I was, I wasn’t going to budge. Shep needed my permission to do it, and I wasn’t going to give it. End of story.

  Until we caught wind that Hal’s shop had been approached too. The last thing I wanted in the entire world, other than being on a reality show, was for Hal to be on one.

  My attention snapped to the door when the ding of the bell chimed, and two pencil skirts walked into the shop. One of the women walked forward, probably near my age, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a friendly smile, though I knew better than to trust it. Laney Preston, I assumed, the creator of the show. She was beautiful, the kind of woman who was way out of my station, rich, powerful. But I could have gotten her into bed with a few words — she was the sort of woman who would only want me for a night or two, never more, which was exactly how I preferred it. I’d had my fill of relationships with Liz.

  But it wasn’t Laney who I couldn’t take my eyes off of.

  The woman at her side was tall and blond, with skin like a porcelain dish brimming with cream. Wide-set, big eyes with icy irises assessed me coolly, dark lashes long. Her nose was pert, just a button, though her lips were wide, just like her eyes. She looked like a doll, a cold, beautiful doll that belonged on a shelf where no man should touch her.

  For some reason, all I could think about was whether or not her skin was cool to the touch like I imagined it would be, like a statue made of marble.

  I tore my eyes away when Laney spoke.

  “Joel Anderson?” she asked, her lips still smiling.

  I offered my hand. “Ms. Preston?”

  “Call me Laney.” She took it and gave it a firm shake. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  “You too,” I lied. I’d been putting the meeting off for weeks.

  She smiled like she knew before looking over the shop. “I’m sorry we haven’t been by personally before now. This space is beautiful. You’ve done a great job with it — it’s going to film brilliantly. Is there somewhere we can sit?”

  I nodded and gestured to our waiting area and the antique Victorian couches and chairs that stood there.

  Laney chose the blood-red velvet couch, and the china doll sat next to her with an unreadable expression on her face, though her big eyes scanned the room like she was taking stock of her surroundings. She reached into an attaché and pulled out a folder, placing it in her boss’ hand.

  “I’d like you to meet our executive producer and the show runner, Annika Belousov, my right hand. We’ll all be working closely, hopefully in more comfortable clothes than we’re meeting in tonight.”

  Shep chuckled. My eyes were on Annika, who smiled, if you could call it that. Really, it was just a twitch of one corner of her lips by a millimeter, chased by a spark in her eyes as they met mine. Something about it sent my pulse racing, and a flush bloomed on her cheeks. She was as affected by me as I was by her.

  It was then that I realized that her mirth was equal parts attraction and judgment. I got the impression that she thought little of us, yet her eyes scanned my arms, which were covered in tattoos, in a way I wouldn’t call completely unimpressed. I wondered if she had a single mark on her perfect skin and imagined taking my needle to it, making a mark I could leave there forever.

  The thought sent a rush of heat through me. Her hair was pulled into a strict bun, her skirt tight around her hips and waspish waist, everything about her severe and beautiful. I wondered what it would look like when she smiled, when she was free and happy, if she ever was. There was something more to her, but I couldn’t figure out what. And I wanted to know.

  I then decided two things.

  One: My new mission in life was to make her laugh.

  Two: I’d crack her open if it was the last thing I did.

  Laney opened the folder and set it on the table, leaning over her crossed knees to sort through the papers.

  “We wanted to go over some of our plans for modifying the space for the show, as well as discuss the layout for the episodes. Annika?”

  Annika sat even straighter, if that were possible, making eye contact with me. “If you have a look over this, you’ll find the details of the construction proposal. Cameras will be added to several points in the store, as well as some ancillary lighting. We may need to rearrange the booths to …” She kept talking,
but I wasn’t really listening anymore.

  Her voice was low and a little raspy, the contrast to her perfect, pristine outward impression catching me off guard. I expected a cold voice to match the rest of her, but it wasn’t — it was burning embers and crackling wood.

  I swallowed the thought of that voice whispering my name, and then I smiled, leaned back in my chair, folded my arms across my chest, and pretended I didn’t have a single worry in the world.

  She stopped mid-sentence, and the temperature dropped as she threw down the iron curtain, any trace of warmth she had disappearing in a snap. “Is something amusing, Mr. Anderson?”

  I shrugged. “Not particularly.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Once you sign these papers, we’ll have permission to come in here and modify your store. You should take it seriously.”

  Laney gave her a look, but Annika didn’t falter.

  “I don’t take much seriously, if I can help it.”

  I got the sense that if we weren’t in a business meeting, she would have rolled her eyes. Her back was ramrod straight as she directed her eyes to one of the sheets on the table and went on with her presentation. I watched her fingers, long and white as she pointed to diagrams and told us about the changes. Shep watched me, amused.

  I smirked at him.

  Annika went on, going over everything with a detached tone to her voice, though I could hear the tightness in the undercurrent of her words. She pushed the papers toward us when she was finished and leaned back, turning to Laney, never chancing a look at me.

  The knowledge that she was avoiding eye contact was like spurs in my side. I kept my gaze on her, willing her to look at me so I could burn a hole through her.

  Something about her made me feel reckless, more reckless than usual. I’d never really had trouble convincing women to spend a little time with me, but climbing over the wall of ice she’d thrown between us was a challenge I was game for. I could press her out of curiosity with one of two outcomes. She’d leave the show and take the whole thing with her, or she wouldn’t. And if she didn’t, maybe there was a chance that I could get catch a better glimpse of whatever I’d seen in her.