Three and a Half Weeks (34 page)

Pushing herself to her feet and spinning around, she begins to stalk to the door. “I do hope your bravado holds out when your precious Ariel goes missing, Ian. Perhaps then you’ll have the time and
necessity
to figure out why I detest you so much.”

The fires of Hades are ablaze in his eyes and his voice crackles with fury as he tears into her. “If you harm one hair on my Ella’s head, I’m going to take you apart piece by piece and I mean that in the literal not figurative sense, Yenin. That is a solemn vow.”

“Oh, please. I’ve already had her in my grips. Of course, Lucien disappointed me, big time. One would think a sophisticated, one might even say continental, man such as he could take on a silly little schoolgirl like your Ariel. Lucien blamed you for making it impossible.”

“So it was you who enlisted Lucien? I should have known: the man gave me the creeps from the first moment I met him… just as you do.”

“Your mouth can lie, Ian, but your eyes confess the whole truth.” She drops her voice to a low, husky register. “If I were to stand here in front of you and remove my clothing, I’d have you on your knees in seconds.”

He shakes his head in disgust. “Keep deluding yourself, Natasha. I wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire, I assure you.”

“Yes, the clever Ian Blackmon… and yet again you couldn’t figure it out—any of it. It was so obvious. I mean, why would a man like Lucien go out of his way for a mousy little thing like your Ariel? That fact in and of itself should have alerted you.

“Lucien is
mine
: he fell hard for my charm so I tried to utilize his devotion to my advantage. Since he left his long-time girlfriend for me, I wanted to make it worth his while. Your cute young fluff, so apparently innocent, seemed like she might provide my darling with a few hours of fun and, silly me, I truly thought he was up to the challenge. He wasn’t though, not up to outplaying you, Blackmon. Complicating matters, I do believe he began to develop feelings for the girl somewhere along his road to perdition, which was funny because he swears he’s madly in love with me. Itty-bitty Ella foiled that part of our plan.”

“Good for her. Yenin, you’re not fit to lick my Ella’s boots, quite frankly. Don’t bring her into this conversation again. I won’t have her name sullied by coming off your dirty lips.”

Natasha could easily see and identify the blistering rage in his eyes when she mentioned his woman—intense emotion, love or hate, darkens the light blue-gray to slate, but they remain lighter around the edges. She remembers that about her old friend, her first lover—that and other things. For example, his beautiful face aglow with triumph when they scored a big deal, the way his eyes glistened like late-afternoon sunshine on water when he was amused and gleamed when he looked upon her in admiration, the way his dark locks of hair floated on the wind as the two of them tooled around in his pale blue convertible—the one he swore he bought because the color matched her eyes.

But the memory she adored the most and perhaps caused her the most regret was without doubt the expression on his face when they made love, as if he’d attained Nirv
ana, the way his eyes fell dark not with anger but with unbridled passion, the iris all but disappearing within the murky depths just before they rolled up into his head when he hit his orgasm. Yes, that was her favorite memory of all. Perhaps she’d see it again one day.

Surprising herself, she also feels a bolt of hot jealousy streak t
hrough her, scorching her blood. Ian belongs to her, not that little American snot; Natasha just chooses not to accept him currently. How dare that college girl think she could take on Ian Blackmon? Natasha decides Ariel needs another comeuppance. Maybe this time she’d give the green light to her uncles to have their way with her.

Shaking off her extreme reaction, she tosses her blond head back and laughs throatily at Ian’s last comment—every move she makes is calculated to be alluring to him. She’s rehearsed it all, leaving nothing to chance and she anticipates his every response. Her responses are the wild cards here: she must temper her emotions to succeed. Ian remains sitting in his chair watching her closely, a strange little smile dancing on his lips. What happened to the fury of a moment ago?

Ah, the master has resumed his poker face: outwardly, he is impervious, like a chess player carefully contemplating his next move. Inwardly, all hell is breaking loose and his sincerest desire is to wrap his long fingers around her elegant throat and squeeze every last bit of life out of her treacherous person.

“So,” he begins again, his fingers playing with his bottom lip, “something to do with my grandfather, you say?”

“I’ve already told you I won’t reveal anything more. It’s up to you to figure it out. I promise to give you motivation.”

“Are you threatening Ella again?”

“Lucien failed miserably but I can assure you my uncles will not.”

Ian grabs for his cell and calls Ella—it goes directly to voice mail. Trying Mason next, his heart revs into overdrive.

“Mr. Blackmon?”

“Where’s Ella?”

“I’m waiting for her in the car. She’s in a department store right now.”

