“That’s up to you,” he said. “I assumed you’d want to make sure your business was concluded here before you made that decision.”
“I don’t have any business other than the bank,” she said.
A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “We won’t really know that until we see what’s in the safe deposit box, now will we?” He sighed, then continued. “If the trip is as straight forward as you hope, we can leave immediately. But your father left something here for a reason. I thought it best to make sure we had a place to stay if the situation proves more complicated than you imagine.”
She couldn’t deny the logic. What if whatever was in the safe deposit box led them to something — or someone — else in Madrid? What if her father had been having an affair and the contents of the safe deposit box named the woman? Would Jenna want to meet her? Find out more about her father?
She didn’t know. And Farrell was right; she wouldn’t know until she found out what was inside the box.
“Okay,” she said.
Their driver removed their bags, handed them to a porter, then gave something to Farrell before departing. They made their way through an intimate but lavish lobby, decorated with white marble floors and an antique staircase lined with rich, red carpet. Jenna was frantically calculating the balance on her credit card when Farrell made a beeline for the elevators.
“What about our rooms?” she asked, stepping in behind him.
“Taken care of.”
He inserted a key card into a slot on the elevator control panel and her stomach lifted as they rose into the air. She stood silently next to him, trying not to panic. A quick trip to Madrid to find out what was in her father’s safe deposit box had turned into time alone with Farrell in a lavish hotel.
This was not good.
She watched the numbers climb to the sixth floor. The doors opened, and they emerged directly into a luxurious room awash with sunlight. At one end of the space, a set of old windows looked out over the city, the tops of the trees providing privacy beyond the carved white banister of the balcony. A set of blue velvet sofas, their legs curved and gilded, sat between two end tables, both decorated with vases of fresh white peonies, and an antique marble fireplace was set into one wall.
“What is this?” she asked.
“It’s our room.” Farrell bent to pick up his bag, obviously left by the porter, although Jenna had no idea how how he’d gotten upstairs before them.
She didn’t move. “This looks like one room.”
“It’s not,” he said. “There are two bedrooms and two bathrooms, so you needn’t worry about your privacy.”
He disappeared beyond a doorway on the left, leaving her alone in the living room. She hesitated, wanting to call him out on the arrangement without sounding ungrateful. Finally, when she had her wits about her, when she’d stopped imagining her and Farrell naked in one of the bedrooms, she followed him into the room.
A massive bed dominated the room, decorated in rich reds and blues. The room was also fitted with a writing desk, a small sofa, a large painted wardrobe. A set of glass doors with old bronze handles led onto the balcony. Beyond it, she could see more trees, could hear the muffled buzz of traffic in the city. Farrell was unpacking, moving between his duffle bag and the dresser.
“Don’t you think you should have asked me before setting us up in the same room?” she finally asked.
He didn’t stop moving while he spoke. “I own shares in several hotel chains. This is one of them. This suite is reserved for me when I visit. It seemed foolish to make reservations elsewhere, especially when we won’t be staying in the same room. Yours is all the way on the other side of the suite.” He straightened, met her eyes. “Does that make you feel better?”
Yes.
No.
She wanted to run from him.
Wanted to run to him.
“And if we get what we need today we’ll go right back to London?” she asked.
“If that’s what you want, yes.”
She heard something unspoken in his words. An invitation. A hope. A promise.
She returned to the living room and picked up her bag, then took it into the other bedroom. It was every bit as extravagant as the room where Farrell would sleep, except this one was decorated in platinum blue and ivory. The bed was large, so plush she sunk a good four inches when she sat on the edge. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to strip off her clothes, slip under the covers, and sleep.
“Shall we check out the bank?”
She looked up to find Farrell leaning in the doorway. There was something graceful and sexy about that lean, something that made her want to lay back on the bed, open her legs, let him come to her. She nodded instead, trying to will away the throbbing need at her center.
They descended to the lobby and stepped out into a warm, spring afternoon. The air was slightly humid, fragrant with concrete and heat, and somewhere underneath it all, the improbable scent of wheat.
“What is that?” she asked Farrell.
“What?”
“That smell,” she said. “Like bread.”
He chuckled. “You’re not far off. It’s wheat.”
“Wheat?”
He nodded. “From the fields outside the city. I’m surprised you can smell it. It’s usually only noticeable in the summer.”
“Summer is right around the corner,” she said.
He nodded, his eyes clouding over. “I suppose it is.”
She wondered where she would be then. If she would be back in New York, or if fate had other plans. But that was foolish. You made your own fate. Crafted your own destiny. If she didn’t believe that, all the sacrifices she’d made — Farrell being the biggest of all — would have been for nothing.
He stopped in front of a sleek, red car and opened the passenger side door.
“No driver?” she asked.
“Not this time.”
She slid into the car, wondering at the mysterious wheels that turned behind the scenes of Farrell’s life. How many people were on the payroll to insure that he had a car, ready and waiting, across the sea? How many employees did it take to keep him informed of Jenna’s travel arrangements, file flight plans for the private plane, reserve the suite at the Ritz?
