The Guardian: A NOVEL

by Pamela Ann

  “Sorry, doll, but if she were my mother, I’d have disowned her the second I slipped out of that frozen vagina incubator of hers.” Blair wasn’t one to hide her contempt when it came to Marguerite. I tended to keep my disdain lowered down a notch since it was still her mother, after all.

  “If my mother had you as her daughter, she would’ve granted you whatever you wished ’cause you’re terrifying as hell.” Vivienne chortled. “I can so totally picture you hauling all of her haute couture from her favorite fashion houses, dousing it with gasoline, and making a bonfire out of it on the lawn to prove a point.”

  We all laughed because Blair was one crazy biatch. There was a reason girls in our high school didn’t want to cross her. She’d go above and beyond to make your life hell, and quite frankly, who needed a real, breathing, live experience of Georgina George in their lives? They knew better, too, so that was why everyone bowed or cowered to Blair. The woman never went down without a hard fight. Delicate, she might seem to be, but she wouldn’t hold back before launching herself, sharpened claws and all, and give her opponent a free facial reconstruction. She was lethal in all aspects vital to bringing an enemy down.

  We had graduated last week, and the three of us would be spending our summer on the French Riviera with Ethan Rinaldi, Blair’s brother, as our chaperone. Vivienne’s grandfather owned this gargantuan super yacht, and we were all looking forward to a fun-filled break lounging and partying before going to Stanford.

  Tonight would culminate letting go of the old me and my unhealthy obsession of Jared. Once I’d accomplished bumping uglies with his truly, I was setting myself free so I could engage in a normal, healthy two-way relationship. So yes, this was a quintessential step to get where I needed to be in life. Like a stepping-stone, if you will, but with a penis involved.

  Tonight, I was supposed to be a twenty-five-year-old socialite who’d recently come back from South Africa after doing charity work for her father’s foundation. That was all I knew, and I supposed I simply had to improvise the rest, ensuring Jared would bite the bait I’d cast. Although I had no firsthand experience in the art of seduction, I had seen enough movies, read enough smut, to figure out how to catch a man’s attention.

  Tonight was my night. No matter what happened next, I was going to get Jared to notice me.

  2

  Gisele

  “I’d whistle if I knew how to,” Vivienne remarked, pale blue eyes roving over me with approval. “You look like one of those Bond girls—a sexy smoking gun with a lot of spunk.”

  Blair giggled as she roved her dark eyes over my face, pleased with the results. “We’ve done a great job! The contouring’s superb, babe. Your ultra-defined cheekbones and nose altered your entire face. The lip trick sure makes your already plump lips have a definite edge to them.”

  Exotic. It was the first thing that emerged from my mind the moment all the finishing touches were in place. There was no trace of Gisele Weber. My eyes were heavily rimmed with kohl. The facial contouring profoundly altered my features. It sharpened them. I could easily pass as Russian or Brazilian. Long, thick fake lashes. My lids were heavily painted metallic black. The black on black made my now blue eyes glaringly pop out. It was the first thing one would immediately notice…the first thing they’d be instantly drawn to. Sensual blue eyes. They beckoned. They seared—a glance of lust, a promise of a wild night ahead.

  Yes. This is definitely the look that will get his juices flowing down south.

  “Good luck with mission penis du jour tonight,” Blair teased as she brushed over the long voluminous tresses that stopped five inches below my shoulders. “Don’t act innocent. Men like Jared will run the other way if he senses you’re not experienced.”

  I knew him. He liked his women skilled, but I liked to refer to them as “seasoned.” I’d have expected with someone with Jared’s IQ, it’d be about a woman’s intellect. Unfortunately, that was not the case. He was wired like the rest of the hot-blooded males, letting their mini-mes dictate their choice of mate. He’d dated movie stars, models, divorcees, teachers, and lawyers, but never a college student. The youngest he had dated was a twenty-five-year-old. Two years younger than him. But somehow, he didn’t have a specific age preference for older women. He even dated a forty-year-old once. A hot forty-year-old knockout. Nevertheless, his tastes fell along the lines of pain and pleasure and hot and the furious (Yovanna had attested to as much in the article) and the “seasoned” women preferred it to, too, or so it seemed.

