Chambers of Desire: Opus 1 (19 page)

Calvin set down his wineglass and leaned forward, covering my hand with his. “I wish you would have told me.”

“I was going to,” I said softly. “But then I heard
the phone call, and I panicked.”

“What’d he say to you?”

“He wanted me to come back to Dallas. Until he found out that something had happened between us. Then…” I looked down. “Well, he said some pretty ugly things. He thinks I should be ashamed for what I did.”

When I looked up at Calvin, his face was carefully controlled, but his eyes were on fire.
“I think it’s a little more complicated than that. What I’m thinking is what must have happened to you to react the way you did. There are people who would do something like that on a whim, but I have a feeling you’re not one of them.”

“I know. I know I shouldn’t even care what he says. Especially after what he did. How does someone even
do
that to the person he loves? I just don’t understand.” I pushed a carrot around my plate.

Calvin
shook his head. “When you love someone, you should protect her.” He was quiet for a moment. “But not everyone thinks that way.” He sounded sad, reminiscent. “How long were you with Brandon?”

“About two years. I thought he really loved me, thought he accepted me for
me
. He knew… everything about me, Calvin,” I said.  Tears welled up but I blinked them away.  “And it’s not all, you know, pretty.  He knew the good and the bad.  I thought that meant… more than it did, I guess. He was the one person that knew everything, and seemed to love me anyway. Seemed to actually accept me. Before, well, before he did what he did… he wasn’t ever harsh, he was easy to please.  But I guess in the end he was just… easy.” I stopped, knowing my tone was turning bitter.

“You didn’t feel accepted by your family?” Calvin asked.

“No. I was never good enough for them. One of my first dance performances, for example—I was just a little girl—we did a great job.  The teacher praised me especially, and was saying all of these kind things to my mother about me.  And then when she walked away, my mom just pointed out another little girl, one who didn’t even do very well in the performance, and said, ‘Look how nice and trim she in her leotard, Sabrina.  You could look like that if you tried. And it wasn’t so much that she was critical, it’s that she
didn’t even notice
the good things, you know?” I sighed. “Mothers.”   I looked up and caught my breath.
Except he didn’t even have one, and you’re complaining and complaining about yours, way to be sensitive, Sabrina.

Calvin read my face, and smiled gently. “It’s okay, Sabrina,” he said. “So, well, Brandon was my first love,” I said, trying to get back on track. “But it was a big deal for other reasons, like the family thing, too.  Have you ever been in love?” I asked. “No,” he answered.

“No? Just no? Care to elaborate?” I teased, taking another sip of my wine.

He shot me a roguish smile. “Just no. I’m a busy man.”

“Do you
want
to be in love?”

“I believe in passion. And pleasure.” A tingle worked its way into my stomach as his eyes burned into mine. “But love? Love is dangerous.”

“Maybe, I’m dumb,” I said, the wine lowering my inhibitions.  “But even though my heart was crushed, I don’t believe you. I think that real love, it heals. It doesn’t hurt. It can be scary… but it can save you, too.”

He smiled a slow
, sorrowful smile. “I wish I could agree.”

“Another bottle of wine, sir?” Our waiter shattered the silence, and I set my empty glass on the table.

“Yes, thank you,” Calvin said. He frowned at my plate, noticing I’d barely touched the filet or potatoes, only snacking on a few glazed carrots. “Sabrina, do you want to order something else? Can you bring us the menu, please?”

The waiter nodded and shuffled off. “If you don’t like it,” he said. “Pick something else. I’ll have him take this plate away.”

“No,” I protested. “Really, it’s delicious. I’m just not that hungry. I think I filled up on the appetizers at the art show.” I regretted it when I saw his brow furrow.
He’s way to detail oriented to buy that, Sabs. He knows you didn’t touch the food.

“I’ll have him bring another entrée.”

