by S. M. West
“I’d have stopped the car and got out.” My voice is pained, and she laughs, fastening the side zipper before facing me.
“You like?” She looks like she’s stepped from the pages of Vogue even without a drop of makeup on her face.
“A lot,” is all I manage to say, adjusting my pants that are somehow shrinking by the second in the crotch.
I’m exhausted fighting the urge to touch and taste, or worse, blow my load. My best friend is an enigma. With looks a wannabe model would kill for and a mind geniuses would envy, she’s one of a kind, all the way.
I want her, but am I willing to take the risk to have her? What if she runs once we talk and I lose her?
For the rest of the drive, I busy myself with my phone, trying to stop the swirling sensations of desire and confusion. Finally we arrive and she’s nothing short of magnificent. Dark glossy wisps of hair dance around her beautifully exotic face.
“You’re amazing.” I take her hand and lead us from the car.
“You mean my dress?”
“You in that dress are stunning, but I mean you are amazing.”
A lilting melodic laugh springs from her elegant throat. “You’re good for my ego.” She pats the lapel of my tux. “I’ll keep you.”
“You better.” My arm snakes around her trim waist, bringing her flush against me.
“Does this hurt?” Her fingers lightly glide along my bruised cheek.
“Nah. It’s fine.” We still and she releases a breathy sigh as my eyes dip to her slightly parted lips.
“Listen, we can’t get into this now because I’ve got to get in there but…” Kissing her is all I want to do. It would be so easy to take what I crave. My tongue delving into her sweet, warm mouth. Her heaving breasts against my chest and hands on me.
Fuck, we can’t.
Or can we?
“You’re my best friend and I want more.” My hand tightens on her hip as we press together. “And I think you feel the same way.”
“What do you mean, more?” Her hand, resting on my shoulder, digs into my jacket.
“You and me like this.” We’re hip to hip now, facing each other, and I take a quick look around.
We’re outside and any of my colleagues could walk by at any moment. I’ve got to control myself.
My lips crash onto hers, one hand stealing into her hair, and she leans in, grabbing the back of my neck.
Yes, she wants more too.
Before we get too carried away, she pulls away first, a smile tugging at her now-swollen lips, and I feel it in my groin.
“Yeah, I want more too.” She brushes her lips once more over mine.
“Oh I so wish I didn’t need to go in there.” I tear myself away from her warm, sexy body.
“Me too.” She loops her arm with mine once more. “So let’s just get this over with.”
“Okay. Shall we?” I clear my throat, turning toward the entrance of the museum, and she nods, cheeks pink, as her arm rests snugly in the crook of mine.
The event is teeming with our Board of Directors, senior hospital administration and staff, as well as wealthy donors and supporters. Barbara, my ex, stands five feet away from us with her date, Dr. Keith Branson.
He’s an endocrinologist and ten years my senior. Decent guy, excellent physician, and my lack of reaction—I feel nothing at seeing her or her date—only confirms our break-up was long overdue.
She flinches and doesn’t recover quickly enough for me to miss her response to my date. Astonishment shifts to disappointment, then hurt. Tommie was never her cup of tea, as she would put it. She considered my best friend a threat even though nothing happened, but I suppose Barbara saw what we weren’t ready to accept at the time.
Tommie and I belong together.
My ex approaches in a simple navy gown, functional and attractive, and her blonde hair is pulled back into her standard, no-nonsense bun.
“Oh boy.” Tommie removes her arm from my elbow, interlacing our fingers as Barbara nears, her gaze stuck on where we’re joined.
“Max.” She air kisses both my cheeks. I’ve fallen into the ‘acquaintance’ camp. Those fake kisses and her tight, forced smiles say so much about her.
“Barbara, it’s lovely to see you.” I dip my chin in greeting and she pays me no mind, giving Tommie her own set of empty kisses. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Well, I hadn’t planned on it, but Keith heard…” she pauses, perhaps waiting for some kind of reaction from me to her date. She doesn’t get any. “Well, that we’re no longer together, and he invited me.”
“That’s great.” I smile, unfazed. “I know how much you love these things. Well, please excuse us, we’re going to get drinks. Enjoy the evening.”
Her eyes dim and she slips on her perfunctory smile. Dr. Branson stands back, watching the exchange. I nod, giving him my unspoken approval although it isn’t necessary, but somehow, I get the sense he’s waiting for it.
“That wasn’t awkward at all.” Tommie’s sarcastic.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t think that one through. I knew she’d be here but...”
“Hey, it’s okay. Was this the first time you’ve seen each other since splitting?”
“Yup.” I sidle up to the bar, suddenly feeling lighter and not sure if it’s for having faced Barbara or because I’m here with Tommie.
I’ve never liked these things and even with Barbara on my arm, I dreaded them. What we had was nice, a way to pass the time, but really no substance. I glance to Tommie. My relationship with Barbara was nothing compared to what I feel for the woman at my side.
“What’ll you have?” I tap my fingers on the bar.
“Champagne, please.”
I place our order and take in the room, grunting when I spot my mother not too far from us. “The ice queen is here.”
