by Grey, Helen
And remembered my birthmark. My breath froze in my chest and I hitched in an alarmed breath; a flush rose in my cheeks.
“Wait! I—” I was filled with uncertainty, but it was too late now. He would see the birthmark. He did see it. I could see him gazing at it, right this very second. My heart stopped. Would he find me ugly? Disfigured? I had always been so self-conscious about that birthmark, ever since my first boyfriend whipped off my blouse to feel me up and had seen it.
We were parked out at Lookout Point, necking. I’d been thrilled, as it was my first experience with sex, at least more than necking anyway. I had been stoked that the guy, a junior in high school, had asked me, a mere sophomore, out on a date. We had gone out once before, so it wasn’t like I’d allowed him liberties on a first, but I’d felt so desperate to… to what? Feel loved? That hadn’t been love. That had been lust, at least on the guy’s part. I had been scared to death. And then he’d seen my birthmark and I’d seen his look of disgust before he squelched it.
Without another word, he had mumbled an apology and then quickly thrust my shirt back at me. Tears swimming in my eyes, I’d put it back on as he mumbled an excuse or two, both of them lame, and driven me home.
And now… I watched Blake as he looked at my birthmark. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but then he glanced up at me. Ever so gently, almost tenderly, he traced the outline of the birthmark with his index finger, and then looked up at me again, this time with a grin. If I had been hot before, I was absolutely wet now, and almost to the point of blinking back tears of gratitude.
Gratitude?
Well, maybe not exactly gratitude, but I appreciated that he didn’t seem to care about that damned blemish. He traced its outline twice before his hand continued on its downward journey. Every inch brought new sensations and I began to moan every time he found a new spot to pay attention to.
“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled.
I gazed at his profile, searching for the truth. No one had ever called me beautiful before. I wasn’t ugly, but I had never thought myself beautiful. I looked into his eyes. And believed him.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I managed to reply.
He laughed. In the next instant he was hovering over me on his elbows and knees. His mouth lowered to my breast. Almost instinctively, I lifted my chest off the bed, offering myself to him. Through the bra, I felt the heat of his mouth. And then he began to scoot downward, his erect cock tapping occasionally against my inner thigh, then my knee, and then my calf as his body moved lower, his mouth and tongue leaving a trail of heat from my nipples to my mound. Through the fabric of my underwear, he encompassed me. In response to the heat of his breath, a groan erupted from deep within my throat.
I began to make mewling noises, clutching at his hair while I lifted my legs, planted my heels on the bedspread and allowed him to spread my legs wider. He seemed to take exquisite pleasure in teasing me. He trailed his tongue along the outside of my thong, at the juncture of the skin just inside of my upper thigh and my pussy. His breath felt hot and delicious. His tongue warm as he explored. And then one crooked finger moved aside the underwear much as a finger would pull aside a curtain to peek through. In the next instant, his mouth was on me, hot skin to hot skin.
I was unable to stifle yet another groan that burgeoned from deep within my chest. My hips shifted upward instinctively. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I couldn’t take it. I reached for his head, urged him upward. He allowed me to guide him, and he was lying beside me again. Wrapping a hand around his engorged cock, I traced the thick veins along its surface, thrilling at the hot, velvety skin that slid easily beneath my hand, the hard muscle underneath.
He reached over me to the small table beside the bed. I bit back a moan of protest, missing the close contact of his warm skin against mine before I realized what he was doing. He probably had condoms in there. I didn’t allow myself to dwell on how often he’d needed them in the past. Didn’t allow myself to imagine that I was just a convenient distraction now. I told myself that Blake was more discerning than that. And at the moment, I didn’t really care. Maybe later I would, but not right now.
Seconds later, he was hovering over me again, holding the small foil packet between his fingers. He gazed down at my face and lifted an eyebrow.
He was giving me a chance to decline, just as he had every time he pushed me to my limit. Without saying a word, I snatched the condom from him and carefully ripped it open. I held the coiled rubber in my fingers, then tossed the packet over the side of the bed. He grinned.
My left hand sought his dick, caressed it, my thumb brushing over its tip. A surge of wetness gave me the response I’d hoped for. Grasping his cock with one hand, I carefully placed the condom over his head. Inch by inch, I rolled it down, stroking his cock as I did so.
Once the condom was in place, Blake began to tug at my thong. Within seconds it was tangled around my right ankle. I couldn’t wait. I needed him so badly I could hardly stand it anymore. I urged him between my legs and he nestled himself there, comfortable and at home.
His lips hovered over my breast and again I lifted them upward, inviting him to indulge. And indulge he did. But he didn’t stop there. Once again, he slowly lowered himself over me. Once again he traced the outline of my birthmark, only not with his finger this time. With his tongue. As his mouth dipped lower still, my pussy throbbed with anticipation. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he began to suckle me. Lick, suckle, and kiss. Lick. Suckle. Kiss. His breath, so warm, as stirring as the sensations he evoked with his tongue.
