Body (Trinity Trilogy Book 1) Page 9
“How did you get in here?”
He shrugs. “My hotel.”
“Do you ever take no for an answer?”
“Rarely,” he admits. “Now slip this on.” He holds the box out, but away from the bed, so I have to get out of bed to retrieve it.
Two can play at this game. I smile coyly and his eyebrows rise into sculpted triangles. He has no idea what he’s in for. I pull back the covers and stand tall in a royal blue bra and thong matching set and nothing else. The cups of the bra are see-through, leaving nothing to the imagination. The pale pink of my nipples have hardened and puckered through the sheer fabric. His mouth opens and closes on a gasp. He takes a deep breath, and those ocean eyes scan me from head to toe before zeroing in on my chest.
I grab the box from him and delight in the knowledge that the second I turn around, he’s going to see bare ass with only a tiny wisp of lace above my tailbone and a string across each hip holding the garment in place. I turn and sashay toward the bathroom.
“God, woman! You’re going to be the death of me!”
In a second flat, he’s behind me, one hand on my ass gripping and squeezing the cheek, the other cupping a breast pinching the nipple through the sheer fabric, elongating it further. My back is smashed against his front. He kisses the side of my neck, across my shoulder blades, ending at the opposite shoulder, where he presses his teeth and bites down leaving a slight indentation in the skin. I moan and melt against him as he soothes the bite with his tongue and lips.
“You smell so good. Baby, I’ve never held back before, and it’s killing me.” The breath against my ear sends shivers down my spine and a new bout of need through my core. His fingers do wicked things to my nipple and I moan, leaning against him harder, pressing and rubbing my ass into his growing erection.
“Then don’t hold back,” I goad.
He pulls back and slaps my ass. I shriek and jump forward.
“Get dressed,” he says with finality, then adjusts his crotch.
I grit my teeth and enter the bathroom. Closing the door, I take a firm hold of the sink, gripping the tile. I have never wanted to make love to a man more than I do right now. He’s driving me insane waiting. After a few deep breaths, I’ve cooled the fevered emotions and hormones his mere presence sends raging. Looking in the mirror at my reflection, I go cold.
I haven’t really looked at myself since the attack. Unfortunately, I’ve seen this woman before and she’s hideous. My cheek is still swollen, though it is not nearly as noticeable as last night. There’s a garish purple and yellow bruise forming and spreading along my cheek into my hairline and up to the bandage over my right eye. I pull at the sterile strips, removing the bandage completely and take a good look at the stitches. There are five stitches accompanied by a sticky dark orange substance surrounding the area. It’s the iodine they used to prep the area before stitching it. It’s not the first time I’ve been sewn up after an attack. Hopefully, the last though. I sigh. How many times have I looked in the mirror at this ugly woman. Too many to count.
I wash away the iodine and the area looks better. The doctor did a good job stitching up the wound. Maybe it won’t scar. Concealer helps to hide the bruise and discoloration. I pull up my hair and pin it into a messy bun with the longer layers sweeping across my forehead and cheek. That serves as a nice cover to the wounded area and hides the stitches quite nicely. It’s the best I can do. I hate that I’m an expert at covering up bruises and wounds. Too many years of practice. But not anymore. I shake the thought away. Now’s not the time to go digging into the past.
Opening the box, I pull out the garment Chase brought for me. Extravagant would describe it best. I’m pretty sure I’ve never worn anything so exquisite. It’s a deep chocolate with a high neck that will cover the cuts and bruises at my throat. I slip it on, clip the back and the dress falls to just above the knee. It hugs my curves delicately. The silk fabric feels like flowing water on my skin, it’s so soft. I look at myself in the mirror and do not recognize the woman staring back. The dress is stunning and makes me look elegant. Chase might actually be proud of having this woman on his arm.
The entire back opens in a cowl style hanging just above my bottom. The little dips above my sacrum wink into sight as the fabric sways over them with the slightest movement. Awkwardly, I remove my bra.
