by T. Anthony
My body fell lifelessly down across his chest. His heart beat against my cheek as the beads of sweat rolled down his pecs. I slid myself up to reach for the handcuffs, when Alexander stopped me.
“I wouldn’t untie me just yet. I haven’t decided whether I want to kill you for doing that or fuck you as a reward for making me do it,” he whispered through his exasperated breaths.
“Alexander, you don’t scare me. You don’t want to kill me, because you utterly enjoyed it. And you couldn’t fuck me if you tried right now. You look like you may need to sleep for a few days to recoup from this one,” I assured him, planting a soft kiss on his sweaty and swollen lips.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Alexander slept the rest of the flight to LA. We arrived late in the evening and quickly got into the town car that awaited us. The drive to the house in Beverly Hills was magnificent. Like a true tourist, I gawked at the Hollywood sign and glanced from window to window to admire my new surroundings. I had never been to Beverly Hills, but I had always been certain that it was very much like New York. Well, let me clarify—it is nothing like New York except for the traffic at all hours. Central LA, very similar, but Beverly Hills was like watching a TV show.
Everything that surrounded us was pristine and perfectly manicured. The cars, the homes, and of course the people looked like the cream of the crop all flew in to move into this neighborhood. But they all looked the same. Similar clothes, cars, and even dogs. This was the strangest thing to witness, having come from the melting pot that was my home.
The electronic gates that opened before us led to a two-story gated mansion with European style roofing and layout. It was exquisitely designed on the sprawling acres. The palatial entrance, even more dramatic as we entered the foyer to face a grand marble staircase and crystal chandeliers. The driver carried our suitcases to the master bedroom, and Alexander escorted me to the back of the house, where we found a woman preparing snacks and finger foods on decorated platters at the table.
“Mr. Mason, welcome home,” the woman said.
Alexander gave her a warm embrace. “Thank you, Ms. Gina. It’s nice to see you. Allow me to introduce you to Evangeline Chase. She captured my heart in New York, and I just couldn’t bear to come back here without her. She is the boss of the house, so please see to it that she never wants for anything.”
I stepped forward, embarrassed by Alexander’s introduction. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Gina. Please call me Eva, and don’t listen to a word to he says. I am self-sufficient; don’t go to any trouble for me.”
“You are very kind, miss, but I am pleased to serve you both. Mr. Mason tells me your background is Italian. Parli Italiano?” Ms. Gina asked sweetly.
“Si, my parents are first generation, so they raised me with very old-fashioned values. The fact that my parents allowed me to come to LA without contest or hesitation still baffles me. But I am thankful to have learned their ways. I love to cook and take care of my family, and I hope to one day pass those same values on to my children,” I responded.
“That is wonderful. We can enjoy some friendly Italian banter then.” Ms. Gina smiled and proceeded with her preps.
Alexander turned and brought my hands up to his lips, kissing them adoringly. “May I give you a tour of the house, or do you prefer to rest and wait till morning?”
“I think we should rest. I’d like to have some energy tomorrow to unpack and get things in order. Is that OK with you?” I asked, almost seeking permission. Though Alexander had explained this was my home, it wasn’t and wouldn’t feel that way just yet.
Alexander nodded and, after grabbing a few appetizing snacks, showed me the way to our bedroom. Had I not been so tired from the emotions, packing, and flight, I would have remained in awe at the doorway to the master bedroom, which was the size of my house as a whole.
I slipped into a long silk nightdress and slipped beside Alexander’s naked body in our bed.
“You look beautifully exhausted,” Alexander whispered as I lay my head on his warm chest.
“Is that a nice way of telling me that I look like crap?” I joked, nuzzling him.
“Your translation of what people say is by far the funniest I’ve ever heard. I meant that even when you are tired, you look beautiful!” he assured me and kissed the top of my head. “Now sleep before I get those anal beads out and get some retaliation.”
I giggled, “Mmmm, you liked the anal beads. Admit it.”
Alexander growled under his breath and squeezed me closer, wrapping his mighty arms completely around me, enveloping me into his world and my dreams.
I slept very little. The new bed, the new home, the distance from my home, and the thought of all the unpacking I had to do were keeping me from a long, quiet rest. I awoke around 4:00 a.m., as Alexander continued to bask in his restful sleep.
To avoid waking Alexander by tossing and turning, I gave myself a tour of the enormous house and grounds. Though it was almost winter, LA’s temperatures weren’t as brisk as those in New York at this time. So with a terry robe, I walked outside and enjoyed the smell of early morning dew and fresh cut grass.
The exterior yard had almost enough living space as the interior, with a covered dining area, fireplaces, Jacuzzi, and multiple pools in different sizes. The flowers and plants were groomed to exact measurements and forms. There wasn’t a thing flawed in this escape—except perhaps for me. I felt flawed in this dreamland of a home, but I carried with me a sense that I could perfect the imperfections so long as I was with Alexander.
As I made my way back to the house, I noticed a light shining through the kitchen window and turned to walk in that direction.
When I reached the French doors that led to the kitchen, I found myself staring at Alexander seated on a stool at the center island, looking confused and out of place.
