Reviving Haven Page 25

  This explains why I hadn’t heard from him since last night. Every emotion I am feeling right now is the reason I didn’t want to get involved in the first place. Latch is too young, too unpredictable. Of course, he would cheat. Jared was seven years older than I was, and even back then he still wanted someone younger, better. Maybe it is me. Am I just a magnet for men who cheat? I know one thing—I’m not going through this again. Latch told me he loved me, made me believe I could trust him. What could he possibly say to make me understand this?

  When I get to work the next day, I still haven’t heard from Latch. The paparazzi are everywhere, waiting for me. I’m bombarded with questions t which I have no answers. I feel incensed and embarrassed.

  Surely, he’s out of jail by now. With his resources, I’m sure he is able to make bail and is on his way home. Is he planning just to end our relationship without even telling me? What happened between sending me the boxes and that night? It doesn’t make sense—he sends me an outfit for the gala and then publicly cheats on me? His behavior is bizarre. This is just another time I’ve noticed him acting out of character. He can be the sweetest man, but sometimes, some of his actions are distressing and uncharacteristic.

  As I work through the day, I try not to dwell on Latch, or New York. My attempts fail miserably. I miss him, and not knowing is killing me. He still hasn’t called by the time I close the bookstore for the night. Damn him.

  I arrive home to an empty house. Weezie called me earlier to make sure I was okay because she has a business dinner to go to, and she was worried about leaving me alone. I enter the house and spend the entire evening sulking because he still hasn’t called. There is no way I am calling him. He’d had plenty of time to get his alibi concocted, so now it’s just a waiting game.

  Saturday comes and still there is no phone call. I’m not only furious, but also somewhat concerned. This is not Latch at all. If he has decided to cut me loose, he should at least send me a text telling me it’s over. The revulsion twisting in my gut finally gets the best of me and I rush to the bathroom only to empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I feel sick and miserable. I try reading and watching television, but no matter what I do, my thoughts always drift to him. My phone vibrates at eight o’clock, and it’s Latch. My hand is shaking as I flip open my phone.

  “Leannán,” his voice comes across as weak.

  I’m speechless. No words will come out. I don’t know what to say without the bitterness spilling out. I feel such hurt, such betrayal.

  “Haven, baby, please talk to me,” he begs.

  “What?” I ask crossly.

  I can hear his breathing. I can feel him trying to figure out what he should say next.

  “You know?” he asks, his voice heavy with guilt.

  “You’re Latch McKay, the entire planet knows,” I spit out.

  “Can I at least explain?”

  “Go ahead, explain, Latch. I’m dying to hear why Krystella was in New York and how she is your girlfriend.” I hiss.

  “Wait . . . what? Fuck . . . she just showed up, I swear.” He sounds frenzied, confused.

  “Latch, I can’t. I won’t go through this again, not with you, not with anyone. Please don’t lie to me, just be honest. Please, if you care about me at all, just tell me the truth.” My voice breaks as the tears come.

  “I’m telling you the truth, goddammit!” he roars. “Jesus, I didn’t cheat on you! I wouldn’t. Fuck, I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Not when I see a video of you being arrested with your girlfriend plastered all over the media.” I argue.

  “I got drunk. I got pissed. I got in a fight. End of fucking story.” He sounds exasperated.

  “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. I’m glad you’re out of jail,” I manage to say.

  I can’t take anymore. My heart is at its breaking point. This conversation is exhausting.

  “Can I come to you tonight?” he asks hesitantly, sounding unsure.

  “No,” I say abruptly. “I’m sorry, but it’s just that the last few days have been draining. I’m tired.”

  He’s nuts if he thinks I will sleep with him after the last week. The man is seriously delusional.

  “I do love you, leannán. If you don’t believe anything else, please believe that.” I hear his sadness, his disappointment.

  “Latch, we should talk. I mean about everything, but not tonight. My brain hurts from thinking too much,” I reluctantly admit.

  “You’re still going to the gala?” He sounds hopeful. “I want to see you in that dress, leannán.”

  “I don’t know, maybe. We’ll see. Good night, Latch.”

