TROUBLE 3

by Kristina Weaver

  “Sir, I—”

  “Get your shit and get out.”

  I watch as poor Gorgeous scrambles for his kit, not even folding the table down properly before running from the suite so fast I see streaks of smoke funnel out behind him.

  That leaves me alone with Greg, and I cringe before peeking up at him fearfully. His eyes…I have to look away they hold so much rage, and at the moment it’s all directed squarely at moi.

  I want to run and hide and hope he calms down enough tha—

  Wait a minute! It worked!

  “Do you want to tell me why another man had his hands all over my property?” he asks so quietly I quail at the violence inherent in his voice.

  I’m happy I’ve managed to shake him a little, but I’d never expected this level of anger, and now that I’m faced with it I’m at a loss as to how to respond.

  Till I realize what he’s just called me. Property? Did he just say property?

  “Run that by me one last time,” I say in a voice so brittle I see his eyes stretch the tiniest bit. “Did you just call me your property?”

  His eyes go hard, and I realize whatever advantage I thought I had is so not on the cards. I’m pissed, but he’s…volcanic.

  “He had his fucking hands a hair’s breadth away from your—”

  “He’s gay!”

  “No. He. Isn’t.”

  Oh God, then I shouldn’t tell him I’d dropped my bikini right there and revealed everything in God’s glory as I’d inelegantly hoisted myself up onto the table.

  I cringe slightly and promise never, ever to mention that unless I don’t want to sit for a week.

  “Uh…”

  “Why did that man have his hands all over you?” he asks, stalking closer.

  I’m a little wiser nowadays, so I take a step back, clutching the towel closer to my chest.

  “I was getting a massage?” I ask in a small voice.

  He stalks closer, eyeing my towel with a glare that strips the flesh from my bones.

  “Did you enjoy it?” he asks silkily, coming closer as I retreat, his face so hard I swallow.

  “Um, yes?”

  Well I’m already in deep shit, so what’s the use of lying at this point? Anyway, I rather suspect he heard me calling the not-so-gay masseuse hot stuff. My goose is already cooked.

  His eyes burn brighter, and I see his eyes tic as his muscles coil. Oh crap. I lunge left and make a break for the bedroom, intending to hide out in the bathroom till he cools down.

  I’m in front of the bed and diving for the bathroom door when I feel a freight train hit me from behind, sending me sprawling face down into the mattress with Goliath resting on my back.

  “Tell me again how much you liked it,” he snarls, pushing me down and pulling my hands up to lock above my head.

  “Hmmm fohee,” I mumble, gasping into the sheets.

  He levers up enough that I can turn my head and gulp in a breath, his hot breath fanning the skin at my cheek.

  “Again.”

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t know he wasn’t gay! No straight guy has that much style. He was wearing a scarf!”

  His body tenses above mine, and I scream as he rips the towel from me and settles back over me, grinding himself into my butt. He’s angry and aroused, and I have no doubt he’s about to show me exactly why he calls me his property.

  Yay!

  “You want a man’s hands all over your skin, you come to me,” he growls, clamping one hand around my wrists to free up a hand. That hand skates down my back and wiggles between our bodies, coming to rest at exactly the spot the masseuse had been rubbing earlier.

  Strange how I hadn’t felt the proximity before, but now that it’s his hand I feel my core clench, moistening for him, begging him to shift up just an inch closer.

  I grit my teeth, unwilling to cede this round just to get his hands on my sex. Sure I want him. Sure I’m desperate for all the passion I feel simmering off him, but I want more than sex and ownership. I want him, loving me back, and the only way I’ll get it is if I push him to the point of no control.

  “I wouldn’t want to disturb your precious schedule. Let me up, and I’ll go sit in the corner like a good little asset until you’re ready for me,” I say sweetly, taunting him by shoving my butt up and wiggling out from under him as much as I can.

  I get exactly one leg free before he’s back on me, his mouth so close to my ear.

  “You’re feeling neglected, darlin’?” he purrs.