She follows my eye line and groans. “I know you have to talk to her, but do I have to go with you?” She wrinkles her nose like something smells bad.
“Thanks for having my back.”
“I’ll go with you. It’s just that we don’t like each other.”
“Really? Because there is so much to like about her.” My sardonic grin brings out one of her own. “I won’t subject you to that.”
“I knew there was a reason why I love you so.”
Her words aren’t something new but on the heels of that car ride and then our kiss and our desire for more… her words carry more meaning, so much more than before.
We share a silent longing. I wish we were anywhere but here. When we get home, we are moving our relationship forward. And I’m not talking sex, although I’d certainly be down with that.
Tommie breaks our connection and pecks my cheek. I want to keep her at my side, hold her close, but don’t.
“You go get that over with. I see Edith and her husband over there. I’m going to say hello. Come join us when you can.”
I nod with a groan, wishing I could follow her. I much prefer a lighthearted chat with my administrative assistant any day of the week. But I can’t let this opportunity go to waste.
“Max.” Regal in her long white gown, my mother smiles and kisses my cheek while squeezing my bicep affectionately.
I’m sick just thinking about the woman from this morning. Taya basically ordered her death.
“Mother.”
“Where’s Barbara? I thought I saw her with you?”
“She’s here but with someone else.”
“What? Oh no.” Frowning, her chemically-filled face barely moves and her lips twist. “You broke up? What happened?”
She doesn’t care for Barbara any more or less than she would any other woman I’m seeing. She only cares about the Stafford name. They are well respected in the medical community and in my mother’s twisted mind, my association with Barbara gives her legitimacy.
“We’re over. The decision was mutual.”
“That’s such a shame. What happened? Barbara’s such a lovely—”<
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“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine.” Her lips press into a thin line and she inhales deeply, pushing down her frustration. “Did you come with anyone?”
“Tommie.”
She flinches, narrowing her eyes. “That’s unfortunate.”
“Don’t start.”
“Speaking of being difficult.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “About this morning. You need to be more cooperative. More and more, it’s a challenge to get you to come when I call. This operation needs to run smoothly, and you need to play your part.”
Her tone is hard as is her expression and while I’m pleased she brought this up, I’m both surprised and disturbed that she’s mentioning her work and my involvement here. She hasn’t done so before. In fact, she’s been more than discreet.
“Fine. Tell me why you’ll need me more.” I step closer, making sure she is the only one to hear our conversation. “Are you planning a war? And what about those women?”
She stiffens, tightening her lips together, and it’s unlikely I’ll get anything out of her. From the corner of my eye, a tall dark-haired man, well dressed, pushing his mid-forties, approaches.
Instantly, Taya melts. Her cheeks flush, steely blue eyes liquefy, and she smiles. And I don’t mean her usual cold-hearted smile as if she’s seen how you die and can’t wait for that occasion. This is a genuine, full-faced brightening smile.
“There you are.” Mother angles toward the mysterious man whose eyes, for a brief second, are trained elsewhere, beyond us.
“I’m Ash Naire.” His tar black eyes flick to me, sharp and penetrating like the tip of a knife piercing flesh. “You must be Max. I’ve heard so much about you.”
His voice is deep with a slight accent that I can’t quite place. He extends his hand. The handshake is strong and steady, much like his unnerving gaze.
“Hello. I wish I could say the same, but this is the first I’m hearing of you.”
I don’t hide my ignorance and annoyance and my mother makes a tsking sound low in her throat, signaling her disapproval. The corners of his full mouth twitch up but that is all. No smile.
While I haven’t met many of my mother’s associates over the years, this one is a hardass. His expression morphs back to impassive. On the surface, he’s as calm and uninteresting as the surface of a lake, but my insides convulse at the aura of inhumanity surrounding him.
I sense a darkness unlike any I’ve come across before, and I’ve had many a chance with those in my mother’s company. At first blush, he and Taya are a lot alike and that makes me more than a little wary of the guy.
“Max, Ash and I are…” she pauses, looking up at him like someone who needs his permission to speak freely.
What the hell is going on? I’ve never seen my mother like this. Not even with my father, whom she adored.
“Acquaintances,” Ash says, and the shine in her gaze dims somewhat.
“Well, I wouldn’t quite say that.” She rests a hand on his forearm and there’s a sharpness of her own to her words.
I’ve never seen the woman so blatantly rejected before, no one dared, and what’s more interesting is how quickly she recovers.
He’s unperturbed and distracted, once again glancing over my shoulder as something indescribable flits through his wicked black eyes.
“Excuse me.” Without another look at us, he leaves in the direction he came.
Mother flicks her white blonde hair over her shoulder, painstakingly forcing a synthetic smile in an attempt to hide her wounded pride.
Ash saunters over to the corner once more and casually rests his back against the wall. He excused himself for no other reason than to be alone.
Sophisticated, controlled and impenitent of his rudeness, he’s transfixed on something or someone else. Whatever it is, it has his complete and utter attention.
But I’m not fooled. His interests may be preoccupied, but this man is very aware of everything going on around him.
