Whisper
Noelle Bodhaine
Copyright © Noelle Bodhaine 2014
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, stored in a database, retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
Authors Note: All events and people described in this story are fictional and a product of the writers imagination. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Naughty Nellies Pervy Press
ISBN-13: 978:0692208151
ISBN-10: 0692208151
Acknowledgements
This book was a hard fought labor of love. I struggled, cried, gave up, changed everything and then went back. It took me 354 days to write. Finding time late at night when my house was sound asleep, or stealing an hour while my kids played at McDonalds. Yes, I feed my children McDonalds from time to time, sue me. Besides…I will have you know, some of the steamiest parts of Rhys and Sophie’s story were written either at McDonalds or on a playground somewhere. Yep, that was me, tap tap tapping away.
This couldn’t have happened without the support of my husband. Who tolerated sharing his wife and his bed with another man. He has since decided he is willing to share me with any and all of my characters as long as there is a low-rider in his near future (which I have promised, so please buy my books!) I started writing this for a few very close friends to whom I also owe a debt of gratitude. Etta, Maina…I love you both, and Cheryl, who encouraged me and read every dirty word.
With all those thanks aside, there is one other person who deserves more than a mere mention, the woman to whom anyone who falls for my Rhys owes a great debt. She was the first person to meet him, the last person to look him over and my best friend through every excruciating step. Writing the book was a piece of cake compared to editing, formatting, making covers, teasers, Facebook pages and so many other things. A new author can really get lost, but I am so lucky that she found me! She pushed me forward, edited relentlessly, made crazy hot teasers, gently convinced her patient husband to help with my beautiful cover, thank you Scott! Basically, she talked me off of cliffs for 6 months, while we laughed until our sides split. She is a Godsend and someone I am now so proud to count among my closest friends. She is my badass pimpin PA, editor, graphic designer, cheerleader, drill sergeant, nurse, therapist and date for the 50 Shades of Grey movie. Colleen….none of this would have happened without you. I love you.
Now, for the sake of all that is smutty and hot….let’s get to the story. I hope you love Rhys as much as we do. He is so damn dreamy, how could you not?!
WHISPER
Prologue
Two weeks ago, my heart was broken, broken by the man who helped to piece it back together. I served it up on a silver platter, free for the taking. But that is the end and this is the beginning. I should have known better. I did know better. He had his secrets and I had mine. It was just a fling, a momentary affair that went on too long.
My life was in desperate need of reworking. Something had to change. I needed to reinvent myself, to do something spontaneous and prove to myself that I still had ‘it’, whatever ‘it’ was. Four years of struggle and heartache had left me feeling older than my 24 years. I was in desperate need of an escape when Olivia called and offered me just that, a wedding, in Miami, her wedding, new people, new town, celebrating new beginnings; a perfect elixir for this unreachable itch. Between caring for my aging and forgetful grandmother and working full time, I had little time for myself or friends, if I had any left. Most of them went away to college and never came back, rightfully. I landed on a different path and have been afraid to change course ever since.
Nineteen years old and returning home for Christmas from my first semester away at college. I had never been that far away for that long and I was so homesick. My parents were so proud of me, as was I. I had made it to the University of Washington, my first school pick. First semester went off without a hitch and I found myself falling into a good rhythm. I crushed my finals, packed up my suitcase and headed to the airport. The weather in Washington was less than ideal. Snow really sends that State into a tizzy. But being from Colorado it was no big thing to me, I was used to the snow and cold temperatures, after all it was December. I just really wanted to get home. The winter storm covered the entire western half of the US. The snow wasn’t very heavy in Washington, but the temperatures were frigid, so everything was covered with a blanket of invisible ice. We sat on the tarmac for two hours, just waiting to hear if we would even take off. When they finally de-iced the plane and gave the green light I was ecstatic if not a little nervous. I’m pretty sure ours was among the last planes to go in or out of Denver International Airport, as the airport closed soon after dusk, stranding hundreds of travelers that had not yet made it out. The wind was too fierce and temperatures were too low, but I was so happy and relieved to be home. Even though I had gone to Washington with my best friend, Olivia, I still felt a little lonely and longed for my family. She was enthusiastically swept up in the camaraderie and excitement of rushing a sorority, which was something I had no interest in. It was only natural that we drift a bit, but all in all we were having a great time, college was everything we had hoped.
We were so close to home, painfully close, crawling along at a snail’s pace on the ice slicked highway. I could see the Christmas lights on our house from where we were, a bright white star that my father had always perched atop of our garage. Lost in thoughts of all the delicious treats my mother had waiting for me, I turned my head to ask a question and everything slowed to a crawl. It was as if the world was turned on its side. The strained screaming of rubber fighting ice and the stillness of the snow collided in a torrent. I watched the truck slide across the ice and fishtail, tires slipping and struggling against the slide. The truck narrowly avoided two other cars in his lane before losing control. He came crashing across the wide median, blowing loose snow and ice in his wake. Skidding tires echoed in the stillness of the storm and echo still in my dreams. The ice screamed under the abuse of rubber and a ton of steel. New snow crunched under cold tires, offering no resistance.
