Serving Pleasure (Pleasure Series Book 2) Read online

  Because his family and friends had been so focused on him, he’d had no choice in London. There was no one here, though, to push and prod him into “opening up.”

  “You never told us how the show went,” his mum said.

  “I’m sure you know,” he said. “You do have a Google alert set up on me. I’m not big news here, but it made the art section of at least one paper.”

  His mother cast his father an annoyed look, but Papa shrugged. “I didn’t tell him about the Google alert. You know your sister has a soft spot for the boy.”

  “The alert didn’t tell me how it went for you,” she said, exasperated.

  A vague pang of guilt had him shifting, as if his career was a woman he was cheating on. He had barely thought about the disaster of the show. If his night with Rana hadn’t happened, he would have spent the last week obsessing over his professional failures. He parroted the manager of the gallery. “Not bad. Sold about half of the paintings.” Closer to forty percent, actually.

  He didn’t expect his parents to be any happier with that number than he was. But his mother’s brave, determinedly cheerful smile had him looking away, rubbing at the ache in his chest, grateful they could only see him above the neck. “Well, that’s wonderful.”

  “Good job, son,” Papa trumpeted. “Half is better than zero, eh.”

  All was better than half. The words remained unsaid between them.

  “It’s the venue,” his mother said. “The size of the city. Why, if you had been in London, you would have sold out in ten minutes.”

  He tightened his jaw until it ached. He doubted he would have sold any more paintings even if he had been in London. Because his work wasn’t as good as it used to be. The few sales had certainly been born of pity or curiosity.

  “It’s an important step you took, putting yourself out there like that,” his father said. “We’re so proud of you. Look how far you’ve come in two years.”

  Ah, yes. His old psychologist wasn’t the only one who liked to talk about taking steps.

  Micah tried to banish the disloyal thought. His parents tried. They were so encouraging. He knew he was imagining the subtle thread of impatience they watched him with.

  It’s been two years, Micah, he pictured them thinking. Why aren’t you better? It’s been two years, Micah. You need to be over this by now.

  They’d never think those things, of course. Those were the thoughts in his brain. Perfectionism was his curse. Was it any wonder it was killing him that he couldn’t be perfect in this?

  He shifted. “How’s the family? Aunt Karen?”

  His mother’s face softened. “Very good. You know, I saw Paige the other day…”

  “She’s well, then,” he broke in. He wanted Paige Wilson to be doing okay, but he wasn’t eager to chat about her. He bore his former model no ill will, though it had been her boyfriend who had landed him in critical care.

  Still, it was…difficult to speak of her. Or with her. Micah didn’t often have flashbacks anymore, but sometimes the dark thoughts came and didn’t leave, rendering him unable to function. When that happened, all he could do was replay the parts of that afternoon he could remember, his brain occasionally filling in the blanks with more nightmarish scenarios.

  Better to avoid Paige as much as possible than risk her triggering one of those episodes.

  “She’s doing fine.” His mother smiled. “Such a sweet girl. I gave her your new number.”

  So that was who had called him a couple days ago. He only picked up family members’ calls. If there was a default voicemail set up on the phone, he still hadn’t bothered to check it. “Fine. I’ll call her sometime,” he lied.

  “I think that would be nice, Micah. Your friends do miss you.”

  I know that. The flash of anger dismayed him, as it always did. He’d always been passionate, yes, but never angry. Since he got out of the hospital, he’d had to constantly battle his surging temper. He clenched his hand into a fist and counted to ten slowly in his head, aware his parents were watching him. He refused to take his temper out on the people who loved him. Better to rip into a canvas than rip into his parents. He’d learned something good from all those therapy sessions.

  When he had his emotions under control, he spoke. “Yeah. I know. I want…”

  I want everything to return to the way it was. I want that normal back.

  Sex had never been hard for him. Work had never been difficult for him. Family had never been something he rebelled against.

