Closer (16 page)

Pivoting her waist, she glanced over her shoulder and displayed the gown’s sensual opening to him—ruffled panties and all.  It was a juvenile attempt to make a joke out of it. 
Really, ruffled panties?  Was she a piñata?  Har har har…
Somehow, it felt better to openly mock it from the get-go rather than pretend it didn’t exist.

But she lost her confidence when she only heard disapproving silence. 

“I think Ebony knows exactly what she’s doing,” he finally said flatly and reached out to outline her cherry blossom tattoo with the edge of his fingernail.  “She loves tattoos, but she knows that I despise them.”  His fingertip grazed over her hip with a sensuality that shivered down her spine.  “She’s trying to prove a point because yours is quite… exceptional.”

  Inez shut her eyes with an inaudible sigh, savoring the way he said the word—
exceptional
.  How long would she allow him to touch her before pulling away?  She started to count…

“And I’ve never seen one with pink and white ink, and certainly, never one inked with such delicacy.”

“I got it the first time I visited Argentina with…” She stopped, completely uninterested in uttering Enzo’s name as Sven’s fingernail circled the full length of the cherry blossom.

The answer was ten,
she thought, exhaling her shallow breath
. 
She would allow him to touch her for ten seconds.  Ten panty-dampening seconds before she rotated away and forced herself to face him. 

The muscles along his jawline flinched, like a signal he wasn’t ready for her to break their physical connection.  His smooth chest, glistening with water droplets, edged closer to her.  He adjusted his eyepatch with one hand while his wandering gaze drifted down onto her mouth as if he intended to kiss her. 
Had he known she had seen him earlier?
 
Had he, perhaps, even allowed it?

She needed a distraction—or perhaps, an intervention.

“Did Ebony send ruffled panties for you to wear tonight, too?” she deadpanned. 

It worked. 

He broke into an uncharacteristic smile and nodded at the open garment bag lying on the bed.  “Fortunately, no.  Just a shirt, suit, and tie.  Nothing nearly as worthy of viewing as your…ruffles.”

He gathered up the extra towel from the mattress and whipped it across his shoulders and hair.   It cracked like a whip and she flinched as his muscles flexed.  Steady and provocative, he kept his body squared towards her as he slipped on a pair of black briefs beneath his towel before tossing it away like it was a nuisance.  She watched him staring at her, conspicuously bulging through his tight knit briefs without any hint of modesty.

Whatever his intentions, getting dressed wasn’t one of them.

“Aren’t we going to be late?”  She deliberately asked, feeling less certain about her ability to avoid his advances than she had last night.

“Yes,” he nodded. “But I’m the guest of honor.  So I assume they’ll wait for us.”

He watched her, as if he was waiting for a signal that would let him know what she wanted from him. 
What did she want from him?  Five thousand dollars
? 
Or for him to pull her into his embrace again and kiss her like he had kissed her at the museum
?

He edged closer, closing the gap between them.  She had approximately five seconds to decide, or he was going to decide for her.

“Is there an agenda for tonight?” She intended to remind them both of their obligations. 

He responded by reaching out and securing a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, as if for a moment they were a real couple.

“I need you to help me find a way to navigate the night so I can maintain my career despite almost certainly going blind.”  He sounded grim. 

She closed her eyes, taking in both his words and his tender touch.  “I was hoping you’d say something more like… have a few cocktails and dance the night away to
Journey
cover tunes.”

He smirked.  “Unfortunately, no.  There likely won’t be any opportunity for dancing tonight.  And even less chance for fun.”

She tried to contain her frown. “Really?  Such a shame since we worked so hard at finding it today.”

“Yes.” He nodded, his bare chest gleaming with perfection.

“Not even some bad karaoke?”

“Extremely unlikely.”

“I thought you were the guest of honor.  Can’t you request these things?”

She turned away to catch her breath.  The tension between them was oppressive, and she simply wasn’t strong enough to endure it. 
Weak, weak woman
.

“Apparently, I can’t even request a shirt from my tailor that I can button up myself.”

He moved to the bed, taking the starched shale grey shirt from its hanger.  Passing his long arms through each sleeve, he let each cuff dangle past his wrists before moving towards her again.

She eyed the shirt, appreciative of the distraction. “It looks fairly normal to me.  What’s the problem this time?”

“The buttons,” he replied, deeply annoyed.  “They don’t feel normal and I can’t get them through the buttonholes.”

