Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1)

by Noelle Bodhaine

  Just being out of his direct vicinity affords me more clarity, he is like a drug, fast working and highly addictive. I quickly brush my teeth and rinse my face. I fill a tall glass of water for myself and one for Rhys, placing it on the bedside table next to him. I crawl back into bed, switch the television off and drift back to sleep, the dream of empty oblivion skirting the recesses of my mind.

  ***

  When I wake I am too warm, twisted up in the comforter and blankets. My nape is damp from sweat and I kick off the covers, begging for a breeze of cool air to condition my overheated skin. I roll over to find the bed empty. Rhys is gone, but he left a note.

  Sophie,

  I want to take you out today.

  Please come to my suite

  when you are ready.

  Don't keep me waiting.

  Rhys

  A room key sits atop the note, Penthouse, of course. I decide that since he has left so unceremoniously, I will take my time getting ready. I will not give him the impression that I will come running whenever he calls. Even though blood is pounding in my head and I am giddy about the idea of spending the whole day with him. I feel like a young girl, just waiting for a glimpse of a crush. Friends, that is all he wants to be, but I can live with that. I want to be near him, it is all I can think about. And the promise of the day is too good.

  After a leisurely shower, I dress in a pale pink linen dress, slip on my braided sandals, swipe on some blush, a little lip gloss and I am done. Looking at myself, reflected in the mirror I can’t help but see an ordinary girl looking back at me, perfectly ordinary and nothing more. I have to shake the thought from my mind. I slip my phone into a hidden pocket, grab my purse and sunglasses. I slide an emergency twenty dollar bill into my bra, as I have always been coached to do, and head out the door to the elevators.

  The doors slide open to a large, brightly lit foyer, windows on every side welcome the warm Florida sun, bathing the marble floors and soft plaster walls in golden light. There is a large heavy table with a massive gaudy arrangement of birds of paradise in a tall stone vase. There are two doors, Rhys’ is just behind the flock of flowers. I knock and then insert the key, but before I do the door opens on a scene I did not expect.

  Kylie, disheveled and sweaty, dressed in a tiny tank and tight yoga Capris. She is the epitome of health and beauty, and my stomach turns at the sight of her. Her long blond hair is swept up into a pony tail that she has wrapped around her fingers, playing mindlessly with the golden strands. Her face is bright and flushed, glowing maybe. I am frozen to the spot, shocked and confused. Kylie steps around me, leaving the door open behind her.

  “Oh, hey, Sophie, Rhys is in the shower, you can go on in. See you tonight.” She dashes into the waiting elevator, jogging in place while setting her iPod. I am left standing in the doorway, dumbstruck by what just happened.

  Why did he spend the night in my room if he had Kylie waiting for him? What sort of game is he playing? My fight or flight instinct begins to take hold and as always I lean towards flight. The internal struggle rages as I try to reason with my inner cynic. There has to be a reasonable explanation for why she was here. Or maybe the reasonable explanation would explain away why he was with me last night. The bile rising in my throat is the nudge I need. I spin on my heel to make a break for it when Rhys steps out of the master bathroom. Good Lord! He is wrapping a fluffy white towel around his well-defined waist when he catches me in his sights.

  “Sophie.” A crooked smile spreads across his face, erasing every thought in my mind. His hard body dripping still with rivulets of lucky water, his torso is dusted with dark hair, accentuating every plane of tight muscle, he steps through the French doors into the living area. His arms ripple and flex as he dries his hair, revealing a slight curl, and tosses the towel onto the chair. He could make David weep in jealousy. His body is tight and dripping with sex. My eyes travel down his form, unable to look away. Into a perfect V it all comes together, the most sexy side muscles that point to the sweet spot. I have never seen a man like this in the flesh. Every cell in my body is reacting and responding to him. I look at his body and can’t help but think that I would gladly drop to my knees and worship at his altar. His rock hard body is calling to me. A dark trail of hair teases, leading to the darkest of treasures. He ties me up in knots, and I can only silently beg. Beg to touch him, to run my fingers over his beautifully chiseled chest, followed by my tongue. Over every curve and muscle of his taut abs, I need to taste him and suddenly I am starving. I want his scent to flow through me. I need to be filled by him, to be his vessel, to fill me up until my head spins, and then do it again, and again. Snap out of it! His wicked eyes rake me over before he grins, arrogant and knowing.

