Translucent (10 page)

Gratefully, traffic isn’t too terrible on the 101, and I pull up in front of Blake’s office building just five minutes late. I message her that I’m here and wait anxiously for her to come out. Having only seen her in business clothes, I can’t wait to see what she looks like dressed up in evening attire. My dick jumps with excitement at the thought. The girl has me thinking like an adolescent boy again.

Minutes later, she appears from the left side of the building wearing a floor-length, black evening gown, looking sexier than I could’ve ever imagined. With each step she takes towards my car, my smile grows wider. Hopping out of the car, I open the passenger door for her and greet her with a half-bow, much like a chauffeur would. I stare at her unabashedly, taking in all that is Blake Martin. The sleeveless dress is simple, but opulent, solid black with an iridescent shimmer when the light hits it just right, but the best part is the back, which other than the tie around her neck is completely fabric-free until just above her ass. Her hair is piled into some sort of messy knot on top of her head, with a few loose tendrils framing her face, and her make-up—although heavier than I’ve seen before—looks natural, making her incredibly amazing eyes pop out more than normal, and her full lips beg for me to kiss them.

“Good evening, Ms. Martin.”

“Madden,” she replies curtly before sliding onto the leather seat.

Once we’re both in the car, I continue to stare at her, unable to tear my eyes away.

“Do I look okay?” she asks apprehensively.

“You look perfect,” I reply as I grab her hand and bring it to my mouth, kissing her knuckles softly. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”

Glaring at me, she mutters, “I believe I was told it was non-negotiable.”

I nod and chuckle. “I believe you were. I couldn’t wait another day to see you again. I’m sorry Jae couldn’t make it.”

Driving off into the early evening before she can respond, I turn up the radio to the playlist I created for her, hoping she’ll sing along. After having her in my car on Monday and Wednesday, I’ve been looking forward to hearing her sweet voice again reverberating through the small space. The drive to Hollywood Hills takes almost an hour, and when we pull up to the home where the party is being held, I notice her begin to tense up.

“You’re going to be fine, Blake,” I reassure her. “Stay close to me and I’ll introduce you to the people I know, but keep in mind, these are my brother’s friends more than mine. He thinks some professional athletes will be here tonight, and I’m hoping to tell them about the new video games.”

“Yes, Mr. Thompson briefed me on everything. Please don’t leave me alone,” she pleads with a shaky voice. “I get freaked out in social situations sometimes—like,
really
freaked out.”

The alarm and distress in her tone cuts at me, and I want to ask what happened for her to be so fearful about being with strangers, but now’s not the time. Leaning across the center console, I press my lips against her forehead. “I promise I won’t.”

We pull up to the valet area and are helped from the vehicle before being escorted through the grandiose front doors. I give the door attendant our names, and then wrap my arm around her tiny waist, leading her into the lavish great room. All of the traditional furniture has been removed, and the entire area has been set up to look like a casino. These types of parties are quite common throughout the circles Easton runs in, but this is the most extravagantly decorated one I’ve witnessed. Gaming tables of all kinds—poker, blackjack, roulette, and craps—lined with plush gold and burgundy felt are scattered across the room, each manned with a male and female attendant to oversee the games. Servers with trays of champagne and hor d’eoeuvres flit through the crowd of people, and a live band is set up in the back corner playing a familiar instrumental piece.

“Madden! I’m so glad you made it,” Easton’s voice assaults my ears as I feel a firm slap on the back.

Turning around, my brother and Emerson stand arm-in-arm directly behind me. He has a huge, goofy grin spread across his face, but she appears to be annoyed, and they are both staring blatantly at Blake.

“Easton, Emerson, good evening to both of you,” I greet them politely. “I’d like to introduce you to Blake Martin.”

Instead of shaking Blake’s outstretched hand, Easton pulls her into a hug and kisses her cheek. Emerson’s face goes from annoyed to pissed in response to her date’s actions, and I have to keep myself from laughing out loud.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Easton,” Blake says in her typically soft voice. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Don’t believe a thing my brother tells you,” he replies with a hearty laugh. “It’s all lies.”

Emerson steps forward in-between the two of them and plasters a fake smile on her face. “It’s great to see you again, Blake. I had no idea Madden was bringing our support team with him,” she states icily.

Before I can reprimand her for her rudeness, Blake completely surprises me with a scathing response of her own.

“Likewise, Emerson, a pleasure once again,” she retorts with a smirk, “and yes, as Easton’s assistant, you know as well as I do that’s what we support staffers do—make the boss-man happy in any way possible.”

I’m not sure who’s more shocked at Blake’s aloof remarks, but if I didn’t already want to fuck her brains out, I definitely would now. Whereas I want her to submit and allow me to take care of her in every way possible, the feisty way she just held her own up against the bitchy Emerson Lister was sexy as fuck. It appears there are many more layers to this exquisite young woman than I originally thought.

Finding my voice again, I nod my head slightly at the other couple as I place my hand against the small of Blake’s back. “We’re going to grab something to drink and engage in a few games. We’ll see you both later?”

Easton smiles and nods, while Emerson continues to stand in disbelief. “Sounds good, bro,” he says, “and I’m impressed.”

