Love Unbound: A Valentine's Day Romance Anthology

by Dee, Cassandra

  And feeling especially pitiful, I said no at first when Maria asked me to come out.

  “The Carlyle Hotel?” I asked skeptically. “Isn’t that filled with old people?”

  “Yeah,” the brunette confirmed, “but we can’t avoid them forever.”

  And I knew who “them” was. For the last two afternoons we’d decided to have lunch by ourselves, saying that we had to finish up a lab experiment for Biology. But our absence had been noted and the alleged experiment was done now. There were no more excuses not to hang out with the girls.

  So I hung up and got dressed slowly, pulling on a red wrap which complemented my chestnut curls, the dress the exact hue of an autumn leaf, bringing out the highlights in my hair without clashing. Plus, I loved the way the jersey hugged my boobs and butt, clingy without being vulgar. Just right for the Carlyle, a super-classy joint. Sighing, I stepped into brown suede boots and picked up my purse.

  “Coming!” I called downstairs and Maria giggled as I descended the stairs.

  “Looks like we match,” she said, indicating her own outfit. Because she too was dressed in a red dress but I just shook my head.

  “Let’s not change,” I said, looking at her meaningfully. “Seriously, we’re not like other girls, it’s fine to wear the same color.”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” she nodded. “Although if we were headed to the Academy Awards, I’d say one of us should change,” she joked.

  “Sure, but it’s the Carlyle, not the Oscars,” I retorted wryly as we got in the car. And soon enough, the black car pulled up outside the hotel. The other girls were already waiting on the sidewalk.

  “You’re late, ladies,” sniped Trina, shooting us a nasty glance before swiveling in her high heels and heading in. Her long platinum locks flew, almost hitting us in the face and Maria and I exchanged a tortured look. Why did we put up with this? Oh right, because Trina was Queen Bee, leader of the Mean Girl pack and somehow, we’d become part of her coterie.

  But as we filed into the Carlyle’s bar, a feeling of well-being settled over me because the setting was so wonderful, luxurious and exquisite. It was old-school with a long oaken bar along one side of the room, soaring ceilings with colored glass paned windows and artwork that looked expensive yet hip at the same time. I was reminded of just what money could buy and settled down in a booth with my friends, making myself comfortable on the red velvet cushions.

  “Oh my god Daisy, isn’t that Tristan Marks over there?” said Carlie quizzically, nodding towards a table across the room. Immediately, I swiveled my head, glancing, squinting my eyes a bit in the dim light.

  But Tristan’s form was unmistakable. He was ungodly handsome in his suit, massive and imposing in a small wooden chair, an amber shot of something or other in front of him. But what caught my eye wasn’t the drink, the setting, or even the man … it was the blonde with him. She looked like a model, probably six feet tall sans heels, hair gleaming in the light, buttery-yellow with expensive highlights. And the female talked animatedly with my man, her lips ruby red, parting to flash even white teeth, making long, meaningful eye contact with him as matching scarlet nails clicked and clacked with animated hand gestures.

  Oh god, who was that woman? She was so beautiful, all smiles and flirtatious female charm wrapped in a gorgeous package. I felt like an oaf, a two hundred pound walrus next to her, suddenly aware of how rolls jiggled under the thin jersey of my dress, how my calves were like solid tree trunks next to the thin twigs of her legs. Oh god, I thought again, mortified. What had I been thinking? Tristan would never be interested in someone like me when he could get her.

  But the little voice in my head spoke up then. Get a grip Daisy, the voice warned. There’s nothing between you guys but a little taboo action in the past. Get a grip.

  And I shook my head resolutely. The voice was right. There was nothing between Tristan and I, nothing. So I turned back to the group and began chattering, pretending I was checking out other men in the room, pretending to be really into the scene although my heart pounded with awareness of Tristan, trying to keep myself from turning to look at them.

  Except the big man had seen me and now stood by our table, the skinny blonde at his side.

  “Daisy,” he rumbled, his eyes taking in the table full of girls, all nubile, shimmying flesh.