  “Do you need to sit?” He winks and pads over to the bar. His back almost as beautiful as his front, tight strapping muscles give and take as he walks, his heart shaped ass high and tight, strong legs perfectly tapered to well-manicured feet. He takes very good care of himself. It is evident in every pane of his body, every strand of hair on his head. He pours two glasses of orange juice from a glass carafe that sits next to a silver bucket with a bottle of champagne and a platter of fruit and croissants.

  “I am glad you came.” Handing me a glass of juice he takes a seat next to me on the sofa. He smells of citrus, soap and testosterone, it is a heady mixture in conjunction with his proximity and the tiny towel that barely covers his powerful thighs. “I thought it would be nice to go get a coffee and then take a drive.” He places his hand on my knee light as a feather, but the contact is heavy and electric. His eyes grow wide, his soft lips part and I feel my pulse accelerate and my slack jaw falls open. We both snap to at the same moment and he pulls his hand away and stands, moving towards the bedroom. “I’ll just be a few minutes, make yourself at home.” He disappears through the French doors and into the master bath, closing the door behind him.

  Still slightly a flutter from his gentle touch I rise and walk through the suite. The large living space is decorated in soft pastels, very Miami. Delicately upholstered couches flank both sides of the room, a heavy mahogany bar in the corner. Beyond the bar are two large frosted glass French doors leading to the bedroom that has to be twice the size of my entire hotel room. The large bed that anchors the room is unrumpled, made up, everything in its place. Clearly, it has not been slept in, or romped in for that matter. The thought makes me smile, bringing me back to Kylie in his doorway, wondering if he turned her away the way he had Melissa two nights earlier. If he had, she was in much better spirits about it.

  The bed is large and inviting, like a cloud, piled with too many pillows in shades of mint and sea foam green, the comforter a crisp, bright white. The only other furniture in the room is a stark wooden chair, placed facing the bed and the bank of mirrors that are on the other side. It is a peculiar place for a chair, stuck in the middle of the room. I move around and take a seat. I find myself looking into the wall of mirrors, reflected back at me is the whole of the bed, myself and nothing else. My mind struggles to reason when I feel Rhys standing in the open doorway.

  “Do you like to watch, Sophie?” He asks, stalking slowly towards me. He is dressed in crisp, lightweight honey-colored slacks and a light blue button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing the most amazing, roped forearms. I scramble out of the chair before he can get too close and stumble over an explanation as I edge out of the bedroom, back into the implied safety of the living area.

  “Do you?” I manage to choke out. He follows me slowly, like a predator trying not to startle his prey.

  “Very much.” He grins and I think my panties catch fire. “It is an extraordinary thing to watch a woman lose herself. To witness and be party to a woman’s utter undoing, it’s an honor.” I stand as still as a pillar of salt as he saunters towards me. “Don’t be so bashful, Sophie,” he commands as he reaches around me and grabs his wallet, a pair of tortoise shell sunglasses and a set of keys off of the table next to the door. “I
watched you sleep.”

  “Oh, my God! For how long?”

  “Just long enough. You snore.” He declares matter of fact. His wicked smile twists at my embarrassment. My mouth is wide in shock and I am speechless, mortified. “You talk as well.” A groan escapes my diaphragm before I can stifle it. “Very enlightening,” he grins as he places his hand on the small of my back and leads me out to the elevators.

  The elevator ride is silent and woven with tension. Even as people shuffle in and out on various floors I feel no one but him. His eyes are on me, watching my pulse rise and fall on the intensity of his gaze. It is like a game for him to see how quickly he can disarm me before strangers. It’s a game he is very good at. When the car comes to rest on the ground floor I am grateful for the reprieve. Knowing that if I had to spend one more floor in that elevator with Rhys staring at me like that, I would be nothing more than a pile of smoldering ash. He bites his bottom lip, stifling a knowing smile as he grasps my hand and pulls me out through the lobby and into the warm Florida air. The fresh air renews my perspective and sharpens my tongue.