I knocked on the glass.
Alexander’s head shot up toward the knock, and his saddened expression turned to relief as he ran to unlock the door and let me in. “What are you doing outside? I was so worried. I checked the whole house, called over the intercom, and looked through the front yard. I couldn’t figure out where you could have disappeared to.”
Alexander embraced me as the warmest of sensations surged through me. His worry for me and desire to know where I was gave me an angelic high. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I took a walk outside to explore your tiny backyard.”
Alexander laughed along with me as he continued hugging me. “You could get lost in our backyard. And I wouldn’t have minded had I awoken to you instead of an empty bed.”
“I’m sorry. Next time I will wake you up to tell you that I’m up, just so you can go back to sleep.” I giggled, squeezing my arms around his waist as I breathed deep into his chest.
Alexander moved me off of him so that he could capture my gaze as he assured me, “No one will be going to sleep if you awake me in bed, or anywhere else, for that matter. You are never safe from sex when you are around me.”
“And nor do I want to be,” I responded, raising myself on my tippy-toes to kiss him, taking a nibble on his lower lip as I released.
Alexander spent most of the morning making phone calls and working in his study. He urged me to wait for him or Ms. Gina before taking on the unpacking all by myself, but it pleased me to set up our temporary home.
I was in my glory. To say that we had our own walk-in closets was an understatement—they were suites. Though I loved to shop and owned a plethora of clothing for all occasions, I would have had to spend my entire year’s salary to fill a space that large. But it made unpacking that much easier. I organized my belongings quickly, knowing where I wanted to find things when I needed them. Alexander’s things, I took my time with. I pressed and folded each article with precision and heart. I wanted everything to be perfect for him, and I wanted to show him that I too could take care of him.
The desire to take care of someone had never occupied me before, so this was overwhelming and exciting all
in one. I wanted to clean and cook and wash for him. I longed to serve him at the massive dining table that occupied the great room downstairs. I wanted to fulfill his desire to be everything for him. And unlike my usual self, I pushed aside my reservations and questions and swiftly but accurately prepared his dressing suite.
“What have you been up to…” Alexander became speechless at the doorway as he eyed all of his clothes, colognes, and shoes perfectly presented and stacked, waiting for him to select them as needed.
“I’m just organizing things,” I responded, pretending not to be elated by his surprise.
“That’s the understatement of a century. You did all this so fast. Why didn’t you wait for Ms. Gina? I didn’t bring you here as hired help. I want you to be taken care of here and not to spend your time taking care of me.” It was obvious he was in shock from all I had done in such little time this morning. Alexander had never really seen me in my caretaker mode. But at this moment all I wanted to do for him was to take care of him!
“I don’t mind, Alexander, I’m actually enjoying this,” I responded in a soft voice and proceeded to hang his dress shirts.
Leaving me to my enjoyment, Alexander returned to his e-mails and phone calls, and I continued to unpack us. But somehow when I was done and I returned to roaming the enormous house, I just didn’t feel like it was homey. I sat on the leather couch in the living area in front of the fireplace and just took in the room. The paintings on the walls, the sculptures on their stands, and the furnishings throughout, albeit beautiful, were nothing like I would have chosen for my own home. They were carefully and tastefully selected by a designer to set up a model home, and because of that it felt cold. I was afraid to wrinkle anything or move anything. And that is nothing like what a home—even a temporary one—should be.
“What is it, Evangeline? You must be tired from all the unpacking. Why don’t you go lay down and rest a while?” Alexander came over and massaged my shoulders lightly, feeling the tension in my muscles as he stroked my back.
I turned to look up at him seated on the armrest of the couch and said without sounding too distraught, “I’m not tired. I just…” Sighing, I ordered my thoughts before I spoke. “I don’t feel comfortable in these surroundings. It’s not the house itself but all of these things. They are beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but I remember when I furnished my house; it took me weeks to find the perfect furniture and decorations that reflected me and my home.” Alexander peered down at me, unsure of how to rectify my feelings. “It’s silly and new. Don’t worry, I’ll get accustomed to it.”
Alexander slid down onto the couch and with both arms raised me onto his lap. “I don’t want you to get accustomed to anything. I want every fork, spoon, and towel in this house to reflect you—and me. Tomorrow we will go do some mass shopping to fix this shamble of a house.”
I giggled at Alexander’s attempt to put down the decorator’s dream home we resided in at the moment. And then I wrapped my arms around his neck and left soft kisses from the top of his earlobe, down to his collarbone.
Alexander breathed deep as he implored me to stop before we ended up spending the day naked and between the sheets. “You know, I am not one to stop you from kissing or touching me or from going further, but I came down to tell you that the Nests have invited us to dinner. They would like to welcome you.”
“Of course, Alexander; just let me wash up and get ready and then we can go. Would you like me to set something out for you?” I asked obligingly.
“Um—you don’t have to do that,” he answered in an awkward way.
“I don’t mind. I mean, you are not a child that needs to be dressed. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything pressed or prepared for the evening. It’s OK. I’ll go shower,” I said, a bit saddened at his awkwardness toward my offer.
