Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1)

by Noelle Bodhaine

  “This is the ballroom where dinner will be served and then dancing.” He scans the room, checking each and every employee that is hard at work preparing every little detail for the impending celebration. Round tables are being set up all around the perimeter of the room, while a group of women flutter about the swaths of blush colored organza and silk, creating a dreamy canopy above what will surely be the dance floor. At the back of the room a pair of French doors leads to a wide open patio overlooking a large lawn of perfect emerald green grass.

  I hear a faint melody, familiar, floating about. I reach into my hidden little pocket to find my phone ringing. I almost forgot it was on me, the damn thing hasn’t gone off in days. I reluctantly remove my hand from his and excuse myself to take the call. I look down at my phone to see an unfamiliar number, but it’s from my home area code so I answer.

  “This is Sophie.”

  “Where are you?” The voice is smooth and controlled, yet the current that flows beneath is pulsating with frustration. “I drove all this way to see you.” Honey laced with poison.

  “You shouldn’t have because I told you to leave me alone.” My pulse breaks into a sprint.

  “I think we both know you didn’t mean that, you never do. Now, where are you?” His tone is clipped and icy, losing patience.

  “It is none of your business.” Barely able to bite back the frustration, hearing his controlled even breathing, undercut by his smug assumption that he can walk in and out of my life whenever he feels the urge. My toe taps on the stone patio, nervous energy and anxiety building with every measured breath. It has been over a month since he contacted me last, I had hoped it would be the last time.

  “Oh, wait,” a threatening pause sends my pulse racing, “here we are, an invitation to Olivia’s wedding, so you are in Miami, huh? Oh, and look a copy of your itinerary. Good, so I will see you at the airport.”

  “Are you in my house?” I can feel the bile rising in my throat, thinking about him moving through my home, the home we used to share.

  “Your house? This is our house. Why didn’t you tell me you were going out of town? I can only assume it is because you knew that I would not approve.”

  “I don’t care what you think. What I do and where I go is none of your business anymore. I do not want to see you. I want you to leave me alone. Please leave your key and get out of my house, and stay out of my life!” Tears threaten to spill over, standing at the edge of reason.

  “You are very bold when you are so far away. I wonder if your resolve will be equal when you are in my arms. I know how to make you agreeable, Sophie, and I am sure I can help you to see things my way. I will see you at the airport on Sunday.” The last statement a demand before he cuts me off and the line goes dead. I turn the ringer off and shove the phone into my pocket, unwilling to be caught off guard again. I am left shaking and angry, momentarily unaware of my surroundings, and my uncomfortable company.

  “Sophie?” Rhys’ soft, cautious voice a stark contrast to the bile-filled conversation my ears just endured. I wipe the singular proof of my pain away from my cheek and turn to him with an overzealous smile. “Are you alright?” He moves a step closer, slowly, careful not to startle.

  “I’m fine.” Pushing back anxiety and worry, I paint myself cheerful and change the subject. Unwilling to let the momentary distraction ruin my time with Rhys, I hook my arm into the crook of his elbow and ask him to finish showing me the grounds. A beautiful distraction is surely the best remedy to a horrible ex-boyfriend.

  Rhys’ wheels are turning, clearly pondering what he had just overheard. His face is set in a gracious, practiced smile, that does not meet his eyes. His eyes are hard, shadowed by a furrowed brow. He takes my hand in his and tightens his grip as we follow the stone patio that circles the back of the house. It all leads to a small circular stone portico and then splits into two paths, one leading to a second level, surely offering amazing vistas of sunsets and the incoming cruise ships. The second leading down a short pathway to a sunken patio boasting a half moon infinity pool, the edge perched over the seawall, melting into the surrounding azure waters. Directly in front of the portico is a perfectly laid stone path that winds through a ghostly veil of overgrown weeping willows and heavily blossomed wisteria, leading to a perfect spot overlooking the water, where two men are hard at work putting the finishing touches on the arbor Olivia and Matthew will stand beneath.

  The chairs are being set up in a half moon formation around the arbor, mirroring the shape of the pool and the shoreline, lending a beautiful fluid curve to the whole scene. Rhys’ hand is possessive around mine, leading me, demanding I follow. The caress of his finger against the inside of my hand is calming and erotic. The rest of my body hums, wishing the caress went beyond my lucky, lucky palm. He stops and sighs before turning me to him, placing his hand on the small of my back, anchoring me in his sights.

  “Please forgive me for asking, Sophie, but is everything alright? You seem upset. Is there anything you need?”

  “Everything is fine.” I look into his eyes and he strips away any falsehood I had hoped to offer. The truth is bubbling to the surface and I cannot stop its flow, he has cast a spell. I sigh in resignation and launch into the highly edited version of events. “That was my ex. He likes to throw his weight around. All bark and no bite.”

  Rhys’ face is impassive as he listens to me divulge information I really don’t want to share. I try and slither from his grip, uncomfortable talking about the past with Mr. Right Now, but he refuses to let me back away, his palm gently locking me in his sights. He patiently waits for me to open up, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “I guess I was hoping that this week would wipe it all away, that I could hide for a while. That maybe I could forget about it, reinvent myself, be somebody else.”

