Resist (14 page)

Zed stood and strode toward Vie, blocking her from pacing. His hands gripped her shoulders but not hard enough to hurt her. “Don’t you think I know that? If your only desire was merely pleasing Blaine, he would have discarded you by now. You’re right—he knows all your weaknesses and he uses them against you but don’t you understand he wouldn’t give a damn to know even that much about you if he didn’t care at all?”

Vie didn’t say anything.

“Listen, my brother is the fuck ’em and leave ’em type. He simply doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. It’s a compulsion, you see. His own sick personality at work there. He loves you because you make him feel normal. You don’t just tolerate his eccentricities; you deal with them and move on. You make him feel like everyone else out there. Have you written down your rules to follow while being in his presence and committed them to memory yet?”

Her gray eyes made contact with his violet-blue orbs. “How do you know about that?”

“We all do it and have them. Mother, Father, Xavier, me—that’s what we do for Blaine because he is so fucking special he needs a fucking rule book just for him. We treat him with kid gloves because Blaine is different—he’s brilliant. Mom and Dad couldn’t dare have their exceptionally immaculate son—the only one without a flaw so terrible it had to be hidden—exposed to anything but sunshine and light. Is it no wonder he spent so much time being fucking depressed when we were growing up?

“With two head shrinks for parents, everyone knows their kids are gonna be fucked up before they’re born. We can’t help it when we are fucking poked and prodded—mentally and psychologically—along with physically from the day we are born. You think you had it rough being Victoire Janssen? Try being a fucking Pascal-Baasch for a day.”

“You’ve gotta go. If he catches you here—”

“I know,” Zed interrupted. “Besides, I have a little problem downstairs that needs to be taken care of and her name is Brigitte.”

“I’ll buy you some time. We’ll go out to eat, all right? He needs some food to soak up all that booze.”

“Good luck.” He walked to the double doors, turned toward her again before he opened the main door and let himself out, closing the door softly. Several strides down the stairs and he almost ran into his brother mid-way.

“What are you doing coming from my suite? Where you alone with Vie?”

Zed placed a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “Chill, bro, we were just watching a couple episodes of
American Horror Story
. I know this one is special and I’m not Xavier. I don’t covet that which does not belong to me.”

Blaine smiled though it lacked mirth. “Don’t worry. Zavi will get what’s coming to him and he will suffer more than any man should but . . . it’s best saved for another time and another place. It doesn’t happen on a holiday weekend for God’s sake.”

“Vie told me you want Brigitte gone? I’ll work on that while you two go out to dinner.”

“Thanks,” his brother said to him. “I’d handle the issue myself but I’m just as torn up as she is and I actually had emotional investment in the issue. Brigitte? She was looking for someone to hold on to until they gave in and delivered an engagement ring. That was never going to happen and she was not only deluding herself but she also made it harder to . . . move on. She should have known better—there’s no way Mom and Dad would have accepted an
actress
in the family.”

“Especially one without a master’s degree. Someone should have told her that growing up in an academia family is worse than growing up the children of celebrities. We have an impossible bar that is set for us and most of the time, we’ll never be as clever as our parents are . . . ever.”

“Agreed.” Blaine removed his brother’s hand from his shoulder. “Talk to you later and thank you . . . for having my back. I don’t know what I would have done without your love and support, little bro.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Just . . . promise me the next girl I think is amazing and fantastic, you won’t swoop in and take her from me.”

Blaine winked. “It’s a deal—”

“Nope! It’s an agreement.” Zed smiled before he continued his way down the staircase.

Finally, he dropped his smile and walked towards the informal living room. He certainly wasn’t looking forward to that night. Sometimes the worst issues in life were like a Band-Aid. The best way to deal with them was to dig right in and rip the bandage off the wound without finesse or caress.

Both could get a person killed if the circumstances were permitting and Zed wanted to die on another day. Certainly not in that house with Brigitte as his only company. In hindsight, he realized Blaine was right.

She would have to go.

Now.

Chapter 12

Vie

B
laine and I ended up having dinner at Redbar Brasserie. The place was filled with both the wealthy and middle-class perpetrating like they had more money than they actually possessed. Surely their American Express bills would be a tad lighter than if they’d blown a weekend in Vegas but like Sin City, Southampton had a certain “je ne sais quoi,” which encouraged visitors to spend their money like there is no tomorrow. If not at the exclusive boutiques than the mediocre restaurants masquerading as establishments as legendary as the ones in major gastronomic cities.

As for my lover, the first over the top move he made was ordering the most expensive bottles of champagne—for himself—and a bottle of Pinot Gris—for me. I attacked the pseudo French bread they brought out for us though it certainly didn’t hold a candle to what you could get at any halfway decent
boulangerie
in France.