“Get in there, Mason, and find her. She’s been threatened. Now!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me as soon as she’s with you again.” He disconnects. Placing the phone down, feeling as if there’s a lump of lead in his belly, he avoids looking into the devil’s eyes. “You better hope he calls back with a positive report or your very life is at stake. I promise you.”

“So dramatic, Ian. I’m not threatening, per se. Just providing you with a little incentive.”

He shoots up and storms over to her; she rises to meet his onslaught. Only stopping within inches of her face, he is poised for attack. Natasha Yenin stands her ground but actually flinches this time at the big man glowering at her. She can
nearly match him for height, but certainly not weight or muscle mass.

“If you touch me, you’ll live to regret it, Ian.”

“Touch you?” He sneers. “Not with a ten-foot-pole, Natasha.”

“Is that what you’re promising your women these days? Seems a bit of an exaggeration… Though from what I recall, not too much of one.” Her voice drops volume with the last remark and she parts her lips, eager to kiss him after all this time. Another thing she remembers about him is that he is quite practiced at the art.

He gifts her with a purely malevolent smile. “I believe my memory is returning to me. I recall my grandfather being involved in getting rid of some unsavory elements, members of the Russian mob, if I’m not mistaken.”

Natasha shrugs, not breaking eye contact though the two remain inches apart. “You say mobster, we say businessmen. It’s just a question of semantics.”

“Semantics, eh? True, why should something so pesky as federal law be taken into account?”

“Purely arbitrary lines drawn in the sand by self-important cogs in the wheel. We choose to ignore them.”

“Yes, arbitrary, because money is money and heroin is heroin… not to mention guns and human trafficking, or anything else resulting in the propagation of human misery.”

“Fine. You want me to explain and save you the detective work and I find I still can’t resist you.” She spins on her heel and walks toward the far wall, her agitation now on display.

“Simply put, Ian, your grandfather was responsible for deporting mine, an act that led to his destruction in a very short period of time. He had enemies in Russia: sending him back was condemning him to death. As soon as he stepped foot on Russian soil, he lived for exactly 28 days before meeting with a mysterious accident, lapsing into a persistent vegetative state. It not only destroyed him but also our family in the process. To this day my grandmother has not recovered. My aim was to exact revenge on your family since the first day I met the tall, gangly Ian Blackmon in Mr. Parson’s English lit class.”

“So it was never real then? Between us?”

Now she sees she’s wounded him. Strangely it gives her little satisfaction. “I wouldn’t say that. I knew revenge was best served cold so I took advantage of the lead time and was able to enjoy you for a while.” She walks to him and grabs his tie, pulling him closer, the action reminding him of Ella instantly, with her pretty face focused in the lens of his mind. “And it was most enjoyable, Ian. I often miss it… and you.”

Ripping her hand off his tie, he throws it back at her. “I have nothing but contempt for you. Revenge is stupid and wasteful… and in the end, most unfulfilling. You should turn your attentions to doing something good in the world to make up for your disgusting criminal of a grandfather. What he did to better himself hurt others very badly.”

“Since when are you on a moralistic crusade? Where’s the Ian I knew who made money by exploiting the mistakes of others? Who called employees redundancies and eliminated them without a thought or regret? As I remember, euphemisms were spilling out of your mouth left and right: collateral damage, surplus human capital, personnel reduction… and the list goes on.”

“I’m proud to say that that man doesn’t exist anymore. I’m a new man, one who cares about the fate of others… and you know what? I still make buckets of money without hurting others. In fact, I often
help
others keep their jobs. I finally can sleep at night. I suggest you give it a try—I highly recommend it.

“Now, before I toss you out of my office on your pretty little ass I want to make sure you understand something very clearly: I don’t give a damn about your vendetta or whatever it is that’s
compelling you to do nasty things to others. However, you had better keep Ariel out of it because if you involve her in any way, however peripherally, I cannot guarantee that you’ll survive the experience. Are we clear?”

“My, my, it appears you do have feelings for this girl. I’m a bit jealous, Ian.”

The look of incredulity on his face makes her laugh. “Do you not know how fine is the dividing line between love and hate?” She steps closer. “I miss you.”

At the same time he pushes her away, she reaches her hands up, weaving them through his dark hair so there’s a push-pull. Ian
manages to shove her away and she stumbles backward before reclaiming her balance. Her ice-blue eyes flash, whether it’s lust or anger he can’t tell.

“Okay, I’ll take that as a no but do tell me what that bulge in your pants is all about, Ian?” She laughs loudly and coarsely as she exits the office, followed by a crashing sound as another large crater is blasted into existence on the opposite wall of the office.

