Risking Ruin

by Mae Wood

  “Desserts? And you eat these desserts? Where do you put them?”

  Marisa rolled her eyes. “Yes, I eat them. And it’s not like I bake every day. Just a batch of brownies or cookies every now and then.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.”

  “Do what?,” asked Marisa. This is a terrible come-on. And I thought we said no sex.

  “Bake.”

  “Um, are you serious? We just had dessert.”

  “As a heart attack. Now, brownies or cookies?,” said Trip as he pressed against a crisp white panel that sprung open to reveal a walk-in pantry. Marisa followed him into the brightly lit space.

  “It looks like a mini grocery store in here. I thought you didn’t cook.”

  “I don’t, but my mother can’t stand the thought of me not having food in my house in case I go hungry, so voila,” said Trip, with a sweep of his hand.

  “But it’s like insanely organized, too. I mean, the spices are alphabetized.”

  “Huh. I never noticed that. Truthfully, I only go in here to get these,” said Trip, gesturing to cases of protein bars, PowerAde’s, and VitaminWaters that were neatly stacked on the floor. “As for why there are even spices in my house, you’d have to ask my mom or Ophelia. She’s my family’s housekeeper and comes here once a week or whenever my mom sends her.”

  Wow, he must be really close to his mom.

  “So, brownies or cookies? What do you want do to bake and what do we need?”

  Marisa searched her brain, trying to figure out why she and Trip were about to make dessert at nine o’clock on a Thursday night. “Hmm, well brownies I can do without looking at a recipe. It’s nothing fancy.”

  “Not asking for fancy. Just asking what we need.”

  Marisa rattled off the ingredients and Trip dug through the neat shelves to collect the various packages. He handed them to Marisa and she placed them on the kitchen’s large white marble island.

  “Okay, aprons.” Trip dug around the drawers by the commercial gas range and pulled out two aprons. He tied a red and white striped bartender’s apron around his waist and then looped a navy apron embroidered with a large scripted “B” over her head. Who has a monogrammed apron?, thought Marisa as Trip moved behind her.

  He pulled on the apron’s strings, then dropped them, moving his hands to her shoulders. He brushed her chestnut hair aside and brushed the nape of her neck with his lips. Marisa’s body lit up from inside as the shockwaves from the soft kiss spread through her body to her fingers and toes. She let out a sigh and felt a tug on the back zipper of her dress. His kisses spilled across her exposed shoulders as he pushed the straps of her emerald dress off her shoulders. He kept pushing the dress downward, chasing it with his kisses, and soon it was a puddle around her feet.

  Oh, Christ, thought Marisa. So, this is the game.

  He lifted one foot and extracted it from her silver pump. He gently ran his tongue along her instep. Chills ran up Marisa’s spine and her skin turned to gooseflesh. He tossed the shoe in a corner and repeated his assertive actions on her other foot. Marisa was dumbstruck by the sudden change of course that baking brownies had taken. Trip stood to his full height behind her and once again grasped the apron’s strings tying them in a firm knot around her waist.

  Marisa did not move. She stood in Trip’s kitchen clad in a black lace thong, matching bra, and an apron.

  “Well,” smiled Trip. “That’s better. I didn’t want you to get your pretty dress messy. What else do we need? Bowls? A measuring cup? Spoons and a pan, right?” He turned away from her and began digging under the island and through drawers and cabinets in hunt of the items.

  “And a spatula,” said Marisa assuredly, regaining her composure.

  “Can’t forget that,” remarked Trip in a breezy tone as he gave her a wink.

  Okay, so we’re going to pretend that I’m not virtually naked and want him to fuck me. Fine, let’s bake some damn brownies and give him a show. Marisa took control and began measuring, scooping and mixing until the dark batter was smooth. Trip stood beside her in silence as she worked. She grabbed the square metal pan and slid it across the island toward the bowl. She began pouring the batter in the pan and looking around the island.

  “Looking for this?,” asked Trip, holding up a white silicon spatula. “I bet you are,” he said, smacking her in the ass with it.