His dark face is taut, hard like the impenetrable rock of a mountainside, and my body vibrates when for a split second his lips tighten and lift to form a snarl. He bares his stark white teeth like a wolf ready to sink its fangs into its next kill.
Tommie
Edith is a sweet woman, motherly and a bit of a spitfire at the same time. She’s a fool for Max with his calm demeanor and good looks. She’ll do just about anything for him.
“I know I’m repeating myself but you’re the most beautiful woman here.” She beams, her short, doughy arm still attached to mine. “Isn’t she, Roger?”
She taps her husband on the arm and he smiles dutifully, nodding his head. Roger is maybe an inch, perhaps two, taller than his wife, but where she is round, he is reed thin. He’s also the exact opposite to her gregarious nature, quiet and easily going unnoticed.
“She sure did.” His blush reddens the longer he forces himself to hold eye contact.
“Stop it, you’re going to give a girl a huge ego.” I rapidly bat my eyelashes, deliberately exaggerating the move. Edith tilts her head back to laugh, delighted.
“Poor Max is stuck with the dragon lady.” She frowns in their direction and pulls me closer. “It’s really a shame she won’t leave him alone. Yes, she’s his mother, and I don’t want to take that away from anyone, but that woman is the furthest thing from a mother.” She purses her lips in pure disdain.
Nodding, I glance over my shoulder, commiserating with her on Max’s predicament, when everything stops.
The chatter and music fades and a creepy silence blankets any sound within my mind. The room shrinks and darkens, and even the people and things around me vanish or freeze like inanimate objects, uninteresting and inconsequential.
Everything narrows to one point, or more precisely, one person standing in a darkened corner of the room. His gaze isn’t on me, thank God, but I’m sure he knows I’m here.
My teeth begin to chatter as if my blood is literally turning to ice. I need to get Max and get out of here. Maybe if I leave for a few, I can text Max and he will meet me outside.
Flustered, I interrupt Edith as she rambles on about something else, something I completely missed. “I’m so sorry but excuse me. I’m not feeling so hot. I need to go to the washroom.”
“Oh dear, I’ll go with you.” Her soft wrinkled hand wraps around my wrist and I flinch at the contact.
She stiffens and I regret my instinctual reaction to retreat. None of this has anything to do with her but she doesn’t know that. It’s not her. It’s me. And more specifically, it’s him.
“No, that’s okay. Thank you.”
“But you look suddenly very pale.” She frets, her brown eyes filling with concern, and her husband finds the courage to look at me.
“Edith’s right, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I just need to splash some water on my face. I think it’s all the people. It’s hot in here.”
I step back from them, positioning myself in a way that I can see him while I exit the room. Concern etches their faces and I try to smile, a real one so it will calm their nerves.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll be right back.”
Fortunately, the ladies’ room is empty. After sending a text to Max to let him know where I am and that I don’t feel well, I collapse against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the black spots from swimming in my vision. My focus is on deepening and lengthening my breath. I can’t have a panic attack. Not now of all times. I’ve had one too many in my lifetime and they’re debilitating, not to mention how vulnerable and exposed I’d be.
A few minutes pass and finally, my breathing is under control and my mind clearer. But I’m not out of the woods yet. My hands tremble when I turn on the faucet and as the water runs, I let it flow for a few seconds to get colder.
The deafening thrumming of my heartbeat fills my ears as the organ batters against my ribcage. Coming face to face with him was inevitable, but I never imagined tonight could be
a possibility.
Still shaking, I cup my hands together, filling them with cold water, so cold it chills my bones. I splash my face several times, grateful for waterproof mascara, and blot my cheeks dry with a scratchy paper towel.
The bathroom door creaks. Someone enters the bathroom and while I’m no longer alone, I don’t bother to look. I’m not ready to plaster on a fake smile. Then the click of the lock banning entry causes me to pause and try to quickly get over my terror. And then I realize my mistake. I left the safety of numbers in the ballroom, so intent was I on getting away, and now it’s too late. Terror is here.
“Thomasina.” A low, gravelly voice, the one of my nightmares, is a shot to my heart.
I twirl in his direction, but don’t have a chance to fully take him in. He pounces like a starving beast. His body presses into mine, pushing my back into the wall, and his long fingers wrap around my throat, tightening and releasing his grip intermittently like a pulse.
My dark, depraved past comes flooding back and I struggle to breathe. Unable to swallow, saliva gathers in my mouth and I wonder if I could drown on my own body fluid. At the very least, it would be an escape from this man.
“Let me go.” My demand is forced as I thrust my body against his, repulsed at our proximity.
The longer he holds me, the more I become his captive. I tug at his hand around my neck with both of mine as my fingernails scrape at his flesh and the cuff of his jacket. A disturbing smile crawls along his mouth, souring my insides, and his obsidian eyes are molten, singing my flesh.
“Halt.”
It’s only a word.
One little word.
Four letters.
Yet it wields so much power, hurtling me back a decade. My hands fall to my sides and I still. The word locks my mind, body and soul, physically and emotionally. But it’s different than before.
Not meaningless, but his command no longer holds the power it once did. It isn’t as intense or incapacitating. I’m not on my knees, powerless and folding in on myself like a turtle.