Ties That Bind

by Neeny Boucher

  If this was what she wanted, however, he’d happily grant her request. “Sure,” Riley nodded, enthusiastically. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Christina stared at him with a smile playing at the corner of her generous mouth. He could even see her dimples. “You’re only doing this because you think I might get cancer,” she smirked. “I should have told you earlier. Imagine all the fights we could have avoided with you rolling over to all my demands because you think I’m a dead woman walking.”

  Riley’s body stiffened and his head shot up. He felt like she’d hit him in the solar plexus. His eyes went wide in disbelief and his mouth hung open.

  He was actually struggling to breathe. “You did not say that,” he choked out. “Dina! You cannot say shit like that! It’s not funny.”

  Christina started laughing until her body shook, tears springing into her eyes. “I’m sorry if I offended you, but stop being sad,” she giggled. “This is ridiculous.”

  Riley shook his head. He was part furious, part fearful, and part admiration at her ability to find humor in something he found terrifying. “You are a crazy ass bitch, Dina Martin,” he spluttered. “Seriously. I worry about you.”

  Sighing, Christina rolled her eyes. “Right back at you. None of us are guaranteed anything, Riley. Let’s just live.”

  **********

  Christina

  “It’s all in the hips, honey.”

  “You don’t have any, nor an ass.”

  He wasn’t making this easy. Riley and Christina were attempting to dance Kizomba to Rihanna’s “Ti Amo”. It was a sensual dance, up close and personal, where two people teased each other with their hips.

  Christina had always wanted to perfect this dance, but had had difficulties. It was too awkward for her and Andy to do, and the other time she’d tried it had been traumatic. She’d partnered up with a guy called ‘Cal’, plain, chunky, and sweaty with an air of not so quiet desperation.

  It was the air of desperation that got her. Oh, that and Cal’s chubby trying to burrow its way into her hip. As the movements intensified, so did Cal’s groaning and his sweaty, clasping hands. She’d cut the dance short because it had gone almost beyond dry humping.

  Riley, on the other hand, was an amazingly quick study. He was light on his feet and graceful. Also, she did not object to his bumping and grinding. Dressed in a black Hugo Boss suit, with a white shirt and tie, he looked divine and could dry hump her any time.

  Christina got stalker eyes when she first spotted him because men in suits were the equivalent of women in lingerie. She was in a low-cut black dress, gathered at the waist that had a slight shimmer to it in the light. It had a full skirt that ended just above the knee and was perfect for dancing.

  Both of them were shoeless, him in his socks, and her in stocking feet, so they wouldn’t damage the wooden floors. Now, she just needed him to loosen up his body movements a bit and this would be perfect. “Relax, baby,” she grinned. “You’re doing awesome. You just need to be like water.”

  His movements were sensual, but too rigid and controlled. He was obviously used to leading, but no one led in this particular dance. It was a seduction, a give and take between partners.

  Riley clasped her hands tighter, putting his knee between her thighs, and rubbed himself on her. Hot. Seriously, hot. He was good, almost professional… and then it clicked.

  “You’re really good at that,” she grinned. “That move you just did, it reminds me of something. You once promised me a private lap dance and I don’t think you’ve ever given me one.”

  He grinned his panty-dropping killer smile, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Aagh,” he laughed. “I have ‘skills’, as the youth say.” She didn’t doubt it.

  “I’ll need some different music, but one private lap dance from an ex-stripper to his lady, coming right up.” He sat her in a chair in the middle of the floor and then went to the iPod. With his back to her, she admired the way his jacket accentuated his shoulders and ass.

  Dat ass. The thought made her giggle and he turned at the sound, grinning. She was nervous and an idiot: and a prude.

  As the first beats of D’Angelo’s “Feel Like Makin’ Love” pumped into the room, she was worried this was too cheesy. She was sure she was going to ruin it somehow and make it awkward, but as Riley started to move she realized this was going to be okay. His eyes never left her face as he shrugged his jacket off, dancing forward in time to the song.

