Waking to Black

by V. H. Luis

  Her eyes widen at the question. “Why, only the best, of course. Please, follow me.”

  Instantly, designer dresses are shoved in my face—Escada, Emilio Pucci, Aidan Mattox, the list goes on. On rare opportunities when I brave looking at the prices I have to rein in my shock. Are you shitting me, $1495 for a Fluted Ribbed Dress? What exactly does “Fluted” mean? I’m ashamed to admit I asked Marian that question.

  “Oh, a fluted dress means that the fabric fits snugly around the hips and then opens near the hem.” She smiles.

  Well, duh! Of course that’s what it means. I nod, my senses overstimulated. More dresses are thrown at me and time crawls by.

  I’VE spent the last four hours trying on hundreds of dresses, pants, shirts—everything you could imagine. At one point Marian drags me to the intimate apparel section of the store, and to my chagrin helps me select several sets of bras and panties. The experience has been an irritating blend of awkward moments.

  I’m in the fitting room staring at the mirror in only heels and black lace underwear, going through the monotonous task of trying on yet another dress, when I hear the door creak. What! I turn to give Marian a piece of my mind, and to my shock Adam is the intruder.

  He closes the door and presses down on the lock, without a flinch of remorse. Then he’s against me, his lips pressed over mine and his tongue plunging into my mouth, devouring me.

  I kiss him back, because even though I’m upset he’s made me go through this uncomfortable experience, I’m ecstatic to see him. I can’t deny that my body longs to be alongside his.

  He leans back and whispers against my cheek, “I like the heels.”

  “Marian thought you might.” My hand trails down his back to his dark blue jeans. His casual attire makes him appear younger and so damn sexy.

  “Where have you been?” I don’t bother to hide the pout in my voice.

  “I’ve been busy working.” He kisses my neck and slowly makes his way down to my chest. As his tongue caresses the curves of my cleavage, he pulls my breasts out of the bra.

  I don’t have time to be shocked, because instantly his mouth is against my skin. The way his teeth graze my nipples makes me whimper.

  He pulls back an inch, a devilish smirk on his lips. “Careful, someone might hear you.”

  I know the warning is in jest; I doubt he cares if anyone hears us. The beat of my rapid heart thunders against my ear. We’re in a dressing room in Neiman Marcus. He wants to do this here?

  Adam moves his hand down between my thighs, his fingers trailing over the thin material of my underwear, and I tremble.

  Yep, he definitely wants to do this here.

  With his sapphire eyes fixed on mine, he slides his hand inside my panties and rubs the pad of his index finger against my clit. My body comes to life. A scorching heat erupts between my legs and I can’t control myself, I push my hips into his skilled touch.

  “I think you’re happy to see me.”

  I nod wordlessly, because I’m practically dripping with happiness.

  In a steady, circular motion he massages my clit and my breath stutters. He has a smile on his smug face, and he’s no doubt reveling in the fact that I’m completely his. If he wants to fuck me in this dressing room, I won’t resist.

  He pushes a finger inside of me, in and out, tantalizingly slow, while his thumb continues rubbing. Before I can resist the urge, a soft moan escapes me.

  A sharp knock comes from the dressing room door.

  “I’ve found the most beautiful dresses for you to try. They’re a little short, but you have great legs; you can pull it off,” Marian says excitedly.

  Adam wears a wicked grin as he slips another finger inside of me. My lips part and I’m about to cry out when his tongue invades my mouth. The kiss is all-consuming.

  “The door is locked.” Marian twists the handle.

  It’s hard to think. I pull back from his lips and attempt to speak calmly. “Leave the dresses on the hanger outside.”

  Adam’s rhythm quickens and I dig my nails into his shoulders, because the pressure is building, and I’m reaching my limits.

  Marian’s voice again intrudes. “Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’m going to go get you a pair of white heels for the pastel dresses.”

  Who the hell cares where you go? Just leave already. “Okay,” I groan, and to my delight, the response is silence—she’s finally gone.

