Until I'm Yours (14 page)

“So I dressed up for nothing?” He tosses my words from last night at me, and I volley right back.

“No, you dressed up for me.”

“Yes, I did.” He bends until his forehead rests against mine, laying his hand in the same spot at my back Esteban touched moments ago. The heavy weight of his hand is so different from Esteban’s, whose hands on me made my stomach heave.

We start the short walk, and I thank God I broke these Louboutins in a few months ago, or this would have been a really bad idea. Trevor swings our hands between us, the gesture somehow innocent. Pure. So different from the story I have to tell him before the night is over. Practically before it’s even begun.

“Who was that man to you, Sof?” Trevor drops the quiet question between our swinging hands.

“Can we just walk?” I watch our linked fingers. Mine almost lost in his grip. “We’ll talk at my place. Is that okay?”

Trevor nods and drops my hand, pulling me closer, sliding his arm around my waist, tucking me under his shoulder. I burrow into the scent and strength of him. I wish I could hide from my past here in the shadow of this mountain of a man, but I can’t. First Kyle Manchester and now Esteban. Karma’s a bitch hot on my heels, gaining ground. Outpacing me.

Dread pricks the lining of my stomach. My past with Esteban isn’t pretty. I can’t tell Trevor all of it, the things no one knows, but even the part I will share might make him want me less. Because I know Trevor doesn’t want me for my face or my body or the blond hair that always fascinated Esteban. It’s the promise, the possibility, that there is something behind the Goddess persona worth touching, worth having in his life. I’m afraid my story will convince him otherwise.

I’m afraid he’ll walk away.

All these weeks I thought I wanted that. I pushed him to leave me alone. Now the thought of him giving up on me scares me, disappoints me more than I want to admit.

When we’re young, we live for the good times, setting moments on fire, laughing and dancing in the flames. We’re invincible. No one tells you the memories may haunt you like ghosts, knocking around when the house is quiet and you’re alone with your regret. No one tells you about the rubble of your destruction. No one tells you that you’ll get burned, and those fiery moments become your mistakes. At least no one told me. I wish they had. With this good man at my side who deserves more than the ashes of my transgressions, I wish more than anything someone had told me.

I
’m not a huge fan of Indian food, but Sofie’s eyes lit up over that menu, so that’s the one I chose. I’m just hanging up with the place around the corner when she comes back into the living room, dressed down. As good as she looked dressed to kill, I think I prefer the yoga pants and off-the-shoulder sweatshirt she wears now.

“Sorry I don’t have anything that would fit you.” She laughs up at me, shorter without her high heels. “Glad you made yourself at least more comfortable.”

My suit jacket, vest, and tie are draped over the couch. I’ve rolled my sleeves up to my elbows and even poured myself a scotch. I’m the picture of relaxed male, but inside I’m still seething over what happened at the restaurant. That weasel touching Sofie. That woman calling her a slut. I’ve been keeping a rein on my temper, but it’s fraying. Every time I think about the way Esteban Ruiz looked at Sofie, about his proprietary touch, I want to smash something. Preferably something shaped like his head.

“I ordered the food.” We sit down on the couch beside each other. “Are you sure the rice and vegetables will be enough? Where’s my horse tonight?”

“Oh, it’ll do.” Sofie pulls her long hair up and off her neck before letting it fall around her shoulders again. “The horse has a shoot in a few days, and it takes more than barre classes to look good naked.”

Her eyes fly up to meet mine.

“Not actually naked. I’ll be wearing panties.”

Okay.

“And, well, that’s it. Just the panties.” She scrunches up her face. “Sorry. It’s my job.”

“I get it.”

I don’t like it, but I get it.

She’s nervous. I could make small talk until our food arrives, but I’m not good at that. I want to know who Esteban is…was…to her. If they weren’t lovers, I’ll eat my shoe. I know Sofie’s not some shrinking virgin. She’s confident and unashamed of her sexuality. I like that about her actually, but there was more to Esteban. It seems that I’m always looking for more when it comes to Sofie, but this time I’m not sure I’ll like what I find.

“You’re dying to ask me about Esteban, right?” Sofie teases me, but her eyes can’t quite catch up to her tone.

“Yeah, li’l bit.”

I scoot close enough to pull her head down to my lap so I have an aerial view of her face. She relaxes some, flipping her legs up and letting her feet dangle over the arm of the couch at the other end. She closes her eyes and sighs before looking up at me.

“I left home right after high school.” She pulls a chunk of her hair across her mouth before speaking again. “I needed to get away from here, from this city, from this life. To do something nobody saw coming, not even me.”

“Is that why you turned down all the college offers?” I stroke the hair back from her face, tracing her silky eyebrows with my thumb. “Just needed a different direction?”

“Well, and remember I thought I was biding my time until Walsh popped the question.” Sofie rolls her eyes. “I could have worked at the 7-Eleven for all I cared. It was just temporary. Something fun to do until Walsh came to his senses.”

