Fire In The Water

by Janice Ross

  ~

  Sometimes I hovered near, shook my head when I'd see visions of the man everyone wanted me to become, and hoped to God there would be more to living than this bullshit. Once you screw up or make a tough decision that ends up shitting in your face, no one believes you're capable of survival without their guidance.

  At times, I could picture their footsteps instead of my own pacing the sidewalk. Determination would ring out from the bottom of my soles, but it was not me. I was headed in the "right" direction to solidify my place in a world I didn’t give two damns about blending into.

  I arrived two minutes late for work. The men in the office, like professors, took notes by pointing to the main clocks. I nodded towards the first, as well as a stranger with a leather attaché. He returned the same, then I connected with the front desk secretary. I set my eyes on the back of the office space which boasted six sizable offices, four of which were filled.

  "Excuse me." Thomas Bergen broke the silence to introduce me to the client. Without turning to face him, I knew I was the focal point.

  I stopped, then turned around to speed things up. "Rhys Colburn."

  "Oh yes, Rupert's son."

  What a douchebag. What if I’d had no desire to be known as such? The vessels along the back of my neck which raced up to my temples sparked with much disdain. It wasn’t the same type of pain that had once plagued me. My biggest issue was that I’d given into him. I’d screwed up my life, and in order to rectify things, I’d given in. Forget about my parents’ marital issues, which they’d apparently addressed. I was no longer their child or their concern. They, namely Rupert, had given me a path. I’d had no choice but to follow.

  "Have a seat in the conference rom. We have a full schedule." The next associate, Victor Braun, spoke as if he held the power. Tilting his eyeglasses with two fingers in order to focus on the others he added, "Make room for Mr. Colburn–"

  "Just Rhys, please."

  I took two additional steps and was able to squeeze past a few of them to an open seat next to the wall in the ten-foot conference room with illusive, cream drapes. A platinum light fixture reach down to the center of the table. It included a mounted projector and cameras for conference calls. The space was open and uncluttered. I had just the right view of pretty much everyone. But to be honest, this was the last place I wanted to be. Truth be told, New York had stopped calling to me a long time ago.

  After exhaling, I let me eyes fall shut to try to block shit out. Bergen had a screechy sort of tone which faded at the end of each sentence. Kind of made his financial proposals barely interesting.

  "Is that seat comfortable, Rhys?"

  This guy must’ve seriously been in my dad's pocket. I nodded, moving past annoyance with the constant mention of me or Rupert.

  "You might want to switch because the wall shifts in an awkward way and–"

  "I'm good," I replied without hesitation. By this time, most others in the room had shifted focus to me. Every time we had these business meetings, they made every attempt to throw my father’s name out as if the company’s name wasn’t already on the door.

  Bergen didn't let things end with my subtle attempt to force him away. He started on about some charity event he'd met good old Rupert and Lisle at. The puppet went into details about the artwork and how much my father knew about things that were generally irrelevant to him.

  My lips curved to the left. It wasn't a smile but more of a squirm. I breathed in and exhaled. Countless pairs of eyes kept shifting between this guy and me. What I wouldn't give to carry my ass out the door. But the way this room was set up, no matter how discreet I tried to be, the dark, hollow space would draw all focus from every angle to highlight my misery.

  Then from beyond the glass walls of the room, a reflection into my past caught my attention. Almost golden, a bright shiny gleam shifted towards me. The sun highlighted what I had been missing for the past several years.

  XXII.

  Chanel

  ~

  "I'm Chanel Bissett," I mumbled to the room without trying to look up at him. In fact, I kept my head lower than normal and tried to pretend he wasn’t actually sitting just a few feet away. But even if I hadn’t first noticed him, I might’ve sensed him re-entering my world. This guy walked around shooting out a type of aphrodisiac that made everyone take heed. He stepped in and out of lives in a way only he could. In all honesty, I’d thought of him often, even even while in Zach’s presence. And when the accident happened, I forced myself to let go of the distraction.

