Spin (The Indigo Lounge Series) (3 page)

“You’re a life saver,” I reply with palpable relief.

She hears it. “Hey, is everything okay? Nah, scratch that.  Whatever it is, Aunty Keely will fix it.”

My throat clogs a little. “Thank you, Keel.”

Unhappily Engaged

Zach

T
his situation cannot go on for much longer.

I’ve known it for weeks. Hell,
months
. I’ve just put off doing anything about it. Because, like Bethany said, things are perfect between us.

So why rock the boat?

For the first time in my life, I understand what true happiness is. I wake up next to it every day. I breakfast with it. I shower with it. I fuck it hard and cradle it to sleep in my arms. I should be happy enough with that.

But fuck it.

I’m the greedy bastard who was prepared to lose everything to have her. 
All
of her. The idea that there’s even the tiniest bit of her unavailable to me is unthinkable.

Besides, if I lived my life under the
if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it
banner, I wouldn’t be where I am today. The cutting edge is where I thrive business wise. I don’t ever stop until a deal is in the bag.

Bethany Green is an unfinished deal. She should be Bethany Savage by now.

Although I was happy to leave it up to her, I arrogantly believed it would’ve happened by now. Every single woman I dated before Bethany would’ve had a wedding planner on speed dial the moment I offered a ring.

Not Bethany.

I don’t even know when this soul-deep yearning first took root. Perhaps it happened the first time she blushed and accepted congratulations when we were out at one event or another, then blasted that heart-stopping smile, and said,
we’re not in a hurry,
when asked about the wedding date.

Or when I realized two weeks after our return from our very first trip to Bora Bora that she skipped telling her parents. I asked Todd Green’s permission to marry his daughter the day we departed from Tahiti, and he gave me his consent—not that I’d have taken no for an answer. The first I knew that Bethany didn’t tell them was when Todd called to find out whether congratulations were in order.

Bethany told them eventually... when they Skype’d from their Upstate New York home to congratulate us. Felicity, her mother, gushed over her ring, and asked whether the date was set. Bethany blasted that smile and said,
we’re not in a hurry.

She repeated that phrase to her best friend.

And somewhere along the line those five little words grew from mild irritation to a huge fucking problem.

In the grand scheme of things, I know Bethany loves me.

For the sake of her peace of mind, I haven’t let her glimpse the full extent of my obsession with her. For instance, she doesn’t know the steps I’ve taken to make sure I have a piece of her with me at all times. I gave in to my insanity a long time ago, and now I ensure I can either see her or hear her voice when we’re apart.

Fuck if that makes me a borderline psycho. I surrendered to my obsession with her almost from the moment I met her. The first time we fucked, I knew I’d never let her go. What we have transcends sex, sublime as that is between us.

Being away from her is a physical ache. I breathe and keep going when we’re apart, but it’s mere existence on the basest level. I play with billions, I open and close deals with just as much ruthless focus as I did before I met her. But when we’re apart, my every heartbeat is a blessed countdown to the moment I’ll have her in my arms again. Melodramatic bullshit or not, I know my heart will stop beating the moment hers does. 

But technically speaking, you haven’t actually asked me yet, have you, Zach
?

I ruthlessly dissect the words, then cast my mind back to the moment I gave her the ring. Well...truth be told, I challenged her to find it, turned it into a game guaranteed to have her in my arms at the end of it. She opened the box and I—foolishly in hindsight—gave her leeway to view the offering as she pleased.

I’m satisfied she loves me.

But my Peaches isn’t fully mine. Yet.

Something is troubling her, and with each day that passes without my name imprinted on her heart and on a marriage certificate, that uncertainly mushrooms.

I grit my teeth and swing my chair away from the unstoppable view of New York City.

I dial my assistant’s number and she answers on the first ring. “Have my car brought round and cancel the rest of my appointments for today. Send a case of Montepulciano to the Croatian delegation with my apologies and reschedule our meeting for tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

Five minutes later, I’m in the car. Three phone calls later and I’ve made satisfactory arrangements for our evening.