My life did not pass before my eyes in that moment. There was nothing but my mother’s horrified face. My father reached over to her, to cover her with his arm, but nothing was going to save us from what was coming. She reached out for my father, a silent scream passing her lips. No sound, just terror. Her cry would have stopped my heart if it wasn’t trying to escape from my chest. The truck slammed into the driver’s side, crushing the car. The sound of twisting metal filled the heavy winter air. We were pushed violently from the road, skidding off the shoulder. Heaven became hell, up was down. The sheer inertia of the truck pushed us for one hundred yards, gliding easily over the freshly fallen snow. Smoke poured from the wheels of the truck as it rolled over us and then everything stopped, my heart, my breath, my life. Everything was crushed under the weight of that truck. I briefly remember the world being upside down, my hair a curtain in front of my face, my body hanging by my seatbelt, and the noxious smell of burning rubber and crushed steel. There was no sound. My mother was silent. My father was silent. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital, two days after Christmas, alone. Empty, broken, battered and lost.
I could not bring myself to go back to school. The only person I had left was a broken-hearted Grandmother, her mind half gone. I moved in with her, enrolled in a state university, got a job at the local paper and buried my head, watching from the sidelines as Olivia lived and did all the thing
s we had planned to do together. When she headed to Cambridge last year for a year abroad reality crept over me. My life had come to a stand-still, while the rest of the world continued to turn. I stood still for years, willing the world to return to the way it had once been, but that was never going to happen. And now I am faced with a best friend who has moved on, who has continued to live while I merely exist. We have always been close, like sisters, but now she’s starting a new life. She went off and traveled the world, like we had planned to do together. She came back from Cambridge with a fancy degree, a haughty new world view, and a fiancé to match.
4 years later I have become a whisper in the background, quiet and inconsequential. I have a
small, half empty apartment, a fractured heart and battered body, a Grandmother mired in the early
stages of dementia who hardly knows me and a rotating cast of hospice nurses who tend to her care.
Miami was calling my name. Miami changed everything. Escaping my past had never been an option
until Olivia’s wedding. I needed to forget, to get lost, and be swept away in the romance and magic of a
wedding. I didn’t count on him. I didn’t count on how I would react to him. A man, a series of soul
racking orgasms and a young woman who listened only to the cries of her wanton body, it was magic. And it was bound to end in disaster, but still it hurt more than I ever could have imagined.
Chapter 1
Stepping off of the plane in Miami, wafting coconut oil and salt water tickles my nose and the thick air wraps its welcoming arms around me. I am warm to the core of my body, warm and dry. A welcome change from what was beginning to feel like a never ending Colorado winter. The weather has been so cold, I swear my bones were beginning to rattle when I walked.
Olivia is getting married to Matthew a successful real estate developer. Just her luck, he is wildly successful, comes from an important family and travels the world. Poor girl. It seems the only drawback, so far, is the future mother-in-law that she can’t seem to crack. I know nothing of what she is about to enter into. Neither of us grew up with much money, but we always had what we needed. To even try and comprehend the kind of wealth she is marrying into is mind boggling. I say ‘no, thank you’ to the responsibility and pressure she is taking on. I like my low key life.
My eyes scan the terminal for Olivia. Everyone is so tan…..and thin. All around me women are strutting and swishing like they are in a secret fashion show, swaying their hips side to side as they walk down an invisible cat walk. Men pretend not to notice under their dark shades, leering sideways. Languages float about like a Latin symphony, people greeting one another, or saying goodbye. And then I hear her, over every other sound in the terminal.
“Sophie!” I look to my left to see the crowd part just as a wash of blonde hair launches at me, embracing me like a sister. We hug each other for a moment and swing in one another’s arms like we did when we were little. I hold her back from me so I can get a good look. It has been a long time since we have been face to face. Our lives have gone off in such different directions, sometimes I fear I will lose her for good. Now she is getting married and looking forward to a wonderful life, so adult, and refined. She looks amazing! I cannot believe this is the same girl. Her hair is long and blonde, her tan flawless and she is glowing with that sickening look of love. She is head to toe class in a sleeveless ivory silk top and crisp gray slacks. Her ears are weighed down by sparkling diamond studs, and a matching single diamond sits at the base of her throat.
“You look amazing, you Bitch!” She punches me square in the arm, deadening the muscle, stinging just like it used to.
“Me? Look at you, Soph, you are so cute!” Cute, that’s me, the cute one. Even in my best jeans and cutest lacy tank I’m still painfully underdressed, under adorned, and generally unremarkable.
“Yeah, right, Liv. I am never going to fit in here. I cannot believe how beautiful every single person is. I am surprised they even let me off the plane.” My head starts to swim as my pulse picks up and pearls of sweat rise on the nape of my neck. “Oh, my God, Olivia I am freaking out! You are getting married!” My palms are so wet that my bag begins to slip and I lose my grip. I let it drop to the ground and use the back of my hand to wipe away the gathering curls from my damp forehead. Olivia grabs both my hands and pulls me in close.
