Love Redeemed, Book 4 (28 page)

It’s my first pre-wedding session with Tyler. He termed it that to motivate me when I explained I have to be ready for this gown that will display my entire figure, even what’s covered with lace. We discussed my goals and target areas to help chart our journey, coincidentally, the same thing we did when I’d first started training with him. Before I know it, an hour and a half has flown by.

Tyler ha
s me down my hands and one knee, pulling my right leg up to demonstrate how far I should be extending it in the air. The similarities in our professions makes our jargon easy, but Tyler prefers demonstrating movements rather than just assigning them, and I appreciate that.

“You never want to lift this high,” he pull
s my leg up over me while I observe from the mirror straight ahead of me. “…because it can injure—”

“…the erector spinea. Yeah. I can feel it
,” I say on a strained breath.

Azmir’s abrupt presence
interrupts our chase behind time. He strolls in and walks up on us while Tyler’s coaching me through the technique. Suddenly Azmir’s commanding frame appears in the mirror as he hovers over us.

“Divine,” Tyler announce
s, clearly surprised by Azmir’s
divine
presence. He slowly releases my leg.  

Azmir’s manifestation ste
als my breath. Every time I see his now full beard, I’m reminded of his pledge of growing it until I become his legally. He’s stuck to it, and surprisingly wears it well. He’s sporting a black, fitted compression shirt that exposes and outlines his chiseled torso, dark grey basketball shorts and trainers. He looks fresh…no sweat, unflushed. It wouldn’t have mattered if his body was misted in sweat, it’s a dangerous time for me to see him in my celibate state. Although another man’s hands are on me platonically, the mere sight of Azmir makes me liquidate in the most incestuous manner. He stands with his head cocked to the side, his tongue pressing back into his molars.

“I didn’t think I was paying you to get that acquainted with Ms. Brimm’s body, just to tone it a little to satisfy her insular grievances about her already perfect frame.” His words
are laced with humor, but his disposition is arctic. He can fool many of men with his stoic countenance, but not me.

Tyler’s eyes momentarily widen
s, but then quickly relax. It’s as if he has to will himself to believe Azmir is joshing. “I think you pay me to deliver results. That’s my only intention here.” Tyler trains his eyes to his wrist for the time and then looks to me. “It is pretty late. You’ve been great, Ms. Brimm. Don’t forget to incorporate those new stretch techniques every night, even after dance class and you should be fine.”

“Sure will. Thanks, Tyler. You’re the best,” I sa
y, risking the ego of Azmir’s caveman persona. I don’t miss his squinted eyes. I lick my lips, suddenly my mouth is salivating. I can’t believe my body still responds to Azmir this way.

“Have a good one,” Tyler
bodes with his arm extended towards me. I’m now sitting on my butt, facing both men. He then turns to Azmir, “Mr. Jacobs…tomorrow?” he asks tentatively.

“Tomorrow,” Azmir replie
s, now wearing a scowl fixated on me. He doesn’t even look at poor Tyler.

Seriously?

As Tyler exits the private room, Azmir’s gaze deepens and his eyes darken. As a result, my pulse quickens.

“What was that about?”

“My employees knowing their boundaries,” he answers, still motionless and his face still deadpan.

“I don’t think Tyler has an issue with boundaries. He’s been extremely professional and is well versed with anatomy.”

“Yeah, but not with yours. That’s my profession and last I checked I was damn good at it.”

Bravado for sure.

My eyes now match his; hooded and ready.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. I need to stay focused. We’ve vowed abstinence and have two more weeks to go. We’re more than halfway there. And as much as I believe myself to be strong willed, I have little resistance to Azmir’s sexual prowess. He shifts toward the door, making me wonder why he’s leaving. I’ve enjoyed his abrupt pop-up in the middle of my day. I then realize Azmir has only gone over by the door to turn off the light. I panic.

No! Not now!
We’re doing so well.

“W-what are you doing?” I breathe out, attempting to mask my anxiousness.

He doesn’t answer, instead he gaits back over to me, lowers himself on top of my now weakened frame and snags my bottom lip between his teeth. My body instantly shudders. My brain is gearing up to protest against my stubborn frame that will give into Azmir with ease. His eyes are open as he grazes my lip again and my gaze won’t leave his if I begged it to. I’m caught in his rapture that quickly.

