by S. J. Blaze
He looks bored as he eyes me. I’m wearing a black and white long flowy skirt with a white camisole, my hair messy and down. Not really Coen Collins’ usual visitor. “Mr. Collins is an extraordinarily busy man and is currently in a meeting. And you are…?” He squints his eyes at me like I look familiar to him, but he can’t place me.
“I’m Charlie Paz. We worked together on the Renault Matre merger.” I smile so he knows I’m friendly and not here to do any harm.
“Oh.” He stands up. “Oh my gawsh, I’m so sorry. Of course, you are! And I’m Turner, Mr. C’s new PA.” He grabs my arm and drags me into Coen’s office. “You sit here and I’ll grab Mr. C for you. Do you need anything to drink?”
“Thank you, I’m fine. I thought you said he was in a meeting.”
“That was before I knew who you were, little filly. I’ll be back in a Jiffylube jiffy.” With that the adorable Turner saunters out, leaving me bathed in the serene silence of Coen’s ginormous office.
Seated in the chair facing his desk, I notice the back of a picture frame. I glance at the door then jump around so that I can get a better view. Rounding his desk, I find that the picture is of the pair of us. I’ve never seen it, but it looks as though it was taken at the yacht party. Coen’s hand is on my bare shoulder and we’re gazing at each other, almost longingly. We both wear gorgeous smiles across our face, and even from the distance and angle of the shot, his beautiful eyes are sparkling in my direction.
I completely fall head over heels with this picture and pick it up to further examine it. It has managed to pull me into that moment and I find myself beaming with the charming happy couple. God, Coen is gorgeous. I’m in awe of his magnificence. By standing next to him, at least in this photo, even I look lovely.
“Love?” I hear from the door. I look up and see the splendor that is Coen. His perfect voice edged with excitement.
I grin with my teeth tucked around my bottom lip. I feel like I’m smiling too big and I have to catch my lip before it runs away. He dashes over and pulls me into his arms showering me with kisses. I breathe him in, reacquainting myself with its calming way.
With his hands woven in my hair he pulls back to look me over. “Jesus, I missed you!” He rubs his nose along mine, kissing every other freckle. I chuckle and pull him closer.
“I missed you, Coen.” I gaze into his dazzling eyes and try to relay how much with them. His smile broadens and his hand circles to my jawline. He watches his thumbs glide across and land over my lips.
He leans into me and whispers. “You can’t leave me again, love.”
Falling into his glare, I nod. This trip was hard. I’m ready to be back on solid ground.
He licks his lips then softly rubs them against mine. His lips parted, I feel the air escaping. He pulls my lower lip into his mouth and his tongue darts out to taste me. He moans, the vibrations traveling through his mouth and into mine. He lightly bites my lip then licks it to ease the lasting sting. A few more soft, slow, powerful kisses and I’m back on Earth. He pulls back smiling. Resting his forehead on mine, he closes his eyes and moans.
“I’m in a meeting but I can’t leave you.”
I run my fingers up his strong neck and through the soft curls around the no-gel zone. “Maybe we can see each other later?”
He shakes his head, eyes closed as he moans. “No, later isn’t good. I need now.” I half chuckle half groan as he moves to my neck. Soft large hands pull down the strap of my tank top, lightly scratching along the way as his kisses follow down to my collarbone. Woah! What is he doing?
With one hand in my strap, the other pulling me into him at my waist, I’m lost. I feel every hair on my body stand and bow in greeting to their new master. The goosebumps rise in respect. And my nipples tighten painfully, expectedly awarded in his revelry.
“Charlie, is it too late for us?” He licks across my neck to slide down the other strap, baring more of me to him.
“Yesss,” I answer. It’s too late for us to choose another path because ours has already been destined.
Pulling back, he smiles and tucks some relentless strands behind my ear, his fingers grazing the outer shell. He glances down at his wrist watch, sucking in his cheeks, deep in thought. Brows furrowed, face pinched. “I probably have another hour or so here. Why don’t you go home, pack a bag, and then head to my place? We can have dinner together.” Dinner doesn’t require a packed bag.
