Indigo Nights: A Sexy, Contemporary Romance (17 page)

I walked out into the crisp Chicago air, my hair taking off in the wind as if gravity had deserted us. It was official. I had a TV show. Or a bit of one at least. Though, I probably shouldn’t have signed the contract with WCIL TV without an agent. Or a lawyer, or both, but I had. It felt right to take the risk.

I’d gone straight from the studio to an AA meeting a few blocks from the hotel. Meetings always grounded me, and I’d needed it after signing on to do six Saturday morning slots on
A Chicago Saturday
. They’d agreed I could film them all in advance so I didn’t have to fly over each week. I couldn’t have been more delighted. The experience would be fun and, more than that, it felt as if I were cashing a paycheck for the nearly four years I’d spent baking my way to sobriety. Almost as if the universe were patting me on the back and rewarding me for a job well done.

I checked my phone. Still no response from Dylan. I turned right onto Wabash and a gust of wind almost toppled me over. I’d forgotten how unrelenting Chicago’s weather could be.

As I entered the bright, high-ceilinged lobby of the hotel, I squinted to see if I could spot Dylan at the bar, waiting for me like he had been before, but there was no sign of him.

Perhaps I should just take the hint. My meeting had talked about how we couldn’t control the behavior of others, only our reaction to it. It could have been a sign to accept that Dylan was done with me and I’d never know why. That we were only ever meant to be the casual thing it started off as. Perhaps I’d assumed a little too much, and missed the signs that he wasn’t interested. But why had he kept in daily contact with me while I was in London if he didn’t want anything to do with me? I could bring myself to believe that he’d not realized we were on the same flight, but his reaction to seeing me said there was more going on in his head than he’d let on.

The churning inside my entire body was the reason why people shouldn’t date in their first year of sobriety. Alcohol would soothe the ambiguity and uncertainty. Alcohol was something I could count on. I knew exactly what it did to me—it blocked everything out and made the bad things better. Three years sober, I no longer had the constant urge to drink, but at the same time, I was thankful that I’d years of preparation for this moment. I had other ways to cope. Any earlier in my sobriety and I wouldn’t have been so sure.

I checked in, and headed toward the elevators, except, I passed them and kept walking, toward the bar. I just wanted to
make sure
he wasn’t here.

“Can I help you, miss?” The bartender smiled at me.

Half-heartedly, I smiled back. “No.” Should I ask him if he’d seen a man on his own who seemed to be waiting for someone? No. I didn’t want to come across as a total crazy person. “Actually, can I get some cake sent up to my room?” I wanted chocolate mousse, but couldn’t bring myself to order it. “Perhaps a strawberry shortcake? Room 1204.”

“Certainly.”

“And maybe a selection of macaroons?”

He nodded and I turned back to the elevators.

As I rode up to the twelfth floor, I checked my phone again. Still nothing. I was pretty sure I’d been dumped.

As I entered my room, an image of being pushed against the glass the last time I’d been here flashed into my head. Jesus, that man knew how to fuck, or he knew how to fuck
me
. I’d never experienced anything like it.

My stomach flip-flopped at the knock on the door. Was he here? I raced to the door, and flung it open, a huge grin on my face.

It was the cake. I’d never been so disappointed at being given sugar.

I let the waiter in, and he set the tray on the table and I signed his notepad and tipped him. I was being crazy. Why wasn’t Dylan here?

I grabbed my phone.

Beth: I’m back at the hotel. I have cake. I’m hoping you’ll join me?

I’d not even set my cell down when it buzzed.

Dylan: I’m sure you have others who can help you with the cake. You should have told me you were with someone. I don’t like cheaters.

What the hell did that mean? Anxiety gripped at my throat. Who did he think I was?

Beth: Who have I cheated on?

I collapsed into a chair to read his reply.

Dylan: The poor chump on the plane. Get him to eat your cake.

I rolled my eyes as things started to click. He thought I was with my brother. He’d asked me to trust him on more than one occasion, but wasn’t affording me the same courtesy.

Beth: First, ewwww. Second, if you’d stuck around I could have introduced you to my BROTHER, who is not a chump, btw. You, on the other hand, are an ass.

Silence.

Perhaps he didn’t believe me. Perhaps he thought I was making it up.

Could he have really thought I was with Jake? Was that really the reason he was pissed off, or had it been a convenient get-out-of-jail-free clause?

Thank God I’d ordered cake. I reached behind me and grabbed a couple of pink rosewater macaroons from the tray. Self-medicating with sugar was almost as good as drinking.

I sighed and closed my eyes. I’d really been looking forward to seeing Dylan, but now everything had become more complicated than it was supposed to be. Perhaps I should get out now while I was only a little disappointed.

My phone buzzed. I took a deep breath as I opened the message.

Dylan: You’re right. I’m an ass. I’d really like to see you. Can I come over?

It would be better if I said no, easier. If I flew home without seeing him, life would be simpler. The hard shell surrounding my heart survived my disappointment today, but I wasn’t sure if it would again. My phone buzzed again.

Dylan: I’m really sorry.

I stared at the screen. I couldn’t and wouldn’t say no to him. I was myself—the new reinvented Beth Harrison, with Dylan, and he allowed me to be her without it feeling fake or it being an effort. It was as if he was the final piece in rebuilding myself—he’d lodged in my soul and he’d be there forever.

