by Banks, R. R.
I slide my hands down my body, imagining that it's Miles' hands instead. I picture him sitting on the edge of the tub, his green eyes sparkling as he stares into mine. I see his hand slip beneath the surface of the water and part my thighs. As I touch myself, I bite back a gasp, but a soft moan escapes me anyway as I picture Fantasy Miles running his fingertips along my pussy.
In my mind's eye, his gaze is intense. His eyes burn into mine, searing my flesh with the heat of his barely restrained lust. I long to reach out and touch him and feel his thick, throbbing cock in my hand. As the pressure builds up inside of me, I imagine raking my nails down Miles' hard, toned chest. I picture wrapping my legs around his waist and lifting myself up, letting him drive his cock even deeper into me.
I bite my bottom lip hard, the brief flash of pain blending with the pleasure coursing through me, making the sensations all that much more intense.
And as I succumb to the avalanche of ecstasy that crashes down over me, I lock eyes with Miles – at least, I do in my fantasy – and he smiles as I come for him. Miles is getting exactly what he's wanted all along.
My body thrashes in the water as I'm battered by powerful waves of pleasure. My breathing is ragged, and my heart is racing as my orgasm rolls through me, but a wide smile is on my face.
Slowly, my body returns to normal and I am left to revel in the afterglow. I can't believe I've known the man for only a few hours, but I've already fantasized about him. Hard not to, really. And although I have a feeling our personalities might not connect, I have an even stronger feeling that our physical chemistry would more than make up for it. At least, for a while.
Eventually, I climb out of the tub and dry off. I pull on a pair of yoga pants and a camisole, then throw myself down on the bed – which feels like I just laid down on a cloud. I roll around on the bed, giggling to myself. Once I hit it big, I have to buy a bed just like this. I swear it. No more hard, lumpy mattresses for me. No, once I make my mark as a writer, I want to sleep on the clouds.
I pull my laptop out of my bag and open it up. As it boots up, I stare at the fire roaring in the fireplace, as the cracking and popping of the burning wood echoes around the room. It's peaceful here. Tranquil. I don't hear the roar of traffic, the blaring of horns, or my neighbors shouting at each other. The absolute peace and silence feels utterly amazing to me.
“I could seriously get used to this,” I say to the empty room. “I really, really could.”
The realization that this is nothing more than a temporary situation pops into my mind – no doubt, the angel on my other shoulder taking over now that the devil has been sated. It tells me I have no business being here to begin with, so I better not get used to it. This free ride will be over soon enough.
I push the voice away and look back at my computer screen. I call up the file for my book and read back over the last couple of chapters, wondering just how many copies I'd have to sell to be able to afford not only a bed like this, but a house as quiet and peaceful as this one.
I also can’t help but wonder if Miles is thinking about me the same way I'm fantasizing over him.
Chapter Six
I can't seem to get my mind off her as I pace around my room. The fire in the fireplace has made the room too warm and stuffy for my liking, so I open up the French doors to allow some of the cool breeze to waft in. I walk out to the balcony and look out at the hedge maze and gazebo in the back and all I can think about is her. All I can envision is the way that she laughs, the freckles on the bridge of her nose, and those bottomless blue eyes.
I stalk back to the fireplace, staring into the flames as if they have an answer for me. There aren’t any, though. There's nothing but the faint noises of the wood crackling and popping as it splits in the heat. Turning, I walk back to the balcony and let the frigid air wash over me.
There is something about Alice that has completely unsettled me. And it goes well beyond the fact that she can apparently see straight through me. The more I've thought about it, the more the situation bothers me. More specifically, something about her doesn't feel quite right.
As I replay our conversation in the car ride back here, the more convinced I am she's not who she claims to be – that she's not Alice Donnelly, my brother’s girlfriend. She just doesn't come across like the kind of woman Chris would date. Not at all. I have no proof and nothing to back that up with, of course. It's just a feeling. A feeling I intend to corroborate as soon as I can – I've already sent a text to my brother to call me the second he’s able to.
I lean against the balcony railing and stare out into the darkness that blankets the rear grounds.
“If you're not Alice, who in the hell are you?” I ask.
Of course, there is also the very plausible explanation that she is, in fact, Alice Donnelly, and I'm just being a paranoid control freak. It wouldn't be the first time that label was applied to me – sometimes deservedly so.
Just because she doesn't fit my preconceived notions of the kind of woman my brother dates doesn't make her an imposter. Of course, I have years’ worth of tangible data I can point to – as in, all of his previous girlfriends who mostly conformed to a set “type” that he prefers.
His tastes may have changed since then, though. Or maybe, something about Alice made him stand up and take notice of her. I won't deny that there is something about her that's incredibly appealing. She has this energy and vibrancy about her that's undeniably attractive. Intoxicating, even. She’s just so full of life that you can’t help but get caught up in it.
The woman is captivating. There is no question about that. She's stunningly beautiful and yet, I get the impression that she doesn't even know how gorgeous she is. That’s another departure from Christopher's usual type – most of his previous girlfriends were very aware of how physically attractive they were.
