Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (3 page)

The way Olivia described her I was expecting some pudgy Pollyanna, but she is beautiful, what I could see of her. Olivia definitely undersold her there. It was a fleeting glance as they walked
into the lounge. Her short, dark hair bounced around her face as she laughed, her giggle is what caught my attention, but it was her curves that kept me fixed. Round hips and a narrow waist. It was clear from looking at her that she wasn't the kind to starve herself or fret over a meal, the word buxom comes to mind. If it wasn't for that round little ass of hers, I doubt she would be able to balance the weight of those beautiful, no doubt natural breasts. What the hell? Snap out of it, man. It hasn't been that long. Besides, this girl is not the kind of girl I am used to. Women have been willing to do almost anything for my affections and attention for as long as I can remember. I have been surrounded by bright shiny objects my entire life, most of which I could have at a moment’s notice. But I have a feeling that this girl may not be so easy. The way she looked at me in the lounge and so easily shook me off. No, I should set my sights elsewhere, on a more seasoned target perhaps. I wouldn't want to do anything to upset the balance, or God forbid piss off Olivia. I run through the catalog of others as we pull onto the tarmac and the plane is loaded. I switch off my business cell with a satisfying finality and slip it into the outer pocket of my duffel, with no intention of switching it back on until Sunday. From now until then it is all about Matthew and Olivia, no business, just pleasure. And I will find my pleasure.  

             
Chapter 2    

I wipe the sleep from my eyes in a darkened room, confused by my stark surroundings; my head fuzzy from the afternoon welcome wagon. Stretching out on the bed I realize I still have my boots on. I sit up to unzip them, but my head protests. The Moet is beating me. I run the zipper down from my knee and pull my feet from their prison. Rising from the bed, I turn on the bedside lamps, illuminating a note that has been slipped under my door. 

“Hi, Sophie! The girls are going to be in the hotel bar tonight. Please come down and have a drink with us, we cannot wait to meet you! Kisses xx” 

Oh geez
, I exhale a deep breath and I am resigned. I will take a shower, go down and meet “The Bridesmaids” and immerse myself in Olivia’s new world.

The shower does the trick, washing away the sins of the afternoon. My muscles are loose and my skin is soft and fragrant from the designer hotel soaps. Wiping the steam away from the wall size
mirror, I step back and take a good look at myself. Same as always, short and soft, but perfectly round in all the right places. I wink at myself in the mirror, caress my skin and cup my breasts, all natural and proud. Repeat, repeat, repeat. The exercise is futile as my eyes search for flaws by habit. I know that this is when I should step away from the mirror, but I don’t. I watch myself comb thru my damp hair, curls already springing to life. I dry my hair quickly and decide to set it, having a glass of wine from the well- stocked mini bar while I wait for the rollers to heat up.

Rummaging through my suitcase I find my favorite new sundress. It is pale green linen with hand-embroidering along the deep neckline with a full skirt and goes perfectly with my braided sandals. I splurged and bought all new clothes for this trip, light dresses replace my winter uniform of heavy sweaters and jeans. Cloaked in new threads, anxious to take in Miami, I swipe on some blush and
ChapStick, and gulp down the rest of my wine. Pause in front of the weathered, floor length mirror that hangs from the back of the door, flip my head over, run my fingers through my new bob and I am out the door. When I decided to cut it, I said I wanted that ‘just fucked look.’ I can feel that my request was fulfilled as my hair swirls around me, bouncing about my crown as I walk down the hall. I feel confident and like a million bucks!

My mood takes a nose dive as the elevator doors open on the ground floor, revealing my worst nightmare. A swirl of sequins, satin and labels surrounds me like an all engulfing storm. A unifying squeal brings them all to heel and a breathtaking blonde grabs my arm, pulling me in for a hug. My head is pressed into her buoyant bosom, as she is far taller than I am, even without those sky high pumps.

“You
must
be Sophie!” She looks to me for confirmation, but I am speechless, taking in the sea of unnatural perfection that surrounds me. I have walked into a magazine spread, or a reality show. I look back at her offering an unsure smile.