  His tongue flicks at my earlobe, and he gently bites down on it, sending shivers through me.

  “Greg, please.”

  The hand on my thigh shifts up, and I feel him between my legs, his fingers delving, rubbing at my clit.

  “Who do you belong to?” he purrs, rubbing at me till I’m on the edge before stopping to demand again. “Who do you belong to, Hannah?”

  “You,” I gasp, trying to push closer, needing that touch, the closeness I feel when he’s like this, even though I can still feel his anger.

  “Louder, darlin’,” he growls, sliding his hand lower to thrust a finger deep into my core.

  “You. I belong to you, only you.”

  He gives me what I want as soon as the words leave my lips, and I am crying out in ecstasy even as he lowers his pants.

  “Never forget. You are mine.”

  “And you are mine,” I whisper as he thrusts into me and wraps himself around me.

  Chapter Six

  “You look awesome.”

  “Thanks. I feel awesome.”

  Lena and Chris have kidnapped me for a full on dish session, and invaded the Garden City house the minute we got home, and my devoted husband left for the office.

  I haven’t been back an hour before they descend, along with Nana and her new love, not so virgin martinis.

  “Nana! You shouldn’t be drinking with your medication,” I yell, grabbing the drink from her bony hand and downing it before she can rise. “Josey! Can you please lock the liquor away!”

  “She’s been this way since the wedding. I swear to God, that old lady has more apples than all of us put together,” Chris mutters affectionately, returning Nana’s air kiss.

  I roll my eyes and glare, fighting the urge to laugh. Put these two together and you’re sure to have mayhem. Not so great for me, but then, the old bird is seventy-three, and spoiling all her fun is not on my agenda.

  What is, is that rat bastard I married.

  Good grief, is the man stubborn.

  “So he goes all Tarzan on you and ‘you my property,’” Chris says, doing a great caveman impression. “And then what?”

  “Weeell…” I eye Nana and wince.

  “I have a vagina too, you know.”

  God help me, after what I’ve seen, I’m not likely to forget.

  “Okay, well, things led to their…natural conclusion. Obviously,” I aver, shrinking at the thought of discussing sex in front of my nymph Nana. “It was good, too. What happened afterwards, not the…okay, well, that was awesome,” I say, sighing dreamily.

  “Stop sex replaying and tell us!” Lena demands, and I cut my visual memory short in order to recap my horrible honeymoon.

  “We had dinner and went to bed…ya know. And then the next morning he carried on as if nothing had happened. Back to work and ignoring me, and…I spent the next seven days watching three cougars have a go at the barman on deck two.”

  I still shudder just thinking of what the four of them had on the day I’d seen them sneaking off together. Talk about instant libido killer.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yup. I spent all day waffling around before going back for dinner and his customary night games. During the day it was work, no compromise. The jealousy thing worked only so far before he went back to his routine. I even tried the whole masturbating in the bathroom thing you told me about, Lena. Nada.”

  Even Nana gasps and looks like she just smelled something bad, telling me loud and clear how well
it should have worked.

  “Why, I can’t believe it. That old trick worked on your grandfather a time or two. I remember the day I saw him talking to that neighbor woman, Velma, and I got so jealous. I waited for him to come inside, and then I went to the bathroom and—”

  “Whoa! Nooo, no, no, no. TMI, Nana!” I yell, blocking my ears with a shriek.

  “Oh, now, Hannah dear, we’re all women here.”

  “Except me, apparently. What’s wrong with me?” I groan, keeling over to shove my face into a cushion.

  If that trick could work for my gray old grandmother, there must be something seriously wrong with me. I mean, I’ve done everything but actually rub my naked vagina in his face, and still, nothing.

  “Nothing, sweetheart. He’s just playing hard to get. Know what I think?” Chris asks, and I sit up to see her eyes take on a very unhealthy sparkle. “I think you’ve made things too easy for him. Throwing the goods in his face is all fine and good, but it’s stupid — no offense, Lena — to try and outplay a player like Gregory.”

