Three and a Half Weeks (16 page)

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why Ian doesn’t want me to work with Lucien Phillips. If anyone could give Ian some competition, it would be that blond Adonis. But I’m not looking at Lucien as romantic potential: I want to work with him on his documentary—badly. Besides, in the few minutes we spent together, he demonstrated no interest in me other than purely professional—for all I know Lucien might even be gay. One thing I definitely do know: I am taking the job, come hell or high water.

The adjectives I’ve come up with to describe what Ian did last night are unconscionable, bizarre, outrageous, infuriating, and punishable—a crime worthy, in fact, of imaginative punitive measures. If I hadn’t been so irrevocably in the moment, I would have kicked him. Oh wait: I couldn’t do that with my legs bound, could I? He’d covered all his bases.

I have to admit the undeniable: sex with Ian is incomparable. It’s true that, technically, I have nothing to compare it with since he’s the only man I’ve ever been with intimately, but I’ve had enough conversations with my friends and read enough
Cosmo
articles to know that sex with Ian is not the norm. Not even close. I know I should want to experiment with other lovers but I’m so certain they’ll come up short that it almost seems an exercise in futility. It’s important to Ian—he’s made it abundantly clear—that he’s my first and only man, so I need to consider that going forward. Ironic that in the beginning my virginity bothered him but it’s come to be something he highly values. Still… he’s made no commitment to me nor have I to him. Do I even want a commitment so early in the game? I’m only twenty-three.

I open my eyes the next morning and realize I’m immobilized. The reason why becomes clear quickly: Ian has his arms and legs wrapped tightly around me—even in his sleep he restrains me! If I as much as take a deep breath, I’ll wake him. I crane my neck to see his face just above my head and he wears such a serene expression that I don’t have the heart to smack him upside the head, as I almost certainly should. I remain in my human cage for a few more minutes, using the time to think and trying not to dwell on the fact that my nose is itchy.

I will call Lucien and accept the job. It means I’ll have to stay in New York to interview the Picasso woman. Lucien had mentioned that he has a film crew on standby for the purpose. After, I can go back to Portland and try to conduct as much research there as possible, using my laptop and the library. At some point, I may have to do more travel but that’s fine. I sigh, realizing that if I stay with Ian in whatever this thing we have going is, it means many more fights on the horizon and the thought is depressing.

“Why the frown?”

He startles me: I thought he was still asleep. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

Inhale, Ella, and just go for it, I tell myself. “The logistics of my new job.”

I can feel his whole body stiffen around me. “So you are taking it, then?”

“Yes.” The least said the better, I think. I dare a peek at his face.

He looks pissed: his jaw is clenched and his eyes narrowed—quite a marked difference from the sleeping angel of a few minutes ago. “I see. I need to go to Tokyo next weekend and I thought to ask you to accompany me. Is that at all possible if you accept the position?”

“I’m not sure, Ian. I’ll have to stay in New York to do that interview that Lucien has been waiting for. That might take me past the weekend…”

“Too bad. It would have been nice to have you along. This will be only the second time I’ve visited Japan—it would be wonderful to have you there to sightsee with me.”

“Oh, I would love that, actually.” I know I shouldn’t feel guilty one tiny bit… but I do. I really do. Stupid, I know.

He says nothing, just swings his long legs over the side of the bed to get up. I watch his lean, graceful body as he stretches. Lean but powerful. Ah.
The glory of young men is in their strength
. He turns to see me ogling him and gifts me with a small smile. “Shall we go out to breakfast or call for room service?”

“Go out, I think. I want to see more of the city.”

“Okay. I’m getting in the shower.”

I surprise him in the shower, tiptoeing in silently, and grab him from behind… but he’s waiting for me, the sneak. In one fluidly efficient motion, he spins me around, pins my arms over my head, pushes me against the wall, and rams into me as the water turns scorching, scalding us both.

“Too hot!” I yelp and he turns up the cold water with his knee.

