As if inspired, he came shortly after. Pulling himself from deep inside me, he stroked himself like a teenager in the locker room until he splashed my chest and belly with the fruits of his labor. I writhed beneath his glorious gushing, the force of his youthful blasts making me come once more then he leaned forward, tenderly pressing his damp forehead against my own.
It was so like Kellan, a born Alpha in daylight, striding and strutting across the catwalk of his life, to surprise me with these rare and random gestures just when I needed them most.
And then he lifted me effortlessly from the table and carried me to the nearest chair, resting my naked body gently on top of the padded cushion. Pouring us both a fresh glass of wine, he sat across from me and offered a sexy toast.
“Here’s to making the massage table a permanent resident of your rooftop hideaway.” I seconded that notion, of course. Eager to spend the rest of the night drizzling his flawless young body with whatever scented lotion remained in the bottle.
Chapter 13
Kellan
“Is that all you’re eating?”
I put down my Bloody Mary, reaching for the celery stick and taking an exaggerated bite. “Happy now?” I asked, around a munching mouthful. Carla sighed, taking another bite out of her Eggs Benedict. “I keep forgetting I’m dating a male model.”
I wore a mock look of shock. Dramatically framing my face with my hands, I asked, “How could you with an adorable mug like this?”
She laughed and reached for her mimosa. “You know what I mean.”
I winked and squeezed her hand above the weathered table. I sighed with contentment, a salty ocean breeze caressed my face as we sat on the front porch of Empanadas—Carla’s favorite local bistro.
Beautiful people streamed by just outside a picket fence—out for a Sunday stroll on Ocean Beach Drive. Looking back at Carla, I caught her with the fork halfway to her mouth. She slid the appetizing spear of asparagus drizzled with hollandaise between her lips and put down her fork, pushing her empty brunch plate away. “Now you know why I had a strict policy against dating models. You all make me so self-conscious about eating like a normal person.”
I chuckled. “Trust me, Carla, if I didn’t have a swimsuit shoot in less than an hour I’d be drinking hollandaise sauce by the gallon. But it’s kind of hard to hide an extra inch around your waistline in one of those European bathing suits.”
Just the thought of it made me consider taking another sip of my tempting Bloody Mary. I took it anyway. Why not? I figured. Even if I had a little bloat from the tomato juice, they could always airbrush it out before the next issue of South Beach Swimwear magazine hit the stands next month.
“It’s your fault I have to starve myself this morning anyway,” I reminded her, finishing the last of my celery breakfast. “If you hadn’t booked me for a Sunday shoot, we could still be in bed right now.” She blushed appropriately, considering what we’d been doing in that bed all weekend long.
She pretended to be offended. “Hey, you’ll thank me for booking the shoot when you see your fat bonus for working on a Sunday. And besides, I’m not sure my body could’ve stood another hour in bed with you.”
I found myself pleased with the compliment. I’d never considered myself a particularly skilled or considerate lover before. With the girls I’d dated in the past, I’d never needed to be. But something about Carla, be it her withering beauty, her maturity, or her femininity, brought out a tenderness and playfulness in me that never failed to please her. “What can I say, you inspire me?”
She chuckled, blushing herself. “I could do with a little less inspiration, and a little more recuperation.” We were still laughing when a striking Latin beauty approached on the other side of the fence. She had perfect bronze skin and long black hair, the kind no bottled dye could reproduce. It framed a ferocious looking face, carefully chiseled yet appealingly soft, dominated by two dark brown eyes.
She wore a slinky brown sundress, no bra, and a beaded belt that hung below her waist. The breezy fabric clung to full breasts, while the belt accentuated sexily generous hips—the kind that would make a belly dancer envious and a stripper blush. Her confident stride told me she knew exactly what to do with them—and probably did on a nightly basis.
She had a vaguely predatory look, which I immediately recognized from my own reflection viewed in dozens of mirrors every day. She paused at our table, her brown eyes growing wide with recognition.
“Carla?” she said with little hint of an accent.