  “I ran into Kylie.” My tone more forceful than I had intended and he raises an eyebrow at me just as the valet pulls up, distracting him from my declaration. I look down on a sexy car. A sleek black Jaguar Eagle Speedster, low to the ground with beautiful, curved lines. Two bucket seats covered in supple café-colored leather, cross-stitched and trimmed. The dash is sleek and minimal. Rhys rounds the car as the valet twirls the keys wearing a bright grin.

  “Nice car, Mr. Slate.” He is young and looks at Rhys with reverence and admiration. His life full of beautiful women, fabulous hotels, hot cars and money to burn, yeah, it must be nice.

  “Thanks, kid.” He slaps him on the back as he slips him a tip, a bill he had folded into the palm of his other hand. Mr. Smooth. He winks and moves to open my door, exaggerating every movement to put on a show. I slide into the soft leather seat and put my oversized Audrey shades on, buckling my seatbelt. Now I have my mask on. I turn to Rhys as he buckles himself and adjusts the mirrors.

  “Nice car, Mr. Slate.” He chuckles as he pulls out of the circle and onto the driveway.

  “I am glad you like it.” The winding drive away from the hotel is lined with palms swaying in the gentle breeze. “Do you know what it is?” He quizzes me with a cryptic grin.

  “It’s a Jag. E-type.” A wide smirk crawls across his lips.

  “It’s going to be a good day, Sophie.” He drops his foot to the floor and opens up the engine. We drive in silence just soaking in the sun and enjoying the ocean air.

  Quicker than I had expected, we are off the tranquil hotel grounds and deep in the heart of Miami. The city pulses and heaves with energy. Car horns and emergency sirens become the melody as we drive through what I assume is downtown. A quick left and a right turn and Rhys pulls to the curb in front of an old brick building. Under a grubby green awning several little old men stand drinking coffee. A few are huddled in the corner around a small table playing dominoes. I cannot believe that this is where the billionaire playboy has taken me for my first outing in Miami. I look to him in question. He rounds the car and opens my door, offering his hand to help me from the car.

  “Trust me. This place is the best.” Grasping my hand, he pushes the door closed behind me and turns toward the awning, leading me along the pavement until we are in front of the small hand written menu. He doesn’t drop my hand, instead splaying his fingers between mine, locking them together. He folds his middle finger between our locked hands and begins to gently stroke my palm, back and forth. The smallest contact and movement so sensual it reverberates in my pelvis, clenching every muscle south of my waist. “How do you like your coffee?” his voice warm and easy, but his eyes are steamy.

  “Strong and sweet.”

  “Cream?” he whispers with a wicked grin.

  “No, thank you.” He turns to the window and orders two café Cubanos and two pastelitos. I stand next to him, trying to absorb the sounds and smells of the city when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see a grubby, disheveled kid, no older than fourteen maybe. He looks homeless, and hungry.

  “You got any change, lady?” He thrusts his empty hands towards me. Rhys turns away from charming the elderly lady behind the counter and tugs me away from the boy. Pulling me behind him, he tells the kid to get lost. How can he be so cruel? I yank my hand from his and step around him. He tries to stop me, but I glare at him. He needs to get out of my way. The boys’ hollow eyes watch me pull the emergency money out of my bra, and I press the bill into his stained, worn hands. His eyes are sad and weary as he snatches the bill and backs away.

  “Good luck to you. And God bless you,” I offer, watching him back into the shadows. I turn to find Rhys behind me, his intimidating glare firmly in place. He grips me by the elbow and twirls me away, towards an empty table.

  “What are you doing?” he scolds. “That was very dangerous.”

  “Helping.” We sit at one of two little wrought iron tables that are on the sidewalk.

  “How do you know that he won’t just spend the money on drugs or alcohol?”

  “I don’t and I don’t care.”

  “How did you know he wasn’t going to hurt you, or try and rob you? And how did you come by the money you gave him?” he quizzes like an authority figure.

  “You were standing right next to me, Rhys. And not that it should be any of your concern, but it was my emergency money. ‘A lady always has an emergency twenty tucked about her at all times,’ words to live by,” I tease. He eyes me with confusion and amusement.

  “How do you know that you won’t need your emergency money?”

  “Will you abandon me in Downtown Miami, friend?” I smile. He chuckles, a hearty belly chuckle.

