Entangled (A Tryst Novel) (22 page)

He can’t be serious.

When he slips from his seat with an obvious goal, I want to claw at him, and pull him back into the booth. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m embarrassed for him, or myself.

He shakes his head adoringly while shooting me another wink. Damn him.

Climbing up to the stage, he leans in to the girl and whispers his song pick. She eagerly nods, handing off the mic to him before running off to the DJ.

“What are you doing?” I mouth to him from our booth sitting center stage.

He waves me off as he brings the mic to his lips, and speaks before whatever song he’s chosen starts.

“This song is for my girlfriend, who’s always keeping me in line, but doesn’t seem to give herself the credit she deserves. She’s half of me, and just like the song implies, ‘and her eyes, she’s a Skye full of stars, and she’s such a heavenly view . . .’”

Hoots and hollers sound through the restaurant. People are peeking out of their private booths to see whom Blake is staring at, and I’m too busy rubbing my face, aghast at what’s happening. I must be the color of Mars, and I’m suddenly thankful for the darkness.

I know I can feel the potent alcohol thrumming through my insides, and I wonder if it’s what gave Blake the confidence he needed to jump on stage, but I think I know better. This is who he is. He isn’t afraid of the limelight, and he sure isn’t afraid to tell people how he feels about me.

Although it has me feeling like the luckiest girl on the planet, I still want to run in the opposite direction.

The piano beats of
 
Coldplay’s “A Sky Full of Stars”
 
begins sounding through the speakers, and I’m giggling like an idiot. I can’t believe him.

Ugh, I can’t tell if I want to strangle him, hug him, kiss him, or fuck him. Whichever. I’m so thrown by what’s unfolding as his eyes stay locked onto mine. He slowly brings the mic up to his mouth. The ham he is, doesn’t hesitate lifting his pointed finger at me as he begins.

“’Cause you’re a sky, ’cause you’re a sky full of stars
 . . .
I’m gonna give you my heart
 . . .
’”

The crowd goes wild at the unabashedly passionate, croaking timbre of his voice belting out the words.

He’s grinning through the lyrics. He doesn’t care about the crowd, which has begun clapping to the beat, as if they, too, are reveling in this moment. It feels intimate, even with a crowd. I laugh when Blake’s voice breaks a bit over a line, but he chuckles through it. Blake isn’t a terrible singer, but I don’t think he should be making a mix tape anytime soon. I’m still laughing through my smile. The beautiful fool.

“
‘I don’t care, go on and tear me apart. I don’t care if you do-oo-oo. ‘Cause you’re a skyyyyy, ’cause in a sky full of stars I think I saw youuu
 . . .”

This time the crowd joins him in the chorus, and if I wasn’t such a puddle of goo, I’d throw my arms around him right now. The way he commands a room, bad singing and a dashing smile, is silly and awe-inspiring all at once.

I’m giggling through every word until he hits the final chorus.

“
Because you’re a skyyyy, you’re a sky full of stars. Such a heavenly view. You’re such a heavenly view-oo-oo
 . . .”

The sounding piano beats expand into the end of the song, and he says his final piece into the mic. “I love you, Skyler.”

This is when I rise from my seat and throw my arms around him as he makes it off the stage.

I press my lips to his, and the whole restaurant applauds. My giggles can’t be stopped as they squeeze their way between our mouths. “You’re such an idiot,” I murmur, and his grip only tightens around my waist as the vibration of his chortles echoes between us.

We did it. We overcame whatever it is we had to work through. Or at least it feels that way.

His grip is possessive, and I know he doesn’t want to let me go as we stumble back to the table. My blood is churning red-hot in my veins, making my brain fuzzy, and the throbbing between my legs edges near uncomfortable.

“We’re done with dinner,” he mutters, only pulling away to lean over the table as the crowd calms. Another person approaches the stage ready to sing another song, as if feeding off of Blake’s confidence from before. Blake just has that effect on people. Not just me. He lights up a room and fuels people wherever he goes. I can only wish for a fraction of his magical charisma.

“Babe, let’s go.” He slaps an obscene amount of bills on the table before grabbing my hand and towing me outside.

