First Touch Read online

  It was satisfying to be the one to turn away this time. The one with the last word. It didn’t make it any easier.

  Just as I was about to step into the Expo, though, Reeve was at my side. He stretched his arm in front of me like a barricade, bracing his hand on the doorframe. He didn’t touch me, but he stood close enough that I could feel his exhale skate across my skin, the rhythm of his breathing a song that brought another layer of goose bumps to the surface.

  “I don’t know what it is about you.” His voice was strained, the only sign that he wasn’t completely in control. “But I can’t get you out of my mind. You contaminate my thoughts. I keep remembering your body under my hands as I touched you. The parts of you I didn’t touch. The sounds you made. The look in your eyes. You haunt me, Emily.”

  My knees were jelly, my insides a puddle of want and need and trepidation. But warning bells underscored Reeve’s words. “You haunt me,” he’d said. “Contaminate my thoughts.” I recognized the sentiments. I’d been there. I was there – with him, yes. With Amber.

  She was the reminder I needed.

  I swallowed, and without looking him in the eye said, “Now you know how I felt.”

  He let me leave this time. Let me have the final word. Part of me wished he hadn’t.

  It was later, in the dark of my apartment when I was drifting in the space between consciousness and sleep, that the niggling thought stirred by Amber’s picture turned into something concrete and shaped. I bolted upright in my bed. Had I been dreaming? I was pretty sure I’d been lucid, but just to be sure I reached for my phone from the nightstand. The picture of Amber was still on the screen. I pinched my fingers across the surface to make it bigger and zoomed in on the man’s hand at her waist.

  There, on his middle finger, was a large ring. It was ornate; the red jewels across the face were laid out in a distinctive V-like pattern. I closed out of it and scrolled back through my messages from Joe until I found the first picture he’d sent me, one with Reeve at an anonymous dinner function. The one where he was with a man. A man who also wore a ring. I magnified the image. My breath caught as I saw it clearly – it was the same ring.

  Michelis Vilanakis, the mob boss that I’d seen in two separate pictures with Reeve, was the man with Amber at the casino in Colorado. This finding solved nothing, raising more questions than answers. One thing for certain, it put Michelis on the investigation list. And because of their connection, Reeve was back there as well.

  And only three hours prior, I’d walked away from him. Goddamn it.

  But before disappointment suffocated me in its grasp, I had another realization – Reeve Sallis was not the type to let just anyone walk away from him. Why would he do that unless he intended to follow?

  So all I had to do was wait.

  I fell back to sleep easily, strangely more at peace than a person being pursued by a man like Reeve should have been.

  CHAPTER 9

  The next day, he sent me flowers. They were waiting at the studio when I arrived – a bouquet of white lotus blossoms, a plant that symbolized both female sensuality and potential for enlightenment. It was also often associated with death.

  I tossed them in the trashcan in the conference room where we did our weekly table read without bothering to open the note.

  The day after, a bottle of red wine came. A 2004 Barolo Cannubi, an expensive Nebbiolo variety with an oaky flavor that was supposed to heighten women’s arousal.

  I gave it to Ty Macy as a congratulations gift for his Sunday night win. Again, the note went unread.

  Wednesday brought chocolate-covered liquors, which I ate – there are only so many temptations in a week I can withstand.

  Thursday, a first edition copy of Peyton Place was added to my bookshelf.

  Friday, Reeve was waiting for me on the front porch of my apartment when I got back from my morning run.

  I nearly tripped over myself when I saw him.

  I’d been confident he’d show up eventually, but honestly, I was surprised to see him so soon. I thought it would be another week of extravagant gifts before he came in person. I’d left the porch light on when I’d left the apartment so I spotted him when I was still half a block away. He sat in my wicker patio chair, half-illuminated, half-shadowed. Without seeing his face, I knew who it was. I could tell by his carriage, by the way he held himself even as he lounged. Besides, who else would it be? No one ever visited me.