  Heh. Maybe she’s right.

  “So you think I should what? Stop having sex with him?”

  They all snort and I blush at that kernel of idiocy. Yeah right, like he’d ever allow that. I’d be seduced and fucked in under a minute flat, and we all know it. The man is just that good. And super sexy.

  “No, dummy. You make yourself physically available and keep the emotional shit locked down tighter than a miser’s purse. You’re too…easy right now,” she says with an apologetic grimace. “You’ve basically shouted your love from the rooftops, which makes him thinks he’s got nothing to worry about.”

  “Yes, dear. Rule number one: never give everything right off the bat. You should have left him to simmer in his own juices. The moment he started questioning your commitment, he would have started worrying, which always makes men go the extra mile.”

  The others nod sagely, and I pull a face, acknowledging my stupidity. Thanks a lot, heart, and big fat mouth, for royally screwing everything up.

  “Great. I’ve already spilled the big ole beans. I’m doomed,” I moan, covering my face with a curse.

  “Not necessarily,” Lena coos, and I look up with the eagerness of a student at the knee of its master. Or a dog, your choice.

  “No, indeed, your avowal of love this early on could just work in your favor. Have you said it again, recently, dearest?”

  My pathetic, chagrined expression says it all, and they all start laughing.

  I actually scream it, loudly, when I orgasm, but I hesitate to say this with the level of amusement at an all-time high.

  “So then all you have to do is stop,” Chris says seriously. “Stop telling him, and he’ll stop jumping at his every crumb with an affectionate gratitude that spells it out for him.”

  “Won’t he get all weird if I ignore him?”

  “Don’t ignore him. Be polite and serene at all times. If he gets all cold and distant, just smile and keep on keeping on. Be the soul of calmness. No temper outburst, no trying to seduce him. Just go about business exactly as he would,” Lena says, smirking softly.

  “This will…what exactly are we looking for here?” I ask.

  Stop being so judgmental. I’ve never mind-fucked a guy before. I prefer honesty and openness and results, not cloak and dagger love play. Obviously, though, my approach is not working.

  “He’ll slowly start to notice that you’re no longer as emotionally available as you were, and it’ll make him wonder. Are you pulling away? Have you lost interest? And horror of horrors! Do you simply not love him anymore? Men are simple creatures, Han: they always want what’s unavailable. So make yourself unavailable.”

  This sounds so easy, easy enough that I can pull it off without too much trouble.

  “Oh, but don’t forget to make yourself as physically alluring as well, dearest. As you’ve learned, there’s nothing worse than a lover who is totally open and responsive physically while being emotionally closed. It makes the contrast all the harder to ignore.”

  “That’s it. Be totally open to his physical needs while holding my feelings in check. So basically you want me to think like a man.” I lean back and smile.

  “Oh God, I pity that poor fool when she gets that smug, determined look.”

  As we give Nana the martini shaker back and watch her perform cocktail magic, I drink with a satisfaction I haven’t felt since the wedding.

  It’s time to up the ante and play for keeps, or go broke trying.

  Chapter Seven

  My plan doesn’t start that night because I’m in bed and sound asleep when Greg finally decides to drag himself home, but I have to say, I wake up the next morning with the birds, and with such a hopeful feeling I am showered, dressed, and cooking breakfast with a smile on my face by the time he comes down, freshly shaven.

  There are a very few things in this world that are as sexy as Greg when he’s in power mode and ready for a day of shark tank takeovers. I have yet to find these things, but I’m hopeful that he’s not the only thing to be this enthralled with at this hour.

  “Morning ,darlin’.”

  “Oh, hi. Sleep well?” I ask, pouring him a cup of coffee after placing a full breakfast before him.

  He nods, and I watch him from the corner of my eye as I flip the paper open and dig into my yogurt and muesli. I can just about feel his curiosity when I don’t comment or even nag about his late night, and it takes a huge will not to look up at him and smirk.

  “Sorry I got back so late, there was a last minute—”

  “Oh, Greg, its fine,” I say, waving him off and going back to an article I haven’t read a word of. “That’s your business.”

