Ice Steam (Loving All Wrong #3) (7 page)

I used to like games. I used to like a chase. But I’m grown now. A woman. A mother. An adult.

Can the real you ever really die, though? You can suppress the real you for a while, hide it, try to be someone more mature, tactful, decent. But eventually, depending on the circumstances, the real you
will
break free. Mask shredded. Cover blown.

“Lion, seriously, breathe easy,” I said through a fake laugh, using JK’s famous phrase. “Davi’s not even on my radar.”

Lion grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I look like a punk ass fool to you? Hmm? Don’t know what your motives are, but while you on my watch, you keep outta trouble and outta the tabloids. You might be richer than Paris Hilton, but I take business seriously. Need reviews on how I roll? Let JK and Saskia fill you in, lil girl. You’ll listen to me and you’ll do as I say or I’ll drop you. Feel me?”

I nodded my comprehension. Regardless of how selfish people thought I was, I wouldn’t mess around with people’s time and money simply because I could. I did intend on giving Lion the respect he deserved and spend the next twelve months fulfilling our contract. Besides, Lion wasn’t the kind of person you wanted to piss off.

In addition to that, Saskia and JK had more than a business relationship with the man, they considered him family, that’s something I had to respect.

As far as I was told, Lion always knew best.

He seemed to relax at my easy acquiescence, as though he’d been worried he’d gotten entangled with some uncontrollable rich brat.

“Good.” He stepped back from out of my space. “Much as I envy this view, my queen’s home waitin’.” His head jerked to indicate the penthouse. “Left your schedule on the coffee table. Made sure I had concrete shit lined up before I brought you here. The portfolio we created…let’s just say there’s a cat fight goin’ on for you right now, so your next couple of weeks gonna be crazy hectic. Knew from the moment I saw you that you were something special. Don’t think you even realize it.”

Brown eyes taking in my features—not in a sexual way, but in an ‘I’m gonna make a fortune off you, lil girl’ way—he shook his head. “Hired an assistant manager who knows this biz inside out to take care of this modelin’ thing for me. Name’s Danni. I won’t be able to make every meetin’ and photoshoot, so he’ll be there when I can’t. Check your schedule. Won’t be able to make it in the mornin’. Danni will. You two better get along.”

He walked back into the apartment. “I’m out. Don’t hesitate to ring me, cool?”

I followed him inside. “What’s your take on friends?”

Over his shoulder, he tossed, “Trust no one in Hollywood.”

I watched him leave, at a complete loss where to get started with this new life. This lone, independent life.

Drifting to the main room, I noticed the black book sitting on the tinted coffee table:
Alina O’Hara – Months: May-July.

My next three months were fully scheduled? Saskia wasn’t kidding: Lion was all business. When he set out on making someone successful, he did it fast, effectively, and optimistically.

Flopping down onto the beige sofa behind me, I flipped the black book open. The first three pages were explanations on his intents for me. He listed a number of top brand designers who were vying for me to sign and model exclusively for them. So for the next couple of weeks I would be doing test photo shoots with different companies, after which Lion would decide, based upon the contracts offered, whether he wanted to make me exclusive to one brand, make me a golden on-call high fashion model, or a runway model.

He explained fashion modeling was the most difficult category to get into and, of course, exclusive. While runway modeling was less commitment.

Honestly, I could care less what he chose. I was merely there to carry out my end of a deal made two years ago. The less resistance I gave in this department, the more time I’d have to focus on seeing Davian. If I acted like I gave two cents about the modeling, it would deter Lion’s suspicions on the truth about me coming here. Smartest way to go was complaisance.

Also enclosed, was a list of appointments I was supposed to keep up with, below them were the addresses and phone numbers.

A new trainer who would be expecting me each morning. A nail technician who would be expecting me at noon every Saturday. A hairstylist who expected me on Wednesdays at 1pm and on Saturdays at 3pm. A spa expecting me for the whole day every third Sunday. Appointments for the dentist, dermatologist and waxologist. In bold caps was a blaring warning never to miss any of these appointments.

