Sinsperationally Yours

by Prince, Nikki

  But this Mila didn’t seem interested at all. Perhaps this Mila wasn’t his Mila at all.

  The soft knock on his study door saved him from dwelling on that unsettling thought.

  “Come in,” he called from across the room.

  Although he expected her, the sight of her in the doorway twisted his insides like a vice—leaving his emotions a tangled web of anger, love and lust.

  He saw her hesitate. “Julissa said you wanted to see me?” She stayed near the door and he could sense her fear.

  “Yes, I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier.”

  “There’s no need…”

  “Yes, there is. You’re my guest this weekend and I should never have left you the way I did. I’m sorry.” He was sorry that he put them both in this situation; sorry that he didn’t become part of her life sooner, sorry that she fell in love with someone else.

  Mila walked into the room and closed the door behind her. They were alone. He became uneasy and shifted in his chair. After all this time, how could she still make him feel this way?

  “Can I ask you a question?” She sat down and waited for his response.

  He cleared his throat and hoped his sudden onset of schoolboy nerves didn’t unveil themselves in his tone of voice. “Of course.”

  “Why did you make it a stipulation of the trust fund that I didn’t marry until after I turned 25?”

  Because I feared losing you to someone else.

  He coughed and shifted in his chair again. “Because ten million dollars is a lot of money, Mila. If you received this money while you were married, your husband would be entitled to half in the event of a divorce. Now we can create a pre-nup to ensure you keep what rightfully belongs to you.”

  “Are you saying that you don’t think me and Lance will last?”

  I’m saying I don’t want you to even start.

  “No, of course not. I just believe in being prepared for the worst.”

  “I don’t know. I guess I’m afraid if I go into this marriage thinking it’s going to end, then it kind of jinxes it. I’d rather believe in love conquers all.”

  If he’d been standing, Diego would’ve fallen to his knees. In that moment Mila became Mila. She’d said those words to him on her deathbed. He took a second to compose himself, worried again his voice would betray his tornado of emotions.

  “Well, that’s quite a noble belief. I can honestly say that I hope you’re right.” He forced himself to hold her stare, searching for something—anything—that reflected she felt a connection to him. Several seconds passed in silence. He could hear her breathing deepen and he felt her heartbeat quicken. But just as he thought he saw something in the way she looked at him, she looked away from him.

  He never imagined how torturous being so close to her would be. “Well, it’s getting late...” he rushed in a need to escape.

  “Oh. Yes, I guess it is.” She abruptly stood up from the chair and he caught a glimpse of her mid-thigh before she smoothed down her skirt. Thoughts of sinking his teeth into her flesh there nearly made him convulse with lust.

  Sheer torture, indeed.

  “Please let Julissa know if you require anything else tonight,” he offered stiffly, before swiveling his chair around to face his laptop.

  After waiting several minutes until he heard the door to her bedroom close upstairs, he stood and walked to the double doors of the study to close them. With trembling hands, he turned the lock. His self-control was fading fast. And there was only one way to regain it. Time to feed.

  He walked to the only other door in the study and opened it revealing another door made of steel. His fingers flew over the electronic keypad under the handle and pulled it open when he heard the familiar click. Racing down the staircase, flashes of Mila then and now invaded his mind and threatened to push him into a deep abyss of regret and longing he wasn’t sure he could ever escape from again.

  He punched a second code into another door at the bottom of the stairs, having to re-enter it twice because of his impatient-ness. When the door finally clicked open, relief exploded into his chest.

  Refuge, at last.

  Diego exhaled and entered his real bedroom. With one upstairs for show, he used this one as a place to rest and refuel. The large room in the basement had been a selling point when he bought the house twenty years ago. The previous owner—a paranoid drug addict who ended up overdosing in the master bathroom —had used it as a recording studio. Besides the secured entry in the study, the sound proof walls hid a walk-in safe which Diego used to house a large refrigerator. It’s where he stored the blood bags that were delivered weekly by courier.

