She’d have to do the same now, because no matter how much she wanted to abuse him, this man was Zane’s father. And she
would
do business with him; she’d damn well make sure of that after the way he’d treated her. Proving him wrong would be her new goal.
So she pasted on a cool smile, looking down on him with exaggerated pity. “Contrary to your beliefs, I’m not stupid. Nor am I a whore. So I suggest you shelve your prejudices and do your research a little more carefully, because you’ll discover I’m the richest woman in Nevada and I don’t deserve to be treated like something you just stepped in.”
Chantal turned, ready to make a grand exit, only to find Zane behind her.
“You okay?” he said, holding her upper arms, his expression horror-stricken. “I caught the last part of what you said.”
Surprised by the sudden urge to bawl and not wanting to give Christopher the satisfaction of seeing it, she lowered her voice. “Your old man’s an asshole but don’t hold that against him. You came here to get to know him and that’s what you need to do. I’ll be upstairs.”
“But what about the sponsorship deal—”
“Don’t bring it up. I’ll fill you in later.” She kissed his cheek, eager to escape before she blubbered. “Good luck.”
Without looking back, Chantal strode from the bar, head held high, while inside her fake bravado cracked, then shattered as she realized that being at war with Christopher would put Zane right in the middle.
Zane had never seen Chantal anything other than bold and confident. Even when she’d been sick the last few days, she’d been pale but resilient.
But her pallor just now and the resignation in her eyes went beyond a forty-eight-hour virus. She’d looked like a wounded puppy that had been kicked by its master. Throw in the fact he’d heard her tell Christopher she didn’t deserve to be treated like shit and he knew exactly why she’d looked so fragile.
His father had done something to the woman he cared about.
His father…
God, even now, standing in front of the man, it didn’t seem real. How could this guy have held him as a baby, tucked him in at night, then walked away without looking back? What kind of a heartless bastard could turn his emotions off like that?
The familiar ache sprouted in his chest, the same emptiness that hadn’t quit since he’d learned he had a father three years ago. He’d never understand why Christopher really left. Probably couldn’t get past it. But he hadn’t traveled all this way to turn away now.
“What just happened here?”
“Nice to meet you too, Son.” Christopher ignored his question, stood and held out his hand.
Zane considered not shaking it for all of two seconds before realizing it wasn’t worth being childish if he wanted answers.
He shook his father’s hand, hoping his firm grip conveyed he wouldn’t be bullied as easily as Chantal.
“What did you say to Chantal?” He sat, perched on the edge of his seat, aware the awkwardness of this meeting had as much to do with it being their first time face to face as his father’s shabby treatment of Chantal.
“Not important,” Christopher said, waving away his concern as if it meant nothing.
“It is to me.”
“Difference of opinion.” Christopher’s piercing gaze held a hint of animosity before he sighed. “Not my place to tell you what we discussed.”
Zane wanted to push the issue. But he’d find out the truth from Chantal soon enough. In the meantime, he glared at his father, feeling unsure and annoyed and bitter, that bloody ache in his chest intensifying tenfold.
Christopher mimicked his frown. “You’re a Harrison all right. Same build as Kurt, same scowl as Wyatt.”
Disliking Christopher’s flippancy and obvious favoritism toward Kurt, Zane’s frown deepened. “Was there some doubt of my paternity?”
Christopher chuckled. “You’re a smartass like Kurt too.”
Considering Zane hadn’t spent any more time with Kurt beyond their initial meeting, he’d have to agree.
“I’m glad you came,” Christopher said, fidgeting with a drink coaster. “We’ve wasted too many years. Time to move forward.”
Yeah, it would be that easy for him. Move forward. Forget the fact he’d ignored his Aussie sons for thirty years. What a crock of shit.
“
We’ve
wasted too many years? Don’t you mean you?” Zane gritted his teeth against the urge to yell. “You knew you had sons in Australia. I didn’t have a fucking clue you existed ‘til three years ago.”
“I deserved that.” Christopher nodded, appearing unfazed. “You’re right. But I’ve told you where I was coming from and now that you’re here, I really want us to get to know each other.”
