“You’re home early,” he said, carefully putting down her cello and tossing the mail on the table. She blushed as he put his arms around her waist, smiling. “And you smell so fucking good.”
“I’m done with my exams. Didn’t you get my text?” She asked, giggling as he rubbed his scruff against her neck.
“Sorry. I’ve been working all day.” Still holding her, Eric looked up. “You’re done with your tests? All your tests?”
She nodded. “I don’t believe it either.”
“I do,” he declared. “Oh god, Sasha, congratulations. I’m proud of you.”
“Really?” She asked. “You know because I was told I did well in one exam, but you have to include my performance during other times in the semester and I don’t know . . . ”
“Love, pretty,” Eric cupped her face in his hands. She purred at the scent of turpentine and charcoal from them. “I believe in you. You’re nothing but wonderful. How many times do I have to tell you that?” As she flushed, he added, “Someday, you’ll see I’m right.”
He kissed her on the lips, and she leaned against him. The crumbling sound reminded her of what she held. Eric laughed as she awkwardly held up the bag of chocolate chip cookies.
“I had a sudden craving for cookies and milk before taking a nap. You didn’t forget about tonight, did you?” She said, reluctant to leave his arms. But she did anyway, first removing her coat then heading to the kitchen to put the cookies on a plate.
“Of course not. I look forward to it. I’ve never been to a jazz club before.”
“Me neither.”
Sasha put the cookies on the plate and poured the milk. She joined Eric at the table. She was tired but a little hungry. She also didn’t want to pass up spending some time with him before taking a nap.
They ate quietly, exchanging soft kisses and murmuring in between bites. Sasha saw his painting past his shoulder and blushed heavily. Catching it, Eric grinned then turned to see what she was looking at.
It was a nude painting of her. She was sitting on their bed, playing her cello. Her tousled hair and soft expression indicated she just woke up or was still languorous from sex. Her hold on the bow was loose and her legs were a wide, wanton spread, giving a glimpse of her blond pussy behind the instrument. She was not shy about posing nude but felt different seeing herself through Eric’s eyes, in the canvas.
“Let’s take a closer look, pretty,” Eric took her hand and pulled her up. Sasha was blushing heavily. She gripped his hand firmly as she shuffled behind him.
It wasn’t the first time she saw herself in his painting. She should be used to it by now, but she couldn’t because he didn’t seem to have one way of looking at her. She got that he rendered her with strength and angles, rather than curves and softness yet the effect was always sensual. It was the expressions on her face that Eric had no trouble capturing and confounded her. Was she really that happy? Or that thoughtful? How come her gaze looked so far away? What was she dreaming about at the exact moment he drew her like so?
It scared her that he saw her so . . . naked. That he probably knew her better than she knew herself.
Eric must have sensed her unease because he kissed her on the cheek as they neared the painting. Closer and she saw that despite the softness on her face, her eyes danced with mischief. She remembered. A little before he had her pose, they have been laughing. About what escaped her right now but she laughed so hard her belly ached. Then when he started painting her, Eric got annoyed because she would shake with barely restrained laughter, upsetting the pose. The disgruntled expression on his face was too much that she gave in to another bout of laughter, with him just looking exasperated.
“I’m thinking of calling it ‘Love,’” he said as they stood in front of it. He was grinning. “You looked so pretty that day.”
“Eric, if you make that nickname public, I’ll castrate you,” she told him. He chuckled and slipped an arm around her waist, kissing her on the shoulder.
“Consider me warned, love.”
She pinched him playfully on the cheek and kissed him. “I’ll leave you to your work. If I’m going to be any fun tonight, I need to nap.”
“Alright. Go. You deserve it.”
They kissed again. As Sasha climbed up the stairs, the doorbell rang. She paused and started going down. Eric gestured her to stay and went ahead to answer the door. He pressed a button on the wall. “Who is it?”
“It’s your Father.”
