Chapter 17: Mr Garcia: Chapter 17

I stare at him, the way the shadow is throwing off the lamp, I can only partially see his face. I run my fingers through his stubble as I try to think of the right thing to say.

What do you even say to that?

“For how long?” I whisper.

“A long time.”

“Since you were married?”

“Around then.”

I remember Helena that day in my office, and contempt fills my every pore.

What the fuck did she do to him?

His face stays solemn and, not sure what to do, I offer him a crooked smile.

“Have you sought any treatment?” I ask.

“Like a quack?”

“A psychologist.”

“They can’t help me.”

“Who have you talked to about this?”

“Nobody.”

“Not even your friends?” I frown.

“No.”

A trace of a smile crosses my face.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because you told me. That must mean something, right?”

His brow furrows, like he’s contemplating my question.

I trace a circle with my fingertip on the sheet below me as I think. “So, what you’re saying is that not all women you’re physically attracted to do it for you?”

“No,” he replies without hesitation.

A million things fly through my mind, none of them making sense. “And Cartier does?”

His jaw ticks. “Yes.”

I nod.

“But I don’t want Cartier.”

“Who do you want?”

“You.”

I lean in and kiss him softly. This is fucked up, so God knows why I feel relieved.

We stare at each other for a while, and then I ask, “What would happen if I wanted you to make love to me?”

He blinks, and his face twists with a frown.

I give him a moment to reply, and when he doesn’t, I answer for him. “Your body wouldn’t co-operate?”

“It’s not my body that’s the problem. The attraction for me is lost.”

I nod as I begin to understand.

His face is solemn. He looks so beaten down. I lean in and kiss him. “Thank you for telling me.” I hold him close, and I can almost feel his pain through our hug. “This is not so bad. This is okay. We can work with this, Seb,” I whisper.

“How?”

“Well,” I trace my finger down his nose. “We just take it day by day.”

His eyes hold mine.

“And when you need April to be your girlfriend and to kiss and cuddle and hang out with you, she’s here.”

“And when I need Cartier?”

“She’s here, too.”

His eyes search mine. “Why would you do that?”

I roll over onto my back. “Because I get it. I can’t judge. I have my own demons.”

He leans up onto his elbow. “Like what?”

I stare up at the ceiling. “How long have you got?”

He smiles, encouraging me to go on.

“Well, I can’t get close to anyone, for seven years now. I compartmentalize sex. I can’t go home to live in America because it reminds me of him and how hard he broke me, even though all of my family and friends are there. I have a wonderful man who I’ve been sleeping with for four years who loves me and wants marriage and babies, yet I can’t think of anything worse. I broke it off with him without one single regret or afterthought. How cold can one person be? And now, to top it all off, I think I’ve fallen for someone who is in the public eye, and I work for him, so we can never date publicly… and I think he’s just as fucked up as I am.”

He smiles and pinches the bridge of his nose. Hearing our situation out loud really is comical.

“So, yeah, I can handle your demons.” I smile. “I’m not sure if you can handle mine.”

“Me neither.” He smirks. “You do sound pretty fucked up.”

I laugh out loud, and it’s cathartic. He laughs, too.

After a while, we fall serious.

“Seb.”

“Yeah.”

“Promise me something.”

“What?”

“Can you keep me in the loop?”

He frowns.

“I can deal with anything you throw my way.” Maybe this is too heavy to say now but I need to verbalize it. “But if you want another girl, or if you need another woman, prostitute… whatever you want to call it… it’s okay. I’m telling you that it’s okay if you need someone else. I completely understand. But, you need to tell me beforehand so that I can walk away with my self-respect. If I’m going to do this, I deserve to know where your head is at. And I promise you there will be no judgement or hard feelings. I understand that sometimes…” I pause as I try to articulate what I want to say. “Sometimes the demons are so bad, you need a new weapon.”

His face falls, and I know that he understands what I’m saying. I’ve been there. I’ve bounced between men, looking for that elusive magic pill that’s going to stop the pain.

I lean in and kiss him softly. “That’s the only condition I have on our relationship going forward.”

“Okay,” he whispers and after a moment he adds. “You have my word.”

