Turbulence Page 7

  Busted. “Perhaps. You sound busy.” She didn’t, but I needed to buy some time to think. Get it together, Isabelle. “Is this a bad time?”

  “Not at all. How may I help you?”

  I pushed the words out in one long exhale. “I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner. I’m free all weekend, which is unusual.” Stop over-explaining. My eyes were scrunched tightly closed as I tried to ward off my awkwardness. It’d been a while since I chased someone for a date. A date. No, it wouldn’t be a date but calling to ask for only sex seemed rude.

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes. With me,” I clarified. “I figure we’ve already done the drinks and sex part. It might be nice to backtrack a step.”

  She laughed. “I would like that, very much. How about I cook for you at my place? Does tomorrow night suit you?”

  Her place. Intimate, easy access to a bed. I tried for nonchalant and got squeaky. “Sure, that would be nice.”

  “Great. You’re not allergic to anything, or one of those weird paleo-vegan-organic food only kind of people?”

  “No. I’ll eat pretty much anything. Except egg yolk. Because it’s gross, not because I’ve got something against eggs.”

  “Egg yolk. Well there goes my plan of runny boiled eggs and toast.”

  “You could always scramble them. I can choke scrambled down.” I was surprised at how easy it was to banter with her.

  “Expect scrambled eggs and toast then. If you’re lucky, I’ll spring for bacon.” She gave me an address in Crown Heights, told me she’d see me at six the next evening and hung up.

  This was either going to be magnificent, or a complete and utter disaster.

  * * *

  I spent Saturday agonizing over what to wear. What to say. What to take. I settled on wine, no flowers. At least I knew she drank white. Fuck, what if what she was making didn’t go with white? Take a white and a red then. What if rosé was a better choice? Shut up, Isabelle.

  I had no idea what we were going to talk about, though if everything went as I wanted it, most of what we said would be asking for hands and lips to be placed on body parts. For twenty minutes, I sorted through underwear sets. I needed something that said You’re undressing me, this is unexpected, but I came prepared just in case. Something that implied I wasn’t totally desperate. Eventually, I settled for Victoria’s Secret instead of La Perla. A nice red set with a little lace. Nothing overly fancy but a long way away from period underwear and bras for around the house.

  Audrey’s apartment was a thirty-minute ride from my place. Thirty fidgeting minutes. Penny interceded after twenty. “Is everything all right, Ms. Rhodes?”

  “Yes, I’m fine thanks, Penny,” I said automatically. After a beat, I blew out a breath. “Actually, I’m not. I’m really nervous.”

  “About anything in particular?” Another reason I loved Penny—her question was phrased in such a way that I could either answer, or be evasive without feeling rude.

  “First date,” I explained.

  “Ah, well I’m sure everything will be fine. You can call me at any time and I’ll come back for you.” Her kind eyes found mine in the rear view mirror. “Now do you have the exact address for me?” I found it on my phone and when I recited it for her, I thought I caught a flash of surprise in her eyes. When I looked again, it was gone.

  Penny escorted me to the door of Audrey’s building and waited a polite distance away for me to be buzzed in. Before leaving, she checked the door had locked behind me. Bless her. As I rode the elevator up to the seventh floor, I fiddled with the bottles of wine.

  A waft of something delicious and spicy hit me when Audrey opened the door of apartment seven zero five. In faded jeans slung low on her hips and a tight baby-blue tee she looked relaxed and sexy all at once. Once I’d completed my up and down inspection—twice—I practically shoved the bottles at her with a spiel about how I didn’t know what we were having and clarifying we didn’t have to drink them tonight. Audrey laughed, kissed my cheek and ushered me inside.

  Her apartment was small, clean and tastefully decorated with warm inviting furniture, and the kitchen was full of modern appliances. We rushed through formalities and I had a glass of wine in my hand within a few minutes. I drank a soothing gulp and looked around again. “Great place. How long have you lived here?”

  “Just under two years. I love Brooklyn, and I was very disappointed I couldn’t find anything in Dyker Heights,” she deadpanned.

