by Geneva Lee
“S-s-so good,” she crooned before crying out in pleasure. “Fuck me, Smith. I want to feel it.”
Oh, she was going to feel it. She’d still be feeling it tomorrow, and if I had my say, she’d be feeling it next week.
More dirty words fell from her lips before I crushed our mouths together. She didn’t need to ask. I was never going to stop. I was never going to give her up. When she finally tightened around me, I braced her against the wall and hammered us both to a shattering conclusion. But as Belle slumped against me, I didn’t withdraw from her. Instead, I cupped her ass, urging her legs around me. Carrying her up the stairs, I laid her in our bed and slowly undressed us both.
Despite my powerful climax, my erection hadn’t flagged. She made no protest as I crept over and slid inside her. I could only comprehend this. Her nails digging into my back—scratching across my skin. The brush of her soft breasts against my chest. The slow circle of her hips against the thrusts of my groin.
“You’re mine,” I growled, pushing onto the palms of my hands so that I could rock deeper into her channel.
I dared to look into her eyes, dared to hope that I would find the same fervent wonder I felt there. Instead I saw fear. I shifted my weight and lifted a hand to her cheek. I wanted to wipe it away—erase the anxiety and doubt that tainted our relationship. But I knew it wasn’t as simple as that. All I could do was offer her reassurance that she was wanted.
That she was loved.
Because my God, I loved this woman, and if I had to spend every day proving it to her, I would.
“Forever.” I pushed the word out between breaths. “Mine forever.”
And longer.
I didn’t want her body or her heart. I wanted her soul. I wanted everything down to her last breath.
A tear glinted from the corner of her eye and I kissed it away. She smiled shyly and arched into me, offering me her lips. I took them—captured her kisses, shared her breath—as I took all of her and made her my own.
The next few days passed in a blur as we tried to jam as much into the remainder of our time here. Sex and museums and shows and sex and shopping and sex. We’d given in to the fantasy of what our lives could be like—and it felt good. Wicked and selfish and fucking amazing. Our impending return to London meant sharing Smith with others, most of whom I neither liked nor trusted. It also meant working out how to mesh our lives together. For the most part, we’d avoided speaking of what would happen when we reached Heathrow. We’d be together. We’d agreed on that. The rest we’d have to sort out.
But when our final night in the city arrived, a heavy pressure built in my chest. It clawed through my breast, searching for an escape, which I was pretty certain would come in the form of hysterical crying or hyperventilating or looking up immigration requirements. Here it had been easy to ignore the trouble waiting for us in London. Smith seemed equally anxious. He spent the morning on his mobile, pacing the length of the terrace as he made calls.
It wasn’t how I wanted to spend our last hours here, but I knew he was worried. He’d tried to protect me from his associates before. Now he was planning to take my hand and walk with me into the lion’s den. At noon, I peeked outside and found him, sitting quietly.
“Is everything arranged?” I asked as I dropped onto his lap.
Smith’s arms coiled around me, and he nodded even as his eyes remained distant. “Mostly. There are a few last minute issues.”
“There always are.” But my response didn’t soothe him. Smith wasn’t here with me—not really. His thoughts—his concerns—were elsewhere. As much as I wanted to draw his attention back to me, I understood what was going on. Since I’d discovered the nature of his involvement with his employer, I’d been concerned for his safety. How much worse was that feeling for him?
“I’m sorry, beautiful. I have to take care of a few things.” He planted a kiss on my forehead. “How about dinner? I’ll arrange reservations for seven.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, “but that gives me a lot of time to go shopping.”
This earned me a grin, but it faded too quickly. “Take my card. I added you to my accounts.”
“I have my own money,” I protested.
“Belle”—Smith grabbed my chin and forced me to meet his gaze—“we have money. Get used to it.”
I didn’t argue with him further. Instead I decided if he was going to insist that I make a dent in his bank account then I would go shopping for him. Not that the man needed clothes. That didn’t stop me from purchasing a variety of new ties, which was admittedly a bit selfish on my part considering how I hoped he’d use them. As I passed the men’s jewelry counter at Saks, I stopped in my tracks.
“Can I see those?” I asked, jabbing at the glass.
“Lovely taste,” the associate remarked as she removed the gold feather cufflinks from the display and passed one to me. “Unique but elegant.”
But my thoughts were caught in the past, recalling the gentle, exciting introduction I’d had to Smith’s sexuality at the touch of a feather. I swallowed, wishing I was with him now. “I’ll take them.”
I tried not to feel guilty as I passed her his credit card. As much as I wanted to buy them from my own money, I knew that wouldn’t merely deplete my account but it would probably carve a giant sinkhole in it as well. I resisted the urge to chicken out as she handed me the card slip, and a few minutes later, I’d tucked the carefully wrapped package into my purse.
Although I probably had more time to kill, it seemed like a good idea to stop now. But when I checked my mobile, it was only four in the afternoon.