  Seeing that the first part of the plan was already done, the whole thing became daunting all of a sudden. A hollow knot began to form in the pit of my stomach, making me feel restless and anxious. It was silly really since I’d wanted this for so long, but now that the wheels were beginning to turn, I was a bit perplexed. As much as I thrived on positivity, this could easily become a disaster. What if he wouldn’t be able to fit? The furthest I’d gotten with a guy was second base, and I doubted fondling breasts counted, not in the league of Jared’s sexual prowess, anyway.

  I evoked a soft sigh, anxiously eyeing my friends. “Did it hurt? I mean, that first time?”

  Vivienne thoughtfully gazed at me before pausing, seeming as though she was recalling that specific memory to mind. “It didn’t hurt…though it was uncomfortable for a bit.”

  Blair snickered. “I was desperate. Desperation doesn’t hurt; I can tell you that much.”

  To this day, she would never confess who the mystery man was. She came back one summer and announced she lost her V-card sailing somewhere in the Mediterranean.

  She quickly glanced at her vanity watch before reverting her gaze back to us. “You have to go down first. Viv and I will follow in thirty minutes, give or take. We have to be mindful so people won’t recognize you. The last thing we need is for him to hear you’re Gisele. That’s all he needs to hear, and his balls will shrivel.”

  We all cackled at the image she painted of Jared.

  Everyone who was important in Silicon Valley was here tonight in Hank Rinaldi’s palatial home in Atherton. There were three stairways in this household—one for the servants to use, one for the family, and one for the public, merely for show (rarely used because Mrs. Rinaldi would have a heart attack if she spotted an outline of a footprint anywhere on her sleek polished marble). Taking the usual route via the second stairs, I slowly descended as I nervously skittered towards the rarely used passage leading to the garden. While I hadn’t run into any guests, I did, however, pass by a lot of the catering folks.

  Relieved beyond comprehension, I took a moment, pausing just to recoup and recharge. My heart hammering against my chest did little to ease my tension. “Drat! Get it together,” I breathed out before resuming my steps until a voice halted me.

  “Well, look at you,” a familiar voice came out of nowhere, blocking me from continuing down the long, mirrored corridor. The mystery person skirted my tensed figure, stopping right before my face. Dark eyes sparkled with mischief and whatever else I cared not to name.

  This wasn’t the playboy I intended to secure attention with. “Move out my way,” I gritted through my clenched teeth, earnestly trying not to show my irritation.

  “Gisele?” Wyatt, Blair’s oldest brother, wickedly smirked before making a long, winding whistle, enthusiastically checking me from head to foot. “You’re wow!” he whistled again in disbelief. “Just. Fucking. Wow.” His eyes brightened with each word spoken.

  Typical reaction coming from this man. “Oh, do shut up already, Wyatt.” I’m wasting precious time conversing with him when Jared had most likely arrived. The man was never late. The party started five minutes ago, so he was out there somewhere, and I’d skin Wyatt alive if Jared was already targeted by some woman who’d want to be next on his list. Let’s face it; women used such events to snag their next trophy husband. The competition was stiff. and I’d rather not get beaten at my own game.

  “Make sure to stay out of my father’s line of sight. I don’t like
to see him as competition.”

  “Ew, that’s sick!” I gagged, sticking my tongue out and all. I recoiled at the thought of Hank Rinaldi’s slithering eyes on me. He already had three mistresses. Surely, a man could be satisfied with his mini harem.

  He cheekily winked at me, appearing not appalled at his father’s indiscretions. “He won’t know who you are, so he might get a little jiggy with it.”

  “That’s not funny.” Not one little bit. “How the hell did you know it’s me, anyway?” I chose dark makeup specifically to transform my features. How in the world did Wyatt figure it out? Surely, with Jared’s sharp keenness on things, he’d immediately know, too. That was not good. Knowing such a fact made my hesitation skyrocket to obscene levels.