“I am Kylie and these are the girls. We aren’t
all
bridesmaids.” She waves her hands above the girls as if to remind some of them of their exclusion. “I am the maid of honor, Melissa is a bridesmaid, and then there’s you.” Her smile is forced, inspecting my clothing. My dress is far too loose and shoes far too flat. I can see her take the inventory in her head. “Let’s go in and get a table and then we can all get to know each other.” She locks her arm with mine and walks me to the bar. The other women look at one another with disdain, but quickly fall into line behind us.

The bar is quiet and posh with dark walls covered with brocade and wood. The bar reaches to the ceiling and is surrounded by a large gilt mirror. All eyes are on our party as we walk in. Kylie motions to the
Maitre’d and leads us to the corner where a large booth has been roped off and marked for the wedding party. The dance floor has yet to entice a crowd, creating a relative runway for the women to sashay their way across the room, clearly reveling in the attention that they must be so accustomed to. I prefer to fly under the radar. The whole scene makes me anxious.

We all scoot into the adjoining booths and Kylie leads the introductions. There are sorority sisters,
schoolmates and friends from yoga, I will never remember them all, if any. And then there is Melissa, who seems a little too eager to party. Her mocha skin and dark hair set her apart, but her dress is too short, her breast a little too big and she is very loud. She sneers at Kylie as she leads the conversation. There is a tension between them that feels almost comfortable, lived in. Thankfully, Kylie calls for a bottle of champagne. Drawing my attention away from Melissa, I welcome the beautiful flutes full of the golden bubbly elixir as the waitress places them on the table. Taking a deep breath, I swallow the lump in my throat and stand up with a glass in my hand, offering a toast.

After all of the introductions, toasting and drinking, I am warm and comfortable, but rapidly fading. The travel and champagne are catching up to me and I am spent, a haze sets in over my eyes making them heavy, sleepy. Listening to the conversations around me about places I have never been, designers I have never heard of, a prickly heat climbs up the back of my neck. I need fresh air. I slide out of the empty half of the booth, as the majority of the ladies
have taken their party to the dance floor. They hoot and holler, dancing in a circle. I take my glass with me and raise it to Kylie in salute as she gyrates on the crowded floor with some frat boy looking Adonis.

I duck out of the lobby, through the revolving doors and into the fresh sea air. A deep draught of the thick night air relieves my rising heat and helps to clear my mind. Slipping off my sandals, I walk around the side of the building to a small patio that overlooks the private beach. There are chaise lounges, tables and chairs with striped umbrellas that have all been tied down for the night. I walk to a table at the farthest edge of the patio and drop my shoes. My body is heavy and I slump into the low slung chair with a sigh. My hands are drawn to my warm, moist skin. Wiping the dew from my neck and chest, I gently stroke my skin and revel in the gentle caress of the ocean breeze, contemplating the last time I was caressed, the last time my skin was on fire from someone else’s touch. My heart tightens, strangling the breath from my lungs. It has been too long. Gentle waves lap at the darkened beach, the moon shining off the water’s rolling surface. The air is different here, heavier, headier.

With a deep exhale I turn and am caught by a bright orange ember, slowly growing then fading. A swirling plume of gray smoke calls my attention and I squint in the direction of the smoke, trying to get a look at who I have disturbed. A man in a white linen shirt, cuffs unbuttoned and rolled to the elbow with dark pants, one foot slung over his knee, barefoot. Nice feet. He takes another puff from his cigar and leans forward into the light revealing a straight nose, full lips and dark hair, a faint shadow of which covers his chiseled jaw. He rises from his chair and makes his way towards me, the light from a dozen torches dancing across his form as he moves. He is tall, lean and lithe like a stalking predator.  Coming to a stop a few steps away from me he sits, but says nothing.
Rhys
.

