by Cat Carmine
I can’t quite bring myself to look at my sister, but then I feel her poke me in the thigh.
“You have to give him another chance, Hannah.”
There’s no room for argument in her voice, and I find myself nodding slowly. She’s my big sister, after all.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I think I do.”
47
Hannah
On Thursday, I meet Trent at L’Amour.
There’s a different hostess working this time, and I feel like a different person too, as I follow her through the restaurant to the small corner table where Trent is seated.
How nervous I was that first time I came here, knowing I was about to meet Mister Bigshot. And how shocked I was to see Trent Whittaker sitting there instead. I can still remember the way I’d stumbled out of here, tottering on my heels, falling into a cab and crying the entire way home.
This time I’m still nervous, but for completely different reasons. I know Trent has asked me here so that he can apologize, but I still don’t know what I’m going to say. Was I ready to give this a real chance? Was he?
He stands up as soon as he sees me approach the table, looking hot as hell in a dark grey suit. He doesn’t have a tie this time, and his shirt collar is unbuttoned, revealing a small vee of his muscled chest. I can make out just a few faint lines of the blue ink that covers his pecs.
“You look beautiful,” he says, kissing me softly on the side of the mouth. I’m wearing the same black dress I’ve worn both times we’ve attempted to come to L’Amour, and Trent grins when he realizes it.
“Hey, you said third time’s a charm, right?”
“Here’s hoping,” he says. His smile stretches across his face, showing off those perfect teeth. “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of ordering us a bottle of Beaujolais. I had it the first time I was here, and I think you’ll like it.”
“That’s lovely, thank you,” I say, slipping into the seat across from him. The restaurant is crowded but we’re tucked into a quiet back corner.
Trent pours me a glass of the light red wine that’s already on the table. I take a sip — he was right, it’s delicious.
“So the new collection seems to be doing well,” I eventually say, to break the silence.
The coverage has been non-stop — partly because it was so unusual for a company to do such an about-turn right before the collection drops, and partly because critics were eating up the new outdoor line.
Trent nods. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say it’s a runaway success. Luke did a fantastic job.”
“It wasn’t just Luke,” I remind him. “What you did … for me, for Ally — well, no one has ever done anything like that for us before.”
A small smile crosses his lips. “What can I say, you inspire me.”
A shiver runs through me. I don’t think I’ve ever inspired anyone before — in fact, I spent a lot of time thinking I never would. And here’s the most handsome, sexy, successful man I’ve ever met telling me that that’s what I did for him.
I take a sip of wine, just to calm my nerves.
“What are you doing with the first collection, the one you scrapped?”
“Well, luckily we were able to halt production before too much of it got made. But we’re donating everything that did get created — it’s not the most beautiful furniture in the world, but it’s functional, so we’ve arranged to have it go to a community housing project. And we’ve committed to follow up with an equal donation of the new line, once it’s ready. I figured someone might as well benefit from my mistake.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” I say, honestly.
“Yeah, well.”
I look at him in surprise. “Are you blushing, Mr. Whittaker?”
Trent grins. “Keep calling me Mr. Whittaker and I’ll be doing more than blushing.”
A heat pulses through me, and I’m brought right back into the moment, to this gorgeous man sitting across the table from me.
We’re interrupted by the arrival of the server, who’s come to take our orders. We haven’t had time to even look at the menu, so Trent just asks him to bring us whatever their specialty is.
“I can’t believe we finally made it here,” I admit, looking around the restaurant once the server has left our table.
“I know. I can’t believe we made it here either.” Trent’s voice is serious, and instead of looking around the restaurant, he’s looking right at me.
“Trent,” I say, taking a deep breath. I have to say this, before I lose my nerve. “It really hurt me that you didn’t trust me. I never would have…”
“You’re right,” he interrupts.
I stop cold. “I am?” I hadn’t exactly expected him to give in that easily, but Trent is already nodding.
“You’re absolutely right. I should have trusted you. I should have believed you when you said it wasn’t you that went to the Post. It’s just that … well, I’m not used to trusting people. Let’s just say trust doesn’t get you very far in the business world.”
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of crucial in relationships,” I point out, taking a long sip and draining the last of my wine.
“I know. That’s why I made a list.”
“A list?” I wrinkle my nose in confusion. What the hell kind of list did he make?
It seems I’m not going to get an answer right away though. Our food arrives, and the coq au vin in front of us looks so delicious that we both dig in.
“Mmm,” I say, swallowing my first mouthful. “Worth the wait.”
We eat in relative silence, only stopping every once in a while to groan at how good the food is. It isn’t until our plates are cleared away that I bring it up again.
“So… a list?”
Trent grins, and reaches for something down by his feet. When he sits up, he’s taken a tablet out of his briefcase. He taps it a couple of times before he looks back over at me. “It’s a list of all the things I’ve never told anyone before. Things nobody knows but me … and now you. So that you can see how much I trust you. I’m going to need something stronger than wine for this though.”
