by Serena Grey
The screenshot is cropped after that last sentence. I glance up at Landon, who’s frowning at something he’s reading. I don’t have him on lockdown, although at the moment, I kind of wish I did.
He catches me staring at him. “You want to tell me something?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He smiles. “Then stop looking at me like that, or else I won’t be able to get anything done this morning.”
I pull in a sharp breath, helpless against the way even those simple words affect me. I turn back to my phone, finishing the reply to my mom and starting a messenger chat with Laurie.
Breakfast arrives, and right after we eat, Landon disappears to the library. I finish my chat with Laurie, giving her the latest updates while purposely neglecting to tell her anything about Jack’s visit. Then I get my Mac and start on a couple of revisions to the article, getting lost in my work, and not looking up until Landon emerges from the library some hours later.
I feel him looking at me, and when my eyes meet his, I briefly forget what I’m doing. It’s not just that he’s attractive, there’s a power that radiates from him that gets me every time. It’s obvious, just looking at him, that he’s a powerful man, a rich one, someone who controls a lot more than almost all of his peers. It’s obvious in his carriage, in everything about him.
And he wants me.
It’s in the way he’s looking at me, right now. My stomach tightens as his gaze warms my skin. It’s never going to be like this with anyone else, I realize, it’s just not possible.
I swallow. “Are you going to say something? Or are you going to keep looking at me like that?”
He folds his arms across his chest and leans back on the wall. “Looking at you like how?”
Like you’re a hypnotist and I’m your willing victim? Like you’re a vortex sucking me in? I shrug. “I don’t know. Like you can see inside me?”
“Believe me, I wish I could.”
I frown at the cryptic words, my eyes following him as he leaves his position by the wall to approach me. He comes to stand behind the sofa and leans over me. I can feel him behind me even before he touches me, his hand gently stroking my hair.
I set my Mac down beside me on the sofa, my eyes fluttering closed as I relax into his touch.
“I love your hair,” I hear him say, the words soft and slightly rough. “Sometimes it’s red, sometimes gold, and sometimes it’s both.” He lifts a few strands in his fingers and lets them fall back.
I shift in my seat, turning around to face him. Resting my chin on the back of the sofa, I look up at him. “Is that the only thing you love?”
His eyes darken. “You have no idea,” he says, straightening suddenly and pushing his hands into his pockets. “You should pack an overnight bag,” he tells me. “We’re leaving in about an hour.”
“You still won’t tell me where we’re going?”
He shakes his head. “You’ll see soon enough.”
I do as he says and pack a change of clothes and fresh underwear, changing into a pair of cream pants and a white linen blouse. I leave my hair down, joining him for the trip downstairs after applying mascara and lip-gloss. He’s dressed casually too. Pants and a short sleeved cotton shirt, which leaves his forearms exposed.
His hand curls possessively around my waist from the moment we leave the suite to when we get into the car. During the short ride, he’s busy talking on the phone, while I try to find something else to interest me other than the easy sexiness he exudes, and the overwhelming desire to do something about how much I want him, even now, in the car.
After a few minutes, we arrive at what looks like a private estate, or a club, and the car drops us off at the dock, where a long, gleaming, white boat is waiting in the water.
Landon is standing beside me, watching as the chauffeur carries our overnight bags inside the boat. “Do you like sailing?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “I’ve never done it.”
He takes my hand, the small contact sending a small shock of excitement through me. “Well, come on then.”
The boat has a captain and a steward, who welcome us pleasantly and show us around. In the stateroom, there’s a box on the bed containing a bikini that’s exactly my size.
“You didn’t have to rent a whole boat just because you want to see me in my swimwear,’ I tease.
“I’ve seen you in a lot less,” he reminds me, eyeing my curves in the small white bikini. He’s changed, faster than me, into a pair of shorts appropriate for a day of relaxing the deck of a luxury boat. His bare chest is a study in perfection, hard slabs of muscle that continue all the way over his flat stomach to end below his navel, in a hard ‘v’ that disappears into his shorts.
