It feels wonderful. Fantastic even. But it is still not enough.
I want him inside me. I need him inside me. “Holt…” I moan.
“I’ve got you, babe.” He reaches into his nightstand and finds a condom. He’s ready in what seems like mere seconds, but rather than pushing in right away, his gaze finds mine. And only when my eyes are completely locked onto his does he push into me, slow and aching. Like a vital piece of myself is finally sliding back into place.
I have had sex with other people. Obviously, we have both had sex with other people. But this…
This isn’t like any of that. It’s not at all like the sex I’ve had before.
It is wild and untethered, yet completely in-sync. Together we climb, leaving the past behind. And the thing building up between us shines like a star and is even hotter to the touch.
Inside my mind, within my heart, I have been trying to use the crassest, most base terms to describe what it is we do together in Holt’s bed. But tonight there is no denying what this is. As we hold each other tight, and roll as one, I am forced to call it what it really is: we are making love. Quietly and desperate. Like it is our very first time and our very last.
There are no words…no words…because none are needed.
But then the words find Holt.
Just as we reach the very edge, Holt collapses downwards, his mouth finding my ear where he growls, “You want another baby and I want that baby to be mine. By the end of this weekend, I will prove my worth to you. And the next time we discuss this, it won’t be a question of how I will put a baby in you, but when.”
What?
What is this?
What is he saying?
He cannot…
He cannot be saying this…we could never…
The orgasm hits before I can reply, clogging my throat. It won’t even allow for a scream as I come and come, shuddering beneath him instead of telling him exactly why we will never see each other again after this weekend.
Like the old days, Holt’s orgasm is my orgasm. His manhood kicks inside me as I come hard, and his body goes rigid as he fills the condom with his release. No further words are spoken, yet his vow echoes in my ears as the world explodes around us.
And his words continue to echo. Even after he rolls off and sprawls out on the bed beside me.
“Holt…” I begin in the heavy, post-sex silence.
“Don’t,” he bites out. “I know what you are going to say, and…don’t. Okay? Just let me have tonight, Sylvie.”
I think about pushing the subject forward anyway, or at least getting another assurance from him that he will keep the promise he made before we came here.
But in the end… Well, in the end I say nothing. And thoughts about what I should and shouldn’t do race through my head, while the secrets between us beat a dark and ominous rhythm in my chest.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
HOLT
I wake the next morning in a position I thought I would never be in again. Next to Sylvie. But not just next to her. My arms encase her as if I am worried she might try to run again if I don’t keep her close.
Doesn’t that sum up our whole relationship? Her running. Me never wanting to let go.
This morning, though, I make a special exception. Leaving her warm, naked body to get up and dress. My board presentation is early this afternoon. But instead of doing a few dry runs yesterday like I should have, I spent most of the evening making curried goat and an “appropriate side” with Sylvie.
I don’t regret a thing. But I do have to play catch up this morning. Which means reviewing the main points of my 45-minute speech with room for Q&A at the end while I clock eight miles on the treadmill in my building’s gym.
When I return to the penthouse, all thoughts of my speech fall away. Sylvie is in the shower. Speaking of things we never did before…
I grab another condom and step inside the enclosed glass space to show her how good I am at standing up on my own in the shower these days. I can stand and hold her, too. I take her against the shower’s gray marble wall. Explaining with my actions just how much I’ve changed.
Sylvie’s screams are my reward, and my yell when I come is my confirmation. It will always be like this with her. As much as I have tried to suppress and kill what I feel, I now know my feelings will not fade as they did with Tish. The thing is, I liked Tish a lot at first. She was pretty and refined and cynical—the perfect wife for a secretly-tortured billionaire. But I never loved Tish. Not in the way I love Sylvie. I never belonged to Tish the way I belong to Sylvie.
As we rinse off after, I wonder how long it will take before Sylvie understands this, too.
I reluctantly part ways with her after we finish with our second soap and rinse off of the morning. I need to change.
I put on the dark blue suit I chose for the meeting. But just as I am about to attach the set of silver cufflinks I inherited from Grandpa Hank, I freeze. A melody floats out of the open bathroom door and into the bedroom.
It’s not the first song I have heard this morning. Sylvie has been playing tracks by some R&B singer I never heard of since we left the shower.
But this song is different. The underlying melody…it reminds me of our summer in New Haven. Dreamy and lovely… before things fell apart.
Moments later, I’m at the open bathroom door, cufflinks in hand. I listen to the song and watch Sylvie work some product through her unbraided hair. Totally entranced.
“What was that song?” I ask when the playlist switches to a more upbeat number.
Sylvie visibly startles, but eventually says, “’Jahraymecofasola.’ It’s a song by Jill Scott.”
“Jill Scott,” I repeat. A new-to-me singer, but her voice reminds me of Sylvie’s. Soft, melodic, and unbelievably kind.
“I like it,” I say. It’s three words, but to me it’s as if I’ve confessed a whole paragraph. I forgive you. We can get past what happened that summer. Fall in love with me again, because I never fell out of love with you, even when I most wanted to.
Aloud I say, “Come with me.”
