RISE - Part One (The RISE Series Book 1) (4 page)

"We're opening a Liore location in Los Angeles in three months." Gabriel buttons his suit jacket as he turns to look at me. He's standing in front of a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook lower Manhattan. He's imposing and when he called me directly earlier to ask me to stop by his office, I had pushed my excitement aside and had handled the conversation like the professional I want to be.

Now, less than an hour later, I can almost feel another check in my hands. He's about to ask me to handle the launch of that boutique.

"That's exciting," I offer merely out of respect. It matters little to me where the next Liore store opens. What does matter is that I become the only person Gabriel Foster considers when he's thinking of planning an event that will draw the right balance of publicity and potential customers.

"I want you to put together a proposal for a grand opening event." He nods towards where I'm seated on a black leather sofa.  "The fashion show last week was pure genius, Tess. Some of the footage the guests captured on their smartphones has gone viral. I want something just as unique for Los Angeles."

I should be intimidated by that, but I'm not. I've been bouncing ideas around in my own mind since I left the warehouse after the show that night. I anticipated being asked to handle the launch of the next boutique opening which means I'm already past the pre-planning stage. I want to run my idea of a portable pop-up lingerie shop past him.

The idea is simple, yet the impact would be far-reaching. If we rent an enclosed truck and turn it into a mobile Liore pop-up boutique, we can drive a level of interest that can't be paralleled with a simple launch party complete with champagne and expensive canapés.  We drive the truck through the streets of Los Angeles, stopping at a different location twice a day for the entire week preceding the official opening of the store. The impact that would have on social media would be vast. The women, and men, visiting the portable boutique would be encouraged to take pictures and post them online.

"I'd like to hear your proposal next week. Do you think that's enough time for you to formulate a plan?"

I smile. I have only a few logistical matters to clear before I present my idea to him. I want to make certain that my idea won't be greeted with any unforeseen challenges in California, so I still have a few calls to make and items to mark off my checklist. "I can meet on Monday morning. Does that work for you, Mr. Foster?"

He tilts his chin towards me with a quick cock of his left brow. "Monday morning is fine. I'll have my assistant call to firm up the time."

"That's perfect," I say as I straighten in my seat. "I'm looking forward to working together again."

He may not say a word in response, but the curve of his lips into a sly smile, says it all.

***

"Are you here on official business, Tess?"

I almost run him over as I exit the elevator in the lobby of the building that houses Foster Enterprises. My left hand lands on his chest which is covered by a light blue dress shirt. Even though he's wearing jeans with it, he looks polished and urbane. The man definitely knows how to dress himself which may or may not have something to do with the fact that his friend runs one of the most successful fashion brands in the world.

"Landon," I say his name although I quickly realize there's no reason to. I sound breathy and flustered which makes sense given that's exactly how I feel. As soon as I'd stepped into the elevator, my fingers began frantically skimming across my smartphone's screen. I was typing notes related to the event that I'd just discussed with Gabriel. When I heard the chime and felt the jarring stop that signaled the lift's arrival in the lobby, I'd followed the others who had occupied the car with me as they began to exit and that was when I heard his voice. It's deep, gruff and has an unmistakable growl to it.

"Were you here to see Gabriel?" He gestures towards the still open doors of the elevator.

I glance down and that's when I realize that I'm the reason the lift hasn't charged back up to the higher floors of the building at full speed. I'm standing right on the threshold of the elevator. The heavy steel doors won't close until the area is clear and the grumbled complaints of the few passengers who are now boarded and ready to get moving finally brings me back to reality.

I take a heavy step towards Landon who firmly stands his ground. The toes of my red pumps are now touching his black loafers. This is the closest I've been to him. I pull in a deep breath as I remind myself that this is the same man who took his hasty leave at dinner the other night when my pops couldn't stop calling me.

"How have you been?" Yes, that's my voice. It came out of nowhere. That's wrong. It came out of my desire to talk to him. "Have you flown any airplanes lately?"

If the man needed another reason to label me immature, inexperienced or way too young for him, I just handed it to him on a silver platter. I actually just asked a pilot if he's flown any airplanes lately.

