“That you convinced my father that you’re dateable material.” I bunched the front of my skirt, wishing I could’ve changed before traipsing through Milan in a couture dress. “You either bribed him or threatened.”
Just like you’re threatening me with your silence and imposing attributes.
“Threatened….interesting word.” His voice positively purred. Placing his hands into his pockets, he added, “And if I did? What difference does it make? You’re still here—with me—alone. Dangerous, really.”
The footpath decided to roll beneath my suddenly unsure feet. Breathe. Get it together.
Heroines in books were portrayed as quaint and lovable if they were clumsy. I had more bruises and scrapes from falling and slamming into things than I would ever admit, and there was nothing quaint about it. I was a hazard. Especially if I had a pair of wickedly sharp dress scissors in my hands and stood up too fast. Anyone in a two metre radius was in danger if my brain decided to throw me helter-skelter into a wall.
It was also a huge inconvenience when faced with an overbearing stranger who just used the words alone and dangerous.
“Dangerous isn’t a good word,” I muttered, allowing a little physical distance to grow between us.
“Stupid isn’t a good word either, but it’s been echoing in my head.”
I slammed to a halt. “Stupid?”
Jethro glided to a stop, looking so cultured and sharp I had a terrible urge to rip his jacket or ruffle his hair. He was too perfect. Too collected. Too restrained. My heart stuttered. What exactly is he restraining?
“You say I threatened your father as there’s no other explanation as to why you’re standing here with me. I say if you feel that way, then you’re stupid for agreeing. It was you who took my hand, you who followed me from the crowd to empty streets.” Leaning down, his eyes narrowed. “Stupid, Ms. Weaver. Very stupid indeed.”
I should’ve been insulted. Beyond livid at being ridiculed and slandered, but I couldn’t deny the idiocy of my situation. I’d meant it as a joke, sort of, but how could I ignore the truth blazing bright in his dark words?
“I’m twenty-four, Mr. Hawk, and you were the first man my father agreed I could spend an evening alone with. If it makes me stupid to want something I’ve been denied all my life, then yes, I guess I’m incredibly stupid. But you’ve just proven that no matter how much I wanted freedom, I love my family more, and I didn’t say a proper goodbye.”
The sudden need to see V and my dad overwhelmed me. Something morbid inside taunted with the horrible thought I would never see them again. I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t fight the drive to leave.
Glaring at Jethro and his imposing silence, I sucked in a breath. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Gathering my train, I spun on my heels and stalked toward the huge portico and arched doorway. Blessedly my head remained clear and my feet suffered no stumbles or falls. The heaviness of my train billowed in the rush. My heart thudded with anxiety. I had no logical explanation why I suddenly needed to be around people again, but I couldn’t deny the strong pull toward family.
Jethro didn’t say a word. He stayed statuesque and proud in the evening darkness.
With every step I took, I expected him to call out or find some way to stop me. He didn’t seem like a man who accepted no for an answer. But only silence followed, pushing me faster toward the door.
The moment I stepped through the polished entry and into the hive of heat and voices, I plucked my phone from my cleavage. There was one person in particular I wanted to speak to. A stranger I’d never heard or seen. My father had allowed me one night of freedom. I didn’t want it with Jethro, but I did want it with someone else. I felt like Cinderella waiting for the clock to strike midnight.
Maybe Kite lived close by? His number prefix said he dwelled in the United Kingdom. Like me. It wasn’t a long flight to get back home.
I’d lived in London all my life, moving from the outskirts to downtown five years ago. The Weaver empire had always been based in London—right from conception. And probably always would be—if business continued to boom.
I opened a message to Kite007.
Needle&Thread: Sorry I didn’t reply before, I was busy cementing my career and ensuring I have a lifetime of servitude and sewing.
I sighed, staring at the words. They sounded whiny and ungrateful, which I wasn’t. Plus, the unsaid rule between us was no personal information. I didn’t know what he did for a living or his real name or favourite food. Sex messaging was a void with no depth.
Which shows how lonely you are.