I’m still getting a grip on my body and mind, and with his hand encasing mine, I don’t care about much of anything. Is it alcohol, his song, his touch, or love that’s making me so dazed?

I doubt I’ll ever be able to get rid of this smile even if I wanted to, which I don’t.

We make it to the crisp evening air, and thinking we’ll be waiting for a cab, I’m stunned when I’m yanked around the corner, and around the building.

“Blake, whe—”

“Here,” he replies as we a take sharp left down an alley. We don’t make it twenty feet before he’s pushing me back against the cement structure.

“You drive me insane,” he says before his lips collide with mine. It’s hard and possessive, and we clash for the briefest of moments before I acclimate to his feral state. We’re all mouths and hands, and it’s everything I want.

“I’m impatient, and I can’t wait,” he sputters this time as his lips trail down my neck, and that spark shoots down my back, and pulses between my legs. How long has it been since I’ve had Blake like this?

Scarily reading my mind he says, “It’s been almost two weeks. It’s too much. I need you, right now. Being without you is . . .” his breath comes out in a hot, humid chuff against the nape of my neck as his hand takes a firm grip of my bare thigh. “ . . . torture. I thought I could wait this morning, until tonight, but . . . I can’t. Tell me to stop.”

His hand on my thigh inches upward to where I want him, and I don’t care that we’re in some dingy alley outside. It’s deserted, and that’s all I care about.

“Don’t stop,” I breathe out, rewarded with a growl before his lips come back to mine, and I tangle my fingers into his thick hair, with my other hand dragging over the smooth steel of his chest to the waistband of his jeans.

“I want to savor you, but this’s going to have to be quick,” he says between rushed breaths, and all I can do is nod.

Both of his hands inch their way up my thighs, and I can feel the intensity of his touch through the hard pressing of his fingertips into my flesh. His lips still stroke and nibble against mine, while his hands are under my dress, hooking into my lace panties that I wore specially for tonight. He breaks away only to push them over my hipbones, and leans down at my feet, helping me step out of them. Watching Blake kneel before me in the middle of being so intimate, while also being in public, does something to my insides, turning them into a mixture of thick syrup and sloshing goo.

He stuffs my panties into the back pocket of his jeans as he lifts the hem of my dress just high enough to press a kiss to the inside of my thigh, nibbling it just lightly enough to having me whimpering before he rises.

“God, I love to hear you.” His hands resume their grip on my legs, and I can feel his bulge against my stomach.

I focus on my blazing wildfire of need, delete the memories of cameras earlier, and let go of the evening, only to focus on this moment, fast and quick, and mine. My hands release the button on his jeans, pushing his pants and briefs over his statuesque hips, releasing him. There’s so much I want to do, like he said before, to savor him, but now I just need him inside me. I need him to satiate my unfurling desire this instant. Savoring can be for later. He’s right.

“Wrap your legs around me, babe.”

He lifts me up, and I obey. With my legs I pull him to where I want him as he drags his lips over my jaw and nibbles on my earlobe.

For the briefest of moments, I can feel the head of his cock at the entrance of my sex, and I hear the tight hiss from his lips that has my body screaming in anticipation.

He sinks into me and stills. “So good. Always so good.”

Then he begins to move, long ins and outs as he owns me, body and soul. I wrap my arms tighter around him, needing his lips as his hips grind into mine, the pace picking up, faster and faster.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he breathes roughly, burying his head into my neck as he swings his hips harder in unison with the tightening grip he has on my ass. He hits that pulsing need over and over, and I’m on the brink. All I hear is the hum of the light autumn breeze, our rushed breaths, and our bodies sliding against each other in perfect rhythm, and I’m right
 
there
.

“Blake,” I groan as the world around me twists and contorts. His final push into my hips has me seeing stars as my body clenches around him. I try to muffle my long groan of his name into his shoulder.

“Oh, fuck, Skye,” he moans into the crook of my neck as he releases himself inside me, slowly pulsing his hips until he stills, and I feel the tremors rolling through his body.

This is our night, our forbidden moment. No one can take this away from us.

We don’t move. We stay wrapped around each other for a long minute until our breathing calms.

