“But why? You didn’t know me, and I was just an inexperienced high school student.”
Miles laughed, as if she had stuck a chord. “Because my aunt told me to do it. It was an easy favor, and my aunt knew it. At the time, I was trading phone calls with the CEO of Marshall Fields on a regular basis. They were selling themselves to a larger commercial department store chain, and I was brokering the deal for them to turnover their lease agreement with me to their new commercial buyers who wanted to remain tenants in the building. And if there was one thing, and one thing only, that was constant in my life—it was that you never said ‘no’ to Phyllis Matilda Strauss.”
Maribel watched the light shift in Miles’ eyes. It was the softer, more sensitive side that he had shown her the night before.
“I owe my aunt everything. She’s the one who kept me grounded when I made my first millions, which quickly snowballed into billions. I was young at the time—too young to really handle what was happening. Without her, I would have been totally consumed by my own narcissism and false sense of sophistication. I would have surrounded myself with sycophants who were willing to perpetuate the myth that I was God—just because I had more money than 99.99% of the population on earth and I wasn’t afraid to spend it. But not Phyllis. Phyllis made me feel like the immature, inexperienced, twenty-something kid of privilege that I was. She saved me—and my soul. In that way, you remind me of her. I need that again in my life.”
He peered at her—a long, steady gaze that conveyed his private thoughts which words could not. There were no longer any barriers between them. They were simply two people, sitting at a kitchen table over coffee, contemplating the circumstances of their mutual connection.
“Thank you,” Maribel finally said, finding her voice under a blanket of repressed emotions. She rarely spoke of her mother—or of those dark days when she knew her mother wouldn’t make it and she knew she would be left alone to fend for herself. Her father had long since left them, and there was no friend or relative who knew Maribel better than her own mother. But now, for the first time since those difficult years, Maribel didn’t feel completely alone. With only his soulful eyes and earnest confession, Miles made her feel like they were united. “I don’t know what else to say except—thank you…”
Miles cut his hand through the air to stop her. “There’s nothing more to say. There’s only what not to say—and that’s not to apologize for not wearing the ruby earrings because I understand. I remember my aunt telling me all about those studded cubic zirconia earrings, the ones Mrs. Martinez picked out for her daughter’s high school graduation gift. Phyllis was so impressed with how real they looked. It stuck in my mind—still sticks in my mind—because it was one of the last conversations I had with my aunt before she passed.”
Maribel lowered her eyes and picked at her chipped fingernails. “That was shortly after I starting working at the department store. I remember that because I remember how I never had the chance to properly meet your aunt—everyone knew Mrs. Strauss so well and talked about her so often, especially to me since I was the one who replaced her.”
“Yes, and so, when I see you wearing those diamond studs, they remind me of her. And they remind me that there are still a few sacred things in life that cannot be bought or replaced. So instead, when I was there at Tiffany’s the other night, I made sure I had a Plan B.”
Miles slid the new gift towards her.
“Miles, I can’t. This is all too much.”
“Please…” he petitioned her, as if her rejection was a personal rejection of him. “At least, open the box. After all, it is still Valentine’s Day weekend,” he winked, coaxing her to accept it. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Happy Valentine’s Day. She never expected to receive anything special this weekend, but it was the way that he wanted to please her that felt like the most unexpected gift of them all. And deep down, Maribel was still holding back her most vulnerable emotions—in case the fairytale suddenly ended at the stroke of a tolling clock, and everything reverted back to the way it was before Friday.
She pulled the box towards her, untied the white satin ribbon, and lifted open its lid. She spotted the mint blue leather pouch, pursed shut. Maribel drew it open and slid out the slinky bracelet into her palm—its brilliant double row of baguette diamonds flashed in the sunlight.
She quickly stood up and handed it back. “No, Miles, I can’t… absolutely not.”
“You must,” he countered, anticipating her every word. “Your other one is a cheap knock-off, and you deserve to wear the real thing.”
