Nothing More Beautiful (25 page)

His tongue and fingers resumed their play.
My hips rocked up and down his face like I was fucking him. After
swallowing his load, I was so charged that it only took a few
minutes for me to peak, and I yelled and yelled, unable to control
what came out. It was the only release my body knew.

The flash of red never came. Instead, the
pressure remained down in my clit, and then surged out to my
fingers and toes in an explosion that splintered every cell in my
body. When I finally opened my eyes, I was staring at the ceiling,
my eyes twitching. I looked down and noticed that I was gripping
him so intensely, I was practically tearing out his hair. I
immediately released my hold. “Sorry.”

He craned his head and peered into my eyes.
“For what?”

“If I pulled too hard.”

He kissed my wet lips. “You pulled just
right.”

A
fter we crossed “69” off
our list, we seemed to do it every night we saw each other, the
foreplay lasting minutes to over an hour, and often ending with
Vince flipping me over and coming inside me. Almost two weeks had
passed since the first time I gave my first blow job that wonderful
Saturday night. The first week flew by at work. Although,
apparently, Vince and Alma’s demonstration for PGE on Wednesday
didn’t go as well as they’d hoped.

On Thursday, Vince blew me off again,
swearing he had to work that night. It was the third straight
Thursday in a row that he “had to work late,” and a suspicion
seeped into my brain. I ignored it over the following fantastic
weekend spent in the bedroom. But when I asked him if he wanted to
go out on the fourth Thursday, my gut was telling me something was
up. Something bad.

“Do you think he’s cheating on you?”
Danielle asked Wednesday night, right after I’d received a
rejection that said he had to work late tomorrow. We were in the
kitchen cooking. Well, really she was cooking and I was
complaining, speculating about what he was actually doing on
Thursday nights. We were guzzling the sweet, nut brown beer from
our growlers like two fishes.

“I don’t see how I could let him get so
close and not know,” I said, staring at the text. “I mean, I’ve
never been this intimate with a guy before, and even with Ryan I
could see it coming. I denied it, but I could still see it
coming.”

She gave me a doubtful look. “So what are
you going to do?”

That was a good question.
What could I
do? Stalk him?
A light bulb went on in my head. “What if we
staked out his place?”

She laughed at me. “What are we, spies?”

“We don’t have to be spies. More like
detectives,” I said, pulling up Google Maps and searching for a
place around Vince’s building that would be good to park
incognito.

“You don’t think that sounds a little
ridiculous?”

“Does it?”

She sighed. “Really? You sound like an
obsessive psycho.”

“Ouch,” I said, pretending the remark had
stung. “I think ‘psycho’ was a bit strong.” I got out two plates
when the timer went off.

“Maybe,” she teased. She served the chicken
pot pie she had prepared the night before. “You really want to do
that—stake out his building?”

“I need to know, Danielle.”

She frowned, staring at her slice. “It just
sounds so extreme and crazy . . . but I’m in if
you decide to do it.”

Scooping up the front chunk, I chewed my
first bite. “Hot,” I said, sucking in air with the food on my
tongue. I blew on my second bite. “It’s really good.”

She gave me a thin smile, not too happy
about the idea of stalking my billionaire boyfriend. “What if his
bodyguard spots us or something? There could be security all over
the place that we’ve never seen before.”

I tilted my head at her, and my hands were
moving about as I said, “Really? And I thought
I
was the
paranoid one.”

“Hey, he’s rich and powerful. I doubt he
only has the one bodyguard watching him.” She was already halfway
done with her slice, munching it down like there was no tomorrow.
“Anyway, say his bodyguards don’t spot us, and he leaves his
building, and we follow him . . . what then?
What if he’s doing what you think he’s doing? Are you going to
break down the door to the cheap motel and go on a rampage?”

“I don’t know, Danielle.” I shook my head.
“You still have that baseball bat?” I smiled over at her. She gave
me a nice glare. “I’m not serious.”

“Then what?”

I shrugged. “I’ll know the truth and I can
deal with it then. It may be that you’re right and he really is
just working late, but either way, I’ll know. I’ll know.”