Research. I wouldn’t buy anything, I thought as I headed to women’s fashion. But it was part of my job to be on top of the market. It occurred to me that I probably should have spent more time in New York working on that. But an hour of research was better than nothing. I was already going home without an interview. Neither Lola nor Katherine had been in touch with more news.
The spring lines were beginning to filter onto the racks, but many of the pieces I happened upon were the same. Since there was no rush to launch at breakneck speed, we needed to be purchasing the lines as they came out. I pulled out my mobile and shot off a text to Lola. It was the middle of the night in London, but I didn’t want to forget to strategize that with her. It was already five, so if I headed back now, I’d have time to get ready before the car arrived. After a day denying myself, squeezing in a bubble bath seemed like a good compromise.
I had nearly reached the escalator when a mannequin caught my eye. There was no fighting it. I had to see the price tag. I had to touch the fabric. The sleeves were barely capped, and although the neckline didn’t so much as reveal the collarbone, there was a classic sexiness that was impossible to deny. It was something more than a little black dress. Perhaps owing to the full skirt that draped gracefully to the floor in the back but that swept up in a slight angle to fall mid-calf.
“You should buy it,” a familiar voice advised me as I studied the gown.
I pivoted to find Katherine Harper behind me. “Peer pressure, huh?”
“That’s not just a dress, that’s a statement.” She paused as we admired it.
“I’m not sure I have an occasion for something like this. It might be a bit much to wear to dinner with my boyfriend.”
“The occasion is wearing it,” Kat said with a laugh, tucking a scarlet strand behind her ear. “Wear that and something magical will happen.”
“You should work here.” She already had me sold.
“I might apply after the week I had.” She chewed on her lip nervously. “I’m so sorry again about what happened.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I stopped her. “If I let every bitch who spoke cruelly to me stop me, I would never have gotten here in the first place.”
“Sounds like you have some perspective on this.”
“You should meet my mother.”
“Look I’m working on Abigail. I don’t know what crawled up her
ass”—Kat’s hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry! I just mean she’s been a little hostile lately. In a month she’ll be pitching me a female entrepreneur story. I’ll keep you up to date.”
“Thank you.” It was easier to say that than to tell her not to bother. Abigail Summers had burned a bridge with me. Life was way too short to deal with thundercunts.
Katherine continued to chat with me while I had the sales associate ring up the dress. I was almost to the hotel when Smith texted me.
SMITH: Ran out on some business. Car will pick you up at seven.
So much for the miraculous qualities of the gown. If I was lucky, he would be there on time. I chose not to be upset though. We were both here on business. If I made myself up and sat alone at the dining table, there was always wine.
Every once in a while a woman puts on a piece of clothing or a pair of shoes and magic. I’d seen that magic on Clara’s face when she stepped into her wedding gown. I’d felt it when I put on my first pair of Louboutins. It sounded ridiculous, and it wasn’t something I could explain exactly. Except that some clothing was transformative. As I zipped up the black dress, I felt that magic settle over me.
I didn’t bother to look in the mirror as I slipped on a pair of simple black heels. It didn’t matter how I looked. Not in this dress. It was how I felt. I was a princess on the way to the ball. I was Audrey Hepburn catching every man’s attention in the room. I was Belle Stuart, and I was fabulous. As I entered the lobby, the heads swiveling to watch my progress told me I was right. A bellman ran to open the door as I approached and I smiled at him.
“You look lovely this evening,” he complimented me as I swept past him. “Do you need a car?”
“I have one picking me up at seven.” I glanced around, looking for a private sedan.
“Ah, Miss Stuart?” he guessed.
I nodded and he pointed to a long, sleek limousine idling at the curb. The driver jumped out and ran to open the door. I accepted his help getting in, wishing Smith was here with me. Leave it to him to spoil me even when he wasn’t around to enjoy it. I didn’t ask where we were going. Instead I looked out the window. We cut through Central Park, and my mind drifted to the day we had spent there. Something had shifted that afternoon. Smith had shown me a vulnerability that was uncharacteristic. Making love had been raw and passionate, and most notably, not kinky. And yet it was the sexiest night of my life. There’d been no distance between us—no exchange of power. And although I enjoyed it when he got rough or ordered me around in bed, that night had been about connection.
Like the weekend before he fired me. Like the last weekend we’d spent openly as a couple before we pretended to break up—and before we’d actually broken up. I pressed my hand to my stomach as it lurched. Tonight was our last night together in New York. We were supposed to go home to London as a couple, but Smith had made it clear that he would always choose my safety over our happiness.
He was going to try to end things between us. And I wasn’t going to let him.
Not this time.
My safety wouldn’t matter if I couldn’t stay away from him, and nothing was going to separate us again.
Except an ocean, a little voice interjected. Smith had expressed his interest in staying in New York. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. But he’d spent the last few days saying goodbye to me. The more I recalled the time we’d spent together, the love we made, the more obvious it became. He wanted to show me he loved me—prove it—before he left me again.
I swallowed against the tears building in my throat. Why would he fix me if he was only going to break me again?