  In her shock and surprise, Marisa dropped the bowl and it fell into the pan. “Fuck,” she said harshly, looking at the mess. Brownie batter marred the pristine marble. She gave Trip a grimace and snatched the spatula from his hand. She scraped all of the batter off the bowl and into the pan, which she picked up and placed in the hot oven.

  My turn, she thought. While bent over the oven, she stuck her butt out toward Trip and wiggled her hips slowly, giving him a full view of the thin lace that covered her. Then she sauntered back to the island and dipped her index finger into the splattered batter. She turned toward him, making sure he was looking at her. She opened her mouth and inserted her chocolate coated finger into her mouth and sucked.

  Trip’s eyes bugged slightly. Yup. I can play, too. A barbaric growl emanated from Trip and he launched at her, taking her completely in his arms and forcing his mouth onto hers. His tongue prodded her mouth and hands fondled her bottom, as he walked her over to the enormous range. He removed his body from hers for a split second. He quickly turned off the oven and extracted the brownie pan with a potholder he grabbed from an adjacent drawer.

  “They aren’t done yet. It takes twenty minutes,” said Marisa.

  “Seems done to me,” said Trip. Holding the warm pan in one hand, he grasped Marisa’s hand with the other and led her up the stairs.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Marisa awoke Friday morning feeling dazed and slightly sticky. She attempted to brush some stray tendrils out of her face and found her hair plastered to her skin. The crisp white sheets on Trip’s bed were soiled with brownie batter. Even though he had done his damnedest to lick her clean, she was certain there was chocolate on her.

  Marisa rolled out of bed wearing only a huge smile and strode toward the master bathroom. She turned on the shower and looked in the full length mirror. Yup, she was basted in dried chocolate and Trip. Marisa couldn’t remember being this dirty in her life and she loved it.

  She stepped into the glass-walled shower and lathered up a mesh sponge with some shower gel. Jo Malone? French Lime Blossom? Does mother buy everything for him? She ran the sponge over her body, letting her mind return to the night’s fun with Trip. She had never played with food in that way before. She’d never even imagined pairing sex and food. Or, no, Marisa shook her said. Not-sex. Pairing not-sex with food.

  Trip had lazily dripped the chocolate batter over her entire body, spreading it smoothly all over her body with his fingers, before methodically licking it off her. It was his leisurely pace and diligence at the task that had excited Marisa the most. He had dragged across her taught stomach and pert breasts, sweeping circles around her nipples, and making her moan with longing. When his mouth reached her toes, she caught sight of his face and started giggling.

  “What?,” he’d asked, as he knelt at her feet. Marisa hadn’t been able hold it back any longer and let loose a large laugh, pointing at him.

  “Do I have something on my face?” He winked at her, chocolate coating his strong masculine face.

  “Your nose,” gasped Marisa between laughs. “You’ve even got it on the end of your nose.”

  Trip had smiled and brought his face an inch away from hers. “Can you give me some help with that?”

  Marisa had extended her tongue and licked off the brownie batter. Trip’s eyes became hooded and he began a leisurely descent down her body. He had wedged himself between her legs, asking without words for her to open for him. She spread herself open and his mouth fell upon her, blowing, licking, and sucking her until her body shook and the world went dark. As she recovered, he had kissed her mouth, sharing her taste, whil
e holding a hand firmly over her sensitive parts.

  He had stood up from the bed, untied his apron, peeled all of his ruined clothes off his tight body, and placed a firm hand over her opening. She had gazed at him, awed at the strength and beauty of this man before her. He had propped his frame over hers, hovering as he reclaimed her lips. She had reached down and grabbed his solid thick dick and began stroking him firmly up and down. She nudged his hand aside and ran her other hand across her wetness. Swapping hands on him, she had increased her pace. Trip groaned. Marisa had smiled with pride at her ability to wring pleasure from him. He had chanted her name as his body stiffened, his dick twitched, and he spilled on to her chest. He had lowered his body on to the bed next to her and pulled her to him, spooning as they had fallen asleep.