She gives a quick shake of her head.

“Such a fool.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I left New York altogether and lived in Milan for a year or so. I didn’t know it would become all that it did. A career that lasted this long.”

“At eighteen?” I shouldn’t be so astounded. By twenty-one, Harold and I had started Deutimus, but fresh out of high school living on her own in Italy? “Your parents let you do that?”

She blinks up at me, a frown crinkling her smooth skin.

“How could they have stopped me? I was making so much money modeling, and honestly, they just didn’t care.”

My mother sent me care packages every month my freshman year. I can’t imagine my parents being that detached.

“In hindsight, I wish they
had
found a way to stop me.” I barely hear Sofie’s addendum it’s so quiet. “They left me to my own devices, and I got in a lot of trouble.”

“With Ruiz?” I go still while I wait for her answer. Even though I suspect they were lovers, I hope she’ll say no.

“Yes, with him.”

I hope I hide my disappointment, but maybe I don’t because she sits up abruptly, pulling away from me and leaning her elbows on her knees, avoiding my eyes.

“We met at a shoot on the Riviera when I was barely twenty,” she continues, eyes on the carpet, on her bare feet, on everything but me. “It was our first time working together, but after that, he would suggest me, request me, recommend designers use me. People started calling me his muse.”

Sofie stands up, shoving her fingers through her hair, linking them on her head and blowing out a breath.

“I was so stupid, naïve. Flattered.” Her bitter laugh breaks the silence. “He wanted me and I wanted him. It was that simple, but I had no idea how complex things would become.”

“What happened?”

“We had an affair.” She drops her arms to her side, looking at me unblinkingly, her eyes not hiding a thing. “I knew he lived in Barcelona, but he was with me so much in Milan, I didn’t ask questions. At least not the right questions.”

“He was already married.”

It’s a statement, not a question, because I can see how a man would betray his vows for a woman like Sofie. I would never do it—could never do it—but a man like Ruiz seizes every opportunity, even the ones that don’t belong to him. And it’s only now I understand that Sofie responded so strongly last night when I asked if she still had feelings for a married man because she wasn’t thinking about Walsh. She was thinking about Ruiz.

“I didn’t know.” Sofie drops her head back, fixing her eyes on the modern light fixtures overhead. “And no one thought to tell me. We weren’t even discreet because I didn’t think we had anything to hide. It’s only now, looking back, that I realize how clever he was. Living freely in another country, but managing to keep our relationship relatively quiet in another. I wasn’t nearly as recognizable then as I am now, but still…”

“But things blew up eventually?”

“Boy, did they. We were at Fashion Week in Paris, and I assumed we’d go to dinner after my show, but Seville had decided to surprise him.” Sofie licks her lips. “There was a horrible scene. Everyone heard her calling me…well, what she called me tonight. She’s high strung and, from what I can tell, emotionally unstable. I wanted to break things off with Es, but he told me their marriage had been over for a long time.”

“So you continued the affair after you found out about his wife?” I want her to say no.

“Yeah, I did.” She looks at me and then away, swallowing before continuing. “It was…complicated. When I finally did come to my senses, he still wouldn’t leave me alone for a long time.”

She sighs, dropping her eyes to the floor and chewing one corner of her mouth.

“Right before I broke things off for good, Es and I had lunch in Paris, and pictures were taken. Pictures got out.” Sofie runs her palms over her thighs in the yoga pants. “Seville saw the pictures and apparently tried to kill herself. Came pretty close. She took some pills. It was everywhere. All over the papers. I was barely twenty years old and I was already labeled a home wrecker. I eventually put it behind me. Moved on to someone else. Hell, I even had my shot with Walsh, but this thing with Esteban will always follow me. ”

She hazards a glance up at me, eyes braced for judgment.

“Say something.” An ugly twist of her lips interrupts the flawless face. “Tell me how wrong I was. That I should be ashamed of myself.”

She shakes her head, aggravating the corner of her mouth with her teeth.

“Won’t be anything I haven’t heard before from everyone else.” She sighs. “From myself.”

I once got the chance to view a king’s private collection of artifacts. Everything was ancient, fragile. Some of the items looked as sturdy as the day they’d been created, but that wasn’t true. If I’d handled them too roughly, without care, they could literally have shattered in my hands. That’s how this feels. Some of Sofie’s hurts she’s been carrying around since she was still a girl, and she may appear tough, but I sense that how I handle this moment sets the tone for how we go forward. Despite what she just told me, I
want
to go forward. The last thing I want is for Sofie to shatter in my hands.

I stand up to take her hands between mine. She doesn’t look up from our fingers mixed up together. I take her chin between my fingers gently, tipping up until she has to look into my eyes.

“We all make mistakes, Sof,” I say softly. “I hope people won’t judge me forever for the stupid stuff I did when I was twenty years old.”

