“You don’t have to be jealous of Theo,” I profess, and his deep sigh is a sure sign my suspicions are correct. “Henrik,” I begin again. “He’s like my big brother. We grew up together.”
“But he’s not your biological brother.”
“No, but he might as well be.”
Henrik stares down at our connection, hips to hips, hard erection pressing against his pants zipper to wet, hot pussy covered by a flimsy piece of satin. I sit up, reaching for his belt. “I’d never do this to him if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve never even thought of him that way.”
“Then why the secrecy?”
“Of all people, I thought you’d understand how important it is to keep some things from other people, especially those we work with.” After ridding him of his belt, I palm his crotch, earning me a groan, and play with his zip before pulling it down.
“Theo values his privacy. As do I. As you do. Besides, do you think I’d be doing this to you if he’s anything but an almost relative to me?” I slide my hand inside his trousers, finding him hot and hard. I open my legs more and let him play with my clit while I work his length. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know,” I repeat the exact words he’s told me only days ago.
He smiles against my lips, but not before long, I’m not just smiling. I’m panting and moaning. And coming.
The transition from Tomlinson to Theo is smoother than I expected. Despite not having owned an architectural firm, Theo settles in his new office and his surroundings quite easily. To say I’m relieved is an understatement. My other plan though doesn’t seem to be reaching any kind of goals.
What I realize is that when I’m happy, and…*gulp* in a relationship, I want everyone else I care about to be happy and satisfied too, in more ways than one.
Theo likes ARC, but he still has to split his time between all his companies. How is he supposed to have a serious relationship, or any kind of relationship at all, if he’s never around? How am I gonna help him out with that when he’s gone all the time?
I was giddy the first time he met Talia, but other than a few stolen glances he sends her way when she passes, or from across the room when he thinks she—or anyone else isn’t looking—he hasn’t done shit all. It’s his don’t mix business with pleasure bullshit that’s holding him back.
Meanwhile, Henrik and I are taking things to a new level. Sleepovers. I hate sounding like a teen. The only time we’ve slept in the same bed until the next day was the first night at the hotel. Which I don’t even know if it should count. I snuck out before he even woke up. Tomorrow, I intend for him to stay over, and maybe not leave since it’s the beginning of the weekend after all.
He arrives promptly at my door with an overnight bag, take out dinner and a bouquet of peonies. I struggle to keep the wide smile off my face. Like real grown-ups, we eat at my rarely used dining table. The only time we’ve been on this table was to have sex on it. It’s a sturdy harvest table that I’ve refinished with a whitewash.
I don’t know what it is—maybe that we are on our own, knowing we’ll be together for two days straight and not be interrupted by work projects, or we can be our true selves around each other without fear of being found out—it’s freeing. A lovely warm sensation that continues to course through me while we’re eating, talking about his Kilimanjaro trip, about how well his sister has adjusted to the city, the family home he grew up in, and his mother back in Austin. He’s more open tonight than he’s ever been in our times together. And it’s addictive. He’s addictive. I’m addicted to listening to him recall everything by memory, in rich details, as though I’ve been there myself.
After dinner, we snuggle on the opposite ends of the sofa with books, a romantic suspense for me, and an autobiography for him.
“You’re too far,” he says at some point, tugging playfully at one of my big toes. He hangs one of his legs over the sofa, and invites me into his warmth. I don’t argue, and smile ruefully when he starts to massage the muscles on my neck and shoulders with his free hand.
I imagine us like this every night. Finally, I know the meaning of relaxing. More importantly, I think I may be in what can only be described as a serious relationship. Or if we’re not there yet, we’re definitely well on our way.
His hand travels down my arm and up again. It’s soothing, and weirdly enough, it’s turning me on. Is it just his touch or is it him?
I close my book and raise my chin, twisting a little to press a kiss on his lips. It’s a simple kiss, but the effect is palpable. His pupils dilate and his breath turns ragged.
“It’s time for bed,” he says, helping me up the sofa, and leading me to the bedroom.
For the first time in my life, that night, I experience what it’s like to make love. More so, I feel loved. I am loved.
We spend the whole Saturday together, mostly in bed, always naked. On Sunday, we have brunch with his sister. We get along swimmingly. She doesn’t seem as young and naïve as Henrik has told me. At the end of the meal, we walk her to her car and she hand Henrik a garment bag.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a suit,” he replies. “I hope you don’t mind but I’d like to spend another night with you. This is to make sure I don’t look like I’ve been fucking all weekend when I get to work.”
I bump a fist on his upper arm, but I’m too thrilled to say anything at first. He helps me into his car.
“You can stay longer than one more night, if you want,” I say when he turns the engine on.
Henrik pulls my hand up to his lips and kisses my palm. “Good. There are two suits in that bag.”
Two nights later, I wake to the thrumming of a phone on the side table, but when I glance up to my side, everything’s the same. “Henrik.” I give his naked torso a little shake. “Baby, I think you’re phone’s ringing.”
He rubs a hand over his eyes. “What?” His voice is gravelly, heavy with sleep.
“Your phone.”