“I, um, I start work tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll get you there.” He smiles while righting my straps then he leans down and kisses each shoulder. “Okay?”
I nod reluctantly. I’ve missed him terribly but I’m not sure if I’m ready for the next step. Those imposing pearly whites return in a massive smile. He sends a heavy wet smooch my way, then grabs my hand and walks me towards the door. I still have the frame in my hand and want to know more.
“Coen?” I lift the frame while raising my brows.
“That’s my favorite one of us.”
I nod. “I like it, too.” I give him a sweet smile and he returns it with one of his own. Then he kisses me again on the lips, takes the frame out of my hand, and puts it back on his desk. “Where it belongs,” he murmurs.
We walk out to the elevators and as we pass Tucker, I give him a little wave.
“He seems like a good guy,” I whisper to Coen.
“Yeah.”
“Why did you get a new PA, again?” He never actually told me, but I phrase it this way so he’d think he did and answer. Instead, he simply shrugs.
Climbing into the elevator car, Coen pulls me against him. “Should I have Davis pick you up?”
“I think I can manage fine.” I roll my eyes and tuck some hair behind my ear. He notices my hand and frowns.
“Where’s the ring?” Oops, I forgot about that. I stuck it back in my jewelry box a few weeks ago.
“I didn’t want to lose it on the road so I haven’t been wearing it.” He sighs and looks frustrated.
Clearing his throat, he pushes on. “You’re not on the road anymore.”
“We aren’t engaged, Coen.” I state this slowly, not leaving room for any misinterpretations. I think we have missed some steps along the way.
He looks wounded as he nods and looks away. He ushers me to my car, kisses me goodbye, and warns me that I should be at his place by six…no exceptions. Looks like Cocky Coen has turned into Bossy Coen during my absence. I’m not sure which Coen is more enjoyable. Maybe I should ditch them both and hunt down Fun Coen. I’ve met him a few times. He has definite potential.
Chapter Thirty
I run a few errands on my way home and arrive with plenty of time to pack. I’m not sure what’s on the agenda for the evening but I’m a little nervous. Okay, maybe a lot nervous. Coen is ridiculously friendly with the ladies; he has experience and demands and I doubt I can supply those needs. My physical self is slowly awakening into normalcy, but I think my mind is far from ready.
What if I have a flashback and lose control? What if I shut down and go into a Charlie coma? If he sees me like that, I doubt he’d be interested in me. I never really cared about any of it with Andrew or any of the other guys I briefly and superficially dated but Coen has molded himself into an entirely new category.
I knock on his door at exactly five fifty-five, with five minutes to spare. He answers the door in a white t-shirt and low navy basketball shorts, barefoot. His appearance has altered? I frown bringing up pictures in my head, trying to make a quick comparison to spy the culprit.
“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding concerned.
“Oh, um, nothing. Why, what’s wrong? You going to let me in?”
“Your eyes were flicking back and forth. It was like you didn’t see me.” He pushes the door further open and grabs the bags out of my hand.
Could I be any more of a freak?
Closing the door behind me, I finally admit how much of a nutso I am to the poor guy.
“You look different.
I was just trying to puzzle it out. I was in my head.” I shake my head like a dork and make some weird phony laugh sounds. Run, Coen. Save yourself from the freakhood of Charlie.
He walks over to me and gently tucks some hair away, and then glides his hand down my neck. “You have a photographic memory, love?” I nod and shrug with some quirking of my lips.
“You were looking at pictures of me in your head?” I nod again. My voice has run and hid from the sheer humiliation, can’t really blame her.
I watch his mouth as it tilts on one side. I scan his face looking for fear or disgust. I have freckles, freaky eyes, and disappear for months at a time. Instead I hear him sigh. “So perfect…” He leans down and kisses my forehead. “Come on, love. Dinnertime.”
We make our way to the kitchen and Coen has me sit on those enchanting stools again. I breathe in the scrumptious smells of lasagna and garlic bread. Yum!
“Did you cook for me?” I jest.
