Know Her, Love Her: Daisy & Belmont, Book ONE (LOVE in the USA 4)

by Z. L. Arkadie

  Seven a.m. arrived, and he hadn’t slept a wink. He sent Stacy the address and made himself ready to meet her at eight. The security detail he’d hired patted her down before she entered his office.

  “Really, Jack? You’re going to treat me like a common criminal?” she groused.

  He walked up to her, eased up the hem of her tight dress, and slid his hand under her panties. He touched a recording device at the top of her ass crack and snatched it. “You were saying?”

  “That was for my protection.”

  Belmont grimaced. He’d always figured Stacy would be the last person he could never trust. “Did you read your mail?”

  “I read it. I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I made a mistake!” She turned hysterical. “What are you going to do? Destroy me for it?”

  Belmont remained composed. “Me? Destroy you? Your troubles aren’t my doing.”

  “The hell they aren’t,” she snarled.

  “Just like the rest of your clients, I was warned that you utilized illegal search tactics.” Belmont squinted curiously. “The memo said you had hacked financial data from top corporations for clients like, say, Reece Holdings?” He shook his head as if that was the worst thing he had ever heard. “You’re in deep shit.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Jack. I let my emotions get the best of me. It won’t happen again.”

  “I just want to know if there’s anything I can do to help. You’re going to be facing some serious charges.”

  Stacy composed herself and sat in the chair in front of Belmont’s desk. “I do not want to be your foe. I knew I’d be burned to ashes the second I crossed you.”

  He snarled, “Then why did you do it?”

  “I said that I let my emotions get in the way.”

  “She’s my wife!” Belmont roared.

  She slapped her chest. “It’s my heart! I had a moment.”

  Belmont sat across from her. “You had more than a moment. You’ve been recording our interactions from the start.”

  “I record all of my interactions with my clients. I record our fucking, our eating, and if we had taken a piss together, I would’ve recorded that too. I do what I have to do to protect myself.”

  Belmont rubbed the nape of his neck. “What frightens me the most is that you knew I wouldn’t be happy when I found out you’d recorded our interactions, and yet me making love to my wife is what made you expose yourself. Fuck, Stacy, I can never trust you again.”

  Stacy released a long sigh. “I’m just a woman who made the mistake of treating you like someone who was merely a man.”

  Belmont studied her for the longest time. He’d possibly crossed the line the moment he had used her companionship to relieve his yearning for Daisy. Stacy was the only reason he’d made it through four months straight without Daisy.

  “She’s my wife,” he said emphatically enough for her to catch his drift. “You don’t call her. You don’t send her emails. I don’t ever want to learn that you spoke to her face-to-face.”

  “I will never fuck up like that again,” she said.

  Belmont nodded once.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Then you forgive me?”

  “As long as you realize that I’m not just a boy.”

  “What about the heat on my ass?”

  Belmont smirked. “I’ll find some ice for it. But workwise, we’re done. Friends-wise, I apologize for my part in this shit. I should’ve known better.”

  Stacy raised a hand. “Don’t… You’re making it worse.” She stood and smoothed her skirt. “Thank you for the ice.”

  Belmont watched her leave. He hoped letting her off the hook wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. At least he knew how to destroy her if necessary.

  Monday’s meeting would be riskier. Belmont was on the verge of changing his mind about acquiring the riverfront property. The memories he’d made in Chicago so far weren’t pleasant, and Matthew Silver wasn’t Stacy Pruitt. Once Belmont bit a chunk out of Matthew, Matthew would require the same pound of flesh, if not more. Belmont had always walked a dangerous line between legitimacy and corruption. Threatening to out Reece Development for buying city, state, and federal officials to bypass policy, codes, and regulation was dangerous business. Especially once someone surreptitiously started naming names and leaking information to the press. Heads would roll, and there was a twenty percent chance one would be his.

  ***

  Daisy

  The night Belmont caught Dexter and I kissing, I laid in bed, unable to sleep. Belmont had never run away from me that way.

