Shattered Heart (11 page)

Chapter 21

My eyes remain closed as I sit in the seat, trying to collect myself. It doesn’t matter how tightly I squeeze to keep them shut, the vision of those people, pushing toward me is burned into my head. The questions hurled at me were vile. Never, even after the accident, have I been ask anything as repulsive as what they yelled at me. Trying to get my mind to focus on something more pleasant, I think back to the night Houston and I were setting on this very seat. We were heading back to the city after a day down on the keys. The things his wandering hands did to me. I can’t stop myself from smiling. (I’m not too sure but there is a possibility a little moan escaped my lips.) Touching my face, it feels a little flushed. The way his hand caressed my inner thigh. The tingling sensation I had as he leaned across the seat unbuckled my belt and moved me into his lap. Thank god, it was dark. I can still hear him whisper, “Baby, I like you fastened on top of me.”             

Remembering, I’m not alone and that I am actually sitting in the downstairs garage, I know I must focus on today. Houston is off somewhere on his quest for world domination. Jeffery is sitting beside me not H. I readjust myself in the seat, bringing me back to the day’s reality. The driver is still behind the wheel, also. Are they waiting for direction from me? Well, we are all in serious trouble then, because I have no clue as to what to do. Keeping my eyes closed, I’m attempting to focus on this moment, and I finally speak.

“Jeffery.”

“Yes, Mam.”

“Thank you for rescuing me today.”

“Your welcome, Mam. Anytime. Opening my eyes, looking across at one of Houston’s other cars I really just want this horrible experience to end. Looking at him with a feeble smile, I draw a deep breath, then glance toward the elevator. “I suppose I should stay here for the rest of the day.” With a nod of agreement, and an “OK, Kirk” operation remove Charli from the SUV commences. Exiting the SUV, Kirk opens the door for me. I hope the next thing I hear is something about being beamed up to the penthouse, since Kirk was driving the vehicle. This day has just been that strange. So much for my secret longing of being teleported to a far-away land where the paparazzi doesn’t exist. My childhood of television reruns is coming back to haunt me. Once again, I have my brothers to thank.

I’m looking out the window at the right minute, I suppose, looking but not actually seeing much as Kirk bends over to pick up an object lying on the ground when I see his gun. I assume it’s a Glock. At least, that is what the weapon of choice seems to be in the movies. As he raises, I glance up at his face and smile. Remembering back to the days with my brothers, if a man didn’t want you to know he was “packing heat” (Hello, Midwest girl.) then you keep your mouth shut. Kirk is wearing a jacket so, keeping my mouth shut is the right choice, I suppose. I know any comment I can possibly make about his gun will do one of two things. First option, make me sound like an idiot. Second option, make me sound naive and like an idiot. Neither option is good for me, so I simply make my brothers proud and keep my mouth shut. It’s not as if a gun makes me uncomfortable, I grew up around them. I just never thought about Houston’s men carrying them. Looking over at Jeffery, I wonder if he has one and where it is. As if I can’t make it upstairs by myself, which truthfully I probably can’t, they both escort me to the elevator. Jeffery inserts his key card, the door opens, with the three of us stepping inside. Again, he inserts his card and away the three of us go. Which really surprises me because I have never seen any of Houston’s other men upstairs.

Entering the penthouse makes me feel safe. I walk over to the wall of glass, to enjoy the scene below. As far as penthouses go, this one isn’t very high, twentieth floor, but the view from all sides is spectacular. This building is very exclusive. I have no doubt that the paparazzi will not break the building’s boundaries. Even if they do, the building security will handle them swiftly, of that I am sure. I stand here in this room alone. Jeffery and Kirk have disappeared into some room within this vast space. Probably to Nash’s office, which I really have no idea which of the many rooms that is. I think it is one of the two rooms that connect with Houston’s. Undoubtedly, if I make any type of sound out of the ordinary, one or both of them will be to my rescue within seconds.

Just as Jeffery, who seems to be everywhere, enters the room; the elevator arrives allowing a man and a woman to step into the glass foyer. I notice they have my things. Forcing a smile as they enter, I walk across the space that separates us. Jeffery and the man exchange a brief nod.  He simply says, “Upstairs, Mr. Donovan’s room.” Without any type of response, they leave us alone.

