Landon (Swanson Court Book 4) Page 15

  Go home, Landon.

  I turn on my heel and stalk away, leaving her standing there, watching me go.

  Chapter 19

  I’m going to forget all about her.

  There’s work to be done, a company to run. I will not spend my time obsessing about someone who, for reasons she chooses not to share, has decided she’s better off without me.

  I spend a day in San Francisco, and when I return, I attend one of the rehearsals for Aidan’s play. Afterward, he joins me for dinner.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with Rachel?” he asks midway through our meal.

  “What makes you think there’s anything going on?” I grumble.

  “You’re grumpy, for one.”

  Just go away, Landon. Just leave me alone.

  She’s crazy.

  She’s infuriating.

  She’s confusing.

  And yet, I can’t stop thinking about her.

  “What’s going on with you and Liz?” I ask, changing the subject.

  Aidan goes quiet. “She doesn’t need issues like mine,” he says finally.

  I study him, trying to see any signs of strain in his features. He looks fine, a little pensive, but fine. “Ditto with Rachel,” I tell him. “Maybe she’s better off without having to deal with my issues.”

  “Did she decide that or did you?”

  “She decided she doesn’t want me.”

  Aidan laughs. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

  Well, too bad it’s true.

  “So she’s done with you? Like…no longer interested?” He shakes his head. “Did you make no effort at all? Did you lose your charm? I thought the Landon Court was irresistible.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I think you didn’t try hard enough to make her feel like she meant something to you.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not that. I don’t know what it is, and I’ve given up trying.”

  “And now you’re grumpy and miserable.”

  “I don’t need relationship advice from my little brother,” I tell him with a bad-tempered scowl.

  He shrugs. “If you say so.”

  I glower at the food on my plate. What does she want? “Come with me to an event on Thursday,” I tell Aidan. “It’s an art thing. We’re donating a couple of paintings from Grandpa’s collection.” I give him a placating smile. “You might like it.”

  He considers for a moment. “Fine. It’s not like I don’t need a break.”

  After I drop Aidan off at his place, I return to my office. The building is practically empty, and alone at my desk, it’s easy to bury myself in reading reports and drawing up plans.

  I won’t think about her.

  If she wants me to leave her alone, I will.

  Does she think I don’t care about her? Why would I have considered a relationship if I didn’t?

  Stop thinking about her.

  In the apartment above my office, there’s a treadmill. I change and run until I’m too exhausted to take another step. When I shower and drop into bed, my dreams are hellish, and there, like a Valkyrie fighting to calm the torture in my mind, is Rachel.

  “They’ve been sending out the invites for the grand opening.” Tony is in my office the next day, bringing me up to date on my itinerary for the next few days.

  He shows me a list, and I glance through the pages. Some names I picked, but many others are from our publicity department. They will all be there, however. Nobody would willingly miss the opening of a new Swanson Court.

  At the bottom of the page, I see Rachel’s name. As my date, she wouldn’t need an invitation, and I hadn’t considered that the publicity department would add her to the press contingent.

  Just leave me alone.

  I point to her name. “Has this one been sent?”

  “Yes. This morning.”

  “Hmm.” What will her reaction will be when she receives it? I assume I’ll find out soon enough.

  I have another meeting, and when it’s over, I’m not surprised to see a missed call from Rachel on my phone. She didn’t leave a message, but I know what it’s about.

  I’m almost too eager to call her back.

  Pathetic.

  “Hello.” Her voice is flat and emotionless, as if she doesn’t care what I have to say, doesn’t care about me…but I can still remember her soft moans when I kissed her outside her apartment. I know she’s not as indifferent as she’s pretending to be.

  Just go away, Landon. Just leave me alone.

  Fuck.

  “Rachel.”

  She’s quiet.

  “Rachel,” I say her name again, waiting for a response.

  “I received an invitation to the opening of the Gold Dust. I’m assuming it’s a mistake.”

  I was right to assume she’d be pissed. I should tell her it had nothing to do with me, but where’s the fun in that?

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “Because,” she says tightly, “there’s no reason for me to be there.”

  She could have RSVPed to decline. She didn’t have to call me to communicate her displeasure.

  Maybe she’s not ready to let go either.

  “I want you there,” I tell her, my voice low, “with me.”

  “Why?”

  Oh Rachel! “Do I have to tell you?” I sigh. “I want you by my side, and not just at the opening. In fact, forget the invite, Rachel. Just tell me what I have to do. Let me know what you want from me.” I’m begging again, but I don’t care.

  “I don’t want anything from you.”

  “You’re lying. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “No. I’m not.” Her voice hardens. “It’s over, Landon. It should have been over the moment I left your apartment that first night. You should never have tried to find me, and I should never have accepted your ridiculous proposal. That’s the truth. What did you think? You’d ask me to fly across the country with you and suddenly I’d forget—” She stops abruptly.

  “Forget what?”

  “That I’ve moved on.” She exhales. “Because I have moved on, Landon—and you should too.”

  There’s more she’s not saying, and I intend to find out what it is. I’m done feeling like I’m throwing myself at a brick wall. She will tell me why she’s pushing me away, but not over the phone, not like this.

