Trainwreck 1 (Trainwreck #1)

by Nelle L'Amour

  ###♥###

  We spent the next two and a half hours cruising along the Long Island Expressway and later Sunrise Highway at eighty miles an hour, listening to music that Ari had programmed for the trip, which included selections by Frank Sinatra, Bob Marley, and James Taylor. I liked Ari’s taste in music; it wasn’t that heavy metal stuff or annoying rap crap that so many guys listened to. It was mellow, mature, and soulful.

  There wasn’t much traffic as most New Yorkers had left yesterday to get an early start on the three-day Memorial Day weekend. The sound of the wind whipping against the car and the loud music made conversation virtually impossible. Fortunately for me, the combination had a calming effect, allowing me the bliss of mindlessness, instead of my normal stream of worries. Ben quietly played games on his iPad, which I learned was a birthday present from his father, while Ari stayed focused on the road. I glanced over to him occasionally, admiring his tanned biceps and the way the wind ruffled his golden hair. I had to resist the urge to run my fingers through the silky, glistening strands. God, he was gorgeous.

  We finally exited the highway and began traveling down a more rustic road. After twenty or so minutes and several turns, the unmistakable smell of the salty ocean mingled with the fresh, fragrant country air. We passed a sign that read “Welcome to Southampton,” and a few turns later we were cruising down an oceanfront road lined with mansion after mansion. We soon pulled up to a massive electronic gate that opened like the wings of a butterfly after Ari hit a button on his elaborate dashboard. Ben shouted out, “Yay! We’re here!”

  Upon entering the property, the car traversed a long, pebble driveway that wound past pastures of grass, beds of roses, and other wildflowers. Finally, we pulled up to a rambling two-story gray shingle house with wraparound white terraces. Despite its grand size, it wasn’t at all pretentious.

  A big-boned woman with high Slavic cheekbones and a man who resembled Charles Bronson in his heyday instantly came out the front door to greet us. They both looked as if they were straight out of Central Casting for Russian secret service agents. The woman was clad in a black maid’s uniform that was identical to Luisa’s, and the man wore tight black jeans with a T-shirt that exposed his body-builder physique. Ben jumped out of the car to hug the woman and high-five the menacing looking man. They must be Olga and Vadim. The Southampton staff.

  Ari hopped out of the car and opened my door before I had the chance. My Trainman was always the gentleman. He then unlatched the trunk of the Bentley as Olga and Vadim promptly joined him. Ari handed Vadim the luggage, which included a pink overnight bag with tan leather trimmings. Mine?

  With his hand pressed on my lower back, Ari ushered me inside the house while an excited Ben skipped ahead of us. The lodging was quite the opposite of Ari’s intimidating, formal Park Avenue apartment. It was the kind of place that, after a long day of sun, you could curl up with a good book and relax. White slipcovered seating arrangements were scattered on bleached hardwood floors, and nautical-themed paintings lined the all-white walls. Everything was connected by accents of blue. The color of the ocean. The color of Ari’s eyes.

  “Saarah, Olga will show you to the guesthouse.”

  So, that’s where I would be sleeping. In my own room. In my own bed. In my own house. Detached from him.

  “Please put on a bathing suit,” he ordered. “That’s all you’ll need. We’ll be going to the beach following lunch.”

  So, he had packed a bathing suit for me. A bikini or a one-piece? And what other things would I find in my bag?

  As I followed the housekeeper through French doors out to the back of the property, my eyes took in my surroundings. An endless emerald green lawn surrounded a large rectangular swimming pool that shimmered a soft blue in the sunshine, and to the right was a tennis court. I had seen pictures of houses like this but had never in my life thought I’d actually step foot in one. Let alone be staying in one.

  Ahead, to the left, was a shingled house, similar in spirit to the architecture of the main house. I assumed this was the guesthouse as Olga led me down a shrub-lined path. As we got closer, my eyes popped. It was bigger than the house I grew up in. Way bigger!

  She opened the front door, and I took my overnight bag from her. “Thank you, Olga. I can handle it from here.”

  Olga smiled at me, her first sign of warmth. In her heavy Russian accent, she paid me a compliment of sorts. “It eez very nice to finally meet a girlfriend of Mr. Golden.”

