Addicted to You (Swanson Court 2)

My mother gives me a concerned glance. “I wasn’t aware… of the connection,” she says, more to me than anybody else.

I nod slightly, even though my mind is racing, and my heart is suddenly beating fast enough to make me slightly dizzy. No. I’m definitely not ready to see Landon again.

“I’m going to say hello to a few people I know,” Aidan says, taking his leave. “It was nice to meet you all.”

“Did you know he would be here?” Laurie asks me. I’ve been angry with her since yesterday for leaving me alone with Landon, and her halfhearted apologies have done nothing to mollify me.

I glare at her. “No, of course not.”

“I didn’t know,” my mom whispers. “They emailed me the program, but… I only read the part about me giving a speech.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I whisper back. Maybe he would come in, donate his damn paintings and leave. Maybe I wouldn’t have to talk to him. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. When I open them again, I see Landon walk through the doors to the ballroom, a smallish, tuxedoed man beside him. The man is saying something to him, but Landon isn’t listening. Somehow, his gaze found me the moment he entered the room, and when his eyes meet mine, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.

He looks incredible of course, painfully handsome, with his hair slicked back to reveal the beautiful angles of his face. In his tailor-made black tux, he seems to stand taller than everyone else, like a god amongst ordinary men.

It’s probably just my imagination, I tell myself. I want to turn away, but my body rebels, compelling me to keep drowning in his gaze. Tears tease in my eyes, fueled by the unbearable yearning inside me. It feels as if I’m imprisoned by my feelings for him. I can’t shake them. I can’t will them away. The more I try, the more they tear me up inside. It’s like I’m struggling against invisible bindings and only making them tighter.

He starts to move, and it seems like he’s coming towards me. Heat sizzles in my blood, my chest tightening in a mixture of excitement and anxiety. At that moment, someone starts to talk on the mic, the chairperson of the board of the Remington Trust. I can’t hear what she’s saying. I can only see Landon, and feel the exquisite sensation of his eyes on me.

Then I hear his name, and the spell is broken. He looks away from me as people start to clap. I watch him move to the front, and begin to tell the attendees how honored he feels to be able to return the paintings to the Remington collection and contribute to the legacy of the place. When he’s done. The director of the Trust calls my mother up to talk about the two paintings and the artist. I try to hear what’s being said, to listen to the words, but the only thing running through my head is Landon, and the fact that he’s only a few feet away.

I watch his profile as he listens to my mother’s speech. Did he know she would be here? Even if he had, there was no way he’d have known that I’d be here too. Even the fates were conspiring to throw us together, it seemed.

When my mother comes back, I see him turn again towards us. One of the members of the Trust approaches him and they talk for a few moments, then as the man walks away, Landon starts in our direction.

I panic. Of course, he’s going to come and say hello to my parents. He’s too polite not to. And then I’ll have to stand here, smile at him, and act as if I’m not totally torn up inside.

“I’ll be right back,” I mutter to Laurie before hurrying away, out of the ballroom. I’m running away, but I don’t care. Outside, there’s a Remington House staff to direct me to the ladies room. In the lonely solace I find there, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are wide, my skin flushed. I wish I could pour cold water from the tap on my skin, to calm my blood, to stop my heart from racing wildly.

Landon only had to look at me to make me lose all sensible thought. Why was it so hard to be in control of myself whenever I saw him? My mind goes back to yesterday, to those heated words he’d whispered in my ear, and I hug myself tightly.

I’m tempted to leave. I could go home right now, give my parents some sort of excuse as to why I had to abandon them, and find a cab to take me to the solace of my bed. There’s a persistent internal instinct urging me to do just that, and I would, if not that I know running away is as good as telling Landon how weak I am.

It takes a couple of deep breaths before I’m sure I’m calm and collected enough to return to the ballroom. I make my way back, desperately hoping that maybe Landon would have left, that I wouldn’t have to face him.

I’m only a few feet from the doors when they open and he steps out. I stop walking, my whole body freezing at the sight of him.

He doesn’t see me at first, because he’s facing the direction of the exits, then as if he senses me, he stops walking and turns to face me.

I can’t look at him without feeling crushed by pain, but I can’t look away either. His gaze envelopes my body, reaching deep inside me to the places where all I want is to be whatever he needs me to be. I try to give him a polite, casual smile, but my heart is aching, and my face refuses to obey.

I’ll never stop wanting him, I realize now. I’ll never stop wanting to be with him.

It’s only a moment. Him, looking at me, his mask dropping so that the longing in his face is plain for me to see, then the mask is on again. He turns away without a word and heads for the exit.

There is a pain in watching him go, an unbearable agony that builds in my heart and spreads through my blood until I feel like I’m drowning in it. I watch him as he walks away and I know that I’m being a fool. That I don’t want to let him go. That I can’t let him go.

He’s already at the doors. I take a step forward, towards his retreating back. Common sense screams at me to turn away, but everything else is crying out for him. He pushes the doors open and I watch them slam shut after him, like the pounding of a gavel proclaiming the end for us. It galvanizes me into action, and I run forward, pushing outside just in time to see the black limo slide to a stop in front of him.

He opens the door himself and starts to get in.

“Landon. Wait.” My voice sounds desperate, even to me. But it works. He stops, his hand still on the handle, and turns around to face me. I’m still standing at the building entrance, and I take a few steps towards him, unsure of what I’ll say when I get to him. I only know that I can’t bear for him to leave.

I stop at the edge of the sidewalk, only a few feet from him. “Landon…” I make an attempt to find suitable words, but he makes them unnecessary. In two strides, he has closed the distance between us, one moment, I’m searching for words, and the next his lips are devouring mine. One hand snakes around my waist, while the other flexes at my nape, angling me towards him with a possessive determination that leaves me weak.

I clutch his jacket, a low moan escaping me as his tongue plunges into my mouth, moving against mine, and taking control of my senses. I’m desperate to remove every last barrier between us. I’m eager to surrender every last part of me. I’m tired of fighting the way I feel. I can no sooner stop wanting him than I can stop the sun from rising, and it’s no use fighting it.

Landon releases my lips, his chest heaving. I can feel the tension in his muscles, the consuming heat of his body, and his arousal, hard against my belly. “Fuck,” he swears harshly. There’s an edge of desperation in his voice that mirrors what I’m feeling. His hand tightens around my waist. “What are you trying to do to me?” he says roughly. “What do you want from me?”