  I wasn’t supposed to be here. The center director should’ve come along with the accountant. However, she’d called out at the last minute. After so much time had passed, please tell me why faith couldn’t just leave me the hell alone?! While everyone else in the room spoke business, Rhys and I kept up quick, less than subtle glances across the table until he finally stood to leave the room. Between the subtle stride, and the way newly tatted, rigid arms flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of a white button down shirt when he swung them to and fro, he had the admiration of two of the three women in the room. I refused to loop myself into that category.

  "We’re not finished yet, Mr. Colburn."

  Rhys Coburn...he was dangerous without being deadly, and innocent enough to make anyone want to trust him. But I knew better. I had to withstand. If it meant spoon feeding myself what little air I'd taken in before he could walk past my seat to keep from falling under his trance, then so be it. Or perhaps forcing myself to stare every which way but in his direction.

  I had to.

  At this point in my life, I preferred to stay clear and sulk in the past.

  "Chanel." His deep voice caused a slight vibration which tickled my core. This was quite possibly the most telling thing; my walls were usually so thick.

  I’d thought he was on his way out. Not nearly. Dear Lord, the man stood at my side with a hand resting on my forearm.

  I pumped my head up and down, still refusing to make his presence known otherwise. Damn right I was being childish. I sat still as a tree trying to convince myself that Rhys didn't exist. To say he was damn hot couldn't fully describe how fricken remarkable he was.

  The combination of height, golden tan, build, and rugged beauty didn't help in the least bit. He wasn't a cookie cutter type either. He almost didn't seem to belong since he sported a bit of a beard and a helluva lotta tattoos peeking up his wrists and just beneath his collarbone. His clothes, specifically the sleeves of his shirt and legs of his slacks, clung onto subtle biceps and thighs. He didn’t appear to be packed with unnecessary form, but rather just the right amount to make the opposite sex stare, wonder, and dare. That type of thing made me nervous. This type of craving made me uncomfortable.

  "Can I talk to you?" he asked, prying when I didn't feel like being pried open. Of all the days for my director to take a personal day and send me in place. Our center had been receiving a tremendous amount of support and since we weren't government but privately funded, we needed to hire an outside company for financial and consulting services. It had absolutely nothing to do with me, yet here I was.

  I couldn't understand why Rhys approached me. We’d drawn the lines a long time ago. Hell, so much had happened since then, and now this. Just hours earlier, I'd been falling apart. Now, I’d gotten a full blast from the past, courtesy of a stranger I’d once craved, like things hadn’t ever changed. All eyes shifted and remained on us–Rhys standing with piercing eyes demanding me to give into him, while I shifted around the room. Every few seconds, I raked over his well-packaged form.

  "Talk to me."

  I didn't make a habit of holding conversations during business meetings, especially when I’d never attended one before. I was there for a reason, to represent my director, not to get held up in a conversation with a guy that most chicks would love to get held up with.

  Without another thought, other than the fact that he'd been brave enough to approach me, I steadied my insides and gave what he sought
.

  "No, not now." It was a simple answer to a simple question during an unusually complex situation. I didn't know much about them, nor did I care. I wasn't a social butterfly to play this off like most might’ve done, at least not during this stage of my life.

  All conversations in the room had died down.

  "Every time I see you," Rhys began, but then paused to roll a high-backed chair out from under an off to the side, spotted commercial table. The seat swept across the floor, adding stress to my already fluttering guts. He lowered himself to secure his place directly to my side. And finally, I allowed myself to look into his eyes. I wanted to fight the urge, though I'd given it a try, but failed too easily. Seeing his narrowing, stormy glare, I fought to not get sucked in.

  Nothing had changed! Hell, just this morning I’d had another dream of Zachary’s death and now I was being rattled by a guy I’d once had a "connection" with. Life only got to be more complicated with each passing minute.

  "Why here? Why now?" I laughed, drawing the words in a deep, sarcastic ring. "This is business."

  Leaning into my face he stated, "Then come to my office."

  Rhys’ words rode me like the fresh morning air reaching out and caressing my face. I dipped my head. His tone was deadly, and it came with the sort of throttle carried by a confident sort of guy. Not cocky, just confident.

