Body (Trinity Trilogy Book 1)

by Audrey Carlan

  I wait a respectable amount of time until I can’t hear any voices outside. If I was honest, I’m really waiting to make sure I can walk without having to hold myself up using the wall like a drunken college student on frat night. I’d be mortified if anyone caught me coming out of a dark room with Chase. I could only imagine what they’d think. Probably assume I’m sleeping my way to the top or something equaling demoralizing.

  Venturing out, I see that Jack is waiting for me. He has my laptop and purse. He hands me my cell phone. “Mr. Davis asked me to wait for you to ensure you got your things. He also said to give you his personal cell phone number and asked that you text him that you still plan to meet him. I’ve added it to your contacts. Do not share it with anyone,” he warns.

  “Thanks,” I say to his retreating form. The man is so on edge. I wonder who pissed in his Cheerios today.

  How odd. Chase had his driver, bodyguard, whatever he is, wait for me and ensure that I text him about a meeting that’s less than three hours away. Looks like Mr. Chairman of the Board has a few insecurities of his own. The thought makes me feel a little better, but not by much.

  I open my contacts and find him. Of course the mob boss entered Chase’s information in perfect text, appropriate capitalization on the C and D. He added his cell, business, and home numbers. He also provided his email. I guess that leaves no possible reason for me not to reach him in one format or another.

  I pull together a quick text.

  To: Chase Davis

  From: Gillian Callahan

  Your linebacker expressed your wishes. I’ll meet you.

  Immediately I receive a reply.

  To: Gillian Callahan

  From: Chase Davis

  I’ll be waiting.

  The thought of what will likely take place tonight makes my stomach feel tight and fluttery. Anxiety swirls and festers, pricking my skin as if I was getting acupuncture. I want this man. Really want him.

  In my bed. In my body. In every way possible.

  I’m torn. A man has never made me feel this high or want to fall so hard. Chase brings out desire in me so fierce I can barely avoid its burn. After the conference room escapade, I know we’ll set the sheets ablaze. I want you in my bed, he’d said. That one sentence has me twitching with longing and impatience. His need for me makes me want to weep in frustration. Regardless of how bad it will look if people find out, I’ve got to have him.

  Lord help me, I’m about to make one beautiful mistake.

  Chapter 4

  Three hours have passed since the dry hump against a wall with the sexiest man alive. Three whole hours to find every excuse possible to prove that Chase Davis is a bad idea, probably fatal to my career.

  Yes, he’s unbelievably gorgeous, with kisses that make me weak in the knees. He can bring me from zero to sixty with an intense gaze across a crowded room. How many men have the capability of doing that to a woman?

  Attraction aside, I won’t ruin my chances for success with the Foundation. Years ago, Safe Haven scraped me off the floor, brought me back from the dead and gave me life. After Justin, I cannot afford to let my life get off track.

  Justin. Deep utter revulsion at the thought of that name makes me queasy. Taking a few deep breaths I count to ten. Slowly, the swill of disgusting thoughts of Justin leaves, readying me to let down a man whose body was crafted by angels. Chase is definitely a catch. Doesn’t matter. This girl is throwing this particular fish back into the sea of distracting beautiful men.

  Chase could have any woman he wants. With that face and wallet, he could point and click the perfect woman and she’d appear. I’m nobody special. Besides, from what I found online, he’s had several perfect pieces of arm candy in the past year alone. Lengthy, model thin beauties, perfect trophy material for a man like Chase. My Google Kungfu is dead on. Besides, I’m not even his type. He likes perfectly tan, statuesque blondes, not pale curvy redheads.

  With my decision made, I walk briskly towards the glass double doors leading outside the hotel. The wind whips my hair and I clutch my blazer tightly to ward off the chill. Like a shiny black ghost, a sleek, pitch black stretch limousine parks in front of me. Wow. Hadn’t expected that. I’ve never ridden in a limo before. The little girl in me wants to squeal with delight.

