Three and a Half Weeks (22 page)

“Okay, thanks for breakfast, Ian, and I’ll be in touch soon. Adios.”

The first-class cabin is only half full so the flight is peaceful, evocative of the days when air travel was not such a fraught ordeal. Still, ten and a half hours is a long flight and he is glad when it’s over. He’d been able to knock out some paperwork while Ella slept and even squeezed in a hour’s nap himself. Noticing Ella rousing as the plane
begins its descent, he grasps her hand.

“Hi. How are you feeling?”

His reward is a megawatt smile and his heart lurches upon seeing it. “I feel ridiculously good, considering how much time I’ve been spending on planes these days.”

“Yes, you’ve been the world traveler of late, haven’t you? Well, Ms. Strong, you are now about to set foot in Japan. What would you like to see while we’re here?”

“Definitely Fuji. And I want to take the bullet train.

“Modest enough aspirations. We can do both in one afternoon. Anything else?”

“Lots,” she nods. “I’ll need to do some surfing on the Internet to decide what to fit into this short trip.” She squeezes his hand with hers. “When will I be on my own?”

Glancing sharply at her he asks, “On your own?”

“I mean,” she says flushing, “when do you have to work?”

“I have a meeting set up for early Tuesday morning with a group of my investors. At that time, I’ll determine how much time and effort I need to invest in them. May I get back to you on that?” He smiles sardonically.

“Yes, you may.” She stretches and yawns. “I can’t wait to get off this plane. Where are we staying anyway?”

His lips twitch. “Some dump called the Imperial Hotel Tokyo.”

“Ah, I’ve heard about that fleabag hotel. Couldn’t we do better?”

“You know, while I have to work, you should treat yourself to some spa time at the hotel. You deserve it,” he says, kissing her hand. He’s beginning to understand how much he cares for this girl and it’s massively unsettling. All those months apart when she was in Cambridge, he’d begun to believe he was in love with her. When he’d failed to get her back, he somehow convinced himself it was all just a delusion on his part. But now? Now he was once again faced with the uncomfortable truth: it took his breath away if he allowed himself to dwell on it.

“Let me know when you hear back from that smarmy guy you work with about going to New York.” He looks at her, brazenly challenging her to complain about his characterization of Lucien.

She doesn’t take the bait. “Why?”

“I need to meet with someone in New York. I may just travel with you directly from Tokyo, depending on the timing and what’s going on at the office.”

“Oh? That would be so nice.” She snuggles up to him and he puts his arm around her. Mmm, she smells so good, like sunshine with a hint of sandalwood. He’s looking forward to having her in his arms tonight; he never enjoyed sleeping with a woman so much as he did with Ella. In fact, he rarely did sleep with anyone before meeting Ella. She’d inspired him to break so many of his own habits and rules, all without even knowing it. He shakes his head in consternation. Just as that thought dissolves, he feels the landing gear gently bounce on the runway. Ah, Tokyo.

I never knew I could be so attracted to a man in a suit, I muse. I’m lying in the fluffy bed in our hotel room watching Ian get dressed for his meeting. It’s funny: casual is practically my middle name. I’ve pretty much lived my entire life in jeans and
tees, wearing a dress only if the occasion absolutely demanded it. I used to like to look at men in casual clothes, clothes that showed off their efforts in the gym. That was all pre-DWB (Dorian Wesley Blackmon), though. Since meeting Ian, I now get hot whenever I even see a suit from a distance—he has rewired me that way.

But, trust me, suits never look as good on anyone else the way they do on Blackmon. Eyeing the charcoal gray Versace suit he’s donned for his business conference today, I can’t help but want to drag him back into bed. The pants drape down from his slim hips, highlighting that trim waistline and tight butt, and flare down his long legs. The light blue shirt hugs his buff torso like a lover and the jacket plays tease, offering glimpses of its luscious contents as it sways with his motion. Mmm. He catches me looking a
nd gifts me with a wolfish smile—I know what he’s thinking now.

I put my arms behind my head to further enjoy the view. “Have any idea how long you’ll be?”

He looks down his nose at me. “Why? Will you miss me?”

“Always. Should I make my own plans for the day or wait on you?”

He considers my question. “Why don’t you shower and have breakfast? I should have an idea where this will go by the first hour or so. As soon as I have more information, I’ll text you and you can take it from there. Sound okay?”

I nod and stretch languorously—multiple orgasms right before bed do wonders for a person’s morning outlook. Ian finishes dressing, adding a silvery blue tie, gives me a quick kiss, and reminds me to check my messages before taking off for the day.

It turns out he’s gone for most of the day so I end up walking the streets of Tokyo—um, wait, that didn’t come out right. I
toured
the local neighborhoods of Tokyo, took the train, and bravely ate food from street vendors. I stopped to chat with the man selling tofu pudding—he spoke fairly good English and said his name was Kiko. Fascinating me with trivia, he explained that street vendors were ubiquitous in Tokyo once upon a time but by the 1970s were all but gone, replaced by convenience stores. In recent years, there’s been a resurgence of the vendors, selling healthy alternatives filled with fresh vegetables and tofu. The woman next to him was selling piping hot sweet potatoes and the comforting scent filled the air.