He unfastened the clasp and snaked the sparkling link bracelet around her wrist. She had seen the price tags of similar diamond bracelets in the windows of the high-end luxury jewelers. Almost always, they were mid-five figures or more. “It’s too much,” she whispered, peering down at its elegance, the weight of its authenticity pressing heavy on her wrist and heart.
He towed her body into his own and wrapped his arms around her waist, nudging her for a kiss. “A priceless gift for a priceless woman.”
The sincerity in his voice melted her into his embrace. His strong arms pulled her forward, and tongued her with such passion that all her feelings of inadequacy dissolved into burning sensations of desire. She desired his touch, his tongue, his lips, his hands—and his uncompromising insistence that she was worthy of more than she believed was even possible for herself. He swept his mouth down her neck, kissing her supple skin and the tender muscle along her collar bone. She relaxed into his embrace and yearned for more, but abruptly, he pulled back with a mischievous smirk.
“Brown sugar?” He noted the taste in his mouth.
He had caught a smudge of it along her shoulder where she had accidentally dabbled the creamed butter and sugar from the mixer. He placed his lips against her neck and nibbled it again. Maribel felt the grit of sugar and the warmth of his breath against her skin.
Without warning, Miles whisked her up into his arms and balanced her on the kitchen countertop. He reached into the mixer with his finger and streaked another gob of creamed brown sugar along her neckline. His lips devoured it, and she cried out with laughter at the sensation of his mouth sucking the confection off her skin. He towed off her leotard shirt and surveyed her bare breasts. She had decided on no bra. He dotted each nipple with more brown sugar, then plunged lower with his mouth, drawing out a deep tingle between Maribel’s legs with every wet flick of his tongue. She ran her fingers through his hair and buried his head deeper, encouraging each alternating lick and gluttonous suck. The heavy weight of the diamond tennis bracelet slipped up and down her wrist, and the scratch of Miles’ sandpaper stubble brushed against her skin.
“I need you,” he exhaled with yearning, “God, I need you more than you know.”
He grunted and moaned, and whisked her again into his arms with a whirl before heaving her against the refrigerator, towing down her yoga pants and lace panties with one swipe of his dominating hand. His tongue lapped her with penetrating kisses while he cupped her public bone and fingered her slit. Maribel opened her mouth with a silent gasp. It was so different than anything she had ever felt—so acute and intense—that her instinct was to fight it. But the force of his strength overwhelmed her. He took her knee into the crux of his arm and pinned her bare backside against the cool surface of the refrigerator.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he tugged down his athletic pants. They both heaved in unison with the first penetration—a mutual release of physical tension and repressed emotions, signaling that something had changed between them. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, enduring the seething burn of his hard erection. He exhaled against her neck and groped her bare backside, then thrust himself into her a second time—a long heavy plunge that threatened to suffocate her with his desperate need to consume her. He covered her mouth with his own and tongued her with fury. Between each lapping kiss, they breached for breath, and accepted the surrender of the other. Miles
pinned Maribel’s back and backside harder against the refrigerator, lunging himself inside her, building her up with pulsating waves that no one had ever made her feel—not even herself.
Miles pressed up her knees, spread her wider, and jolted himself deeper. God, yesssssssssssssssssssssssss, she heaved. Maribel was going to climax, her mind acknowledged her desire to release her every inhibition, but her body tried hard to deny it.
“Pleeeeeeeeeease…” Maribel begged—a plea for Miles to liberate the rippling vibrations within her. Suddenly, she felt his determined fingers thumbing her clit and massaging her with forceful strokes while he accelerated his pace. She quaked and cried out, unable to control a primal scream that swelled within her. He secured her body, steady, and surged simultaneously as she climaxed—a combustion of euphoria that flushed across her skin and through her head. Then, it was over as quickly as it began. She relaxed as everything faded to black and settled her limp weight into Miles’ arms, relinquishing every part of her heart and soul to him.
