RISE - Part One (The RISE Series Book 1) Read online

  "You wanted me that night." He gestures towards my body. "Tell me you still want me now."

  "More now than I did then," I whisper, my lips hovering next to his.

  His eyes close briefly as a faint smile flows across his mouth. "That's all I need to hear."

  I lick my lips and before I have time to register what's happening, his hands slide up to my face. He cups my cheeks in his palms, tilts my head slightly to the left and slides his moist, soft lips over mine.

  Chapter 8

  He groans into my mouth as his hands glide from my face to my body. His kiss is experienced and gentle with just the right amount of tamed aggression. It pulls all of my desire to the surface in an instant.

  I can't stop myself when my hands jump to his neck. I pull him closer wanting to deepen the kiss. He acquiesces and before I can register what's happening, his hand is on my back, inching lower. I curve myself into him, wanting my body to speak to his about the uncontainable want I feel.

  "Tess," he whispers my name against my lips. "Tell me you want me to fuck you."

  Forming a coherent response isn't going to happen. I tighten my grip on the back of his head and push my lips deeper into his. I want my need to speak for itself. I curve my body into his, acutely aware of the firm outline of his rock hard chest and abs against me.

  He spins me around with an effortless ease that literally causes my breath to catch in my throat. I'm now pushed against the back of a leather couch, my ass planted firmly against it while he presses his entire body into mine.

  I reach back to try and find some balance. I feel so lightheaded that I fear I'll fall forward into him. He catches my hand in his, pulling it into his chest. I want to slide it lower. I want to wrap my hand around the erection I now feel through the denim of his jeans. I want to drop to my knees and take him between my lips so I can hear the sounds he makes when he's finding his release. I want to taste him. I want to give him pleasure because I know, based just on the way he's kissing me, that he'll take me to a place that I've never been before.

  "Jesus, please." His voice falls into the heated flesh of my neck as he drops his face. "Tess."

  I don't want him to stop. I don't want there to be a moment of hesitation because if there is, this uncontrollable desire that we're both feeling will fade and he may realize that he's making out with a woman who is almost an entire decade younger than him.

  I've seen the hesitation in his eyes when he's spoken to me. I heard it in his voice when he excused himself for the evening after my father called me at the restaurant. I want to have the chance to show him that even if I was born years after he was, that I know how to bring a man to the edge and hold him there. I know how to move my body so his feels the same height of pleasure that mine does.

  He pulls back and as his heavy lidded eyes lock on mine I sense something pass between us. His lips part not more than a touch before the words leave him in a breathless rush. "I have to stop."

  "Why?" I ask in a blunt tone.

  He rests his forehead against mine as he works to level his labored breathing. His lips curve into a small smile. "I'm trying to be responsible here. Let me do that for you."

  I can't absorb the words. All I can do is think about how soft his lips are and how aroused we both were when he was kissing me with a fevered need that I hadn't felt from any man before.

  "You don't have to be responsible," I say quietly. "I know what I'm doing."

  He shakes his head so slightly that the movement itself is almost indistinguishable. The heavy sigh that accompanies it says much more to me. "I want to talk first. I want to understand."

  He wants to understand?

  I know he wants to understand about the man who wrote me that romantic proposal. He wants to understand how so much emotion can suddenly disappear. He wants to have insight into a relationship that was once beautiful and secure but has now broken into so many pieces that all the apologizes, and promised changes in the world can't put it back together again.

  I pull back because I know that anything that may have happened between us has now passed. Kissing him again will only provide a temporary reprieve from his curiosity.

  He's older than me and maybe as our hearts move through time and each year takes their toll we need to understand others more. I'm tempted to tell him that it's none of his business but judging by the way his body reacted to our kiss, he wants it be his business.

  "You want to talk about him, don't you?" I purse my lips together before I spit out the question in a huff. "You want to know about the man who wrote that letter to me."

  He nods before scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I can't fuck a woman who is in a relationship with someone else. I need to understand before we…"

  "Before we have sex?" I interrupt, vaguely aware of how needy my tone is.

  He doesn’t try and mask the movement of his eyes as they rake slowly over my body hidden beneath the navy blue wrap dress I chose to wear to my meeting with Gabriel. My nipples are hard and their shape is shamelessly visible through the fabric. I'm wet and although he can't see or feel it, I know he can sense it. I wasn't trying to quiet my desire for him at all when he had me pushed against the couch just mere moments ago.

  "I know that relationships can be complicated," he begins as he rubs his hand over his jaw. "People sometimes cheat or lie to get what they want."

  I don't know the pain that comes with the level of betrayal. My broken relationship didn't fall apart because one of us was unfaithful or hiding behind a life-changing secret. His other love was fame and as he became more and more infatuated with his own notoriety, I became nothing more than an accoutrement. I would fly to London, Milan, San Francisco or wherever he was and hide in the shadowed background away from the harsh glare of the public, while he'd tell me stories about the lengths people would go to in order to be near him.

