Until I'm Yours (22 page)

“Would you be willing to share a detailed account, Sofie?” Karen asks.

“Yes, of course.” I frown before going on. “The attack itself remained vivid in my mind for years, but the time afterward got hazy. We tried to reconstruct those hours afterward in therapy, but bits and pieces of it just aren’t clear.”

“You saw a therapist?” Shaunti asks.

“Yes, in Milan.” I rub the face of my watch, surprised at how much time has passed. I need to get Trevor out of here so he can prepare for his trip. “We don’t have a lot of time left. We need to get going soon. Mr. Bishop has a flight.”

“Of course.” Karen jots down a few notes on a legal pad. “Start trying to reconstruct those hours following the attack, the ones you say remain hazy. People will ask why you’re just now coming forward, and if there’s anything in that time frame we need to speak about, we need you to remember it.”

How different would things have been if I had come forward? Hadn’t heard my parents arguing? Had knocked on their door with my bruises and bite marks, evidence of Kyle’s brutality, instead of hiding it for days. Now it’s just my word against his, but I’m determined he won’t have the last word.

“We really do need to go.” I stand and so does Trevor. “What’s the next step?”

“You and I need to have a follow-up where you share a detailed account of the incident. I have Shaunti’s account on file, and we need to have that for the record, but also for you to get used to recalling and articulating your story. You’ll have to tell it soon.”

“I’ll coordinate with my assistant and get back to you with a time. She keeps my schedule.”

“Fine, and give me a day or so. We’ll craft a statement for release.” Karen stands, too. “In the meantime, play this close to the chest. I know you want to apprise your team, but no one beyond that. We stand a better chance with Kyle’s team having less notice.”

“Well, my parents know I’m planning to do this.” My lips take on a bitter twist. “They were very clear that they would not support me, and have probably already told Kyle about my allegations.”

“In that case,” Karen says, a frown puckering between her eyebrows, “Kyle’s team is already digging.”

“They can dig all they want. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

A small voice I’ve managed to suppress until now reminds me there is one thing left to hide, left to find, but I dismiss that.
That
I did manage to bury. That won’t come back to haunt me. I was too careful. Too discreet.

“Well, if there is, they’ll find it. Secrets, especially for someone as high profile as you, are like bodies on the bayou. When the rain comes, the corpses rise above ground.”

My belly clenches. That one secret is mine and mine alone. They can drag me through the mud, but that I’ll carry to my grave.

“I recommend a small press conference with a live statement,” Karen says. “That would have the most impact.”

Shit just got real.

“I don’t want a press conference.” I level a look at Karen that tells her not to push me on this. “That statement you want to release is fine, but I need you to coordinate any written communication with my team. I have to bring them all up to speed. My lawyer will be in touch with you.”

“And the press conference?” Karen persists. “You need to be ready to speak on this, Sofie, if you’re serious about taking Kyle down.”

“I am prepared, but maybe I could just record a statement from home or my office and release that. Then follow up later with an interview with someone I trust.”

“Whatever we do, let’s do it in the next day or so,” Karen says. “Following Shaunti’s allegations so closely with yours will raise a lot of questions, especially for those who know there must be some fire with this much smoke.”

Shaunti stands, too, extending her hand to me. I take it, and she pulls me in for a hug. I freeze, unsure of how to respond.

“Thank you so much for doing this.” She sniffs, squeezing me tighter before stepping back. “I wanted to take him down. If I hadn’t—”

“Hey, don’t judge yourself too harshly,” I say. “I can’t blame you. Your family comes first. If I had those ties, I’m sure I’d hesitate. Hell, I don’t have those ties and it took me fifteen years.”

We pass a smile, sympathy, back and forth to each other, uniquely connected by Kyle’s cruelty, but mostly by our survival.

The elevator down is crowded, so Trevor and I don’t talk about what just happened. In the press of bodies, he links our pinkie fingers, and it’s enough. Even that tiny contact with him calms the roiling in my soul, but I break it as soon as we enter the lobby. I put a block of space between us while walking out to meet Baker on the sidewalk. Trevor reaches for my hand, but I step out of reach. He lays a hand at my back, but I walk ahead, outside and toward the car waiting for us. His hand shackling my wrist pulls me up just short of the idling vehicle and my faithful driver.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” Trevor’s voice is low and even, but his eyes reveal that it bothers him. “Did talking about that night do that?”