  Against sound reasoning, I rose my head further to ask what we could possibly do in his office, all alone, with the past connections. In doing so, I got sucked back into the most perfect pair of icy, shadowed irises I'd ever seen. This was my first time being this close to him in three fricken years and the emotions hadn’t left. I’d been empty only a few hours ago when I’d finally been able to get out of bed after spending the weekend sulking.

  I gasped at the thought of how unfair I had become. I released another mouthful of air, an almost exaggerated flux of desire for this demigod. His effects needed to be gone as far away from me as humanly possible. For his part, I noticed the way his lips swayed to one side, as if his smirk wasn't making me desire him that much more.

  "Chanel?"

  His reminder couldn't have been more unwelcome.

  "Do you get a kick out of this?" I inquired, suddenly realizing that this tit for tat was capable of feeding an unspoken human need.

  "Yes...no," he declared.

  I squinted up, baffled at his blatant disregard for business protocol. Shabby facial hair, ink for days and sexiness for all eternity, he was unbelievable...at least in my mind.

  "I’ll be in my office. So will Chanel," he announced to the room of five.

  An older gentleman with a thick, possibly dyed mustached, cut in. "There’s much to be covered. Mr. Colburn, we need–"

  "Deal with things. Seriously, I’m only taking up space here!"

  So in all honesty, I'd gotten so damn flustered I knew my cheeks were rouged, but I couldn't pull away just yet. And when he forced me to leave the room, rushing at his side in platinum stilettos to match my pants suit, I bit down on my lip in order to avoid further conflict.

  "You’re not getting away from me this time, I swear."

  "Aren't there other chicks in New York? Why me? I’m just a plain girl named Chanel. I could get lost in the crowd and forgotten in an instant."

  "You think so?" Rhys slid his chair around the shiny desk of the office space to rest no more than a handful of inches in front of me. His palms trailed along my hips...my ass. I leapt back so far and fast, he stood up in one swift motion. When he drew me into his waist, I didn't resist.

  For the first time in two years, I found myself easing up on the tip of my toes and extending my arms around a man’s neck. The heavy pounding in my chest wouldn’t stop, as nerve wracking as this had become.

  What the hell are you doing, Chanel? Run! Get the hell away from this guy! Run like hell!

  Neither of us made any attempts to pull back. Between the panting and irrational groping, we’d journeyed miles beyond a line strangers should never cross. Yes, we were still unfamiliar with one another.

  I exhaled as he took in the very essence of me. All that I was capable of feeling, knowing, seeing or tasting was Rhys. I became lost in a fog, buried deep in a world that sought to rub me out. With him, I could no longer exist on my own. The passion...electricity...energies were beyond lit. It had always existed, lurked in the darkness for an opportunity to explode. Or rather, in our case, implode.

  So why today?

  Why did I decide to give in to the emotional pull that had always been guiding us together? And why did Rhys decide to press forward?

  I tried. I promise you, I tried not to inhale the sensational cologne that had come to represent this ridiculous need. But it was beyond that. Every single sense perked up whenever he was near. Hell, forget about our proximity now, since there was no longer a distance.

  Rhys’ tongue slid across his lips. I darn well tasted its juicy goodness. Even the thrusts had to be strong. I could just about feel its force between my upper lips, lashing against the nipples of my 34B cup breasts, and even inching up between my thighs. Every ounce of reasoning scolded me for wanting this, even as every bit of the same had me convinced of this time as a necessity. It was like the portion of an old show I once saw where the devil sat at one side on the shoulder and an angel perched on the other.

  "Chanel, please..." Rhys begged. The words were elongated whispers that cuddled my body, only to ride me from head to toe.

  Rhys’ silky, chocolate-colored cropped hair flowed through my fingers. I yanked. Not just simply pulled or gently tugged. I wanted him more than a little. He reacted by burrowing his head against my neck. I allowed my lids to drift shut as Rhys’ firm hands gripped my backside. He drew me up and into him. Our mouths collided, and about two seconds later, our tongues locked. This wasn’t just passion, not with the way our tongues demanded absolutely everything of the other. There was a greedy type of exchange taking place. The hunger flowing from between us was capable of taking away all strength.

