by Colet Abedi
Oh. My. God.
I feel as if he knocked the breath from me. The vision…that delicious visual is too good to be true.
“What am I going to do with you?” he wonders. There’s a definite warning in his voice.
“Do with me?”
He tsks, and I can picture him shaking his head in admonishment. “You know exactly what you’re up to, what you’ve been doing, the little game you played this past week, teaching me a lesson.”
I have the decency to blush. “What are you going to do about it?” Now I’m taunting back, doing my best to navigate this verbal skirmish.
“It’s not fair really.” Trouble’s voice is wickedly soft. “How much more experience I have than you. How much better I am at this little game than you. The only thing I haven’t figured out yet…”
I wait.
“Is how far I can push.”
I move the phone away from my mouth and moan into my pillow. He’s killing me. I want to touch myself. No. I want him to touch me. More than that—
I want him to push inside me, and he can go as far as he’d like.
“I’m not afraid.”
“That’s the problem,” he warns. “You should be.”
****
I don’t know how I was able to go sleep that night, but somehow, I managed. After his warning, we made plans for the next day. Trouble is going to pick me up at eight in the morning, and I’m to bring my passport. He won’t tell me where we’re going because he wants it to be a surprise. I’m to dress casually, and I don’t need to pack an overnight bag, which throws me even more. If we’re going out of the country, won’t I need something?
Or does he plan on keeping me naked?
I hope it’s that.
I do as he says and put on a pair of skinny jeans, a simple, white fitted tank top, and a small zip-up black sweater. I slip on a pair of black Chanel ballet flats, which happen to be my favorite. My hair is brushed away from my face, and I’m wearing minimal makeup. It’s a casual look, but I think I look good and not like I’m trying too hard.
I get a call from security that a driver is here to pick me up, and I tell Steve to let him through. I’m surprised. I thought Trouble would be the one to come get me, but apparently not.
I hop in the back of the black Range Rover and we head out. I’m so nervous, my hands are practically shaking. My heart is racing, and I’m so damn excited to see him that I don’t know how I’m going to sit still. When the driver gets off on Sherman Way, I know we’re going to Van Nuys Airport, which means we’re about to board a private plane. A little less than ten minutes later, the car takes me right up to the jet.
Trouble’s waiting at the top of the stairs that lead inside the plane.
He makes my heart stop. I realize I’ve never seen him in the daylight. He’s dressed super casually in blue jeans and a simple navy T-shirt, which is molded to his perfect body. He has a sleeve of tattoos going down one arm, which I find super fucking hot. I can’t wait to examine them up close. He’s got on a pair of aviators that shield his gaze from mine. Trouble looks like a fashion model, and my mouth is watering in anticipation already.
I get out of the car as he descends the stairs to greet me.
We meet each other at the bottom, where he foregoes verbal pleasantries, lifts me into his arms, and kisses the hell out of me. His mouth crushes mine, our tongues entangled for a kiss that makes my toes curl. When he rips his mouth from mine, both of us are panting with need.
“Let’s get out of here.” He takes my hand and pulls me up the stairs.
Once we’re seated inside the plush jet, I ask, “Where are we going that I needed to bring my passport?”
Because my dad loves planes and is a connoisseur, I know this is a custom Gulfstream 650ER. It’s modern, with every detail, every line made for someone with singular tastes. I think even my father would be impressed, and he’s a hard man to please.
“To my home in Cabo,” he tells me.
“For the day?”
“Or night.” His eyes flicker to mine, and the intensity that moves between us is almost explosive. “But I’ll leave that decision in your hands.”
I’ve already made my decision, but I won’t let him in on the secret. I want him to have to wait for my answer, to make him chase me when he’s clearly never had to chase a woman before in his life.
I look at him. “I’m not dressed for Cabo.”
“I don’t want you dressed.” He smiles wickedly as desire floods my system. “But in case you want to put something on, I’ve got you covered.”
“You should have told me to bring a bikini.”
“Don’t worry,” Trouble says. “I have everything taken care of. You won’t have to think about a thing. You’ll never have to when you’re with me.”
“Wonderful,” is all I can manage because now my mind is racing a mile a minute and I’m anxious as hell. Good anxious, but anxious.
Trouble is in the seat next to mine and stretches out his long legs. He takes up every space he’s in, small or large. His energy just fills the room. He has a movie-star kind of presence. It’s rare and impressive as hell. And hot.
Definitely hot.
I can’t wait to find out what he does for a day job, because I know the club isn’t paying for this jet. He’s a baller. Of that I’m sure.
“Coffee, tea, mimosa?” An attractive stewardess leans into us, giving Trouble way too much attention—more than he would ever need.
It’s actually quite irritating. I can’t stop myself from wondering if he’s slept with her. I even picture it, like some crazy stalker, and I’m instantly infuriated. I give her the stink-eye, but she doesn’t seem intimidated at all.
“Would you like the usual for your morning flights, Mr. Sutherland?” she coos so close to his face, you’d think she was about to go in for a kiss. At least I know his last name now.
Sutherland. I like it.
