by Fifi Flowers
Awakening
to You…
in LA
Fifi Flowers
Champagne Girl Studio
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
Copyright © 2014 Fifi Flowers
Kindle Edition
Cover Design by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design – www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk
Formatting by BB eBooks – bbebooksthailand.com
Edited by Jacquelyn Ayres
Published by Champagne Girl Studios
www.ChampagneGirlStudio.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
www.FifiFlowers.com
WARNING: This book contains sexually explicit material and is intended for adult readers only.
Other Books by Fifi Flowers
A Window to Love, (Book 1, Windows Series)
Reclining Nude in Chicago, (Book 1, Encounters Series)
Awakening to You… in Boston, (Book 1, Awakening Trilogy)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Chapter One: Sofie
Chapter Two: Drake
Chapter Three: Sofie
Chapter Four: Drake
Chapter Five: Sofie
Chapter Six: Drake
Chapter Seven: Sofie
Chapter Eight: Drake
Chapter Nine: Sofie
Awakening to You Trilogy Playlist
Other Books by Fifi Flowers
About the Author
Fifi Flowers News
Acknowledgements
Time to say “merci” to a few people…
To ma maman, thank you for everything… your help is truly appreciated!
Gigeebelle, mon amie, thank you for making me smile every time you giggle about my books!!!
Thank you to all of my friendly beta readers: Kim, Lilah, Jeanette, Amy, Betsy, and Shannon for reading my book and encouraging me to keep writing or yelling at me to give you more… sorry to leave you with cliffhangers… but it is a trilogy… giggle!
Merci, Jacquelyn, I adore all of your comments… especially the one that make me laugh!
Paul at BB ebooks Formatting, thank you for making my words come to life and so quickly!
Kellie at Book Cover by Design, thank you for making my book covers so sexy gorgeous!
And to everyone on my Fabulous with Fifi Street Team thank you so much for putting the word out about moi and my books… I truly appreciate each and every one of you… mwah mwah!!!
Chapter One
Sofie
When boxes, filled with my belongings, were delivered today from Boston, I felt the air suddenly whoosh from my body. My knees threatened to buckle; I was back to square one. Alone. Alone. Alone. I had heaven—I threw it away. The tears streamed from my eyes and all of the emotions that struck me when I landed at LAX came rushing back to the surface. I was back to my list of what wasn’t said:
There was no “goodbye.”
There was no “stay with me, Sofie.”
There was no “come with me, Drake.”
There was nothing… nothing…
We said nothing to each other; we kissed, we hugged, we waved.
“Text me when you arrive.” The last words I recall from Drake’s beautiful, full lips.
The plane ride was a blur. Landing was a blur. I had walked off the plane in an absolute fog, but at least I remembered to switch the airplane mode off of my phone. It instantly chimed. Of course, I had hoped it was Drake. No. It was a text message from my ride… my ride that would not be. My sister Gracee informed me: “In San Fran, tied up in an amazing deal. Sorry not able to pick you up. Thought I would be home by now, but new client is proving to be a handful. Will explain when I have time. Sorry. Miss you. Love you, SofaPillow. Talk soon.” Damn! I could’ve really used her advice… her ear… Non-commitment Gracee may not have the best answers, but at least I could’ve cried on her shoulder.
Gracee and I had always been close; born only twelve months apart. She was the rhythm method baby, and I was the you can’t get pregnant as long as you are breastfeeding baby. “Ha!” was the answer to those two notions. My parents always called us their “lucky girls,” despite their unlucky birth control methods, because after us, they were never able to conceive again. Being so close in age, along with the fact that our mother dressed us alike, people thought we were twins. We may have looked similar, but we were worlds apart. She was structured and business oriented. I was creative and undisciplined. After graduating from high school, she went straight into the real estate field. Working hard, she built her own empire by the time she was twenty-nine years old. I went off to college to find myself. I took my time trying different avenues in the art world until film school captured my attention. However different our make-ups were, we were forever gabbing whenever we got together; as often as possible. I hoped whatever was keeping her captive and away from me today, was something fabulous.
Shaking my head, I tucked my cellphone into the pocket of my maxi-skirt, squared my shoulders, and continued through the terminal. Traveling with only a carry-on bag, I made a beeline through baggage claim, searching for a taxi queue. I knew it could be a small fortune but I was definitely in no shape to share a shuttle van with strangers. Also, I had not made a limousine reservation. To my surprise, a tall, muscular, uniformed man, standing in front of the exit, held up a sign with the words “Sofie James” scrawled across it. Gracee to the rescue. Thank goodness. I couldn’t be too mad at her for her last minute notice.
Introducing myself to the driver, he promptly grabbed my black leather, satchel-style, overnight bag. I followed the man, sporting a chauffeur’s cap, to a waiting, black town-car. Seated in the backseat, I gave him my address, and we in engaged in small talk. The chit-chat was comforting as I wasn’t ready to text Drake yet. The driver told me about the mild summer weather that they had been having in Los Angeles. He said the weather channel anticipated that it would probably heat up with the beginning of fall. “Ha!” I thought. Typical California weather. I remembered, as a kid, that the first few weeks of school were always unbearably hot; many of the classrooms lacked air conditioning. Feeling a bump in the road, I realized I had either stopped listening or he had stopped chatting. I’m not sure which happened first, but my thoughts ran to our lack of true seasons, and the variety that were experienced in Boston. Seasons. I wanted seasons… I wanted Drake in the fall, winter, spring, and summer.