  “Oh, honey, that perfume gave you away.” His eyes sparkled, consuming me slowly. “As you know, that night left me wanting. You’ve scarred me for life. No woman compares in my eyes.”

  My eyes bulged out as I looked around, hoping no one was using this scarcely used side entrance. “Oh, shush! Your sister will hear you, and if she finds out, I’m going to tear you limb from limb.” The breast-fondling thing? Yeah, it happened with this man. Unfortunately. It was one drunken mistake, and to this day, he wouldn’t stop pursuing me for another impromptu rendezvous.

  My outburst didn’t dissuade him from gazing at me strangely. “What are you doing?” his face perked up, sensing something peculiar. “You went to great lengths to transform yourself…hmmm…”

  “None of your damn business!”

  His hand loosely took hold of my arm, as if daring me to look him straight in the eye. “I’m serious, Gi,” he murmured, slowly closing in on me.

  “So am I.” Damn you, Wyatt Rinaldi! He wouldn’t let me off the hook. He was too curious for his own good.

  “Wait…wait…” Something flickered in his eyes before he cocked his head to the side. When his gaze landed on me again, I just knew he realized what I was doing here tonight. “Oh, no. Gisele, you bad, bad girl!”

  “Shut it down, Wyatt!” The man knew me too well. He immediately figured out my motives without needing confirmation from me. My horrified, stricken expression said it all.

  “But he’s too old for you!”

  “Twenty-seven is not old!”

  “Yeah, but the man has sophisticated tastes…and you’re a knockout, babe, but you lack experience. You’ll bore him within minutes. Maybe even seconds.”

  Thanks for the vote of confidence, ass-hat!

  His words cut through me. Although I knew it wasn’t his intention, it still affected me greatly. “It’s quite rude of you to say that.”

  Wyatt’s face softened as he used his forefinger to lift my chin. “I care about you. That’s why I’m willing to make myself a sacrificial lamb so you can gain experience from yours truly.” Although his demeanor was playful, I also knew he meant every word.

  “Not happening, ever.” He’d been attempting to get into my pants ever since I turned fifteen. Nothing had changed since then. It was not as though he wasn’t busy sifting through one socialite after the other. He was just a flirt, a pervert of epic proportions.

  “How you pierce my heart, Gisele.” He feigned hurt with a ridiculous pout.

  My patience was running thin. “Move. I have a man to engage and seduce for the night.”

  “All right.” He held up his hand. “The offer’s on the table. Anytime. I’m only ten houses down. Visit me anytime.”

  He finally let me go. “Be careful, Gi. He wasn’t dubbed voracious beast for nothing.

  “Bye, Wyatt!” I huffed out, somewhat infuriated as I continued on.

  “Don’t let him eat you out…for your own sake!” he threw out for extra intimidation.

  I flicked a finger as I strutted the hallway. His laughter echoed as I reached the double doors and strolled towards the opposite side of the garden.

  I’d bore Jared? Wyatt’s words rung in my ears. As Gisele, it was a given. But as Lexi Anne, boring wouldn’t be in his dictionary tonight.

  Taking a deep steady breath, I hovered in the background. It gave me a great vantage point to see the throng of people from the back, mingling and drinking to their heart’s content. Hank Rinaldi would show himself five minutes before dinner was set to serve. I would be sharing Jared’s table, along with six other people.

  Jared St. James, as expected, had arrived and was now circling the crowd of CFOs and CEOs. As my father’s second in command, Jared knew the lot. I took a moment to appreciate him. The ache still thrived, but this time, it was mixed with exhilaration. Seeing him smiling and seeming so in-control of himself made me a little faint. My heart skittered. Breathless and out of sorts, the list of things this man made me feel was rather long. For years, I had pretended he didn’t affect me as much. On the occasion that my father invited him for dinner, I’d sit right across him and pretend my heart wasn’t thumping loudly against my ribs. Blair made sure I’d be seated to his left since his right was reserved for his plus one. But basing from what I had seen, no woman hung off his arm, as I had predicted.

