Until I'm Yours (15 page)

I don’t know what to do with this. I’ve never wanted a woman with this intensity. It’s more than the softness of her breasts pressed into me. More than the long slim legs that bracket my hips as I stretch her back on the couch. More than the heat of our bodies seeking each other. This feels so good, and there’s only one thing I want more than to be inside her body right now: to know what’s in her heart, what’s in her head. But I can’t stop. For the first time in my life, I literally don’t think I can stop. Me, the master of control, is spiraling into this heat so deeply I can’t remember why I should stop.

I
won’t
stop, and she won’t stop me.

But my phone stops us. Harold’s damn ring tone sings from my pocket.

“Dammit,” I mutter against her lips. “It’s Harold.”

“Don’t answer.” She reaches down, gripping my cock. “Stay with me, Bishop.”

I will. I dip my head to take her mouth again while her hand pulls on me through my pants. Just when I’m sure I’ll explode in her hands, the strident ring tone shatters the passion, no matter how much we try to ignore it. Sofie breathes heavily and pulls back.

“I think I remember him disturbing us last night riiiiiiight around this time.” She gives me a quick peck, pulling the sweatshirt up to cover her breasts. “You better get it. And tell Harold he’s a cock blocker.”

We both laugh, and I reluctantly pull away from her warm body, sitting up and pulling my phone from my pocket.

“The world better be on fire, Smith.”

“Were you busy?” Harold asks.

“Uh, I’m on a date, remember?”

“Oh.” A pause while he remembers Sofie. “Ohhhhhh. Sorry, man, but I thought you’d want to see this story on CNN. Are you near a TV?”

“Yeah.” I look at Sofie. “Remote?”

She opens a drawer in the ottoman in front of the couch and pulls out the remote, offering it to me.

On-screen I recognize Marcus Clarke, a South African businessman and current leader of the Collective, right away. He’s being led away in handcuffs, and the headline mentions financial misappropriations and sexual misconduct.

“Dammit, they found out,” I say to Harold.

“Yeah, so much for people thinking Clarke was just seeking other opportunities. I know you were hoping the truth wouldn’t come out, but looks like it has.”

“Thanks. Guess I’ll be dealing with this all day tomorrow.” I blow out a frustrated breath, flopping back into the cushions and watching the footage. “See you when I get home.”

“Yeah, we can compare dates.” His voice turns eager. “Henri and I had dinner again.”

“That’s a great idea, Smith. And maybe then we can give each other manicures and braid our hair.” I can’t help but laugh at him, but he can take it. We’ve been giving each other a hard time for nearly fifteen years. “What the fuck?”

“Okay, you’re right.” He laughs at himself and probably at me. “Night.”

“Yeah.” I hang up and study the shit storm playing out on Sofie’s flat screen.

“This is bad, right?” Sofie scoots close, leaning her head on my shoulder.

“Yeah.” I settle back, wrapping my arm around her. “We knew about all the things he’d done. We’re actually forcing him to resign, but we didn’t want to expose all of his misappropriations and other shit, not to protect him, but to protect the integrity of the Collective. So much for that.”

She tilts her head back, eyes concerned.

“What’s this mean for you?”

“Nothing.” I kiss the corner of her mouth before pulling back, studying the flawless bone structure and wide mouth that so obsessed Esteban Ruiz. “It just means the leader we choose will have to have a clean nose. Spotless, actually. Be above reproach in every way.”

“Which you are, right?” She smiles, resting her head back on my shoulder.

“Far as I know.” I brush my hand over the cool silk of her hair. “I—”

The next story catches my eye, and I stop to tune in.

“Wow, it’s a night for scandal, apparently.” I nod my head toward the screen. “I wonder how that prick Kyle Manchester will handle this. I knew I didn’t like him for a reason.”

Sofie stiffens beside me, pulling away completely and sitting up on the edge of her seat, eyes glued to the screen.

The headline proclaims that some intern is accusing Kyle Manchester of raping her years ago. Apparently the statute of limitations is up, but Shaunti Miller wanted to step forward and speak out before Manchester is elected senator next year.

“Brave girl.” I rub Sofie’s back, but it’s not soft and yielding. The muscles are tight like marble under my hands. “Sof? You okay, darlin’?”

The endearment keeps slipping out. Chalk it up to my Southern roots. Or maybe the fact that my dad always called my mom that, and…shit. I need to slow down. My mom and dad? If Sofie even suspected that’s where I went in my head, she’d probably change her phone number. But right now, that seems to be the least of her concerns. She’s on her feet, walking in tiny circles like a wind-up toy. Pushing her hair back. Wrapping her arms around her body.

“Sofie, are you okay?” I stand and stop her pacing, holding her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

She lifts her eyes to me and lies. Just as sure as I know my own name, I know she’s lying.