  Before I could reply the blonde cooed, “Oh aren’t you guys cute! So cute!” she trilled, her voice high and fake.

  And Trina, one bitch to another, snapped back.

  “Oh yeah, so cute!” she agreed sarcastically. “We’re so cute and so young right?” she added. “We’re drinking virgin margaritas,” she added, smirking. And I had to smile internally because it was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, we were old enough to get into the bar, it was a hotel bar after all so there was no bouncer at the door and you could waltz right in. But on the other hand, we were so young, juicy, and ripe that we weren’t even drinking alcohol yet, as if to remind the older blonde of her advanced age.

  But Queen Bees never lose their sharp stingers.

  “Virgins?” trilled the old lady. “I don’t think so.”

  And I applauded silently at her rapier wit. Because yeah, we had virgin drinks in front of us but this was no group of physical virgins, no way.

  But evidently Tristan had had enough.

  “Daisy,” he nodded at me again. “Have fun with your friends,” he rumbled before walking off, the blonde hanging onto his arm.

  And the gasps and titters started up again.

  “Oh my god, your guardian is sooo hot!” giggled Carlie, her little form almost bouncing up and down in her seat. “Soooo hot!”

  “Get his pen, get his pen!” cooed Carrie-Ann, never far behind. “Do it, do it!”

  And I brushed them off.

  “Oh my god, you guys are so gross!” I scoffed even as I flushed inside. “He’s my guardian for crying out loud, he raised me since I was a little girl!” I would have explained more but thankfully didn’t have to since the girls were distracted by a junior banker type who’d just stopped by our table.

  “Ladies,” he said with exaggerated courtesy. “I’m Colin,” he introduced himself, “and this is my buddy Jason,” he said, pointing to another frat boy.

  And so the spotlight was off me for the moment as the gaggle of girls began chatting with the two dudes, eating up their muscles, engaging the meatheads in conversation. Except they’d been right on point without even knowing it. I wanted my Tristan’s pen, needed it, craved it … but who was that woman he was with? Jealousy coursed through me again, making me see red, then green. Oh god, I hated myself for feeling this way, but the dragon within me had woken.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Tristan

  I lay in bed, restless, re-playing the scene in my head. Why the fuck had Daisy been out on the town? She’d been so fucking gorgeous in that red dress, every male head in the bar had swiveled at her entrance watching that female flesh jiggle and sway as she sashayed in. She was so entrancing, so nubile, and so fucking young.

  My hard-on grew just watching her across the room. The brunette was gorgeous, those brown suede boots caressing her calves, the juicy curve of her thigh outlined beneath the red fabric. Down boy! I growled at myself. We’re out in public, you don’t want to be parading a stiffie in front of the wrong crowd.

  But just the sight of Daisy had been too much and my pole inevitably became rock solid, hard and stiff in her presence. Unfortunately, Lydia had noticed as well.

  “Is that for me?” she simpered and giggled, eyeing my crotch lasciviously.

  I said nothing, choosing to ignore her. As smoothly as possible, I edged out of my suit jacket, draping it over my groin area discreetly. No need for people to notice my hard-on, keeping it covered was paramount given that we were surrounded by the cream of society at the moment, Upper East Siders with sharp eyes and loose tongues. Shit, wasn’t that Mayor Kane over in the corner? I nodded slightly, acknowledging the small man and his coterie
, always in tune to the power elite.

  But it was time to beat feet, I’d had enough of the bullshit with the blonde, enough catering to Lydia and her whiny ways.

  “Come on,” I ground out, standing up while making sure to keep my groin covered. “Let’s go.”

  The blonde was more than happy, thinking that she was going to get a taste of my dong finally. She wrapped her arm around mine companionably, leaning close to my ear and whispering. I held myself still although creepy-crawlies were running up and down my spine from her presence.

  “You really do want to get that PrettyGirl deal done, don’t you?” she murmured slyly into my ear. “Paramount really has you scared don’t they?”