Zane wanted that too but being this close to his father he’d expected to feel…something. Instead, he couldn’t shake the animosity and regret. It was like an insidious parasite, worming its way through his hope that he could be part of the larger Harrison family.
“The tryout’s in half an hour, we need to go.” Christopher stood with the ease of a man half his age. “Let’s take things slow, okay?”
Unwilling to verbalize half of what he was feeling and thinking, Zane settled for a nod.
He wished he had time to check on Chantal but for now, he’d accept his father’s olive branch, do this tryout and figure out exactly how much he was ready to forgive.
After the battering her ego had taken at the hands of Christopher Harrison, Chantal needed a little TLC so she headed for the one place to lighten a woman’s heart: Rodeo Drive.
Entering the boutiques with their cool marble interiors gave her enough of a buzz, being able to make purchases even more so.
Gone was the good girl of Craye Canyon, the outstanding ballet student who never put a foot wrong, the innocent kid who’d wanted to be just like her mom: stay-at-home, quiet, nondescript.
That kid had died the day she’d learned her mom put up with her step-daddy’s philandering for years. After learning the ugly truth, Chantal had never wanted to be like her mousy mom: too tolerant, too conservative, too reserved. She’d wanted to emulate her brash aunt Pam, the town’s wedding planner, who swanned around in stilettos, minis and big hair.
Chantal had ditched the ballet and moved onto hip-hop, had been a high school terror with a reputation that grew exponentially with the outrageous rumors. She loved it. She fed it. Then she’d discovered her mom had withheld the truth about her dad living in New York City all those years and it has been the final straw. She’d left Craye Canyon behind to have the life she’d always wanted in Vegas.
She was driven, successful and rich, and no man, even someone as powerful as god-almighty Christopher Harrison, had the right to make her feel anything less.
However, spending two days in bed wasn’t conducive to trawling the shops, so she only lasted a few hours before she headed back to the hotel with enough bags to make a sizable dent in her suitcase.
Zane hadn’t returned from his tryout so she took the opportunity to soak in the giant bathtub, big enough to host a football forward line.
Reclining in jasmine-scented bubbles should’ve soothed. Instead, memories of her confrontation with Christopher continued to plague her, closely followed by thoughts of Zane and what it meant for them.
Zane had come to the States to get to know his family, particularly his dad. Stood to reason he had serious abandonment issues and it would take a while for him to thaw toward Christopher, but Chantal knew that the more time father and son spent together, Zane would end up forgiving his dad.
He was that kind of guy. Optimistic. Warm-hearted. Hopeful.
Which meant she couldn’t be a part of his life.
Christopher may be a prejudiced old goat who despised her, but no way in hell did she want to put Zane in the middle, having to choose sides. Not when he’d only just started bonding with his dad.
She had no idea how long he’d stay in the States for, but she knew it was time to pull back. To end things between them before they’d really started.
It would’ve had to happen eventually anyway, with him heading back to Australia. She’d just bring forward the expiry date on their relationship. Easy.
But the ache in her chest said otherwise. Letting Zane go wouldn’t be easy. Far from it.
She didn’t have a choice.
She’d been that kid, struggling for identity, needing parents to anchor her world. She’d eventually reconciled with her mom when she was twenty, two years after she learned she had a dad, only to have her mom die from pneumonia a month later at forty-four, way too young.
She’d been devastated, filled with guilt that maybe her residual anger toward her mom had contributed in some way, but thankfully her dad had pulled her through that tough time. He’d been incredibly supportive and their bond continued to strengthen despite the lost years.
That’s where Zane was at right now: trying to establish a bond with a father he’d never known existed. She of all people understood that. She couldn’t stand in his way.
Once they headed back to Vegas tomorrow, she’d end it.
In the meantime, she had one more night in LA, one more night to indulge in a selfish whim of having Zane. Again and again and again.
Zane bounded into his suite like a kid on Christmas morning.
He was pumped, high on the adrenalin rush of kicking butt at the tryouts, and spending some quality time with his dad.
For in the few hours after the tryouts, when they’d hung out at a restaurant, eating and drinking and talking, Zane had come to think of him as
Dad
in his head, not Christopher.