The people rushing past don’t stop for us, but I still carefully extract my wrist from his hand.

“No, it’s not that.” I shake my head dismissively. “After fifteen years and lots of therapy, the night itself has very little power over me anymore. I’m more worried about the fallout from coming forward.”

“Like losing endorsements?” He frowns. “That kind of fallout?”

“No, fallout for
you
, Trevor.” I look away, not wanting to discuss this on the sidewalk. “You heard Karen. It’s gonna get really ugly. I don’t want that associated with you in any way.”

He opens his mouth, and I can already hear his rebuttal even though he hasn’t voiced it yet.

“Car’s here.” I walk toward Baker, who stands by the open back door. I give him my usual kiss on the cheek before gesturing toward Trevor. “Baker, meet Trevor Bishop.”

The two men size each other up for a few seconds before Trevor extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Baker,” he says. “How long have you been putting up with this li’l filly?”

The stiff lines of Baker’s face relent, cracking with a small smile.

“Since she was a little girl, Mr. Bishop,” Baker returns. “I’ve had that privilege for as long as she can probably remember.”

“Lucky man.” Trevor runs the backs of his fingers across my cheekbone.

An uncustomary heat spreads across my face at Trevor’s gentle touch.

“Thought I’d never see the day again!” Baker full out chuckles. “Miss B, you’re actually blushing.”

I press my hands to my cheeks, frowning and stepping into the backseat.

“Am not. It’s the cold. Your fault for keeping me waiting.”

I can’t help but grin as I settle into the back and wait for Trevor to climb in, since Baker’s never had me waiting a day in all the years he’s served my family.

As soon as Trevor’s seated, he picks up right where we left off.

“I’m not pretending we aren’t together because of your misguided sense of protectiveness.” Trevor eliminates the space between us and drags me onto his lap.

“Bishop, stop.” I struggle halfheartedly because pressed against this wall of reassuring muscle and bone and warmth and care is exactly where I need to be.

“I won’t stop.” He presses a kiss into my hair, his hands rubbing soothing circles on my back. “Not until you hear me. I told you I don’t give a damn what people think or say, Sofie. You’re doing a brave thing, and I’ll be proud for people to know we’re together. That I’m standing with you.”

I lower my lashes to cover the sudden, foolish tears standing in my eyes. As much as it was his bulldozer obstinacy that got him that first date, it’s his tenderness that draws and keeps me close. I can’t help but wonder how different things could have been had I actually gone to Princeton, like originally planned. What if I had met Trevor there? Would he have helped me heal? Those first two years after Kyle, I was a wreck.

“You know, I didn’t have sex for almost two years after that night with Kyle,” I whisper into his neck, rubbing the lapel of his suit between my fingers. “I worked so hard to sort through my issues with sex after what he did. And I cried through the first few times I was with a man.”

I laugh, my voice husky with the tears that better not fall.

“Those poor guys wondering what the hell was wrong with me.” I shake my head. “I was posing in my underwear, selling fantasy, and flinched every time a man came near me in real life.”

“Sofie, darlin’, I’m so sorry.” He strokes my hair back, concern darkening his eyes.

“No, it’s okay. I just…it took so much for me to have a normal sex life. To even tolerate a man’s touch, and now my learning to enjoy sex after Kyle ruined it for me is the very thing that will make it harder for me to put him away.”

I look up, a sudden thought making me anxious.

“I’m not some nympho, Trevor. I’m a normal girl with a normal sex life. Mine is just splashed across every tabloid known to man.”

“I know that, Sof. You don’t have to…” He trails off, kissing my temple. “I know that.”

“Thank you so much for going with me.” I reach up to run my hand over his silky hair. “I couldn’t have done that without you.”

“I wanted to be there.”

He drops a quick kiss on my lips. He moves to pull away, but that one touch is all it takes to light the match. His fingers slide into my hair, palming the back of my head, holding me still to control and deepen the kiss. I lean into his shoulder, returning every stroke of his tongue slowly, then more aggressively, until we are both panting into the space we give each other to catch our breath.

Trevor looks up, catching Baker’s eyes in the mirror.

“We’re giving Baker quite the show,” he says quietly.

“Baker’s used to me,” I assure him, pulling him in for another kiss.

