Текст книги "Sudden Desires"

Автор книги: Shanora Williams

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FOUR

Griffin

It’s later than I thought when I pull into my garage. Nearing 9:30 PM.

When I left Angelina on the balcony of Swede’s I didn’t go straight home. I went to Pinkman’s, a quiet bar only a few blocks away from my house, and downed three scotches. I couldn’t get her out of my head.

Her sweet smile. Those supple pink lips. Those clear blue eyes that, somehow, gave nothing away. How can they be so clear, yet I see nothing?

It’s hard reading her, and I’m sure she makes it that way for a reason. She doesn’t want people to know about her. She doesn’t want anyone to get too close to unveil her secrets.

Makes sense. I can be the same way.

When I get home, it’s dark inside. Nothing but the light above the kitchen sink is on as I walk by the table and place my briefcase on the counter.

I walk up the stairs, taking the first right turn and looking in Colette’s study.

I expect her to be there but she’s not. Her supplies are scattered and disarrayed, a canvas with an unfinished painting of a cat or something on the easel. It’s set up like she’s been here and decided to take a break.

I sigh, walking down the hallway to get to the master bedroom. When I walk in, Colette is sitting in front of the vanity¸ brushing her shoulder-length gold locks.

She spots me through the mirror and slowly stops brushing. “Your home,” she says dryly. She’s not happy about it. Was she expecting me not to show up? Is that what she wants?

“Yeah,” I breathe, walking to my side of the bed. I undo my tie as she spins on the bench. She’s wearing her silky gold robe, her face clear of makeup. I can smell her body spray. A fruity scent.

Colette is beautiful with or without make-up, but by the stress that wears on her hunched shoulders, her creased forehead, I can tell something is bothering her.

I debate on whether I should ask, until she speaks for me.

“I called you earlier. Did you get it?” She stands from the stool, going to the side of the bed and pulling down the comforter. She sits down, back facing me, eyes focused on her lap.

“Yeah—sorry, babe. It was crazy today. The deal with Quarter almost didn’t go through.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t look too enthused.

I blink, studying her back. “Colette?”

She barely looks over her shoulder. “Hmm?”

“What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.” She’s lying. “I’m just really tired.”

“Your study isn’t as tidy as usual,” I note.

“Yeah, well, I started but I got exhausted. I’m sure Arianna will take care of it in the morning.”

I drop my tie on the bed, unbuttoning my dress shirt.

Colette lies down, blowing a breath and staring up at the patterned vaulted ceiling. Her nipples are protruding through the silk. I’m sure she’s not aroused, maybe just cold.

She pulls the comforter over her body as I walk around the bed, sitting by her side.

I stroke the edges of her hair and she sighs, trying to catch my eyes. I can’t look at her, not after what I was about to do to Angelina.

But I can touch. I’m a drunk, horny son of a bitch and I need pleasing.

“God, Griffin… why didn’t you call?” she whispers.

I blink rapidly. Honestly, I was too caught up with Angelina, letting her learn little things about me for God knows what reason.

It’s rare for me to speak of myself—my personal life—so openly to someone I hardly even knew and, yet, it happened anyway, like I’d reunited with a long lost friend.

I finally look up and Colette is looking me dead in the eyes with a full frown on her face.

Pushing up on her elbows, she leans in and takes a deep whiff of me, and then her frown deepens.

“Why do you smell like scotch?” she practically spits.

I watch her frown turn into a scowl before leaning back and swallowing thickly. The taste of the scotch is still on my tongue, strong and tart.

“I caught some drinks with Neil to celebrate the deal.” Liar.

“Neil?” she questions.

“A business associate. Remember I told you he works with Stratford and Clark. He helped with Quarter a lot. Tough deal.”

“Yeah, you said that,” she mutters. “So you can go for drinks but you can’t even call your own wife back?”

I push off the bed. By her defensive state, I know she’s ready to pick a fight. I’m not up for arguing. Not tonight.

I walk towards the bathroom, unbuttoning the rest of my shirt. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “Just run off and take your shower. Ignore the conversation. God, no wonder this marriage is failing.”