  He wore a suit and tie, and I wondered for the first time what he did with his days when he wasn’t dropping in on his various resorts around the world. Did he go to an office? Sit behind a desk? Did he always wear a suit? At the end of the day, did he remove his tie and loosen the buttons of his starched dress shirt, revealing just a hint of the solid planes he hid underneath? Or did he often work at home, in sexy sportswear with a phone glued to his ear as he barked orders to lackeys and made capital-D Decisions that influenced the lives of many?

  Wherever he worked, I doubted he was usually up and dressed for business this early. The sun wouldn’t even rise for another hour. It was impressive. He was impressive. And as gratifying as it was for me to have captured his attention, I was fully aware that I was in over my head.

  I’d slowed to a cool-down pace before I saw him, but now I walked the last fifty feet so I had time to gather myself. To catch my breath. To still my beating heart.

  “You jog?” he asked when I was close enough, skipping the formality of a hello.

  I climbed the step and moved past him, pulling the door key from the chain on my wrist. “I prefer swimming.” I especially preferred not sweating. Hopefully, I didn’t smell too bad. I’d keep my distance from him just in case.

  Except, I didn’t want to keep my distance. The charge shooting between us was crackling and sparking and we’d barely exchanged two words.

  I opened the door and stepped inside. Though I didn’t invite Reeve in, he followed. I have a potential killer in my house. I have a man who’s said he might hurt me. In my house.

  Suddenly I wasn’t so sure the moisture pooling between my legs was just sweat.

  I hung the wristband on the peg by the door and looked over my shoulder to see him blatantly surveying my apartment. There wasn’t much to see. Less than a thousand square feet, it was basically a kitchen that opened up to the living/dining area and then a bedroom. My walls were bare except for a few random art pieces. It was clean if maybe a little dusty. The good thing about long days on the set meant that I wasn’t home enough to mess up my house.

  Most importantly, there was nothing to connect me to Amber. I had things from her – photos, mementos. Leaving her out of my décor had been intentional.

  Apparently having seen enough of my apartment, he turned to face me. “I have a pool.”

  “I’m sure you do.” I did too, technically. There was a community pool for the apartment building. But I rarely used it since it was kidney bean shaped, meant for leisure, not laps.

  “You should come over to swim. Naked.”

  “Naked, huh? Is that a requirement?” I’d been naked under the sheet at his spa. The memory of it set my stomach fluttering. His hands on me had been beyond amazing, but even just being bare in his presence, being stripped, vulnerable – that feeling was amazing as well. Amazing and terrifying, without his threats, but also because of them.

  Reeve leaned against the back of my couch and braced a hand on either side of him. “It’s a preference.”

  “Of yours.” I toed off my tennis shoes and set them in the hallway to my bedroom.

  “I believe of yours too. Except, you’re playing games with me.”

  “No. I’m not.” Since he was watching, I pulled my tank over my head and tossed it past him to the back of the couch. The sports bra I wore underneath was supportive but revealing.

  “Uh-huh.” He grinned, but the look on his face suggested he despised my teasing as much as he welcomed it. Eyes locked with mine, he picked up the sweaty shirt, brought it to his nose
, and sniffed.

  Some people would find that disgusting. Some people would not be turned on by the way his pants seemed tighter than they’d been a moment before. Some people would not be fantasizing about the other vulgar, vile things that a man like Reeve got off on.

  I tried to pretend that I was one of them. “Perv.”

  He grinned and gave me a pointed look. “You were the one who looked about to come just now.”

  “Oh, honey, don’t even think that you can imagine what I look like when I come.” I only thought to regret the words when I heard them hanging in the air after I’d said them. Reeve’s expression twisted, dark and sinful, and I knew he felt provoked. Why wouldn’t he? That was exactly what I’d been doing – testing him. Baiting him. Daring him.