There was also a list of things I was banned from, including alcohol and any kind of activities that could cause injuries, scrapes or abrasion to my skin.

Oh joy
.

Slamming the book shut, I set it down, wondering what the hell I’d agreed to.

I got up, carted off my suitcases to the bedroom and began the tedious task of unpacking.

A purple gift bag was sitting on the center of the bed, a little card dangling:

Live large in L.A
.

From Chad & Jhay.

Inside were a stack of gift cards. Fifty thousand dollar gift cards for a ton of brands including LV, Cartier, Versace, and Prada. There were even ten $450 Starbucks gift cards.

Only cousin Chad would give a gift like this. His girlfriend, Jhay, well, I didn’t know what to think about her. She was hard to connect with. Aloof and taciturn. Sometimes as frightening as Chad, antisocial, and impossible to understand, but she made my cousin happy, so I guess that’s all that matters.

My phone was ringing from somewhere. Kitchen. I’d left my handbag on the island.

By the time I got to the phone the ringing had stopped. Fifteen missed calls, a couple from JK, and the rest from Xavier. Five text messages.

One from JK:

Let me know if u settled in alright.

Or call Sassy.

I was totally botching this living alone thing already. I immediately sent JK a quick update on my status. The other four messages were from Xavier.

Hey, here yet?

Would it make me dickless if I say am ‘excited’?

——

Y aren’t u picking up?

——

Plz don’t tell me u changed ur mind,

Or I swear to God I’ll strip naked, fly to Paris & take a swan dive off the Eiffel Tower.

——

:’(

Last words I had with Xavier were
last night. In fact, we’d talked over the phone until I fell asleep. With no update since then, I understood why he’d think I changed my mind.

I rang him.

“Chino?”

Xavier had a deep voice. A sweet, uber-deep voice. One of those voices that made your lungs vibrate like the strings of a guitar. The kind of voice that made him indisputably male. A big, tall, macho male. A voice that made something, something of significance shift in your gut.

Xavier’s voice, I
loved
it.

“Uh, hey.” I pictured his face in my mind. Wavy long hair, sexy lips, eyes the color of steel…

“You here, or is this a bad news call?”

I leaned my hip into the counter. “I’m here.”

“Damn, girl…” He sounded relieved. A beat, then, “Wanna see you.”

“I kinda just got in and—”

“Don’t turn me down, Chino.”

Looking around the kitchen, I thought about it, then sighed. As much as I was fighting to suppress it, the dude straight-up turned me on, and I
wanted
to see him, too. “Okay. I’m at Diamant Apartments. I’ll tell the concierge to expect you. He’ll give you a guest key card and you can come right up.”

“Be there in twenty.”

I
was almost through unpacking the largest of my suitcases when the ping of the elevator sounded. Abandoning my task, I all but skipped out into the main room.

Xavier hadn’t gotten out of the elevator and had his finger on the down button. As the doors started moving to a slow, silent close, I hurried forward and threw my hands out to stop them. “Hey, where are you going?”

Finally seeming to notice me, his eyebrows went up. “This where you at? A penthouse?”

I waved an impatient hand for him to come in. “Yep.”

Frowning, he glanced down at the key card in his hand. “Was about to head back down. Thought that bald dude made a mistake.”

“Nope.” I stretched my arms out. “This is my new home.”

Giving me a chin-lift, he finally stepped out of the elevator. “T’mar’s
managing you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hmm. He wants to stab you.”

“
Stab
me?”

“Yeah. Stick his dick in you.”

“Stab?” I repeated. “
That’s
your euphemism for sex?”

“Yeah. He’s Saskia’s manager, too, right? She used to be on our team, and trust me, she never got this kinda treatment from T’mar. He’s oiling you up before he slides in.”

I actually guffawed at this. “Oh my God. Xavi, I’m one hundred percent positive that’s not the case.”

To that, I got a “wanna bet” arch of his brow.