  He grabbed one bag with his now-violently shaking hands. Then he paused and grabbed two more. It was definitely a three-bag kind of night. On the way to the neon orange couch (another leftover from the previous owner), he flipped on the sound system. A Spanish ballad barreled out of the wall speakers and he allowed his fangs to finally release. Puncturing one of the bags, Diego groaned and drank himself into oblivion.

  Although he’d fought it at first, human blood had become his sole sustenance over the years. He tried to at least tolerate food and drink in order to blend in around business associates, but he hadn’t touched the stuff in over a decade. That is until today, when he tried to drink a beer with Mila. Julissa had warned him not to. But he’d insisted and he’d paid the price. Although the nausea he endured the rest of the day might have had more to do with Mila’s engagement news than one sip of beer.

  A few hours and three blood bags later, Diego’s hunger seemed satiated, but not his lust. He thought about trying to connect with Mila’s subconscious as she slept so he could invade her dreams and use her arousal for his own release. It was a trick Antonio had taught him ages ago. He’d done it to her before when his longing became too much to bear, such as tonight. But at the thought of his maker, Diego remembered something else.

  The letter!

  He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. The moment he saw it, he’d recognized Antonio’s handwriting. The shock of it had made him forget about Mila for just a few moments. Why had he written to him after all of this time? Why today of all days?

  Although he didn’t want to, Diego opened the letter and started to read:

  Dear old friend,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I’m assuming you must be since a little birdie told me that you have finally reunited with your beloved. I know you still harbor ill feelings toward me after our last encounter. And I know no words can begin to earn your forgiveness for what I did. Still, I believe I owe you something and since I don’t trust you won’t kill me on the spot, I decided to write this to you instead.

  As I mentioned to you on the night we created the stipulations for her trust fund, the fact that your beloved died at the age of 25 means that her connection to you will be the strongest when she turns that same age in her reincarnated form. What I didn’t get to tell you since you were too busy physically attacking me after I let it slip I had engineered the crash so you could become her guardian (which I still think was a brilliant plan even though you were enraged by it), is that if she fights that connection and chooses a life without you, then this life will be her last.

  Souls only get one chance to live out their unfulfilled destiny. If Mila refuses to accept that her destiny is you, then your connection with each other will slowly fade until it disappears forever.

  Perhaps, we should’ve made the trust fund to mature when she turned 24? Then that would’ve given you an entire year instead of only three days to convince her.

  I wish you luck, my friend. You will certainly need it.

  All my love,

  Antonio

  Diego crumpled the letter as his body shook. This time, no amount of blood would quell the explosion of grief and fury building beneath the surface of his skin.

  He picked up a chair and threw it across the room. Then, right there in the middle of his soundproof sanctuary, he fell onto hi
s knees and screamed to God.

  Day Two

  Mila sat up with a start. In the darkness, it took her a minute to adjust to her surroundings and remember that she wasn’t in her bed in her condo in Los Feliz.

  The clock on her bedside table read three-thirty in the morning. Why was she awake?

  A scream.

  That’s right. A scream had made her nearly jump out of the bed. She covered her mouth and wondered if it had come from her. Since no one had barreled into her room yet, she figured it wasn’t her. She listened for another one, but heard only silence.

  Perhaps she had dreamed it? It might explain her damp nightshirt and her tousled sheet and comforter. She tried to remember what she had been dreaming about. But her mind was as dark as the room and. Mila touched her cheeks, surprised to discover they were wet too.

  What kind of horrible dream could’ve made her scream and cry? Maybe she should be grateful that she couldn’t remember?

  After changing into another shirt and fixing the bed, Mila lied back down and attempted to go back to sleep. She only tossed and turned though as a gnawing feeling of uneasiness—almost a sense of loss—kept her from keeping her eyes closed for more than a minute.

  She looked at the clock again. This time it read 4:07 a.m.

