Three and a Half Weeks

by Lulu Astor

  I never knew I could be so attracted to a man in a suit, I muse. I’m lying in the fluffy bed in our hotel room watching Ian get dressed for his meeting. It’s funny: casual is practically my middle name. I’ve pretty much lived my entire life in jeans and tees, wearing a dress only if the occasion absolutely demanded it. I used to like to look at men in casual clothes, clothes that showed off their efforts in the gym. That was all pre-DWB (Dorian Wesley Blackmon), though. Since meeting Ian, I now get hot whenever I even see a suit from a distance—he has rewired me that way.

  But, trust me, suits never look as good on anyone else the way they do on Blackmon. Eyeing the charcoal gray Versace suit he’s donned for his business conference today, I can’t help but want to drag him back into bed. The pants drape down from his slim hips, highlighting that trim waistline and tight butt, and flare down his long legs. The light blue shirt hugs his buff torso like a lover and the jacket plays tease, offering glimpses of its luscious contents as it sways with his motion. Mmm. He catches me looking and gifts me with a wolfish smile—I know what he’s thinking now.

  I put my arms behind my head to further enjoy the view. “Have any idea how long you’ll be?”

  He looks down his nose at me. “Why? Will you miss me?”

  “Always. Should I make my own plans for the day or wait on you?”

  He considers my question. “Why don’t you shower and have breakfast? I should have an idea where this will go by the first hour or so. As soon as I have more information, I’ll text you and you can take it from there. Sound okay?”

  I nod and stretch languorously—multiple orgasms right before bed do wonders for a person’s morning outlook. Ian finishes dressing, adding a silvery blue tie, gives me a quick kiss, and reminds me to check my messages before taking off for the day.

  It turns out he’s gone for most of the day so I end up walking the streets of Tokyo—um, wait, that didn’t come out right. I toured the local neighborhoods of Tokyo, took the train, and bravely ate food from street vendors. I stopped to chat with the man selling tofu pudding—he spoke fairly good English and said his name was Kiko. Fascinating me with trivia, he explained that street vendors were ubiquitous in Tokyo once upon a time but by the 1970s were all but gone, replaced by convenience stores. In recent years, there’s been a resurgence of the vendors, selling healthy alternatives filled with fresh vegetables and tofu. The woman next to him was selling piping hot sweet potatoes and the comforting scent filled the air.

  The city is densely populated, both by people and architecture. Wending my way through both, I window shop and gape at the unusual style of building, both in style and material. Stopping into a small boutique, I buy a new dress to wear to dinner. It’s very short, in fact, barely there, and I wonder what Ian will have to say about it. By four o’clock, I haven’t yet heard from him so I return to the hotel to soak in the huge whirlpool tub and have a glass of wine.

  I hear the door open at ten minutes to six, as I’m attempting to do research on one of the film subject’s native origins. Leaping up, I race to the door and as soon as he closes it behind him, I have at my gorgeous CEO, jumping into his arms and hoping he’ll catch me: he does.

  “Now that’s what I call an enthusiastic greeting. Miss me?”

  “Nah, not really,” I breathe, my hands reaching up to caress his face as I kiss him.

  “I’d like to be greeted like this every day, Ella. Can you see to that?”

  Laughing, I slide down his body, making sure I press closely against every inch of him on the way down. “Highly doubtful, sad to say. Hey, I bought a new dress. Want to see it?”

  “Absolutely,” he replies, putting down his messenger bag, and taking a seat near the sofa. He sits there like the king he is—the king in my realm anyway.

  I retreat to the bedroom, rip open the bag and lay the dress on the bed. Oh. It’s even shorter than I remember, I think with dismay. There’s almost no way that Ian will go for this one. I pull off my tee-shirt and yoga pants and lift the dress over my head. The light blue slinky material feels cool and slippery as it settles over my body. Now I remember why I bought it—it’s amazingly comfortable yet it highlights my best assets. I sidle into the other room to show Ian, feeling suddenly shy and almost silly. When I walk in, his head jerks up to look and I see shock etched into his face. Uh-oh.

  “What do you think?” I ask coyly, even though I kinda know the answer just based on his expression.

  “It’s quite short.”

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed. Anything good to say?”

