DRAWN TO YOU
Volume 1
Vanessa Booke
Copyright © 2014 Vanessa Booke
Drawn to You: Volume 1
By Vanessa Booke
All Rights Reserved
Editing and formatting provided by
Rogena Mitchell-Jones Manuscript Service
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, brands, media, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
ALSO BY VANESSA BOOKE
ABOUT VANESSA BOOKE
DEDICATION
To my husband, thank you for helping to make my dreams come true—in more ways than one.
Happy 30th birthday, sweetheart.
“Sometimes I have the strangest feeling about you. Especially when you are near me as you are now. It feels as though I had a string tied here under my left rib where my heart is, tightly knotted to you in a similar fashion. And when you go to Ireland, with all that distance between us, I am afraid that this cord will be snapped, and I shall bleed inwardly.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
PROLOGUE
TRISTAN
Her hot breath blows in my ear as her skinny little fingers wrap around my hand to wake me. It’s well past midnight, but I know whom the familiar touch belongs. Every night she sneaks into my bed and wraps her arms around my chest, snuggling deep beneath the covers. Her presence has become a nightly ritual leaving the smell of her lavender shampoo permanently etched into my sheets. My eyes flutter open just in time to see her angelic face inches from mine.
In the moonlight, Emily’s blonde streaks shine & curl in golden locks that cascade down her shoulders like a golden waterfall. Her pink lips split into a mischievous smile that immediately makes me chuckle.
Over the past four years, I’ve gained a family by moving with my mother to the city. A family that includes a new sister and two older brothers named Nicholas and Alexander. My mom has been working as a housemaid for the StoneHaven family since I was in seventh grade. Although it was a big transition living here, I can’t say that I regret it. I never realized how much I wanted to be part of something normal. Living in the same house as a New York millionaire should be intimidating, but Mr. StoneHaven has been nothing but kind to my mother and me.
It’s a stark contrast to the relationship I had with my father. He was deported when I was six after a neighbor made an anonymous call to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. I wasn’t sorry to see him go. He spent most of his days drinking. The rest of the time he spent verbally abusing my mother, but there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about what it would’ve been like if he had stayed.
“What are you doing here, Lily Pad?” I ask.
She giggles at the utterance of the nickname I’ve given her. I lift my head from my pillow to get a better view of her face through the darkness. Her fingers intertwine together as she balances back and forth on her heels. Her nervous gesture tugs at my heart. I have a feeling she’s going to be a bit of a troublemaker when she’s older. She slips her hand into mine staring at the ridges on my hand like a fortune teller looking into my future.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She’s only twelve, but in a few years, I know I’ll have to help her brothers chase away other boys. Her innocence is endearing enough to make anyone wish they were her age again.
“Why not?” I ask, reaching over to ruffle her hair. She bites her lip right before the words came rushing out of her mouth.
“I heard my mom and dad fighting.”
Emily’s earnest little eyes look up at me through her blonde lashes. A warm sensation fills my chest as she waits with baited breath for me to say something.
“I’m sorry, Lily Pad.”
I stroke her shoulder wincing at the sight of her eyes watering. She pushes her blonde bangs from her face. The intensity of her stare nearly takes my breath away. Unlike her brothers, Emily’s eyes are a mixture of green and blue hues. I’ve tried painting them, but I can never quite get the color right. I’ve realized they’re not replicable. They’re one of a kind, much like her.
“Tristan, can I sleep next to you?”
I smile at her request. Despite the time I’ve been here, I don’t think Emily’s father or mother would appreciate their daughter sleeping in the same bed as the maid’s son. I slip out of bed and gesture for Emily to slip underneath the covers.
“How about I read to you until you fall asleep?” I ask, clicking on the lamp near my nightstand.
“Okay,” she says with a disappointed look.
I walk to my bookshelf and scan the titles stacked against the wall. In this house, even the help reads. I guess that’s what happens when your mother works for the owner of a publishing company. Fortunately for me, there’s never a shortage of poetry to read.
“What are you in the mood for? Keats? Byron? Clifton? Melville?”
“Byron!”
Her excited face sends a smile across mine. I take a seat next to the bed and skim through the pages looking for the perfect poem.
“Here’s a good one.”
Emily leans against my pillow and rolls to the side to face me. Her eyes flutter sleepily as she tries her best to stay awake. I read through several of Byron’s poems, but it isn’t until I get to She Walks in Beauty that I have Emily’s attention again.
“She walks in beauty, like the night... Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright... Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light... Which heaven to gaudy day denies…”
“Tristan?”