“Well, I’m not used to Baker.” He raises the privacy partition, smiling at Baker in the mirror before the small window is all the way up. As soon as we’re sealed in, Trevor’s back, raining kisses down my neck, stroking me through my jeans. I push against his hand, hungry for the pressure. Desperate for relief.

“What do you have for the rest of the day?” He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, the sensual suction sending a quake to my core.

“Nothing I can’t cancel to be with you.”

“Good girl.” He laughs against my neck. “You can come help me pack for South Africa.”

“Is packing a euphemism for sex?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, let’s go home and pack, because if how you packed last night—”

“And this morning,” he whispers against my collarbone. “Don’t forget this morning.”

“God, yes, the way you packed this morning.” The memory of seeing his head moving under the covers between my legs makes me shiver. “I could use a good pack before you leave me for the next week.”

He pulls back abruptly, eyes fixed on me.

“To be clear, Sofie,” he says, his voice losing some of the heat, “I’m the only man you’re packing with. Got it?”

I lean in to kiss under his chin, pushing my fingers into his closely cropped hair.

“Are you saying we’re exclusive, Mr. Bishop?” I tease.

His eyes are sober, going darker every second he stares at me.

“I’m saying you’re mine.”

Any trace of the smile I was teasing him with fades to nothing under the claim his eyes make on me. I’ve never abided possessiveness. I’ve been my own woman too long to be anyone else’s, but the possessive heat of Trevor’s eyes burns right through any protest because I want that, too. I want to be his. Any claim he lays to me is an absolute privilege.

“I’d like that” is what I say.

You’re mine
,
too
.

You’d think after what I just did in Karen’s office, after what I’ve set in motion with Kyle Manchester, saying those three words aloud to a man who so obviously cares for me and wants to claim me, would be easy, but I can’t seem to find the nerve.

I
’ve never considered myself a shallow man; I’ve never been impressed by a woman’s superficial qualities. My mama taught me early on to look beyond the surface of a woman, and to search out her substance. I’ve taken that wisdom into every relationship I’ve ever had. Looks have never been that important.

But damn.

Watching Sofie sleeping in my bed, I can’t help but thank every lucky star that my woman has substance
and
this body. The sheet has fallen away, baring her breasts and flat stomach. Her gilded hair spills over my pillow. We kissed away any trace of her lipstick before we even made it to Brooklyn, so her lips are bare and slightly swollen. Just thinking about what she was doing with that mouth an hour ago has me going hard again under the sheets. I won’t even allow myself to wonder where she learned to give head like that. Thinking about the men in Sofie’s past too long, too hard, will drive me out of mind. I’ll just appreciate her particular talents and rest in the knowledge that I’m the only one benefiting from them now.

This is actually me. Back propped against my headboard, watching a woman sleep for half an hour because I can’t seem to find anything I’d rather do. A knock at my door reminds me I have a shitload of stuff I
have
to do before we leave for South Africa.

I pad over to the door, naked as the day I was born, and crack it open just enough to see Henri in the hall, fully dressed.

“I’ll be ready,” I say, preempting her lecture on getting my ass in gear for our flight.

“You do that.” She cranes her neck, trying to see into my bedroom. “Is someone in there? What’s going on in there?”

“That information’s above your pay grade, Hen.” I laugh and close the door.

I turn around to find Sofie sitting up in bed, ivory sheets puddled around her waist, breasts playing peekaboo through the blond hair hanging over her shoulders, and eyeing me like the lunch we skipped.

“You, Mr. Bishop,” she says, licking her lips and blazing her eyes over my naked body, “are a work of art.”

I walk over to press one knee into the bed by her hip.

“So are you.” I take one plump nipple into my mouth, tugging until it goes tight on my tongue. “Edible art.”

“Do we have time?” She pulls my head up, kissing me deep and long before I have to pull away, shaking my head and breathing like I just finished one of my Ironman races.

“Sadly, no.” I pull her to her feet, admiring my woman when she leaves the sheet behind, standing before me naked. Tempting me on purpose.

“Are you sure?” She lifts a little to kiss under my chin, her hand taking my cock in a tight grip and pulling. “I’m very persuasive when I set out to be. I can be quick.”

“This I know.” I have to step out of reach, or face a very irate Henri soon. “But I can’t miss this flight.”

“Oh, you’re flying commercial.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know why people do that.”

