Shallow Page 19

  “Yes, I’ve donated two million dollars to the Elizabeth Kincaid Center, partially in memory of a former classmate of mine, Ellie Kincaid. However, the donation encompasses so much more than one person’s legacy. It’s about giving back to my community.”

  I pause and look around to see if they’re buying any of it. Noting that all eyes are on me, I proceed to word-vomit a string of shit I can’t believe is coming out of my mouth. “It’s about supporting an organization that serves the at-risk youth of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It’s my way of thanking the citizens of my home town for letting me serve and disrupt their lives with my presence. Ladies and gentlemen, what I’ve done isn’t about past friendships or showing off a bank account. It’s about me wanting to be a part of something bigger than myself. Something that will benefit this community for generations to come.”

  Holy shit, is this what an out-of-body experience feels like? Because it feels like I’m watching all of this happen from the sidelines, unable to shut myself up. I blink, fighting to hold my smile as the cameras go off in rapid succession. The paparazzi are shocked. The crowd is shocked. Cary is shocked. Hell, I’m shocked.

  Because I think I meant it.

  After that, every one of the media wolves leave, happy with their sensationalized story and thinking I’m the second coming.

  …of Satan, maybe.

  For the second time in less than fifteen minutes, I remind myself that I should probably get in Malcolm’s limo and go home. For the second time in less than fifteen minutes, I ignore my inner voice and walk toward Cary.

  Again, Taryn’s voice hits my ears, and I freeze. “Don’t make this mistake, Cary. If you publicly humiliate me, you know what will happen.”

  They’re arguing. Thank God the paparazzi left because they aren’t doing it quietly either. Taryn has both hands fisted by her side and Cary has his hands locked behind his neck, staring up at the sky.

  “I don’t need this shit,” he growls, trying to keep his voice low.

  “She’s making your sister’s memorial event about herself again,” she screams, not giving a shit who hears. “Just like she always does.”

  Cary’s eyes blaze fast and hot. Dropping his arms, he moves toward her. “You think this is her fault? Fuck you, Taryn. She gave her money anonymously. In case you’re not familiar with that word, it means she didn’t want any recognition. She wanted to avoid all this.”

  When I realize my mouth is hanging open, I quickly close it. He knows. He gets me. Someone finally gets me. I wish this moment had a rewind button, so I could press it and listen to that speech all over again.

  “You’re defending her?”

  “Yeah. I suppose I am.”

  She stares at him for an uncomfortably long time, then steps forward with a ruthless smirk on her lips. “Refuse the money. Tell her to go to hell in front of the cameras.”

  No!

  Cary takes his own step forward, wearing his own ruthless smirk. It’s arrogant. Lethal. Sexy. “How about I tell you to go to hell in front of the cameras?”

  Taryn gasps. With every step he takes, she takes one backward. They move in a perfect choreographed dance, and I can’t wait for the grand finale.

  “I’m tired of your threats and of you in general,” he adds, his tone edgier. “I’ve been at rock bottom before, and I can pick myself up again if I have to. Take your best shot, but swing hard, Taryn. Because once I get up, I’ll swing back.”

  “I’ll make you regret this.”

  Breaking his stare, Cary offers her a deadly smile. “I’m counting on it.”

  I’ve never been one to follow rules—especially when it comes to the rules concerning a recently destroyed relationship. So, as soon Taryn stomps off, I tap Cary on the shoulder. When he turns around, I pop out a hip and throw my hands out wide. “So…surprise.”

  “Enjoy the show?” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks me up and down. It’s both flattering and unnerving. I feel like a gazelle on the open plain being watched by a pack of cheetahs.

  “Which one?” I say, trying to cut the tension.

  “Take your pick. The race. The media circus. Taryn. You think I didn’t know you were here, Shiloh? You’re kind of hard to ignore.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “And miss all this?” he says, mimicking my sweeping arm gesture. “Not on your life.”

