by Sienna Mynx
Their eyes met. He looked her over as if the robe she wore wasn’t covering her body at all. The heat banked in his smoky brown eyes during his perusal, caused her to throb at her center. Couldn’t he stay? Watch TV? Share a glass of wine?
Diego looked away and went to the nightstand, picked up his pocket watch. “Goodbye Marcella.”
“Bye?”
“I’ll see you again.” He smiled then walked out. Still it didn’t sound like the truth.
Marcella hurried after him. “Wait!”
He stopped at the door and turned his head to give her another look. Those looks were so guarded and secretive she couldn’t trust his intentions. Though after the day they shared she desperately wanted to. She tried to remember the ways he whispered to her in Spanish how much he adored her body when they made love. Or how he laughed with her at the vineyard. She tried to remember that instead of the blank look he gave her when it all came to an end. She had finally found a man that made her want something more.
It was true, a man’s heart and feelings only resided at the tip of his cock. They could turn it off like a switch. Still, the way he made her feel wasn’t her imagination. “Let me um, you don’t have my number.”
Marcella turned in a full circle, eyes searching. Then she went to her desk to grab a pen and loose leaf of paper to scribble down her number. Stupid her, she should have let him ask. She just couldn’t risk it. Maybe he forgot, or maybe she just had the best dick of her life and she wanted more. “Here, that’s my cell number cause I, I’m usually at the gallery.”
Diego pressed the number to his lips and winked at her. Then he was gone. Gone.
Marcella stared at the door. What was she to do now? He just walked out, and left. Left her with all these urges, and not a single answer to satisfy them until they met again.
Diego stood outside the door. He stared at her handwriting, the feel of her lingered in the front of his mind. The way she tasted, smelled, felt beneath him. He licked his lips as the phantom feel of her kiss remained, shaking his head he cut his eyes back to the door once more before he crumbled the paper and strolled away.
Chapter Eight
Marcella stirred lumps of vanilla, her spoon disappeared in the creamy mixture then reappeared coated with ice cream. She scooped up a mouthful and savored the sugar rush. She always ate sweets when confused, contemplative, or both. Today would be no different. Her gaze flickered upward and her ears perked at the soft tinkle of metal. The knob to the front door turned. With the spoon in her mouth she hesitated and waited. The door pushed open with a breathless Susan lugging in her bags.
“Hi!” she said in a huff. Susan tossed her things and her purse to the middle of the floor then dropped her hands to her hips. “Figured I’d stay here for a couple of days, don’t want to be alone. Girl, did you know that tiny elevator of yours is broke? I had to take the stairs. That’s crazy! Look at me. I’m sweating,” she announced, holding her arms out to demonstrate, breathing hard, nostrils flared. Susan closed the door, and then kicked up a leg to show the sole of her shoe. “Jimmy Choo aint made for hiking. These babies are for styling only. Damn building is going to give me bunions.”
“Are those my shoes?” Marcella frowned.
Susan shrugged. She plucked her things from the floor and switched off to the guest room that she had turned into her own. Marcella swallowed, licked the spoon and returned her attention to the rain soaked window. She liked the rain. It did so more often than it snowed during the winter. She heaved a deep sigh and recalled the story Diego told her of the rainmaker. Suddenly she wanted to know more about rain, superstitions, and him.
It had been 36 hours and no phone call. To add to her disappointment, she had to sulk in regret for not asking for his number. She did so with a bowl of sweet stuff, and her hair picked out to afro puff at the top of her head. The television remained on mute. She preferred the pitter-patter of rain as the droplets echoed against the windowpane.
The phone had only rung twice. Once, it had been Susan who announced her pending arrival. The second call had been Garrett. He said Bailey wanted to meet to discuss Garrett’s infidelity. He sounded hopeful. For his sake Marcella prayed it went well, but she doubted it would. Once you’ve been betrayed, things are never the same. Richard taught her that bitter lesson. She started to warn Garrett of this but kept the advice to herself. You can never truly explain the dark chambers of a broken heart. He’d learn on his own soon enough.
“Marcella!”
The spoon hung from her mouth and her eyes went round like saucers, when her head turned. “Huh?”
“Did you hear me? I asked you what you did this weekend? Where you been, girl?”
“Here,” she said softly.
“Oh, okay. Wanna go out to eat? Screw the rain. I’ve got a craving for seafood.”
“No,” Marcella replied. She set the bowl of melted ice cream on the coffee table.
Susan walked over to her friend and plopped down on the sofa with a soft bounce, elbows to knees, cheeks cupped in both hands. “What’s going on? It’s after two. Why are you still in your jammies?”
“First, how’s your mother?”
“She’s better, good actually. My sister is there and you know I can’t stand that bitch.”
“Jeez Susan, you’re lucky to have a sister,” Marcella chuckled.
“Yes, spoken by a woman that’s not cursed with one. She works my nerves.”