  “Miss Callahan, Mr. Davis is expecting you.” Jack holds the car door open. I slide along the smooth leather seat. It’s cool against the skin of my palm. The interior is lush. Cherry wood panels span one side, hosting an array of glass tumblers and amber colored liquids in crystal decanters. Jack drops his huge form into the driver’s seat. “Feel free to have a drink.”

  “No, thank you.” I lean back into the supple leather, resting my eyes as he turns out onto the busy street.

  Downtown Chicago is alight with the sounds of the city. People mill along the concrete streets, taking advantage of the hodgepodge of stores mixed in with restaurants. We pass an elevated train, sitting high above the ground a couple stories up. I’ve heard of the “L”, but never seen it in person. The skyscrapers spanning the city jut up into the sky in varying shapes and sizes, reminding me of stacked Legos. San Francisco seems relatively sleepy compared to this eclectic mix of modern and old-school. Most of the people who live in San Francisco are commuters who work in a city they can’t afford to live in. By six, it is a ghost town, everyone having gone back to their Bay Area or Valley residences. Here, the city is alive and thrumming, matching my rapid pulse as we near our destination.

  “Where are we going?” I ask my quiet companion.

  “Mr. Davis has requested your presence at the Sky Lounge, one of his bars. We will be there in less than five minutes.” His driver, someone Chase claims to be a friend, is not the friendliest guy. I guess that’s part of his job. He’s supposed to be as scary as hell so that no one messes with his charge.

  Am I supposed to sit quietly and let him drive Miss Daisy? Or is he supposed to keep me company? My natural inclination is to talk, and I’d like to find out more about his boss. Hell, my boss.

  “How long have you worked for Mr. Davis?”

  “Five years, but I’ve known him his entire life.” He frowns. I don’t think he meant to share that last bit.

  “Oh, really?” I’m confident now that I’ll get a sneak peek into the enigmatic man.

  “We’re here,” he expertly evades my question without much effort. I force myself not to pout.

  Jack gets out of the car and comes to open my door. To my surprise, he dips a hand towards the entrance. “Right this way, Miss Callahan.”

  He leads me to a bank of elevators and presses the button. A grim line sets his mouth, insinuating that he’s not interested in chit chat. I roll my eyes and take a breath.

  “You know, I can take it from here. If you just tell me what floor, I can find my way.”

  “Mr. Davis requested I bring you directly to him.”

  “Oh, okay.” Control freak.

  On the way to floor sixty, my palms sweat and I wipe them against my skirt. Maybe I should have changed into something else? No. This is not a date. Changing into something more feminine and pretty would give the impression I want more. Letting him hump you against a wall, his tongue down your throat, gave that impression already. I sigh, letting those thoughts leave me before they twist and turn into something more.

  I’ll sit with the man, have a drink, and explain that this is the last time we’re going to see each other outside of work. That shouldn’t be too hard. Before today’s board meeting, I’d never so much as cast a glance at him, and I’ve worked for the Foundation for over two years. Decision made, I remind myself that this is the way it has to be. A relationship with him would be career suicide. I’ve worked too hard to lose everything now.

  We reach our destination and I swipe a hand through my hair to make sure no loose strands are out of place from the wind earlier. I didn’t change clothes, but I did pull my hair down and curled it into soft waves around my face. My appearance reflects bac
k at me in the mirrored elevator doors. The bright red pop of color across my full lips adds drama to the look. My pale skin, red hair, and the emerald of my eyes and blouse make the ruby lipstick a perfect contrast. I feel brazen, bold. It gives me the courage needed to let down the world’s most eligible bachelor. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and remind myself that we are from two very different worlds that, if pressed together, would collide and implode. If he really knew me and the details of my past, he wouldn’t want me anyway. There’s also the giant elephant sized issue of him being my boss.

  Jack walks me through a crowd of people talking and laughing at intimate tables. The centerpiece consists of three wine glasses at altering heights filled with a blue liquid. There’s a lit, delicate flower shaped tea light floating on the surface of each. Such a simple but unique concept. It would be smashing at a donor fundraising dinner. I could even use food coloring to change the color of the water. I store the idea in the back of my mind for future reference and look around the lounge. It occupies the entire floor of the building. Glass walls enclose the space from floor to ceiling, providing a 360 degree view of the Chicago skyline. The view of the city from this height is breathtaking and dizzying. I sway and Jack plants a firm hand on my elbow.