Fuck my life.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I have." He flashes a wide grin as he leans down and closer to me. "I'd like to tell you all about it over lunch."

"Lunch?" I gaze down at my watch but once again, any sense of calm it may offer isn't there. "It's lunch time."

"That's why I suggested we have lunch." He runs the last word over his tongue with a slow roll. "Are you busy or do you have time for a bite?"

I have time for a bite, or a lick or whatever those full, moist lips and that tempting mouth that is hovering so close to me is offering. "I can eat."

"I noticed that the other night," he counters with a raise of both brows. "I know the perfect place. The food is delicious."

"Lead the way." I motion towards the main doors of the building. "I'm right behind you."

"This is your apartment," I point out the obvious after he closes the door behind me.

"I'm going to make you lunch."

I look around the modest space. I'm not sure what I expected when we approached the building. There wasn't a maître d' in sight. The tempting fragrance of overpriced food didn't greet me.

I didn't miss a step as I followed him through the lobby and watched him nod towards the doorman. I smiled sweetly when we boarded the elevator with several other people and I willingly got off on the sixth floor with him. Now, I'm standing in the foyer of his place, with no one else in sight. I either just walked into a trap or I'm about to find out if Landon Beckett possesses any skills as a chef.

"You can cook?" I blurt the question out with a smile. "I mean, a lot of people in the city don't cook."

"I cook." He reaches for my purse. "One of my closest friends is a chef.  He taught me everything I know about food. You may have heard of him. His name is Tyler Monroe."

Everyone who knows food in Manhattan has heard of Tyler Monroe. He's one of the fastest rising stars in the culinary world. I caught my first glimpse of him two months ago when he was on one of the morning shows on television doing a cooking segment. Admittedly, it was the way he looked that first caught my eye. He's gorgeous, in a just-rolled-out-of-bed kind of way. I'd actually sat down with my coffee to watch the entire segment, even though I had every intention of getting to my office early to cold call some potential new clients.

"Do you know who he is, Tess?"

Judging by the playful lilt in his voice I instantly wonder if he's teasing me. I set myself up for it when I acted like an infatuated school girl back at the offices of Foster Enterprises. He's probably expecting me to tell him that the only chef I know is the guy who works the grill at the fast food place that's two doors down from my building.

I place my hand on my waist. "I know exactly who Tyler Monroe is. He's been the head chef at some of the most prestigious restaurants here and in Boston. He's opening a new restaurant with the owner of Axel, Hunter Reynolds, soon. My cousin's husband is an investor in that."

A ghost of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth but it's gone in a flash. "Your cousin is Ivy Marlow? You two are related?"

I'm not surprised that he knows who Ivy is. Her custom designed jewelry pieces have been popping up on the necks, ears and wrists of celebrities for the past few years. She may not be a household name yet, but it's not uncommon for an article about her, and her success, to be featured in the financial news or the arts section of one of the country's major newspapers.

"Our fathers are brothers," I confess. "I'm very proud of her."

"I don't blame you." He studies my face. "She's incredibly talented. I've seen a few pictures of her. She's stunning. You have the same green eyes as her."

I don't feel anything but gratitude at the words. Ivy is one of the most beautiful women I've ever known. There is a slight family resemblance in our features but the similarity in our eyes is unmistakable. Her eyes are the same faint green that mine are. "She is stunning."

His brow furrows slightly. "You're even more gorgeous than she is."

The intention behind the words may be to pull a blush from me but that's not the reaction he gets. I want the compliment to be rooted in truth so I accept it as such with a gracious smile. "Thank you."

"I thought you were breathtaking when I first saw you on the airplane." His eyes scan my face. "I had trouble focusing for the rest of the flight."

That's flattering, but at the same time, it's hardly reassuring. I push past the instant anxiety I always feel when I think about flying. "I should apologize for what I said to Gabriel's mom."

"Gianna," he corrects me gently as he steps closer.

"Yes, Gianna," I repeat back. "I wasn't thinking clearly when I said those things."

