Closer (19 page)

He swayed again and she steadied him with her hand.  He held it like a lifeline.

Shanghai
. 
The Li Long Towers
. 
His career, his reputation, and his future
.  They were all part of the intoxicating fears that consumed his emotions while filling Inez with dread. 
How was Sven going to travel to Shanghai and design the tallest buildings in the world without his eyesight
? 
And what was she going to do if he expected her to go with him
? 

“
I’m a fool to want you…
”

The first line of the jazz ballad dampened the crowd’s chatter.  The lights dimmed and the mournful melody silenced the ballroom.

“
I’m a fool to want you…
” the singer repeated, crooning the first verses of Sven’s song request.

“Perfect,” Sven said, drawing her towards the band.

“What, the dance? Now?  In front of all these people?”

“Yes, especially since it sounds like the band has found a worthy singer.”  He lifted her arm into proper ballroom dancing position and snaked his other arm around her waist, settling his palm over the small of her back, guiding her body to follow his lead.

Breathy and seductive, the singer’s words hushed the ballroom.  “
To want a love that can’t be true.  A love that’s there for others too
.”

He drew them towards the direction of the piano’s melancholy solo.  The notes tinkled like the soothing sound of raindrops as Inez watched several couples join around them for the dance.

“
I’m a fool to hold you…such a fool to hold you.
”

“You’re a pretty good dancer for being blind,” she said, reluctantly giving in to Sven’s embrace, seeking to close the gap between their bodies.

“Plastered and blind,” he said nonchalantly, maintaining the rhythmic sway of their simple foxtrot.

“
To seek a kiss, not mine alone…To share a kiss, the Devil has known.
”

She kept her chin lowered and her eyes firmly planted on his tie.  But her body felt the intimate curls of his breath, rising and falling along his firm chest as he effortlessly glided them across the ballroom.

“Well, not exactly plastered,” she replied.  “You’re still standing, your underwear isn’t exposed, and your tie isn’t wrapped around your head.”

“Ah, I see.  So I guess that means I can still have another drink.”

His hand dropped lower across her ruffled panties and stopped right above her tailbone.

“
I know it’s wrong.  It must be wrong…but right or wrong, I can’t get along…without you
.”

“I think another drink would probably be a bad idea,” she replied, nudging his hand back up onto the small of her back.

“Then you should have a drink instead.”  His hand drifted lower again.

“That would be an equally bad idea.” She coaxed it upwards.

He pulled her closer against his chest and unified their bodies with every flowing step.  The masculine strength of his lead mixed with the tenderness of his touch melted her against his chest.  She dared to look up at him.

“Sven…what are you going to do about Shanghai?”

He stopped them, as if her question unnerved him.  “Ask for you to come with me.”

His reply filled her with dread.  He frowned again, as if he seemed to sense it.  Without warning, he released her from his ballroom hold, as if he wanted to free her completely before she answered him.  But there was nothing uncertain about his insistence.  “Come with me.”

She looked at him, mentally preparing herself for the consequences of refusing him. “Sven…I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Sven, you don’t understand.”

“So help me to understand?” he urged her, drawing closer. “Whatever it is.  Whatever financial burden you’re struggling with, let me help you.  Let me pay for it.”

“Not everything is so easily solved with the snap of your billionaire fingers, Sven.”

“Isn’t it?” he shot back.

“No—” she glared at him. “It isn’t.”

Their eyes locked until he softened the edge in his voice and pulled her back into his arms.  “You can trust me,” he whispered and touched her cheek, as if he had finally unearthed her most vulnerable weakness.  She peered at him, wanting to believe him, until she reminded herself that every private moment between them was tainted by their public charade.

“Congratulations on your engagement.” 

The comment came from the couple dancing next to them.  With a warm smile, the attractive woman with dark hair addressed Inez.  “I don’t think I’ve heard a more romantic dedication than that in a long time.”

“Isabel is less impressed with genius and more impressed with romance,” her dancing partner quipped with his British accent.

“I’m less impressed with
ego
,” Isabel stressed, “and more impressed with public expressions of affection.”

“Isabel is an incurable romantic.  One of the best parts about her.”

“And Philip is an incurable cynic,” Isabel replied curtly.  “One of the worst parts about him.”

Phillip smirked and kissed her hand.  Turning his attention to Sven, he said, “I’m not fond of modern architecture, but I am impressed with innovation, van der Meer.  It’s a shame you’re channeling it onto the wrong projects by partnering with the wrong people.” 

“If you mean the Li Long Towers, I haven’t decided on anything,” Sven replied.

“No?”  Phillip cocked his head to one side, the overhead lights reflecting off his Roman profile. “Well, then…call me when you’ve decided.  We’re moving forward on the Old Main.”

He shifted his assertive blue eyes onto Inez.  “Congratulations again on your engagement.” Phillip nodded cordially before taking Isabel’s hand and leading her off the dance floor. 

“What was that all about?” Inez asked Sven, tracking them as they moved off the ballroom.

“Phillip Spears.  He’s an adversary of Eliot Watercross.”

