Till Death (5 page)

To Do:

1. Make a list of demands for Nathan’s review and consideration
.

2. Pack for our trip
.

3. Decide what to do about Drew.

My
to do list is so short, three simple items. It should be easy, handled in fifteen minutes of my day. Maybe not packing. Packing is generally an all-day project for me. Of course, that was back in the day, when I had to choose between Crappy Outfit #1 and Crappy Outfit #2. Now, I just need to grab the appropriate hangers marked with the correct numbers, to assemble the outfits that I choose from the book.

I dive into the task, hoping that I can figure out the Drew situation as I pack. In the closet I find a matching luggage set, three red and black Diane Von Furstenberg vintage-style trunks. I flip them open in the center of the room and open the book of outfits.

My brain is not cooperative, playing somewhere in the corner of La La Land, causing me to daydream while I pack, my mind relishing the feel of expensive fabric.
They belong to me
, My thoughts flit to walking along the surf with Nathan, lying in a hammock underneath palm trees and stars, soft kisses that will lead to more. I should be thinking about Drew. I should be figuring out this screwed up situation and what my choices are. I shouldn’t be having so much damn fun.

I flip through the stack of books on my floor, picked from the library this morning. I grab a few paperbacks and toss them in, zipping the third suitcase close, concealing three pairs of shoes and hair and makeup items, enough bottles, sprays, creams and powders to improve half of Florida. I look around the room, the silence mocking me. My stomach conveniently growls, aiding in my brain’s quest to stall any decision-making action. I ignore it, moving past the bed and grab my notepad, settling down on the couch and posing my pen above the page.

Blank white.

What do I want to demand?

I know what I really want. To sleep in bed at night next to Nathan. To have the Nathan who comes out when the cameras are on us—his loving smile, soft hands, mischievous grin and playful stories. I want to spend my evenings with him, side by side on the couch, my head in his lap, his hands in my hair, quiet moments that we both would treasure.

But I can’t put those demands down on paper. I can’t show my cards, especially not when it’s a losing hand. The worst-case scenario is for him to give me that, all of that, while his heart is still Cecile’s. My heart wouldn’t be able to resist, would fall down a long dark hole that it would never be able to climb out of.

Nathan drives us the hour and a half to Tampa International, where we will board a plane that would take us to Nassau. It’s the first time I have ever seen him drive, his profile sleek and confident behind the wheel of my Mercedes.

“Why didn’t Drew drive us?” I look out the window as I speak.

“It seemed a waste—him driving us all the way here and back, just to repeat the trip two days later. Plus, it’ll give him some time off; he hasn’t had that in a while. And I wanted the time to speak to you, about our trip.” He speaks so freely now, comfortably, his cold demeanor warmed to an impressive 98.6 degrees.
Human
.

“Why are you so comfortable now? Talking with me? Before you were so unfriendly.”

He frowns slightly, glancing over. “Like I told you, I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression. I wanted to be sure you were aware what our relationship was about.”

“Sex.”

“Yes. Sex, and your new identity. But, as you know, we had planned on keeping that part from you.” He says the words with a hint of an apology—not quite remorseful about his actions, but regretful of the deceit.

“And now, you feel comfortable with me? With me understanding that relationship?”

He glances away from the road, his blue eyes studying my face, his shoulders relaxing at my calm demeanor. “Yes. I’m assuming, now that you know about Cecile, that you understand my … inability to give anything more.”

Cecile. I am really beginning to hate that bitch.
I sigh. “So, tell me the plan.”

It doesn’t take him long to tell me the plan, mostly because it is ridiculously simplistic. Originally, when I was to be kept in the dark, Nathan planned on taking me into the bank, with the pretense of opening a joint account in our names—presenting it as a token of goodwill. The paperwork would be simple, a registration card for the account, showing both of our names. I would sign, never knowing that, instead of adding both of our names to a new account, I was signing off to add Nathan’s name to a pre-existing account, one with a cool fifty million inside.

Now that I am aware of the con, the new plan is to do a simple funds transfer, from Jennifer’s account to Nathan’s. They will ask for identification, I will present mine, and everything should be done in a matter of minutes.

“There will be paparazzi?”

“Only in certain places. Mark is tipping them off to some restaurants and resort locations, so we can manipulate those occasions.” He takes a tight curve on the road, looking over as he drives. “Are you comfortable with that? Being photographed with me?”

