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She looks at me and the contract in her hands. Her skinny fingers clutching and loosening around the pen.

  “I guess it’ll have to do,” she finally agrees and opens the contract.

  “I’m fine,” she whispers, looking through the window, breaking me out of my own thoughts. I don’t know what to make out of it. What to say to make her talk. Make her tell me what she needs because I don’t know what to do with her now that she’s here.

  She is away from her mother and safe from everything that surrounded her in that place. When I first parked outside of the building I thought I was in the wrong place. Then again, Cassie wouldn’t ask for money if she had any. The ratty, half-fallen apart building equals to that. Every dark or shadowy corner of that place was full of shady people doing all kinds of illegal business.

  The apartment didn’t look any better on the inside and it was almost as cold as it was outside. It wasn’t even strange Grace was shaking, so the first thing I got her when we came to the car is my jacket and I put the heater to the max. It wasn’t much, and it surely wasn’t good enough, but it was the best I could come up with.

  For now.

  Maybe with time I’ll learn how to communicate with my sister. Learn how to be a good big brother.

  People do it every day, so I guess it can’t be that hard.

  “Why did you do it?”

  After a silence that filled the cabin of the car for most of our ride, I’m surprised to hear her soft voice.

  “Do what?”

  “Gave her money.” She looks at me, her intelligent eyes seeking a truthful answer. “She told me about the other night, but you didn’t have to do anything. You could have gone on with your life.”

  “What kind of person would I be then, Grace?” My hands grip the steering wheel tighter. “To know there is someone out there who is related to me and who needs me and I turned my back on her?”

  “But she left you and she’s my mother and …”

  I put my hand on the intertwined fingers lying in her lap, swallowing before I continue, “She’s my mother too, Grace. She is our mother.”

  I never thought that I’d say those words ever again. I didn’t have a mother; that was always my answer when people asked. However, it didn’t matter if I wanted to accept it or not. Cassie gave birth to me. So at least in the most basic sense possible, that makes her my mother.

  “Then why doesn’t she care?” Her voice breaks on the last word, and I turn around to look at her for a second before concentrating again on the road.

  Tears are filling her eyes, making them look glassy, and her lower lip wobbles. “Why does she only care about money and getting her next fix? Why can’t she be a normal, boring mom like any other kid has?”

  The lump in my throat grows bigger, enabling me to breathe, to speak. I want to comfort her, but I don’t know what is appropriate. With Dad and me there were never heavy conversations, there was never a need to comfort or shield.

  Nothing that comes even close to this.

  Tightening my grip on her hands, I let my thumb slowly caress the back of her hand in a comforting motion. “I don’t know. I guess some people just aren’t meant to be parents.”

  For the rest of the forty-minute ride, we stay quiet. Both lost in our own thoughts. Maybe that is for the best. There is no sense in forcing things to happen. They will eventually.

  I pull in front of my two-story house and kill the engine. The light on the front porch is on, partly illuminating inside of the car as we sit there looking at the house.

  I love this place; I bought it after my first contract with The Knights was extended.

  It’s a Colonial-style house, big and masculine, with brown bricks and white joinery. There is a big living room, a kitchen with a dining room, an office, a bathroom, and gym on the ground floor and three bedrooms and three bathrooms on the first floor.

  “We’re here.” I give a little wave in the direction of the house.

  “This is your place?” Grace asks in awe, not taking eyes away from the house.

  “And yours,” I add, half smirk on my face. “There are two bedrooms, actually guest rooms, but you can choose whichever you prefer. I’m a little busy right now …”

  “With football?” she asks, turning to look at me.

  “Yes. You like football?”

  “I don’t really know much about it.” She shrugs uncomfortably.

  “It’s fine. I can teach,” I offer. “If you want, of course.”

  The first smile creeps on her lips. “I would like that.”

  “Anyway, like I said, it’s football season, so I’ll be mostly busy until February. There will be a lot of time I’ll have to go out of town, and I want you to feel at home here.”

  “I’ll be alone here?” Most kids would be excited at the thought, but Grace sounds worried and nervous, twirling her fingers is proof enough.

  “No, not yet. Maybe in a few years.” I think about that for a while and then shake my head. “Nah, not even then.”

  She looks at me confused, but when she sees I’m only joking with her she relaxes and giggles. It’s a nice, happy sound. Girly, young, and carefree. Like Grace should be. She seems too careful and always on edge, expecting something bad to happen.

  “Mrs. Tayson is a nice lady who comes to my house to clean, do laundry, cook, and stuff like that. I talked to her and asked if she could be like …” I stop, looking for the right word to explain Mrs. Tayson’s new position.

  “Nanny?” Grace offers and if I didn’t know better I would think there was mockery hiding in her green eyes. But it has to be low light.

  “Companion,” I say finally.

  “It doesn’t sound better, you know? Old ladies have companions.”

  We look at each other and start laughing.

  “Call her whatever you’d like, smarty pants,” I manage to say after I get ahold of myself. “She’ll take you to and from school, give you lunch, and take you shopping or whatever. And she’ll also stay in the house the days I’ll be out of town so that you aren’t alone during the night.”