“Yes.” His voice is polite. “And why don’t you bring Miss Harrington the same? Do you want anything to eat, Kerri?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Of course.” The woman barely manages to smile at me. She nods and walks away.
“So what’s the usual, Mr. Sutherland?” I lower my voice to a sexy whisper, mimicking the stewardess, and flutter my eyelashes.
Trouble smiles wolfishly. “Jealous?”
“Hardly.” The way she fawned over him was nauseating, like throw-up-in-your mouth-nauseating. That’s the best way I can describe it.
“So is this your plane?” I ask, changing the topic.
“You don’t sound impressed.” He sounds amused, as if he’s silently laughing at me and my jealousy, which I don’t appreciate one bit.
I try to keep my voice neutral. “I’ve been on a few in my life.”
“All of Daddy’s planes?” His lips curl in disdain.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
I make a mental note of how irritated, or angry, he seems every time I mention my father. Trouble must be self-made and think that my dad is some trust fund baby. Dad’s parents were wealthy and did give him a little seed money to start out in business, but it was nowhere near what my father has managed to amass.
“This is one of my planes,” he finally says in a solemn voice.
One? Before I can give him a smart retort, the captain comes back to greet us and give us an update on weather patterns. It will be a smooth flight into Los Cabos, he says, and a little under two hours.
When the captain leaves, the flight attendant comes over with two mimosas and two cappuccinos. From the looks she gives me, I’m worried she might have slipped arsenic into my drink.
Trouble lifts his mimosa. “To life,” he says as we clink glasses.
“To life,” I reply.
Our eyes lock, and the look in his can only be described as smoldering. There’s so much raw sexual tension between us, I think it could light the plane on fire.
After a long moment, he gives me
a sexy smile. “I have a feeling you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”
Chapter Eleven
Kerri
His home in Cabo is incredible.
It’s a beautiful beachfront villa with maximum privacy. The style is ultra modern and minimalistic, with floor-to-ceiling windows that encompass the entire house and look out on an incredible ocean view. It’s quite spectacular.
His decor is also minimalistic—simple couches, tables, chairs, and absolutely no clutter. I see few family pictures or memorabilia. It looks as if the house was just shot for a magazine—as if no one even lives here. I can’t say enough about what an architectural masterpiece the place is and I’m sure worth a fortune, but it’s lacking…
Warmth.
That’s the only way to describe it.
“Your home is beautiful.” I stare out on the view from his family room. The ocean looks more than inviting.
“Thank you.” He hits a button and all the glass doors slide open, and we’re suddenly both inside and out.
The heat and humidity hit us hard. I’ve already peeled off my jacket, but my jeans are stifling. He moves up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist and cuddling me from behind. Despite how hot I am, I revel in the feeling, moving my body back into his and loving the way his skin feels, the strength emanating from his body. I can’t help but notice how we fit each other perfectly. As if my body was made for his.
Or his made for mine.
This is the first time in my life I’ve ever felt so comfortable with a man.
“I don’t mean to be forward,” I tell him with a slight grin, “but I need to get out of these jeans before I suffocate, and you did say I wouldn’t have to worry about what to wear.”
He kisses the side of my neck and I feel him smile. “I thought you understood that the plan is for you to be naked.”
“Ha. Ha.” That’s what I say, but I’m in complete agreement with him. I turn around in his arms and step away from his embrace. “So, come on”—I tease him by opening the top button of my jeans— “I need some shorts or a bikini.”
He stares at my waist, where I’ve now casually draped my fingers on the top of my jeans, giving him a tiny peek of my skin. My stance is flirty, inviting, and I’m dying for him to take the bait, but I don’t think he’s ready yet. I suspect he’s going to make me wait until this evening, when I have nothing left—no self-control—and then he’ll make me beg for him.
And I will if I have to. I have no shame.
His eyes flick to mine and they’re hot with desire, the pulse in his throat pounding. “Follow me.”
He smiles broadly before slipping off his shirt and tossing it on the white couch. Holy. Fuck. My knees almost buckle.
His back…I’m not a back girl, at least I never thought I was a back girl, but Trouble’s back is a chiseled, perfect masterpiece. Each line and muscle defined as if an artist carefully designed him. I’m afraid for him to turn—
Oh. My. Lord.
He turns.
I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging wide open, and there’s definitely drool forming. He has an eight-pack. Seriously.
His chest is wide, broad, shredded, his pecs and biceps cut like raw marble, as if he was a boxer and dedicated his life to his body. His arms are long and sinewy, not bulging. Celtic tattoos pepper his chest, which only adds to the rugged, bad boy vibe he has going. They make him even sexier, as if he’s something feral, someone unable or unwilling to be tamed.
He’s perfect.
That’s the only word that comes to mind when I stare at him. He’s just kind of perfect. In every way.
Except for what he’s doing to me. How he’s playing me like a yo-yo.
Turning me on…then denying me. I feel as though I’m a starving prisoner being denied the one thing I need more than anything.
Sex.
And lots of it. I have a lot of lost time to make up for.
I take a deep breath in and try to control myself. I need to get my game back. I need to be the Kerri I was with all the men I met before Trouble. Cool, calm, unaffected. I need to let him know that I too can play in the big leagues.
