Текст книги "Addicted to Sin"
Автор книги: Monica James
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 20 страниц)
30
Dancing in the Rain
MADISON
It’s now 7:02 p.m., and I’m rushing around my room, shoving the essentials into my small clutch. Once I have my lipstick, perfume, I.D., cash, and room key crammed inside, I’m ready to go. I have to take measured steps as I make my way into the elevator because these heels are a lot higher than I’m accustomed to wearing. They are so worth it though, because I feel like Cinderella in her glass slippers.
Pushing the button for the lobby, I take a minute to look into the mirrored wall behind me to make sure I look okay. I’ve curled my hair and swept it to one side, fastening it with a jeweled clip, my loose curls brushing over my shoulder. My make-up is fairly basic because my outfit, combined with the lavish jewelry, is quite formal enough.
Overall, I like what I see, but my huge pupils and heavy breathing indicates one thing—I’m so nervous.
Once the elevator dings, I take my first careful step toward—I don’t know. Nervously smoothing out my gown, I will my racing heartbeat to slow down. I gather whatever courage I can find and round the corner to see my Prince Charming.
The moment our eyes meet, I feel that distinctive, pulsating charge ricochet between us, but I ignore it and try my best not to fall as I walk toward him. He looks absolutely hot in a simple but elegant tuxedo, which has been fitted to underline his muscular body and impressive height. His hair, which is styled into an orderly mess, complements his light, rugged stubble, and his incredibly blue eyes look electric while scanning down my body.
“I’m certain there was a lot more material when I picked this out,” he says when I reach his side, his mischievous gaze lifting to meet mine.
“You’ve got great taste,” I reply with a chuckle, ignoring how delectable he smells as I lean forward and kiss his cheek.
Dixon wraps an arm around my waist and draws me close. “Might I propose you borrow my jacket?”
“Whatever for?” I ask, gasping as he runs his nose lightly down my cheek and into my neck.
“So I’m not forced to gouge out the eyeballs of every male in this place,” he teasingly replies, his warm breath causing my skin to break out into tiny goosebumps. “But gouging aside, you look beautiful. Although, anything you wear looks stunning on you.”
I flush at his comment and turn into him, nuzzling into his embrace. The innocent action has Dixon growling low in his throat and tightening his hold around my waist.
“There they are,” a voice says, which has me pulling back, embarrassed to be caught out in such an intimate pose.
However, Dixon looks anything but embarrassed when I meet his heated stare. He gives me a quick once-over before addressing Chad. “Here we are.”
“You look positively stunning, Madison,” Chad says, his eyes lingering on my boobs.
I redden and turn to look at Dixon, who shrugs with an, “I told you so,” look on his amused face.
“Thank you, Chad,” I reply, my bashfulness obvious as I subtly cross my arms over my chest.
“You look…lovely, Rebecca,” Dixon says with a pause, and I wonder what he really thinks of Rebecca’s outfit, which resembles lingerie.
“Thank you. You look lovely, too,” she purrs, cocking out her hip, not concealing the fact she’s checking out Dixon.
A wave of jealousy overtakes me, but I smile and hold back my homicidal urges.
“Shall we?” Chad suggests, oblivious to the fact his fiancée is eye-fucking my “boyfriend.”
Pretend or not, I see Dixon as mine, and I know tonight is going to be a lot harder than I originally thought.
“Let’s,” I say in concurrence with Chad as I loop my arm through Dixon’s.
As we make our way toward the ballroom, all I can think about is the way Rebecca looked at Dixon. I played nice with her because I know how girls like her operate. If you stroke their already impossibly huge egos and not come across as a threat, then most times, they are happy to be friends because they have the upper hand. But tonight, all dressed up and being on the arm of Dixon, the man she wants, she sees me as competition.
Well, game on.
Just before we enter, Dixon leans down and kisses the shell of my ear. “Thank you for remembering to wear clothes.” I burst out laughing, which is exactly what I needed to calm the nerves.