Carla, who’d been considering the dessert menu, looked up, clearly recognized her and blanched. “Selena?” she said cautiously, the way one might say “yeast infection,” “speeding ticket” or some other odorous item she wasn’t particularly fond of. “How… How have you been?”
The woman known as Selena frowned dramatically, leaning her curvy hip on the weathered fence. “Girl, I haven’t slept a wink since the last time we were both here at Empanadas.”
Carla, showing the slightest hint of passive aggressiveness, turned toward me. Nodding at me with an exaggerated leer, she turned back to Selena. “Girl, neither have I.”
I snorted with laughter while Selena, who looked to be no stranger to dirty jokes, seemed to slightly fume before a carefully layered smile crossed her face. “Do tell,” she purred, saucily opening the gate beside her and sliding into an empty chair at our table—not only uninvited—but entirely unwelcome.
I scoffed at the disrespect. I only had a little while longer before my shoot, and wanted to spend it flirting with Carla, and possibly even doing unspeakable things beneath the patio table for two. Now it had become unnecessarily crowded, and my tolerance for girl talk—never high to begin with—ebbed even lower.
Before Carla could respond, Selena offered me her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.” I took the hand and shook it gently, but not too gently, her grip was as strong as mine—if not stronger.
“Kellan,” I said, sliding my hand away from her vice-like grip.
“Let me guess, male model.” Before either of us could respond, she glanced at the half-empty Bloody Mary in front of me. “Skipping breakfast for a Sunday shoot?” Selena pressed.
Carla and I shared an impressed glance across the table. Carla, wearing an expression I didn’t quite recognize, nodded at our unwelcome guest. “Didn’t I tell you, Kellan?” she said for the interloper’s benefit. “Selena here was my former assistant.”
I nearly cackled with laughter, impressed by the sheer size of Selena’s giant brass balls. Biting my tongue only slightly, I smirked instead. “I have to hand it to you, Selena. I’ve never seen such a secure firewall in all my years working with computers. Fortunately, you forgot to clear your browser history, or we might never have accessed Carla’s sensitive files.”
Where a less brassy woman might have fled the table in shame, Selena merely fanned her face, manicured nails exquisite, before turning to Carla and ignoring me completely. “I was so sorry about that,” she said insincerely. “When I heard you almost didn’t make the sportswear show in time, you could imagine my surprise.”
Carla shot the exotic intruder a withering glance. “Are you sure you don’t mean delight?” she spat with uncharacteristic venom. “I would imagine you and your new cohorts at Florida Faces would’ve been more than happy to swoop in on that account like you have most of my others already.”
I literally sat back in my seat, ignoring the polite catfight as I processed the information that not only had Selena left Carla in the lurch, but had done so to jump ship to her biggest competitor.
What’s more, I couldn’t help but suspect that Selena’s sudden appearance at our brunch table that Sunday had at least something to do with the barrage of messages the CEO of her new modeling agency had been sending me nonstop lately.
If not—it qualified as the world’s biggest coincidence.
Either way, I no longer had the time to suss out the compelling mystery for mys
elf. “I hate to meet and run,” I joked, standing abruptly. “But you’re right, Selena, I’ve got a shoot on the beach today and I don’t want to be late.”
Selena studied me hungrily, our eyes meeting only briefly but sharing an immediate spark I instantly recognized—and could feel all the way to my crotch. I ignored it, and leaned down to kiss Carla on the cheek. Having none of my sudden chasteness, she turned just in time to meet my lips and teased me with a smothering kiss. Chuckling, I reached for my messenger bag and told her, “I’ll be home in a few hours, Lover, make sure you’re not still here catching up by then?”
Carla hardly regarded her table mate as she replied, “I doubt Selena and I have that much catching up to do.” Her tone was unmistakable, making me shiver, despite the noonday sun. Seated next to her, however, Selena hardly noticed. Or, if she noticed, chose not to respond.
