“So, now that we’re going to be more intimate, do you think you might tell me where you’re originally from?”
“Intimate?” I swallowed.
Even in the dark of the truck’s cab, I saw Trent’s face pale. “Oh, I didn’t mean to be inappropriate. I meant since you’re coming to my home is all. You have nothing to worry about.”
I’m blowing it! “No, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to overreact. I guess it’s the shock of being stranded. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a situation in my entire life where I felt helpless.”
Trent’s eyes went wide. “You haven’t? Raisa, where do you come from?”
From mansions and country clubs and servants to answer my every whim. From private jets to whisk me off and limo drivers to pick me up. A world that makes no sense to the average person. I wanted to wall myself off from that superficial world, yet I quickly realized that I’m not comfortable in Trent’s world either. Where was I from? “I come from everywhere,” I answered cryptically.
“Everywhere?”
“I moved a lot. I don’t feel like I’ve put down roots anywhere. There isn’t a single place where I have a sense of connection.”
“That’s so—what’s the word I’m thinking of?”
“Indifferent? Cold?” I ask. After all, these were the words often used to describe me.
“Sad,” he answers as he gets out. He walked over to my side of the door to help me out.
Well my-oh-my, such the perfect gentleman.
“The snow is thick, Raisa, and you don’t have suitable shoes. Would it be inappropriate if I carried you again?”
I gulped and then berated myself for the most unladylike response. I stared at the snow’s accumulation, then glanced down at my Manolo Blahnik shoes.
“Yes, those are pretty shoes.” Trent chuckled as he obviously saw concern for my shoes plastered all over my face. “Come on, it’s not a long walk.”
“Okay,” I answered nervously.
He moved towards me and I found myself holding my breath. When he leaned in, he put one arm under my legs while he moved his other arm around my waist. He picked me up. It felt different from before, when my body felt frozen from falling into the snow. This time, my body warmed instantly. The result seemed to over sensitize me.
I‘d studied him when he was driving his truck. He oozed pure masculinity. Like what I assumed might be the stereotype of the American cowboy. His hand moved to the dashboard when he announced he was turning on the four-wheel drive. Just the movement of him leaning over, caused my breath to hitch. A strange current surged throughout my body. Even in his thick winter coat, I could see a powerful arm of a well-built man. His hand seemed massive. I wonder if it’s true what women say about the size of a man’s hand in relation to his—?
All these crazy thoughts are in my head while he gently picks me up. I feel so safe. So comforted…Taken care of. He was so close, I could actually smell a slight whiff of soap or was it his aftershave? It permeated my senses in a surreal way. I realized I didn’t recognize the scent. It wasn’t Ambre Topkapi or Caron’s Poivre. He didn’t smell of luxury or obscene money. Instead, I sniffed something woodsy and musky. His entire aroma seemed to shout out virility.
It was then, when I realized how very wet I’d become. At first, I worried, with his hands on my arse, that my skirt hadn’t fully dried. Suddenly, I felt the difference. The outer edges of my skirt were probably still damp to the touch. This wetness though, couldn’t be compared to my damp skirt. I felt a tingling in my pussy as Trent carried me. It became almost painful. I got this overriding desire to move his hand there to relieve the pressure.
While I became aware of what his close proximity seemed to be doing to my body, my eyes met his. What did he see when I stared so intently at him? Could he tell that lust seemed to be pouring out of me?
His eyes widened and then small crinkle lines formed at the edges.
Even with the snow coming down heavier now, warmth flowed throughout my body.
Trent opened the door of what appeared to be a small log cabin and set me down gently inside. A brief chill hit me at the loss of body contact with him.
“You must be cold.” His voice broke into my thoughts. “Let me get a fire going. I’m sorry it’s so chilly in here.”
I wanted to say I didn’t shiver because the cabin felt chilly. I actually didn’t know what to say. It seemed crazy that I seemed to be yearning so quickly for a stranger. I’ve never felt like this before. Actually, I tried very hard not to have emotions. Sentiment meant attachment. The unfamiliarity made me uncomfortable.