“Are you mine, Ella?” His face leans heavily on my cheek, his lips on my ear; I can’t escape any part of him.

Panting, I try to avoid answering.

“Ella, answer the question.” He continues thrusting his hips forcefully, making any coherent thought impossible. With one hand he’s holding my wrists, the other is brutally gripping my right hip, holding me in place.

“Right now I am.” I move forward, rest my face on the cool tile: I want to concentrate on feeling rather than thinking.

He falls silent then, instinct swamping intellect, and I fall with him, switching off my mind to revel in the physical wonder of what boy plus girl can equal.

“Ella, fantastic news! I’m excited,” Lucien says as I reach him in Paris a few hours later. “In the paperwork I gave you yesterday, you’ll find the contact information for both my crew and the interview subject. Her name is Maya St. Sauveur and she promised me that she’ll be back in the city by Tuesday afternoon. If you can shoot the interview, I think you can probably head back out west afterward. Also, can you sign the contract and send a copy to my New York address, as well as to my attorney’s office that’s listed on the back of the contract?

“Absolutely. I noticed you provided a list of questions you’d like me to ask her. Do you want me to go beyond those or adhere strictly to the script?”

“At your discretion, Ella. As long as you cover my questions, feel free to ask your own—within the bounds of the subject matter, but I know I don’t have to tell you that. I included a DVD of some of the interviews I’ve already taped of others so you can get a feel for how to approach it.”

“Oh, that helps. Alright, I’ll spend tomorrow reviewing all the material and getting ready for Tuesday.”

“Great. I’ll be back in the States before the end of the month. Will you be able to return to New York at that time so we can work with the editor on the new footage and perhaps splice it with the others?”

“Not a problem, Lucien. I’m really looking forward to this project. Do you have a projected completion date?”

“We’re aiming for end of March so it can go into post-production and be ready for release May one.”

“That seems like plenty of time. Okay, I don’t want to keep you on the phone, Lucien, so I’m going to compile a list of questions and email them to you—that way you can answer at your leisure. Sound good?”

“Perfect, Ella. I’ll look forward to it. Enjoy your stay in New York—there’s no better city in the world… except maybe for Paris.”

“Thanks, I will. Bye, Lucien.” I disconnect and try to avoid looking across the table at Ian. I don’t need to look because I can feel his eyes on me, hostility radiating out like an atomic cloud threatening to engulf me.

Focusing his attention on his breakfast, Ian says nothing but I can feel the tension charging the air between us. “When do you have to leave for Tokyo?” I ask, after about five minutes of no conversation.

“I have meetings lined up for Tuesday and Wednesday, so I should probably leave sometime on Saturday, which will give me a day to acclimate.”

“Assuming I can’t come with you, will you stay to sightsee or return home after your meetings?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve made no plans yet. Since things are frenetic right now at Excalibur, I probably should come right home.”

I nod. Excalibur is the name of his umbrella enterprise, which is a holding company for all the smaller ones in which he owns majority stock. Apparently, his first company, named eponymously, went belly up about five years ago, which is when he established Excalibur. “I should know by Tuesday or so how long I have to stay in New York. Tomorrow I’ll get up to speed on my new job and I’ll pop over to see Mo Jackson, my agent.

Once Ian gets over his snit, we end up having the most fantastic time together. He is so relaxed and charming when taken out of his element, and we have a leisurely day visiting Hayden’s Planetarium and the Empire State building. It’s after four when we get back to the hotel and decide to have a drink at the hotel bar. Because the weather is chilly and damp, Ian orders us each an Irish coffee and then finds a quiet corner table. I spend a moment feeling grateful for the little joys in life, such as a hot drink and a beautiful man’s strong, warm hand holding mine.

His left brow arches. “What’s the smile for?”

“I was just thinking how much I like being with you.”

Now he smiles, his eyes alive with affection. “Well, the feeling happens to be mutual.”

