Until I'm Yours (20 page)

Conversation floats around me, giving me clues to this woman Trevor almost married. Apparently she works for an organization that supplies clean water to developing nations. Of course she does. I’m probably the only person at this table who’s never dug a well. What am I doing here? I’m so out of my depth. Oh, I can follow the conversation about foreign policy, even though I don’t contribute much. I’m not an imbecile. But everyone here has given their lives to service of some sort, and the only thing I’ve served in fifteen years, besides the Walsh Foundation, is myself. I feel Trevor’s eyes on me, probing my reticence, but I only offer a smile over my wineglass. I’ll just get through this and try not to draw attention to myself.

Trevor leans in to whisper in my ear, and I feel Fleur’s eyes on us instantly.

“Are you okay?” His eyes run over my face, his concern an intimacy in itself.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” I take a sip of my white wine and give him a smile. It’s phony, but maybe it will fool him and the others at the table.

It doesn’t.

Throughout the five-course meal, I feel his eyes picking at the edges of the mask I drop over my face. The force of his stare pries at my façade until I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on to the image I’m so used to projecting, like a front on a theater stage. Painted beautifully, a backdrop for drama, but flat and propped up by spindly wood.

“Trevor,” Henri says as the servers set dessert on the table. “They’re signaling for the honorees.”

Trevor takes one last sip of wine and tosses his napkin over his plate.

“Guess I better go.” He dips his head to study my face, and I turn to look at him. “You’ll be all right?”

I can’t help it. He’s found a way to, with just a look, tear down my defenses. I can feel my expression softening. Everything that’s been pulled tight under Fleur’s steady scrutiny all night loosens and gives when he looks at me.

“I’ll be fine.” I reach under the table to squeeze his hand. “Good luck.”

He has that look he gets on his face just before he kisses me, and I will him not to. I will him to remember and to consider the heartbroken woman across the table. He narrows his eyes for a second, squeezes my hand back under the table, and walks off.

The table is silent for a few moments, and I realize that everyone understands the small drama playing out. These people knew Fleur and Trevor as a couple. This is their world, and I’m some exotic bird swooping in to light on the shoulder of one of their own.

“So Sofie, Ernest Baston is your father, right?” A gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair asks between bites of his cheesecake.

“Yes.” I sketch a quick nod and smile, pushing away my dessert even though my panties-only photo shoot is behind me.

“He and Martin Bennett have done an astounding job with Bennett Enterprises.” He gives a slow shake of his head, his mouth turned down in disapproval. “It’s a shame that the young pup is going to take it after all your father has done.”

Surprise makes me go still, hand poised over the cheesecake to at least bring the strawberry on top to my mouth.

“You mean Walsh?” I chuckle. “He’s no pup. More like a Doberman. He and I grew up in Bennett Enterprises, and he’s been working with his father since he was fourteen years old preparing for this transition. He’s more than ready.”

“But your father—”

“Has contributed greatly, and has always known Martin wanted his son to succeed him,” I say firmly, steadying my eyes on the man questioning something he knows nothing about. “Walsh is a man of integrity, conviction, and unerring competence. I have all faith he’s the kind of forward-thinking leader to take Bennett further than it’s ever been.”

End of story. My stare and tone tell him so, and he drops it, but I can’t help but wonder how many others in the business community share those sentiments.

And if my father is the fire fueling them.

“I forgot you’re the goodwill ambassador for the Walsh Foundation, right?” he asks.

“Yes, have been for many years. It’s one of my favorite things I get to do.”

“What does that entail exactly?” Fleur interjects, addressing me for the first time since our introduction. “Posing with some orphans and starving children, a few strategically placed flies buzzing around?”

I’m stunned. I literally gasp as her words dig into me like tiny talons. This woman, who almost married Trevor, who I’m sure does good all over the world, just hurled malice at my head like a snowball, hard and icy. I’m not the only one taken aback. Henri and Harold stare at Fleur, eyes wide, mouths slightly agape. Henri slides her eyes to me, and I see the closest thing to kindness she’s ever shown me.