Trent quickly went to work on the fireplace. Over his shoulder he said, “Don’t take off your coat yet. Let me warm this place up.” He turned on a small table lamp that sat near the fireplace.
I watched as he grabbed some logs and began to set the fire.
He glanced over at me. “Raisa, do you mind turning on some more lights?”
“Oh, yeah, of course!” I really needed to stop standing there, staring at him. I ran around his small cabin like a chicken with its head cut off. I found my behavior amusing. I’m the one who usually tells people what to do.
When I turned on a few table lamps and two standing torchiere floor lamps, the room lit up. It was then I realized I’d held the wrong perception of Trent’s log cabin. It definitely didn’t appear like a country setting or have even a rustic feeling. As soon as the lights went on, what materialized in front of me had to be an artist’s oasis. The furniture seemed sparse. Just a couch and sitting chair. Two end tables and a large screen TV. Yet, I could tell his choice in furnishing wasn’t cheap. I recognized immediately that he paid top dollar. That wasn’t what hit me first though. The paintings.
Everywhere I looked on the walls, on table bases, and floor stands were paintings. I’ve grown up around art. Billionaires love to collect art. Whether it’s for the investment, the prestige or just plain bragging rights, the insanely rich surround their homes with upscale paintings.
I didn’t recognize any of the artists of the paintings encompassing Trent’s living area. However, I could tell these paintings radiated talent. I stared in awe. They weren’t typical beginner paintings of country settings or fruit bowls. What made this artwork striking was the matter of expression. The designs were innovative to say the least. Bold colors and symmetrical patterns formed what seemed to be people and places. I noticed though, you needed to stare hard to make out what the artist intended. It seemed to be easy to get distracted by the vibrant and striking colors the painter used.
“You like art?” Trent’s voice caused my body to jolt.
“These paintings are incredible.” I could hear the wonder in my voice as he drew closer.
Trent put one hand on my back and the other on my arm as he led me towards the fire. “You’re still shivering. Come over here, where it’s warm.”
A feeling of contentment spread through me as I allowed him to lead me towards the couch facing his fireplace.
“Would you like something hot to drink? Tea?” Trent’s voice dropped lower and became huskier.
I glanced up at him from the couch.
He had a playful spark in his eyes.
“Most Americans drink coffee or cocoa. How did you know I’d prefer tea?”
He laughed. “You’re not that hard to figure out, Raisa. Stay here on the couch. I’ll be right back.” He grabbed a blanket from one of the arm chairs and wrapped it around my shoulders. For a tough burly mechanic, he definitely had a gentle considerate side.
Oh but Trent, you’re not easy to decipher at all.
I could hear him in what had to be a kitchen because of the rattling of dishes and the pouring of water from a faucet. I kept the blanket around my shoulder as I walked around his small living area to study the paintings again. I became aware of my body temperature warming up with the blanket and the intensity of the fire. Trent must have been in the kitchen for a while because I heard the teakettle whistling.
He walked out of the kitchen and my breath caught in my throat. He’d taken off his coat and what appeared before me had to be a body more magnificent than I even imagined. Jeans encased muscular beefy thighs that led up to a slim waist. He wore a simple plaid flannel shirt, yet I couldn’t believe how fucking sexy he looked in it. The shirt seemed tight across an expansive chest as I fixated on the distinct outline of generously proportioned biceps.
Prickles went up and down my spine as I gaped at him, standing in the doorway.
Trent’s eyes bored into me as he walked towards me. I wondered if he saw the fascination in my gaze. I never liked anyone to see what I’m thinking. While Trent approached, I found myself for the first time I could remember, wanting to be transparent. Needing someone to see my feelings.
Trent approached me with a cup of steaming tea in one hand and what looked like coffee in the other. He leaned in and I found my toes curling. “Here’s a nice hot drink for my English rose.”
My hand shakily grabbed at the tea but then, the comprehension set in. “How did you know?”