Daydreams of changing leaves, snow, and new blossoms accompanied me on the long traffic-filled ride. Before I knew it, the front garden of my California bungalow was in view. A quaint 1920s heather grey, stucco cottage with stark white trim and natural stone façade. My two bedroom, two bath house was located in Toluca Lake, close to theatres and film lots; a perfect location for me. Or at least . . . it once was.
Parked, the chauffeur opened my door, extended his hand to help me out of the car, then walked me and my bag to the door. Unlocking my black lacquer, gla
ss-paneled front door, I set my bag down inside on the dark chocolate colored, wood-planked floor. I pulled out my wallet to tip the driver. “Oh no, Miss James. Mr. Blaxton took care of everything.” Those few words hit me like a Mac truck, causing me to stumble on my feet. Squeaking out a “thank you,” he tipped his hat, then strode back to his shiny black car at the curb. Turning around, I stepped over the threshold, shut the door, walked straight to my bedroom, undressed, dropped my clothes, and entered an empty shower stall. As much as I wished to keep Drake’s scent on my body, I needed to relieve the tension that had me on edge with the help of strong, pulsating jets of water. Refreshed, I slipped on yoga pants, a t-shirt, secured my hair in a ponytail, grabbed a bottle of red wine, a glass, and deposited myself on a comfy, rattan, sectional sofa to unwind… to cry.
That was two weeks and a few, nonchalant, phone conversations with Drake ago. Time hadn’t healed my wounds—I was still feeling the same ache in my chest. Turning on some sappy loves songs, sorting through these packages, it made me think about the complete package I left behind. For two glorious months, I had greatly enjoyed being wrapped in the strong arms of an extremely kind… incredibly handsome man. Every moment with him had been wonderful… magical. I had no complaints. He never gave me a reason to… No, I couldn’t recall a single imperfection. What were his downfalls? I was sure he had some. Perhaps if our relationship was a permanent situation, I would find some. No one was perfect, but he was damn close.
When I finally got to unpacking the last box, my heart nearly stopped beating. Right before my eyes, neatly folded, was Drake’s silk robe. His musky, sensuous, manly scent wafted up, hitting me full force. I breathed him in deeply. Reaching down, I ran my fingers gently over the charcoal-grey fabric. My thoughts ran to the first time I saw him wearing it. It was a Sunday morning. I stretched, yawned, and rolled over to see my sexy man, wearing the pinstriped robe while reclined against a stack of pillows, reading The Beacon Hill Times. With one leg up, the silky fabric fell open, making me privy to a wonderfully muscular calf and thigh. Casting my gaze farther up his hard body, a gap showed off a strong chest. Yum! I smiled, licking my lips.
“Do you like what you see, Sofie?” I was caught lusting.
Naked, I crawled out from beneath the light, summer coverlet, reached under the silky robe and firmly stroked his visible hardness, I asked, “Reading something exciting?” Smiling, I bit my bottom lip then replaced my hand with my mouth.
Tossing the paper on the floor, Drake placed his hands behind his head as he watched my lips slip over the crown of his cock. “Looking at something exciting.” He winked at me as I happily continued to pleasure him, licking his pre-cum with a swirling motion. Then running my tongue along his shaft, I grazed my teeth down his full length, taking him into the back of my throat. “Oh… so good, Sofie, but I need to feel you pulsing around me while I’m buried deep within you.” Two strong arms, reached down and pulled me up, causing me to straddle his body. I greedily accept him.
God, how I missed him. I moaned, thinking about how good he felt snuggly cradled inside of me. Stripping off all of my clothes, I needed to feel a part of him… to have his scent around me. Pulling the silky robe from the box, I slipped my arms into the sleeves, wrapped it around me, and tied the sash in a bow. Crossing my arms over my chest and rubbing them, I closed my eyes, hugging and sighing to myself as I imagined that it was Drake holding me. Would I ever feel him again or was this a parting gift? A memento of what was? Or was it a hint of what could be?
Maybe I was reading too much into it, I thought, as I turned back to the last box. Then it hit me. No. I was right. There was definitely more to just a box of my things. These were not my things. There was an antique leather bound, empty sketch book, ready to be filled. A box of French, graphite drawing pencils with varying lead weights and thickness. A quill pen and some India ink pots. They were all charming art supplies, perfect for displaying on a shelf in my studio space behind my house. Gifts… he sent me gifts to be treasured. Would he ever see them, I wondered, as I put the items back in the box to take out to my studio in the morning. Then I noticed a large envelope, resting along the side.
Pulling the manila envelope out of the box, I folded back the flap and grasped a thick piece of parchment. Slipping it from the envelope, I flipped it over to see a drawing of me in Drake’s bed. I was wearing the robe that now held me tightly. “Oh my God,” I said as I realized the only time I had worn his robe. It was the day he carried me home from the Frog Pond, undressed me, and wrapped me in his grey robe. The thought of his beautiful, lavender eyes, watching me while I slept, stirred something deep in my core. The sketch was beautifully drawn; very detailed. It made my heart sing and ache, all at once.