Sylvie tilts her head. “Come with you where?”
“To my fundraiser. You said I treated you like dirt while I treated that ballet dancer like gold. So, come with me tonight. Let me treat you like gold.”
Her expression softens with a yes, but then like the most predictable thing ever, it waivers with all the reasons why she should say no.
We’ll work on that this time around, I decide. Her self-esteem and her fear—of me and of herself.
But for now, I’ll have to force the issue like the Old Holt would rather than the version 3.0 I am trying so hard to become for her.
“Okay. Allie will take care of the arrangements. I don’t know if I can come back here before the event begins since Little Rock is in the opposite direction of the botanical gardens. But I’ll try. Otherwise, I can meet you there.”
I don’t wait for an answer. Instead, I quickly head out the door, pretending I can’t hear her protest that “maybe this is not such a good idea,” and “I don’t have anything to wear.”
The song follows me in the elevator down to the ground floor. And then to our headquarters in Calsonville, which used to be called something else forty years ago, before Grandpa made them change their name as part of our headquarters building deal. It plays in the back of my mind while Allie walks me through my morning briefing (thankfully, there are no Wes incidents even though we left him with someone other than Sylvie).
By the time I finish a slew of handshake pre-board meetings, I’ve become used to the melody. And it continues to loop like a calm reminder of the love I once had and will have again as I make my way to the second to last board meeting of the year. Oddly, I don’t feel nervous when I walk into the crowded boardroom. I give my speech about what I’ve done for the company in the past two years, and what I plan to do in the next two. It’s well received. Even if my father looks annoyed when the rest of the board members cl
ap.
But for once, I don’t care that my father’s main setting seems to be disapproval when it comes to me. I handshake my way out of the room, that song still playing in my head, and I curse the one-on-one meetings I packed into the end of the day because all I really want is to get back to Sylvie.
I rush through the meetings, speaking with each board member individually. I may want to be the CEO of Cal-Mart. But I need Sylvie.
However, just as I am about to go to my last meeting of the day, Della pops her head into my office with an apologetic, “Hi, Holt. Just want make sure you have a hard copy of the speech you’re supposed to give at the botanical garden tonight.”
“Shit, I completely forgot about that,” I say, accepting the multi-page document she waves at me.
“Have you given any more thought to taking that local news anchor, Pamela Acton, as your plus one?” Della asks. “I sent her bio over a few days ago, and she’s really excited to meet you and available tonight.”
“I already have a date,” I mumble, flipping through the speech. The very long speech.
“Oh, you do?” Della says, surprise evident in her tone. “Anyone I know?”
“No, it’s not,” I answer shortly. “Do I have to be off-book for this?”
Della seems surprised by my question, but then resets, smoothing her long red hair as she says, “This is the fundraiser we invited all the local Cal-Mart employees to. The purpose is to brand you as a CEO who truly cares about the people who work for you. So yes, it would be ideal if your talking points seem like they come from the heart.”
In other words, I have to a memorize another 45-minute speech or risk looking like an asshole. I glance at my watch and sigh before texting Sylvie, “Stuck in office. Will meet you there.”
I ignore her reply which starts with “Maybe I shouldn’t…”
Not today, little rabbit, not today, I think as I change the speech with a red pen.
But when I reach the final paragraph, instead of rewriting the last line so it reads, “Will you please join me in giving the Botanical Gardens a big round of applause?” I write, “Will you marry me?”
And that’s when the idea hits me. I rush through our now empty offices, hoping Della hasn’t already left to oversee the event set up.
But I stop short in the hallway outside her open door. She’s talking to someone.
“… he said he already has a date.”
“Who with? Tell me it ain’t that black nanny of his…” a gruff voice replies. A gruff voice I instantly recognize as belonging to my father.
“I don’t know. I asked but he didn’t say,” Della replies.
“Well, can you find out, darlin’?” my father asks, his boss voice dropping into the flirtatious tone he uses with the women he’s dating.
Della giggles, “I’ll try again.”
The next thing I hear are the sounds of a very workplace inappropriate makeout session. I linger in the hall, trying to process what I just heard. It appears my father hasn’t given up meddling in my life like he used to back in New Haven—
That’s when a much bigger realization hits. I remember the flash of Sylvie’s eyes as she says, “I am not taking any more Calson money.” Not “money from you” but “Calson money.” I thought she’d just been talking about her salary, but now…
The story of how Sylvie and I fell apart that long-ago summer suddenly begins to rewrite itself in my mind.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
SYLVIE
I’m dressed in a long silver cocktail dress—one of the five Allie sent over for me to choose from for tonight’s event. But I’m still in Holt’s master bedroom, waiting for him to respond to my text about the fundraiser. Just in case there’s a slim chance I can get out of compounding my guilt with yet another thoughtful date night. Not to mention, what if Jack Calson is there?
Which is why when my phone vibrates and lights up with a 501 number, I press the accept button in a flash.
“Hello?” I say, sitting on the bed with the phone.
“I hear your name made it on the VIP list for Holt Calson’s Botanical Gardens fundraiser tonight. Now, that’s a piece of news!”