“You want to have a flutter?”
I laughed and realized ironically it was the second time I laughed in one day. First time with Dee in the bar and now with Trent. “No one knows what it means to have a flutter, unless they’ve spent time in England.”
Trent chuckled. “I studied art at the University of Edinburgh but I did a semester at Oxford.”
My eyes widened. “These paintings? You’re the artist? They’re incredible.”
“Yes. I did all these.” Trent looked around the room. “You like them?”
“They’re amazing. I mean it. I’m in awe. I’ve been around Cezanne’s and Picasso’s my whole life. You’re in their league. Why aren’t you in a gallery?”
“Whoa. I wouldn’t say I’m in their league but I’m flattered. Now before we keep talking about my amazing art talent, is there someone you should call? I’m sure that your family is concerned about you?”
“My only family is my father. He’s overseas, so he probably has no idea that it’s even snowing here. I should probably call my friend, Dee, though. I called her from my cell, and then lost the connection.”
“Sure, the phone’s in my office right over there. I’ve got some stew heating up in the kitchen. We’ll have something to eat shortly.”
He makes stew? I didn’t know how to boil water. As Trent strode back to the kitchen, I had this irrational thought about how I didn’t want him to even leave the room. I felt so taken care of for the first time in my life.
Although I had few friends, I did however, know how to be a good friend back. I left Dee hanging and needed to let her know I was okay. I walked towards the door that Trent called his office. It appeared to be more of an artist’s workshop area. One side of the small room was set up with an easel and a drop cloth. Paints of various colors were spread out. The other side of the room, housed a desk with a computer sitting on it. Above the desk were two framed college degrees. I saw the phone on a side table next to the computer’s printer.
At first, I hesitated because the night had turned late. Then, I remembered Dee telling me that after she had dinner with her family, she planned on web chatting with her girlfriends late into the night. I figured I wouldn’t be disturbing her then, by calling her cell again. I dialed her number, all of a sudden, craving the need to talk to her.
“Queenie?” Dee picked up on the first ring. “I got worried when I tried calling you back and it went right to voicemail. Hey girls, it’s my friend Queenie that I told you about.”
Yep, Dee had been web chatting with her girlfriends. “Hi Dee. I won’t keep you since I know the importance of your Skype dates with your pals. I’m hoping though, you can pick me up on your way back into the city tomorrow. My car broke down. I think I’m just going to junk it.”
“Junk it? You just bought it!” Dee exclaimed.
For once, I didn’t care that I sounded extravagant. I know only rich people can junk a car right after they bought it. After having a car break down on a rural road, I felt in no hurry to be driving again for a while. Still, I hate sounding like a spoiled brat. I bet the average working person deals with cars that break down all the time. Believe me, I now have the upmost sympathy for anyone who drives a used car. Car problems suck.
“Dee, can you pick me up or what?” I asked impatiently, hoping to change the direction of the conversation.
“Don’t snap at me, Ice Queen. You know I’ll come and get you anywhere. Do you need me to come now?
I thought about the blizzard forecast. I also considered the idea of leaving Trent’s place. “No, I’ve got a place to stay for tonight.”
“Eve! I want to hear about your honeymoon. Calm down Fire Spirit! Let me see, if my friend needs help.” Dee’s voice seemed to be yelling off in the distance.
“Dee, that’s sounds important. How about if I call you in the morning and give you directions?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Then Dee raised her voice. “We’ve got all night to hear about Eve’s week of wild monkey sex. She married a real Indian Chief. You should see this guy, Queenie. He is hot with a capital ‘H’. I’m sure Eve felt that tomahawk all night long,” Dee paused. “Oh Grace, really? It wasn’t that mean.”
“Dee, you’re driving me crazy. I can’t tell if you’re talking to me or your girlfriends.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry, these gals bring out the naughty side in me. Okay, before we get off the phone, I have to make sure you’re okay. Now, where are you staying?”