The phone rang and Marcella snatched it up. “Hello?”
“Hello. Susan there?” a deep voice resonated through the line. Marcella couldn’t hide her disappointment. She handed the phone over with an eye roll. Susan frowned, said a few words into the phone and hung up.
“What’s up with you? Something isn’t right. I can tell.”
“How do you do it?” Marcella asked, with a sigh, dropping her head back in the sofa pillows.
“Do what?”
“How do you date, sleep around, and not get caught up? You just go with the moment—nothing extra. How do you do it?”
When Susan didn’t answer, Marcella feared she offended her but out of the corner of her eye, she could see her grinning. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”
“Somebody came in here and dusted you off. Didn’t they? Who was it? I need details, girl!”
“How did you leap to that? I just asked you a question.”
“That’s because I know you!” Susan wagged her finger at her. “I’m always trying to talk sex with you and you’re always leaving the room. So something is up. Is he here?” She gripped the edge of the sofa and looked around. “Did he just leave? He did, didn’t he? Damn I missed him. Who is ‘him’, by the way?”
“Wrong.” Laughing, Marcella shook her head. “It happened Thursday. It was the roses guy. The Mr. Jerk turned sexy guy. After we slept together he became The Magician Guy, cause girl you got to see his disappearing act.”
“The asshole?” Susan frowned.
“Yep, the Asshole Guy.”
“Was it good?”
“Delicious,” Marcella licked the sticky remnants of ice cream from her lips. Drawing her legs up so her feet rested on the sofa seat, she wrapped her arms around herself and savored the memory of his touch. She visibly shivered just from the thought of him. She dropped her head to her knees conscious of her breathing, a little faster than usual. The tingling of her breasts was the start, and they grew tight from the thought of him. Each sexy memory flowed like lava under her skin, incinerating her self-control.
“Marcella?”
Her head lifted and she smiled. “He was tasty, sexy, attentive, passionate, and insatiable. I had to stay in bed the rest of the day to recover. My back hurt. My thighs hurt. Hell, it hurt to comb my hair.”
“Whew!” Susan yelped, fanning herself.
Marcella laughed out loud. With Diego sex was a flash fire. It just consumed all her senses. She could give Susan the details, but decided a lady never tells. “It was nice.”
; “Girl, good schlong is good schlong. But um, let me guess. He hasn’t called.”
“Nope. Not a call.”
“He will. Don’t worry over it.” Susan waved it off.
“You’re not hearing me, Susan. It was pure sexual attraction, almost primal. I lusted for the man so bad I actually brought him home. I never do that. It’s over though. I think he got what he needed and won’t call. I certainly got what I wanted.”
“Oh stop. I talked to Sam Friday. She told me the gallery was wall to wall with those roses. A man doesn’t buy a rose garden to just get some action. Trust me. He’s one of those ‘A type’ guys.”
“What’s an ‘A type’ guy?” Marcella sat up straight.
“Awesome, attractive, addictive, aloof, asshole…type of guys.”
“Oh, sorry I asked.”
“Let me explain.” Susan grabbed her arm and kept her from rising. “I like certain types of men. Usually the kind I shouldn’t. All the unhealthy stuff you know, big dicks, long pockets, afraid of commitment, oh and a heavy dose of that testosterone swagger. You know, style.” She tapped her chin. “Usually Italian. They come prepackaged that way.”
Marcella chuckled.
“The ‘A type’ of man has those qualities. A lot of those qualities, actually, but they use it for evil not good. And they use it in the reverse. They don’t date women like me. They like the unaware, good girl, freak in the sheets but she doesn’t know it kind of girl. A submissive mostly.”
“Is that right?”
“I’m giving you wisdom here.” Susan tossed her dark bangs from her eyes. “They go after the girls that are the ‘U type’.”
Marcella sighed. “I asked for this.”
“The ‘U type is: u need him to love you, u need to please him, u need to become what he wants, u need a good fuck, before u can think clearly and figure out if u can live with or without it. That type.”
“If I didn’t love you so much, I think I’d hit you.” Marcella grumbled.
“I got my issues too, Marcella. I’m just talking about you for once. So, Mr. Jerk, he’s getting you warmed up. My guess is he blew your mind, right? Am I right? Trust me. He knows he has to keep it mysterious and challenging or you’ll put up your guard. The ‘U type’ of girl doesn’t warm up to the ‘A type’ of man easily. She doesn’t believe she’s a submissive when she really is. So he has to keep you off balance. He’s playing disinterested but he’s burning for you, honey. Probably watching the phone like you are right now, waiting for the right time to call.”
“You think?”
“Nah, I made that up but you feel better. Don’t you?”
