by Roxy Sloane
Nausea rolls through my body. I can't take this painting. Even if Xavier's money is legitimate, this is too much, too extravagant. Like he's trying to buy me back. I won’t be bought.
"No. Help me wrap it back up. Please."
"What? Why?"
"I can’t keep it. I have to take it back to him."
#
Xavier gave me his office address once when we were going to meet up for lunch. Luckily I’ve saved all his texts in my phone. I wasn't about to take the painting back to him at the villa. Too private, too many chances for me to lose my will to stay away from him. I still have so many doubts.
The building sits a couple streets over from the beach. Everything about it is sleek, from the steel and glass of the outside to the modern white furniture in the lobby. I glance at the directory and see that his company, X.F.H. Holdings, is on the top floor.
Once I'm in the elevator, I start to get nervous. Is he going to be there? Maybe I should have sent it through a delivery service. I don't want a confrontation.
The elevator opens into a large lobby, decorated in earth tones and light wood, a sharp contrast to the building itself. It feels warm and inviting, but I remind myself that I have a purpose and it doesn't involve sticking around.
A young, pretty receptionist sits at a long desk in front of me. I square my shoulders and approach her.
She greets me with a warm smile. "How can I help you?"
"I just need to leave something for Xavier."
"Well, I can see if he has time to meet with you." She picks up the phone.
"No," I say forcefully. "I don't need to see him. I'd just like to leave it here, if possible."
She frowns but sets the phone back in its cradle. "What is it?"
"A painting. He had it delivered to me last night, but I can't accept it."
The receptionist looks me up and down, probably trying to decide if I’m crazy or full of it, and finally relaxes. "Okay, I guess I can take it.” She comes around the front of the desk and takes one look at the huge crate before frowning and shaking her head. "Just leave it there, against the desk. I'll have someone come out and get it."
“Thanks.” I’m about to turn and go when a voice stops me.
"Nicole? What are you doing here?"
I groan internally. Avoiding Xavier was the goal, so of course he's at the office. I look up. He's in a pristine white linen shirt and dark slacks underneath. The look is a good one for him.
Before I figure out what to say, the receptionist speaks for me. "She brought this for you, sir. What should I do with it?"
He glances at the box and presses his lips together. "Have Matt take it to the storage room."
Then he turns to me, his voice softer. "Will you please join me in my office for a moment? There are a few things I'd like to say."
Part of me wants to be rude and run, the small part of me that thinks he's El Jefe. But the larger part of me that can't accept it wins out. I nod and cross the room to where he stands.
He gives me a smile and places a hand on my back, letting it rest just above my waist. "It's this way."
I follow alongside him as we walk through the office. He says something to every person we pass. He knows every employee by name.
"Sir, I'm sorry to bother you," a woman calls out.
We stop and he goes to her cubicle. "It’s no bother. What do you need?"
"There's a situation with the shipment from Kuala Lumpur. Customs is holding it for forty eight hours."
"What's the issue? We need that product delivered tomorrow." His voice rises slightly, but there's no anger in it.
"I'm so sorry, sir. I think it's my fault. When I filled out the forms, I think I mistyped—"
His expression softens. "They’ll just want you to send them the corrected forms. Nita can help you. We’ll still get everything, and you’ll know for next time."
She visibly relaxes and nods. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
He places a hand on her shoulder and gives her a genuine smile. "Clerical errors happen all the time. I’ve probably made most of them myself. It's okay."
Watching him right now, it's obvious he cares about the people who work for him. He's respectful and kind. I can't believe it's an act. No one's this good at maintaining this kind of a front for so long and doing it so well. I've never seen anything from him that indicates he could order someone's death. Maybe Eduardo works for both Xavier and El Jefe. Xavier and his businesses seem completely legitimate. Why am I letting one comment made by Eduardo send me spiraling? But I still can’t shake the way everyone treated him on the boat. It’s so hard to tell the difference between awe and fear.
