by L. A. Fiore
"Yeah."
"Are you hungry?"
"No, just tired."
He reached for my face and lifted my gaze to his and the emotions stirring in those eyes left my breath still in my lungs.
"I'm all kinds of fucked up, Ember, and there are going to be times when I can't give you everything you deserve, like when I storm out or shutdown. My demons -- I've had them for so long that I've grown accustomed to them but when I'm with you, the demons are quiet and for the first time in my life there's peace. You're my balm, my lifeline, Ember, and everything that this fucked-up man has to give you: this body, my heart and my damaged soul, is yours. You said that for you, it's me and that's how it is for me. You, it's you, Ember."
I was feeling too overwhelmed and found that I could only respond by throwing my arms around him as I buried my face into the crook of his neck.
Chapter Eleven
Trace had a surprise for me and he was very good at keeping it. He woke me at seven in the morning, told me to bring a sweater, and by eight we were on his bike heading outside of the city.
We arrived at a marina, which is situated on the Hudson River, and I was a bit confused. Trace climbed off his bike and reached for my hand with a smile pulling at his mouth. He led me down a long, floating dock to a beautiful thirty-some-foot sailboat.
"Have you ever been sailing before?"
"No, but I've always wanted to." I looked at the boat before turning back to him.
"Is this yours?"
"Yes."
I was surprised to hear that wondering how he could afford it. A part of me wanted to ask since, clearly, there was far more to Trace than I knew, but I had a feeling that asking him would spoil the mood so I tabled the question for another time.
"Wow, it's beautiful."
He reached up to run his finger along my jaw. "You're beautiful."
I grinned before I asked, "Permission to board, Captain"
"Permission granted, sweetheart." He boarded after me before reaching for my hand and pulling me to the entrance of the cabin.
"Come see below deck."
The floors and counters were maple wood and there was a small kitchen with a refrigerator, stove, sink, and a dining area with a table and benches which were upholstered in beige leather. There was a bathroom and two staterooms: one each in the stern and the bow.
I said, "It's bigger than it looks from the outside."
"Comfortable, too. Lunch is in the refrigerator so why don't we cast off, set sail and then we can eat on deck, if that works for you."
For the next twenty minutes, I sat and watched as Trace prepared the boat, a beauty named Chelsea with lots of teak wood. I couldn't help but wonder who Chelsea was to have been so close to Trace that he named his boat after her. I really wanted to ask but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Part of me hoped that he would share the information voluntarily but it was clear after the first ten minutes that he had no intention of doing so.
I heard the sound of the engine moments before we pulled away from the dock. I always loved boat-rides, had been on numerous motorboats growing up, and there was just something about flying over the surface of the water that I loved. This, the gentle movement, the hull silently cutting through the water, the breeze kicked up by our motion, was so tranquil and when Trace lifted the sails and they filled with air to soundlessly move us across the water, I never saw a more serene sight. When Trace spoke, he pulled me from my pleasant thoughts.
"Do you want to try?" He asked this from his position behind the wheel.
"Steer the boat? Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
I walked over and Trace moved to the side to let me take his position before he moved to stand right behind me with his chest pressed against my back.
"Take hold of the wheel to keep it steady. The wind and sails will do the rest."
I did as he instructed and his hands came to rest on my hips, ready to take over if needed. I must say that I found the experience to be very romantic. Trace's lips brushed over my neck and I tilted my head to give him better access. His feather-like touch had chills running down my arms, and then he whispered, "What do you think?"
I turned my head to him and smiled before I replied, "Amazing."
He held my gaze for a moment as his hand moved under my shirt, moving slowly up my side before he cupped my breast, gently squeezing as his lips pressed against mine. For a moment I forgot about sailing, forgot I was acting as the captain, but Trace's chuckle pulled me back to reality as his hand moved from under my shirt to grip the wheel. His eyes were dark and his voice was a rough whisper, when he said, "You're very responsive, Ember."
"Only with you."
He growled low in his throat before he kissed me hard on the mouth.
"We need to drop anchor."
"Amen." I thought I muttered that but one look at Trace's hot stare and I realized I hadn't.
We reached a wider part of the river and did just that but instead of moving below preferably to one of the state rooms, Trace surprised me when he said, "Meet me on deck."
He disappeared below deck and re-appeared with a picnic basket, a bottle of Cabernet and two wine glasses. I reached for the red and white checked cloth he also carried and spread it on the deck before we both sat down. He was grinning at me when he asked, "Would you like a glass of wine?"
I narrowed my eyes at him because I knew what he was doing, driving me crazy with anticipation, so I replied honestly, "Please, I'm suddenly quite parched."
While he laughed and uncorked the wine, I opened the lid of the hamper and started pulling out the dishes as I unwrapped and placed them on the cloth. I had to admit the sight of the cold fried chicken, potato salad, green bean salad and fresh strawberries and cream, looked mouth-watering.
Trace handed me a glass before he touched his rim to mine.
"To you, Ember."