  He stared at me intently, like a lion hunting its prey. Studied me so long and so hard that I could swear he saw past my façade, past my skin and bones and internal organs. Saw past whatever it was that made up my physical structure and into the parts of me that were cryptic and complicated and concealed. Saw into the parts of us we had in common – the dark parts, the broken parts, the Amber parts.

  Maybe it was too ugly to look at for long because he turned away first, circling around the sofa toward my bookcase. “Tell me something,” he said, overtly switching gears. “What’s with you and Chris Blakely?”

  He’d been watching me at the Expo, then. Before he’d come outside after me.

  His question about Chris was spoken casually, but it was purposeful. A more naïve woman might have missed it, but I was too experienced with men like him. He wanted me to know that I was in his sightline. That this was what it meant to be part of his life. That he would monitor me, if he felt like it; he’d rule me. And he expected me to submit.

  I couldn’t decide if that freaked me out or thrilled me.

  So I played coy. “He’s an actor. We’ve worked together on occasion. I guess we’re friends.”

  I walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cupboard. Chewing my lip, I filled it with filtered water from the sink and debated full disclosure regarding Chris. On the one hand, Reeve might be asking about him because he already knew I’d had a past with him and he wanted me to admit it.

  But no one knew about that.

  And there was the other reason he might be asking – maybe he didn’t want me to find out what Chris knew about him.

  It was a long shot, but since I hoped to contact Chris for more information about Missy at some point, I decided the less I said the better.

  I drank some of my water then set the glass down and leaned across the counter to watch Reeve. His fingers trailed across the spines. I couldn’t see the exact books, so I tried to think what was there. My Katherine Hepburn autobiography. My copy of Rebecca.

  He stopped and pulled one from the shelf then flipped through it lazily. This one I recognized from the cover. PostSecret: Extraordinary Confessions from Ordinary Lives, one of my coffee table books. I collected them and had so many that most lived on my bookshelf rather than on my coffee table. This particular book was a printing of blog posts that shared secrets anonymously. Parts of it read like my diary, and I’d marked several pages with Post-it notes so I could easily come back to them. Reading it had always felt comforting.

  Seeing it in Reeve’s hands, though, wasn’t comforting. He flipped through the pages, stopping on the ones I’d tagged. Chuckling at some. Growing somber at others. At one, he lifted his head toward me and nodded slightly as if confirming what he’d just thought, what he’d just read.

  I ran through several confessions I knew by heart, trying to imagine which it had been:

  Again and again. Used.

  I’m more scared of court than I was when he almost killed me.

  I would do absolutely anything in the whole world if I thought it would make her happy.

  Whichever ones he was reading, any of them – all of them – were private. Too private for him to know they spoke to me. Yet, I didn’t stop him. I let him sink one layer deeper under my skin.

  It was bad enough that he was in my apartment – in an apartment that I paid for myself. His presence reminded me of a time when everything I owned had been given to me by men. The things I had now, though small in number and worth, were all mine.

  Trying to distract myself from the anxiety Reeve’s invasion caused, I asked, “Why do you want to know about Chris anyway? Do you want me to fix you up? He’s got a fiancée, you know.”

  Reeve shot me a glare. “Cute.”

  He put the book back on my shelf and moved toward me. When he reached the counter, he said, “Chris doesn’t look at you like he has a fiancée.”

  Ah. I’d forgotten Reeve was a jealous man. Or I’d underestimated the depth of his envy. Strangely, it was a fairly common trait of the kind of men I’d involved myself with in the past, the kind of men who had everything. I knew how to pander to them, knew what to say to put their insecurities to rest. No one could ever be man enough to compare with you, I’d say. It might have been what Reeve was looking for in regard to Chris.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to give it to him. “A lot of men don’t look at me like they have a fiancée.”

  Reeve leaned across the opposite side of the counter so we were face-to-face. “I don’t like that.”

  Jealousy was generally boring, yet on Reeve, it was fascinating. And, I suspected, dangerous. “You don’t? What are you going to do about it? Lock me up and never let me out in public?”