  She was referring to the upcoming auction for PrettyGirl magazine, a girlie mag that had hit the rocks recently. As a conglomerate, Marks Holdings has interests in several publications, from family and lifestyle magazines such as Michaels Living, to straight news outlets like World News, World Report and U.S. Global. More importantly, we’ve been looking to expand the “laddie mag” part of our reach because the 30-55 men’s demographic is so powerful, with a sizable chunk of disposable income and leisure time. So the acquisition of PrettyGirl was something Marks Holdings was definitely interested in and as its CEO, I was already sniffing out angles, sussing out the best way to make a deal.

  Unfortunately, Lydia’s company was likely a key player in the sale of the magazine. She was the head of Business Development at Blue Stone Media and we’d likely be bidding together for the asset, putting together a deal that would beat the other parties at the auction, making our offer too good to turn down.

  And so I had to respond civilly without giving anything away.

  “Paramount’s putting together a bid, sure,” I said casually, “but nothing we can’t match.”

  The blonde tittered.

  “Anything specific you’re throwing in the pot?” she asked, throwing me a sideways look. “Anything you want me to mention?”

  And this was exactly the reason why I was careful around the bitch. Lydia had a straight path to her boss at Blue Stone and was likely sleeping with the douche, mentioning all sorts of business tidbits as pillow talk. So I leaned in close and ground out, “Yeah, tell Dean we’re probably going to black out the retirement accounts.”

  Lydia just giggled upon hearing it.

  “Oh Tristan, you’re so bad!” she exclaimed, her thin frame shaking. “That’s so wrong, you’re going to run into a ton of ERISA regulations, it’ll make the lawyers so mad!”

  I nodded, my face like granite, giving nothing away.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said smoothly. “We got it covered.”

  Because I was merely throwing bait at her, red herring to lead Blue Stone astray. It was totally wrong information, we’d be idiots to mess with the maze of retirement accounts, take away the hard-earned cash of folks who’d worked years for PrettyGirl. Sure it was a girlie mag but it was a real company too with secretaries, administrative staff, receptionists, hard-working folks who’d been there their entire careers. Messing with their retirement accounts was like playing with fire and there was no way Marks Holdings was going to risk going afoul of the law.

  But Blue Stone didn’t have to know and so I merely leaned in closer, almost brushing Lydia’s ear with my lips.

  “They’ll never know,” I ground out. “They’ll take it up the ass and thank me for it.”

  At that, Lydia giggled even harder, her laughs becoming rapacious shrieks. The blonde really was a piece of work, entertained by the thought of hard-working Americans losing their retirement benefits in a series of mysterious corporate transfers. I detested the woman, cold snake that she was, but was careful to let none of my distaste show.

  “Oh Tristan,” she cooed. “I love how you’re so heartless, you’re so fucking mean,” she said breathily. “Now I really have to have you,” she winked. I had no intention of sleeping with her, of partaking in any physical contact with the skinny viper but I went along with the charade in order to get out of the Carlyle that much faster.

  “After you,” I jerked my head, making like I was so turned on by the mix of her evil charm that I’d erupt at any moment. “Let’s go,” I ground out, standing, my dark presence looming above the small table. But on our way out, we had to pass by the giggling group of girls seated by the door.

  “Daisy,” I said harshly, taking in the scene. What was wrong with these high school girls? Every single one of them was done up to the nines, dressed like they were twenty-five year old socialites with faces full of make-up and four-inch heels. What happened to innocent, sweet and demure?

  But my ward merely nodded at me, saying nothing but a slight, “Hi Tristan.” It was almost as if she couldn’t look at me, not really, her lips trembling slightly, eyes wide as she gazed around the bar, blinking quickly. Was it my imagination or did I see a slight tremor to her chin as well? Must have been my imagination because she swallowed heavily then, turning to me with bright eyes, too bright really.

  “See you at home,” she said loudly before turning away again, feigning interest in the drink menu, her brow scrunching as she perused the fine print in the dim light.

