Speak (The Voice trilogy Book 2) (3 page)

              I tear my hand from his and back against the wall opposite him, preparing for a showdown. I cannot believe that he just quit my job, humiliated me in front of his father, and then dragged me out of the room like a petulant child.

              “Was this a coincidence or a plot?” I demand. His smile is mocking, amused by my obvious anger, and my inability to manage it.

              “A bit of both, a happy accident, maybe fate.” His grin is electric, like a child on Christmas morning. “I have been biding my time, waiting for the right moment. I figured you needed time to cool down. Yes, we are here because I knew I would be close to you. I was planning, however, to see you after the weekend, after I had settled on a plan of action. I had no idea you would be here, tonight.  How could I?” He takes a step closer and I step back. “You caught me by surprise, a very happy surprise.”

              “Why?” My voice is smaller than I had intended. He takes a step closer and I step back. He sighs in resignation.

              “I told you the last time we were together that I was finding it harder and harder to be away from you. Leaving was so hard, staying away has been even harder. I just want to be near you.” His confession, open and honest, tugs at my bereft heart. My heart takes off, throbbing in the empty space he left.

              “I was not looking for anything when you stumbled on me that night, Sophie. I did not plan on you. You were a complete surprise. The most perfect, delicious, sexy surprise. You caught me off guard. The moment I saw you I knew I had to have you. I have never felt that way before. I am unaccustomed to being taken in like that. I didn’t like it. But, you, you climbed inside me and made yourself at home. You live here now.” He touches his long finger to his temple. “And here.” He splays his hand across his heart and squeezes, flexing his fingers, digging into his own, perfect flesh.

              He steps closer and I stay still. A slight smile rises at the corner of his mouth, he reads me like a book. He doesn’t reach out to touch me, just stands closer, taking a deep breath.

              “I couldn’t get a hold of you. You cancelled your phone.” Bewildered eyes stare back at me as his voice cracks, almost imperceptibly. “Your column went silent. You can be quite the ghost when you want to be. I have never been cut off like that.” He takes a step closer and I have to fight the very real urge to launch myself into his waiting arms. I want him to hold me, to touch me with those hands. But I have had too much time to think about it, too much time to stew. I need more from him, more information. I need my pound of flesh. I look up into his eyes and see the growing confidence, believing he has won. “I couldn’t have you thinking so badly of me.”

              “You don’t care what people think of you,” I declare, trying desperately to hold on to my slipping resolve.

              “I don’t,” he says, his hands lightly brush my arms, before he rests them on my shoulders gingerly, testing the waters, teasing every skin cell, calling my blood to rush to his touch. His silky palms slide up the pebbled skin of my arms before returning to my shoulders. His thumb dips into the hollow of my throat and he has gone too far. “I care what
you
think.”

              Before my mind can even hear what he has said, my mouth launches into the tirade I have been holding for weeks.

              “Why did you come here? That night with Collin, why did you come? You could have just flown straight through. No
layover
. It would all have faded, like it should have.” That is not the truth, but I am wounded, needing to strike at him. Wanting him to feel the pain that I felt, if anything he says is true. He winces at the venom I spew and steps back, his eyes turning dark. He scowls at me for a moment, an angry bull nursing a superficial wound.

              “Are you trying to be hurtful?” His voice is low and serious. His smoky eyes scorch me with a raw intensity I have never witnessed. “Are you
so
angry at me?” I take a step closer, regretting pushing him away. He frowns, knitting his brows together and I take a deep breath, knowing I will only have one chance to get all the words out.

              “No. Yes. I don’t know! I just feel like I can’t trust you, and I know I cannot trust myself around you. I have been two steps behind since the first night we met. Nadja was always there in Miami. And then you are there with her in the paper. Fine, but why? Why did you keep coming on to me after that? Just to hurt me? I don’t understand undertaking such extreme efforts for a piece on the side.”

              “You are very insecure,” he declares, too assured of himself and his opinion of me.

              “You don’t know me.”

              “I know parts of you very well.” He leers at me and curls his lip, leaning in closer.

              “You are lewd, Mr. Slate.”

              “You bring out the best in me, Sophie, what can I say?” He takes a step closer and I back away, the dance becoming too much. "You are trying to wound me, Sophie, but I see now that it is because I wounded you first."

               "How could I wound you? You hold all the heavy weapons in this fight.
"

               "Are we fighting?" The pause is chilling. "You don’t want to fight with me, Sophie. You will not win." His rapid shift in mood clears the air. Devoid of all his playfulness, he is cold, serious and out for blood.

