Body (22 page)

Chase nods. “The building was rebuilt and opened a year later to the day from when it was ruined.” His voice tips with a sense of pride. He really has a soft spot for architectural design and history. If he can get past the relationship I have with Phillip, those two would have a lot in common. Phillip is an architectural genius in his own right.

“Just like the Phoenix. It rose up from the ashes and became something beautiful in the wake of disaster.” I look out the window as the hotel comes into view. “Incredible.”  I can appreciate the symmetry. Sometimes I feel as though I too could rise up and blossom in spite of the horrors of my past.

“I think you’re incredible,” Chase whispers against my hairline before kissing my cheek. His hand is loosely holding mine on top of his thigh. One finger absently traces the symbol that’s come to mean so much in such a small amount of time. Infinity.

We step out of the vehicle, and I’m taken aback at the property’s beauty.

Chase leads Kat and me through the open floor plan swiftly. Obviously, this is not his first time here. His hand clasps mine, and I smile. In his tux he’s definitely a debonair feast for the eyes.

“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” He nudges my side and kisses the ball of my shoulder.

“Only a couple times already.” I grin and blush.

“That dress suits you.” His hand squeezes mine. He should like it; he paid for it.

Kat makes a point of looking anywhere but at the two of us as we continue through the catacomb of meeting and conference spaces. The hand not holding Chase’s slides down the deep eggplant satin dress as I straighten any potential wrinkles. The dress is beautiful in its simplicity. The bodice hugs my chest in a corset style, flowing up into a fanned section where my breasts are tamed but the white flesh still spills over the confines just enough to entice. It seems to be working because Chase can’t stop sneaking peeks. He ogles me whenever he doesn’t think I’m paying attention.

The satin slides along the rest of my curves, detailing my hourglass figure, then comes to a trumpet shape at the knee. The gown trails behind me a couple feet where it hits the floor. I feel exquisite, like a princess walking alongside her prince.

Kat follows us, quietly taking in her surroundings. She’s lovely and bright in her sienna colored gown. It has an enticing slit in the full billowing skirt that reaches all the way to the hip exposing one of her long sexy legs. Crystals line the opening in bursts of sparkles. The light bouncing off the gems make it seem as though her dress is actually lit. The rusched fabric sweeps up her waist in swaths of oranges, reds and copper before it goes into a halter top. Her hair is swept up in golden waves complimenting the dress perfectly. When we arrived to pick her up she ooh and awed over my dress, immediately trying to look inside to check the seams, how it hooked and the boning systems in the corset. Chase didn’t appreciate her familiarity with my body but watched with a grim set to his lips while she went through the process in the limo.

She gave her approval but stated that if I was going to hob knob with the elite, she’d be making me some dresses in the future. Knowing that would help her career made it okay to accept those gifts. That’s how women bartered. I’d wear a dress she made and tell everyone who designed it, where I got it and how they could get one. She’d pay for the material and use her own time. Then I wouldn’t have to wear dresses Chase paid for. It would make me feel more independent and less like I was using him for what he could buy me. As it were, I’d already wondered whether I’d lost my pride somewhere under Chase’s bed last night, along with the dozen orgasms he spilled from me.

I trail my hand along Kat’s arm. She smiles nervously. I’m not sure if the anxiety is about meeting Carson or in anticipation of meeting “The Chloe Davis,” the new, hot young designer taking Europe by storm with her distinctive fashion designs and eye for detail. My money is on the latter.

We approach an open space where several hundred people are milling about, chatting and laughing. Women and men stand sipping from champagne flutes and eating tiny noshes from small golden plates at high tables. I can see Carson’s tall blonde head bobbing as he makes his way through the crowd.

His eyes scan Chase, quickly assess me and then settle on Kat. A huge smile breaks across his face. It’s as priceless as someone who is expecting a Ford Sedan but is gifted with a Ferrari. He eagerly grasps Kat’s hand.

“You must be Kathleen.” He kisses her fingers and a light flush spreads along her cheeks. I squeeze Chase’s hand and he grins.

Kat smiles shyly, “Carson, I presume. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is truly mine.” Carson’s gaze scales Kat from head to toe. You can tell he likes what he sees, especially when she shifts her dress and one long toned leg makes an appearance. Carson visibly gulps. “Would you join me for a drink?”

