Sweetest Venom (Virtue #2)

by Mia Asher

  “Blaire, I’m going to ask you one last time to tell me what happened, and you better tell me. The next time, I won’t ask so nicely,” he warns, danger carrying in the low notes of his voice.

  I bite the inside of my lip, shamefully blushing. “In not so many words, he told me when I’m no longer with you, he wants what you have. ‘Some sort of arrangement that a woman like me wouldn’t pass up’ he said.”

  He’s quiet then. And as his silence grows, I can’t take it anymore. I must look at his face to gauge what he’s thinking. When I do, I’m surprised by what I see. He looks pissed. Angry. The angriest I’ve ever seen him. And suddenly, I’m afraid. But not for me. I’m afraid for William asshat Dowling.

  I place a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beating so fast. “Lawrence?”

  “Don’t say another word, Blaire. I will deal with that man tomorrow,” he hisses, his jaw set in a hard line.

  “Don’t be angry,” I say softly. “I’m not worth it.”

  “Angry? I’m not angry, Blaire. I’m fucking furious. I want to find out where that pathetic fuck lives and break every single bone in his body. No one should speak to a woman like that. Especially you.”

  I grip his suit jacket in my hands as though I would never let him go. His kind words, words that I didn’t expect from him, are a soothing balm for my heart. “Lawrence.” Thank you. Thank you for not judging me, and accepting every messed up part of me.

  He lowers his mouth and places a soft kiss on my hair. “Blaire.”

  When we reach his bedroom, he deposits me carefully on the floor as he reaches behind me, opening the door for me. “Go to sleep, darling. You need rest,” he says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Good night.”

  I grab his forearm, halting him as his jacket slides off my shoulders. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  In the silence that follows, he stares at me, his gaze swallowing me whole. Then when I think he’s about to leave, he leans forward and kisses the corner of my mouth, the crest of my cheek, the tip of my nose. Trembling, I gather his shirt in my fists. He places his hands on top of mine. “If I come in, I won’t be able to leave you alone.”

  “I don’t want you to. Stay.”

  Nodding, he follows me inside. I lie in the middle of the bed but he drags me to the edge of it as he sits on his haunches in front of me. The moon, the only source of light cutting through the darkness of the suite, illuminates his harsh yet breathtakingly beautiful features. Mesmerized, I imagine that’s what it would be like to stare into the eye of a tornado.

  As our gazes lock, he spreads my legs apart and reaches for one of them, placing the heel on his knee. He bends down, lowering his head and placing kisses as decadent as sin along my calves, my knee, the inside of my thigh. He absorbs me, his gaze burning me, swallowing me.

  Grabbing me by the ass, he pulls me forward, closer to the edge of the bed and to his mouth. Kneeling now, Lawrence lets the back of his hand trace my skin until it reaches the center of my body, teasing me, taunting me, before it continues its lovely exploration. He turns his mouth to the other leg, repeating the same torturous steps. Lawrence casts a spell on me, bewitching me, stealing my breath and making it his. His tongue absorbs my every thought until his name is all I can think of.

  Lawrence …

  Lawrence …

  Lawrence …

  Lawrence …

  When he reaches my right knee, I flinch in pain. Sitting back on his haunches once again, he looks at the red, angry gash on my skin. “What happened here?” he asks, his fingers grazing the cut reverently.

  “I fell,” I manage to say.

  He lowers his lips, kissing the cut and the pain away. Standing, Lawrence undresses in front of me, revealing his gorgeous, hard body. How can a man be so perfect? It’s as though in the beginning when God created life, he said, “And I create this man so you can see what I’m capable of—the magic in my hands.”

  “Stay right there. Don’t move,” I whisper and get off the bed, closing the space between us. I kneel in front of him, place my hands on the sides of his legs and lean forward, rubbing my lips back and forth on his hardness. Lust floating in my veins, I don’t feel the pain on my knee anymore, and even if I did, I wouldn’t care.

  He wraps my loose hair in his fist and forcefully pulls my head back, making me look at him. “What am I going to do with you?”

