Trainwreck 2 (Trainwreck #2) (41 page)

Twenty minutes later, we were on the Left Bank, in a small but elegant hotel on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, soaking in a deep copper bathtub with champagne flutes on a tray table, an arm’s reach away. I was seated backside to him, my knees bent between his outstretched muscular thighs. The hot, sudsy bath was just what my body and soul craved. The tension that had built up inside me began to melt away as Jaime massaged and washed me. His touch was gentle, treating every part of my body reverently, including my breasts. He softly nuzzled my neck, and after tenderly nibbling my earlobes, he breathed into my ear, “We need to talk…but after I make love to you, my angel.”

The L-word stunned me into silence and submission. My shoulders heaved as he lifted my hips and inserted his rock-hard cock into me, inch by delicious inch. The fullness of him inside me made me moan with pleasure.

“Oh, Gloria, you feel so fucking good. Work with me and trust me.” He slowly slid his shaft back down and when he pushed it back up, I met his thrust, enhancing the pleasure for both of us. He let out a sultry sigh.

He was different with me this time. The strokes were smooth and measured, and his soft lips pressed all over the nape of my neck and upper back. The only restraints were his hands, which gripped my hips. Actually, they were more like anchors than restraints, holding me up and helping me ride him as his glorious cock worked me up and down.

He whispered into my ear. “Play with yourself. It’ll make it even better for you.” It was a sweet command, not a barking order.

Still gripping a hip and not missing a stroke, he used his spare hand to place my right hand on the soft folds between my inner thighs. His hand stayed on top of mine as he guided it up and down along the sensitive tissue. No stranger to masturbation, I quickly found my clit and circled my fingers around it. His hand returned to my hip and he intensified the grinding between my legs. He was right. Right as usual. I arched my head as the intense pleasure I was giving myself mingled with the extreme pleasure he was giving me. Whimpers spilled from my lips. Oh, God! I wanted to come!

“Don’t come yet,” instructed Jaime, a hint of his controlling behavior seeping into his sultry voice. “I want to enjoy this for as long as I can.”

“Please,” I panted out. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on. The waves of ecstasy had begun to crest, the inevitable not far away. Craving my moment of release, I dug the fingernails of my free hand into his thigh as I tried to restrain myself.

“Now, angel,” he finally said. “Fall apart for me.”

On cue, my whole body shook as I combusted with a scream around his pulsating cock. His own orgasm came seconds later with a roar of my name. My head fell back against his taut chest. I could feel it rise and fall, the movements slowing as his breathing stilled. His heartbeat sang in my ear like a love song. He wrapped a brawny arm around my shoulder, coiling my damp braid around his hand, and nuzzled the side of my sensitive neck. His other hand caressed my quivering clit. Bliss. Pure bliss. I don’t know how long we stayed in that position when I heard him say, “Gloria, turn around. Face me. We need to talk.”

So relaxed, all I wanted to do was stay curled up in his arms and close my eyes. But he was right. We needed to talk, and he had traveled far to have a serious conversation. There were so many burning questions that needed answers. I shifted my body so that my longs legs were spread over his, and we were facing each other. His expression was intense, his lush lips pressed tight, and his blue eyes piercing. He looked anxious. I’d never seen this side of him. My heart pounded with anticipation. Maybe I wasn’t going to like what I was about to hear. Taking a deep breath, I braced myself and began.

“How did you know I was here in Paris?”

“Gloria, you should know this about me by now. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I had to see you.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I fired back at him.

“I found out from your PR guy. Are you here on business?”

“Personal business.” I wasn’t ready to tell him about Madame Paulette. It was all too complicated. And I didn’t want to get all choked up. Steeling myself, I instead asked the question that most needed an answer.

“Are you fucking Vivien?” I could have said “involved with Vivien,” but it just came out that way. I held my breath waiting for his response.

He sucked in a gulp of air between his teeth.

My heart skipped a beat.
He was!

He blew out the air. “Vivien is my stepsister.”

Dead silence. Shockwaves coursed through my body. I struggled to process the information. Victor’s earlier words, “you were always a problem child,” echoed in my head. “Victor Holden is your father?”

“No, my stepfather. My mother was his second wife.”

With that, Jaime launched into his life story, unconsciously rubbing his thumb over the raised scar that marred my chest.

