Virtuous, a Tame Quantum Novel

by Marie Force

  Our marriage was a disaster in more ways than one, which is why I publicly stated I’d never marry again. Despite the intense feelings I already have for Natalie, I still believe I’m better off not being married. What would sweet, lovely, wounded Natalie think if I told her about the things I want to do with her?

  Yeah, I can only imagine how that conversation would go. Frustrated and turned on thanks to the direction my thoughts have taken, I drag a hand through my hair. Hayden is right about me. When I try to deny who and what I am, it usually goes bad for me and the women who have the misfortune to get involved with me. The majority of them never knew why I wasn’t satisfied by what we did together, just that it was over between us.

  Even knowing why it’s a bad idea to let this continue, I already can’t imagine a day without Natalie in it. I try to picture telling her, after everything we’ve already shared, that I’ve changed my mind, that I’ve decided we aren’t compatible after all. Those words would hurt her, perhaps so deeply she’d never take a chance with a man again. The thought of that hurts me.

  I’m a fucking heartless bastard because I know I’ll never let her go, despite all the reasons why I should.

  I fight off the sleep that would claim me because I don’t want to miss a second of the sweet pleasure of holding her while she sleeps. When I can’t fight it any longer, I drift into uneasy rest, filled with dreams of me chasing after something I can’t have. Every time I get close, it slips away again. I can’t see or touch what I’m after, but I can feel it so intensely, I wonder how I can breathe through the painful surge of desire.

  Then I’m at the club in New York. It’s dark except for the single light that illuminates the table where Natalie stands, still wearing the robe I provided for her and afraid of what I’m going to do to her. I like that she’s afraid. Though she has come here willingly, her underlying fear fires my desire.

  Here in my dreams, she’s not a rape survivor. She isn’t broken inside. She isn’t fragile or hesitant. I’m confident she can handle what I have planned for her. My imagination has us embarking on a public scene at the club I own with my partners. It’s so detailed and erotic. She’s everything I ever wanted, my wildest dreams come to life.

  I wake with a start to realize I’ve come in reality as well as in my dream. My cock is throbbing, my pants are wet, and I’m sweating profusely. Beside me, Natalie sleeps on, undisturbed. I’m rattled and mortified and shocked. I haven’t had a wet dream since I was a teenager, and even then it was a rare occurrence.

  The dream comes back to me in erotic snippets that has my cock hard all over again at the memories that come back to me one after the other to torture me, as if I didn’t just have the single most explosive orgasm of my life. Moving slowly so I won’t disturb her, I get out of bed and go into the bathroom, where I remove my soiled pants.

  “Jesus,” I whisper to myself and the almighty. What the hell just happened? I splash cold water on my face until my breathing calms and my heart stops racing. I’m ashamed and appalled to have had such a dream about Natalie, but underneath it all, I’m insanely aroused at the idea of sharing an experience like that with her.

  And then I’m just as quickly despondent at the knowledge it’ll never happen. It will be all she can do to handle regular sex, let alone my kind. I tell myself I can live with that as long as I get to be with her, but deep, lacerating doubts plague me nonetheless.

  I take a long shower as images from the dream continue to taunt and arouse me. I’m like a live wire by the time I step out of the shower and pull on a clean pair of pajama pants. If I were here alone, I’d wear nothing. But out of respect for Natalie, I wear the pants. I venture into the living room, pour myself a couple fingers of Bowmore and take it with me to the windows that look down over the bright lights of Hollywood.

  I’m tormented by what I should do where she’s concerned. The dream has helped to solidify how impossibly out of reach this relationship really is. I have to let her go while I still can. After this weekend, I’ll do what I should’ve done right from those first minutes in the park.

  I’ll let her go, even if it kills me. It’s what’s best for her.

  Chapter 15

  I wake up alone, which is profoundly disappointing after taking the momentous step of sleeping with him in the first place. The robe he lent me last night is laid across the foot of the bed. I put it on and tie the belt at my waist. In the bathroom, I use the facilities and brush my teeth and hair before wandering into the hallway to look for Flynn.

  He isn’t in the office, but I take a moment in the light of day to check out the framed photos that cover the walls. There are pictures of him with some of the biggest names in the business. In them, he’s always wearing that wide, appealing grin I’ve become so fond of.

  Like his desk in New York, this one is also piled high with scripts and other piles of paper and folders. Just as I’m wondering why he doesn’t have someone clean up the office, Addie appears in the doorway.

  “He won’t let me touch a thing in here,” Addie says as she hands me a mug of steaming coffee. “I took a guess on the cream and sugar.”

  “It’s perfect, thank you.”

  “No problem. So about this office… Total disaster, right?”

  “It is kind of a mess.”

  “He says he has a system and I’m not to touch a single speck of dust in here.” She shrugs. “If there’s a system, I’ve yet to discover it.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He went for a run. He’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  I’m surprised he left without telling me and that Addie is here earlier than expected, but I certainly don’t share those thoughts with his assistant. “How did you two meet?”

