Текст книги "Crave"

Автор книги: B.J. Harvey

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Mr. Alexander?” Annie says, from the doorway to my office.

Bent over a new design on my drafting table, I put my pencil down and turn to look at her. “Yes?” I give her the fake smile, the one that tells her everything is fine when in reality, fine seems to be unattainable and unreachable at the present time. Distraction seems to be the key to retaining the façade that everything swirling around my life is not turning me inside out with every new development.

“Jodi Malestrom is downstairs in the lobby wanting to see you. Security stopped her from entering the elevators, but if the noise over the phone is anything to go by, she is rather adamant that she needs to speak to you.”

My back goes rigid, my mood morphing into one of anger at the audacity of Jodi. How can a woman guilty of betraying my confidence feel she has the right to cause a scene in the lobby of my building, no doubt in front of a swarm of photographers and undoubtedly, reporters as well?

“Annie, can you please call the lobby and inform them that Ms. Malestrom is to be escorted off the property and advised that she will be forcibly removed in future.

“I will do that, Mr. Alexander.”

“Is Mr. Richardson in his office?” I ask.

“Yes. Would you like me to call him in?”

“It’s okay. You deal with the disturbance downstairs. That takes precedence,” I reply.

“Will do,” she says, spinning on her heels and disappearing from sight.

Walking over to my desk, I grab my phone and push Grant’s speed dial. Frustration flows through me, my shoulders bracing themselves tight in anticipation of the next expected blow. They’re coming so thick and fast that I’m in a constant state of preparedness. How anybody handles me at the moment is a mystery—and a miracle.

The phone rings a few times before Grant picks up.

“Hey, is it weekday whisky time already?” I chuckle half-heartedly, but Grant growls in response. “What’s happened now?”

“I think we’re beyond whisky. Jodi is in the lobby, causing a scene.”

“She thinks she has that right?” he scoffs.

“Apparently so.”

“Have security escort her from the premises.”

“Annie is organizing that now. Is Graves with you?”

“He just walked out the door, heading toward his desk. Why’s that?”

“I just thought he could act as an intermediary with her. They were at the dinner together; I almost thought they might have been involved.”

“Then wouldn’t she have tried to get to you through him if she really wanted to talk to you?”

“You’d assume so, but given her recent behavior and actions of late, one can’t be so sure.”

“Do you want me to ask him to go down and talk to her?”

“I think it might be for the best. I may not like the woman, but calling the police on her would not be a good public relations move for us right now. Innocent or not, we’re under the microscope and we do not want to give Carmen Dallas and the Tribune any more ammunition to light an even bigger fire beneath us.”

“Point taken. I’ll come see you when I’m done,” he says before ending the call.

I get up and walk toward the wall of glass lining the room. The view that usually sustains me makes me feel more like I’m imprisoned. I’m in a petri dish with a million-dollar view. What was once the muse for many of my designs now seems tarred by the devious brushes of a select few.

Lost in thought, I’m miles away when Grant walks in and stands beside me.

“Well, that was strange,” he says.

“What?” I reply, not looking away from the bay.

“Graves met me halfway down the corridor and explained that security called him and he was on his way to the lobby to deal with Jodi. He was very apologetic and wanted me to pass on his apologies to you.”

“Apologies?” I ask, my eyes snapping to his. “Why is he apologizing?”

“Beats me. But call this message relayed,” he says, pouring two fingers of Macallan and passing one over to me. “You look like you need this. You’re tense as hell, Cal.”

Silence stretches behind us as I lift the glass to my lips, mulling over my thoughts.

“We started this firm so that we could do what we love and play by our own rules,” I say.

“And we succeeded at doing that on all fronts,” Grant replies.

I shake my head, looking out to the bay. “It doesn’t feel so much like fun anymore.”

“I remember when we first walked into this building.” He moves to stand beside me. “I was gung-ho about buying up something big and flashy to show the world we had arrived and we weren’t going anywhere.”

“And I was more subdued, wanting to take our time to choose right and choose well.”

“Then you saw this office, this window, the bridge, and you were gone.”

He’s not wrong. This view sold me on first sight. I laugh. “Have you seen this view?”

