Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Beg For It 1) - Page 66

Plus, this morning she’d mentioned wanting to walk around Times Square. I didn’t like the idea of her wandering around alone, Dorothy stepped out from Kansas. She’d have every panhandler and hustler within a five-mile radius all over her. I had to take a meeting or I would have gone with her, even though I usually avoided walking through Times Square like the plague. Too many tourists, too many distractions and too many people getting in my way between point A and point B.

But with Kara, I had to admit, she snapped me out of my usual routine. A carriage ride around Central Park? That’s exactly the kind of corny bullshit I stayed far away from. But with her? Had I enjoyed sitting there with her pulled tight next to me, arm around her as she oohed and aahed and squealed like she was on an amusement park ride? Yes, I had. She’d pointed out the kinds of things I looked right past, the funny little dogs poking out of huge, fancy purses, the flowers growing at the base of an old oak tree. I found myself noticing things she’d like and pointing them out to her, too. New Yorkers wore the craziest shit and I loved seeing the look on Kara’s face when I drew her attention to a man in a tiara, lavender leotard and heels, or someone walking down the street in a full panda bear suit.

She cracked me up. Not much did and I had to admit I liked the feeling. She didn’t mind acting like a kid in a candy shop, didn’t try to be something she wasn’t, and being around someone unguarded and unpretentious, it was just plain enjoyable.

“Miss Kara has my number?” Vladimir continued, sounding concerned. “She knows what to call?”

“OK, yes, Vladimir. She knows the number to call.” Irritation seeped through my voice, though I knew he was simply trying to do his job well. And it wasn’t his fault he’d fallen under Kara’s spell like everyone else. I knew all too well how that felt.

It had happened immediately, the second we’d stepped off the plane. Kara had greeted my driver Vladimir like an old friend, shaking hands, big smile, all hospitality and charm. It made me grit my teeth. I didn’t like her laying that on other guys, even in passing. All that honey was mine.

“Tonight, I’ll be back seven o’clock?” Vladimir confirmed.

“Yes, at the hotel.”

I was going to take Kara out tonight and do it right. Dinner and a Broadway show. I’d pulled some strings to get us into an A-list restaurant that booked a solid six months in advance, plus tickets to the hottest show in town. I couldn’t wait to see Kara’s eyes light up with it all, the glitz and glam, the unique blend of old-money sophistication plus new-money flash that made the pulse of New York beat fast. Kara would be happy with a pretzel from a cart and a stroll around the city sidewalks. That’s why it would be so fun to spoil her, get her in to all the VIP hot spots and make her eyes pop. She expected nothing. I wanted to give her everything.

That dress she’d tried on for the gala Saturday night. Shit. I’d stood watching her from the back door, far enough away she hadn’t seen me. She’d looked so beautiful. I knew she’d clean up good, but now I couldn’t wait to have her on my arm as we walked into the Met. She’d show those New York socialites what a real woman looked like.

I smiled, remembering when I’d told her I’d be taking her to the Met on Saturday.

“Oh, the Mets?” she’d exclaimed. “I love baseball!”

She got excited about the idea of my taking her to a baseball stadium in Queens. “Yeah, I’ve got some bleacher seats,” I’d teased her. “Maybe I’ll buy you some beer in a plastic cup.”

She’d laughed more at my tone than in understanding my joke. I loved that in her—she really would be happy drinking warm beer in shitty seats at a ballgame. I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to the sharp claws and snarling attitudes of the models and aspiring actresses I tended to take to these charity parties. In the bedroom, I enjoyed one type of girl, but I had yet to find someone who could bridge both worlds, lighting up my fires in private while also networking and dazzling at private functions. I had a feeling Kara would have the big donors eating out of the palm of her hand.

She’d asked me about my hosting it. Apparently the girls in the dressmaking shop had been talking. Out of habit, I’d brushed her off, explaining I was one of many. And that was true, the gala at the Met was a fundraiser for about ten different charities benefitting children in need.

Plus, I generally didn’t like talking about the charity I’d started for foster kids. I knew I could use it for marketing purposes, but I usually preferred to keep it quiet, refusing interviews on the subject and largely keeping my name separate from the endeavor. I provided the funding. I had staff that saw to getting it disbursed. I didn’t want to talk to strangers about why I’d started the charity and why I cared about foster kids.