  I grinned at her joke, one I’d heard before. “It reminds me of my first place in New York. I lived with Mark and it was even smaller than this.” I was over-talking again, trying to compensate for those damned nerves. Maybe it was excitement. Anticipation. I pointed to Audrey’s worn faux-suede two-seater. “Actually I think we had a couch just like that.”

  She spared the couch a quick glance. “Yeah? Did you toss it out on the corner of Franklin and Lincoln when you moved? If so, it might be yours.”

  I exhaled. “I’m sorry. I’m just—”

  “Dribbling words?” She grinned. “I get it. It’s kind of what you do. I like it. It’s super cute.”

  I relaxed some. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m so used to talking all day that sometimes I find it hard to stop.” I gestured to the framed photographs on the walls, trying to shift the conversation to something more socially appropriate. “May I?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She stood just behind as I walked around absorbing the images. Most of them were of her and some sort of aircraft. Leaning out a cockpit window, grinning as she stood next to a tail or wing. I deduced she had a brother.

  On the wall near the kitchen was a large hand-drawn chart with numbered boxes and a small paper plane stuck on a box in the middle of it. When I raised a questioning eyebrow, she seemed embarrassed as she explained, “That’s my countdown. Weeks until I fully own my plane.”

  “How many?”

  “Sixty-three,” she said immediately.

  I smiled and turned back to her portraits. There were a few of Audrey and an older woman, the resemblance so strong that it could only be her mother. I turned around. She was so close I almost bumped her. I lingered on her lips a moment before catching her eye. “And that’s—”

  “My mom.”

  “She’s stunning.” Of course my implication was that Audrey had inherited her mother’s looks.

  “I’ll tell her you said that.” Her smile told me she intended to do so. “Dinner’s ready whenever you are. I made Thai.”

  “Sounds wonderful, one of my favorites.”

  “I know.”

  My eyebrows jammed down so hard my eyes complained about the intrusion. She held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure what you liked so I did a search.”

  Instantly, I felt the back of my neck tighten. “Oh. You could have asked me.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to bother you. I guess I thought if you showed up and I’d made something you liked, you’d be more comfortable.” She looked so earnest that I believed her.

  Inhale. Exhale. “True. What else did you find out about me?”

  “Nothing important.” She waved casually. “Just a whole bunch of pages and blogs listing you as a philanthropist, animal rights activist, spokesperson for women’s refuges and supporter of multiple charities.”

  “Mmm.” The twist in my gut was a familiar one, the feeling of being known by what people read rather than what they learned by being with me.

  “You’re a monster, I do not know how you live with yourself.” The corner of her mouth was twitching like it wanted desperately to smile. “Not to mention your place on that Hottest One Hundred blog.”

  “You saw that too?” Though I managed not to groan, I knew my dismay was clear.

  “I did. Nice article, by the way, and some great photos. Very hot.” Her eyes roamed freely over my body. “I’m going to have to talk to someone about your spot on that list. You should have been n
umber one.”

  I brushed past her compliment, trying to ignore the thudding of my anxious heart. “So, I guess there’s nothing left for me to tell you if you found all that online.” I couldn’t stop the bitterness creeping into my tone. It was unfair, there were no laws against Google searches but I’d kind of hoped for her to learn things about me the way a normal person would. With conversation.

  Audrey tilted her head. “I wouldn’t say that, Isabelle. There’re a lot of things I want to know about you, and they’re all things I’d like for you to tell me yourself.” She tucked her hands into her pockets. “You’re upset. I’m sorry. I saw the pages and I got a little carried away.”

  An apology. I swallowed a little of my fear. “It’s all right.”

  “Kinda fell down an Isabelle Rhodes rabbit hole when I saw all those photos of you looking gorgeous.” Her gaze was so sincere it was almost burning. “Forgive me?”

  I nodded, aware of a sudden pricking behind my eyes. Nobody had ever apologized for making assumptions about me before. “Of course.”