From this close he is disarmingly handsome, striking cheek bones frame his dark eyes, hooded by heavy brows. His tongue runs slowly along his bottom lip before he raises the stub of his cigar to his waiting mouth. Slowly he pulls a deep hit and releases it in a long controlled exhale, deep and satisfying. I catch myself mimicking his actions, exhaling with him. He groans softly and sits up, turning his dark eyes on me.

“Sophie?” The question holds contempt, and I swear he rakes me over for flaws. I can’t help but squirm in my chair, hot under his smoldering glare. Even in the dark his eyes sparkle.

“I am,” I return trying to smile. “You must be Rhys.”  I can’t tear my eyes from his full mouth and the thick cigar he continues to puff on. He releases another slim tower of smoke with a smirk and a chuckle.

“Yes, I must be.” He is arrogant and smug, and oh, so sexy. My heart flutters like a hummingbird. I’m thankful for the darkness that shrouds us both, imagining my body’s telling betrayal. It conspires against me, releasing a torrential rush of blood through my heated veins, a flush I can feel down to my toes.

I quickly stand and take a few steps towards the edge of the patio, trying to shake off the wanton feelings that creep in my wine addled mind. He watches me with amusement, a slight crooked smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. The breath catches in my throat, and I shrink inside. The wine, the heat and this man’s energy are conspiring against me. I cock my head to the side and run my hand roughly through my hair, shaking my head, whipping the curls about. Taking a deep breath, I step forward into his light, and our eyes connect. His gaze is blazing, his eyes dark and mysterious. The crooked grin has slipped from his stone cold face, leaving him unreadable. He snubs out his cigar in the stone basin next to his chair and rises from his seat. His strong arms pull at the fabric of his shirt as he stands and hovers above me,
the air between us thick with unexplained tension. He towers above my slight 5’3 frame. Screwing his eyes shut, he pulls his hands roughly through his hair, releasing a deep sigh. When he turns his eyes back on me, his face is screwed tightly in a cold stare.

“I should go to my room,” I whisper while looking down at my feet, trying to dispel the heavy feeling in the air. “It’s getting late.” 

“I will walk you up,” he says with a sigh. 

“You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I can find it just fine.”  The words slide out like silky venom, and I immediately regret my tone. Looking up at him, my eyes full of
remorse, he just smiles with half his mouth and winks.

“I’m sure you can, too.” He gently places his palm against the small of my back and my heart breaks into a dead sprint from the electricity in his touch. The contact is subtle, but his pulse radiates through my lower body. Such a small gesture, but a gesture just the same, the gesture of a man, a gentleman. He leads me around to the front of the hotel and through the lobby. Just as we come to a stop in front of the elevators an unholy shriek cuts through the air. I swing around to see Melissa, skipping towards us, arms flung sloppily open, her designer bandage dress struggling to contain her. 

“Rhys! There you are, come have a drink with us.” She is face to face with him, due to her sky high heels and throws her arms around his neck. Rhys backs away and grasps both her arms by the wrist, releasing her grip, returning her hands to her side. She scoffs at him and ignores his intentions, winding her hands around his waist instead, begging again for his company in the hotel bar. He prudishly rests his hand upon her exposed shoulder and looks down his nose at her with barely hidden contempt. 

“Not tonight, Melissa. I am going to walk Sophie up and turn in.” He smiles briefly at her fallen face, and
then removes her hands from around his waist. She looks towards me with sharpened daggers in her eyes and lets out an undisguised huff. Turning to Rhys with a look of utter disdain she grins before leaning in and whispering, all too loudly in his ear. 

“I see what you are doing Rhys, preying on the newbie. Just be gentle, I don’t think she can handle you.” She looks at me and winks. “You know where to find me if you need something a bit
stronger
.” She turns on her heel and sashays away, swinging her hips like Matahari.

Confused by the whole interlude, I turn to Rhys as he rakes his hair with his long fingers and shakes his head with a sigh. He turns his eyes on me, they are dark and full of something I cannot define. We step into an empty elevator and the doors close, trapping the stifling tension. 
             

“Ex?”
I ask with a grin, anything to cut the tension. Being around this man when he is silent is unnerving, dangerous.