I’m actually happy he came for me, even though I tried to push him away. In this dress, I actually feel like myself. The pounding headache from earlier is gone, thanks to the long nap and double dose of meds, but now I’m ravenous. Hungry for both food and Chase. Though, if Chase sticks to his ridiculous no hanky panky policy, I’m only going to be satisfied with one.
I slide a sheer glistening gloss over my lips and exit the bathroom. Chase is sipping a glass of wine. He hands me a glass then grasps my hand twirling me around to inspect the dress.
“You’re an incredibly sexy woman, Gillian.” His voice is seductive as he trails one finger along the open back, caressing my spine from nape to tailbone. Goosebumps appear across my flesh and I hold in a moan, biting my lip instead. Boldly, he dips his fingers into the back of the dress to trace the tip of my thong. “I love that I’m the only man who gets to do this.”
“Chase, the things you say,” comes out breathy and labored. I go to the closet and pull out a pair of nude peep toe heels, relieved that I packed the perfect staple shoes. They go with anything and everything. I step into them and the additional few inches of height make me feel better immediately.
“I have one more thing for you,” he says.
I take another sip of the wine and set it down on the side table.
He hands me a bag with “Louis Vuitton” emblazoned on the outside. “Why are you buying me things? You hardly know me,” I ask nervously.
“Because I want to. If I want to buy a beautiful woman nice things, I will.”
I gaze into his eyes and see honesty there. “Thank you.” I reply not knowing what else to say. Mom always told me that when someone does something nice you just say thank you. Don’t question it; just be grateful that they thought of you.
I open the bag and find a sleek black midsized purse. It has medium length handles and is square in shape. Very minimalist. It’s exactly what I would have picked for myself. The style and color will easily go with most outfits. He has excellent taste, and it is a lovely, thoughtful gesture after mine was stolen last night.
I smile and look at him grinning. “This is amazing, Chase. Really, thank you.” I pull it out and hold it next to me. The price tag drops over the side of the strap and I catch the amount. Oh. My. God. The tag reads eleven hundred dollars. “You spent $1100 dollars on a purse! This is too much.” I push the bag toward him as if it has suddenly grown teeth. He doesn’t take it and it drops to the floor in a beautiful leather heap.
“Chase, the purse that was stolen probably cost me fifty dollars. This is more than my share of rent for a month!” I’m breathing too fast. I swallow slowly and try to avoid the mini-panic attack. I look up at Chase. His teeth are clenched and that little muscle in his jaw is ticking.
“You deserve nice things, Gillian. I can afford it.” He says almost mockingly.
“I don’t want your money!” I stare at him in disbelief.
“I know,” his statement is matter-of-fact. “Boggles the mind.” He shakes his head and smiles. “Come. Dinner waits.” He picks up the purse and hands it to me.
Chase is a man used to getting his way. I don’t stand a chance against him. I’m going to need a new strategy if I’m going to guard my heart and my morals. We are so not done with this conversation though. I cling to the purse and grab a light jacket.
In the limo, I’m still flustered and irritated. Now I’m wondering how much he spent on this dress. It would probably horrify me. Does he typically just burn money? There are so many better uses for it than material things. It is a lovely purse, though. The leather is buttery soft, the style perfect to go with any dress and it even ha
s a name written on the inside lining. Madeline. I guess if you’re going to charge $1100 dollars for something, you might as well name it.
Chase twines his fingers with mine, bringing our hands palm to palm. I feel the energy buzz between us instantly. He leans over and whispers, “I can’t stop thinking about your ass in that blue thong. I’m looking forward to licking and spanking every inch of it when you’ve healed.”
He bites the tender flesh of my earlobe, sending a zing straight to my core. Did he say spank? I’ve never been spanked before. Hit with intent to harm, but never spanked for pleasure. Not sure if I’d like it but if Chase was naked and doing the spanking I’d give it a whirl. He places a leisurely kiss against my shoulder. It’s an intimate gesture from someone who’s only known me a couple days. I’m having a hard time with how much this man has of my attention in such a short time.
