by Leylah Attar
Why do his words have the power to turn my world upside down?
Why do will and shame and guilt and sense fall by the wayside when I’m with him?
Because you love him, comes the answer.
You love him.
You love him.
It echoes like the clap of distant thunder.
How many women have loved him and been left by him? How many have sat with him on a rainy night and felt like this? This gut-twisting, soul-wrenching thing he does to me? What does it matter, this sad, useless love, when it would destroy all my other loves—my home, my family?
“What happened that day wasn’t your fault,” he says. “Stop punishing yourself, Shayda.”
I take a long, slow breath, feeling my resolve falter.
“I think you better take me home,” I say.
He nods and starts the car.
I don’t need to give him directions. I wonder if he’s circled this block before, driven by my house, debated what world lies beyond its red door.
“Looks like you beat everyone to it,” he says as we approach. All the lights are off.
“The kids are at Maamaan’s and Hafez is away.”
For a moment, he looks at me without unlocking my door. The air turns thick with possibilities.
“Well...” My fingers tremble as I reach for the handle.
I have one leg out the door when he pulls me back.
“Shayda...I’m sorry.”
I know he’s apologizing for kissing a stranger under a tree, the day Zain almost drowned, but all I can feel is the rough pad of his thumb caressing the inside of my wrist. And he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
“Goodnight, Troy.” I turn and dash for the front door, a wobbly mass of tangled nerves. I am in love with a ninth level dark spell master.
The rain is a welcome relief from the hot, steamy car, but it does nothing to wash away the imprint of his touch. My hands shake as I fish for the keys. I glance back, half expecting him behind me. I get in and lean against the door, holding my breath until I hear him drive away.
31. Fly, Dammit, Fly
August 5th, 2000 (1)
“Did you make it home all right?”
No, Jayne. I slipped up somewhere between your place and mine.
“Yes.” I reply.
“Can you believe it? Running into Troy out of nowhere?”
“Did you get your car back?”
“I did. With a full tank of gas, a Petro-Canada gift card, and not a whisper of it to Matt. That man.” She laughs. “You know, I haven’t seen him in ages. He just dropped out of the scene. No girls, no booze, no parties. But damn, does he keep getting better looking or what? He must be what now? Forty?”
“Thirty eight.”
“That’s right. You guys share the same birthday. How weird is that?”
“Any news from Bob and Elizabeth?” I ask.
“They’re having a fabulous time. Dad’s been so relaxed since you got your broker’s license. Has it been busy without him?”
“Yes, but Marjaneh’s really picking up.”
“I’m glad. So what time are you there till today?”
“I’m just getting ready to leave.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to join us tonight?”
“Maybe another time. I’m actually looking forward to some alone time.”
“Call if you change your mind.”
“Thanks, Jayne.” I put the phone down and collect my things.
“Delivery for you.” Susan buzzes me.
I switch the lights off and step into the reception.
A small parcel is waiting for me—a generic, cardboard box with no markings except for my name.
I leave the office and get in the car. It’s a scorcher of an afternoon. The seats have been baking in the sun. I picture Hafez on the road and hope he’s keeping hydrated. I switch on the a/c and reach for the package. When I nudge the packing paper aside, I freeze. Inside is a fold-up umbrella, like the one I lost last night, except in red. I get out of the car and open it. A single butterfly, a few shades darker than the umbrella, is printed on one side. It’s fun and playful and vibrant. It makes me want to go out and dance in the rain.
I choke back a sob. This is what he does to me. Open up the windows of my soul and push me out.
Fly, dammit, fly!
I get back in the car, trying to overcome the choking sensation in my throat. I think of spending an empty night in a dark house, of waking up to cereal and cold milk, of doing the laundry, and being good and right and dutiful.
But I drive the other way, through tear-blurred streets to Troy’s office.
‘HEATHGATE GROUP’ in gleaming gold letters, now occupies four floors. I get in the elevator and press the top one.
Please be there. Please be there. I may never have the courage to do this again.
“Miss? MISS! May I help you?” I barely hear the receptionist trying to stop me.
There is only one office and it’s closed off behind dark wood paneling. I swing the door open and step in.
There he is. One hand in his pocket, the other holding the phone to his ear, looking out of the floor-to-ceiling window. No basketball hoops. Just stark lines, gleaming steel and sleek white furniture.
He turns around at the commotion and fixes his pacific blues on me. His eyes narrow as he scans me.
“Sam, I’ll call you back,” he says before hanging up.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Heathgate, she just—”
“Thank you, Tina. That’ll be all.” He dismisses her.
We’re alone.
It’s so quiet, I can hear the thundering beat of my heart. Now what? I hadn’t thought this far. We stare at each other across the room. His hair is disheveled, like he’s been running his fingers through it. And he’s wearing the same t-shirt from last night.
“I got the umbrella,” I say.
“Good.”
“Doesn’t look like I’m going to need it today.”
“No.”
“Well.” I fumble with my hands. “I just came by to say thanks.”
I pivot on my heel and open the door.
He’s behind me in two long strides, pushing it shut.
“Don’t go.”