“Would love to.” She grips her purse and follows him into the crowd. She turns and fans her face and mouths “Hot!” before giving us a sexy wave. I giggle and wave back.

“Well, that was easy,” I say to Chase.

“Yes, yes it was.” He shakes his head and grins.

We spend the next hour meeting San Francisco’s elite, including the Governor of California and the Democratic State Senators. Chase is in his element. He poses for photos with government officials, shares best business practices with other major moguls and even spends a great deal of time explaining his city rooftop greenhouse plans. Turns out he has a division of his company devoted to designing green alternatives for big businesses to cut back on emissions, smog, as well as solar options for energy conservation. Not only is my man philanthropic, he’s certifiably green. Such a dichotomy to the shrewd business man everyone makes him out to be.

My man.
Just because he called me “his woman” and had a Neanderthal reaction during our rooftop tryst after finding out about my history with Phillip, doesn’t mean he truly meant it in his heart of hearts. People say a lot of things when they are swept away by the moment. It wouldn’t be right to give it more credence than that.

As I daydream by his side, my hair is swept to the side. His lips touch my shoulder, sending threads of pleasure to ripple along the open expanse of skin. He trails baby soft kisses along my neck to my ear. Before I can respond, a camera flash blinds me.

“Back off,” Chase growls at a smiling man holding a large camera. Jack appears from out of nowhere and drags the man away with a grip on the photographer’s bicep. I can see Jack’s hand turn bright white with the effort to keep a hold of the guy.

“God, I get so tired of paparazzi. Who let him in?” Chase snarls.

I lay a calming hand on his neck and force him to look into my eyes. “Shall we go in and find our table?” I suggest. He watches my face, adjusts his shoulders then nods curtly. Slowly he inhales and exhales before kissing me lightly. It’s not a deep kiss but what it lacks in intensity is made up for in sweetness and sincerity.

“You’re good for me,” he says, tension easing from his stiff shoulders as I massage the cords of tight muscle. “Come. Time for you to meet my Mother.”

That trickle of panic I had earlier about my relationship with Chase starts building, the seeds of doubt swirling like acid in my gut all over again. I’ve never actually met any of my ex-boyfriend’s mothers. Phillip’s mother was quite possibly the closest thing to June Cleaver a woman could get, but since Phillip and I never were officially an item, she doesn’t count.

We enter The Gold Ballroom. The walls are gold with high arching marble stone accents. The tables are square and seat eight. I’ve never attended an event where the ballroom tables were square. Each table is adorned with a sateen gold cloth. Fine china in every size is already set at each place setting. In the middle of the table, a tall hurricane candle holder with gnarled twigs and white cherry blossoms spans the length of the glass. Hovering on the top of the hurricane is a tall candle encased in diamond-like jewels. The candlelight bounces off the glass and cut edges of stone to create a shattered halo around each table. The room is magnificent. Lush, posh, expensive.

Chase leads us through throngs of people to the very front of the room. We are the first ones to arrive at our table. A long golden filigree stand holds the number 1 on an ornately designed card. Under the 1, the name “Davis” is scrawled in cursive. This place pays a great deal of attention to the small, finer touches and details. Something I should consider for Safe Haven events. At the front of the room is a stage with a large screen showing a picture of a house with a banner that says “Houses for Humanity – Welcomes You Home” across the front porch.

“Is that what you do with this charity?” I ask Chase.

He looks at the image. “That’s one of our projects.”

“What do you mean, your projects?”

“That’s one of the homes I paid for. It’s one of twenty five that I funded after Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. It was a four million dollar project but well worth every penny.” He smiles.

I am flabbergasted. Without thinking I grip his tuxedo lapels and haul his lips against mine. He returns the kiss delving his tongue deep. He tastes of champagne and man. Two of my very favorite flavors. When we both lack oxygen, he pulls away. “What was that for?” His forehead leans against mine his breath fanning my face in little bursts. His scent swirls around me in a halo of woodsy fruity goodness and I inhale deeply.

“Mmm, for being you,” I answer, surprised by the deep honesty and public display of affection. I feel eyes on us, like that feeling when you know someone is watching you. Shyly, I take a peek around. We have an audience. I feel the rush of heat pinking my cheeks. All of our spectators are smiling, except one, an older woman sitting in a wheelchair not ten feet from the table. She has dark brown hair with a two inch thick band of gray swooped into an up-do. Her deep red lips are a tight grimace. Cool blue eyes squint and clearly express her distaste for what she just witnessed.