Inez investigated the problem.  “That’s because they’re not ordinary buttons, Sven.  They’re pearls.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Really?  Tahitian South Sea or Golden South Sea?”

“You ask that question like you seriously expect me to know the answer.”

He straightened his posture, allowing her to slip each pearl button through the hole. “What color are they?” he asked.

“Black.  Shining.  Freaking gorgeous.” 

Satisfied, he nodded.  “Tahitian South Sea pearls.  I suspect Ebony chose them to complement the sheen of your gown.”

His words floated off his lips and down her neck as she worked down towards his waistline.  “Less rare and precious than white or golden South Sea pearls, but naturally more exotic.” 

Bent forward, she offered him an unobstructed view of her cleavage, and they both knew it. “Exotic is overrated,” she replied, concentrating on the final buttonhole.  “Everyone prefers vanilla ice cream over peppermint swirl.  Including you.”

“I think today you convinced me to give chocolate a chance.”

She rose and adjusted his straight point collar.  “Is that why you were willing to fight my ex-boyfriend even though you’re basically blind?”

He slowly lowered her hands from his collar and clasped them into his own.  “I was reasonably sure that I would land the first punch.”

“Reasonably sure?” 

“Yes.” He nodded with a sly smile.  “After that, I assumed I’d have the advantage of a dirtier technique.”

“Head lock?” she teased.

“Vengeful ex-girlfriend with vampire fingernails.” He lifted up her hand to display her long, fake fingernails. “I’m fairly certain you would have found a way to come to my rescue.”

He held her hands and gazed at her longer than necessary. 
Helpless little kitten
.  She needed an out.

“I don’t think I would have rescued you if I knew a trophy was going to end up on display in your bedroom.”  She nodded at the portrait on his dresser.

He eyed her, as if he recognized the bitterness in her voice.  “It’s intended as a compliment to you, not to him.”

“It feels more like a punishment.”

He cocked his head like he had heard something unexpected in her answer. “You’re genuinely upset that I refused your request to destroy it?” 

“Yes.”

“Why?” he probed.

“Because I hate that portrait.  It’s a total lie.”  She had betrayed more than she had intended.  And he knew it.

She glanced at the photo propped up on his dresser and bit on her acrylic fingernail.
She studied her image, the way her head dropped back in ecstasy.  Her eyes were shut, her mouth forming a perfect “O”.  She didn’t even recognize herself.

“Inez?” he said, reading her uncharacteristic silence.  “Is it because what he said is true?”

He meant about Enzo
, she thought
.  What Enzo had said about her never being able to come with him.

“Really, does it even matter?” she tossed back.

“No,” he offered, softening his voice, sensing the fragility within her own.  “Except that it would be a shame, if it were true.” 

“Whatever, Sven,” she shrugged, feigning indifference. “Men believe whatever they want to believe about the women they’re sleeping with.  It’s all just a game to them.” 
Bitterness and cynicism
.  It filled her like poison and it seeped out in her reply. 

“But it’s not a game for you, is it?” He pushed closer, his unpatched eye fixing on her, searching out the cure for her pain. 

“No,” she confessed, not understanding why she yearned to reveal herself to him—that she wasn’t as badass and unbreakable as she pretended to be.

In a gesture of tenderness, he gently swiped his thumb across her trembling lips.  She was struggling not to cry, not to release the swell of gut-wrenching heartache that she refused to feel.  He tamed it with his perceptive silence and unyielding gaze. 

She closed her eyes, willingly submitting herself to whatever happened next.  But he did not take advantage of her moment of weakness.  When his fingertips deliberately pulled away from her chin, she sighed—not with relief but with disappointment. 

“Okay,” he conceded.  “You win.  I will get rid of it.  But not until tomorrow.  I did pay two thousand dollars for it and I’m entitled to enjoy it for at least one night.”

She challenged him with a glare.  “Define, ‘enjoy’?”

Attractive and commanding in his silver hand-spun shirt and tight black boxer briefs, he flashed her a smile.  “I’d rather not.” 

She rolled her eyes. 
Perv
.

“Okay, fine, whatever.  One night.  And then, after that, we’ll break out the permanent black markers, right?”

He pulled up his suit pants and tucked the folds of his shirt neatly into the pleated beltless waistband as if he had done it a thousand times before. “And what? Deface it?” His voice rose in horror.

“Yes, with a Groucho Marx moustache.  And scissors.  Definitely scissors.”

