by Pamela Yaye
Roderick surfaced from his thoughts and straightened to his full height. On the outside he remained calm, but on the inside he was pumping his fists in the air. There was no one he’d rather spend the day with than Geneviève. There was nothing fake or pretentious about her, and they always had great conversations about life. “Sounds like a plan. Give me ten minutes to get ready, and we’ll be on our way.”
Her face brightened. “What’s the plan? Where are we going?”
“The Spanish countryside, of course. Every once in a while, when I need to recharge my batteries, I jump in my car, put the top down and cruise for hours.”
“Sounds like my kind of trip. I can’t wait!”
“I love sightseeing, but when I need to escape the crowds, and the noise I head to the mountains. Hiking is the ultimate stress reliever.”
“Be careful, Counselor. It might be so relaxing I won’t come back!”
Roderick gestured to the kitchenette. “Feel free to make yourself a coffee while you wait.”
“Thanks. That’s very kind of you. I think I will.”
“Cool. I’ll be right back. In the meantime, make yourself at home.”
“Don’t dawdle,” she quipped, wagging a finger at him. “I’m eager to get going, so hurry.”
Roderick saluted. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.”
“Ma’am?” Geneviève winced as if she were in pain. “Please don’t call me that. It makes me feel old, and I’m twenty-eight not eighty-eight, so knock it off, Roderick!”
Chuckling, he turned and strode through the living room, marveling at his good fortune. For the first time since his engagement imploded, he felt a rush of excitement—and an erection inside his basketball shorts—and his feisty, sassy client from North Philly with the bodacious body was the reason why.
* * *
Geneviève stood on the steep hillside, shielding her eyes from the sun, basking in the beauty of her surroundings. She heard birds chirping, saw them skipping and hopping on tree branches, and appreciated being in the great outdoors. Geneviève loved feeling the sun on her face, the wind in her hair and the fresh air blowing against her skin.
Inhaling, she enjoyed the peace and tranquility of the world around her. Snuggled in the mountains that surrounded Madrid, the town was quiet, isolated and serene. Picturesque, with clear blue skies, sweeping views and radiant sunshine, it was the perfect escape from the chaos in her life, and Geneviève loved everything about the small, charming city.
Raising her bottle to her mouth, she took a sip of ice water. The ground was uneven, rocky and full of tree roots and broken branches, but Geneviève relished being in the forest. There was nothing more relaxing than being at the Spanish countryside, and as she reflected on her day trip with Roderick, she smiled.
They’d done it all—visited the cathedral, strolled the narrow streets, bought souvenirs and relaxed for hours at a tavern-style restaurant with scrumptious appetizers and drinks. No topic was off-limits, and chatting with Roderick had helped Geneviève forget her problems for a few hours. He was a remarkable guy on every level, and spending the day with him confirmed what she’d known all along: she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anyone. Making the first move wasn’t her style, but Geneviève was tempted to throw caution to the wind and kiss him until he saw stars.
“Excuse me, miss, do you mind taking a picture?”
Geneviève spun around, spotted a group of college-aged women in tank tops and denim shorts standing behind her, and forced a smile. She wasn’t in the mood to take pictures, but Geneviève reminded herself she had nothing to complain about. Thankfully, no one had recognized her while she was with Roderick that afternoon and she’d enjoyed blending in with the crowd during their outing. “Sure, no problem.”
“Thanks so much!” A slender woman with braces stepped forward and handed Geneviève a Nokia camera. Frowning, she glanced from the camera to the brunette, unsure what to do.
Appearing at her side, Roderick leaned over and whispered, “They want you to take a picture of them, not with them. Think you can handle that, Ms. Harris?”
“Oh, my bad.” Heat warmed her cheeks, and she giggled. “Say cheese, ladies!”
Geneviève snapped the picture, returned the camera, then retightened her loose ponytail.