Big blue eyes met narrowed green eyes. Eric sighed loudly and opened the door. Sasha quickly checked if her sweater was straight before realizing they left the cookies and milk on the table. It was too late to try telling Eric to stall their visitor, so she simply dumped what was left of their milk in the sink. At that moment, Spencer Cohen swept into the loft.
Sasha gulped. Eric was an arresting and striking figure who could rule any room he was in without lifting a finger. Spencer Cohen, on the other hand, owned any room he was in and conveyed immense displeasure. Eric crossed his arms as they sized up each other, making Sasha feel that someone would be pulling out a gun. She hurried to his side.
“Sasha,” Spencer greeted her first. Sasha must have mumbled back because he nodded. She considered herself lucky for having only a few encounters with her father-in-law.
She reached for Eric’s hand, and he squeezed hers. She squeezed back.
“Six months,” Spencer said, glowering at them. His frosty glare lingered on Eric.
“What about six months?” Eric asked.
“Six months since I last saw either of you. I read about the verdict from the papers. Found out about the celebration afterward through Clinton. And now . . . ” He stared at Sasha’s breasts and belly. “It seems somebody isn’t pregnant.” He stared at her, noticing her blush before he glared at Eric again. “You said she’s pregnant.”
Oh, fuck, the world was after their ass. Sasha opened her mouth to defend Eric, but he was quicker.
“I said no such thing. I said I believed she might be. She was only late. Pregnant or not, I still married her.”
She found herself wondering if Eric will add something else, but he didn’t.
“How old are you, Sasha?” Spencer demanded.
“You don’t have to answer that,” Eric interjected.
“It’s just her age.”
“It’s rude.”
“I only want to know.”
“Why do you care about her age?”
Fearing that father and son would come to blows, Sasha squeezed Eric’s hand as she answered, “Um, I’m twenty-four, Spencer.”
Spencer now looked at her.
“Twenty-four. That’s young.” He shot Eric an accusing look. “Why isn’t she pregnant?”
“Oh, god,” Sasha blurted out while Eric thundered, “What the actual fuck, Father?”
“I don’t appreciate gutter language, young man.” He gestured at Sasha dismissively. “You’re excused. You didn’t have the education he had. I’m here because you have not seen me nor made any contact with me for six months. The first month was forgivable. I thought you were doing your job in contributing to the Cohen legacy, Eric.”
There was no stopping the wall of red that spread from her forehead down to her toes at those words. Eric stiffened.
“But not once did you contact me to at least let me know if you’re still alive. But I should be used to such behavior from my sons,” Spencer spat out the last word.
Sasha was not really surprised. Eric, Clinton, and even Aida had mentioned that the best way to describe Spencer Cohen was ‘difficult.’ The man was a tyrant and demanding, a perfectionist in possession of a sharp mind and a way with words comparable to the efficiency of an Uzi automatic.
She respected Spencer because he was her elder and her husband’s father. But she would never understand how he abandoned Eric during his darkest hours. Her own father was a man of very few words, but she knew that no matter what kind of trouble she got in, he would be
there for her.
Spencer was the opposite of that. He regarded his sons not as sons but as opportunities to contribute to the Cohen legacy. He had not initially approved of Clinton marrying Aida because, in spite of her background, the Lawsons were now poor. Siring sons from her swung some of Spencer’s favor in their direction. He was hardly pleased when Eric announced their engagement because Sasha would bring nothing to the marriage, but when told of the possibility of her pregnancy, he reluctantly got on board.
That she can understand. What made Spencer Cohen a horrible person in her eyes was not his reluctance to fight Carl - another point he made against Eric marrying her - but that he had regarded Eric’s alcoholism and sexual assault by Tallulah as something to be ashamed about and swept under the rug.
To have him in their home, being accused of not caring enough about him, tagged him as a hypocrite. She looked at Eric, knowing he should be the one to respond, although she had one at the tip of her tongue.
“Do we always have to call you to be there?” Eric pointed out quietly.
Spencer, expending an incendiary reply, looked taken aback.
“Because we never had to call or Lena. Or Zachary. Even Gladys, who’s about to pop out a baby any day, was there. The Masseys. Do we have to call you so you can make time for us in your blasted appointment book?”