Her last sentence catches and hooks me and it pisses me the fuck off.

I spin around before I can make it to the bathroom, narrowing my eyes as I focus on her. “Is that what you think? That our marriage is failing? If that idea is in your head then why the fuck are you still in my house?”

Colette springs up, pushing out of the bed with a scoff. “Excuse me? Your house?” Fury sparks her eyes. “Your house, Griffin? Are you really going to try and call this your house?” Her laugh is hoarse.

“Yes, Colette. I work. I pay the bills. I’m the reason you’re wearing all that expensive shit, driving a fucking Mercedes that I paid off. So yes, my fucking house.”

She laughs so sardonically it makes my skin crawl.

Pointing a finger, she says, “Now that… that is funny, hun. I guess you have completely forgotten the only reason you can now pay those bills. If you hadn’t met me you’d be nowhere, just like your father.”

My heart sinks when she mentions him. My father, a good man that basically slaved just to keep a roof over mine, my mother’s, and my younger brother’s head.

He died six years ago. Heart attack.

I swallow thickly, allowing my arms to sag at my sides. Colette looks my way, and I expect sympathy after her statement. I don’t receive that.

Instead, she goes on, still slinging shit my way. “You are just so fucking careless now, Griffin. If I call, all you have to do is answer. I know you work—I get it—but I think I’m a little more important than that job. Don’t you think? I mean”—she huffs a laugh—“we have more than enough money to relax for a while—maybe even retire early.”

“I’m only thirty-two, Colette. I’m not retiring. Not when I can keep stacking my money.”

She blows a breath. “You know, sometimes I think you work just to escape being home. To be away from me. And if that is the case then by all means keep working, but don’t expect me to keep playing the good wife everyone expects me to be.”

She folds her arms, leaning back against the headboard.

I’m in a state—a place where if I say something now it will only ruin everything, but if I stay in here and don’t speak, I’ll blow up inside.

I can’t deal with either right now.

I’m too drunk, and I know I’ll say something wrong. I just know it.

So I rush for the closet, yanking down some attire for tomorrow, some pajamas for tonight. Then I go to the bathroom, taking out my body wash, razors, and shaving cream.

When I walk back out of the bathroom, Colette is sitting up again, watching me collect my shit.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” I snap back. I go for the bedroom door and swing it open, but before I’m gone I turn and say, “You know, Colette, you say you play the good wife, but I don’t see a single trace of goodness within you anymore. You can pretend you’re playing it, but either way you’re doing a terrible fucking job at it. I try every damn day to please you. To put a smile on your face. Make you the happiest woman on earth. You’d just rather be an ungrateful bitch and turn down everything I do rather than accept it and be happy that I put forth the effort. Fuck, why can’t you just let it go already? Why can’t you just fucking move on from the past?”

And then I’m gone, slamming the door behind me and hearing a sharp gasp pass by her lips.

I take up the guestroom. The queen-sized bed will do for the night. I shower up, lathering my body in soap.

Fuck, I feel defeated. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t shit be the same with us anymore?

All I want is the best for Colette. All I want is for her to be happy. We were happy once. Why can’t we go back to that? I mean, I know a lot of shit went down—things that were my fault—but it’s been years. Why hasn’t she forgiven me for it yet?

My forehead drops on the marble wall of the shower. Water streams through my hair, down my chest and back. My face feels smothered with warmth, but it feels good.

With my eyes squeezed tight, I try and imagine Colette and all her naked glory.

‘The woman has a banging body, even though her mind and heart is a little ugly.

I imagine those perky pink nipples, her face when I finally get to ramming my cock deep inside her. Only… it doesn’t work this time.

As I pump I can’t feel myself getting hard enough because all I can hear are her negative words. All I can think of is how we truly are failing as a couple.

All I can think about is how I almost got a taste of someone else… Angelina.

Fuck.

Blue eyes appear in my imagination, and I stroke harder. My cock hardens in my hands, the veins bulging as I imagine those aqua irises looking up at me while sucking me dry.