  Well, I wasn’t exactly his girlfriend, but I took her words to mean that Ari had never brought a woman here before. Well, at least since his ex. It took away the chill of having to stay in the guesthouse alone.

  The interior of the guesthouse mirrored that of the main house with a cozy array of slipcovered furniture, flea market finds, and quirky paintings. Outsider art, I was sure. I was beginning to discover there was another side to Ari Golden. One that was warm, unpretentious, and creative.

  The best part of the guesthouse was its breathtaking view of the ocean. From the living room, I could see waves crashing up against the white sand. The sound was exhilarating and soothing at the same time.

  I found the bedroom easily. It was simple and charming, consisting of a bleached wood sleigh bed and white wicker furnishings that included a rocking chair. I plopped myself and the overnight bag on the bed’s plump white duvet. It felt delicious, and for a split-second, I wondered what it would be like to make love to Ari here.

  Before unpacking the bag, I tried calling my mother on my cell phone. No answer. I anxiously assured myself that she was just taking a stroll down a hospital corridor, something she enjoyed doing; I’d try again later. Putting my cell phone back into my messenger bag, I unzipped the pink overnight case. Inside was an assortment of brand new, high-end designer stuff, once again from Bergdorf’s. I unpacked everything. Two string bikinis, shorts, several fine cotton tees, skinny white jeans, a couple of floral sundresses, strappy platform sandals, and a pair of sparkly flip flops. Nothing too formal. And not a stitch of underwear.

  After putting everything away, I shed my skirt and combat boots—and said farewell to my panties—then slipped on one of the bikinis. Having worn athletic, one-piece bathing suits my whole life, I was not used to having so much skin exposed. I might as well have been wearing nothing. Maybe that’s what Ari was aiming for. I fought back the urge to cover myself with a T-shirt or one of the sundresses, but knew that wouldn’t sit well with him. Sliding my feet into the flip-flops, I headed back to the main house.

  To my surprise, Ari had another guest. His stunning, redheaded twin, Gwen. Her face was buried in the Sunday New York Times, but she looked up when I took my seat at the kitchen island where lunch was spread out. The temperature in the room suddenly dropped ten degrees, and I could feel goosebumps popping along my arms. I suddenly wished I’d put on a T-shirt. Make that a ski jacket.

  “Well, hello, Sarah.” Her voice was icy, and the way she said my name was hurried and harsh, so unlike the sultry, breathy way Ari said it.

  “Hi,” I squeaked, already intimidated by her.

  She ran her eyes up and down my body. “You have very fair skin. You know, you can get burnt. I know lots of women who have.”

  Her words got under my skin. I knew what she was implying. That her brother Ari went through women like matches. Lighting them up and throwing them away. Her new scare tactic. Well, two could play at this game.

  “I’ll use protection.”

  She smirked. “I’ll be watching you.”

  “Sarah, do you wanna play Frisbee with us after lunch?”

  The sound of Ben’s sweet voice saved me from having to say anything further to Ari’s snide sister. Clad in colorful swim trunks and holding a red Frisbee, the little boy hoisted himself onto a stool and grabbed a sandwich.

  “Sure.” I shot him a smile under Gwen’s watchful eyes. She then went back to reading her New York Times.

  “I’m looking forward to playing with you, Saara
h,” came a deep, sultry voice.

  I twisted my almost naked torso around, my breasts almost falling out of the skimpy top. Ari. Dressed in khaki shorts, his golden skin tight around his bare sculpted chest and washboard abs. There was a glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes as they surveyed my bikini-clad body. A shiver rippled through me, leaving me hungry for something other than lunch.

  After helping himself to a sandwich, he strode over to a pantry and returned holding a tube of SPF 50 suntan lotion. He squirted some on my back and began slathering it in circles across my shoulder blades, then all the way down to the edge of my bikini bottom. I could feel his warm breath on the nape of my neck, and my skin prickled beneath his touch. Gwen kept one eye on her newspaper, the other on me.

  “Saarah,” he murmured in my ear but loud enough for his sister to hear, “I don’t want to see you get burnt.”

  “Thank you for the protection.”

  The smirk that flashed on my face did not go unnoticed by Gwen.

  ###♥###

  The sand beneath the soles of my feet felt like a warm foot massage, and the chorus of squawking seagulls that mixed with the crashing waves made for perfect background music. We were playing Frisbee—Ben tossing the saucer to Ari and me, each competing to be the one to catch it.

