Trust Me (48 page)

“I
wanted to give you something you didn’t have,” she said with a shy blush. “At least I hope you don’t have another one like this?”

“Definitely
not and never again; I love it and I love you.” He pulled a chair up behind him and sat down, brushing his lips tenderly over the dark-blue letters before hitching his hands beneath her knees and pulling her to the edge of the table.

“I
have never been much on appetizers before now,” he said. “But you have just become my favorite dish.” Sandra giggled, bracing herself while he leaned in, running the tip of his tongue along her hairless, pink labia. His tongue tickled and teased until she moaned, dipping in to caress her clitoris while his fingers very gently spread her lips apart. After all that had happened that day, Sandra found her pinned up desires quickly erupting, the dark dizzy feeling of orgasm washing over her; her hairless skin heightening the sensations and she arched her back on the smooth surface of the table, crying out her release.

Creighton
continued his slow torture until she felt certain she would lose her mind. Just as she was about to beg for mercy he stopped and stood up, pressing the tip of his hard, swollen penis against her. With deliberate slowness, he pushed against her until he was sheathed inside her hot, wet, pulsating body. Creighton smiled down into her green eyes and began to move, easing out of her carefully inch by inch then back in again, equally as slow.

“Out
of everything we’ve done,” he said softly. “This has to be my favorite. You spread out to whet my appetite; watching your beautiful body laid out like a buffet for my benefit. It’s like Christmas, what could be better?” Sandra moaned as he picked up speed and began to slam into her; until the familiar dizzy sensation overtook her again and she closed her eyes. The heat increased and the passion built as she felt him grow harder within her tight body. Her muscles began to clutch around him, tipping her into the depths of release as she arched off the table, crying out her release, feeling the heat of his seed fill her. He growled the familiar, primal sound as he slammed into her harder, deeper then stilled. The sounds of ecstasy filled the room, Creighton clinging to her legs, Sandra trying to find a hand hold on the table’s edge; each panting like savage beasts.

“I
will never look at a dining table the same way,” Sandra gasped, opening her eyes to see him standing between her legs. Creighton laughed deep and full, lifting her to sit in front of him as he slowly withdrew out of her. He wrapped her in his arms, kissing her mouth with the promise of more to come, his tongue caressing and teasing her into submission.

Sandra
relished the touch of his tongue, exploring his mouth with an eagerness that sent the blood pumping through her veins. She could taste the saltiness of her orgasm on his lips and tongue and found it somehow erotic and exciting and she knew it wouldn’t take much for her to experience another release.

“Enough,”
Creighton growled gently, easing out of her embrace. “If we keep this up, we’re never going to make our reservations.”

“Would
that be such a bad thing?” she asked, setting her feet on the floor as he pulled her off the edge of the table, kissing her forehead.

“Something
else you’ll learn about me is that I hate being late; I always keep my commitments and I never go back on my word. I know it’s anal, but that’s just how I am. Now, let’s get dressed and get out of here so we can come back and enjoy the rest of our evening together.”

“Fine,”
Sandra said in a forced pout. “But I expect to have my patience rewarded when we get back.”

“What
patience? If it were up to you, you’d be cuffed to the bed for the next twelve hours while I make use of every one of those toys in the other room. You’re such a deviant.” Chuckling, Creighton slapped her butt and turned her toward the bedroom smiling brightly when she screeched at the assault. She glanced back across her shoulder at him, sticking her tongue out and began running to the next room, followed close behind by her naked, laughing fiancée.

Sandra
felt very relaxed and more comfortable than she ever had; as she fell to the bed, Creighton’s arms around her waist, his large hands tickling her sides until they both lay spread across the thick duvet covering the bed, panting and laughing.

She
had never had a man in her life that she could tease and play with, love and laugh with as she did with Creighton. It was such an unusual feeling, but one she was quickly getting used to.

An
hour passed before Sandra stepped out of the master bathroom and back into the bedroom where Creighton was slipping on his black loafers. He wore a tailored black suit, white shirt and midnight blue tie. His chin and upper lip were covered with a soft dusting of a beard; his hair was in need of a good trim, but he looked sexy as hell with it long; brushed back and very tempting to her itching fingers. He looked up as she sashayed into the room and gasped.

Sandra
wore a long evening dress, simply cut in flowing midnight blue chiffon. The bodice was snug across her breasts; a low V-neck that showed off the deep cleavage of her breasts. There were no straps, no ties and nothing holding it up and yet it was securely held across her slender frame. She wore the necklace he had bought her earlier that day, as well as the bracelet and earrings, her hair was parted on the side, curled softly around her face and under her chin, her bangs brushed over her forehead. She smiled at his stunned expression, tossed a thin shawl on the bed and walked to the dresser. She took the cologne she bought for her sister and sprayed it liberally across her neck and chest.

“I’m
glad I bought Cathy another souvenir,” she said casually, glancing back to him through the mirror as he continued staring at her. “I seem to be using all of her cologne.” Creighton cleared his throat.

“You
keep the cologne; we'll buy her a tee-shirt at the Eiffel Tower,” he told her with a smile as he stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest.

“I
love it when you hold me like this,” she said, leaning her head, allowing him full access to her neck and shoulders. He kissed the tender skin behind her ear, sending shivers of heated desire to travel down her spine.

“It
leaves everything I want within reach,” he told her, cupping her breasts through the soft material. “You look nearly as beautiful as you did when I discovered your present,” he murmured, causing her to smile brightly.