  “You are very sweet. And painfully naïve,” he offers, squeezing my hand. He turns to the lively table next to us and launches into a conversation with the old men. They are flip-flopping between Spanish and English and I only catch a few words here and there. Watching Rhys carry on, just passing the time with these charming old guys is engrossing, he is polite and kind. The woman calls out to Rhys and he goes to collect our coffees. The pastelito is delicious, flaky pastry filled with sweet cream cheese and guava, the coffee a perfect pick me up, just the way I like it; strong espresso, black with a cube of raw sugar. I stir it up and toss it back in one shot as is my coffee ritual. Rhys practically chokes as he sips from his cup.

  “Did you not like it?” He questions, clearing his throat.

  “It was perfect,” I offer with a smile. “I don’t really care for coffee, it is just a means to an end, really. That is why I like espresso, straight and to the point.” I can’t help but grin, taking the last bite of my pastelito.

  “So, how is Kylie?” Straight and to the point. I lock him down and wait for him to offer an explanation. I lose a little nerve as each second crawls by, reminding me that it really is none of my business. He just smiles, holding the demitasse cup to his lips, eyeing me with humor, knowing that he is torturing me. He tosses his coffee back and puts his hands together in thought, fingers pulling at his full lips, deciding upon an answer. Slowly he lowers his hands to the table, covering mine. A jolt of current runs up my arms, traveling through my body at the speed of sound. His eyes are deep and clear.

  “Kylie is fine. We were going over last minute details for the wedding.” His smile is disturbed while he mulls his own answer. I don’t say anything, waiting for him to offer some clarification, but he offers none. He takes my hands and leads me back towards the car. What business was it of mine? I had no right, even though I do care, more deeply than I want to. As we settle into the car, Rhys slides on his round tortoise shell sunglasses with a dazzling smile directed only at me, he flips on the radio and pulls out into traffic. The Buena Vista Social Club plays us out of downtown Miami, mimicking the beat of the city around us.

  Chapter 6

  We cruise along the Rickenbacker Cause
way, surrounded by calm, crystal blue seas and cars that cost more than my apartment. The air is warm and the smell of the sea fills my nostrils. The road is perched precariously above the shallow waters, while supercars and super tramps cruise back and forth from one of the richest areas in all of Southern Florida, Key Biscayne. The village is quaint and charming. The same cannot be said about houses, each one bigger than the last, hiding behind manned gates and ten-foot privacy walls. The drive stretches and the houses become fewer and more massive, the narrow strip of land swallowed by sprawling gardens and manicured pool patios. A boat in every slip.

  Rhys pulls into a curved drive that leads to an ornate wrought iron gate, adorned with fleur-de- lis. He punches a code into a post shrouded by oversized bushes and the gate swings open, slowly revealing the decadence that lies beyond. The drive is long and lined by tall sweeping palms, swaying in welcome, perfectly manicured grass expanses stretch to the water on both sides of the property. The house, if it can be called that, is imposing and commanding. Graceful archways anchor a wraparound portico, lending an air of Mediterranean charm. The house glitters against the clear blue waters, whitewashed stucco and dark wood accents stand out against the tropical backdrop. Rhys is waiting, his grin wide and contagious, as he watches me take it all in.

  “This is my family’s house. The wedding will be here tomorrow. I thought you would want to see how it is all coming together. Please,” he offers his hand, gently pulling me from the car.

  Electricity flows between us, sending my pulse racing. The gentle tug of his hand pulls at my deepest recesses. Rhys leads me through the heavy front door, holding my hand possessively, and into a glimmering marble entrance hall, a vast chasm around which the rest of the house seems to radiate. The marble is cold and colorless, but the dark wood is warm and carries its age with grace. Museum quality art adorns the walls on either side, an impressive collection that even an art novice such as myself would easily recognize. Colorful watercolors of blooming hills, lazy rivers, busy Paris streets and the beautiful sun soaked south of France. Monet is well represented. I remind myself to return to these paintings for a closer look, their beauty so powerful, every brush stroke draws you deeper. Rhys leads me through to the inner atrium, flanked on either side by grand curved staircases leading to a dramatic balcony and more, fine, collectible artwork. It is like nothing I have ever seen, I can only compare it to the inside of Tara, expecting a weeping woman to come sweeping down the staircase at any moment. The grandeur is more than I can comprehend. He pushes open a pair of heavy, intricately carved wooden doors, revealing a buzzing scene.