  About an hour after Dexter and I had settled in for the night, he’d crept past my door whispering, “I’ll be right over,” in the tone a man uses when he’s horny.

  I felt a pinch of something. I didn’t know if it was jealousy or if I felt disrespected. I’d risked my relationship by kissing him, and he ran out to screw another woman?

  He’d chuckled and said he couldn’t wait to see her either. His feet pounded the stairs, and his keys rattled as he locked the door behind him. I thought he wanted me to hear him. I punched the pillow to make it more comfortable and to get out my frustration.

  I thought, “What in the world am I doing lying in bed in some guy’s house?” In addition to that, Javar was on an airplane flying into Chicago. I wasn’t in the mood to deflect his constant advances, so I decided to pack my things and return to my parents’ overpriced condo on the other side of town. I texted Belmont and informed him of my plans to leave. I didn’t want him to think that the kiss Dexter and I had shared would be followed by a night of hot, steamy sex.

  I’d wanted to invite him over so that we could, as he said, “fuck until we forget our issues,” but then I looked at the photos Stacy had sent. Each picture pulled at the scab over my heart. By the time I deleted the email, my heart was bleeding again. I whimpered throughout the night. Eventually I fell asleep, and when I woke up, whatever had plagued me on Saturday morning had returned with a vengeance. My nose was congested, and I could hardly breathe. I was sneezing, coughing, my throat ached, and I had chills. I turned off my cell phone and remained in bed, fading in and out of sleep all day Sunday.

  On Monday, I call in sick. I feel like a car, a train, and two busses have run over me.

  “Have you told Dexter already?” Melissa asks when I call in.

  “If I’d told Dexter, then I wouldn’t be calling you.” I’m out of patience for her nastiness.

  “Well, you live with him, so…”

  “Goddamn it, just tell him,” I growl and end the call. What a bitch.

  I’ve run out of tissues, but I’m too weak and achy to walk to the drugstore to buy more. I drag myself out of bed, find a roll of toilet paper, crawl back under the mounds of blankets, and go to sleep. Every now and then, I wake up to use the bathroom. Daytime and nighttime are trading places.

  “Miss,” a woman with a thick Spanish accent says. “Miss, are you awake?”

  “Yes.” I emerge out of the blankets. I see a tiny woman with black hair. “Are you the housekeeper?” It takes a lot of energy to speak.

  “Yes, miss,” she says and looks over her shoulder. “She is well.”

  I hear footsteps.

  Javar Les appears in the doorway. “Daisy, what the hell!”

  I groan and pull the covers back over my aching head. He turns my cell phone on, and it chimes and vibrates, alerting me that I have messages and missed calls.

  “Get the hell out of bed,” Javar says. “Our flight leaves in four hours.”

  “What?” I can’t believe he thinks I’m getting on an airplane in this condition. I bury the side of my face deeper into the pillow.

  Javar rips the blankets off me. “Oh shit.”

  I’m only wearing panties. “Just shoot the show without me. I quit.” I roll up into a ball.

  “You cannot quit.”

  “Could you please give me my blankets back and go?”

  He sighs. “Your linen
s are grimy. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  Moments later, I’m swept off the bed. Javar is carrying me.

  “Where are you taking me?” I mumble.

  “To the big bed. By the way, love your tits.”

  “Touch them, and I’ll bite you.”

  “Where?”

  I groan as my clammy skin makes contact with dry, fresh sheets. Not too long after, a cold compress is placed on my forehead.

  “Thanks, Belmont,” I mumble.

  It’s early November. Belmont and I are on Martha’s Vineyard, swimming off the beach near Lambert’s Cove. The ocean, which is still warm from the past summer, is a cool but not cold sixty-something degrees. He catches me, and we swim to a boulder. Our mouths collide in a sensual kiss. I love him, but we’ve only just met.

  “Daisy, will you give me your soul?” he asks.

  His tongue takes an indulgent journey into my mouth. He shifts the crotch of my swimsuit, and his rock-hard erection impales me. I shudder as I’m immediately seized by orgasm. Belmont’s thrusts are slow and explorative. Our eyes lock.

