Passionate Addiction (31 page)

“Gabi,” his voice grew louder, closer.

She rushed to the panel, frantically tapping at the button to close the doors. They moved with the speed of a snail on valium, one tiny inch at a time. When they were almost shut, a bang sounded from outside and Blake’s face came into view through the tiny slither of space.

“Gabi, stop!”

She broke eye contact, unable to deal with the anguish tainting his features. He was so perfect. Angry, upset, frustrated, it didn’t matter. He would always be gorgeous to her.

“God damn it!” His bellow echoed through the small room, ripping a choked sob from her mouth.

Once the doors were firmly shut, she pressed a numb finger against the button to the lobby and fell back into the wall. She needed fresh air. Well, as fresh as it could get in New York. And the bitter night chill would keep her mind away from the emotional pain.

Yeah, she was pathetic, completely and utterly ridiculous. Who the hell flew across the world to get an answer that had already been written on the wall? Anyone could’ve foreseen this. Yet she’d ignored her instincts and wasted her savings on the bonus of being humiliated in public.

The elevator jolted, and she raised her gaze from the floor when the doors opened. She took a moment to regain her composure, and then pushed from the wall, squeezing past a couple waiting for her to get out.

“Excuse me,” she muttered and made it a few steps before the weight of Blake’s betrayal had her slumping against the arm rest of the nearest chair.

Lying. Cheating. Drinking. That wasn’t Blake. That was an asshole in the body of the man who owned her heart. She knew the real Blake. Knew how much of a kindhearted, compassionate, and sympathetic soul he was. Yet she didn’t have the strength to confront the stranger who’d taken over.

“Gabi!” Blake’s voice vibrated off the lobby walls.

She straightened, her body jumping to life as he stalked across the room from the hotel staircase, his chest heaving. He was menacing, his black silk shirt untucked, the first two buttons undone, his sleeves rolled to expose his tattoos. Stubble covered his jaw, and his eyes flashed with determination, enough to make her want to run.

She glanced toward the doors, trying to figure out if she could escape in time. No. Trying would be useless, especially in heels and an evening gown. The bright flashes of light from outside announced the awaiting paparazzi, resigning her to her fate. The last thing she wanted was to be humiliated on a global scale.

Raising her chin, she stood tall to face him. He strode toward her, slowing his pace the closer he came. He looked the way she felt, broken, tired, and miserable. She wouldn’t feel sorry for him though. He deserved it.

“Gabi…”

Her name was breathy and so damn tortured that she wanted to whimper. Instead, she let it fuel her anger. He reached for her and she jerked back. An anguished crease marred his forehead while his hand fell limp at his side.

“Let me explain.”

“Explain?” She let out a sardonic laugh. “No, I don’t think so. The time for explanations passed weeks ago. I was just too stupid to realize. I hope you’ve found everything in Michelle that I must have lacked—”

“She’s not—”

“
And
,” she snarled, “I also hope you enjoy your break from sobriety.” Rage heated her cheeks, causing her nose to tingle. Why the hell did her body decide to turn on the waterworks when she was fuming? She didn’t want to cry. She wasn’t sad. She was fucking furious!

He stepped closer. “I’m not drinking.” He lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder at the gawkers.

“I don’t care.” She shrugged. “It’s none of my business anymore.”

He slid closer, bridging the gap between them and grabbed her arm in a light hold. She raised her chin and glared at him, hating that her heart ached as soon as his fingers brushed her skin.

“Smell my breath.” He leaned into her, his lips hovering an inch from hers. “I’m
not
drinking.”

For a brief second she enjoyed his nearness—his smell, his heat, his attention. And no, there was no scent of alcohol. That didn’t matter. “I don’t understand why you’re bothering to try and convince me. I no longer care,” she finished on a whisper and yanked her arm away.

Her flesh burned where his hand had been, and before she could walk away, she was back within his arms, his hands gripping her shoulders, yanking her forward. His mouth hit hers in an unyielding crush and his tongue licked the seam of her lips, sliding further when she gasped.

Shock left her weak and confused. She couldn’t separate the pleasurable memories from their past with the current way he passionately kissed her. But the moan that vibrated from his chest broke the spell. She pushed away, fumbling backward on her heels as she panted.

“You bastard.” She covered her scorched lips with a trembling hand. “You heartless, lying, bastard.” Her voice grew with each word.

“Blake?” The unfamiliar feminine tone came from behind him, seconds before Michelle came into view.

Gabi retreated, not wanting to be anywhere near the happy couple. She always imagined his ex would be less appealing in person. That the glitz and glamour would fade in real life, but no, fate wasn’t that kind. Michelle beamed with beauty, even under a truck-load of make-up and drug glazed eyes.

“I’m ready to leave, honey,” she cooed, leaning in to press her glossy red lips against Blake’s cheek.

He pulled away. “Not now,” he growled.

“Yes, now.” Michelle smirked at Gabi while she entwined her fingers with Blake’s. “Don’t make me explain to your little toy why I’m so eager to leave.”

Gabi raised a brow and ignored the taunt. She didn’t need fake boobs and lipo to know how the trolls of the Upper East Side worked. She’d watched Gossip Girl a time or two and knew that rich bitches fought their battles from the safety of their ivory towers. Gabi wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Have fun.” Gabi smiled sweetly.

Blake squeezed his eyes shut for a brief second before opening them again, fixing her with his gaze. “I’ll explain everything.”

Michelle tugged at his hand and huffed.

Gabi stared at the man she’d been in love with for years and found somebody new—someone she no longer wanted to know. She didn’t need to reiterate her thoughts; the recognition was already in his eyes. With a slight shake of her head, she moved around him and strode to the elevators, ignoring the curious stares of hotel guests.