I paused considering my words carefully. “Uh, a mechanic picked me up at the side of the road. I know how that sounds but he isn’t creepy. Really.”
“WHAT? A stranger? Absolutely not! Give me directions now.”
A part of me basked in joy that someone actually cared about my whereabouts. Not enough, though, to miss a night with Trent. “No Dee, honestly. It’s okay. I feel very comfortable here.”
I could hear Dee mumbling in the distance. “Janie wants to know if she can tell you a few self-defense moves you can resort to if you need to protect yourself.”
“Dee, stop worrying. This guy is not an attacker. In fact he’s so hot, I may just attack him.” I laughed at the absurdity. Dee sure does bring this out in me.
“Oh, I see,” Dee answered slyly. “I do believe I get it now. Yes Queenie, you do need to get laid but I must have some information just to be safe. Let’s start with his name.”
“Trent Darling.”
“Holy shit!” Dee screamed. “Girls, she is at Trent Darling’s place.” I actually heard screams in the background.
“Is he famous?”
“Uh—yeah. His art shows were always in the newspaper when he was in high school. Everyone called him the town’s art prodigy. He studied in Europe, and then came back and kind of became a hermit. Although I heard, his paintings sell for tens of thousands of dollars. He’s gorgeous. I do believe I get it now!” Dee paused. “Yes, Grace, everyone said he is a very nice man. Puhlease! Who cares? He is sex on a stick.”
“Oh Dee, I don’t know how to explain it. I’ve never had a guy titillate my senses like this. I can’t stop staring at him. He has this presence like no man I’ve ever been around. He’s kind and gentle but yet domineering at the same time. I have this image in my mind that I can’t get out. It’s him fucking me so hard I see stars. Remember when you said that at the bar, Dee?”
“A little change in the terminology, but I get your drift. What I actually said was how about a man making you come so hard you see stars.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. He just looks at me and I get wet.”
“Did you hear that girls? The orgasm pact IS magic.”
The laughter from Dee’s computer is so loud, I hear it clearly. I could feel the smile creeping up on my face. “I’ll let you go. Besides, Trent says he has stew waiting. Damn, even the idea of eating stew with him is erotic to me. I’ll call you tomorrow with directions.�
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“Night night! Yeah, the stuffy Queen is finally getting laid!” Dee is roaring as she hangs up the phone.”
I hung up the phone and then jumped.
Trent stood in the doorway holding two bowls of stew. Unhurriedly, he strode towards me but then turned towards his desk. He gently put the two bowls down on his desk.
It seemed to me like he moved slow motion.
When he stood closer to me, I craned my neck to try to read his face. Did he hear my conversation? His half-hooded eyes gave him away. “All I have to do is look at you and you get wet, Raisa? I think I’d like to check myself to see if that’s true.”
Holy Fuck! I’m going to get laid.
Chapter Four
My feet felt rooted to the ground. I should’ve been embarrassed that he heard such talk. I’ve never discussed graphic sex with anyone but Dee. Damn that girl for bringing this out in me! I should run out of the room in humiliation. Yet, I couldn’t move. I knew the reason—I wanted him.
Standing so close, the smell of his aftershave overpowered all my rational thought. Musky. Spicy. Masculine. I became conscious that it might be possible that I’ve never had sex with a real man. The few men I had sex with before, I didn’t respect. Is that really where this was leading?
Trent moved a strand of hair away from eyes. “When you fell on the snow and I stood over you, I wanted to kiss you.”
Well, I received my answer. “When I fell on my arse?” I asked incredulously.
“Yes. Your arse, my English beauty.” Trent smirked. “When I first pulled over to the side of the road, you were standing there so stiff and unyielding. Like nothing ever got to you and you hadn’t a care in the world.”
“I was freaking out that my car broke down!”
“You didn’t show it. Until you fell. Then, I saw it on your face. The sweetest blush ever. Genuine. I’m very turned on by unpretentious women.” Trent bent down and began kissing my neck.
Stranded With a Billionaire Boxed Set Page 10