“Let’s
go eat and get your Aryana squared away. I’m eager to get back here and in your arms.”

“Sounds
good to me,” he assured her and reluctantly let her out of his arms. He walked to the bed where she had tossed the shawl and picked it up, covering her shoulders with it and waited patiently as she retrieved her clutch purse from the dresser.

They
left the hotel behind and casually strolled toward the Eiffel Tower, choosing the warm evening air over a car ride. Creighton held her hand securely in his as they talked about their day; the events that lay ahead of them over the next few days and Sandra’s impending trip home. He didn’t like the idea that she was leaving and told her so, but quickly changed to subject to something safer.

“This
restaurant is really fantastic,” he told her. “They have very authentic French cuisine and afterward we’ll go to the top of the tower and take a few pictures.

“I
didn’t bring my camera,” Sandra said.

“Check
your purse,” he told her. Sandra narrowed her eyes suspiciously and lifted the small clutch. She opened it to find her cell phone - still silent - her passport and wallet and her digital camera.

“Do
you always think of everything?” she asked him with a warm smile.

“It’s
my job to make sure everything is done right. Besides, I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to get some pictures of you in that dress. You look like a million dollars.”

“I
think the gown and all the jewels cost that much,” she grumbled and he chuckled, removing his phone from his pocket to silence the soft buzzing.

“Your
phone doesn’t ring very often, does it?” she asked as he called his voice messaging service.

“It
rings nonstop; I just have it set up to go to my voicemail. It alerts me when I have an urgent message or when specific phone numbers come through; otherwise, my assistant checks the messages and deals with them when I’m out of the office or on holiday.”

“Nice.
I hope you pay him well,” she joked, and he smiled.

“She
is paid very well. It’s your sister,” he said handing her the phone and pressing the replay button, so she could listen to the message.

“I
don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, you lousy bastard,” Cathy’s voice said on the recording. “But if you even think of harming my sister, I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to the sharks. Tell Sandra I want her to call me immediately. I have to speak with her regarding
you
and straighten out whatever stories you’ve been telling her. If she doesn’t call me within the hour I’ll call homeland security, or Scotland Yard, or whatever the hell you call it over there.” Sandra found herself giggling as she handed the phone back to him.

“So
what horrible secrets has she found out about you, Mr. Ashford?” she said with a sly grin.

“Oh
you know, the usual things,” he said as he deleted the message and proceeded to the next. “I’m a pervert who ties up my lovers, spends gobs of money on them and begs them to marry me. You know, common everyday sort of stuff.” Sandra giggled again, waiting as he listened to the messages his assistant had left on his phone for him. Several moments passed by as they continued to walk, until Sandra looked up and saw the Eiffel Tower looming in front of her, brilliant lights etching the magnificent outline of the metal structure. It was beautiful, majestic and full of romance.

“There
is Aryana and Daniel,” Creighton said with a frown as he closed his phone and put it back in his pocket.

“Anything
wrong?” she asked sensing the change in his attitude.

“It’s
The Don; he's not happy that I haven’t brought his daughter home yet.”

“Are
you going to call him?” she asked softly as they neared the girl who waved excitedly.

“No.
He’s interfered enough in my time with you. He can just wait until I’m bloody well good and ready to take her home.” Sandra giggled softly, sliding her arm through his.

“I’m
sorry,” he apologized a moment later, “I don’t usually let stupid things bug me, but I only have so much time left with you before you go back to Kansas and it aggravates the hell out of me that I have to waste it babysitting.”

The
very pregnant, very attractive young brunette hurried to Creighton as they joined her, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him so tightly, her belly pressed into his stomach. The young man who stepped up behind her was tall, thin and very handsome with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He looked at Sandra and reached his hand toward her.

“I’m
Daniel Keane,” he said. “This crazy girl hanging off Mr. Ashford is my wife, Aryana.”

“This
is my fiancée, Sandra Dennis,” Creighton said dislodging the young girl from his neck. Aryana turned and looked at Sandra, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Hello,”
Sandra said to her, reaching her hand toward the girl who took it in stunned silence.

“I
think this is the first time I’ve seen her speechless,” Daniel chuckled; his tone thick with an Irish accent.

“Are
you ready to get some supper?” Creighton asked, wrapping his arm around Sandra’s waist as Daniel followed suit, pulling his wife out of her sudden stupor.

“Cray,
I can’t believe you are getting married,” she said suddenly, her own tone identifying her Italian heritage. “This is
fantastico
. I never thought you would get serious; always the
celibe
.” Daniel led the four of them toward the restaurant as Sandra turned to Creighton.

“
Celibe
?”

“Bachelor,”
he smiled.

“Oh,
I thought she was calling you celibate.” He laughed at her confusion as they stepped into the lift that took them to the first floor.

The
restaurant was very elegant; eclectic in design with rustic and contemporary décor. Several people stood or sat waiting and hoping for a seat as the foursome entered, but Creighton stepped to the older, very distinguished white haired man who stood behind a podium and smiled. The man looked bored, almost irritated as he reached for a pen to write their names on the waiting list.

“Creighton
Ashford,” he said and the man’s expression immediately changed to one of excitement and admiration.

“
Qui, Monsieur Ashford
.” He clapped his hands and a very well-dressed young red-haired woman in a black skirt and white blouse, appeared and listened as her superior said something to her in French. She nodded, took four menus and began to walk toward their table. The restaurant was quite lovely; the walls were large glass windows that looked out onto the lights of Paris and the aroma that drifted from the many different dishes being served was delectable.