Trust Me

by Isabel Jolie

  Sam arrives at my side and guides me to the elevator. He hits the spa level, and I give him a questioning look but don’t say anything as there are others in the elevator.

  The elevator opens at the Spa St. James, and aroma surrounds me. I’m a total spa girl. Sam leads me over to the reception desk. The woman behind the desk smiles and immediately greets him. “Mr. Duke, good to see you again. We have everything prepared for your guest’s afternoon at the spa.”

  He kisses my forehead and in a quiet, private voice, instructs me to enjoy my afternoon. “Pick any treatment you like. I’ll be back as soon as my meeting is done, and then I’m yours for the rest of the weekend.”

  I bite back a bit of annoyance at not being allowed to attend the business meeting and remind myself that being presented as his lawyer’s intern would make for an awkward introduction. Sam hands me a menu of services, and I read through the many pages after he departs. I always have difficulty deciding between facials and massages. I’m leaning toward the advanced facial with oxygen blast. Glowing skin would be good at dinner tonight. Then I see the maple sugar massage, and I’m sold. Two-hundred-minute massage with a hot stone treatment. Done and done.

  I’m whisked away to change into a robe. After my heavenly massage, I’m delivered to a relaxation room with lounge chairs in front of a fire wall. I wrap myself in a plush blanket and drift in and out of sleep.

  Bridgette arrives to take me to wash and dry my hair and offers to do my make-up too. Now, this, I like. I don’t think I’ve ever been so pampered before. It’s like a dream. After having my hair blown out and a light make-up application completed, I dress.

  With my luxurious pampering and preparation complete, Bridgette escorts me to my room. She beams as she opens the door, full of pride for the suite. The room is impressive. The fireplace blazes in the living room. She leads the way to a bedroom with a king-size bed and an adjacent luxurious white marble bathroom. She points out the amenities of the suite as we walk through. The heated floor in the bathroom and the Japanese toilet, with customized options, including heating and cooling the toilet seat, stand out.

  A gorgeous black cocktail dress lies on the bed, and below it, Christian Louboutin black stilettos and a smooth leather clutch to match. Either Sam has good taste, or he has an assistant who does. My money’s on Janet. The tags are still on the dress, and a note provides a number to call if anything doesn’t fit or isn’t to my liking.

  After dressing in my new outfit, I stand before the floor-length mirror in the master bedroom and breathe to revel in the moment. I’ve dated men—or, rather, twenty-something men with money before. Never has anyone given me such a magical weekend away or made me feel like a treasured princess.

  The gorgeous dress fits perfectly, as do the shoes. Shoes I know I shouldn’t accept but have no intention of returning. I never splurge on shoes like these, and I have to wonder why. They fit so much better, and the quality of the leather is readily apparent. I twirl in front of the bathroom’s full-length mirror. The professional hair, make-up, and clothes combine to create a magazine-worthy image. No wonder models and actresses always look so damn good.

  Delilah’s words drift through my mind. Live in the moment. Be. We each have one life. This is one magical moment in my journey. Enjoy. With one last glance in the mirror, I depart to find my prince.

  In the lobby, I spot Sam sitting at the bar of the restaurant, the Maison Boulud. I’m a fan of his day-to-day casual look, but his form-fitting crisp black tux blows casual swagger away. I know the moment he sees me. Both dimples pop, and his blue eyes blaze as they hungrily devour me.

  He steps forward to greet me and places a possessive hand on my lower back as he leads me into the restaurant. Ever the gentleman, he pulls out my chair and waits until I’m seated before approaching his own chair. A stunning lateral electric fireplace flanks our table. The weather outside has turned chilly, and there’s a possibility of snow later tonight. The amber fire removes any chill from the air.

  As soon as we sit, a waiter approaches and pours Dom Perignon into the two champagne flutes on our table. Sam lifts his glass. “To exploring together.”

  We clink glasses. After I take a sip, I can’t help but respond, “But Montreal is not new to you.”

  “I’ve been here a few times. Several years ago, there was an AI company I wanted to buy, but Google beat me to it.”