He kissed her with affection and peered into her eyes. Nothing needed to be said, and yet, everything was conveyed through the intimacy of their embrace. He lowered her fully onto the floor and helped her gather up her yoga pants and panties while he gathered up his own pants. It had been an unexpected release of nostalgia and emotion, attraction and desire, and now, they both smiled, fingertips clinging to each other, wondering what more the other would offer.
Maribel’s eyes drifted onto the wall clock. She was the first to pull away.
“Oh my God, it’s almost one o’clock?”
Miles laughed, securing her hand. “You slept in this morning, Sleeping Beauty. You didn’t know?”
“No,” Maribel fretted, “I thought it was still early. I have to be at work in fifteen minutes. It takes me forty minutes to get there by ‘L’. Twenty—even if I called a cab. I can’t be late. Thomas, my manager, will kill me. I’m the only one who is trusted with keys to the jewelry cases. When I’m not there, Thomas has to fill in for me. I can’t be late, I can’t be late…”
Maribel pulled away from Miles and haphazardly gathered up fresh clothes and her coat, unable to compose herself in order to think about what she really needed to do, and the best way to do it—fast.
“Stop,” Miles seized her hand again.
“No, Miles…I can’t… you don’t understand,” she flashed a glare at him, and he acknowledged it.
“Maribel, stop—” He glared back and commanded her with firm restraint. His voice ebbed lower with calm direction. “My car is outside. I texted my drivers an hour ago to drop it off here for me. I’ll get you there in ten minutes.”
She peered back at him, annoyed with his nonchalance.
“Okay, fifteen minutes—max,” he corrected himself.
“How?” she challenged him, skeptical.
“Speed.”
Chapter Seven
Maribel flew down Lake Shore Drive in Miles’s red Ferrari, accelerating as fast and furious as a bullet—a straight shot down the highway lane. The race car whirled low against the pavement, and cut around the North Beach curve with precision. The rushing wind was only a whisper and the Ferrari’s revving engine was only a muted buzz. Maribel glanced up at all the skyscrapers dominating the skyline, whizzing by her in a blur. 80, 90, 100, 110… Maribel tried hard not to look at the speedometer. It was measuring in kilometers, and she truly had no idea how how fast they were traveling—and she preferred not to know. She glanced over at Miles who shifted into fifth gear and hurled them towards downtown. He was completely focused and confident in his ability to blaze past every car on the highway, and the Ferrari’s tinted windows and smoky leather seats made her feel like an heiress, entitled to speed above the legal limit because of their eminence.
Her fantasy of superiority quickly faded when Miles peeled up to the department store and killed its engine. She was fifteen minutes late—no one was going to bow down to her for that. She gathered up her purse, dress shoes, and coat, and rushed to push open the car door.
“Don’t—” Miles caught her hand, “don’t leave like this.”
She was frazzled and he saw it. His strong hand calmed her with reassurance.
“I want to see you again tonight—spend the night with me. After work.”
“Miles, I can’t. I don’t have any of my things.”
“We’ll buy you new ones.”
Maribel rolled her eyes. He had answers for everything.
“Please…” he tipped back against the head rest, and pleaded with desperate eyes. She felt the sting between her legs and the warmth of his strong hand. She acknowledged her own desire to spend the night with him again, but she wasn’t certain if she was ready to commit to spending the night with him—in his own bed.
“Don’t worry. I’ll buy some rosebud sheets. You’ll feel right at home.”
It was as if he could read her mind. Maribel smiled. “We can talk about it later. I have to go now…” but she did not pull away from him; instead, he drew himself across the stick shift and stole a kiss from her, like he was stealing away her heart.
“I finish tonight at nine,” she heard herself say before dashing out of the car and through the revolving doors of the department store. She looked back—to check if anyone she knew had seen her exiting his red Ferrari—but there was no one. She shuttled across the Grand Lobby and towards the fine jewelry counter, where she saw Thomas, waiting for her.
“Youuuuuuuuuuuu’re laaaaaaaaaaaate,” he sang out, like he was greeting her with praise.