My legs are on the verge of not working as he pulls out of me, my body mourning the loss of his. When my feet land on the pavement my knees try to solidify back into working joints.

He keeps a hand on my hip to steady me before smoothing my dress down, making sure I’m covered, then leans his forehead against mine.

“I need to get you home.”

I smile and nod. “Yes, you do.”

Skyler

I don’t know why I agreed to let Gio pick me up. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been in the business of arguing lately, and especially not with Gio. I could tell from his tone on the phone that I wouldn’t have been able to win if I tried anyway.

With Blake reaching the tail end of filming, the past week has been a bit nerve-wracking to get through as I count down to being able to see him more often.

Gio’s reasoning for picking me up was that if he’s to be my guide, then I should damn well let him guide. He was riled up before I even said no, as if he expected me to challenge him. I guess I can’t blame him. Then again, I don’t ever remember proclaiming him as my guide.

When we enter the unmarked building on the grungier side of LA, which could arguably be most sides of LA, I’m in awe as tens of people buzz around setting up lighting and props. Mostly men handle all the heavy equipment as they stand on ladders to adjust large lights and their umbrella heads. I blink through my awe as I watch the scene come together. It’s kind of stunning in its own right.

I try to keep at least ten feet between Gio and me as we walk through the open room. I don’t want it to seem like I’m here because of him.

I can only assume most girls work their asses off to get the opportunity that has been presented before me. I won’t take this for granted. I feel lucky, and I hope that my appreciation comes off calm and collected, rather than squirrely and timid. I’m all good when I know the facts, but 
this
, this is uncharted territory, and I’m walking in blind. I wonder when I’ll start to know what to expect, if ever.

As if feeling the same, Gio blindly waves me in the opposite direction across the open room, signaling this is when we part ways. For once, I welcome his natural inclination to rudeness.

I pull in a deep breath. I can do this.

I take my steps slowly, reflecting on this morning as a way to settle my nerves. Blake went back into work mode this week, and could only press a kiss to my neck, cheek, and lips before whispering his vote of confidence. He was out the door before the sun was up.

It’s feast or famine with that man. I either get him in more ways than one, all at once, or not at all, and not for a while. It has its perks, but it’s kind of awful, too.

I walk around a tall white curtain, witnessing six half-naked, stick-figured women, all with undeniably beautiful bone structure, slipping into equally beautiful clothes. I go shell-shocked, and offer a tight smile as my greeting.

“Skyler!” is shouted out sharply from my left.

I think I may recognize the angry, foreign tone. I swivel around to see bright red lips, a tight bun of bleach-blond hair, and yellow, pointed nails as my first familiar signs. Her dark brows are tweaked high as she approaches.

Good to know she has a look and sticks to it, for my sake. I don’t know her name, but I exhale with the relief the recognition gives me.

“Hi,” I reply too softly, and my subconscious can’t help but tell me to buck the fuck up when onyx eyes watch me just as intensely as I remember.

“
Buono
,” she quips. “I’m Sophie. Nice to see you again.”

My left brow mirrors her right one as it rises, and the movement implies we’re questioning each other’s sincerity, though I can’t tell what I’ve done to hint that my intentions are sour.

“Nice to see you again, too, Sophie.”

She watches me a moment, chewing her glossy red lip. “We have high hopes for you.” Her eyes drag over my body, as if diagnosing me for the situation at hand, but at least her glare softens.

I nod, and she rolls her eyes as she continues. “I’m Gio’s assistant, and I have heard a lot about you. Ever since that first photo shoot it seems our Gio has got quite—”

I fling myself forward, covering her mouth with my hand, igniting her cackle.

“Shh,” I whisper. “Please let me go under the radar. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. I don’t want anyone to know that Gio and I are friends.”

I slowly peel my hand from her mouth, and though she’s scowling, and models are beginning to stare, her eyes hint at a dash of humor, and I wonder if I’m witnessing her maximum threshold of funny.

