by Crowe, Liz
Henri gripped her hips and shoved her harder up against the cold ceramic using one hand to prop beside her head as the water pounded his back, making little showers on either side of him that hit her legs. His rhythm was unmistakable, his breathing quick.
"God, Grace, you’re gonna make me come," he bent his dark head down, biting his lip.
"Please," Grace whispered. "Please kiss me, Henri. Please."
He looked up, his dark eyes glistening and covered her lips with his just as he jerked and arched into her, filling her while her pussy pulsed and milked him, pulling the essence of him deep inside her. They stayed connected, forehead to forehead, Henri’s hand holding her neck, Grace’s hands resting on his hips. When she let a sob loose, unable to hold it back any longer, Henri pulled her close again.
"It'll be okay," he soothed, licking at the tears running down her face. "Let’s get out of here."
He pulled her out of the shower and toweled her off before reaching into the closet to pull out a slinky dress and pair of impossibly high heels. Grace shook her head, but Henri shoved her in front of the mirror, pointed at the makeup and merely walked out, naked, to find his own club clothes.
"Seriously, I don’t feel like it."
"Seriously, I don’t care. You need it."
"You're very bossy. Anyone ever tell you that?"
He grabbed her from behind and bit her earlobe making her body shiver. Dressed in deep indigo denim and a soft cream shirt with intricate, embroidered patterns that wrapped around the front and back like a tattoo, dark brown hair flowing over his shoulders, he was positively edible. Grace sighed, pulled her own long, messy hair up into a casual bun before sticking Ryan’s latest earring gift into her lobes. She stared at herself a moment. Color high, breasts highlighted by the low cut black dress, strong at the moment. She ran a hand over her abdomen, imagined she sensed a slight bump there. Henri stood behind her and smiled.
"You are truly beautiful and I'm sure I'll be fighting off all the men in the club tonight," he put his hand on hers. The heat from their skin seemed to burn a mark into her stomach underneath the silk dress.
"But you're all mine." A twinge of now familiar pain made her wince and Henri frown. "What is it?" he turned her around.
Grace shook her head. "Nothing, I don’t know. It’s weird. Just my body adjusting to whatever I guess," she bit her lip, the irony of finally carrying Ryan’s child and his utter rejection of her earlier stealing over her like an evil fog.
Henri gathered her up and kissed her firmly on the lips.
"For all intent and purposes that's my baby in there. So let’s forget about him, shall we? For tonight?" His flippant tone was betrayed as his voice broke at the end.
Grace smiled and put her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, he’s an asshole and we’re both devastated he left. What does that make us, hmm?"
Henri laughed. "Sorry excuses, especially if we let this night get by without gracing it with our gorgeous presences, right? Your amazing dinner, customized by your very own celebrity chef, awaits you at the very best table in the house. If you let me I’ll feed it to you with my fingers." He brushed a fingertip along her lips. Grace reached out and bit it making him wince in mock pain.
"I can feed myself but it had better include brontosaurus Flintstone burgers ‘cause I’m so hungry I could eat the whole damned dinosaur."
Henri put an arm over her shoulder as they leaned back against the mirrored wall of the elevator. "I love a woman with an appetite," he smiled before slanting his firm lips over hers as the elevator sped them downward.
Grace grinned her way through dinner as Henri was courted by every well-heeled patron in the place. Each time one would walk away he had some snarky comment, the last one about the "pompous boy-man so full of shit it leaked out his ears" when referring to one of the many internet moguls he entertained.
"Wait, wasn’t that the Facebook guy?" Grace craned her neck trying to glimpse him again.
"Yeah, little fucker thought I’d comp his five hundred dollar tab if he bitched about the duck appetizer. Pfft." Henri raised his glass of wine to her as she sipped at her soda water. The rich food he’d prepared was amazing for certain. But her stomach wouldn’t settle so she picked at it, mad at herself for being such a fragile Victorian.