My gaze trails down his chest to the muscled, sexy V of his obliques. It dips right into his jeans where his hand now rests, just like mine a moment before, and I watch him undo the top button.
He plays dirty.
My heart. It stops beating. And my mouth goes dry. I have to bite my lip from actually moaning—yes, moaning—out loud. Who am I?
“I had the house manager stock the kitchen with supplies for the day,” he explains as if he’s not half naked and making me crazy. As if he’s not some perfect male specimen placed in my life to torment me.
As if I care what’s in the kitchen. Food is the last thing on my mind.
“Great,” I mumble.
“I can also have food or supplies brought to the house, but I must warn you, I’m not much of a cook.”
“I’m pretty good in that department,” I tell him.
He looks as though he doesn’t believe me. “I guess we can put that to the test.”
“I accept the challenge.” I hate that I suddenly feel insecure about my culinary skills. I did take a few classes over the summer, so I have a few tricks up my sleeve. I just hope I don’t get too nervous to remember them.
“Come with me,” says the cat who’s been stalking the poor little mouse.
Trouble turns and walks up the glass staircase. I follow him, as I guess I should. He takes me down a long hall until we’re in a master suite that feels as if it sits on the ocean. The view makes me pause, it’s that unreal.
I try to avoid looking at the massive bed, or even thinking about what’s going to happen between those sheets. He continues to walk through the room, totally unaware of the havoc he’s causing within me. We enter the walk-in closet, which is filled with enough clothes with tags sill on them that I could stay here for a week.
“I think you’ll find you’re covered,” Trouble states the obvious before grabbing a pair of navy swim trunks from a drawer and giving me a playful smile. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
He leaves me alone to change. I stay frozen for a second before looking at the clothing he’s purchased for me. My hands move over the expensive items—everything is high end, designer, and classy. He’s even purchased lingerie for me. There are bikinis and one-pieces with matching coverlets…basically a mini department store for me to go to town in. And all for just one day.
Who am I kidding? I am so spending the night here with him and he knows it.
For about half a minute, I behave like a typical girl and am super excited by his thoughtful gesture—and then a dark thought hits me hard. I think about every other woman who’s come through this door before me. Does he bring them here, dress them up in sexy lingerie and bikinis, and fuck their brains out? Is this part of his game?
I wonder.
I tell myself it’s not my problem, that I’m not even allowed to really care about it one way or another because Trouble isn’t mine, but I’m annoyed by the possibility. Definitely annoyed. I pick out a La Perla navy bikini that looks like my jam and quickly change. I forgo the matching coverlet and walk downstairs. I’m confident about my body. I work out religiously and take good care of myself, and I’m proud of all my hard work. I might not be as ripped and shredded as Trouble, but I look good.
Trouble is waiting by the infinity pool. His back is to me and I allow myself a moment to take in his gorgeousness. He really does look just as perfect from behind, like a tall mythological god conjured from my dreams.
I think he feels the burn of my gaze because he turns slightly and gives me a view of his profile. The energy that I don’t think I’ll ever get used to moves between us. For a second, I just feel the moment.
Now or never.
I walk outside as he turns to face me. He reaches out when I’m close enough and takes my hand. Electricity shoots through my body. There’s nothing sexual
behind the gesture. It’s just intimate. And it’s the single sexiest moment I’ve ever had in my life.
We stand next to each other for a long while, each of us staring out at the sea, lost in our thoughts. Mine are filled with thanks to whoever is out there and listening to my prayers. Thanks that this man was brought into my life. Thanks that I know there’s nothing wrong with me, that I wasn’t eternally damaged by my assault…
Thanks that I finally feel alive.
That I want—and need—him.
We look at each other at the exact same time, as if our minds are in sync. I let him see my truth, my gratitude for him, and I watch the myriad of emotions sweep over his face. There’s want, need, desire, confusion…
Ownership. Something so male it makes my toes curl. Something I never thought I’d want to see from a man. But the look from him makes me feel satisfied somehow.
As though I’m finally home.
“Want to get in the ocean with me?” he asks after a moment, his voice calm.
I smile saucily. “Will you keep me safe out there?”
“Yes, Kerri.” His voice sounds like a solemn vow. “I’ve decided I will always keep you safe.”
“You’ve decided?”
“Yes.”
My toes curl.
I want him. I’ve wanted him from the first moment I set eyes on him. No, I wanted him before that moment. Before I even knew who he was. I wanted him every time I walked the club, knowing somehow that he was there watching me—and needing me too. I wanted him even when I played games with him and didn’t go back, depriving us both of time together.
He’s exactly what I need. What I’ve been searching for.
“Trouble,” I whisper.
“Ian,” he says softly, his eyes glowing like rare gems. “My name is Ian.”
My heart slams in my chest. “Nice to finally meet you, Ian.” I return with a shy smile.
Ian Sutherland.
I like it. It suits him as much as Trouble does.
I pull on his hand and lead him out to the pristine beach. My feet burn from the sand.
“It’s hot!” I exclaim.
“Allow me.”