He sets the tablet down for a second and lifts his hand to get the waiter’s attention. When he arrives at our table, Trent requests a double scotch, neat. I shake my head when the waiter turns to me, wanting him to leave already so that I can hear what Trent has to say.
However, he doesn’t start until the waiter returns with his drink. Then he tops up my wine glass and takes a long, deep, fortifying swallow of the scotch. He sets the glass down and picks up the tablet again, finally ready.
“When I was seven, I used my dad’s electric razor to shave all the hair off our Pomeranian’s back.”
His words take me by such surprise that I almost snort wine out of my nose. “You did what?”
“I’m not done. I shaved her back and then told my parents that Luke did it. To this day my mom still blames him for the infamous day of Sparky’s Mullet.”
I put my hand in front of my mouth and giggle. I can just imagine how cute Luke and Trent were when they were boys.
“Does Luke know it was you?”
He shakes his head. “He has his suspicions, I’m sure.”
“Well, your secret is safe with me.”
“I know it is. Because I trust you.” He emphasizes the word trust and I remember the point of this little exercise.
“Okay, this next one isn’t pretty,” he continues. “When I was sixteen, I asked a girl to go to a dance with me, but I ditched her halfway through the night to hook up with another girl.”
“Oh, Trent.” I shake my head.
“I know. I was an asshole. A stupid, teenaged, horny asshole. I felt terrible about it later. The follow-up secret is that I sent her anonymous flowers about five years ago — figured I could stand to even out my karma a little. She was happily married with two kids by then, though.”
I laugh. “You sent a married woman anonymous flowers? Hope her husband was understand
ing.”
His face pales. “Oh, God. I never even thought of that. Guess my karma still needs some work.” He shakes his head and turns back to his tablet. He clears his throat.
“Firing my brother is one of the greatest regrets I have.”
“Your brother … Jace? The one who lives in New York?”
He nods. “Yeah. He used to work for us, and he screwed up. Big time. But I still shouldn’t have fired him — or I should have found a better way to do it. He’s family, and family deserves better.”
Trent takes another sip of scotch as I twist my napkin. It’s strange to see him so vulnerable — but it reminds me of all the emails we used to exchange, all the ways we’d shared our souls before we ever even met. I always knew this side of Trent was in there somewhere. He just kept it buried most of the time.
“This next thing is something I swore I would take to the grave with me,” Trent says, turning back to his tablet. I can see him steeling himself, the way he sets his shoulders and hardens his jaw.
“You know Lara and I broke up because she was cheating on me,” he starts. “But what nobody else knows is that I actually caught her. I had to drop by our condo in the middle of the day to pick up something I’d forgotten, and I caught her in bed with the editor of Design Times. The magazine where she works now.”
I clap my hand over my mouth. “That’s horrible.”
His face is grim. “It was. They didn’t even stop fucking. I still remember this. She was on top of him, and she just turned around to glare at me, with his dick still inside of her, and asked me to close the door. When I didn’t, she rolled her eyes and said, ‘Come on, darling. It’s just business.’ Just business. Can you believe that?”
His expression is so pained that I have to reach across the table and take his hand. “That’s …. she’s just … yuck. What a horrible human being.”
“She was. That’s why you have to understand that that kiss you saw, that wasn’t me. That was just how Lara thinks you should conduct business. She doesn’t care who she uses or who she hurts in the process. It makes me sick.”
I finally believe him. Seeing them kiss that night at the launch party had devastated me, but it had always seemed so out of character for Trent that I found myself doubting what I had seen. Now I know my gut was right. Trent may pretend to be a bad boy, but deep down, he really is one of the good guys — he’s definitely proven that tonight.
I’m still holding Trent’s hand across the table. With the other, he’s holding the tablet, but now he sets it down on the table next to his glass. He reaches his now free hand across the table to clasp it over mine.
“I only have one more thing,” he says. “One more thing to tell you.”
His voice is hoarse now, catching in his throat. I look up at his face. His beautiful face. His eyes are clear and confident and his smile is soft. I feel a flutter in my stomach and wonder if that feeling will ever go away. I hold my breath waiting for him to speak.
Trent takes a deep breath. “I love you, Hannah.”
The flutter erupts into a typhoon, a wave of warmth that washes over me like water. My breath comes out in a whoosh and Trent chuckles.
“You’re smiling. That must be good, right?”
“I am?” I touch my cheeks and sure enough, they’re bunched up in a wide, goofy grin. “I guess I am,” I laugh.
“Then I hope that’s a good sign. Look, Hannah, I know I’ve done everything wrong. I know you’d be well within your rights to tell me to fuck off and to walk away right now. But all I’m asking for is a chance. You make me want to be a better person, and I hope that if you stick around long enough, I can prove that to you.”
His words are making me melt into a little pool on the silk-covered dining chair. Trent is everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and then some, and the words he’s saying to me right now are hitting me right in the softest part of my heart, the part that, for so long, I tried to pretend didn’t exist.
“I love you, too.”
“You do?” Trent’s eyes light up, his grin deepening.
“Of course I do.”
