Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel (10 page)

Both
Miles and Maribel clung to each other with a gasp, then indulged in the relief
of their simultaneous release.
God, that’s what it felt like to have an
orgasm
. 
A true unyielding orgasm
.  Maribel thought she had always
known—until now.

She
withered like a sagging doll.  Miles accepted her in her arms, sharing the
whisper of their breath and the contractions of their chests.  In their reflective
silence, Maribel no longer worried about the imperfect contours of her naked
body or her waning self-confidence.  She only concentrated on her feelings of sexual
satisfaction—the blissful fulfillment of being ravished and conquered, a
fulfillment which only Miles, and her red siren thongs and matching corset bra,
had unleashed in her.

Chapter Ten

In
the bitter cold and under the hazy illumination of a street lamp, Miles stood
on the downtown street corner and waited for Maribel.  Four hours—it had been four
long hours since their escapade in the dressing room.  It had felt like an
eternity.  Miles had returned to his penthouse, but felt nothing except
emptiness there without her.  Now, as he stood on the street corner, the
anticipation of seeing her again—or not seeing her—was unbearable.  If she
decided to see him again tonight, they agreed he would wait for her across the
street from the department store and she would meet him there at the end of her
shift.  But she had expressed hesitation about spending the night with him when
they parted ways earlier that day.  They had moved so far, so fast—maybe it
would be better if they spent the night apart.  Her suggestion crushed Miles,
and he pressured her with a firm grasp of her hand before she slipped away from
him and scurried back to the fine jewelry department.  He didn’t
want
to
pressure her, but their session in the dressing room had proven to him how much
he needed her. 
Craved her
like an obsession
.  And he had hoped
that it had proved it to her.

            Miles
blew air into his cold hands and paced along the street corner like a caged
animal.  Suddenly, she emerged from the department store’s revolving doors in
her black coat and black bunny fur ear muffs. 
God, how those ear muffs made
him smile
.  He grinned and nodded to her, but noted the reluctance in her
eyes.  Maribel wasn’t ready to go public with their ‘relationship’—if that what
it even was.  Miles didn’t know what ‘it’ was—he only knew he was determined to
see her again. When she escaped through the revolving doors, a gust of wind
rushed against her back and pushed her across the street towards him. 
Suddenly, Miles realized the only thing that mattered to him was right there in
front on him. The sight of her shining brown eyes, endearing smile, and yes…
those black furry ear muffs was the only thing that mattered.  
Yes, she had
become an insatiable craving because he was falling in love with her.

            Snow
drifts swirled down through the evening sky and passed under the misty beams of
light from the street lamps.  Miles held out his hand.  She grasped it.  He
swept her into his body and greeted her with a tender kiss, vowing to himself
that he would never to let go. 
Her lips, her smile, her flushing cheeks
. 
The taste of her body, her breasts, her nipples, her whole being… He had waited
four hours.  It had been too long.  And he would not give her up again. 

He
smiled and she smiled wider. “I’m glad you came.”

            “I
almost didn’t,” she confessed.  “But then I peeked out through the doors, and
saw you standing here, looking so cold and miserable, and you’re not even
wearing gloves.” She took his hands into her own.  That was Maribel—always
filled with caring and concern. 

“Ahhhh,
I see—the sympathy card.  Noted.  Next time, I’ll be sure not to wear a coat.”

“No,
please, don’t do that.  Freezing to death is not a very romantic way to woo a
woman.”

“True. 
But warming up next to a fire definitely has its merits,” Miles spun her into
his body, pressing her tightly against his wool coat and stuffing her own bare
hands into his broad pockets.  “And I’m fairly certain that even without a
fire, you would be able to warm me up.”

Maribel
rolled her eyes and tried to nudge away.  But he pinned her closer and
laughed—a loud, uncharacteristic release of happiness that reminded him of why
he needed her.

“Let’s
get you out of the cold,” he said.

He
turned and peered across the street.  He thought he had heard his name, then he
realized he had only heard the sharp horns of traffic and the shouts of cabbies
and street vendors.  But the sensation of being watched was still there.  A cautious
reflex that made him scan the sidewalks.  There, he spotted her—
Gillian
. 