“First,” she says as she smacks my hand away, but it’s more of a love tap than a slap. “Don’t ever do that again. Second . . .” She pulls in a deep breath, her lips twisting into a surprisingly endearing smile. “Fine! Let’s get you dressed.” She lowers her voice an octave. “Gio told me to take care of you, even if I have more important things to do.” Going back to her regular, haughty Italian tone, she lifts the clipboard I didn’t notice she was holding away from her body, looking it over as she says, “Please put on the embroidered garment on the end of the rack. It should be tagged with your name. I didn’t know your size, but I remembered your thighs.”

My eyes heat as they fling their way to hers, and I know she’s laughing at me now. Nice to know that I just figured out her sense of humor. Granted, it’s the type of teasing humor I’ve become so attuned to. It helps having an older brother, too. I think I want to adore Sophie and her scowl, but maybe I’m just that desperate for a friend in this world. I shrug off the thought, rolling my eyes, trying my damnedest not to smile, but failing miserably.

“For the record, my thighs are worth remembering.”

She releases a high-pitched giggle, and I think we’re going to get along just fine.

Leading me to the rack, she hands me a stunning navy blue couture dress, and as my fingertips touch the fabric delicately embroidered with golds and reds, I know it must’ve been hand stitched and worth nearly a whole year of classes at UCLA.

“Put this on, and head to hair and makeup. Quit biting your lip. If the others see you’re nervous, they’ll eat you alive.”

She walks away before I can respond, my eyes trailing across the room to the others. Some smile sweetly, while others have resting bitch face. I smile back regardless, even if it feels like my belly is full of squirming worms.

I can do this.

***

The girls end up being nicer than I thought, although most didn’t exchange more than a handful of words with me, but they were still sweet, instead of stuck-up, which gave me hope when it comes to this whole modeling thing.

Actually, most of the girls really weren’t the conversational type, even though they didn’t mind me chatting. I couldn’t tell if this was them being cautious with a newbie like me or not, but I suspect so. I did make friends with a French girl named Amélie. She studies art history back at a university in France, but decided to take a year off to pursue this endeavor. We bonded over books, of all things. It wasn’t something I would ever assume we’d have in common, except I couldn’t help myself when I saw her giggling as she read the new David Sedaris memoir between takes. Our interactions were fairly brief, but meaningful. We at one point exchanged phone numbers, though I’m not sure we’ll ever call each other, but it was nice to feel accepted.

“Skyler, pay attention!” Gio barks over the camera as the afternoon winds down. “No daydreaming,
cara mia
!” His pet name comes out harsh, and it has all of us going rigid, making the woman’s arm slung over my shoulder tense at the elbow.

“No, no, relax, just focus!” Gio tries to correct. “Sophie!” he snaps, “Straighten Skyler’s dress, and smooth out the bodice of Mona’s 
vestito
. Quick, quickly, 
per favore
!”

Sophie scurries over and follows his directions frantically before leaping out of the shot.

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

He barks more instructions, “Skyler, move to the front, relax your back. Amélie, push your shoulders back, and look off as if you’re staring into the setting sun, like your boyfriend just hopped on a plane and he’s never coming back.”

What the . . .

Does he just make this stuff up on the fly? He sounds like a Harlequin novel, and his Italian accent only proves my point further. It feels absurd, until he pulls his magic trick on me.

“Skyler, stare at me. I want you to picture your love telling you a lie, and you kick him to the curb.”

I’m sure I should be angsty with my crafted look, but instead, an appalled expression flits over my features as I shoot it back to the lens, as if I’m shooting my anger to Gio instead of his camera. I shouldn’t take it so personally; none of this is personal, but when I hear the rapid fire of more camera clicks, I can’t tell if my ornery reaction is the one he’s looking for, and whether I should be angrier at 
that,
 or at his choice of words.

I just wish he wouldn’t toy with me so publicly, if that’s what he’s doing.

“And we’re done! 
Finito!
” he shouts, letting the heavy camera fall to his side in his hand, his eyes purposeful as they drag over our faces, finding their resting place on mine to match the tight curve at the corner of his mouth.

My shoulders slump. The looming lights are hot, even in the openness of the grungy building. Our beautiful clothes matched against the derelict surroundings give the shoot an urban edge that I adore. Though, my main focus has been to make sure this priceless garment doesn’t touch anything remotely dirty, which is pretty much any surface of this locale, other than the makeshift changing room.