  Why couldn’t something just be perfect? Why did everything have to be a goddamn issue now?

  Focus on the present, what’s going on right now. It was all well and good for his therapists to say that, yeah? They weren’t a gigantic seething mess right now.

  He shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “So walk us around your new place,” his father said, changing the subject with his usual lack of grace.

  “Uh, maybe some other time,” he hedged. No need for his parents to see how barren his lifestyle was. It would only worry them. He quickly asked about his cousin, who had recently been detained by police on a car-theft charge. That sent his mother on a long rant about her ne’er-do-well brother’s family.

  At the thirty-minute mark exactly—God bless his father and his schedule—they all gave each other strained, worried, loving smiles and hung up.

  He tossed the phone on the couch, cradled his head in his hands and breathed out a slow sigh. He was so tired of talking to people who only looked at him and saw something wrong.

  Rana hadn’t.

  In a burst of motion, he came to his feet and strode over to his window, gripping the sill.

  She hadn’t thought he was messed up. She might have been lying about liking his painting—he was skeptical when so many others were panning his work—but she hadn’t been able to hide the way her body responded to his. She hadn’t been thinking he was broken when she clenched her legs around his head.

  He ran his tongue over his upper lip and the scar there, remembering how she had licked it. Even now, he could swear he still tasted her.

  Long ago, he had liked his women sweet, had liked chasing them and watching them blush. Rana was…intrusive. Bold. Aggressive. Crossing boundaries. Following him. Propositioning him. Leaving her curtains open for him.

  Cute. He leaned against the window, remembering her triumphant face when she had found the condoms in her purse. She was cute and funny, and she made him want to smile when little else did.

  It’d been a one-time thing. He had told her he wasn’t looking for anything more. She’d agreed.

  He glanced back at the couch. Studiously avoiding thinking about her wasn’t working. So for a brief second he allowed himself to indulge, imagining Rana spread out on his couch while he sketched her.

  Mistake.

  The images wouldn’t stop coming once they’d started. Rana, modeling for him. Rana, tumbled on his lonely mattress. Rana, sitting in his kitchen, eating cereal with him.

  On her back, bent over his table, on her knees.

  God, how he wanted her again.

  No one else would do. He wanted her.

  The night he’d spent in her arms had been like a balm to his soul, the most physical intimacy he’d experienced in forever. He had no idea how long he’d been waiting for it.

  He needed that intimacy again. How could it be over?

  He straightened. Perhaps it didn’t have to be. Perhaps he could simply…see her again. They’d agreed on nothing permanent, but talking didn’t mean permanence. He’d happily steal another few minutes in her company.

  He needed to see her. Right now, right this minute. She didn’t make him feel like the man he used to be, but she sure as hell made him feel something.

  As his father had said, half was better than none. Something was better than nothing.

  Chapter 10

  “Rana?”

  Using the office’s small mirror, Rana finished putting on her lipstick. “Y
es, Jyoti?”

  “Um. There’s, um…”

  Rana mentally sighed. The restaurant’s newest hire was a sweetheart and somehow vaguely related to their family, but she was timid as hell. Though Rana tried to rein herself in at work, the other servers were mostly young, and they didn’t mind her occasional F-bomb or her more outrageous skirt lengths. Jyoti made big eyes at her and stammered.

  Rana pressed her lips together and examined the effect of the bright red lipstick. She looked fresh and young, and the poppy went well with her skin. Her date tonight ought to be impressed.

  Briefly, Charlie’s words about makeup slid through her head, but she shook them off. She could change a lot of things about herself, but asking her to go without her favorite colors brightening her face? That was inhumane.

  “Um, Rana?”

  Giving herself one last check in the mirror, Rana heaved a barely perceptible sigh and turned. “Jyoti, if there’s something you need tonight, Leena is going to—” She cut herself off. She’d only turned on the banker’s lamp sitting on Leena’s desk in order to get ready, but the light from the hallway was more than enough for her to see the hulking man standing behind Jyoti.