Lapping her tongue around my balls, flicking it across my tip. I shudder as I start to reach the brink. My body locks, palm against the wall, and all I can hear is her calling me Mr. Boyd in that sweet little voice.

She wanted my cock so bad she could taste it, and I wanted a mouthful of her pussy so much I was almost willing to completely demolish my marriage to make that happen.

“Fuck,” I bite out, stroking faster, harder, until finally I explode in my hand, squirting all over the fucking shower wall. “Goddamn,” I groan, pressing the side of my face on the marble.

God, it’s been so long since I’ve cum. So fucking long. I pant, breathing raggedly as I keep my eyes shut, still rubbing the head of my cock, releasing every drop of cum.

I can’t believe myself, but it’s the pure imagination of Angelina who has just brought out my release.

It’s her with her lips wrapped around the head of my cock, telling me to relax and to just enjoy the feel. The feel of her, right before she comes up to sit on top of my lap, allowing me to sink deep inside what I know is an eager, wet pussy.

Young pussy.

Sweet pussy.

I groan, finally letting myself go. I wash up again, cleaning my cum off the wall before getting out. When I’m in bed, I skim through my tablet and see stock numbers have gone back up.

Good.

That’s good for us.

Quarter definitely has nothing to worry about now. They made the right decision.

Placing my tablet on the nightstand, I flip on my side, and shut my eyes. I fall asleep while remembering the chime of her laughter, her smile—those fucking eyes.

God, those eyes have the power to make a man kill someone if it comes down to it.

I know I shouldn’t fall asleep with another woman on my mind, but I can’t help myself. Maybe I should hire a suitable lawyer and file for divorce. Find a fucking way out of this shithole.

There’s no point in being miserable anymore. Why are we still together if we aren’t happy? We’ve tried—I’ve tried, year after year, but its only getting worse.

If I file, I can do whatever the hell I want.

Like fuck the shit out Angelina in my office whenever I’m in the mood and not worry about what Colette will think if she ever found out.

I can’t do it though—the divorce, I mean.

There’s a lot on the line for us. Her father is part of the reason of my success. I am forever indebted to that man. It’s unfortunate, but he saw my potential. He saw that I could be a great resource and he ran with it.

And now I owe him my life.

I owe him for being the reason I can pay for Mom’s oncology bills.

I owe him because if it weren’t for him I wouldn’t have been able to bail my baby brother out of jail for stupidly dealing drugs. I wouldn’t be able to pay for his rehab care.

I’d honestly be nowhere if I hadn’t met Colette and her father on that ferry in New York that late winter night. Absolutely no fucking where.

FIVE

Angelina

It’s a good thing I didn’t book my flight for 11 AM last night because I receive a call from Griffin at 9 AM.

“I know you have other things to do,” he says when I answer the phone, “but would you like to fly out to San Diego with me? I think Quarter would appreciate seeing a member from Stratford and Clark too… preferably a Clark.”

I giggle… and then I shake my head. I hate giggling. I only giggle when I’m genuinely laughing.

My heart flutters when I hear the bass of his laughter, but in an instant his laughter is shushed, and I hear some noise in his background. Then there is a female’s voice.

“Did you hide them?”

“Hide what?” Griffin snaps.

“My keys? Did you hide them?”

“Why would I hide your keys, Colette?”

“Because you’re probably still mad about last night. Where are they?”

“I don’t know, Colette,” he grumbles.

“Who are you talking to?” I hear her ask after a brief pause. “Why are you laughing?”

“It’s business,” Griffin responds.

“You know what? Whatever. I don’t care. I’m off to weight training.”

A door slams in the background and then it’s quiet for a moment. “Everything okay?” I ask.

“Just peachy,” he bites out. “So, San Diego? Yes? No? I can schedule the jet.” He’s annoyed now, not as playful as he was less than a minute ago.

Isn’t it insane how one person can change your entire attitude? One minute your fine and dandy, and the next you’re ready to blow fire because they said something you didn’t like.

