Текст книги "Crave"
Автор книги: B.J. Harvey
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Burying myself in my work for the past month, I’ve been at peace. I find the actual design process cathartic, an outlet that liberates me.
Expectation weighs heavy on my shoulders as the anticipated delivery of yet another ‘Callum Alexander’ masterpiece draws closer. But keeping my head down has been effective in removing the unbidden stress that comes along with being me.
Our next project is very public and iconic—a pivotal design for a new national maritime museum in the heart of my home city. It will be my most visible work yet, with all eyes on me to create something beyond compare, and definitely a step up from the Boston fixture. The challenge is what I strive for, and I let it push me further, higher, and beyond even my own high expectations.
There have been no more hook-ups with Jodi and at the current juncture, that’s perfectly okay with me. Focusing on work means pulling my thoughts away from things that I cannot control.
After eight hours bent over my drafting table working on yet another concept, I’m ready to give up for the day when Grant walks into my office.
I turn to greet him, pausing when I see his telltale smirk.
“You’re looking happy, for someone who’s been in interviews all day.”
“You didn’t see the busty blonde that offered to blow me under the table to get the position.”
“You didn’t!” I say, jolting upright.
“Nah, I just said that to see the look on your face,” he says. “But thanks for the vote of confidence, partner.”
“Bastard.”
“Sucker,” he retorts.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“The usual mix of desperates, wannabes, and Team Alexander cardholders.” He walks toward my desk across the room, sitting down in my tall backed leather chair. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or annoyed.”
“No Richardson fans?”
“Oh plenty of those too, but I’m not the golden boy, am I?” He waggles his eyebrows, making me chuckle.
“So any frontrunners?”
“One or two.” He rubs his thumb on his chin. “Hey, do you remember meeting a student at that college function last month?”
The only person I remember vividly from that function is Lucia. Shaking my head, I answer him. “I can’t think of anyone. Did I forget to call someone back or something?”
He glances over at me. “No, nothing like that. One of the applicants mentioned meeting you there,” he replies dryly, like he knows I remember at least someone.
I quirk a brow. “I meet a lot of people at those kinds of events. Some more memorable than others.”
“Like the hot brunette waitress?”
“What waitress?” I answer, feigning ignorance.
“Right, you’ll keep. So did you want to meet the short-listed internship applicants?”
“Do you need me to?”
“Probably not. I’m happy with my two choices—a delightfully attractive and eager female, and a rather conscientious and studious male. They’re both proud card-carrying members of the Callum Alexander fan club. There’s no accounting for taste, but I can’t hold that against them,” he adds with a wink.
“Jealous?” I ask with a laugh.
“So it seems.” He stands up and walks over to my crystal decanter of Hennessy Black, raising a brow at me in silent question. I nod in response and he starts pouring the cognac into two tumblers.
Stepping toward me, he hands me one of the glasses, then takes a slow sip for himself before sitting back down.
“Are we going to split them between us, like normal?”
“Sounds good. But in order to remove the temptation for a sexual harassment case, I’ll take the young woman,” I say, with a knowing smirk.
“Asshole.”
“I call that being smart,” I retort.
“Better to be safe than sorry, I suppose,” he concedes, “especially with the museum project in the spotlight.”
“Now that I agree with,” I say, tipping my glass toward him before downing it. “What are you doing for dinner?”
He stands up, putting his empty glass back on the drinks cabinet and walking toward my office door. “I was thinking we’d head to that Greek restaurant a few blocks over. I’ll just go call our new interns and tell them the good news I’ll be ready to go. Graves in particular was keen to start straight away.”
“Sounds good. I’ll just finish up this section and pack everything away.”
“I’ll come get you when I’m done then.” Grant gives me a grin and disappears down the corridor.
An hour later, Grant leads the way as we exit our building and start walking along the sidewalk.
“Met up with Jodi lately?”
“Definitely not. She’s called a few times but that ship has definitely sailed.”
I look up to catch him grinning at me. “Not even for another memorable limo ride?”
He starts laughing and I join him. “She didn’t seem to get the memo.”
Gasping in mock horror he replies, “They never do.”