“Yes you have,” I agree.
His eyes fix on mine, then he sighs. “Come on. They’re laying out our lunch. If we don’t leave this cabin now, I probably won’t let you out all day.”
On the deck, we have lunch as the boat sails across the bay, and Landon points out the sights from the water. I’m more impressed by Alcatraz Island than anything else, especially when Landon starts to tell me about a famous escape from the former high-security prison. His face is animated as he tells me about a movie about the escape that was made in the seventies.
“In the seventies?” I tease. “You weren’t even born.”
He shrugs. “I have a thing for old movies. The Maltese Falcon, Citizen Kane,” He looks at me and smiles. “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.”
“Ugh,” I do an exaggerated shudder. “I have a thing for Disney movies, Michael Bay type action-fests, and anything with Ralph Fiennes.”
He gives me a look, “Well, at least there’s hope that you’ll find me attractive when I’m that age.”
“I’ll always find you attractive,” I say softly, looking at him. It’s almost as if we’re both pretending that this thing we have isn’t going to end in only two days.
I disguise the sad direction of my thought with a cheerful smile and a funny comment. He responds in kind, and we spend the rest of the afternoon just talking. Towards evening, the boat docks close to a rocky island where a wooden berth connects the dock to a flight of stairs that lead up to a small but exquisite house with wide sunny patios, a sparkling blue swimming pool, and inside, the most amazing mixture of both homely and classy décor.
“Wow!” is all I can say. “How do you even find places like this?”
“You build them.” He ignores my look of surprise. “Sometimes, I need to get away, you know, watch old movies and forget about my phone.”
“That totally explains it,” I laugh, going from room to room to look at the mesmerizing views.
He follows me, seeming to take pleasure in my almost childish enjoyment of the house. In the kitchen, he checks the fridge, his eyes skipping through all the contents.
“I’m famished,” I tell him, realizing even as I say it, just how hungry I am.
“Hmm,” he closes the fridge. “I asked the retainer to get some food items. Why don’t you go change, explore, whatever. I’ll make dinner.”
My mouth hangs open. “You cook?”
“I practically grew up in a hotel,” he says, “sometimes I hung out in the kitchen with the chefs.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him, pulling out one of the stools at the kitchen island. “I have to watch this.”
I watch him cook, helping only a little, since my culinary skills are severely limited. After we’ve polished off the tender steak with a delicious sauce and the crisp tomato salad, I relax with my head on his lap while we watch one of his old movies in a den with a very large wide-screen TV.
The movie, a tragic story about an aging actress and a struggling writer, is surprisingly good, even though it’s in black and white. When it’s over, we go to the master bedroom, another beautiful room with a tremendous view, and before we go to sleep, we make love with an intensity that brings tears to my eyes. He falls asleep before I do, his breaths slowing
as his chest rises and falls. I listen to him breathe, my head on his chest as exhaustion from his lovemaking competes with my desire to enjoy the sound of his heartbeat for a little while longer. When I finally fall asleep, with my arm around his waist, I know without a doubt that I never want to let him go.
I WAKE up with the knowledge that something is wrong. Rising from the bed, I start to look around the darkened room before realizing that it’s Landon who woke me up.
He’s still asleep, but his muscles are tense and straining, his hands into curled into fists by his side. His eyes are tightly closed, and he’s moaning words in his sleep, the sounds barely comprehensible.
“No,” he says, his head moving from side to side. “No please, let me go,” then a long strained “mom.”
I look up at his face, and it’s drawn into a tight mixture of desperation and despair. I have no idea what to do. My only experience of nightmares is the bogeyman my little brother Dylan struggled with for about two months when he was six.