  “The blue matches your eyes and… you look very sexy. Much too sexy. I’m not good at sharing, never have been, and I do believe you’re aware of that inclination.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I like it. I was hoping to wear it tonight?” I frame the thought as a question.

  He sighs. “Wear what you want, Ariel. I’m sure you’ll look beyond fantastic. Be warned, however, that I will go to whatever lengths necessary to keep other hands off. Understood?”

  Mutely, I nod, trying to imagine what lengths he’ll deem necessary to go to; I suspect Ian doesn’t have too many boundaries when it comes to jealousy. Perhaps I should wear another dress?

  “Oh, by the way,” he adds, “I have something for you that will look good with the dress.” He gets up and goes into the bedroom. When he returns he has a piece of jewelry casually draped over his fingers. When he hands it to me, sans box, I assume it is a piece of costume jewelry but when I touch it and get a good look, I gasp. It’s a platinum gold bracelet and it’s studded with diamonds—not chips, mind you, but actual diamonds. The piece must be worth a fortune and I’d be terrified to wear it.

  “Are you insane, Ian? This gift is a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

  He smiles and shrugs. “I actually bought it for you over a year ago, Ella.”

  Over a year ago? Before I left him and fled to Britain. My stomach lurches as if someone just delivered a swift kick to my abdomen.

  “I never got the chance to give it to you, to say I was sorry. Will you accept it now in the spirit in which it was intended?”

  Gulping, I nod, blinking away the tears. “Of course, Ian. It’s unbelievably beautiful.”

  He takes the bracelet from me gently and drapes it over my wrist, clasping it. “Very pretty,” he says and kisses my hand. “I made reservations at a restaurant I think you’ll like but we don’t have to leave for another couple of hours.”

  “Oh? Hmm,” I tap my finger to my lips as if in thought. “What should we do in the meantime?” Finally I get my chance to grab him by the tie and lead him to the bedroom by it. His eyes light up and he doesn’t put up much of a fight.

  When we get to the bed, I shove him down onto his back and start to undress him. “You’ll be wanting to change out of this fussy suit, anyway. Right?”

  He just smiles but his hand goes up my dress. “Mmm, there are benefits to very short dresses, aren’t there?

  Ignoring him, I don’t stop until I’ve removed every last article of his clothing and he’s lying there with only what he came into the world with—of course, it’s a lot larger now and that suits me just fine. I quickly tear off my own clothing while he observes with a heated expression. Let’s see how far he’ll let me take this enterprise, I think, as I grab a condom off the bedside table and climb on top of him.

  Shockingly, he doesn’t stop me; he just lets me have my way with him. I have his wrists in my hands and I’m still on top, regulating our movement, along with his escalating passion and my own. I’m surprised he hasn’t wrested control from me by now but he’s lying there passively, watching me. Just as I’m about to gain the apex, seconds away really, he swiftly frees his hands, lifting my hips so high I can barely reach him to mount again and my momentum toward orgasm crashes and burns.

  “What?” I pant, only managing the single word.

  “You may be on top but you don’t have control, Ella. It’s mine and I decide whether you come or don�
�t. I haven’t given my permission yet, now have I?”

  Oh, I want to slap him so badly right now. To think he let me do all the work and just as I was about to attain my reward, he snatches it right out from under me—literally. He’s still holding my hips, his eyes filled with amused satisfaction and I’m tempted to take myself up and away and deny him for the rest of our trip.

  In fact… Just as I’m about to act on that impulse, he slams me down onto him and I forget what I was about to do. He raises me up slowly and slams me down again. I can’t think of anything else, not a single other thought besides waiting for the next slam to happen. By the time he gets me back to where I was when he stopped it, my body is slathered with sweat and my legs are shaking almost violently.

  His eyes like melted silver, he’s holding me back, keeping me poised on the edge of the precipice, and finally he says, “Now,” and yanks me down onto him very hard and fast, once, twice, and the room flashes white with the explosion happening inside my body.

  The next day we take the bullet train and go to Mount Fuji. I never before realized how beautiful a country is Japan—the architecture is spectacular but the natural beauty is nearly sublime. Wednesday we spend traveling to Kyoto and Thursday we stay closer to see the Meiji Shrine and take an enchanting evening cruise on Tokyo Bay.