I lead Blake away from the two of them, and as soon as we’re out of earshot, I dip my mouth down to her ear to whisper, “You have no idea how beautiful you are, sweet girl.”

Looking up at me, she smiles innocently and mouths the words
Thank you.

After we each get a drink and taste a few of the appetizers, we find a poker table that has two open seats together. I doubt she’s ever played Texas Hold ‘Em before, but I’m sure it won’t take her long to figure it out; plus, we aren’t playing for real money, just door prizes. Everyone at the table greets us with a smile and a warm welcome, and I immediately notice a starting guard for the Lakers sitting on the other side of her. I should attempt to strike up conversation with him, in hopes to discuss the gaming line, but I’m too worried about taking care of her and making sure she’s comfortable.

“Do you need me to explain the rules, or do you think you can pick it up on your own?” I ask quietly, not wanting to embarrass her.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispers back as the dealer distributes the first hand.

After she wins three of the first four hands, I wonder if she’s having a bit of beginner’s luck, but nearly an hour in, she’s taken nearly everyone at the table’s chips—including mine—and using terms I’ve never heard before, like ‘implied odds’ and ‘gutshot straight draw’. Throughout it all, she continues to scan the room every so often, as if she’s looking for someone she knows or expecting to see a familiar face. Perhaps she’s keeping an eye out for Emerson, but I’m not quite sure. She remains polite and courteous when anyone speaks to her, but it’s obvious she’s way out of her comfort zone in this room full of strangers. Yet again, another layer of Blake is revealed, and I add another slew of questions to my list to ask her once I get her alone.

As the night grows late, a booming voice over the speakers announces it’s time for some awards dealing with the charity, as well as a few speeches. Several people get up to talk about the money the event has raised, and to discuss how the proceeds from last year’s gala were spent. The final speaker to talk is the basketball player that was seated next to Blake for most of the evening. He talks about how the charity is near and dear to his heart, because his mom was an abused woman when he was growing up, and that it means so much to him now to be able to help other women in similar situations. Then, as he concludes his speech, he announces the winner for the main prize of the evening—a week-long trip for two to New York City, including tickets to see the Lakers and Knicks play in Madison Square Garden.

“And the winner is not only the best female poker player, but the best poker player period I’ve ever seen—Miss Blake Martin. Please come up here to collect your prize.”

Exuberantly, I turn to congratulate her, but she’s gone.

T
HE
MOMENT
THE
GUY
with the microphone says something about the “best female poker player”, my stomach freefalls into a pit of panicked trepidation and I bolt. I have no idea where I’m going, but there’s no way I can handle the attention of all those people on me. I knew I wasn’t ready for something like this; it was only a matter of time before it became too much for me to deal with. Throughout the evening, I’ve done my best to skim the crowd, but with everyone constantly wandering around, it was difficult to get a firm handle on all the guests here.

Soundlessly slipping through the first door I stumble upon, I walk out into the massive, lush backyard. A large geometric-shaped pool takes up the majority of the space, and is surrounded with perfectly trimmed hedges and colorful flowering bushes. Strategically placed lights are spread around the lawn, highlighting the Tuscan-style pergola off to the left.
What the fuck am I doing here?

Sucking in a huge breath of fresh air, my nerves settle down a tiny bit, but I’m still a long way from calm. I hastily slip out of my heels and reach down to pick them up, knowing I’ll move faster and more quietly without them. Scampering across the grass to the right, trying to stay out of the lit areas, I make my way to the property line. Once I reach the back gate, I’m at a loss for what to do. I can’t very well hop over the fence in an evening gown, only to find myself in someone else’s yard. Grasping onto the black wrought iron fixture, I tilt my head back and stare at the starless sky, taking a few moments to compose myself.

“Blake? Is that you?” Madden’s worried voice cuts through the silent night a split-second before I hear his approaching footsteps in the grass. “What in the world are you doing out here? Why did you run away?”

Refusing to speak or to turn around to face him, I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing back the threatening tears. At this point, I’m sure this will be my one and only date with Madden, and I can only hope JDT doesn’t lose the contract over my neurotic behavior.

He continues to close the gap between us without demanding any answers. Stepping up behind me, his strong arms slip securely around my waist as his chest presses against the exposed skin of my back.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” he whispers softly. “I’m right here.”

His presence assaults my senses, soothing me on contact—a perfect combination of a citrusy, clean scent invading my nostrils, a warm, raspy voice murmuring comforting words against the sensitive skin just under my ear, and the close warmth of his body radiating through mine. For a moment, I forget why we’re out here—all of the people inside the house, and all of the reasons that sent me running from them disappear—and for the first time in forever, I feel safe and protected.

The backdoor to the house opens, and the voices of people wandering outside tears me from the tranquil, idyllic trance Madden lulled me into. My body tenses as the sound of reality crashes down around me, encompassed by the dreadful thought of returning to the party, but thankfully, his arms tighten around me in response.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says lowly, his face still nuzzled into my neck.

Nodding at his suggestion, he slowly releases me from his embrace, only to grab my hand and guide me through the yard and house, out to where the valet waits. He smiles and gives several people an acknowledging head bob as we make our way out, but we stop to talk to no one. It isn’t until we’re safely inside his car does he speak again.

“You’re coming home with me. It’s non-negotiable.”