“Anytime. But it’s all thanks to you,” I reply, my breath catching in my throat as he lays a single kiss along the arch of my neck. “If it weren’t for this dress, I would be nothing special.”
Dixon pulls away, a look of horror on his face. “That’s not true.” Placing a hand on my cheek, he smiles. “You don’t know how special you are.”
His sweet words have me turning into his hold and nuzzling into his hand. “Thank you,” I whisper, raising my eyes to meet his.
This shouldn’t feel so natural, but it does, and the thought of this being our last night together hurts. But Dixon said it’s all or nothing, and my fragile mind can’t give him my all until I get back to New York and confront my past.
Dixon must be able to read my thoughts because he says, “Even though you’re mine for only one night, I’m going to make it the best night of our lives.” He lays a single kiss on my lips before pulling away.
He looks unruffled as we enter the lavish ballroom, and all other thoughts get put on the back burner as I take in the beautiful sight before me. The room has been transformed into an elaborate affair, and waiters are zipping around the room, ensuring all seated guests have full glasses, while others are escorting patrons to their tables.
A waiter happily greets us and flicks through his iPad to see where we are seated. Thankfully Dixon amended the arrangements and I’m his plus one. I can’t help but wonder who his plus one originally was, as Chad mentioned they had pulled out at the last minute. Was it supposed to be the girl he was seeing when we first met? The thought has me shuffling uncomfortably, and Dixon slides his hand down my back, resting it above my ass.
“Are you all right?” he whispers as we begin walking toward our table.
“Fine,” I reply, but I’m anything but as I see the head of almost every woman in the room turn to look at Dixon.
Women of every age group are currently checking him out, some a little more discreetly than others, but overall, I have a room full of Rebecca's I now have to fight off.
The waiter stops at a table near the front, and as Dixon pulls out a seat for me, I know I’m the envy of the room. Ignoring their scowls, I take a seat and shakily reach for my glass of water when Rebecca sits next to Dixon.
I eye the bottles of wine in the middle of the table, wondering if it would be considered rude to make a dive for them and get into the booze early. But looking around the room and seeing the jealous stares of every beautiful woman present, I ignore etiquette and reach for a bottle of red.
“Here, let me,” Dixon offers, his fingers overlapping mine, beating me to it.
I pull back, my flesh singeing, but try not to make a big deal over it, and smile.
As I down my entire glass, I can feel Dixon watching me, but I ignore him and distract myself by looking around the room. The people here are powerful and important, and I wonder what they did to get to where they are. I have no doubt some worked hard, but with others I wonder who they slept with, or who they stabbed in the back to become the influential players that they are.
Two couples take a seat at our table, and thankfully the ladies are old enough to be Dixon’s grandmothers and smile politely when introductions are made. From what I can see, these people are very high up in rank, and all of the men, minus Dixon, are on the psychiatric board. But that might soon change because by the way they’re zoning in on Dixon, they are very interested in what he has to say.
“So, Dixon, Chad tells me you’ve got some interesting material for us to read over,” Fletcher, the older gentleman with salt and pepper hair, says.
Dixon coolly smiles, reaching for his wine. “Well, Chad is really too kind. But I would be absolutely honored for you to read over my work and to hear your thoughts.”
“You will be amazed,” Chad says in confirmation. “His findings are true brilliance, and although a little unorthodox, his reasoning is totally justifiable.”
Dixon appears completely unruffled by the table singing his praises, but as he lays a hand on my knee and squeezes lightly, I know he’s squirming in his seat in excitement. I look over at him and smile, and he returns the gesture, beaming from ear to ear.
Halfway through our main meal, I’m certain I’m about to gag on my lamb as the hundredth woman for the evening comes to our table to talk to Dixon. This has been going on for the past hour and a half, and up until now, I’ve tried my best to remain calm, but now I’ve had enough.
Dixon is either oblivious or blind to their deliberate flirting, but I most certainly am not. Their lingering or unnecessary touches have not gone unnoticed by me, and Rebecca seems like a puppy dog compared to these vultures.