Eric knew just where to strike. Spencer opened his mouth to protest but then closed it. He glanced at Sasha, and she saw what looked to be remorse overtake his face before it cleared, once again a steely mask.
“Why do we have to call? Why didn’t you call? Where were you when that fucking Carl Kane was sullying my wife’s name in court? Or did you also conveniently forget what he did to her?”
Eric looked ready to lunge forward, possibly to hit Spencer. Sasha quickly put a hand on his chest, and he jerked, looking at her with surprise. “It’s okay,” she mouthed, and he seemed about to protest but saw her eyes imploring him to remain calm. Slowly, he came back to himself, nodding quickly as he did.
Spencer was watching them when she turned back to him. The coldness in his gaze had thawed, but he was clearly still on the defensive.
“It’s nice to see you, Spencer,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as nervous as she felt. “I just finished my exams. Like, today. In fact, we were just talking about coming over to see you.”
She heard Eric gulp, and she blushed.
Her little lie mollified Spencer because he smiled.
“I apologize for my behavior, Sasha. Eric’s . . . right.” Those two sentences were probably the most difficult he had ever spoken, and he looked like he would rather swallow needles. “I should not have asked you about your age nor demanded why . . . you’re not pregnant. It’s none of my business.” He sniffed. “I hope you accept my apology.”
“Of course,” she assured him.
She gently nudged at Eric to speak. When she checked on him, he had a stunned expression on his face. What now?
“So. You were thinking of calling me?” Spencer asked gently. “I hope it was to invite me to dinner.”
Sasha had to stop herself from cocking an eyebrow at his very unsubtle manipulation. Unfortunately, she was cornered, and as hard as her mind tried to scramble for an appropriate response, it wouldn’t work any further.
“Uh . . . actually . . . ”
“Yes?” Spencer asked hopefully.
“We were . . . uh . . . thinking if you could join us . . . and a few friends later . . . ”
It was always a pleasure watching Sasha undress or in this instance, get dressed. She was a curious mix of bold and shy with her body - zero doubts when disrobing before him for a pose yet blushing unceasingly when stripping for fucking. Eric was between the sweetest heaven and the hottest hell as Sasha walked around their closet, wearing full black panties and sheer black pantyhose. His breathing quickened staring at her kiss-swollen lips and her normally puffy nipples still tight and reddish from his kisses.
She managed to get her nap, until Eric, still restless from Spencer’s surprise visit, went to their room, aroused and frustrated. She heard him stomping up the stairs and probably knew what to expect because she was yawning and half-naked when he arrived. No sweet kisses and rousing caresses this time - he just dropped his pants and was in her, surprised to find her gloriously wet. They fucked for two hours and napped for an hour. It was Sasha who woke him up, a vision in a towel and smelling wonderfully of soap and water. He was hard. A look passed between them then she was on his lap.
Eric tried to focus on the infuriation he’d been feeling since Spencer left, but it was fucking difficult. At least he was sitting down, but focusing on the kind of mood he had to be in was a harder challenge. Harder was the word, alright. His cock refused to give him - or Sasha - any rest. It had yet to forgive them both for the drought.
“I can’t believe you did that,” he said for probably the thousandth time. “My father with artists in some smoky jazz bar is not a recipe for disaster, pretty. It’s a fucking catastrophe.”
Sasha rolled her eyes and selected a cap-sleeved indigo dress from the closet. She held it up against her and glanced at him. He shook his head, and she put it back in the closet. Despite his mood, his grin was devilish. She didn’t seem to realize that he was pretending to disapprove of her clothing choices to keep her naked longer.
When Sasha pulled out a black-and-white printed skirt, she didn’t look to him for approval any more, though. She put it on, and he swallowed a groan as she bent in front of him. Next, she wrenched on a black baby t-shirt that hugged her broad form. She picked a black sweater, turning to face him as she put it on. As her pale hair popped out of the neckline, Eric, reclaiming his senses, continued, “I mean, pretty, you could have just told him we would call him when we’re free. Or meet him some other time.”