“Seb.” I frown.

“What?”

“How come you told me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… you didn’t need to tell me this. You could have just played along, and I would never have known.”

“I thought I…” His voice trails off.

“Thought what?”

“I thought I owed you the truth and…” My eyes hold his. “You make me want to be better, April,” he whispers. “To get better.”

I smile softly as our lips meet, and my entire heart constricts.

This beautiful man.

I push the hair back from his forehead as we stare at each other. “You know, Sebastian, I happen to like you how you are.”

He kisses me softly. “That’s just because you’re fucked up.”

I giggle. “Maybe.”

He takes me into his arms and holds me tightly. He kisses my forehead before he rolls me away from him and spoons me from behind. For the first time since we met, there’s no sexual tension between us. We’re just two people lying in bed together, ready to go to sleep.

I can’t help but feel that maybe we just entered the friend zone, and there will be no turning back from here. A sadness begins to sink deep into my bones, and I really don’t know what will happen between us going forward.

I feel so close to him, yet miles away.

It’s like his admission just put him into a precious glass box and I’m unsure of its strength—of what will make it crack. I’m not sure what to say to make it better. I’m not sure if I even want to know what he just told me.

And what does this mean for my heart? Because he’s the first man since my husband that I have deep feelings for, too. Oh, the irony.

Life’s a fucking bitch.

We both lie in the silence, lost in our own regretful thoughts.

My mind goes over the hurt that he must have suffered to have been affected so deeply. I think about him going through this all alone for so many years, and my heart constricts.

I fucking hate her.

Like a force from above, I feel my protective instincts infiltrate my body.

Sebastian kisses my temple, and I melt into his arms.

I adore this man.

I’ve got your back, baby. You can lean on me.

I hear him open the connecting door into his room and pulling it closed behind him.

Waking up like this is lonely.

There’s no good morning kiss. No sweet cuddles.

After the nights are filled with so much emotion, the mornings feel exceptionally cold.

Maybe he thought I was asleep and was trying not to disturb me.

I get up, put on my robe and go to the bathroom, and once done, I flick the kettle on. After everything that came to light last night, I wonder what happens next.

Do I push him or do I leave him alone?

I stare at the door between our rooms as I try to make my decision.

Fucks sake, why can’t I just be like a normal guy for once? A normal, boring guy who is really normal and really boring.

That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? It had to be a high-powered politician who has a 747 full of emotional fucking baggage.

Ugh, this is just my luck.

I go over his words from last night. You make me want to be better. To get better.

He told me for a reason. He wants me to try.

I drop my shoulders as I steel myself. Okay, let’s do this.

I make two cups of coffee before I open the door and walk into his room with them in hand.

He glances up. He’s freshly showered, wearing navy trouser pants and his pale blue shirt, which is still open as he does up the buttons. I can see the ripples in his tanned torso.

My insides clench, he’s one hell of a specimen. “Morning.” I smile.

“Hi.” He glances up briefly as he does up his shirt. His eyes drop back down to his task.

“I made you coffee.”

“Thanks. Just put it on the counter.” He walks over to his wardrobe, takes out his tie and begins to tie it.

I drop to sit on his bed, unsure of what to say. “Busy day?” I ask.

“Yes.” He throws his tie over his shoulder and walks into the bathroom in a rush.

I twist my fingers in my lap. I can hear him brushing his teeth.

Okay, so this isn’t ideal.

I look around his room, wondering what to do.

He walks back out and begins to pack his computer into his laptop bag. He seems annoyed.

“About last night,” I say. “Can we talk about it?”

“Nothing to talk about.” He collects papers from his desk. “Just forget what I said last night. I’d been drinking.”

I frown. No, he hadn’t. “What?”

“Just fucking drop it, April.”

I stare at him, and I know that he’s angry that he told me—that he revealed his weakness.

“You don’t have to be a dick,” I say.

“And you don’t have to be dramatic and whiny at 7:00 a.m. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m getting ready for work.”

I stand up in a rush. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Can I have some fucking peace around here?”

I pick up his cup of coffee. “I’m taking my coffee back. You don’t deserve it.”