  He moved like a tiger, his hands undoing his tie, which he threw at her. Slowly unbuttoning his shirt, he danced running his hands over his chest and abs. He closed his eyes, tilting his chin up; his movements confined to his shoulders and hips.

  By the time he started unbuckling his belt, she wanted to do that for him. Beckoning him to her, he shook his head, giving his panty-dropping smile. She was ready. She was ready to drop her panties. Now.

  Taking his belt off slowly, he undid his pants, gradually sliding them down his hips. He stood before her in his boxers and socks, making her giggle. He raised his eyebrows and she pointed at his feet.

  The-socks-really-had-to-go. He sat on her knee, making the both of them laugh, shrugging his socks off, and throwing them across the room. She kissed his back, tugging on the waistband of his boxers.

  Reaching her hands up around his chest, she squeezed his nipples. “That’ll cost you extra,” he quipped. He pulled her out of her seat and into his arms, swaying in time to the music.

  “Was that sexual harassment?” She joked, huskily. She liked this. A lot. It made her feel powerful and Christina could understand how things could get wild.

  “It’s not sexual harassment, honey, if we both consent.” He turned her so that her back was to his front, wrapping his arms around her body. She could feel his breath on her neck and his excitement pressing near her butt.

  Riley’s hands wandered to the edge of her dress and grabbing her hem, he inched it slowly up, over her head. She heard his intake of breath and smiled. She had a few surprises of her own: a black lacy bra, garter belt, stockings and commando.

  “You are the best,” he sighed, admiring her. Right now, she felt like a champion, but she had one more killer blow to land. Turning in his arms, she faced him, singing the rest of the song straight at him.

  Where Riley was concerned, her voice was her superpower. His face changed to reverence; his eyes lit from the inside. She wrapped herself around him, sliding his boxers off his hips.

  They danced: him naked, her commando until he backed her toward a table. Lifting her up, he placed his body between her thighs. Riley pulled her forward, clasping her face, and kissed her passionately. There was no preamble, no teasing. This one was the real deal.

  Christina’s arms went up around his head, holding him to her. They kissed open mouthed and tongues dueling, until she thought she would drown. Heat built between them and as he undid her bra, the cool air hit her, making her shiver.

  Riley moved his hand between her legs, but she pre-empted him. “I’m ready,” she whispered and she was. His striptease was one of the hottest things she’d ever seen and she didn’t want the fantasy to end. “I want you to fuck me like I’m a stranger,” she urged. He froze; hurt in his eyes. His eyebrows came together and his brow furrowed.

  “No,” Riley said quietly. “You’re not a stranger. You’ll never be a stranger. If all that was left of you were bones, I’d know you. It’s our intimacy that I treasure.”

  Tears filled her eyes and he smiled, lying her gently down on the table. He entered her, making her cry out, and she wrapped her leg around his waist. He made love to her holding her hand, telling her over and over again how much he loved her.

  As the friction built inside her, she concentrated on nothing else but this moment. She came, crying his name, and with tears spilling down her face. This was more than love, happiness, and joy. It was sublime.

  **********

  Christina, London, Saturday, November 17, 2012

  “I
f you’re going to stare, can you make it less creepy? You’re making security nervous.”

  Christina averted her eyes, but being in the V.I.P. lounge was fascinating in a social experiment kind of way. There were all sectors of society (or should that be societies?) represented from politicians to celebrities, business moguls and ordinary people that had probably saved up for a once in a lifetime experience. They looked only slightly more overwhelmed than she did.

  They were leaving London and Riley was leaving her. His departure was now counted in hours, minutes, and seconds, and not days. His return was measured in cold, bleak weeks.

  She tried to be upbeat because this time she knew he was coming back, but it was a fracture between them. It was in every kiss and touch, every look. Their hands hardly left one another and if they did, they strayed back as if physical contact could prolong his impending absence.

  Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” started playing through the sound system, making her grin. She knew it was probably uncool, but she had always loved this piece of music. Her body automatically responded to its rhythms and she nudged Riley with her hip. “I love big band music,” Christina giggled. “It’s-”

  “Timeless,” a deep male voice said behind her.