               "I have nothing to fight with." My voice is small, but the weight and truth of the words is heavy and disheartening. He comes and goes as he pleases. Jet set and unencumbered, the world laid out at his feet, most women hovering there as well. How can I compete with that?

               "You have this." He reaches out, gently grazing my lips with his thumb. He rests his palm, heavy against my chest, leaning into me. Lowering his head, he takes a deep, controlled hit from my neck. He runs his nose up the curve under my chin and I swear I hear my teeth rattle. "And this," he murmurs against my neck, flexing his hand over my heart, while his tongue dips into the hollow at the base of my throat. It works. He ignites my blood in a heartbeat and slowly lets the anger seep out under the safe conduct of his gentle breath sliding across my skin. How easily he confounds me, proof of his utter control. I know I am no match for him. His gentle, dangerous brand of dominance my newest and most favorite weakness. His hands slide down my arms, sending a delicious chill racing down my spine. He laces his fingers with mine, so sensual and safe, pulling them to his mouth. Kissing the back of both of my hands, he sets my skin on fire.

              “Do you know how much it hurts to be right here, in front of you and not be able to hold you? You have plenty of weaponry. Come,” he coaxes, pulling me down the hall to the bank of elevators. “Let’s finish this conversation,” his smile gives him away, “in
private
.”

              When we get to his room, he pours me a drink and proffers me to sit, before he launches into his explanation.

              “I was committed to Nadja and the gala long before we met. We co-founded that foundation with my mother almost ten years ago. I honor my commitments, Sophie. Yes, we were together, as we have been every year. It is just part of the game.” There is that word again,
game
. My eyes narrow on him as he takes a seat at the other end of the sofa. “The press line, the pictures. It all brings in more money. The gossip columnists can write whatever they like, as long as we keep raising millions.” His tone is almost reproachful, making me feel suddenly selfish for focusing on something so trivial. “Nadja is a model, as you pointed out. The press line, red carpets, photographers, it’s her drug, her natural state of being. It is one of the few things she actually brings to the charity, all of her publicity and preening catches people’s attention.” He slides closer to me on the couch, still looking so crisp and completely unruffled in his custom tuxedo. He pulls on the bow tie to loosen the grip on his throat and I gasp. I want to undo that tie. He eyes me with a knowing grin before dropping his fingers from the tie.

              “I didn’t sleep with her if that’s what you think. In fact, I was so distracted by thoughts of you that I forgot an entire portion of my speech. I wore a gardenia in my lapel so I could smell you all night. And, if I remember correctly…” His fingers brush the back of my hand. “We had a very enlightening exchange that very evening, do you remember?” He bites his lip and closes his eyes for a long moment, humming at the delight of his memory. I squirm, remembering all too well what we did, flashes of his silky voice guiding my hands blaze a trail in my head. It’s as if he has planted a fresh memory, as if I could feel it all again right now. Amusement lights his eyes as they open to the sight of me trying not to writhe and squeal at his provocation. “That is what drove me to come see you. That is why I showed up when I did. And thank God that I did because what could have happened if I didn’t?” Inching ever closer, he reaches out and squeezes my knee.

              “How much more time are we going to waste?” His heat floods through me in a torrent, all the old sensations and sparks alight between us and my body hums for his brand, his hands, his mouth. And my heart is sated, rolling around in the warm delight of his adamant declaration. Winding his hand around my neck, he brushes his thumb across my cheek and he looks at my lips. This is the moment, the moment that I cave or stand.

              “Oh, no.” I hop to my feet before he can pin me to the couch, away from his hypnotic hands. He glowers for a split second before his eyes glaze over with a licentious, manipulative intent. Every inch of my body springs to attention with his smoking look. I tamp it down, unwilling to let my body betray me. I will not stay. He rises with purpose from the couch, slow and lithe. His eyes are narrowed on me and he pulls that lip through his teeth. A rattle erupts in my loins in unison with his teeth, ringing in my blood. Fight it! “That is not going to work.” I put my hands up in defense.

              “Are you saying
no
?” he scoffs, unbelieving and moves ever closer.

              “Yes, I believe I am.” I meet his stare with little capacity to return his intensity.

              “No.” He takes a step closer, rolling the word over his tongue. “Nobody says no.”

              “I do.” The resolve is leaking from my toes, pulling me into a quicksand of longing and weak knees. I need to get out now if I’m going to make it at all.