“No!” I said, more loudly than I intended. Carefully, I lowered my voice. “I mean—no, please. Everything is delicious. I don’t want the restaurant to go to any more trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. I just want to make sure you don’t go hungry.”

“I’m not hungry,” I hissed, verging on hysterical. “Please, Calvin, just drop it.”

He studied me for a moment before nodding. “Sure,” he said, waving the waiter off when he returned, toting a menu. “Actually, just the bottle of wine is fine, thanks.”

I took a deep breath, not wanting to ruin the evening with my compulsions. “So, when did
you
become so interested in art?”

Calvin rubbed his hand over his jaw.  This late in the day, he was getting a sexy five o’clock shadow.  My mind wandered, thinking of his rough cheek against my neck.  I snapped back to reality as he spoke.

“A couple of years ago when I was visiting the Met for the first time. I’d just got started on my own. I instituted a corporate culture program where, once a month, all employees were given a day to explore the city, cultivate a passion. Juliette invited me with her to see an exhibition that her friend curated, and since then, I’ve been hooked.”

“Corporate culture? Are you like the world’s best boss or something?”

Calvin smiled. “People do better work for a good boss.  Seriously, though, there were a few reasons for it.  One, it’s important for employees to know they’re appreciated.  Two, cultivating any higher passion betters the person—and the person as an employee.  And three, as you learned with fine arts and dance, these pursuits can give people a new perspective.  Fresh perspectives are vital in business.  So, yes, I want to be a good boss, but it’s not entirely selfless.”

“I’m impressed,” I said. “My dad’s a partner at a law firm, and he gets pissed if one of his attorneys has a ‘family emergency.’”

He shrugged. “People’s philosophies differ,” he said. “Mine has worked very well for me so far.”

And how,
I thought.
You’re one of the most successful men on the planet.

After we finished the bottle of wine, Calvin paid the bill and tucked his arm around my waist, escorting me out of the restaurant. We didn’t discuss where we were going after dinner, but when I buckled my seat belt, I closed my eyes and made a silent wish that he’d take me back to his house. I didn’t want the evening to end. My heart sank when we passed the interstate on-ramp, instead, taking the street that led directly to my hotel.

When Calvin pulled into the valet, he shut off the engine, unbuckling his seat belt to face me. His hand rested gently on my thigh, and he began to rub circles with his thumb. I held my breath as he leaned forward, brushing his lips against mine. He pulled back and interlaced his fingers with mine.

“I’m glad you told me about your family. And what happened with Brandon. I know how difficult it is to share those things with someone. I appreciate it.”

My heart beat wildly in my chest. “I thought you should know,” I said softly. “I
wanted
you to know.”

Calvin rested his head against the back of his seat. “I didn’t have it easy growing up, either. I know what it’s like to feel alone, to feel not good enough. My dad was…” He trailed off, looking for the right words. “His frustration left bruises. When he got angry, he was out for blood, and I was an easy target.”

I reached out and touched his cheek, horrified. “Oh my god,” I said. “He hit you?”

Calvin’s face was calm. “If I was lucky, with just his hands. But sometimes it was worse.  A belt. A bat, once.  Whatever was handy.  Only when he was drunk… but that was almost all the time.”  “Did he hurt your mother too?”

A flash of pain distorted his face. “She had it worse than I did. At least the scars he left me were physical. I know I told you she killed herself, but I didn’t tell you the circumstances.”

Squeezing his hand, I braced myself for the worst.

“One night, she came home to find me hiding in a closet, sick with pain.  My arm was broken.  I’d broken a window, throwing a ball around the house.  My father snapped.  When she finally pieced together what had happened, she lost it.  She’d always given in to him before, but finding me that way did something to her.  She grabbed me, got in the car, and we ran.  I don’t remember it that well, I was in so much pain.  Well, my father called the cops.  Gave them some story about her hurting me, that she’d lost her mind, and so on.  I was too terrified of him to contradict it, when they tracked us down.  She ended up in a psych unit for observation before a trial; she managed to hang herself with the sheets from her bed before it was ever resolved.”