“We deserved it then, Cal, and we still fucking deserve it now. Who would’ve thought it would be your dick causing us grief in the end?”

“Jodie was a moment of weakness.”

“She’s an opportunist,” he says.

“That too.”

“As for Carmen Dallas, she wanted to hang her star to yours the minute you won the award for Spera. She’s been gunning for you ever since. If she couldn’t get in there, she wanted to paint you as someone who everybody wanted but nobody gets. You meeting and keeping Lucia sort of spurred her on.”

He has a point. I sigh despondently. “It’s all on me, Grant. We should’ve come out and reported the investigation ourselves. Been upfront and honest, knowing we had nothing to hide.”

“It wasn’t our call though. The board wanted it kept quiet.”

“Always pulling the strings. We may design the masterpiece, but that doesn’t mean it will ever be entirely ours,” I say to the glass. “When do the puppets become the puppet masters?”

“When you cut the damn strings and stop giving a fuck about what others think and instead, start doing whatever the fuck you like, because Cal, in private you are like that. In public, that damn mask suffocates you. Lucia knows it, I know it, even the imaginary puppet masters you’re giving the power to—the Jodis and the Carmens and whoever the fuck sent you those notes—they know it. When you drop the mask, you take back whatever they think they’ve got on you.”

“This will blow over. Carmen will run out of hot air like she usually does and find some other poor schmuck to fixate on, and Jodi will move on to the next sugar daddy with pussy on their mind instead of common sense. The museum will be the new bright star on the architectural landscape of San Francisco and our names will become synonymous with modern, classic hybrid design techniques. We’ll go down in history.”

I look over at him and quirk a brow. “We’ll go down in history? Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”

“Got you to snap out of whatever mood you were in, didn’t it?”

Ten minutes later, a knock at the door grabs our attention and we turn to find Gregory Graves standing just inside my office.

“Mr. Graves?”

“Mr. Alexander. Mr. Richardson,” he says, nodding to both of us.

“Did you talk to Ms. Malestrom?” I ask.

“I did. I’d like to apologize. She was upset with me because I ended my relationship with her yesterday. I never thought she would come to the office and cause a disruption to get my attention,” he explains, his eyes never leaving mine.

Putting my glass down, I walk behind my desk and take a seat. “Why did she want to see me if she was upset over your break-up? I think we all know that Jodi has caused a demonstrable amount of damage as it is.”

His expression darkens and he presses his lips together, a frown marring his face. “That I am unsure of. When I saw her in the lobby she only wanted to talk to me.”

“Well, Greg, I think Callum will agree with me when I say it’s probably smart to keep relationship issues out of the office in future. As you’re aware, we have enough media attention on the firm and on Callum at the moment without encouraging more with our employees’ girlfriends making scenes in the lobby of Alexander Richardson. Agreed?” Grant explains.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, Mr. Alexander,” he says, talking directly to me. “I now see that she was using me to get close to you. I knew she was in a whole other league, but she seemed genuine. I hope this won’t cast dispersions on my character or the success of my internship.”

He seems sincere and up until this point, although some of his behavior has seemed somewhat strange at times. I look at Grant who simply raises his eyebrows at me, his eyes speaking volumes, all of which we’ll most likely discuss at a later date when the man in question isn’t standing in front of us.

“Thank you, Mr. Graves. You didn’t directly cause this so you do not have to bear the blame.”

“I’ll pop by your desk later, Greg, and we’ll continue looking at those plans I asked you about.”

“Yes, Mr. Richardson. I—”

My cell phone ringing loudly on my desk interrupts him, the vibrations shifting the mobile across the wood. “Excuse me for a moment,” I say, looking at Richard James’s name flashing on my phone.

I turn to Grant and show him my phone, before answering the call. “Richard, this is a pleasant surprise. Is everything—”

“Turn on the television, Callum. There’s been an accident.”

“What?” I ask, grabbing the remote control from my top drawer and pushing the power on for the LCD on the wall of my office. Grant moves sideways so I can see the screen as Graves steps farther into the room, turning to face the TV.

“What am I looking at, Richard?” I ask, dropping the remote onto my desk.