I laugh. “You mean, as a ploy to get Cecile’s attention? Yes, I am fine with that.” I lean back, curling up against the seat and closing my eyes, keeping my face peaceful. I don’t want any part in aiding a reunion between this man and Cecile. But, when he is acting, when he is playing to the cameras and grinning and leaning into me, planting soft kisses and holding my hand—that is my heaven. And even if it is fake, even if it is for another woman, I want it. Badly.

“More wine?”

I look up from my plate with a smile. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

We are in Seafire, a steakhouse in the Atlantis resort, dining on lobster and steak at a table by the window. I can see cameras when I look outside, the collapsed arm of a photographer draped over a large lens, cigarettes glowing in the night as they chat, waiting for us to leave. They can see us, our table strategically chosen, and every once in a while I find their eyes on me, their lens positioning before taking a quick shot.

Our flight had arrived at one, setting down on a crowded tarmac, the line at customs crowded with antsy vacationers. It took over an hour to get through the line, a bored Bahamian stamping my crisp new passport with barely a glance. It was the first commercial flight I had been on in almost five years, my strip club years spent without travel, the last seven weeks spent aboard Nathan’s plane. It is amazing how quickly a person can become accustomed to private travel. The ability to stride out of your car and up the stairs of a plane, in the air in minutes—no security, baggage claim, or seat assignments. Nathan hadn’t wanted to take the plane internationally; private plane customs more trouble than it was worth.

The limo, sent from Atlantis, was laughable—a ten-year old Lincoln with worn seats, ripped carpet, and a back window held together by a strip of duct tape. I shot Nathan a worried look and he grinned, placing a gentle hand on my back and guiding me in to the car. “Don’t worry,” he said. “These guys are subcontractors for the resort. It will get better.”

And better it did. From the two hundred foot yachts cozied up outside of the towering casino walls to the gold columns, arched ceilings, and hand-painted murals decorating the lobby walls. We took the scenic route down to the pool deck, walking through a stone cavern of fish tanks, giant manta rays traveling alongside us as we walked hand in hand. I tried to contain my glee, tried to maintain an air of aloof snobbery, but failed miserably, shrieking with excitement as a shark swam by, and oohing with delight at the beautiful actions of glowing jellyfish.

When we crossed a rope bridge over lazy hammerhead sharks, when my feet sank into warm white sand, a tropical paradise of perfect blue green water before me, I couldn’t help the grin that stretched my face, that took every square inch of real estate up as it beamed. I wrapped my arms around Nathan’s neck, catching him by surprise, my lips pressing exuberantly to him, his mouth widening into a smile beneath mine.

“You like?” he whispered.

“I love,” I shot back, jumping up and wrapping my legs tightly around him, my momentum knocking him off balance and taking us down to the ground, my mouth pestering him for another kiss, his laugh catching us both off guard and giving me full access to his mouth.

The moment changed, heating the sand, his hands traveling roughly down, gripping my sundress covered ass and pulling me upward and into his body, the line of his arousal suddenly hot against my sex.

The click of lenses is what pulled us out of the moment, no flashbulbs needed, the glare of the sun light enough. He rolled with me, sitting up on his knees, brushing sand gently off of my skin and offering me a hand. I gratefully accepted, letting him help me to my feet, him pulling me in for one more kiss, a playful smile on his lips. “Let’s go to the room,” he said hoarsely, his eyes darkening. “I need you. Now.”

And we ran, sandy flip flops slapping bare rock, my smile lasting through two elevators, one long ass hallway, and onto the giant bed in our luxurious penthouse suite.

“Are you having a good time?” He asks me over an ice-cold bottle of Kalik.

“Considering all we’ve done is have one incredible fuck, yes. Thank you for asking, Mr. Dumont. Excellent trip planning.” I grin, taking a mouthful of conch and settling back in my chair, savoring the buttery taste of perfection.

“We also took the limo ride,” he pointed out with his fork.

“Oh … yes. The limo ride. How could I forget that death defying journey?” The limo driver had seemed to have one main objective: speed. We passed more cars on a single-lane curve than I ever thought possible.

“Any qualms about tomorrow?”

“As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

His eyebrows rise questioningly. “Yes?”

“First off, I just want to confirm that, upon our separation, you will continue to care for my father.”

He winces slightly, enough to get my guard up and eyes blazing. “There is no chance of you continuing in the marriage?”

I brush off the question with a shrug and a swig of my beer. “I’ll let you know that after this weekend. I need more time to think on that. More time with this …” I gesture with my fork. “Nathan. I’m not used to him yet.”

He grins. “Point well taken. I’ll try not to bend you over in front of any large groups of people while we are here.”