  On Friday, we fly to New York though Ian is on his cell every minute we aren’t in the air, barking instructions to Jonas, Jarvis, and Jackson—the J men, as I now call them. I’ve never met any of them though I saw Jackson Delacroix briefly in the club that first night—but I feel as if I know them simply from listening to Ian’s side of the conversation over and over again. The one person I really am burning to meet is his executive assistant Claudia, who works most closely with Ian when he’s in the office. I’m desperate to see what she looks like and why she hasn’t tried to make a play for Ian herself. Wouldn’t most women?

  The matter I need to handle for Lucien is pending. Apparently there’s some legal problem with a release for one of the subjects so I need to wait until he Fed Exes me some paperwork, and then meet with the attorney. Lucien seems to have gotten over the last bump in L.A. without any problem. I know Ian doesn’t like him but Lucien seems perfectly reasonable and even considerate to me.

  Ian has a meeting while I schedule time at the library and the Museum of Modern Art. When I’m finished I still haven’t heard from him so I text him: Can I meet u wherever u r? I’m finished 4 the day and am in the mood 2 meet a tall, dark handsome stranger. Know any? Ella.

  His response comes back a few minutes later: You can’t get much stranger than me. I’m at the Russian Tea Room on 57th St. I’ll be the one wearing the big grin when you walk in. See you soon. I.

  His message makes me smile and suddenly I can’t get to him soon enough. He must have gone to the iconic restaurant because he knew I wanted to see it and we had planned on hooking up at whatever place his meeting would be held. I push through the doors of the Museum hurriedly—I’m definitely growing much too fond of him and moving into the red zone for heartache if something goes wrong.

  I’m ever so glad to arrive at the restaurant for it’s started raining—teeming really—and I have no umbrella. Normally difficult to get a cab in New York, it’s impossible in the rain—you probably have a better chance of winning the lottery, I think. As a result, I resemble a drowned rat as I rush through the entrance, attempting to shake myself out, sort of like a dog in a bathtub. The maître d’ comes over quickly.

  “I’m meeting someone? Ian Blackmon? He’s already seated.”

  “Of course. Please follow me, Madame.”

  As we walk, I look around at the fantastical atmosphere. Colorful comes to mind. In the main room where we are now, the leather banquettes are a bright red, the walls a hunter green with framed paintings on every inch. The floor is covered by a vibrant red, patterned carpet, and the ceiling is a warm wood that reflects all the amber light bouncing around the room. The maître d tells me that each dining room has a different décor and one is all gold with blue glass walls and another has some very unusual light fixtures.

  When I spot the table, I see Ian is sitting with another man but I’m focused on my dastardly handsome man so I’m not paying attention to his companion—that is, until I approach the table and both men rise politely.

  “Ariel,” Ian leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek. “This is Daniel Butler. Daniel, my girlfriend, Ariel Strong.”

  The man swivels his eyes to me and nods politely. “Hello, Ariel. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” and extends his hand.

  I’m frozen in place and struck dumb. The man just shimmers with some kind of potent energy and his eyes, like light green glass, seem to penetrate right through me. I’m also taken aback at his utter masculine beauty. If any man can ever give Ian real competition, it’s this one standing in front of me. I quickly gather my wits about me to avoid scrutiny from Mr. Blackmon. Sheesh, lately I’ve been surrounded by such beautiful men—I must be doing something to please the gods.

  As handsome as Lucien is in all his blond perfection, he doesn’t move me the way Ian does. There’s some kind of magnetic field around Ian that just sucks me in—probably sucks in most people. Consequently since I’ve met him, I’ve never really looked at another man—not in that way.

  But this man, Daniel Butler? Whatever it is, he has it in spades. He’s golden, but not fair, with blond streaks throughout his brown hair and a bronze skin tone that nearly matches. Piercing light green eyes that have incredible depth peer out from thick lashes, and his physique, well, I’m not going to even go down that road because Ian is watching me ogle him and that can rapidly deteriorate the situation, making my night ugly. I lightly grasp Daniel’s outstretched hand and murmur, “Likewise,” and drag my eyes away, focusing them back on my own hottie.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing reflexively. “I thought your business was concluded. I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

  “Not at all, Ariel. We were just finishing up.” Ian looks at Daniel.