Then, because I’m a fucked up sucker, I activate the special password protected app I’ve had created that’s saved my every phone conversation with Bethany. I scroll through to
Favorites
, my heart already accelerating in anticipation. The partition is up, so I put the loudspeaker on, press
play
, and let her sultry voice flow over me.

Hello?

You’re late.

I’m sorry, Zach. Midtown traffic was a bitch. I’m getting into the elevator right now.

I’m cutting you off from girls’ night out for a month.

Oh baby, did you miss me?

What the fuck do you think?

I think I’m hot and horny and sweaty and my dress feels a little too tight.

Bethany...

I’m taking it off, Zach. My bra and panties too.

Peaches!

I only have my heeled boots on now. They’re the ones you love on me. The elevator is almost here. I’ll be out in a—

No! When it arrives, lock it in place. Make sure your hands are braced on the wall above your head, your legs are wide apart and your cunt is wet. I want to see you wet from across the foyer, understand?

Y-yes. Can we renegotiate girls’ night out when we’re done?

That depends.

On what?

On how hard you make me come, you filthy girl.

I’ll do whatever you want, Zach. I need you so much.

Not half as much I crave you.

Thank you.

What are you thanking me for?

For loving me. For letting me love you.

Christ...Bethany.

I play it one more time, then I close the app, toss the phone away and slam my head against the headrest. Eyes clenched tight, I grip the stone-hard erection tenting my pants, even though I know damn well that nothing save for my fiancée’s mouth or pussy will ease my pain. Since Bethany, jacking off has lost all appeal. All the same, the memory of fucking her in the middle of the night in the elevator is a powerful aphrodisiac, and I’m a nanosecond from blowing my load before I forcibly release my grip.

I’m shuddering like an addict in full-blown withdrawal, and my forehead is coated in sweat.

Yeah, I’m fucked up over her. And I don’t intend that to change. Ever.

I hang up and press the car’s intercom. “Philip, take me home, please. We’ll return for Bethany later.”

“Very good, sir.”

I’m going to pull out all the stops. It’s time to get to the bottom of this bullshit.

***

O
ne minute before five, I lean against the limo and watch the revolving doors of the glass and steel building before me. As usual, the Midtown sidewalk and street traffic is atrocious, and, not for the first time, I wish I’d refused Bethany’s plea to ensure at least twenty blocks between our work places.

I could’ve talked Sheena Malcolm and Gary Wright, her immediate bosses, into moving Neon’s premises to my newly acquired Upper West Side office building. But my Peaches begged on her knees in the shower, citing hazardous concentration due to close proximity. I let her suck my cock down her beautiful throat. And then compromised at fifteen blocks.

A traffic officer approaches. I ignore him and let Philip deal with him. My gaze remains on the revolving doors.

She walks through the doors at two minutes past five and every cell in my body charges to attention. Fuck, she’s breathtaking.

Although her attire is conservatively stylish, there are enough hints at the vivacious femininity underneath that a fuse instantly lights my libido. Other men can only guess at the hidden delights beneath that wool blend skirt suit. But I know every soft, curvy, fuckable inch of her. The primitive beast within me roars with the juicy knowledge that as long as I draw breath, no other man will see what I see, have what I have.

In between the rushing commuters and tourists, her gaze meets mine and her step slows a fraction. She swallows as wild electricity arcs between us, thick and so supremely powerful, I’m glad I’m leaning against the car. She, on the other hand, has no support. She forcibly breaks our connection and eyes a couple of woman who are giving me the once over.

Her nostrils flare, and I’m a touch amused by her possessiveness, despite my soaring blood pressure and the thickening in my pants. “You’re clogging up the sidewalk again, Savage. You can see me just fine from the back of the car.” There’s a definite edge to her voice as she gets closer.

The smartly dressed women, ball-breaking executives judging from their shark-like expressions, turn and assess my fiancée.

I fold my arms and watch the fireworks. I won’t lie. I love her naked show of jealousy. Aside from a green-eyed Bethany being a wilder, sassier Bethany, her possessiveness grounds me, reassures me I’m her number one.

