Dr. Owen has left me three voicemails today. I’m just a few blocks away from her office, and I have plenty of time, so I decide to pay her a visit.
“You missed your last appointment. I was concerned,” she says, pointing me to my normal spot on the sofa across from her.
I did? She was?
“Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t realize…”
“Have you experienced any significant changes in your life lately?” she asks, placing the end of her pen against her bottom lip.
That’s odd. Why is she asking me this? Why is she being so distant?
“Yes. I lost my pup, Gatsby.”
We’ll start here and see where this goes.
“Does that make you feel sad? Hopeless? Stuck?”
Stuck? My dog died. Why would I feel stuck?
“Bastain had another episode. This time it was worse.”
I don’t want to talk about Gatsby anymore.
“Have you been journaling like I suggested?”
She not going to probe me about Bastain? Okay. Maybe she’s waiting for me to just tell her.
“I have. And it was very therapeutic. Until Bastain found the notebook. He threatened suicide with a loaded gun, then he killed my dog.”
Analyze that with another question, Doc.
She drops the pen and inhales an over exaggerated breath.
Yeah.
Dr. Owen slides to the edge of the sofa cushion, leaning forward in my direction. “Are you somewhere safe?”
What? How did she know I left? This entire meeting is very bizarre.
“Yes,” I answer, simply.
She exhales a sigh of relief then stands, placing her clipboard on the sofa beside me.
“Excuse me. I need a bottle of water. Can I get you anything?”
I’m so confused. First she’s asking cold and distant. Then she’s asking crazy questions. Now she’s thirsty? Something on the clipboard catches my eye. She smiles when she sees me notice. I reach over, bringing it closer for me to read. There. Attached to the top, is a business card.
Bastain Castille.
Castille Chevrolet.
786-123-4567
He’s been here. She’s warning me. I drop the clipboard and hold my face in my hands. He’s not going to stop until he finds me.
“Be very careful, Emma.”
Oh God. What do I do? What if he’s waiting outside when I leave?
“Did he threaten you?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not allowed to disclose the details of our visit. You know that.”
My head drops in disappointment. Of course not. “But,” she continues, “I can advise you on future behavior patterns to look out for.”
She’s giving me her unofficial opinion on his behavior.
“He’s unable to love anyone other than himself. He knows he’s inflicting pain, but he doesn’t care. He will drive you to madness, then laugh at your pain. You’ll end up a broken, worn out puppet in a very dangerous game. You’ll be careful about what you say or what you do, but it will never be enough. You’ll feel as though your free will has been taken from you. Because it has. Manipulation won’t even begin to cover what you’ll experience. There’s a darkness in his soul like nothing you’ve ever seen.” She takes my hand and gives it a tight squeeze. “Be very careful, Emma,” she repeats.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t speak.
I can’t think.
I want to cry. This man I thought I loved, thought I knew, thought I was saving- is a monster. How do you move forward from something like that?
Easy. You put one foot in front of the other and you walk away.
Alex
I wasn’t lying when I said bacon and eggs was about the extent of my cooking skills. Emma is expecting dinner, and I refuse to let her down. So, I swing by a local Italian restaurant on the way home and grab two orders of eggplant parmesan and house salad.
I feel like a teenager on prom night, all giddy about seeing her again. I could hardly concentrate on the contract revision I had to turn in to Malone for one of his major clients. This is the third revision the client has sent through. These normally don’t come through me, but this guy is being a serious pain in the ass. If he’s not comfortable signing it, he needs to rethink the acquisition merger.
I passed my 6:00 class on to Jake, giving me more alone time with Emma before I bring her to the gym. She walks in after I buzz her up, barefoot and holding her heels in her hands and looking like she could use a hot bath and a massage. I could get used to seeing that face every evening when I come home from work.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I greet her, lifting her off her tired feet and kissing her sweet lips.
“A girl could get used to this,” she flirts when I set her down. “Something smells delicious. I’m starving.” She moves past me, straight to the kitchen. Peeling back the aluminum foil from the ceramic dinner plates, she dips her finger in the red sauce then draws it in her mouth. “Mmhmm,” she moans. The whole demonstration makes my dick hard. “Did you cook this?”
“If I say yes, will I get laid?”
Emma throws her head back in a laugh. “Is that all you ever think about?”
Only when I think of you. I grab the back of her thighs, lifting her dress with the rise of my hands, until I’ve got a good firm grip on her tight ass. “Can you blame me? I mean… Have you seen this ass?” Pink heat rushes to her cheeks. Then… her stomach growls. Loud. “Yikes. You really are starving.”
She scrunches her nose, bringing her hand to her face, covering it in embarrassment. “It’s got a mind of its own,” she says, holding her other hand over her tummy.
“I know the feeling,” I reply, running a hand over my crotch.
She rolls her eyes and gives my chest a playful shove. “You are impossible,” she squeaks, as she takes a seat at the bar, ready to dig in.
“It’s your fault,” I quip, like a child scolded, as I sit next to her and unwrap my own plate. She’s right. It smells fucking delicious.