Dixon has introduced me to everyone, but he has failed to mention I’m his “girlfriend,” leaving who I am open to interpretation. Rebecca has picked up on this fact, and decides now is a good time to address why that is.
“Madison, how long have you and Dixon been together?” she innocently asks, but I know there is nothing innocent about her question.
I shuffle in my seat, my eyes flicking to Dixon, who pauses talking to the bouncy blonde by his side. I bite my lip and realize we really should have worked out a credible story before we went ahead and pretended to be lovers.
“Um…” I reply, appearing as if I’m calculating the time in my head.
But Dixon stills my hands, which are twisting in my lap. “Six months,” he replies, turning to look at Rebecca.
“How did you meet?”
Dixon takes a small breath, a smile overtaking his beautiful features. “Some ape was hassling her, so I sent him on his way.”
“You mean you scared the living daylights out of him,” I add, remembering how frightened Tim looked when confronted by a bad-ass Dixon.
The table chuckles, bar Rebecca, and Dixon grins as he addresses the table. “What can I say; he had his hands on the woman I wanted. From the moment I saw her, I knew there was something special about her. I would do almost anything to get to know her, and once I did, I fell deeper and deeper under her spell.”
A breath catches in my throat, but I try to remain composed as Dixon continues.
“But it wasn’t smooth sailing; I mean, like a typical male, I screwed things up to astronomical levels.” He lightly squeezes my hand as the table laughs in unison. “I know she has her own demons to deal with, but here she is,” he says, turning to me, his eyes glowing with pride. “Sitting by my side, supporting me unlike anyone has ever done for me before. She is my angel, because every minute spent with her is truly a blessing, and one I never want to end. I’m so lucky to have met you, Madison. You give me the strength to want to be a better man,” he says, no longer addressing the table, but only me.
My eyes begin to water, but I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the tears. “I’m the lucky one, Dixon,” I say in a mere whisper. “And you already are a better man. You’re the only man I want,” I add, meaning every single word, and the table coos.
Dixon smiles, and he leans forward, brushing away a runaway tear. “Good, ’cause you’re the only woman I want, angelo.”
We’re no longer in a room full of people, it’s only Dixon and me, and as he returns my gaze, I realize something I’ve been trying to avoid for a very long time. I’m falling head over heels for Dr. Mathews. I don’t throw the word “love” around loosely, but with Dixon, this feels something like it. The connection between us was instant, and no matter how hard I try to fight it, it only seems to get stronger and stronger.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a real treat for you this evening,” the emcee announces. “Please welcome to the stage, the brilliant and well-loved genius, Dr. Maxwell Wellington.”
At the mention of Dr. Wellington’s name, both Dixon and I seem to snap out of our daze, bringing home the fact we’re sitting in a room full of people, and not alone.
“Thank you for that kind introduction,” he says, looking over at the emcee. “I’ll make sure to pay you later tonight.” The room erupts in laughter.
Once the cackles die down, Dr. Wellington gets serious and puts on his glasses. “So, I was asked to talk about my experiences and share with you lovely people my thoughts about psychiatry today. I had an entire speech prepared, and after many rehearsals, I was ready to deliver my ‘wisdom’ and hope my insight came across as that, and not incoherent babble.”
The room once again chuckles. Dr. Wellington owns the room as he continues.
“But something occurred a few days ago and, well, this particular occurrence really opened up a can of worms.”
I gulp as Dr. Wellington looks my way with a cheeky grin.
“If easily offended, I suggest you turn away now because my topic is one that may be considered a little taboo.”
The room breaks out into tiny whispers, people wondering what this unthinkable topic is all about.
Dr. Wellington gestures with his wrinkled hands for silence, and smiles. “I’m going to talk about…women.”
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Wellington has the entire room at his mercy and eagerly awaiting his punch line. His speech has touched on the topic of men and women and why after so many years of civilization, we just can’t seem to understand how the other half of the species operates.