  I snap my phone closed. I hate feeling this way. This is why I didn’t want to care about him. I never wanted to love him.

  Over the next four days, I receive dozens of text messages, numerous phone calls and bouquet after bouquet of flowers. I miss him so much—there’s no denying it. I miss his face, his scent, but most of all, I miss the intimacy. We haven’t had physical contact in close to two weeks now. If I’m aching from the lack of sex, Latch has to be going out of his mind, if he’s telling me the truth regarding his fidelity. He hasn’t been without a lover since the age of fifteen. So, for him, a two-week hiatus from sex is probably making him certifiable. I refuse to allow myself to believe he’s getting sex from someone else.

  The following week is nothing but phone calls and text messages, begging me to allow him to see me. Our conversations are indifferent and short. He knows I need this time to process my feelings.

  I hate my heart right now. It wants Latch, but I can’t see him now. I can’t let him think I’m so desperate that I’m going to ignore what happened in New York. He still hasn’t told me the entire story. I knew from the beginning going into this that someone would get hurt. I tried to run, but Latch had caught me, and I wanted him too. He had put desire back into my life. He has rekindled something I thought had died long ago—hope.

  But I feel as if the hope is slipping away.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It’s the night of the gala. I finally decide to go, not only to see Latch, but because of Weezie. It’s all she’s talked about for the last week. I think she views it as an opportunity for me and Latch to straighten things out as well as meeting Keenan. I’m a bundle of nerves. Weezie and I spend a hectic day together alternating between the hair salon and make-overs.

  Latch had called in the morning, his voice sounding more enthusiastic than it has over the last two weeks. I need to see him. We need to talk before we decide to continue any type of relationship. I’m still hurt and confused, but I feel empty without him in my life.

  I have everything spread out on my bed, except for the gown, which is hanging on my closet door. I put on the bra and panties Latch purchased for me; they are insanely decadent and feel lush against my skin. Just the thought of Latch seeing me in the lingerie makes me ignite with hunger and my skin prickle with want but I’m afraid to think about that, I can’t let my mind go there. I slip on the dress. I’m absolutely awestruck how it fits perfectly, like it was designed just for me. It drapes across my body, cascading to the floor. The material caresses every curve and the neckline exposes just enough of my breasts to entice. I sit on the edge of my bed and slip on the shoes, tying the satin straps around my ankles. I have my hair down, loose and curling slightly at the ends. I put on some emerald green rhinestone earrings Weezie had found for me. Then touch up my make-up, finally adding a touch of lip gloss.

  I turn to look at myself in the mirror. It’s been a long time since I have truly looked at me. I’ve never seen myself like this and I love the way I look and feel. I just want to stare at my reflection.

  I pick up a small green clutch and spray perfume on my collarbone and wrists as I walk into the living room.

  “My God, Haven.” Weezie stares at me with a huge grin. “I have never seen you look more stunning. I mean … wow. The dress, fuck me… Those shoes—I want those sh
oes!” She laughs, as I point my toe, while modeling the entire shoe.

  “Latch sent me the dress, shoes and what’s underneath. One thing for sure, the man does have great taste,” I murmur, concern filling me. Will it be awkward?

  “Of course he does. He chose you, didn’t he? Besides, I’d forgive him for the shoes alone. They are fabulous!” Weezie sparks.

  She looks amazing too. She’s wearing a long mermaid style evening gown in light lavender with crystal bead accents. The bust is cut in a plunging V and the back of the dress is non-existent. The color of the dress against her red hair and pale skin makes her look striking.

  There’s a knock on the door. Weezie opens it to find Marlon.

  “I guess our ride’s here, but no men?” Weezie says loud enough for Marlon to hear.

  “Sorry, ladies, Mr. McKay and Mr. Stone will meet you at the gala. I was told there was an urgent matter, one that needed immediate attention.” Marlon stated professionally.

  My apprehension just jumped up another notch. Is this punishment for not allowing him to see me? Doesn’t he want to see me? Have I pushed him too far? How can he not want to escort me to the gala? Am I still meeting his mother? Weezie’s look is one of questioning. She takes her purse and puts her arm through mine.

