“I was thinking the same thing. So much the opposite of his mom. I’m sure she adopted him or exchanged babies in the hospital, because this cutie can’t possibly have come out of her.”
Taylor laughs and makes silly sounds to the baby, taping on his little nose with her finger, tickling him until his laughter fills the restaurant.
Adriana comes back, looking pale and shocked, and without any notice or permission grabs Felix out of Taylor’s arms. “You should be gentle with him. He’s not strong enough to be roughened up,” she bellows. Roughened up? A few heads from nearby tables turn to our direction.
Taylor’s face reddens in the instant. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
“Come on, Adriana. What’s your problem? She didn’t do anything wrong,” I say, angry at Taylor for apologizing for something she didn’t do. She’s giving Adriana reason to bully her.
“When’s Adam coming?” Adriana asks Taylor, totally ignoring my comment.
“He’s not coming,” I answer her. “Must have better things to do than listening to your bullshit.”
“Lindsay,” Taylor yells at me, her eyes shooting fireballs of rage, and I wish she could yell at Adriana with the same anger. “Something came up at work in the last minute. He had to stay and deal with it,” she explains to Adriana with a softer voice.
“Whatever, let’s order,” Adriana says, placing the boy back in his high chair, and grabs the menu. I seriously wonder what her problem with Taylor is. Some women have to deal with overly protective motherin-laws; Taylor has to deal with a bitch as a sister-in-law.
In addition to food, I order a pitcher of margaritas, but neither Taylor nor Adriana want to share with me. Adriana claims to be still breastfeeding her son as an excuse, and Taylor uses the good old designated-driver excuse. So, I’m left with enjoying the drink all by myself.
I must say alcohol definitely helps me filter out most of Adriana’s bullshit. I’m sure her husband must be an alcoholic in order to have enough libido to produce four kids with her. Taylor doesn’t even dare smile at the baby’s attempts to get attention. It’s just sad. I hope she’ll have her own baby and get a restraining order against Adriana so she pays for her rudeness with not being able to interact with her nephew/niece.
Through the end of the dinner, we three fall into silence. Adriana seems to have run out of her nonsense about her restaurant business and her children. Taylor wipes her lips with the napkin and leaves for the restroom, blowing an air-kiss to baby as she leaves. I don’t miss Adriana’s eye-rolling at Taylor’s cute gesture. She seriously has issues with Taylor, and I’m going to find out the reason, even though I risk being excommunicated from all things related to Garnetts.
“Adriana, I’m very curious about something, and I hope you’ll shed a light on my curiosity.”
“Sure.” She nods, looking intrigued about my question.
“What’s your issue with Taylor, really? Hmm? She has been nothing but nice to you the entire time. She loves your brother and has always been kind to your family. Why is it that you treat her like a piece of dirt?”
She freezes, can’t even blink her eyes. Her boy cries loudly after nearly half an hour of sitting silently and cooing around as if he understood my attack on his mother. Even if Adriana decides to answer my question at this point, I won’t be able to hear her words over the shrill screams of the boy.
Adriana murmurs something, and I can only make out “breastfeeding.” I watch her throw a rather large shawl around her shoulders and chest and hold the baby in her arm, under the shawl. My ears haven’t misheard her. She indeed said breastfeeding. Is breastfeeding in public allowed?
The boy’s loud cry comes to a sudden halt, once he starts sucking on the nipple, at least that’s what I think he’s doing under the shawl. Adriana doesn’t dare look at me and occupies herself with Felix.
When Taylor shows up again, her whole demeanor looks shifted. She looks sick, ghostly pale, and sad. Can she be offended by Adriana’s breastfeeding in public? I can tell the people at the surrounded table are.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when she doesn’t speak and just watches Felix’s hand moving up and down.
“I’m bleeding,” she whispers almost inaudibly. I don’t even see her lips moving.
“Oh, my god.” Shit! Not again. When the witch of Adriana can’t headcount her children, Taylor has to lose yet another one. I move my chair close to hers to hug her. Taylor collapses onto my shoulder and cries.
