Taken (24 page)

I kiss you under your chin. “Where are you staying?”

“The Ritz Carlton. Can you make it? Nine o’clock?” Your lips trail along my jaw.

I’m addicted to your touch, your kiss, the feel of your warm body under my hands and lips, your smell, your voice. “I’ll be there.”

Your mouth claims mine in a slow, deep kiss that feels like you’re weaving a spell with your tongue, putting me in a trance. I never want it to end.

After I watch you drive away, I pull out my cell and call Shannon. “Help!” I say when she answers. “I’m meeting Merrick’s lawyer tonight and have no idea what to wear.”

“God, I thought you had an accident or something! Never say ‘help’ as soon as I answer again unless you’re seconds from death.”

“Sorry.” I bite my cheek so I don’t laugh. “Where are you? Want to go to the mall?”

“Of course I want to go to the mall. I’ll be by in a few to pick you up.”

“I can drive.” I sit back on the porch swing and rock.

“Rach, you know I hate your driving. Be there soon.”

Flipping through racks of silky, sleeveless blouses, Shannon pulls a light blue one out and holds it up to me. “Is tonight casual? I’m at a loss. We could go with this blouse and a black skirt, or is that overdoing it?”

“No clue. That’s why I called you.” I fiddle with the tag attached to the seam, turning it to look at the price. “A hundred and forty-five bucks. This one’s staying home on the rack tonight.”

Shannon rolls her eyes. “Can’t you charge it? The color’s perfect with your tan.”

“No.” I pull the hanger from her fingers and shove it back on the rack.

“I know,” Shannon says, her eyes landing on a mannequin behind me. “Sundress. Dark colors so you don’t look like you’re going to a picnic, but not formal either. Fun and flirty, but still somewhat dressy.”

She pulls five from a nearby rounder and pushes me toward the fitting rooms. “Try these on.”

Ten minutes later, I have my choice narrowed down to the one dress that actually fits me and doesn’t look like a sack. It’s ankle-length with black, white and navy blue designs, thin straps and a gathered bust twisted in the center.

“Perfect,” Shannon says when I model for her. “You look like you have boobs.” Her phone’s to her ear, and she holds up one finger to me. “It
is
an emergency,” she says to whoever she’s talking to. “Yes, five-fifteen works. Thank you so much!” She hangs up and tosses her phone in her bag. “You’re getting highlights at five-fifteen. Let’s find some strappy, fuck-me- pumps to wear with that dress.”

She spins and saunters off, all golden blonde with sunshine streaks. I have to admit, she always has nice hair. “I’m aiming for heels I can walk in and not fall on my ass.”

Shannon turns with a cocked eyebrow. “Honey, I’ve seen Merrick. You get your claws into a man like him and hang on for dear life. You’re leaving here with every advantage modern retail can give you. Got it?”

Following her to the shoe department, I can’t help but smile thinking about what she’d say if she knew I’d been wearing your oversized t-shirts and basketball shorts for the past week, hair in a ponytail and no makeup.

But maybe she’s right. You and I have started over. The playing field has changed. We’re back in civilization. What if you realize I’m not sophisticated, that I don’t fit into your high-class business world, your billionaire social circles?

I’m being paranoid. You watched me for three months. You know the real me.

Shannon makes a beeline for a pair of platform silver sandals with crisscrossing straps up the ankles.
“These.”
She flags down a sales associate and pushes my shoulder into a chair.

“I thought we were going for sexy, not hooker.” I turn around and pick up a black pair. “I like these. They’re strappy sandals like those, but without the platform and sky-high heels.”

Shannon sighs. “Rach.”

I sigh back. “Shannon. I seriously don’t want to end up with this dress over my head in the middle of the Ritz bar because of those shoes.”

“I’m trying to get your dress over your head in Merrick’s bed because of
these
shoes.” She points to the silver heel in her hand. “Trust me?”

Her determination makes me smile. “Fine. But I don’t need shoes to get me there.” I need to trust you and prove to you that I do.

Shannon narrows her eyes and a sly smile slides across her lips. “So, have you then?”

I glance to the sales lady walking toward us, playing her question off. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You bitch!” She smacks my arm. The sales lady stops, not sure if we’re fighting for real. When Shannon starts laughing, she approaches. “We need this in an eight,” Shannon says, not waiting for the woman to ask how she can help us.

She plops down in the chair beside me to wait for the sales lady to come back with the hooker shoes, and stares holes in the side of my face until I look at her. “Everything but,” I tell her, feeling my face flush. “Pretty much.”

She lifts her hands from the arms of the chair and smacks them back down, gripping them tight. “When? And why didn’t you tell me? And why the “but”?”

“This morning. I am telling you, and the “but” is because it’s just not the right time yet.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “
It’s not the right—Rach!
What are you waiting for? A ring?”

“No! We both want to wait until it’s the right time. That’s all. No big deal.” I scoot forward and slip my shoes off, seeing the sales lady returning.

“Here we are,” she says, handing me the box. “Do you need help trying these on?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.” I take the lid off and pull a shoe out. “Wow, these are…something.”

“Just put it on.” Shannon shifts in her chair to get a better view.

I buckle the straps and stand, holding my hands out for balance. “I don’t know.”

She bolts to her feet clapping. “They’re perfect! Put them in the box! We need to get your hair done.”

Humoring her, I buy the shoes and hope for the best. “If I embarrass myself, I’m blaming you.”

“Fine,” she says, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “You can blame me for landing you an incredible piece of man ass, too.”