  “Oh, screw the men. It’s you and me, babe. I’m not worried. Hell, there’s food, booze, rich single men up the wazoo. We are hot women. Did I mention how hot we are?” She chuckles.

  I have to laugh. Weezie has the knack of turning any situation, good or bad, into her favor. At least I wasn’t going to have to face tonight alone.

  Marlon helps us both into the midnight black limousine. We both settle in the limo, drinking scotch and having girl talk on the way. As we drive up to the gates of Latch’s mother’s house, my nerves peak with panic. The house reminds me of a smaller version of the White House. There must be fifty limousines among hundreds of the world’s most expensive cars. Flashes from photographers light up the entryway; the paparazzi are out in full force. There’s dozens of valets in front of the house. God help me. Weezie squeezes my arm tighter. She seems edgy but excited. I’m straight up dreading this.

  Marlon pulls up front, getting out and opening the door. Then out of nowhere, Latch appears in the doorway. He comes into view as Marlon helps me out of the limo. My pulse spikes as my body begins to tremble. I don’t think I have ever seen a man look so beautiful. It feels new, like I haven’t seen him before. He is sin personified.

  His tuxedo is perfection. Even though his pants hang loose on his long legs, you can still see the definition of strong, muscled thighs. The jacket is designed to hug his broadly defined chest that’s dressed in a pale green shirt. He’s not wearing the traditional black tie. Instead, it’s slightly darker than his shirt. His beard has been recently trimmed, making him appear more mature for his years. I glance at his hair. Even Weezie has to stop and stare. He has it slicked back in a short ponytail tied with a black ribbon. I turn away to look at Weezie.

  “Just take a deep breath. No worries. That is one gorgeous man. And Haven, he’s all yours, so get your ass out there and act like you own him.” Her eyes are lit with laughter. I just sigh.

  He walks toward me, and takes my hand in his as he pulls me into him. His warm breath caresses my earlobe, making my sex clench.

  “God, you’re so beautiful I can’t believe you’re mine. You are still mine, aren’t you, leannán?” His voice lingers in my ear.

  All the nerve endings in my breasts tingle and I feel my nipples pearl into hard peaks. The warmth of his breath combined with scotch I’ve had travels down my body. Flashes of light hit me one right after another. The paparazzi pelt Latch with questions.

  “So, Latch, which is it? Staying with the stripper or this lovely lady?”

  “What happened in New York?”

  “When’s Blood Vestige Four being released?”

  I feel panicked, the paparazzi is hammering us with a million questions all at once. As if Latch can sense my anxiety, he takes control. He squeezes my hand as his arm goes around my waist. He leans down and sweeps a kiss across my lips. Then he faces the cameras and begins to answer the paparazzi.

  “Gentleman, I’ll answer all three of those questions in order. This is the woman of my dreams that I was lucky enough to find while I was awake,” he tells them and then continues. “About New York, too much to drink and some asshole got in my face . . . and Blood Vestige Four, in the next year—I think we’re done here, guys, time for us to make our entrance.” Latch smiles as he abruptly rushes Weezie and me into the gala.

  Latch’s mother’s house is quite the contrast from how Latch lives. While he chooses not to show how wealthy he is, his mother flaunts it to the world. Her home reflects money, lots of it. It almost makes me feel like I’m in a museum. Every wall is covered with paintings from Picasso to Rembrandt, and no doubt, they are authentic. Even Weezie appears to stagger in her steps by the amount of wealth in the room. It isn’t just the furnishings, but the guests. I recognize several actors and musicians. There’s a large ballroom with an enormous gazebo outside. A live band provides dancing and the wait staff is going around the room with trays of appetizers and drinks.

  Latch holds me firmly at the waist as if he’s afraid I’ll run. I lean back slightly and look up at him.

  “I missed you, baby,” he murmurs as he takes my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm.

  “I missed you too,” I reply, fighting to hold back tears. My emotions are all over the place and his constant mood changes are killing me.

  “I’ll get us drinks,” he announces. “Keenan . . . over here, man.”