“What’s going on?” Adriana asks, looking dumbfounded.
“She’s having a miscarriage,” I say, but immediately regret my openness. Taylor wanted to keep it secret from Adam, and now I’m revealing it to Adriana. Great job, Lindsay. I’ve probably given her yet another thing to use against Taylor.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Adriana says, and for the first time, there’s sincerity in her voice. It’s so unusual, it sounds as if someone else has spoken on her behalf.
“Would you mind if we leave now?” Taylor asks to Adriana, and Adriana simply nods. I pay the tabs and slip my arm around Taylor’s waist as we walk to the parking lot. I realize I won’t be able to drive, with the level of margaritas running through my veins. Taylor doesn’t look like she can handle driving at the moment, either. So I call a cab, and together we drive to my condo.
I help her get into my bed, take off her shoes, and run to the kitchen to make us tea, while she cries silently. Putting two teabags of chamomile into the teapot, I carry it and two cups to the bedroom. Taylor is lying on her stomach, her head hidden under my pillow. I place the teapot and the cups on the nightstand and slip under the bedcovers beside her.
“This too shall pass,” I find myself whispering to her. What a dumb saying, actually. Of course it’ll pass, but who cares about the future right now? Why does it matter that the pain will diminish in the future? Maybe it won’t? Maybe it’ll just get worse if she keeps on having miscarriages. I caress her hair with my hand, incapable of doing anything else while watching her cry. She wants a child so badly, that’s all she talks about and probably thinks about.
That must be the root of her problem. Of all our problems.
Wanting something so obsessively that everything else in her life stops mattering one way or another. If only she focuses her thoughts on something else and stops wanting a child so badly. She should stop counting the days of her menstruation cycle and, for the love of everything good in this world, stop buying those high-tech pregnancy tests that can detect pregnancy at a very early stage. Whoever claims that the technological advancements are for the good of humanity; here’s the evidence to falsify your claim, served with disheartening tears of a hopeless woman.
After several minutes of crying, Taylor finally emerges from under the pillow and wipes her mascara-smeared face with her hand. “I’m starting to think I’m not supposed to be the mother a child. I’ll most likely screw it up royally, that’s why Mother Nature is trying to prevent it.”
“As far as the reasons go, that’s by far the stupidest. You’ll make an excellent mother.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve experienced your skills in person. You’ve been mothering me for all those years, in case you haven’t noticed. As a child, even before I knew our aunt wasn’t our mother, I loved you more than I loved her. You’re everything a perfect mother can be. You’re loving, caring, patient, and have I said loving? I love you as much as I could have loved our mother if I had the chance to get to know her.”
“I’m glad I have you as my sister.” She wraps her hand around my shoulder and pulls me in over her chest. “Did you know you saved my life before you were even born?”
“What?” I peek up at her and see a slither of smile curving up her lips.
“Yeah. When Mom was around five months pregnant with you, Dad wanted to have a vacation in Hawaii. It was my first time on a plane. I was giddy with excitement and didn’t want to sit still in my seat. Just before the plane took off,
Mom had a sudden cramp in her belly and starting screaming. The flight attendants couldn’t do anything to ease her pain. At the end, Dad decided we had to leave. You’ll not believe me but that plane, my dear, crashed into the ocean due to some mechanical failure, and no one survived. Later, when we went to hospital, the doctor said everything was fine with you. Mom always joked it was you kicking her as a warning to get out, but now I know you weren’t actually kicking her, you were slapping her.”
I start laughing and crying, as it’s both funny and sad story. “Are you making it up? I’ve never heard of that before.”
“I’m not making it up. You’re the reason why I’m alive now. I may have lost our mother and my babies, but you and Adam are my rocks. I don’t need anyone else as long as I have you and him.”
Zane was right. Not everything is inherently bad. My existence helped save Taylor’s life twice.
“That’s the right attitude, but don’t give up on miracles.” I hug her, swallowing an enormous sob. “They really do come true.”
We finally pay the necessary attention to the now-cold tea and drink it while watching Frat House. Apparently Taylor is the only female left on Earth who’s not aware of the sexual pursuits of four hot college guys. Well until now, because tonight she’s getting nothing but a heavy dose of Frat House until she remembers nothing about her miscarriage.
Around midnight, my cell beeps with message. I move over Taylor to get it from the nightstand and notice she’s dozed off. Pulling the bedcovers over her, I palm my cell, switch off the TV and head to the kitchen.
The text is from Adam, asking about Taylor.
My reply: “Already sleeping after having watched six episodes of Frat House. You’ll have to hug your pillow to sleep tonight and maybe the rest of your life because she’s now in love with the actors of the show.”
His reply: “That marriage wrecker show must be banned at all costs! See you and hopefully my wife tomorrow for breakfast?”
The board members of Hawkins Media Group must be suffering from severe lack of attention from their wives. That’s why they want to cancel the show. Now, that makes more sense than the lower ratings as an excuse.
I reply to him with a simple “Okay, good night.” Just when I start to put the phone on the counter, I note an alert for another message. Not a new one but unopened. Curious and nervous, I tap on the screen and nearly drop the phone when I see the text is from Ace.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Cold shivers run across my body as I read the words again and again. The afternoon with him was like a dream. Every minute in his arms felt like rebirth for my body. I bring my fingers over my lips, tasting myself, unsure if I imagined it all. The taste of his lips, his skin, his arousal. So unique and yet so familiar. Like everything else of him.
I realize the time he sent the message was ten fifteen, almost two hours ago. Why didn’t I hear the cell beeping before? Has he been waiting for a reply from me? Maybe thinking I don’t give a shit about him.
“What exactly can’t you stop thinking about me?” I text back, hoping he hasn’t given up on me.
“Your skin against mine, your lips on me, feeling you taking me inside you…” His message pushes me to groan. Almost. Oh my god. My inside muscles clench deliciously at his words. I want him desperately, hopelessly, madly, uncontrollably. If he was here with me right now, I wouldn’t let him blink an eye throughout the night.
The Cruelty - ACE
I plop down on the couch of the room attached to my office and close my eyes. It’s nine thirty in the evening, and I’m exhausted both physically and mentally. Lindsay and Michael hit heavily on my metabolism individually but after having been exposed to both of them the same day, I’m nothing but a sack of worn-out muscles.
The Russian envoy will be a problem I have to tackle before the party starts. Michael is ready to throw anyone directly into the wolf’s mouth to get what he wants.
“Lindsay will be here, too, but make sure she doesn’t get involved with anyone unless it’s requested by the minister himself.”
Unless it’s requested by the minister? Jesus! The thought of being forced to watch Lindsay manhandled by some undeserving pig is enough to paralyze me. I have to make sure she won’t be within a ten-mile radius of the minister for that matter. I’ll inject her with the swine-flu virus if it’s the only way to get her out of Michael and his guests’ sights.
This is the first time Michael has asked me for help in entertaining his guests. Must be the confidentiality of the visit of the Russian minister. What is Michael after this time? I don’t have the slightest idea of his business plans. I wouldn’t know if he’s thinking about starting up a TV channel over in Russia or getting into the East European drug world.
Zane would know, but I’d rather stay away from him. I still haven’t forgiven him for going after Lindsay. Was she a one-time hook up for him? As much as I hate his guts for using women for only one-night-stands, I hope Lindsay is a long-forgotten name on the lengthy list of women he chases only for sex because I’m in no mood to deal with him right now. He’ll likely end up setting Michael against me.
How about Lindsay? She wanted both Zane and me for the threesome. Is she attracted to him and maybe more? Fuck. The only woman I’ve met who has more to her than sexual qualities has to have something going on with Zane too. That’s just wrong.
She hasn’t pushed me away or called the police for my insult, although she had every right to. She saw my regret, my defeated and crushed soul and gave me a second chance. The way she opened up and gave herself to me loosened something in me, changed the rigidity in the depths of my soul.