  I’m writhing against him, at the edge of my orgasm. As I’m about to let go and find release, my eyes flutter open, meeting his, and the intensity of Adam’s gaze makes me self-conscious. I pull back, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m between him and the wall, and he’s relentless. His fingers slick through the folds of my swollen flesh and my muscles constrict greedily around him. They spasm. They tighten. They begin to tingle with unassailable need.

  “Come for me, Evelyn.”

  His husky command is my undoing. I cry out against his shoulder, reaching my climax, no longer caring that I’m in a dressing room and others may be hearing this intimate encounter. My knees buckle and I think I’m going to fall, but Adam’s strong arms hold me up, the same way he did at the bank the fateful day we met.

  We stand there for a few minutes as my frantic breaths find a natural rhythm. The world fades and only he and I matter. Our eyes lock and I realize inhibition is a dirty word around him. In his presence I don’t have any.

  “Do you think you can stand?”

  The tenderness of his tone makes me smile. “Yes.”

  He pulls back to test the theory though one of his arms is still wrapped around my waist in a proprietary fashion.

  As I get it together, standing on my own, he does something to threaten my stability. His eyes fixed on mine; he slips the tip of his thumb in his mouth, licking up the proof of my pleasure.

  “That’s such a good taste,” he whispers, and as if to reinforce his point he runs his tongue across his lips, savoring the flavor.

  “I’ll meet you outside.” He turns to the door, opening it and winking at me before it closes.

  I stare at the dresses hanging on the numerous racks lining the fitting room. Like hell, I’m trying anything else on. I reach for my own simple burgundy dress. As I turn to leave, I spot my reflection in the mirror. My hair is tousled and my face has a rosy flush. I run my fingers through my hair and after a few seconds I quit trying to appear composed.

  Stepping out of the fitting room I glance at the other customers and my cheeks burn. Do they know what I’ve been doing? Who cares if they do.

  Adam is leaning against a counter, talking to Marian. She’s fluttering her eyelashes at him and laughing at something said. A sudden pang of jealousy hits me. Back off, lady, he’s mine. Maybe.

  As I get closer to them, Adam sees me, and his eyes darken with what I think is lingering desire.

  “There you are. I was looking for you.” He sounds sincere, and I wonder how he can do that. He knew exactly where I was, and yet he can so effectively lie. It makes me wonder if anything he’s told me since we’ve met is true. He’s made me assure him that I’ll never lie, because he doesn’t associate with liars, but does that rule apply to him?

  “Mr. Black, thank you again. Evelyn will look wonderful in the selections we’ve chosen,” Marian says elatedly, and while I suspect the large commission she’ll be receiving from this sale has something to do with it, I get the impression her intentions toward Mr. Black are anything but chaste.

  I flash her a fake smile, and Adam notices. Grinning, he grabs my hand.

  “Thank you, Marian.” He speaks to her but his gaze is fixed on me. “Parker will be here within the hour to retrieve the items. Please make sure they are ready.” Then he’s tugging me and we’re walking.

  “What did you buy?” I ask sullenly, still affected by jealousy.

  “Everything Marian said looked good.”

  “Everything?”

  He glowers at me. I blink a few times, feeling remorseful for yelling, b
ut not for the sentiment. All my doubts come to the forefront and I begin to recollect everything I wanted to tell him throughout the day.

  “You just spent a small fortune on me, Mr. Black.” I say his surname with a heavy inflection because I’m annoyed, and I want to distance myself from him. “Why would you do that?”

  “Mr. Black? I would think, especially considering what just happened in the fitting room, we’d still be on a first name basis, Evelyn.”

  The ways he speaks my name, in a hushed tone, makes me flinch. It’s as if he can caress me with only words, and part of me hates him for it. He breaks down the barriers I’ve built. And I need those barriers, because without them I’m not strong enough to keep going. Can’t he see that?

  “As for your question, I bought the items because I owe you some type of compensation for the mural you painted. And because, frankly, I wanted to.”