“I had Marie prepare it. I’m just heating it up for us, love.”
“And Marie is….” Your lover? Your slave? Your live-in-do-what-you-will person?
He laughs. “Look at you getting territorial. I think you’ve made my night, love. And we’ve only just begun.” Oh, that cocky man. Stop reading my thoughts. “She’s my housekeeper. Quit looking at me like that.” He bops my nose triggering my blush.
Dinner is wonderful. I guess Marie has her uses, though I will need to investigate further to make a proper judgment call. We spend most of the evening chatting about CC and the changes that have occurred. He tries several times to convince me that I’m limiting myself by staying at Morgan and Freeman. He wants me to head his legal team at Collins Corp. After turning him down for the fourteenth time, I finally told him I’d think about it. But a move to CC is highly improbable.
I’m not a happily-ever-after type of girl and this won’t be your typical happily-ever-after story. I know that. I always have to be prepared for that. I always need an out.
He catches me mid-yawn and demands we head to bed. The last few months are catching up with me. He leaves me upstairs in his room to do my business, while he tackles some emails in his home office.
I must be more tired than I thought because after changing, I crawl right into his bed. I don’t even wait for him to join me; I just close my eyes and feel myself drifting into sleep. Sometime later, I’m woken by movement. Then my entire body shifts as Coen angles me over him. My head resting on his chest. It’s firmer…yes, there it is…that’s what’s different! He’s bigger. Has he been working out?
“There that’s better,” I hear him mumble softly. I nestle myself deeper into him and despite the firmness of my new pillow, I drift again. As I begin my descent, I think I hear him whisper, “Welcome home, love.”
******
I scream. He’s holding my arms down. There’s so much pain. I feel the chill the dripping liquids leave behind, but I’m no longer fully connected to my body to interpret where it’s coming from. Everything is heavy and there’s so much pressure. I can feel my bones twisting and snapping as I’m being held from every angle. I can’t catch my breath and I feel my stomach revolting from the painful intrusions. I’m drowning. Let me drown. I want to drown. I keep screaming, though. Maybe someone will hear and save me. I can’t save myself, no matter how hard I try. I can’t fight. My bones and muscles have been shredded. My vision is blurred with the swelling blocking my view and distorting the images. Then I see their ugly faces above me…
I jerk up screaming. I’m shaking. Where am I? On the floor. Where? I’m rocking now with my knees tucked in. I’m scared to look around. I repeat that I’m okay over and over again. This isn’t the first time I’ve awoken this way. It used to be nightly but it has gotten better over the years.
“Love?” I hear in a broken voice a few feet away from me. I look up realizing that I’m next to a wall in Coen’s bedroom. By the wetness on my face, I’m guessing I’ve been crying.
“Coen?” My voice is hoarse. I must have been screaming in my sleep. It looks as though he turned on the lamp on his nightstand. When I finally focus, I see his lip is bleeding. “Oh my god.” I cover my mouth with my hand. I know I did that. I ram my head back up against my knees and sob. I’m such a fucking mess. This is why I can’t date. This is why I have to keep people at a distance. I was so tired that I forgot to take my pills and look what happened.
I feel his warmth encircle me completely as he picks me up and carries me to the bed. He’s rocking me in his arms whispering that he’s okay. But I know he’s lying.
After what feels like ages, I finally settle down with the weird jerking hiccups of exhausted cries. I look up to examine Coen’s perfectly sculpted face. His lower lip is covered in dried blood and the area is bruised and swollen.
“We should ice that.” I brokenly whisper.
“First, tell me that you’re okay.” He’s concerned for me?
“I’m okay.” His hands trace the dried tear paths running down my left eye and he whispers softer.
“No, love, tell me that you’re okay…”
“I need to take care of you first, please.” I plead with my watery eyes.
We walk to the bathroom where I have him sit on the countertop. He directs me to the first aid kit and I get to work on cleaning him up. Thankfully, the slit is small and doesn’t need stitches.
But the guilt eating me is insurmountable.