It’s that reporter, Kyle Drinnen. I haven’t heard from him since he tried to get me to spill the beans about Holt three months ago. But I recognize his voice immediately.
And I’m even more adamant this time when I say, “Look. I’m still not interested in talking to you.”
“That is a shame, Ms. Pinnock, because I sure am getting more and more interested in talking to you as I get further into this juicy story. When I first decided to dig into Calson Jr. and Sr., I thought it would be a straightforward business story. But you, Ms. Pinnock, keep throwing in twist after twist. First, Calson Jr. brings you back to the States from Jamaica. Now, three months later, you’re his plus one at tonight’s big event. Sounds like he really wants everyone to know you two are an item.”
Yes, it does, I think with a guilty wince. But still, I give Kyle another firm, “No comment.”
“Okay, no comment about Holt. But can we talk about you? Is it true you two crazy kids shacked up ten years ago? Just a few months before your move to Jamaica, huh?”
My heart chills, but I say nothing.
Kyle’s voice shifts into a not-so-neighborly tone as he says, “This story is happening, Ms. Pinnock. Whether my editor or the Calsons like it or not. And if you don’t want your reputation to go down in flames with the rest of them, I suggest you start talking to me.”
I decide to do the exact opposite and push the red telephone symbol, hanging up on him without another word.
But getting rid of that man’s voice isn’t nearly enough to slow down my thunderous heartbeat. Oh, mercy…the reporter knows about Holt’s summer with me. That means he may know everything else, including—
The phone buzzes again, interrupting my panicked thoughts. Holt’s name pops up on my caller ID.
“Holt,” I answer, my voice still shaky from my call with the reporter.
“Sylvie, did my father get to you ten years ago? Is he the reason you left me like you did?” Holt demands, his voice stiff with anger.
I choke. Of all the things I expected Holt to say, this definitely was not one of them.
But I can’t answer, I remind myself.
“You’re not answering,” he says. “That means Dad not only got to you, he made you sign an NDA. That son of a bitch!”
Again, I say nothing. Jack Calson’s words about what he would do to my mother still ring in my ears. And even if I weren’t so concerned about my mother’s livelihood, I would owe him money if I told Holt the truth. I’d have to pay him back the six figures we spent long ago on hospital bills and funeral expenses for my father. Money I definitely cannot afford to pay back.
“So it’s true. Otherwise you would say something…anything. Fuck, Sylvie.”
I can hear the rage vibrating in Holt’s voice and I brace myself for what I think is going to come next. But Holt surprises me yet again.
“I can’t believe it took me this long to figure it out! And that I didn’t trust you enough to connect the dots. Fuck me. Babe, I am so sorry. I am so very sorry.”
I blink, unable to believe he is blaming himself instead of me. “This isn’t your fault,” I insist. “It’s not.”
“Are you kidding me? Of course, this is my fault. I always knew he would never let us be together. That’s why I wanted to marry you so quickly…before he found out. But then I overdosed. I’m the one who fucked up and let him get to you. And you couldn’t say a thing. Oh, babe. You never did any of those things he said. You didn’t abandon me. In fact, you called for help, didn’t you? And Javon—that bastard was on his payroll. His first call was probably to my prick of a dad. I knew I was making the right call when I decided to fire him and hire a new bodyguard with my own money.”
Javon actually contacted the paramedics, and then Holt’s dad. But Holt is close enough to the truth that I feel like crying.
“And when you pushed me away, it was because you knew how I was. That if I thought there was any chance you would still want to be with me…”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and never before have two words felt so inadequate for the feelings I am having.
“No, do not apologize. Don’t you ever apologize to me for what that bastard did. Just…Sylvie, please marry me.”
I blink, not understanding. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” I tell him like I did the first two times he proposed to me.
But this time he is sober and he insists, “I want you to marry me. I want you to be the mother Wes deserves. And I will hunt down Barron’s father and make him sign a consent form so I can adopt him, too, free and clear.”
So many alarm bells go off in my head, I can barely focus. “Holt, we can’t do that!” I tell him. “We can’t simply marry and become an instafamily.”
“Why the hell not?” he demands. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is. And I never stopped loving you. Are you saying you don’t feel the same?”
I try to say just that but I can’t lie. Not anymore. Not about that. “No, I do love you, but—”
“But nothing, Sylvie! Look, my car is here. I need to head to the event. I’ll see you there, and we can announce our engagement then. Don’t rabbit out on me this time. The stakes are too high.”
“No, Holt…I can’t! We can’t—Holt, wait!”
But the phone disconnects, leaving me with nothing but dead air.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
HOLT
“What do you mean she refuses to come?” I demand when Yahto approaches me at the Calson Botanical Gardens event a full twenty minutes after Sylvie was due to arrive.
“I do not know,” my guard answers with a helpless shake of his large head. “She is dressed and looking very nice as we are walking in. I think it is all decided. But suddenly she is stopping on the little red bridge and saying I must come and get you and tell you she needs to talk before she comes the rest of the way in.”
Ruthless Tycoons: The Complete Series (Ruthless Billionaires Book 3) Page 22