  “Is that why you’re here now? There’s another company you want to buy?”

  He answers with a quick nod as he tilts his glass, watching the bubbles ascend. The golden liquid glimmers in the firelight. “Yes. But I know you don’t want to talk about that. How was your time in the spa?”

  I sit straighter in my chair and uncross my legs. He did not just try to treat me like my brain does not matter, did he? “I’d actually like to know about the company. There’s a good chance if you move forward, you’ll be bringing it to our team and I’ll be doing the research.” His gaze levels on me. “Right?” My Louboutins tap the floor between us as I await his response.

  He sets the glass down and places both elbows on the table. “You’re right. I guess I’m used to people finding my businesses boring. I tend to talk around it.”

  “I don’t find your business boring.”

  This brings a half-grin to his face. “You’re working with me on some potential investment or acquisition deals. That’s a more interesting angle. You have to remember, my company is back-end for financial services. Over the years, even my parents have had difficulty talking to me about my business.”

  “Well, I’m not like the other women you date. While I appreciate spa time, I’d like to hear about your meeting.”

  He rubs his jaw then leans back. “No, Olivia, I have to agree with you. You are not like anyone else I’ve dated. But what you fail to realize is I don’t date very often.”

  I narrow my eyes as I attempt to ascertain his veracity. He smirks at me, and I call it. “Bullshit.”

  He chuckles. “Seriously. I dated around before Esprit took off, but not much after. And by the time the load lightened, I didn’t like the idea of making Page Six with a date. I’ve had some dates in San Fran, but no one I wanted to see more than once.”

  “So, this whole thing,” I whirl my finger around the restaurant, “isn’t your status quo?”

  He captures my hand and nips my finger then kisses it. “No, not at all. I’ve never done this before. Today, I pulled some of the cards from my dad’s playbook.”

  “Your dad’s playbook? Isn’t he still with your mom?”

  He grins. “He is. And they’ve been happily married for almost forty years. And you wanna know why?” He doesn’t wait for me to guess. “Because he has a playbook. He romances her and lets her know every day how much he loves her. Adores her.” My heart beats erratically as he kisses the back of my hand, his dusk-blue eyes locked on mine.

  He then releases me, shifts in his seat, and reverts to business Sam. “You said you wanted to know about my meeting.”

  I cross my legs again and lift my glass. “Yes.”

  “It’s a company called Croesus Finansoft. They create financial software. Have some talented programmers. It’s an interesting company to either invest in or acquire.” Throughout dinner, he tells me about the company and how it might align with Esprit. His passion for business shines through, and I’m fascinated, impressed by the potential in the deal, but even more so by his mind. He’s brilliant, and he discusses the nuances of the potential deal in an enlightening and informative way without ever coming across as condescending. He toys with my fingers as he talks, and our legs brush below the table, each touch quietly stoking the embers, preparing me for our night ahead.

  Chapter 20

  Sam

  After dinner, with her hand secure in mine, we head up to our suite. This woman didn’t just listen to me all through dinner. She participated in the conversation. Made suggestions. Asked questions. She could hold her own at any business meeting. The only
women in my past who held their own in business conversations weren’t at all desirable to me. I can think of many in my company. Intelligent but no spark.

  Olivia is unlike any other woman I’ve met. Inquisitive. Intelligent. Perceptive. Sophisticated. It’s clear she’s been hurt in the past, and every part of me wants to protect her so she’s never hurt again.

  I open the door to our suite and stand to let her pass. The fire lights the room. I survey the room, deciding on my plan. A modern uncomfortable-looking sofa overlooks the fireplace. The surrounding white chairs are for a single person. While I sit there debating my next step, she takes charge.

  Olivia saunters through the bedroom door and pauses, close to the threshold. With her back to me, she slides the zipper down the back of the dress. As I register what she’s doing, she lets the entire dress fall off her slim shoulders and slip to the floor. I swallow, hard, frozen in place. She stands in the doorway wearing only a black silk thong and sky-high fuck-me heels. She tosses her hair as she turns to the side to face me, displaying her full, round, gorgeous tits. She beckons me with her finger to come. My cock fills to full mast.