“Evangeline, I would appreciate your gesture immensely, as dressing—though I do it well—has always been a nuisance to me, but I don’t want you to feel like you need to do any of these things. The unpacking and cleaning, the pressing of my clothes: we pay for people to do that,” Alexander added.
I sat up on Alexander’s lap and placed my hand over his heart. “The people you pay to do all those things will never make this place a home. I want to take care of you. I want to feed you and fill this mansion with scents of fresh flowers and home-cooked meals. It’s what I’ve known; it’s the only way I know how to live in a house. I don’t want to feel like I’m in a hotel, that’s all.”
Alexander looked baffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel like a maid or a—housewife. I’m not familiar with this side of you, but from what I am familiar with, well…this is the role you didn’t want to fill.”
“You didn’t ask me or expect me to fill a role. I am not working, I don’t know anyone yet, and I have nothing else to do. If I am going to be here, you have to let me be here the only way I know how,” I demanded, pleading for his agreement.
Alexander nodded and then added, “I’ll explain to Ms. Gina that her services are no longer needed then.”
I jumped up and waved my hands at him. “No. I may want to take care of you, but hell, I hate laundry and grocery shopping, and I don’t have a green thumb. Don’t fire the help! I’ll talk to Ms. Gina and just explain that she needs to be OK with me doing things around the house and to not feel slighted.”
Smirking and utterly confused, Alexander simply nodded and clasped his hands in his lap.
“Now, you go shower, and I’ll get your things ready for you, and then I’ll go shower. You said our reservations are in an hour, right? Well, then we must get moving.” I leaned in and, cupping his chin in my hand, licked the part of his lips and then, after a kiss, went on my way upstairs.
Raising his voice so that I could hear him down the hall, Alexander shouted after me, “That’s just wrong, Miss Chase—lick ‘em and leave ‘em!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“How do I look, Alexander?” I asked, feeling self-conscious in this ocean of perfection that I was suddenly drowning in. I adjusted the straps of the black royal blue stain dress. The zipper that went from the shoulder strap through the flap of my breast and down to my knees was gold and stunning. I pulled the zipper to open half way to my cleavage and my breasts sat perky and plush.
Downtown Beverly Hills was without a doubt a nightmare for the poor and middle class. The extent of extravagance, luxury, and celebrity that roamed the streets was unlike anything else. Celebrities who live in New York walk about through SoHo and Greenwich Village in jeans and sweatshirts and sneakers. In LA, your everyday neighbor was dressed to the nines, doused in diamonds and the best of couture.
“You always look amazing. Where is this self-consciousness coming from? You put these people to shame!” Alexander assured me, as the valet came to the car door to open it for me.
We women are silly, really. We ask our men to tell us how we look. But standing outside of a restaurant while the valet waited to let me out, if he had responded by telling me I looked horrible, what would I have done? What is the point of asking when we only look to hear one of two answers!
I slid out of the Mercedes Alexander rented for the evening and waited for him to come around to my side. Sliding his arm around my waist, we walked into the elite Italian restaurant.
Now anyone who has been to an Italian restaurant—upscale or pizzeria level—knows that Italians are loud and vibrant. The Beverly Hills Italians were supposedly of a different cloth. The sounds and voices in the restaurant never rose above a dull whisper, and the movements of the elegantly dressed, statuesque diners were slow, graceful, and poised.
“They are just people,” Alexander whispered in my ear as I stared, a bit uneasy.
“I see that, Alexander. I didn’t just come out of a jungle, you know. It’s just a little strange that everyone kind of looks like gorgeous robots,” I returned.
“Come. Let’s get our table and then a drink.” Alexander escorted me to the hostess, who q
uickly seated us in a royal fashion in the center of the room at a table for eight.
Pulling out my chair, Alexander helped seat me. “I thought we were just meeting the Nests this evening. Are more people joining us?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. Tom said Leila was making the reservations, but he didn’t mention that anyone else would be here. I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Alexander said, shrugging his shoulders and sitting beside me.
Just in time for the rest of our party to walk in. And sure enough, the Nests entered with two other couples trailing shortly behind them.
“Eva, darling, you look even more beautiful than the last time I saw you,” Leila said, embracing me tightly.
“As do you, Leila. How are you?” I replied.
“I’m great and very happy to see you. Let me introduce you to Steve and Catherine Helm and John and Marissa Worthington. Steve and John are colleagues of Tom’s. And Cat and Missy are two of my closest friends.” Leila completed her introductions as we all shook hands and acquainted ourselves.
Alexander was warmly familiar with all at the table, and he positioned himself closely to me, seeing as I just barely knew two people there and had become the focal point for the rest of the women to stare at. I got it—I was the newbie who needed to be stripped down and understood.
Cat and Missy, as Leila had called them, were tall blonde bombshells. The three women practically looked like sisters. Their hair was straightened and curled at the ends. They all had French manicures with the trendy ballet slipper polish coating their perfectly filed nails, and the ice that sat on their fingers could have been put together to form the Hope diamond. They all ordered the same Cabernet wine and salad and made an effort to smile at me when I caught their glances as I cut my fresh mozzarella and prosciutto.