  “She doesn’t have kids?”

  “She does, but they are all grown up.” I open the door. “Now come on, I’ll show you around and you’ll pick your room.”

  “Sienna, babe, lift your right foot on the chair and tilt your head slightly backward.”

  I do what Johnny, my photographer for the day and best friend says, trying to stay in the zone. I concentrate on my movements, changing positions or facial expressions he wants to get out of me.

  But, it isn’t easy.

  Some girls dream about the glamor of being models. Looking pretty all the time, wearing big brands and all the pretty clothes, living in the world of the rich and famous. Not me. For some people, it’s hard to believe, but when I was a young girl I was skinny, nerdy, and shy. Never, not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d work as a model, but somehow life took me in this direction.

  Even after all this time, modeling doesn’t come naturally to me. I overcame my shyness after a while and began enjoying my career.

  Still, as the time passed by, it all started to get on my nerves more and more. I have been in this world for six years now, and I’m getting sick of superficiality and games. The only problem is I don’t know what I can do once I retire. I have enough money to last me a while, but I want more than to sleep in bed all day long doing nothing useful. I want to make a difference, although without a college degree I’m not sure it’s possible.

  The feeling of eyes piercing into me gets me out of my thoughts. Blinking to clear my sight, I’m met with hot green eyes looking at me from across the room. I thought that the next time I saw him, if that time ever came, he’d be pissed off.

  I was wrong.

  J.D. Shelton is eating me up from the distance. His eyes look at me with want and need.

  Hunger.

  Desire.

  Passion.

  When our gazes meet, the heat is instant. Passion-like liquid f
lows through me making me hot and needy. My skin quivers in expectation. His eyes take me all in, and all I can think about is him coming to me and tracing the same path with his hands.

  And then that’s exactly what he does.

  Johnny calls him to stand next to me. J.D.’s steps are slow and even as he approaches me, a sexy, half grin on his lips.

  A grin that makes me rethink if this is a good idea.

  J.D. stops in front of me, and even though he doesn’t touch me, I can feel my body responding.

  “We meet again, baby doll.”

  “I’m no doll or princess, hot shot.” I lift my chin into the air.

  A soft chuckle falls from his lips. “What are you then?”

  “A rebel, all sass, and attitude.”

  His fingertips slowly touch my cheek. “For me, you’ll always be a doll.”

  His words are soft caresses against my skin. I take a step back to break the spell his words left me under and narrow my eyes at him.

  There hasn’t been a man that affected me like that in … ever.

  I don’t know what it is about J.D., but every time he’s near I lose myself to him.

  Johnny calls out and breaks our staring contest. He leads us through different poses, every one sexy but sophisticated.

  J.D.’s hands move over my body—it’s nothing like it was that night. They are on my waist, back, or somewhere on my arms. It’s simple and professional.

  But his hold is like I remember it—firm and strong.

  The palms of his hands are not soft and taken care of like most of the male models, they are rough and chapped. Hands of a man that actually uses them for a living. When they trace my skin, in the most innocent of touches, they make me shiver in delight and my insides clench. Awaiting.

  He can feel it. I know he can. I heard that bastard chuckle softly behind me.

  I can feel the heat of his body all around me, it’s radiating off of him, and sometimes, when he has to stand right behind me, I can feel his hot breath on my skin.

  We don’t say anything at all, we just do our job. But I can feel it. This something building between us.

  Sexual tension.

  Lust.

  I never sleep with the same man twice, but something about him calls to me.

  Makes me want more.

  One more touch.

  One more kiss.

  One more night.

  Until this passion inside me is extinguished completely.

  “Come on, guys,” Johnny calls us, breaking me out of my desire-filled brain.

  I follow him to his computer and watch as he transfers our photos and opens them on a bigger screen.

  I don’t have to see them to know they are good. Johnny took my photos from the beginning of my career, and I trust him to do a good job and select best photos, but we go over them anyway.

  J.D. stands behind me. I don’t even have to turn around to know because his presence is so strong. You know he is there.

  “That’s it, babe.” Johnny closes the app and looks at us. “We just have to finish with your friend and you all are free to go.”

  “Be nice to her Johnny, or I’ll make a sloppy drunk out of you tonight,” I warn him teasingly. “And you know what that means.”

  Johnny groans and rolls his blue eyes at me. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me, babe.” I wiggle my fingers in goodbye and start walking to my changing room.

  I don’t get around the corner that separates the studio from hallway before J.D.’s hand are on my wrist, turning me around and pressing me against the wall in one swift motion.

  “Not so fast, doll.” He smirks, looking down at me. His green eyes are so light, so bright, that they are almost shining.

  “What do …,” I start in my most bitchy-voice, one I have mastered to perfection, but he shushes me efficiently.

  His lips crush into mine. His kiss is strong and controlling and so, so damn slow.

  Agonizingly so.

  A moan of frustration leaves my lips. I part them just enough for his tongue to find its way into my mouth. I want to run my fingers through his short hair, pull him closer to me, get some control back, but he has them pinned on the wall next to my head.

  His tongue is slowly playing with mine, changing between long and short strokes.