Marcella snatched the sofa pillow from under her and started hitting Susan with it. Susan laughed until she dropped over to her side and ducked out of the reach of Marcella’s swing. “He’s a jerk, babe. All men are. Think it’s wired in their DNA or something.” Susan said wiping at her tears of laughter. “You had a good time with him. If he lets it stand at that, he’s a jerk. Not worth it. Okay? Don’t sweat it. I’m just glad you got in touch with your inner whore again. I hate being the only slut around here. Me and Sam were going to do an intervention for you.”
“You make me sick,” she said, dropping her head on Susan’s shoulder.
“I hate you too.” Susan said, snuggling her.
Diego unfastened his cuff and rolled up his left sleeve. Suit jacket and coat cast aside, he strolled from the window. His eyes gave one last sweep of the room.
“What do you think?” Lance asked, hands behind his back. Diego could feel his stare. He sensed his anxious temperament. The air had been charged with it. The question lingered for another undecided minute before he cast Lance a look. He had tired of the hotel room. If he had to stay the next few weeks, he needed a place more to his liking. “It’ll do.”
“Great. I was about out of options. You shot down the last six.”
Diego turned toward the window to gaze upon the turquoise waves glistening over the ocean. Theis beach house had walls of glass. He could see the ocean from every room. It reminded him of his home in Spain. “Have you located her yet?”
Lance cleared his throat. The hesitation drew Diego’s attention. His friend looked him in the eye when he spoke. “She’s heard about your actions. She’s flying back into the country. I suggest we conclude business before you see her,” Lance said, stepping up behind him. “Unless you want me to arrange for the meeting to take place sooner?”
“No. She knows I’m here. That’s enough,” Diego sighed. He stepped away from the window, his eyes going to the phone. His mind again conjured up images of Marcella, and the short time he spent with her. Where was she on this cloudy day?
“Have my things brought over.”
Lance gave a curt nod. He walked over to the single chair in the room and plucked his coat, shaking it out before slipping it on. He cast Diego a parting look. “One more thing. The order you placed will arrive here tomorrow. As for the other matter, it’s been tended to as well.”
Diego tapped his finger on the phone, eyes fixed to the base and buttons. His attorney and friend descended the steps without another word. He was alone. Something he preferred, until now. He slipped his hand inside his trouser pocket and removed the crumbled paper he carried around with him for the past few days. He gripped the phone in his hand, intent on making the call. Then he let it go. He stepped away, easing the paper back in his pocket, deciding instead on the stocked bar he knew had to be somewhere nearby. Maybe he would stand on the deck of his beach house and wait for rain.
The customer’s gaze finally left the oil painting dating over three hundred years old and returned to her. His slack features wrinkled. His nose pinched and he gave her what she imagined to be his version of a smile. “I’ll take it.”
Marcella nearly jumped in the air and clicked her heels. Instead she kept her cool. She looked back at Susan who lingered near Sam’s desk. She gave her a wink and Susan sashayed over. “Ms. Sands is the gallery manager. She’ll be of great help to you.”
With a deep sigh of relief, she discreetly withdrew. Earlier she placed three calls to Katchner’s office and he hadn’t answered or returned her calls. She would indeed have to make the trip out to see him.
“Marcella, Garrett’s upset. He said to call him when you get a chance. I think it’s that douche again.” Sam announced.
Marcella pointed a silencing finger at Sam. Two customers walked in. There was no time to deal with Garrett’s broken heart she instead approached the new prospective buyers. “Welcome to Garrison’s. Please look around, and if you need anything Sam will assist you.”
Before Sam could respond she turned and left. Marcella couldn’t wait to get off her feet. She hurried for her office chair. Just as she crossed under the doorway she heard her cell phone buzzing. It vibrated across her desk. She reached it in time.
“Hello?” she breathed not recognizing the number.
“Have you eaten?”
“Diego?”
“I want to see you.”
“What? Now? I’m at work.” She checked her watch. It was again midday. She played hooky with him because of the flower stunt but she had plenty to tend to. “I can’t.”
“Ah, not familiar with the English term ‘can’t’. Sounds too much like ‘won’t’. So is that it, Marcella? You won’t see me again?”
She sighed.
“Question for you. Why today? I was free on Saturday, free on Sunday. No call?”
He didn’t respond.
“It’s a bad time Diego. Okay?”
“Then dinner?”
“Maybe dinner’s not a good idea.”
“You rather I not call anymore?”
Marcella chewed on her bottom lip. “I didn’t say that. But it’s all mystery with you. I just… I don’t know why you are so secretive.”
“How am I secretive? Because three days went by and we didn’t speak? Forgive me, nena. If you prefer, I will call you daily.”
�
��Fine. Fine. Dinner, we can have dinner.”
“Gracias, Marcella. I will see you soon.”
He hung up. She lowered the phone, and then checked the number. Her heart raced and her blood sizzled just from the spicy deep notes delivered in his voice. She wanted to see him, and smell him. The craving made her skin prickle and stomach flutter.