  Leaning against the doorframe and holding her own mug, she says, “He didn’t tell you? Huh, well, my mom died when I was twelve, leaving me with a dad who had no idea what to do with me. He’s a cameraman and has done a lot of work for Quantum, Flynn’s production company. Flynn’s friend Marlowe Sloane took an interest in me, took me shopping for prom gowns and was like my fairy godmother.”

  She takes a deep breath and continues. “When I graduated from UCLA and couldn’t find a job to save my life, she suggested Flynn hire me to run his. I’ve been with him five years now, and it’s the coolest job ever. I never know what’s going to happen on a given day. Like when he called me to tell me he’s bringing a date to the Globes who needed a stylist to get her decked out. So I put the word out that Flynn is bringing a date who needs a stylist, and I’ve had every stylist in Hollywood—and every designer in the universe—kissing my ass all week. See what I mean? I love my job!”

  She’s so adorable and delightful that I can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. She’s several years older than I am, but I feel like the adult here for whatever reason. There’s a lightness about her that’s infectious. I find myself lightening up and getting excited about the stylists.

  “Sooooo, you want to see some dresses?”

  “Now?”

  “Right now.”

  “Yes!”

  “Right this way.”

  I follow her to Flynn’s living room, which has been converted into a dress boutique while I was sleeping. I bring my hands to my mouth to muffle the gasp of delight at the sight of gowns in every color imaginable hanging on racks that have been artfully arranged throughout the room.

  I’m so overwhelmed, I have no idea where to begin.

  “Don’t stress out. Tenley is on her way. She’s the best stylist in Hollywood, and Flynn told me to get only the best for you.”

  Hearing that makes me smile, even though I’m slightly annoyed that he left me alone with people I don’t know on our first morning in LA. I try not to let it ruin my delight in the dresses, but it nags at me anyway.

  The doorbell rings, and Addie goes to answer it while I tie the robe tighter around my waist. If I’d known this was happening first thing, I would’ve gotten up earlier and gotten dressed.

&
nbsp; Addie returns with a tall woman with long dark hair and sharp dark eyes that immediately zero in on me. She’s wearing super-skinny jeans with sky-high heels and a blue blazer over a formfitting tank. She carries a huge leather purse that might be Louis Vuitton. I’m immediately intimidated.

  “Oh, he wasn’t kidding. You’re stunning.” Tenley approaches me with an almost deranged look in her eyes that has me taking a step back.

  “Don’t be scared,” Addie says, laughing. “She doesn’t actually bite.”

  “You’re flawless. I hope you’re prepared to be the next It Girl, because the minute the paps get a look at you, they’re going to be ravenous.”

  “Don’t scare her off, Tenley,” Addie admonishes. “Flynn wants her to enjoy this.”

  “Oh, we are going to enjoy this. We’re going to enjoy it so much.”

  Despite my initial impression of her, Tenley is savvy and astute. She studies each gown with a critical eye and narrows the choices to two that she feels best suit me. One is an incredible plum color that clings to my body, leaving nothing to the imagination. It’s sexy and demure at the same time. I love it.

  Addie gives me a thumbs-up when I emerge from the bedroom in the plum gown. “That is awesome.”

  “I agree,” Tenley says, tugging at the bodice and checking the fit through my hips. “But I want to see the black one, too.” She grabs the one she wants. “You’re going to need help getting into this one.”

  I didn’t have sleepovers. I didn’t get a chance to play team sports. I spent one full year in high school. Other than the one time I wish I could forget but never will, I don’t have any experience with showing my body to strangers, and I hesitate now.

  Tenley immediately senses my hesitation and softens. “This is my job, honey. I’ll be discreet. I promise.”

  Because Flynn has a right to his privacy, I take her into one of the guest rooms rather than his room. She makes quick work of getting me into the dress. This one shows a lot more of my breasts and my left leg, thanks to a split that extends nearly to my waist.

  I tug on the bodice that refuses to budge any higher. “I don’t know about this.”

  “Come out and see it in the mirrors. You might feel differently.”

  I doubt I will, but I follow her anyway.

  Addie gasps. “Oh, wow, Natalie… The other one is pretty, but that one’s a knockout. That’s the one.”

  I stand before the double mirrors that came with the dresses, and immediately see what they see. This one is special. I barely look like me in it. I look like someone brave and fearless, someone who is perhaps on the verge of a whole new life she never could’ve imagined for herself.

  “Will you be comfortable in it, Natalie?” Tenley asks. “If not, the plum is perfect on you, too.”

  “The plum is the safe choice.” I can’t stop looking at myself in the mirror. I can’t believe that’s me. I look like the women in the magazines after the award shows. “This one’s a bit riskier.”

  “It is,” Tenley agrees, “but it’s still classy and sexy.”

  “Who is it?” Addie asks.

  “Gucci Couture.”

  “Gucci,” I whisper. “For real?”

  “As real as it gets and one of a kind. And apparently made just for you.”

  “What happens at midnight?” I ask them.

  In the mirror, I see them exchange perplexed glances.