We sip our drinks and I look around. It’s nearly the dinner hour so the bar is relatively quiet. Yes, I can see Ian’s point about not coming here last night—not for what he had planned anyway. His deep voice interrupts my wayward thoughts.

“Ella, in all likelihood, I’ll have to go back to Portland tomorrow.”

I nod, disappointed but expecting it.

“I’d like to have an honest discussion with you about where we stand right now… in terms of you and I, our relationship, if that’s what it is.”

“Okay.” My heartbeat begins to take flight. I wasn’t sure we even had a relationship. Ian never wanted anything but a sexual arrangement with me—in the past, anyway. I always thought he didn’t consider me good enough for a genuine romance. I should just ask him. My voice falters but eventually I spit it out. “I was under the impression that you weren’t interested in a relationship… at least not with me.”

His expression freezes with astonishment. “Why would you think that, Ella?”

I shrug. “Because you only ever offered me a sexual arrangement. I figured that’s all you wanted with me.”

“I… no, that’s not true. If it ever was, it’s no longer true, anyway.” He seems to be taking his time, considering his words carefully. “I’m not very comfortable… I’m used to setting the parameters of my… intimate… relationships and knowing exactly what to expect. With you… well, it’s very different. I’d appreciate knowing how you see me, where I fit, I suppose, in your life.”

“I’m not sure either, Ian. Last time what wrecked everything was the… well, you know what. I remain uninterested in exploring that part of the lifestyle you’re attracted to. If my reluctance is a deal breaker then I suppose we don’t have much of a relationship.”

“And if it’s not? A deal breaker?”

“Then I’m in,” I say, feeling a spot of heat on each cheek. It’s hard to talk honestly with someone you’re involved with—especially if that someone is as intimidating a presence as Ian Blackmon.

He nods. “Are we exclusive then?”

I glance up to scrutinize his face: he looks serious and even a bit anxious. “I… uh… would prefer a relationship that is exclusive. How about you?”

“Absolutely. So can we agree on this aspect?”

“Yes, I can agree to that—happily. What about,” I drop my voice to a soft whisper, “the BDSM? Where does that fit into the picture?”

“It can fit in wherever you want it to fit in. We’ll only do what you’re comfortable doing, Ella. How does that sound?”

He looks so sweetly sincere as he waits for my answer that I can’t keep from jumping up to embrace him. He wraps his strong arms around my waist and I hold his face in both my hands and kiss his beautiful lips. “That sounds perfect, Ian, absolutely perfect.”

He smiles and kisses my hand. We finish our drinks, listening to the piano player and then escape to our room, spending the rest of the night in bed, touching and tasting each other leisurely. As far as evenings go, it ranks up there with the crème de la crème.

Ian leaves New York the next morning and I allow myself a half hour to cry because I begin to miss him the second he walks out the hotel room door. Terribly. The room seems desperately lonely without his commanding presence.

I’m meeting Mo at one o’clock and my taxi is stuck in midtown traffic. “I’ll just get out here and walk,” I say to the driver, handing him a twenty-dollar bill. The fare is fifteen dollars and change, and I’m not sure the tip is big enough, considering I left him stuck in a traffic jam but I hope it is. “Thanks.”

Mo’s office is on 57
th
street and I get out on 51
st
so I just need to walk six blocks—in the rain. Luckily I have my umbrella. I’m rushing to cross a street before the light changes when my cell phone starts singing. Checking the caller, I see it’s Lucien.

“Lucien, hello. What’s up?”

“Ella, some not so good news, I’m afraid. I just got a call from Maya St. Sauveur. She’s in Venice and apparently cannot leave until some legal matter can be cleared up. I’m stuck in Paris for the next 48 hours at least. Maya claims that if her legal matter takes much longer than two days, she might not have time to go to New York. She’s due in Bali for a wedding early next week. This interview is proving to be a massive pain. Is there any way you can get to Venice to do the interview? You can take Gerard, my cameraman, and just knock out the interview that way.”