I lift my head, looking at the mirror on the wall across from me. It’s a floor to ceiling mirror.

I’m in a pretty sweet hotel in the heart of Miami, right off the coast, per Griffin’s recommendation. He sent the text only a few minutes after he left from Swede’s.

Griffin Boyd: In case you really want to spend another night here, I love The Swan. Great rooms. Pricey but truly worth it.

He was right. It is worth it. Room service is quick, the water is hot, the bed is so comfortable, and this view is spectacular.

I study my attire. I’m wearing my favorite pink robe, hair tied up, face clear of any signs of makeup. “Sure. San Diego sounds great. What time are you trying to fly out? As soon as possible, I assume?”

He laughs. “What makes you say that?”

“Doors slamming, attitudes swirling in the atmosphere. Seems you need a little vacation, Mr. Boyd.”

“Nah… it’s whatever.”

I push to a stand, phone glued to my ear as I walk towards the balcony window. The sun is blazing today. I feel the heat of its rays through the glass.

If only I had the time to really bask in its warmth.

“I’ll be there. Just send me the location.”

“You’re at The Swan, right?”

“I am.”

“How do you like it?”

“Oh, I love it. It’s great.”

“Knew you would. Since I know where you are, don’t worry about finding a ride. I’ll pick you up.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” I say in protest but he cuts me off.

“No,” he murmurs. “I feel awful for leaving you at Swede’s like that last night. Please, consider this handled. I’ll see you at 2 PM sharp?”

I nod as if he can see me, biting a smile. “Okay. Two on the dot. Bags will be packed and out the door with me by their side.” Oh, God. Why did I just say that?

“Sounds lovely.” I can hear the smile in his voice before he hangs up, like he sense my embarrassment.

I lower the phone, staring down at the screen. The fluttering in my chest is hard to ignore. I really need to get over myself.

He’s just a man. Men flirt all the time. Sometimes they do it and don’t even realize it.

I start packing some of my belongings, pulling out one of my favorite dresses. Burgundy, with black leather straps, perfect for this Florida heat.

Since I have time, I get dressed in a pair of leggings, a Nike T-shirt, and tennis shoes, and run across the street to the bistro. I order two chocolate croissants, a bagel with hazelnut cream cheese, and a diet Coke.

I devour my unhealthy, carb-filled breakfast while going over my papers for Quarter. They are fairly simple. I can organize these files in no time when I get back to New Mexico.

Scott will be pleased. He was ecstatic that we got things to work out so well.

While I’m doing all of this, I can’t pretend that Griffin isn’t on my mind… because he is. And I can’t stand it, but I also can’t help it.

I can’t get over how rude his wife was to him. Now that I have witnessed it firsthand, I feel truly awful for him.

Honestly, I don’t even think it’s that she doesn’t appreciate him. That’s far from it. There is a level of disrespect. Loathing.

She isn’t fond of her husband. She has fallen out of love with him for some reason—one I may never know. It’s been that way for years, I can tell. You can hear the displeasure in her voice.

The coldness.

The disconnect.

I lay down on the bed, resting my head on the pillows. My eyes seal.

Since I drank so much last night, I spent most of my night writing up a contract for Quarter and emailing my lawyer, Lexi, to make sure it sounded consistent and didn’t have any holes or loose ends.

I didn’t fall asleep until around three this morning. I’m in need of a quick snooze before this flight.

Just thirty minutes.

Well, that’s the plan anyway. Unfortunately my nap lasts longer than I thought because my phone buzzes and when I see Griffin’s name on the screen I spring up.

“Shit!” I jump out of bed, checking the time. 1:45 PM.

Fifteen minutes to get dressed, put on some makeup, and pack the rest of my shit. Oh, God.

I rush to the bathroom where my dress is hanging and slip into it, brushing my curls out, applying a light coat of mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick, and then rushing back for the room.

I grab everything that belongs to me, stuffing it in my suitcase. Picking up my folders and iPad, I tuck it all beneath my left arm, and then go for the mirror.

I’m a disheveled mess, but I have no time to adjust or fix that because in a matter of seconds my phone rings again.

Clumsily, I rush for the nightstand, struggling to pick it up. Griffin is calling.

I answer, putting it on speaker so I don’t have to hold it. “Yes?”

“All set?”

“Yeah. Coming down,” I say hurriedly.

“I’m out front. Take your time.” He can sense that I am in a bit of a rush.

I hang up, releasing the handle of my suitcase to grab my clutch.

I slide my phone into it, slip the clutch into the side pocket of my suitcase, and then I’m out of the door, hurrying down the hallway, and hitting the down button for the elevator, on my way to meet the beautiful Griffin Boyd.

The flight is soothing.

I have a mug of coffee at my side, seated comfortably in the ivory leather chair. I take a quick sip of the hot brew, peering up at Griffin.

He’s sitting right across from me, typing away on his MacBook. He’s been fairly quiet since picking me up. I can’t help but think it’s all because of his wife.

Placing my mug back down, I pick up a few papers and pretend to study them. But really, my eyes are shifting up to admire him. He has one leg crossed, his laptop on the wood-grain tray connected to the creamy ivory chair.

He looks handsome in his pinstriped navy blue suit. His hair has been trimmed. It is gelled to perfection, giving a professional yet messy appeal. It fits him.

“Do you know if Neil has contacted Milo again?” Griffin looks up at me over the screen of his laptop. I blink rapidly, staring senselessly as I watch his mouth. With a tilt of his head and an upward curve of his sculpted pink lips, he asks, “Angelina? You there?”

“Yep. All here. Sorry… I’m just really tired.” And really attracted to you. I lick my dry lips, dropping my papers and taking my cellphone out of my clutch, scrolling through my contacts to email Neil.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night?”

“Not much… but who needs sleep these days, right?” I laugh.

“I guess I can’t blame you. I didn’t sleep much last night either.”

“Why’s that?” I ask, keeping my gaze down. I think I have an idea why but I’m sure he won’t tell me.

“Had a lot on my mind.”

“You should have been sleeping like a baby last night,” I tell him, teasing. “You worked a miracle yesterday.”

“We worked a miracle,” he murmurs, looking me over.

He studies my bust again. He did it when I was walking to his car from the hotel and I’m pretty sure I felt his eyes on my ass when we were boarding the Maverick. The Maverick is what he named his jet.

“I guess I can’t blame you either. I was up working late. I wanted to be sure everything was on board. I want the contracts ready for them to sign before they can even bat an eyelash.”

“So you’re trying to trap them?” He quirks a brow, meeting my eyes.

I tuck my hair behind my ear. “Not at all. More like… let them know they’re making the right choice with us. No one can put up a better deal. If anyone tries to cut it as close as we did they’ll be losing more than they put out.”

He watches me for a moment, and I think I’ve said something wrong, that is until a subtle smile steals his lips.

“You’re really good at this, you know?” he says. “Really good. Maybe too good. I think I can vouch by saying that you may be a bit better than your brother at this whole stock thing.”

“Of course I am. I wanted to do this more than Scott. I pretty much showed him the ins and outs of this business. Scott just looks at it as easy money and with my help he gets it. Believe it or not, but I watched my father work more than he thought I did. I listened to his calls, figured out how he handled himself and his business. He never took big leaps—never gave a promise he couldn’t keep. I believe in trust and loyalty… another reason I told Scott to contact you. You are very trustworthy.”

“Is that what you think?”

“I’ve heard nothing but great things.” I press my lips to form a smile.

He pulls off the same expression, watching me for several seconds before returning his attention to his laptop screen.

My smile transforms into a grin as I pick up my contract papers again.

“If there’s one thing you should be sure of when it comes to me, Miss Clark, it’s that I do keep my word. My word is my bond. If I make a promise, I am guaranteed to keep it.”

“Is that so?”

He nods, brown eyes hard now. Serious.

“Luckily, Mr. Boyd, I don’t have a hard time believing it.”