For the 8:00 class, Emma takes her bag right next to mine. She’s wrapped nice and tight in her pink wraps and gloves. I’m in awe of her dedication as she moves through the warm up. After tonight we’ll probably need to continue our training at my flat, though. I don’t think I’ve paid an ounce of attention to anyone other than her since the moment we walked through the door.
Tonight we’re doing a basic kickboxing lesson. I normally only do RBMA classes on weekends since it involves removing the hanging bags and covering the room in a matted floor. We’ll get Emma into reality based martial arts soon. Right now, I want to help build her confidence. Her form is beautiful. I haven’t had to correct it once.
She jabs with the correct part of her hand. Her legs are placed perfectly. And she’s completely focused, leaving traces of whatever’s going on in her head with each blow to the heavy bag. I walk up behind her, careful not to distract her from what she’s doing but needing to be close to her.
“Relax, love. Don’t forget to breathe,” I remind her as I force myself to make my rounds. If it were up to me, this would be a one-on-one lesson with a whole bunch of witnesses. But these people have paid good money for my time, so I owe them a good class.
“Elbows beside the body. Try to breathe with every punch. That’s it. Perfect,” I call out to the rest of the class.
By the end of the class, my girl is sweaty and breathless, just the way I like her. She sits on the edge of the sparring ring, finishing off her bottle of water and waiting until all my clients are gone before attacking me with a hug.
“Oh my God. I can see why you love this so much,” she squeals. “I wanna do it again.”
I guess this was a good idea, then. “Easy, energizer bunny. Save some of that energy for the bedroom.”
“I thought we agreed you would stay here until it was safe?”
Emma sets her phone face down on the nightstand and curls into my arms. I don’t know why she thought it would be a g
ood idea to check her email right before bed. I never do that. That’s a guarantee for a restless night. She said she wanted to make sure there weren’t any changes concerning her going into Cameron tomorrow. She’s nervous. It’s her first day back at work in five years. I can understand wanting it to be perfect. But she also just so happened to spot an answer to an application regarding an apartment.
“How are you supposed to get references if you don’t have any references?” she pouts. “That’s so stupid. What about the people who have never rented before? Like me.” She lets out a frustrated growl.
I tuck her closer into my body. “I’m sorry, love. You don’t have to find an apartment. I’m kinda fond of sharing a bed with you.”
Her mouth leaves a trail of soft kisses along my chest. “I like sharing a bed with you too. But I need to do this on my own. I need to find my own way. I need to know this is real. I don’t want it to be some kind of hero worship because you came in on your white horse and saved me, you know?”
No. Not really. I haven’t saved her. She saved herself. She got the job at Cameron on her own. She found the courage to walk away from an unhealthy situation. She’s fighting every single day to find her strength. Those are all things I can’t do for her. “You don’t think this is real?”
She lifts her head, her eyes pleading with mine to understand. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I think this is real. This is the most real thing I’ve ever felt. I just…” she sighs, frustrated. “I need to find me so I can show you the way, too.”
I don’t like it. I don’t like the thought of her being alone at night while that crazy fucker is out there. I don’t like sleeping without her. Yeah, I’m fucking greedy. I want her, all of her, all the time. But if this is what she needs to do, then I’m not going to stand in her way.
The next morning while Emma’s off writing the first chapter of the rest of her life, I call in a favor. I’ve never called in favors. I don’t believe in it. But lately I find myself doing all kinds of things I never thought I’d do, thanks to a brown-eyed, blonde hurricane that’s spun my world upside down.
“Hey Michael, you still have that real estate in my neighborhood?”
Michael Bellingrath owns three buildings with lofts for lease all within a five block radius of my own. He also owns a chain of big box bookstores around the country that I helped him acquire.
“Yeah, bud, what’s up?”
“Good. I need a favor…”
Five minutes later, Emma has got herself an apartment. Now, I just have to get her to want it without knowing I had anything to do with it.
Emma
“Emma McClain”
The gorgeous gold letters stand out against the solid black plaque. I have a sign! My name is on a door. I take my seat behind the cherry wood desk, wiping my hands across the top as I settle into the leather. On the wall directly in front of me is a set of bookshelves lined with books ranging from encyclopedias to the Bible. My office window looks out over Brickell Avenue. I peer out at the palm trees along the sidewalks in front of skyscrapers and mouth a silent thank you to God for my blessings. I smooth the fabric of my brand new pencil skirt, then click open the monitor in front of me so I can start my day.
I’ve just finished reading a memo on company policies and procedures when my desk phone rings.
“Hello, Ms. McClain, there’s a Mr. Castille on line two for you,” the front desk receptionist chimes.
What did she just say? I couldn’t hear her clearly over the immediate thrumming of blood pulsing in my ears.
“I’m sorry, did you say Mr. Castille?”
“Yes. ma’am.”
I’m suddenly wishing my windows had curtains and there was a deadbolt on my door. The man is relentless. How does he keep finding me?
“I’m in the middle of something. Can you take a message?”
“Of course,” she answers. I can hear her smile through her voice. If she only knew she was talking to the devil himself.
He had to have remembered the conversation about my applying for this job then gone through my emails. I left everything I own in that house, so he has my laptop. Shit. That means he knows every place I’ve tried to rent an apartment as well.