We cross the road and come to a stop outside the front doors of a wall of windows lining the front of a restaurant called “Santorino’s.”
We walk through the front doors, and I’m surprised to be met by the same radiant smile that affects me just as much as it did the first time I saw it more than a month ago. The woman who has been the star of my dirtiest, most depraved fantasies recently is now standing just a few feet away from me.
“Good evening, gentlemen. I wasn’t expecting to have a celebrity in the house tonight.”
“Lucia, wasn’t it?” Grant asks, switching automatically into his usual charm offensive.
“Good memory. It’s great to see you again.” Although the comment is for the two of us, it’s only me who Lucia locks eyes with, an unspoken meaning being shared between us that piques my attention. “Is it just the two of you tonight or are you expecting company?” she asks, turning back quickly to Grant.
“Now isn’t that the million-dollar question,” he replies, nudging me with his elbow indiscreetly. “Is it just the two of us tonight, Cal, or should we invite our fetching hostess here to join us?”
I shake my head at his audacity, his boldness having no bounds. Watching Lucia, I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from her as she smiles brightly at us. When I first met her, her natural beauty captured me. It was classic and effortless. Even still, it takes my breath away more today than it did then. I have a sudden need to take advantage of this opportunity to find out more about the intriguing woman who has become a frequent and somewhat perplexing fixture in my thoughts.
“I wish I could, but we’re rather full tonight so I must keep working. I’ll try to stop by your table later though, if it’s an open invitation. Let me show you to your seats and we’ll get you some drinks.” She sweeps her arm out toward the back of the restaurant. “This way, gentlemen.”
Once we’re seated at our table, I pick up the wine list and look over the selection. “Go on, Callum, let me wow you with my wine recommendation,” Lucia teases. I look up to meet her eyes and can’t help giving her a small smirk in reply. “Who am I to stand in the way of your wowing skills?” I tease. Then, leaning toward her, I whisper. “Impress me, Lucia.”
Her eyes flash with heat before she steps back and juts her hip out, pulling a pencil out of her shirt pocket before tapping it contemplatively on her lips. The lips I can’t seem to stop looking at.
She bends down, stealing the wine menu out of my hands before grinning at the two of us. “Do you trust me?”
“My mother always warned me never to trust a beautiful woman,” Grant retorts.
“And you, Callum? What did your mother tell you about beautiful women?” she asks me.
“To let them choose the wine,” I reply assuredly.
“One ridiculously expensive and full-bodied red coming up.” She gifts us a departing smile before turning around and walking back toward the bar at the front of the restaurant.
“Now there’s a woman worth your attention, don’t you think, Alexander?”
I roll my eyes at Grant and grab the menu as a distraction, but that doesn’t stop me glancing over toward the bar and studying the most intriguing woman I’ve met in a long time.
It’s not until we’ve finished our main course that I hear a sweet laugh come from the back of the restaurant, breaking through the continual low hum of conversation. Almost out of instinct, I turn my head toward the honeyed sound and watch in avid fascination as Lucia walks toward our table. Unable to tear my eyes away from her, I shamelessly scan her body from head to black heel-clad toe before slowly returning to her face, her eyes shining with knowing amusement as she walks toward us.
She nods down at our empty plates. “I hope the mains were to your satisfaction.”
The word satisfaction rolls off her tongue and my eyes flare at the slow-rising one-sided smirk gracing her red painted lips. Flashes of the other things her mouth could do cross my mind, and I resist dragging my eyes down her body again, knowing that it would be torturing myself more to do so.
I stand and pull out the chair beside me, placing my hand gently on the small of Lucia’s back. The warmth of her skin singes mine—not the clichéd electric jolt but more like a slow-burning sear that intensifies as more time passes.
“The food was exquisite. Will you join us for a nightcap?”
“I’d love to,” she says, taking the offered seat.
I study her features while I have the chance, pleasantly surprised to find her face full of expression, totally open and honest.
From what I’ve seen so far, there is no façade with this woman. What you see with her is what you get, and it is amazingly refreshing. Yet I sense a hint of something darker, something altogether beguiling about her that lingers just below the surface. It just serves to make me want to find out more about this captivating woman.
