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SEDUCED BY THE PARK AVENUE BILLIONAIRE
Part 2: Derailed
Nelle L’Amour
SEDUCED BY THE PARK AVENUE BILLIONAIRE
Part 2: Derailed
Copyright © 2012 by Nelle L’Amour. All rights reserved.
First Kindle Edition: December 2012
Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics
All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold 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 are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Dedicated to those who dream…
Sometimes a single encounter can stay with you forever…
1
I’D NEVER BEEN IN A convertible before, let alone a Bentley. I was loving every minute of it. As Ari zoomed uptown, my ponytail whipped across my face. My eyes darted between the city streets, the car’s rich tan leather and veneer interior, and Ari’s gorgeous, but unreadable profile.
“So, come on, tell me where we’re going,” I begged him. We were getting close to his apartment.
“If I tell you, will you play with my Pac-Man?”
I glanced down at the bulge between his legs and felt myself flushing. Tingles rushed to my core. “Sure,” I stammered. “But not in front of your son.”
Ari’s lush lips curved into a smile. “Southampton. I have a house there.”
Southampton was the summer playground of New York’s elite. It figured that Trainman would have a second residence there. My stomach bunched up with nerves. Two questions pummeled my head: 1. What was I going to wear? (I didn’t exactly come packed for a weekend at the beach), and 2. Where was I going to sleep?
I put my mental ramblings on hold when Ari’s stately Park Avenue apartment building came into view. His adorable six-year-old son Ben was already standing under the awning, holding a canvas overnight bag in one hand and the toy train I’d given him in the other. Dressed in khaki shorts, an oversized Spiderman t-shirt, and a New York Yankees baseball cap, he waved to us as we pulled up.
“Isn’t Luisa coming?” I asked Ari.
“No, I’ve given her the rest of the weekend off. Olga and her husband Vadim will be waiting for us at The Hamptons house.”
More of Ari’s staff.
The doorman helped Ben put his bag into the trunk, and then the little boy climbed over the rear door into the backseat.
“Sarah, that’s so cool you’re coming with us.”
Ari chimed in before I had a chance to utter a word. “Yes, it is so cool she can come.”
I jerked my head in his direction, raising an eyebrow. What did he mean by that? While his vision remained focused straight ahead, he was well aware my eyes were on him. The corner of his mouth again curled into a wicked grin that sent a pang of desire to my core.
We spent the next two and a half hours cruising down the Long Island Freeway and later Sunrise Highway at eighty miles an hour, listening to lots of music that Ari had programmed for the trip from Frank Sinatra to Bob Marley to We Are Giants, Ben’s favorite group. There wasn’t much traffic as most New Yorkers had left yesterday to get an early start on the three-day Memorial Day weekend. The sound of the wind whipping against the car and the loud music made conversation virtually impossible. Fortunately for me, the combination had a calming effect, allowing me the bliss of mindlessness instead of my normal stream of worries. Ben quietly played games on an iPad while Ari stayed focused on the road. I glanced over to him occasionally, admiring his tanned biceps and the way the wind ruffled his golden hair. I had to resist the urge to run my fingers through it. God, he was gorgeous.
We finally exited the highway and began coursing down a more rustic road. After twenty or so minutes and several turns, the unmistakable smell of the salty ocean mingled with the fresh, fragrant country air. We passed a sign that read “Welcome to Southampton,” and several turns later we were cruising down an oceanfront road lined with mansion after mansion. We soon pulled up to electronic gates that opened like butterfly wings after Ari hit a button on his elaborate dashboard. Ben shouted out, “Yay! We’re here!”
Upon entering the property, the car traversed a long pebbled driveway that wound past pastures of grass, beds of roses, and other wild flowers. Finally we pulled up to a rambling two-story gray shingled house with lots of wraparound white terraces. Despite its grand size, it didn’t reek of pretentiousness.
A big-boned woman with high Slavic cheekbones and a man who resembled Charles Bronson in his heyday instantly came out the front door to greet us. They both looked as if they were straight out of central casting for Russian secret service agents. The woman was clad in a black maid’s uniform that was identical to Luisa’s and the man in tight black jeans and a tee that exposed his body-builder physique. Ben jumped out of the car to hug the woman and high-five the menacing looking man. They must be Olga and Vadim. The Southampton help.
Ari got out of the car, and opened my door before I had the chance. My god was always the gentleman. He unlatched the trunk of the Bentley where Olga and Vadim promptly joined him. Ari handed Vadim the luggage, which included a pale pink canvas case with tan leather trimmings. Mine?
Inside, the house was quite the opposite of Ari’s intimidating, formal Park Avenue apartment. It was the kind of place that after a long day of sun you could curl up with a good book and relax in. White slipcovered seating arrangements were scattered on distressed wood floors, and nautical-themed paintings lined the white walls. Everything was connected by accents of blue. The color of the ocean. The color of Ari’s eyes.
“Saarah, Olga will show you to the guesthouse.”
So, that’s where I would be sleeping. In my own room. In my own bed. In my own house. Detached from him.