  It suddenly hits me that the crowd has thinned. Participants have left the field, teams have packed up, and the breakdown crews are dismantling the equipment. I’ve done what I wanted to avoid. I ruined his sister’s event.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my shoulders curling over my chest.

  “For what? Taryn?”

  I lower my head. “Hell no, I told you she’s not right for you.”

  Hooking a finger under my chin, he lifts it. “Then who is? You?”

  Yes. A million times, yes.

  I jerk my chin out of his hold. “That’s not what I meant. Stop twisting shit around. This is about the donation.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting it.”

  Not is a funny word. Not. Three letters. Insignificant, really. So insignificant that sometimes you think you hear it when you don’t. I’m sure I didn’t.

  “I’m sorry, I thought you said you’re not accepting it.”

  “I did.”

  I black out for a minute. That’s the only explanation for shoving Cary in the chest with both hands. “You just poked a stick at a rabid bear, Cary. Taryn’s going to come at you with both guns locked and loaded now.”

  He remains remarkably stoic despite having just been assaulted by a half-crazed woman. “No.”

  Did I say half-crazed? Yeah, that ship has sailed. Welcome aboard the crazy cruise.

  I shove him again. This time with enough force to move him back a few steps. “What the hell? You’ll take Taryn’s money but mine’s not good enough?”

  “Goddamn it, Shy, I don’t need your money,” he yells, his calm demeanor shattering. “Why would you do this, huh? Why now?”

  “I’m just trying to make things right.”

  His eyes are a little wild as he grabs my hand. “You want to make things right? Come with me.”

  Twenty-Five

  Cary

  I have no clue what I’m doing because I’m acting on pure instinct. I’m furious. I’m shocked. I’m ashamed. But most of all, I’m tired of holding back. I want her. I need her. I’m gonna have her.

  “Yes, I’m fine, Malcolm. Go home. I’ll handle my mother.” Ending her call, Shiloh opens the door to a darkened foyer and drops her phone and purse on a side table. Before she can react, I slam it shut, and close in right behind her.

  “Is anyone home?”

  She pauses but doesn’t turn around. “Bianca is at some benefit dinner.” She’s breathing heavy because she’s nervous.

  Good. She should be. I’m a real criminal now.

  “Then no one will interrupt us.”

  “Do you want to talk in here?” She moves to the side, reaching a shaking hand for the light switch, but before she can touch it, I spin her around to face me.

  “No. I’m done talking. Let’s go to your room.”

  “Cary, I don’t think…”

  After stealing her money, the paparazzi showing up, and the bombshell about the donation, I’m hanging on by a thread. Before it snaps, I push her against the wall, trapping her wrists over her head. A protest rumbles in her throat, and I smother it with my mouth. I don’t ask, I demand, parting her lips with my tongue, and kissing her with all the hunger I’ve held back. Her body melts for me—craves me.

  And I’m taking it.

  Shifting her pinned wrists into one hand, I grip her chin and lift it toward my eyes. “That wasn’t a fucking request. Let’s go.”

  Ten hallways, two staircases, and eleven doorways later, she opens the door to the room that starred in every one of my teenage fantasies. However, when she backs up and waits for me to walk in
, I stand there and stare.

  It’s white and frilly and wrapped up in so much lace I’m not sure if it’s where she sleeps or sacrifices virgins.

  I raise an eyebrow. “This is your room?”

  “Yep. Bianca decorated it when I was twelve and never quite got the hint that I grew up.”

  Even if she hadn’t told me the room was hers, I would’ve known. Right above an expensive white wooden dresser, an enormous mirror is covered in the same damn trash bags I found downstairs. Even more of an eyesore, a full-length mirror sits across the room wrapped up like a sadistic Christmas present in the same black plastic and silver duct tape.

  I motion to the bags. “Why do you do this?”

  “What is this, truth or dare?”

  I shrug. “Okay, you want to play games, fine.” Glancing over my shoulder, I give her zero emotion. “Truth or Dare, Shiloh. Why do you cover your mirrors with trash bags? And don’t feed me some bullshit line about them breaking again.”