  She steps out of her dress and continues to the bed, where I catch up with her, her back to me. My hands rest on her hips then slide up her sides to her breasts. Heavy in my hands, I knead them, twisting her nipple. I release one of her breasts and slide down to her panties, sliding underneath to rub her clit. As I apply pressure, I pull her to me, my cock cradled in her ass. She leans her head back against my shoulder, and I kiss her while fingering her. She’s so wet. Ready.

  I want to go slow, but I can’t. I need her. Now. I turn her and push her onto the bed. I start taking off my clothes as quickly as I can without looking like a frantic teen. I throw each piece on the ground, kicking off my shoes and pants and socks until I’m completely naked in front of her. She’s still wearing her heels and thong. I slide her thong down her long, smooth legs and consider the heels but decide to leave them.

  She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, and I fall to my knees, spread her legs, and taste what’s mine. She’s sweet, delicious, and wet. All her little moans and whimpers are driving me crazy. I dip my fingers deep inside while my tongue circles her clit until I hit the mark and her muscles tighten on my fingers and convulse.

  As her orgasm takes over, her body jolts forward and she cries out. She fingers my hair, alternating between pulling and pushing. Like it’s too much and she can’t decide if she wants to pull me away or make me continue. My cock pulses, painfully hard, and I grip it and stroke.

  I kiss along her stomach, sliding along her as I lift her to set her further on the bed. Her legs are still open, and her pussy glistens. I can’t wait. In one stroke, I slide in, and it feels like home. Where I want to be every single day. I could never get enough of her. Of this woman.

  Her muscles quiver around me, aftershocks from the orgasm I just gave her. She wraps her legs around me, the sharp heels digging into the back of my thighs. I don’t care if she punctures holes in me with those things. Right now, I need her, and I drive into her. Hard. Claiming. Mine.

  No one has ever felt this good. This right. I’m lost in the moment. Holding out, determined to give her one more orgasm before I follow. I’m so close. I want her to come. My thumb presses against her clit, right above where we’re joined. I watch our movement. My cock sliding in and out. The pressure builds around the base of my spine. I’m close. I press her clit, around and around. She whimpers. “That’s right, baby.” Her eyes meet mine. Then we both watch our union.

  Her back arches, and she gasps, “Right. There.” She detonates. Her muscles clamp down and quiver. I groan as my release pulses through me, pouring into her, her muscles tightening around me and coaxing me.

  I collapse on her then kiss her neck and her breast. “Damn. You. Are. Amazing.” Still inside her, I place soft kisses all along her tender neck. Then I kiss her. A passionate kiss. A kiss that says what I’m not ready to say out loud.

  As I pull out, a chill crosses my skin and goosebumps rise on my arms. I forgot the condom. The champagne, the wine, the moment. Fuck. I lie by her side and stroke her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t use a condom. I just…fuck. I didn’t think.”

  Jesus. I’m not a kid. I’m not new to the dating game. I know better than to do that without a conversation first. Shit. What if she’s not on birth control? But didn’t she tell me she’s on the pill? I hold my breath, looking at her, waiting for her to say something.

  She presses a kiss to my lips. I pull her naked body closer to mine and bend to take a nipple with my lips. I’m still waiting for her to respond, but I can’t help myself. Her dark nipples are large, round perfection. Her fingers run through my hair then along the outline of my ear. She tugs my hair and I release her nipple, looking up.

  She smiles a soft, coy smile. “It’s okay. I’m on the pill. Clean.” I breathe a sigh of relief. Although too many women have mistakes on the pill. A part of me believes she’d never have a mistake on purpose, but damn if my brother’s warnings don’t haunt me. I’ve seen the real-life stats on the pill, and they aren’t good. Of course, no condom feels mighty damn good too.