He sighed, slipping on the silver-spun grey suit jacket.  “Whatever you would like.  You’re the one wearing the ruffled panties tonight.  You’re in charge.”

“I’m serious, Sven.  You get one night with it.  Then it’s gone.”

He edged towards her.  “I’m serious as well.  One night. I promise you.”

The sounds of his firm resolve disarmed her.  It was hard to believe she had just negotiated him out of something that had cost two thousand dollars.

“Okay, great.  Deal.”  She held out her hand to shake on it.

“Deal,” he said, grasping her hand and unexpectedly drawing her into his body.  Her eyes fixed on his lips, like the moment he had kissed her in the gallery, and she gasped as his mouth bypassed her own and whispered against her ear. 

“Now, I need a promise from you.”

She closed her eyes, savoring the scent of his aftershave—crisp and cool like the Arctic. Her fingertips pressed against the strength of his chest underneath his sleek suit, perfectly tailored with its French seams and slim fit, as if she was relinquishing every last bit of herself to him.  If he requested her to unclasp her gown’s halter neck and peel down its straps, she was certain now would be the moment she would give into him.  If he lowered his chin against her neck and kissed the hollow of her throat, she would sigh and relax into his embrace.  If he nestled his lips between her breasts and feathered his hot whispering breath across their arcs, she would drop back her head and allow him every inch of her.  If he stripped down her bra cups with his fearless hand and exposed her nipples to his suckling mouth, she would moan and willingly submit herself completely to him.

“I need you tonight, Inez,” he confessed, the lilt of his accent, smooth and soothing, against her ear. “More than you realize.”

Her defenses melted away as his nose touched against the tender part of her lobe. “Promise me you’ll never leave my side.”

“Of course,” she whispered, feeling his hard chest flexing under her fingertips.  She expected him to release her, but her answer didn’t satisfy him.

“Promise me.”

Drawing her even tighter against his body, she molded into him like his lover, her breasts against his pecs, his pelvis square against her own tingling aching need.

“Yes, Sven.  I understand,” she replied, turning her chin upwards to meet his lips.  “I promise.”

“Good.”  He nodded, peering past his eyepatch at her, like he had done so many times before.  Stern.  Rigid.  Punishing.

“It’s going to be a long, arduous night, Miss Sanchez.  I am completely counting on it.”

Chapter Fourteen

Sven exhaled—deeply, deliberately—as the limousine coasted to the curb. 

He had been lost in thought the entire drive to Navy Pier, considering all the challenges he had yet to face that evening.  Tonight’s gala was one of the most prestigious architectural events of the year and he was the guest of honor.  He would be receiving an award for designing one of the most daring and controversial structures in Chicago—The Spire.  He would be expected to flawlessly navigate the ballroom of guests with wit, charm, and confidence.  There would be many powerful men and women who expected him to speak about his work on The Spire and why it was one of the most masterful architectural achievements of the twenty-first century.  They would inquire about his future plans for accepting more commissions, and of course, about his involvement in the Li Long Towers. 

But no matter how many times Sven turned all the scenarios of glory and admiration about in his mind, it all seemed like an impossible charade.  He was going blind, and there was no indication that he was getting any better—only worse.  And what would he be able to accomplish without his eyesight? 

Nothing
. 

It was always the same bleak reply, haunting him like a ghost hovering over his anxious soul.  What would he be capable of without his eyesight?

Absolutely nothing
.

Blindness would render him incapacitated and useless in a world where he had once reigned like a prince, and that looming prospect filled him with resentment and dread.  There had been many sleepless nights—more than he cared to admit—that he had lain awake, ceaselessly pondering his uncertain future.  Without his eyesight, it would be impossible for him to maintain his status as a world-renowned architect.  Once it was publicly known that he was completely blind, The Spire would be not only his most celebrated commission, but it would also be his final one. 

And to make matters worse, he was going to lose his equity ownership of it.  As the majority share owner, Eliot Watercross planned to force The Spire’s sale to Harvey Zale in exchange for the Li Long construction contracts.  Without his eyesight, it would be impossible for Sven to participate in the design of the Li Long Towers.  His brother and Watercross would use his name, his reputation and his patented designs to develop the project without him.  It would be a project
stolen away from him by his ruthless business partner and his estranged brother
,
and Sven would be left with nothing except the bitter injustice that everything would have been different if he had never been injured.

Never been injured
.

Sven touched his eyepatch and glanced up, feeling the limousine come to a complete stop.  He waited in silence, barely casting his gaze to the opposite side of the seat where he could keenly sense her presence.  She, too, had been silent the entire drive, as if she was intentionally avoiding conversation by diverting her attention out her own window.

