It's amazing what you saw when you did that.
"Talk to me," I finally said.
She watched the table in front of her, her gaze lost somewhere in the milky black of the steaming coffee.
"I love you so much, Ronan," she whispered quietly, her hand quickly rising to wipe away her tears.
Whoa. Deni was crying.
That never happened.
Shit.
"I love you, too," I said, my hand snaking across the table to touch hers.
"He said no," she then said, taking her hand from mine as, with both hands, she lifted the cup to take a long sip.
"I just want you to know he said no," she repeated.
Another sip.
"Okay," I said, not sure who said no and when and why.
"It's important to remember that," she said.
"It might help if I know who --"
"Mikalo," she interrupted, her eyes once again gazing into her coffee. "The other night. At the party. I offered myself to him, Ronan. Offered my heart, my soul, my body. My desire. My sex. All of it. I offered myself to him and he turned me down."
I was shocked. I didn't know what to say.
She continued.
"It was not because I'm not beautiful, he said. And it wasn't because I wasn't desirable.
"It was because I wasn't you," she finished, her eyes on mine, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"You ... I'm sorry, I need to catch up," I finally said. "You offered yourself to Mikalo. At the party. You hit on him, offered to go to bed with him, and he said no. And this upsets you?"
"Oh you Ivy League idiot," she said with a small laugh. "I'm not upset because he said no. Like the proverbial dog chasing that proverbial car, I doubt I'd know what to do with a delicious piece of meat like him if I ever caught him.
"No, I'm upset because I betrayed you."
"Oh."
"Yeah," she said. "Oh. I feel horrible because I betrayed your trust, betrayed our friendship, betrayed your love for me and mine for you, all because you're piping hot hunk of a man charmed my panties off."
"He charmed your ... I'm sorry, what?"
"Not literally," she answered, impatiently putting the cup back on the table. "His kindness, his laughter, his jokes, that fucking hot accent of his. He didn't intentionally charm me, Ronan. He wasn't trying to bed me.
"It's just that he's so goddamn fuckable. Hell, you know that, right?"
I nodded.
"And yet there I was, a famous beauty with more goddamn money than she'll ever need in my fucking Park Avenue duplex and he still said no.
"Because I wasn't you.
"So," she finished, picking up the cup again and taking yet another sip, "think of that the next time you worry about him banging some other broad."
She looked out the window, avoiding my gaze.
I paused.
This was Deni. My best friend in the world, Deni. She knew my secrets, she knew my hopes and dreams. Had held me when I cried and celebrated with me when I had succeeded. Was the first person I called with big news, both good and bad.
I loved her. Loved her humor, her honesty, her laughter and take-no-bullshit attitude. Loved how she cut to the chase and got to the heart of the matter in minutes. Loved how she saved me from my myself, always insisting I be better than I was before. Make better choices, work smarter, dream bigger, never give up even when I was dead tired and beyond lonely.
"I forgive you," I said, those three words the easiest I'd said in ages. "I forgive you."
Her eyes still out the window, the tears fell, her chin trembling as she quietly sobbed.
And then, Deni being Deni, she shook it off with a shrug, dried her eyes and pushed her coffee away.
She looked at me and smiled a small, grateful smile.
"Thank you."
"Our friendship is bigger than this," I said.
"It is," she agreed, nodding.
"But listen and listen well, little girl," she continued, her eyes locked on mine. "If you fuck this up and let Mikalo get away, I will personally make your life a living hell.
"Do not screw this up. He's once-in-a-lifetime, Ronan. Once-in-a-friggin'-lifetime.
"And some of us," she finished, lifting her menu and snapping it open, "don't even get that."
Chapter Thirty-Six
"My English, maybe it is bad," Mikalo was saying as he sat behind the steering wheel of our rental. "But express, it means quick, no?"
I couldn't help but smile. He was teasing me as we sat at a dead stop in bumper to bumper traffic on the Long Island Expressway.
"And this," he continued, his hand gesturing to the stopped cars around us. "This is not so quick, I think."
And then he smiled.
God, I loved him.
"It was your idea, big guy," I said, teasing him back.
It was true. He insisted I take a three-day weekend and join him at a friend's house in Southampton. Trusted the clean air and ocean breeze and sand would be a nice change from the concrete and traffic of the city.
"It is a small house, my Grace," he had said. "Nothing fancy. But, still, very nice."
"Of course," I had said. "I'd love to."
And I could do it, the Byzan documents no longer my problem. Or at least not for the next two or three weeks. Didn't these people realize I was damn good at my job? Didn't they think I'd discover they were hiding assets in the UK? Houses, ownership in companies, race horses. I mean, really? If you can't hide it from me, you sure as hell couldn't hide it from Uncle Sam.
So, while a UK solicitor unraveled how much there was and what kind of complications it would cause for the Byzan's US interests, I could breathe easy.
And that's exactly what I was going to do.
For the next three days, at least.
Until then, we sat in traffic.
He reached over and held my hand.
"They gave me an offer," he then said. "You know this."