“Nothing.” She creases her mouth into a smile as fake as the tofu in her takeout. “I’m fine. Just tired. Mind if we call it a night?”

I look back at the screen, seeing pictures of Manchester smiling that too-white politician smile and the young woman accusing him of rape. I was so distracted by the Collective drama, it’s taking me time to assemble things in my mind, but now I remember Sofie’s reaction to Manchester at the dinner the night we met. The silent messages they exchanged with each glance until she left the table like she was being chased.

Motherfucker.

“Did he hurt you?” It comes out harsher than I intended, the abrasion of my tone making her jump slightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…Sofie, did Kyle Manchester hurt you?”

She drops a curtain over her eyes, over her whole face, and lies to me again.

“No.” She shakes her head adamantly. “No, of course not. I just…we went to high school together. He’s one of my father’s associates. So, I was, um, shocked, of course. That’s all.”

“Sofie, you know you can tell me if—”

“I have early meetings.” She steps out of my hold, adjusting her sweatshirt until her shoulder is covered, gripping the fabric with white knuckles. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

This is another time when I want to push because if he did what I think he did, I’ll crush Kyle Manchester. But Sofie looks more fragile than I’ve ever seen her. Strain paints a tight, white circle around her mouth. Her eyes are dark, the pupils stretched like she’s in shock. And when I take her hands and raise them to my lips, they’re cold. She is like ice, so frozen she could shatter with just the slightest pressure. So I don’t press right now. I just drop a kiss on her hair and walk out the door.

I
stare at the sketches splayed across my desk, but don’t see them. I haven’t really seen anything since that report last night on Kyle and the woman accusing him of raping her eight years ago. His face and hers burn my retina, leaving a phantom impression that eclipses everything else. His face—confident and smug. Hers—resolved, but frightened.

I give up. I’m useless today.

I push away from the desk, spinning my seat around to consider the busy street outside my window. I could have been uptown, in the heart of New York City’s business world, but I chose Soho for my office. A little slower. A hub for artisans. Charming. It’s a little more of a drive each day, but Baker doesn’t mind having the extra minutes with me, I don’t think.

“Sof,” Stil says from my office door.

I drag my eyes away from the street below, forcing myself to meet my friend’s stare.

“Yeah, Stil. What’s up?”

“Walsh is on the line.” She raises one brow and runs her tongue over her front teeth. “He says he’s been calling your cell all morning.”

“I’ve been busy.” I shrug, glancing at the phone on the edge of my desk.

Stil walks into the office, running her fingers over the same three sketches on the desk’s surface from an hour ago.

“Yes, I see you’re making so much progress here.”

I shake my head, collapsing into my seat again.

“Tell him I’m in a meeting and that I’ll call him later.”

“Before I deliver that message, he said to let you know if you brush him off, he’s coming to Soho.”

“Son of a…” I scoot forward and pick up the handset. “Line two?”

“Yep,” Stil says, closing the office door behind her.

“Walsh, heard you needed me?”

“I needed you two hours ago.” Irritation almost outweighs the concern in his voice. “But you’ve been ignoring my calls.”

“Maybe I’ve been busy all morning.”

“Sof, it’s me.” He lets out a frustrated breath. “You saw the news last night? About Kyle Manchester?”

“Yeah, I saw.” I lean back, crossing one leg over the other and tapping my shoe against the desk. “We’ve talked about this, Walsh. If Shaunti Miller wants to tell her story, then—”

“She’s not.”

My foot stops tapping. I sit up, resting my forehead in one hand.

“But last night—”

“That was last night.” Walsh’s deep voice goes softer. “This morning, she withdrew her accusations.”

“But why? What happened?”

“If I were to guess, Manchester’s people found something to force her back in the closet.”

A rock, hard and cold, sits in my chest where my heart should be. I can’t let myself feel anything because if I feel anything, I’ll feel
everything
. And it’s too much. After all these years, it’s too much.

“Walsh, what do you expect me to do?”

“What do you
want
to do, Sof?”

What I want to do is hard. It’s dangerous. It thrusts me into the center of a horrific storm. What I want to do, I don’t think I’m strong enough to try.

“I want to keep doing what I’ve been doing for the last fifteen years,” I finally answer, keeping my voice steady. “Put this behind me. Keep moving forward.”

“Sof, if someone as high profile as you are came forward, it might encourage Shaunti to tell her story in spite of what they have on her. Or there could be women we don’t even know about who are afraid to tell their stories.”

“I can’t.” Panic crawls up from a dark hole in my belly.

“At least tell your father. He’s aggressively selling Manchester to the board as a sure thing.”

How do you admit your own father doesn’t care that you were raped? That he is actively pursuing business with the man who did you such harm?