Was she regretting her decision to accept the role as his girlfriend
? 

He certainly hadn’t made it easy on her and he had already complicated their relationship by trying to seduce her last night.  His focus dropped to her shimmering stiletto heels and quickly traveled up the smooth reflection of her bare legs, crossed at her knee and slanting to the side, while the high slit in her mercury dress exposed her curvy thigh.

Naturally
,
what man wouldn’t try to seduce her?
 

He had consciously chosen not to make another advance this afternoon—not because they were expected at the gala—but because he wasn’t certain she would have him.  He had already put her in the awkward position of refusing him; he wasn’t about to do it again.  His pride still stung from her rejection and he knew her limits.  She had expressed them very clearly.  Although he wasn’t sure why she needed the money, she wouldn’t allow him to compromise the limits of their arrangement, and he respected her for it.

He respected her for it
.

But it wasn’t only his respect for her that intrigued him.  It was also that edge of resentment in her voice, simmering just beneath her sassy comebacks and wry sarcasm.  He recognized it because it was the same bitterness and animosity that threatened to ruin him. 

She was a woman who had been betrayed by her boyfriend—the man she thought she loved.  But there was more than just schoolgirl heartbreak fueling her cynical exterior. 
What was it?
  He knew very little about her, other than she was orphaned at a young age and had been forced to attend a mediocre local university when she clearly was smart enough to attend a better one.  But he was certain of one thing: her sarcasm wasn’t a symbol of her strength; it was an armor of protection.  Rather than willingly submit to the helplessness within her life—the injustice—she resorted to mocking it.  He recognized her cynicism because it consumed her the same way his consumed him.

“You’re staring the wrong way.”

Her comment cut through his thoughts.  He lifted his gaze from her fleshy thigh and settled onto her glare. 
She had caught him
.

“Please don’t tell me that’s our next ride.”

Inez leaned over him to peer out his window, the top of her breasts passing below his sightline while the fragrance in her hair relaxed the tension in his shoulders. 
Honeysuckle and ginger?
  He wasn’t sure exactly, but it definitely promised a sweet aftertaste underneath all that spice.

“Yes, it is,” he confirmed, focusing on the way her wrist was touching his outer thigh as it supported her weight.  “The Modern Architecture Foundation has chartered a yacht for tonight.”

He followed her gaze out the window, unable to make out the sleek black yacht that he knew was docked there.  She turned her face towards him.  “You never said anything about a yacht.”

“Well, of course.  We’re going to sail out to Navy Pier so we can see the cityscape, including a fully illuminated view of The Spire.  Is there a problem?”

“I hate boats and I can’t swim.”

He noted the uncharacteristic vulnerability in her voice and his instinct told him not to make a joke out of something betrayed so earnestly.  “It’s a big boat, Inez.  I doubt there’s much chance you’ll end up in the water.”

“What if your ex-girlfriend succeeds in throwing me overboard?”

“I’ll promptly dive in and rescue you,” he countered automatically.  “Then, I’ll offer to marry you in front of her.”

He waited for her reaction, but his comeback silenced her—a rarity. 

He had said it partly in jest and partly just to push the invisible boundaries between them.  She stared directly at him.  Her luscious red lips were directly in front of him, and if he wanted to, he could pull her into his lap and overwhelm her with a kiss. 
The same way he had done at the art gallery
.  The taste of her kiss still lingered in his mouth, and it had aroused him all evening.  But what taunted him even more was the fact that she had kissed him back.  He had bought her for four nights to pretend to be his girlfriend.  She had made it very clear that she was only there for the money.  And so he hadn’t expected to feel her body—and tongue—submit to him so willingly.  She was not the type of woman who easily surrendered herself
,
especially not to him.  But she had kissed him back, and it flamed his forbidden desires.

“I think I prefer for you to just let me drown.” She pulled back into her seat, widening the physical gap between them.

He laughed aloud.  It was exactly the kind of response he expected from her. “You would prefer that, wouldn’t you?” He contained his smile, but delight seeped out of his reply.  “Well, no drowning until you’ve helped me tonight.  Remember the promise you made me?”

“Never leave your side,” she repeated with a sincerity that affirmed his trust in her.

“Yes.  Good.”

“Just make sure your ex-girlfriend doesn’t get all up into my grill.”