  I lick my lips, that never-ending hunger for him, for his body, for what he makes me feel flaring again. I grab his rock hard erection in my hand and stroke it, raising my eyes to meet his. “Want me.” I lick the head. “Need me.”

  “You’re blind, Blaire. So blind.” He bends forward and kisses me. Deeply. Senselessly. Ravenously. It isn’t a kiss. It’s a man brandishing himself on my lips and claiming them as his own.

  After he pulls away, both of us breathing heavily as though we’ve run a marathon, Lawrence bites my lower lip. “Now put my cock in your mouth.”

  “With pleasure.”

  I’m lying on top of him, chest to chest, heart to heart. And with him still inside me, I feel him under me, inside me—everywhere. Trying to catch my breath, I push some of the long dark hair that covers his eyes to the side to better see him.

  I smile. “You’re mad for wanting me. I’m a fucking basket case.” I lean in and press my lips on his Adam’s apple, leaving a trail of kisses up his jaw.

  He palms my ass, kneading the soft skin there, pressing us closer together. “Perfection bores me.”

  After a few moments pass in silence, I say, “Lawrence?”

  His fingers caress my naked back, the movement soothing and erotic. “Yes, Blaire?”

  “Did you really notice me from across the room at The Met?”

  “Yes, darling. I saw you the moment you walked into the room. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

  “And?”

  “Are you fishing for a compliment?”

  I grin. “Maybe.”

  He chuckles deep and low. “I saw you and thought to myself, ‘If there’s a God, please let me make love to her at least once before I die.’”

  I blush. “Oh.”

  “Happy now?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Blaire?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t ever repeat that you’re unworthy in my presence again,” he orders, leaving no room for a rebuttal.

  I snuggle deeper into his chest, hiding a delighted smile from him. “Yes, Lawrence.”

  I WAKE UP ENVELOPED in an invisible blanket of calm. The usual turmoil inside of me is missing, and in its place, there’s a quiet contentment—a peace. And I’m pretty sure it has to do with Lawrence and the acceptance that I found in his arms last night. It leaves me wanting more of him, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be this way—I don’t think I’m supposed to feel this way. Yet I can’t help but smile as the golden memory fleets across my mind.

  My friend.

  As I stare at the window, watching the sunlight come in, an idea takes root inside of me. Without giving myself a chance to second-guess myself, I get off the bed, dress quickly, and step out of the house. Relief washes over me when I find Tony waiting for me today. Lawrence’s Rolls Royce sparkles in the background.

  “Good morning, Tony,” I say brightly, stepping down the stairs.

  He moves to open the door. “Good morning, Miss Blaire.”

  Upon reaching the car, I place a hand on the hood and turn to look at him conspiratorially. “Let me ask you something. Do you think Lawrence would mind terribly if I were to surprise him at work?”

  His old, kind eyes sparkle with mischief. “He’d be delighted.”

  Many thoughts run through my head like a train chugging along with no stop in sight as we drive across town, but I won’t allow myself to analyze their meanings—at least not right now.

  Tony drops me off outside Lawrence’s headquarters. Awestruck, I stand on the pavement and stare at the massive building that houses Lawrence’s of
fices. Jesus Christ. Will this man ever cease to amaze me?

  Uncertain, I look back and meet Tony’s encouraging smile as he mouths to go ahead and keep walking. Belatedly, it occurs to me to head back to the car and tell Tony that I’ve changed my mind, but I stay put. Wiping my hands on my jeans nervously, I begin to walk in the direction of the revolving glass doors.

  Once I’m through security, I take the elevator to his floor. A pretty, vibrant receptionist greets me warmly as soon as I stand in front of the granite counter. I place my hands on the cold stone, trying to absorb my surroundings all at once. The floor to ceiling fountain wall behind her is both mesmerizing and soothing.

  “Good morning. I’d like to speak with Lawren—I mean, Mr. Rothschild, please.”

  “Sure.” As her open and kind gaze studies me, I want to fidget and straighten my clothes, but I don’t. “Do you have an appointment with Mr. Rothschild?”

