Selective/Memory: The Depth of Emotion Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion)

by Lorenzo, DD

  “Anyone can see that, Declan. You have a good heart, and you are working yourself to death.” She changed her tone. “You look like you need a vacation.”

  Eyeing her carefully, he relaxed into his chair and put his throbbing leg up on the desk. He spread his other leg and braced it on the floor to give him balance.

  He leaned back. This was the most comfortable he’d been since seeing Aria today. Closing his eyes, he knew Marisol would be droning on about some unimportant topic for several minutes.

  “I don’t need a vacation. I was just on a vacation for quite a few months.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she chastised. “That wasn’t a vacation. You worked very hard when you were getting well.”

  Will I constantly have to stroke this man’s ego?

  She rose from her chair, and came to stand behind him.

  Placing her hands on his shoulders, she began to massage the tight muscles on either side of his neck as she spoke in a soft voice.

  “You were a very distressed man. You had so much to think about while you were working so hard to get strong and recover.”

  Continuing her massage, she felt his tension dissolve into her hands. She was good at this, and she knew it.

  “You had The Studio on your mind and all of the details of this business. No one knows that better than me. I know how much work you do. You are very, very good at this, and I see how hard it is on you. I see what you look for in every one of the prospective young men and women you interview. I hear the questions you ask them, and I pay attention to what you are looking for in them…”

  Declan began to relax as he pictured Aria’s help in the start-up.

  Marisol let her hands slide down to his chest as he felt the effects of the alcohol and her words combine with his visions, allowing her touch to soften him.

  “It is too much for one person to carry alone, and you have been doing it for so long. Sometimes, wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to help you—someone who understands you, someone who cares about you?…”

  He thought of his connection with Aria; how she helped him and understood everything about him…

  Marisol moved to his side where the strong leg was bracing him. As she continued with one hand moving from the middle of his chest to his stomach, she placed the other hand on the inside of his thigh, rubbing with a soft massage.

  She lowered her voice to a caressing whisper, leaning in to speak to him in a manner that would encourage him to relinquish what was left of his tightly held guard. Her motive was purely selfish.

  “You need someone to worry about you. You care about so many other people…and so many depend on you. You are kind and always doing nice things…acting like a big brother to the young people you bring in here. They don’t know how hard this business can be, do they…”

  She moved her hand up his thigh, caressing and massaging as she traveled. Her hand had found its destination, and she smiled as she heard him slightly suck in his breath.

  “Yes, this business can be…so…hard…you and I know how…hard…it…can…be…”

  She continued her gentle assault on his growing member, and he disintegrated deep into his chair.

  Declan heard nothing she was saying. His thoughts were of a blue-eyed girl, standing on a beach in the wind, making her way in the sunshine to him, her dark curls wildly swirling all around…and he wanted her—badly. He felt himself becoming alive for the first time at the thought of her. Parts of him that had been dead now stiffened and desired to be alive inside of her. He felt her coming closer, he could feel her graceful, sensual fingers bringing him back to life for her, and the warmth of her face coming closer as his head lay back for her…

  “…it…is…so…hard, but I can make it better for you…I… WILL…make it better for you…”

  Marisol was within an inch of his lips and her hand was on his hot and elevated flesh. He was full and throbbing, and she was delighted. She finally had him exactly where she wanted him, and he was within her control. Her lips were barely touching his as his eyes slightly opened to see her, and his hand reached to pull her intoxicating locks into his fist…then reality hit.

  What’s this?

  He became immediately aware of his surroundings.

  Shit! These aren’t her eyes! They aren’t blue; this isn’t her!

  He felt the blood immediately leave that part of him that only to belonged to Aria. Quickly, he grew limp and flaccid in the hand of the one that tried to take her place, irritating her.

  He pushed himself up in his chair, recovering what he could of his senses.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” he barked as he pushed her away.

  Manipulation was her game. This was her grand opportunity to play the injured victim.

  “I am so sorry,” she whimpered. “I was only trying to help.”

  “That is NOT helping.”

  Quickly moving to the chair that Blake had been sitting in, Marisol put safe distance between them. She had always known when to put space between her and the one she had offended when she was a child and her overbearing father had been angry with her or her sister, and she was an expert at playing the game now.

  “You seemed upset when Blake left, and also very tense. I was trying to relax you.”

  Looking down into her lap, she played the injured victim in mock sorrow and shame.

  “I will not make you angry again. I promise.”

  Giving the appearance of being scared and repentant, she knew she’d make him feel remorse.

  Declan wasn’t heartless or a complete bastard. The look on his face confirmed she’d been successful.

  “You didn’t make me angry,” he said, exasperated, “but DON’T do that again. EVER.”

  Keeping her head down, she continued.

  “I won’t if you don’t want me to, but if you ever need me to, I will.” She lifted her eyes to look at him, giving him a silent, inviting look that said she’d indeed be willing to fill a need for him in that area any time he wanted.

  Disgusted with himself, he adjusted and buckled his belt.

  Marisol took the opportunity to further her case, knowing that sex was her most effective weapon.

