“I…um, I…just needed to get back. I…I’m sorry…I didn’t know you would be here,” I stutter through an explanation. He is intimidating as hell right now, emitting an energy that’s about to swallow me whole. That’s nothing compared to what comes next.
“Sorry? You’re sorry? FUCKING SORRY?”
I jump at the awful sound and realize that I’ve never heard him yell in anger. I hate it. I want him to stop. Stop yelling…stop looking at me like that.
But he’s not finished. He continues through gritted teeth, “Say it again, Charlotte. Tell me you’re fucking sorry, again. Tell me that you’re sorry you fucking left me without a GODDAMN WORD! That you left me worried sick not knowing where the hell you were or what the hell happened to you. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT WAS GOING THROUGH MY FUCKING MIND?”
The anger, the pain that I hear in his voice is too much. I can’t do this. Turning toward the balcony, away from him, I hide my face and try to hold back the emotion that’s ripping through my chest. That was a mistake.
“Don’t you fucking turn your back to me!” He’s suddenly behind me, grabbing my arm in a vise-grip as he turns me to face him in one swift movement. I’m forced to look at him, to smell him, to feel the heat radiating through his strong hand.
My breath hitches as the look on his face softens and his hand releases my strangled arm. “Why, Charlotte?” His voice is low now, steeped in sadness. “Why would you think the worst of me? How could you not believe in what we had?” His eyes are shining with pent up emotion and tearing my heart in two.
“I’m sorry, Ian,” I whisper. Then before I lose the courage and strength to set him free, I step away and say, “It just wasn’t meant to be… Please leave.”
With no other sound but the familiar tap of his shoes across the tile floor, he is gone.
Twenty-Eight
Ian
It’s been over three weeks since I walked out of Charlotte’s condo. It’s been one day less than that since I broke Gabriel’s perfect little Brazilian nose and sent him packing. I was pleased his father had brains enough to not use our partnership or the project that is underway against me.
Quite the opposite, actually. Lucas didn’t take too kindly to his son insulting their American partners, partners that could easily walk away from the project and cost Novas Alturas a ton of money. Putting the project in jeopardy was apparently an insult to the family name, as well, so Daddy Azeveda sent his boy back to Brazil, demoted. Hopefully he’s got the sorry piece of shit cleaning toilets at the Novas Alturas headquarters.
Every time I think about Gabriel and the stunt he pulled with Charlotte, I want to punch something. Jackson somehow managed to get Erika to tell him what the asshole did to upset her so badly. Sometimes I wonder if the bastard hadn’t gone to her that day and planted seeds of doubt in her head, would she have reacted differently when she saw me with Phoebe. Of course, none of that matters now, it’s over between us…since it wasn’t meant to be, or should I say, since Charlotte’s too blinded by her father’s infidelity to live her own fucking life.
I snap the pen I was holding in half, getting ink all over my hand. “Dammit!” Grabbing a napkin, I try to clean it up and appear to only make it worse. This is my new norm, breaking shit without even thinking about what I’m doing. It’s becoming a nuisance. Two nights ago, I shattered a $1,500 vase against the wall and only registered what I had done when the sound of it smashing to pieces started to echo inside my head.
Jackson thinks I need to take some time off. I disagree. What I need to do is find a ridiculously sexy woman that likes rough sex and fuck the two of us into oblivion. That would solve everything and make me feel like a million bucks, except for one major obstacle. My cock has decided it’s only interested in fucking the one woman on the planet that would rather hold on to her issues than live a life people can only dream of. So, I’m left to releasing my tension via destruction of anything I can get my hands on because I’m not about to go begging for Charlotte to take me back. Why would I? So she can throw her lack of trust in my face, accuse me of cheating on her again, and turn my whole goddamn world upside down? “Fuck that!”
“Oh! Uhh…ex…cuse me…Mr. McAlistair. I…ah…I’m sorry to interrupt,” my secretary fumbles, nervous after hearing my outburst.
“Yes. What is it?” I really don’t want to be impatient with her, but I honestly can’t help it. I’ve been a dick lately, and I don’t have it in me to care.