“Yeah, by twenty-one you and Harold had already started Deutimus.” She shakes her head, dropping her eyes again. “You don’t have to make up stuff to make me feel better. Like I said, you’re a good guy, and I’m—”

“I am a good guy,” I cut in before she can bring up the old argument again. “But I’m not perfect. Just like you made mistakes, but aren’t a bad person. We learn from our mistakes so we don’t make them again. It sounds like you learned from yours.”

She nods, but doesn’t elaborate. I have many more questions, but they are put on hold when the intercom buzzes for our food coming up. We don’t talk about Ruiz while Sofie eats her vegetables and rice, or while I devour my curry chicken. I think it’s deliberate, and that Sofie redirects our discussion on purpose.

“So I told you about Haven.” She takes a long draw from her bottled water. “Tell me what’s next for you.”

I set aside the other questions I have about Milan and Ruiz and his bitch wife because I’m still learning Sofie, but I think she’s reached her limit for tonight. All my life I’ve pushed until I get what I want, but with Sofie, it’s clear to me if I push too much, she’ll just walk away.

“Next? What do you mean?”

“After Deutimus.” She sinks into the deep cushions of the cream-colored couch, pulling up one knee to wrap her arm around it. “I know you’re not just riding off into the sunset, so what’s your next step?”

I hesitate because my next steps are…still forming, and the wrong person knowing or saying anything or mishandling the information could ruin everything. I study Sofie for an extra minute, and I might be crazy, but there’s nothing in me that sees her as the wrong person.

“It’s confidential.”

She nods, shifting both feet to the floor.

“I understand if you—”

“So I need you to keep this to yourself.”

A small smile settles around her lips, and she nods again, looking at me while she waits.

“All right. I can do that.”

“There’s an organization called the Collective.” I slide closer, taking her hand and linking our fingers. “It’s an international organization that aligns leaders from the spheres of business, philanthropy, and politics to financially empower people in developing nations.”

“Wow.” Sofie eyes widen. “That sounds exactly like what you wanted to do through Deutimus, right?”

“Yes, it is.” I nod, twisting my mouth. “And even though we’ve seen the financial success, our efforts are sorely hampered by corrupt, selfish, short-sighted governments more concerned about a privileged few than about the whole.”

“I remember Walsh running up against that in Haiti with our orphanage there.”

I smile at her use of “our.” She really does care about the Walsh Foundation.

“Haiti and just about every other country we’re trying to help,” I say. “Politicians with integrity and their country’s best interest at heart are the missing link. There are some, though, and the Collective identifies and works with them to achieve our goals.”

“Our? You’re part of the Collective?”

“Yeah.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees before looking at her. “Once Deutimus is sold, they want me to consider leading it.”

A wide smile illuminates Sofie’s face, and with so little makeup, her hair falling around her shoulders, and the casual clothing, I imagine she doesn’t look much different than she did when Ruiz first met her. First lied to her. I know she wants to talk about something else, but it’s all I can think about.

“Bishop, that’s incredible.” She squeezes my hand, dipping her head to study me more closely. “Right?”

“Right. It’s not a done deal, but right.”

“What’s left to do?” A small frown touches her face.

“I’m not their only candidate.” I shrug and turn down the corners of my mouth. “There are a few other people they’re considering. I’m sure my age is a concern.”

“Because you’re so old?” She grins and wrinkles her nose.

“Excuse me? I’m thirty-five. In their world, I’m a puppy.”

“Thirty-five?” She stretches her eyes wide. “That old? I’m surprised you could keep up in Jalene’s barre class.”

“Is that so?”

I inch toward her, flattening her back into the cushions until my chest presses her back completely. She’s so tall it’s easy to forget how slim she is. She feels fragile under me, like I could break her, and I pull back just a little. She reaches up to run a hand over my head, digging her fingers deliciously into my scalp. Damn, that feels good.

“So that’s what you want to do next?” she asks.

“It’s what I hope to do next, but there’s a vote.” My hands find the silky, warm skin of her back beneath the sweatshirt. “I really don’t want to talk about the Collective right now, Sof.”

She relaxes into my hold, relinquishing herself to me, if only in this small way.

“What do you want to talk about?” Her voice drops, husky with quick-building heat.

“I don’t want to talk at all.”

“That so?” She leans up, taking my bottom lip between hers, eyes wide open and fixed on me. “What do you want to do then?”

I answer with my mouth, with my hands, with a kiss. Her fingers skim my neck, my shoulders, until she’s cupping my face and kissing me slowly, each stroke into my mouth deep and deliberate. My hips push into her, into her soft heat, and she pushes back. We moan into each other, my hand cupping her head, holding her still so I can penetrate the hot, wet heat of her mouth over and over, deeper every time. Her fingers work at my shirt buttons until her hands brush across my chest, making my nipples tight and hard. I feather kisses across her shoulder where the sweatshirt falls away, pulling the soft skin into my mouth. I push at the material with my chin until my mouth reaches her breast, the nipple already tight and plump before I even start sucking.