I step toward an empty table beside us and pick up an unused wine glass for her
Everything about her screams class and style, not poor struggling student who needed to have a part-time catering gig like she did at our first meeting. Something isn’t adding up, but it’s not suspicious, more intriguing.
“Seems the boss does get to sit down once in a while,” she muses as I push her seat in. Then I have my answer, definitely not a student. “Thank you, kind sir,” she says to me, while Grant pours the wine into her glass.
I can’t comprehend the effect this woman is having on me. Like a shot to my cock, I can’t see anything but her. Later, I will have to reflect on this fact and try to process how a woman I don’t know anything about could achieve that.
“So you’re the manager here?” Grant asks her, leaning back on his chair, and non-conspicuously switching his gaze between Lucia and myself.
“You could say that,” she says on a laugh. “Owner, maître d,’ fill-in waitress, chief cleaner-upper . . .”
She’s nonplussed, and I welcome her ease at joining our table. There are many women who seem to think that since I appear in the gossip pages occasionally, I must be a celebrity, someone who demands attention and special treatment. Then there is also the presumption that I’m rich, desperate, and in need of a trophy wife, much like my esteemed best friend sitting across from me. Jodi was hedging the line between column A and column B. Lucia might just fall into a whole new category.
“How lucky am I to have two handsome men in my restaurant tonight? And a quiet late night at that,” she says, lifting her glass to her lips and taking a slow sip. She offers a hum of approval, grabbing my attention and spiking my libido. A few minutes in close proximity to Lucia has me acting like a horny teenager with a desperate need to take himself in hand.
Thankfully my synapses conjugate in time for me to not look like a total fool. “It was a late night at the office so we decided to grab a bite to eat before heading home.” There, intelligent, friendly, and not at all appearing affected by the woman.
“Well, I’m glad you chose my little hole in the wall,” she replies.
“We’d heard great things and have been meaning to check it out for a while now,” Grant says before lifting his wine glass to his mouth and lowering it back to the table. “So Lucia, if you own this place, why were you catering the function last month?” Leave it to Grant to ask the question I’m most curious about.
“My brother, Gino, he’s the other owner. He runs the catering arm of our business. He was caught short and I had to step in,” she answers with a shrug.
I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the sliver of glass resting on her plump bottom lip, watching in avid fascination as she takes a sip, not at all shy in savoring the taste of the red wine. Her eyes meet mine and she lowers her lashes but does not hide her slow perusal of my body and it hits me that Ms. Harding is interested in, or at least intrigued by me.
More shocking is the fact I want her to be.
“Mr. Alexander, I’ve actually been thinking about you,” she states, her voice and words instantly knocking me out of my thoughts as I feel her warm skin brush against my forearm.
“Oh, call him Callum. Mr. Alexander makes me think he’s a stuffy old man, and there’s no way I’d be having dinner with someone like that willingly,” Grant pipes up from the periphery.
“Really?” I reply to her, my voice surprisingly level. The mask shifts back into place, my automatic defense mechanism when a beautiful woman presents herself willingly, embracing their perceived shot at becoming another notch on the bedpost of the Bay’s favorite son of the moment.
“You sound surprised,” she muses, before continuing. “I was reading an article in the Tribune this morning about the new project that’s just been announced. I saw that you’re going to be designing it. I usually prefer a classic aesthetic as opposed to the stark and more angular modern designs, but knowing that you’re overseeing this project, I’m sure we’re in good hands.” Shit. She is a fan girl. So much for there being a genuine interest there.
I nod, not sure whether there is any point continuing this little conversation. The only fans I want and need in my life are my mother and sister.
“Cal, you look a million miles away. You okay?” Grant asks, his eyes flaring with amusement. “So Lucia, you’re a fan of architecture then?” he continues, watching me like a hawk. The smug bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. Asshole.
“I am,” she states with a smile. I don’t miss the slight blush on her cheeks though, as if she’s just revealed one of her darkest secrets. If only she knew the depth of my own secrets, she wouldn’t see me in anywhere close to the same light. “It’s ironic considering the apartment building I live in is more like a modern abomination, but since I definitely couldn’t afford to live in any of the more beautiful heritage properties, I’m happy with a little modern twist in my life.”