“It’s no secret that men and women are very different. And us scientists, we generally study four primary areas of difference in male and female brains. Now, I could go on and bore you with the details of what each component entails. But if I may, can I kindly ask you to look at the person beside you?”
The room does as he asks.
“Do you see that?” he questions after the room quiets down. “Whether we’re male or female, at the end of the day…we’re all just human beings.”
When Dr. Wellington looks our way, I know that without a doubt, Dixon and I were the inspiration behind his brilliant talk. And Dixon knows it too as he turns to look at me with a mischievous smile on his handsome face.
“So, what’s the answer to this riddle we call relationships?” Dr. Wellington asks, rubbing his chin in thought.
The room is silent, waiting.
He smiles, his crinkled face turning up in amusement. “Who damn well knows?” he says lightheartedly. “But after fifty years of marriage, I’ve learned one thing.” He pauses, adding to the anticipation. “Life and love isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass…it’s about learning to dance in the rain. Thank you.”
The room erupts into a thunderous applause and everyone stands, clapping loudly as Dr. Wellington shuffles down the stairs. He stops by our table and gently pats me on the shoulder. “I feel a storm brewing,” he cheekily says, winking at Dixon, who smirks.
The band starts playing and everyone uses this interlude to visit the restrooms or talk to guests.
“I’m just sneaking out for a smoke,” Dixon confesses into my ear. “But shh, don’t tell anyone. Half of these guests would have a coronary if they knew.”
I laugh and nod, loving the fact that under his smart tie and sophisticated looks, Dr. Mathews is a rebel at heart.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promises as he stands, placing a light kiss on my cheek.
The moment he walks away, Rebecca takes his seat.
“You two are soooo cute together,” she sarcastically quips, not meaning a word.
But I play along. “Thanks.”
There is an uncomfortable silence, which I prefer over Rebecca’s harassment.
“I bet he’s a real stud in the sack.”
My cheeks flush, as nothing good can come from this conversation. “Um, yeah, he sure is,” I unconvincingly reply as I nervously toy with the pendant around my neck.
“With looks like that, I bet he could get any woman he wanted. You’re real lucky he chose you. I mean, you must be dynamite in bed,” she casually says, wiggling her eyebrows.
“It’s not like that,” I pathetically reply. “Yes, the sexual chemistry is off tap, but there’s something more. Something deeper.”
“Oh yeah, I bet there’s something deeper,” Rebecca crudely adds, and I turn my nose up at her vulgarity.
She takes a moment to look at me, and whatever she sees must reveal the truth. “Holy shit, you’re not fucking him, are you? Oh my God.”She covers her mouth, attempting to mask her laugh.
Her ridicule over a touchy topic for me has my cheeks reddening further, and I lower my face, ashamed. Why does everything have to be about sex?
“Sweetheart, from one girl to another, men like that ain’t gonna stick around if you’re not putting out. I mean, look at him, and well, look at you,” she cruelly states. “A man like Dixon wants to fuck, not talk, and if you don’t give him what he wants, he’ll find it elsewhere. Honey, I’m sure you can see there are many willing participants who would happily cheat on their spouses to tend to his needs. Me included. You wanna keep a man like that? Well, you better give up the goods.”
“What are you talking about?” I defensively ask, the walls closing in around me.
“I’m saying you gotta rock his world before someone else does it for you. This innocent, virginal gig is only going to last for so long.”
I gasp, stunned she can read me so easily.
“Gosh, don’t look so disgusted. Most women would kill to be in your shoes. Sex is power, and that power best be in your hands, not his. If you want to keep him, you’ll do whatever it takes,” she states, but I’m no longer listening to her.
I begin to feel sick, her words stirring up unwanted memories, memories I promised to deal with once I got back to New York. But hearing Rebecca say the words I know to be true sends my past torpedoing into me, and I’m going to hurl.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing quickly and making a mad dash through the room.