But still, the more I turn it over in my head, the more it just doesn’t add up. My brother is a lot of things, but the tree-hugging, hippy-dippy type isn't one of them. He's definitely not some coffee house denizen, nor does he attend poetry slams. His head and mind are squarely fixated on his goals for the company and I can't see him being with a woman who doesn't share that same sort of robotic vision for life.
Which is why this “Alice” feels like a square peg in a round hole for me.
But then again, not everything in life has to make sense. Christopher might be caught up in Alice’s manic, pixie-like energy and charm. I can see that happening.
I don't think I've ever been jealous of my brother before, but I can't think of another way to describe what I’m feeling right now. To me, that’s more disconcerting than anything else. This might explain why I'm so desperate to find something wrong with her – to prove she isn’t who she says she is.
On some level, I’ve convinced myself that if I can prove she's not actually Christopher's girlfriend, I’ll have a shot with her.
It's utterly ridiculous and I know it. I don't know if I've ever had this kind of a reaction to a woman before and it's kind of throwing me for a loop. But, there's something about her that's captivated me.
I shake my head. I need to get these thoughts out of my mind. They're not productive and they won’t do me any good. Alice is with my brother. That's his girlfriend. I need to stop obsessing and lusting after her like some horny teenage boy.
Alice is Chris’s girlfriend. Period. End of story.
* * *
I'm sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen having some breakfast when Alice walks in, wearing nothing but yoga pants and a tank top. I can't help but notice her full, perky breasts straining against the fabric. Even with her hair knotted and frizzy and the creases from the pillow still lining her cheeks, she's a vision.
The light streaming in through the window makes her skin glow and her crystalline blue eyes sparkle like sapphires. Ethereal is the only word I can think of to describe her. I shift in my seat, wiping my mouth before dropping my napkin into my lap to cover the sudden bulge in my
pants.
“Good morning,” I say. “I trust you slept well?”
“Like I was floating on a cloud,” she says. “It was amazing.”
Alice drops down into the chair across the island from me and snatches a piece of bacon off my plate. She gobbles it down quickly and gives me a crooked smile. I can't keep the grin off my face as I shake my head.
“Marina can make you some breakfast,” I say. “She's whipping up some Belgian waffles this morning.”
“That sounds amazing,” she replies. “I'm starving. Thank you.”
I walk over to the ancient, but somehow still functional, intercom system installed into the wall. After pushing the button I call out for our chef, “Marina, are you free?”
A short, older Latina woman steps into the room and gives us both a warm smile. She's been with our family almost as long as Harold. The woman is a talented chef. Personally, I always thought she could have aimed higher and accomplished more than being the personal chef – and part-time babysitter – for our family. But Marina always seemed happy and content here with us. It probably helps that she gets paid more than most celebrity chefs in Vegas.
“Yes, Miles?” she asks, a kind expression on her wrinkled face.
“Would you mind whipping up some breakfast for Alice here?” I ask. “She's ravenous.”
“Absolutely,” she says, setting to work.
I walk over and pour myself another cup of coffee then turn and offer one to Alice.
“Yes, please,” she answers. “My brain doesn't function without it.”
I pour her a mug and walk it back to the island, setting it down in front of her. I slide the tray with the cream and sugar over to her, doing my best to keep my eyes off her breasts – which are resting on the island as she fixes her coffee. Not having a whole lot of success on that front.
I look up and see her staring straight at me, a small, flirty smile tugging at her lips. I quickly avert my eyes and take a sip of my coffee, acting as if I hadn't just been caught staring at my brother's girlfriend's cleavage. I obviously need to keep reminding myself of the fact that she is my brother's girlfriend. This is Chris’s girlfriend. As sexy and compelling as she might be, this is still my brother's girlfriend.
“Well, good morning.”
I turn at the sound of my mother's voice and give her a smile. “Good morning, Mom.”
She comes over and gives me a hug. Next, she turns to Alice and gives her a warm, gracious smile. She walks around the island and there's a slight hitch in her step – slight enough that nobody outside of our family would notice, but because I know my mother so well, I caught it instantly. She's obviously caught off guard by what Alice is wearing. But, ever the gracious host, Mom doesn't miss a single beat on the surface. Instead, she pulls Alice to her, embracing her like she’s always been family.
“It's nice to finally meet you, Alice,” she says. “Christopher has been so secretive about you.”
Alice blushes and looks away. “It's nice to meet you too, Mrs. Churchill,” she says. “Thank you for having me.”
“Please, call me Martha,” Mom says with a fond smile. “I'm assuming that since Christopher has decided to stop hiding you from us that things are getting serious between the two of you?”
Alice looks uncomfortable for a moment, the smile on her face faltering for a brief second. But she quickly restores her mask in the blink of an eye. I'm not entirely sure what it means, but for some reason, her little slip in character feels significant to me.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Alice replies softly.
She doesn't sound entirely sure to me and I exchange a look with my mother, clearly seeing she's thinking the same thing I am. Her weird behavior could also be caused by nerves. She's in a strange place, surrounded by strange people, and the only thing connecting us is my brother – who isn't here. I'm sure this is awkward as hell for her.