The time for fresh air had passed. She needed to have a shower, re-pack her things, and get some sleep before begging her airline for the first available seat out of JFK.

Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the button to her floor and mentally congratulated herself for not looking back. She could move on—start anew. Then the doors closed, signaling the end of an important part of her life. Her chest tightened with the beginning of the ascent, ripping a sob from her throat.

Blake meant everything to her. He was her strength, her happiness, her light, and no amount of denial or determination could convince her that she could live without him.

Blake stood in the lobby, shock freezing him in place while the elevator doors closed, taking Gabi away. He was reeling, tilting from confusion to astonishment at her appearance.

“Let’s go,” Michelle bitched from beside him, her words carrying a slight slur.

Good. He would drive her home, ticking off the final duty in their agreement, then come back to explain everything to Gabi in private. If it weren’t for the stares of hotel staff and guests, he would’ve told Michelle to fuck off while he begged for Gabi to listen. But he couldn’t ignore the blatant and unremorseful assholes that stood mere feet away, their phones pointed in his direction as they took photos or video.

Turning, he strode across the lobby toward the doors. Michelle’s heels clicked frantically behind him, trying to keep up.

“Wait,” she hissed. “We need to leave together. You owe me this.”

He stopped and waited for her. When her hand gripped the crook of his elbow he clenched his jaw, concentrating only on the minutes until she would be out of his life forever.

The middle-aged concierge greeted them at the door. “Would you like your car brought around, Mr. Kennedy?”

Blake nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“It will only take a minute. Would you prefer to wait inside?”

“No,” Michelle answered for him. “We want to see our fans before we leave.”

Blake’s nostrils flared. If she did something stupid now, he’d flip. He was done, exhausted, and willing to tell the world about her manipulative games.

“Not a problem.” The concierge opened the door, setting off the flash of cameras and the roar of the crowd.

With Michelle on his arm, he descended the stairs into the cold night air. She pulled away once they reached the bottom, swayed a little, and went to the barrier holding back the crowd. A hotel security guard came to stand beside Michelle, providing a protective presence while she went to the first person with a video camera.

Blake tensed, his senses on hyper alert. He stood behind her, tight lipped, concentrating on every word that left her deceitful mouth. Minutes passed and confusion grew. She didn’t lie, didn’t cause a scene, and when his car pulled up, she grabbed the crook of his elbow and said her flamboyant goodbyes.

They slid silently into his white Camaro, and in seconds he was taking off, heading down the night darkened road.

“Turn left and go around Central Park.”

He did as requested. “I’m done now, Michelle. I’ll take you home, or drop you wherever you want to go, but we both agreed that this was it. No more games.”

“Yeah whatever, asshole,” she mumbled.

He gave a derisive laugh and shook his head. “Yeah, I’m the blackmailing, backstabbing asshole. I’m the one who wants to drag your name through the mud and ruin everything you’ve ever worked for.”

“Fuck you!” She turned to him, pointing her finger near the side of his face. “You’ve got no idea what my life is like. You hold your head up like you’re innocent and have nothing to hide, but you’re exactly like me. You’re just as weak.”

“I’m nothing like you,” he sneered and slowed his car below the speed limit. Her irrational state made him nervous. “Just tell me where you live so I can get you home.”

“And what if I said I lived in the suburbs, over an hour away?” she purred. “What would you do?”

He clenched his jaw and turned down Central Park West, ignoring the way she changed from catty bitch to seducing psycho in the blink of an eye. “An hour drive would be worth it to get you out of my life.”

“Fuck you!” she screamed and beat her hands against the dash.

He startled and swore under his breath. The click of her seat belt had him whipping his head around to see what the hell she was doing. “Put it back on, Michelle.”

She ignored him, reaching for her purse with one hand on the door handle.

“Michelle,” he warned, checking his rearview mirror and pulling closer to the curb.

Without a word, her door flew open and she pivoted to get out.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He slammed on the breaks moments before she jumped out and stumbled on her heels to the footpath. “Michelle, get back in the god damn car!”

She bent at the waist, piercing him with her evil stare and gave him the bird. “I’ll walk home so I can ‘get out of your life’ sooner.” She made air quotes with her fingers, then straightened.

“Damn it.” He punched the steering wheel and pulled into a no parking zone. By the time he opened his door and got out, she was already striding into Central Park. “Michelle!”

She didn’t stop, soon disappearing into the fading light.

He turned on the people walking past and glared. “Take a fucking picture,” he snapped and reached back into the car to grab his cell phone. He dialed Michelle’s number, heard the far off sound of her ringtone before she answered.

“I’ll be fine, Blake,” she sniffed, apparently succumbing to another mood swing.

He leaned his elbow against the roof of the car and rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t take much more of this shit. “Don’t be stupid. It’s not safe to be walking alone at night.”

“I’ll walk to 65
^th
and hail a cab. Don’t worry, I’m out of your life now,” her voice was choked. “Bye, Blake.”

The line went dead, and he lowered his head to lean against the cool metal of the car roof. He should be thankful, yet no matter how much of a manipulative, coldhearted bitch Michelle was, he still worried for her safety. His phone buzzed in his hand, and he straightened, hoping she’d changed her mind. Nope. Mitch’s name was on the screen.

“Yeah,” he answered, sliding back into the driver’s seat and placing his cell into the hands free console.

“Are you OK? Where are you?”

Blake checked his mirrors and pulled into traffic. “Michelle just jumped out of my freakin’ car while I was driving and took off through Central Park. I don’t know what the hell to do.”

“Jesus Christ. Is she hurt?”

“No, just fucking crazy.”

“And Gabi? Where’s she?”

Blake pressed his foot down on the accelerator. “I don’t know. I’m hoping she’s still at the Plaza.”