He wiped the sweat from his brow, frowning at it.
“Notice something?” She remarked, putting a hand on her hip. Her hair was tousled, and she looked annoyed and so fucking sexy at the same time. God had cursed him with this woman. She loved him but would never tell him to his face. What if he told her he loved her, right at this very moment? It was so tempting, and he could almost taste it. Her stormy blue eyes told him this was not the time.
“What?”
“You keep saying ‘you,’ ‘you,’ ‘you.’ It’s not like you were your usual vocal self earlier, Eric.”
He flushed but refused to admit she was right. “Still, you could have said something else.”
“What was I supposed to say?” She demanded, throwing up her hands. “Eric, I know it’s . . . it’s difficult between you and your father. But he was here. He would benefit from a week in charm school, for starters, but he was here. Your father was here and . . . I saw an opportunity.”
“What opportunity?”
Her bravado suddenly deserted her. Eric saw her shoulders slump and her lower lip trembled.
“Sasha?”
She sighed loudly and sat beside him on the bench.
“I know I have no business meddling with you and Spencer. I know that.” She said firmly. “But - I believe you need to talk.”
“Me and Spencer?” Eric practically squawked. “Talk? Weren’t you here earlier? Does Spencer Cohen talk with people, pretty?”
“Maybe people let him get away with so much, that’s why he’s never really spoken with them. Eric,” she took his hand between hers. “I can only imagine how difficult it is with him. And I know I shouldn’t say this but . . . can’t you give him another chance? Just - try.”
When she looked at him like she was doing now and talking this way, he was a helpless mush. She has to love me to care this much. For a minute, he thought of making a deal with her. He’ll give Spencer another chance as long as she told him she loved him, right at this very minute. Sense told him this was not the way he should know. Being told in the dark and overhearing it was pure coincidence but to force Sasha - he couldn’t do it. And he wouldn’t. He just wished h
is patience didn’t run out, waiting for her tell him.
“Please, Eric?” She asked. He waited for her to kiss him or for her hand to dive between his legs. Women always seemed to think they had to manipulate men to get what they wanted. Not all the time. And his wife was too good to resort to that.
As it often went with discovering something new about his wife, Eric fell deeper in love.
Just for her respecting him enough to just ask and have faith in him, he would do anything.
“I’ll try.”
He didn’t expect her to hug him. “Thank you, Eric.”
“I still think he should meet us there, pretty, instead of him coming over to pick us up.”
“Oh, shush.”
Jeremiah was up on the little stage at The Blue Chair when they arrived, leading the crowd to an energetic, floor-stomping jazz number. It was a Thursday, but the place was at capacity and already clouded with smoke and the combined smell of liquor and coffee. Sasha had never been here before so she was already anxious about the kind of impression she would give. Eric looked right at home, his strides steady despite the darkness and the overwhelming scent of smoke in the air. She gripped his hand tighter, knowing he must be struggling from having a swig of alcohol. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him. She thought. Or Spencer.
Spencer, bless him, didn’t cast a dismissive look, nor did he appear to visibly cringe at the surroundings. He was a tad overdressed in his dark charcoal suit and tie, compared to Eric who was in a forest green fitted sweater and slim pants. Karim stood up, patting Eric on the back and shaking hands with Spencer. Minette hugged the Cohen men and kissed them both on the cheeks. Spencer seemed positively dazzled as Minette pulled away. Then he smiled and with elegant grace, took her hand and said gallantly, “The pleasure is mine.”
Then he kissed her hand. Minette, thrilled, breathed, “Oh, my. I thought proper gentlemen had gone that way.”
“Not yet, my dear. May I?” And as Spencer pulled out her chair for her, Minette glanced at her companions, more impressed than she had been just a second before. Eric grinned and pulled out a chair for Sasha too. Then he sat down next to her, and it was the most natural thing in the world to take her hand and hold it gently in his. She felt very warm all of a sudden. Then he kissed her on the cheek, and she felt as if she was standing right on the sun.
The Arrangement Page 10