  “Don’t fight it, baby,” he whispers. “You’re going to get pregnant, so don’t fight it.”

  I shove my hips against his dick. “I want whatever you give me.”

  He humps me faster. We cling to each other, moaning and whimpering about how good it feels. I’m about to come harder than I ever had. I scream before my orgasm detonates, and suddenly I’m in a hospital gown, standing on a cold floor in a shadowy hallway.

  “Mommy,” a girl calls.

  My heart ties into a knot. “Joella!”

  I race down the hallway and stop once I enter the room. My pulse is racing, my heart pounding. The incubator is in the middle of the room, and ma fleur lies inside it. She’s full of life as she giggles and shakes her legs and arms as I approach. I open the container. Her bright eyes welcome me. My eager hands reach for her. She smiles as I lift her and press her against my heart. Her sweet odor… Her softness… She’s warm with life. I weep uncontrollably, thanking God for my second chance with her.

  “Hold it tight, Joe, and watch out for your fingers,” Daniel says.

  My baby is out of my arms. I whip around. I’m out of the hospital room and in my old backyard. Daniel’s sandy-brown hair glistens under the sun. A little girl is helping him build one of our many doghouses. She’s not me, but she’s ours—Belmont’s and mine. She looks happy. He looks happy. I wave at them. They both smile and wave back. My heart is content, and I’m satisfied.

  I’m lying on top of our bed in Malibu. The sliding glass doors are open, and the Pacific Ocean breeze coats us. Belmont is behind me, slamming my hips against his as his dick goes in and out of me. I try to squeeze a pillow, but it has the consistency of water. I’m moaning, and so is he. My orgasm is like never-ceasing billows of waves that pound the shore.

  “Daisy!” He grunts as he lets loose.

  I wake with a stop. The ceiling looks different. I scramble to sit up. Tree branches canopy over a patio where two chaise lounges surround a hot tub. Steam rises from the aqua water. I’m in a white tank dress that I left in the closet in Malibu. Why the heck am I wearing it? Am I dreaming? I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, nothing’s changed—this is real.

  “Daisy?”

  I scramble to turn around. It’s Belmont, and he has a black eye and a bruised cheek.

  “What happened to you? Where are we?” I ask.

  He rushes toward me. Suddenly waves of shock ripple through me, and I curl up on the bed until the pain passes. I look at my ankle. There’s a bracelet clamped around it, and Belmont is wearing one too.

  “Please maintain a distance of at least five feet while standing and ten feet while lying down,” a man says over a PA system.

  Belmont and I look at each other, wondering what in the world is going on.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Scene of A Crime

  Angelina Beauchamp

  One month ago…

  “That’s not a bad idea,” I say.

  I’m sitting on the rail of the balcony, watching Charlie pull up the ugly yellow ceramic tiling. We’re replacing it with wood. He’s sweaty, shirtless, and on his hands and knees. He’s so sexy that it’s almost distracting.

  He glares at me. “Babe, can you get off the rail? You’re going to fall and break your neck.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I won’t break my neck. I’ll turn two flips and land on my feet like Catwoman.”

  “Ha!” Charlie jumps to his feet and draws me into his arms.

  I giggle as he nibbles my neck. “Listen, I think we should do it.”

  “Me too…” He reaches through the side of my overalls and frees my tit.

  I sigh as the stinging sensation of sensitivity is replaced by his sensual tongue on my nipple. “No, I mean lock them up and make them talk.”

  He stops working on my nipple. “You’re talking about Jack and Daisy?”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “That’s crazy, Angel.”

  “No, it isn’t. I can talk to Luc.”

  “Dr. Luc Calvet?”

  I smirk. “You were listening.”

  “I listen to everything you say.” Charlie’s mouth finds my other nipple.

  “Charlie,” I whine, “I want you to take me seriously.”

  He sighs and presses his forehead against mine. “Babe, what you want us to do is crazy as hell.”