We both laugh at her ridiculous statement on the way to the shower. After I washed her and she washed me, Sofie had her way with me again against the shower wall. Or maybe I had her. Fuck it. We had each other, and if I could cancel this trip, I would. Not just for this, but to be with her over the next few difficult days. She’s sitting on the counter naked, watching me shave, her breasts still flushed pink from the shower’s steam.

“He bit your breasts?”

I know it’s out of the blue to her, but the images of Kyle hurting Sofie have been torturing me since she shared them with Karen and Shaunti. It hurts to talk. Rage grates my voice up in my throat until it’s barely a sound, but a syllabic growl.

The smile Sofie’s been wearing almost constantly since we got here melts away. She just nods, reaching for a nearby towel and wrapping it around herself toga style. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. We’ve managed to enjoy these last few hours of being together without that meeting completely ruining it, but I can’t
not
talk about it. The bastard tied her up and jerked off on her body. If he was that sick at eighteen years old, I can only imagine how more time, more power, more money have decayed him. The thought of him in the same room with Sofie sets off small explosives in my head.

I walk into my closet not only to sort clothes for my trip, but also to sort my thoughts and to regain my composure. I don’t want to freak Sofie out, but all I can think about is her safety. What if that monster hurts her again when she exposes him? What if he finds a way to reach her, to retaliate?

“Do you have security, Sof?” I flick through a couple of suits, not even seeing what I’m selecting.

Sofie walks into the closet now wearing my Princeton hoodie, which falls about mid-thigh.

“Uh, yeah. Some. Like I told you before, usually just for events, but I’m sure we’ll increase now.” She scrunches her nose at the suits I pulled out. “Why are you taking those? Let me see what we’ve got here.”

She steps in front of me, her damp hair just below my nose. My body wash smells so much better on her. My hands wander under the hoodie, over her waist to cup her breasts. She sinks back into me with a sigh, head resting against my shoulder.

“I thought you needed to get out of here.” She looks up at me. “Keep that up and we’ll be back in the shower, Mr. Bishop.”

I nod and leave a kiss in her hair, moving down to grab some socks.

“Yes to this.” She separates a dark suit from the others. “Is this Armani? Definitely yes to that. Where are your ties?”

She rummages through my closet, matching ties and shirts, lovingly caressing my shoes.

“You’ve got great taste, Bishop.” She holds one of my dress shirts up to her chest.

“My sister does most of my shopping for me,” I admit. “I just don’t have the time. Nor do I much care.”

“How can you not
care
?”

She drops her arms until the shirt hangs limply from her fingers. I forgot who I was talking to. It’s like I just told Gandhi he should eat a Quarter Pounder.

“I mean, well, of course I
care
…” I shake my head, unable to even fake it. “Yeah, no. I don’t care.”

“When you get back, we’ll go shopping.” Her green eyes sparkle like it’s Christmas, so as much as that sounds like a root canal without Novocain, I kiss her head and nod.

“Sounds great.”

“Besides, I’m not sure I like other women shopping for you.” She frowns. “Even your sister.”

“Are you possessive?” I button and belt my pants. “Because I’d love that.”

“Not typically.” She comes to stand in front of me, batting my hands away from my tie so she can do it herself. “But for you I could make an exception.”

My hands can’t help themselves. They’re sliding up her thighs to cup her butt before I can stop them.

“I’m definitely making an exception for you.” I pull back to consider her face. “And no more threesomes. I suck at sharing.”

A laugh, dark and rich and rough like ground coffee, rumbles in her throat, and she looks up at me from under her lashes.

“Duly noted, and for the record, I don’t even remember that threesome.” She grins and shrugs. “After a bottle of tequila, that whole night is a black hole. I just took those guys’ word for it when they told the tabloids.”

“Guys?” I grab her shoulders. “It was two guys? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Sofie reaches up, hooking her elbows at the back of my neck and biting my earlobe.

“I thought a threesome was every guy’s fantasy.”

I settle my hands at her hips, slipping my thumbs under the lacy string of her thong.

“I’ve already got one thing most guys only dream about.”

She leans up an inch more until our noses touch.

“Why are you so damn sweet?”

I lean my forehead against hers, not able or wanting to hide from her how much the last twenty-four hours have meant to me.

“Because I’m so damn happy to have you.” I suck her bottom lip between mine. “Does that answer your question?”

She tilts her head, fitting our lips together, wrapping her arms around my waist. The kiss probably lasts only a few seconds, but I’m lost in it. Lost in her, until a knock on the door disrupts the kiss.