Next, I fe
el his tongue against my lip, slowly extending from one side to the next. I fight the need to moan. I feel my body jerk with my elbows against the floor. Azmir’s tongue enters my mouth, sweeps against the top of my tongue and laves the roof of my mouth. His tongue sweeps wide and long, tasting every inch of my cavity until he sucks my tongue into his mouth. I’m paralyzed in pleasure, but I still have my wits even if I’m slowing losing them.

“Kiss me,” he growl
s in my mouth.

Panting, I whisper, “But Azmir, we said we would wait. And we’re in public.”

“And in my place of business. Kiss me!” he barks.

Feeling his sweet breath hit my face, I br
eak. My hands move up, gripping the sides of his face against his thick beard and I throw my tongue into his mouth, kissing hard and thoroughly. He smells so good. He feels so right. Hard, rippling muscles suspended over me, sending me into a spiral of sensations. My hands stay limited to his head and neck because I don’t trust myself to go any farther. His hands stay placed on the floor beneath me, balancing himself on them, making me believe he doesn’t want to tempt himself either.

His kiss
is tender, sweet, unlike mine. His presence is heavy and commanding. I’m out of breath, but need the continual pouring of Azmir’s passion more than I need air to breathe. His kiss fades every fear. His dominating existence shields every disappointment. Azmir cures a lifetime of insecurities.

He pull
s away, out of breath, panting uncontrollably like me.

“Azmir…” I cr
y, feeling chillingly bereft.

“Just say the word,” in his deep, baritone pitch, he rumble
s.

I sigh, suddenly coming back to my senses.

“You’re at work. And… We said...”

“I’ll take yo
u anytime, anywhere.” He staples his gaze upon me, and I believe every word of his declaration. “But my word is my bond and my bond is my life.” He lays the most gentle kiss on my forehead, earning another shiver.

So bad, I wish that I’d taken him up on his offer.

Rayna

What woman just shows up to her wedding day with no knowledge of what’s coming?
A date that has been settled and planned for months.

Brimm
, that’s who
.

Yup, at the set of dawn, on
the first day in March, John routes the car into the lot of the harbor and pulls where I was instructed to a few days ago via email. After pulling my duffle bag from the trunk, I say my goodbyes to him and make my way to the harbor and with awe, gaze over several impressive boats and yachts. Although I’m still curious about the agenda of the event, relief fills my lungs at my wedding not being at
Bethesda-by-the Sea
, a facility that’s easily of Azmir’s stature.

I’
ve been in San Diego for the past three days, orating at a conference in Dan Smith’s proxy. It’s been strange being away from the office for so long, but nothing compares to being away from Azmir. I’ve missed him so much, I dream of him nightly. I recall Azmir using the phrase, ‘two ships passing in the night’ to justify our need to move in together last summer. That’s exactly what we’ve become over the past month and a half. But with Dan Smith’s new product rolling out, I’ve been preoccupied with either research for the project or covering for him at conferences. His confidence in such a young colleague enthuse me and challenges me to prove myself as worthy amongst my contemporaries. This has been the only thing to distract me from Azmir’s absence and leads me to this moment.
This day.

I kn
ow where I’m headed, but don’t know what to expect. Tessie, our wedding coordinator, emailed me a set of instructions a few days before, detailed with when to rise from bed to where to march down the aisle. But it’s difficult for me to envision an aisle on a boat. I keep telling myself I don’t care. This is what I want. I’m resolute in my decision to marry Azmir Jacobs. Even when my thoughts become dual, I fight through them. I’m finally marrying a man that I’ve only known for just over a year. It doesn’t matter that I accepted his proposal approximately nine months after meeting him. That isn’t as crazy as moving in with him less than six months after our first date.
No
. What I’m prepared to do isn’t crazy at all, because I love this man, I’m devoted to this man, and can’t imagine waking up to a life without the company the of one A.D. Jacobs.

“Rayna?” I hear called
out expectantly.

I look up to find a blushing redhead with a
small frame and gorgeous emerald irises. Her smile is promising and gives away her aura.

“Tessie?” I ask
, knowing I have to be correct in my assumptions. Who else would be fully dressed in formal attire at the crack of dawn…at the top of the morning…on the walkway of a marina?

“Yes,” she answer
s with a polite nod. “I’m Tessie. It’s nice to put a beautiful face with a voice.” She proffers her hand and shakes mine enthusiastically. “Mr. Jacobs is a very lucky man. Not that I had any expectations of you, but I am thoroughly impressed.”