  Latch is waving him over. Keenan moves slowly towards us with Weezie by his side. Obviously, she has already made herself known to him, having most likely cornered him the moment she saw him. I can tell she’s elated.

  “I see you found the roommate?” Latch says to Keenan.

  I nudge Latch with my elbow. “You do know she has a name, right?” I ask Latch, rolling my eyes.

  “Yes, she does, and it’s extremely cute.” Keenan replies in a strong British accent.

  I actually catch Weezie blushing. Knowing Weezie for twenty years, I never would have thought there was anything or anyone who could make her blush, but Keenan has accomplished it in less than five minutes.

  “You remember, Haven, my girlfriend?” Latch emphasizes the word ‘girlfriend,’ and it makes me uncomfortable.

  “Yes, mate, I know. She’s all yours. Quit acting like a bloody moron. Hey, Haven, nice to see you, and truly once again, I apologize for the last time we met.” Keenan looks at me and then glances around the crowded room.

  “It’s time to make our way to the library. I’d rather have the expensive booze than the swill my mother’s peddling to the guests.” Latch quips, grabbing my hand. I watch as Keenan’s eyes reflect concern as well as hesitation, and I’m puzzled by the brittle look that passes between the two men.

  “I definitely need to get myself a little more impaired before my mother hunts me down. I don’t think I can handle her without a few drinks under my belt.” Latch says. Keenan takes Weezie by the arm and strolls across the room.

  Weezie looks back at me with a sigh and smiles. Latch holds me around my waist as he guides me through the mass of people, with Keenan and Weezie leading the way. We meet up with them in the library. Latch has books. Hell, I have books, but this is something else. I just stare at all the books in bookcases from ceiling to floor, lining the room from end to end. I have always dreamed about this kind of library. A large stone fireplace sits against the far wall with three leather chairs in front of it. An oversized vintage desk sits in the corner. On the far wall is a mirrored cabinet stocked with hundreds of bottles of liquor. My eyes grow large. Latch chuckles.

  “You should see the wine cellar,” Latch says with a wink.

  Latch grabs a bottle of scotch out of the cabinet and some glasses.

  “None for me, I’ll just drink the s
will, if that’s alright?” I say as my eyes dart around looking at all the books before me.

  Latch nods as he pours out scotch in three glasses. After five minutes, Weezie and Latch have downed two shots. Keenan takes the drink but sips on his it as if pacing himself. I shake my head at Weezie.

  “What?” She questions defensively.

  “Watch her, Keenan, her tongue gets a little loose when she gets hammered,” I joke.

  Weezie glares at me as she proceeds to do another shot. I shoot a glare back at her. I know all too well that not only will her tongue get loose, but the rest of her will too, and Keenan seems like a decent guy.

  “Latch, why don’t we pull back a little from the booze? We have all night.” Keenan puts his hand on the bottle Latch is holding.

  “It’s a party. If you’re trying to be my mother, I already fucking have one.” Latch grabs the bottle back, as he stares at Keenan icily.

  “You’re already had more than enough to drink.” Keenan announces, under his breath.

  “Not yet. Quit hovering, Jesus. Leave me the fuck alone.”

  Latch is livid. What’s wrong with him? His personality just went from pleasant to rude. There’s something not right here and it worries me. I’ve never seen him drink like this before— like he has a purpose.

  Latch and Weezie continue to do shots. I walk casually around the room, overwhelmed with the literature. This is what I want: to sit in a grand room like this with thousands of books at my fingertips, including the one I’ll pen someday. I feel Latch’s hands settle on both of my hips.

  “You don’t have any idea of how badly I want to fuck you right now,” Latch growls. My face becomes warm with embarrassment.

  “Latch, please.” I plead, praying Weezie and Keenan can’t hear us.

  “What is it, you don’t want me anymore?” His eyes flash with suspicion and his tone sounds menacing.

  “Latch, we’re at your mother’s house, please behave. I don’t want to argue tonight, but tomorrow we really need to talk. Your constant temperament switch is scaring me,” I beg, pretending to look anywhere but at him.