I get it. Trevor’s a hard man to lose, but this little heifer has no idea who she’s messing with. Just as I’m marshaling my forces, gathering fiery darts to return fire, she blinks several times, eyes bright with tears before she lowers her lashes, biting her lip.

I can’t do it. This woman is devastated. She obviously thought there was still a chance with Trevor. It’s not my fault. He’d decided that before he even met me, but I can’t make her believe that. For once, mercy holds my tongue.

“Yeah, something like that.”

She looks up at me, her eyes already sorry, but the speaker onstage takes our attention before she can follow through on the apology I see on her face. There’s five people being honored, but I couldn’t tell you what one of them looked like other than Trevor. I can’t take my eyes off him. His hair is just growing back, but it’s still a silky cap, molding his head like muted copper against his tanned skin. He’s laughing at something the host says, his wide smile denting dimples in his cheeks.

I want him fiercely. Not the handsome face, or the tower of muscle and bone. I want his secrets. I want his dreams. I want his hopes. I want everything I’ve never cared about with anyone else.

I tear my eyes away from his face long enough to glance at Fleur, only to find her eyes fixed on him, too.

She wants him, too, and my heart contracts with something like sympathy for her. But she can’t have him. I’m not that selfless.

Once the awards have been given and money has been raised for the various causes the night benefits, it’s time to go, and I can’t say I’m sorry to see this night end.

“You okay?” Trevor takes my hand as we wait outside for the car to pull around. “You’ve been subdued all night.”

“I’m fine.” I hope my smile reassures him, even though I’m still sorting through the things I learned tonight about Fleur, about him, about myself.

He takes an extra second to study me before looking down the long lines of cars queued up to collect the ambassadors, dignitaries, and leaders from tonight’s gala.

“I think that’s our car.” He squints to see. “If so, we can walk down. I want to get you out of the cold. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

He’s only a few feet down the block when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to find Fleur facing me. We stare at each other for a few moments before she finally speaks.

“I wanted to apologize for that comment I made.” She looks at the sidewalk before looking back to me. “It was uncalled for.”

“It’s fine, Fleur. It was a difficult situation, and sometimes we say things we’d take back in times like that. Believe me, I’ve done it more than once.”

“Thank you for understanding.” She looks torn, but then seems to come to a decision. “He’s a good man. One of the best I’ve ever known.”

I don’t reply, but just wait for her to say whatever else she still has to say to me because it’s obvious she’s not done.

“If you’re just toying with him, then I think—”

“Stop right there.” I run my tongue over my teeth before I speak. “You don’t know me, Fleur. You have no idea what’s important to me or how I actually live my life. Only what you’ve read.”

“Yes, but—”

“I repeat.” I pause for effect, lifting my brows for emphasis. “You do not know me, and my relationship with Trevor is private.”

“Relationship?” Dismay clouds her eyes. “Are you saying…are you saying it’s serious between you two?”

Before I can answer, Trevor joins us, his smile stiffening when he sees Fleur beside me.

“That is our car, Sof.” He links our fingers, but smiles at Fleur. “Good seeing you again, Fleur. I’m in London…”

He trails off, looking over Fleur’s shoulder at Harold and Henri approaching.

“When are we in London, Henri?”

“Next month.” Henri’s eyes dart between Fleur and me like she’s prepared to break up a fight if necessary. “At David’s office.”

“Next month at your office,” Trevor finishes. “I’m sure we’ll see each other then.”

He bends to kiss her cheek, and like an involuntary response, her small hand reaches up to touch his hair. He pulls back immediately, wearing a rueful smile.

“I need to go, Fleur. See you soon.” He steers us toward the car, tossing parting words at Harold and Henri. “See you two back at the house.”

In the car, I have nothing to say. I can’t shake my last glimpse of Fleur, her golden eyes, bright and devastated, glued to my hand holding Trevor’s. I want him so badly, but he
should
be with someone like her. Everyone at that table tonight, everyone in that room probably, thought so. Wondered what a man like him was doing dallying with a woman like me.

“Sofie, talk to me.” Trevor raises the privacy partition, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, eyes on my face. “Did someone say something to you? Was it Fleur?”