She
was watching him and her.  Them.  For how long, Miles didn’t know, but the
bitter glint in Gillian’s eyes told him long enough.   She was standing at the
end of the block in front of the Amory building, which was kitty-corner to his
Fields building.  Miles recognized Gillian’s clients, Don Olson and Greg
Anderson—all there, smoking and waiting for something.  Miles wasn’t sure
what.  Perhaps they had just signed the deal with Harvey Zale.  Perhaps Miles
had just lost thirty-five millions dollars.  Gillian glared at him, took a drag
from her cigarette, and smiled—a sly vindictive smile through an exhale of
smoke that told him this was just the beginning of the end. 
Et tu, Brute?
 
Then, her glare fell onto Maribel.  The corners of her smile fading like
melting ice.  She narrowed her eyes with scorn.  Miles pulled Maribel closer
into his body and started them across the street and away from the Amory
building. 
Thirty-five million dollars he could bear to lose,
he thought
as he guided them under the ‘L’ tracks along Wabash and towards his penthouse
condominium along Michigan Avenue.  But this sensation of redemption—a renewed
passion for his life and its ultimate meaning—he could not.

* * * *

Miles
led Maribel by the hand into the opulent lobby entrance of his high-rise building.
 Her gait next to him felt light, happy, and trusting.  They had stopped along
the way for deep dish pizza and root beer—something Miles hadn’t bothered to
enjoy in years. Business meetings in fancy five-star restaurants and wine bars
had long since replaced the casual experience of a ten dollar meal eaten
without utensils.  In the lobby, Miles nodded to the doorman, who greeted them
and held open the elevator doors.  Miles escorted Maribel into the elevator cab,
then slipped his gold-plated access card through the card reader.  The doors
shut and the cab shuttled upwards.  They ascended in silence—not awkward
elevator silence, but natural, meditative serenity.  Miles squeezed Maribel’s
hand; it was warm and relaxed.  She had chosen to be there with him.  There was
nothing more either of them needed to say.    

When
the elevator cab arrived to the top floor, the door chimed and opened directly
into Miles’ dim penthouse suite. 

“We’re
here,” he said with encouragement.

Maribel
slowly exited into the darkness.  Miles waited by the entrance and watched
her.  She navigated through the shadows, lured deeper inside by the natural
illumination of the full moon, shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 
Miles drifted to the fireplace and switched on the gas to ignite the spark.  A burst
of flaming orange reflected off the surface of the black leather sofa and granite
island countertop before receding into a low, smoldering glow.  Miles wandered
through the living room and towards Maribel, who had settled her hand against
the cool glass of the panoramic view.

“It’s
amazing up here.  You can see everything.”

Maribel
gazed out across the lakefront.  Lake Shore Drive blinked with rushing
headlights.  The black waters of Lake Michigan were dotted with the sleepy
lights of sailboats.  And along the Northern horizon, Navy Pier looked like a
twinkling pixie fairyland. 

“Wow…
look at the moon,” she whispered, “It’s so close. I feel like I should be able
to reach out and touch it.”

Miles
had long since taken the view for granted; now, he scanned it with fresh eyes
and admired Maribel’s profile in the moonlight.

 “If
you close your eyes, sometimes it feels like you’re floating towards it.”  Miles
moved behind her.  He held out her hand and covered her eyes with his palm. 
She relaxed and smiled, like she could imagine the sensation. 

“I
think if I lived up here, I’d never leave.  I’d stay here all day, reading
books, drinking hot chocolate, and enjoying the feeling of never having to
struggle through another day.” 

 “It’s
an amazing thing to be able to live here, yes…” he nodded, losing his gaze far
out across the black waters of the lake, “but it also gets lonely at the top of
the world.”

Miles
suddenly laughed, realizing he was betraying weakness.  Maribel turned into
him, her soulful eyes shining with the moon.

“Miles,
you have so much.  So much wealth, so many expensive things.  Cars and apartments,
and entire buildings.  You even have your own private view of the moon.  But
you always sound like they’re nothing to you except a burden.”