This is definitely not how I saw this conversation going. She sounds genuinely interested in architecture, and intelligent too.
My fascination with this beautiful woman continues to grow.
“I think it’s a beautiful happenstance that we decided to enjoy a fine meal in your restaurant, Lucia.” Grant reaches forward and places his hand on top of hers, giving me an amused glance. An uneasy roll of my stomach along with a touch of what feels like heartburn hits me. It should be my hand on her skin, caressing the soft surface with a whisper-light touch of my fingertips. Her melodic laugh spilling across the table should be for my ears only, in private.
“You live locally?” I ask, finally finding my voice while directing daggers at my business partner across the table.
“I do. Just a few blocks from here actually. It’s handy to the restaurant, and I love living here. What’s not to love about this area?” I watch her closely—her gestures, her nuances—everything about this woman has me ensnared. “How about you, Callum? No doubt you live in the most beautifully designed pièce de résistance in the city?”
I chuckle. “You’d think so. It is my personal masterpiece though.”
“We’ve been focusing on the more high profile projects of late, masterpieces for the future,” Grant explains. “I’m not sure Cal will ever build his ultimate dream house. You could call his place his dream house of right now.”
“Really?” Lucia turns to me. “What do they say about perfectionists?”
“They make the worst partners?” I retort, looking at Grant with amusement.
“And what about hot-shot celebrity architects?” she asks.
“They’re the worst. You’re best to avoid them at all costs.” I smile at her, my eyes dropping to her lips, not missing the way her tongue darts out to wet them. This woman is enthralling, her laugh and quips endearing, drawing me into her web, turning me into willing prey.
“I—” A low whistle from the kitchen interrupts us.
Lucia takes a last sip of her wine before turning her body toward mine and staring at me, trying to convey some unspoken message that I’m wishing I could translate into something comparable to ‘take me home and do me dirty,’ because that’s the only train of thought my blood-starved brain can conceive in that moment. Her sea green eyes scattered with the smallest flecks of amber—and the flash of heat I witness within them—bore into mine, adding to the predicament in my groin.
With a slight upward curl of her ruby red lips, and a delicate tilt of her face, she acknowledges Grant briefly before standing up from her chair. Holding her hand out for me, both Grant and I stand automatically, as manners demand. I clasp her hand in mine, and rest the other hand lightly on her shoulder before leaning forward to place a soft kiss on her cheek. Her perfume’s alluring floral scent fills my senses as I struggle to hold back the urge to whisper a seductive demand in her ear, willing her to stay just a little longer. Her breath stutters and I realize I was not wrong. The twitch of her hand in mine tells me she feels this too. The mere thought of that has my heart thrumming faster in my chest, a most unfamiliar feeling for me.
When I hear Grant clear his throat, I know I’ve somehow lost myself in the moment. Grazing my cheek against hers as I move backwards, I loosen my hand and try to ignore the jolt of awareness that sparks between us. When our eyes lock, her all-knowing stare astounds me, the heat and desire shining back almost too much for this exhausted yet exhilarated man to handle .
She blinks and jerks her head slightly before regaining her composure. “Thank you for the delicious glass of wine, gentlemen.” She looks at Grant then back to me, like a moth drawn to a single sliver of light in the darkest of rooms. “And the illustrious company, of course. But I must return to the kitchen if I’m to interpret my brother’s inconspicuous signal correctly. I hope to see you here again though.” She smiles brightly before turning toward the back of the restaurant.
My eyes follow her, refusing to miss a single curve or nuance of this intriguing woman.
“Oh,” she calls out, spinning on her heels and walking backward, “your money is no good here, Mr. Alexander. If you want to make it up to me, I’m sure you can think of ways to make it happen.” With a wink and an even more spellbinding smile, she disappears behind a set of glossy black doors leading toward the back of the restaurant.