  She took my hands, thumbs brushing over the backs, leaving a warm tingle. “I know this is weird, Isabelle. I’m not even sure what we’re doing. I mean, we don’t have to talk. We don’t have to have dinner or anything. We can just fuck, if that’s what you want.”

  I bit my lip gently, considering. “I’d like all of it. The dinner, the talking and particularly the fucking.” It was an honest answer. I realized I enjoyed being near her, clothed as well as naked.

  “Me too. I just thought it’d be nice to be able to have a conversation. You know, you could ask me how my day was. I could tell you it was fine, and explain how I spent the day flying a gorgeous woman around. Then you can look shocked and tell me how that’s a huge coincidence because you spent the day being flown around by a gorgeous woman.” She made no attempt to hide her grin.

  Her sweetness was contagious. I smiled. “Do you always make everything into a joke?”

  “Most things, but not everything.” The grin was still there. I wondered if it ever went away. Like Georgia, Audrey seemed eternally cheerful but also with an undercurrent of amusement, like her life was just good.

  I closed the gap between us, stood on the balls of my feet and pulled her closer. Audrey’s grin faded when I kissed her lightly, tracing my tongue over her lower lip. Her hands were on the small of my back, steady and sure. I dropped back down. “Let’s eat.”

  * * *

  The woman could cook. After a delicious dinner, great conversation and more drinks, we took one of my bottles and settled on the couch. Audrey poured overlarge glasses and tucked long legs underneath herself. “Can I ask you something else?”

  “Yes of course.”

  “Why is it Rhodes and Hall, not Hall and Rhodes? Mr. Hall seems to do most of the upfront stuff.”

  “Ladies come first. Haven’t you heard?” I took a lazy sip of wine, pleasantly buzzed and very aware of her proximity. And the way her hand was running over my thigh.

  “I have heard that. In fact, it caused me quite a bit of confusion in my baby lesbian days.”

  She was so dry, I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s because I put up the money for us to start the company from part of my Grams’ inheritance, so my name comes first.” I took another sip of wine, holding it in my mouth a moment before I swallowed. “You’re right though. Mark handles most of the business side of things. My only real talent is talking people into giving me more money and then multiplying it.” A whole lot.

  In the past ten years I’d worked hard to turn a small initial pool into an extremely comfortable fortune for myself too. Nationwide, my net worth barely rated, but it was substantial and I had far more than I’d ever need. I could help those who needed it.

  “You’re selling yourself short. I have it on good authority that you have a number of talents.” The purr in her voice left no doubt as to which talents she meant.

  My nipples tingled. How was it that she could do so much to me with just a look? I was done restraining myself. I reached out to run my knuckles gently over her cheek. She didn’t move away, so emboldened, I closed the gap between us and kissed her. Audrey responded eagerly, reaching to grab my waist and hold me in place. Her lips left mine to find my neck, my collarbone, my ear. “It’s taken you long enough, Isabelle.”

  “I know.” After denying myself for so many weeks, it was all I could do to not give in completely and tear off my clothing that second. My hands itched to rediscover all the spots they’d found last time, but still I couldn’t let myself go. Not yet. I pulled away, breathless and looked at her, my eyebrows lifted to their peak. “God, Audrey. What are we doing?”

  “Right now? We’re in stage one of making out. Next comes stage two which is hands everywhere and then if I’m lucky we’ll skip stage three and go straight to the orgasms.”

  I smiled but wouldn’t be deferred. “No, not right now. Us. I mean, you work for me.”

  She nodded. “Yes I do. Your observational skills are beyond compare.”

  “I’m not looking for anything beyond casual,” I said seriously.

  “I’m not offering anything aside from that,” she countered.

  I took a steadying breath. “Why me then?”

  “Why not you? You’re stunning, I like what you do, and I’m pretty sure you like what I do, if the noises you made that night were any indication.” She tugged me onto her lap, hitching my leg over so I was straddling her. Her dark eyes smoldered, burning through me. “I’ve barely thought of anything else, Isabelle. I’ve never…pursued anyone so single-mindedly, especially not my boss.”