Henri didn’t comment on her sudden lack of appetite. Without a word he reached over and plucked the rare steak strips crusted with a garlic and peppercorn mixture in two fingers and held it to her lips. The smell nearly knocked her off her chair with such a sudden voracious need for the red meat Grace thought she could've eaten an entire raw steak at that exact moment. She took the morsel from him, letting her lips graze his fingers, sucking the bloody meat dry before chewing and swallowing. Henri’s smile was lazy as he fed her three more bites before Grace realized something like twenty pairs of eyes were locked on them. She ducked her head and patted her lips with the soft, linen napkin. Henri glanced at the table nearest them.
"Little lady needs her red meat," he shrugged. "You know, eating for two and all." The women around them exhaled in unison. Grace rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at the handsome young man across from her. He grinned and downed his wine.
Later, as they danced among the beautiful people in the exclusive rooftop nightclub, Grace let her hands slide down Henri’s back to his ass, reveling in a sensation of drunkenness stronger than anything she’d experienced from mere alcohol. She could see how Ryan had been taken with him. Henri was so fun, so terminally positive about everything, he was an amazing foil for the man she’d married and missed right now like an amputated limb.
Henri grinned and spun her around as the music pounded and pulsed around them as the teeming, well-dressed crowd moved as one on the floor and the expensive, celebrity DJ spun the hours away. By three a.m. Grace’s feet ached and her head pounded. In spite of the small clot of female groupies who kept trying to buy him drinks, Henri paid strict attention to her, making sure she had water, letting her dance as much as she wanted, his smooth body like liquid on the dance floor, sensuous and attention grabbing, if the gaggle of girls surrounding their VIP table was any indication.
Finally she stood and stretched. Henri took the clue and guided her out, waving at a few of the famous folks still on the dance floor or draped over the uncomfortable modern furniture. He held out a hand for her shoes. She slipped them off and sighed as her feet hit the cool marble but her head spun at the noise and clamor of the still-busy casino. Taking deep gulps of hyper-oxygenated air helped. Henri stopped at one point to let her catch another breath.
"Jesus, Grace, are you really okay? Maybe we should call a doctor?"
"No, no, I’m just shattered. Emotionally, physically, all of it. A long night’s sleep, if I can manage it. That will put me right." Grace shuddered as she shoved thoughts of Ryan from her brain, wondering where he was, if he missed her yet, if he was sorry. In spite of her physical exhaustion, her mind was running a million miles a minute. She doubted sleep would come easily.
Back in the suite, Henri pulled his shirt and jeans off and fell face first onto the bed mumbling Ryan’s name. Grace washed her makeup off and leaned on the granite counter, staring into her own bloodshot eyes.
"Now what?" she demanded. "You told him to make a choice. He made it. So, now you gotta deal with it." She shrugged then doubled over in agony as the first wave of pain sliced into her. She gasped, tried to get her breath, attempted to call out to Henri but couldn’t manage a sound. The pain released her as quickly as it grabbed hold and Grace slid to the bathroom floor, knowing something was seriously wrong but feeling way too blown to care. Closing her eyes, she let the day’s worth of life changing emotion wash over her, closing her mind against the blackness that enveloped her at the thought of losing Ryan.
Within what felt like minutes, the pain vise clamped around her middle again. Grace was cold, shivering and sobbing, aware of a growing slickness between her thighs. Dragging herself over to the toilet, she let the small
amount of dinner she managed to eat reappear, gagging and coughing her way through several minutes of dry heaves before her stomach clenched again and she stared at what used to be a stark white rug where she’d just been sitting. It looked like someone committed murder on it. It faded, as Grace’s eyes slid shut.
"Ryan…." Her voice was hoarse. "Henri….help." When the cramp sliced through her one last time, she collapsed in a heap, her head striking the edge of the shower step. Grace's vision went black from the edges then all was quiet.
Chapter Sixteen
Ryan chewed the ice from his third bourbon as he stared out the window of the semi private jet he’d rented in Los Angeles. The alcohol had done nothing to help loosen the tight band around his chest. It had clamped down tight at the sight of Grace standing with Henri, her words slicing through him like a machete. He closed his eyes as the plane jostled in the air and then before he knew it, an attractive flight attendant stood at his elbow again.