  His long hair was clubbed back, as usual, his snug white T-shirt and faded jeans displaying the powerful body she’d had on top of her. Under her. Between her legs.

  The body she hadn’t gotten nearly enough of.

  How had he found her? Why was he here? “Whaaaat is happening?” she whispered.

  “Rana? I—I’m so sorry, I told him to wait out front.” Jyoti cast the man a terrified glance.

  “I followed her back here. It’s not her fault,” the mountain man rumbled.

  Shaking herself out of her stupor, she cast Micah an irritated glance. Like she’d blame the girl for his presence? “We only beat our staff on Wednesdays.” Gentling her tone, she directed her words at the waitress. “It’s okay, Jyoti. Thanks for your help. You can go back to your tables now.”

  The girl gave him one last startled look and then scooted away, her black braid swinging.

  “Timid,” Micah remarked, and stepped inside.

  He was so damn big, it was like he sucked up all of the air inside the small office, making it feel so much tinier than it was. “Please,” she managed. “Look at you. Of course you scare her.”

  His face tightened, and he raised his hand to touch the scar on his lip and cheek.

  Oh, that cruel, cruel bastard. Like she needed to recall what that scar tissue had felt like when he’d pressed it against her clit.

  Rana crossed her arms over her chest. She was wearing a thin silk top, and her demi bra wouldn’t hide her perked-up nipples for shit. Come on, body. Don’t betray me now.

  “It’s a good thing she didn’t see me when the scar was fresh, then,” Micah said coolly, and she blinked at him, realizing he wasn’t merely fingering his lips to trigger memories of the most exquisite cunnilingus she had ever received.

  She shook her head, annoyed. “Um, it’s not the scar. You’re like eighteen feet tall, if you didn’t notice, and built like a linebacker.” She frowned. “A linebacker is a football player. Football is, of course, our version of rugby.”

  The corner of his mouth curled in a subtle sneer. “I am well aware of what a linebacker is and understand what you mean when you refer to football, thank you. But your American football players would cry if they ever had to play rugby.” His face softened, and he stopped a couple feet away from her. “You’re looking well.”

  Needing some sort of stabilizing force, Rana stepped over to the desk and leaned against it, all the while keeping her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t trust her damn nipples not to wave at the man. “Thanks. Ah. What are you doing here?”

  A shrug. He avoided her eyes, glancing around the small office. “I wanted to see you. You weren’t home. I assumed you were at work.”

  She pushed aside her excitement and immediate response to the first part of his statement. OMG I’ve been wanting to see you too! Take off your pants.

  Focus. “How did you know where I work?”

  “I…” Was that a flush? “I Googled you.”

  Not a crime, out and out. Hell, she Googled all sorts of people, including every single date she went out with. Except… “You don’t know my last name.”

  He shifted. “I went to your mailbox and looked at your mail.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What? You…you can’t do that! That’s a crime. You committed a federal offense.”

  “I’m ignorant of some American laws, but I believe that I would have had to tamper with your mail in order for it to be a crime.”

  She narrowed her eyes, standing up straighter, filled with righteous indignation. “Regardless. You can’t just, like, look at my mail, Google my name, and then come to my workplace. That crosses so many boundaries—”

  “You spied on me for weeks.”

  Fuck. That took the wind out of her sails. Months. More like months. Um, maybe he didn’t know the extent of her spying. Oops. She opened her mouth. Closed it again. “Well. That’s. That’s…different.”

  “How?” His eyes glinted. “Still a crossing of boundaries, I’d say.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Because I wasn’t stalking you. I was…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, more softly. “Okay, fine. But no more tit for tat, okay? I already apologized for that.”

  He exhaled a long, slow sigh. “I didn’t bring that up to… Fuck me.” He ran his hand over his hair, the motion making the muscle in his biceps jump.