THE NEXT MORNING PROVED
to
be another wet one. It was a bummer after such a gorgeous weekend
that peaked in the high 60s, but after Monday, the weather turned
to rain and more rain.

Work went slowly, and my gut knotted,
churning for most of the day. Nerves were imploring me not to go
through with the plan. An inherent curiosity and need to know was
telling me to do the opposite. To get away for an hour or more, I
walked to the gym, incorporating some weightlifting and
stair-stepper time into my workout, and ending with 30 minutes on
the elliptical.

Halfway done, I was surprised when the woman
with the luminous blond hair strolled in. Her face grew excited
when she saw me, climbing onto the machine beside me. “Hi,” she
said, her voice cheerful.

I turned off my iPod and removed the
earbuds. “Hey . . .” I blanked on her name.

“Emma,” she filled in.

“Right, sorry.” I was already red, so she
probably didn’t even notice my embarrassment. “Maci.”

“I remember,” she said pointedly. “I’m very
good with names and faces,” she added after a brief and awkward
beat.

“I wish I were,” I said, intent on sounding
apologetic. Hopefully she wouldn’t bring up the beach house, as
that would pose another awkward disaster.

“So, did you ever find out if your team has
a place to stay for Hood to Coast?” she asked with a bright
smile.

“Oh, right. I totally forgot. We do have a
place to stay, I guess, but thanks for the kind offer, and sorry
that I never called about it.” I couldn’t tell if she bought my
act.

“No worries,” she said, remarkably unfazed.
“I had actually forgotten until just now.” Her words didn’t come
off as true, but I wasn’t about to call her a liar.

“I haven’t seen you around for weeks,” I
said, trying to direct the conversation in a new direction. “Been
sick?”

“Been out of town,” she replied flatly,
making it obvious that she didn’t want to discuss the topic. “Have
you seen Vince Forte in lately? I just love those days when he’s
here. He’s such an Adonis.”

“A geeky Adonis,” I laughed. She was right:
he had the looks that drove me wild inside, but he also had had a
mind like no other.

“I don’t think playing video games
constitutes a geek anymore.” She looked over at me, her face
forming a slight glare.

I opened my mouth to make a joke about how
much he played, but then realized how strange her comment was.
How did she know he played video games?
It wasn’t on his
Wikipedia page. Was she Vince’s mystery woman? The only woman he
had been with before me? She certainly didn’t sound like an ex, but
I supposed it was possible . . . I chose to
further investigate what she knew. “He’s a big gamer?”

“I don’t know how much he plays, but he
supports the field a lot. He gave a speech at PAX Prime last year
in Seattle. That’s where I first saw him. I was there with the guy
I was dating at the time. I remember melting away as he spoke. He
was a lot smaller then, but still sexy as hell.”

So she had an infatuation with Vince.
How
lovely
. Jealousy didn’t arise like it had when I
saw Becky rubbing down his crotch, but I did think it would be a
poor decision not to tell her I was dating her crush. “I haven’t
seen him in here lately,” I lied. He had virtually stopped going to
his other two gyms, opting to work out in the Hawthorne branch so
we could see each other daily.

He had mentioned a business meeting before,
and I was pretty sure it was supposed to go all afternoon, so
chances were small that he’d show up. That would be an awkward
scene.

“That’s too bad,” she replied. “It’s always
easier to work out with some eye candy to distract you.” She
grinned at me. “Right?”

I returned her smile, not knowing what else
to do. I still had five minutes left and I didn’t want to quit, but
my tongue was tied and my brain absent.

Emma was friendly, though, and didn’t seem
to mind my shortage of words. She detailed her workout regimen,
ready for the Bridge to Brews race, which was next Sunday. I really
enjoyed her sanguine personality. When I finished, she asked if I’d
be in tomorrow at the same time, because she wouldn’t mind a
workout partner for the weights downstairs. Since I wanted the same
thing, I told her I came in at three almost every weekday. We
planned it so that we could be there at the same time.

Back at home, I grew even more anxious,
pacing the living room, waiting for Danielle and our stakeout to
begin. I called it that, anyway. She called it
stalking
. She
had grabbed takeout from a Mexican food cart and we shoveled it
down. It was 4:50. She had taken off early so we could get there as
soon after his meeting as possible.

