Until I'm Yours (13 page)

These panties are done. I hate that I’m seeing Harold again and meeting Trevor’s assistant for the first time in sopping wet panties and a giant college T-shirt, but I’ve made worse first impressions.

Henri’s a neat little thing, and by the way her eyes go all judgmental when they meet mine, she’s not a fan. She and I would be at opposite ends of the pole, for sure, but the easy and obvious affection between her and Trevor softens my attitude. She’s probably just protective of him. I like him too much to hold that against her.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Baston.” She peruses my long, bare legs. I refuse to explain or feel at a disadvantage.

“Likewise, Henri.” I shake her hand like I’m dressed to walk the runway. “I hear you hold things together around here.”

Her face softens only a little. She’s not one to be flattered out of her preconceived notions. I’ll have to prove her wrong. I usually can’t be bothered convincing people I’m anything other than what they expect, but for her, for Trevor really, I might make an exception.

After we’ve said our good nights to Harold and Henri, and I’m back in my dress and we’re in the backseat of the car, heading to my apartment, my stomach twists and turns, flips and flops, like this is the end of my first date. Like I’m not sure I’ll be ready for my first kiss.

“Thank you for riding back with me,” I venture into the quiet of the car as we speed through the night, the East River glimmering through the window.

“You knew I would.” He slides across the seat until our bodies are flush. “How else could I collect my good night kiss?”

“Oh, you want a kiss?” I smile, my lips tingling with anticipation, full and throbbing and waiting for him.

“I want a lot more than a kiss, Sofie,” he breathes over my lips. “But we’ll stay there for now.”

I glance at the privacy window, closed and sealing the driver out.

“This legendary self-control of yours.” I shake my head, locking our eyes together. “I’m not sure I like it.”

“Believe me, you’re testing it.”

He slips one hand up into my hair, drawing me toward him until our lips touch, burning up all control. Restraint falls away, unshackling the desire we’ve held at bay all night. His tongue is so deep I can barely breathe, and I love it. The impossible choice of breathing or having more of him. I pull air through my nose, determined I won’t give up even for a second the sweet, hot melding of our mouths.

He caresses my thigh, pushing up my dress and cupping my ass. My answering touch, over the strong pecs and the tight muscles of his stomach and then the broad back, elicits a groan.

“Touch me, Sof.”

Don’t have to ask me twice.

My hands relish the brawny beauty of his body. The wide shoulders and thickly corded arms beneath his sweater. I slide my palms over the warm, smooth skin of his back, raking it lightly with my nails. He tugs at the neckline of my dress until it falls away, baring one nipple. He just looks at me in the dim light of the car, barely illuminated by the city lights rushing past.

“My imagination did you no justice.” He runs one thumb over my nipple. It goes painfully tight and I press my eyes closed. I can’t take it. If he doesn’t take me in his mouth, I’ll die.

But then he does.

He licks the pink-ringed areola, sampling me before his mouth consumes the whole, waiting bud. I thought I’d die if he didn’t taste me, and I’m sure I’ll die now that he has. The pleasure washes over me like a flood, covering me from head to toe. Soaking me. Drowning me. Just as I’m sure I’ll go under, the car comes to a halt in front of my building.

We can’t stop. There’s no way we can stop. There aren’t enough cold showers to cool me down. To ease this burn.

“Come up.” I whisper the words into his mouth, sharing a breath with him. Diving back into the warm, dark depths of him for another kiss. Another stroke of his tongue that licks fire down my throat. His mouth is urgent on mine, and I’m sure he’ll give us both what we want, but he slows the kiss, little by little, until it is mere brushes of our lips against each other.

“I’ll walk you up, of course, but then I should go.”

The Southern gentleman.

Disappointment congeals in my stomach. All the way up in the elevator, I say nothing. My throat burns with rejection. I study the swirl pattern of the marble floor, so glad when the doors whisk open to the penthouse level.

“This is me.” I step off the elevator, not even sure he’ll follow, but he does.

At the entrance to my apartment, I turn to face him, my back pressed to the door.

“Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“Aren’t you polite?” Trevor dips his head, trailing kisses down my neck and over my collar bones until his lips are at my ear. “Do you think I don’t want to, Sofie?”

I shake my head, pushing my lips into a self-deprecating smile.

“I guess you don’t want to as much as I do.”