“I didn’t ask for it in the first place. I’m well aware that your coffee making skills are less than mediocre.”

I get a vision of myself pouring it over his head.

“Goodbye, Sebastian.” I walk back toward my room. “Have a nice day, dear.” I smile sweetly.

“Don’t give me that condescending fucking tone, April,” he growls. “I’m not in the mood for your shit today.”

I turn to stare at him in the doorway, trying to understand what’s happening right now.

He wants a fight. He’s goading me. He wants me to push him away.

This is him being fucked up.

Hell.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it.

Without saying a word, I let the connecting door shut behind me, and I walk into my bathroom to turn the shower on. Moments later, I hear his door slam. He’s gone.

I get under the hot water as the adrenaline pumps through my body. Maybe I want to fight, too.

Asshole.

“I don’t care what it takes. Find a way,” Sebastian growls before marching off.

“Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with him today?” Bart sighs.

I widen my eyes as I stare at the computer screen in front of me.

If only you knew.

We’ve just finished lunch at our hotel, and we are about to hit the road again.

After this morning’s hour-long drilling at his press conference, Sebastian wants Gerhard taken off of all political reporting. The thing is, we can’t control who the media choose for their stories, and neither can he. Sebastian knows that, too, but today he has decided that he can. And who are we mere lawyers to know anything about the law?

Sebastian has been in a mood all day, snapping and snarling at anyone who dares to challenge his opinion, which has been a lot of people. The last press conference tipped him over the edge, and now he’s in full rage mode.

“Kellan,” we hear him snap as he walks toward the elevator. “I don’t have all day.”

“I’m coming,” she mutters, rushing after him to make it to the elevator.

I bite my lip to hide my smile.

I hate to admit it, but I do love that he’s being a prick to her as well.

He steps into the elevator and turns to face the doors. His eyes meet mine, and he remains emotionless as we stare at each other.

The doors close.

“What the hell got under his skin today?” Max says from behind us.

I smirk as I go back to my work.

That would be me.

It’s late—around 10:00 p.m. We didn’t get back to the hotel until two hours ago, and then we had dinner in the restaurant. Everyone is now having drinks in the bar and trying to relax before retiring to bed for another full-on day tomorrow.

Sebastian is sitting in the armchair by the fire with a scotch and a cigar. His legs are wide, and his demeanor is all male. From my place at the bar, I watch him lift the cigar to his lips, inhale, and then blow out a thin stream of smoke. He’s deep in conversation with four men, and in the ultimate act of fucked-up-ness, I want him.

Him raging around today, snapping and snarling at everything that moved has awoken my libido, taking it to fever pitch.

I want him to release all that anger on my body.

I want him to punish me for upsetting him.

I take out my phone and text him.

Will you be paying cash or card tonight, sir?

I see him dig his phone out of his pocket and read the text. His eyebrow rises, and he slowly sips his scotch.

Cash

I reply.

Your date will be waiting in the suite for you in thirty minutes.

His tongue darts out and in slow motion it sweeps over his bottom lip. His eyes rise to meet mine, and he gives me the best ‘come fuck me’ look I’ve ever seen.

It’s dark, dangerous, and hot as fucking hell.

I’m going to get it.

Nerves dance in my stomach. Another text from Sebastian comes through.

I’ll have a full service. And make that ten minutes.

I drain my glass, and without looking up, I stand and leave. I need a two-minute shower, six minutes to prepare myself, and then another two minutes spare to freak out. I really should be more clued up on hooker talk before I make a booking.

Full service. What the hell does that mean?

I’m sitting on the end of the bed, freshly showered, wearing the hotel’s oversized, white bath robe.

I drag my hand down my face, wondering what the hell I’m doing.

Every fiber inside of me is screaming that this is wrong, and yet, like a sacrificial lamb, I sit here waiting for him to come and pay me for sex.

Sebastian Garcia is all kinds of fucked up. He doesn’t want sex unless it’s with a prostitute.

And what does it say about me that I’ll take his money?

I’d take his last damn cent if it means I get to hold him for the night.

I’ve never been so disgusted with myself in my life. Why does it have to be him?