“Well, I'm certainly glad to have you here for Thanksgiving,” my mother says.
“I'm glad to be here.”
Mom sits down next to Alice and from the way she looks at her, I can tell she likes her already.
“So, Christopher has been so evasive about you two,” my mother says. “How long have you been together? I don't even know that much.”
“God, it seems like we've known each other forever,” Alice says. “In a good way, of course.”
Mom smiles. “That's always a wonderful feeling, isn't it?”
Alice nods. “It really is,” she says.
“And, if you don’t mind me asking, what is it about Chris that attracted you in the first place?” Mom inquires.
“Oh, wow, I don't even know,” Alice replies, a nervous laugh passing her lips as she turns her eyes on me, suddenly searing me with her gaze. “There's so many things that attracted me to him… He’s strong. He really seems to know who he is and what he wants out of life. He's intelligent and has the driest sense of humor. He seems unafraid of anything and has kind of a larger than life personality. All of that is really, really attractive to me.”
The man she's describing only vaguely resembles my brother. Of the two of us, that description applies more to me, honestly. It’s like she's trying to send me some type of message. A signal. Or, maybe, I’m convincing myself of something that’s not there because I want it to happen so badly. Alice really might see those qualities in Chris. I don't. But then again, I'm not the one banging him. Reportedly.
It's going to be a struggle, but I have to keep Alice at an arm's length. I need to do my best to separate my emotions and focus on logic. And more than anything, I need to constantly remind myself that she's my brother's girlfriend. Not mine. She’ll never be mine.
Marina sets a couple of plates down in front of the two women and they continue chatting over their meal. My mother regales her with tales from my youth, strangely enough. I spend the next half hour listening to my mom tell Alice all about my foolish childhood escapades, from the time I unintentionally set the gazebo on fire when I was thirteen to when I accidentally drove Dad’s car into the back of the garage a little over two years later. Through it all, Mom and Alice laugh together like they’re old chums – and the whole situation strikes me as kind of odd.
“Shouldn't you tell her some of Christopher's childhood stories, Mom?” I ask. “I mean, those are a little more relevant than mine.”
“Yeah, but Chris isn’t here to be embarrassed by them,” Alice says. “Watching you turn bright red feels a lot more fun and satisfying.”
“I'm not turning red.”
“You totally are,” Alice teases.
“You are looking sort of flushed, dear,” my mother admits.
“Gee, thanks for the assist, Mom,” I say.
She gives me a smile and launches into another embarrassing story from my younger days. I sit at the counter and casually pick at my food while drinking my coffee and listening to everything they say. More specifically, I listen to everything Alice says when my mother asks her a question about Christopher and their relationship and the red flags start to wave even harder in my head again – something isn't adding up in my mind. The more she talks, the more of a disconnect I hear between her words and the reality that is Christopher. It's like she doesn't actually know him.
It's like she's just making everything up as she goes. The more she talks about my brother, the more I become convinced that “Alice” is not who she says she is – and that there's a lot more going on here than what she's letting on.
What that something is, I have no clue. But I’m going to find out.
Chapter Seven
After breakfast, Alice heads upstairs to shower and change, leaving my mom and I alone in the kitchen. Marina has already cleared away the dishes and the room has fallen quiet as we sip our coffee. I look at her, searching for some hint that she sees what I see – that she shares the same concerns I do. Yet, I see nothing.
Which means I need to go fishing.
“So, what do you think of
Christopher's mystery woman?” I ask casually.
“I think she's lovely,” she replies breezily. “She seems very down to earth.”
I chuckle. “Not Christopher's usual type, is she?”
My mother shrugs. “She's not like most of the women he's dated before, no,” she says, giving me a knowing look. “And before you put conspiracy-fueled brain of yours to work, different doesn't have to mean bad. It just means – different. She's had a really profound impact on your brother. He's been different since he started dating this girl.”
“I don't know what you mean,” I say. “How is he different?”
“He just seems a lot lighter. Freer,” she explains. “He smiles and laughs a lot more than he usually does. He's just more – relaxed. It's a nice change, to be honest.”
“I can't picture Christopher ever being laid back or relaxed,” I say. “That doesn’t compute at all. Honestly though, she's just not the kind of girl he usually dates. Don’t you think it’s kind of strange?”
“Just because she doesn’t conform to your view of the kind of woman your brother should date doesn't mean she's not a wonderful person who can change his life,” she says and laughs.
“Yeah, maybe,” I admit sheepishly. “But does she seem like the cutthroat corporate type to you?”
She sips her coffee while considering the question. “Not necessarily,” she answers. “But she's young and you were raised quite differently. Her generation views corporate life in a different way than you or I do.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I say. “I suppose.”
She laughs, a warm, rich sound that always evokes positive feelings in me. “I swear, ever since you became a lawyer, you've become suspicious of everyone,” she says. “Not that you weren't before but becoming a lawyer has apparently taught you to organize and hone that power of suspicion.”
I give her a cocky grin. “That's because my instincts are sharper than a razor and I'm right way more often than I'm wrong.”