  “Uh—no. I don’t think he’s expecting me, actually. But I’m a … uh … a friend of his.”

  “Not a problem, Miss …”

  “Blaire. My name is Blaire.”

  She smiles. “Would you please have a seat, Miss Blaire? Mr. Rothschild is currently tied up in a meeting but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Sure. Thank you so much.”

  I move to sit on a comfy-looking leather chair. Tapping my foot nervously on the floor, I watch people dressed in expensive suits move around the office, the buzz of conversations interrupted every few seconds by the sound of ringing phones. My eyes land on the elevator as its doors open, drawing my attention to a pair of sleek businessmen stepping out of it. I see the instant they notice me, their eyes roaming my clothes, body, and face. Their perusal makes me uncomfortable. However, I won’t allow them to see it. I sit up straighter and arch an eyebrow. They immediately look away and continue on their way.

  As minutes pass, I grow uneasy that I did the wrong thing by coming here. God, you’re stupid, Blaire. What did you think? That Lawrence would be just sitting around doing nothing?

  I walk up to the reception area. “Excuse me, I think I’m going to go.”

  “But Mr. Rothschild should—”

  “No, it’s okay,” I say, getting ready to escape. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Blaire? Is that you?”

  Shit. I close my eyes and open them as I turn in the direction of his voice. “Hi, Lawrence.” I watch an immaculately dressed Lawrence hand a file to someone next to him before coming to stand in front of me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Surprise!” Is he mad that I came? Shit. Shit. Shit. I school my features trying to appear blasé and flirtatious when I’m anything but. “I hope you’re not mad.”

  He frowns. “No, not at all. Why would you say that?”

  “I don’t know… You’re obviously busy and the last thing you need is someone bothering you. I didn’t think this through.”

  “You would never bother me, Blaire—you know that.” Lawrence takes my hands in his. “But tell me, darling, why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see you.” And that’s the God’s honest truth.

  “Yeah?” He lets go of my hands to cup my cheeks. “My God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  My cheeks burn like fireballs. I blink a couple of times dazedly. Hypnotized by him, I gaze into his eyes. There’s a teasing glimmer making them shine so brightly that it’s impossible to look away. I nod. “Yeah, very much so.” Suddenly feeling ridiculously exuberant and daring, I close the space between us and place my hands on his chest. “Don’t go back to work. Spend it with me.”

  “And what would you like to do?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing. Everything! Let’s do something crazy. Oh, I know! I know!” I say excitedly. “Let’s go to Coney Island. I’ve never been. Have you?”

  A lazy smile appears on his face, and the sight of it does crazy, wild things to me. “What do you say, my dear friend?” I ask.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re out of your mind?”

  I grin devilishly. “A couple of times.”

  “I have a feeling that I might regret this decision but yes, why not?”

  “It’s good to regret, Lawrence. It shows that you have lived.”

  Lawrence and I get out of the car and stand staring straight ahead of us. In the silence that follows, I’m not sure whether I should laugh or cry. I avoid looking at Lawrence because I’m embarrassed to have made such a mistake in front of him, and the last thing I want to find in his eyes is the same disappointment I see everywhere else.

  “Well, I guess this is where you regret listening to me,” I say, trying my damn best to sound amused. I fail miserably. After a pause, I add, “This sucks. I suck. I can’t seem to do anything right.”

  “Oh yes. What a waste of my fucking time.” He surprises me by taking my hand in his and intertwining our fingers. “Come on, Blaire. Give yourself a break. So what if the park is closed? I’m sure there are plenty of things to do.”

  I let go of him and hug myself with both arms, feeling deflated like a day old balloon. “You don’t get it. This was supposed to be special and, obviously, it isn’t.”

  “Of course I get it, but go ahead and sulk. I won’t stop you.”

  “Are you trying to pick a fight with me?” I ask incredulously.

  “No. It’s called trying to reason with you.”

  Tou-fucking-ché.

  I steal a sideways glance at him. He’s watching me with what I could describe as an amused smile. Really, the whole thing is ridiculous. I bump his shoulder while I fight a smile from escaping, but it’s no use. I smile anyway.

