A Collateral Attraction (18 page)

As Heath carries me to the bed and lays me down upon the down-filled covers, I know none of us will be sleeping on the sofa bed, not when I know I’m where I’m supposed to be.  I close my eyes as he kisses me again, gasping as his mouth blazes a trail down my neck to my breasts, pushing the silk lace off my shoulders, teasing each breast with matching attention from his hands and his mouth, and lower still, between my legs. He parts my legs gently as he moves down on the bed, planting gentle kisses along the insides of my thighs, ignoring my protests for no one has ever kissed me there before.  But my protests are replaced by pleas for him not to stop as I shudder through a mind-numbing release even as his hands hold my hips down on the bed, his mouth and his tongue weaving their magic.

I’ve barely known Heath for four days and already my defenses are down — every single one of them. It’s too soon, my mind is screaming at me even as my body ignores all reason, reveling only in the nearness of him, and the way he makes me feel.

When he leaves me for a brief moment to retrieve a packet from his wallet on the bedside table, I’m beyond reach of reason, the old common-sense Billie silenced as I reach for him and pull him down to lie on top of me, tasting myself in his lips as he kisses me again. In common-sense Billie’s place is someone else, a woman who feels much freer, much more comfortable in her skin.  She’s a woman who knows that she’s got so much to lose jumping into a relationship with a complicated man like Heath Kheiron — but she goes ahead anyway.

It’s almost 11 am when I wake up. I’m lying on my belly and I only hope I didn’t drool. As I groan and lift my head, there’s a single red rose on the pillow next to me. There’s also a note from Heath telling me that he is at a meeting at Tyler’s house, and that he’ll be back at one.

The moment I roll onto my back, I regret it. My body is sore all over. Sated, but sore. Even as the sun dared to peek through the slit between the curtains, it felt glorious to be awakened by Heath’s hands holding me hours earlier, feeling his warm breath fan against my hair and my face, his soft kisses along the top of my shoulders and the back of my neck, and just about everywhere else within his reach.

I loved the feel of his body against mine, the way his taut belly moved up against me, his muscled chest pressing against my breasts. I loved the taste of him, the way he felt inside me as he moved to a rhythm that seemed so natural, so perfect with mine. I loved how he watched me shatter with each release that claimed me, and most of all I loved the way he held me through the night, and straight on till morning, his breathing warm against my shoulder as we lay on our sides, my back spooned perfectly against the front of him. I loved everything I wasn’t supposed to love — not when this was all meant to be temporary.

I drag myself to the bathroom and shower, letting my body get used to his absence as cold water sprays down on me. It’s as if I’m punishing myself for what’s happened, for if I’d been so confused just before he emerged from the shower last night, I’m afraid that I’d completely lose my perspective now, too. Will I lose sight of what I’m here to do?

The sight of the black credit card on the writing table in the living room surprises me. It bears my name and with it another note from Heath.

This is for you to use for whatever you need. – Heath

I frown.  Whatever feelings of elation I had felt minutes earlier come crashing down at my feet as I angrily search for my phone, which is in the living room. My hand is shaking as I dial his number.

“Hi, Billie,” Heath says in a low voice. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure,” I say.

“Are you alright? Are you sick?” he asks, worried.

“No, I’m angry and I feel cheap. Like I’ve been bought.”

“I don’t get what you mean,” Heath says slowly. “If you’re talking about what happened last night-”

“I’m talking about this credit card you left for me, with my name on it,” I snap.

“It’s for your incidentals, Billie, nothing more,” he says softly. “I requested one when we left New York, but since we’ve been flying so much, they’ve only been able to courier it this morning to the-” he pauses. “Wait —
wait!
If you think that that card is for last night-”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not.  Last night was beautiful, Billie. It was-“

“It better have been beautiful, because it’s not happening again,” I say angrily. I’m angry and ashamed, humiliated even. Most of all, I’m so disappointed with myself for letting last night happen at all.

How could I fall for him so quickly, and in four days? Maybe Blythe was right.  I am desperate — so desperate that I’d go to bed with the first man I’d meet.

“Billie, listen to me, that card-”

“I don’t care about the card, okay?” I say. “I don’t need your money.  You already bought me everything I could possibly need for this trip and I don’t need any more of-”

“We need to talk about this in person, not over the phone,” he says. “I’ll be right there.”

“No, you won’t,” I snap at him. “You’re going to stay where you are and do what you need to do, which is to hold off whatever federal shit you’ve got coming down on Blythe, and you better hold up that end of the bargain. I’m here to do one thing and I will do it. So don’t you dare come back to the hotel just to calm me down. As far as you and I are concerned, last night was just business.”