  His ambiguous response brings out the worst in me. “I’m just some girl to you, some distraction.” I know I should put the brakes on my runaway freight train of a mouth, but I can’t. “So this is all because you had to settle a debt?”

  He leans forward, his height as always intimidating. “No, I would never be that obtuse. If it makes you feel better, my motives are purely selfish. The idea of undressing you, peeling off the clothing I’ve purchased for you, then having my way with you, excites me. It gets me hard just thinking about it.”

  How can he say things like that? He’s so bold and wicked. Peering up at him, I whisper, “Do you buy clothing for every woman you fuck?”

  His body stiffens. And although anger clouds his eyes, his voice, unlike mine, is of someone in control of their emotions.

  “No, not every woman. In fact, only you.”

  “Why me?” I say, breathlessly.

  Adam flashes me a masculine smile, the type that implies something dark and decadent, something only talked about in whispers.

  “Maybe because I know you don’t want the clothing.”

  “So you do it to upset me?”

  “I do it to stack the cards in my favor. To rile you up and make you uncomfortable.” His face is impassive and unyielding.

  “You don’t own me,” I say with steadfast resolve.

  His hand runs across my cheek and I hate that I shiver.

  Haughtily, he states, “Not yet.”

  Adam wants to possess me? To own me? My thoughts echo in my head. I think we’ve established he already does. May I remind you of the fitting room incident?

  My pulse quickens at the realization.

  Oh, shit.

  Chapter Twelve

  “WHAT THE HELL does that mean, Adam?” From the corner of my eye I notice a couple on the far left gawking at us.

  Adam grabs my hand and yanks me away from our sudden audience. Turning into a narrow and apparently abandoned corridor of the open mall, he pins me against the wall.

  “It means everyone can be bought. Everyone has a price,” he says angrily.

  “I don’t,” I murmur. The callous way he’s speaking is breaking my heart.

  A derisive laugh erupts from his lips as he leans forward, caging me with outstretched arms.

  “I never stated that the price had to be monetary. Maybe you’re the type of girl who needs flowers, sweet words.”

  “And you’re not the type of man willing to give that?”

  “I’m the type of man who doesn’t have to give that.”

  I frown. The type of bitterness he’s exuding resonates of someone who has been hurt before. I know the sentiment well.

  “Some woman must have screwed you over big-time to make you such a…” Arrogant prick. Stubborn ass. Egocentric bastard. The words echo in my head, but I can’t voice them.

  “Say what you’re thinking.”

  The warm caress of his breath against my cheek as he speaks is both exciting and dangerous. It’s all the fuel I need.

  “I don’t care how much money you have, I’m not for sale. If you want some girl to fawn over you, to shut up instead of speak up, then you don’t have that in me.”

  My fingertips tingle and I’m sweating, though I’m not sure if it’s anger that has prompted the reaction or desire. I don’t have time to consider the issue.

  Adam tangles his hand in my hair and jerks me against him. The coarse action hurts, and I have the sense to pull back, to deny him the satisfaction.

  An expression of shock crosses his gorgeous face. He’s stunned I would refuse a kiss from him. That’s right, mister, you don’t own me.

  Again he moves toward me and before his lips can claim mine I slap him. A short, shallow gasp escapes me as the vivid red mark of my handprint against his cheek becomes visible.

  The passion radiating between us saturates the air. While I suspect my rejection is fueling his ire, a part of me thinks my brash statement holds some truth, and a woman did screw him over. Then I see it. For the first time in our brief affair I see vulnerability in his gaze, a hint of insecurity. This imposing man in front of me is thrown off balance by me?

  My chest tightens and the bitterness of regret makes it hard to swallow. I don’t know what to do, because I’ve crossed a line.

  We’re both panting. There’s an energy building between us, like two stars about to collide. For the third time in less than a minute he moves forward, only this time I can’t refuse him.

  His kiss is drenched with a need I’ve never before experienced. Pulling my hair back so my chin tilts and my neck is exposed, he has complete control.