Jaime’s mother, a raven-haired beauty named Delilah, I learned, married his real father, Payton Anthony Zander, a struggling artist, when she found out that she was pregnant with his child. A painter’s model, they had met when the young beauty had posed for him. For Payton, it was love at first sight. Eighteen-year-old Delilah was the muse and lover he’d always dreamt about. The child only added to his infatuation.

Unbeknownst to Payton, the beautiful but impoverished Delilah was an opportunist. She’d agreed to marry Payton, not because he’d fathered her child, but because he had the potential to become a billionaire breakout painter in the league of Jackson Pollack. She dreamt of a life of riches and glamour. And he was the gateway. Except life didn’t turn out as she’d hoped.

Living in a decrepit loft in Venice Beach, California, the young couple struggled to make ends meet; years went by. Jaime’s father remained convinced that each painting would be his first masterpiece, his ticket to fame and fortune. Delilah grew angry and frustrated with Payton’s delusions and resented the love child they’d created because it was just another mouth to feed. More desperate to dress in designer clothing than to keep a roof over their heads, she took on a temporary job as the assistant to a mega-wealthy CEO, a recent divorcee. Victor Holden. Her sensual beauty, even at the age of thirty-two, was irresistible. Their relationship blossomed into something more permanent, both professionally and personally. Six months later, Delilah Zander was the next Mrs. Victor Holden. And thirteen-year-old Jaime was living under the roof of their Beverly Hills mansion along with Victor’s daughter from his first marriage—Vivien.

“My father was devastated. He never stopped loving my mother. We were his whole world.”

His voice hoarse, Jaime took a break to sip some champagne. I followed suit, eager to hear more. I’d already learned so much about him. His father’s portrait of him as a baby that hung in his office flashed into my head. His good looks must have stemmed from his beautiful mother and his creative talent from his artistic father, who I suspected was physically attractive as well.

“Why didn’t your father fight for custody of you? Even joint-custody?” I asked.

Jaime took another sip of the champagne and set the glass back onto the tray table next to the tub. Pain filled his eyes. His fans of thick lashes lowered. “He didn’t have a chance. He was stone broke and stoned out.”

I’d seen Jaime cocky-confident and I’d seen him angry-mad. But sad was something new. I ran my fingers through his silky, damp hair and met his forlorn eyes. I could feel them reach out to me. He inhaled a deep breath.

“Three months after my mother married Victor, my father took his life. He shot himself.”

With a gasp, I clapped a hand to my mouth. The explosive sound of a gunshot filled my head. Reliving my own gunshot, I shuddered.

Jaime tenderly cupped my face between his hands. “Are you okay?”

Returning to the moment, I nodded. I now understood what made Jaime Zander who he was. Why he needed money, power, and control. He was afraid of falling into a dark abyss in the footsteps of his poor, struggling father. By controlling women and shunning commitment, he could avoid being hurt the way his father had been by his mother. I also understood why he hated Victor Holden. Victor had destroyed his parents’ marriage and brought his father to the ultimate jumping off point of despair.

“Were you close to your father?” I asked softly, suspecting the answer.

“Very. Even with his downfalls. He was loving. Creative. Fun. He taught me to open my eyes and see the world. To use my imagination. I was a lot like him.”

The look on Jaime’s face grew melancholic. In his mind, he was traveling back in time. Reliving nostalgic memories with his beloved father.

A pang of sadness shot through me. It wasn’t hard for me to imagine how difficult it was for a beautiful, confused thirteen-year-old boy to lose his father, the person he loved the most in the world. Kevin, in a way, had gone through that tragic journey with his homophobic father; a different kind of loss, but nonetheless the loss of a cherished parent.

I gently rubbed my hand along the side of his face, relishing the soft layer of unshaven stubble. “I’m sorry about your loss.”

Jaime quirked a ghost of a smile. “My father’s always been my inspiration. A day doesn’t go by without thinking about him. I still miss him.”

I now saw Jaime differently. Behind the confident, cocky façade was a sensitive, wounded soul. With my own narcissistic, negligent mother and broken childhood, there was a new, profound connection between us. I circled his face lightly with my fingertips. Though I already knew the answer, I asked, “Do you blame Victor for destroying your father?”