  “I have a meeting,” I tell her. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”

  I don’t wait for her to respond before ending the call.

  It’s early in the evening when I head over to Rachel’s place. A neighbor lets me in, and when I knock on Rachel’s door, Laurie opens it.

  For a minute, I forget about myself. Faced with Laurie’s obvious misery, I want to find Brett and ask him what the hell is the matter with him.

  “Hey, Landon.” She smiles wanly. “Come on in.”

  I follow her inside, closing the door behind me as she curls up on the couch. “Where’s Rachel?”

  “Downstairs. Ice cream.”

  I chuckle. “Ice cream never fails.”

  “Yeah.” She makes a face. “Sit, sit. Rachel will be mad that I let you in.”

  I lower myself onto an armchair. “I just want to talk to her.”

  She shrugs. “I won’t help you if she decides to toss you out of the window.”

  “And I won’t hold you responsible, don’t worry.”

  Her laughter erases some of the pain from her face. Just then, the door opens behind me and Rachel enters the apartment carrying a shopping bag. Her gaze falls on me, and for a moment, I think she’ll turn around and leave.

  “Hello, Rachel.”

  She turns her fiery glare from me to Laurie. “You’re obviously feeling better,” she snaps. “Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered with these.”

  Laurie, undaunted, rises from the couch and takes the shopping bag. “You’re a lifesaver,” she says to Rachel, totally ignoring her cousin’s annoyance.

  She disappears in the dire
ction of the kitchen, and Rachel turns her glare back at me. “What are you doing here?”

  I rise from the armchair. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “You need to leave.”

  “You have to start saying that like you mean it, but we both know you don’t.”

  Laurie returns from the kitchen with ice cream and wine. She inclines her head toward her room. “I’m just gonna…” She grins at me. “It was nice to see you again, Landon.”

  I return her smile. “Likewise.”

  The door closes behind her and I turn back to Rachel.

  “So you’ve moved on?”

  She takes a step back. “Is that why you came here? You couldn’t bear the thought that there’s one woman in the whole world who isn’t beside herself with joy at the thought that you want a relationship with her?”

  “Jesus! Rachel.” She says the word like it disgusts her. I’ve never had my intentions so misunderstood, questioned, and misinterpreted by a woman. It’s almost as if she’s messing with me, deliberately trying to drive me crazy. I take a step toward her and she backs away. I follow her, not stopping until she reaches the door and I’m standing right in front of her.

  I search her face, wanting nothing more than to kiss her. Her lips part, making the temptation more acute.

  “I’m at my wits’ end,” I say in a low voice. “I’m helpless, bewitched. You’re my every waking thought and sleeping dream.” She draws in a breath and I continue. “You want me and I’m going crazy. Stop lying to me. Tell me what I have to do.”

  “I don’t—”

  I can’t stand for her to lie to me again, so I stop whatever she plans to say with a kiss. For an instant, she melts, but then she’s pushing me away.

  “Stop it,” she says breathlessly.

  “I can’t! You owe me an explanation. You’re driving me insane with trying to understand what the fuck’s going on. I acted like a jackass on Sunday. I was jealous. The thought of you spending any time with your ex…it made me unreasonable. I’m sorry.”

  She says nothing.

  “I need you.” I bring my lips close to her skin but not quite touching. She smells like peaches and spring, like everything I want. “Stop pushing me away.”

  I’m itching to touch her, to kiss her, to claim her as mine. My fingers skim lightly down her side in a soft caress. Her chest rises and falls. I want her so much I can barely think.

  “I want you. I want all of you, and I’m going crazy with the need to touch you. I want to bury myself so deep inside you it would be impossible to tell where you end and I begin. I want to hear you scream when you come. I can hardly think of anything else.”

  Her eyes flutter closed, and I breathe in the scent of her heated skin, of her arousal.

  “I remember everything,” I whisper urgently. “The sounds you make in your throat, the exquisite taste of your pussy, the way you cry out when you come, the perfect curve of your breast in my hand. I remember what it’s like to sleep with you in my arms, Rachel, and sometimes I don’t know what I want more—to fuck you or just to hold you.”

  Her skin is flushed, and her breath is a soft pant that tells me what I already know.

  She wants me.

  Her eyes are tightly shut. “Please,” she whimpers.

  I’m so confident about how well I know her body, the only thing I expect is capitulation. “Please…what?”

  “Please.” Her voice breaks and she gives me a look that breaks my heart. “Please leave.”

  The fight deserts me, and I straighten, stepping away from her. The worst thing is that she looks like she’s the one in pain, and even though my insides are tearing up, I have to take the blame for that too. I take a deep breath and motion for her to step away from the door. She does.

  I want to say something, but I don’t even know what.

  “I’m…” Words fail me. I have a sudden urge to laugh. “God! I’m sorry.” And I am. She was right. I should have left things after the first night we slept together. Pursuing her has only opened a new door of pain, one I’m not sure will go away soon.

  When the door closes behind me, I tell myself it’s over and I’m done.