“I told you no one would recognize you here.” Roderick draped an arm around her shoulders. “The locals are too busy farming and horseback riding to notice celebrities, so cut loose while you’re here. No one will ever know.”
His cologne washed over her, arousing her flesh. Hiding a girlish smile, she snuggled against him. Roderick made her feel safe and secure, as if she was important to him, and it was a great feeling. Better than winning a Grammy award. Leading her along the winding trail, he educated her about the history of the city, the culture and its most notable residents.
“I represent a Latin songwriter who grew up here, and he said everyone’s so chill and laid-back that he had his first glass of wine at a wedding when he was nine years old. Crazy, huh?”
No, she thought, gazing at him. What’s crazy is how dreamy you are!
“Growing up, my parents were cool, but they weren’t that cool,” he said with a chuckle.
Soaking up every word that came out of his mouth, she committed pertinent details about his family, his upbringing and his career to memory. Every day she learned something new about Roderick, and when he wasn’t making her laugh, he was educating her about Wall Street, world affairs and the American justice system. It was hard to think straight, to focus on putting one foot in front of the other when Roderick touched her, but she willed her knees not to buckle.
Their eyes met, and tingles rocked her spine. Geneviève allowed her gaze to linger on his lips even though she knew it was a mistake. Dangerous. Playing with fire. Tempting fate. She’d never met a man of his caliber before, never connected with someone in such a real, profound way in such a short period of time, and the more Geneviève tried to fight her feelings for him, the stronger they became. Her inner voice tormented her, telling her she didn’t stand a chance with him, but she ignored the taunts. Refused to believe he wasn’t attracted to her. Not because Geneviève thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, but because they were kindred spirits who had a lot in common, and never ran out of things to talk about.
Gathering her courage, Geneviève found her voice and spoke with confidence, even though her heart was hammering inside her chest. “Roderick, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure,” he answered with a shrug. “As long as you don’t mind me asking you one, too.”
“Ask away. I’m an open book. I have nothing to hide.”
“I know your mom raised you and Demi alone, and that you’re exceptionally close, but why does her opinion and happiness matter more to you than your own?”
A lump the size of a grapefruit formed in her throat. Needing a moment to catch her breath, Geneviève sat down on a wooden bench and drank some water. She’d never told anyone the truth about her childhood—for fear they’d run straight to the tabloids and sell her story—but she wanted Roderick to know about her background, even though she felt tremendous shame about her formative years in North Philly. Geneviève didn’t know where to start, but when she opened her mouth the words fell out, surprising her.
“My dad left when Demi and I were very young, and what hurt more than anything was that he didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to us,” she confessed, kicking a rock across the trail. “He left for work one morning, drove off in his pickup truck and never returned. To this day, I still don’t know why he walked out on us.”
Geneviève took several deep breaths to steady her erratic heartbeat. Glancing around to ensure the other hikers weren’t listening in on her private conversation with Roderick, she waited until the coast was clear before she resumed speaking about
her absentee father. “Soon after Dwight moved out, life got worse.”
“It must have been hard for your family without your dad at home.”
“That’s an understatement,” she said, warding off bitter memories. “When Dwight left, everything fell apart, and despite my mother’s best efforts we lived in poverty for many years. Teachers took pity on me and would bring me food sometimes, but dinner was often my only real meal of the day. I know my mom can be difficult, and hard to please at times, but she means everything to me, and I could never repay her for everything she’s done for me.”
Geneviève took off her Chanel sunglasses, wiped her eyes, then put her shades back on.
“Thanks for confiding in me about your childhood. Now everything makes sense.”
Roderick stretched an arm along the bench, and his fingers brushed against her neck. Electricity shot though her body, and Geneviève struggled to keep her hands in her lap and off his smooth, chiseled face. She craved his kiss, longed to feel his gentle caress against her skin, but she was determined to maintain her composure during their outing.