“He knows, Walsh. I told him.”

The silence on the other end puffs up with Walsh’s outrage, his anger, his disappointment. All the things I felt at first, but have gotten used to.

“And he…” Walsh falters. “Ernest knows what happened and is still doing business with that bastard?”

“He thinks I’m remembering it differently than it probably happened. He—”

“Bullshit,” Walsh snaps. “You may have been drunk when you finally told me about it, Sof, but you told me enough. The bruises, the—”

“Stop.” I don’t need him to detail any of it. I’ve spent all this time doing a great job of forgetting. “Just leave it alone, Walsh.”

“I swore to you then I wouldn’t expose this,” Walsh says. “I won’t expose your secret if you’re not ready to, but I’ll work around it.”

“What does that mean?” I lean forward, barely sitting in my seat at his words.

“It means that Bennett’s not doing business with a rapist.” Walsh pauses before going on. “Sof, your father is setting himself against me at every turn, on every front. This could get ugly.”

“Trevor seemed to think Uncle Martin’s retiring soon, and that you and my father would end up battling for leadership of Bennett.”

“Trevor?” Something lightens in Walsh’s voice. “Trevor Bishop?”

Ugh. No. Me and my loose lips.

“You’ve been seeing Trevor Bishop?”

“Walsh, a date or two. Nothing serious.”

“He’s a good guy. Maybe you should pursue something serious with him. Better him than Rip.”

I don’t answer because I kind of want to keep whatever is happening between Trevor and me just between us for a while. Me, whose whole life has been lived in front of cameras, half the time half clothed, wants something that no one else sees.

“I think he really likes you, Sof.”

“Well, he…” I know devious when I hear it. “Walsh, did you give him my phone number?”

His deep laugh on the other end is all the answer I need. Instead of being angry, a grin spreads over my face.

“You idiot. That man hasn’t left me alone since he got back from Cambodia.”

“And you like it.”

I do like it…now, but I’m not telling Walsh that.

“Sofie, just because you and I weren’t right for each other doesn’t mean you aren’t right for someone else. Someone who’ll be good to you and call out the best in you. Bishop’s good at that.”

“What if there isn’t a best, Walsh?” I swallow past the lump of uncertainty in my throat, forcing myself to ask the question that holds me back. “What if this is as good as it gets?”

“I think there’s good in you, a strength in you that you haven’t tapped into.”

“You really believe that?”

“Why else would I still be your friend?”

“Well, no one really knows that.”

We laugh for a moment together, and I think I can finally just be Walsh’s friend without the shadow of my parents’ misplaced hopes looming over us.

“Sof, please think about at least talking with Shaunti.”

“I’ll think about it,” I agree, but I’m still not sure I can.

For another half hour after Walsh and I talk, I still can’t focus. I’m just about to give up and go home for the day when Gil buzzes me from the reception area.

“Sofie, honey.”

“Yeah, what’s up, Gil?” I ask absently, packing up my laptop and iPad.

“Someone’s here to see you.” Gil’s voice drops. “A very big and handsome someone.”

“Did you drool on him, Gil?” I’m not sure if it’s my crazy receptionist making me feel lighter, or the fact that Trevor’s here to see me. Doesn’t matter. I haven’t been able to feel better on my own all morning.

“Maybe a little,” Gil says with a grin I hear in his voice.

“Send him in.” I smooth my hair back into the high ponytail and check the wide-legged pants and fitted heather cashmere turtleneck I put on this morning.

Trevor strides in, closing the door behind him and turning the lock. He’s on me in seconds, reversing our bodies so that he’s propped against the desk and I’m standing in the V of his powerful legs. The palm of his hand rests under my chin as he commands my mouth in a slow kiss that starts a fire in me I know won’t be extinguished in the only way I’ll find satisfying.

“Hey, you.” He drops kisses over my chin and down my neck until he reaches the edge of my sweater. A knowing grin creases his mouth, and he tugs the turtleneck aside to inspect the mark he left there last night.

“I like this,” he says, eyes piercing mine.

“So do I, that’s why I’m not sharing it.” I lean a few inches in and up until I can suck at the soft fullness of his bottom lip. “What are you doing here? I thought it was going to be a hectic day with the Collective.”

His expression shifts from indulgent to irritated, and I’m glad it’s not me on the other end of that look.

“Idiots.” He shakes his head and slides one hand down to the small of my back. “I may have to go to South Africa.”

My mouth slips into a pout. I don’t want him to leave, but I just nod.

“When?” I ask quietly, hoping I’m hiding my disappointment.

“We’ll see.” He shrugs, adding his other hand to my back and pulling me closer. “Come have lunch with me.”

I glance at my iPad and purse, already packed and ready to go.