Walking back to the wall, I contemplate going out onto the veranda. Even though I have been in Miami almost a year this blasted heat still does me in which forces me to rethink the veranda idea. This day has finally gotten to me. I rub my left shoulder while I stand there, beginning to question if Houston is worth this. As silent tears slip down my cheeks, I berate myself for entertaining such a foolish notion. Of course, he is worth this. Turning from a view that would normally calm the storm that remains inside me, I look at my rescuer, “Jeffery, I can’t talk to Houston, can I?”

Shaking his head, “No Mam. I am afraid not.” Giving him my best, pretty please smile that always worked on my older brother I get nowhere. Exhaling a deep breath, “Ok. I already knew that I suppose. He would have called if he was available. I’m sure.”

“Yes, Mam, I am sure he would.”

He stands looking at me with a solemn face. My voice trembles a bit I ask, “Can you at least tell me where he is or when I might hear from him? I just want to hear his voice.”

He shakes his head, “Mam, I can’t answer your questions I am very sorry.” With a deep breath, I turn and walk away. This is the first time in our relationship that Houston has been unreachable. It really sucks! I suppose this is what happens when you are involved with a ga-zillionaire. I want him to know just how much I need him, so I pick up my phone
. I’m lonely! Where are you? When will you be back? I need your arms around me. It’s been toolong
.


I press send. There, I hope that makes you feel as bad as I do right now.

I want to take a shower to wash the day away but instead I walk into the closet. My eyes are drawn to the array of multi-colored sea-island cotton dress shirts. I run my hand across each of them as I walk down the neatly hung row. Stopping at my favorite, the white/blue stripe poplin. If I can’t have him, I’ll have to settle for the next best thing as I take it off the hanger. Next, I walk to his vanity, open a drawer, pull out a bottle and spray some of the contents onto the shirt. Burying my face in it, I close my eyes and inhale deeply. It smells like Houston. Quickly, pulling off my clothes and tossing them into the laundry, I put his shirt on and head back into the bedroom.

Sitting down on Houston’s side of the bed, I press the remote. The gentle sounds of Old Blue Eyes begin to play. Flashing back to the last time we made love to this track. Sighing deeply my body begins to heat thinking about that morning he was leaving. I was dressed, ready to walk out the door but for some reason I couldn’t. H was in bed, watching me dart around the room trying to get myself together using any excuse to stay. We both understood that I was putting off having to kiss him goodbye. We were talking. This track was playing on the surround sound because he knows how it helps me remain calm. Walking by the end of the bed, suddenly my inner sex kitten came out. Stopping, I turned to face him. I pulled what little of the sheet was over him, off. Standing at the end of this bed
admiring the full-length view of his powerful body, committing to my memory every inch of the way he looked at that moment. I began to unbutton my blouse giving him a slow, sensual striptease that almost makes me blush. Crawling onto the bed, I
kissed my way up every toned muscular inch of my man. Needing a release to the desire we were feeling, I slowly joined our heated bodies together. As one, we rode the wave of passion to a sweet surrender. Houston didn’t leave on time that morning and I was very late to work. Pulling the cover back, I know with that memory in my head I can lie down on his pillow, wrap myself in the comforter and feel safe. I feel as close to him as I can without him being here.

The darkness is everywhere. I’m moving but I’m not walking. I’m on some type of bed, I think. “Where am I?” I scream. I’m not by myself. I hear people talking. “I can’t see. I can’t see.” I try to raise my head but I can’t. I can’t move my hands or my feet. I jerk. Sitting about half way up, blinking my eyes I look around. Plop, I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling. I realize I’m still on Houston’s side of the bed, which puts a smile on my face like very few things can. I like it here. See, you can move I say to myself as I lift my hands. I lay very still listening. No, I don’t hear any voices. The track has ended. I suppose, I forgot repeat. Oh, well. With a small half smile, I realize, I was dreaming. It was just a different version of the same old nightmare. I would have preferred for it to be a Houston centered dream but I suppose I’ll have to settle for his side of the bed and my memories of that morning that I can stir up.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I should have known better than to lay down listening to the crooner. I swear either this comforter or this bed has some type of sleep inducing powers. (Unless Houston’s in bed with me. Then sleep on this bed is just about the last thing on my mind.) It is so soft and puffy. Every time, I lay down my eyes seem to close automatically. Then, I just drift off to sleep. If H. is here with me in this pleasure place of his, then I am generally on cloud nine. Closing my eyes, I create an image of Houston in my head, which makes me smile. Turning my head, “um” I inhale almost rubbing my nose into his pillow. “It still smells a little like Houston,” I say to an empty room.