  “Yes, of course. Please have a seat and join us,” Daniel says, gesturing to the empty side of the booth. The booths are U-shaped with the longest part connecting the two sides. The men sit across from each other so I slide into the wide bench between them while Ian is still standing.

  “Ariel, Ian tells me that you’re frequently in New York on business?” Daniel asks.

  “Yes, for the next few months anyway. I’m working with a filmmaker on a new documentary film he’s producing.”

  “Yes, so I’m told. Fascinating work, I’m sure.”

  I eye him closely again. Not as formal as Ian, he wears charcoal gray fitted trousers and what looks like a cashmere sweater, black and vee-neck. He’s certainly polite, pleasant even, but he holds himself at arm’s length. I suppose he could be called reserved. “Yes, it’s interesting,” I reply to his comment.

  Daniel nods. “My fiancée and I have just purchased a brownstone on the Upper West Side. Please consider joining us for dinner if you find yourself at odds in the city. Olivia loves to show off the house—she and her father have been renovating it a bit together.”

  “Ella,” Ian says, “Daniel’s prospective father-in-law is the sculptor Derek Girardi. Do you know his work?”

  “The name sounds familiar.”

  “He’s quite renowned,” Daniel adds and checks his watch. “I should get going. It was a pleasure to meet both of you,” he says, standing.

  Ian stands also, and they shake hands as Daniel says, “I’ll get back to you with more information when I have it, Ian. I wish you good luck in fending off the barbarians.”

  Ian laughs, but it sounds bitter or perhaps angry. “I gave in and let the bastards feed at the trough last time. They won’t find me so accommodating again.”

  Nodding his head in satisfaction, Daniel says, “Good. You should never allow parasites like that to win the day—it just encourages the behavior. I’ll be in touch,” he says in closing and
nods at me, before leaving. I look at Ian, wondering what the hell they were talking so cryptically about. Should I ask? I also wonder how many gorgeous men are there out in the world and how sad it is that each girl can only have one.

  While I’m watching them exchange goodbyes, I am trying desperately to keep my thoughts clean but they keep drifting into the gutter. Imagine having both of them? At the same time? At one point Butler glances sharply at me and I blush, feeling as if he could read my mind. That would be horrible, wouldn’t it? Sometimes when I have a bad thought, I begin to think that someone in a crowded room knows what I’m thinking. It’s terrible enough to force me to keep things clean, even inside my head.

  Once we’re alone I wait for Ian to explain but of course he doesn’t. I always have to pry information out of him—it’s like pulling teeth. “So, what parasites was Daniel referring to, Ian? Is everything alright?”

  “Yes. Did you get everything done today?”

  Tricky man always flips the conversation back to me. “Yes, pretty much but I may have to either stay here longer than planned or return at the end of next week when Lucien is due back so we can begin editing footage. Also, there’s an art historian he wants to interview about Stieglitz… oh, and Mo invited us to a party tomorrow night. I told her probably not, just in case it was that kind of party. I was afraid to ask.”

  Ian smiles. “It might be educational for you.”

  “Mmm, sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

  Chapter 25

  It is a beautiful autumn morning in New York City, the kind of day New Yorkers always say they woke to on 9/11, when nature’s beauty makes it glorious to be alive, the sky a startling blue, the cool air crisply fresh, without a hint of the usual amalgamation of offensive smells that come with a densely populated city. Well, except for all the motor vehicle exhaust clinging to the air currents. Halting his jog to catch his breath, Ian leans, hands on thighs, and watches the cars swing onto the FDR entrance ramp in rapid succession. Doing something healthy like running while sucking up all the fumes of New York City traffic seems rather self-defeating yet here he stands, drawing in deep lungfuls of the tainted air. Despite the drawbacks, he desperately needed exercise and often found he did his best thinking while physically exerting himself. Well, not during all physical exertions—just the monotonous ones like running. And Ian had some serious thinking to do, too. Things were beginning to move at warp speed and this was precisely how mistakes got made, grave mistakes. Taking the time to carefully consider his moves was imperative in this chess game of very high stakes.