“About twenty minutes ago there was a collapse beneath the south foundation. Two construction workers have been killed, three more are missing, and ten others have been injured. Police, fire and ambulance are all on-site and Cal/OHSA have been notified,” he explains, as I watch the news on screen.

The ticker at the bottom of the screen continually scrolls the news that an explosion at the waterfront construction site for what would’ve been Northern California’s biggest and most prolific new landmark has killed two men and injured many more, with three workers still unaccounted for. Plumes of smoke fill the sky above the half-constructed shell, now a mess of twisted metal and shattered concrete. The bright star on Alexander Richardson’s horizon has been all but extinguished.

“Callum, are you there?”

Shocked silence stretches over the line. Richard, however, doesn’t miss a beat. “You need to make sure you have anything and everything Cal/OHSA may want because everything is now up in the air. Every minute detail, right down to the right boxes on the right forms being ticked, will be examined and scoured over.”

“The design was sound. The engineering reports were certified twice by the best geotech specialists in the country.”

“Then why am I standing outside the police cordon looking at bloody faces, smoke everywhere, and two tarp-covered bodies?”

“We will cooperate fully with anybody that needs to talk to us.”

“I’d expect nothing less. I’ll be in touch.” He hangs up the phone, and I’m left listening to the monotonous dial tone as the shock starts to set in.

“Cal?” Grant says, but I hold my finger up, asking for a minute to compose myself. “Cal?”

“I need to call a car. I’ve got to get out of here,” I rasp out. I grab my briefcase off the floor and try to slow my breathing enough to earn a brief respite. A moment of clarity enables me to look Grant straight in the eye. “Can you get hold of Luce and get the car service to bring her to my house as soon as she can.”

His eyes are as panicked as I feel, darting between me and the television screen, which now shows a fire raging on-site and multiple fire units on the surrounding streets. “What did Richard say?”

“It’s what he didn’t say. There is more to this, and he either doesn’t realize it yet or he’s not telling us. Either way, there is no way there were any issues with the services, the foundations, the geotechnical information or the plans. The spotlight that was on us has just turned into a big fucking bullseye.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Graves asks. I’d forgotten he was still here.

“Mr. Graves, it’s business as usual for everyone. You’ll be contacted.”

“If I can help in any—”

“We’ll let you know,” Grant spits out impatiently. Graves looks between the both of us before nodding and leaving.

“Cal?” Grant says.

I stand up, my fingers tightening around the phone in my hand. My muscles are so taut and strained that it’s miraculous I can still move, the tension threatening to break me in half. Pacing to the window and back again, I run my spare hand through my hair, stopping to stare down toward the waterfront.

“Cal, what the fuck are we going to do?” Grant asks me, once Graves leaves.

I turn to face him, the words coming out of my mouth without thought. “That shit storm already swirling around us just hit an all-time low. Until we know what’s going on we’re going to send the staff home for today. Tell them we’ll send out a company memo when we know more.”

“In more ways than one,” he replies, worry etched across his face.

I nod to him and walk out, not talking to anybody as I stride through reception, into the elevator, down into the basement where I sit inside the car waiting for me in the parking garage.

Once we’re out on the street and heading toward home, I press speed dial and hold my phone up to my ear until the call is answered.

“Cal? I just heard.”

I hear her voice but for the first time since I’ve met her, the tension crippling me fails to fade away.

I need calm, release, something to break the quandary I now find myself in.

Anything to stop my carefully managed world from crashing down around me.

“Cal?” she calls from the entryway as she walks into the house.

“In here,” I reply with a tight voice, constricted with unspoken emotion. I’m such a mess I’m amazed that I was even able to get inside my house and not tear myself apart limb from limb.

My entire body is ablaze, every fiber of my being screaming for something—anything—to quell the unending noise that has been bearable before now.

“Grant explained what happened,” she says rushing over to where I stand by the balcony window. Her body hits my back just as her arms wrap around my chest. “Do they know what caused it?”

“I . . .” I shake my head, suddenly lost for words. A million thoughts race through my head, but I can’t seem to verbalize a single one.

“Cal?” She moves around until she’s in front of me. She reaches up and cups my jaw, tilting my face down toward hers. When I meet her gaze, all I see is concern and sadness.

We stand there, frozen in time. I let myself get lost in those soulful eyes of hers and her beautiful face that never fails to bring me back to serenity—except today.