  The truth is, my impetuous nature is urging me to leave, to run far away from this man who has stated he wants to possess me, because intrinsically I know such a notion is ludicrous. But the expression in his eyes makes me feel close to him and I haven’t felt close to a man in a long time. In his arms I’m lost to reason.

  His hands move to my hips, to the hem of my dress, and with a feral passion he grabs hold of my ass. I think he’s going to lift the fabric, move my panties to the side, and take me right here in Bal Harbour. Do I honestly mind?

  “Adam?” Sarah’s voice bursts the bubble we currently inhabit.

  Are you kidding me?

  Twice in a row, this girl has interrupted us. I’ve come to the conclusion that Sarah Black is the most effective form of contraception. And by the stiff way Adam leans back, I get the impression he agrees.

  His gaze still fixed on me, he speaks. “I believe I was supposed to meet up with you later.”

  Sarah is wearing a mischievous grin that I now realize is one of her defining traits.

  “Sorry, I assumed if I found you, we could get to dinner quicker.”

  Adam shifts, focusing on his sister, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. The way he moves is precise, as if all his actions are calculated ahead of time. That type of forethought is foreign to me. In a lifetime of careless actions and capricious decisions I’ve never met anyone so in control.

  “Hello, there.”

  I jump at the sight of the man offering the greeting. He’s standing next to Sarah, and until now I hadn’t noticed him. He has blond hair and is dressed in designer slacks and a polo shirt. He’s not to my tastes, but he’s what most people would consider attractive.

  I’m about to respond when Adam steps between us, like a lion defending his territory. His jaw is set, and I can tell he’s containing his anger—and to my surprise, for once, it’s not directed at me.

  “Markus, how nice it is to see you again.” Adam’s voice has adopted a cold, businesslike tone.

  This is the infamous Markus?

  “As always, I find you in the arms of a pretty girl.” Markus’s voice is etched with an emotion I’m unable to gauge.

  Adam grabs my hand and tugs me to his side. And it doesn’t matter that seconds ago we were arguing. In the presence of his sister and her boyfriend, being surrounded by his dominating presence is a welcome protection.

  Adam gives Markus a debonair smile, one that by its elegance I suspect he can o
ffer at will. “Markus Krass, this is Evelyn Snowe.”

  I smile at Markus, though I’m unwilling to offer him my hand to shake.

  “Are you hungry?” Adam directs the question to me.

  I’m not, but among strangers I’m happy to let him take the lead.

  “I am if you are.”

  He turns to Sarah and Markus. “How about we try some Italian food?”

  They both nod at the idea. In minutes we’ve traveled through the mall and have arrived at a restaurant named Carpaccio. Briefly, I hear Adam speak with the waiter about the wines offered, and he settles on one called Amarone. Knowing his refined taste, I imagine it’s a good wine.

  Once we’re seated, the overall mood of our table can be described as awkward. As always, Adam, with his cool and collected persona, takes charge.

  “So what is it you currently do, Markus?” He tries for casual but the stiffness in his voice is apparent.

  “I work in property development.” Markus matches Adam’s tone. “Currently, I’m working on the expansion of two buildings in the Surfside area.”

  “Oh. I was under the impression that with the recent decline in property value many developing companies were simply dropping projects, unable to acquire the necessary funding.”

  Sarah and I stare at each other; our apprehension mirrored in our rigid posture.

  “On the contrary. Now is the most opportune time to develop property. The cost of construction is markedly lower and surely you, being in the real-estate business, know that property values are on the rise.” Markus smiles at Adam, though it appears more like a smirk.

  Our wine arrives. Thank god, I have something to do. I take a large sip as I listen to the conversation.

  Adam’s eyes take on a calculating glint. “So have you attained the funding for this project?”

  Markus takes a long pause to drink from his glass. “Not yet, but we have some promising prospects.”

  “What are the names of the investors? Maybe I could put in a good word for you. As you said, I am in the business.”

  Markus shifts in his seat. His fidgeting quickly makes it obvious he doesn’t actually have any viable funding prospects.