I looked over the menu and wrinkled my nose as he refilled my half full glass of wine. “What’s the matter, baby? I know Southampton isn’t Versailles but it’ll have to do. Next year, how about we go to France and celebrate Bastille Day? We could still come back here for Labor Day though but it wouldn’t hurt to add that to the summer itinerary.”

A smile spread across my face. “You’d do that? For me?”

Blaine’s crystal blue eyes looked bright with intoxication and genuine happiness as he nodded. “Of course. Granted I’m only a quarter French, we both know the language, and it’s an integral part of your heritage. I think you’d like my Parisian apartment. Not only is it near some of the best shopping in Paris but it’s quaint, kind of small. Not too flashy.”

“You mean as opposed to the estate here?” I looked around the restaurant and caught the eyes of several women who looked like they could have possibly fucked the man who was currently wooing me. “I feel just as out of place as Brigitte I suppose. Granted, I do have a leg up since I know your parents personally but we met while I studied at the University they work for. I’m certainly no Jocelyn Avery.”

He buttered a piece of faux French bread and ate it. “No one said you had to be. What we shared . . . it was over two years ago we broke up. I’m just being melodramatic because I can be and I suppose the drama is a bit addictive. Kind of like flies attracted to shit. I’m so utterly fucking bored with my life when I’m not working, I can be a dick.”

I swallowed harshly at this statement and picked up the menu again. “Well, both you and I will be very busy once we get back to L.A. It’s only until Tuesday. I’m sure we can find a way to amuse ourselves until we leave.”

Blaine looked at me with a gaze of pure unadulterated sin. “You’re such a bad girl. How could I think you would ever bore the shit out of me was anyone’s guess. I bet you and Zed had more fun watching television. I should have been up there with you, not him.”

“Are you ready to place your orders?” the waitress interrupted with just enough cheerful enthusiasm.

“Actually, we are,” Blaine said as he looked at me before he winked. “For our appetizer, we’ll have the
homemade Terrine De Foie Gras with Fig Jam and Brioche Toasts. The lady will have the sautéed Escalopes of Veal in Mushroom-Cognac Sauce with Mashed Potatoes and French Beans. I would like the grilled Filet Mignon—medium rare—with Mashed Potatoes, Asparagus, Roquefort Cheese and Port Wine Reduction.”

“Great. Well, I will bring some water for you two when I bring out the appetizer if that’s okay with you, Mr. Pascal-Baasch?”

“That’s fine, Tracy. Thank you.”

Tracy blushed before she realized I was sitting across from Blaine. “Sorry, I’ll have your appetizer out to you shortly.” She walked away with an extra sway in her bony hips.

“A former conquest or someone with an interminable crush?” I questioned before I swigged on my wine. “Thanks for ordering for me. This menu is just . . . so fucking pretentious, I can’t take it. How did you know I like veal?”

Blaine’s eyes had stopped being playful and had an outright predatory look to them. “The same way I know if I slid your legs open, I could smell your desire for me. It’s innate. That and I did a hell of a lot of research before I hunted you down . . . so to speak.”

“Like an animal . . .” I whispered more to myself than him.

“No . . . more like a predator scoping out his prey. I think that’s very different than your run of the mill generic animals, my dear heart. I’m the lion and you’re the lovely, doe-eyed gazelle.”

“Is that what I am?” I whispered back. “I’m disappointed, Blaine. It never occurred to you that I do what you want because I actually like doing it . . . not because you want me to?”

“Of course you do it because you want to do it. I’m not an idiot, babe. And just because I have had a few drinks doesn’t mean my senses have flown the coop. I know exactly why you do what you do . . . when you do it.”

“Then don’t you ever mistaken me for another Jocelyn and believe I’ll stand by idly and deal with infidelity. I gave you my virginity—that is true—but I never asked you to declare undying love to me. Hell, I’m not even asking for a ring on my finger—all I want is for you to be true to me while we carry on our affair, regardless how long it lasts. Do you understand that?” I explained in a calm voice.

Blaine ate another piece of bread. “If you can make demands from me then I certainly hope I can do the same from you. If you ever fuck my brother, you’ll regret it. I’m not talking about what Zed might do to you—I’m talking about what I’ll do to you.”

“I don’t intend to fuck Zed, Blaine.”

“You think it will always be this easy between us?”

“I’m not stupid and I know we’ll have some very fucking rough patches because you are a difficult man to like let alone love. Actually, I take that back—you seem to
only
despise the ones you’re supposed to love. Maybe I was better off being your friend,” I said in a low voice as my eyes never left his crystal blue orbs.

“Cute.” Blaine stopped speaking as Tracy delivered our appetizer and two glasses of ice water. He waited until she left before he served us both with the plates provided and refilled my wine glass followed by his champagne flute.