“Are you quite finished,” the woman asks in a clipped tone.

Chase smiles. “Mother,” he says sweetly.

Please no. This cannot be
her
. She looks crabby, pompous and downright mean. Maria’s always telling me to watch out for the crotchety old broads because they are “
loco en la cabeza
” meaning “crazy in the head.” I smooth out my dress and wipe my suddenly clammy palms over my hips.

Chase holds out his hands and walks to the woman, leans down and kisses the side of her cheek. She smiles warmly as he puts his hand on her shoulder. She clasps it tightly while her blue eyes turn glacial. She stares at me as if she can see right through me. She knows I’m a fraud. Most definitely not someone of her pedigree. Her shoulders are ramrod straight, her nose is stuck in the air and she looks like she smells something raunchy. She apparently doesn’t like me and I haven’t the slightest idea why.

“Mother, I want you to meet Gillian Callahan.”

I walk over to her and hold out my hand. “Mrs. Davis, it’s lovely to meet you.” She clasps my hand weakly.

“I’m sure it is, and it’s
Ms
. Davis.” Her words catch on the “z” sound. “Mrs. Davis was my mother,” she continues.

Okay, so it’s going to be like that.

Chase notices the tone in his mother’s voice and gestures for her to sit at the table. Her attendant wheels her into position. Finally Kat and Carson appear like a huge white flag waving in the wind, beckoning me, saving me from going into battle.

Close behind Carson is another large male. He stands over six feet tall but is not quite as tall as Chase or Carson. His hair is dish-water blonde. He wears an impeccably fitting tux that pulls into a nice V, emphasizing his broad chest and narrow waist. He is extremely handsome, though I prefer my dark-haired, philanthropic, green Superman. The man with dark chocolate eyes strides to the table, waving and kissing ladies hands along the way. He stares down Chase with a hint of smugness. Chase settles his arm around my waist and the man does a double take. He stops in front of me, a sly grin plastered on his chiseled face. I dislike him as quickly as Chase’s mother disliked me.

Without looking at Chase, he grabs my hand and brings it to his dry lips. I have to try hard not to revolt, remembering to keep my cool. “Chase, who is this lovely redheaded siren?” Chase all but hauls me from the man’s grasp. Inwardly I’m clapping. Outwardly I’m silent, deadly so.

“Her name is Gillian. Keep your hands off her, Cooper.” The man laughs, tipping his head back to give it a full belly guffaw it doesn’t deserve, mostly because it’s really not funny. In that instant it reminds me of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. “I see you went back to the familiar, though I think this one takes the cake, Buddy.” Cooper’s eyes slowly take me in from head to toe and back again. I feel his gaze as if his smarmy hands are trailing along my form. It takes everything I have not to cringe. “Damn fine and a redhead to boot. Need me to make sure you don’t ruin your life again?” Chase stiffens next to me. The tension pours off him like a waterfall. Niagara Falls comes to mind.

“You bastard.” Chase pulls me behind him and Carson moves between the two men, firmly separating them. We’ve acquired quite a crowd of onlookers during their little tete-a-tete.

I grip Chase’s arms from behind to remind him of my presence and lean my head between his shoulder blades. “Baby, it’s okay,” I whisper so quietly I’m not sure he can hear. He turns and slides his hands along my bare arms. I see hurt and frustration in his eyes. He’s seething, but I haven’t the slightest idea why. After a couple deep breaths, he guides me with a hand at my lower back to the table and we both sit.

“I think it’s time for you to take your seat, Coop.” Carson gestures at a seat next to Chase’s Mother. There are two empty chairs between the men and I’m not sure that’s enough. I’m not sure the state of Texas being between these two would be enough to assuage the anger simmering under the surface. Chase is barely keeping his cool. As Cooper adjusts his tie and cracks his neck, showing he’s unfazed by the little debacle they shared, Chase is on an entirely different plane. His fingers grip the back of my chair, white with strain. The other hand is high on my thigh, rubbing the satin expanse back and forth as if the movement soothes
him,
not me.