  “I have some nice secluded resorts I think you’d like. My island properties are so beautiful you’ll forget you’re in a prison.”

  He flashed his dimple. It was subtle, only noticeable when he smiled in a certain way, the way he was smiling now. And his eyes… I’d thought they were blue, but now I saw green flecks. They caught in the light. They caught me in them, made me feel warm. Made me feel trapped.

  I stood up straight, distancing myself without moving away. “Look at you. Acting as if you have some claim to me. I think I already blew you off the other night.”

  “Look at you, acting as if I’m a person that you blow off. I think I already warned you about me.” He was teasing as I’d been. But he wasn’t all at the same time.

  My heart skipped a beat. “Another threat?”

  “If you want it to be.” He looked at me like he had earlier – that intent way that saw through me, into me. Saw all my dark parts.

  In a way, he was showing me his darkness as well.

  My lip quivered, but I wasn’t scared. Well, not scared enough. “I do.”

  His eyes sparked, and with that simple phrase, we entered into an agreement. He would have me. He would fuck me. He would bring me into his world.

  And in return I’d let him break me.

  I took in a shuddering breath as I fell under the heaviness of our unspoken understanding. He saw it and straightened.

  Now, I thought. He’s going to make his move now. He’s going to take me now. He’d strip me but he’d keep his own clothes on, undoing his pants only far enough to release his cock. He’d be coarse and crude and he’d make me late for the set. Now.

  I wasn’t prepared. I was so ready.

  He walked around the counter to join me in the kitchen. At the frame, he paused. “Then why have you ignored every invitation I’ve sent?”

  “Your notes? Huh.” I wrung my hands together, more nervous than I wanted to be. “Maybe I should have read them before I threw them away.”

  His eyes narrowed to incredulous slits. “You threw them away without reading them?”

  “They felt detached. Impersonal gifts sent by one of your minions. Did you even select them yourself?” I’d planned to say all this to him eventually, but now the words seemed tedious. Seemed like obstacles dotting the couple of yards between us. Now. I willed him to close the distance. Now.

  “I did select them myself. Every one of them. They would have felt less detached if you’d read what I’d said.”

  God, n
ow I wished I had.

  But I shrugged, pretending to not care. Pretending that the hum of attraction around us was normal. “Maybe. I still prefer personal invitations.”

  “You’re awfully confident. Some might go so far as to say egotistical.”

  I laughed. “That’s fitting coming from you.”

  “With me, it’s not ego.” There wasn’t a trace of humor in his delivery. “I simply know what I’m worth.”

  “And I know what I’m worth, Mr. Sallis.”

  He appeared amused. “Okay. I’ll bite. What are you worth?”

  “More than generic gifts and dictated notes.” This speech was not impromptu. If I expected to gain anything about Amber from Reeve, this was an important part of the plan. I had to be more significant than a passing curiosity. I had to tie him to me. And to get that guarantee, I’d have to push him as much as I dared.

  It helped that I actually believed what I said. “I’m worth more than the flyby in the night that I know you’re counting on. I don’t do pump and dumps. I also don’t do romance.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the wall. “What is it exactly that you do then, Emily?”

  I steeled myself. I’d made similar arrangements so many times. It had been so much easier when I was younger. When I didn’t care. When I was with Amber. “Value for value,” she’d say. “Nothing short of total needs met.”

  My life was different now – I met my own needs. But the first part was still reasonable. “I do the exchange system, Reeve. I give you something you value in exchange for something I value.”

  He pushed off from the wall and divided the space between us in half with one step. “Emily, when I fuck, it’s of value to both parties. No exchange needed.”

  A rush of arousal burst through me so fast that I felt dizzy. Now, I was silently begging, ready to skip the negotiations. Now, now, now.

  He held his place.

  My nerves pulsed with frustration, buzzing like a fly at a window that could see the outdoors – that could be there if only it could break through the glass.