  “It’s a rotating floor. It’s designed to allow the patrons to see the entire 360 view.”

  “Beautiful.” I pay closer attention and feel the slight movement. He keeps his hold of my arm as he leads me to the bar, dead center of the room. Blue lights glow behind frosted glass. The bar’s surface is black and shiny like a grand piano. The entire place is very chic. I can see why Mr. Megabucks would own something so opulent. Another reminder why I, who lives in a shabby apartment with a roommate, could not possibly fit into his world.

  Chase’s presence is like a current that tingles down my spine, tickling the hair at the nape of my neck before I even see him. Jack leads me around a divider. Chase swivels on a barstool as if he can feel me, too. No preparation, not even the serious pep talk I gave myself before coming tonight, could prevent me from eye-fucking this beautiful man. He has removed his tie and blazer. The crisp, white dress shirt he’s wearing pulls against his broad chest and is rolled up at the sleeves. A couple buttons are undone at the collar. His hair looks like he’s combed his fingers through it a million times, giving him that just rolled out of bed, rugged appeal. His come hither look and crooked smile is almost my undoing. I stand stock still as he appraises me. I feel his eyes glide over me as if it were his hands.

  “Miss Callahan as requested, Sir.” Jack pushes me toward Chase.

  Chase’s eyes soften. He stands and pulls out the chair next to him. “Thank you, Jack. That will be all. I’ll ring you when we’re ready to leave.” Jack exits. No goodbye, no see you later.

  I sit down in the chair he offers. “Interesting company you keep.” I gesture toward Jack as he walks away.

  Chase laughs. “He’s rough around the edges, but he gets the job done. I trust him to protect me. We’ve had some close calls, but he rises to the challenge.” I swallow the golf ball that got stuck in my throat as he mentions the “close calls”. I want to ask him about his experiences, but choose to hold my tongue. Learning too much about him when I’m going to give him the “it’s not you, it’s me” talk wouldn’t help my situation. “Thank you for meeting me, Gillian. I was looking forward to seeing you.” His smile puts me at ease even though I’m about to tell him we can’t take this thing between us any further. ”Would you like a drink?”

  “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  Chase waves at the bartender, who bustles over at break neck speed. “Yes, Mr. Davis. Sir, what can I get for you?”

  “A bottle of the Caymus Special Selection 2010 Cabernet Sauvignon.” He doesn’t ask what I’d like, but it doesn’t bother me. He’s comfortable taking the lead and it gives me a few moments to figure out what to say. “Figured you’d appreciate a wine from our backyard.” He smiles and turns his chair toward me as he did the night we met. Was that only just last night? Jeez. Time definitely slows in his presence.

  “I’m sure anything you pick will be great.”

  “So Gillian, tell me about yourself?” He turns his body toward mine, his focus on me is absolute. For a moment, having this much of Chase’s attention is disconcerting with a twinge of exhilaration. What would it be like to be the center of such an intense man’s world? I’ll never know.

  The bartender sets two bulbous glasses in front of us and busies himself opening our wine.

  “What do you want to know?” If he keeps looking at me like I’m the most interesting thing in the world, I’ll be happy to pull out my diary and read it to him.

  “Everything.” His eyes light as his hand reaches to twirl a few fingers through one of my locks. “You have gorgeous hair. I love redheads.”

  “Really? I thought you preferred blondes.” The comment slips between my lips before I can take it back.

  He frowns. “What would give you that impression?” One brown eyebrow rises to a point.

  Might as well go for broke. “I looked you up before I came.”

  “Ah, I see. So you saw pictures of me at events with blondes, and you surmised that I have a type?” He gestures using quotes when he says type. I nod.