And then I really couldn’t stand it anymore. I would shatter if he kept that up. I grasped his shoulders with a moan and pulled him upward. He hovered over me for just a moment, balancing his weight on his hands as he gazed down at me. Then, with exquisite slowness, he positioned himself until his head was nestled against my entrance. So close. I groaned with impatience, clasping his ass, pulling, begging, urging him in.
He resisted for just a second and I watched his face strain with the effort. Watched as he gave in to his need, to mine. With a slow thrust of his hips, he dove deep inside me. I hissed in a breath and threw my head back, reveling in this invasion. It was glorious. My internal muscles contracted around his cock, holding him inside. Then, unable to curtail the urge any longer, I rocked my hips upward. This time, it was his turn to hiss in a breath.
Slowly, we found our rhythm. He stared down at me every second, wanting to witness my pleasure. While a bit self-conscious, I did the same. His face soon flushed with excitement, his pupils dilated, almost filling the gray-blue of his irises. I thrilled at the sensations I was able to evoke in him as much as I thrilled at the way he made me feel.
As the waves of pleasure took over, I rocked my hips faster. He kept pace, soon lunging powerfully. His balls slapped against me with every thrust. Hard impact indeed, I thought wryly. I wrapped my legs around his thighs, pulled him even closer, tightened my grip on his ass, and forced him deeper, higher. Soon our pace accelerated, but I maintained his rhythm, gave back everything and then some.
Feeling a climax burgeoning deep inside, I opened my mouth, my harsh breathing seeming to heighten his efforts. Faster. Harder. My orgasm exploded. For a moment, all I saw was white. There weren’t enough adjectives in the dictionary to describe what I felt.
In the next instant, Blake’s jaw clenched and I saw the distended veins in his neck, the muscles bulging in his shoulders as he glanced down at the point where we were joined. His hips froze. I felt a surge of heat along his cock and knew that he too had reached his climax. He pumped into me, hard, before freezing again. The cycle repeated over and over.
It seemed as if the orgasm went on forever as my muscles clenched, holding him inside me. His cock pulsed with equal passion, and then he collapsed on top of me, his head nestled against my neck. We both breathed hard. I was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, as was he. After several seconds, he lifted himself up onto his elbows, gazed down at me, ki
ssed my lips, and rolled onto his side.
Neither of us said anything for several moments. I lay on my back, still gasping for breath. I tried to smile as he rolled onto his side, resting his head against his uplifted arm as he stared down at me. When I glanced at him, I almost thought I saw an expression of confusion on his features.
“What?” I whispered.
He didn’t say anything, but continued to stare at me, his index finger tracing the contours of my jawline. Feather light touches. He shook his head as if it didn’t matter. We lay there quietly for several minutes. Finally, the pulses inside my body stopped throbbing, the blood thrumming through my veins slowed, as did the lingering contractions in my pussy. I felt lethargic, relaxed, and oh so satiated.
“I’ll have to take another shower,” he finally said, his voice filled with wry amusement.
I smiled but didn’t say anything. I have to admit, I felt a little awkward. I couldn’t deny it. Now that the passion had passed, I wondered what I should do. What I should say. If anything. Turned out, I didn’t need to because Blake rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed, his back to me, clearly taking off the condom. As he padded naked toward the bathroom, I watched the fine contours of his back, the tightness of his ass as he stepped into the bathroom, and slowly and softly closed the door.
A few seconds later, I heard the sound of the shower. I lay still for several moments, wishing that things could be different. But then I made a face, rolled my eyes, and sat up. It’d been a nice interlude, but I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, expect more than that. Gathering my clothes, I quickly left the bedroom and walked to a neighboring one.
Tossing my clothes on the bed, I stepped toward the bathroom, saw that it had a shower stall but no bathtub. No matter. I turned on the water, thinking that I would just step in, rinse off quickly, and then get out. Blake had a meeting to get to and I had something to do as well. Not for the first time, I felt guilty about sneaking around behind his back.
Nevertheless, I had a job to do. Blake and I were not an item. Not a couple. Not lovers. Just two people brought together for a brief moment in time. Nothing more and nothing less. I didn’t owe him. I had enjoyed his lovemaking, and I was sure he had enjoyed it too. But it didn’t mean anything.
It really didn’t.
*
I repeated those words to myself over and over again while I waited for the taxi. Blake had driven off thirty minutes ago for his meetings. He said he’d be gone all afternoon so I thought I’d have plenty of time to see if I could find his mother, maybe talk to her little bit.
Guilt was a heavy weight around my shoulders as I justified what I was doing. Yes, I had a job to do. Yes, time was running out. He had one more property to inspect, in Aspen if I remembered correctly. After that, he’d be heading back to San Francisco and I’d probably never see him again. Hell, there was no guarantee that I would even be accompanying him to Aspen.
The taxi arrived at the ranch, not a yellow cab like I expected, but an old sedan with one of those magnetic placards attached to the door. A man wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a battered old cowboy hat stepped out and called to me from the far side of the driveway.
“You call for a ride into town?”