“Mr. Azeveda is here. He asked if you could spare a few minutes of your time.”
“Yes. Of course, send him in.”
Lucas walks in, the picture of confidence and cordiality. He’s been working hard on damage control ever since Gabriel left, and there is a part of me that feels badly for him. He’s a brilliant man who has created an outstanding company, one he started from scratch, penniless with nothing but a vision and faith. He takes nothing for granted. I have the utmost respect for him, and we both know this project is going to be a huge success and a premier address in Miami…with or without his prick of a son.
“Lucas. It’s good to see you. How was your meeting with Mitchell?” Mitchell is the real estate broker I recommended. Lucas has decided to buy a condo as his residence here in Miami instead of renting. A wise move, considering the market. It’s not at the bottom, but it’s definitely not at the top. Real estate is hot right now, and no matter what he buys, it will go up in value, even over the short term.
“Very well. He knows what I’m looking for and is setting up showings for the end of the week. He’s sharp. I like him,” he says with a smile.
“Mitchell is great. You’re in good hands.” Moving on to the real reason he’s here, I add, “What else can I do for you?”
“I am wondering if you are available to join me for dinner this evening? Gabriel’s replacement arrived yesterday, and I’d like to formally introduce you. She’s been a huge asset to Novas Alturas, and I think you two will get along quite well.”
Now I have to make a quick decision on going out tonight. Truth is, I’m getting quite comfortable with going home every evening and sulking with a glass of expensive scotch. But if I decline, Lucas will think I’m holding some kind of grudge against him and his company, and that is something I will not allow.
“Yes. Of course. I look forward to it. Just tell me where and when.” I walk back over to my desk so he can’t read my body language, which is saying…ah, I’d rather not.
“Wonderful! I will let you know shortly when we finalize a plan.” Walking over for a brief handshake, he nods his head. “Thank you.”
I didn’t get much accomplished in the hours leading up to dinner. Today was a particularly bad day for whatever reason. I didn’t have any specific reminders of Charlotte make an appearance, other than the thousands that already reside in my head, but she highjacked my day anyway, setting my nerves on edge.
Standing in front of the mirror while I adjust my jacket and do a final inspection of my appearance, I wonder what she’s doing tonight. What is she wearing right now? Is she lounging around comfortably or is she dressed for an evening out? Is her hair up or down? She comes to life in my mind’s eye as I envision her walking up behind me, that ethereal beauty stealing my breath as she wraps her arms around my waist, body pressed against my back. I’m instantly hard—rock hard—as I watch her hands drift south to tease me through my clothes. A wave of heat drifts up my spine as I feel her hand grab onto the head of my cock. It’s so real, my heart is pounding. I want you on your knees…in front of me…now, I say inside my head with a deep command. Then, with my eyes closed, I picture her gorgeous body wrapped in a tight dress, feet strapped in sexy heels, hair loose down her back as she walks around from behind me and slowly goes down on her knees.
Fuck! My eyes squeeze tighter, holding on to my fantasy.
Looking down at her as she reaches up to undo my belt, I feel myself pulsing with need. Take it out…wet it with your tongue. She does what I tell her, mixing th
e wetness of her mouth with the pre-cum leaking from my tip. My head falls back a little as the pleasure intensifies. My hips move forward as her hands tighten around me, her warm tongue pressing against the underside of the head and then down. “Goddammit!” I say out loud with a growl.
A surge of anger blasts through me, intensifying the pleasure as she takes me deeper to the back of her throat. Her lipstick is smeared and her eyes are watering, but she’s loving every second of it, moaning as she takes me farther and farther. My hips move faster, harder, as I match her rhythm. Is this your way of telling me you’re sorry, Charlotte? I pump harder as a strike of pain pierces my chest. You fucking left me…goddamn you! Why? She tightens her grip and closes her lips around my head, sucking and kissing and licking, moaning out in pleasure and need. Why? I demand an answer as I grab the back of her head, wrapping her hair in my hand. She moans harder as I start to fuck her mouth in earnest, no longer able to control my need for her…my need to punish her, my need to have her…my need to love her. You feel so fucking good, Charlotte! I can’t hold back—one last pump and I explode with the most painful orgasm of my life.