This man continues to surprise me. He takes my hand and slides it down to the bulge in his pants. My breath catches at how thick and hard he is under my fingers. I squeeze to assure my libido it’s all him. It’s all real, and soon it’ll be all mine.

“All the time, Sof.” He leaves kisses along the underside of my jaw and whispers them across my lips. “That’s how I feel all the time around you.”

“Then why—”

“More.” He pulls back and peers into my eyes, still searching for something I don’t even know that I can give him. “I want more from you than you’ve ever given anyone else.”

“What if I can’t give it?”

He smiles, tracing a finger over my brows and down my chin, finally touching my lips.

“Have dinner with me again tomorrow night.”

That look is back, the one that pokes at my surface and tugs at my stitching, loosening me, freeing me a little more every time. Of all the pleasures I imagine with him, it’s this look I’m finding hardest to resist.

“Okay. Tomorrow then.”

I
’ve gone all out.

Last night at Trevor’s place was incredible. It was intimate and warm and private. Tonight is our first time…out, unless you count our argument on Fifth Avenue. I don’t go much of anywhere without being recognized. Even before I modeled, Walsh and I were in the public eye by virtue of who our fathers were. Everyone, especially me, assumed we would end up together, and the media started tracking us early on. Even my debutante pictures appeared in
W
magazine. I don’t even think about it anymore really. But tonight, they’ll know I’m with Trevor, and I want him to be…I don’t know, proud. I’m used to walking into a room and knowing every man wants me. I want everyone to know that
I
want Trevor. That I’m dressed for him. That at least for tonight, I’m his.

One last glance in the mirror confirms that I’ve done Stil proud. She was more anxious about tonight than I was. She cleared my schedule for a wash and trim, facial, and all-over body wax. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the Brazilian would probably be wasted tonight.

My hair falls past my shoulders, silver and gold. I went dramatic with my makeup, eyes fully smoked out. My lips are pale petal pink, almost nude. My leather skirt grips my body from waist to knee, then flares to a peplum hem. The blush-colored silk blouse sheaths my arms tightly and plunges just below the curve of my breasts, offering flashes of skin but no nipple. I don’t think Trevor would like that. I’ve finished the look with classic black Louboutins and a simple clutch. At the last minute I slip the pink diamonds Daddy gave me for my sixteenth birthday into my ears.

Just as I’m giving myself the final
final
perusal, the wall intercom buzzes. I press the button to answer.

“Ms. Baston,” Clive from the front desk says. “You have a visitor. He’s not on your list, so I wanted to check before I sent him up, of course. A Mr. Bishop.”

“Yes, send him up, Clive. Thanks.”

I take a steadying breath and shake out my hands. I used to feel this way before rowing competitions. Excited. Nervous. Eager. I was a teenager then. Over the years, I’ve shooed away all the butterflies, but they’re back tonight, fluttering in my belly with acrobatic turns. When I open the door for Trevor, they flap their wings triple time.

“Hi.” His smile is my favorite thing about this day so far.

His flawlessly tailored suit is black and again Tom Ford. It’s another three-piece, this time with a silvery blue shirt and a complementing tie. François would eat this man alive. Most of the male models I know are slim or “gym” muscled. François would love the challenge of dressing this man with his big, tight body. I love the challenge of him for a completely different reason.

He leans down to kiss my lips lightly. I enjoy the brief contact, but don’t press for more. I’ve decided I’m just going to let this happen. Let him set the pace. He knows I’m ready when he is.

“You look…” He trails off, tilting his head to one side like he’s considering. “You’ll do, I guess.”

I chuckle, pleased by the way his eyes belie his words. He hasn’t looked anywhere but at me since I opened the door. It feels good. I’ve lived with this shell so long, I take it for granted except as a means to my ends, but tonight he makes me happy that I look the way I do. Happy that my appearance pleases him.

“So where to tonight?” I ask from the backseat of the car as we pull off.

“There’s this new seafood place called Minnow. Have you heard of it?”

“Yeah.” I whistle. “Tough to get a last-minute reservation. It’s on everyone’s list right now.”

“Yeah, tough unless you’re a sheikh.” Trevor takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “One of Walsh’s friends got me a reservation on short notice.”

“Sheikh Kassim?”

He nods. “Yeah, he loves Walsh.”

“Are you okay with such a popular place?” He bends his brows into a frown. “We could go somewhere less public, if you prefer.”

“It’s fine.” I twist my fingers so it’s my turn to rub his knuckles. “I’m excited about tonight. I haven’t been out in a few weeks.”