Why can’t I feel this way about Duke?

I drop my head into my hands, pre-empting the regret.

I already know how this story ends, and it isn’t good. This isn’t going to be one of those happy love stories where everything gets tied up in a little red bow at the end.

I imagine myself crying on the floor, broken.

Again.

My mind takes me back to the last time we were together and how hard and fast I fell. How badly it ended.

I should know better. I do know better.

I hear the door in Sebastian’s room shut, and I close my eyes.

He’s here.

My heart begins to beat faster. Just knowing he’s near sends my adrenaline into overdrive.

This is messed up.

I’m as bad as he is.

Maybe worse.

I stand and put my ear to the adjoining door. I can hear the shower turn on in his bathroom. He’s showering.

For me.

I push my fingers into my eye sockets as I try to calm myself down.

Shit.

I rush and take out the bottle of champagne from the fridge and pour myself a glass. I down it in one go. I pour another glass so fast that it sloshes over the sides, and I lift it to my mouth with a shaky hand.

Calm down.

What is it about Sebastian Garcia that affects me so much?

I tip my head back and drain the glass again.

Fuck.

I refill my glass and sit down on the bed. Act cool.

There’s a knock on the door, and I close my eyes. Here we go.

“Come in,” I call.

The adjoining room door opens, and there he stands. Dark hair, olive skin, big red lips, and in the same hotel robe that I’m wearing.

His eyes find mine. “Hello.” His voice is cool, detached.

Nerves flutter in my stomach, “Hi.”

He lifts his chin in approval. I know he can tell that I’m nervous, and he likes it.

“Can I come in?”

I gesture to the room with my hand. “Please.”

He walks in and closes the door behind him. He stands at the end of the bed. His hands are in the pockets of his robe. “What are we drinking?”

I frown, because suddenly there are no words in my brain. “Champagne.”

His dark eyes hold mine, waiting.

“Would you like some?”

“Yes.” He stays still on the spot.

I pour him a glass and pass it to him.

“Thank you.” He takes it from me, and with his dark eyes holding mine, he lifts it to his lips and slowly sips. Then he licks his lips.

“So, Cartier…” Fuck. “What do you have in store for me tonight?”

I frown, confused.

Huh?

“I want to know what I’m getting for my money.” His voice is deep and husky. I glance down to see his large erection tenting his gown.

Dirty bastard.

“This is my first job, sir,” I whisper, playing along. “You are my first client.”

Arousal dances like fire in his eyes, and he dusts my bottom lip with his thumb.

“Take it off.”

I frown.

“I said, take it off,” he demands.

I slowly untie my robe and open it. His eyes drop down my body.

“Drop it.”

I pull it back over my shoulders and let it fall. It pools around my feet.

His eyes drop to drink me in, and he gives a slow, satisfied smile. “Better.”

He reaches out and cups my breast. His thumb dusts back and forth over my erect nipple, and his eyes meet mine.

“Are you nervous?” he asks.

I nod.

“Don’t be.” He cups my face in his hand and leans in to slowly kiss me. His tongue sweeps through my parted lips as my feet float from the floor. “I’ll look after you,” he whispers.

Will you?

He kisses me again, this time deeper, and my eyes close in reverence.

My body covered in goosebumps. If this is our last night together, I’m going to make it count.

“How can I please you?” I whisper up at him.

“By breathing.”

My eyes search his.

Why say romantic things if you don’t mean them?

It’s easier when he’s hard and fast. At least then it’s only about sex and orgasms—an equal exchange of power. That, I can handle.

This, I’m not so sure about.

He grips my hair with both hands as he kisses me harder this time, and my face screws up against his.

The emotion between us is a tangible force.

I don’t even need sex. Him standing here and kissing me like this is enough.

His lips drop to my bare shoulder, and he walks around behind me.

He lifts one of my legs to sit up on the ottoman at the end of the bed. With his lips on my neck and his teeth in my skin, his hand dusts between my legs. He parts me with his fingers.

Goosebumps scatter all over again.

He bites my neck hard as he slides his fingers through my wet flesh. Our arousal is pumping hard between us, bouncing off each other like a rubber ball.