We reach our destination, and I am wired for sound. With little touches and caresses, the man has me on sexual pins and needles. Men have not paid attention to me the way Chase does. Maybe because I never let them. Chase seems to watch every move, every subtle nuance, the flick of my hair, the shake of my foot. Everything. It is as if he is intimately in tune with my natural self.
Sex spills from his lips as he speaks and in the way he inches his body closer to mine. I find I want to climb into his lap and stay for a week. There is this heavy, needy ache that fills the air around us, stifling with its unfulfilled intent. If he doesn’t put me out of my misery soon and take me, I fear I’ll explode. Icarus flying to close to the sun. I look at the flesh of my arms and legs to ensure they aren’t sizzling and burning already, sitting so close to white hot fire.
We arrive at the restaurant and Chase escorts me up a narrow staircase, hand firmly planted on the bare skin of my lower back. I can hear the melodic lull of a piano playing as we enter a large space filled with white columns and hard wood floors. My heels click against the dark surface. A catacomb of open rooms makes each dining space seem small, intimate. The walls are a soft, buttery yellow, the light so low that the room glows. The walls have few adornments, only a couple of pieces of large art hanging on one wall. Tall skinny vases stand like sentinels along the wall, giant sticks poke out in every direction. A simple frosted colored glass lights each table with a small orchid lying alongside it. Golden leather high back seats nestle against a cappuccino colored table. It’s very simple and a complete contrast to the bar we went to last night. It has an Asian-inspired spirit to it.
People talk quietly at their tables; everyone is dressed impeccably. Chase caresses my lower back, his palm pressing lightly against the naked flesh to usher me forward.
“Mr. Davis, it’s lovely to see you tonight,” says a man in a structured black suit.
“Thank you, Jeffery. I would like my table. We will be staying for dinner. Please tell the chef to prepare a seafood dish for two.”
I tug on his suit coat. He leans in and I whisper into his ear. “I don’t eat seafood.”
“Really? None at all?” He looks at me quizzically.
“No.” I bite my lip and check my pedicure. Yep, still looking good. No chips in the pink paint.
“Hold that, Jeffery. This stunning lady does not eat seafood. What would you like, Baby?” Baby again? A girl could get used to that endearment.
“I’d give anything for some pasta.” I grin and lick my lips. He notices and brings his thumb up to pet it gently. His eyes go dark, his gaze intense as he studies my face.
“Don’t lick them or I will,” he warns.
I nod. Excitement swirls in my gut at his words. Would he lick me right here in the middle of a restaurant with everyone watching? If I was a betting woman, I’d say the odds were a complete and resounding yes.
“Apparently the lady would like some pasta, sans the seafood. I will have the same.” He makes a tsking sound. “What this woman does to me.” He shakes his head and leads the way with his hand splayed along my back. I can’t focus on anything because his finger is distractingly close to the fabric of my thong. He’s definitely ramping up the seduction. I’d give in with a loud “Take Me” if I thought he would go against his earlier decision to wait.
The maître d leads us to a secluded table set apart from the other patrons. It’s separated by a wall of dark plantation style shutters. Chase pulls out my chair. I don’t think in all of my twenty four years, I have had a man pull out my chair. It’s so noble and old fashioned. It’s part of what makes this mercurial man unique, so…special.
Wine appears without Chase ordering it. “I took the liberty of bringing you the newest selection, Sir.” Jeffery says confidently.
“Have at it, my friend.” I love how Chase is jovial and respectful with his staff, especially after what I thought was rudeness to the bartender the other night. He claims it was his impatience to ensure I’d have a drink with him. I choose to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Jeffery pours the wine and Chase sips it. “You’ve done it again. It’s perfect and will go well with the pasta.” The maître d fills our glasses and exits, closing the shutters, providing complete privacy.
He clinks our glasses together. “To us,” he says. I feel my cheeks heat as I tap his glass then take a sip. The wine is to die for splendid. This is the third time I’ve had a glass of wine in Chase’s presence and every last one of them were incredible.
Chase smiles as I assess the legs in the glass of red. “So Gillian, what does a typical day for you look like?” he asks and takes his own sip of wine.