  Two spoons later, and just as I find the crossword puzzle with a victorious huff, he’s talking again, this time with an insistent growl that makes my lips twitch precariously. I have to duck my head, it feels so great.

  “There was a last minute meeting about the ad campaign for the next generation ships, and I didn’t want it to go any longer. These things are important to the future of the company, a company I intend to build for our children.”

  “Hmm, that’s nice, dear. More coffee?” I ask, pouring myself another cup.

  He goes back to his breakfast with a huff, and by the time I have neatly printed in the last answer, he’s sitting back, watching me with a scowl.

  “My family will be joining us next week for my birthday.”

  I can almost see his triumph when he says it, and though I want to jump up and run shrieking from the room, I keep my bland smile plastered on, and take another slow sip of my coffee.

  “Should I get the two guest rooms ready, or are they staying at a hotel?”

  That throws him for a second, because I’d told him in no uncertain terms how much I despise those people. Stuck up assholes.

  “No…uh, that won’t be necessary. They’ll only be here for the day before flying back home.”

  “Oh good, I’d hate for one of them to catch Nana streaking in the halls. Should I arrange a party, or would you prefer a quiet dinner?”

  Yesterday I’d fully intended to hire a planner and throw a huge shindig with a bar and live music. Now, I want him to feel my disinterest. Okay, so I’m not as disinterested as I make out to be, but dammit, I can’t afford for him to see how excited I was about his birthday.

  “Uh…just a dinner, I suppose,” he says, rising slowly.

  I follow him up, hating the disappointment I see there, knowing that to torture him on his birthday is the worst of the worst low I can sink to, but all’s fair in love and war, and at the moment I’m fighting the mac daddy of wars trying to win his heart.

  I may not win, but, by God, I’m gonna give it the best I’ve got before ceding victory.

  By the time we arrive at the Lucas building — yes, I am now officially back at work — he’s so out of sorts he hasn’t barked at me once about my lack of seatbelt, and I go into my first day back at work with a smile.<
br />
  Turns out there’s a reason he worked so hard while on our honeymoon, and by noon I am neck deep in merger documents and meetings that are as cutthroat as they are quick.

  Greg is trying and succeeding to arrange a merger between one of his ‘lesser holdings’ and the sinking Jeffries Enterprises, and together with Taylor they’ve been negotiating everything from cutbacks to packages and everything in between.

  “God, I can’t believe I really am married to a cyborg,” I groan at three, when I get my first break, and collapse at my desk with the doughnut and tea Kim has waiting for me. “Doesn’t the man ever stop?”

  “Huh, you should have seen him with the Yates deal. How he found the time to make personal appearances at the agency when he was getting everything else running and moved is beyond me. Even I can’t go that hard, and my kids call me the Terminator,” she laughs.

  I devour the doughnut and scald my throat on the tea, I’m so hungry. I can’t believe I’ve eaten it either, not a doughnut, but I feel so loopy from hunger I’d had to stop and lean into the wall for support earlier.

  “Han! I need the labor contracts.”

  “No, no, dear. You just sit there and catch your breath. I’ll get those to him. You look positively sickly,” Kim orders, waving me down without too much of a protest.

  I start checking emails and get so wrapped up I hardly notice that the sun has set and it’s past seven when he comes strolling out, a weary look on his face.

  “You’re still here.”

  “Yeah. I just got done. I don’t think it’ll last long, but I managed to get all the emails done, so tomorrow should be better.”

  “Why are you still here, Han?” he asks as I rifle in my desk for my purse and the welcome back stuffed bear Kim got me.

  It’s only when I look up that I notice the irritation on his face and realize I’ve stepped over some imaginary line he’s drawn. It’s hard to get peeved when I don’t know what I should be peeved about, so I just shrug and walk toward the elevator.

  “You will leave at five like everyone else. I won’t have you working yourself to ill health,” he growls, taking my elbow and pulling me in with him.