I nodded.
"And?" I asked.
He shrugged.
"I do not know, my Grace."
The car in front of us moved.
"We go now," he said happily as he followed.
The car in front stopped. As did we.
"And now we stop," he said with a frown.
I couldn't help but laugh.
"We'll move soon enough," I assured him. "They must have traffic in Greece."
"In Athens, of course," he answered. "And it is like this, yes. But outside of Athens, in the country and the beaches, up in the cliffs where the sky is so blue ..."
He stopped and looked out the window.
The brief warm spell we'd been enjoying had ended, the chilly air and grey skies of Fall returning with a vengeance.
"You miss home," I said quietly.
Nodding his head, he sighed.
"And your family."
At this, he simply shrugged.
"I love my family, yes. But I have love here, no?
"And we move," he said as the car once again crept forward only to stop several feet later.
"We are stopped."
"So," I said, "this job, will you accept their offer?"
"There is much to consider."
"Yes," I answered. "There is. It's not an easy decision or one you should take lightly. A lot of work, a lot of changes. Moving far away from home."
What was I doing? I asked myself. Talking him out of it?
Rein it in, Ronan. Relax, stop trying to "help", and shut your pie hole.
"You are right, my Grace."
Oh shit.
"There is much to consider. But there is much for me here already."
Again his hand snuck over to find mine, taking it with a squeeze and holding it.
"But you know," I said quickly. "New York is great. A lot to do, a lot to see. Great people. And you have friends. A lot of friends here. Plus, if you love beaches and sun, Miami is only a few hours away. Nice place to spend a long, leisurely weekend.
"
There's so much here, Mikalo. And the Firm, it's a great place."
"Yes?"
He glanced at me.
"Yes," I said, the word sounding hollow. "Yes it is."
There was no response, Mikalo sitting quietly as he rolled my words through his mind, squaring it up with his own impressions, his own opinions.
"This time, with the sand and the water and the quiet, it will be good for me. To think. To decide. To listen to my heart and my head."
He looked over at me, a smile on his face.
"And my Grace will learn to trust."
The car in front of us moved.
"We are going somewhere, I think," he said as his eyes turned back to the road and he crept forward.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
He had lied again.
The house we pulled up to was anything but small or "very nice".
It was astonishing, a one-story, sleek, modern box of glass and rich wood. Of luxurious furnishings and gleaming dark floors. Of large modern art and priceless sculpture and a large open fireplace anchoring the space.
From one of many glass walls, you could see the sand of the beach and, were you to slide this wall open -- which you could do with the press of a discrete button -- and step onto the marble patio, feel the spray from the water.
"Who is this friend?" I couldn't help but ask.
"He makes the movies," he said. "I know him now for many years.
"He is a wonderful man who enjoys the company of other wonderful men," he continued. "And now he offers you and me his home.
"That is sweet, no?"
"Very sweet," I answered, wandering into the bedroom, a room larger than most Manhattan apartments, a massive four-poster bed at its center, more luxury underfoot and overhead and all around.
Mikalo wandered in.
"It is okay?"
"Okay?" I responded, trying not to laugh. "Oh, I think it'll do."
And, getting the joke, he laughed, too.
"We shall make it rough for three days, no?"
I moved close, wrapping my arms around him.
"Make it rough?" I said, my lips close to his. "I like the sound of that."
"Maybe the saying, it is wrong."
"No, no," I interrupted. "It's perfect."
He furrowed his brown.
"No," he said. "It is roughing it. That is right. What I wanted to say."
"Either way," I said, my hand reaching low to caress him through his jeans, "You have my attention."
He stepped back, his hands on my shoulders as looked at me, his eyes searching mine.
"Know that I would never hurt you," he then said. "Know that you are always safe and loved. Know that you have my heart and my body. My kisses.
"Is this something you know?" he then asked.
I nodded.
I then moved close to kiss him.
He accepted it, his hand gently moving down my arm to my waist and then my hip, the fingers snaking around to rest on my ass.
I sighed, my lips still on his.
"I trust you," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I trust you and I know you'd never do anything to hurt me. I get that now, Mikalo. I do."
"That is good, my Grace," he said, his words hot on my lips. "And now we must get you undressed."
His fingers started unbuttoning my shirt.
I reached for him.
He pulled away.
"No," he said firmly. "You will stand silently. I will take the clothes from you. And you will not touch me or speak or kiss me.
"This is understood?" he then asked.
Oh my god, this was going to drive me crazy.
I nodded, that familiar tingle down below distracting me as I grew wet.
He finished unbuttoning my blouse, shrugging my arms free and then slipping the delicate fabric from my body.
His fingers slowly traced my skin, lightly, stealing my breath as his hands traveled up my body and then to the lace covering my breasts, his fingers expertly removing my bra.
He bent his head low, his hand pushing these twin globes together as he buried his face in my cleavage and inhaled deeply, his lips then traveling over the sensitive, pale skin, avoiding my nipples, his touch coming nowhere near the hungry nubs of pink flesh.