“We are going to go to that bar, right there,” pointing just behind her to the Admirals Club. ”We are going to have a cocktail, maybe two, we are going to calm down, catch up and everything is going to be fine. I am so glad you are here, I have missed you so much, Sophie!” She pulls me in for a hug and squeezes so tightly it is hard to hold on to any emotion other than relief when she finally releases me. That is an offer I cannot refuse and she knows that well.
Inside the Admirals Club deep overstuffed leather chairs arranged in small groups face a wall of windows that looks out onto the tarmac. A heavy mahogany bar anchors the large room, with a walk in humidor behind and a floor to ceiling wall of wine with a petite, divinely dressed waitress climbing an old fashioned rolling library ladder, allowing her access to the farthest bottles. The air is slightly scented by cigar smoke and breathy scotch, the faintest sounds of classical music floating over the hidden sound system. Everything in the room feels rich, with me being the obvious exception. The host greets Olivia, kissing her hand, and leads us to the farthest corner and a deep round booth. The banquette is sunken and looks out onto a private stone patio, above hangs a frighteningly large crystal chandelier.
“Sophie, sit down. What shall we drink?” Olivia pulls me back to the moment and into the sunken leather booth.
“I think champagne is appropriate, don’t you?” I open the wine list intending to treat my best friend to a glass of champagne. My eyes pop and the hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end as I get a glimpse of the bottle prices and the fact that there is no “bubbles by the glass”. Are we in an airport bar or the Ritz? I begin calculating in my head when the waiter appears with a silver bucket full of ice and a bottle of Moet. Oh My God! I choke on my own breath as he places the bucket into a stand and proceeds to present the bottle to Olivia.
“Courtesy of the gentleman in the corner,” he gestures and our eyes follow him to an overstuffed chair against the farthest wall. There is a cluster of suits buzzing about, the man sitting amidst the chaos nods at Olivia and tips his glass of amber liquid.
“I’ll be right back,” she blurts at me and quickly slides from the booth heading towards the swarm of gray suits and cell chatter. I watch her cross the room, her beachy blonde hair swaying in time with her hips. She is like a force of nature; tall, thin and blonde. If yoga was an Olympic sport she would be a gold medalist. The whole swarm of suits watches her approach, but his eyes seem to be locked on me. I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is standing behind me, nope, just me in this corner. His attention is focused. His intensity wafts from across the room like the smell of aged pipe smoke and well-worn leather. His face is chiseled and rugged with pale skin and full peach lips. His square jaw covered by the slightest hint of maybe one day’s shadow. He furrows his brow and shakes me off just as Olivia approaches him. They exchange words as Olivia hugs him and points me out. She waves, expecting me to wave back? Awkwardly, I raise my hand and wave like a parade float princess. Aargh! What is wrong with me? Olivia giggles and leans in to whisper something in his ear. He is polite, smiling graciously, but hardly gets a word in the whole time she is talking to him. I pull my attention from his chiseled face, back to the glass of champagne in front of me and decide I may need a little liquid help to get through the next few days. I quickly toss back the champagne with my back to the rest of the room and refill my glass before Olivia returns.
“That,” she pauses with her mouth turned up, “is Rhys, Matthew’s best man. He said to send his regrets that he couldn’t come over to meet you, but he is off to New York. He should be back by morning, and then you two can meet and get to know e
ach other.” Her sly wink puts me on alert, while she sips her champagne.
“I know what you are doing, Olivia. You cannot expect that man to be interested in me.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them and her jaw falters, slightly.
“Sophie! Why would you say that? You don’t even know him.”
“I can see him.” He is striking and I watch his lips take in the last drops of his drink, the ice reluctantly pushed back with his tongue, sadly clinking to the bottom of his now empty glass. His long fingers casually wrap around the crystal glass, tapping a mindless rhythm as he listens to one of the suits chatter about something. He looks in our direction and catches me dead in his sights. I watch him put the glass down, his eyes locked on me. His fingers caress the rim of the glass, around and around in slow circles, his fingertip slides across the fine crystal while he watches me. With every turn of his fingers a knot tightens deep in my belly. A small crooked grin raises the corner of his knowing mouth before we are torn from the moment by another of his suits handing him a cell. He turns his back to me and I snap back to the table, back to Olivia.
“No worries, Sophie. I promise not to interfere. Rhys is a distraction guy, not someone you want to get involved with.” She winks and raises her glass. “He is a short term kind of guy; you are a long term kind of girl.” What was that? Olivia is a master at backhanded talk and compliments laced with acid, but I let it go, washing it down with a sip of champagne. “I am so glad you are here.”
“Thank you, Olivia. I have missed you and I am so excited to be here!” And down the hatch goes my second glass of bubbles. I look over to see Olivia finishing her glass in one gulp, as well, and I’m comforted again by our familiar ways. “That was so nice of him to send us such a nice bottle, we have to finish it, right?!” I whisper, a Cheshire grin slowly spreading across my face. I haven’t been on the ground for an hour and already my head is swimming.
Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) Page 1