He was a long way off total forgiveness, but today went some way to healing the rift.
And he had to tell Chantal all about it.
He knocked on the interconnecting door, stuck his head around it, but she wasn’t there. Damn. He fired off a text before heading for the shower.
But as he stepped into the bathroom, he stopped short. He’d found what he’d been looking for.
“You’re back,” Chantal said, strutting toward him wearing a pale pink corset, matching panties, suspenders and sky-high heels. “I’ve been waiting a long time.”
“Fuck me,” Zane murmured, unable to stop staring at her tits spilling over the corset, his cock instantly springing to attention.
“I intend to, all night long,” she said, stopping a foot away and toying with the hem of his T-shirt. “But one of us is way overdressed.”
Zane gritted his teeth against the urge to take her hard and fast on the bathroom sink as she peeled off his T-shirt and flung it away.
She stood tantalizingly close, so close he could feel the heat radiating off her. She smelled like an exotic flower. Heady. Intoxicating. Her skin glowed luminous in the dimmed lights. He couldn’t wait to lick every delectable inch.
When she popped the button on his fly, he reckoned his eyes rolled back in his head.
“You sure you’re up for this?” He sure as hell was. His balls ached to prove it. “You’re feeling okay?”
Yeah, that was him, a regular boy scout. But she’d been pretty sick the last few days and as much as it would kill him to stop this now, looked like the conscience he’d finally developed after the selfishness of the last three years couldn’t be denied.
“Never better.” She unzipped him, the back of her hand brushing his cock in the process, and he groaned.
“You’re all sweaty,” she said, leaning in to nuzzle him, her teeth nibbling his chest, sending a shudder of pleasure through him.
“Give me two minutes to take a shower—”
“I like it.”
To prove it, she swiped at his neck with her tongue, licked her way down to his nipple, where she laved it repeatedly. Moved across to the other. Nipped him. Bit him.
A buzzing filled his ears as he wondered when he’d last been this turned on. So goddamn horny he could come in his pants like a teenager.
“You taste good.” She slipped her hands into the waistband of his jeans and his boxers, pushing them down simultaneously. Kneeling as she did so. Making his eyes pop and his balls tighten in anticipation as she took him in her hand and guided his cock toward her mouth. Kissed the tip. Circled him with her tongue. Before engulfing him in wet heaven.
“God, yes…” He moaned, lost in the heat, in the sensation, of having her suck him.
His hips started moving involuntarily as his hand fisted her hair, her suction so fucking good.
Until he glanced down. Saw her bobbing head. Reminded of the last three years when he’d lost himself in countless blowjobs from nameless blondes all in the effort to forget.
But this time was different. Chantal was different. And he didn’t want to forget, not one single moment.
“Hey.” He eased out of her mouth, momentarily missing the incredible wet heat. “My turn to taste you.”
“Later,” she mumbled, reaching for him again, but he helped her up gently, before kneeling at her feet.
“Sweetheart, we’ve got all night and I want to do you every which way,” he said, not breaking eye contact as he unclipped each suspender with slow precision. Peeled her panties down. Eyed her narrow landing strip. Leaned forward and tongued her.
She sighed and leaned back, braced her hands against the marble cabinet, open to him. He nudged her legs further apart, slid a finger in her, another, pumping in and out as he licked her clit. Circled it. Sucked it. Savored her internal muscles tightening as she started to mumble incoherently. As her pelvis thrust against his mouth. As she came in a low-pitched keen that made him want to hear it repeatedly.
He was on her in a second, barely remembering to grab a condom from the bathroom cabinet as he kissed her. Sheathed himself as their tongues dueled. Plunged into her as she bit his shoulder. Fucked so hard there was nothing beyond their groans and pants and the mind-blowing sensation of never wanting to be anywhere but here. Inside her. Slick. Tight. Wet.
He didn’t prolong it. He couldn’t. Not when he was this close.
He flicked her clit with his thumb and she shattered again. Only then did he let go, thrusting into her once, twice. Shot his load in an explosion so fierce he almost blacked out.