I stare at the grain of the wooden door, the smooth texture, the small open pores. I can feel his breath on my neck, but he doesn’t touch me. He just stands there, hands braced on either side of me. Then he steps back and heads to the bar across the room.
“Can I get you some coffee?”
I let my breath out and turn around.
He pours me a cup and holds it out. When I don’t take it, his lips twist in a wry smile and he places it on the counter.
“Here.”
Where our hands won’t touch.
“Thanks,” I reply.
“Cream? Sugar?” He adds just the right amount.
“Aren’t you having any?” I ask.
He pours himself a cup and stares into it.
He looks worn, haggard. The ready laughter that lived in the corners of his mouth is gone.
“Troy?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want coffee.” A hot tear rolls down my cheek.
“Don’t, Shayda.” The muscles on his forearm tighten as if to stop himself from reaching out.
“I don’t want coffee. Or cream. Or sugar.”
“I know, baby. But it’s all we got.”
I clench my fist until my nails leave red crescent marks on my palm. “We’ve got today.”
“What are you saying, Shayda?”
“I’m saying, we have now. Here. Today.”
He goes very still. “Quit fucking with me, Beetroot.”
“I’m not. If you still...” I barely manage to lift my voice beyond a whisper.
His brow furrows. “I don’t know, Shayda. I’d have to check my schedule.”
My heart sinks. What was I expecting? StupidstupidstupidShayda.
He walks over to his de
sk and buzzes his assistant.
“I think I’ll just get going.” I tuck my chin and head for the door.
“Tina,” he says into the receiver, “clear my calendar for the day.”
I halt in my tracks and spin around.
He has the biggest smirk on his face.
Oh yeah?
I hold up three fingers.
“Hold on.” ‘Three days?’ he mouths silently. “Tina, clear my calendar for the next three days.” He nods. “I know. Reschedule them.” He studies me thoughtfully. “And Tina? Take the rest of the day off.”
He hangs up and sits back in his chair.
“What?” My pulse beats erratically as he steeples his fingers and regards me.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Barge into my life and expect me to drop everything for you.”
“Don’t send anonymous packages to my office then, and pretend like you didn’t mean to summon me.”
“Touché.” He measures me with an appraising look. “You grew a pair. I like that. Now come here so I can kiss you like I’ve been dying to since the moment you walked in.”
The first kiss is gentle, a soft re-acquaintance of our lips, as if we’re gliding on a dream, careful not to wake ourselves out of it. The second sends the pit of my stomach into a wild swirl. He ravishes my mouth with an intensity that is both frightening and exalting. I wind my arms around his back, molding my curves to his body, giving myself up to it. When my senses are completely short-circuited, he lifts his mouth and gazes into my eyes.
“You put me through hell, you know.”
“We both knew it couldn’t go on forever.”
“And yet here we are, Shayda.” He sighs. “What exactly are we doing?”
“Three days.” I drop my chin to his chest. “I haven’t thought beyond that.”
“Three days, huh?”
I squeal as he puts one hand under my knees and picks me up.
“We better get going then. You, my dear, have a lot to make up for.” He grins and carries me out of his office.
Tina has left and the building is quiet. We cross the lobby and head for his car.
“Someone will see us, Troy. Put me down!”
“Not a chance. You’ve taken off on me too many times.” He ignores the stunned looks from passers-by. “Besides, it’s so much easier when I don’t have to throw you over my shoulder, kicking and screaming.”
“Caveman,” I say when he deposits me in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”
“My place. For now.”
“I thought your place was off-limits.”
“You made a three day exception. I’m doing the same.”
We take the private elevator to his loft. The door opens and closes. We don’t notice. He has me against the wall, his knee between my thighs, my fingers in his hair, our lips locked in a hungry kiss. It’s not until the second ‘ding’, when the elevator hits the basement again, that we come up for air.
“You’re so fucking distracting.” He presses the button to the loft again and goes back to nuzzling my neck.
“Stop swearing.”
“Stop swearing, stop smoking, stop drinking. That leaves just one other option.” He cups my bottom and pulls me in suggestively. “It’ll have to make up for everything else.” He slides his hand under my thigh and wraps my knee around his waist. “I hope you’re ready because once we get up there, you’re all mine. To do with as I please.”
I give silent thanks that he’s holding me up or I’d be on the floor, a puddle of quivering anticipation.
This time we make it out of the elevator. He opens the door with one hand, reluctant to let go of me.
“Here we are.” He stands behind me.
I look around. He’s turned the empty, industrial space into a warm, cozy den.
“Here we are.” I smile and turn to him. “The place looks fantastic.”
“You like it?”
I nod. “And what a find. You must have a great realtor.”
“I did. The best. But she has this nasty habit of taking off on me.” He leads me in and shuts the door.
“Sit.” He pats the lush leather love seat before picking up the socks and newspapers strewn around the place.
Cute. I’m expecting him to drag me to the bedroom and he’s playing the gracious host.
“Have you had lunch?” he asks.
As if on cue, my stomach rumbles.
“That would be a no.” He laughs. “How about I whip something up? You like pasta?”
“Since when do you know your way around the kitchen?”