I get his lip settled and then grab some ice out of the freezer by his closet. Only a man would have a full size fridge in his bedroom. It’s paneled in the matching wood that circles the back wall.
He crawls back into bed and waits for me. I shake my head emphatically. “I can’t. It’s too late for me to take my pills. I just don’t…I can’t...” I bite my lip hard. I need to focus.
He gets up and walks over to me. Arms on my shoulder, he squeezes.
“Charlie, I need you in bed with me.” His jaw is clenched and I can see his pecs twitching. I shake my head trying to snap it out of Coen’s magnetism. I glance at the time. It’s only ten till four. Dammit!
I push at his chest to get some space and start pacing in front of him. I stop and take a moment. “First, tell me what happened.”
“I don’t remember. I’m tired, love. Let’s get some sleep. Having you in my arms is the best medicine.” He holds them out for me to climb into. Not that easily swayed, Coenlicious.
“Please tell me, Coen. I need to know if you want me to move past this.”
He sighs, rubs his hands on his face, and then sits on the edge of the bed. “Okay, but I need you in my arms. Those are my terms, councilor.” I quirk a small smile. He’s adorable.
“Your terms are agreeable, Mr. Collins.” I sit next to him and lean on his shoulder. I yelp when he picks me up bridal style and carries me to his side of the bed. Placing me down, he follows then lifts me and places me in the ‘sleeping with Coen’ position that I’ve become familiar with. His arms circle me tightly and he kisses the top of my head. I scoot so that I can rest my chin on his impressive pectoral muscle. I want to look at him while he speaks.
His soft voice echoes harshly into the darkened room as he explains how I woke him. I was screaming in my sleep and thrashing wildly. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he attempted to wake me out of my nightmare. Instead, according to Coen, he only made things worse. I tried pushing him away, and when he kept trying to touch me, I punched him. Then I started rocking in the corner. He kept trying to call to me but at a distance as he didn’t want to further agitate me.
By the time he’s done recanting his story, my eyes have fallen heavy. My head rests peacefully in its spot and Coen’s fingers hypnotically comb through my hair. Gosh, I love that. His soothing voice has lulled my troubled thoughts and eased me back into the realm of sleep. He knew what he was doing when he laid us down like this. I have a feeling that I’m more than outmatched by this worthy opponent.
Chapter Thirty-One
We develop
ed a routine. I don’t remember mapping it out or analyzing its topography. It just happened. One minute it was August and the next October.
Work was hectic and nonstop. On my off hours, I was usually with Coen. I rarely saw the trio and neglected my music.
It wasn’t until I was getting ready for a charity event in mid-October that I had my little freak out. I had managed to find a stunning Herve Leger sleeveless bandage gown in rose gold and was hunting for the perfect matching shoes in the closet when I noticed a gorgeous pair of Rene Caovilla pearly T-strap leather sandals on one of the shelves on my side of the closet. And that’s when it hit me…my side of the closet.
I freeze and find myself sliding onto the bench in the middle of the dressing room. I regard Coen’s side of the closet. Everything is color coordinated and organized: filled with an array of suits, tuxes, and his favorite tees. Then I glance to the other side and notice a full assortment of female clothing. There are work suits, designer ball gowns, sheath dresses, casual clothing, and then the shoes. I gape at the lighted shelves holding a plethora of heels that I don’t recall ever purchasing.
I pull open one of the jewelry shelves and note that sitting before me is all the jewelry that I thought Malice had returned, plus several newer pieces that I’ve never seen. In fact, I’ve never seen most of the items in the closet. Coen would tell me to pack a bag or have Malice grab some clothing for me but I didn’t bring this much over. And come to think of it, I haven’t done any laundry or brought anything to the cleaners in quite some time.
I look at the riveting heels in my hand. They’re my size. I stand and check the sizes of the gowns, even the one I’m wearing I didn’t purchase. But it fits. I grab the drawer pull on the side panel spying my undergarments. But these aren’t mine. There are name brands like La Perla and Agent Provocateur, I have never ordered anything from there. I’m a straight laced Victoria Secret kind of girl. Hey, if it’s good for an angel, then why not me?