"To us."
He watched me from over the rim of his glass as he took a sip. He placed his glass on the deck and plated some food for me before taking some for himself. It was lovely, feeling the gentle rocking of the boat while eating a delicious lunch with fabulous company. We finished and I restocked the hamper. I was about to take it downstairs when Trace stopped me, curling his hand around my neck and pulling me to him as his mouth covered mine and then he rolled, pinning me under him. I wrapped my arms around his neck as his hand moved up to cup my breast, his thumb rubbing over the tight peak, causing a moan to escape my lips.
"I want you, Ember."
Somehow he stood and lifted me into his arms, his lips still on mine, before he pulled back and grinned as he made his way over the deck and along the gunwale. We reached the steps and he lowered me to my feet.
"After you, sweet."
My heart was in my throat as anticipation sizzled along my skin. I climbed down the three steps to the cabin and moved to stand in the small dining room. Trace followed and stepped in front of me as his hands pulled through my hair. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed myself against him before I touched my lips to his. He didn't hesitate to take the kiss deeper, kissing me like he could spend the rest of his life doing so.
I always thought of kissing as a mildly pleasant activity but Trace made it an art form. My knees went weak as he moved me backward until my legs hit the bed. Trace's mouth hadn't left mine but I felt his hands moving down my body. They came to rest at the hem of my sweater before he fisted the fabric in his hands and lifted it up, pulling away from me only long enough to get it over my head and discard it. His mouth returned to mine and he moved to trail kisses down my neck and over my collarbone before following a trail back up the other side. I tried to pull his shirt from his jeans so I could feel his skin under my hands.
"I want to feel you, Trace," I whispered.
He pulled from me to remove his shirt and the sight of him evoked the normal reaction in me.
Oh.
My.
God.
He stood there, fists
clenched at his sides, watching me with dark eyes as my hands ran up his arms, over his shoulders and down his pecs to his six pack.
"You're so beautiful."
I trailed a hand over his side and as I moved around him, my hand roamed over his beautiful shoulder and down the rope of muscle that framed his spine. That wasn't enough so I pressed a kiss to the base of his spine before licking him up along that line. I felt him tense as a growl rolled through him. When I reached the center of his back to his tattoo, I did what I had wanted to do from the very first time I saw it; I traced the scroll work with my tongue.
"You're killing me, Ember."
"But you will die a happy man."
He turned and pulled me into his arms and before his mouth covered mine he practically roared, "Fuck, yes."
A week after our sailing trip I arrived home from work one night to be greeted at the door by Trace who pulled me into his arms and kissed me, a nice, long, sizzling kiss before he reached for my hand.
"I want to show you something."
We started down the hall but I stopped when I saw the living room, more specifically the picture on the wall, a picture of me. I can't begin to describe the feelings that had been burning through me knowing that I rated not just a picture but the only picture on his wall. Tears burned the back of my eyes as I turned my focus to Trace to find that he was already looking at me.
"When, why?" I asked and watched the smile that tugged on his mouth before he replied.
"After you showed up at my apartment that first time, I knew."
"Knew what?" I asked.
He held my gaze and answered softly, "That you mattered."
I had no words so instead I leaned into him and pressed my lips to his. I pulled back and his eyes were dark with desire as he reached for my hand and pulled me down the hallway to his room. He flicked on the light before moving to the closet and when he opened it, I saw that half of the space had been cleared out. It took me a minute to understand and when I did my eyes moved to his to find him watching me silently, almost causally, but I didn't miss the tension in his shoulders or the hardness of his jaw.
"I emptied out two of the drawers in the dresser and made room on the counter in the bathroom. I know you are already living here but I wanted to make it official that you are living here with me."
I had the distinct impression that he was waiting for me to deny the claim and again I couldn't help but wonder what happened in his life that made him think so very little of himself. It wasn't the time to think on it so instead I smiled a big, goofy grin.
"Consider it official, Trace. Being here with you is exactly where I want to be."
His response to that was interesting as he just stood there, silently watching me. I wondered what was going on in his head until he offered softly, "I have a storage unit in the basement if you need it."
"Thank you."
He nodded his head before he started from the room. "I'll go check on dinner."
"Trace?"
He stopped in the doorway but he didn't turn to me when he answered, "Yes."
"Tell me what you're thinking?"
The silence that greeted my question stretched out for so long, I thought he wasn't going to answer me and then, to my surprise, he turned his head and looked me right in the eyes.
"I just need a minute, Ember."
"Why?"
"It isn't everyday a wish comes true and you, Ember, are the answer to my wish."
He walked out of the room before I could respond but I was completely undone by his confession and couldn't even speak. I dropped onto the edge of the bed and just stared at the empty doorway.
The following morning after Trace went to the gym, I made my way down to the basement. I had a ridiculous smile on my face; I knew that I had but when a man loved you with the intensity and passion that Trace had both that morning and the previous night, well, I couldn't help it.