  She strokes my chest, lightly plays with the smattering of chest hair, soothing my concern and warming my skin. Her fingers caress the curves along my chest, and then she explores lower. She continues the same caress on my half-erect cock. Blood pours to my dick, readying for round two, as she coaxes and strokes me. And that’s the last time I think about the stats on the birth control pill.

  Chapter 21

  Olivia

  The drapes completely cover the windows, but sunlight breaks along the edges. A golden haze bathes one wall of the otherwise dark bedroom. The day beckons, but lying here together, the last thing I want is to break this bliss. Sam’s fingers run along my body as my leg drapes lazily over his. He slows to a rest on my hip and squeezes. “We need to talk.”

  Whoa. I’m not sure the phrase we need to talk ever ends well. I roll away from him and reach out for his crumpled dress shirt lying on the floor. I slip it on and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. “Give me a minute,” I mumble as I pull the bathroom door closed.

  The last guy who said those words to me was my college boyfriend. I suppose his approach far exceeded the one Damien chose. I’m over him now, but thinking about that day still pisses me off.

  After brushing my teeth, I replace Sam’s shirt with one of the plush white cotton Ritz robes hanging on the wall. Whatever he wants to talk about, it’ll be okay. And even if it’s not, we’ve had an unforgettable weekend so far.

  I open the bathroom door to face Sam. He’s propped the pillows back against the headboard and appears to be reading email on his phone. He glances up then pats the bed, signaling for me to join him. “I ordered room service. Coffee. Juice. We can get whatever you want for breakfast. I was thinking if you’re interested, we could head out for a run then have a real breakfast later. Brunch. Whatever you want.”

  I slide onto the bed beside him and lean against the headboard facing him. “That sounds good to me.”

  He continues reading email as he offers, “You don’t have to go for a run if you don’t want. I’d like to get my run in. But you don’t have to come with.”

  My phone buzzes beside me, and I glance over. Delilah is calling me, but I choose to ignore it. The phone is on silent, so it vibrates on the table. Instead of answering, I shift to face the firing squad head on. “You said we should talk?”

  Sam’s hand lands on mine, and he holds it, like I’m in a hospital bed and he wants to comfort me. My breathing stalls, and my fist wraps around the thick comforter.

  He sets his phone down on his leg. “Last night, we didn’t use protection, or I didn’t.” He sucks on his lower lip and looks like he’s bracing for a swift punch.

  I breathe out air I didn’t even know I was holding in. “I remember. I’m good about taking the pill.”

  He scratches his head. “The thing is,
I shouldn’t have done it. I mean, it felt amazing. But have you ever looked at the reliability of the pill?”

  I shake my head while sucking on my lower lip. I’ve been on the pill since I was sixteen and haven’t had a conversation with a doctor about it since. My periods can be irregular and heavy. I went on the pill to regulate my periods and would never consider going off it.

  He continues. “It’s not good. I know so many women who swear they never missed a pill and got pregnant.”

  I squint my eyes at him, half teasing. “How many kids do you have?”

  That makes him crack a slight grin but doesn’t clear the seriousness in his expression. “None. And I want to keep it that way. At least until it’s planned.”

  Now I know where he’s going with this. “You want us to still use a condom?”

  “Well, no. I’d rather not. Could we look at other options?” He angles his head and squints, an expression I’m starting to recognize as his method of softening a request.

  “Like what?”

  “An IUD. It’s the most effective birth control. Or there are shots too. Effective options that are not prone to user error.”

  I know little about an IUD other than Anna has one. I do know I like the regulation a pill provides. But I’ve been on the pill for over ten years. I’m probably due to talk to my doctor about birth control options. “I’ll talk to my doctor, okay? But I’m good about taking my pill. I never ever miss.”

  He leans his head back and gazes out the window, still holding my hand. “Yeah, but have you ever asked yourself, if there was such a thing as a man pill, would you trust me to take that pill?”

  “What?”

  He turns to face me. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. But let’s say it’s not even me. If you’re dating some guy, and he tells you ‘I’m on the pill. You can trust me. I’ll never miss a pill. You’re safe from accidentally becoming a mom.’ Well, would you jump in and say okay?”