He mumbles something incoherent but he leans an elbow on the mattress and reaches for his phone. “Shit…Paris? What’s wrong?”
I can’t know for sure but I may have heard his sister in hysterics on the other line.
“Calm down…Take a breath, I can barely understand you. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
I’m awake now, and so is he. He sits up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. I turn on the lamp and watch the tension ripple over his expansive upper back.
“I’ll be there. No, I’ll call. Chill. I’ll be there. I know. I know.” He hangs up soon after, then immediately stands. “I have to go,” he announces in the dim room.
“Everything alright?”
He’s pacing the floor, pulling at the clothes he had in his overnight bag, and tugging at the ends of his hair. “My mom was rushed to the emergency.”
“In Austin?” Yeah, it’s a stupid question. Where else would she be?
“Yeah. I have to go there.” I’m sitting up now, clutching the sheets over my naked breasts. For some reason, it feels weird to be flashing him when he’s worried about his mother.
“What do you need me to do?”
He pulls on his jeans and slumps on one of my white Barcelona chairs, a pair of socks in his hands. He lets his head hang a bit before looking up and saying, “Come with me.”
What? “You want me to..?”
“I’d love for you to.”
I try to swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. Going to Austin means…flying. I haven’t stepped on a plane ever since that night. Every now and then, I still get nightmares from it. I’m still barely holding my shit together when I ride the elevator at work, and that’s something I do every day. How can I tell him this? Would he understand? Or would he think I’m being silly?
“Henrik…I don’t know…”
“Why not? I need you, Ingrid.” Even with one light on in the expanse of my room, I see the haggardness on his face.
“I…I just can’t.”
<
br /> He stands abruptly and slaps his socks on his palm. “Why? Is it the work bullshit? You still don’t want people to know? Ingrid, don’t be stupid.”
The problem with me is when someone tells me not to be stupid, I become stupid. “What about it is stupid?” If he knows the real reason, he’d think I’m more stupid, and unreasonable. I know he won’t understand. He’s already traveled for work a few times. “I prefer not to be water fountain news fodder!”
He clears the space between us with two long steps. “You know what…”
I raise my chin, challenging him without saying a word.
“Forget it. Forget I asked.” He doesn’t bother putting his socks on. He dumps everything back in his bag and slips out of the bedroom.
“Tell me I didn’t make a big mistake, Theo.” I wrap my hands around the warm cup.
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“Theo!” I slap my hand on his desk.
“What do you want me to say, Ingrid? I don’t know how you feel about this guy. And if you do feel something more, I want to say yeah, it’s a big mistake. He asked you to be there. In his time of need. And you denied him because of some ridiculous fear of flying.” He rocks back in his chair when he’s done chastising me.
“It’s not ridiculous. It’s a legitimate fear.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
“You’re an asshole.” I want to throw my coffee at him.
“Thanks. Now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to make this announcement. You’ve worked your butt hard enough this week. It’s time for some good news.”
It’s been days since Henrik flew back to Austin, without me. I’ve kept my composure the entire time, even managing to finish a design earlier than needed. But I haven’t heard from him, and it physically hurts. Having that tight deadline has helped ignore the yawning chasm in my chest. I miss Henrik. I miss his voice, his kisses, his secret intense gazes meant only for me.
While Theo makes the news official about our winning bid for an exciting new project, I stay silent by his side, not bothering to pay attention to anyone else in the conference room. He gives me a little nudge and I let a small smile appear on my face.
When we head back to his office with Henrik’s assistant, Bryde, and my two girls, Talia and Sheila, my chest tightens even more. I’m numb. Every noise is a mumble. And as much as I’ve been successful suppressing it, I can’t fight it anymore. I shatter. I let out a sob and run out of Theo’s office with tears streaming down my face.
All I can think of is how I’ve let down the man I love.
Is my fear of flying irrational? Maybe. But an even greater fear presents itself to me. The fear of losing Henrik.
7
It’s no big deal. It’s just the engine doing its thing. That whirring is normal. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine.
My hands are clammy. I swipe a thin film of sweat off my forehead and wipe it on my pants. I press my palms on my thighs, hoping to stop my legs from shaking. I turn to the passenger beside me and smile tightly at him. I’ve downed a couple of pills to calm my nerves. They should take effect before the plane is off the ground. But what the hell is taking that attendant so long to get me my drink?
“Nervous flyer?” my astutely observant neighbor asks.
No, shit, Sherlock. “A little.” Huh. Right. I’m about to jump out of my skin with every sound I hear. But I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for him. For Henrik. For fuck’s sake, where is that damned drink? I push off my seat a little, craning to see where the attendant has gone, and feel the bite of the tight seatbelt around my waist. Maybe I’d tugged on it a little too much. Better safe than sorry.
Finally, I see the flight attendant with my drink. I settle back down in my seat and furiously rearrange my clothes. I don’t know why, they’re perfectly fine, but it keeps my hands busy until she gets here. Her smile is genuine and if I’m not mistaken, laced with a bit of sympathy for me. I’d already asked her several questions as soon as I sat, and even though they don’t serve drinks until we’re in the air, she took pity on me, telling me the flight to Austin will be over before I know it.