  “Me either,” I admitted.

  She brushed her nose along my neck. “When I saw you walking toward the jet the morning after, I was so excited I could barely sit still. When you left my hotel room that morning, you’ve got no idea how disappointed I was at the thought of never seeing you again. Never touching you again. And then there you were.”

  When she rocked me forward, I inhaled sharply. “Audrey, you know you’re under no obligation to sleep with me, right? I mean, I want to make it clear. You don’t have to do any of this, not the kissing or having dinner or the talking. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you are, glad we are, but…” I trailed off as she began to unfasten my jeans.

  “When you put it like that, it’s so sexy. Do you always have to put conditions on great sex?”

  “It’s not a condition. You know what I mean.” I let her pull me even closer, stifling a gasp.

  “Yes I do. Do you want me to sign something? A waiver saying I’m willingly mixing business with pleasure?” Her tongue flashed along her lower lip. “Because I am all about pleasure.”

  Understatement. “Mmm.” We could arrange it later. When I could think about more than how she kept pressing her hipbone against places that desperately needed the contact.

  “I will if it’ll set your mind at ease. If it means I can keep doing this.” Her hand slipped inside my panties. “Because I want you. Because I can’t stop thinking about how you taste and the sound you make when you come. Not because I’m worried that you’ll fire me if I don’t.”

  I gasped as a finger slid over my clit and began to make lazy circles. Idiotically, I still felt the need to clarify. I wrapped an arm around the back of her neck. “Technically Mark would fire you.”

  “You’re so wet,” she murmured, putting an end to our conversation about logistics.

  I moved closer for a heated kiss. “Don’t stop.”

  “I won’t.” She slid a finger into my depths, and not at all gently. The forcefulness of her entry sent my arousal into orbit and I could do nothing but make incoherent noises, squirming under her touch.

  Audrey smirked. “Isabelle, I don’t know much about the finance industry, but I’ve heard the secret is knowing when to get in.” She slipped a second finger into my wet heat, causing me to buck under the pressure. “And when to get out.”

  I reached down to clamp my hand around her
wrist, holding her inside me. “Don’t you dare pull out,” I panted.

  “I won’t,” she repeated. Fingers curled to press against my sweet spot and I was lost all over again.

  Chapter Eight

  Early Sunday morning, she fell asleep after orgasm three and I snuck out and called for a car. Between orgasms one and two, we agreed that keeping it casual meant sleeping over was too personal, too involved. Between orgasms two and three we decided three or four nights a week was a good start. A healthy amount of time to spend together.

  William, the driver who picked me up, seemed unsure about how to take my appearance and general languor. I couldn’t blame him. I was totally and thoroughly fucked—in the best way of course—and I looked it. When I wished him good morning, William ducked his head, cheeks reddening and rushed his reply. He’d only been my driver for a few months, taking Penny’s off shifts, and was evidently still nervous despite my giving him no reason to be. Polite to employees, remember? He reminded me of Frankenstein—tall and bulky, stiff posture but seemingly sweet and harmless.

  Back home, I rushed directly to my office, logged onto our work servers and found the document I wanted. Sighing, I printed it. “This isn’t an inconvenience, Isabelle. It’s a smart thing to do. It’s necessary. You will not self-sabotage, because you have to treat yourself better than that. And you’re talking aloud to yourself. You need to go to sleep.” I scrawled my name and stuck some sign here flags on the paper then left it on my desk. Upstairs, I fell asleep on top of my covers, still dressed and with my contacts in.

  I woke an indeterminate time later to my phone sounding a text alert.

  Audrey Graham. Brunch?

  I replied with nothing but my address and rolled out of bed with the intention of showering and attempting to tame my sex hair. Until I made the mistake of checking on some accounts. I was still standing over the kitchen counter with my tablet, unshowered, sex hair intact when one of the building security guys, Carl called up to tell me a Ms. Graham was here and could he send her up?