Instead, she turned her back on me, and leaned closer to Carla. I felt bad ditching her like that, but in this case, she only had herself to blame. After all, she was the one who’d booked the Sunday shoot and I could hardly go AWOL now. Not with my career suddenly back on track, and all thanks to Carla.
Still feeling Selena’s leer deep in my loins, I smirked. If the saucy young interloper thought she had any chance of coming between Carla and me, she had another think coming.
Chapter 14
Carla
I watched Kellan go with a mixture of disappointment and relief. On one hand, I was disappointed our pleasant Sunday brunch had been so rudely interrupted. On the other, I was glad he wouldn’t be around to endure another moment of Selena’s insincere schmoozing. Seeing our waiter, I flagged him down to ask for the check. But when he arrived, uniformly handsome like all the other sleek, suave waiters at Empanadas, Selena ordered two more Mimosas instead.
“Selena,” I whined, only half-joking.
My former assistant pretended to be chagrined. “Just give me a few more minutes, Carla,” she insisted.
“What for?” I spat, finding it impossible to hide my irritation.
Selena batted her thick eyelashes, all too naturally, and smothered my hand on top of the table with her own. “I do feel terrible for what happened, and I’d like to make it up to you.”
I scoffed openly. “What, by letting me buy you a Mimosa?” We both laughed and the sudden outburst seeming to ease the tension between us.
Part of the reason Selena’s abrupt departure had cut so deeply was that it felt personal. Selena had been there from the beginning, toiling away over Styrofoam cups and fast food wrappers as we struggled to open Miami Models and make our mark on the South Beach scene.
We’d endured countless difficulties, triumphs and setbacks along the way. We’d shared numerous early mornings, endless days and late nights struggling to carve out our place in the crowded Miami marketplace. It was hard not to grow close to someone you’d spent so much time with, harder still to feel the sting of betrayal when the “friendship” ended so suddenly.
Selena hadn’t just left me in the lurch—she’d left me for Florida Faces, my biggest competitor. It was like finding out your sister was cheating with your husband. Thanks to Kellan, I’d managed to not only overcome the betrayal, but put it behind me. Now here it sat, young, beautiful and smiling—and ordering free drinks on my tab.
“Selena,” I said, gently sliding my hand out from beneath my former assistant’s palm. “What’s done is done. What you did to me, and the way you did it, can never be forgiven. It was inexcusable, but I’ve moved on. And so should you…”
Just as I went to get up, the waiter reappeared, blocking my escape and setting down two giant Mimosas in Empanada’s trademark oversized champagne flutes.
Selena smiled triumphantly. “There,” she said, holding up her glass as the waiter disappeared without the check. “At least do me the honor of sharing a drink with me, and let me apologize until it’s through.”
Still tempted to toss back my champagne and walk out, leaving Selena with the bill, I nodded instead. There was a part of me that wanted to hear what Selena had to say. There was a part of me that wanted to believe it had all been some giant mistake, a misunderstanding and not some nefarious scheme.
It was less for Selena’s benefit than my own. Kellan had been a blissful diversion—but I still couldn’t shake the hurt and sense of betrayal that lingered in Selena’s wake. “Fine,” I sighed, reaching for my glass. With the orange juice freshly squeezed, and the champagne first rate, there were worse ways to endure an apology. “Go for it.”
Selena chuckled, looking more radiant than ever. It wasn’t bad enough she’d left me in the worst of times, but she seemed to have flourished as a result, making the situation twice as bitter. She took a long, luxurious sip of her drink before setting the glass down and using both hands to gently smother my own again.
“First, let me say how sorry I am,” she insisted. “I never said anything to you, but Florida Faces had been trying to poach me for months. I ignored them for as long as I could, but they were so persistent. They promised me everything you wouldn’t. They didn’t want me as an assistant—they wanted me as a model.”
I shook my head. “So did I, Selena, when the timing was right.”
Selena’s nostrils flared slightly, belying her calm exterior. “I just felt like the timing would never be right,” she confessed. “Every time I asked for a shot, you refused. Even when it would’ve saved your ass to use me, you sent someone else instead.”