She tried to summon the fear she’d once felt thinking about Farrell’s lifestyle. Certainly the illegal activities of his business funded it all. But right now, after years of being responsible for everything on her own, she could only feel relieved. It was undeniably nice to have someone else make the arrangements. To have someone else take the reigns for awhile.
She buckled her seat belt as Farrell slipped into the driver’s seat. The car started with a low purr, and a moment later they were zipping onto the road and heading downtown. Farrell rolled the windows down, and Jenna leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, letting the wind whip her hair as the warm, almost-summer wind caressed her face.
She woke with a start, noticing the silence. The car wasn’t moving, and the engine was quiet. She turned her head to find Farrell staring at her. She met his eyes, their gazes locked in silence for what seemed like forever. Finally he reached out, touched a big hand gently to her cheek.
“You’re exhausted.”
“Yes.” It wasn’t a minor admission. She was exhausted, and not just from the early morning and the flight to Spain. She was exhausted from doing everything alone. From making all the decisions for her and Lily. From budgeting their money to make sure they could pay the bills. From laying awake alone at night, wondering about the future and whether Lily would be okay without a father and whether Jenna would ever find another man who touched her like Farrell. The weight of it had kept her awake for five years.
“Let’s take care of this,” he said, his voice low and full of promise. “Then I’ll take care of you.”
Her body hummed with the words. She knew how Farrell took care of her. Remembered well how he inhabited her so completely there was no room
for anything else.
He slipped out of the car before she could say anything and came around to open her door.
“Which one’s the bank?” she asked, anxious to turn the conversation to safer ground.
Paseo de la Castellana was a wide highway with three lanes in each direction divided by a wide, grassy median that looked big enough to hold a park.The street was lined with an odd mixture of architecture — some of the buildings older than the Ritz, some of them made of glass and chrome and steel.
“That one,” he said, pointing to an elaborate building with arched windows and an enormous set of double doors.
She drew a breath. This was it. She would finally know what her father had been doing in the weeks before his death, for better or worse.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Farrell asked, stopping on the sidewalk. “We can go back to London now if you like. Forget this whole thing.”
She shook her head. “I feel like he wants me to know, whatever it is,” she said. She laughed. “That probably sounds crazy.”
She thought she saw a hint of warmth in the icy depths of his eyes. “Not crazy at all. Come on then.”
He led her through the doors into a cavernous room with triple-height ceilings and carved woodwork that had to date back to the 1800s. A gentleman in a suit stepped forward, but he didn't look like a bank teller. In fact, Jenna wouldn’t have been surprised if he was armed. He had the aura of cleverly disguised security.
“Welcome to the Bank of Spain,” he said in accented English. “How may we be of service to you today?”
“My father recently passed away,” she said, withdrawing the key card. “He left this, and I’ve been led to believe it belongs to a safe deposit box in your bank.”
“It does look like one of ours,” the man said, “but I’m afraid you must have an appointment to access our safe deposit boxes.”
“An appointment?” She heard the disappointment in her own voice. “I didn’t even think to call ahead.”
He smiled. “It’s quite all right. If you follow me, we can arrange something.”
She sighed. “Thank you. Will I be able to get an appointment today?”
“Arturo will give you more information,” he said, leading her to a small office.
An older man with jet black hair and a portly figure under a perfectly tailored suit rose from the desk near the window. The man who had greeted them explained what they wanted, then withdrew from the room.
They made small talk as the man named Arturo pulled up the safe deposit appointment schedule on his computer. After some clicking and tapping on the key board, it was revealed that the earliest available appointment was the following day at one pm. Farrell did what he could, giving Arturo his business card and implying a favor would be returned sometime in the future, but Arturo could only apologize. Tomorrow really was the best they could do.
They took the appointment and left the bank, stepping out onto the busy Paseo de la Castellana. It was afternoon, and the sun was high in the sky behind a bank of clouds. She was at a loss. In spite of Farrell’s warnings that they may have to stay, she had expected to return to London today.
Farrell took her arm. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He looked down at her. “I said I would take care of you, and that’s what I’m going to do. You’re simply going to have to trust me, Jenna.”
22
“What is that?” Jenna asked Farrell from the balcony doorway. “In my room?”
He’d immediately pulled out his computer upon their return to the hotel. Jenna had gone to her room, planning to call Kate to check on Lily. She’d stopped cold when she saw that the small table near the window was loaded down with several plates. A peek underneath the warming domes revealed french toast, Eggs Benedict, bacon, and fresh fruit. She’d expected to find coffee, but instead there was a pot of hot water and an assortment of herbal teas.
He didn’t look up from the computer. “I assume you’re talking about brunch.”
“I… yes,” she said.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.
“Starving, actually,” she said. “Aren’t you?”
He finally met her gaze. “You needn’t worry about me, Jenna. I can take care of myself. You’ve had a long morning, and I imagine you’re emotionally stressed as well. I thought you might like to eat in private, call home, have a nap.”