I’m about to answer but am interrupted by the buzzing of my phone from the new purse. “Just a sec.” I check and realize I have six missed calls. Not good. The text display is from Maria.
To: Gillian Callahan
From: Maria De La Torre
Dios Mio, are you okay? Call me. Now!
Oh no. She knows. Shit! This is not going to be good.
“Everything okay?” Chase asks at the same time another ping rings out from my cell phone. I glance down.
To: Gillian Callahan
From: Bree Simmons
What the hell happened? Where are you? I’m freaking out! Call me.
I look up at Chase with what must be a miserable expression, because his gaze fills with concern. “Um, looks like the girls found out about last night?” Another ping. I roll my eyes. Not now! I look down. It’s Kat. I sigh loudly.
To: Gillian Callahan
From: Kathleen Bennett
I just heard. We’re worried about you, Gigi. Please tell me you’re okay? How can we help?
“What the hell is going on?” Chase’s voice rises above the static of irritation swirling around my subconscious. Damn that Phillip!
I turn my phone off and concentrate on him. “They found out. I’m going to kill Phillip tomorrow,” I say annoyed. Phillip can’t just leave well enough alone. I should have never told him. No, that was never an option. I should have told him not to say anything to the girls so that I could tell them first. Preferably after they’ve had a couple glasses of wine. None of us take kindly to the other being hurt and being mugged at gunpoint… I take a huge gulp of my wine and am momentarily assaulted by the lush berry notes. It’s delicious.
“Who found out? What did they find out?” I wasn’t planning on going into detail about my family. Technically, they’re not my blood but they are the only family I have and they are fiercely protective.
“The girls. Phillip must have told Maria what happened. Now they’re all freaking out and blowing up my phone.”
“Gillian, back up. Who are the girls?”
I light up at the mention of my soul sisters. I miss them terribly. My huge grin must have set him at ease because his eyes twinkle as he smiles at me. “This could take a while,” I joke.
“I’ve got all night, especially when you have that gorgeous smile on your face. Tell me about them.”
Jeffery brings a cheese, olive and meat appetizer that pairs perfectly with the wine. After a few nibbles, I
explain the loves of my life.
“Maria De La Torre is half Italian, half Spanish. Very feisty. She’s the most incredible dancer you’ve ever seen. Watching her dance is like…” My hands and arms flair out trying to show it. “…like watching a painting come to life, it’s breathtaking.” He nods, and I continue. “We’re roommates. We’ve lived together the past couple years, but have been friends for half a decade.” I stop a moment when the memory of that first meeting invades my mind.
We were both black and blue, sitting quietly with a group of other battered women who’d escaped their bad relationships. The other women were there to coach us. But neither of us felt a connection to them. They looked perfect, didn’t have a scratch. Even though they said they’d been in our same chair a time or two, Maria and I looked at one another and clasped hands. Right then and there, I knew we’d support one another for life.
“You’ve got this glazed look in your eyes. Tell me.” Chase breaks into the memory.
I smile, trying to recall where I was before I took a detour down memory lane. “Maria just has a fire in her. When you’re near her, she’s warm and comforting. She traveled the world dancing until she had uh…an accident.” I settle on accident. I don’t intend to go into the details behind the particular event that almost ruined her career. “But she’s back to her old self and working at The San Francisco Theatre with one of the local dance companies.”
“I know the company and the theatre. Beautiful architecture,” he says.
I nod. “You should see one of her shows. Everyone is impressed when they see her talent.”
“Looking forward to meeting her. Maybe tomorrow when I take you home from the airport?” I nod and he smiles before plopping in a bite of meat and cheese. “Continue.” And I do because it’s fun and easy to talk about my girlfriends.
“Bree Simmons owns “I Am Yoga” in downtown San Francisco. We met several years ago when I took up yoga. She’s absolutely gorgeous, flexible.” I waggle my eyebrows at him and he laughs. ”She has the voice of an angel. She will bring any grown man to their knees through her songs, flexibility and huge heart. But what is so amazing is that she doesn’t even have a clue about her beauty.”