He hadn't spoken of his words to me but I understood them since I, too, had wanted someone to call my own -- to be just mine. I knew that his wish was for just that.
I couldn't help but wonder, if he really felt that way about me, then who was Chelsea? What was Chelsea to him? I wanted to ask but I knew he wouldn't answer -- at least not yet. The basement was huge, if not a bit creepy but it was well organized, which made locating Trace's storage unit very easy.
There wasn't much in it: a few pieces of furniture and some boxes, which I peeked into as I attempted to organize my boxes with his. An old newspaper in one of the boxes caught my notice. I pulled it out and was surprised to see the date of it, 1999. The paper was from some place in Ohio and the headline story was about a gruesome double murder. I noticed notations along the margins of the paper but they were done in a form of shorthand so I couldn't read them. I hadn't recognized the names of the people in the article but as I read it, I felt my stomach clench at the very forensic but undeniably gruesome recounting of the killings. Why did Trace have this? I folded the paper and placed it back in the box but a seed of foreboding planted itself firmly in my gut.
Two weeks after my interview with In Step, I was offered the position and, though I would be working from home most of the time, I had to go into the office to meet everyone. I dressed in one of my only pant-suits and pulled my hair up into a twist before adding a touch of makeup. Trace was in the kitchen and had coffee, eggs and toast waiting for me but as soon as he turned and saw me, a smile spread over his face as he straightened from putting my plate on the kitchen table.
"You look beautiful."
I looked down at my Jones of New York pant-suit before I looked back up at him and smiled.
"Thank you."
"Are you nervous?"
"A little but I am so excited to be getting this opportunity."
"They're lucky to have you."
There was something in his tone that had me tilt my head to study him. "What's wrong?"
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked down a second before meeting my gaze.
"I'll miss you."
"Could I get a ride?"
His face just lit up before he asked, "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely and maybe I could call you to pick me up?"
The smile that spread over his face was beautiful and to know that he was going to miss me -- this tough, strong man -- caused a long, slow pull on my heart. He walked over and wrapped me in his arms and just before he kissed me, he whispered, "I would really like that."
The building was located in Midtown Manhattan, and In Step took up two floors of the fifty-seven-floor building. I was met in the lobby by my immediate supervisor, a Mr. Cal Baker, who was one of the people with whom I interviewed. He was a forty-something gentleman with a receding hairline, a rather large middle but he dressed beautifully in Brooks Brothers.
"Ember, so nice to see you again."
"Hello, Mr. Baker."
"There's a staff-meeting in an hour, which will be a great opportunity for you to meet everyone on the team. Like I mentioned in the interview, you'll work from home on most days, only coming into the office occasionally for meetings. In the beginning, I'll give you the assignments but once you get comfortable, you'll have free range to write the stories that interest you. We'll monitor the success of those and make changes accordingly."
"Sounds great."
When we reached the office, I was surprised by the number of people milling about since I assumed that most people would be working from home. As I was led down the hall, people stopped to say hi. It was a very welcoming atmosphere; every one was very friendly, well, almost everyone. There was one person who seemed to not like me; she wasn't a fan of mine when she interviewed me either. Her name was Caroline Wiggs and she was the Editor-in-Chief. I wondered, and not for the first time, if the Editor-in-Chief didn't like me then how did I get the job? I held my own council on that. When Mr. Baker stopped us in front of her office, she barely acknowledged me and as we continued on our way, Mr. Baker looked over at
me.
"Sorry about that. I'm not really sure what's up with her."
I smiled in response but said nothing.
The staff meeting was awesome: people throwing ideas out, brain storming, laughing, joking. It was so much fun that I found myself actually looking forward to our next meeting. Before I left I was given my assignment: to write up a local jazz-festival happening in the Village over the weekend. Mr. Baker walked me to the elevators and shook my hand before he said, "Welcome to the team, Ember. It's really great to have you."
"Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Baker."
When the elevator doors closed, I pulled out my phone and called Trace, who answered on the first ring.
"Hey, Ember, how did it go?"
"It was awesome, Trace. I'm really going to love this job. My first assignment is a jazz-festival in the Village this weekend. Are you free to come with me?"
"Absolutely. So are you ready for me to come get you?"
"I am, yes."
I walked through the doors out into the sunshine just as Trace said, "Look up, beautiful."
And when I did, there he was, resting against his bike with a big smile on his face.
"I love you, Trace Montgomery."
"Ah, love, I really like hearing you say that."
The festival was wonderful but the company, Trace and Trent, was even better. Trace offered me the use of his office so on Sunday, after Trace went to the gym, I made my way to the room at the end of the hall. I pushed the door open and then found my feet just stopping since there on his desk was a new laptop with a big red bow on it. My journal, which I had taken to the festival to jot down notes, was sitting next to the laptop and a beautiful Tibaldi pen rested on top of it. I felt the tears as I moved around the desk and settled in the chair as I ran my hand lovingly over the computer. Demons or not, there was a wealth of love in that man. I then noticed a note sitting next to my journal.