  “Wise-ass.”

  “You better believe it, darling.”

  “Sorry. I can be such a baby when I don’t get my way, but I wanted to do something nice for you for a change. You’ve done so much for me. And the one day …” I sigh. “I should’ve known that the rides are closed during the off-season.”

  “But you didn’t, so what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but spontaneity and I don’t usually go together.”

  “I can think of two scenarios. Would you like to know what they are?”

  I nod, staring at him.

  “We could get back in the car. I could drop you off wherever you want and I’ll go back to the office. The day will go on as if this little adventure hadn’t happened at all.”

  “What’s the second one?” I ask, not liking the first option at all.

  “The second one is,” he extends his hand, pointing in the direction of the park, “the unknown—with me.”

  I take one last glimpse at the outlines of the aging rides embedded on the autumn sky of Coney Island before focusing on Lawrence once more. Oh, what the hell. Why not? I reach for his hand and begin to walk in the direction of the park. “You make the unknown sound very inviting, Mr. Rothschild.”

  He tightens his grasp. “Likewise, Miss White.”

  We stop at Nathan’s on the boardwalk for an early lunch. While I wait for Lawrence to bring back our order, I find it extremely hard to focus on anything other than him. He sticks out like a sore thumb wearing his thousand-dollar suit in a sea of casually dressed locals and tourists. I giggle when I notice the dazed expression of the cashier who’s serving Lawrence. It’s the Lawrence Effect—complete immobility and the loss of all coherent thought and speech. Code word for making an ass of yourself.

  Still smiling, I shake my head and look away when the famous Ferris wheel sticking out behind the building comes into focus. A memory long forgotten becomes so clear I can almost taste the funnel cake I ate on that occasion. It’s one of the few happy memories I have of my parents and my childhood. Maybe even the last. I’m not exactly sure how old I was, but I remember that a traveling carnival stopped at our town. It was during one of my father’s dry spells. He had been sober for a while and hadn’t missed any of his AA meetings. Mom seemed
to be home more often, too. They were kind to each other. For once, laughter and the music of The Beatles and The Eagles filled our home instead of yelling and the usual fighting words.

  In my innocence, I thought that we were finally going to be a family, that they would finally love me as I loved them. In retrospect, it seems like we all knew that it was a borrowed moment, a temporary delight—a daydream that would eventually come to an end. I think that’s when I learned that good things never last. So, in silent agreement, we laughed harder, we held each other closer, and we pretended to be the perfect family for a little longer. However, we never spoke of the future. We just enjoyed the present as it came.

  But the most perfect moment of the night came when my dad took me on the Ferris wheel.

  We were up high, my small town a collection of faraway twinkling lights, when my dad put his arm around me and pulled me close to him. He placed a kiss on my head, and said, his voice shaky, “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Daddy. I will never ever forget this day.”

  “I won’t either.”

  But I knew by the sorrow in his voice that my dream was coming to an end, and it was breaking my young heart, fear choking me and making it hard to breathe.

  “My beautiful girl. I’m sorry for not being able to be the dad you deserve.”

  “But you are, Daddy. You’re the best daddy in the world,” I said and hugged him. I didn’t realize that I was crying until I saw a wet mark on his shirt.

  “You’re the light that stops me from drowning in the darkness that I live in.” He paused. “Whatever happens, know that I love you, my little Blaire. And that if I’m proud of one thing in my life, it is of calling you my daughter. Don’t ever forget that.”

  But eventually things went back to the same old, and his little Blaire did forget.

  “Here you go,” I hear Lawrence say, bringing me back to the present. As he places the tray full of steaming and heaven-smelling food on the table, he must notice that something is bothering me because he asks, “What’s the matter?”

  I paste a fake smile on my face and reach for a hot dog. “Oh, you know—the same old. Don’t want to talk about it. Let’s eat. You’re probably starving and so am I.” The words spill out one right after the other, without giving him a chance for a rebuttal. And he knows it, but Lawrence chooses to give me the space that I need by not probing any further.