I hurry to create a new email address, deactivating my old one. I’ve got to start being smarter than this. My first instinct is to call Alex but after my speech last night about declaring my independence, that would seem a bit misplaced. Think, Emma. You need to handle this. The police. I’ll go to the police station on my lunch break and file a restraining order. That’s what they do on all the Lifetime movies. They also always end up standing in the street while their house burns down after barely escaping being stabbed with a butcher knife. Yeah, forget the Lifetime movies.
That crazy bastard filed a missing person’s report on me. It was only a matter of time before every cop in the city had my picture plastered in their squad car with an APB. Good thing I decided to go through with the restraining order. I didn’t want to set off any alarms or raise any red flags on my first official day at work, so I just told Cassandra at the front desk to please carefully screen my calls and visitors because of a crazy ex. Girl code. She understood without further explanation.
By the time I get to Alex’s loft that afternoon, I’m ready for a bottle of wine and mind-blowing sex- anything to peel my thoughts away from Bastain.
Emma
It’s dark.
There’s a curved pathway from the front door all the way to the bedroom, lined with the soft glow of candlelight. Somo plays in the background, singing about all the ways he wants to control her body. I wonder if that’s a hint. I follow the path to the room, but still don’t see Alex.
Lying on the bed in front of me is a black box wrapped in a bright red ribbon and a pair of black heels. Louboutin’s. I’ve never in my life owned a pair of shoes this expensive. Next to the black box is a small, white card- “For your new beginning. Celebrate with me.” Alex appears in the doorway of the master bath, leaning against the frame. His white dress shirt is untucked and his tie is loose. He looks like he’s had a long day too. I want to make it better for him. I want to make him forget.
“Put them on,” he orders, his voice smooth and commanding as he lifts a glass of scotch to his lips.
God, this man. Just the sight of him makes my body burn. I walk over to the bed and grab the heels. He ticks the roof of his mouth with his tongue and shakes his head.
“Only the shoes and what’s in the box.”
So, I’m supposed to undress? I bring my hand to unzip my skirt, looking at him for approval. He nods, so I go on, untucking my silk blouse then slipping out of the skirt. He watches closely as I unbutton every tiny button, making sure I take the time to tease him. I don’t think he minds. He knows what’s coming next.
When I am fully naked and on display for him, I pull the ribbon from the black box then pull back the lid. Inside is a breathtaking strand of gorgeous white pearls long enough to wrap around my body at least twice. So, I do. I drape them over my neck once, then again, letting the remainder of the strand hang low between my breasts. Then, as instructed, I slip on the heels. The cool pearls feel so good against my scorching skin.
“Turn around.”
I turn to face him, allowing him to admire the beauty of his gifts. I’ve never been comfortable in my nakedness until Alex. He makes me feel sensual, beautiful, confident. He moves from his spot against the door and my body reacts with a shiver. He walks up behind me and with his body pressed against my back, he gently kisses my neck. He senses my reaction.
“My lips just made you quiver. Can you imagine what my tongue can do?”
Show me. Please.
He reaches around, bringing the glass of chilled liquid to the valley between my breasts. My breath catches in my throat. “Look at me, Emma.” I turn my head, bringing our mouths centimeters apart. I can almost taste the scotch on his breath. “Take a drink,” he says, holding the glass up for my taking.
I drop my gaze to grab the cup from his hand. “Eyes up here. I want to watch you.” I lift my eyes to meet his as the liquid pours over my lips and over my tongue. In an instant, his mouth is on mine. Devouring. Claiming. Starving.
“I think I prefer my scotch this way from now on,” he says, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
I think I like it this way too. “The pearls, they’re beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful,” he counters.
I need him. My body is humming with desire for him. I reach to loosen his tie, my movements careful and calculated. When I’ve undone the knot, he takes the silk fabric from me, wrapping it around his fist, reminding me of the fighter in him. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, exposing tattooed forearms as he grips the tie. My core throbs just thinking about all the possibilities that lie ahead.
“Do you trust me, love?”
Implicitly.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“Then close your eyes.”
I do as I’m told, seconds later feeling the silky smoothness of the tie in his fist being wrapped around my head, barring my sight. The palm of his hand glides over my breast then across my stomach, rolling the long strand of pearls with it. The beads awaken my senses as they dance over my skin. Fiery, tingling sparks shoot through me when his palm guides the pearls across my clit then back again. Rolling them back and forth. Over and over in slow tortuous movements.
“Alex, please…” I don’t even know what I’m begging for. I just… need.
He picks up the pace, pulling harder on the longer loop, bringing the second loop of the necklace tighter around my throat.
Harder.
Tighter.
Faster.
Tighter.
I can’t breathe but the delicious friction against my clit has me shuddering, so I don’t care. I inhale through my nose, bringing air into my lungs. I try to cry out, but I can’t. It’s all too much. The pleasure. The pain. Every cell in my body is alive and bursting with ecstasy. I can’t take anymore. Tears sting the back of my eyes beneath the blindfold.
The Perfect Gentleman Page 14