  Because regardless of what I told myself before, that’s what she wants.

  Chapter 20

  I’m in a bad mood when I pick Aidan up on the way to the Remington House, a private art gallery on Fifth Avenue that houses the impressive Remington collection. Today, I’m donating—or returning—two paintings my grandfather famously won from Shelby Remington in a bet.

  Aidan is excited about an innovative set design and spends the drive describing technical aspects of scene changes while I answer in monosyllables.

  Please leave.

  I’ve decided to stop thinking about Rachel. At the Remington House, an old Beaux-Arts mansion, the director meets us at the entrance, and Aidan goes ahead to the ballroom where the event is taking place.

  “We here at the Remington collection deeply appreciate what you’re doing tonight,” the director says effusively. He’s a plump, balding man who looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else than hosting a glamorous art event.

  Donating a few works of art worth a couple million dollars is not a big deal to me considering I have no sentimental attachment to the paintings, but I do my best to be gracious. “Supporting the arts is our collective responsibility, isn’t it?”

  He grins. “Exactly!”

  He’s passionate about the collection and starts wearing my ears off about plans for future expansions while I study the program idly. Lynn Foster’s name jumps out at me from the list of speakers. Rachel’s mom. I look toward the door to the ballroom, wondering if, by any chance, Rachel will be here.

  And what if she is?

  She has made it abundantly clear that she wants nothing to do with me, and I’ve accepted that.

  No matter how much it kills me inside.

  “If you’re ready…” The director is waiting for me to follow him inside.

  I push Rachel from my mind. “Of course.”

  Still, my eyes somehow find her as soon as I walk into the ballroom, and it feels as if I’ve been punched right in the solar plexus. The ache of longing grips me, enveloping me in a confused, miserable fog.

  Why is she pushing me away?

  She’s with her parents and Laurie, wearing a knee-length dress and high heels. Her hair falls around her shoulders in soft waves, gleaming in the soft lights of the room.

  My Rachel.

  Though she was never mine.

  Her eyes are closed, and there’s a worried frown on her brow.

  What could she possibly be worried about? I’m the one who has had to deal with her rejection.

  I’m still staring when she opens her eyes and looks toward the entrance. Her gaze lands on me, and there’s no surprise there, only…sadness.

  I’m drawn toward her as if by a magnet. Abandoning the man beside me, I stride in her direction, stopping only when I hear my name.

  The blasted speech.

  I head to the podium, my mind still on Rachel.

  Stop thinking about her, Landon.

  I wish I could.

  My speech is humorous. A few anecdotes about my grandfather get the room laughing. I avoid looking at Rachel, and after a few more words about the importance of visual art, I descend into the crowd.

  Other speakers mount the podium, and I have to bear the attention of every single non-profit director who pounces on their chance to talk to me, but through it all, I’m acutely aware of Rachel across the room.

  I finally extricate myself from an enthusiastic gallery owner and head toward Rachel.

  When I’m only a few feet away, she says something to Laurie and hurries out of the room.

  Suppressing a bitter smile, I continue forward.

  What did I expect? That she’d want to talk to me?

  If she wants to be a coward about us, it’s her prerogative.

  “Hey, Landon!” Laurie gives me a frien
dly hug. “You guys remember Landon?”

  “Of course.” Trent Foster takes my hand. “We were just talking to your brother.”

  Chuckling, I spare a glance toward the bar, where Aidan is fielding the attention of a determined socialite. “Great speech,” I tell Lynn.

  She responds with a smile that’s very like Rachel’s. “It’s generous of you to return the paintings.”

  I shrug. “They’ll be more appreciated here, I’m sure.” I look around, wondering if Rachel will come back.

  Deep down, I know better.

  “She’s gone to the ladies’,” Laurie says, taking pity on me.

  “Yeah.” I nod, smiling at Trent and Lynn. “It was nice to see you. I’ll be leaving soon.” I start to walk away then turn back to Laurie. “Say hello to her for me.”

  I leave alone, after Aidan insists he doesn’t need to be rescued, and doesn’t need a ride home either. As I walk down the hallway toward the main entrance, I keep feeling as if I’m being pulled back.

  It’s wrong to leave like this.

  I’ve got to keep trying.

  And keep getting rejected.

  At the doors, I stop and turn around. I’m not surprised to see Rachel a few feet behind me, at the entrance to the ballroom. She’s watching me go, her face showing regret and anguish that mirrors what I feel.

  Frustration lances through me and I want to scream at her, to demand answers.

  Why are you doing this?

  What the fuck do you want?

  Without a word, I turn back toward the exit. I will not keep trying when she won’t even do me the courtesy of being straight with me.

  It pains me to walk away, but it hurts more when she tells me again and again that she wants nothing to do with me.

  It’s dark outside, and I take a gulp of the cold night air. The limo stops in front of me and I stride to the door, pulling it open.

  “Landon, wait.”

  I freeze.

  God knows I should keep going.

  God knows.

  I turn around and face her, and she’s standing in front of the doors. She approaches me, and I can barely stop myself from taking her in my arms.