Clearing my throat, I step back and watch her hands fall away, her expression changing to one of confusion. Downing the rest of the scotch in my glass, I move toward the half full decanter next to the couch and pour myself another. Getting intoxicated may not be the smartest move, but right now the idea of a second glass is more tempting than the alternative—that being the acknowledgement of the walls closing in on me.

Lucia’s soft hand engulfs mine as I go to fill the glass. “That’s not going to help, Cal. You need to talk. Tell me, what I can do?”

If only she knew the answer lying in wait on the tip of my tongue.

How I long to be able to take that final step I’ve resisted until now.

Without the glass in my hand, something to hold, something to ground me, I’m at a loss. Lucia anchors her body to mine once more, the two of us clinging to each other. I place my hands on her hips, resting them there because I don’t know what else to do.

For the first time in my thirty-four years, I am completely and irrevocably lost.

She opens her mouth to say something, but I find myself needing to speak first.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s too much.”

“What’s too much?” Quiet, soft, compassionate Lucia. Her voice is filled with care and concern, encouraging the thoughts out of me.

“I’ve never felt as out of control . . .” Standing in my office and getting the call that could forever shape the landscape in which my career is featured in.

“Let me help you. Tell me what I can do to help. Is there someone I can call? Are there things I can—”

My body’s instincts kick in. It takes what it wants, what it needs first and foremost, without thought, as I jerk her body against mine and slam my lips down against hers. She gasps in shock and my tongue takes advantage, plunging inside her open mouth. Her body instantly melts when she realizes my intentions.

But the lust-filled haze fueled by my desperate need to stop thinking—to stop feeling—clears a few moments later, and I realize just how on edge I am.

“Luce, I . . .” I shake my head and step back, putting some much needed physical distance between us. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Her eyes widen. She’s quick to allay my fears. “No, Cal. You followed your body’s lead. I will never stop you from listening to your gut and rolling with it.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

“What can I do?” she asks, standing motionless as she watches me.

“I don’t know!” I shout. “What can any of us do?” I start pacing the room, my breaths coming hard and fast, my chest heaving as I violently spit out every word. “Two men died today—died—constructing a building that I designed. It could be anything, it could be everything, but the first person they’re going to look at will be me, Grant, the firm . . .” I snatch up the crystal tumbler and pitch it hard across the room, watching the shards of glass shatter into a million pieces against the stone feature wall.

I whirl around and stalk toward her. Such a display of anger should scare her; most other women would cower in the face of such emotion. But not my Lucia. She barely flinches before continuing.

“It’s not your fault, Cal. None of this is your fault. You need to calm down and start thinking about what you can do to help.”

I drop down into my leather recliner, putting my head in my hands, my elbows resting on my knees. “I’m the hot-shot hometown golden boy, and I’m the perfect scapegoat to throw under the bus.”

Lowering herself to her knees in front of me, she braces her hands on either side of my waist. She’s cocooning me, comforting me. “Cal, you can’t know that.”

My voice is low, quiet, defeated. “Everything has been leading up to this. It’s bullshit. I have no fucking idea what the hell I’m going to do.” I lift my head and look at her. “This isn’t me, Luce. This isn’t the Callum Alexander that everyone knows—”

“No, it’s the Callum Alexander I know. And Grant knows. And your family knows. You’re not impervious to the world around you. That damn mask you wear is.” She brings her hands to my face, cupping my jaw and leaning in so close I can feel her warm breath fanning across my lips. “Stop trying to fix everything and just be you. You don’t have to hold back with me. I never want you to hold back with me.”

She drags her hands down to my chest, resting her palms directly over my heart. I have to clench my hands into tight fists as I resist the urge to touch her. My emotions are unpredictable, and I fear I’ll push too much if I touch her. Never have I felt such raw need overtake my body, every nerve ending on edge with an instinct I refuse to act upon.

A depraved act no woman in her right mind—even one as open as Lucia—would ever find acceptable.

“What do you need, Cal?”

My voice is coarse, rough, and veiled with desperate desire. “I need . . .” I can’t even utter the words. She wants me to lay myself bare, tell her what I think I need from her in this moment. With all the pressure caving in, suffocating me, crushing me with guilt, even as I near my final breaking point, the words don’t come out.