  My ex-boyfriend may be successful on paper and within the limits that many set for themselves, but he was a disappointment to me. When push came to shove and I needed him here in New York, he bailed in favor of a ski trip in Aspen with his friends.

  "Did someone cheat on you?" I try to straighten my dress, pulling on the belt around my waist to tighten it.

  "No. At least not that I know of." He swallows hard. "I've seen other people lie to each other. I've seen people hurt one another. "

  "I'm not cheating on him. I never cheated on Ansel." I stop myself when I hear his name from my lips. I haven't said it aloud to another person since I told my father that my relationship with my college sweetheart had ended.

  He rakes both of his hands through his hair. "Did he cheat on you? Is that why you won't marry him?"

  The question makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I don't want to talk about my former boyfriend with a man I may only sleep with once. This conversation is too heady and thick for the promise of a moment of pleasure. Landon Beckett doesn't strike me as the type of person who is actively looking for a relationship. I don't picture his smiling profile on a dating website. This is a man whose entire persona screams one night stands and short term relationships.

  I adjust my hair over my shoulders. I had taken time and care this morning to straighten it for my meeting with Gabriel. I wanted to look mature and in control. Ironically I feel none of that right now. "I don't see why my ex-boyfriend should factor into anything between us, Landon. What we had is over. It's done."

  "How is it done?" He eyes me carefully. "Ansel Rinaldi wrote that letter to you didn't he?"

  Fuck. Just fuck.

  Chapter 9

  There's this strange phenomena that has gripped our world today. Back when my parents were my age, celebrities were mysterious oddities. They'd appear in movies, on television or their voice would flow through the radio or fill the room when you played one of their songs. No one followed them on social media. Any television segments or newspaper articles devoted to them generally focused on their latest, and greatest, career achievement.

  It's d
ifferent now. Celebrities, or people who are celebrating their fifteen minutes of fame, interact with the people who have placed them high on their pedestals. They are more accessible now and because of that, they can steer their image directly towards the perceived persona that they want the rest of the world to see. That's exactly what Ansel Rinaldi has done.

  "It's him, isn't it?" Landon taps me on the shoulder as if that simple gesture is going to dislodge something within me and everything that has been held back will come flowing out.

  "Yes. I dated him." I nod. "We met in school."

  His mouth twitches. "He's killing it right now, Tess."

  I shouldn't find humor in that statement but I do. Landon doesn't strike me as the type of man who would know who Ansel Rinaldi is. Ansel's core fan base is teenage girls. "You actually know who he is?"

  "No," he snaps, a scowl taking over his face. "I mean, I didn't know who he was until Gianna clued me in when I spoke to her yesterday."

  I can't tell if I'm more surprised by the fact that Gianna knows who Ansel is or the fact that Landon cares. "Who he is doesn't matter at all. It's over."

  He edges forward until his leg is touching mine. "He's filling venues for concerts. His music is selling like crazy right now and you're telling me it's over?"

  I'm mildly offended by the assumption that Ansel's success would somehow impact my desire to marry him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

  The question immediately catches him off guard. His hands fist in front of him. "I don't want us to get involved if there's a chance he's going to pop back into the picture."

  The chances of Ansel and I getting back together are about the same as the chance of me having sex with Landon Beckett today. "I've told you that it's over. I mean that."

  "He's in love with you, Tess." He looks down at my left hand. "I read that letter. He wants to marry you."

  He read the disjointed offering of a man who panicked when he feared that I'd reveal one of his secrets to his devoted fans. It was a bribe, pure and simple. It wasn't based in love or the desire to build a life with me. I hadn't even seen him in the four months before he asked me to meet him in Milan. Ansel Rinaldi loves himself and he'll do anything he can to protect his precious image.

  "Landon," I say his name calmly as I push past him. "I thought you brought me here to fuck me. I was hoping you brought me here for that."

  I stop when I realize how brazen those words sound. It's what I'm feeling and trying to temper that right now seems unnecessary given the fact that we're wedged in the middle of a conversation about my ex-boyfriend with no ending in sight.

  "You're very attractive." I stare up and into his face. "I thought we could have some fun but you're stuck on who my ex is, and I'm trying to put my past in the past, so I'm going to take off."

  "I like you, Tess." His hand reaches for my elbow, stalling me mid-step. "I don't want you to go."

  Of course he doesn't. He's probably got another hundred questions related to Ansel lined up. "I'm not going to stay."

  "Why not?" he asks genuinely, his jaw tightening. "I'm just trying to understand what happened between you and your ex."

  "Honestly," I begin before I stop to rest my hand on my stomach as I pull in a heavy breath. "Honestly, it's none of your business. He's part of my past. The relationship has been over for a long time. Besides, I don't generally tell the men I casually sleep with about my ex."

  He can't contain the small smile that courses over his lips. "The men you casually sleep with?"

  "I don't care about your past girlfriends, or lovers or even your ex-wife if you have one." I turn to face him directly. "I didn't come here to find out about any of that."

  "What did you come here for?" There's absolutely no mistaking the challenge in his voice.

