Found in Us (Lost 2) - Page 6

The truth was, I couldn't get enough of her. We rarely discussed anything very profound, and that was fine by me. I wanted to keep things light. I had a feeling she wanted the same.

I kept hoping my attraction to her would eventually fade if I saw her often enough.

No such luck.

The more I saw her, the harder it became to hide my desire. The sexual tension between us grew stronger and stronger, and I knew I should pull away and get out before it was too late, but I didn't. Until one night, when things got heated, and then I left with a sorry excuse. She resented me after that. On the few occasions we did meet, we did nothing more than snap at each other.

Last night, things between us shifted. And even though I know Jess and I are as different as fire and ice, her inner warmth makes me feel warm. I can’t wait to see her again, which is why I pull the phone from my pocket and plot with Dani.

Chapter Four

Jessica

When I enter the apartment, Dani is standing in front of the mirror, dressed in a floor-length white dress that looks like it belongs on the red carpet.

"Oh, Jess, you're finally home. You spend way too much time at work. I tried to call you all day."

"My cell phone died, sorry." I make my way to the couch, thinking of sprawling on it for a few minutes, debating if I should cook tortillas or just make a simple salad. "Why were you trying to call me? Where are you going?"

"Don't sit," Dani warns. "You don't have time. Go to my room and choose a dress from those on the bed, then get dressed quickly. We're going to the opera."

"Oh." That explains the dress. I've never been to the opera, though I’ve always wanted to go. Tickets are expensive. Which reminds me . . . "But we don't have any tickets."

She winks, amused. "Yes we do. We have a balcony box."

"Who's we?" I ask quickly, with the nagging suspicion I already know the answer.

"You, me, and Parker. And before you start protesting that you can't accept the invitation because the tickets are expensive, just know that Parker has rented the box for the year, so no one's paying anything extra for you. Go choose a dress. We're already late."

I hurry to her room, accidentally hitting the edge of a table with my hip and swearing loudly. Our apartment is located in one of London's least dodgy areas, to quote Parker. In my words: expensive. When Dani and I decided to move in together, it was understood that we were going to split the cost evenly. But a little research revealed that the apartments I could afford were either minuscule, in dodgy areas, or both. James made it clear that in no way was his sister going to live in something like that. That's how we ended up here, with Dani—and her very generous trust fund—covering most of the rent. When I'm not too busy feeling like I'm taking advantage of her, I can't help but lavish in the beauty of this place. Built just a few years ago, it still has that new smell. The decor is a weird mix of old and new: the carpets and lighting are on the traditional side, while the furniture is minimalist, with a lot of glass involved. Not exactly sure how we came to this combination, but I like it. Our bedrooms are pretty small, with just enough space for a bed and a closet. But the large living room and kitchen area more than make up for it. The couch especially . . . I love it. It's the largest couch I've ever seen. Dani and I are convinced that at least six people can sleep comfortably on the U-shaped giant.

There are four dresses on Dani's bed. All are floor-length and exquisite, and, I realize, not really fit for me to wear. Dani and I are the same height, but she's much more slender. Her hips are narrower and her chest is a cup size smaller. But there's no way I can find anything remotely appropriate among my clothes. I went on a shopping spree for clothing with Serena before I left the US. I only bought office clothing, nothing I could wear to the opera, especially if I'll be in a balcony box. Serena's face when I told her I needed help shopping was priceless. It’s not a secret that I found her clothing . . . a tad conservative, but even I knew what my strengths were: party clothing. When it came to office clothing, I didn't know jack shit. And I was determined not to show up at work looking like a stripper. Or underdressed, like I had at the interviews.

I choose a black dress that looks to be the least tight of the lot and put it on.

I go into my room to find a necklace to wear, and it takes about two seconds of staring at my jewelry collection to realize I don’t have anything suitable. Oh well, I can do without jewelry. As I leave my room, I notice the ghetto-gold necklace I was wearing that night in the club when I first met Parker, and remember the next days I spent in the hospital.

Serena and my mother were around a lot, with James gravitating around Serena as well. But Parker showed up too, since he is James’s cousin. The first time was the day after I was admitted. I was lying in the bed, my thoughts flicking from the cast on my broken leg to whether the scratch under the bandages on my cheek would leave any marks. There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I said. The door opened and Parker stepped in, looking every bit as disheveled as I felt. Guilt flooded me when I noticed his swollen eye and split lip, but I tried to smile.

“Well, well . . . if it’s not my knight in shining armor.”

“I guess I left the armor at home last night in the club,” Parker said, pointing at his lip. He sat at the edge of my bed. His British accent had the same dazzling effect on me it had in the club.

“I am so sorry you got hurt,” I said.

“Don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?” His gaze rested on my cheek, and the obvious concern in his blue eyes tugged at my heartstrings.

“I’ve been better. It’s like everything hurts. The doctors tell me I’ll have the cast on my leg for a few weeks, and I’ll have to stay at home for at least a few days. I don’t know how I’ll survive. I’m already bored out of my mind.”

That made him grin. “Of course you are.”

“Do you have your car here?”

“Yes,” Parker answered, alarm springing in his eyes.

“Do you think you could sneak me out and take me for a short ride?”

Tags: Layla Hagen Lost Erotic
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