              “Hmm….twice now,” he murmurs quietly, scratching at his freshly shaved skin, pulled taught along his sculpted jaw. “Do you want me to beg?” His eyebrows crease and his lips curl into a sour scowl.

              “A little begging might be good for your ego.”

              “I have never had to beg for anything.”

              “Well, Mr. Slate, there is a first time for everything. And if you really want something, you should be willing to do whatever it takes to get it. And if that means to beg, then you will beg.” I bite back a wide, face-cracking grin. God, this is fun, but I better get out before I lose the upper hand. I make my way towards the door. “I think we solved a mystery here tonight.” His quizzical eyes search my face. “
How to keep Rhys’ attention
,” I muse, teasing him. “Just say,
NO
.”

              The humor doesn’t touch him. He looms over me, even though he is steps away.

              “What is happening here?”

              “I am going home.”

              “Why?”

              “There is something more. Something you’re holding back. I don’t want any part of it.”

              “Sophie, you have my attention. Please.” He reaches for me, hooking his finger around my thumb, trying to pull me nearer.

              “I am glad to have your attention, Rhys. Now you can watch me leave.” My hand is on the door and he is at my back.

              “Wait. That’s it?” Shaking his head in disbelief, I revel in my tiny victory, straighten my back and smile sweetly.

              “That’s it.” Pulling the door open, he lets me step into the hall, leaning on the door jam. He pulls my hand, not allowing me to get any further away. God, if I had known that playing hard to get was so fun, I would have done it sooner.

              “When can I see you?” His thumb caresses the back of my hand.

              “When you are ready,” I say, stepping into the elevator, taking my hand from his.

              “Ready for what?” he quizzes before the doors slide closed.

              “Ready to tell me the truth. The whole truth.” All I have is a disingenuous smile as the doors separate us. I am glad for the solitude, but ache for his presence. I got out of there just in time. I don’t know how much resolve I had left. The thirty minute drive will surely slow my racing pulse and calm my frayed nerves.

Chapter 3

              Driving home, adrenaline courses through me like a raging river. I am agitated, exhilarated and turned on. My skin prickles with heat. A slow simmer builds in my belly, the lazy after effects of Rhys’ mere presence. It is hot and still, the dark skies clear of clouds. Humidity hangs in the air from the summer rains. The bright white moon follows me home. Tugging my skirt up my thighs, tiny lightning strikes flare beneath my flesh where my fingers brush against my sensitive skin. I do it again and the sensation rings in my ears. Again on the other leg, the pads of my fingers like a velvet whisper across my hot flesh. Goose bumps pebble my exposed white thigh, and I am practically panting. Shifting in my seat, a silky wetness spreads between my legs. The heat and wet is an exquisite tease. I am so hot, and equally bothered.

              Deep down I had harbored hope that he would show up and gallantly sweep me off my feet. But now that he is here I am not sure what to do. I had longed for him to show, but didn’t count on it. Now he finds me flustered and caught off guard. I speed up, needing to get home quickly, to peel myself from this uniform that I no longer need, to slip into a bath and wash it all away. My pulse spikes as my foot presses the gas. I am propelled by my own singing blood. My whole body aches, aches to be caressed, kissed. Damn it! A breath catches in my throat as I turn into my neighborhood. My racing pulse pounds in each of my limbs, the longing has reached a fever pitch and I cannot wait to get inside. A ravenous need is threatening to consume me and it must be tamed. I will tame it myself.

              I run a steaming hot bath and strip quickly, impatient and irritated at what he so easily does to me. Slipping beneath the steamy, soap filled water, I try and relax. Dropping my shoulders, I sink into the water and close my eyes. But damn him, he is right there. Behind my lids he dances, that crooked grin and tight body taunting me. A growl escapes my throat and I startle myself. I let the warm water loosen my muscles and soften my skin before my hands begin to travel. Up and over the soft curve of my breasts, I take a deep breath, waiting to feel the fire I have so sorely missed. My hands mimic his, following the trails he blazed across my skin. I cup myself and pinch my aching nipples, twisting them between my fingers. My fingers skate up my neck and across my collar bone as a small whimper escapes my lips. Yes, this is what I so desperately need. It is dangerous to be around him, to even lay eyes on him when I am so tightly wound. I should do this every day just as a precaution. Surely, I can supply myself with the pleasure I need. The pleasure that will keep me firmly grounded in reality.