“Can I help you with something?” Bethany snaps.

One woman dares to raise a freakishly plucked eyebrow. I straighten and pull the back door open.

“Wanna get in the car, Peaches?” I suggest with an even voice. I know better than to aggravate her in this mood. And the evening I’ve planned for us doesn’t include souring her mood before it’s started.

Her gaze swings to me and her mouth purses. She stalks the last few steps to the car and slides into the back seat.

“You think I can’t handle those bitches?” she fires at me.

I release the single button on her Prada jacket and shrug it off her shoulders. “I know you can handle yourself. I just don’t want our evening to start with blood-letting.”

Her blue eyes narrow dangerously. “You think this is funny, don’t you?”

I sober up quickly, very much aware that if the shoe were on the other foot, I’d be in jail by now.

I place her folded jacket on the adjacent seat and slide my fingers through her hair. I fist the lustrous thickness and release it from its loose knot. “I think you ought to let me taste those luscious lips. Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

Her irritation deflates. We pull toward each other like powerful magnets. My tongue strokes hers almost as soon as our mouths meld. She groans and crawls into my lap as Philip merges into traffic. In seconds, the sidewalk incident is forgotten. After long minutes of infusing my senses with her, I let her slide back into her seat, despite every instinct urging me to open my fly and pound into her.

She relaxes against the cushions I’ve provided for her side of the car and kicks off her heels. I tug her feet into my lap and massage her arches until she sighs with pleasure.

“How was your lunch?”

Her smile is instantaneous. “Great. Keely was on form, as usual. She’s dating an analyst she’s convinced works for the CIA. I had to talk her out of stalking the guy before their second date.”

I smile and allow the silence to steep for a minute, but she doesn’t broach the subject at the forefront of our minds. “Did she help you work through whatever’s bothering you?” I hate that I have to say the words, but Keely Benson is important to Bethany. Which means I have no choice but to suck it up.

“I don’t need her that way anymore, Zach. I have you now.”

I know she means it, to a large extent. “Even when
I’m
the problem?”

Her gaze lowers and she sucks in a breath. “I didn’t tell her you’re a problem because you’re not.”

“But?”

Wide blue eyes fix on mine. “She helped me gain a little clarity.”

I want to snarl my frustration with the intangibility of her answers. Instead, I concentrate on kneading her soles, easing the tension from her feet.

Silence reigns for several blocks, until she exhales softly. “Zach...”

“It’s okay, Peaches. I don’t have a problem with you seeking a little clarity elsewhere. But what I said this morning still holds. I refuse to have any distance between us, so this gets sorted out sooner rather than later.”

Her eyes widen. “How?”

“By whatever means necessary.”

Her droll look tells me she realizes what this is. Payback. “Will I be able to walk tomorrow?”

“You promised me the Toy Room tonight. What do you think?”

Her eyes begin to glaze over, and her breathing grows shallow. “I’m sure there’s a warning somewhere about using sex to solve problems.”

“Says the woman who fucked me blind this morning to get out of having a conversation with me.” She fidgets until I stop her with a hand on her stomach. “Stop fretting, baby. I’ll resist fucking you until we talk. Deal?”

She’s still eyeing me uncertainly as we pull up to our place. I slip her shoes back on and hand her purse back to her. She alights minus her jacket, and I have a perfect view of her ass as she walks ahead of me to the elevator. My still throbbing cock regrets the promise I just made, but I hold my shit together as we ride up.

Marrakech: Revisited

Zach

S
he gets the first inkling of what I’ve been up to the moment she steps out of the elevator. “You made
couscous
?”

I smile at her childish delight. “Amongst other things.”

Her steps quicken across the foyer to the double doors of the penthouse. She inputs the security code and the doors swing open. The evocative Moroccan aroma is stronger, as is the music straining from the hidden speakers.

But it’s the subdued lighting and the jasmine and rose petals strewn on the floor that gets her attention. “Oh, my God...”

I take her purse and drop it with her jacket on the sofa as she does a three-sixty. She spots the open French doors leading to the terrace and makes a beeline for it.