Tainted Love (Book 1) (16 page)

My eyes water, but he isn’t going to get the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

“Pull over, Simon,” I demand of his chauffeur, locking my eyes with the cold C.O.O. in front of me.

“You will do no such thing, Simon,” he snorts and settles back into the seat, tugging his jacket closed.

“Simon, I want to get out. Please, pull over.”

“Simon, please remember who signs your checks,” he threatens his driver.

I can see Simon’s eye’s flash in surprise. He is conflicted. His eyes flicker to mine through the rear-view mirror as if to say his hands are tied, but I am not having it.

“Simon, if you don’t pull over, I swear to
God I will scream the entire…way…home,” I threaten and I am dead serious.

Ben glares at me and his mouth drops open in shock. He readies to say something which turns into a scoff of disbelief. He turns and signals to Simon to pull over, which Simon does quickly.

I burst from the car before it comes to a complete stop, and with deliberation, I walk away from the vehicle seeking to get as far away from Ben as possible. I hear his footsteps behind me as he calls my name, but I don’t care. I am too angry. I stretch my arm out to signal for someone, anyone to pull over but Ben grabs it down.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he blares.

“Don’t you dare shout at me! I’m getting the fuck far away from you,
that’s
what I’m doing.” I stretch my arm out again, walking away.

“Get back in the fucking car, Sullivan,” he orders.

I turn to him and poke his chest as I declare, “I’m not your goddamn employee, Ben. Screw you!”

I walk away, yet again, only to be dragged back by an angry Ben who throws me over his shoulder.

“Put me the fuck down, Ben!” I scream battering his back, but he doesn’t flinch nor does he say a word. “I’m not a child!”

He throws me in the car and darts in behind me. I try to open the other door, but he grabs my hand, almost twisting it.

“You’re hurting me,” I cry and he loosens his grip instinctively, but is still very brooding as he looks at me.

“Don’t you
ever
embarrass me like that again,” he warns.

His tone is serious, demanding, and brooks no argument. His eyes are dark and ominous. He scares me. He quiets me.

We ride the rest of the journey to my apartment in silence. I dart from the car as soon as it stops. I can’t bear another second with Ben, the Despicable.

“Sullivan,” he calls after me, but I am through the glass turnstiles and waving to Susie before he can make it out of the car.

I see an open elevator and I dash toward it, exhaling as I am safe from the ogre. I turn around to press the button for the eleventh floor and I nearly wet myself when I see him burst into the car with me and jab the button I was about to press. His eyes are chilling as he glares at me; his nose flexing to match his ragged breathing and his chest rising and falling.

As soon as the doors close he locks his lips over mine, kissing me fiercely. I push him away, moving to the other side of the elevator. He has taken me by surprise
, but somehow it feels like it is what I needed. I needed to feel him, his tenderness, his hunger for me. That hadn’t been the man I wanted to get away from moments ago. That man was a tyrant. I need the Ben that plays grandiose tricks to get my attention.

He crosses over to me, shifting my thoughts. He is heaving, his hard chest filling with air with every breath he takes. God, he looks dangerously handsome. His hair is tousled as though he has been running his hand wildly through it. His eyes are wild, but tender. His lips are red and ridged with teeth marks; he had been biting them.
I did this to him
.

I raise my hand to his cheek, rubbing it lightly. He closes his eyes and sinks into my touch. The feeling of his cheek is too tempting. I want to slap him. It would make me feel so much better. Before I even lift my palm in earnest, I find his lips on mine. He is gentle this time.
I ease into him, all thoughts of slapping him gone, moving my hands under his jacket to caress his back. Our tongues swirl around each other, licking away nasty memories of a moment ago.

He covers me in his embrace, one hand wrapped around my neck and the other around my waist, tightening his grip on me. His moans, as our tongues collide, are breaths of passion that draw me even deeper into him.
I
do that to him.

The moment is broken by the ding of the elevator
doors. When they glide open, he is staring at me, confusion etching his face. I straighten then slide out the car, turning back to him.

“Are you coming?” I ask shyly.

“I can’t,” he answers. He rests his arms on either side of the elevator car as though he’s warring with himself. “I have something important that I need to do.”

“Will I see you later?” I am nervous that he might say no. Toying with my purse, my gaze falls to the floor.

He steps out from the car and cups my chin, guiding my gaze up to his and asks, “Do you want to?”

I nod my head, still refusing to look at him.

“Look at me,” he demands, his tone soft and caressing, coaxing my eyes toward his.

I hear his sudden gasp and see his eyes widen in marvel as I pluck my big eyes up to him. He is still affected by me; by the way I look at him.

“I do,” I say without him repeating his question.

I desperately want to keep this connection between us. His tenderness possesses me; so does his striking command and presence. As angry as I was at him earlier, I am willing to forgive his arrogance and fuck the sourness of that moment out of our memories for good.

Inhaling with a hiss, he kisses me deeply then pulls away, leaving me wanting more of him.

“You’ll learn Sullivan,” he whispers.
He steps into the elevator then presses the button for the ground floor.

“Later it is then,” he says before the doors close, his sentence filled with promise and desire that
tugs at the muscles in my core.

I can’t wait.

I sit in the bathtub, relaxing my tension-filled body. It is tension from the mêlée between Ben and me, as well as the sexual tension he’d left me with after what he’d last said, that I now need to relieve. I know, however, that the sexual tension won’t be relieved with a soothing bath and that I’ll have to wait until that promise of
later
to get what I so desire.

My cell rings reminding me that
I really need to change that damn ringtone.

“Hey
, Simone,” I answer.

