Lost In You (Swanson Court 3)

“You’re here,” he whispers again. Why wouldn’t I be? I think back to the last time he’d dreamed of the accident, that last night in San Francisco. He’d dreamed that it was me in the car, that it was me he couldn’t save. I’d assumed then, that it had something to do with his fear of hurting me.

Was he still afraid?

I stroke his back while his breathing slows to normal, then he pulls back and gazes deeply into my eyes. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

I shake my head, searching his face and trying to read his expression. “How bad was it?”

He shrugs, “It was just a nightmare.”

“I know, but… do you want to tell me about it? It seemed pretty rough.”

“There’s no need,” he says, dismissing my concern. “Go back to sleep.”

I try to, but I’m worried, especially when I feel him get up soon after, leaving me alone on the bed. When he slips back in, hours later, it’s almost dawn. He wakes me with a lingering kiss on my lips, his hands stroking my skin with the particular expertise that soon chases all drowsiness from my mind. Somewhere in the back of my mind is the nagging thought that we should talk about trying to find a solution to his recurrent nightmares, but it soon disappears as I lose myself in the mastery of his touch.

He enters me from behind, his body warm and hard against mine. “I love you,” he whispers in my ear, the urgency in his words, in the way he makes love to me, compelling me to put aside any doubts and just trust him.

“I love you,” I reply, as pleasure and emotion interweave, leaving me helpless in his arms.

Two intense orgasms later, we share a filling breakfast in the kitchen. Esmeralda, one of the Swanson Court service staff who works as Landon’s housekeeper, brings up and serves our food. She’s a plump woman close to middle age, with a sweet face, a permanent smile, and a lilting Eastern European accent. She’s obviously fond of Landon and according to him, has been at the Swanson Court for ages.

If Landon is suffering any effects from last night, he doesn’t show it. He’s the image of the devastatingly sexy CEO in a deep-blue suit, his hair still slightly damp from our shared shower, and brushed back in sleek waves. Looking at him now, it’s hard to imagine him any other way but in total control.

“See you in a few hours,” he tells me, after the short drive to the Gilt Building. He has just kissed me breathless, and his eyes are burning with intensity, showing me all the things he would do to me as soon as he gets a chance.

“I’ll be counting the minutes,” I reply, pushing all thoughts of last night from my mind. We’ll deal with his nightmares, but maybe not today. For now, I want to enjoy the bliss of knowing that he’s mine.

In the office, I’m still working on wiping the love-stoned smile from my face when I get a call from Carole Mendez, Jessica Layner’s fire-breathing secretary, summoning me to Jessica’s office.

Jessica hasn’t asked for me in particular since the day she sent for me and I found Landon waiting in her office. He’d been a stranger then, a stranger I’d slept with. Now, I loved him so much that the magnitude of my emotions made my heart ache.

She is seated at her desk when I walk in, going through some old issues of Gilt Travel, a frown of concentration on her face. She’s an older woman, still beautiful, with that ageless quality that money and success often give, when it’s not ruined by bad cosmetic work. She looks up when I enter, taking off her glasses to regard me with the frown still on her face.

“Good morning.” I shift on my feet, wondering silently what she wants. I have a suspicion that it’s about my interview at the Gilt Review. She probably found out somehow. I wonder if she’s planning to talk me out of leaving, or to fire me and expedite the process.

“How are you, Rachel?” she asks, motioning for me to sit.

“Fine.” I take one of the chairs opposite her and wait, my hands in my lap.

“Are you unhappy here?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Dissatisfied perhaps?”

“No.”

She gives me a look. “I’m assuming you know why I’m asking these questions. So you want to move over to the Review?”

“You’re aware that I applied to work there initially.”

She waves a slim hand dismissively. “Initially. That was what? Two, three years ago?”

“Yes,” I pause. “But I still feel that I’m more suited to a place like the Review.”

“We discussed this before,” she says, “and I told you that there’s no such thing as a right fit, especially in a place like Gilt. You have to take ownership of whatever space you find yourself.”

I’m not sure if she’s selling me some promotional pitch just because she’d rather not lose one of her staff, so I stay silent.