I look up to find Emily staring at me with a tired gaze and a small grin.
“What’s wrong, Lily Pad?”
“Do you think I’m beautiful?” she asks, drawing a circle on a spot next to her pillow.
I feel my heart in my throat as she stares at me waiting for my response. Emily’s grown up so fast over the past year. Every time I take my eyes off her, it’s like she’s grown another inch. I love her like the little sister I never had, even if she isn’t mine. The truth is there’s nothing I woul
dn’t do for her.
“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met,” I say, leaning into ruffle her hair once again.
Another smile sweeps across her face as she leans over and wraps her warm little arms around my neck. She hugs me tight, bringing me closer to her as she places her cheek against my chest. Her familiar smell of lavender invades my senses permanently affixing to my clothes. I don’t think I’ll ever get the smell out, but I guess it doesn’t really matter because if I had a choice, I wouldn’t do it anyway.
“Tristan?”
“Yes?”
“Will you kiss me?”
I can’t help but laugh at her request. She reaches up and grabs a hold of my black hair. I feel a slight tug as she twirls a piece of it in her fingers, carefully studying it as if there’s some secret message written in my DNA. She leans back against me, and before I have a chance to answer her question, her eyes flutter closed. It’s only a few moments before I feel her chest moving against me. I reach underneath her and pull her small body from my bed. Despite how much Emily’s grown this past year, she’s lighter than she looks. She reaches around my neck and pulls herself closer to me as I carefully carry her back to her room. She doesn’t wake again even after I roll her onto her side, covering and tucking the ends of the bed sheets beneath her.
“If you still want me to kiss you when you’re my age, I will,” I whisper to her through the darkness. “Goodnight, Lily Pad.”
***
“Stefan, please don’t do this.”
I’m halfway down the hall from Emily’s bedroom when I hear the broken plea echoing throughout the house. The eerily familiar voice propels me forward through the darkness of the hallway. A ray of light cascades down through the study reflecting shadows on the wood floor. Two rays to be exact. I quietly step closer following the voices coming from inside. As I cross the front of the doorway, I hear the voice call out again. The realization of who is in there hits me like a freight train. Mom? What is she doing up so late? I step closer, carefully positioning myself outside. The door sits cracked open just wide enough to see their blurry figures standing close together.
It takes me a moment to recognize the other voice as being that of Stefan. The few times I’ve heard him talk it was only to bark orders at the help in the kitchen. To my surprise, my mother presses herself into his arms. The intimate gesture leaves me reeling in shock. What the hell is going on? I’ve never seen Emily’s father anywhere near my mother. He’s always kept his distance around the both of us. I’m halfway through the door when my mother’s voice pierces through the air.
I watch in confusion as she sobs into Stefan’s jacket quietly pounding her hands on his chest. Stefan grips her shoulders and slowly takes a step back in what I can only assume is an effort to keep her at arms distance.
“I’m sorry, Rosaline. If Evelyn finds out, she’ll take everything from me,” he says, brushing the back of his neck.
“So you’re just going to throw us out like we’re garbage?”
“You can stay until you find another position somewhere else. If you’d like, I can get you a position with another family.”
“You asshole,” she screams.
The thought hits me that maybe Emily wasn’t hearing her mother and father fight, but rather my mother and her father. I can’t be the only one hearing this. I turn and stare down the hall listening carefully for footsteps, but none come.
“Rosaline, stop.”
“You told me you loved me. You said that you were going to leave your wife and that we would be a family.”
“I have to think about what’s best for my children,” he says, annoyed.
“No, you’re just thinking about what’s best for you. You got your dick wet and now you’re acting like none of this meant anything to you.”
I clench my teeth at the bluntness of my mother’s words. Growing up, I never once heard my mother say anything so crude.
“I do care for you, but I’m not leaving Evelyn. I can’t tear this family apart.”
“So that’s it then?”
“I can provide you with a year’s severance pay. It should help you get back on your feet. If you need more, tell me.”
“I can’t believe this is actually happening.”
I watch as my mother presses her hand to her mouth holding back another sob from escaping. A fire rages through me at Stefan’s obvious indifference to my mother’s tears. How can he be so fucking cold? I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that someone so wealthy would think a quick fix is to just throw money at the situation.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, touching her shoulder lightly.
“It’s too late.”
“I want to help you.”
“Keep your money, Stefan. I don’t want anything else from you.”