I can feel how much he wants me. He’s aching for it.

So am I.

He kisses me over my shoulder as he slides in two fingers, his other hand cupping my breast.

He works me, and then slides another finger in. Damn… the burn of three thick, strong fingers fucking me is hot and addictive. The sound of my wet arousal hangs in the air.

Instincts take over, and I lift my leg higher. I want more.

Deeper, thicker, longer.

He gets rougher, both with his teeth on my neck and his fingers. I know we are both close to coming, and he isn’t even inside me yet.

“Sebastian,” I whimper.

His lips take mine as I slide my hand under his robe and stroke his thick cock. It’s dripping with pre-ejaculate.

Fuck.

My eyes roll back. He feels so good.

I grip him hard, and he hisses. Our kiss becomes frantic, and I jerk him almost violently.

He shudders.

I smile against him as he loses control. In one swift movement, he bends me over the bed and onto my knees before he slams in hard.

I moan deep.

He repositions my hips and pushes my back down toward the mattress. “Drop your shoulders.”

I do as I’m told, opening myself completely to him. He spreads my lips with his fingers.

Then he’s riding me, hard and unapologetically. The sound of our skin slapping together echoes around the room, and I glance up into the mirror in front of us. He’s naked now. When did he take his robe off?

His olive skin glistens with a glow of perspiration, but it’s the look of sheer ecstasy on his face that makes me lose my head.

“Give it to me,” I moan.

He slaps me hard, and I cry out as my body contracts around him, the orgasm so strong it steals my breath.

“Fuck,” he growls. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He holds himself deep, and I feel the telling jerk of his cock deep inside of me.

I shudder as the aftermaths take over me, and he falls down over the top of me as we both gasp for air.

Then there’s silence.

Say something.

I close my eyes against the sheet beneath me, overwhelmed with emotion.

Please say something. Anything.

The soft moan from beside me wakens me, April is in my arms.

I stiffen and ease back, and April instinctively rolls toward me to snuggle in tight. She’s warm, soft, and vulnerable.

She’s everything that I’m not.

My polar opposite, and yet she’s the same.

I listen to her regulated breathing as I lie and stare up at the ceiling. With every inhale of her breath, my chest tightens a little more.

The attachment I feel to her isn’t healthy for either one of us.

But it’s so nice lying here with her. Five more minutes won’t hurt.

I close my eyes to try and force myself to relax.

In, out…in, out…in, out.

I repeat the breathing mantra in my head to try and calm myself but it’s hopeless.

My heart begins to hammer as an uncontrollable panic takes over. It starts at my toes, and like a tidal wave, I feel it rise up and over me.

I close my eyes to chase the demons away.

Stop it.

The sound of my pulse beats loudly in my ears.

The tightening of my chest.

The lack of air in my lungs.

I can’t stand it any longer.

Waking up with April Bennet starts my day with a panic attack. The kind that’s unforgiving and makes me feel like shit.

I hate that I can’t wake up with her.

I hate that I’m so fucked up.

I slide out of bed and gather my clothes together before I carefully open the adjoining door to my room. I take out my wallet and hold it in my hand, I need to pay her. I stare down at the cash in my hand.

What am I doing?

Uncontrollable panic sets in.

I carefully open the adjoining door to my room. I’m as quiet as I can be, because there’s only one thing worse than sneaking out of April’s room in the morning to do the walk of shame, and that’s her waking up and me having to explain myself.

Because I can’t.

What could I possibly say that makes this okay?

I take one last look at the beautiful woman sleeping without me with her creamy skin and blonde hair splayed across her pillow.

So alluring, so perfect.

Toxic.

I need to get as far away from her as possible.

Now.

I rush from the room and close the door behind me as quietly as I can. I lean up against the back of it in the darkness of my room, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath in the silence.

What’s happening?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I want her. I crave her. The nights in her arms are incredible. But every morning, I wake up completely freaked out.

She’s the mindfuck of all mindfucks.

April Bennet isn’t good for my mental health, and I know in my heart of hearts that I’m not good for hers.

This has to stop.