I’d never be able to say no to Dylan, whatever he asked of me.

Dylan

The sky was dark and very few people were on the street as I grabbed a cab in the cold. We were due a snowfall.

When I received Beth’s text explaining the guy she was travelling with was her brother, I’d tried to dismiss it as bullshit. In a lot of ways it would have been easier if she were the cheater I’d suspected. Seeing her with him had made me realize she had the power to wound me, and I didn’t like anything that had power over me.

It was too late.

I’d had a dull ache drifting through my muscles and joints since I’d first seen her in the airport lounge, and I wanted to be rid of it. I knew touching, kissing, sucking, and fucking Beth would chase it away.

But what she was saying wasn’t bullshit. It made perfect sense and fit with everything she’d told me about him and about her and her life. As she’d pointed out, I’d been an ass.

I strode through the lobby and headed toward the bar. I didn’t see her, so I grabbed a stool and ordered a soda water and some chocolate mousse.

I waited twenty minutes before the elevator doors pinged open and Beth stepped out.

The ache inside me intensified as I took in her mouth, hips and beautiful eyes. I couldn’t stop myself from grinning at her, but her lips were tight.

I slipped off my stool. “Hey.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

“Hey.” She stared at my shoulder.

She took a seat next to me, her stool facing into the bar as mine pointed toward her.

“Can I get a virgin mojito?” I asked the waiter.

I grabbed her hand and ran my thumb over her knuckles. “I’m really sorry. I feel like a jerk.”

She continued to look at my shoulder. “That’s because you were a jerk.”

“I should have trusted you. I’m not good with that—trusting people. Trusting women.”

Finally, she glanced at me. “I struggle sometimes, too. But you can’t ask me to trust you and then not do the same.”

She was a setting out the first rule of our relationship. It was an acknowledgment that this was no longer a one-night stand. We had shifted into a different space. We’d been inching toward something with the phone calls and the texts, but my reaction to seeing her with her brother and her need for my trust—that took us to the next stage.

She mattered to me.

“I know. It won’t happen again.” For so long I hadn’t concerned myself with trusting a woman, or having a woman trust me. I was rusty when it came to relationships, but I needed to remember quickly if I didn’t want to lose Beth.

I linked my fingers through hers and squeezed her hand. I sighed in relief when she returned the gesture.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were in London?”

It was a good question and I needed to be truthful with her, even if it was embarrassing. She’d asked me to trust her. She deserved that.

“I flew in overnight on Wednesday and was in meetings all day Thursday. Meetings I could have done by conference call in Chicago. I wanted to see you, and thought I’d surprise you at the airport.” It felt good to be honest with her.

She spun her stool to face me and cocked her head. “Are you saying you flew to London just to surprise me at the airport?”

I nodded. “I told you I was a douche. I’m really sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

She slid off her stool and stepped toward me. “You’re a peach,” she whispered as she leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

I chuckled. “I’ll take that.”

“We’re going to need two chocolate mousse parfaits for room 1204, please,” she called to the bartender.

“Make me a promise,” she said as we headed toward the elevators, holding hands like long-term lovers.

“Anything.” I meant it.

“Whatever this is and however long it lasts, let’s agree that there will be no secrets or lies. I want to have fun with you. I don’t want to spend time second-guessing you.” She crinkled her brow, willing me to agree.

“My sweet, that’s such an easy promise to make. No secrets or lies for however long this lasts.” I kissed her on the forehead.

“I believe you and promise the same. I hope you believe me, too.”

“I do. I really do.” I shouldn’t compare her to Alicia, or cast Beth with the same lack of compassion or morality. She was fresh and exciting, soft and authentic. She was nothing like Alicia.

The ache I’d had all day for her ebbed away and in its place a lightness settled.

I
wanted
to give more, wanted more in return. “But, I have a request.” Her lips parted as she looked at me, waiting for me to say what was on my mind. “Whatever it is we’re doing, I want to be only doing it with you exclusively.”

Her pouty lips widened into a smile. “I can do that.”

I bent forward and kissed the beauty spot on her cheekbone. “I’m glad.”

We entered her room, walking straight through the living area to the bedroom.

“Talk to me about the TV thing.” As soon as the words had left my mouth, I realized that I hadn’t told her that I owned it. Was that technically a secret? A lie? Did she need to know? I just couldn’t tell her before I told Raf; it felt disloyal.

She scooted onto the bed. “I signed.”

“You signed?” I crawled over her, forcing her to her back.

“I did. Six shows.”

I dropped my lips to her collarbone. She smelled like cinnamon. I placed small kisses across her throat.

“Does that mean you’ll be back in Chicago for six weeks?” I pulled back to look at her.

She screwed up her lips. “No. They’ve agreed that they’ll film them all so I just have to come over once.”

“You don’t like Chicago?” I moved her to her side, stroking my thumb between her tits and over her stomach.

She thought about it. “Yeah. It’s where I grew up and where I remember my mom and still see my dad.” She trailed her hands up my back. “Memories of her are one of the things that makes Chicago great, and one of the things that makes Chicago tough.” I nodded, not wanting to interrupt her. I wanted to hear more, know more about her. “And there was other heartbreak here, too. In London, I feel like a new, adult Beth. She’s really the only person I want to be now.”