“Please put on a bathing suit,” he ordered. “That’s all you’ll need. We’ll be going to the beach following lunch.”
So, he had packed a bathing suit for me. A bikini or one-piece? And what other things I would find in my satchel?
As I followed the staunch housekeeper through French doors out to the back of the property, my eyes took in my surroundings. The grassy lawn was anchored by a large rectangular swimming pool that shimmered soft and blue in the sunshine, and to the right was a tennis court. I had seen pictures of houses like this but had never in my life thought I’d actually step foot in one. Let alone be staying in one.
Ahead, to the left, was a shingled house, similar in spirit to the architecture of the main house. I assumed this was the guesthouse as Olga led me down a pebbled path to it. As we got closer, my eyes popped. It was bigger than the house I grew up in. Way bigger!
She opened the front door, and I took the bag from her. “Thank you, Olga. I can handle it from here.”
Olga smiled at me, her first sign of warmth. In her heavy Russian accent, she said, “It eez very nice to meet a girlfriend of Mr. Golden.”
Well, I wasn’t exactly his girlfriend, but I took her words to mean that Ari had never brought a woman here before. Well, at least since his ex. It took away the chill of having to stay in the guesthouse alone.
The interior of the guesthouse mirrored that of the main house. A cozy array of slip covered furniture, complemented by flea market finds and quirky
paintings. Outsider art, I was sure. I was beginning to discover there was another side to Ari Golden. One that was warm, unpretentious, and creative.
The best part of the guesthouse was its breathtaking view of the ocean. From the living room, I could see waves crashing up to the white sand. The sound was exhilarating and soothing at the same time.
I found the bedroom easily. It was simple and charming, consisting of a bleached wood sleigh bed and white wicker furnishings that included a rocking chair. I plopped myself and the overnight bag on the bed’s plump white cotton duvet. It felt delicious, and for a split-second, I wondered what it would be like to make love to Ari here.
Before unpacking the bag, I tried calling my mother on my cell phone. No answer. I anxiously assured myself that she was just taking a stroll down the hospital corridor, something she enjoyed doing; I’d try again later. Putting my cell phone back into my messenger bag, I unzipped the satchel. Inside was an assortment of clothing, all brand new and high-end designer, once again from Barneys. Two string bikinis, shorts, several fine cotton tees, skinny white jeans, a couple of floral sundresses, strappy platform sandals and a single pair of sparkly flip flops. Nothing too formal. And not a stitch of underwear.
I shed my boho peasant skirt and combat boots—and said farewell to my panties—and slipped on one of the bikinis. Having worn athletic, one-piece bathing suits my whole life, I was not used to having so much skin exposed. I might as well have been wearing nothing. Maybe that’s what Ari was aiming for. I fought back the urge to cover myself with a t-shirt, but knew that wouldn’t sit well with him. Sliding my feet into the flip-flops, I headed back to the main house.
To my surprise, Ari had another guest. His gorgeous redheaded twin sister, Gwen. Her face was buried in the Business Section of the Sunday New York Times, but she looked up when I took my seat at the kitchen island where lunch was spread out. The temperature in the room suddenly dropped ten degrees, and I could feel goose bumps popping out along my arms. I suddenly wish I’d put on a t-shirt. Make that a ski jacket.
“Well, hello, Sarah.” Her voice was icy, and the way she said my name was hurried and harsh, so unlike the sultry, breathy way Ari said it.
“Hi,” I squeaked, already intimidated by her.
She ran her eyes up and down my body. “You have very fair skin. You know, you can get burnt. I know of lots of women who have.”
Her words got under my skin. I knew what she was implying. That her brother Ari went through women like toilet paper. Using them and flushing them away. Her new tactic. Well two could play at this game.
“I’ll use protection.”
She smirked. “I’ll be watching you.”
“Sarah, do wanna play Frisbee with us after lunch?” The sound of Ben’s sweet voice saved me from having to say anything further to Ari’s snide sister. Wearing one of those multi-colored surfer-dude bathing suits and holding a red Frisbee, the little boy hoisted himself onto a stool and grabbed a sandwich.
“Sure.” My lips curled into a smile under Gwen’s watchful eyes. She went back to reading her New York Times.
“I’m looking forward to playing with you, Saarah,” came a deep, sultry voice.
I twisted my almost naked torso around, my breasts almost falling out of the skimpy top. Ari. Dressed in khaki shorts, his golden skin tight around his bare sculpted chest and washboard abs. There was a glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes as they surveyed my bikini-clad body. A tingle rippled through me, leaving me hungry for something other than lunch.
After helping himself to a sandwich, he strode over to a pantry and returned holding a tube of SPF 50 suntan lotion. He squirted some on my back and began slathering it in circles across my shoulder blades, then all the way down to the edge of my bikini bottom. I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck, and my skin prickled under his touch. Gwen kept one eye on her newspaper, the other on me.
“Saarah,” he murmured in my ear but loud enough for his sister to hear, “I don’t want to see you get burnt.”
“Thank you, for the protection.”
The flash of a smirk on my face did not go unnoticed by Gwen.