  “Do you mean tomorrow night?” Addie asks.

  “I’m thinking about Cinderella and what happened when the clock struck midnight.”

  “In Hollywood,” Tenley says, “that’s when things are just getting interesting.” She unzips the dress. “You’re going to blow them away.”

  “You’re going to blow him away,” Addie adds.

  I like the idea of that. “Okay, ladies. Gucci it is.”

  “Fantastic,” Tenley says, her satisfaction apparent. “Now, about the shoes.”

  Chapter 16

  Tenley and Addie are long gone by the time Flynn finally returns. He’s sweating profusely and breathing hard when he comes into the house. Sweaty has never looked so sexy to me.

  “Oh, hey, you’re up.” He goes straight to the fridge for a bottle of water that he downs in three big gulps.

  “I’m up, and I’ve been styled, too.”

  “Tenley was already here?”

  “Yep. All done.”

  “What’d you pick?”

  “I’ll let you see for yourself tomorrow. They took it to do a few alterations, and she’ll meet us in town tomorrow for finishing touches.”

  “You’re happy with it?”

  The question makes me laugh. “Yes, Flynn, I’m happy with the Gucci Couture dress I get to wear to the Golden Globes tomorrow night. And I’m thrilled with the Valentino sandals I’ll be wearing with the one-of-a-kind dress.”

  “Good. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  He says the words the way he always does, but something is different.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You seem… I don’t know… distracted or something.”

  “Sorry about that. I had a couple of work things crop up early, and they’re on my mind. I’ll shake it off in the shower and then make you some breakfast. Sound good?”

  “Or I could make you some breakfast while you’re in the shower.”

  “Only if I get to do the dishes.”

  “Deal.”

  “I’ll be quick.”

  I want to know what happened, what has him so distracted, but I figure he’ll share it with me if he wants to. I don’t want to be, but I’m disappointed that something has changed since our wonderful afternoon and evening together yesterday.

  As I withdraw a carton of eggs from the fridge and begin making an omelet with cheese, tomatoes and peppers that I slice into thin strips, I wonder if I did something wrong. But what could I have done in my sleep?

  Oh God… Did I say something? Did I talk about the attack? I falter mid-slice, and a searing pain in my finger requires my full attention. Blood pours from the cut on my index fingertip. I run it under cold water, but the blood keeps coming. I can barely bother to focus on the cut with the possibility looming over me that I said something I didn’t mean to in my sleep.

  Flynn returns to the kitchen, where I’m applying pressure to the cut with a paper towel wrapped around my finger. “What happened?” He’s wearing gym shorts and a gray T-shirt.

  “Knife met finger. I wasn’t paying attention.” I can’t even look at him as the fear pulses through me like a heartbeat, leaving me panicked and light-headed. As much as I don’t want to know, I have to ask. “Did I do something or say something in my sleep?”

  He looks up from examining the cut. His expression is nothing short of stricken. “What?”

  “Something happened. You’re different. I want to know if it was me. Did I say something or—”

  “No, God no, Natalie.”

  “Then what’s wrong? You came in from your run, and everything feels different. Have you changed your mind about wanting me here? Because if you have—”

  “No.” He puts his arms around me and holds me. I’m immediately enveloped in the fresh clean scent he brought with him from the shower. “I haven’t changed my mind. I had a dream that upset me. I was up most of the night. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I expected you’d sleep in, so I went for a run. I saw Addie coming in as I was leaving, so I knew she’d be here when Tenley came.”

  “Do you… Do you want to talk about your dream?”

  “I… No, not really.”

  “You know how you tell me I can trust you?” He nods. “You can trust me, too. I hope you know that.”

  “I do, sweetheart. I trust you. If I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “You trust me with your home, and I’m honored by that. But that’s just real estate. If you don’t trust me with what’s in here,” I say as I rest my hand over his heart, �
��the rest doesn’t mean very much.”

  He stares at me in that intense, all-consuming way of his. “You know how there’re some things you said you won’t talk about—ever?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a few things that fall into that category, too.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Maybe someday we can have a ‘share our secrets’ conversation.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Until then, I’m kind of starving.”

  “Me, too.”

  He tends to my cut finger with antibacterial ointment and a bandage before we enjoy the omelets and toast as well as the fresh fruit he tells me he eats every day at breakfast. We discover we like our coffee exactly the same way—with cream and a quarter teaspoon of sugar. Real sugar. None of the fake stuff for us. After breakfast, I get dressed in shorts and a tank top.

  Flynn hands me a tube of sunscreen. “You’re going to need this. And this.” He puts a ball cap on my head.

  “How come?”

  “We’re taking a convertible and going sightseeing.”

  Yet another car awaits us in front of the house. This one, he tells me, is a Porsche Boxster. It’s a beautiful bright red.

  “Is it new?”

  “Nope. It’s a ’96. First-generation Boxster. A bit of a collector’s item.”

  “So this car thing goes back a while, huh?”

  He opens the passenger door for me. “Um, yeah.”

  “Your sisters might be right about that twelve-step program.”