  For a six-year-old, Ben had a damn good arm. I could tell from Ari’s lit up face that he was incredibly proud of his son. Standing at least fifty feet away from us, the little boy flung the Frisbee with the strength and precision of someone much older. It spun in the air, and I had no idea where it might land, given the ocean breeze.

  “It’s mine,” shouted Ari, running toward it.

  “No, it’s mine,” I countered, running toward it.

  And then we collided, the Frisbee flying by both of us.

  I tumbled to the sand, my body crashing upon his. Skin to skin, organ to organ, heart to heart. The heat of his body coursed through mine, and his warm breath heated my already flushed cheeks. My scantily clad breasts rubbed against his taut, bare chest. As it rose and fell beneath me, my nipples puckered.

  His strong hands hugged my waist, and his ocean-blue eyes burned into mine with the strength of the sun.

  “So, Saarah, you play to win.” His cock hardened beneath me.

  I would have said, “Game over,” had not Ben run over to us and burst out in laughter.

  “You guys look so funny.”

  Ben’s laughter was contagious, and despite our mutual embarrassment, we both joined in. This was the first time I’d ever heard Ari laugh hard and it showed me a lighter side of him that somehow made him sexier. Still chuckling, he scrambled to his feet, pulling me up with him. The smile on face could light up the sky.

  “C’mon. Let’s check out the ocean.”

  Ben was the first one in. As he frolicked in the waves, I watched as Ari pulled down his shorts, revealing one of those spandex Speedo suits worn by athletes. With his broad shoulders, lean muscular build, and that rock-hard perfect ass, this godlike man could easily be mistaken for an Olympian. Even the shimmering mysterious scar on his back could not take away from his beauty. He turned to face me. My eyes gravitated to the package between his legs. Holy cow! I swear the spandex made it look more sizeable than it already was. I met his gaze and felt myself heating up. He knew I was mentally undressing him and twisted his lips into a crooked sexy smile. I was getting all tingly again, the nerves between my legs bustling with lust. With a wink, he sprinted into the water, diving head first into a frothy wave.

  “Come on in, Sarah!” shouted Ben.

  At the shoreline, I dipped my big toe into the water. An icy sting shot up my leg. God, the water was cold.

  “It’s too cold,” I shouted back.

  Rising from the water, like a sea god, all wet and glistening under the burning sun, Ari sloshed toward me.

  “Are you having fun?” I asked stupidly.

  “Not quite enough.”

  I had no time to ask what he meant. His mischievous eyes gleaming, he scooped me up into his powerful arms and flung me over his right shoulder. An arm pressed tight against the back of my thighs, right under my buttocks, locking me against him.

  “My pretty princess, you’re coming in.” He smirked. “Like it or not.”

  “Put me down. Now!” I barked back at him.

  I kicked furiously and pounded his muscular back, my eyes all the while riveted on his in-my-face perfect ass. It was futile. He was already marching back into the sea, giving me no choice but to enjoy the ride. And the spectacular view. Blood rushed to my head. I felt tingly hot when I should feel chilled against his cold, wet body.

  In the near distance, I could hear Ben laughing his head off again at the sight of us.

  “Ben, tell your dad to put me down,” I called out to him.

  The water up to his waist, Ari retorted, “Forget it, Saarah. I like it when you’re all wet.”

  Before I could say another word, I was flying in the air and, seconds later, thrashing beneath the frigid water. I alternated between gripping my bikini bottom and skimpy top, fearful the sea would claim them.

  When I resurfaced and was able to regain my balance, Ari was standing right beside me, now chest-deep in the water and holding Ben in his arms. He clasped my hand, and we began jumping waves, each one bigger than the one before.

  “The waves are so big!” squealed Ben.

  Ari squeezed my hand and shot me a smile. “The bigger, the better.”

  Waves of desire mingled with those of the sea and I thought: The more, the better.

  The monster waves licked my clit as I jumped them, making me long for the erotic sea of waves this man could drown me in. As I brushed up against him, I wondered what the rest of this weekend would bring.