  You know there’s that one thing that always helps you sleep, the voice in her head teased.

  A warmth immediately spread through her body. It would relieve some of yesterday’s lingering stress and it would help her get at least a few more hours of sleep. But while her mind debated the appropriateness of pleasuring herself on top of a stranger’s expensive sheets, her nipples pebbled at the thought. And once the tingling reached her pussy, she knew she couldn’t deny her body any longer.

  Mila pulled the shirt back over her head and tossed it onto the pillow next to her and then reached under the sheet to pull down her panties. The cool air kissed her bare, heated skin and she gasped in delight. She knew she could make herself get off with just a few strokes of her clit. But she decided she wasn’t in the mood for a quick come. Mila wanted Him.

  Dismissing any self-questioning as to why she didn’t think of Lance instead, she closed her eyes and willed herself to remember The Dream.

  Pornographic images flashed before her eyes. Strong hands encircling her naked body from behind. Large hands cupping her breasts. A hot, thick cock rubbing against the cleft of her ass.

  Mila pulled up her knees and let them fall to the sides. She licked her lips as she sensually massaged her own breasts, imagining it was her dream lover’s fingers – not her own—that twisted and rubbed her nipples erect. Her breaths grew deeper, quicker. And the scent of her own arousal made her moan.

  The familiar tightening in her belly signaled she was already close. She closed her eyes again and summoned a vision of the moment in the dream right before He entered her and right before she usually woke up. And just as she imagined he would fuck her, Mila thrust her own two fingers in and out of her drenched pussy. The orgasm hit her like the deafening boom of an exploding firecracker. Her body didn’t just tremble, it convulsed. It was so strong she had to grab the pillow next to her and bite down for fear she’d scream and wake the entire house.

  Seconds later, the climax came to its eventual end and Mila did something she never did before. She closed her eyes and let herself think of what the next scene in The Dream might be. She imagined that her lover, now spent after emptying himself into her, would turn her around and capture her lips in a deep, long kiss. And then she’d open her eyes in the hopes of finally seeing his face.

  Diego.

  Wait! Diego? Mila squeezed her eyes tighter, willing the image of his face to disappear. But it didn’t. And then the floodgates opened. More images of him and his naked body flashed inside her mind.

  Stop. Stop!

  Why after all this time did she finally put a face on her dream lover and why in the hell did she choose that face to belong to the man she was pretty sure had no sexual feelings toward her? Not that she wanted him to have those kinds of feelings about her. She didn’t.

  Did she?

  Shaking her head back and forth, she willed herself to think of other things. But every thought ended back at Diego kissing her. Or caressing her. Or fucking her like she’d never been fucked before.

  She flew off the bed and headed toward the restroom. It was just about dawn anyway. There was no use trying to go back to sleep. And so Mila started her Saturday with a cold shower.

  Wide awake and chilled to the bone, she made her way down the stairs about an hour later and followed the heavenly aroma of cinnamon and bacon to the elegant dining room located just off the main foyer. She did a double take at the display at the end of the eight-seat cherry wood dining table. Plates and platters of different kinds of breakfast foods—from bagels to French toast to scrambled eggs—were arranged before one place setting that she figured must be for her.

  “I didn’t know what you liked, so I told Julissa to make everything.” She spun around to find Diego standing behind her.

  Just like in the dream.

  Shut up!

  Her body temperature soared from freezing to scorching at the sight of him.

  “Are you going to join me?” It surprised her that she wanted him too.

  “I already ate. But I’ll sit with you and drink a cup of…coffee.”

  She took her seat and scanned the feast before her eyes. Sensibility and self-consciousness won out and even though she so wanted to scoop up a bite of everything, she reached for half of a bagel instead. As she placed on her plate, she found him watching her.

  “Are you sure that’s all you want?” Why did he seem amused?

  “Yes, this is fine. I don’t usually eat breakfast. Plus I’m a vegetarian.”