Taking the drawing with me to my lonely bedroom, I curled up in my big, empty bed with the scent of Drake encompassing me. Tears streamed down my face. I told myself “this was it.” I would allow one last night of waterworks… one last night to mourn the loss, and then I needed to regroup… to focus. I had a career. A lifelong dream. It was so close this time. The brass ring was within my reach. It was my turn to shine… to conquer.
Chapter Two
Drake
Waking up this morning, I was disoriented; one too many crystal tumblers, filled with whiskey. Lying about in my bed, the scent of Sofie had my heart racing. Since she left, I’d allowed my sheets to be changed but not her pillowcase. Eventually, I would need to give in, but not yet. Scrubbing my hand over a beard I had grown since her departure, I thought of a naked Sofie, still asleep, in her own bed, on the other side of the country. The things I wished I was doing to her flooded my head. Overwhelmed by lustful thoughts, I decided to get out of bed. Padding across the room to the closet, now devoid of Sofie’s summer dresses… her lingerie… her shoes… her presence, I grabbed for my robe. It was time to get back to my usual routine. And then it hit me—my robe was gone. I had overnighted it in a box filled with antique art items that I had purchased, for Sofie’s library. Only, it wasn’t her space anymore. But I saw her there every time I entered the empty room. I had hoped that, since she wouldn’t be using them here, that she could enjoy them in her home. Looking at my robe tied around my waist, I unknotted it, and added it to the box. I wanted it to hug her… to hold her… to make her think of me… to long for me… To be honest, it was a constant, painful reminder of the first time I undressed her, cloaking her in my robe.
The memory of that day was vivid, imprinted on my brain like it was just yesterday. I was so scared as I scooped Sofie up in my arms after she struck her head on the park tree. First, I wondered if I should take her to the hospital, but then decided to take her to my home, across the street. I was happy that she was mumbling, occasionally blinking her eyes open and closed. Reaching my house, I unlocked the door and carried her straight up to my bedroom. Settling her on my bed, I called Rich, my doctor friend. Luckily, he answered, informing me that he was only two blocks away. He told me to watch her closely. That is was important to keep her warm. I noticed her soaking wet clothing. Feeling I had no choice, I decided to remove the completely drenched garments stuck to her shapely body. Pulling her up to a sitting position, I asked her if she could raise her arms, to my surprise she did. I gently tugged her top up and off of her, careful to not hurt the bump I felt on the back of her head. Then I unhooked her bra, as I silently whispered “God help me,” as two of the most perfect breast greeted my eyes. I groaned, thinking about licking and biting her pert nipples. Shaking my head, I focused on slipping her arms into my robe, then removed her sandals. Reluctantly, I moved on, sliding her fitted skirt and panties down her slender, yet, curvy hips. “Oh, her body was amazing,” I thought as I tossed the wet clothes to the floor, wrapped the robe around her, and tucked her inside of my bedcovers.
I wanted her so badly that day. I wanted her so badly every day. I wanted her to feel me around her. Images of her naked body stiffened my cock, painfully, once again as I headed for my walk-in shower stall. Was
hed, I toweled off and dressed, instead of reading the paper in my robe. Locking my front door, I grabbed the newspaper tucked in the door pull and walked to breakfast. No, not the usual place. I hated to do it, but I avoided Sherry, as well as Newbury Street. Not that other streets were easier to venture down, but I did my best to find places I didn’t frequent with Sofie. I just couldn’t bear them without her. I truly needed to get over these feelings or I was going to have to move to a new city. However, that was not an option.
After our day crewing on the Charles River, my father had made a point to keep in daily contact with me. He insisted we meet for lunch as often as possible. Yes, my weight was going back up, thanks to his intervention. He asked my advice on several architectural pieces he was thinking about purchasing for his auction house. He even brought blueprints for a possible building project. It reminded me of when we lost my mother. He wanted to spend every moment he could with me. He called me daily on the phone. He was heartbroken, said it was his fault, that he was being punished. He thought it was unfair, she was younger; he should’ve gone first. He assured me over and over that he truly loved her. He confessed that he should’ve shown her more often. He regretted how he had hurt her. He never hold me how he hurt her, but I suspected it had something to do with another woman.
My parents met when my father gave a talk at my mother’s college two months before she was to graduate. I was told, by my mother, that she was smitten while sitting in the front row, before the lecturer; a very handsome, suited man with lavender eyes. She said all of the girls were hanging on his every word. My father said he never noticed. He was immediately drawn to the pretty brunette who took her time gathering up her belongings; my mother. He asked her out for a drink and offered her a position in his auction house. She declined both. Three years later they ran into each other at an art event, this time she accepted a date, declined another job offer, but accepted a marriage proposal four months later. Their first years together were rocky. They fought over her working in a competitor’s auction house, the fact that they were both traveling often, and never together. Finally, he gave her an ultimatum. She, in turn, gave him baby news.