I frown, the joke hitting a little close to home, reminding me of my lips on a stranger’s cock—Nathan’s hand sliding up the back of my dress as I sucked. The problem was two-fold. I hated being used, being told what to do, but I had grown wet during the experience, his authoritative instruction as I sucked Raul incredibly erotic in its commanding tone. I try to refocus, to move my thoughts back to where I am, on my fairytale dream date. “Back to my father.”

He shrugs, cutting into his steak. “You saw the amendment my attorney made. Your father is officially my life-long dependent. I will support any medical expenses while he is sick—once he improves, I will cover his living expenses, up to seven thousand dollars a month.”

“I saw the amendment when I signed it. I just want to make sure that you are okay with it. I don’t want you to feel forced into anything.”

“The money you are helping me recover will more than cover it. Thank you for your concern,” he says with one of his smirks, the kind that make me want to yank open his fly and suck his cock right here.

“There is a second condition,” I say casually, dipping a piece of bread in olive oil.

“And when did you decide upon a second demand?” he asks wryly.

“Pretty much an hour ago. It involves our sleeping arrangements.”

His grin drops, his eyes watching me closely, the laughter gone from them.

“If you want me to help you tomorrow, then I want to sleep with you both nights. Not in the second bedroom of the suite. In your bed.”

It shouldn’t be an outlandish request. It should be something he agrees to easily, without hesitation, considering the fifty million dollars at stake—a lifetime of wealth. But I can see from his eyes, from his tight jaw and the hesitation with which he speaks, that this is difficult for him.

“Why is that important to you?” he speaks quietly, and I lean forward slightly to hear the words.

I didn’t mean for my demand to kill the spirit of the evening, to cause his eyes to darken and smile to drop. I almost want to take it back, to shrug and tell him to forget it, to forget I even mentioned it. But I want at least one night. At least one night of his arms around me, his bare skin relaxing next to mine. I only have one carrot to dangle—a carrot that will disappear tomorrow morning. This is my only chance. I have to take it.

I swallow the final sip of beer, smiling gratefully when the waiter appears with a fresh one, a flash of white teeth appearing in a dark face, and then we are alone again. “I know that you are emotionally unavailable; it’s not about that.”
A complete lie. It’s all about that.
“It’s just been a long time since I … had someone to sleep with. I feel so disconnected, us spending time together and then going to separate rooms. For this trip, just these two nights, I’d like to spend them together. To pretend, for this short period, that we aren’t in some fucked up version of playing house. I can’t explain it, other than that it is important to me, and I need it to decide if I want to continue in the marriage.”

He nods slowly, candlelight reflected in the blue of his eyes. “I understand loneliness. I ache for Cecile in a way that hurts. But, I hesitate for two reasons. One, I want to make sure that you know—”

“I got the memo, Nathan,” I interrupt him crossly. “You don’t love me. Aren’t going to love me. I hear it loud and clear. A fucking cuddle session isn’t going to change that.”

His reaction is so incredulous, so caught off guard that he just simply stares at me, his eyes turning playful as I watch them, a grin catching his mouth before he leans back and laughs. He shakes his head as he tries to contain himself, taking a swig of beer before looking at me sheepishly. “I’m being a little conceited, aren’t I?”

I grin, glad that the dark cloud of mourning that I brought on has lifted. “A bit. You give one hell of a fuck, but yes, you aren’t
that
heartbreakingly lovable.”

“Hey,” he said with a devilish wink. “Back at’cha. In regards to the fucking, that is.” He reaches forward, capturing my hand and bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. “As far as lovable, an unattached man would be insane not to fall head over heels for you.” As he brushed my knuckles with that delectable mouth, my heart tries hard not to trip over itself in an attempt at suicide.

I tug on my hand, trying to salvage my most crucial organ before it cuts itself into a million pieces. “And the second reason you hesitate to open up that sacred bed to me?”

He hesitates. “When she comes back, I want to be able to tell her that any other women—you or anyone else I’ve been with—meant nothing to me. That I’ve been waiting for her. That it has been purely sex with them, nothing more.”

Aw fuck
… I can feel my heart implode, sobbing dramatically while sinking into a puddle inside my chest cavity. I busy myself with lobster, taking out my aggression on an innocent claw, trying to keep my face calm, and only half listening when he continues speaking.

“But if it is important to you, I will do it. I need this money. There is a huge opportunity in Puerto Rico that I want to use this capital to take advantage of. Asking for two nights in bed is a small request on your part.”

“And my father,” I remind him.

“That part’s easy,” he said, taking the lobster from me and breaking it open with one carefree motion.

Great
. A long-term financial burden is easy. Two nights with me—that’s the part that he finds difficult.