“I know, I know, I am so sorry” Maribel removed her coat and scarf, and traded her snow boots for her dress shoes. She stuffed her belongings under the register’s cabinet.
“I tried to have Crystal fill in for you, but then she asked me what the difference was between regular gold and white gold, and if white gold was painted white—and that’s when I said to myself, ‘Hello…Houston…? We have a problem.’”
Maribel smoothed down her skirt and presented herself to Thomas; she was ready for the day. “I am really sorry. But don’t worry. I’m here and it won’t happen again.”
“It’s okay. I clocked you in ten minutes ago ’cause I knew you’d be here. And I won’t write you up, even though you completely dissed me by not coming to my Valentine’s Day party…. holy crazy hell, that’s some bling, bling you got there.”
Thomas’s eyes fell immediately onto Maribel’s tennis bracelet.
“It was a gift,” she quickly explained, sweeping her long black hair across her shoulder to cover her ruby pendant necklace.
“From who? George Clooney?”
Maribel rolled her eyes. “To myself.”
Thomas eyed it again. “Damn, that’s one fine knock-off, girlfriend. Don’t go spreading the origins of that around. That kind of fake ice can put us out of business.”
Maribel covered her wrist. Thomas knew fine jewelry—possibly even better than she—and wearing the bracelet was an oversight that she suddenly regretted.
“So, what did you do with your day off? I want to know since you avoided me like the Paparazzi,” Thomas dropped his voice and peered over Maribel’s shoulder, “Holy sugar snaps, don’t look now, but we’ve got a seriously drool-worthy customer, coming right towards us.”
Maribel followed Thomas’ gaze and saw Miles, striding up to the counter. He was still wearing his marathon training shirt and matching athletic pants, but his tall dominating form and confident gait was impossible to miss.
“Hello, Mr. Braxton-Worth, so nice to see you here. Welcome to our store. Can I help you with anything?”
“No, thank you,” he said, his eyes settling onto Maribel. “Just browsing.”
“Of course, of course. Well, we’re always happy to help. Just let us know.”
“Actually, I think I would like to purchase something…” Miles suddenly said, his gaze peering down into the jewelry cases. “I’d like to take a look at your women’s luxury watches? I have a friend wh
o has a hard time keeping track of time. She’s supposed to come to my place for dinner tonight, but she wasn’t sure if she could get there before…ten? I thought maybe I’d buy her something—to help with her punctuality.”
No… Maribel protested with her eyes. Miles smiled back with his own. He had absolutely no intention of stopping.
“Of course, of course,” Thomas glided over to the appropriate case, keyed open the door, and lifted out several designer watches with leather bracelets and rose-gold face plates.
“This one,” Miles said, ignoring Thomas’ suggestions and tapping the glass to punctuate the most expensive watch in the case.
“Perfect choice, Mr. Braxton-Worth. Clearly, you have spectacular taste.” Thomas pulled out the platinum bracelet watch and rested it on the countertop like a fragile museum relic. “Delicate round mother-of-pearl face with scratch resistant sapphire crystal, double row of diamonds framing its border, and diamond dot accents for each numeral,” Thomas recited the sales pitch like a programmed robot. “Swiss two-hand quartz movement, and last but not least, diamonds detailing every other link along the watchband.”
“I’d like to see it on,”
No… Maribel mouthed to him. Miles ignored her.
“Just to be sure,” he insisted.
“Of course,” Thomas acquiesced and turned to Maribel, draping it around her bare wrist without her consent. She felt the sleek texture of smooth platinum glide around her arm, and its glistening diamonds caught the light in Miles’ eyes.
“Perfect, I’ll take it.”
“Perfect,” Thomas sang out and turned towards Maribel.
Oh my God, oh my God, he mouthed to her. Thomas wasn’t used to making a five-figure sale in less than a minute. But if there was one thing consistent about Miles Braxton-Worth, it was his taste for luxury.
“Maribel will ring it right up for you,” Thomas said, sweeping Maribel towards the register.
“Please charge it to my rolling account.”
Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel Page 7