The moment I reach the restrooms, I crouch over the toilet bowl and heave up the entire contents of my stomach. I vomit until there is nothing left, but I continue to purge until I’m gagging on my tears and regret. My loud sobs echo off the bowl, and I thump the cold tiles underneath me, wishing I wasn’t so fucked up and vulnerable to my past.
The dizziness kicks in and I cover my ears, his words on a cruel repetitive loop, one I’ve been trying to silence for thirteen years.
“You’ll do this, Sunny. If you love me, you’ll do this.”
31
Skeletons in the Closet
DIXON
I have no idea where she is. I’ve searched this entire hotel for Madison, but she has vanished without a trace. The concierge has checked her room, but she’s not in there, and I’ve tried her cell, but it goes straight to voicemail.
When I returned to the table and saw she was gone, Rebecca said she went to the restroom, and would be back soon. However, when twenty minutes went by and she was still gone, I knew something was wrong.
Charging down the corridor, I see a small group of people crowding around a room. Looks of confusion and concern mar their features, and I race toward them, my heart in my throat.
“What’s going on?” I bluntly ask an older lady in a lime pantsuit.
“Someone’s in there,” she replies, pointing to the linen closet. “Some poor girl ran in there and has locked the door. We’ve tried contacting staff, but they seem too busy to deal with us normal folk,” she adds, looking down her nose at me.
Of course they are—they’re too busy with my drunken colleagues.
“Please, will you let me through?” I ask, pushing my way past the nosy bystanders.
The moment I reach the door, I squat low and place my ear against the door because I can’t hear much, thanks to the murmuring crowd. As I listen closer, I hear a tiny sniffle and then some muffled words, and without a doubt I know that Madison is inside.
“Madison? Are you in there?” I ask, trying to keep my voice soothing and calm.
When she doesn’t reply, I ask again, “Madison, it’s Dixon. Can you hear me?”
Still nothing.
“Should I call security?” an onlooker asks.
I hold out my hand, shaking my head. “No, I’ve got this. Please, could you all give me a minute?”
Most comply, while others take a step back, still loitering close by, but it’ll have to do.
“Angelo, it’s me. If you can hear me, please give me a sign that you’re okay. You don’t have to come out, I’m right here with you. I just need to know that you’re okay.”
The crowd hushes, listening to me reason through a door.
I press my ear against the wood, listening closely, but hear nothing. I’ve got to keep trying, because if she doesn’t reply, I’m minutes away from breaking down the door. I could call the concierge, but I really want to save her the embarrassment of the entire hotel staff knowing she’s locked herself in a linen closet.
My brain churns through the reasons why she would lock herself in such a confined space, and only one reason comes to mind.
She’s scared.
Something happened during those few minutes while I was gone, and I hate that I wasn’t there to protect her. But I’m here now, and I’ll do everything in my power to make her feel safe once again.
Thinking back to when I was a child and scared, I employ the only thing that ever made the monsters go away.
I sing:
Farfallina
Bella e bianca
Vola vola
Mai si stanca
Gira qua
E gira la
Poi si resta sopra un fiore
E poi si resta spora un fiore.
This is the nursery rhyme my mother used to sing to me when I was a child, and each and every time she made the nightmares go away. I just hope I can do the same for Madison. Just as I’m about to sing verse two, I hear the lock on the door click open and the crowd around me gasps.
“Please don’t crowd around the door. The person inside is very important to me, and when I go in, I don’t want her to think she’s in some kind of freak show,” I say, hoping they get the hint and leave.
I don’t wait long enough to see if they listen or not because I slowly open the door, and peer inside the darkened room. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness, but once they do my heart breaks when I see Madison pushed up against the far wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, her feet bare. She’s rocking backward and forward, her face pressed up against her knees and she’s humming softly.
“Madison?” I whisper, pushing open the door a fraction further.
But she continues humming, her face turned away from me.