"What things exactly?" he whispers the question just as his fingers leap to my chin.

Instinctively I know I should pull back. I should quiet my body's need with my rational mind and tell this incredibly handsome man that I need to get back to my office. Instead, I swallow hard and lick my lips before I literally pant a quick breath. "I said things about you."

His eyes drop to my mouth and his own tongue darts out to moisten his lips. "You told her you like my voice."

It's the tamest thing I said to her about him. I'd closed my eyes when he first spoke from the cockpit to the full capacity international flight. His voice was a calming force for me and when the plane had taxied down the runway towards take-off, I'd imagined a composed, confident, indestructible man at the helm of the aircraft.

"You have a nice voice." In my unabashed attempt not to stare at his lips I drop my gaze to his jaw which is covered in the soft stubble of his beard.

His index finger slowly glides over my bottom lip. "What do you like about it?"

I look up and we lock eyes. "It's deep. It's strong."

"What else did you say to Gianna?"

I almost moan aloud when his finger slowly glides from my lips down my chin before it slides slowly over the smooth, soft skin of my neck. "I said that I wanted to touch you."

I actually told her, in no uncertain terms, that if I was going to lose my sky high virginity that he'd be the one to take it. I may have been feeling a little tipsy during that conversation, but I was still cognizant of the words coming out of my mouth.  I didn't want to be crude, but my body had been aching for his touch.

Any fleeting glance I may have caught of his face was lost in my panic over the turbulence that sent me into his arms when I exited the lavatory. My desire for him had been driven by the intoxicating smell of his cologne mixed with the sheer masculine strength in his touch when he'd grabbed hold of my arms. I'd sheepishly apologized for panicking and when he'd leaned down to assure me that he'd keep me safe, my body's response had been primal. I'd never felt that before and as I lowered myself back into seat 2B and watched him walk back into the cockpit, I wondered what it would feel like to be kissed and taken by a man like that.

"You wanted me that night." He gestures towards my body. "Tell me you still want me now."

"More now than I did then," I whisper, my lips hovering next to his.

His eyes close briefly as a faint smile flows across his mouth. "That's all I need to hear."

I lick my lips and before I have time to register what's happening, his hands slide up to my face. He cups my cheeks in his palms, tilts my head slightly to the left and slides his moist, soft lips over mine.

He groans into my mouth as his hands glide from my face to my body. His kiss is experienced and gentle with just the right amount of tamed aggression. It pulls all of my desire to the surface in an instant.

I can't stop myself when my hands jump to his neck. I pull him closer wanting to deepen the kiss. He acquiesces and before I can register what's happening, his hand is on my back, inching lower. I curve myself into him, wanting my body to speak to his about the uncontainable want I feel.

"Tess," he whispers my name against my lips. "Tell me you want me to fuck you."

Forming a coherent response isn't going to happen. I tighten my grip on the back of his head and push my lips deeper into his. I want my need to speak for itself. I curve my body into his, acutely aware of the firm outline of his rock hard chest and abs against me.

He spins me around with an effortless ease that literally causes my breath to catch in my throat. I'm now pushed against the back of a leather couch, my ass planted firmly against it while he presses his entire body into mine.

I reach back to try and find some balance. I feel so lightheaded that I fear I'll fall forward into him. He catches my hand in his, pulling it into his chest. I want to slide it lower. I want to wrap my hand around the erection I now feel through the denim of his jeans. I want to drop to my knees and take him between my lips so I can hear the sounds he makes when he's finding his release. I want to taste him. I want to give him pleasure because I know, based just on the way he's kissing me, that he'll take me to a place that I've never been before.

"Jesus, please." His voice falls into the heated flesh of my neck as he drops his face. "Tess."

I don't want him to stop. I don't want there to be a moment of hesitation because if there is, this uncontrollable desire that we're both feeling will fade and he may realize that he's making out with a woman who is almost an entire decade younger than him.

I've seen the hesitation in his eyes when he's spoken to me. I heard it in his voice when he excused himself for the evening after my father called me at the restaurant. I want to have the chance to show him that even if I was born years after he was, that I know how to bring a man to the edge and hold him there. I know how to move my body so his feels the same height of pleasure that mine does.