Landon makes another tortured sound, and unsure of what to do, I put my arms around him, stroking his chest as I pray for his nightmare to end. It finally does, his body relaxing as sleep takes over. I stay awake long after, still stroking him lightly, until finally, I fall asleep again.
“WHEN are you coming back?” Laurie mock-wails on the phone. “I just managed to escape from the moms. They were driving me crazy asking-but-not-asking when me and Brett are planning to get married.”
“Hehe,” I laugh gleefully, pleased that I’d had a valid reason to avoid the Foster family Sunday lunch. Though I’d have liked to see my Dad, Dylan, uncle Taylor, who always proclaims that I’m his favorite niece no matter how many times I remind him that I’m his only niece, and aunt Jacie, even though she always conspires with my mom, as if they’re the twins in the family. “Did they make their signature Foster family everything-salad?” I ask Laurie.
“Arghh, don’t remind me. Brett loved it though.” I hear the sound of a kiss. “He says hurry back home, you’re not fooling anyone into thinking you’re getting any work done over there.”
“Tell him I said boo.”
She laughs. “I miss you, but don’t hurry back just because of me.”
After we hang up, Landon looks up from whatever he’s reading on his tablet. He looks handsome and well rested. His wavy hair gleaming, making me want to run a hand through the silky strands. “Your cousin?”
“Yup,” I reply. We’re back in the city, on our way back to the hotel after spending the morning exploring the rocky beach, lying in the sun, and making love in the warmth of the patio. I haven’t mentioned his nightmare, and I’m not sure I should. I don’t know what I can do to help, or if I’m even equipped to.
“She must miss you,” he says, still talking about Laurie.
“Nah, she just misses having someone to torture with her teasing.” I chuckle at Landon’s frown. “I’m joking, I miss her too.”
He considers me for a moment. “Maybe I can cheer you up,” he suggests. “How would you like to go to a party tonight?”
“A party?”
“Well, not really a party per se. It’s the opening night gala for the San Francisco ballet.”
A gala? “Isn’t that a big deal?”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t planning to go, but I thought you might want to. My mother used to be part of the company before she was hired away to New York. I’ve always been a sponsor.”
My first thought is that I have nothing to wear to a high society gala. “Well, thanks for telling me now,” I say, lips pursed, “instead of when I could have actually packed a dress to wear to a ball.”
He smiles at my petulance. “Don’t worry about what to wear baby, that’s what fairy godmothers are for.”
“If you were the fairy godmother, Cinderella would never have made it to the ball,” I tease. “She wouldn’t even want to, not with the multiple orgasms she’d be getting in the pumpkin carriage.”
“I wouldn’t ruin a children’s fairy tale just for sex,” he replies, chuckling, “but thanks for letting me know that you think I’m more desirable than prince charming.”
I laugh softly. “I love how humble you are.”
His blue eyes hold mine. “Is that all you love?”
The question is a replay of the one I asked him in an earlier conversation, so I repeat the same words he replied the first time. “You have no idea.”
True to Landon’s promise, there are delivery boxes on my bed when we arrive back at the suite. The larger box contains a dress covered in layers of tissue, another contains underwear, and yet another contains matching shoes which are exactly my size. I pull the dress out of the box, feeling the exquisite material brush against my skin. It’s a deep purple gown made out of the softest, most luxurious silk. Holding it against my body, I walk over to the adjoining dressing room to look in the mirror. It’s gorgeous.
After hanging up the dress, I return to my room to find Landon waiting for me at the door. “I’m going to be in the library. I have a long call to make.”
On a Sunday? Well, with everything he has to take care of, he probably works every single day. “Thanks for the dress.”
“I should be thanking you. You’ll save me from drowning in socialites, I promise.”
“I can look fierce and glare at any woman who comes within two feet of you.”
“That would be ideal,” he says, his blue eyes serious. “There’re going to be a few people here later to help you get ready.
I grin. “Yay! Pampering!”
He looks amused. “I’ll just hide out in the library till they’re gone.”