At nine o’clock, I enter the Ritz Carlton lobby, surprisingly stable on top of the high heels clicking on the marble floor. My hair is amazing, caramel and gold highlights nestled against my natural dark brown. I’ll never let anyone else touch it.

Shannon knows what she’s doing in the hair and makeup department. She applied smoky eye shadow on my lids, bronzer on my cheeks and a pinkish-brown gloss on my lips—to accentuate my tan she said.

I’m hot. I can’t keep the smile off my face, and I’ve never felt more confident. Excitement and anticipation bubble through me. I’m like a bottle of champagne ready to burst.

“Rachael!” you call, striding toward me. Your face lights up as you get closer. “Jesus, you look good enough to eat.” You pull me against your chest and whisper in my ear, “We might have to skip this meeting and go to my room so I can do just that.” You nuzzle your nose in my hair and nip my earlobe.

Heat flushes my chest. “You look pretty tasty yourself.” I run my hands up and down your long, lean, muscled back over your black dress shirt rolled up to your elbows. Your tan slacks hang perfectly on your hips making my fingers itch to unbuckle your belt. “I hope this isn’t a long meeting.”

“We’ve almost wrapped up. Only one more paper to sign.”

You take my hand and kiss it before leading me to the lounge off the sixth floor lobby. I’ve never been in the Ritz Carlton hotel before and the lounge is nothing like any bar I’ve ever been in. The large room with plush blue chairs at circular tables, sofas, a marble fireplace and a small bar at one end is more like a stuffy relative’s living room than a bar. Drinking tea and eating scones would be more appropriate than sipping alcohol.

I glance down at my strappy, silver, platform sandals that are more nightclub than Windsor Castle and feel entirely out of place.

There aren’t more than fifteen other people sitting in small groups of two or three around the room. At a table in the corner, an older man in a gray suit sits alone making notes with a gold pen. He sees us approach, stands and extends his hand. “Ms. DeSalvo. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He takes my hand and smiles with bright, yet coffee-stained teeth.

“Please, call me Rachael.”

“This is my lawyer,” you say, “Maxwell Campbell.”

“Call me Max,” he says as you pull out my chair.

“What can I get you to drink?” you ask. “Wine or something stronger tonight?” A dimple winks in your cheek.

“They have an extensive martini list,” Max says, crossing his legs and adjusting his suit jacket. “Rocktails they call them. Named after rock songs.”

“Surprise me.” I’m too nervous about being here, in your element, with your lawyer to deliberate a drink choice.

“I’m full of surprises.” You wink and turn toward the bar.

Max stares at me with his head slightly cocked, like he’s trying to figure me out. “Well,” he says, pulling his eyes away and picking up a pair of glasses on the table. “Merrick certainly is full of surprises, I’ll give him that.”

Is he referring to me? I guess a woman like me would be a surprise for you to have on your arm. “Yes, he is.”

I watch your back. The last time it was faced toward me and you were standing at a bar, I ended up unconscious for two days. Not that I have any fear of that happening again. My eyes are on you willing you to hurry back to me.

“How did you find Turtle Tear, Rachael? Was it what you thought it would be?” Max peers over top of his frames with piercing glass-blue eyes. His tone’s not unfriendly, but something in his demeanor has me on edge.

“I love Turtle Tear. It’s more than I ever imagined it to be.”

“Here you go,” you say, putting a hand on my shoulder and sitting a martini glass in front of me with a curved, blue, blown-glass stem. It’s shaped like a crescent moon. “It’s a Champagne Supernova.”

“Thank you. It sounds great.”

You trail a finger across the back of my neck as you walk behind my chair and settle into yours. “I have something to tell you.” You take my hand firmly in both of yours. Your dark eyes claim mine, and a ghost of a smile crosses your lips. “The only signature Max and I need is yours. I’m giving you Turtle Tear. It’s yours.”

I inhale and hold my breath. This can’t be happening. My head spins. I grab the table with my free hand. “You can’t. I can’t accept that.”

Your smile widens. “Remember when I told you it was yours. I wasn’t kidding.” Your eyes flicker to Max and back to me before saying, “I
had
to get you there, Rachael. This is why. I knew the hotel and the island belonged to you the first time we spoke.”

“All we need is a signature,” Max says, handing me his gold pen with a strangled smile and sliding a piece of paper across the table. “Beside the “X”.”

I lean toward you and whisper. “Can we talk about this, please?”

You brush a strand of hair back behind my shoulder. “Of course. After you sign.”

“Merrick--”

You place a finger over my lips. “I’m not asking, Rachael. It’s yours. That document is the title to the property. I’ve already signed it over.”

“Why? I don’t…I’m nothing to you.”

Your chin drops, and your eyes go wide. “How can you think that? You have to know that’s not true.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t mean…I’m not a relative or anything. Why not give it to Heidi or one of her kids if you don’t want to keep it?”

You let my hand go and smack your palm lightly on the table as you sit back in your chair. “No. It’s yours. Please sign the title.”

You gaze across the room. This conversation is closed. Fine. I’ll sign and then give the hotel to Heidi myself. I pick up the pen and whisk my name across the line in black ink.

“Congratulations,” Max says, snapping up the title and closing it in a file inside his briefcase. He picks up a rocks glass on the table with a lime floating in clear liquid and ice. “To a successful renovation.”

I lift my glass and turn my eyes to you. Your chest fills as you smile in relief and lift your rocks glass. The three of us toast, and your hand cups my knee under the table. “Thank you,” I say. “I can’t begin to understand…”