We gaze at each other across the table for a minute, a wordless connection deepening between us. Our hands are still linked, and the feeling of his fingers between mine feels like all the safety and security I’ll ever need. I know now that Trent will never hurt me, that he’ll do everything he can to take care of me.
“What do you say we get out of here?” he says finally.
“I’d say I’d like that very much.”
48
Hannah
A few minutes later, we’re standing in front of L’Amour, waiting for Ted to arrive with the SUV. Trent is still holding my hand — in fact, he hasn’t let go the entire time, not when he was texting his driver or when he was settling up our bill. Now he turns me and presses my back up against the cool brick of the building.
“I really want to kiss you,” he says, his voice gruff. “But I’m going to wait until we’re in the car. Because once I start kissing you, I’m not going to stop.”
All I can do is nod dumbly. Our faces are mere inches from each other, and I can feel his breath warm on my skin. My lips part and I lick them involuntarily, causing Trent to groan.
“Are you trying to torture me?” he grins.
“This does feel a little like torture, doesn’t it?” I whisper, my lips still so close to his.
“It really does. Where is that damn car? I’m going to have to fire Ted.”
I giggle. “Don’t fire Ted, please.”
He grins. “Oh, don’t worry, I wouldn’t really. He knows almost as much about me as you do. I’m afraid Ted and I are going to grow old together.”
I giggle again, but stop just as I see the black car pull up in front of the restaurant.
“I think our ride is here.”
Trent sighs. “Thank fuck. Because if I had to wait one more minute to kiss you — well, let’s just say we probably wouldn’t ever be welcome back at L’Amour.”
Trent holds the back door of the SUV open for me and I climb in, aware I’m probably flashing my panties at him as I do. I notice the privacy partition is already closed as Trent settles in beside me and closes the door.
He’s on me before the car is even out of park. His hand slips over my cheek and turns my face towards to his. He looks into my eyes for a moment — a long moment, a moment that says everything — and then he’s kissing me. It feels so good to kiss him again that I melt against him instantly.
His lips are rough and frantic, and his tongue explodes past my lips, forcing my head back against the leather seat as he strokes the inside of my mouth with his tongue. His hands go to my hair, tugging my locks loose from the neat little twist I had done. As my hair tumbles down around my shoulders, he grips it in his fist, tugging.
A tiny moan escapes my lips and Trent chuckles.
“There’s no being nice right now, darling. That’ll come later, when we’re back at my apartment. Right now I’m going to fuck you the way Mister Bigshot wanted to fuck SweetVixen. Hard, fast, and so good it hurts. Do you want that?”
I moan again.
“That’s not an answer, Sweet.”
“Yes. Yes, Trent.”
He wraps his arms around my waist and yanks me over to him. I can feel the heat of his body against me and I let my hands splay against his chest as I try to catch my breath. My fingers clumsily roam over the buttons of his shirt as I try to undo them. I need to see his beautiful, rock hard body.
When his chest is bared I run my fingers over it again, stroking the edges of his ink, grazing his nipples with my fingernails, drawing out a moan from deep in his chest.
But Trent is in no mood for teasing. He yanks my hips again, drawing me even closer to him and then pushing me down so my back is flat against the leather seat. He kneels over me and reaches for his belt, undoing it hastily and then shoving his pants down over his hips to free his cock.
It springs forward eagerly, as huge and
hard and magnificent as I remembered. He wraps his fist around it and strokes, gazing down at me with such lust and adoration that it makes me squirm.
“Lift up your dress,” he says.
My hands move instantly to the hem of my dress and then I’m pushing it up over my thighs. He looks down at the black lace thong I’m wearing.
“Pretty,” he acknowledges. “But they’re in my way. Take them off.”
Breathlessly I push the edges of the thong down over my hips. Trent reaches out and I lift up my ass as he yanks them off.
“That’s better,” he says, letting them fall to the floor. “Spread your legs.”
I keep one leg on the seat, bent at the knee, but I let my other foot drop to the floor, spreading my legs as much as I can so that my pussy is completely exposed to him. I’m soaking wet already, I know, and my core tingles in hot anticipation as he gazes down at me.
“Touch yourself,” he says.
“Trent…” I bite my lip. My skin is flaming, both with lust and embarrassment.
“Do it.”
He’s still holding his cock, stroking it faster now, with more need, and the burning desire in his eye is all the prompting I need.
I let my hand trail down and part my cleft. My fingers slip easily through my folds and I use my middle finger to run soft circles around my plump clit. I’m still biting my lip, harder now, as I pleasure myself.
“Use your other hand too,” Trent commands. His voice is husky in the back of the car. “I want you to fuck yourself with your fingers.”
This time I don’t protest. The way he’s looking at me is so hot, and my pussy is clenching hard around nothing, aching for something to hold on to.
I let my other hand trail slowly down my body, grazing across my breasts first and then finally dipping below my waist. I angle my hand and plunge two fingers as deep inside me as I can.
“Oh God,” I moan, arching my hips. Trent is still watching me intently as I use one hand to rub my clit and the other to penetrate myself. “Oh God,” I moan again, my breath coming hard and fast.