“Really?” Inez glanced across the room at the burst of laughter coming from the small group of guests mingling at the bar.  Eliot Watercross roared with laughter like a man on a mission to be seen. “In that case, I like him already.”

“Spears is attempting to restore the Old Main Post Office.”

“The Old Main Post Office?” Inez blurted out.  “I love that building.”

“Yes, so does my mother.  Her Royal jewelry collection will be permanently showcased in its newly restored Beaux Arts lobby.  But the rest of the building is a blight along the riverfront.  Four thousand square feet of premium riverfront downtown property that should be flattened to make more space for newer, modern developments.”

“Like another Spire?” she taunted him gently.

But he clenched his jaw and corrected her.  “More like four of them.  Which is the reason why no one has taken on the challenge of restoring it except Phillip Spears.  It’s going to cost him more than three hundred million dollars to redevelop that building, but it’s going to take more than just cash and grand ambitions.  He’s going to need a good architect to turn a million square feet of dilapidated warehouse into something worth more than demolition.”

“Sounds like a job for a genius.”

“Or an incurable romantic,” he countered.

“Or both.”

“Yes,” he conceded. “Likely both.”

He gazed at her, as if something drastic had just changed between them.  Slowly, he reached out and grazed his fingertips along the curve of her cheek.  “For a moment, I thought I saw your face,” he whispered, his unpatched eye scanning the details of her lips, hair, and eyes. “No…I think it was only in my mind’s eye,” he finally said with disappointment before pulling his hand away.

“I think you’re pretty drunk, Sven.”

He nodded. “Likely plastered.”

She smiled. “I think it’s time to get you home.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I’m still waiting to take a piss…and for my bath.”

Chapter Sixteen

Barely clearing the threshold with his cumbersome body, Sven stumbled through the entrance of his penthouse.

“Forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall, forty-nine bottles of beer, we take one down, and pass it around…forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall.”

If he kept singing loudly enough, and if he continued to correctly count all the way up to fifty bottles, he would charm her.  He would charm her with his singing and then she would agree to go to Shanghai with him. 
She would be charmed enough not to say no
.

“Forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall, forty-nine bottles of beer, take one down, pass it around…” He paused to recover his breath before delving in again.  “Forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall.”

He would charm her
.

“Lights, lights, lights!” he hollered out into the air.  His penthouse lit up like a Christmas tree.  He kicked off his shoes and laughed, then cackled, then felt the urge to weep. 
Thank God, thank God.  He could see
. 

Not perfectly, of course.  And many of the familiar objects in his house still retained their blurry contours in the distance, but no longer was he rendered helpless, trapped within the shadowy fog of murky disorientation. 
Red, yellow, blue, green
… his eyes swept across the open living room; he spotted every color. 
Thank God, he could see again
.  Overwhelmed with relief, he untucked his dress shirt, unbuttoned his waistline, unzipped his fly and ceremoniously prepared to piss right there across the full length of his black granite floors until her voice shrieked out from behind him.

“No, no, no, no!  God, no!”

He dropped his head back and grinned. 
He loved it when she scolded him
.

“Don’t even
think
about dropping your pants and urinating here.  No, Sven.  Not here.  You’ve waited this long, so now you can wait five more seconds until we get you into the bathroom.”

“Yessss, Mistresssss Inezzzzz,” he hissed.

She exhaled in a way that puzzled him. 
She didn’t sound charmed
?  At least,
not as charmed as he had hoped.  And certainly not charmed enough to get her undressed and into his bed.

He winced as the full force of her fingernails dug into his wrists, towing him down the long corridor towards the master bedroom.
Perhaps he should sing again
?  He needed to charm her.  That was the plan.

“Forty-nine bottles of beer on the wall, forty-nine bottles of beer.  Take one down, pass it around, forty-nine…”

She suddenly covered his mouth.

“Fifty,” she insisted.

He peered at her beautiful blurry face.  He could tell she was scowling at him with haughty displeasure. 
No, she wasn’t charmed—yet
.  But if he could just get her dress off, he knew exactly how to turn her frown upside down.

“Sven—” she protested, pushing away his tentacle-like hands and guiding him into the bathroom.  “Focus on the task at hand.  Not feeling up my ass.”

“But I’ve been waiting all night,” he whined.

“God, you are so ridiculously drunk.  Do you think you’re going to remember any of this?”

“No…” he snorted, pulling down his pants and sighing in relief as the warm release of piss flowed out of him. “God, that’s the only thing I’ve wanted to do more than to suck your…”

“Shhh,” she covered his mouth again. “Another word out of your mouth and I’m going to call your mother and have you repeat everything you say to me…to her.”

He paused, processing her threat while shaking himself out.  “You are a wicked woman.”

“Yes, and if you don’t take off your own pants and get into your own bed, I’ll show you just how wicked I can be.”

He slowly stepped out of his pants and fumbled to unfasten the pearl buttons of his shirt.  “That sounds delicious.”

“Flush,” she ordered him.

He obeyed, resting his gaze on her defiant stance.  She placed her hand on her curvy hip, accentuating the contours of her body—her sensual, seductive body.  Her hair, her lips, her shoulders, her supple breasts.   He wanted her so badly.  He would do anything—anything she asked.