#
We make it to Xavier's office, and it's exactly what I'd imagined it looking like. Everything is elegant and polished. The view is gorgeous. Even though we're a couple blocks from the beach, there are no other buildings to stand in the way of the view. I can hardly tear my eyes away from the sea.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Xavier stands behind me, but he's respecting my space.
"How do you get any work done in here with this view?"
He laughs. "It is difficult sometimes. But I'm grateful for it when I need a break. It's a fantastic stress reliever."
We're silent, staring out at the water for a moment. Then I hear him move over to his desk.
"But you didn't come here to see the view from my office."
"No, I didn't." I finally turn around to face him. "I can't accept the painting, Xavier."
"You didn't like it?"
"God, no. It's gorgeous. But it's too much."
"I want you to have it. It reminds me of you."
"I really can't keep it."
He lets out a breath and turns to me. "Is it so wrong that I want to buy you beautiful things that remind me of you?"
"No, I just…"
"So keep the painting. It would make me happy to know you have it."
"It feels like you're trying to buy me, which is not what I want."
He’s silent, and I feel the space between us grow uncomfortable. Finally he speaks, and his voice is cold. "That's not it at all." He pauses again and then continues, pointing at the window. "Every time I look out at that ocean lately, do you know what I'm thinking about?"
I shake my head, not sure I want the answer. Especially when I'm already wavering in my resolve to stay away from him.
"I'm thinking about how the moonlight hit your body that night in the water and set you aglow."
He comes around the desk but doesn't approach me. Instead, he perches on the edge, half sitting half standing. Like if I gave him the opportunity, he'd cross the floor in two seconds to put his hands on me.
"I sit here at my desk and close my eyes and remember your face full of pleasure, your mouth on me and mine on you… They're good memories, Nicole, and I want more."
The lump in my throat makes it difficult to speak, as do his eyes on me. I feel like they're burning holes in my clothes, tracing the curves of my body. "I need to go."
"Not yet. We still have things to discuss." His tone doesn't match the words. It's seductive, enticing. Like the last thing he wants to do is discuss anything. That makes two of us, actually, but I'm trying to be strong. I don't know how much longer I can hold out.
"We have a connection. I felt it from the first time you walked into my villa. I know you felt it too. I could see it on your face, and it turned me on even more."
"Connection isn't the problem."
"So what is? My money? My job? My business associates?" I hear the annoyance in his voice.
He’s right, it’s a ridiculous excuse. Especially in light of this extraordinary chemistry we have. I wish I could tell him the truth or ask him what I’m dying to know. But I can’t. I need to stick to my guns and use this excuse because there isn’t any other.
"We just…don't exist in the same world. It's too messy."
"I like messy." His face is determined, that sexy jawline prominent, his eyes focused. "I'
m not used to people saying no to me. But you do."
"So I'm a challenge to conquer? That just makes my point right there. I’m not a game for you to play." The real anger in my voice surprises me.
"No, Nicole. You misunderstand. It turns me on that you stand up to me. The fact that you don't care about how much money I make. If I wanted a woman who didn't challenge me, I could take my pick in this city. But that’s not what I want."
He moves toward me, and I feel trapped by his gaze. I want him so badly, and the pure lust in his eyes turns me on even more. My body aches for him to touch me, even as my head yells at me to be practical. But he's what I want, and my body won't be denied.
Xavier reaches out and runs a hand along my cheek. "I want you, Nicole. We fit together." His hand moves to my shoulder. "I want you with me."
I close my eyes as he runs a finger down the curve of my shoulder to my arm. He takes away his finger and the connection is broken. I open my eyes and find him studying me. Those gorgeous eyes almost hypnotize me, and then he leans in and runs his thumb slowly along my bottom lip.
I can't fight my desire anymore. It's a physical need for him to touch me. I have to have his hands on me, all over me. Now.
"I want to taste you, Nicole. All of you. Your mouth, your skin, your pussy. You taste so good to me."