  “How is that working for you?”

  “Life has a funny way of forcing you to be who you are.”

  “And who are you?”

  “An idiot.”

  “I don’t think so. You are no idiot, Sophie.”

  “I didn’t protect myself. I knew better, but I still let the wolf in the house.”

  “And now you will know better.”

  “Will I?” Looking into his crystal clear eyes, I am not sure. With this wolf I will surely make a host of mistakes.

  “We live and learn, Sophie. You of all people know that. Don’t let someone else’s weakness become your downfall. You are too special, too strong.” He brushes a curl away from my forehead with his finger, tucking it behind my ear, lingering about my lobe. I am completely floored, his words floating around me like smoke, dissipating into thin air. I want to grab them and shove them in my pocket, take them with me wherever I go. Yet in a blink they are carried away, the proof evaporated.

  “I don’t always feel strong.”

  “You are strong,” he interrupts, his voice ripe with frustration and something that sounds like concern. “Look at you. On your own, you are strong and smart and very tempting. Any man who would make you second guess yourself is no man at all. Excuse me if I have overstepped, you need someone who knows what you need, someone to show you some respect.” The words clearly do not relay the true weight of his feelings about what he thinks he heard. He is clipped, controlled, but unsatisfied.

  “Like a friend?” I poke him with my words.

  He seems inclined towards a speech when a tall, thin young man appears in the doorway behind us, clearing his throat to announce his presence. He is younger than Rhys with ginger hair and a heavy swath of freckles across his pink face, but his eyes are familiar, warm green like a rolling Irish hill. He grins at me, confident and crooked. Rhys turns his eyes to him and scowls, effectively erasing the young man’s impish grin. Before I know what has happened, they are in a playful embrace, slapping one another on the back, frantically shaking one another’s hands.

  “Sophie, this is my cousin Charlie. He is here from Ireland, he just finished school and has come to work for
me this summer.” He turns to Charlie with the look of a proud older brother “Isn’t that right, Charlie?” This is the first I have seen Rhys be so familiar and warm with anyone other than Matthew. I had come to consider him a man unto himself, an island. Now, to see him with family is endearing and revealing.

  “Sophie, if you will excuse me, I just need to speak with Charlie. Please, feel free to look around, I won’t be but a moment.”

  I watch the men finish the arbor as the gardeners begin to prune bushes for tomorrow’s event. Large urns filled with wisteria and lacy tropical foliage anchor each row of chairs, as the aisle is marked out and cleared. I find myself pacing, wearing a path in the stone, uneasy being away from Rhys. I decide to head inside and look around while I wait.

  “Quick and clean, Charlie.”

  “Not a problem, Cousin. If there is nothing else, I will make the call for the plane and we should be on our way within a couple of hours.” I peek around the corner of Rhys’ large office door to hear him wrap up his conversation with Charlie. He nods at me then quickly turns to dismiss Charlie.

  “Keep in touch.”

  “You can count on me.” He nods at me, tipping his newsboy cap like a proper Irish rogue, his freckled cheeks aflame as he leaves us. “Lass.” The heels of his shoes click on the cold marble floors and echo through the vast foyer.

  Rhys’ office is warm and cozy and not what I would expect in such an ornately decorated home. The desk is heavy old wood, clearly well worn. The polish dulled by years of hard work, daily frustrations scar the surface. Every wall is covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves, packed with cloth covered volumes, leather bound classics and rows and rows of biographies, broken up only by two large sunny bay windows. Were it not for the windows, the room would be much darker and heavier. Looking closer I notice an entire wall dedicated to megalomaniacs, tycoons, billionaires, leaders of men and builders of empires, a wall of ego unparalleled. The thought of Rhys among those men, powerful and cunning, taking what he wants, never being satisfied, rattles my mind. I turn to find him, settled in his overly large, leather chair, casually reclined, fingers laced, the picture of intimidation and authority. Looking like he would fit comfortably among the shelves, nestled between the biographies of John D. Rockefeller and Howard Hughes. He brushes his fingers against his lips, watching my every move, his eyes probing. I tear my eyes away, the threat of spontaneous combustion looming heavily.

  His shelves are hung with pennants from his favorite teams, trophies from his own triumphs, worn rugby balls, framed jerseys and other random male paraphernalia. A window into his mind, these must be things that make him feel comfortable, things that are important to him. The thought makes me want to explore, discover more, find out what makes him tick. I rake the shelves, up and down filing away interesting titles and books we have in common when I cannot help but stop and stare.