  “I think it’s the only way they’re going to get back together and stay together. They’ve been medicating their problems with sex.”

  Charlie sighs. “I know you think Jack is perfect—”

  “I don’t think that. I think you’re perfect.” I grin.

  Charlie unlatches my overalls, leaving me topless for all our neighbors to see. “You’re perfect too, baby.”

  He takes me inside. Once we’re in our room, he devours my nipples as he lays me on the bed.

  “Charlie?”

  “Humph…” He’s pulling off my clothes while maintaining contact with my breasts.

  “Are we going to do this or not?”

  “I’ll do what ever you want,” he says and sucks my nipple into his wet, warm mouth.

  He kicks my overalls off from around my ankles, frees his erection, and gives it to me good.

  I let Charlie murder my tits for as long as he likes. When he’s had enough, I call Dr. Calvet, who asks me a lot of questions, including if Daisy and Jack have agreed to treatment.

  I say, “Not yet.”

  He wants to know if they will undergo in-person treatment.

  I say, “I’m not sure.”

  “Angelina, my darling—”

  “I know, Luc, but I have to ask you to break the rules for me. It’s for Jacques’s daughter. Don’t you love us?”

  He tsks but tells me to give him the details once I have them. I call Maggie and convince her to get onboard. She’ll fly into town and meet us at the Westport Lounge on Saturday night.

  I help Charlie rip up the rest of the tile, then we drink wine and take a stab at writing lyrics. He’s been hired to write two songs for a pop star named Sheena Riley. By the time we finish, we’re tipsy and sweaty. We take a shower and make love until we fall asleep.

  I plan Daisy and Belmont’s sessions with Luc between rehearsals for a Broadway show at Harrah’s that my dad helped me book. Charlie and I hardly see each other during the day, but we make up for the missed time at night in our bed.

  On Saturday night, Charlie and I take a cab to the lounge to meet Maggie, who’s late. I’m beat, but I have a solid plan that reads like a movie script. It even has alternative measures built into it.

  Charlie reads through it with a wry smile. “You’re prepared to go all the way, aren’t you?”

  “Did you read your parts?” I ask.

  “I’ll try to convince Jack to see Luc Calvet. If that doesn’t work, then I’m supposed to have Stanley drug him?” He laughs.

  “I
sn’t he an anesthesiologist?”

  “Yes, babe, but he can’t just knock Jack the hell out by sneaking up on him and sticking a needle in him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know,” he says.

  “How?”

  “You’ve been watching too much TV.”

  “I hardly ever watch TV. Charlie, you can’t know until you at least talk to him. Just present him with a scenario.”

  Charlie sighs. He knows he can’t win this battle. “All right, I’ll see what he says.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.” I grin.

  Maggie still hasn’t shown up, so Charlie heads over to say hello to the guys gigging here tonight, and I go chat with a group of dancers from the show. They’re letting their hair down since our stage is dark for six days. After a while, my gaze gravitates to Charlie, who’s stroking a bass guitar. Delia, one of the dancers, watches him too. I’m never the only woman in the room with her eyes on him. Charlie looks up from his instrument, and his hooded gaze penetrates me. I smirk. I love that I’m the only woman in the world he has a thing for. We break eye contact when Maggie gusts into the restaurant as though she only has five minutes to give us before her next important meeting.

  Charlie gives the bass guitar back to a musician named Rick, and I say good-bye to my colleagues. We sit at a table for four. I’m alarmed by how beat Maggie looks, and I can tell Charlie is concerned too. Her already milky skin is three shades whiter, and the whites of her eyes are pink. I haven’t seen her since Curtis’s wedding two months ago, and she had been at least ten pounds healthier then.

  “What the hell. Should we take you to the hospital?” Charlie asks.

  “I’m okay. I had a long flight.” She covers her mouth as she yawns.

  “The way you look didn’t happen over a course of a flight. You look like shit,” Charlie says.

  “So do you,” she snaps.

  I tap Charlie on the shin with my foot. He stifles a sigh. He’s concerned about Maggie, as he should be.