That is a woman that could never go unnoticed. Even with her hair flicking back and forth in a high-placed ponytail, I could see the different hues of reds and browns. When she was talking to us, her eyes were focused on me and only me. When I replied, her attention never wavered. Those soulful eyes of hers made me want to bare my soul, tell her anything and everything—hopes, fears, dreams and nightmares.
I fight the instinct to get up and chase after her. There’s something about this woman that has me losing the ability to think rationally.
Shaking my head, I turn around to see a smug-faced Grant grinning at me like an idiot.
“Knew you liked that. Picked it at the function when you two were in a world of your own but now that we know where she works, I have a feeling we’re going to be eating a lot of Greek in future.” He smirks at me and nods as if he is privy to the world’s worst kept secret.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, my lips twitching as I try to hold back a grin. I raise my wine glass to my lips and swirl the wine around my mouth, the tannins dancing on my tongue before I swallow it down. Grant and I have known each other for more than twenty years, and he’s just proven yet again that he can read me like a dog-eared book every single time.
He lifts his chin toward the back of the restaurant where she disappeared, not looking away, his shit-eating smile never waning. “At the function last month, you couldn’t drag your eyes away from her. Now, that kitchen door is the only reason you’re looking at me.”
“She definitely doesn’t need a man like me. She can’t be a day over twenty-five.” Doesn’t stop me from wanting her though.
“Maybe that’s what you need, old man. Something to combat the walking cane look you’ve got going on,” he retorts sarcastically.
I half-heartedly scowl at him, failing to hide my smile. “Don’t mistake restraint and class for a lack of interest or options.”
“I think you doth protest too much, Mr. Alexander.”
“You know what I mean. I don’t need nor want a trophy wife like Olivia.”
“I didn’t say you had to marry the girl, Cal. I just think it’s about time you got laid regularly . . .”
“I get—”
“Regularly being the operative word. It won’t hurt the public image, or that of the firm, if you were to have a permanent fixture on your arm that isn’t a family member.” I scoff at his bluntness, but can’t argue his inferred reasoning. “Let alone the fact that it would make your parents happy. Shit, I can see it now. Their baby boy finally bringing a girl home after a decade of nothing.” The smug look on his face is unmistakable.
He knows everything about me, including the fact that my religious, conservative parents are worried that their thirty-four year old son has not brought a woman home to meet them for more than a decade. They think I’m all work and no play.
Grant and I met on the first day of high school. Grant was the geeky, glasses-wielding nerd just about to get his ass kicked, and I was the quiet brooding type who came to his rescue. Ever since I took a punch for him, we’ve been stuck like glue. It’s always been like that.
Together, Grant and I are unstoppable, business-wise. When we first graduated, we both interned at the same big city firm. When the time came for a new partner to be announced, we jumped ship before we were forced to choose. That was when we stepped out on our own and started Alexander Richardson, our biggest achievement by far.
As for my interests . . . He’s tried to encourage me to find a like-minded woman to indulge myself with, but I’ve managed to keep the urges at bay thus far. But when you’ve fixated on something for so long, you become almost obsessed with it. It’s always there with me, the temptation calling my name. I just haven’t met a woman who has made me want to take that next step.
Therefore I keep my relationships physical only—no commitments and no obligations. Short and never public. There is just too much at stake, too much too lose, and if I’m to be honest, too many complications.
So I stamp out the cravings, bury them deep inside, torturing myself but avoiding the mistake of losing control in the wrong situation. It may make me seem uptight and unyielding, but it is better that way.
And I’ve been doing well, up until Lucia. Never has a woman affected me on such a base level as her. She’s the only woman to turn my head and keep it there. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but the way that woman’s touch, albeit brief, has stayed with me and affected me, is unprecedented.
The smart thing would be to stay away, be sensible and bury myself in my new project.
Not imagine what it would be like to wrap my hand around her ponytail, pulling her head back until her lips part on a gasp for me.
Not think about snaking my arm around her waist and crashing her body hard into mine as I slam my mouth against hers and taste her, claim her and take her, relishing in the moans and breathless whimpers that would fill the air surrounding us.
And definitely not think about her naked body beneath me, mouth to mouth, skin to skin, her staccato heartbeat racing against mine as I lose myself in her.