His words are like fuel on the fire. I'm drowning in how much I need him.
He leans in and replaces his thumb with his mouth, kissing me softly then gently nipping at my bottom lip with his teeth. I part my lips and let his tongue stroke against mine. It feels like my body is going to explode at any moment. The kiss turns hot and frantic. I can't pull away and don't want to. I can hear myself moaning.
His hands ravage my body, cupping my breasts and tracing my curves. As we kiss, he moves me to the desk. I sit on the edge of it like he did earlier, half standing. The desk is empty except for papers, so when he gently lays me down, I relax into it. Xavier’s hands move up my thighs under my skirt, kneading the flesh and muscle. I'm getting wetter by the second, and I feel the urge to move my hands to my breasts. I pull up my blouse and unhook my bra, giving myself access to stroke my bare skin and pinch my nipples.
Xavier hooks his fingers under my panties, and I shiver as he slides them down my legs. I expect to hear him taking off his pants. Instead, his mouth joins his hands on my legs, and I gasp as he kisses my inner thigh, inches away from my pussy. He uses his thumbs to flick my clit while he kisses me up and down my thighs. I'm squirming and moaning, aching for him to put his finger or tongue or anything inside me. But he doesn't give me that yet, just continues to circle my clit and brush the opening of my pussy.
I'm so worked up, I'm not sure I can hold off my orgasm for long, and just when the need to be filled overwhelms me, he leans in and puts his mouth on me. My eyes close in ecstasy as he sucks and licks, teasing me with his mouth, pumping his tongue in and out of me, licking up all my juices.
“Yes,” I shudder, and he groans against me, needing this just as much as I do. I can’t hold back.
“Your taste is an elixir for me Nicole.”
Hearing him say my name only intensifies the pleasure. The climax hits me hard, and I bite my hand to keep from screaming out. My body shakes with the waves of bliss hitting me. As I buck and roll under his mouth, Xavier keeps sucking and licking until it's almost painful, I'm so sensitive. But I don't dare ask him to stop. It feels too good.
I'm completely spent, nothing left. My whole body buzzes, and my muscles have finally let go of the tension I've been carrying around.
Xavier stands up and replaces my panties, then helps me hook my bra and smooth my clothes. I run a hand through my hair, flattening the top which must look wild. He assures me it looks fine.
"Nicole, I—"
His phone interrupts him. He hesitates but I wave him to pick it up, so he answers and listens for a moment.
"Hang on," he says into the phone. He looks at me. "I am so sorry, but this is urgent."
I'm a little flustered still, but I understand. "It's okay. I should go anyway."
When I turn to leave, he stops me. "We should talk tonight. Over dinner? I'll pick you up at 8."
I say yes in spite of all my reservations. I just can’t believe that someone who makes me feel these things could be bad.
Chapter Four
I don't know what I was thinking letting that happen. Xavier's hands felt so good on me, but I should've been stronger and resisted. Even though I can't believe it's him, and I'm more convinced than ever that it's not, I need to know one hundred percent. And I need to know who killed my brother--I won't be able to completely let it go until I know who El Jefe is.
This part of South Beach is unfamiliar, so I get a little lost trying to make it back to the car. My phone is no help since it died while I was with Xavier.
I don't see any landmarks or shops that I remember, and I got turned around when I left the office. I'm not sure which direction the beach is in, and my still wobbly legs protest at the thought of walking too far in one direction. I spot a coffee shop at the corner, so I figure that's a good place to get my strength back and get my bearings. Then I can get back to Xavier's office and find my way back to the car. Maybe they'll even have a charger I can borrow.
The coffee shop sits on a corner, and I notice the street signs as I grab a newspaper out of the kiosk. I stumble as my legs almost give out from under me. It's the street where Eli died.