“Since the quarterback?” His voice remains neutral, but his eyes tell me he doesn’t like the thought of me with Rip. I can’t undo my relationship with Rip, or with any of the men I’ve known over the years.

“Yeah. Not since Rip.”

“How did he take the breakup?”

“He’s still taking it.” I laugh, but there isn’t much humor because I actually feel bad about how things with Rip ended. Not bad that I called it off, but that it ever started in the first place.

“Is he giving you problems?” Trevor’s frown grows heavier and darker.

“And if he
was
giving me problems?”

“I’d solve them.”

He doesn’t grin or follow up with some phrase to lighten the moment. He leaves it heavy with his honesty. He means it. I haven’t had anyone interested in solving my problems for me in a long time. On the one hand, it has taught me independence. On the other, it’s left me in many ways alone.

“We’re here.” He steps out, reaching a hand back to help me from the car. This place opened only a few weeks ago and became an instant hot spot. It’s crawling with celebrities, so I’m hoping I’ll go unnoticed. New York isn’t LA. The paparazzi aren’t assaulting you as soon as you step into the street. They’re more subtle, but no less thorough. I’m sure there’s some camera discreetly aimed my way right now. I hope this outfit looks good on Page Six.

A long line stretches from the maître d’s podium to the door. I see a few flashes and recoil inside. I don’t want everyone speculating about what Trevor and I are to each other. They probably don’t know too much about him, so they’ll dig, and I already know what they’ll find. A brilliant philanthropist and businessman with a conscience. A good man. If I’m honest, I really don’t want them speculating on what he sees in me. Probably because I’m not sure myself.

“Let me check on the reservation.” He grabs my hand and starts forward.

“Can I wait here?” I ask. “It’s a bit of a crowd up there, and I just saw a few people I don’t want to run into.”

He searches my face, looking for the solid truth behind my flimsy excuse.

“Okay.” He leans down to kiss my temple. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be right here.” I reach up to run an affectionate hand over the short ginger hair.

With a quick grin, he sets off, broad shoulders pressed forward, and people stepping aside because he walks like they should move when he’s coming through.

Someone touches my hair. Random touches in public make me nervous. I’ve had stalkers before. I didn’t mean it when I threatened Trevor with a restraining order, of course, but I’ve had to do it before. More than once, and someone touching my hair reminds me just how vulnerable I am in situations like this. I jerk my head away from the touch, looking around to see who dared.

“Sofie?” A dark-haired man about my height, maybe a little shorter when I’m wearing my Louboutins, stands behind me. “I thought that was you.”

“Esteban?” My heart drops like mercury in a thermometer, plummeting from tropical to subzero.

“I can’t believe it’s you.” He pulls me close, an arm around my waist before I can stop him. “It’s been years.”

He dips his head to smell my hair, a long inhale like he’s absorbing me through his senses. I’m still frozen. Every fiber of my being screams at me to pull away, but my body can’t move, can’t catch up to the alarms going off in my head.

“I
hoped
I would see you.” His accented voice is husky in my ear. “But after all this time, I didn’t think I actually would.”

He pulls back, just enough to study my face, but keeps our bodies interlocked. His dark eyes probe mine, searching for trace elements of what we had in Milan years ago.

He won’t find them.

“Let me go, Es.” My body finally wakes up enough to struggle against his tight hold.

“Sofie, we should talk.” His eyes become earnest, a familiar desperation I used to think was all about me, but isn’t. Everything with Esteban is about Esteban. “I’ve missed you. All these years, I’ve missed you.”

“I asked you to let me go, Es.” I harden my voice so he’ll know I mean it. “I don’t want a scene tonight.”

“A scene? No, of course not.” His hold relaxes, but he doesn’t relinquish me. “Are you alone,
querido
?”

“No, she’s not,” Trevor’s deep-voiced reply comes from behind us. He stretches his hand to me, eyes sliding between Esteban and me. For a second, Esteban’s hold tightens, like he won’t let go, but after a few moments of Trevor’s hard eyes drilling into him, I’m free. I step away, taking Trevor’s hand gratefully and putting much-needed space between my former lover and me.

“You okay, darlin’?” Trevor’s eyes soften on me.

“I’m fine,” I whisper up to him, a small smile crooking my mouth. His returning smile lasts only a second before he goes back to studying the silent man watching us.