“Say it, Cal. Tell me you’re going to give me that last piece of you. That buried part of you that you’re so determined to protect me from.” Her eyes speak volumes, more than any words can say. Trust me. Believe in me.

“Stop holding back,” she says, flexing her fingers against my chest.

“I’m doing it to protect you, to keep you—. . .”

“Cal, you can’t hold it all in forever. Whatever it is will come between us. Let me help you.”

“I can’t lose you.” My voice is desolate, desperate as I cling to my last shred of resistance. I cover her hands with mine, pressing down so she feels the thud of my heart against her skin. “I can lose everything else, but I could never survive losing you too.”

“If you can’t trust me to stay, then you’ll lose me anyway. Give me you . . . all of you.”

“You have me.”

She slips her hands out from underneath mine and pushes back up to her feet before holding an arm out to me. “Then prove it, Cal. Show me everything. Let me give you this. Let me give you what you need.”

Those bright, soulful eyes of hers bore into mine, and the air flows right back into my lungs as she takes the decision out of my hands. When I reach out to her, she tangles our fingers together before turning and tugging gently, leading me toward the stairs and up to the second floor.

My heart beats uncontrollably, anticipation intermingling with fear, overshadowed with the love I have for this woman who continues to push me out of my comfort zone. The woman who has always been able to read me, from the first night we met ’til now, when I need her most.

Lucia has succeeded in getting me out of my head, and now she wants me to lay myself completely bare. She wants that last piece of me that I’ve fought for so long to bury deep inside.

Then Grant’s words from earlier today ring loudly in my ear.

That damn mask is suffocating you.

He’s right. It’s time to tear away the mask and show Lucia everything. A heavy feeling of foreboding threatens to overwhelm me but I push it back, following Lucia across the threshold and into my bedroom.

I wrap my arm around her ribs and roughly cup her breast, pulling her body hard against me, my bare chest flush against her scorching hot back.

Torturous thoughts run through me, a stark contrast to what I normally allow. Then I see something else reflected in Lucia’s eyes. Something simmering beneath the surface that calls to me, igniting my most basal instincts.

I lock my eyes with hers in the giant mirror in front of us, my gaze dropping to the floor as I slowly begin my avid perusal of her body. Every moment I spend with this woman affects me more, tangles me more in her web of lust, my subconscious offering itself as willing prey at every opportunity. We are polar opposites in many ways—dark and light, dirty and clean, sedate and wild, and, most poignantly, sinner and saint.

But once again, I see a gleam of wild in her eyes, a spark of fire that is so bright that I want to bathe in its greatness.

It’s her, a one-of-a-kind deal that I have to take. God, I can’t even imagine going back to a life without her in it. That one thought and everything it encompasses terrifies me.

Staring at me, not granting me freedom from her gaze, she tilts her head to the side and grazes her lips with her tongue. It’s a tantalizing offer of things to come, one that even the strongest, most steadfast man would be unable to refuse.

Lowering my mouth to the furthest edge of her shoulder, I place a soft, open-mouthed kiss against her satin-smooth skin before trailing my tongue up her neck. The low, guttural moan that escapes her lips speaks to me. Unable to hold back, my hand rakes against her scalp, gripping her hair as I turn her face toward mine and crash my lips down on hers. My tongue delves deep into her mouth, tasting and taking unapologetically. Her hand snakes up and cradles my jaw, her fingertips biting into my skin as the kiss turns carnal, rough, raw, and completely out of control.

She knows I need this—that I need to lose myself in her, in us, to stop myself from thinking about everything swirling around me. Because if I think about that, I’ll sink even deeper.

Something snaps inside of me, that last stranglehold of denial and resistance dissipating as I let instinct rule my body.

I tighten my grip in her hair, taking her mouth with unheeded veracity. She’s with me every step of the way, meeting my hips with answering arches of her back, her naked ass rubbing against my straining cock with every thrust.

“Take what you need, Cal.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper, but I hear every emotion she exhibits in the words. The roaring in my ears is deafening, my blood boiling with the craving for more.