Jaime stiffened. His eyes blazed with fury. “I blame him for destroying my father
and
my mother.” He paused.
“And
for almost destroying me.”

My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“He abused me.”

The web of fine scars along his back flickered in my head. He was being very open, so I dared to ask him, “Did Victor physically hurt you?”

Jaime’s blue eyes narrowed and his lips clenched. He sucked in a sharp breath. “The bastard beat me. He liked using his riding crop.”

“Oh my God,” I cried out. My loathing for Victor spiked and consumed me. A mixture of rage and sorrow coursed through my blood. I had the burning urge to run my lips over every one of Jaime’s scars. I’d read once that scars tell you the hurt is over. That you’ve healed. That was pure bullshit. They always reminded you of the past and the pain. My own above my heart never stopped.

Jaime continued. “Victor hated me. I was just something in the way. And I was not his blood…unlike Vivien who he adored.”

Vivien. The sound of her name made me cringe. “How old was Vivien when you moved to Victor’s house?” I asked.

“Twelve going on twenty.”

I did the math in my head. That meant she was older than the twenty-nine years she claimed to be; in fact, we were probably the same age.
The lying bitch!

“How did you and Vivien get along?”

“Vivien was a manipulative, spoiled brat who had a crush on me. I was a vulnerable, insecure, fucked up kid. One night when she was fifteen, she raided her father’s liquor cabinet, and we both got drunk.”

I knew what was coming next and braced myself.

“She got me to fuck her.”

I inhaled air through my nose. “Do
you
still fuck her?”

“No, but she still wants to fuck me. What you saw at the bar was another one of her manipulative attempts to get me into bed. I was trying to ward her off without creating too much of a scene when you passed by.”

Deep inside, I knew he was telling the truth. I lowered my eyelids, suddenly feeling bad that I’d mistrusted him. “I’m sorry I ran off.” My voice was small.

Jaime tilted up my chin and gazed into my eyes. “Angel, you don’t have to apologize. You had no idea.” He paused. “There’s something else you need to know. Vivien’s not my type. I could never be with her. She’s a dominatrix.”

The news of Vivien’s sexual preference didn’t surprise me, given her brazen personality and fashion sense. In my head, I could easily imagine her in a black leather corset, fishnet stockings, and thigh-high leather boots, wielding a whip. Victor’s riding crop? Had she ever used it on Jaime? I inwardly shuddered; I didn’t want to know.

Jaime toyed with my wet braid. “You understand now, why I can’t work with her on the account. She’s a force, however, that must be reckoned with. She’s potentially dangerous and destructive.”

I mulled over his words. The situation was complicated. I was going to have to figure out a way to keep Jaime away from Vivien. And also from Victor.

An afterthought flew into my head. I knew that Victor was now single and never talked about Jaime’s mother. I recalled Jaime telling me he’d inherited a lot of money from her. Had she died?

“What happened to your mother?” I asked.

“Five years after Victor married my mother, he had an affair with a young starlet and asked for a divorce. My mother was more angry than heartbroken, and in the end, went for a large settlement, that included a mansion in Bel Air. No longer the beauty she used to be, she resorted to alcohol and sedatives. Driving under the influence, she died the day before she turned forty in a head-on collision on the canyon road that led to our house.”

So, in a way, Victor had destroyed Jaime’s mother’s life as well. Jaime’s tragic past tugged at my heartstrings. I felt connected to him in a way that I could never have imagined. He was a tortured soul just like me. Deprived of maternal love. And that of a father who adored him. I had just one last question.

I looked him straight into the eye. “Jaime, why did you wait so long to tell me all this?” So many complicated conflicts of interest that could have been avoided had I known about his toxic connection to Victor and Vivien.

He did that swirly thing with my braid again and then tickled my lips with the ends. “Because…” His voice trailed off.

“Because why?” I said softly, his intense gaze arousing me.

“Because I wanted to work with you, Gloria. From the minute I read about you online, I was drawn to you. Your success, your drive, your own need for control. And when I met you in the elevator, I was so taken by your beauty, feistiness, and independence. The need to control you consumed me. You’re different from all the women I’ve been with. You’re brilliant, intoxicating, and infuriating. You inspire and excite me, and sometimes you even make me lose control.” He tugged hard at my braid and shot me a wry smile. “And because, Ms. Long…I’m crazy about you.”