Esteban’s eyes drop to my hand linked with Trevor’s, a humorless smile curving his sensual mouth. How I used to love that mouth and the wicked things he used it for on me. I loved his swarthy skin, his dark eyes. Now I can’t look at him without feeling sick to my stomach. We had some good times, but the bad cast a wide, dark shadow over anything good we ever shared. It was all lies.
He
is all lies.

“Sofie, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Esteban’s eyes rake my body with familiarity before drifting to Trevor. He isn’t subtle, and I feel Trevor tense at my side.

I clear my throat, wanting to get this over with so we can just go to our table and try to salvage an evening that started with such promise, but has soured and curdled like milk gone bad before the expiration date.

“Of course.” With my free hand I gesture toward Esteban. “Trevor, this is Esteban Ruiz, a photographer I worked with a lot when I first started out. Esteban, this is Trevor Bishop. My date.”

I say the last two words deliberately, being as clear as I can that I want nothing to do with him anymore. It hasn’t worked in the past. He is part of the reason I’m so protective of my cell number. He always manages to find it. Always manages to find me. After all these years, I’d hoped he’d stopped looking, stopped trying. Has he been following me?

Esteban extends a tanned, slim hand to Trevor, a smug smile on his handsome face.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bishop.”

Trevor ignores the hand politely extended, turning his attention back to me.

“Sofie, our table is ready.”

The obvious snub has no effect on Esteban except to make him smile wider as his hand drops to his side.

“I’m ready.”

I look up at Trevor, searching for the easy warmth we shared before this skeleton from my past slithered out of the closet. His eyes, though, are cold and stony on Esteban. What does he sense in him? Trevor sees more than most men. He’s more discerning than most men I’ve met. I know from very personal experience that Esteban is not a good man. From the way Trevor looks at him like he’s a rodent at the dinner table, I think he sees past the handsome façade to the rotten core.

We’re turning to leave when another voice from the past cracks into the tight silence the three of us occupy.

“Sofie Baston?” A petite, dark-haired woman demands from Esteban’s side. She might be coming from the ladies’ room or from the street. It really doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Seville Ruiz is here now, her eyes as alive with hatred for me as they were the last time we saw each other.

“Esteban,
bastido
,” she hisses, her voice heavily accented, hurt and anger clouding her dark eyes. “Our first night in New York, a city with millions of people, and you manage to find
her
. Did you know she would be here?”

“No, Seville.” Esteban remains calm in the face of his wife’s impassioned rebuke. “I had no idea. Purely coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence.” Seville turns those turbulent eyes on me. “Stay away from my husband,
puta
.”

Trevor swears under his breath before taking an ominous step toward the couple.

“Listen here, lady,” he says, his Southern accent thickening with the anger practically vibrating off him. “Sofie’s with me. I brought her here, and she didn’t even know where we were eating. So she didn’t arrange to meet your husband. I don’t hit girls, but if you insult her again, I’ll take it out on your little man here.”

He raises both brows, looking between the husband and wife.

“We clear?”

They both just stare at him before nodding.

Trevor invades Esteban’s space in a few steps.

“And if I catch your hands on her again, you won’t be taking anyone’s pictures for a long time. Got it?”

Esteban stares back at Trevor, not agreeing or disagreeing, just smiling like he knows something Trevor doesn’t. And it’s true. He knows things I don’t want Trevor to know, but will probably have to tell him after this. But not here. No one’s really paying attention. This near-disastrous tableau played out with little to no drama. With the dinner crowd none the wiser, but I can’t stay. Without another word, Seville and Esteban walk off, presumably to their table. I turn to Trevor, swallowing the dregs of my anxiety. The more room between Esteban and me, the better I feel, but I still can’t answer Trevor’s questions in this room full of people. And it’s obvious from the firm, straight line of his mouth and the hard eyes that he wants his questions answered.

“Could we go?” I ask, hoping he won’t question me about that, too.

“Sure.” Trevor’s eyes follow the path Esteban and Seville took into the dining room. “Can’t say I want to be the same room as those two. I can call the car service, and a car will be here in a few.”

That encounter shoved me back into a stuffy, dank room I haven’t been inside for years. I could use the air.

“Or we could walk.” I squeeze his hand, offering him a hopeful smile. “My place is just a few blocks away.”

“And we’ll eat what?” Finally a teasing smile appears on his face.

“Don’t expect me to cook.” I try a laugh that sounds close to normal. “But I have a variety of delivery menus for us to choose from.”