The sand beneath the soles of my feet felt like a warm foot massage, and the chorus of squawking sea gulls mixed with crashing waves made for perfect background music. We were playing Frisbee—Ben tossing the saucer to Ari and me, each competing to be the one to catch it.
For a six-year-old, Ben had a damn good arm. I could tell from Ari’s lit up face that he was incredibly proud of his son. Standing at least fifty feet away from us, the little boy flung the Frisbee with the strength and precision of someone much older. It spun in the air. I had no idea where it might land, given the ocean breeze.
“It’s mine,” shouted Ari, running toward it.
“No, it’s mine,” I countered, running toward it.
And then we clashed, the Frisbee flying by both of us.
I tumbled to the sand, my body crashing upon his. Skin to skin, organ to organ. The heat of his body coursed through mine, and his warm breath heated my already flushed cheeks. My scantily robed breasts rubbed against his taut, bare chest. As it rose and fell beneath me, my nipples hardened.
His strong hands hugged my waist, and his ocean-blue eyes burned into mine as strong as the sun. “So, Saarah, you play to win.” His rod hardened beneath me.
I would have said, “Game over,” had not Ben run over to us and burst out in laughter. “You guys look so funny.”
Ari scrambled to his feet, pulling me up with him. “Let’s go into the ocean.”
Ben was the first one in. As he frolicked in the waves, I watched as Ari pulled down his shorts, revealing one of those spandex Speedo suits worn by athletes. With his broad shoulders, lean muscular build, and that rock-hard perfect ass, this godly man could easily be mistaken for an Olympian. Even the shimmering mysterious scar on his back could not take away from his beauty. He turned to face me. My eyes gravitated to the package between his legs. Holy cow! I swear the spandex made it look more sizeable than it already was. I met his gaze and felt myself heating up. He knew I was mentally undressing him and curled his lips into a sexy crooked smile. I was getting all tingly again, the nerves between my legs twitching with lust. With a wink, he sprinted into the water, diving head first into a frothy wave.
“Come on in, Sarah!” shouted Ben.
At the shoreline, I dipped my big toe into the water. An icy sting shot up my leg. God, the water was cold.
“It’s too cold,” I shouted back.
Rising from the water, like a sea god, all wet and glistening under the burning sun, Ari sloshed toward me. His eyes gleaming, he scooped me up with his powerful arms and flung me over his right shoulder. An arm pressed tight against the back of my thighs, right under my buttocks, locking me against him. “My pretty princess, you’re coming in,” he growled.
“Put me down. Now!” I barked back at him. I kicked furiously and pounded his muscular back, my eyes all the while riveted on his in-my-face perfect ass. But he was already marching back into the sea, giving me no choice but to enjoy the ride. Blood rushed to my head. I felt tingly hot when I should feel chilled against his cold, wet body.
Ahead of us, I could hear Ben laughing his head off at the sight of us.
The water up to his waist, Ari said, “Saarah, I like it when you’re all wet.”
Before I could say a word, I was flying in the air and, seconds later, thrashing beneath the frigid ocean. I alternated between gripping my bikini bottom and skimpy top, fearful the sea would claim them.
When I resurfaced and was able to regain my balance, Ari was standing right beside me, now chest-deep in the water and holding Ben in his arms. He clasped my hand, and we began jumping waves, each one bigger than the one before.
“I love big waves,” squealed Ben.
Ari squeezed my hand and shot me a smile. “The bigger, the better.”
Waves of desire mingled with those of the sea and I thought: The more, the bet
ter.
The waves licked my clit as I jumped over them, making me long for the erotic sea of waves this man could drown me in. As I brushed up against him, I wondered what the rest of this weekend would bring.
Ari spent the rest of the afternoon inside the house, catching up on business-related matters while I decided to spend it with my sketchpad at the pool. Ben frolicked in the water under the watchful eye of Vadim, who I was convinced was some kind of bodyguard. Just as I pulled out my sketchpad from my messenger bag, Ari’s sister took the chaise next to mine. She was wearing a black bandeau one-piece bathing suit that was cut in a way that made her long, lean legs look even longer and a large, stylish floppy hat. The latest Vanity Fair was in her hand. Good. She was going to read. I wouldn’t have to talk to her and could do some sketching. At least, that was what I thought.
“My brother seems to like you,” she began. Her voice was cold and calculating.
I was taken aback. “We get along,” I replied, finding my voice. And we fuck really well together.
“You’re the wrong kind of woman for him.” Her tone went from cold to cutting. Each word was a knife to my heart. I was glad I wearing the Ray-Bans so that she couldn’t see the hurt in my eyes.
“He needs someone mature, independent, and with class. Someone who can take an active role in society, host dinner parties, and know what private schools are best for his son.”
His mother. He already had one and didn’t need another. Anger was rising in me like bread in an oven.
Her eyes narrowed into sharp slithers of glass. “I’d like you to consider dropping him, and I will make it worth your while.”
Was she bribing me?
“Help!” The word sounded loudly in my ear before I could respond.
Derailed II Page 1