"Another one, Mister Sullivan?" Her tight skirt left little the imagination and Ryan stared at her ass blearily. Tall, blonde, whip thin, he’d bet his left nut she’d be a tiger in the sack. There was a time in his life when he would've pulled her in to the back room where the seats were more like couches, yanked that excuse for a skirt up and fucked her silly. He sighed.
He read the email from his brother once more. Sean was on his third wife and was about to make her the next ex-Mrs. Sullivan. A successful tax attorney in D.C., Sean kept a string of girlfriends that always caused the current Mrs. Sullivan to seek solace in the deep recesses of Sean’s bank account before bolting with whatever kids they’d spawned. The guy had something like seven or eight of them at last count. Ryan shook his head. Patently miserable his brother was. Never satisfied with one woman, a few kids, six figures of salary, Sean sought more in everything he did. But Ryan knew it was killing him.
Unable to face defeat by admitting anything in an email, Ryan shut the computer. He leaned his head against the window, taking in the view of purple clouds tinted by the sunrise he was chasing east. Eyes burning with fatigue, he let images of Grace invade again, her green eyes hurt and shadowed, her frame noticeably thinner in his arms.
Henri was right. He was a class-A asshole, wholly undeserving of either of them. The woman was stubborn personified. But he’d managed to smooth out those edges with his stoic attitude, turning her into a shadow of her former self, the one he’d fallen in love with. Then Henri exploded into his life, a vibrant, colorful swath of humanity bringing with him more laughter, sensuality and pure pleasure than Ryan ever dreamed possible. Getting past his initial discomfort of being physically attracted to another man hadn’t been difficult. Henri was so perfectly comfortable in his own skin they even talked about the women they had loved.
Ryan leaned forward and put his head on the soft leather seat. Sean’s recent message burned in his brain.
"Don’t be like me, brother. Don’t try and prove how tough you are just to show our fucking father you aren’t like him. You aren’t like him at all. Don’t lose your chance with Grace. She’s perfect. Don’t fuck it up like I always do."
The memory of his beloved brother Liam, mouth slack, paper that was once his acceptance letter to Yale all over his lap, the car smelling of piss and shit, and the sweet tang of carbon monoxide burned into Ryan's psyche like a brand. He'd never get that smell out of his nose. He’d screamed like a girl, yanked at Liam’s arm, pulling him over, smacking his face, furious because he’d proven their father right. He’d taken a cowards way out.
Ryan groaned into his hand. Glancing at his watch, he calculated how much flight was left and how long it would take the plane to refuel before he could turn around and go back. He had to salvage his relationship with Grace and he was the only one who could do it. Henri tried. Grace tried. And Ryan had walked away from them both.
Something pulled at him at that exact moment, tugging at the edge of his mind which made him antsy so he stood up to stretch and started pacing the aisle. It kept at him, like an elusive, un-scratchable itch. He sat back down and flipped on his laptop hoping he might catch Grace on Skype. His sudden need to make contact with her, to know she was okay, made his head pound. Waiting for the sleek machine to boot, he paced some more. The hot attendant brushed against him, her perfume invading his senses. He smiled at her, knowing just a crook of his finger would have her legs spread in an instant.
Ryan had fucked more women than he cared to remember. Always seeking something more, he managed to screw his way through college and beyond, never coming close to anything real. Scurrying away before he let himself get attached, he avoided making an emotional connection with anyone until that moment six years ago at a friend’s lake party. Ryan’s breath caught in his throat as his whole body broke out in goose bumps. Shivering and burning hot at the same time, he rubbed his eyes.
"Mister Sullivan?" the woman asked. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?"
"Yeah," he croaked. "I’m fine. I mean, water, please. Lots of it. And ibuprofen. Oh and a pot of coffee after that."
He took deep breaths and tried to collect himself. He’d never in his entire life had a panic attack but he'd read about them. Clutching the back of the seat, Ryan felt his heart pound in his chest and sensed his throat closing up. Something was wrong pure and simple. He had to talk to Grace right now. He pulled his smart phone out but cursed at the lack of bars. God damned wireless company. Feeling that weird tug at his sub conscience again, he stood up, needing space.