  On a shelf high above Rhys’ chair, behind his big beautiful desk, a beautiful woman commands my attention. She would command anyone’s attention. Even from way down here I can tell that she is fierce; long, shiny golden hair, dazzling smile and a body that would make a Victoria’s Secret model sick with envy. She is not alone in the picture, but she is so captivating that she is all you can see. Searching the picture for other beautiful people I notice the man holding her, a strong arm around her tiny waist, casually claiming ownership. His demeanor is easy, his beauty a match to hers in every way. He smiles crookedly at the camera, while her eyes are locked on him. They are perfectly suited to one another, love evident. I swallow so loudly I’m sure everyone in the house can hear it as I try and peel my eyes away from the photograph of Rhys and the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

  His eyes follow mine to the impossibly perfect photograph. For a moment he mulls the photo before returning his attention to me, the crooked smile firmly in place, disarming and distracting. He stands from his chair and moves around the desk, closing the gap between us, charging the air. He comes to stand in front of me, casually leaning against his desk, his form still easily looming over my meager frame. Relaxed and loose, he captivates my every thought. I look down at his powerful legs casually crossed at the ankle. A kick of my toe and I could move between those strong thighs, invite myself into his space and let him burn me up from the inside. Just a step and I would be in, so close I could rest my palms on his rock hard thighs, run my hands over the fine fabric of his slacks, warm him with my fingers. All I have to do is take a step forward, and into his arms. His scent fills the room, spread by a sudden breeze pushing through the large windows and my mind goes blank. I catch myself from falling into his eyes and pull back from the brink. Realizing that I am in grave danger of willfully jumping down a rabbit hole that I may never find my way back from, I still. It is easy to see why so many women are drawn to him, he can be so disarming. I cannot explain what is happening, or how I got here. I just know I want to be here.

  Rhys is just the best man, a beautiful man, but just a man. I have been with boys but never with a man. A man with money to burn, a man who exists in a different sphere than my humble self. I would be remiss if I failed to remind myself of that fact. He is someone I would never know if it weren’t for this wedding, someone who would surely never be interested in knowing me. And now he stands before me with his dazzling smile lit up just for me, his eyes alight with humor as he watches me overanalyze and roll it all over in my head. The corner of his mouth twitches and curls like a Cheshire cat, he winks and wrinkles his nose.

  The buzz of my phone startles me, pulsating relentlessly against my leg, pestering like a begging dog. I try to ignore the unwanted interruption and focus on Rhys but to no avail. Reaching into my pocket I pensively remove my angry vibrating phone, looking down on a desperate text message. Angry Caps shout through the screen. A fog sets over my eyes as I stare. Words of hate jump out at me, slapping me, begging me to lose control, to reveal my pain. Rhys’ strong hand extends in want of my phone. I look into his eyes and he takes it from my trembling hand as I sink into the chair before him. Casually he pops out the battery and sets the two pieces of angry technology on the desk, sliding them behind him and out of sight. His steely gaze intimidates, but a slight smile puts me oddly at ease.

  “I’m going to need you to focus on me and in return I promise you my undivided attention.” He never looks away. His focus is precision, sharp and unyielding. He stands and casually saunters behind his desk before taking a seat in his oversized throne of industry. He turns towards me, fingers steepled before his cupids bow. He is clearly in negotiating mode, he looks like a shark behind his oversized desk, powerful, distinguished, and not to be crossed. A shiver runs down my spine watching him in his seat of power, commanding, intimidating and sexy as hell.

  “Sophie, I may have been wrong about us.” He pauses with a thought that hangs from his lips. “Olivia thinks we should date.”

  “I got that. Subtlety is not her strong suit.”

  “No, well,” he chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “I am not interested in dating.” Why do I feel like he is about to let me down easy? What a presumptuous ass. I gird myself for a battle, readying my tongue to lash back. “I would like to spend the night with you, Sophie. I just cannot offer you any more than that.” His words hit me like a Mack truck, knocking the wind from my chest and the retort straight from my mouth. I should be appalled, insulted, affronted at the very least. I let his words settle, heavy and low in my belly, and they don’t sting as they should. “You need a man to properly navigate those curves.”

  His dishonorable intentions tickle my ears and the pleasant flutter in my belly grows into a hungry growl. I narrow my eyes on his wicked grin and nod. Yes, I could use a good fuck. And that is what I wanted, right? Who would it hurt? I would get what I want from someone who seems rather sure he has what I need. A quick war rages in my mind, what to do? Do I allow myself to be lured into his one night web? Should I be insulted and refuse, or agree, and go against my very nature. He is beautiful, and
rich, with a reputation like a stud horse. Who am I to say no? I collect my thoughts, and slowly craft my response, leaving him to wait.

  “And you think you’re up to the job?”

  “Oh, I know it.” His eyes twinkle with ego. “Aren’t you curious?” Oh my, his words are a baptism in sin, delicious, dark and twisted sin. “It is clear to me that you are worth the risk.”

  “What happened to being just friends? I thought that is what you wanted.” I reply before my mind can talk me out of it.

  “I do want to be your friend. I also want other things. I cannot stop thinking about what’s hiding under that dowdy little dress,” an insult and proposition in the same breath. His smoldering glare burns down my defenses and I am ripe for the taking, completely unguarded and unprotected. “I am not feeling very friendly right now. I want to taste you, Sophie. I cannot think about anything else. I will kiss every inch of you until you whimper and beg.” My heart speeds up to Mach one. My mouth is dry, but my pussy is sopping wet. “But I just want to be clear about what this is. What it will be. If we can both agree, then we can have a bit of fun and nobody gets hurt.”

  “And what of your rule?” I prod. He leans forward, whispering across the desk as if sharing some secret.