Now the herbal tea made sense.
“Thank you,” she said. She hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to take her eyes off him. Farrell was always beautiful, but he was uncommonly so now, his feet bare underneath his trousers, his posture relaxed. Much more relaxed than she felt looking at him. “Sure you wouldn’t like to join me?”
“I’ll see you for dinner,” he said. “Take the afternoon to rest.”
She nodded, then retreated to the bedroom. The food was delicious, and she had to resist the urge to moan while she ate. The bacon was cooked to perfection, the french toast crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Even the herbal tea tasted amazing, and she felt the tension in her body slowly dissipating.
When she was finished eating, she called Kate. She kept her questions and answers simple, careful to avoid Lily’s name in case Farrell could hear her. By the time she’d reassured herself that everything was fine at home, exhaustion was pulling at her eyelids. She stripped to her underwear and bra and slid between the sheets of the magnificent bed. It was every bit as luxurious as it looked.
The room was dark when she woke up. She looked at her phone and was surprised to discover that it was almost seven. She’d slept for nearly five hours, felt like she could sleep for five more. But Farrell had said he would see her at dinner, and the idea of spending time alone with him was more exciting than it should have been.
She threw back the cover and slipped on her pants and blouse, then opened the door. She was preparing to look for Farrell when she nearly tripped over a package: a small white box on top of a larger one, both tied together with a silky red ribbon. Her gaze came to rest on a card slipped under the bow, her name scrawled in handwriting she would have recognized anywhere.
Jenna.
It was strangely intimate, imagining Farrell scrawling her name across the creamy vellum.
The suite was silent, lit by the two dim lamps next to the sofa. One of the doors leading to the balcony was open, and a cool breeze rustled the sheer draperies on either side. The space was vacant, heavy with the absence of human presence. She didn’t know where Farrell went, but she was almost certainly alone.
She bent to pick up the boxes and retreated to her room.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she slipped the card out from under the ribbon and ran her finger along the flap. Farrell had licked it, moving his tongue along its surface the way he had once moved it over her, inside her. Her stomach tightened down low, her sex flooding with heat.
She opened the envelope and pulled out a simple sheet of thick, ivory paper.
Jenna,
These should fit you nicely. Be ready at nine.
FB
She lifted the piece of paper to her nose, inhaled, hoping to catch his scent. But it was just paper, and she set it aside and pulled at one end of the bow with trembling fingers.
She started with the smaller of the two boxes, opening the lid to reveal a pair of black Louboutins, exquisitely simple if not for the satin ribbon that was meant to tie around her ankles. She checked the size and was unsurprised to find they were exactly right.
She set the box aside and moved on to the bigger one. She had to fight her way through a sea of tissue paper to get to the garment beneath, but when she did, it was worth the wait. Her breath caught in her throat, and she reached into the box, fingering the silky fabric inside it before removing a finely sewn dress of deep red crepe.
The bodice was a deep “V” held up by delicate straps that would make a bra possible. She was still thinking about that as she took in the wai
st, nipped in slightly by a band the same color as the dress. Under it, the skirt dropped to a soft flurry of fabric. The dress was expertly designed, the pleats starting just above the knee instead of at the waist. She looked at the tag sewn into the back. Jason Wu. No wonder.
Jesus.
She fished around in the box, hoping to find underclothes worthy of the dress. It was empty. The realization sent a rush of arousal to her center, and she was immediately wet. Farrell had never liked her to wear underwear. He wanted to be able to take her anytime, anywhere. He wanted to touch her clit under a restaurant table. To slip his fingers inside her in the back of a cab. To make her come in a darkened movie theater.
She hung the dress in the wardrobe and stripped off her clothes. She had less than two hours to get ready, and while her brain was telling her it didn’t matter how she looked — there was no way she was going to get involved with Farrell Black again — her body seemed to have an agenda of its own.
The bathroom was as big as the bedroom, with wall to wall marble, a giant soaking tub fitted with an elaborate bronze faucet and handset, and a double sink. She started the hot water and surveyed her body in the mirror. It was possible she wasn’t being objective, but it didn’t seem that it had changed much in five years. She was only twenty-eight, and her breasts were still full and high on her chest, her waist still small. She’d been lucky not to get stretch marks when she was pregnant with Lily, although her hips remained slightly fuller than they had been before her pregnancy. She wondered if Farrell would notice.
Not that it mattered. Because she was absolutely not going to sleep with him tonight.
She turned off the water and sunk into the tub all the way to her chin. Sighing aloud, she closed her eyes, let herself drift as the water loosened the knots in her weary muscles. The water was cooling when she opened her eyes again, and she hurried to shampoo her hair and wash her body, then dried off and padded back to the bedroom on bare feet.
She searched for underwear that would work with the dress and finally gave up. She hadn’t brought anything nice anyway. She turned her attention to make-up, wishing she had more to work with before realizing this is exactly how Farrell wanted her.
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