I allow a pleased smile to crack upon my face. I d
on’t know how to respond to that other than saying thanks, which I do. I guess I feel odd because all I’m wearing is a fitted sweat suit with a black Brooklyn Nets baseball cap that I borrowed from Azmir’s side of the closet.

“Well, thanks for being so prompt
.” Tessie clasps her nicely manicured red nails together over her modestly fitted tan skirt. Her legs are clad in opaque hosiery over kitty pumps. She’s the picturesque employee. “As you can imagine, we have lots to do today. We’ll start with introducing you to your wedding venue and home for the next seven days.”

I tr
y to mask my staggered visage. I had no idea we’d be getting married and honeymooning on a boat. In fact, I didn’t know we’d be having a honeymoon. I was told by Sharon last week that my schedule for a few days would be extended to accommodate several patients who preferred pushing up their appointments rather than deferring them to my return. I asked why and she said that I’d be out of the office for a week at the request of Mr. Jacobs. I fought the annoyance rising from my belly at Azmir speaking directly to Sharon. I knew I’d be getting married this week, then eventually, on this day, but I still didn’t like the feeling of being the absent bride. Sharon knew more about the details of my big day than I did. This all began the night I told Azmir I’d grown overwhelmed with the planning of the wedding and was tired of screening planners.

I told him we could get married on a boat in the middle of nowhere for all I cared!
I gasp at the revelation.  

“Pardon,” Tessie ask
s, bursting my trance. I didn’t realize I thought aloud.

I cup my mouth for a second, then lower my hands and murmur, “Sorry. I just thought of something I’d told…Mr. Jacobs months ago.
I told him I didn’t care if we got married on a boat in the middle of nowhere.” I take a minute to process my running thoughts.

“Considering his plans for today, I suppose he took your wishes
quite literally.” Tessie winks before continuing her stride toward our destination.

Too literally.

Dumbfounded, I follow her. We walk a few feet west of where we met and she starts with her orientation of the watercraft we begin to board. My mouth drops to my toes. It’s massive!

“We’re stepping onto
Princess Belle, a 149 foot/45 meter motor yacht from the French yard of the Moreau Brothers. Mr. Jacobs not only has exquisite taste, he has friends of elite realms,” Tessie notes as she peers over her shoulder momentarily. “I’ve done at least a dozen events on yachts, but this is by far the most impressive and elegant that I’ve incurred,” she continues with her orientation.

I
’m once again caught up in reverie. Somehow, I could see the Moreau Brothers’ sophistication emanating from the woodwork that hailed from the railing of the walkway. We step on a red carpet as we walk onto the boat, entering from the rear. The off-white panels compliment the smooth finishing of freshly polished wood. It smells of rich pine from the start of the airy foyer of the deck. It’s filled with men, breaking down furniture just ahead of the built in Jacuzzi. The deck is huge, the size of a modest sized ballroom.

“The crew here is transitioning this main deck from a pool-side lounge area to your chapel. They should be done in an hour or so,” Tessie inform
s before being interrupted by someone asking for her signature on a clipboard. “Thanks,” she says as she passes it back. “Let’s get out of their way and take you to your bridal salon on the lower deck. I’ll take your duffle bag,” she offers while removing it from my rigid shoulder. I can’t believe the prestige this place holds.

My tongue skid
s nervously over my suddenly parched lips. I don’t know where the angst has erupted from; typical wedding day jitters or feeling intimidated by all the cachet I’m surrounded by. We do an about-face and the oil painting hanging on the wall of a man who had to have been from a time that I learned about in history class in high school catches my eye. The squaring of his narrow shoulders and the lifting of his chin tells me that a girl from a New Jersey projects isn’t whom he’d bequeathed this boat for.

We
head to a room below that I can tell has been strategically changed into
station glam squad
. Tessie informs that Adrian will be here, along with Chantal, who I’m now learning will be doing my makeup again. But here, waiting for me, are the assistants of Reba, the stylist Azmir had contracted for me for the
Mauve
signing. We had good chemistry, so I decided to take her on for the wedding. The other set of folks here are two that I don’t recognize, but I’m told by Tessie they’ll be doing my waxing, manicure, and pedicure.