I reached up to grab his head, the thought of gripping his dark locks in my fingers obsessing me.
Pulling away, he scolded me.
"No, my Grace. Stand still and quiet. I will do this and you, you will enjoy."
I wanted to groan in frustration. But I nodded, my hands hanging at my sides.
He kneeled before me, lifting first one foot, quickly undoing the strap and releasing my shoe, and then the other, the strap undone, the chic Manolo tossed aside.
Burying his face in my waist, he moaned, his hands trailing up and down my legs, the fingers searching for the snap at the side of my skirt.
It came free, the pencil-striped gray falling to my ankles.
Again, he inhaled my scent as I stepped free from the skirt, the thin lace now covering me damp .
This he kissed, his lips delicately tracing the band and then dipping lower, inhaling me, his tongue darting forward to lightly taste before he hooked his fingers around the thin fabric and pulled it free.
I stood waiting, naked.
Looking up at me, his fingertips still lightly tracing my flesh, my legs, my stomach, behind my knees and up to my breasts, he spoke.
"The small box, it is for you."
The what?
I watched him.
"I'm sorry?"
"The small box," he repeated, nodding toward the bed. "It is for you."
I looked, noticing the ribbon bound box waiting in the center of the bed.
I hadn't even seen it when I first walked in.
"No," he said, catching me as I moved.
I smiled.
Oh, this was getting too good.
"May I, Mikalo?"
He smiled.
"Yes," he whispered. "You may."
I walked to the bed and, lifting the box, unwrapped it and took the top off.
Looking inside, I paused, confused, and then looked at him.
He reached out his hand and took it from me.
Standing, he moved close. Almost close enough to kiss, his lips so, so near.
"Lie down."
I did, the bed cradling me, the expensive duvet beneath my skin soft and luxurious.
Watching him, he reached in the box and took out strips of silk.
He held them up to show me, the shiny fabric catching the light as he gripped them in his fist.
"And now trust, my Grace."
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I was bound.
My wrists above my head and to the side, wrapped in silk, the ends tied securely to the bed. My legs spread, more silk wound 'round my ankles and, again, tied tight.
I could barely move.
And the fifth strip of strong fabric, the final strip, wrapped around my head to cover my eyes, the world around me, this strange place in this stranger's house in this stranger's bed, all of it now complete and total darkness.
I was defenseless, vulnerable, naked.
The scent of him filled my nose as he leaned in close, my Mikalo, his lips close to mine, his presence a comfort.
"I love you," came the words from the dark.
"And I --"
His kiss, probing and deep, his tongue hungry, extinguished my words, robbing them of their oxygen or their need to be heard.
I returned the kiss, straining against the silk, desperate to feel him, to see him, to watch him in that inevitable moment when he would pause, throbbing inside me.
Beneath me, I could feel the bed grow wet as my heat grew.
"Trust," he whispered again as he pulled away briefly.
And then his lips were on me again, ravenous, desperate. His teeth on my lips, his tongue deep in my mouth, his hands on my breasts, his tongue lapping my calf and the back of my knee.
Wait, what?
I stopped and then tried to pull away.
He refused, forcing me back, his tongue in my mouth as this stranger, this second tongue, slowly licked my calf, his strong hands gently caressing my feet, the thick fingers slipping between my toes before trailing up my instep to my ankle.
Mikalo continued to kiss me, his fingers pinching first one nipple and then the second, his hand then gripping my breast, squeezing it and holding it firm.
His mouth still on me, I felt another mouth suddenly suckling me, the breast in Mikalo's hand a gift offered to a new stranger, the man drawing the nipple deep as it grew warm, the sensitive teat teased and tortured by his teeth.
I gasped, the sound lost in Mikalo's kiss, the stranger below now slowly, oh so slowly, licking his way up from my calves and from behind my knees, the stubble on his chin and around his lips and on his cheeks rough against the inside of my thighs.
The man at my breast paused, rolling the nipple between his fingers as he pushed his face deep into the flesh, inhaling deeply.
Mikalo was now kissing my face, my cheek, his lips trailing down my neck and finally to my breast, the stranger drawing my other nipple deep as Mikalo did the same.
Oh holy fuck.
The third man, down below, was tracing his fingers through my wetness, opening me, the long, thick digits slipping in and then out, testing my desire, breathing in my heat, patiently discovering my secrets, his face close, so, so close that I could feel his breath.
A hand was now on my head, guiding me, turning me to the side.
Mikalo at my breast, a second stranger at the other, a third below, and now a fourth parting my lips with his as his tongue searched my mouth.
Hands on my stomach, fingers running down my flesh, lips and teeth on my nipples, fingers opening me up below.
I could feel the storm building.
A light burst of cool air teased my heat as the stranger between my legs blew a single, slow stream of air to quiet my desire.
And then his lips were on me.
Oh my god.
I writhed as his tongue dove deep, his need parting me, his hands, his strong, rough hands, easily holding my legs open, holding them apart, my secrets now captive to him.
Mikalo's Grace Page 11