The city is densely populated, both by people and architecture. Wending my way through both, I window shop and gape at the unusual style of building, both in style and material. Stopping into a small boutique, I buy a new dress to wear to dinner. It’s very short, in fact, barely there, and I wonder what Ian will have to say about it. By four o’clock, I haven’t yet heard from him so I return to the hotel to soak in the huge whirlpool tub and have a glass of wine.

I hear the door open at ten minutes to six, as I’m attempting to do research on one of the film subject’s native origins. Leaping up, I race to the door and as soon as he closes it behind him, I have at my gorgeous CEO, jumping into his arms and hoping he’ll catch me: he does.

“Now that’s what I call an enthusiastic greeting. Miss me?”

“Nah, not really,” I breathe, my hands reaching up to caress his face as I kiss him.

“I’d like to be greeted like this every day, Ella. Can you see to that?”

Laughing, I slide down his body, making sure I press closely against every inch of him on the way down. “Highly doubtful, sad to say. Hey, I bought a new dress. Want to see it?”

“Absolutely,” he replies, putting down his messenger bag, and taking a seat near the sofa. He sits there like the king he is—the king in my realm anyway.

I retreat to the bedroom, rip open the bag and lay the dress on the bed. Oh. It’s even shorter than I remember, I think with dismay. There’s almost no way that Ian will go for this one. I pull off my tee-shirt and yoga pants and lift the dress over my head. The light blue slinky material feels cool and slippery as it settles over my body. Now I remember why I bought it—it’s amazingly comfortable yet it highlights my best assets. I sidle into the other room to show Ian, feeling suddenly shy and almost silly. When I walk in, his head jerks up to look and I see shock etched into his face. Uh-oh.

“What do you think?” I ask coyly
, even though I kinda know the answer just based on his expression.

“It’s quite short.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed. Anything good to say?”

“The blue matches your eyes and… you look very sexy. Much too sexy. I’m not good at sharing, never have been, and I do believe you’re aware of that inclination.”

I shrug my shoulders. “I like it. I was hoping to wear it tonight?” I frame the thought as a question.

He sighs. “Wear what you want, Ariel. I’m sure you’ll look beyond fantastic. Be warned, however, that I will go to whatever lengths necessary to keep other hands off. Understood?”

Mutely, I nod, trying to imagine what lengths he’ll deem necessary to go to; I suspect Ian doesn’t have too many boundaries when it comes to jealousy. Perhaps I should wear another dress?

“Oh, by the way,” he adds, “I have something for you that will look good with the dress.” He gets up and goes into the bedroom. When he returns he has a piece of jewelry casually draped over his fingers. When he hands it to me, sans box, I assume it is a piece of costume jewelry but when I touch it and get a good look, I gasp. It’s a platinum gold bracelet and it’s studded with diamonds—not chips, mind you, but actual diamonds. The piece must be worth a fortune and I’d be terrified to wear it.

“Are you insane, Ian? This gift is a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

He smiles and shrugs. “I
actually bought it for you over a year ago, Ella.”

Over a year ago? Before I left him and fled to Britain. My stomach lurches as if someone just delivered a swift kick to my abdomen.

“I never got the chance to give it to you, to say I was sorry. Will you accept it now in the spirit in which it was intended?”

Gulping, I nod, blinking away the tears. “Of course, Ian. It’s unbelievably beautiful.”

He takes the bracelet from me gently and drapes it over my wrist, clasping it. “Very pretty,” he says and kisses my hand. “I made reservations at a restaurant I think you’ll like but we don’t have to leave for another couple of hours.”

“Oh? Hmm,” I tap my finger to my lips as if in thought. “What should we do in the meantime?” Finally I get my chance to grab him by the tie and lead him to the bedroom by it. His eyes light up and he doesn’t put up much of a fight.

When we get to the bed, I shove him down onto his back and start to undress him. “You’ll be wanting to change out of this fussy suit, anyway. Right?”

He just smiles but his hand goes up my dress. “Mmm, there are benefits to v
ery short dresses, aren’t there?

Ignoring
him, I don’t stop until I’ve removed every last article of his clothing and he’s lying there with only what he came into the world with—of course, it’s a lot larger now and that suits me just fine. I quickly tear off my own clothing while he observes with a heated expression. Let’s see how far he’ll let me take this enterprise, I think, as I grab a condom off the bedside table and climb on top of him.

Shockingly, he doesn’t stop me; he just lets me have my way with him. I have his wrists in my hands and I’m still on top, regulating our movement, along with his escalating passion and my own. I’m surprised he hasn’t wrested control from me by now but he’s lying there passively, watching me. Just as I’m about to
gain the apex, seconds away really, he swiftly frees his hands, lifting my hips so high I can barely reach him to mount again and my momentum toward orgasm crashes and burns.