I scowled, deleting what I’d typed. I wasn’t lonely. I had the best family and support in the world. I was just…tired. Maybe I should book a holiday somewhere hot? Somewhere where I can’t sew or design or get sucked back into work. It sounded great—but one problem. I didn’t want to be the loner around a pool on some tropical island. I didn’t want to eat on my own by candlelight on the beach.
Take Vaughn.
I smiled. People already whispered that our relationship was too close. Going on an island getaway? That would definitely get the gossip columns buzzing.
My heart panged for the only relationship I had and how shallow it was. There was so much I wanted to say:
I want to meet you.
Please, can we skip the innuendoes and just talk?
I’m at the Nila Coal and Fire Exclusive in the heart of Milan. I want to go for a drink with you.
I want to get to know you.
I couldn’t type any of that as it was against the rules. The unsaid rules hinted at by Kite. No personal details. No over-sharing. No information of any kind but sex. Damn rules. Damn life. Damn men.
The sharp smell of champagne and lull of laughter cocooned me; my fingers flew over the screen.
Needle&Thread: All I can think about is you and your wandering hand. I’m mad at you for coming without me, but not mad because you came while thinking of me. I’ve had a long night and plan on releasing my tension the moment I’m alone.
A cynical smile twitched my lips. Kite would think I meant self-pleasuring. I really meant hitting the treadmill and running until my legs turned to jelly.
My phone came alive in my hands, jolting my attention to the glowing screen.
Kite007: Me and my wandering hand missed you. By a long night I’ll take it you mean on your knees servicing God in prayer. (let a man indulge in the dirty thought) Message me when you’re alone. I can help with your tension.
I looked up. Couples mingled; groups gathered. Fashion was the celebrated highlight of the evening with guests dressing in their absolute best. But it was smiles and genuine happiness that made the evening glow. I missed being happy. I hadn’t laughed or smiled properly since Mum left. I could never understand how she could love us as much as she claimed, then switch off her heart…just like that.
When she’d returned from her disappearance to file for divorce from my father, she’d ruined him. Completely and utterly stole his heart and shot it to pieces on the lobby floor.
I remembered that day. I remembered thinking she’d returned with such a pretty necklace. So sparkly, it’d blinded me when she blew kisses as she walked out the door the final time.
Ever since that day, I’d been afraid of love. Afraid of the pain it could cause and how easily something so pure could turn into something so filthy.
Anger filled me. Anger I rarely let myself indulge in. I would never admit the pain my mother caused, but it was the driving force behind my workaholic nature. It was the catalyst of my life that turned me into the woman I was.
Alone. Afraid. Angry. So damn angry.
Sliding my fingers across the keypad, I sent an impulsive message.
Needle&Thread: What if I don’t want to be alone? What if I wanted help physically rather than a meaningless text? Would you help then?
I probably shouldn’t have sent it. I already knew his response. But what was so wrong with me that no man wanted to face the wrath of my father and take me for a drink? I didn’t have boobs or hips or experience…but I was willing to learn.
Jethro stood up to him.
I frowned, clutching my phone. That man didn’t count. He was as terrifying as my father, and his motives weren’t genuine. He didn’t want to listen to my tales of woe over dinner. He wasn’t there to woo me. He wanted something more. And it was the more I was petrified of.
Kite007: Okay…whose balls did you steal to write that? You know that doesn’t work with me. I’m not some boy you can snap your fingers at and I’ll come running.
Pain lacerated my chest but I already expected it. Before I could reply, another message vibrated.
Kite007: You just had to fucking do that didn’t you? What do you want from me? A commitment? A relationship? You knew what this was. I thought you were having fun getting off—same as me. Why ruin what we have?
My heart, the same useless organ that’d never been in love, cracked with agony. His anger bled from my phone, poisoning my hand beneath. Fantastic. The only outside interaction I’d had, and it was over. But why his sudden viciousness?