              My fingers circle my belly button, float over my hips and beneath the water. I try and steady my breath, to focus on my hands, my burning core and the heat that is erupting from between my thighs. Even under the water I can feel the heat, the need that churns within. Teasing myself, I gently run the tip of my finger up and over my begging mound. Through the tightly shorn curls, I twist and tease, hoping for relief, hoping to ignite that lovely burn. Dipping my finger just between my lips, I seek out the treasure. That tightly wound bundle of nerves that can release me from this hell, this torturous aching. Around and around, my fingers roll and press. My breath quickens and my core tightens. Yes, relief is close at hand. Around and around until my head begins to spin, a dull hum settling all over my skin.

              “Just a little more,” I moan out loud in anticipation, and rub harder. Deeper, I push two fingers beyond the folds and sink into myself. “Aahh.” Yes. The sensation builds, higher and higher until I am at the cliff. Standing on the edge, just a little more. I press harder, rub faster. Yet I remain perched, stuck. I rub and rub and rub until my fingers twitch, until my body protests. Nothing! A whimper rips from my lips as I push harder, rub faster and press down on my clit until my fingers are pushed off.

              My body has betrayed me! A frustrated roar erupts from my chest as my hands fall to my sides. Damn it! I am stuck and more frustrated than ever. I move to try again, but my over worked core cries out in denial. And I have lost the battle. I am doomed to remain on this edge. Looking out over the abyss that I want so badly to swallow me up, I am doomed and anchored to the spot. Unable to relieve myself, I curse Rhys and angrily climb from the tub.

              After a brutal scrubbing with a towel, I lotion my skin head to toe, throw on cotton shorts and a tank and make my way to the kitchen. If I cannot relieve this frustration the old fashioned way, perhaps I can push it away with food. I search my sadly empty cupboards and fridge, nothing. I guess I will have to settle for yet another peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If I do not go shopping and buy some groceries soon, I am sure to turn into a human PB & J sandwich. I pull the strawberry preserves from the fridge and grab the bread. Searching for an almost empty jar of peanut butter, I hear a faint knock on my door that sends my pulse racing. I look at the clock on the stove and it is after midnight.

              “Sophie? Are you up?” I freeze, my muscles twisting tighter. I didn’t think I could be wound any tighter, but I was wrong. Just the sound of his voice twists me up in knots so tight I could snap right where I stand. I wait for a moment to make sure I actually heard his voice, and decide what to do. Should I pretend to be asleep? Wait for him to leave? Even as I think it, I know I don’t want that. He has frayed my nerves, twisted my body up, but in the most delicious way and I know I do not want to pass up this opportunity. I do not want him to turn and walk away. I wait, wanting to make him wait.

              Standing against the counter, I try and catch my breath, to tame my heartbeat before I answer the door, but I am robbed. Robbed of the opportunity to let him in as I hear a key slide into the lock, and my teeth start grinding, my jaw so tense it may shatter.

              “Sophie?” His voice is softer as he slowly pushes the door open and peeks around. Standing stock still, I wait. He pulls his key from the door, closing it quietly behind him before he turns. His eyes grow wide when he finally sees me, hopefully appearing casual as I hold on to the counter for fear that I may just haul off and hit him.

              A wide, guilty smile spreads across his face when our eyes meet. A slight tick at the corner of his eye tells me he sees the rage flaring in mine. Before I can burst into flames, he closes the door behind him and drops his keys to
my
house onto the kitchen table.

              “I’m ready.” I regard him shrewdly, feeling anxious and thrilled. “I will tell you anything you want to know, Sophie. All you have to do is ask.” I turn my back unable yet to form a response, and pull out two more pieces of bread and spread them with peanut butter.

              He presses up behind me, wrapping his arms around me and I freeze. Summoning every ounce of resistance I can, but he pushes me over the edge with a swift kiss on my shoulder and I jump. Pushing him across the narrow expanse of the kitchen, I press him to the refrigerator and hand him a sandwich.

              “You stay there, no touching.” Excitement flares in his eyes like a slowly stoking fire. He is too sure of himself and it is maddening and electrifying. I want to let him do all sorts of depraved things to me. But I cannot just fall down for him. I don’t want this to be easy. But, what I wouldn’t do to have those lips on my needy skin. The corner of his mouth turns in that crooked way that makes my insides beg for mercy. Oh, I hate that he can read me like that! I have to make him wait, I can do that much. Make him sweat it out, suffer at least a little bit, if even for a moment. I hop up onto the counter and sit across from him, my feet swinging high above the kitchen floor. He watches me take a bite of my peanut butter sandwich before stepping closer. I press my foot to the center of his chest and hold him at bay with my leg stretched across the kitchen. “Uh uh.” The peanut butter is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

              “What was that, Ms. Noelle? I cannot understand you. Did you say come here?” He slides his fingers around my ankle, but I push him back, shaking my head. I hold a finger up, needing a minute, a time out to take a drink of milk and release my jaw from this peanut butter prison. I quickly wash my sandwich down while his face flares with humor. “You want me to stay over here? Really?”