He looked at her.  Her face was blurry, and he barely made out her dark, challenging eyes.  “I’m not even going to ask you to clarify what that means.”

The passenger side whisked open and the driver extended his hand to Inez.

“It means I’ve got your back,” she clarified. “Just make sure you’ve got mine.”

She accepted James’ hand and he pulled her from the car and out of sight.  For the few brief seconds they were apart, Sven acutely felt her absence. 
A restless void
.  He smoothed down his slate gray silk tie and waited for his driver to open his own door. 

Five thousand dollars
.  What sort of a woman would agree to pretend to be his girlfriend for five thousand dollars a day?  He wasn’t sure, and her black searing eyes revealed nothing more than a warning:
don’t assume he could guess
.  He knew he couldn’t guess; he only knew when he looked at her he no longer felt completely overwhelmed by helplessness and rage because he no longer felt completely alone. 

The door flung open.  He pushed himself out of the limousine and braced his hand against its sleek black surface.  The wind from the lakefront whipped across the lapels of his suit and rushed across his cheekbones like a slap. 

“Back by eleven, James,” he instructed his driver and started to move away from the curb.  Then, he hesitated. 
Which way was his destination?
  He made out the white spiraling lights from the Grand Ferris Wheel, rotating above Navy Pier’s boardwalk.  But the dark sloshing waters of the marina and black fiberglass of the yacht’s hull blended together against the canvas of night, making everything else indistinguishable to him.

“You do realize you’re following me, don’t you?”  Her voice rang out like a rescue bell.

He squinted directly ahead of him and seized on her petite silhouette.  Despite her assertive tone, she shivered from the autumn chill in the air.  Her chic black mink wrap barely offered her protection from the wind invading her sultry gown.   

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He sauntered forward, enveloping her body into his arms to shield her from the breeze.  His palm covered the lower half of her exposed back and he noticed how she leaned into him and accepted his touch. 

“Good.  I just want to make sure we understand who’s in charge tonight.”

“You are,” he conceded, heeling to her pace as she led them forward along the Navy Pier boardwalk towards what he assumed was the docking ramp.  “You most definitely are.”

“Good evening, sir,” a friendly voice greeted them from afar.

“Who is that?” Sven murmured under his breath.  It was a moonless night and the distance was too great; he could barely make out the unfamiliar form shrouded by shadows.

“A hottie wearing an über tight sailor’s uniform.”

“You mean the captain of the yacht?” he clarified in a low, even tone.  That time, he understood her slang. 

“Yep.  And his friend is even hotter.”

Sven felt a swell of petty jealousy expand his chest.  She had that juvenile effect on him. 

“His first officer,” Sven corrected her.

“Glad to have you aboard, sir.” The captain greeted him. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Handshake, six o’clock,” Inez warned.

Sven nodded and extended his hand.  “Thank you, gentlemen.  My date is especially glad to see you both.  Apparently she’s quite fond of men in uniforms.”

Juvenile and petty
, Sven thought after he had said it.  But she deserved it.

The first officer offered his hand to Inez as her escort.  For a moment, Sven wondered if she would accept it, abandoning him—and her promise.  But to his surprise and pleasure, she declined the offer and stayed by his side.

“I prefer to stay with the guest of honor,” she said, overtly flirtatious.  “I can’t swim and Mr. van der Meer has promised to rescue me if I fall overboard.”

She took possession of Sven’s hand and guided him up the apex of the steep incline.  “There’s a gap of about two feet at the end of the ramp,” she whispered. 

“You mean between the ramp and the deck?” he whispered back.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Without warning, he swiftly lifted her into his arms. “I offered to rescue her
and
to marry her,” he bragged to the captain and the first officer as he swung her over the threshold and onto the yacht’s deck—just for show.

She gripped the railing to steady her balance and peered down into the undulating waves.

When they were out of earshot, she turned towards him. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be the one in charge.”  Her dark eyelashes fluttered with fury.  Clearly, she was unnerved. 

“You still are,” he said, confidently stepping over the gap and boarding the ship’s promenade deck. “I just happen to know more about yachts.”  He cupped her elbow and encouraged her towards the sound of live music drifting out from the belly of the yacht.  “Shall we?”

He guided her deeper into the interior of the ship where they met a man dressed in a black maître d’ uniform. 

“Sir, please this way,” he said, ushering them towards the white sliding double doors leading into the ballroom.  But as they moved past the maître d’ and into the yacht’s main foyer, Sven’s confidence suddenly deserted him.