Because he does love you, the voice said. It was a rational reason. Perhaps if he could prove his love then it would be easier to know he was making a decision to protect me. But love wasn’t rational or patient or easily dismissed. Love consumed and changed. Love took two people and joined their hearts. Distance, death—nothing could separate them. And if life ripped those hearts apart, there was no way to ever heal, too many pieces were missing.
I refused to let the tears fall, just as I refused to let him walk away. If there was danger we would face it together.
There were no other options.
I repeated this silently, willing the words to take shape so I could cling to them for strength, as the limousine slowed to a stop in front of a spectacular glass cube. A large blue sphere glowed inside the nearly dark building.
“Excuse me,” I called to the driver. “Do we have the right address?”
But he was already out of the car and opening my door. “The Rose Space Center. That’s where I was directed. I’ll wait here for you.”
I was going to have a chat with Smith about his strange desire to reroute me mid-trip. I somehow doubted there was much food inside. I took the driver’s hand and stepped out of the car. “It doesn’t look open.”
As if on cue, a security guard appeared, stepping toward the entrance. “Miss.”
I was so flustered that I realized I left my clutch when I reached him. For a second I considered going back for it, but curiosity won out. The interior was dimly lit, giving shape to a variety of exhibits that were closed for the evening. The guard entered behind me, and I turned to him with hands spread.
“Follow those,” he advised, tipping his head to the ground.
I followed his gaze to discover two rows of candles. Their flames flickering into a path. I walked slowly, slightly concerned that my skirt might knock one over. I was so focused that I stopped in surprise when I reached a doorway. It was so dark that I couldn’t see inside. I gripped the frame and stepped cautiously through. As my heel touched the floor, a million glittering lights lit up the space. I stared up in wonder as the night sky appeared before me. A star soared into blackness in the distance. I was so mesmerized that I didn’t hear Smith approach until he took both of my hands. Opening my mouth, I found myself speechless.
“I found the stars for you,” he said in a low voice that was rich with husky emotion.
“It’s beautiful.” It was the most I could manage to say. He’d stolen all my words just as he’d stolen my heart.
“You’re beautiful.” He held out my arms and studied me. Here we were under the most dazzling display of stars I’d ever seen, and Smith couldn’t look away from me. “Every day I wondered what I did to deserve finding you. Every day I question why I get to keep you.”
“Smith,” I began but he shook his head and I fell silent.
“We’re going back to London tomorrow.”
This was it. I swayed shakily on my feet, and he caught me around the waist. “Don’t,” I pleaded. “Don’t leave me again. I won’t let you.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he promised softly. The faint starlight shadowed half of his face, etching the rest in brutal, magnificent lines. “Never again.”
His words freed the tears I’d kept confined during my ride here. He brushed them from my cheeks as they began to fall.
“Hold out your palm,” he instructed me in a gentle voice.
I turned my trembling hand over and waited.
“I’m not getting on one knee. I’m not asking. This isn’t an engagement ring.” Even in the darkness, the band he placed in my palm glinted with fire, the diamonds catching the light of the stars overhead.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted as I stared at the ring.
“It’s our future. It’s our life. That’s a wedding band, Belle. It’s in your hands now—along with my heart and everything else I have to give you.” He closed my fingers over the band. “You’re what I want. You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. Now my life is yours.”
I barely processed it as he kissed me, and when he backed away, he didn’t press me to speak.
“It’s up to you. There’s the door. There’s the ring.”
“Smith, I…” But I didn’t know how my own sentence ended.
“Our lives are complicated. This isn’t.”
&nbs
p; I opened my hand and picked up the ring. It felt complicated—and heavy—and a million other emotions that didn’t have words.
But he was right, this was up to me.
“l’ll have a gin and tonic.”
Belle raised her eyebrow as if she disapproved of my choice of beverage. “Tea.”
The flight attendant moved on, scribbling down our order.
“A little early to start drinking,” Belle commented when the attendant was out of earshot.
“Time does not exist in a straight line, especially on an airplane.” I glared at the console dividing our seats. “I’ve never been jealous of the economy cabin before.”
“I think you can make it seven hours without touching me.” But she moved her hand to rest where I could hold it.
“At least I don’t have to completely keep my hands off you.” I studied her as she relaxed back into her seat. “You should get some sleep.”
“That’s not what you said last night,” she said with a wink.
“Last night I was trying to convince you to see things my way.” I glanced down to her naked ring finger. “I see you aren’t wearing it.”
“Smith.” She paused, her pale eyes searching my face. “I just need a little time before…”
“The ring doesn’t matter.” I lifted her hand and kissed the spot where it should rest. “It’s an object. Nothing more.”
She belonged to me, and I belonged to her. I needed to focus on that.
Belle closed her eyes, our hands still clasped. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
My chest tightened at her words, and I pressed my lips together. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but she had every right to express her opinion. “I’ll have to prove you wrong.”
“I meant I don’t think I’m ready to go back to London,” she clarified, not bothering to smother the exasperation she felt. “Although I do love when you prove me wrong.”