Kara would get it, I knew, without my having to explain anything. She knew I’d spent some time growing up in foster homes. I hadn’t told her much about it, but she’d known me back then, seen what a lean, rangy motherfucker I was. Hell, when I’d met her I’d still had the look of someone who didn’t know where his next meal was coming from. Once you’d been like that, you never forgot the feeling. It stayed with you the rest of your life. I’d learned how to cover it up, tamp it down so well no one around me now would have guessed. But Kara knew.

I’d devoted so much time to divorcing myself from my past, leaping out and away from it into the stratosphere of success, you’d think I’d cringe at the thought of taking someone from that past into my present world. Instead, I couldn’t wait. I wanted Kara by my side. I wanted to show her what I was able to do now with my money. I didn’t harbor any illusions about playing superman. At most, I figured maybe I could save a few kids some of the worst kinds of suffering. But even that felt pretty damn good, and I bet Kara would understand.

The traffic light turned green and we started onto the city block of our hotel.

“Finally,” I exhaled.

“New York traffic.” Vladimir shook his head.

Kara would be up there waiting for me. “Good to be home,” I murmured.

Where had that come from? Home? Why had I called it that? This was a hotel, not even the one I usually stayed at when I visited the city.

I rode up the elevator, still wondering at my choice of words. Home. What did I know about that? My father had left town before I was born, never even stuck around to meet me. My mother had been a junkie her whole life, her addiction leading her to prison and an early grave. I’d been twelve when I’d entered my first but sure-as-hell-not-last foster home. You got so you didn’t even unpack your bag. It was easier to sneak out at night if things got rough, or simply shrug it over your shoulder when they told you it was time to move on. Either way, one bag worked best.

I headed to our suite, trying to shake off my thoughts. Why was I thinking about that time in my life? Next thing you knew I’d start in on thinking about that little girl Shelly from my last foster home, worrying over what ever became of her, knowing deep in my heart it wasn’t good.

It didn’t make sense to dwell on any of it. And I definitely didn’t open up to anyone about it, ever. No one in my life now knew about my childhood. No one even guessed at it. I was great at evasion, so smooth most didn’t even realize I was doing it. The trick was simple: get people talking about themselves. People ate that shit up. All you

had to do was give them a vague line or two and let them believe what they wanted.

“You go to U Montana?” a guy might ask.

“Go Grizzlies,” I could reply, then ask where they’d gone to college. Then all I had to do was sit back, relax and listen to their stories about undergrad hijinks.

And most of the time, it was enough. It was more than enough. What were the odds on a kid like me making it into the top 1%? Without being a pro athlete. Slim to none. I had it good. So why was I dwelling on the past?

I wouldn’t do it. Not anymore. Not when I had Kara Brooks waiting for me in my hotel room.

“Kara!” I opened the door. No response. Not in the bedroom or bathroom. She wasn’t there.

Where was she? I’d been counting down the minutes until I got to see her again, itching at my skin to feel her, kiss her, wrap her up in my arms. But where was she? Out somewhere. My heart pounded and I could hear myself breathing hard as I battled feelings I never let come to the surface. Disappointment. Vulnerability. That ache of wanting and not having. I didn’t do those emotions, not anymore.

I took off my jacket, loosened my tie and started to pace the floor. She’d probably run off with someone in Times Square. Maybe the naked cowboy. Or maybe she’d met someone there, made plans, had a whole hidden agenda I knew nothing about.

That was crazy. Even while I roamed the hotel room like a jealous animal, I knew I was thinking like a maniac.

But something could have happened to her. She had the street smarts of a teddy bear. Someone could have easily lured her into a car. All they would have had to do was fake a sprained ankle.

Pulling out my phone, I texted her:

Where are you?

Waiting for her response, I fixed myself a drink. There was the chance that she’d left town. I knew she struggled with this arrangement, as well she should. What the hell was I doing, making her serve me for the week in exchange for money she sorely needed? I was being a dick. I should just cut her a check.

But then she’d be out the door. There was that voice in me: she’s just in it for the money. She’d never be here if she weren’t desperate. That old feeling, she’s the princess and I’m the beast. Of course she’d rather leave.

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