  Marisa reached for the shampoo and lathered her hair. That was really good. He’s damn talented. l wonder what having actual sex with him will be like. I mean, actual sex with him when I’m sober enough to appreciate it. Marisa rinsed her hair and began to hunt through the shower in search of conditioner. When she found it, she froze. Bumble and bumble thickening conditioner? This isn’t Trip’s. No man has expensive conditioner like this.

  Marisa turned off the shower, wrapped a fluffy white bath sheet around her, and started rummaging through drawers. She found what she feared -- a half empty jar of La Mer eye cream, two Chanel lipsticks, a box of tampons, and a straightening iron. What the fuck is this? Whose is this? Marisa’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the small white jar. She left the bathroom and found Trip still asleep in the hideously messy bed. She marched past him, found her bag in the kitchen, dressed in her clean clothes and walked back up the stairs.

  He began to stir as she entered the room. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said, sitting up with a smile in his voice.

  “Go fuck yourself, Trip,” said Marisa coolly.

  Trip’s face became bewildered and he shook his head. “What?”

  “Go. Fuck. Yourself. We’re done. My only - and I mean only - contact with you from this point forward is as the company’s lawyer.”

  “Marisa, what” started Trip, his voice groggy, confused, and pleading.

  She cut him off. In her steeliest tone she informed him of what was going to happen. “I’m taking your car and will leave it outside my building. The keys will be with the doorman.” She lobbed the ridiculously expensive eye cream at him, smirked, and then hastily fled, leaving his car as promised parked at the curb in front of her building.

  Locked in the safety of her bedroom, Marisa began sobbing. It’s just like Paul all over again. He doesn’t really like me.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  On Monday morning Marisa called in sick to work. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d missed work to mope. A long run and a good binge of Bravo hadn’t cured her blues by Sunday afternoon. Around ten o’clock she checked her emails. Five new ones since yesterday from Brannon3@Branco.com. Her phone rang. Marisa sighed with relief that it was her office calling. She’d screened about fifteen calls from Trip in the past forty-eight hours and was in no mood to see his name and number flash on her screen again.

  “Hello,” she said, trying to get herself together as she stood up from her bed.

  “Marisa,” huffed Jane. “Are you well enough to come in?”

  “No, I’m not feeling great. Is there an emergency?”

  “Trip Brannon has called six times this morning and says he needs to speak with you. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Send him to Stacy. She’s done some work with Branco and will be able to handle anything he needs.”

  “I tried that. I offered Stacy, Rod, and Stephen, who are all in. He says that he has to speak with you, not any other lawyer, as soon as you’re available.”

  Fuck him for dragging my secretary and law firm into this. This is personal. He has no right. Zero right to involve my secretary. Marisa’s indignation grew and fire filled her belly. I was perfectly clear. He needs to drop this.

  “I will call him. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Marisa set down her phone, put on her game face, and dialed Trip’s office line. Like hell I’m calling his cell. This is no longer personal. This is business.

  “Trip Brannon.”

  “Trip, it’s Marisa. I understand you’ve been calling my office this morning.”

  “One moment please. I need to close my office door.” Marisa paced around her living room, trying to anticipate and plan the hundreds of ways this conversation could go. “Okay, I’m back. Are you okay? What happened? Why did you leave like that?”

  “You have to ask me? Really? There is girl stuff all over your bathroom and you ask me what is wrong? I don’t cheat. That is not me and I’m done with whatever this was.”

  “Marisa, sweetheart, you don’t understand. . . “

  “I’m the one not understanding? No, Trip. You’re the one not understanding. I’m not seeing you again. I don’t want crap in my life. We will work together, but that’s it.”

  “Please, Marisa, please. Just listen.”

  “No. You need to hear me. I’ll be in touch when we hear from Vanessa and about any other matters I’m handling for Branco. I’m hanging up now,” said Marisa, as she hit end. She emailed Jane. All is well. He just had some questions about a matter that I’ve been handling. Under control. I’ll be back in the office in the office tomorrow.