“Your timing is impeccable. I was just leaving.”

“In the middle of the day?” He frowns and uses a finger to tilt my chin, searching my eyes. “Everything okay?”

I’ve never had much trouble lying to men before, but it’s hard with Trevor. I look over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes while I answer.

“Everything’s fine. Just trouble focusing.”

When he doesn’t answer, I flick my eyes up to find him studying me like I’m a problem it’s taking him too long to solve.

“I think this luncheon is exactly what you need.”

“Lunch
eon
?” I pull back, peering up at him. “I thought you said lunch. Is this a thing?”

“It’s a thing you’ll enjoy.” He stands, letting me go, grabbing my clutch, and handing it to me. “But we’ll be late if we don’t get going.”

I’m just about to dig a little more before fully committing when a loud banging interrupts us.

“Why is this door locked, Sof?” Stil demands from the other side. “Are you okay? Open it right now.”

Trevor and I look at each other with wide eyes for half a second before busting out laughing. Stil is so dramatic.

Trevor walks over and opens the door, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe and blocking Stil’s entrance. Her face is comical, transforming from concerned to dreamy-eyed in a millisecond.

“Trevor, hi.” She practically blushes. “Sorry. I was worried about…”

She flicks a glance past his shoulder to find me leaning against the desk, grinning.

“That little minx there.” She glares at me. “It’s not like her to lock the door, and she’s been off all morning, so I was worried.”

My grin drops. I don’t need her talking to Trevor about how off I’ve been this morning. He’s too sharp, and he already suspects something happened with Kyle. I head toward the door, ready to get out of here.

“I’m fine, as you can see.” I slip my arm through Trevor’s. “And would you stop looking like that at my…”

Trevor’s eyes drop to me, brows up, waiting for me to finish that sentence, which I can’t do. I can’t very well call him my boyfriend after two dates. I may
never
call him that.

“Just stop looking at him like that,” I finish lamely.

“Screw you, Sof,” Stil fires back. “I was just glad to see Trevor again and I—”

“Again?” I interrupt. “I didn’t realize you two had actually met.”

Now that I think of it, her greeting was awfully familiar for someone who’s only seen pictures and videos. Stil starts stuttering, and I smell a rat with black and pink hair.

“Um, we…well, there was that time…we…” She looks at Trevor as if waiting for him to help, but he just grins, apparently enjoying my friend’s discomfort as much as I am.

All my processes have been delayed today because of the craziness with Kyle, but I’m starting to catch up. Why didn’t I realize this before? Only one other person knows my schedule, and she’s standing right in front of me.

“It was you! You told him about my barre class.” I put my hands on my hips, my clutch in one fist. “I should have known.”

Stil looks like she’s cooking up some lie, but she abandons that and just goes with the truth.

“Yeah, it was me.” She slides a look up and down Trevor’s suit-clad body. “You can thank me later.”

“I warned you about those looks.” I poke her shoulder and push her out of my way. “Back to work, peasant. We’re going to lunch.”

“Well, all right, your majesty.” Stil follows us out past Gil and to the elevator. “And will you be back?”

“No, she won’t.” Trevor grins down at me, a hand at my back, ushering me into the elevator. “She’s gone for the day.”

He challenges me with a look, like maybe he’s expecting me to protest, but I don’t. I can’t. I need to get out of here.

“You heard the man,” I say to Stil as the doors close. “I’m gone for the day.”

The luncheon is at Park Lane Hotel off Central Park. Traffic is insane, so we opt to walk the last few blocks. It’s a brisk day, even though we’re only mid-October. I should have grabbed at least a jacket, and a gust of wind makes me shiver. Trevor pulls me under his arm, shielding me from the wind.

“Cold?” He smiles at me, his warm dark eyes chasing away the shivers.

“Just a little chilly, I guess.”

I love being this close to him, love his consideration even more than the warmth his body provides. We’re almost at the door when someone calls my name.

“Sofie!”

I turn my head to see a man quickly approaching us. A boy, really. He’s maybe only nineteen or so. The wind ruffles his brown hair, and his blue eyes are lit and eager and fixed on me. I’m not sure he even notices the mountain of muscle going stiffer and stiller and more alert the closer he gets to us.

“Hi, Sofie.” His cheeks go pink, but he looks me straight in the eye. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“It’s me.” I smile, relaxing because I’ve done this about a million times since I started modeling. Since I was his age. “How are you?”

“I’m…I’m great!” he gushes. “I’m such a huge fan. I have all your
Sports Illustrated
bathing suit issues. And, of course, the
Playboy
spread.”

His cheeks go even pinker when he mentions
Playboy
. He finally looks at Trevor, maybe realizing it’s not the most appropriate time to mention seeing me nude.