  He smiled fully now and she didn’t know if she should be offended or smile back. “Really now? Since when?”

  She grabbed the tub of cream cheese and dipped a butter knife into the virgin layer. “Since this morning. I kind of gave up meat about a year ago. Well, steak mostly, but I haven’t been as vigilant as I should these past few months. Anyway, I figured today is as good a day as any to get back on track.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re on some silly diet.”

  “Not a diet, exactly. But I could stand to lose a few inches here and there. My boyfriend…I mean my fiancée is a real health nut.” Why on earth was she talking to him about this?

  “Well, I think you’re perfect just the way you are.” She stopped mid-spread and met his eyes. The look of amusement was gone, replaced by an expression that quickened her pulse.

  She really needed to try calling Lance again after breakfast.

  “I’m sorry,” he offered quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, it’s fine. Really. Thank you for the compliment.”

  He cleared his throat and then took another drink from his coffee cup. Time to change the subject.

  “So is the cell reception always this bad up here in the hills? I’ve been trying to use my phone since last night but I can’t even get one signal bar.”

  “Unfortunately, it is. I have a land line in my study and you are welcome to use that to call Lance.”

  She couldn’t hide her surprise at hearing Diego mention his name.

  “Obviously, that’s who you’d be calling, right? I’m sure he’ll worry if he doesn’t hear from you soon.”

  “I’ll call him in a bit. Thank you again.”

  He nodded and picked up the newspaper in front of him. She ate her bagel quietly while he read. Of course, it didn’t fill her up. And neither did the other half she secretly gobbled up without him looking. By the time he made it to the Sports section of the paper, she’d also eaten one slice of French toast, a forkful of scrambled eggs, a couple of strawberries dipped in whipped cream, three strips of bacon, one sausage link and two glasses of orange juice.

  Before she inhaled all of the plates clean, Mila decided she’d better distrac
t herself.

  “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

  Diego folded the newspaper and set it down. The look of amusement returned.

  “I’m glad you asked. I thought after you make your call, we could go over the files from the Foundation.”

  “Sure. That would be fine.” She figured she owed it to him and to her parents to at least learn more about it. As she debated whether to reach for more strawberries, Diego pushed his chair back and stood up. She watched him as he picked up the newspaper and walked toward her. When he sat down in the chair next to her, she moved her hands under the table. Not to keep them from getting more food, but to nervously twist the linen napkin in her lap.

  He unfolded the newspaper onto the table and slid it in her direction.

  “And this is what we’re doing tonight.” She followed his gaze to an article in the paper and nearly fell out of her chair when a black and white photo of her parents stared back at her. The article’s headline read: Los Angeles foundation to award $1 million grant to nonprofit adoption agency. Mila picked up the paper and started reading. Diego explained more when she finished.

  “It’s their annual black-tie gala fundraiser. They’re all very excited that you will be there personally to hand them the check.”

  She put the paper down and tore her eyes away from her parents’ picture. It was the same one she had used at the memorial service to place upon the empty casket. Sensing familiar pangs of grief and darkness, Mila tried to make her voice seem light. “Sounds like fun. But I didn’t bring anything to wear to something like this.”

  He waved his hand. “I’ve taken care of it. When you’re ready, Julissa will show you a selection of dresses in different styles and sizes. You can pick whatever you want and, of course, whatever you choose will be yours to take home.”

  Just like breakfast, he’d thought of everything.

  She’d never been so catered to before. Sure, she could e-mail him whenever she needed her bills paid. But she never let him do anything else for here—even when he asked. It didn’t seem right at the time to allow a man who wasn’t her father or her husband to take care of her when she was perfectly capable of doing so on her own. Lance used to say he liked that she was so independent. Sometimes she thought he liked it too much. She had her own career as a successful graphic designer so it wasn’t like she needed any financial support. But his lack of emotional support is what finally made her break things off the last time.