He pulls back and as his heavy lidded eyes lock on mine I sense something pass between us. His lips part not more than a touch before the words leave him in a breathless rush. "I have to stop."

"Why?" I ask in a blunt tone.

He rests his forehead against mine as he works to level his labored breathing. His lips curve into a small smile. "I'm trying to be responsible here. Let me do that for you."

I can't absorb the words. All I can do is think about how soft his lips are and how aroused we both were when he was kissing me with a fevered need that I hadn't felt from any man before.

"You don't have to be responsible," I say quietly. "I know what I'm doing."

He shakes his head so slightly that the movement itself is almost indistinguishable. The heavy sigh that accompanies it says much more to me. "I want to talk first. I want to understand."

He wants to understand?

I know he wants to understand about the man who wrote me that romantic proposal. He wants to understand how so much emotion can suddenly disappear. He wants to have insight into a relationship that was once beautiful and secure but has now broken into so many pieces that all the apologizes, and promised changes in the world can't put it back together again.

I pull back because I know that anything that may have happened between us has now passed. Kissing him again will only provide a temporary reprieve from his curiosity.

He's older than me and maybe as our hearts move through time and each year takes their toll we need to understand others more. I'm tempted to tell him that it's none of his business but judging by the way his body reacted to our kiss, he wants it be his business.

"You want to talk about him, don't you?" I purse my lips together before I spit out the question in a huff. "You want to know about the man who wrote that letter to me."

He nods before scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I can't fuck a woman who is in a relationship with someone else. I need to understand before we…"

"Before we have sex?" I interrupt, vaguely aware of how needy my tone is.

He doesn’t try and mask the movement of his eyes as they rake slowly over my body hidden beneath the navy blue wrap dress I chose to wear to my meeting with Gabriel. My nipples are hard and their shape is shamelessly visible through the fabric. I'm wet and although he can't see or feel it, I know he can sense it. I wasn't trying to quiet my desire for him at all when he had me pushed against the couch just mere moments ago.

"I know that relationships can be complicated," he begins as he rubs his hand over his jaw. "People sometimes cheat or lie to get what they want."

I don't know the pain that comes with the level of betrayal. My broken relationship didn't fall apart because one of us was unfaithful or hiding behind a life-changing secret. His other love was fame and as he became more and more infatuated with his own notoriety, I became nothing more than an accoutrement. I would fly to London, Milan, San Francisco or wherever he was and hide in the shadowed background away from the harsh glare of the public, while he'd tell me stories about the lengths people would go to in order to be near him.

My ex-boyfriend may be successful on paper and within the limits that many set for themselves, but he was a disappointment to me. When push came to shove and I needed him here in New York, he bailed in favor of a ski trip in Aspen with his friends.

"Did someone cheat on you?" I try to straighten my dress, pulling on the belt around my waist to tighten it.

"No. At least not that I know of." He swallows hard. "I've seen other people lie to each other. I've seen people hurt one another. "

"I'm not cheating on him. I never cheated on Ansel." I stop myself when I hear his name from my lips. I haven't said it aloud to another person since I told my father that my relationship with my college sweetheart had ended.

He rakes both of his hands through his hair. "Did he cheat on you? Is that why you won't marry him?"

The question makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I don't want to talk about my former boyfriend with a man I may only sleep with once. This conversation is too heady and thick for the promise of a moment of pleasure. Landon Beckett doesn't strike me as the type of person who is actively looking for a relationship. I don't picture his smiling profile on a dating website. This is a man whose entire persona screams one night stands and short term relationships.

I adjust my hair over my shoulders. I had taken time and care this morning to straighten it for my meeting with Gabriel. I wanted to look mature and in control. Ironically I feel none of that right now. "I don't see why my ex-boyfriend should factor into anything between us, Landon. What we had is over. It's done."

"How is it done?" He eyes me carefully. "Ansel Rinaldi wrote that letter to you didn't he?"

Fuck. Just fuck.