“Your mom is a tenacious, ambitious woman who helped you achieve your dreams, but she isn’t responsible for your success. You are. You put in the hours, you practiced tirelessly, you wrote incredible songs...”
A dreamy sigh fell from her lips. It was one of the nicest compliments Geneviève had ever received, and hearing Roderick praise her work ethic, her professionalism and her talents made Geneviève want to jump up and skip along the trail. The entertainment business was cutthroat, more grueling than military boot camp, and after years of being knocked down she’d lost her voice, her power, but Roderick had reminded her how strong she was. Geneviève believed every word he said. He was right. She needed to live life on her own terms; she was her own woman, her own boss, and from now on she wasn’t going to let anyone bully her.
“Thanks, Roderick. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“No worries,” he said, inclining his head toward her. “I’m just doing my job.”
I know, and you’re brilliant at it, but I wish you’d do me instead!
“Earlier you said you wanted to ask me something. What is it?”
Geneviève dismissed his question with a wave of her hand. “It was nothing. Forget it.”
The wind picked up, and thick clouds threatening rain darkened the sky.
“We should head back to the car. It looks like a storm is coming, and I’d hate for us to get caught in the middle of it.” Roderick zipped up his hoodie. “Where should we go next?”
“Anywhere but the hotel.” They’d been hiking for ninety minutes, and even though the temperature had dropped, Geneviève didn’t want to leave. All afternoon her mother had been blowing up her cell with angry text messages and voice mails, and Geneviève dreaded seeing Althea when she returned to her suite. Her mother meant the world to her, and she didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but she was tired of living a lie. She was ready to start the next chapter of her life—one that didn’t include doing press, performing around the world or starring in a reality TV show. “I’m still full from lunch, but I’d love a cold drink.”
Standing, Roderick offered Geneviève his hand. “I know just the place.”
Chapter 9
Cócteles Clásicos, a trendy restaurant-lounge near the Royal Palace of Madrid, attracted a youthful, energetic crowd, and as Roderick pulled up to the front entrance in his sports car, Geneviève had second thoughts about having drinks at the most popular lounge in the city. Patrons in bling and designer threads were lined up around the block, and Geneviève felt out of place in her lightweight tracksuit, neon-pink sneakers and windswept hair.
“Roderick, I think we should leave,” she said, gesturing to her clothes. “I’m a mess.”
“No, you’re not. You could wear a brown paper bag and still look sexy.”
“There’s no way we’ll get into the VIP area dressed like this, so why even bother trying?”
Squeezing her hand, he wore a reassuring smile. “Of course we will. Just watch.”
“I wish I had your confidence, but I don’t. We don’t look the part, and I don’t want to be publicly humiliated when the bouncers reject us.”
“Don’t worry, Geneviève. I’ll handle it.”
Always smooth and never in a hurry, Roderick exited the vehicle, strode around the hood and opened the passenger side door. Geneviève hesitated; she wanted to have drinks with Roderick, but she didn’t want to leave the car. What if someone recognized her and took pictures? Or worse, recorded a video of them being turned away from Cócteles Clásicos and posted the embarrassing video online?
“Geneviève, trust me,” Roderick said in a quiet voice. “I’ve got this.”
Against her better judgment, she took his hand and followed him toward the entrance of the bi-level brick building. Tourists in hats and T-shirts were strolling the streets, posing for pictures in front of landmarks and sampling the local cuisine in nearby bars and restaurants. In Madrid, people made time for friends, conversation and leisure, and the city was vibrating with energy. Geneviève could hear techno music, boisterous laughter and conversation, and the delicious aromas in the air made her mouth water.
You’re not hungry for food, quipped her conscience. You’re hungry for Roderick!
“You’re going to love Cócteles Clásicos,” he promised, rubbing the small of her back. “They don’t allow cell phones or cameras in the VIP lounge so you don’t have to worry about anyone secretly filming you. For once, you can drink and relax like everyone else.”