“You’re scared of makeup brushes and hair styling implements?”
“Not scared,” he pauses, “just wary of the whole process, although I have no doubt that I’ll appreciate the results.”
“You will,” I say confidently.
“As I said, I have no doubt.” He makes no move to go, leaning on the door frame as he looks at me. There’s a strange half-smile on his face. “A week has never seemed so short,” he says finally, before leaving me reeling with all the possible implications and interpretations of that simple statement.
LANDON’S few people turn out to be an army of five from the hotel spa. They arrive after I finally finish working on Mark’s comments and sending the second draft of the article to him, so he can read it first thing on Monday morning.
After I take a quick shower, they give me the hair, nail, and makeup treatment. By the time they’re done, I look, and feel like a glamorous Hollywood star on the red carpet.
When I’m ready, I leave my room and find Landon waiting in the living room. At the sight of him, my breath catches in my throat.
It’s really unfair for one man to have so much, to look so perfect, achieve all that he has and still be blessed with such incredible sex appeal. His black tuxedo is perfectly molded to his figure, like it was custom-made for him, which it probably was. His hair is brushed backward into sleek waves that curl at the ends, but the dark gold strands are already finding their way out of the orderly arrangement. As I enter the room, he turns to look at me, his eyes gleaming with sensual intensity as they travel over my body.
He strides towards me, his movements both sure and graceful. “You look ravishing.” His eyes make no attempt to hide the fact that he’d like to be doing the ravishing.
“I had help.”
He makes a dismissive sound. “No. This is all you.”
My stomach tingling with the compliment, I follow him out of the suite.
There’s a limo downstairs, and once we’re inside, he pulls a black velvet box from his inner jacket pocket, and opens it to reveal a glittering diamond choker and earrings. The colors are perfect for my gown, and they are beautiful.
“God it’s perfect,” I whisper.
“I’m glad you think so.” He takes the choker out of the box. “May I?”
“I don’t…,” I look from the obviously expensive piece of
jewelry to him. “I don’t think I can take this.”
He looks surprised, “Why not? It’s just jewelry.”
“A very expensive piece.”
He looks at me, “You wouldn’t feel better about it if it were a cheap one.”
“That’s not the point.” I pause. “How many women have you given jewelry?”
There’s a short pause before he replies. “A few.”
“Well, this makes me feel like one of ‘your’ women, and I don’t want to feel like I’m being given expensive gifts for spending time with you.”
He grins, his teeth gleaming white in the dimness of the car. “Even if I had any ‘women’ I’d never consider you as ‘one of them.’ He clasps the choker around my neck, his hands lingering at my nape before he pulls them back and gives me the earrings. “Consider it a loan then, just for tonight. They look wonderful on you.”
The limo drops us off, and we walk up a flight of steps to the entrance of the public building where the pre-performance reception and dinner is being held. There are flashing lights everywhere as cameras go off. We walk into the lobby, where cocktails are being served, and I spot a few famous faces. There are politicians and Hollywood stars liberally sprinkled among the designer suited moguls, trophy wives dripping with diamonds, as well as the powerful women with the aura of confidence that only comes from facing the world on their own terms. Landon navigates a politely reserved path through them all, stopping for a word here, a handshake there, and a compliment for some of the women.
I’m enjoying myself, sipping my champagne while watching Landon engage in light conversation with a couple he just introduced to me, when a man who, though handsome, looks as if he’s already drunk too much, steps directly onto our path.
“I suppose now you have more reason to be in San Francisco,” he says to Landon, his expression practically dripping with hatred. He turns to look at me, his eyes traveling insolently up and down my body, “Something else you’ve bought, I presume.”
“You have to learn to control your tongue if you don’t want to get your nose broken,” Landon replies, his expression retaining the mask of politeness even though I can hear a dangerous bite in his voice. “You already lost too much to risk losing that pretty face of yours too, haven’t you, Sinclair.”