“What smells like me?”

My eyes fly open, did I imagine hearing his voice. I rub my eyes in case I am dreaming. No, I’m awake. I turn my head in the direction of where I thought I heard him. Leaning against the frame of the closet door on the far side of the room in all his irresistible glory, is Houston. Standing just a few feet away is the sexiest man alive. Suddenly, all the obnoxious and hurtful words hurled at me today fade into nothingness. His jacket off, he walks toward me loosening his tie and pulling the wrinkled shirt out of his pants.

Managing to untangle myself from what just mere moments ago was a Houston induced cocoon. My hands are craving to touch him, to feel him, to have more than a memory, to actually have him inside me. I fling myself toward him wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. Immediately burying my face into his neck, I’m feeding all my senses with the real thing. I manage to mumble, “You’re back!”

It would appear so.” With a sexy, slow smile he continues, “I gather from this greeting you missed me.” Sliding down to the floor, I can feel his lean muscles, along with his delicious hard erection. Smacking his chest, “You know I missed you.”

“If you slide down me like that each time I am away, then expect me to be away quite a bit.” Holding up one finger he says, “Let me think. I believe I received a text from a woman babbling on something about needing my arms. From what I just felt, it is quite possible that you might need more than my arms.”

Smiling, I add, “You, sir know I need much more than your arms.” Reaching out to touch what I know to be an erection, my smile grows as does Houston. He stutters a little but quickly recovers and continues, “As I was saying before I was felt up, maybe it wasn’t you that sent the text. No, I’m certain it came from a number that identified you as the sender. Wait, maybe I should be more careful about who I discuss my texts with.” The mischievous smile that is dancing across his face, only adds fuel to the fire burning within my body.

Loving this, playful mood. I join in the teasing. Trying my best to give him a serious look, “You know, I’m not sure if I did or not.” With a crooked half smile, he continues, “It sounds like you are having issues, let me read the text in question to refresh your memory.” Reaching into his pants pocket, producing his phone he reads, “
I’m lonely! Where are you? When will you be back? I need your arms around me. It’s been toolong
.
.”

“I missed you. I hope you know that. What I really missed is…” reaching for the buttons on his shirt my hands are itching to get him out of his clothes. Taking a small step back, lifting his eyebrows just a little as he asks, “What are you doing?”

Smiling a seductive, take me smile, I answered, “Unbuttoning you, stranger.”

Raising his voice just enough for me to pause, he says “Stranger? Don’t tell me I have been gone so long you have forgotten my name. Do you need to be reminded of how I feel as I drive myself deep into you? The things I do to your body?” I pause my hands midair. With a questioning look, I stood there for just a second trying to process what he is saying when he puts my hands down at my sides. In a voice, I know is Houston’s but in a tone, I’ve never heard before he simply says, “Lie down, and don’t move.” Not understanding why he is talking this way but finding myself eager to follow directions, I lay down.
It’s almost as if he has some hypnotic, power radiating from those brooding, brown eyes.

Finally, he put his hands under my knees and pulls me to him. With hands lingering, I felt subtle caresses on the tender skin behind my knees. With each circular motion his hands move up. Stopping on my outer thighs. Grasping the hem of my/his shirt, he taps my hip, saying “raise up.” He pulls it up to my waist. Next comes, “sit up.” Once I am sitting, he slowly teasingly pulls the shirt raising my arms above my head as he goes. “Lie down Baby, keep your arms above your head and let me look at you. I love your body, Charli. Not too thin. Perfect. I hate those thin women that look as if they are a bag of bones. I like curves. You truly are perfect. Your curves give me something to look at; something I can get my hands onto. You curve in all the right places, Baby.”