One of the tuxedo-clad bouncers in front of Cócteles Clásicos spotted them and beckoned them to follow him. Wearing a broad smile, the bouncer abandoned his post and hustled them through the main floor. Packed with revelers, it was the size of a football field, with a mile-long bar, candlelit tables and cushy, padded booths. The dance floor had lasers and disco balls, and vibrant lights bounced around the room, illuminating the faces of the people in the crowd. Living it up in style, patrons were drinking, toasting and laughing without a care in the world.
“As requested, the VIP lounge is yours for the rest of the evening,” the bouncer said with a nod. “If you need anything, just press the red table buzzer for your hostess.”
Glancing around the space, Geneviève took in her surroundings. Low-hanging lights, leather armchairs and vintage mirrors created an inviting ambience, and the glitzy chandeliers reeked of elegance.
The hostess appeared, put drinks and appetizers on the round, copper table, then left. Deep in thought, Geneviève tapped her foot on the floor. Roderick must have called the lounge when they’d stopped for gas on their way to Madrid, because her music video for “Salty Girl” was playing on the mounted, flat-screen TV, glass vases were filled with carnations and decorative candy bowls had her favorite Swiss chocolate.
From where Geneviève was standing, she could see the dance floor, and enjoyed watching partyers execute the latest dance moves. “Savage” blasted out of the sound system, and the crowd cheered. Worried someone would recognize her, Geneviève backed away from the balcony and faced Roderick. “It never gets old,” she said with a sheepish smile, swaying to the music. “It doesn’t matter how many times I hear one of my songs playing, it always gives me a rush. I should be used to it after all these years in the music business, but I’m not.”
“That’s probably what keeps you humble.” Roderick sat down on the couch, picked up his glass tumbler and tasted his rum and Coke. “You’ve had a long, illustrious career with plenty of highlights, but what would you say is your most cherished memory?”
Geneviève took the seat beside him. “That’s easy. The day I handed my mom the keys to her gated mansion in the Hamptons. She was so excited she fainted twice!”
“Really? I expected you to say winning your first Grammy, breaking Billboard records, your block
buster American tour or singing the national anthem at last year’s Super Bowl...”
Feeling her eyes widen, Geneviève hoped she didn’t look as foolish as she felt, but his words surprised her. Caught her off guard. Roderick knew a lot about her career, more than her deadbeat dad did, and she couldn’t help wondering if his interest in her was strictly platonic.
Her gaze zeroed in on his juicy lips. I’ve never been this attracted to anyone, and I want to spend the night with you.
“All of those things are great, and I’m proud about everything I’ve accomplished over the years, but nothing compares to fulfilling a lifelong dream,” she explained, reaching for her cocktail glass. “When I signed with Urban Beats Records at sixteen, I promised my mom I’d buy her a mansion one day and I did. Nothing beats that.”
“Come on, be honest, filming your cameo in Fast & Furious 6 was mad cool, wasn’t it?”
“You know what’s mad cool? Visiting sick kids at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia with my band, Divalicious, and throwing an impromptu concert in the game room. Seeing them smile and sing is the best feeling in the world, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything, not even for a cameo in a blockbuster action movie.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re some kind of woman, Geneviève Harris. If all of my clients were like you, my job would be a walk in the park and life would be golden.”
From the comfort and privacy of the VIP lounge, Geneviève ate caviar, drank cocktails and danced with Roderick to her favorite songs. He took her hand, twirled her around the room, then pulled her to his chest, holding her close. He smelled of soap, clean and refreshing, and inhaling his scent caused explicit images to fill Geneviève’s mind—images of them kissing, and caressing each other’s bodies. Slow dancing with Roderick turned her on, almost as much as his kiss, and feeling his hands along her hips made her nipples strain against her bra, and her sex tingle. Geneviève wished she were wearing a loose, flowy dress instead of a tracksuit, but she matched him step for step, moving against him to the beat of the music blaring in the restaurant-lounge.