  She swallows hard, her eyes falling to the floor. “I take dare.”

  Immediately, I know what I’m going to do. “Take your shirt off.”

  “What? No way.”

  “Truth or dare, Starshine. You picked dare. I don’t make the rules.”

  “I hate you sometimes.” Clutching the bottom of her white shirt in her fists, she jerks it over her head and throws it to the floor. “Happy?”

  “Bra too.”

  “No! That wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “You can still answer the question. After all, this was your idea.”

  “Fuck you, Cary.” She’s wearing that same front clasp bra as before and with one flick of her wrist, the damn thing pops open again and falls off her shoulders. I have to take a minute to breathe because my mind goes blank. All I can think of is wrapping my lips around her puckered nipples again and sucking so hard her knees buckle.

  “My turn,” she announces, breaking my focus. “Why will you accept Taryn’s money and not mine?”

  Because I’ve already fucking stolen it, that’s why.

  “Dare.”

  She smirks and scans me from head to toe, lingering where my cock is currently trying to break through my zipper. “I’d say pants, but it looks like you’d like that too much. So, I’ll just say shirt and make you wait.”

  Damn it. I hate it when shit backfires on me.

  Reaching behind me, I grab the back of my shirt and pull it over my head. Shiloh breathes a little harder, her eyes drinking me in.

  I’m done with Truth or Dare. She’s half naked, and I know what I want. I also know what has to happen before I take it. Stalking toward her, I pick her up and toss her on the bed. She barely hits the mattress before she’s on her knees and mad as hell.

  “What’s your problem?”

  Ignoring her, I point to the mirror. “Rip it off, Shiloh.”

  She doesn’t answer. She’s waiting for me to give in to her like I always did in the past. Instead, I sit quietly and let the uncomfortable silence envelope us.

  She drops her chin, looking up at me through heavy lashes. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  There’s hate in her eyes as she stares at the plastic lawn bag taped around the mirror’s molding. It matches the ones from the living room, and I’ve had it with this hang-up of hers. If she won’t do it, I’m not going to sit around and wait for her to see the light. Leaving her sitting on the edge of the bed, I stomp over to the mirror.

  Stretching out my hand, I lean forward and gather the slack in the plastic in each hand and glance over my shoulder at her one last time. “Would you like to say any parting words, Starshine? Because your obsession with these things are officially over.”

  “Cary, don’t!”

  I’ve become accustomed to hearing my name roll off her tongue these last few weeks, but not in conjunction with the word don’t. “What's stopping me?”

  She places a shaking hand on mine. “I’m stopping you. I think you know I want you, but I swear to you, Carrick Kincaid, if you rip down that plastic, you won’t be welcome on my front lawn, much less my bed.”

  She’s not kidding. She’ll kick me out mid-fuck over a reflection. Nothing has ever made me more furious. Not that she just used sex as a weapon. Hell, I was with Taryn, and that bitch is the queen of sex warfare. No, what infuriates me is that because of one imperfection, Shiloh considers herself a freak to be hidden away.

  This shit ends now.

  Grabbing any loose end of the bag I can find, I rip it off amidst protesting wails from behind me. The moment I uncover the ornate mirror, I know what I’m going to do. With a plan in place, I stand in front of her and place my hands on her hips.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Her voice sounds so wounded that I question if I’m pushing her too far.

  Then I tell myself to shut the hell up. Nothing about this is normal. Someone has to push her out of that pity nest she’s built and bring her back into the real world.

  And sometimes pushes are brutal.

  Hooking a hand around each ankle, I slide her toward the end of the mattress. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Starshine. You’re gonna sit here and stare into in this mirror, remembering nothing about your face but the way it looks when you come.”

  Shiloh’s body shakes. I’m not sure if it’s out of fear or anticipation, but I don’t care. I grab the elastic band on her shorts and slide them down her legs, letting them dangle off her toes before hitting the floor.

  Rising up, I grasp the strings resting on either side of her hips. “Are you overly fond of these?”

  She blinks a few times before shaking her head.