The address has been in the back of my mind, but I hadn't felt ready to come out here. Now it seems like a beacon calling to me. I walk forward, the numbers decreasing as I go. The crash site is right on the water, and it strikes me as odd how such a gorgeous view can exist in a place so filled with ugliness. But then again, the ugliness is relative. It only affects me, not the rest of the world.
I walk across the street to look out at the water, stretching farther than I can see. I breathe in the humid, salty air and let myself relax and just think about my brother. I've been so focused on what happened to him and solving the mystery that I haven't let myself just remember him and how he used to be, all the good memories.
Eli's last moments were here, and somehow it feels like he's with me now, watching over me like he always did when we were kids. He never let anyone pick on me or cause problems for me. When I started middle school, I was so scared. All my close friends were zoned to a different school, so I had to start over. The first week, some older kids targeted me, sensing an easy target in my shy demeanor. Eli stepped in. After that, no one messed with me. That's just who he was.
No matter what was going on, Eli was always there. Even when we were fighting, he played the big brother role. I can't believe the worst of him now when he always showed me the best of him. There's no way Eli would willingly become a drug runner. I just know it. But I'm not sure how I can prove it, and it doesn't seem like it would make a difference anyway.
I came to Miami looking for answers, but all I've found are more questions. Maybe I should just let it go and move on. Let him rest in peace and remember the Eli I knew and not the Eli the cops are convinced existed.
But when I turn back toward the road, I recognize the buildings across the street from the photos. It's the exact site of the crash. The pylon Eli hit is less than fifty feet from me. Knowing it's here and actually seeing it are two very different things, and for a second my emotions threaten to take over. But I need to keep my head. I can't break down in the middle of the street.
I straighten my shoulders and brush the tears off of my face. The coroner said the report didn't show any foul play, but there was something off about the pictures to me. I thought it was just the angle, but seeing everything in person changes my perspective.
If someone was losing control of a car, they'd be slamming on the brakes hard enough to cause skid marks on the road. But wouldn't the skid marks lead all the way up to the pole? These seem to lead close to the pole then jump slightly to the side, as if someone pulled the steeri
ng wheel at the last second to change direction. If that was the case though, wouldn't there be additional marks leading away? It looks like someone regained control and sped off.
I approach the pole and examine it too. Eli's car caught fire, and the body was so burned that they had to use dental records to identify him. So why isn't the pole more scorched? There are marks from the fire, but if the fire burned that hot, it should have done some serious damage. My dad accidentally put too much lighter fluid in the grill one time and it flared up super-hot, scorching the wood support beam for the canopy over the deck. The flames licked up pretty high and some of the wood was burned away. The damage to the pole looks similar to that, but it isn't significant.
To burn that hot, Eli's car would have exploded. I've seen it happen at the Nascar races he used to drag me to. If the fire hits the gas tank before they can put it out, it explodes, leaving scorch marks everywhere nearby. But there's no indication anywhere around the pylon of that. The fire barely singed the pole, and that's the only damage I can see. The buildings nearby haven't had fresh paint or repairs. There's no way the car burned hot enough to incinerate Eli's body and didn't do any damage to the surroundings. My pulse pounds in my ears.
This doesn’t make any sense. Eli always told me to trust my intuition, and the sirens in my head are screaming.
I pull out my phone to snap a few photos, forgetting the battery is dead. The urgency to take pictures immediately is so strong. It feels like if I don't do this today, right now, I'll lose something important. I'm surrounded by nightclubs and galleries that are closed this time of day. Nothing helpful. Then I remember the coffee shop on the corner. It had some souvenirs in the window. Maybe it also has disposable cameras.
Luckily, the shop has what I need, and I'm able to take pictures of the scene. I just have to get the police to listen to me now that I have proof, and I know that won’t be easy.
#
Once I find my way back to the car, I take the camera to a one-hour photo place and let them process the pictures while I go back home to charge my phone and get directions to the police precinct near the accident site. A Detective Halford called my parents to tell them about Eli, so I figure he's the best place to start.