She
raised her hand and touched his cheek.  He closed his eyes. 
God, he loved
that
.  It was a gesture of compassion, an endearing act of intimacy that casual
sex with dozens and dozens of women had never brought him.  Maribel, on the
other hand, delivered it to him time and time again.  It was what made him want
to envelope her in his arms and own her in every way.  He lifted up her hand
and kissed it.

“I
do have more than almost everyone in the world,” he acknowledged.  “But it only
brings me happiness when I can share it with someone else who deserves it. 
Someday, I’ll take you out there on my sail boat.  We’ll spend the night far
out along the horizon where there’s nothing but a veil of darkness—just the
moon, the wind, the sound of the lapping waters, and an inescapable silence
that forces you to consider what really matters to you most.”

Slowly,
he draped the freshly-purchased luxury watch around her wrist.

“Miles—”
Maribel said in protest.

“Shhhh…We’re
past all that now,” he reminded her.  “There’s nothing that gives me more
pleasure except having you here with me.  Thank you for coming.”

Maribel
admired the watch’s sleek elegance.  “Thank you, Miles. It’s lovely.” 

“You’re
welcome.  C’mon now,” he nudged her to follow him.  “I have something else to
show you.”

Miles
led her away from view of the cityscape and along a corridor that flowed
through the spacious penthouse.  Maribel suddenly stopped in her tracks, eyeing
the aquamarine glow of the sixty-gallon saltwater fish tank.

“Sharks?”
she asked, incredulous.

“Only
small ones,” he smiled. 

“To
keep you company?”

He
laughed and relaxed his grasp on her hand.  “Something like that.”

Together,
they drifted through a private hallway and towards the dark seclusion of the
master bedroom.  Miles considered the fact that he hadn’t slept there since
Friday, and now, he had vowed not to sleep there again without her.  He watched
as Maribel’s eyes settled on his master, wrapped in white, untouched sheets and
suspended on a platform like a floating iceberg.  It dominated the space. 
Miles turned back into the hallway and whisked open a door.  Maribel peeked
inside, but she could see nothing but shadows. 

“Lights,”
Miles directed into the air. 

The
lights suddenly flicked on, revealing the enormous walk-in closet with rows and
rows of freshly-pressed clothes from the department store—women’s blouses,
sweaters, jeans, skirts, and dress pants.  Below them, organized along gold-toned
racks were dozens of shoes in every shape and color—high heels, flats, leather
boots, fashionable sneakers.  There was even a pair of white and pink bunny
slippers. Miles watched as Maribel gazed upon them.

“They
didn’t have ladybug ones,” he quipped. “I asked.”

Then,
he nodded over her shoulder.  There, displayed on a solitary hanger, were the white
rosebud pajamas that Maribel had picked out with Thomas.

“I
thought you might want something more comfortable.  It can get cold here at
night, even with the warmth of another person next to you.”

Maribel
stared at the clothes in silence.  Miles watched her, preparing for her
protest.  He knew that she would claim that it was all too much—that he had
done too much for her, and that she only needed her own clothes in her own
apartment.  It was true.  And that’s what he loved about her.  That’s all she
needed.  But that wasn’t all he wanted to give to her.

But
Maribel did not protest.  Instead, she slowly reached out to touch the lilac cashmere
sleeve of one of the designer sweaters. 

“I’ve
always wanted this sweater,” she confessed softly.  “Every pay check, for the
past two pay checks, I thought about buying it for myself… ” her voice trailed
off as she realized that Miles had bought it for her in three different colors.

“Well
then, let’s try it on you,” he encouraged, touching Maribel’s waist and feeling
her consent.  He removed the lilac sweater from the rack and unfastened its three
shoulder buttons, enameled with mother-of-pearl, tugging it off its hanger.  Together,
they peeled off Maribel’s drab gray cotton top.  She did not resist when he
unhooked the clasp of her black bra with a whispering kiss along her shoulder. 
It dropped to the floor.  He slipped the sweater over her bare torso like he
was dressing a queen.  Brushing aside her long black hair, he refastened the
buttons of its rounded neckline.  The soft natural fabric clung to her full breasts
and tapered her waist.  He touched his nose against her collarbone, like he
expected to smell the scent of flowers. Then, he rotated her towards the
full-length mirror and admired her reflection.