  “Good.” With an effortless tug on each side, the flimsy panties disintegrate, and I sweep a long look up Shiloh’s body, drinking in what’s always belonged to me.

  Fuck me, she’s the reason men can be in the middle of a normal conversation, see her magazine cover, and have to excuse themselves. She’s perfect, and tonight she’s mine.

  “Shy,” I groan as I crouch between her legs. “You’re going to watch me make you come undone, and then…”

  Her eyes slowly close. “Yes?”

  Moving over her so that we’re face to face, I slide my finger deep inside her. She gasps and I groan. “You’ll scream my name into this mirror and see what I see.”

  “A train wreck?”

  I drive another finger in even harder. “Perfection. You’re going to get over this trash bag bullshit tonight if I have to fuck it out of you.”

  I’m done playing games. Discussion is over. It’s time for action.

  Moving closer, I pop the button on my shorts, my cock all but leaping out in gratitude. Her eyes watch every move as I take her hand and run it down my thick length. I know I have her the minute her tongue darts out and licks her bottom lip in anticipation.

  “Touch me, Shiloh.”

  She does as she’s told, trailing her fingers back up before rubbing her thumb along the steel bar under the tip, I curl my fingers into my palms and bite back a growl.

  I allow her a few more strokes before cutting her off.

  A part of me wants to kick my own ass. Shiloh West is giving me a hand job, and I pull away. But this isn’t about me. This is about showing a woman who has made a fortune on her beauty that her scars don’t mean shit to me.

  Throwing her legs over my shoulders, I position her where she’s looking directly into the mirror. “Eyes on the mirror, or I stop.”

  I trace the inside of her thigh with wet kisses, then I dive into the place high school Carrick only dreamed about. One taste and I’m the one about to pass out. She moans as I make one long pass from one end of her pussy to the other with the flat of my tongue. Ensuring she’s still looking in the mirror, I impale her, and she lets out a scream so loud I’m positive someone is going to come running to see if I’ve killed her.

  “Oh, God, yes!” She’s clawing the bed like a wild animal. Finally, on the last thrust her head drops back and her e
ntire body erupts. “Cary!”

  And there it is. The word. The name I want screamed every damn time. Private—public—I don’t give a damn. Anytime Shiloh comes, I want her screaming my name so every man knows who she belongs to.

  Seven years ago, Shiloh West was my world. I lived and breathed her. I gave up my future for her. Then, I spent those seven years hating her, blaming her for all the shit in my life and the downward spiral I found myself in. Now, right before I’m about to claim her, I should want to beat my chest with vindication. I’ve won. I’m going to mark her.

  Mine.

  A better man would walk away. I’m not a better man. I also know Shiloh isn’t a better woman. Two wrongs don’t make a right. But they do make things a little less miserable. And I know what she needs. I’ve always known it. Even when she didn’t.

  Kicking my shorts and boxers to the floor, I lean over her as she flattens her cheek against the white blanket. Hooking my finger under her chin, I force her eyes on me. “No hiding, Starshine. The first time, you face the mirror. After that, you can look anywhere you want.”

  “First time?”

  “This innocent act is killing me, baby.” She barely has time to protest when I pick her up and flip her over. Climbing behind her on the bed, I clamp her hands around the footboard and pull her up on her knees. I turn her face and claim her mouth in a ferocious kiss before jerking her hips toward me.

  Then it hits me. “Shy, please tell me you’re protected. I need to feel you.”

  That’s a lie. I need to mark her.

  Mine.

  “Please tell me you wore a condom with her,” she counters, looking over her shoulder. “I need to trust you.”

  “Always.”

  She nods, her hair falling over her face.

  Thank fuck.

  Unable to wait any longer, I drive into her from behind, savoring her screams as I fill her completely until there’s no place we aren’t joined. I started this in control, but as Shiloh’s walls pulse around me, I have to close my eyes just to breathe. I have no idea how long I’ve remained still, my chest pressed against her back and buried deep inside her, until Shiloh runs a nail down my thigh.