“Good.  Now, turn around and make your way to the bed,” she directed him.

He nodded, repeating the sharpness of her voice in his mind, imagining how he could soften it into a thousand sighs of submission.  He had been that stern with her when they had first met and now she was returning the favor.  Officially, he was her boss, but now it was she who controlled his fate.

How much money would it take to turn the tables back on her? 
Ten thousand
? 
Fifteen thousand
? 
Twenty thousand
?
Fifty thousand
?

Whatever the price, he would pay it tonight.  Just one night to relieve the burning desire that consumed the very core of his being.  One night for the cherished opportunity to be her lover. 
If she would have him
. 

He turned away from the urinal and the whole bathroom spun around him like a carousel ride.  He stretched out his arms, seeking support from the doorway.  She rushed to his aid, slipping his arm over her own shoulders and guiding him to the foot of the bed. 
God, how he loved her scent
.  The mysterious fragrance of spice and flowers overwhelmed him.

He wrapped his arms around her—certain he could bear his own weight, but not wanting to—and peered into her eyes. 

“God, you’re so beautiful.”

“Whatever, Sven,” she dismissed him. “You can barely see me, and only two days ago you told me I was average.  And short.”

“Two days ago I was a much bigger asshole than I am now.”

“That’s true,” she conceded, peering back at him.  “You were an asshole.”

“Were?  So I’ve redeemed myself?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say…redeemed.  But you certainly are more entertaining when you’re drunk.”

“And charming?”

“Uninhibited,” she corrected him.

“Sexy?”  He raised his head and slipped his hand around her ass.  He loved feeling those fucking ruffles against his palms, imagining how her tattoo would taste along his tongue.

“Horny,” she asserted, brushing off his advances.

He sighed with resignation and dropped the full weight of his head and chest against the plush mattress. 

“Horny?” he repeated, puzzled.  She always succeeded in puzzling him.  “You mean like a goat?”

“Forget it.”

She removed his socks and it made his cock twitch.  He considered bleating like a goat. 
Perhaps that would charm her?
 

But she didn’t give him the chance.  Instead, she drew the sheet over his body, tucking him in while leaning across the bed with her heavy cleavage over him.  He watched her as she carefully unfastened each pearl button along his dress shirt.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“It’s a silk weave.  If you sleep in it all night, you’ll ruin it.”

He gazed at her, but she avoided eye contact.  Every tug of her fingertips felt like a release.
Liberation
.  When she unfastened the final button, she drew out his arms from both sleeves and carefully folded the shirt over the high-back side chair like a cherished possession. 

The cool air pricked his bare chest. 
He needed her warmth
.  He held her gaze.  She did not turn away.  For a moment, he considered drawing her down into his arms, burying his head between her breasts, and nipping each dark luscious tit between his teeth until she moaned against him in consent.  He yearned to feel her mercilessly rake her fingernails along his scalp and shoulders, urging him for more. 

More
. 

He wanted her to draw up the hem of her own dress and allow him to run his needy tongue along the crease of her red panty line, savoring the quiver in her thighs and the scent of her desire. 
Her desire for him
. 

Then he realized it.  She was waiting, not for him to seduce her, but for her payment for tonight. 

“You’ll find double the normal amount in the drawer of the night table next to the bed,” he said.

He had anticipated this moment, plotting it carefully ever since their encounter last night. 
Their encounter in which she had refused him
. She hadn’t wanted to be turned into his whore and he respected her for it.  But she also clearly needed the money, and whatever it was, whatever secret she was keeping, he wanted to help her.  Now, he truly felt like a genius.  She would be shocked to see ten thousand dollars.  And then she would be charmed by it.

“Double the normal amount?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

It was such a simple, direct question.  But it spun the ceiling fan faster and confused him.

“Because you need it.  And I need you.”

He lifted up from the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his head in her lap.  She did not protest.  Instead, he only felt repetitive strokes of her fingernails through his hair
.  He loved those fingernails
.

“Sven, our arrangement was only for five thousand a night.  And that’s all I’ll take.”

After an eternity of comfort and silence, she attempted to shift away from him.

Yes, he was completely drunk.  And yes, completely unaccountable for his actions.  And yes, it was a dangerous combination because he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any other woman. But the idea of being left alone—without her—was too much to bear.  He peered up into her dark cherrywood eyes without letting her go.  “What are you hiding behind that strength?” 

She smiled down at him and touched his eyepatch.  “Something I’m not certain you would understand.”

“I think you should try to give me that chance.”

But she did not give in to him.  “It’s almost midnight.  I have to go now, Sven.  But I’ll come back early tomorrow to check on you.”

He savored the way her fingertips stroked his scalp one final time.  Then, with a heavy sigh of acceptance, he uncoiled his possessive embrace. “Good night, my Mistress Inez.”

“Good night, Sven,” she said, rising and tucking him in.  “Thank you for the dance.”

“No, thank you,” he whispered back, catching her hand at the last moment and drawing her into a tender kiss of gratitude before falling back against the pillow and succumbing to the heady weight of sleepy inebriation and infinite darkness that consumed him.