Needle&Thread: All I asked was a simple question, but you jumped down my throat. What’s your deal? Don’t tell me. I can guess. You’re only happy when you’re in charge. But guess what? I can simply delete your number and never reply to you again. You were the one who found me, remember?
I breathed hard, huddling over my phone. I wasn’t done. It was refreshing to finally allow myself to be angry. I wanted to pour it all out before I could swallow it back down again.
Needle&Thread: I think you need to come again, Kite. Your temper is completely uncalled for and misdirected. All I implied was a meeting. One phone call. A kiss maybe if we hit it off in person. Why is that so hard for you? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re commitment phobic and a cheater.
“Congratulations on your collection, Nila. I’m sure—”
I looked up into the eyes of a stranger. The woman had plump lips and wore black eyeshadow.
She paused mid-sentence. “Are you okay?”
I hated her concern. I hated that I came across as some stupid wallflower who could make exquisite clothing but never grace someone’s arm. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I needed fresh air. I needed silence.
Him.
The silent masculinity of Jethro Hawk suddenly called to me like a cooling balm after a burning fire. He might scare me, but he had a body to touch and a mind to explore. Motives or not—he wanted me for the evening. And I was feeling reckless.
“Yes, I’m fine. Excuse me.” Bunching my skirts, I dodged groups of people, heading for the exit. My phone buzzed as I reached the door.
Kite007: Don’t call me that. You lost the right to call me anything the moment you changed from tempting to annoying. I’m not a cheater or commitment phobic. And it’s not hard for me to deny a meeting with you, because I already have women to fuck. I already have enough physical connections and stupid girls making demands of me. You just broke something that wasn’t broken. Congratu-fucking-lations.
My nostrils flared. I broke it? There was nothing to break! This whole thing had been a mistake. Unknowingly he’d taken advantage of some loser gasping for friendship. I was done being that girl. I was done living life in black and white.
I wanted colour. I wanted passion. And there was only one man who could give me what I wanted tonight. I would use him and throw him away—just like Kite did to me.
Kite007: If you didn’t know—that was me cutting you loose. You’re acting like a brat. Go and get laid. That’s what I’m about to do. You want to know things about me? How about this? The woman I meant to text when I mistakenly messaged you is coming over for her long overdue reward. Don’t message me again. The jerking off to your timid replies has bored me. Whoops, I just lost your number….
My teeth gritted. My heart thundered. Pain was swamped by livid rage. How dare he break up with me? How dare he hurt me! How dare I let myself be hurt by a fucking arsehole who I’d never met?
I didn’t care. I don’t care.
But I did care.
I’m so stupid!
Stopping in the entrance way, my hands shook, jiggling my glowing screen. People mingled around, skirting the huge puddle of black material from my dress. I stood surrounded, yet I was all alone.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I swallowed them back. It was my own stupid fault. I’m so stupid. Stupid…
I sent my final message.
Needle&Thread: When you end up alone and unloved, I hope you remember this moment. You aren’t breaking up with me. I’m breaking up with you. Thank God I’m not a nun so I can curse the very ground you walk upon. You don’t want to meet me? Fine. You just got your wish. I’m done. (hope you wank so much your dick falls off)
Whirling around, I faced the doorway—the same doorway leading to a man who was scary and cold and silent but he was real. He had fingers to touch me with and a mouth to kiss. Who cared who he was? I could be stupid and use him for my own release.
Tonight I wouldn’t be draining a treadmill of life. Tonight I would be riding a man who terrified me in some recess of my soul. Tonight I would be selfish and wicked and cruel.
Tonight…I would be Jethro’s.
I SAT ON my newest purchase, resting like a mechanical shadow by the curb. It didn’t glint or gleam. It didn’t entice or welcome. It waited in black silence ready to charge into the night.
Give her options. Don’t make her suspect. Threaten only when necessary. Above all, take her without causing attention.
The rules my father told me the morning I left to fly to Milan, repeated in my head. I was obeying. Even though it was fucking hard. I struggled to balance my true nature with that of a polite gentleman, coaxing a skittish woman out for dinner.