  “You know,” she said, “it doesn’t mean the same thing to me as it does to most women. It fills a need—a physical one. Pleasure. Pure and simple.”

  He eyed her, remembering his life in New York when a one night stand was the norm for him. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that he was different. He sensed he hadn’t wanted to be with anyone since Aria.

  Marisol salivated as she looked at him, giving him a look of pure lust. What she was proposing was a matter of convenience, though she’d eventually use it as control.

  Tilting her head in proposal, she said, “The offer stands.”

  They stared at each other.

  She was certain she’d made progress. He was thinking, and seemed interested, but she wasn’t sure to what degree.

  Standing to gather her things, she looked at him and smiled.

  “Get your coat. I’ll get you home.”

  He cocked his eyebrow at her, amused at her concern for him after what had just transpired

  “Don’t look so surprised,” she teased. You are in no condition to drive.” It was another opportunity to appear benevolent. She tired of the game tonight and wanted to leave.

  Seeing that he hadn’t inched from the chair, Marisol let just a hint of impatience slip through her carefully crafted veneer.

  “Come on! Get moving!” she said anxiously as she reached for his coat.

  She was quite satisfied with this arrangement, knowing that she’d eventually get from him what she wanted…

  Sitting at the mirror, Marisol moved to the edge of the chair and took in her reflection. Playing with Declan was becoming quite the game of “cat and mouse,” and she examined her face to assure that there were no visible signs on her skin of the mental play.

  Once satisfied, she sat back and crossed one leg over t
he other, caressing it with a sweetly fragranced lotion. Although easily distracted with herself, her thoughts returned to Declan. He was under the impression that his newly-found, entrepreneurial focus was what they called drive. It was her opinion that the only destination he had been driving himself to of late was the bottom of a bottle. She sat the lotion onto the marble vanity and placed her hands under her chin.

  Leaning in to smile at her image, she contemplated how such a scenario could work to her advantage. Having integrated herself into Declan’s life, she had exerted more energy than she was accustomed to. She expected that he would have accepted her directly into his bed, but hadn’t considered his physical shape hindering a sexual relationship following the accident.

  Thinking to immediately dismiss him and Aria, having gotten her revenge with the destruction of their relationship, she saw how fragile a mental state he was in and an opportunity arose. An expectation for an even greater amount of satisfaction presented itself when she realized she could take his business away from him with little effort—something that both he and Aria had worked for.

  She should have won an Academy Award for her performance as supportive friend and confidant during her visits at the hospital!

  Barely tolerating the sweetness she mustered, and patience she didn’t know she possessed, she’d remind herself that the end result would be worth it. The most difficult part of the charade was smoothing over his snapping attitude.

  He was a royal pain in the ass!

  Declan had gone through a bit of a personality change—as if she could care to notice! He had a roughness to him since the accident, and she could work with that. Her own father was a cold and unforgiving man, so she had learned very early to deal with this sort of bastard. Declan had grown callous. His hardened attitude was one that she appreciated. She could develop a relationship with him in his new mindset, and she’d convince him that theirs would be a good one. A solid, superficial relationship—one of give and take. She’d give him what he thought he needed, and take from him everything she wanted.

  It would be perfect.

  It was almost laughable how he and Aria were new opportunities for her to achieve more of what she wanted. Declan, of course, was the more valuable for through him she could achieve not only financially, but professionally. Aria—well, the thought of the pleasurable circumstances she could provide made her shudder with delight. Through her the destruction of another human being could be derived through her and the endless ideas of inflicted pain filled her with more pleasure than she thought possible. It went beyond the satisfaction of a sarcastic remark, more thrilling than a sound physical slap, and more delightful than ruining someone’s livelihood or reputation. The sheer rush of pleasure at the thought of Aria’s physical and emotional destruction caused her to slide to the edge of her seat and admire the smile that had formed in her eyes; botox wouldn’t allow it to register elsewhere.

  Declan didn’t know it yet, but a very benevolent client was planning a large, tropical shoot. This was told to her when she slept with a director of the company for which the job was being planned. She was already making mental preparations for her and Mr. Sinclair. Then her manipulations would begin to solidify as she integrated herself into his company and would eventually take it right out from under him. He’d never discount her as someone lesser than him again.

  Yes, she thought as she sat back and stroked her arms, this would prove to be a very good trip.

  Planning the manipulation of Declan and the extermination of that bitch Aria, and she’d enjoy this visit to Hawaii, especially Maui. It was one of the beautiful things of the world—like her.

  Just as she thought of herself in that category, Marisol had an appreciation for the most beautiful things in life—at least, most things. Some things of beauty needed appreciation only for how they could be exploited and utilized. She had been incorporating herself at The Studio by bringing in more and more of the little peon, want-to-be models under the pretense of helping Declan to build his empire. Sitting through each of his boring pep talks to them, she nearly drooled as he droned on about “keeping your head on straight” and “forming a business plan to market yourself,” blah, blah, blah…it made her sick. All the while, she smiled as he spoke. Smiling was her talent—after all, she had made millions from it, as well as her looks and her body.