I covered my mouth, eyes wide. “God, Calvin.  I don’t know what to say.” I squeezed his hand.

He closed his eyes.  “I don’t usually tell people about it…”

I knew it was his way of thanking me for sharing my pain with him. “I understand. I’m glad you told me.”

My finger grazed the long scar on his knuckle. “Did your dad do this to you?”

He pulled his hand away, holding it up to examine it. “Not exactly,” he said. “Just an old battle wound.” Sighing, he buckled his seat belt. “I’ll let you get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning. I had a great time tonight, Sabrina.”

“Me, too,” I said, gathering my purse. “Thank you for everything.” I opened the door and took another long look at his handsome face.

“Good night,” he said quietly.

“Good night, Calvin,” I said, closing the door of the Mercedes. As soon as the door shut, alone on that sidewalk, I knew I didn’t want to spend the night without him. I
needed
to spend it with him. I wanted to share myself with him, as he had shared himself with me.

As the engine started, his car slowly lurched forward, and I bolted after it, knocking on the back window. “Wait!” I said, hoping he could hear me.

The car stopped moving, and Calvin rolled down the passenger window, face confused. I ignored the open window and yanked on the door, sitting back down next to him.

“I want to be with you tonight,” I said, searching his eyes intently, breathing heavily.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice throaty.

I felt warmth spread through my chest. “I want you to make me you
rs tonight.”

Calvin exhaled slowly. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything.”

“You know that once your virginity is gone, the contract says you can leave; you can go back to Dallas. You’ll no longer have any obligation to me.”

“I know,” I said. I’d thought about all that, and none of it mattered.

“And if I make you mine, you can’t take it back.”

“I won’t want to take it back. And, Calvin, I don’t care about the contract. I don’t care about anything but spending the night with you.” I wanted to feel his hands all over me, his mouth on mine.

He didn’t answer me, instead, looking out the window.

“Do you not want to?” I asked, suddenly seized by the possibility that he had no interest in sleeping with me.

Quickly, he turned toward me, eyes burning into mine. He reached out, thumb moving over my lips. “I want to. I’ve wanted to since I laid eyes on you.”

“Then, take me home.” Just looking at him with his loosened tie, faint shadow of stubble coloring his jaw, made the flutter in my stomach spread, deepen, tightening the muscles of my inner thighs.  I wanted to be close to him.

Calvin answered by putting the car in gear and stepping on the gas, tearing toward the highway. His hand found mine, slipping in and out of each of my fingers, slowly stroking the sensitive skin on my palm. With each gentle touch, the desire welling up in me grew.  It felt like we couldn’t get to his house fast enough. With his eyes still on the road, Calvin traced his finger up my thigh, reaching the hem of my dress. He caressed the soft skin and moved his hands between my legs, forcing them apart. Within seconds, my flimsy thong was soaked.  I leaned my head back, heart pounding, as his finger brushed against the thin fabric. At a small gasp from me, he moved his hand, but allowed it to keep wandering, brushing the back of his hand against my stomach and breasts.  I felt my nipples harden as it continued upward, stroking the nape of my neck, my cheeks, my lips…

I opened my mouth and took his finger inside, sucking, teasing him. I glanced over to see him adjust in his seat, cock straining in his pants, and suddenly, I wanted to taste it, wanted to excite him as he excited me.

“We didn’t have dessert,” I said, half shy and have mischievous. . “Now, I want some.”

I twisted in my seat and unbuttoned the first few buttons on my shirt, letting him see my cleavage before reaching over and finding his belt buckle. His breathing grew heavy as I pulled on his belt, loosening it and toying with his zipper.

No underwear, I noticed, easily finding his hardness. It was just as overwhelming as the last time, thick, silky smooth, irresistible.. He inhaled sharply as my hand closed around it, caressing him, imagining it between my thighs.