  Hot and wet.

  Owning me.

  I can imagine how he would feel with his head buried between my legs. His talented mouth playing with my hot core until I shatter in his arms.

  I bite into his full lower lip to prevent myself from moaning.

  “You are killing me here, Roberts,” he groans, pressing his forehead into mine.

  “It’s your own fault for trying to boss me around, Shelton.”

  “No one in their right mind would try to boss you around.” I laugh at his frowned face. “Come here.”

  He tugs at my hand and pulls me behind him into the first empty room. In a split second, I find myself pressed against the closed door and his mouth is on mine again.

  This guy sure has a thing going on for vertical surfaces, because we always end up pressed against something.

  My legs wrap tightly around his waist and his hands cup my butt, pulling me into him, making me feel the bulge in his dress pants against my center.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I murmur between kisses.

  “Mhmm …” His nose lowers down my neck and he kisses the curve of my neck before our lips meet again. “Sure thing.”

  “This is such a bad idea.” But my fingers don’t seem to care. They have a mind of their own. A mind that right now wants to feel more of J.D.’s hot skin pressed next to me.

  With a few quick twists of my fingers, I have his dress shirt unbuttoned.

  The palms of my hands press against his naked skin, and I want to hiss when the heat of his skin touches mine. His skin is golden and smooth. His chest and abs are hard and defined. The light brush of soft hair is covering his chest, but it only makes him more manly and desirable.

  My mouth leaves his only to taste his skin. My nose trails his neck and I kiss the hollow of his shoulder. With fingers, I trace the shape of the tattoos covering his hands and upper body.

  J.D. smells divine, all clean and manly. Like sun and the forest and if I’m not careful enough I know I could lose myself in that smell.

  I kiss his rock-hard pecs and let my hand trail down his sides, but he doesn’t leave me enough time to enjoy his body.

  J.D.’s hand cups my cheek and lifts my face to look at him. He kisses me hard on the lips again. His rough hand finds a way up my outer tights.

  “We really shouldn’t do this,” I murmur breathlessly. “Anyone could come and see us.”

  He groans loudly against my lips in frustration, but it’s soon followed by a chuckle. “Isn’t that half the fun?”

  I shove hard against his chest. Letting my legs slide down his body, I move out of his embrace. “You are a dick, Shelton.”

  Turning on my heels, I want to storm away, but his hands curl around my wrist and turn me around once again.

  “You have to stop doing this.”

  “When you stop running away.”

  “I’m not running away.”

  “Keep saying that to yourself, princess.”

  My eyes narrow at him.

  I really, really, really hate that nickname.

  I hate when people, especially guys, are patronizing me. I maybe don’t have some fancy degree from some even fancier university, but I’m not stupid. I tug my hand out of his and cross them over my chest.

  “Some special reason why you wanted to talk to me?”

  J.D. lifts his hand and rubs his scruffy cheeks. “You were saying something about the party?”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “And why’s that your business?”

  “It’s not.” He shrugs. “But I know Will would give his left nut to get some time to woo your friend.”

  That gets my attention. I purse my lips and
let my fingers slowly tap against my side as my mind starts filling with thoughts and ideas.

  Anabel couldn’t stop thinking about this guy from the moment they met. I know there is no way she will give into his attempts to get her on a date without a little push on the side.

  I’m not sure is it the shyness or the fact that she doesn’t want to get in any kind of relationship because her time here is limited, but I saw the looks and the sparks between them, and I know she will regret one day not taking this chance.

  “What’s the plan?”

  My friends laugh all around me. Sienna, who is on a good way to be shit-faced drunk, is telling us some funny stories all the while hugging her friend Anabel.

  It’s past midnight—Happy-fucking-New-Year to all of us—and overall we are having a good time.

  Anabel didn’t like the little surprise Sienna planned for her, but after a few drinks her guard came down and she gave the last dance of the year and first of the new one to William so not all was lost.

  Sienna drags me to the dance floor.

  Again.

  I’m not much of a dancer. My coordination and grace are strictly reserved for the football field. I avoid dance floors like a plague, but that woman could charm even a saint into sinning.

  Even if I’m not most comfortable out there, I have to admit—it’s nice having her in my arms. Her hands wrapped tightly around my neck. Her head lying on my chest. Her sweet, exotic scent surrounding me while we slowly sway on the dance floor.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I get it out.

  “Happy New Year!” with a bunch of emojis following afterward awaits me when I open the message Grace sent me.

  I smile—that girl is obsessed with emojis—and write her a quick reply before returning the phone back to my pocket.

  She’s staying tonight at friend’s house. I’m glad she’s adjusting well to her new school and life. Mrs. Tayson took her shopping and they got her new clothes and stuff for school and her room.

  Grace is doing well in her classes and the only thing she asked for was to keep going to ballet classes, but when I offered to find her some good dance school she gave me the look.

  You know which one I’m talking about. I think girls master it in their diapers. Their eyes grow wide and while they bite the inside of their cheek or their bottom lip they innocently bat their eyelashes a few times. Some even add twirling hair around their finger for good measure. There’s no way any guy can say no to that.