I can feel her everywhere and smell her intoxicating scent as if she’s right here, before me. My mind and my whole body are in a constant state of being at the brink of an orgasm, even though I had my release in her, marked her as mine without the barrier of a condom. The fire that comes with the close proximity of her body is still wild and destructive inside me, even though she’s not here.
What is it with her that my mind can’t push her out and my manhood can’t stop throbbing for her, ignoring all the other available ladies?
What is she doing now? Hanging out with her friends? Enjoying some delicious food in a newly discovered restaurant? Drinking the night away? Watching TV? At least I know she’s not with another guy, thanks to the contract she has with Michael. What an irony.
Is she thinking about me? Does she have the slightest idea of her effect on me? How, when they’re pointed at me, her angry dark eyes can make everything else in my life worthless? How her touch can erase the damaging memories of my gloomy past? And when she’s away, it’s as if everything traumatic I’ve experienced doubles up and smashes me with a sledge hammer. Breaking me down. Does she know?
I pull my cell out of my pocket and text her, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” I stare at the phone for the next hours on high alert, blinking only when I must, nervous like a school boy sitting for a test for the first time, but nothing comes. No text, no call.
She’s too much for my nerves to handle. Too intense, too tantalizing. This waiting, trying to second-guess her feelings for me make me physically tired. My muscles are worn-out and hurting as if I fought with the top MMA fighters.
Maybe I should just give up on her, ignore her existence, and forget that she ever existed. I already have enough problems on my plate, as it is. My men and my clients occupy enough of my life 24/7. Not to mention Michael and my siblings. Why bother adding another stress, another drop in the already full glass? Women shouldn’t matter for me at this point of my life. I should go about them just like Zane. Hook up once or twice, then never look back. Much less hassle and more tranquility.
My phone beeps with a new text message from Lindsay and just like that my conviction vanishes.
“What exactly can’t you stop thinking about me?”
I sit straight when I type my next message. “Your skin against mine, your lips on me,
feeling you taking me inside you…” Only the truth, unadulterated, plain and straightforward, just like she appreciates it.
“I want to see you again.”
I smile at myself, despite my anger at Michael. “Breakfast tomorrow? At my place?”
“I’d like that.”
I text her my address and slip the phone back into my pocket so I can doze off a few minutes before the night shift starts. Just when I close my eyes, my office phone rings and I jolt up on the chair. I run and grab the receiver. “Hello?”
“Ace, can you come over to my apartment now?” Chloe asks. Her voice sounds clogged, as if she’s cried.
“Yeah, sure. What is it? Everything okay with you?”
“I’m leaving for Barbados tomorrow.”
Oh, fuck! The last time she left for abroad unexpectedly was when Michael beat her up two years ago. She was forced to spend two weeks in Guatemala to hide the large bruises on her face and body from the paparazzi. My hand fists automatically. I inhale a long breath of anger. When is he going to stop abusing her?
I want to be there for her, yet I’m dreading seeing her ruined both physically and emotionally. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Yeah, do that.” She starts crying once the words are out of her mouth. I’d have dogs fuck that man, if I could, for damaging my sister.
I assign Alexander to take over for the night shift while I’m away and drive directly to Chloe’s apartment in Westwood. While she normally lives at Michael’s mansion in North Hollywood, she managed to save money and bought herself a place she can call home and escape to whenever being around Michael becomes too much to handle.
The building has a doorman and front-desk-personnel, in addition to the video cameras all around for security, but no amount of protection will stop the damage Michael can give. I sign the visitors’ sheet and take the elevator to Chloe’s apartment.
Unlocking her door with my key, I rush through the foyer and find her in her bedroom. Only when I get to her side, I see the magnitude of the damage to her face. Her entire left cheek is purple, and the corner of her top lip is swollen with a lump the size of a golf ball, and there’s dried blood all over her skin.
Pleasure Extraordinaire 2 (PURSUIT) Page 10