  And I merely growled. Lydia and a blonde at the table exchanged some words, but I wasn’t following it, it was of no interest to me, the brunette was my focal point, the only thing that mattered in this situation. But I didn’t want to seem overly invested and so strode outside, putting an end to the interaction.

  And after entering the car, my thoughts still swirled. Why was this particular girl so entrancing to me? It was Daisy’s body sure, but so much more as well. It was the way she bit her lip when she saw me, almost unsure whether to say hello. It was the way we both knew we were playing with fire, the guardian / ward relationship taboo and yet so illicit, fucking arousing, out in front of a bunch of people. It was everything about her, come to think of it.

  So I got rid of Lydia stat, dropping off the blonde kicking and screaming at her apartment building, thinking only of the video of Daisy on my computer, how eager I was to watch it in the privacy of my room, my dick out as I worked the pole, my little brunette moaning on screen as I pulled myself to orgasm.

  But Lydia’s voice interrupted again as we pulled up to her building.

  “Sure you don’t want to come up?” she breathed, pushing her chest out at me. Little did she know but those measly A’s were like dried pieces of prune, nothing that I wanted to taste.

  “Naw,” I drawled, still thinking about the video. God, I loved that one segment when Daisy pulled her pussy lips wide, letting me see straight up her snatch. I’d rewound multiple times, pausing right when the camera caught her open slit, panting, groaning as I visually devoured her pulsing ruby red.

  And Lydia, for once, gave up sooner rather than later.

  “Fine,” she huffed, throwing herself out of the car. “Dean still wants this, I can get it anywhere,” she boasted.

  I just shook my head. This bitch was so unreal, talking about another man in front of me as though I gave two shits. And what was even worse was that Dean was her boss, she was openly admitting she was sleeping with the guy who signed her paychecks.

  “Tell Dean hello,” I said mildly as the door slammed, shutting out her angry face, and sat back as the car pulled away from the curb.

  “Home,” I growled. And the silence was a blessing after that trying experience, too long in the company of someone I found fucking annoying and distasteful, a gnat constantly buzzing around my ears.

  So I practically ran up the stairs to flick on my laptop, clicking on the Daisy icon, watching avidly as the little brunette enacted the scene in the bathroom again, caressing herself to heaven, moaning as I rubbed one out, my eyes glued to the screen. Fuck! She had a hold on me.

  But now hours later as I lay in bed, it still wasn’t enough. Sure, I’d come like a geyser, my seed splashing everywhere, drenching the laptop, my hand fucking wet with pulsing goo, dripping with the evidenc
e of my lust. And after cleaning up, I’d switched off the light and forced myself to lie in the dark, my body sated momentarily, mind a haze of pleasure and satisfaction. Fuck, the brunette was enough to transport me out of my body without even being there in the flesh, she was that good, that tasty, so illicitly luscious and delectable.

  But the hours ticked by and my mind refused to switch off. Instead, all I could think about was the beautiful girl, the way she walked, the way she looked at me, those big brown eyes, the pouty, kissable lips. I tossed and turned, berating myself, forcing myself to count sheep, count backwards, count anything.

  But Daisy was like a haze in my brain and against my better judgment, I got out of bed, throwing the covers off, swinging my long legs over the edge.

  Like a man in a trance I stepped into the hallway, casting a massive shadow into the hall. I almost stopped then, coming to my senses. What the fuck was I thinking? Was I really going to make my way to my little ward’s room, look in on her?

  And like a madman telling himself lies, the voice in my head switched on. It’s just to make sure she got home okay, it reassured me. The girls weren’t having virgin drinks like they claimed, that shit was hard core liquor, no telling if Daisy was okay. Better make sure she’s asleep in her bed.

  And so against my better judgment, I made my way down the hall, across the sitting room, through the kitchen to the other end of the house. The fucking mansion was so huge that we were in separate wings, but even the five minute walk wasn’t enough to knock some sense into my head.

  Because now that I was here, standing in front of her closed door, I just wanted her even more. My body was on fire now, dick stiff and throbbing, making my pajama pants tent. My chest was bare, pecs tense, abs coiled and tight. Fuck! What was I thinking?