  There we were, two distant people, clinging in a desperate embrace while fondling and grappling for dear life. At that moment, in this time, only he and I existed. We’d fought long to avoid this inevitable fate, yet here we were. While it pained me to know that I was capable of releasing my dedication to a long, lost lover, I no longer knew how to let go of Rhys. Three years ago, I'd justified the connection. With nothing to hold me back, I semi-wanted this.

  My eyes stung the more I fought to subdue the tears. They wanted to pour from me, but I couldn’t let them. I squeezed as long as possible, until tiny drops began trickling down my cheeks. All this as I continued to take in the wild thrusts of his tongue inside of my mouth.

  "We shouldn’t..." I somehow managed to mumble against his mouth, but our passion overpowered all objections. The tears continued to burn at my eyes. I badly wanted to cry for every instance I’d refused to accept the truth. My insides ached with a yearning to get away from and give in to him all at once.

  "I need you," Rhys spat out like a bitter curse, sending a tiny flow of his saliva to the tip of my nose. These weren’t our words. This topic was certainly not one for two casual strangers with nothing more than a solid respect and brief, jacked up past. "Shit, I need every fucking ounce of you..." His tone was beyond angry. I held the anger, making it penetrate my mind.

  I gasped, but didn’t let go. I even tried willing my body to step away, turn, and run. I had to forget I’d ever craved a man named Rhys. Sadly, the commands became mute, feeble attempts. Touching him, digging my fingers into his defined biceps didn’t help. Inhaling his essence–the scent that marked his manliness–only reminded me that our energies had first connected three years ago.

  "Rhys," I fumbled out as the syllables ricocheted across every inch of my already sensitive limbs. Damn! Simply saying his name had me tingly between the legs. "No..." I cried out, and let the tears flow. I shook my head while trying to arch away. My waist wiggled. I felt rotten and downright
trashy but didn’t give two shits. I only wanted, needed him to feel me.

  I was beyond a mess of a desperate woman. I choked at the thought of me. Yes, me, Chanel Bissett shoving my stuff on some guy when I’d never been able to seal the deal with my childhood sweetheart. So I let up and pulled back as much as I could. His arms wouldn’t allow it. He groped, squeezing like I was no longer a want, but instead an integral part of existence.

  In the midst of this uncertainty, I shoved my hips forward then back, right then left. He had no choice but to break the hold and start lowering me to the ground. For a brief second I felt bare, like I’d been stripped down to nothing. And that quickly, without an explanation, I hopped up. I went from chilly, to warm, and finally hot. My head spun, so much so that as my feet finally plopped on the ground, I needed to lean back into him. My head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat penetrated the side of my face. I hung onto the quickening pace, desperate to feel beyond his cotton button-down. His arms drew me in, forcing me to only rely on this remarkable shelter. It wasn’t that he was a large, muscular guy or anything. His arms were cut, but it was enough to be desirable yet less overbearing.

  He exhaled, jolting me out of the fantasy world I’d drifted into. No, we weren’t in a utopian society. No, I was not his and he... he shouldn't be mine.

  "What are we–" I paused on purpose. My throat became swollen over a painstakingly harsh attempt to fight back the tears and accompanying sobs. Zach had been my everything for so long that when Rhys came along, I couldn't help but fight it.

  In the words of my distracting mother: "Find yourself first." But should it have taken Zach losing his life for me to find myself, or find this connection?

  Seriously though, who ends up in this sort of drama? Under any other circumstance, how would we have met in such a large state? Thinking back to my mother’s words and the first encounter with Rhys, I felt the sting of my tear ducts once more. I shook my head–as if that would blow away the emotions.

  "You’re in my system, Chanel." He cleared his throat. "Always have been." The words jabbed at my heart. He had to know the feelings were mutual. I hoped with all of my being that he was one of the good guys, and would understand why I couldn’t yet move forward. My past, namely Zach, wasn’t a topic to be covered yet. But how in the world where we supposed to ignore what we’d started here today?