  Marisa flopped back on her bed and stared at the floral papered ceiling. She was tired. He’s a shithead. She dialed Erica’s mobile. Crap. Voicemail. “Erica, I can’t even talk about it right now, but I’d love to see you, if you’ve got time.” Marisa closed her eyes and her phone chimed with a text message. She looked at the screen. I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. You are the only one in my life. Marisa switched her phone off, laid it on the bedside table, and got dressed for a run.

  Marisa beat herself into a stupor. She wasn’t sure how far she’d run or how long she’d run. It didn’t matter. She focused on her breathing and moving, placing one foot quickly in front of the other until her brain could only process her exhaustion and physical pain, leaving the confusion and anger and sadness behind her. Near the zoo Marisa could run no further and walked toward home. She arrived at her building hours after she had left. She made her way through the building’s doors and towards the elevator. The doorman in his navy blazer and white shirt looked relieved.

  “Miss Tanner, I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay? I was just out for a long run.”

  “Well, a couple folks have stopped by for you. Both insisted you were in, but not answering your phone or the door.”

  Marisa froze in her tracks. “Who stopped by, Thomas?”

  “Well, your friend, the one with the curly dark hair,” Thomas fumbled on his desk and picked up a piece of scrap paper. “Erica. She told me to ask you to call her when I saw you next.”

  “I’ll do that. I hope I didn’t worry her. Who else?” Marisa had more than a suspicion that Trip was the other unexpected visitor. Thomas’s eyes shifted toward the small sitting area in the corner of the lobby.

  “Me,” said Trip, standing from the chair and rising to his full height.

  Marisa’s face turned to stone. Didn’t he listen to a word I said? She spun on her heel away from Trip. The running shoes let off a loud squeak on the tiled lobby floor. Without a word, Marisa moved toward the elevator. She felt Trip close behind her. She knew that if she looked at him, she’d start crying. He doesn’t deserve my tears. He’s not worth crying over. The elevator doors opened and Marisa stepped inside. Trip followed her into the elevator and stood a respectful distance from her. As the elevator ascended, neither one spoke. The ding at the arrival on Marisa’s floor broke the harsh silence. Marisa marched out to her door with Trip on her heels like a puppy following its master in hopes of a tasty treat.

  She unlocked her door and paused before opening it. Trip crowded behind her. She could feel his body’s presence inches fro
m hers.

  Without moving her eyes from the doorframe she calmly announced, “You can come in. I’m going to clean up. I expect you to leave very shortly and, for God’s sake, I need you to give me some freaking room. Back up.”

  Trip took two steps back and let out a large puff of breath. Marisa could feel the air swirl around her sweaty skin and it sent tingles down her spine. She pushed the feeling out of her mind, opened her door, and walked toward her bedroom without a backwards glance.

  Marisa stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out. She didn’t want to argue with him. She also wasn’t sure she had the energy to deal with him, but she knew she’d have to come out eventually. She combed out her hair, but didn’t blow it dry. I’m not trying for this guy. He doesn’t deserve it. Marisa slipped into a blue and white polka dot short-sleeved blouse and a pair of dark skinny jeans, making sure that absolutely no more skin than necessary was exposed. She grabbed the handle to her bedroom door, took a deep breath, and walked out.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  When Marisa walked into the living room, Trip rose from the sofa. He looked at her with big soft blue eyes and she immediately knew he was going to apologize. “I made a post-run snack for you,” he said gesturing to the dining room table. Marisa’s eyes followed his hand to a PowerAde Zero and a simple sandwich. Marisa’s stomach rumbled. “You need to get some fuel in you,” said Trip, urging her to sit. Marisa sat at the table and picked up the sandwich. Peanut butter with banana? How did he know? She downed the sandwich and PowerAde without comment. Trip sat across the table from her. Good, he’s keeping his distance.

  After wiping her mouth with her napkin, Marisa took a breath and started. “Thanks for the snack. I needed that.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m sorry.”

  Marisa stood up from the table and began walking to the front door. “Thank you for apologizing. I’m just fine. I’ll see you next week.”

  Trip did not move a muscle. “I’m not leaving, Marisa. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life but this is not going to be one of them. So, you want to know why there was eye cream or whatever the hell it was in my bathroom? Well, because a woman left it there.”