“No, I…” I look into his dark eyes, so confused by my feelings. Vacillating between what I know is probably best for him and what I selfishly want. “I was just thinking I’ll be fine tomorrow on my own. For the meeting with Shaunti’s rep, I mean.”

He frowns heavily, his eyes searching my face.

“I’m going with you.”

“No, you don’t have to. I think I’ll be fine.” I look out the window, relieved to see we’re in front of my building. “I can make my own way up. Have a great trip to South Africa. Be safe.”

Before he can stop me, I jerk open the door and take long, swift strides into my lobby. I rush past Clive, giving him a nod, but not stopping.

“Sofie, wait,” Trevor says from behind me.

I keep walking, even though it feels like I’m fleeing the thing I want more than everything else. His hand on my elbow pulls me up just short of the elevator door.

“I said wait.” His voice is low and even, but emotion puckers below the surface.

We board the elevator together and I input the code for the penthouse level, neither of us speaking. He walks me to my door, and I turn to face him.

“Thanks for walking me up.”

“I’m coming in.” His tone warns me that I’m in for a fight if I refuse, so I open the door, walking in ahead of him.

“What’s up, Bishop?” I school my features into an even mask, keeping some space between us because I lose my head every time he touches me.

“You tell me.” He loosens his bow tie, allowing it to hang on either side of his neck. “I go up to accept the award, come back, and you’re like a different person. What the hell, Sof?”

“I just…” I search my mind for an excuse that will get him out of here, but I have a hard time being anything but honest with him. “I just felt a little out of place tonight, I guess. Like I didn’t belong.”

“Didn’t belong?” A laugh huffs over his lips. “How do you think I felt the first few times I was in the room with prime ministers and presidents? Me, the son of a postal worker and a school teacher? I’d think you’d be used to it by now, though.”

“Yeah, not that kind of belong.” I pull my hair over my shoulder, run my hands down my legs, shift my weight. “I meant like I didn’t belong
with you
.”

“Not belong with me?” His expression goes stony. “Did Henri say something to you? Or Fleur?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t need them to tell me you can do better.”

“I can do what?” He takes a step toward me, frowning when I take a step back. “What the hell do you mean I can do better? Than what?”

“Than me.” I press my hand to my forehead, not because my head hurts, but because it’s flooded with thoughts of how we could be together, of how he could be different from all the others, of how I could be different with him than I’ve ever been. And I’m not sure any of it’s actually possible. And to know someone like him is out there and I might not be good enough, it makes me ache with unreasonable loss.

“Sofie, look at me.” He pulls my hand away from my head, linking our fingers and resting our clasped hands against his chest. “It’s not a matter of good
enough
. I’m good for you, and you’re good for me.
That’s
enough, and I really don’t care what anyone else thinks or says about it.”

He pulls me into him, resting his hands at my sides.

“And we’re good together.” He leans down to trail kisses over my jaw and down my neck, his cool breath somehow firing up my skin with his next words. “You believe that?”

“Yes.” I can barely breathe with him this close. A pressure is building from the neediest part of me and spreading over every inch of my skin. It’s a desperate desire I’m not sure how much longer I can suppress. “I…yeah…I, um, I do.”

I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore. When he shifts his hands so his thumbs rub over my nipples through the silk of my dress, thought is impossible. I’m a sea of sensation, and wave after wave of pleasure makes me wet. Makes me hot.

“Bishop.” I lift my lashes, and his eyes are heavy-lidded and almost black, the pupils swallowing up everything. “I, um…”

“Can I stay?” he cuts in, dipping his head to lick into the shallow well at the base of my throat. “Let me stay.”

I’ve wanted this for weeks; since I saw him that first night, and now that he’s about to give me everything I wanted, I’m the one hesitating. I’m hesitating because it has to be right. My first experience with sex was brutal and against my will. It took a long time and a lot of therapy for me to try it again, and I discovered I love it. Love it so much I’ve been reckless with it in the past, but this means too much.
He
means too much for me to be reckless with an intimacy I know will mean more to me than anything ever has. I already feel closer to him than to any man before.