“Five minutes, Trevor,” Henri says from the outer door. “Harold is already downstairs with his bags.”

Well, good for Harold. He just wants to get in your pants.

“Okay, I’ll be right out.” I look back to Sofie, whose face looks about as deflated as I feel.

“Harold and Henri make the perfect couple.” Sofie grins up at me, eyes mischievous. “The cock blockers.”

“That’s pretty good.” I smile and shake her gently by her shoulders. “Ride with us to the airport. The driver can drop you off at your place after.”

She nods, pulling away and going in search of her jeans.

“Can I keep this?” She lifts the neck of my hoodie, sniffing and smiling. “It still smells like you.”

“It smells like me after a hard run.” I shake my head and roll my eyes. “But you’re welcome to it if you don’t like, oh I don’t know, deodorant.”

She laughs and bends to slip on her jeans. I walk up and stop her.

“Fair’s fair,” I whisper across her lips. “What do I get to keep of yours?”

She holds my stare while she shimmies out of her panties and slips them into the inside pocket of my suit jacket.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything.” She pulls on her skinny jeans with a smile and walks out into the hall.

What am I going to do with that woman? I touch the silk stuffed into my coat pocket. Oh, any manner of things when I return from South Africa.

Once in the car, I wish Sofie and I had met Harold and Henri at the airport. I want to spend the last few minutes we have together with her much closer. I settle for holding her hand, and even that small gesture draws a disapproving look from Henri. What is her damn problem with Sofie?

“There’s a picture of you on Page Six, Trevor.” Henri lifts her eyes briefly from her phone, flicking a glance between Sofie and me. “And you, Sofie.”

I’ve never been on Page Six in my life, and would have been fine going to the grave without that dubious honor.

“Let me see.” Sofie holds out her hand for Henri’s phone. Her smile disintegrates as soon as she reads the headline. “‘The Sinner and the Saint’?”

“What?” I lean into her shoulder to see the screen, laughing as soon as I read the headline.

The Sinner and the Saint: Bad Girl Sofie Baston and International Philanthro-preneur Trevor Bishop Paint the Town for Good.

“Did they make up a word for me? That’s kind of cool.” I chuckle. “Which one am I supposed to be? Sinner or saint?”

“It’s not funny, Bishop.” Sofie hands the phone back to Henri, turning her face to the window, eyes straight ahead, mouth tight.

“Sofie, come on. Who cares what people think?”

“I guess I do.” Sofie doesn’t take her eyes off the water beneath the Brooklyn Bridge.

The rest of the ride is silent. Henri and Harold on their phones. Me debating how seriously I should take this. Sofie contemplating the city through the window.

“We’re here,” Henri slices into the silence. “Come on, guys.”

“Right behind you,” I say, not moving from my spot beside Sofie. “Just a minute.”

Harold nods and gets out. Henri looks like she might crack the whip, but I give her a look to remind her who the boss actually is in this situation.

“Hey, you.” I pull Sofie over my lap, bringing her knees on either side of my thighs so she’s straddling me. “Don’t let that stupid headline get to you.”

“We just don’t need this right now.” She touches our noses together. “Not for the Collective or this case with Kyle. As good as this feels, as right as it feels, I keep wondering if it’s the wrong time for us.”

If I tell her what I’m feeling, I could scare her off. How do I tell her the feeling that was missing with Fleur, with every woman I’ve ever been with, that urgency my father told me about—I have it for her. I
feel
it for her. I have almost from the beginning. At first it was just a hunch that there was more to her than this body and this face. And then an urge to know for sure. It exploded into the possibility that I’ll never feel this for anyone else. I can’t say any of that. We haven’t been together long enough. She’ll assume it’s the sex talking. She’ll assume that I see only what the other men in her life saw, what they thought they wanted from her. A good time until it was over. How do I tell her that there is no right time or wrong time, only
all
the time?

Because I don’t see this ever ending.

I can’t tell her that, so I just kiss her until we’re both breathless. I press her into my body and trust that she’ll hear my heart.

“Listen to me.” I cup her face, holding her eyes even though it’s obvious she wants to look away. “You’re no sinner and I’m no saint. I don’t care how other people label us or speculate about what we’re doing. There’s only one label you should worry about wearing.”

“What’s that?” she whispers, eyes softening the longer I hold her.

I lean into her ear and lace our fingers against my chest.

“Mine.”