The only way I’m going to snap her out of her near-catatonic state is making contact with her, so I slowly crawl inside, shutting the door behind me. I can’t see a thing, so I use Madison’s humming as my beacon of light.
“Madison, it’s Dixon. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help. I’m going to come over there, okay?”
She doesn’t reply, but her humming ceases.
I slowly crawl toward her, all the while cooing to her. “It’ll be okay. I’m here and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Reaching out, I gently place my hand on her leg. Her skin is icy cold, and the moment I make contact, she scurries backward but has nowhere to go because of the wall behind her.
I instantly back off, my hands raised in surrender. “Madison, you’re safe. We don’t have to go anywhere. I’ll stay here with you until you’re ready to leave. No matter how long that takes, I’ll be here. I won’t leave you, I promise.”
I decide to make myself comfortable and sit, stretching my legs out in front of me. The sliver of light coming in from under the door is the only light source we have, and although it’s dim, it’s enough for me to see Madison’s broken frame as she curls in on herself, not wanting to face the real world.
It goes without saying something awful happened to this beautiful creature, and I have a feeling that something is one heinous, unspeakable betrayal of the worst degree. I grind my teeth at the thought because there are only a handful of things that would evoke a breakdown such as this.
“Oh, angelo, what did they do to you?” I whisper, running a hand down my face and slouching in defeat.
“D-Dixon?” Madison stutters, her voice small and hoarse.
“I’m here,” I reply, quickly sitting upright.
“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I don’t know how I ended up in here. Last I remember I was in the bathroom and then everything went blank. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m going to come over, okay?”
“Okay.”
I crawl over slowly and extend my hand until I touch Madison’s knee. I breathe out a sigh of relief when her skin feels a degree warmer. “I’m just going to slip my hands underneath your knees and around your back,” I say, not wanting to freak her out with any sudden movements.
“I can walk,” she whispers, but I doubt that she can.
“That’s okay. Let me be your knight in shining armor for the night,” I reply, thankful she sounds semi-coherent.
“You already are.” She surprises me as she reaches out and brushes my cheek.
Her actions inflame my heart, but I’ll deal with that later because I want to get her out of here. I place my forearm under her knees and scoop her up. She comes willingly as she sags into my body, resting her head against my chest and wrapping her hands around my neck. I slowly stand and secure my hold around her and take our first step toward freedom.
I blindly reach for the door handle, making sure I keep Madison tucked firmly into me. I open the door slowly, my eyes squinting as the harsh light burns my light-sensitive pupils. They adjust within seconds, and when they do, I see there are a few spectators standing outside, rudely gawking. They thankfully have the good mind to move out of the way. Madison tucks herself closer into my body, hiding her face into my neck, as she is no doubt embarrassed by everyone staring at her.
I push my way through, not caring who I bump into, and quickly make my way toward the elevator.
Stepping inside, I push my floor number and the cart charges upward, the dull elevator music and Madison’s soft breathing the only noises filling the cart.
Looking at our reflections in the mirrored wall, Madison’s frail, fragile appearance breaks my heart.
The moment the cart stops at my floor, I step out, holding Madison’s frame like a bag of gold. She tightens her grip around my nape and nuzzles into my neck, making a contented sound. My feet pound on the carpeted floor as I make my way toward my room, and the moment I’m inside, I head straight for the bedroom and switch on the bedside lamp.
With a little maneuvering, I pull back the sheet and gently place Madison down. The moment she feels the soft sheets beneath her she sighs and lets go of my neck, nuzzling into the pillow. She’s still in her gown, but after tonight, there’s no way I’m going to undress her, so I gently cover her with the sheet and comforter. She’s asleep within seconds.
I stand and watch her sleeping, mourning her broken appearance. The once-radiant, confident woman now looks like a shattered, scared child.
When I’m certain she’s sound asleep, I unfasten my tie and slip off my jacket and shoes. I wearily lower myself onto the floor beside her, using the bedside table as my support.
Here I’ll stay, keeping my promise, protecting her until she feels safe once again.
