Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (5 page)

“I don’t know
Liv, he is intense, arrogant and, according to you, a distraction that I don’t need.”

“I know, but how awesome would it be if you two got together? We could travel and double date! Oh, I would love that.” She is carried away by her far-fetched fantasy of a jet-set foursome. “Just be careful. I have seen girls lose their minds over him. Seriously, he is a force, but, if you can get past it, he really is such a great guy. I have told him all about you. He has a hard shell and he doesn’t trust people, but it just takes some warming up. It seems he is warming up to you just fine. He is the greatest
friend. We are having our wedding at his family’s winter house and he has gifted us his father’s yacht for our honeymoon!”                                                             
A Yacht?!  Holy hell
.

“
Wow, that is really generous.” I can’t help but feel totally intimidated. Yet, I am distracted with wonder at what ridiculous things she told him about me.

“He and Matthew are like brothers, they grew up together, went to the same boarding schools. They would do anything for each other.” 

“Well, I think it’s pretty clear that he is…that I am…. We exist in different spheres. I wouldn’t even know what to do with him. He is too good looking, too intense, way too rich and far too conceited.” I shake off the conversation, not wanting to think about all the reasons why a man like that wouldn’t look twice at a girl like me.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she offers coming up behind me, tousling my slept in curls. “He brought you bagels
,” she teases me. “Don’t sell yourself short. You are different. You are generous and sweet, idealistic to a fault and real. I talk about you all the time. He is going to love you, just be yourself, he won’t stand a chance.” She hugs me, saunters out of the bathroom and into Matthew’s waiting arms. 

                                            ***  

Brunch, shopping, dress fittings and tastings. The day is scheduled to the minute, the wedding chaos officially beginning. The men golf while we have our fittings and final tastings for the reception. The wedding party meets for lunch after which time the sexes go their separate way for the respective Bachelor and Bachelorette parties. The chatter is becoming static, I am an outsider here. The others in the wedding party are familiar and have shared experiences and memories. They all have a history, having grown up and traveled in the same posh circles. I have only Olivia, but I am glad to see her surrounded by so much support. She is going to need it. Taking another sip of sparkling water, I hear Rhys’ name drift across the table. My eyes meet with Melissa’s. She is sharing her conjecture of Rhys’ evening activities while her expression oozes contempt and jealousy. The others pick up on her gossip and he quickly becomes the subject of the tables’ idle chatter; who he was last pictured with on Page Six, or the gossip rags. His name volleys across the table like a ball, back and forth they giggle and wonder at his most recent carnal activities. Gossip and conjecture is all I am hearing, so I turn to Olivia for respite. She reads me like a book and pulls me into a conversation about home. 

My life has been nothing but change and upheaval for so many years. I have become numb to the daily mess of it all. Being here with Olivia is supposed to serve as a distraction, but it is always looming in the back of my mind. I have no one left. Just as Olivia is embarking on this amazing journey with a new husband and extended family, I am alone. Color me green, because I am envious.

   
                            *** 

Olivia is surrounded by two scantily clad police officers and a gaggle of squealing women. Her face flaming with embarrassment and amusement, I catch her eye and motion that I’m going to step out. The room is too hot, smells of sex, leather and expensive perfume, crowded with overheated women. I walk through the double doors into the foyer of the suite that sits atop our hotel and go into the kitchen for a glass of water. The water is cool and crisp, taming my wild thirst, coating my throat. I am a buzz from the day’s activities and decide to take a walk. I stumble to the door on the tragically high heels that Liv wanted me to wear and decide to leave them behind. I prefer bare feet, my feet don’t like to be trapped, and I am more comfortable being that much closer to the ground, thank you. I walk out into the hall and wait for the elevator. 

I sway to the tune stuck in
my head as the elevator glides toward the ground floor. The doors open to none other than every woman’s favorite topic of conversation this evening, Rhys, in all of his arrogant, electric perfection. He is headed out the side door towards the patio where we first spoke. He doesn’t see me as I follow him outside, my bare feet not betraying a sound. I silently pad behind him until he stops at the end of the patio, he swirls his drink in the heavy crystal glass and takes a sip. He looks lost in thought and totally unaware of my prying eyes. I watch the muscles in his back move under his crisp shirt as he takes another drink, his back straight with a perfect ass to anchor a pair of powerful legs. He is all business. His crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled over sculpted forearms, his hair is rumpled and his collar loose.  I feel myself heating from within, the sight of him mingles with the gossip of the day and I remind myself to keep it together.