Opening my eyes on reality, I watch as my cum shoots across the vanity, into the sink and onto the mirror…my grip tight on my engorged shaft.
My eyes drift to where my hands are still milking out the last bit of pleasure. The look on my face is that of a crazed man, the berserker prepared for battle. I hate this, the look in my eyes, the pain in my chest….my fucking cock in my hand. “Motherfucker!” I lash out as I flush the evidence of my pathetic existence down the toilet. What just happened was so real in my mind—I could smell her delicious scent, feel the warmth in her touch that sends chills across my skin. Does that mean I’ve completely lost my mind, or do I need to find a woman that actually wants me? Give my cock a chance to feel something real and not a fantasy? I don’t have time to debate that sad reality with myself, since I’m supposed to be at Fogo de Chão Steakhouse in ten minutes.
Traffic is bad and I’m more than fashionably late, putting my mood further into darkness. However, Lucas doesn’t seem fazed as I apologize, acknowledging how heavy the traffic was on the way here. “Not to worry, my friend.” Lucas’s accented voice reassures me. “Come. Adriana is ordering us a bottle of wine.”
Walking through the crowded restaurant, I see an extremely attractive dark-haired woman sitting by herself. Adriana, no doubt. The brilliant smile that lights up her face when she sees us confirms her identity. Goddamn, she’s gorgeous. This may prove to be a much-needed distraction as my testosterone spikes in excitement.
As she gets up from the table, I can’t help but notice her voluptuous form. The gods are clearly trying make up for the shitstorm they put me in for the past three and a half weeks because everything about Adriana screams fuck me and fuck me hard…after you tie me up and light up my overly round ass cheeks until they are flaming hot and deliciously red.
“Ian, let me introduce you to Adriana Santos, my esteemed colleague and friend. Adriana, Ian McAlistair, whom you already know I hold in very high regard.”
Taking Adriana’s hand, I bring it to my lips to test her scent. A slight twinge of disappointment lands in my stomach as it doesn’t quite hit the mark. I’m not turned off by any means, but it isn’t what my instincts are screaming for. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Santos. I believe your smile lit up the entire room.” My voice is deep as I play her a little, just for fun—and perhaps to support my damaged ego.
“Please, call me Adriana, and I will call you Ian.”
Hmmm…the way she says my name with that accent is hot as hell. I’m beginning to hope my instincts come around because there is some serious potential in my new Brazilian partner.
“Adriana it is. Please…” I hold my hand out in invitation. “Let’s sit and enjoy the wine you’ve chosen.”
And so we do, as thirty minutes go by with easy conversation and laughter before we even order our meals. Needing to put some food in my stomach, I change the subject by asking Adriana, “Have you decided what you’re having this evening?” But when I look up, expecting her to answer with a meal selection, I see the look in her eyes has made another choice altogether. How interesting. That didn’t take long at all. With a half-smile and a raised brow, I acknowledge her silent request, giving renewed interest to the evening’s potential.
Answering my actual question, she boldly states, “This is a Brazilian steakhouse. I’m having a flame-grilled, bone-in ribeye.” Turning to me, eyes suddenly darker, she asks, “Would you like to share, Ian? It is meant to be a meal for two.”
I really wish that would make my dick swell. It’s supposed to, my brain knows it. I’m pretty damn sure my body knows it, but my cock is late to the show. Not wanting to focus too much attention on my deficiencies, I answer with an obvious, “Yes. That sounds perfect. You pick the sides, I’m easy.”
Her smile says she is thrilled—with more than my acceptance to share our meal—and from the look on Lucas’s face, everything is going precisely the way he’d planned. It dawns on me at that moment that Adriana may be a gift from Lucas, one meant to take the sting out of the burn brought on by his jack-off of a son. If so, it is certainly a generous token. Lucas believes it is entirely Gabriel’s fault that Charlotte and I are no longer together and I never bothered to inform him that he’s only partially correct.