I swiveled and swayed, pouted and paused my way through every camera click. To think, all of us women moving in unison with each other, and with each shift, like a wave of fashion-forward angst, all in sync and beautiful.

I watch the models scurry away. They must all have places to be as their leggy strides are quick and purposeful, but little do they know that their hero photographer is my ride home, and I decide to hang back.

When I watch the girls until they round the corner, their shrieks of conversation beginning once out of view, I feel safe enough to face Gio, who seems to have already strutted the ten feet toward me.

“You’re a natural,
bella
,” he hums.

I wrinkle my nose. “Whatever.” I grin, because I feel good. I love the sound of his camera as I work the angles. It allows me to get lost, while at the same time feeling free, even with his direction as long as there is a mood set. Wearing such beautiful clothes brought it to a whole new level that I loved even more. The clothes, their intricate design, and the thick fabric hanging against my skin whisked me away to a world where logic doesn’t matter, and I could finally breathe. Similar to the world shift that Blake puts me in. It’s new and fantastical, and pretty much out of my league of understanding, but I revel in the challenge. I enjoy this new frontier.

“You capture the scene without even trying, and you look stunning. Your eyes,
bella
, I wasn’t kidding when I said they were a endless sky when I first met you.”

I feel like he’s going out of his way to flatter me even if I’ve only ever known Gio not to waste his words. The reference only has my body humming with the memory of my recent date with Blake, and how he sang me a song involving the same thing. I don’t even try to hide my dopey smile.

“I did good,” I jokingly gloat, lifting my chin in mock pride.

He nods. “There’s always room for improvement, but considering you’re still just getting the swing of it, you acted like you’ve been doing it for much longer.”

I stand up straighter, leaning toward Gio, allowing myself that little bit of confidence where I know it’s best placed. I want to be better in whatever it is I choose to attempt. Whether it’s school or this glamorous charade. “Will you help me become better?”

He grins wide, and I love that he’s so thrilled by my words.

He raises his large hand to my face, cupping my jaw like I’m precious as he replies, “If you let me.”

“Would you like that?” I goad. I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m fueled by the thrill of accomplishment.

“I would like that very much.” He allows himself to get lost in my eyes for a longer moment than I think he intends, and I’m pulled in by the glow of his. The ambers that twist around splashes of green in the irises of his eyes are as endless as a galaxy, and I, too, get lost for the briefest of moments. It’s as if he catches himself, and releases my chin, taking a deliberate step back.

I giggle, sort of enamored by his charm, and his need to keep the boundaries defined.

My giddiness of the day morphs into more confidence as I snatch the camera out of his other hand. It’s heavier than I realized it would be, which has me lugging it up to my face.

“
Bella . . .”
he whines.

I peek over the camera, my giggles relentless as I try to reply. “Oh, stop it. It only seems fair that someone turn the tables on you. You’re beautiful, too, you know?”

An earthquake erupts in my chest at the admission, but I force a grin. I don’t regret saying it, but I worry it’s inappropriate.

The briefest of crimson appears on his high cheekbones. I shy away by using his camera to cover my face, and snap a few pictures of his shell-shocked state.

I groan, ending it with a laugh. “Speechless, Gio? Who would’ve thought? Don’t act like you don’t know it. Your ego fills this warehouse.”

He chuckles, and I take the opportunity to snap a few more photos, our laughter tangling around each other in echoes.

Click. Click. Click.

“
Bella . . .”
he tries again.

I shake my head, admonishing him, rapidly clicking as it takes only one giant stride for him to reach me.

“Stop being cute,” he begs as he grabs the camera from me.

I stumble a bit, the tight ensemble restricting me from moving fully and as freely as my laughter.

“Come with me to Milan.”

Sound stops coming from my lips as they hang open, and I tilt my head. “W-what?”

“Come with me to Milan to cover a Spring Collection debut in a couple of weeks.”

This time I shake my head. “And do what, Gio?”

“Walk in the show?” he asks with a shrug. “They’re short a girl, and asked if I knew anyone.”

I choke through another laugh, waving him off. “First off, are all models flakes? Second, you can’t be serious. It’s too much.”