“You’d be surprised at all the things I’ve learned since...well, since I stopped going out as much. The most important of which is—always start with some good music.” He points the remote at his stereo system. The smooth, smoky voice of Lenny Kravitz fills the air.
“How about you chop, I cook?” He hands me the cutting board and a knife.
“Let’s see.” He opens the refrigerator. “Basil, avocado, garlic—” He pauses and tosses it back inside. “No. Let’s skip the garlic.” He gives me a wicked smile. “Cherry tomatoes, parmesan...I think we’re set.”
“You shouldn’t store your garlic in the fridge,” I blab, so I can pretend that being with him in such close proximity isn’t turning my insides to mush.
“No?” He steals a long, slow kiss. “You should come over and straighten me out.”
Damn, now my knees are entering the State of Eternal Jellification. I rinse the avocados and get started.
“How do you want them?”
“Like this.” He holds my hands from behind and shows me. “Peeled...halved...pitted.”
He makes each word sound ridiculously sexy.
‘I belong to you’, chants Lenny Kravitz. The beat is rhythmic and seductive. We work in silence, or at least we pretend we’re working, and not thinking about tearing each other’s clothes off. I feel the soft, smooth flesh of the avocado as I peel it. His hands stay on mine, echoing my movement, his breath caresses the back of my neck. We rinse the small, round tomatoes, feeling the water run through our fingers.
“Halve,” he whispers, guiding me as we cut through the plump, juicy centers.
I swallow. When he said he’d whip something up, I didn’t think it would be this hot, frenzied need in me.
“Basil. Chopped. Coarse.” He picks up a stalk and runs it up and down my arm as I struggle to keep the knife straight.
“See what distraction does?” He nips my ear lobe.
Cooking with him is an exercise in raw sensuality. But I know I’m not the only one this is affecting. I can feel his arousal pressing up behind me.
“I think you need to cool off, mister.” I cup my hands in ice-cold water and splash it on him.
“Ohhh!” He stares at me disbelievingly, his mouth wide open.
Both of us look down at his pants. I got him where it counts.
“You little minx!” he growls and lunges for me, but I dart to the other side of the counter.
He stalks me with deadly deliberation, his muscles flexed and ready to pounce. The perfect hunter. Except for that wet spot on his trousers. I giggle.
“Gotcha!” He grabs me by the hips. “You have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” He plops me on the counter. Tomatoes and avocados go rolling off the top.
“A whole lot of trouble?” I ask, barely able to breath.
“A whole, whole lot.” His hand slides under my bottom and he brings me closer to the edge of the counter so I can discern exactly what ‘a whole lot’ feels like.
“I love when you wear a dress,” he says into my neck, as he strokes me over the lace of my panties.
“You’re so wet,” he whispers. “But it’s payback time. I want you soaked right through, like what you did to my pants. You hear me, baby?” He pauses and holds me with burning blue eyes. “I’m going to take you to bed and we’re not leaving until you give me exactly what I wa
nt.”
I nod, feeling like a finely stretched piece of string, about to snap at the slightest tug. My legs lock around his hips as he lifts me off the counter. His mouth claims mine, driving me dizzy with desire.
We barely make it to the living room, a tangle of arms and legs and withheld passion. We claw at our clothes, ripping, shedding, discarding.
“Damn it, Shayda, I wanted to do this right,” he says as he lowers me to a soft, full rug and reaches for protection.
“You mean like candles and rose petals?”
Why are we talking when we should be kissing?
“I mean like feed you first.” He laughs as my impatient hands pull him down.
His lips close around my nipple and I let out a ragged sigh. He plays with it, tugging, pulling, teasing. He moves further down my body, blazing a trail of kisses over my tummy, his tongue dipping into my navel. My hips raise off the floor as he buries his face between my thighs. I feel the wetness trickle down my thighs.
“Mmmm. Good, Beetroot,” he says. “But I want more. Give me more.” His tongue teases me through the thin mesh of my panties, giving me a taste, but not quite enough.
“Ohhh.” I twist one way and then another, my fingers sinking into his hair.
The sound inflames him. He rips off my panties and presses his mouth into me. I buck against the white hot sensation.
I clutch his shoulders and urge him back up. There’s a hot, gnawing emptiness that only he can fill.
“Take me now,” I say.
“No.” He looks up, singularly bent on sending me over the edge with his mouth and his tongue.
“Now, Troy.” I invite him in. It’s a move I know he can’t resist.
He kneels between my legs. “Is this what you want? Tell me, baby. Say it.” He teases me with the tip of his passion.
“Yes. Yes!” I hear myself say. I have never been so tightly wound up, so naked in my need. My fingers close around the long fibers of the rug, pulling and tugging.
He turns me on my side, ready to take me like that, allowing me the freedom to move, to work myself to orgasm.
“No.” I turn back around “Like this.” I lock my legs around his waist.
He snaps, giving in to the primal need in my eyes. He lifts my hips and buries himself inside me. One deep, hard thrust. Like coming home.
Our eyes lock, mouths opening in a silent ‘ohhh’ as my walls stretch to accommodate the rock hard length of him. It’s exquisite, this connection of our bodies, this open, honest confession of all the things that remain unspoken.