My suspicions are confirmed when I ask Lucas if he’s made a choice from the menu, and he responds with, “Ahh…I am sorry. You know, all the conversation, wine, and delicious bread they served has me too full to consider eating a whole meal. If you don’t mind, I think I might call it a night. It’s much later than I thought. I’m an old guy, you know… We go to bed early at this age.” He laughs as if what he said were true, let alone funny.
Of course, I realize that I’m trapped. I can’t tell him to stay, and I can’t cut the evening short. We haven’t even ordered. Inside my head, I tip my hat to ol’ Lucas, cunning bastard that he is. His move was well played as it appears I’ll be spending the rest of the evening with Adriana. I suppose it could be worse, but I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled about it.
“Of course, Lucas. I’m sorry to have waited so long to order. Are you sure you want to leave? The food is quite good here,” I say, pretending not to be on to him.
“No, no. I’m fine. You get to a point in life where good company and good wine are all you need.” He smiles sincerely while shaking my hand and kissing Adriana good night.
Sitting back down, I look at my “blind date” and say, “I think we scared him off.”
With a sultry laugh, she agrees, “Perhaps,” then flags the waiter over and places our order…for two.
A slight annoyance comes over me as I find her need to be in control very unappealing. For all of her exceptional physical characteristics, there is a very good chance we are a poor match—in between the sheets, that is. I’m starting to sense the last thing she’ll want to do is relinquish control to me, but maybe the challenge of getting her to do exactly that will be the remedy I’ve been looking for.
The conversation continues to flow as the waiter delivers our meal. Refilling each of our glasses, I propose a toast. “To a wonderful evening and a successful project.”
Adriana gives me a smirk that says she could have done better—of that I have no doubt, but something in the back of my mind is telling me not to lead her on…too much, anyway.
As she cuts into our steak, she looks up at me, desire evident in her eyes, and says, “Open up. The first bite is yours.”
I want to refuse, to deny her the control she craves, but this isn’t the place to put her in check. She senses my reluctance and brings the fork closer as she opens her mouth, mimicking what she expects me to do. The gesture is a complete turnoff, but I give in, opening my mouth to let her feed me.
Just as the delicious meat hits my tongue, something shifts around me, and my eyes move from Adriana’s to a table across the room.
&
nbsp; The sounds of the restaurant become muffled and my vision tunnels as Charlotte walks in and is seated in a booth that has her facing directly toward me. My hands clench as my heart rate escalates. She is so beautiful it makes my insides hurt. Yet the longer I stare, the more I notice that she looks pale, almost fragile, and my instincts are screaming at me to protect her.
I chew the bite of steak but say nothing to Adriana. My eyes cannot move; they have wanted to look at Charlotte so badly for so long, they’re locked and have no intention of looking away.
Until a man walks over and sits across from her. Is she on a fucking date? The idea of it. That the once-in-a-hundred-fucking-lifetimes magic we had between us wasn’t meant to be. Yet, it could with the sorry prick she’s with right now? It’s enough to have me up and out of this bloody obnoxious room, away from this controlling woman and back into the safety of my penthouse where I don’t run the chance of seeing Charlotte with another man. Un-fucking-believable.
Right then, her eyes shift to mine and I can see the shock and displeasure on her face. It’s like I’ve been stabbed in the chest with a knife, a dull knife that rips through the flesh, tearing and pulling as it makes its mark.
“The look on your face has me concerned the meat is rancid, although I find that hard to believe. I can call the waiter over to ask for something else?” Adriana is annoyed, but I don’t give a shit. She’s going to have to get over it.
“No. The meat isn’t rancid. It’s delicious.” I give her a look that says don’t push me. Continuing, I confirm, “And if it weren’t to my liking, I’d call the waiter over myself to order something else.” Does she think I’m fucking incompetent and need someone to wipe my ass for me, too? I need to move this evening along and get the hell out of here.
The Essence of Fate Page 29