  “Nate,” Riley grinned, sticking his hand out. “How are you?”

  “I’m well,” Nate replied. “I’ve heard you and Mason Glenn have parted ways? If that’s true, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Huh,” Riley sounded surprised. “News travels fast, but I’m interested.

  “When are you next in New York?”

  Everything became white noise in Christina’s head. She could hear her heart thumping in her ears. She knew what was coming next and there was nothing she could do to avoid the train wreck.

  “Nate, excuse me,” Riley apologized. “Let me introduce you to my partner, Christina Martin.”

  “Your first wife and sister of Jonny Martin, I believe?” This voice was female and sounded like icy fingernails being dragged down a chalkboard. “YouTube sensation and… Internet star.”

  Christina flushed and it took all her courage to turn around. She ignored the blonde standing with him, focusing on the person she hadn’t seen in a long time. Someone she’d hoped never to see again and would have avoided if she got the choice, but Christina never got that lucky.

  This could only happen to her, and at a time when she was both deliriously happy and vulnerable. It was as if the universe constantly reminded her not to let her guard down, lest she be punished. If she did, ghosts from painful times past had a habit of resurrecting themselves and standing before her with scrutinizing ice-blue eyes, eyes that found her wanting.

  Nate Donovan, media mogul and Mr. New York. He looked like a tall Nordic God. Three years ago, Christina had only vaguely heard of him, but now his name would be forever burned into her brain.

  Immaculate in his suit, Nate had lost none of his presence or poise. At first she thought he might not recognize her, but as his eyes hardened, she knew. He remembered.

  “We’ve met,” Nate replied neutrally. His hand engulfed Christina’s as he shook it, firm and in control. She envied Nate the ability to retreat from this surprise encounter behind a well-polished reserve.

  As she went to withdraw, he put more pressure on her hand as some kind of personal message that she couldn’t decipher. Her hand burned from his touch, which she found ironic. She’d always imagined Nate Donovan to be as warm as Frosty the Snowman.

  “Allow me to introduce my partner, Lana Hamilton,” Nate said politely. “More importantly, Lana is an award winning journalist and currently, works for Entertain You.”

  Christina clasped Lana’s hand perfunctorily, glancing at the elegant, tall blonde at Nate’s side. They made a striking couple in a perfect, sculptured, ice statue kind of way. It was as if Odin and the White Witch had come to life.

  “Isn’t this a coincidence?” Lana smiled, but her perfect face hardly moved, and her steely blue eyes were cold. “I’ve been trying to contact you to get an interview, but you’ve been avoiding my calls. We’re doing a little show piece on your brother and I thought we could kill two birds with one stone?”

  Kill being the operative word. She reminded Christina of a Queen Bee that would tread on the skulls of her competition or anyone that got in her way. Christina was about to say something dismissive, but Riley stopped her.

  “We’re starting a Foundation that is focused on veterans,” he enthused. “An interview that encompasses that would be helpful, especially as we’re still in the infant stages. Wouldn’t it, Christina?”

  She actually wanted to kick Riley in the shins, hard, and repeatedly. Glaring at him, her face contorted and his eyes went wide. “Sure,” she mumbled. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Christina was saved further embarrassment by being called to board. She made her way to the plane as a numb emotional mess, ignoring Riley’s pleas to tell her ‘what was wrong’. Her retorts of ‘nothing’ and ‘leave me alone’ made him all the more determined.

  After the plane was airborne, she stormed past him, locking herself in the bathroom. Parked on the toilet, Christina put her head in her hands. Nate Donovan. Tears fell down her face and she wanted the world to disappear.

  **********

  “Babe. Come on. Open the door. You’ve been in there for an hour. I don’t want to bust it down, but I will if I have to.”