Needing a distraction, I release my hold on her and spin her around to face me, my lips landing back on hers with a welcome roughness, if her responding whimper into my mouth is anything to go by.

I walk her backwards until her knees meet the edge of my bed. With a gentle push, she falls back, her legs spreading wide in a silent plea and her eyes locked with mine every step of the way. Her hands move to her breasts, her finger and thumb gripping each nipple and squeezing until a loud moan fills the room.

I’m struck still, locking my body in place as I watch her one-woman show.

“Give me what I need, Cal.”

My entire being vibrates with untested desire, the craving so strong, so desperate in this moment that I don’t trust myself to stay here in the moment—to retain the control such an act calls for.

When Lucia’s moans grow louder, and she drags one hand lower down her body to stroke between her legs, I give up holding back and take what I want—what I need.

Dropping to my knees at the foot of the bed, I spread her thighs wide and push my shoulders between her knees, diving my mouth down to engulf her with my mouth, my lips wrapping around her clitoris and sucking hard while first one, then two fingers plunge inside of her.

I’m no longer on autopilot; I’m feral with need and desperate to sink my cock deep inside her, driving into her hard and fast, taking us both to the precipice before catapulting over the edge into the climactic abyss.

“Fuck, Luce. Fuccccck.” I groan against her.

Her cries become louder and more frantic. I move up and over her, roughly thrusting my cock inside her, giving us what we both want. Her fingernails grip my shoulders, biting into the skin sending shockwaves to my brain that fail to engage any sense of reason.

My body takes over, my hips bucking hard and fast, wild and free. Giving in to the rhythm dictated by instinct, I drop my head to suck her nipple into my mouth, my teeth grazing the sensitive bud, eliciting a cry of pleasure from her. Without stopping, my mouth drifts up her chest to her neck, her jaw, finding purchase on her swollen parted lips and meeting her tongue once more. My entire body is ignited with a need so great it’s as if I’m in free fall with no end in sight.

I don’t want this to end. The pleasure and promise of release is too great, too terrifying, too utterly unfathomable.

I brace one hand on the bed and watch her, ours eyes locked once more, hers soft, knowing, and full of love for me and what we’re doing.

My right hand glides up her stomach and over the swell of her breast, skipping over her sweaty skin and moving over her décolletage to her neck, pausing momentarily before cupping her jaw. Her green eyes flash with heat just as her fingers grip behind my neck and pull me down, slamming our lips together.

“Let go, Cal,” she whispers against my mouth, dragging her teeth against my lower lip. “Show me.”

My momentum falters as depraved images threaten to distract me. Then Lucia’s hand curls around mine and she gently places my palm over the delicate skin at the front of her throat.

I flex my fingers before my entire body freezes mid-thrust, forcing myself to stop. “I trust you; I love you. Take what you need, Cal.”

The roaring begins to be overtaken by buzzing, my entire body electrified. Never have I felt this desperate desire for more, to sate the endless craving that I’ve resisted for most of my adult life. But now, in this moment, with this woman, her silent consent is pushing me toward the terrifying unknown and I’m helpless to resist any longer.

Her eyes flare and her fingers press into mine against her throat. My hips undulate backwards and forwards, and I resume the punishing thrust of my cock between her legs. She grabs hold of my shoulders and bites her nails into my skin, snapping me out of my revelry and back to my tightening hand around her throat.

Her green eyes glaze over as her breathing starts to slow. I’m skirting a fine line of control and the heady feeling consumes me. The racing thrum of pulse beating in earnest against my hand, giving away just how hard she’s fighting to rein in the panic threatening to overcome her. Increasing my thrusts inside of her, a wave of heat sweeps over my body. Suddenly I feel totally separate from the world around me. I press down on my fingertips. Her muscles tense as she races headfirst into the most intense climax I’ve ever witnessed. Her body arches against mine as I continue to pound my hips against hers, tightening my grip around her throat as my own release hits me so hard I’m forced to bury my face into the sheet above her head as the waves of pleasure course through me and I loosen my grip on her

“You okay?” I ask. I roll off of her and collapse on my back as I come down from my long anticipated and fantasized about proclivity. I almost feel invincible in the afterglow.

A few minutes pass and reality starts seeping in. The room is deathly quiet. “Luce?”