“Did you know when the French doors to our suite are open, voices carry? I heard what Zed said about me and why I was drinking. I’m not saying he’s right—I’m not sure I know what love truly is although I know a lot about lust and desire. I do know you’re different and special. Yes, I feel something for you that’s deeper and far more than anything casual but I may never tell you I love you. You heard what Jocelyn said and what she revealed about me . . . well, there weren’t any half-truths in her statements.”

I touched his knee under the table since I knew how much he hated initiated contact or public displays of affection he didn’t show to me first. “I know but you said it yourself, Blaine. You were twenty-seven when the relationship ended and twenty-three when it began. Did she . . . know about what you did for a living?”

“You mean the films?” He swigged from his champagne. “She knew about the fake snuff shit but no . . . she didn’t know about the real
ones
I made.”

My hand lifted from his knee and quickly grabbed my wine glass. “How could she
not
know?”

“How did you find out?” Blaine’s crystal blue eyes bore into mine. “I mean, a client wouldn’t tell you for fear of being caught with evidence that could send them to prison and ruin their reputation.”

“My ex-boyfriend. I’m afraid his deceased father was one of your clients. We had a movie night every week and he would come over with these outright bizarre films I’d never heard of or seen. We’d gone through the usual French fare, Spanish and British films that were downright surreal and strange.”

I paused to taste the Foie Gras on Brioche toast and nodded approvingly. The appetizer was much better than the French bread. “Anyway, his dad died and he had found a key to a safety deposit box. He didn’t tell his mother about it even though it had bearer bonds and shit ton of cash along with some heirloom jewelry. It also contained three of your . . . films we later watched. They were Blu-ray discs so they couldn’t have been very old and both of us debated for at least two months whether they were real or fake.”

“Who was your ex if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Jeremy Bergen,” I replied after a sip of wine for courage. “Can you . . . just leave out his issues with sex when you talk to him? He was considered quite the catch when I was in graduate school but little did the women know he wasn’t playing hard to get, he just wasn’t interested in what they were offering, period.”

“Of course. I’ll be discreet and besides, I would never approach him myself anyway. That’s much too dangerous. I do have people who handle that for me. I can’t have my work just floating out there . . . it’s far too dangerous.”

“I agree.”

The rest of dinner passed quickly enough, filled with small talk about plenty of much ado about nothing topics and industry gossip.

By the time we left the restaurant, we were pleasantly drunk and full. It was less than a five-mile drive back to the estate or I wouldn’t have trusted Blaine at the wheel of the black Range Rover he drove with the ease of someone one hundred percent sober.

“I never told you tonight but that dress is beautiful on you. I wasn’t sure if you would wear such a purchase if I bought it but I’m glad you did.”

I looked over and smiled at his profile. “Thanks. It’s a gorgeous dress but you’ve spoiled me lately with so many expensive clothes, shoes, perfume and undergarments, I feel like . . . someone special.”

“But you’re not wearing anything under that dress, correct? Remember, that was the rule?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my memory, sweetie. No panties . . . you can check if you want.”

I knew I was goading him but it felt so good to be so bad. I knew he would check and sure enough, his right hand stopped gripping the steering wheel and made its way underneath my gorgeous, avant-garde Chanel dress from the 2014 spring collection and he cupped his hand over my mound before parting the lips and slipping two fingers inside me.

It caused me to hold my breath, my intake partly shaken but the outtake was ragged with lust, want and need.

I stared at his profile as he removed his hand and slipped the two fingers, slick with my juices, inside his hungry mouth and suckled almost obscenely on them.

“You always taste as good as you look. Could I have found a more perfect woman to ravage night after night?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.” My tongue flicked over my lips, naked of the lip-gloss I’d worn due to all the drinking and eating we’d done.

I was never one of those perfect women. I applied it once, sometimes twice and then forgot all together, using my tongue to moisturize my dry lips.

Blaine parked the car in the attached garage and we both got out at the same time. He didn’t let me get far before he grabbed me, turned me around to face him and devoured my mouth with his. I was still there, on his tongue, like a delicious afterthought he didn’t want to get rid of and something about that turned me on even more.

I pulled away abruptly. “Come on, let’s go to your suite. Directly. No stops—nothing. Hopefully the little problem we want is taken care of by morning but I need you now. Please.”

He kissed my jaw and suckled on my neck. A bruise would be left at that very spot and I’d have to hide it with makeup. “I really should check to see if Zed was able to get rid of her.”

I only ran my fingers through his hair because his hands were all over my lower back and occasionally squeezing my ass. “And what if she isn’t gone? Do you really want a drunken confrontation with a bitch that is high on drugs? I mean, seriously, Blaine?”

He thought about it for a beat and kissed my lips quickly. “You’re right. I really, really want to fuck you and she’s a problem I have no real desire to deal with at the moment. Come on, up the stairs we go.”