“Do you always linger in the dark?” Rhys turns and locks me in his sights. Fuck! I didn’t think this through!  He closes the distance between us in two long strides and comes to a stop inches away from my face. He bends down coming eye to eye with me and takes a deep breath. A low groan rumbles in the back of his throat. He closes his eyes for a moment and pulls back, standing straight, looking down upon me like the imposing man that he is. “Why aren’t you upstairs?”

“Strippers are not really my thing.” I have never enjoyed the thought of some strange man waving his junk in my face, call me a prude but, no.  “What are you doing here?” volleying his question.

“S
omething that had to be taken care of.”

“What’s her name?” I ask coyly, peeking out from under my lashes. I feel the rush of blood all over my body, releasing my inner flirt. She is bad when she wants to be.

“Her name is work,” he returns flatly. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Grump. He can be so cold, his mood flips on a dime. His face is stern and offers nothing. Feeling the need to divert his attention and douse my rising temperature I reach for his crystal glass.

“What are we drinking?” I ask bringing the glass to my lips in the place where he had been drinking from, the smell of scotch filling my nostrils. He holds his hand up in warning, but before he can I take a long greedy sip and lick my lips, returning the glass with a grin. It is a taste and smell I am familiar with, my father having been a scotch drinker.

“Dalwhinney,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief, then looks at me with an admiring smile in his eyes. He really is beautiful when he smiles, but the naughty girl inside me is intrigued by his cold side. The sweet scotch spreads through me, warming my blood and loosening my tongue. It’s clear that this man lives to intimidate and takes great pleasure in it, but I can be disarming when I choose to be. What better place or time than right here and right now. With liquid courage flowing through my veins and his scent swirling in my head, I surrender to my curiosity. There has been too much talk about him going around today for me to not find out some truths about Rhys. 

“There was quite a bit of talk about you this afternoon.” My eyes hardly hiding the smile I am trying to stifle, yet once again I seem to have hit upon another locked lip topic. He looks from the side of his eye at me. 

“Really? And was there a consensus, I hope?”  Forcing a half grin to keep his mood light, but the question holds no humor. Turning to me he takes a step forward, and waits for my unprepared answer.

“You have quite the reputation.” I search his face for a reaction but he offers none. “It seems you are a ride not to be missed.” A slight twitch in his eye betrays the proud grin he is trying to suppress. “So why haven’t you tried with me?” WHAT!!!  I want to pull the question back and swallow it, erase it from the face of the earth, but it’s too late. He turns his smoldering gaze on me and I almost combust. He closes the gap, leaving only a sliver of air between us, not touching any part of me, yet I can feel him all over.

“Is that what you want?” His voice laced with promise, his eyes search mine, waiting for my answer.

“No,” I hiss without thinking. His face falls slightly, but he recovers just as quickly. “No, I was just
.. wondering, why….I’m sorry that was stupid.” I shrink from him, ice filling my veins where once hot blood had flowed. My inner flirt kicking herself, wishing we both could be swallowed up and disappear.

“Well, now I surely won’t. Now, you will have to beg, Little Sophie” He puts his hands in the air in surrender and steps back, triumph and mirth reflected in his face. He smiles at me with that most sexy crooked smile and bows his head.
Little Sophie? Those two words start a fire in me and I am compelled to challenge him. I resolve to win this battle and step up to him. He balks for but a moment before he gains his footing and puffs his rock hard chest. I take a deep draught of his scent, being careful not to touch him. He smells of scotch, cigar smoke and salt water, it is intoxicating. I raise my index finger and hook it into his shirt just above the top button, being careful not to touch his warm, radiant flesh.

“I think it
will be you that will be begging, Mr. Ego,” the words slither from my tongue, wrapping around him, teasing. 