  She bet the sales rep she was going out with tonight didn’t have biceps like that. Sad face.

  “I didn’t Google you to get back at you for something you did. I did it because I wanted to see you, and I didn’t want to wait until you were home.”

  Surely it was the light in the office that made it seem like he was flushing.

  Ahh, no. It wasn’t the light. God damn, but he was so stinkin’ cute.

  She tried to school her face so she wasn’t simply staring at him in glee. “Why did you want to see me so urgently?”

  He opened his mouth, but she raised her finger, the click of high heels distracting her. The restrooms were down this hall, and while the restaurant was currently slow, she didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone, not when this new turn of events was so utterly fascinating. She crossed over to the door and shut it, then turned around, holding the doorknob in her hand. Not because she wanted an escape route—she felt no fear with this man—but she needed something to keep her tethered to reality. “Sorry. Now, what was so urgent?”

  He rubbed his fingers together. They were stained black under the nails. Charcoal, or maybe pen. She imagined him not taking the time to scrub his nails thoroughly before hunting her down.

  Heart. Melting.

  His lashes shielded his dark eyes. “It was silly now. I see that. I should have waited.”

  “Nope.” She pressed her shoulders against the door when he took a step toward her, as if he was going to leave. If he wanted to get through the exit, he would have to ram through her. “You broke a federal law and came all the way down here. You don’t get to leave without telling me why.”

  He walked toward her until his chest was a few inches from hers. She wanted to breathe harder so her nipples could brush against him.

  Damn. She’d had sex with this man? Go her.

  “Why aren’t you scared of me?”

  She blinked at the question coming out of left field. “Um, I’m not scared of any man.”

  He shifted closer. This time her nipples did brush his chest. Her breath hitched in her throat.

  “No?”

  “N-nope.” She cleared her throat. “Men are easy. Simple creatures. Uncomplicated.”

  His lashes fell to half-mast. “Uncomplicated.”

  “Yup.” The back of his hand brushed over her belly, and she tightened her abdominal muscles.

  “Hmm.” A
nother stroke of his hand. “Is this what you wear as hostess here?”

  If there had been a hint of condemnation in his tone, she would have verbally smacked him, but she heard only interest. She glanced down at the tight dark jeans and bright purple tank top. “No. I have a date.”

  She looked up in time to catch a flicker of…huh. Was that anger tightening his expression? He stepped away immediately, putting a few feet of distance between them. “You said you weren’t with that man.”

  It was hard to remember the face of any other man when this guy was in front of her. “Charlie? I’m not. This is someone else.”

  His nostrils flared. “You’re certainly popular.”

  “I am indeed,” she said lightly, though annoyance and disappointment stirred. Ugh. Save her from men who couldn’t handle a girl seeing more than one man in her lifetime.

  She’d hoped he was different, though God knew why. It wasn’t like she nurtured hopes that they could have some sort of relationship. “Do you want to see my little black book? It’s pretty thick.”

  His lips twisted. “How long have you been with tonight’s man?”

  She rested her hands on her hips, growing displeased with his moody tone. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  “I asked you if you were involved with anyone before we slept together. That was important to me.”

  “And I told you I wasn’t,” she snapped. “I wasn’t lying. So put two and two together, genius.”

  The silence in the room was heavy with tension, but she could see the instant he realized what she was saying. His shoulders relaxed. “You weren’t with this man then. This is another first date.”

  “Ding, ding, ding.”

  His throat worked as he swallowed. “I…apologize. I was out of line. It’s none of my business who you see now.”

  “Damn right.”

  “I have some…issues related to getting involved with women who are already in relationships.”

  “Well, don’t take your issues out on me.”

  He winced. “Yes. Apologies.”

  Rana pursed her lips. She could make him squirm some more, but he did sound remorseful. She’d let it go, she supposed. For now. “Fine. Are you going to tell me about what brings you here?”