“My car or your car?” she asked.

“Your car makes way less noise,” I said.
“Plus mine sticks out more than yours does.” We got in her nice and
cozy Crosstrek, heading for Vince’s. “I also like the heated
seats.”

“I just hope this doesn’t end how I think it
will.”

It was 5:37 by the time we reached the
Envoy, parking on the narrow street in front of the building. “Oh
my God, that’s him!” I spontaneously smacked Danielle’s shoulder
with the back of my hand.

“Hey, watch it!”

“Sorry.” I pointed. “That’s him. That’s his
Mustang.”

“I know. I hit it, remember?” She kept her
lights on as he backed out of the single-car garage. There was no
sign of Terrance on his motorcycle, and we were too far away to see
how many heads were in the car. He turned his car so that he would
drive east, the opposite way we were facing. He came zipping our
way.

“Duck!” I screamed, pulling on Danielle’s
wrist. We both bent down below the window. After he passed, we
straightened. “Hurry, you have to turn around to catch him.”

Danielle pulled out and turned for one of
the garage doors, readying the car for a three-point turn. It was
more like a five-point turn. “Hurry, we’re gonna lose him!”

“I’m not an Indy racer, Maci,” she growled.
She finally aligned with the road, going east, racing after the
Spider-Man Mustang. We turned left onto SW Green, then right on SW
Vista.

“I’ve never been over here,” I said, looking
at the nice houses. “Where do you think he’s going? He doesn’t have
an office in the south.”

“Doesn’t he have a gym down here?”

“Lake Oswego,” I corrected. “If he’s going
there, he’s taking the long,
long
way.”

“Don’t panic yet,” she said, glancing over
at me. “Maybe he has another meeting at an office down in southwest
or maybe out in a suburb.” My breathing picked up, and I kept
thinking I was going to hyperventilate. “If you don’t start
breathing, I’m going to turn the car around and go home.”

I inhaled as deeply as I could and held.
“Okay, I’m okay. Keep following him.” We tailed him to SW Patton,
taking a right. Danielle remained at least one car behind him at
all times. A few times, two or three cars snuck between us. Lucky
for us, he never abruptly turned off anywhere. We took a left onto
SW Scholls Ferry and followed him for what seemed like forever, all
the way down past the Washington Square Mall in Tigard. After we
reached highway 217, I yelped, “Turn, turn, turn!”

Danielle hurtled into the left lane, flying
to make the yellow light onto SW Cascade. “Where the hell is he
going?” she mumbled to herself. The road ended, and we banked right
onto SW Greenburg. The car that had been our buffer took a left at
the light, leaving us right behind Vince’s Mustang. She slowed down
so that we were four or five car lengths back. Hopefully he wasn’t
paying that much attention. It wasn’t getting dark until after 7:30
and if he glanced back with any awareness, he could easily make us
out. We went right, down SW 91
^st
until we came to a
large apartment complex.

“Holy shit!” Danielle burst out, startling
me. “What if he has a family down here that he keeps out of the
press? He could be a father.”

The idea overwhelmed me. “No, he couldn’t,
could he?”

“Rich men do it all the time,” she asserted.
“They keep it hush-hush with all their money. It’s possible.” Her
enthusiasm for the hypothesis did nothing to calm my nerves. She
pulled into the expansive parking lot. Signs warned us about
towing, but I told Danielle I’d pay the bill if anything happened,
so she parked in a vacant spot by the road.

I ignored a lot of what Danielle said,
concentrated on finding Vince. “Do you see his car?” We searched
the parking lot, but couldn’t find it in the front area. Walking
around to the back, Danielle spotted the blue and red Mustang
parked on the other side of a pool.

“I wish our place had a pool,” Danielle
said. “Don’t you?”

“Do you see Vince anywhere?” I asked with a
strained urgency.

“No,” she answered. “He could be in any one
of these apartments.” Two men were walking from their car toward
what looked like a community room that some of the bigger complexes
had.

“Maybe there’s something going on in there.”
I nodded toward the building. “Let’s check it out.”