“Girl, what did you do?” she asks.

My countenance falls, wondering what I did now. Did I make things worse? Did Ben fire Simone?

“Boss man came in here and gathered everyone in the conference room, even called Jamison back
to the office.”

I swallow hard. What have I done? Did Jamison lose his job too?

“He apologized!” Simone enthuses in a whisper.

“What?” I am dumbstruck. He listened to me?

“Sully, I don’t know what you said to him on the lunch date. Or did to him – ’cause dude came in here all messed up, looking like you rocked his world – but whatever you said, or did, changed him. He’s never apologized to anybody before, let alone his staff.”

Simone went on and on, but I couldn’t hear her over my beating heart thundering in my
chest. He listened to me. What did that mean?

I can’t stop a big, stupid grin from
spreading across my face. I close my eyes at the thought of what he did, and all I can see is him: his smile, his striking green eyes, and pouty lips – which I want all over me.

“Sully,” Simone jolts me back from my reverie, forcing me back to the present.

“Thanks for telling me, Simone.”

“No problem, girlie. All I’ve gotta tell you is ju
st keep doing what you’re doing. When Mr. Hayes is nice, everyone has a good day,” she advises. “He’s a different man now and it took just four days of your company to make that happen.” she advises. “He’s a different man and it took just four days of your company to make that happen.”

I blush. I really haven’t done anything, but be myself.

“Thanks again, Simone. Hey, we should hang out. I feel like we haven’t had some me, you and Rae time in a while,” I suggest.

“Wow, the last time we did that was the Sunday after the Christmas party. It’s overdue. How about tonight?” she proposes.

“Er, I can’t tonight. Ben’s coming over,” I reveal, biting my bottom lip at the thought. I can’t wait.

“You lucky bitch!” she muses in a hushed tone. “Well, have fun with that. And hit me up when you’ve figured out a day for us to have our girls’ hang out.”

Hanging up, I settle into the bathtub, pleased with myself. I hug myself and the same stupid grin plays on my face. I look at the time and see that it is 3:30 so I step out of the bath, drying off. Leaving the bathroom, I decide to clean the place up for Ben’s arrival. Maybe I’ll cook something special for me, him and Rae after all that – hoping to God that Ryan won’t be there. Still can’t stand the guy.

I slip into my Winnie the Pooh wool pajama bottoms and a white tank top. I turn my
iPod up with my reggae tunes playing, cleaning and rocking to
“Is this love”
by Bob Marley. Ever since my messed up birth mother told me that my father was Jamaican, I’d tried to get closer to my “roots”. The best way I knew how was through music since there was no family to get this from.

My adoptive mother hated the music; thought it was as rebellious as the rock music I so loved. She tried training me in classical piano to curb my rebellious nature and taste
s in music, but I just would not be tamed.

I sit on the couch thinking about my mom and I imagine the horror she must be going through, missing me as much as I imagine her missing me, but Marshall Jr., my older brother, hasn’t told me anything of alarm, so that settles me.

Marshall Sr. and Wilhelmina Keyes love both their children, even if one of them – me – is from the wrong side of the tracks and makes their life hell with her antics and disappearing acts.

Marshall is my only link to New York and our parents. He is their birth son, while I was adopted much later. He’s a lawyer and helped get me to where I am now. Marshall helped me get settled into the University of Pennsylvania after Jared got me enrolled and paid for that first year.
Marshall also helped to change my identity: new social security, and new I.D. He knew I had to run.

After I’d shot Rick, my boyfriend at the time who’
d raped me, I had to run. His parents were real estate gurus in New York, and rape or not, they were going to make sure that charges were pressed against me. They were well-connected, even more connected than my parents and brother combined. I’d go to jail for sure after their digging up my past drug habits and troubled childhood.

When I ran, I had no idea it would take such a toll on my parents. They spent months searching for me; searches that came up empty thanks to Marshall. The only way they knew I was alive was through some postcards I would send them through Marshall. The cards would highlight certain places I was currently visiting –
complete fabrications – just so they would know I was okay. It was stupid to deceive them like that, but I had to believe that it was for the best.

There were times in the beginning where I wanted to go back home, but too much damage had been done. I’d started college and was now a few months away from finishing my degree in Psychology. I couldn’t stop now.

My cell phone rings dragging me from my trip into the past. It’s Rachel.

“Hey, Rae,” I say sweetly.

“Hi, honey. You’re playing reggae music,” she observes. “You must be in a good mood. How has your day been?” she inquires.

“Eventful,” I answer, remembering my entire day and smiling that it wasn’t yet over.

“Ooh, do tell.”

“When you get home,” I tell her.

“Oh, Lilah, I’m going to dinner with Ryan after work.”

Figures.
“Fine, after dinner then.”

“Ugh, I hate when you make me wait on a juicy story.”

“I’ll tell you this much: Ben’s coming over.”

“You guys made up? Jeez, you guys have been hot and cold all week. We’re talking about this at length when I get home,” she warns. “Well, do enjoy, babe. Was just calling to check in on you and tell you my plans for tonight.” Rachel is always checking up on me. It’s her way of ensuring that I’m safe.

“Enjoy your dinner as well, okay? Get home safe.”

I hang up and notice there’s a message from Ben. My tummy flutters in anticipation, hoping that he isn’t texting me to tell me he won’t make it. I open it tentatively and read:

I can’t wait to see you. Should I bring dinner?

I type a quick response:

No, I’ll be cooking. P.s. I can’t wait to see you either ;-)

Just as I think he won’t respond, my phone alerts me to a new message: