Savage (13 page)

“
W
hat is that
?” Jenna asked Farrell from the balcony doorway. “In my room?”

He’d immediately pulled out his computer upon their return to the hotel. Jenna had gone to her room, planning to call Kate to check on Lily. She’d stopped cold when she saw that the small table near the window was loaded down with several plates. A peek underneath the warming domes revealed french toast, Eggs Benedict, bacon, and fresh fruit. She’d expected to find coffee, but instead there was a pot of hot water and an assortment of herbal teas.

He didn’t look up from the computer. “I assume you’re talking about brunch.”

“I… yes,” she said.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving, actually,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

He finally met her gaze. “You needn’t worry about me, Jenna. I can take care of myself. You’ve had a long morning, and I imagine you’re emotionally stressed as well. I thought you might like to eat in private, call home, have a nap.”

Now the herbal tea made sense.

“Thank you,” she said. She hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to take her eyes off him. Farrell was always beautiful, but he was uncommonly so now, his feet bare underneath his trousers, his posture relaxed. Much more relaxed than she felt looking at him. “Sure you wouldn’t like to join me?”

“I’ll see you for dinner,” he said. “Take the afternoon to rest.”

She nodded, then retreated to the bedroom. The food was delicious, and she had to resist the urge to moan while she ate. The bacon was cooked to perfection, the french toast crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Even the herbal tea tasted amazing, and she felt the tension in her body slowly dissipating.

When she was finished eating, she called Kate. She kept her questions and answers simple, careful to avoid Lily’s name in case Farrell could hear her. By the time she’d reassured herself that everything was fine at home, exhaustion was pulling at her eyelids. She stripped to her underwear and bra and slid between the sheets of the magnificent bed. It was every bit as luxurious as it looked.

The room was dark when she woke up. She looked at her phone and was surprised to discover that it was almost seven. She’d slept for nearly five hours, felt like she could sleep for five more. But Farrell had said he would see her at dinner, and the idea of spending time alone with him was more exciting than it should have been.

She threw back the cover and slipped on her pants and blouse, then opened the door. She was preparing to look for Farrell when she nearly tripped over a package: a small white box on top of a larger one, both tied together with a silky red ribbon. Her gaze came to rest on a card slipped under the bow, her name scrawled in handwriting she would have recognized anywhere.

Jenna.

It was strangely intimate, imagining Farrell scrawling her name across the creamy vellum.

The suite was silent, lit by the two dim lamps next to the sofa. One of the doors leading to the balcony was open, and a cool breeze rustled the sheer draperies on either side. The space was vacant, heavy with the absence of human presence. She didn’t know where Farrell went, but she was almost certainly alone.

She bent to pick up the boxes and retreated to her room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she slipped the card out from under the ribbon and ran her finger along the flap. Farrell had licked it, moving his tongue along its surface the way he had once moved it over her, inside her. Her stomach tightened down low, her sex flooding with heat.

She opened the envelope and pulled out a simple sheet of thick, ivory paper.

She lifted the piece of paper to her nose, inhaled, hoping to catch his scent. But it was just paper, and she set it aside and pulled at one end of the bow with trembling fingers.

She started with the smaller of the two boxes, opening the lid to reveal a pair of black Louboutins, exquisitely simple if not for the satin ribbon that was meant to tie around her ankles. She checked the size and was unsurprised to find they were exactly right.

She set the box aside and moved on to the bigger one. She had to fight her way through a sea of tissue paper to get to the garment beneath, but when she did, it was worth the wait. Her breath caught in her throat, and she reached into the box, fingering the silky fabric inside it before removing a finely sewn dress of deep red crepe.

The bodice was a deep “V” held up by delicate straps that would make a bra possible. She was still thinking about that as she took in the waist, nipped in slightly by a band the same color as the dress. Under it, the skirt dropped to a soft flurry of fabric. The dress was expertly designed, the pleats starting just above the knee instead of at the waist. She looked at the tag sewn into the back. Jason Wu. No wonder.

Jesus.

She fished around in the box, hoping to find underclothes worthy of the dress. It was empty. The realization sent a rush of arousal to her center, and she was immediately wet. Farrell had never liked her to wear underwear. He wanted to be able to take her anytime, anywhere. He wanted to touch her clit under a restaurant table. To slip his fingers inside her in the back of a cab. To make her come in a darkened movie theater.

She hung the dress in the wardrobe and stripped off her clothes. She had less than two hours to get ready, and while her brain was telling her it didn’t matter how she looked — there was no way she was going to get involved with Farrell Black again — her body seemed to have an agenda of its own.

The bathroom was as big as the bedroom, with wall to wall marble, a giant soaking tub fitted with an elaborate bronze faucet and handset, and a double sink. She started the hot water and surveyed her body in the mirror. It was possible she wasn’t being objective, but it didn’t seem that it had changed much in five years. She was only twenty-eight, and her breasts were still full and high on her chest, her waist still small. She’d been lucky not to get stretch marks when she was pregnant with Lily, although her hips remained slightly fuller than they had been before her pregnancy. She wondered if Farrell would notice.

Not that it mattered. Because she was absolutely not going to sleep with him tonight.

She turned off the water and sunk into the tub all the way to her chin. Sighing aloud, she closed her eyes, let herself drift as the water loosened the knots in her weary muscles. The water was cooling when she opened her eyes again, and she hurried to shampoo her hair and wash her body, then dried off and padded back to the bedroom on bare feet.

She searched for underwear that would work with the dress and finally gave up. She hadn’t brought anything nice anyway. She turned her attention to make-up, wishing she had more to work with before realizing this is exactly how Farrell wanted her.

Exposed from head to toe.

She settled for a little tinted moisturizer, a lot of eyeliner and mascara, and a touch of the berry lipstick she’d splurged on before she left New York. Then she pulled her hair back into a loose knot at the back of her head, letting some of the strands fall out. When she was done, she went to the wardrobe, slid the dress from its hanger, and slipped it over her head. The spill of silky fabric against her naked body, already primed for Farrell’s touch, sent a shiver down her spine.

She slipped on the shoes and tied the bows around her ankles. It had been ages since she’d worn anything but casual or work clothes. When she looked in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. The dress was sensual and slinky, hanging low enough on her bare breasts to show them off without being outright tacky. The neckline highlighted her angular collarbone and long neck, and having her hair pulled back from her face made her cheekbones more pronounced, her smoky eyes more exotic. The heels made her feel lean and sexy, and when she moved, the dress swished around her legs in a sea of silk.

She picked up her phone and lip stick, then realized she only had her day bag. It didn’t exactly go with the dress, but it would have to do. She looked at her phone — 8:55pm — then slipped it into the hand bag before stepping out into the still quiet living room. Wondering if Farrell had come in while she was in the bath, she set down her bag and stepped onto the balcony.

Goosebumps rose on her arms in the cool night air. She braced herself on the granite balustrade and leaned forward, peering at the street below. She could just make out the lights of the city, the muffled voices of someone talking below her. A light breeze blew through the trees, and the dress lifted a little around her knees. She was smoothing it down when she heard the voice behind her.

“You’re as exquisite as ever.”

She turned to find Farrell leaning against the doorway, his gaze dark. “Thank you. And thank you for the clothing.”

“Purely selfish, I assure you,” he said, his eyes skimming her body.

“Yes, well, I appreciate it nonetheless. I would have been no match for you in anything I brought.”

It was true. He wore a simple dark gray suit with a subtle pinstripe. It was perfectly cut, hugging his muscled body in all the right places, stretching tight across his thighs and fitting closely against his arms and torso. His white shirt was unbuttoned a little, proving that some things never changed; Farrell had never liked wearing a tie. In fact, he didn’t like restriction of any kind, the one exception being the holstered weapon he almost always wore under his jackets. She’d always wondered if it was a product of his lifestyle, the need to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. His hands were clad in black leather gloves under the sleeves of a wool coat. She had the sudden urge to feel them against her bare body. Cool leather against fevered skin.

“I don’t believe that’s true,” he said. “Shall we?”

She nodded and walked toward the balcony doors. She expected him to move, to allow her passage through the doorway. But he remained in place, letting her get within inches of him. She stopped, afraid to look at him but unable to stop herself. His eyes were molten with desire, and she had to force herself to keep her breath steady. He was so close she could smell him, could almost feel the scratch of his coat against her exposed décolleté. They stood perfectly still for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he removed something from inside his coat.

“I thought you might need this.”

She took it from him and was almost disappointed when he avoided touching her hand. She lowered her eyes to the object to hide her conflicted feelings and discovered a small silk evening bag.

She couldn’t help smiling. He’d thought of everything. “Thank you.”

He nodded and turned away, retreating into the room. She took her phone, lipstick, and ID out of her purse and put them in the evening bag on the way to the door. When she got there, Farrell was waiting with a heavy pashmina woven in black wool. He set it across her shoulders without laying a hand on her skin.

They left the hotel and made their way to the red sports car Farrell had been driving earlier. He was a perfect gentleman, but he didn’t speak a word as he opened her door, walked around to the driver’s side, started the car and pulled into traffic.

She watched the lights of the city pass by on the other side of the window, wondering why he was so quiet. They drove for about fifteen minutes before he pulled up outside a small restaurant. He gave the key to the valet, and they went inside where they were immediately seated at a small table near the back of the restaurant. What followed was two hours of the most amazing food she’d ever tasted — fresh ceviche, octopus, buttery duck, creamy risotto — brought to them in courses and eaten with almost no conversation between them. By the time the coffee was brought out with dessert — puffy, delicate pastry discs layered with vanilla cream — the tension was so high she was surprised it wasn’t visible to everyone in the restaurant.

She set down her spoon. “Is there a reason you’re not speaking to me tonight?”

He met her with a piercing gaze that seemed to burrow through all her secrets. “I’ve waited five years to see you, Jenna. I don’t want to talk to you. Not yet. I want to fuck you. I want to bury myself inside you. I want to reclaim your body, your soul, to prove that you still own mine.” He picked up his fork. “So no, I’m not going to talk to you right now. I’m going to feed you. And then I’m going to take you back to the hotel and make you scream.
Then
we can talk.”

Her heart seemed to stall in her chest. She’d thought maybe he was angry. That maybe he was determined not to sleep with her. Neither of those things would have made her happy, but they would have made sense. This was a new kind of torture, and she picked up her spoon, forcing herself to take another bite of the dessert even as wet heat pooled between her legs.

They finished dinner in silence. But now it wasn’t just uncomfortable. It was electric, charged with the desire she now knew was mutual. She considered going to the bathroom and pleasuring herself to take the edge off, then decided to press her thighs together to control the throbbing instead. By the time Farrell paid the check and led her out to the car, she was weak with need, the familiar lust for Farrell obliterating what little resolve she had left to remember the kind of life she wanted for Lily. Her body was a traitorous thing, and it would not be told no when it came to Farrell Black.

She found it difficult to breathe on the way back to the hotel. He was so close, his trouser-clad thigh inches from her bare leg. It was almost painful to feel her naked mound brush against the silky fabric of the dress, to look at his hands — back in the leather driving gloves — and imagine them sliding up the inside of her thigh.

They left the car with the valet and walked silently to the elevator, standing shoulder to shoulder as they waited for the doors to open. The car was empty, and they stepped inside. Farrell handed her the key card on his way to the back of the elevator car. She inserted it into the slot and was about to hand it back to him when she felt his presence behind her.

He wasn’t touching her, but she could feel the pull of his body only inches away, knew that if she leaned back, she would feel the brush of his coat against her shoulders, his breath against her ear. She stood still instead. This was what Farrell wanted of her. What he always wanted.