"Mr. Sullivan, do you need assistance?" the senior attendant was speaking now. They were going to slap him in cuffs in a minute if he didn’t calm down. Smiling, trying to act natural when everything in him was screaming as his head pounded in time to his heartbeat, Ryan took the water bottle she offered and sat back down.
Never one to pass up the opportunity to be a little untethered from the usual phones, emails, texts and messages, Ryan would've paid a million dollars for a connection right now. Something was wrong with Grace. She was sick or hurt, or something. She needed him. His very soul was responding to some strange signal and it made the band around his chest tighten further.
Nothing could be done, so Ryan convinced himself to stay calm. He’d be no use to her if he got arrested or pissed people off so they wouldn’t turn the damn plane around as soon as it landed in Tokyo. Heaving a sigh, he popped a sleeping pill, downed the last of the water and nodded off, dreams full of crying babies carried him through the night.
****
"What do you mean you can’t," Ryan’s jaw clenched in anger.
The pilot shrugged.
"Mister Sullivan, I mean I can’t go back yet, not until tomorrow at the earliest and that would cost you…" Ryan held up a hand.
"Forget it, I’ll find another way."
Two hours later, he was crammed into a coach seat surrounded by Japanese tourists and sleepy businessmen making their way back to the states. Ryan hadn’t flown commercial, must less coach, in nearly ten years, but the itch behind his eyes, the thing in his brain that gave uncomfortable tugs on his nerves, was ramping up. He had to put his head down and take deep breaths to keep from screaming in frustration. The little Japanese kid next to him kept touching his light blonde hair and saying, "My name is Yoko." He smiled at her, then popped another sleeping pill knowing if he didn’t, he’d get up and try to fly the fucking plane himself to make it get home faster.
His calls, texts and emails to Grace, Henri and to his assistant, Jan, all went unheeded while he waited for the Delta jet to get cleaned up and ready to load. He had no idea what was going on but he was certain it was bad. The connection with his wife ran deep and the sense of mild unease he’d nurtured on the plane to Japan had blossomed into full-blown panic. As his mind absorbed the sedative he thought he could hear her far away, crying out his name, and he saw blood. Ryan jerked in his sleep but stayed under, the strong prescription medicine keeping his eyes closed, his body slack.
Ryan’s eyes popped
open when the plane touched down in California. Yoko was flopped over his shoulder, her small hand clutched his shirt in her sleep. His heart stuttered as he looked at it. So small and helpless. Yoko’s mother apologized and pulled the girl off him before he could say anything.
The second the planed stopped, Ryan leapt up, grabbed his bag and shoved his way past the objections of the staff.
"Emergency," he mumbled, his tongue thick with stress and medication. "Hospital," he said for some reason. They parted for him, his natural aura of authority convincing them he must be late to perform heart surgery on someone important.
Ryan ran up to a local connecting jet service, booked a flight for Las Vegas that left in thirty minutes and sped down the terminal. His phone buzzed. Finally, a connection. He glanced at it. Grace’s sister Alice had texted him three times.
"Where are you?"
"Grace says not to contact you but you’d better get your sweet ass to the hospital right now. Dessert Springs. Damn it, Ryan, hurry up."
Ryan’s heart nearly stopped with the next message.
"She’s in surgery. Lost a lot of blood. Please call me."
Ryan groaned and hit the call button for Alice. It rang and rang and went to voicemail at the exact moment a text from Henri hit his screen.
"You need to come home now."
"Fuck!" Ryan yelled at the startled woman at the check in desk.
****
Desert Springs hospital was in the middle of nowhere and the taxi got caught in rush hour traffic, leaving Ryan to nurse his aching head and dry mouth in the familiar dessert heat. Unable to contact anyone by phone, he’d sent a dozen texts promising them he was on his way, coming as fast as he could, that he was sorry. He clutched his head as the taxi inched forward.