“Have you forgotten about his Queen?” I reminded him. “I don’t think skinny white girls are his type.”

He tipped his head from side to side, weighing this reminder, then he gave me a chin-lift in agreement. “Yeah. You right. Nobody but his ghetto-booty Twana.”

Like that evening back in Union Square Starbucks, heat was rolling off the man in thick, consuming waves, warming me from the inside out, making it damn near impossible to concentrate.

To put some distance between us, I turned and ambled into the kitchen. “What kind of beer do you drink?”

The fridge and cupboards were stocked, and even though I was supposedly banned from alcohol, there was as wine rack full of a selection of expensive wines.

With the fridge door opened, I waited for an answer, and when none came, I peeked around the door and saw Xavie still standing where I left him, brow arched.

“Forgot I’m recovering? Or you just tryna get away from me?”

See?
The heat. That’s what it did to me, fry my brain, wipe my mind clean.

Xavier was indeed a recovering alcoholic, and the only member of his band who had negatively made the headlines on a regular basis for all kinds of misdemeanors, when his addiction spiraled out of control.

The last big bang was a little over a year ago when he pummeled a paparazzi half to death for sneaking up on him and snapping photos of Oscar winning actress, Nicole Saunders, giving him a blowjob in his jeep outside her home, while her fiancé was inside the house preparing dinner.

The paparazzi—who suffered a broken arm, nose, missing tooth and fractured ribs—filed charges and still released the images. Nicole Saunders got even more famous from the scandal, and Xavier Xander was sent to rehab.

He spent three months there, came out clean, relapsed after two months of sobriety, was sent back, and has been clean ever since.

Judging by the defensive tensity of his shoulders right now, staying sober was a struggle for him.

So, I opted for honesty. “The latter.”

Shoulders relaxing, he made for me, his wallet-chain jangling, boots thudding heavily on the tiles, his black long-sleeved shirt stretching across his over-mature brawns and buff pectorals that looked like he did chest presses and pull-ups for breakfast.

Xavier was big. Bigger than the average man. With most men, the taller the lankier. Not Xavier. Xavier’s presence was arrestingly imposing at around six four, with strong thighs, well-defined musculature
everywhere
, and King Kong pectorals that, second to his lips, were one of his most prominent and talked-about features.

He was a male of the primitive kind, from when humans were naturally bigger, taller, fit down to the knuckles. And all that long blond hair, of the Samson variety, didn’t make things any easier on the poor, single vaginas of this much smaller generation.

Oh, my poor, single vagina…

“Why?”

“Why?” I echoed, backing up, brain cells scattering.

Why on earth was
Xavier Xander
interested in
me
again? Not just interested, as a matter of fact, but, like, serious and stuff.

“Yeah. Why you tryna get away from me?”

With each step closer to me, I had to tilt my head farther back to accommodate his height, and I wasn’t even short—five ten.

“I…I’m…you’re just…”

He suddenly picked me up and sat me down on the island, then pressed his big palms down to the counter on either side of me, his face in my face, eyes on mine.

As big and grandiloquent as this penthouse was, Xavier made it feel like a matchbox he was so large and all-consuming. Sucking up all the coolness from the air and replacing it with raw heat, I had no choice but to
feel
him.

Overpowering, stifling, electrifying.

Bestowing me a sincere expression, he said, “Didn’t come here to stab you, Chino. Just had to
see
to believe that you came for real.”

My eyes were focused on his lips, brain registering not a single word he’d said, so he slid one finger under my chin and elevated my head for me to look at him. “Don’t know what it is about you or why you’re so stuck on my brain, but I’ve never desired something different. And you make me wanna try that something different. So as much as I’m down for the way your skinny jeans are making love to your curves right now, I’m not ready to take them off yet. Yeah, I know, we spent the last six months ‘getting to know each other’ over the phone, so much that there’s probably nothing left to tell, but you’re the longest female companion I’ve ever had, and I wanna try out this relationship thing. Yeah? Just so I don’t botch this, wanna understand you more before we start playing lick and stick.”