“Are you done?” Heath asks coldly. “Is that what everything is to you, Billie — money? Are you that hard on yourself that you won’t allow anyone to give you anything at all — and I’m not even talking about the card or money.”

“We should never have done what we did last night,” I say stubbornly. “It’s made everything complicated.”

“If anything, I’d like to believe that it’s made things simpler between us, Billie.  I like you — a lot, and I know you feel the same way about me, too.”  Heath pauses. “Wait for me. I’m coming back to the hotel.”

“No, stay there.  Since I’m supposed to be finding Blythe, then I’m coming over,” I say, though I’m not exactly thrilled to see him. There’s nothing simple about the situation I’ve found myself in, not after last night and even now as I speak to him, the butterflies in my belly are going crazy.

I hang up the phone and forgetting all the soreness in my body, I return to the bathroom. Taking the make-up bag that Alicia’s make-up artist had put together for me, I put on my make-up, thick, just like Blythe puts her make-up on. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to look like Billie anymore — naive and silly Billie.

I don’t know why I’m upset about the credit card even though what Heath said made sense. With nothing on me but Blythe’s canceled Gold card, which is basically evidence they’re bound to include in their embezzlement case, I have nothing when it comes to money, just a five dollar bill tucked in the zippered pocket of my clutch that I’m probably better off not mentioning to anyone.

I pick a white dress with red and pink flowers, and a big hat, perfect for a visit to the country club where I am hoping I get to catch Blythe. I even wear high heels, just like Blythe would wear. If I came here to get Blythe out of Santa Barbara, then I’m doing it.

As I make my way to the lobby, I see Fred sitting on one of the lobby chairs, reading the Wall Street Journal. I’d expected to take a taxi to the country club so seeing Fred get up from his chair, tucking the newspaper under his arm, surprises me. Unlike Wally who is probably in his later 30’s or early 40’s, Fred is much older, probably in his 60’s. He even reminds me of my father, though he’d been in his 50’s when he died. With the Hawaiian shirt Fred wears, and the Panama hat that covers his dark hair now streaked with gray, all he needs is a fishing pole and I’m back at Stearns Wharf, a twelve-year old girl learning how to fish for mackerel and halibut with her father.

“Good morning, Miss Delphine,” Fred says with a slight smile. He has this habit of wearing sunglasses everywhere, and there’s a clear plastic earpiece looped behind his ear that I’ve seen the rest of the security people wear.  “Where would you like to go today?”

“You’re in charge of me today?”

“Yes, Miss,” he says. “I can drive you anywhere you want to go — within reason, of course.”

“You can call me Billie.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t, Miss Delphine.”

“So is your name just Fred?”

“It’s short for Fredricks,” he replies. “Wally is short for Walthers.”

“So they’re your last names?”

He nods.  “It’s much easier that way.”

”How long have you worked for Heath?” I don’t know why I want to know more about Fred but if he’s supposed to be keeping me company, I don’t want to be quiet in the background like he and Wally have been since I first met them. I’m sure he’s got stories to tell, and I also suspect that he knows how to really smile.

“My company has provided security for the Kheiron family for almost thirty years,” he replies.

“Oh, really?  So you know all about his mistresses?”

He frowns. “It’s not my place to say anything about their personal lives, nor their choices. But yes, he did have lady friends.”

I can’t help but chuckle at the way he says
lady friends
. He’s a man who keeps secrets well, but then, it’s part of his job.

“Have you been sitting in the lobby the whole morning?” I ask and he nods. “Do you know what time Ethan and his party left?”

He glances at his watch. “Mr. Kheiron left at seven and your sister left at ten, along with the rest of Mr. Kheiron’s office.”

“You mean, Ethan Kheiron’s office?”

“Yes.”

“So roughly an hour or so ago then?” I ask, peering at Fred’s watch and seeing that it’s noon.

He nods again as I glance towards the front desk. I’m carrying a clutch that has Blythe’s driver’s license and passport and a thought hits me then. If I do this right —
pretend I’m Blythe
— I can find out where her suite is. I could even make it inside, and maybe, I could even find the letters myself.  It’s a bold idea, and one that I cockily believe I can actually pull off.

“I’ll be right back. I forgot something,” I tell Fred as I turn around and head for the reception desk.

A young woman is standing behind the reception desk closest to me and I flash her the biggest, sweetest smile I can manage. I’m glad I’m wearing my sunglasses and I feel so much like Blythe as I do so that I only hope I can pull off being her.