  I want to say it. My body needs to say it. I want him. I want him to take me to his bed and fuck me into tomorrow. I want to forget that he read that letter. I want to forget that he knows that Ansel exists, but I'm not about to give him that satisfaction. "I came here for lunch."

  His entire face shifts as he throws his head back in raucous laughter. "Lunch it is then."

  Chapter 10

  "Why didn't you tell Gabriel about this when you saw him earlier?" He motions towards my smartphone with the fork he's holding between his fingers. "You should have told him."

  After Landon had prepared a spring lettuce, cranberry and feta cheese salad, we'd settled into a conversation about my work. I had explained, with no shortage of details, my plan for the opening of the Liore boutique in Los Angeles.

  He may not be a fashion expert, but he's a close friend of Gabriel's and if I can impress him that will hopefully translate into him singing my praises the next time he's in the offices of Foster Enterprises.

  "Were you on your way to see him when we bumped into each other?" I ask before I take another drink from the glass of white wine he poured for me.

  He nods as he chews. He swallows hard, his eyes never leaving mine. "I told him I'd stop by. We don't see each other a lot anymore."

  It's a perfect segue into a conversation focused solely on him. "Have you known Gabriel a long time?"

  "Years," he says gruffly. "He's a good guy."

  I realize that he's not going to drop any breadcrumbs to lead me along so I'll need to push to know more. "When did you meet?"

  His brow cocks and I can sense that he's trying to mask the surprise that he feels. He looks down at his almost empty plate before he places the fork on the table. "I met Gabriel the day of the accident."

  I'm not a mind reader. I haven't done any research into Landon's past because I've frankly been too focused on my career. He was a nice distraction at the fashion show. He had crossed my mind more times than I want to admit and when I stepped into his path at the deli I assumed it was fate. That assumption and my hope were both lost when he bolted after my father's incessant calls at the restaurant. Now, as I sit here, I realize that he's carrying his own demons.

  "What accident?" I try not to sound insensitive.

  He finishes the wine in his glass in one large gulp. His hands fold together on the table and just as his eyes catch mine, his lips part as he heaves a deep breath. "We were on vacation. My father took me out fishing and there was an accident."

  I rub my hand over my brow. If I thought he was prying when he was asking me pointed questions about Ansel, I couldn't have predicted how my own curiosity would be yearning now, to know more. I'm going to ask the obvious question even though I fully expect he'll be the one telling me it's none of my business. "What happened?"

  "We weren't experienced." Something in his voice shifts. "It was a small rented boat. My father moved too quickly and the boat rolled."

  I can't imagine the panic that must overtake a person when they are thrust into the water like that. I'm an avid swimmer and fortunately, when I was a child, my parents insisted that my siblings and I all took swimming lessons. It may not save me if I'm ever in the same position as Landon was, but it gave my parents the peace of mind in knowing that we'd all have a fighting chance if our lives depended on it.

  "Neither of us thought to put on a life jacket." He studies my face. I can't tell if he's looking for a specific reaction or not but I'm mesmerized by each word he's sharing and I doubt that my expression is hiding any of that.

  "He couldn't swim?" I pull on the bottom of the wine glass, bringing it closer to me.

  "No." His eyes close briefly. "I held onto his hand for as long as I could but it was so much. At some point he put his wedding ring on my finger before he was swept away."

  I want to ask questions but those answers don't matter. Finding out exactly how old he was that day won't change the facts. It's not going to alter the course of history if I carry the knowledge of how he survived and his father didn’t. The only thing that does matter is that I can sense from the sorrow in his voice and the way he's carrying the guilt with him that it's a loss that has touched him at his core.

 
"Gabriel and his brothers were in another boat. They saw me clinging to the bottom of our boat after it capsized."

  It's a horrible way to meet someone who will become one of your closest friends in life but maybe that's why their connection is as strong as it seems to be. "They saved you?"

  "Gabriel and his brother, Caleb, dived in the water. They searched for my father." His voice cracks slightly as he continues. "Their younger brother, Asher, called for help."

  I don't have to ask if it was too late. "I'm so sorry."

  "I held onto that boat for hours I think." His eyes dart around the room, finally focusing on a framed picture of a man with two teenage boys. It is obvious one is Landon when he was younger. The other bears a resemblance to him. It has to be his brother.

  "They took me to the hospital. My brother and mother came. It was the worst day of my life."

  I reach forward to cover his hand with mine. His head shifts slightly as he scoops my hand in his, weaving his fingers between my own.

  "I can't imagine losing my dad." I cringe as I hear the words leave my lips. They sound much more insensitive than I mean for them to. My father is essentially the person I rely on most in the world and the thought of waking up one day, without him, is terrifying to me.

  "I hope you won't experience it for years, Tess." He pulls our hands to his face, sweeping his lips over my palm. "It's hell. Everything changed after that day."

  Chapter 11

  "Lunch was delicious." I turn to where he's standing next to me on the crowded street. It's mid-afternoon in Manhattan and that means that finding a quiet spot to thank him properly for not only the delicious salad, but the meaningful conversation, is impossible.