              “Yes. You cannot just come over here,
let yourself in
, and rub up on me like nothing happened. You do not have that right, Mr. Slate.” A silly grin hinders my delivery.

              “Then I will earn that right,” he returns, his face serious and determined. He has caught me off guard and I have no response, and before I can try to form one, he takes over. “I am serious, Sophie.” He stays glued to the fridge. “I am sorry that I hurt you. I will
never
do it again.” The conviction in his eyes is heavy and honest, filling the silence between us. I drop my foot and end the standoff, unable to deny him when he has declared his intentions so boldly. We both slowly finish our peanut butter and jelly, allowing the silence to settle between us.

              “Tell me about her.”

              “There is a long history between us. Our fathers were business partners at one point, our mothers close friends.” He looks at me through clear eyes. “We grew up together, we grew bored together.” He pauses, shaking his head. “When you have the world at your fingertips and you are still bored, things can go very wrong. She was like a force of nature. She would breeze in and out of town between jobs, or we would meet on holiday. We all traveled in the same circles, when you went certain places, you just knew you would run into someone. But, out of the blue, she ran off and married some photographer two years ago.” There is no emotion in his eyes, he is just relaying a story that happened to someone else. “They promptly divorced seven months later, and she came running back, as was her way.” He looks up at me through dark lashes, but I offer no reaction. I want to hear it all, so I bite my tongue and listen. “Things escalated quickly, as they always do with her, but this time was different. Watching Matthew and Olivia plan for their wedding, and looking at myself. Myself and Nadja, it just made me sick. I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. Taking things just because you can, using people because they let you.”

              I am frozen, listening to him spill a lifetime of dirt in my kitchen, while clutching a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that I made.

              “I didn’t want any of it any more. There was no challenge. I grew up, gave in and started working with my father in New York and I have kept myself sufficiently busy ever since.” He pops the last piece of sandwich in his mouth before washing it down with a swig of milk. My mind races in the silent moment. Wanting to know so much more, but so grateful that he has so easily opened up, I let the notion wash over me and decide that it is enough. For now, it is enough.

              “Her father, Viktor Vladova, his company is being liquidated. I have been working with him to try and salvage what we can, and that is where Nadja comes in. She showed up in New York that first day that I met you, come to think of it. She showed up begging me to help her father. I told her then that we were over, but I would do what I could for Victor. I had to remind her again, in Miami, and she has been a pain in my side ever since.”

              I wrinkle my nose and try to look playful. Not to let him see any of this information bog me down. I can be comfortable with his past, if that is what it is. We are adults. We are bound to have lived before we knew one another, there is no fault there, just a little occasional haunting from a supermodel. He takes a step closer and holds his hands out.

              “Can I touch you now?” I cannot even play coy, and I don’t try. I want him to touch me, my skin is silently begging for the warm brand of his hand. I put my legs down and slide to the edge of the counter, eager.

              “If you must.” I wiggle my shoulders as he places those hands on my hips. They sear my skin with a white hot lust that oozes from his strong fingertips. He pulls me close to him and I wrap my feet around his hips. In a flash, his hands are in my hair, pushing it back, fisting it and tugging before our mouths tangle in a languid, passion filled kiss. My lips swell from the force of his mouth as he moves to my neck and across my shoulder.

              “God, I have missed this,” he murmurs between kisses. Before I can mutter a word, he has my mouth in a tangle again, his tongue pushing against mine in a sinful dance. I moan out loud and it sets him off. He rips the shirt over my head, wrapping his hands around my breasts faster than they can fall. He dips his head and takes one into his mouth, laving the delicate skin around my nipple with the flat of his tongue before he sucks the bud into his mouth and nips me with his teeth. My passion spikes and I grip his head in my hands and tug him away. He looks up at me with feral, lusty eyes and all my defenses are spent. I cannot believe that I lasted this long because I am about to pounce on this man.

              “Take me to bed,” I demand in a throaty whisper that I have never heard before.