I nodded, finding it hard to argue with Selena’s version of events. Unfortunately, they were Selena’s version—and not reality. Selena was a beautiful girl, no doubt, but South Beach was full of beautiful girls. Looking out over the crowded deck of Empanadas, my critical eye saw half a dozen beauties who made even the stunning Selena look like chopped liver. That was the professional version, but how to tell someone you care about, the harsh, cold reality of the modeling game?
I’d mistakenly thought Selena would eventually get the hint, but clearly not. I wasn’t quite sure what Florida Faces’ game was, but I suspected it was more in hiring Selena away from their biggest competitor than actually using her as a model.
Still, I tried to see it from Selena’s point of view. “And have they given you your big break yet?” I asked, even though I already knew they hadn’t—not in any real or meaningful way, anyway. Despite the length of Ocean Beach Boulevard, and its sprawling beaches, South Beach was a small town. And the modeling business was even smaller.
Even running a smaller, boutique firm, I knew who was being booked for what, when, where and for how much. I had yet to hear of a single booking with Selena’s name attached to it. My former assistant jutted out her chin defiantly, bragging, “I actually just did a shoot for Dimples just this weekend.”
I nearly spit out my champagne. Dimples was a local drug store chain that liked to feature “realistic-looking” models in their weekly circulars. That meant they didn’t want the high-gloss, high cheek boned and typically high-priced supermodels everyone else in town did. It also meant they were the starting place for every child actor, former beauty queen and real housewife trying to get in the modeling game.
“Congrats,” I said, hiding a smirk with my champagne flute. “What did you make on that one?” I asked knowingly.
Selena avoided my eyes for the first time, muttering under her breath, “$500. But it will be great for my portfolio.”
Nearly finished with my drink, I set it down and looked Selena in the eyes. “Look Selena, I’m happy for you. I really am. If I neglected you, if I overlooked your talents, I apologize. But I never did so intentionally and what you did to me, the way you did it and especially when you did it… was. This is a small town, and you’ll never make a career here by burning bridges at one agency to jump to another.”
To my surprise, Selena nodded eagerly. “I know that now,” she insisted. “I made a mistake, and I’m paying for it. I know Dimples is small time. I know Florida Faces will never use me as a top mode
l. I know I fucked you over. But what’s done is done, and all I can do now is tell you how sorry I am, and how I’ll never do it again.”
Despite being impressed by her apology, I naturally found it a day late and a dollar short. “That’s easy to say, Selena, when you know I’ll never give you a chance to do it again.”
“I’m not asking for one,” Selena insisted, clutching my hand again. “I just don’t want there to be bad blood between us anymore.”
I sighed, squeezing her hand back before pulling it away. “Me either,” I confessed. “I’m too tired to hate you anymore.”
Selena sat back in her seat. “Dating a male model will do that to you,” Selena teased. I blushed despite myself. “I thought you had a strict ‘no dating the models’ policy.”
I shrugged, indulging in a little spicy girl talk. “I wouldn’t call what we’re doing ‘dating,’ exactly.”
Selena squirmed delightedly in her chair. “Do I deserve the details yet?” she gushed. “Or am I still in friendship jail?”
I gave her a sympathetic smile. Despite what had happened between us, the fact was, I missed her. Still, it was too early for forgiveness just yet. The waiter passed just then, and I flagged him down. Assuming it was to ask for the check, Selena reached for her purse—either to chip in for the bill or, more likely, to get up and leave. Instead, I ordered two more Mimosas and sat back in my chair to enjoy the sunny afternoon and the impromptu reunion with Selena.
I figured it wouldn’t hurt to indulge in a little innocent girl talk and like a blind date, I didn’t have to commit. I was here, Selena was here and depending on how the conversation went, we could either leave and never see each other again or pick up a friendship that might be too valuable to discard completely.
Either way, the drinks were included with brunch so it wouldn’t cost me a dime. I figured that was fitting, considering how much Selena had cost me already.
Forbidden: A Student Teacher Romance Page 14