I nodded and stepped off the porch, wearing the same thing I’d worn when I’d left San Francisco. None too fresh, a little bit wrinkled, but serviceable. I wasn’t about to seek an interview with Eileen Masters wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. I had no idea what the woman was like, no idea what to expect. She could very well be a haughty snob for all I knew. She could be distant and cold, looking down her nose at a journalist knocking at her door, or her nursery. In fact, I wondered if I would find myself facing a woman with a shotgun or something, yelling at me to get off her property.
None of those reactions would surprise me one iota. I was from Texas after all. If his mother was as secretive about the past as Blake, I had a feeling that I would soon be butting my head against a brick wall.
But I had to take a chance. I really had no other options. His mother was his closest living relative, and fate put me in the same town. When I got back to San Francisco, I might see if I could talk to some of Blake’s board members, even though I didn’t think I would get anything out of them either, at least not what Angela was expecting.
As I rode in the rear seat of the taxi down the dusty and bumpy road back toward the highway, I scowled out the window. The view was gorgeous, but it wasn’t the view I was thinking about. It was about Angela and my job. Until I left on this trip with Blake, I’d been perfectly content… well not perfectly, but I was satisfied with where I was in life.
I had been excited and nervous to be given this opportunity, to interview a billionaire. Until I learned what was expected of me. Not that I couldn’t step up to the plate or that I wasn’t willing to, but there were just some things that were probably better left alone.
Rubbing at my throbbing temples, logic continued to war within my heart. Blake was a person of interest. In a murder. That should effectively dull any growing affection I felt for the guy, exquisite lover or not. And yet, his character, his charisma, and his down-to-earth personality was at complete odds with someone who was linked to a murder.
Who was I fooling? I had no idea what went on in Blake’s mind. Wasn’t it the psychopaths and serial killers who moved among society without being suspected of their dastardly deeds? What about the BTK killer? He had been a staunch and upstanding member of his community. Everyone who knew him had reeled back in shock to discover that he was a serial killer, and had been for decades. No one the wiser.
And Blake? While it was true that he might have had something to do with the death of his father, I was beginning to believe that I would never really find out the truth unless I got it directly from the horse’s mouth. And that horse wasn’t talking. I liked to think that I would know, deep down inside, if he was evil. I would like to think that I would somehow sense a darker side to him, a sense that he was capable of such things. But common sense told me that not only were people often misjudged, but underestimated.
I kept repeating that mantra over and over in my head as the taxi shot down the double lane asphalt highway toward Jackson Hole. While I had been on my laptop, I’d done a quick study of Jackson Hole, the county seat of Teton County. I had been surprised to read that in its off-season, it had a regular population of only ten thousand people. Nevertheless, during the summer and winter, tourists converged on the town thanks to its proximity to Snow King Mountain to the southeast, the Snake River to the west and the gorgeous views of the Tetons rising in the distance. It was a mecca getaway for not only the rich and famous, but for those looking for skiing or mountain adventures on a less extravagant budget.
I sighed and glanced out the window. Once in town, the driver turned a few times before we ended up on a relatively untraveled and unpopulated street. Looking out the windshield of the cab, I saw the nursery in the distance.
It was huge, encompassing at least a dozen acres from what I could tell. A number of small pickup trucks were parked in the dirt parking lot out front. The nursery was obviously a favorite with local landscapers, as their truck signs proclaimed them to be. As well it should be, considering the stock.
I paid and thanked the taxi driver, leaving him a nice tip as I climbed out of the car, closing the door softly behind me and looking around. The car drove off, leaving a small cloud of dust to settle. Trees everywhere, some in huge wooden slat baskets or whatever they were called, all different sizes, all different types. I was able to recognize a few; the quaking aspens, the birch, and even some red maples.
Shrubs of all sizes, shapes, some flowering some not, organized in long rows that extended into the distance. Employees wearing olive drab trousers and shirts busily took care of customers, watered the plants, and unloaded stock from a large trailer truck pulled up to the side of the nursery building.
Everything looked well-kept and well-maintained. The building itself was a convert
ed ranch-style house, or so it looked. Fresh buttercup yellow paint, dark green trim and window shutters. Off to the side was a greenhouse, the light green tent-like cover in excellent shape, which bespoke of an owner who obviously took great pride in the property and how it looked.
As I headed for the building, I got a whiff of begonia, jasmine, and lavender from the tables set up near the front office, nearly overflowing with the latest arrivals in indoor as well as outdoor garden flowers in a variety of pots, flats, and containers. A wooden screen door opened into the nursery building proper. It creaked loudly as I pulled it open, along with a delicate tinkle of a bell over the door announcing my entry.
“Welcome to Precious Greens!” a woman behind the counter looked up from checking out a customer. “I’ll be right with you. Feel free to look around. Holler if you need any help.”
I smiled at the woman and wandered around the interior. Across from the checkout desk was a little cubby filled with soaps, salt scrubs, and other delectable and aromatic gifts. As I lifted a few items and looked at the labels on the products, I realized that they were all local and handmade. I wished I had some spending money as I was tempted to pick up a few.
“Don’t they smell yummy?” I turned and saw the cashier approaching with a smile. “Can I help you?”