“What?” I pant, only
managing the single word.

“You may be on top but you don’t have control, Ella. It’s mine and I decide whether you come or don’t. I haven’t given my permission yet, now have I?”

Oh, I want to slap him so badly right now. To think he let me do all the work and just as I was about to attain my reward, he snatches it right out from under me—literally. He’s still holding my hips, his eyes filled with amused satisfaction and I’m tempted to take myself up and away and deny him for the rest of our trip.

In fact… Just as I’m about to act on that impulse, he slams me down onto him and I forget what I was about to do. He raises me up slowly and slams me down again. I can’t think of anything else, not a single other thought besides waiting for the next slam to happen. By the time he gets me back to where I was when he stopped it, my body is slathered with sweat and my legs are shaking almost violently.

His eyes like melted silver, he’s holding me back, keeping me poised on the edge of the precipice, and finally he says, “Now,” and yanks me down onto him very hard and fast, once, twice, and the room flashes white with the explosion happening inside my body.

The next day we take the bullet train and go to Mount Fuji. I never before realized how beautiful a country is Japan—the architecture is spectacular but the natural beauty is nearly sublime. Wednesday we spend traveling to Kyoto and Thursday we stay closer to see the Meiji Shrine and take an enchanting evening cruise on Tokyo Bay.

On Friday, we fly to New York though Ian is on his cell every minute we aren’t in the air, barking instructions to Jonas, Jarvis, and Jackson—the J men, as I now call them. I’ve never met any of them though I saw Jackson Delacroix briefly in the club that first night—but I feel as if I know them simply from listening to Ian’s side of the conversation over and over again. The one person I really am burning to meet is his executive assistant Claudia, who works most closely with Ian when he’s in the office. I’m desperate to see what she looks like and why she hasn’t tried to make a play for Ian herself. Wouldn’t most women?

The matter I need to handle for Lucien is pending. Apparently there’s some legal problem with a release for one of the subjects so I need to wait until he Fed Exes me some paperwork, and then meet with the attorney. Lucien seems to have gotten over the last bump in L.A. without any problem. I know Ian doesn’t like him but Lucien seems perfectly reasonable and even considerate to me.

Ian has a meeting while I schedule time at the library and the Museum of Modern Art. When I’m finished I still haven’t heard from him so I text him:
Can I meet u wherever u r? I’m finished 4 the day and am in the mood 2 meet a tall, dark handsome stranger. Know any? Ella.

His response comes back a few minutes later:
You can’t get much stranger than me. I’m at the Russian Tea Room on 57
th
St. I’ll be the one wearing the big grin when you walk in. See you soon. I.

His message makes me smile and suddenly I can’t get to him soon enough. He must have gone to the iconic restaurant because he knew I wanted to see it and we had planned on hooking up at whatever place his meeting would be held. I push through the doors of the Museum hurriedly—I’m definitely growing much too fond of him and moving into the red zone for heartache if something goes wrong.

I’m ever so glad to arrive at the restaurant for it’s started raining—teeming really—and I have no umbrella. Normally difficult to get a cab in New York, it’s impossible in the rain—you probably have a better chance of winning the lottery, I think. As a result, I resemble a drowned rat as I rush through the entrance, attempting to shake myself out, sort of like a dog in a bathtub. The maître d’ comes over quickly.

“I’m meeting someone? Ian Blackmon? He’s already seated.”

“Of course. Please follow me, Madame.”

As we walk, I look around at the fantastical atmosphere. Colorful comes to mind. In the main room where we are now, the leather banquettes are a bright red, the walls a hunter green with framed paintings on every inch. The floor is covered by a vibrant red, patterned carpet, and the ceiling is a warm wood that reflects all the amber light bouncing around the room. The maître d tells me that each dining room has a different décor and one is all gold with blue glass walls and another has some very unusual light fixtures.

When I spot the table, I see Ian is sitting with another man but I’m focused on my dastardly handsome man so I’m not paying attention to his companion—that is, until I approach the table and both men rise politely.

“Ariel,” Ian leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek. “This is Daniel Butler. Daniel, my girlfriend, Ariel Strong.”

The man swivels his eyes to me and nods politely. “Hello, Ariel. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” and extends his hand.

I’m frozen in place and struck dumb. The man just shimmers with some kind of potent energy and his eyes, like light green glass, seem to penetrate right through me. I’m also taken aback
at his utter masculine beauty. If any man can ever give Ian real competition, it’s this one standing in front of me. I quickly gather my wits about me to avoid scrutiny from Mr. Blackmon. Sheesh, lately I’ve been surrounded by such beautiful men—I must be doing something to please the gods.

As handsome as Lucien is in all his blond perfection, he doesn’t move me the way Ian does. There’s some kind of magnetic field around Ian that just sucks me in—probably sucks in most people. Consequently since I’ve met
him, I’ve never really looked at another man—not in
that way
.