  “Those women were not mine. They meant nothing to me.” He grabs the wine the bartender poured for him to taste. Watching him hold the delicate stem reminds me of his hands trailing down my neck with the barest of touches. A shiver runs through me. Cupping the glass, he circles it, swirling the wine. He inhales before he puts the glass to his mouth and sips. The burgundy liquid kisses his full lips. He makes an “mmm” sound and the tone goes straight to my core. I cross my legs and his hand covers my knee. He drags a thumb across the silky nylon surface and starts mimicking figure eights or the infinity symbol. It’s maddening, but I don’t move it. I like his hands on me too much to stop him. “The wine is fine. Thank you, James.”

  “When you ordered the wine, you said from our backyard. Are you from California, too?”

  He nods. “I have homes in all the major cities, but I leave my heart in San Francisco.” His eyes twinkle and I laugh. Cheeky fella. He’d be so easy to fall for.

  The bartender half fills our glasses and meanders away. I get up the nerve to ask the question I really want to know. “So what do you mean when you say those women weren’t yours?”

  His thumb continues to rub circles across my knee, rising higher at each turn. It’s a slow, quiet seduction of my senses, but its working well. Each pass stokes my desire, ramping it up until I’m a tight ball of need.

  He ignores my question at first. “God, Gillian, I can’t stop thinking about what’s under here.” Now his entire hand is gripping my thigh and creeping up until the tip of his fingers reach the garter clasp. He growls quietly and shakes his head as if to clear it. “I, uh, I hire them to go to those events with me.”

  I can’t hide my shock. “Why? You could have anyone?”

  “Thank you, but I have very little time to woo women. Except you. You are something else.” He shakes his head as if trying to clear his mind. “Something else entirely.” He squeezes my thigh, and I imagine him squeezing me somewhere else, preferably with his cock buried inside me. No, no, no! This is not supposed to be happening. I’m supposed to be cutting him loose. I lick my overly dry lips. His eyes go dark and I glance away. Looking into those hungry eyes will be my undoing.

  “So, you weren’t with those women?” He’s feeding me a line. No woman in their right mind would go out with him and not try to bed him. He’d be a major win for anyone. Just not me.

  “I fucked them, if that’s what you’re asking.” Holy moly, he’s crass and dangerously effective at making me hotter. “But I was never in a relationship with them.”

  I narrow my eyes, completely disbelieving the line of bullshit spewing from his mouth.

  “I never lie, Gillian. Dishonesty is the worst kind of weakness.” The smi
le that had me captive turns into a frown and his tone sounds irritated.

  His hand slides to the outside of my thigh. I look at his hand clutching me possessively and see how very right it is there, how right his touch feels. Warm and safe. Feeling safe with a man is foreign to me. Panic wiggles into my subconscious and twists at my gut. I can’t look at his hand on my body anymore. I grasp for the wine, needing the distraction.

  Deep breath, Gigi. You’re fine. You like his touch. You want his touch. It feels good.

  “You had sex with those women after paying them to attend a function with you?” Disdain creeps into my tone. “You know what that’s called?”

  He nods and grins. “Does that shock you?” he asks with a seductive lilt. He toys with the strap of my garter, slipping two fingers under and sliding them up and down, pushing my skirt to an indecent height. His touch is like molten lava, but I can’t push him away. I crave the intense heat, need to feel the burn. When his hands are on me, I feel alive.

  “Y-yes, it does.” I stutter as his hands wickedly seduce me. “Why?” I whisper.

  “Why not? Sometimes I need an escort to a function.”

  “I’m not asking why you took them. I’m asking why you paid them for sex!” The words spill softly from my lips to ensure none of the other patrons can hear.

  Chase grins and takes a swallow of his wine. He leans close to my ear. “I didn’t, nor would I ever, pay for sex. I paid for the escort. The sex was completely their choice, optional on their part.” His lips drag along my ear as I hear him inhale deeply then groan before sitting back upright.

  Oh thank God! I almost believed he was paying prostitutes, which seems just as ridiculous as his need to hire an escort. Any woman would want to date him. He could literally walk up to a woman sitting alone in the bar and she’d fall all over herself to entertain him. What do you care? You’re bailing on him anyway. I adjust my shoulders readying myself to cut and run.