My mother’s hand lands hard across his face with an intensity that even surprises me. Even more astonishing is Stefan’s restraint and composure. He doesn’t flinch at the heat of her hand. Instead, he merely straightens his jacket and walks over to fill himself another glass of brandy. Tears stream down my mother’s cheeks as she turns away from him clenching her apron in her hands. I feel a pull in my chest at the sight of such a forlorn look on her face. I hold back the anger that’s been slowly building as it erupts through my veins. How long has this been going on? I grit my teeth as Stefan stands a few feet away from her seemingly unaffected by her distress. It’s hard to believe this is the same man that I’ve looked up to for the past year. This cold asshole isn’t who I thought he was.
It isn’t long before my mother forces herself to walk out of the room. Before I have a chance to leave, she catches me standing just outside the room. As if her tears weren’t bad enough, the humiliation washing over her breaks my heart. The need to comfort her overwhelms me, but I know there isn’t anything I can say that will make any of this right. I have no control over this situation and that scares the hell out of me.
“Did you hear all of that?” she asks.
I nod, unable to form words for the anger and disappointment that radiates through me. She slips her arm around me and I embrace her. Hot tears slip down her cheeks soaking my shoulder. I murmur I’m sorry against her long ebony hair.
“We need to pack our things and go,” she says.
Go? I look around the halls of the limestone mansion that I’ve learned to call home. My dream of having a normal life evaporates into thin air in a matter of seconds. My mind wanders back to the blonde angel only a few doors down and the words that she whispered to me. I hope you stay with us forever. I guess forever was never meant to be.
ONE
Tristan
Four years later....
I start the night like any other night at the Pleasure Chest, dragging one of my subs into a playroom. Although I like to keep my relationships brief, I promise each one that no experience is ever the same. The women who come to me to play don’t necessarily live the BDSM lifestyle, but they relish carrying out their fantasies in the bedroom with me. Most of them are high-strung CEOs, stockbrokers, and even housewives looking to relax. I’m not one to argue if a paddle on their ass is how they like to get loose, but I’m more than happy to oblige them.
They always beg me to tie them up, gag them, or bring them to release with the heat of my tongue and the pressure of my hand. It doesn’t matter what toy or prop they want me to use on them. I always accomplish the task at hand. The only requirement that I ask before we begin our time together is an agreed upon safe word and the opportunity to incorporate them into my art. It’s utterly beautiful the way women fall to pieces in your arms at the peak of their orgasms and there’s nothing in the world like watching someone lose all control.
I step outside of the Pleasure Chest smelling like latex and day old pussy. After a long night of playing, I’m ready for a long hot shower and a warm cigarette. A blast of cold air hits me as I lift my last soiled cigarette to my lips and flick the lighter. I inhale the warm burn l
etting it filter through me as the cold wind whips at my cheeks. Tonight was a lot more lucrative than I had expected. It seems the kinksters at the Pleasure Chest get a kick out of my paintings and as my friend Vivian predicted, a couple of Doms approached me about commissioning a private session with them and their subs. I couldn’t ask for a better twenty-first birthday gift, especially when I only have a fifty bucks to my name.
My cell phone buzzes and I flip it in time to see Vivian’s name illuminating across the screen with a text:
Vivian: I got a gig Saturday night at The Pearl Hotel and the catering manager just called asking if I knew anyone who could serve. I mentioned your name. Text me back if you’re in.
Serve? I could definitely use the money right now, but dealing with rich bastards is not in my repertoire. Although I would rather slum it on the streets, I’m not just looking after myself. I have my mother to keep an eye on and lately she hasn’t been doing so well. I slide open the keypad on my phone and text Vivian back.
Me: I’ll think about it.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket. She’s probably pissed that I’m not immediately jumping all over this gig, but how can I? I don’t even own a suit, let alone dress shoes.
Vivian: Asshole. You had better be there tonight.
***
The pungent scent of booze, stale cigarettes, and weed trails behind me as I climb the stairs to the third-floor apartment complex where my mother and I live. On the way up, I pass a row of strung-out losers hanging at the top of the staircase. The two teens lift their heads just high enough to nod at me in recognition, but their gaze quickly falls back to the pipe in their hand. They haven’t moved an inch since the last time I saw them, except maybe to refill their stash.
My eyes strain through the darkness of the living room as I walk through the front door of our six-hundred square foot apartment. No matter how many times I open the blinds, they always seem to find their way back to being closed. If people actually gave a shit around here, they’d probably wonder if we’re vampires.
Drawn to You: Volume 1: The Prequel (Millionaire's Row Book 5) Page 1