  For the umpteenth time, Riley tried the door handle and she knew he’d make good on his promises about busting in. It was one of his specialties. “I’m fine,” she called out, before crying like a baby.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” Christina sobbed. “Really, I will be.” Catching a look at herself in the mirror, she cried harder. With her swollen eyes and scruffy hair, she looked like a startled baby orangutan: a rabid one.

  “You’re not fine, Dina,” Riley’s muffled voice came through the door. “Don’t shut me out. I thought we were over doing this. You’ve got to let me in.”

  There was no way out of this; she had to tell him. Throwing some water on her face, which woke her up, but didn’t make her feel any better; she prepared herself for confession. Opening the door, Riley’s green eyes roamed her face, but she put her head down, avoiding eye contact.

  Flopping into the first seat she found, she leaned forward with her hands on her knees. He sat beside her, his hands covering her own. For a moment, she let his warmth seep into her hands.

  There were so many things she loved about him, but what she appreciated the most was his solidarity. If he was in your corner, he was with you one hundred percent and he wouldn’t flinch when things got ugly. “How well do you know Nate Donovan?” She asked.

  Riley shrugged. “Reasonably well. We’ve seen each other socially and had business dealings.”

  Christina bit the side of her lip. It made sense. “Remember when you asked if I’ve been on a private jet before? Well, I have. It was the day I met Nate Donovan and it was one of the worst days of my life,” she whispered. “It was the day I went to get Johnny out of the hotel room with Georgie Le Fey. Did you know about that?”

  She saw some emotion in Riley’s eyes, but he blinked it away, nodding. “Of course, you do,” Christina sighed. He’d sent Jed to help her, except she didn’t know it was Jed in those days, and she didn’t know Riley had been involved. It was when they’d had no contact.

  “Do you ever feel some people are put on this earth to do dirty jobs?” Christina tried to smile, but failed. “That’s what I am. I’m one of those people and this was the ugliest, dirtiest, shittiest job of them all.”

  Chapter Sixteen: Splice

  Christina, The Past, New York, July 2009

  “Dina? Is that you? It’s Mandy. I need to talk to you. Please call me back as soon as you can. It’s Johnny. Oh, Dina. Just… call me back.”

  Christina listened to Mandy’s voice message and rang her back straight away. Knots formed in her stomach as Mandy spoke, informing her that Jo
hnny was a drug addict, and not to just any drug. It was heroin.

  She knew something was wrong with Johnny and had been for a long time. The last time she’d seen him was two years ago, although she spoke to him regularly on the phone and viewed him in the gossip magazines. It all made sense now: his obvious weight loss, irrational behavior, and tangential philosophizing on the telephone.

  Why hadn’t she seen it or figured it out? She felt foolish, self-absorbed, and pathetic. It was so obvious, but it had never occurred to her. The truth hit her in the face like a brick: her brother was a heroin addict and it was at the point of intervention or worse.

  Two hours later, Christina boarded Nate Donovan’s private jet, heading to New York. Nate was some media mogul that Christina had vaguely heard of and he had some connection to Johnny’s girlfriend, the supermodel Georgie Le Fey. She hadn’t taken in all the details from Mandy, but from what she understood, the drugged up couple were holed up at the St. Regis Hotel, and refusing to leave.

  They’d trashed their suite and the staff was insisting they pay for damages and leave the premises. Otherwise, the Police would be called and charges pressed. The thought terrified her because Johnny would never last in prison.

  Christina knew Johnny was seeing Georgie, but had never met her. They were media favorites, pictures of them partying, groping, and fighting with the paparazzi splashed everywhere. To Christina’s shame, she’d teased Johnny about his antics and he’d laughed them off, but in retrospect she’d missed all the danger signals.

  Mandy had informed her that this wasn’t the first time Johnny had been in rehab. In fact, he’d met Georgie there a year ago, and they’d run off together raising hell. He’d told her he’d gone there for exhaustion and counseling over the death of their mother. Now she knew better: he was an addict and a liar.

  Rehab. The word reverberated in Christina’s mind. She had no experience with rehab beyond Amy Winehouse singing about it and films starring Sandra Bullock.