Well, she better be right. Once my brain realizes what the hell is going on, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself. I finish my wine in record time, and practically chuck the glass at the kind attendant as she passes by.
My grip on the seat is unrelenting. I might suffer from muscle strain during this flight. I put my noise-canceling headphones on and listen to Eminem. Yeah, an odd choice for my current situation but it helps. I must be a sight to other passengers—head bopping, back glued to the seat, mouthing off Eminem’s lyrics, eye mask on. I don’t care. I need to get to my man who needs me.
Lurching forward, the bile burns up my throat and leaves a lovely taste in my mouth as I throw up into a bag for the umpteenth time. I’ve smudged my makeup and my lipstick. My hair is a pile of sticky, sweaty mess. But as soon as Henrik sees me, he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. I wipe the side of my mouth with a bundled-up tissue, which to be honest, I don’t remember where I got.
“Hi,” I say weakly as Henrik kneels by my side, and wraps his arms around me.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” He kisses the top of my head. God, it can’t possibly smell good up there.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call here.”
Taking the seat beside me, he keeps an arm around me, tucking me in the warmth of his body. I press my cheek on his chest. God, he smells good.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you called. When did you arrive?”
“Half an hour ago? I’m not sure.” I sit up, attempting to look like a human in front of the man I adore.
“I’ve been trying to call you.”
“My phone was off, and Eminem was shouting in my ears.”
“What?” He chuckles a little and peers at me like I’ve gone mad.
I have. I’m crazy in love with this man. “You said you needed me. I couldn’t…I’m sorry I didn’t go right away.”
He rubs the side of my arm. “You’re here now. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“I’d kiss you but my mouth tastes like shit.”
He laughs again. “Yum. Let’s get you home. You can shower and eat, then you can meet Mom.” He stands first, picking up my bag and helping me up on my feet.
“How’s she doing?”
“She’s resting. They sent her home last night.” Something clouded over him, his lips pressing into a thin line as he reaches for my hand and leads me out of the airport. “She’s taken a lover.”
I stop abruptly. “What did you just say?” Then continue walking beside him. “Taken a lover?”
“Yeah,” he spits out and shakes his head incredulously.
“You mean she has a boyfriend?”
“She’s almost sixty-five. We’re over here.” He nods toward the right, to, I’m assuming, where he parked his car.
“Your Dad’s been gone how long? Ten years? She’s been alone that long. Don’t you think she deserves…”
He doesn’t let me finish. “She’s not alone. Paris and I are here.”
“You’re both in Chicago.”
“Well, that’s gonna change.” After pressing a button to unlock his car, he opens the door for me and helps me settle inside.
That’s gonna change. I mull this over while he deposits my luggage in the trunk and makes his way around the driver’s side. That’s gonna change. What does it mean? Is he moving back to Austin? The flight isn’t long, but he’s going to be busy keeping his mother away from her lover, and I have my life, my career in Chicago. Long distance relationships never work. I could barely make ours work and we see each other every day.
After all this, am I still going to lose him?
“Ingrid?”
It takes me a second to realize he’s said something and needs me to respond. “I’m sorry. I think I’m still in a
haze from the flight. I took a couple of pills and had wine.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I…” It’s time I tell him. “I’m afraid of flying ever since…” I peer at him briefly then lower my head.
“Ah…of course.” His hand moves from the stick shift to my hand and he squeezes. “I should have known. I didn’t realize that could be a problem.”
“Well, it is or it isn’t. I’ll know next time I jump on the plane. You might be stuck with me here for a while.”
“I don’t mind that, but I was going to go back home in a couple of days.” He keeps his attention on the road, but he smiles at me briefly. “I’ve missed you.”
“Oh.” Right. Oh. And I didn’t miss the fact he said home. Home…to Chicago. Home…to me. Or am I jumping the gun here?
“Mom’s fine here. I’m being petty about the whole lover, boyfriend thing. But she seems happy. He’s the one who brought her to the hospital when she had the heart attack. He never left her side.”
“Have you two bonded?”
Henrik tilts his head. “As much as I could bond with a man doing my Mom.”
For the first time in a while, a laugh bubbles out of me. My stomach squeezes and despite the soreness from throwing up earlier, I love the feeling of it.
“You’re laughing now. Wait till you meet Mom.”
Right. The laughter dies right away and I feel my eyes widening. I’ve never had to meet anyone’s parents before. Dating older men had its perks. Most of their parents are dead or dying. It’s a morbid thought, but I’m nervous as hell. More nervous than when I climbed onto the plane to get here.
Turns out there’s nothing to be nervous about. His mom and her boyfriend, a handsome silver fox named Grayson, greet me as soon as we get to their house. It’s the same house Henrik grew up in. A Tuscan style home with a manicured lawn, complete with a fountain surrounded by mature trees, and a grand sweeping staircase inside. The designer in me is thrilled to tour this house. My own childhood home was more on the contemporary side—all white and minimalistic.
Seduction in a Suit: An Office Romance Collection Page 15