  Straightening my Dior black satin mini dress, I quickly gazed down to check that my sparkling stilettos were properly in place. My black painted toenails glinted back at me, my long, toned stems tanned and aglow.

  He’s here. You’re ready. Go get your man.

  Strutting through the pathway that was specifically set-up on the manicured lawn, I stood a good ten feet away, eyes honed on one man, brazenly appreciating him without an ounce of decorum. While the guests milled and conversed, a few admiring looks came my way, but I didn’t budge my unwavering stare. I was on a mission, and getting distracted wasn’t part of the plan. It was as if I summoned him, or maybe he felt the weight of my stare, because the man cocked his head to the side, intense cerulean blues boring into mine with great magnitude. The men he was surrounded by continued their conversations. He managed to continue the flow of conversation without looking away. His eyes remained, unglued as our gazes locked and battled.

  My insides curled and twisted with immense apprehension and excitement. Despite managing to get his attention, his unreadable face made it difficult to know what the man truly was thinking.

  As the seconds ticked by, my confidence was being flayed layer upon layer. The intensity of his eyes made me feel faint. My breathing hitched. My confined breasts ached. My body involuntarily reacted to him in the most primal manner, and I knew then I truly was swimming in shark infested waters. No, this wasn’t a kiddie pool. This man would devour me, no holds barred.

  Blushing and beyond disconcerted, I hesitantly looked away, as if needing a reprieve. When I directed my sight towards where he stood, I saw my enigma continued gawking.

  My heart ricocheted. It teetered. Galloped. It skyrocketed to nirvana and to hell and everything in between. Disconcerted as uncertainty filled me, I hastily broke contact and began making my way towards my designated table. Since most people weren’t seated yet, I gathered my bearings as I stood behind my assigned seat before glancing over to where Hank and Josephine were making their way into his party. Wyatt, Ethan, and Blair hovered close to them. Vivienne was kept glancing about the crowd as Ethan whispered something in her ear.

  While I trying to decipher what Ethan was telling my friend, I felt someone right behind me, making me stiffen, standing ramrod straight as my capability to breathe had all but left me.

  “Business or pleasure?” His distinctive deep, toe-curling, thong-drenching, heart-attack-inducing voice hotly grazed the back of my neck. His Australian accent more pronounced than before.

  HAIL MOTHER OF INSANITY.

  I gulped air, and whatever was left of my rationality and lucidity, I surrendered them all in one hefty succession.

  It took every ounce in me not to shudder in ecstasy. I willed myself to remain blasé, unperturbed by his close proximity.

  Without daring to spin on my heels and face my kryptonite in fear I’d hyperventilate to a full-blown heart attack, I appe
ared calm, unhurried as I silently basked in his presence. His sheer masculinity permeated the air even though he was a hairsbreadth away from touching me.

  As steadily as I could muster, I responded, “Pleasure.”

  He leaned forward, and I had to bite back the urge to moan as his lips brushed against my lobe. “What do you do for pleasure?” His hot breath teased my diminishing resolve.

  And it just dawned on me; if I relented right this instant without baiting him further, he might disengage and find someone else with more challenge in them. So, with that thought in mind, I knew this flirty banter had to last longer if I craved to have him tonight.

  “Is this how you seduce women to your bed?” I snickered, feeling quite wicked.

  “You tell me…” he responded huskily, amused. “Is it working?”

  “Still deciding…” The heady rush of seducing the man of my dreams thrilled me like no other. Gradually, my nerves eased a little so I wasn’t a basket case.

  We were interrupted when it was announced for the guests to take their designated seats. Jared, like a true playboy and a gentleman put together, pulled out my chair, ensuring I was seated first before taking his right next to me.

  The candlelit affair was as intimate as it was gorgeous. Mrs. Rinaldi sure knew how to throw one lavish soiree. My eyes properly took in the scene just as Hank and Josephine Rinaldi began thanking their guests for coming on his special night.

  “Where’s your plus one?” he murmured faintly enough for our newly seated guests not to catch on.

  My brow arched as I cocked my head to him, amused. “Where’s yours?”