  Now was the time to put her plan into action to get him into her bed. Hawaii would provide that opportunity.

  Declan still looked good in his face, but he wouldn’t be doing any bathing suit or nude work—not since the accident. He limped and would never have a normal gait. Marisol felt herself sneer at the thought of being companioned with imperfection and she felt satisfied that he’d be humiliated in Hawaii when they rejected him for the shoot. Of course, she’d find any excuse to avoid being photographed with him should the occasion arise. She would, however, continue this ruse until her plan had been carried through to completion. She had played the good friend role until she felt like she’d vomit.

  Supportive companion would not be a position that Marisol Franzi would fill for too long! Absolutely not!

  She’d be patient and sympathetic with his crushed ego in Hawaii, all the while seducing and consoling him with her body. Being compliant for this particular chance would assure her vengeance would be sweet. She’d take everything from him. Declan had dismissed her for the little sand whore, and Marisol would never forget it…and when she was finished with Declan, neither would he…

  Lying back into the comfort of the elegant chair, Marisol crossed one long, luscious leg over the other as she massaged herself in long, comforting strokes. She licked her lips, savoring the memory of the sight of Aria on the beach after the accident occurred. It was such an unexpected pleasure…

  She was on her way to intercept Declan’s brother before he visited with him at the hospital. As she walked toward Declan’s house, she spotted Aria on the beach. Oh! She could have jumped up and down at the sight!

  Aria was crying hysterically, completely beside herself, and appeared to be in agony. Marisol knew it just had to be because of Declan. She had heard that Declan blamed Aria for his incapacitation! She couldn’t have wished for a better result!

  Standing out of sight, she savored the scene before her. Aria’s agony was, after all, her delight. The only distress she felt was that she wasn’t at liberty to go over to the bitch and kick her ass while she writhed on the beach. What she wouldn’t have given to have been able to claw at her fat face and knock the remainder of sarcasm from her whale of a body!

  She had to contain herself, however, because it was daytime and she didn’t know who would have seen her. It proved to be that her instinct was right. As Marisol continued to keep her presence hidden that day, Aria’s friend went down onto the beach and helped her up and to her car. It didn’t matter; just seeing Aria distressed that day put Marisol in a good mood for over a week.

  She’d hoped the bitch had a breakdown; then she heard she had! It was DELICIOUS!

  That was what she deserved for attempting to touch ANYTHING that belonged to Marisol—and she had better not try to EVER get in Marisol’s way again—or there would be hell to pay!

  Looking back up into the mirror, she saw her own reflection staring back at her.

  “What the hell are you looking at?”

  “Nada. Nothing. I was trying not to disturb you,” said the beautifully parallel image.

  Marisol smirked. “Did you do everything I told you? Put everything together?”

  “Yes. Si. I picked up everything you asked. It is in the trunk of your car. Como usted lo pidió.”

  Marisol shifted in the chair. “I didn’t ask you to do anything. I told you to do it.”

  Reaching up her hand to caress the face that was bent low beside her, she patted her cheek, like one would a pet.

  “Bueno. That’s a good girl.”

  Pausing momentarily, she stared at the face next to hers.

  “Muy bonita, Marc
helle. You are a very pretty girl…” she said as her voice drifted off, as well as her hand.

  Quickly using the same hand, she waved, dismissing the woman as insignificant.

  “Get me some tea.”

  Quickly, the woman went to do her bidding as Marisol continued her interrogation.

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “No, yo tuve ciudado. You said to be careful. I paid cash for the purchases, and I made sure no one was around when I placed the items in the trunk.”

  Marisol nodded her head in approval.

  “I have some things I want you to take care of later, so do not disappear,” she ordered.

  “Whatever you want, Marianna. I do it. Yo lo hare. For you.”

  With that comment, Marisol’s head viciously snapped up, and she rose in a striking stance, arm raised. “I told you to never call me that again—ever! Did you forget everything I have taught you?!”

  “No! No! I didn’t forget! Sorry! Sorry! It just slipped out!” came the desperate voice.

  “Marianna has been dead for a long time, baby girl! Papi called me that—that son of a bitch! Marisol now lives in her place, and MARISOL is the one who feeds you! MARISOL is loved and adored by EVERYONE! If it were not for Marisol, your dead ass would be a slave to some man in Columbia, having his babies, doing his bidding for nothing and taking whatever he gave you!”

  Marchelle dropped her head. “I’m sorry, Marisol. Lo siento! It just slipped out. I haven’t called you by your real name since we were little girls. I don’t know what I was thinking…”

  “You were not thinking, you stupid bitch; that is the problem. If you do not think at all times, it could ruin the illusion that I have worked very hard to create—that WE have worked hard to create. You are here for my comfort and ease. You are here so that I may move about more freely. You look like me to the world, but you do not speak to the public—you couldn’t anyway. They wouldn’t understand you! You are here to assist me, and you would do well to remember your purpose, or you have no purpose! I choose to have you imitate me, but you ARE NOT ME! You will do whatever I tell you to do, for MY convenience. Do you understand me?!”