  ###♥###

  Ari spent the rest of the afternoon inside the house, catching up on business-related matters while I decided to spend it with my sketchpad at the pool. Ben swam about in the water under the watchful eye of Vadim, who I was convinced was some kind of bodyguard. Just as I pulled out my sketchpad from my satchel, Ari’s sister took the chaise next to mine. She was wearing a black bandeau one-piece bathing suit that was cut in a way that made her long, lean legs look even longer, and a large, stylish, floppy hat. The latest issue of Vanity Fair was in her hand. Good. She was going to read. I wouldn’t have to talk to her and could do some sketching. At least, that was what I thought.

  “My brother seems to like you,” she began, her tone cold and calculating.

  “We get along,” I replied coolly. And we fuck really well together.

  “You’re the wrong kind of woman for him.”

  Her tone went from cold to cutting. Each word was a knife to my heart. I was glad I was wearing the Ray-Bans so that she couldn’t see the hurt in my eyes as she continued.

  “He needs someone mature, independent, and with class. Someone who can take an active role in society, host dinner parties, and know what private schools are best for his son.”

  His mother. He already had one and didn’t need another. Anger was rising in me like bread in an oven.

  Her eyes narrowed into sharp slivers of glass. “I’d like you to consider dropping him, and I will make it worth your while.”

  Was she bribing me?

  “Help!” The word sounded loudly in my ears before I could respond.

  Gwen jumped to her feet. “Oh my God,” I heard her mutter.

  My eyes darted to the pool. Ben was in the deep end, flailing his arms. “Help!” he screamed again as his head sank under the water.

  Vadim, fully clothed, was in the water too, swimming toward the child at Olympian speed. I held my breath while Gwen, truly terrified, cupped both hands over her mouth.

  My eyes didn’t blink once as I watched Vadim pull the limp child out of the pool and onto the concrete. His mouth pressed against the child’s mouth as he pumped his large hands against his slender chest. My heart was in my throat…and then the little boy squirmed and bolted up. Gwen an
d I breathed out loud sighs of relief in unison.

  “Oh, God. He almost drowned once before.”

  “How?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  “His mother took a combination of sedatives and alcohol and fell asleep out here. While she was out, Ben fell into the pool; he was only a toddler. Had Olga not been bringing out lunch, we would have lost him.”

  I digested her words. The picture of Ari’s ex-wife was getting clearer and clearer in my head. What other terrible things did she do to Ben…and my Adonis? Loathing for this woman was seeping through my veins.

  Within seconds, Ben was back to his playful self, high-fiving Vadim.

  “It looks like he’s okay,” I commented.

  Turning to me, Gwen narrowed her incendiary eyes. “Sarah, my brother needs someone responsible. You’re just a child who throws temper tantrums in restaurants and wants to play with toys.”

  Her words stung me like the wasp buzzing around me. She had no clue who I was. Or what I was capable of…literally no idea what I did to take care of both my mother and myself.

  “Consider my offer, Sarah. I’ll draw up a contract.” She rolled up her magazine. “And one last thing, please don’t tell my brother about this incident. Ari would rather die than lose that child.”

  She stalked back to the house, leaving me with decisions to make.

  ###♥###

  When I got back to the house, I learned that Ari was taking me to a cocktail party at the home of one of his clients. Gwen was staying put, looking forward to a quiet evening with Ben and Olga’s homemade pierogi for dinner. After our run-in this afternoon, I was glad she wasn’t coming along.

  Before I headed back to the guesthouse to shower and change, Ari whispered in my ear. “Wear the jeans and a T-shirt. And the only panty line I want to see is that of your tan.”

  No panties. No bra. No surprise.

  Returning to my quarters, the first thing I did was call my mother again. Fortunately, this time she picked up. I inwardly sighed with relief. Though she sounded weary, it was good to hear her voice. I told her I was at the beach; she was pleased to hear that I was enjoying myself. I didn’t tell her I was spending the weekend with a stranger I met on a train. After I said goodbye to her, I immediately called Mrs. Blumberg and asked her to feed Jo-Jo. She had a spare set of keys to my apartment, allowing her access. Of course, the busybody wanted to know where I was. I told her I was visiting a girlfriend. She didn’t believe me and went on about the dangers of going away with men you didn’t know. “Didn’t you read in the papers about that poor girl who got stabbed to death by some meshuganah she met on the Internet?” Rolling my eyes, I told her to stop worrying, that I was fine.