“I just realized that I left something in my suite, but I forgot my key card,” I say, my voice going an octave higher.

She smiles. “I can give you another key, Miss Delphine, no problem. I just need to see your identification.  I’m sorry, but it’s company policy, even if I know you came with-”

“That’s okay. I totally understand.”  I pull out Blythe’s driver’s license from my clutch and hand it to her.

She takes a few moments to program a new key card for me and as she hands it to me, along with Blythe’s driver’s license, my resolve almost crumbles when she narrows her eyes.

“Do you know your suite number, Miss Delphine?” she asks.

“Remind me again,” I say carelessly, pretending to stifle a yawn before giving her a sad pouty face. “I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

Minutes later, I’m inside the suite and thanking my lucky stars that the woman behind the counter had been distracted by a family checking in to be more thorough than she could have been.

The suite is quiet when I step inside and close the door behind me, leaning against it so I can catch my breath. I slip off my high heels and hook my fingers under the straps, carrying it with me as I take a few steps into the living room. I shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s too late to turn back now. I don’t really know what I expect to find here, not when the only thing I need are the letters that Ethan stole — that way Blythe won’t have anything to give me in exchange for her passport and driver’s license.

But what if she already found them?

Crap!
I didn’t even think of that possibility before breaking into their suite.  I pull my phone out of the clutch to check if Blythe called but other than my phone call to Heath that morning, my phone has been pretty quiet. Setting it to silent, I slip the phone back into my clutch and make my way to the writing desk. I don’t even scan the room for Heath has the same exact suite, with the living room that has a full view of the gardens and the ocean, and the adjoining bedroom with the king-sized bed. The thought of the king-sized bed makes my belly knot painfully but I force myself to focus.
Letters
, I tell myself.
Find the letters.

As I reach the writing desk, I see that it’s covered with fashion drawings. They’re of pen and ink, even washed in bright watercolors. And below each graceful lithe figure is Blythe’s signature. There are fabric swatches taped on each sheet and as I pick one sheet after another, the realization of what she’s doing dawns on me.

Blythe is launching her own fashion line.

Everything makes sense now. The way Blythe moved so smoothly among people in the fashion world during those two days I first joined her in New York – the stylists, the designers, even the people who worked in the manufacturing side of fashion, the part that no one saw amid the glare of the spotlights, the silver reflectors, and the camera flash bulbs. It was her world, true, but she wasn’t content to simply look beautiful in it. She was going to make her own mark, even if she had to borrow from her own sister to do it in the beginning.

Is this what she’s embezzling all that money for?

On the table, underneath a sketchpad, I see that she’s written out her upcoming schedule on a travel journal. There are meetings with fabric houses, factories in the Fashion district for buttons and every finding she could possibly need, photographers, models and hair and make-up artists for her lookbook, the industry name for the set of photographs depicting a designer’s fashion line, as well as publicists and even accountants.

The dates start from a year earlier up to next year, though for the two weeks we were supposed to spend together, Blythe has blocked out her entire schedule and highlighted it with just my name and drawn hearts before her schedule fills up again with more meetings and deadlines. She even narrowed down the choices for the name she’s going to pick out to represent her brand, and my throat tightens at one of the choices she has written down.

Before I lose myself in nostalgia and regret over thinking the worse of Blythe, I tear my gaze away from her drawings and make my way to the bedroom where I spot their Louis Vuitton luggage. As I unzip the first suitcase, I discover it’s Blythe’s, with clothes folded neatly, their designer labels still attached. She must have had to shop for her own clothes while on the trip as well, like I did with Alicia. But there’s nothing that resembles a stack of letters in her luggage.

I set my shoes down on the floor next to a pair of Blythe’s own shoes and open the next suitcase. This time, the suitcase is filled with Ethan’s clothes. I rummage through them, past the perfectly folded t-shirts and jeans, his dress shirts probably packed in the other rolling suitcase that stands next to the luggage rack. I’m feeling for anything that feels like a stack of letters – anything at all – and I close my eyes, and hope that I’m right, that maybe he’d have tucked them here. If he was intent on getting his old top 20 ranking back, the last thing he’d be taking with him to the country club and leaving behind in his locker would be the letters. But as I search through the suitcase, there’s nothing that resembles letters at all, at least not in this one.

I move to the briefcase by the bedside table and flip it open, going through some folders that represent stock figures though I don’t stop to read the names or figure out the numbers. There’s a laptop and a travel journal, but other than his handwritten polo schedule for the rest of the year, I don’t see any letters tucked between their pages.