“I thought that was not what you wanted,” he whispers, leaning in closer, the smell of musk and salt water flowing through me.

“Hmmm, I think you like to play games, Rhys. But, I am a woman, I can change my mind.” A gentle flick of my finger and I pop the top button revealing more of his chiseled chest, peppered with dark hair, the skin glistening from the warm, sticky sea air. A sharp intake of breath and he closes his eyes, stretching the moment, torturing me with silence. His eyes are like liquid pools when he turns their full power on me. His lips part and his tongue emerges to swipe at his bottom lip before he leans in and gently kisses me on the corner of my waiting mouth. I want explosions and sparks, but the kiss is painfully chaste, prompting an empty ache deep in my core. Leaving me wanting. I want him to kiss me like he means it, like he can’t think of anything else. Instead, he is kissing me like a silly school girl. My heart is sinking, my head flooding with self-doubt and loathing. The gentle contact is torturous. His hands are firmly at his sides, our bodies separated now by the deepest chasm, inches become miles. The silence is unbearable, like an empty cave, my misguided words echoing off the walls in my head. I want to run and hide, but my legs are anchored to the spot, afraid that if I take a step I may sink to the ground from embarrassment and rejection.

“Rhys! There you are.” Matthew comes around the corner, followed by four other slightly wavering forms, the rest of the bachelor party. I am instantly relieved to be interrupted, just waiting for the men to get closer and engage Rhys so I can run. The moment feels like an eternity as I watch them approach. Rhys’ eyes never leave my face, I can feel him burning me
up, but I refuse to meet his gaze. I cannot bear the thought of looking him in the face, the man who apparently makes it his business to bang most women that he comes into contact has denied me. Humiliation has replaced any warmth that he provoked, the blood rushing from my head into my toes, leaving me flushed and dizzy. Rhys releases me from his sights to nod at Matthew and I seize the moment. I turn away from him and making a break for the side entrance. Turning on my bare heel I go for the door when Rhys’ strong grasp pulls me around, his hand covering my upper arm with more force than necessary. I look down at his hand, then to his waiting face.              

“Sophie,” he whispers, his heavy brows creased, a slight twitch raising the corner of his tight mouth. 

“No,” is all I can manage as I pull my arm from his grasp and retreat from this battle he has waged on my body and mind. Hearing the door click behind me, I release a deep breath, dropping my shoulders from their defensive position. I want to get to my room as quickly as possible and move towards the bank of elevators. I try not to look behind me as I wait, wanting Rhys to leave me alone, but also wishing he would come after me. When I get to my room it is stuffy and dark. All of the windows have been closed up all day and the air is heavy and stagnant. I open the gauzy curtains and pull open every window along the back wall welcoming the cool sea breeze. I change into my coolest night dress and lie down on the bed, watching the curtains dance in the breeze, the lights from outside painting moving shadows on the walls.  

I can’t keep my mind off Rhys, his crooked smile dancing in my head, mocking me.
Rejecting me. He has infiltrated every recess of my body and mind, creating a raging war of overstimulation and delicious confusion, tying me up in a sensual knot. Every fiber of my being twisted and wanting, a touch or a breath could push me over. I am teetering on the brink of insanity, his presence the cause and the only cure. No man has ever taunted me so thoroughly, creating such an intense awareness of the emptiness in my loins, illuminating a chasm that aches. Aches to be filled, over and over, filled to the bone. I am drawn to him without explanation. If you don’t take into consideration his imposing form, stunning face and the intense ‘fuck me’ glare he throws around. He embodies all the things I hate about cocky men, and have avoided my entire sexual life. Guys like that just take what they want, believe they deserve the world, and discard you when they get bored. They are superficial and arrogant and only see women who are impossibly perfect. I imagine that I am the antithesis of all he looks for. Undereducated, under traveled, underfunded and over fed. The thought repeats in my mind, like a taunting echo. I close my eyes and take in a deep cleansing breath of the fresh air that slides over my body from the open windows. I am unable to quiet the incessant chatter cluttering my head. And the heat, the heat is inside of me, making me so aware of my body. Attempting to banish Rhys to the farthest recesses of my mind I sit up in the dark and search for the television remote.