The pine wood-laden room with a low ceiling
is sectioned off. One portion is for hair and makeup. Another is for my waxing, mani, and pedi and the last, which is nearly half, is for costume. Tessie informs that I’ll start with being sized—
as though I wasn’t just fitted for my gown two days before
—waxing, mani, and pedi, followed by a full body massage, a facial, two-hour nap, cocktail, hair, makeup, and then suiting of my gown. It’s just after six in the morning and these people are dutifully waiting for me. Butterflies evade my belly again.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it. I have to check on a few things in the kitchen…which reminds me
.” Tessie’s finger lifts in the air. “Your concierge will be here shortly. I’m at your beck and call…and here is your Motorola radio.” She hands me a walkie talkie. “Your channel is set already. Please make him aware of any needs you may have. There is a continental breakfast on the table over there, but if you want something else, Pierre will get it for you. Anything,” she emphasizes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have loads to do before Mr. Jacobs’ arrival.”

“Ummm…Tessie, where
is
Mr. Jacobs and when can I expect him?” I muster all the casualness I can to belie my embarrassment of not knowing where the man
that I’ll be marrying in a matter of hours
is or when he will arrive.

“He’s set to arrive at
zero nine hundred hours. The ceremony will begin promptly at two p.m., I am sure of that.” She ends on a wink.

“And paparazzi?” I ask tentatively.

The only request that I had for the planning of this is no uninvited outside forces into our bubble of a wedding day. Just in months, Azmir’s popularity seems to have tripled, and that’s saying a lot for the man who’s been a mogul for relatively four years. Going out to dinner on a Saturday night has become the hugest feat since his feature in
Vibe
and other publications. It’s as if someone has turned on a switch to fame overnight. I now have Google alerts set up for my husband-to-be, and the notifications are increasing by the day. I can match the accuracy of Azmir’s schedule by the candid shots found almost daily on popular blogs. I don’t want to share this day with many, and certainly not with the legions of new followers Azmir has recently accumulated.

“
Mr. Jacobs has made it crystal clear that you don’t want unauthorized pictures circulated,” Tessie assures. Actually, I want no pictures circulated, but that’s not an option, Azmir relayed to me regrettably. “I’ve been in contact with the team over at
Bacote & Taylor
regarding the monitoring of what information is out there, up to the moment, about today’s event. All guests are aware of the
no pictures
policy and have been given the information as to how they will receive photographs of the event at a later date,” Tessie informs and then goes to typing her perfect shade of red nails on her iPad as though to confirm something. “And Ms. Taylor will be here later to check on the activities herself,” she ends.

Dawn?

“She’s not a guest for this event,” fl
ies out of my mouth harsher than intend.

“No, she isn’t,” Tessie agree
s. “The nature of her visit here is to verify the last guest list provided and to scout the facilities for paparazzi. She will only be on the yacht for less than ten minutes, but on the premises until we sail.”

Tessie remain
s professional in her notification, but I’m a bit perturbed by Dawn’s lurking presence.

Tessie le
aves, and as advised, preparation for my big day commences immediately. I’m measured and pinched, supposedly for my undergarments. I didn’t know they made undergarments for the type gown that I’ll be wearing. The waxing is as distressing as it always is, and my mani and pedi is uneventful.

While on the massage table, I ponder over the oddity of not having been connected to Azmir in the past
few weeks. We’ve spoken several times a day, most days, but would go a day or so without a sight of each other.

There
’s been no discord between us, just a little distance and I wonder if it’s been by design. Azmir has worked like a dog, per usual, and has even traveled over the past few weeks. Though I’ve never shared it with him, I’ve been missing him like crazy. Over the past few weeks, there’s been traces of him, like his soiled clothes in the hamper of the master bathroom, or paperwork left behind on the coffee table in the sitting area of the master bedroom. He’d even stopped by my office unannounced one afternoon, but didn’t see me because I was in with a patient.

There was one evening, a few days ago when I was plagued with period symptoms, I entered the building and Roberto handed me a single rose and card with my name printed in Azmir’s calligraphy. Not being able to wait until I reached the privacy of the apartment, I ripped the envelope open on the elevator and almost immediately choked back a cry.

My dearest Ms. Brimm,

I know you’re miserably plagued with symptoms related to your
              menstrual cycle and I am all too regretful that I’m not there to help               you ease them. But consider the silver lining, this will be your last cycle as a single woman. The next time you’ll be my wife, my partner, my preferable obligation to soothe.

Cheer up, little girl, it’ll all be over soon.