Right in the middle of a personal one-woman celebration in Macy’s dressing room, my phone chimes. Grabbing for my cell while trying to pull a shirt over my head makes for a comedy of errors and I almost fall right on my undie-clad ass. “Ow!” I screech, as my elbow slams into the side of the dressing room in my clumsy attempt to arrest my plunge down to the low-pile commercial carpet. The women around me must think someone’s getting viciously assaulted or something in the adjacent stall, but, no, it’s just me, my iPhone, and my size 4 jeans. The most critical part of that sentence is of course
my size 4 jeans
! When I don’t recognize the number right away I elect to answer anyway mainly because I almost killed myself to get the damn call and it seems wasteful to screen after all that. “Hello?”

Mason’s voice is urgent. “Ms. Strong, Mr. Blackmon wants me to pick you up right now. He claims the matter is of the utmost importance. Where exactly are you currently?”

“Uh, I’m on the second floor, women’s department. Right now I’m in the dressing room.”

“Please stay there in the dressing room. Do not move until I get there. Are we clear?”

I roll my eyes, sorry he can’t see my disrespectful annoyance. “Yes, Mason, we’re clear. Despite how Mr. Blackmon treats me, I’m not mentally deficient.”

“Of course, Ms. Strong. I believe Mr. Blackmon will explain it all to you when he sees you. Until then I’m not to leave your side. I’m on my way up the escalator as we speak. I’m going to ask you to stay on the line with me.”

“It will prove difficult to stay on the line and get dressed at the same time, Mason. I’ll keep the line open but I’ll place the phone down on the chair. Will that be okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Sighing, I realize my shopping celebration is over. Still, it was spectacular while it lasted. I fit into a size 4 pair of jeans for the first time since my freshman year of college. Since then I’ve been consistently a size 6 with one brief foray into the land of eights. That was right after a broken heart caused me to subsist on a steady diet of
Häagen-Dazs
and straight-up scotch—all scored by depressive
Radiohead
songs. Now that the broken heart is only a memory, I look back with fondness on that diet.

In less than sixty seconds, I hear Mason’s voice at the entrance to the dressing room. “Ella? Can you come out now?”

Grabbing my newfound jeans and a couple of sweaters I’d managed to try on before I got the royal summons, I make my way out to my bodyguard. “Here I am. I just have to pay for my purchases.”

Mason sticks to me like
Crazy Glue
, not letting me out of his sight until he’s delivered me to Ian’s house with the stern admonition not to leave until Ian gets home. I’m wondering what it’s all about but in less than half an hour, I hear Ian’s deep voice in the hall, speaking to Mason and then the man himself strides in.

It doesn’t matter how long I know him—or how well I know him: he still makes my body rev into sexual overdrive when he enters my sphere. The sight, sound, and scent of this powerful man send things spinning, tightening, and shaking inside me. Right now I drink him in and assess: his eyes are alive with emotion and his whole body language is tense. Even his perfect suit looks a bit wrinkled, an unusual state of affairs for him. Something’s wrong, I can easily tell. I just watch and wait for his cues.

“Ella,” he says with relief, rushing over to me and sweeping me into his arms.

“Ian, you’re choking me. Ease up a little.”

“I’m sorry, Ella. I was so worried about you.”

“Can you tell me why?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he calls for Mason and the man enters the room in seconds. “Mason, have a seat. I’m about to explain the situation to Ella. You might as well hear, too.” He looks at me and grasps my hands in his. “Ella. Remember when I told you I had something to tell you?”

I nod, saying nothing.

“This whole situation has to do with that history. Mason, you only need to hear the first part. I mentioned on the phone that Ella was threatened but I didn’t want to go into detail until I could explain it. The same people who were behind your ordeal with Lucien Phillips have threatened you again, Ella.”

My
eyes widen at that tidbit of information. Why? “How do you know, Ian?”

“I’ll get to that, Ella. Mason, what you need to know is that Ella requires a bodyguard 24/7 until the danger passes. After I speak to Ella, I’ll meet with you and your staff in my office in,” he glances at his watch, “let’s say an hour and a half and we’ll review the procedures I want in place. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Right now, I’d like to speak with Ariel alone. Thank you for your quick work today, Mason. It won’t go unrecognized.”

“Yes, sir.”

After Mason leaves the room, Ian sits for a moment looking into my eyes. He looks so tired, almost defeated even. I’ve never seen him look this way and it bothers me so much. In my estimation, Ian Blackmon is invincible: I don’t like thinking someone out there can take him down, even if it’s just a peg or two.

“Ella, what I have to tell you is disturbing,” he begins, rubbing my hands and refusing to meet my eyes. My heartbeat is reacting to his demeanor—I can feel it accelerate: is this something that will impact our relationship? He’s not going to split from me, is he? Is there another woman? I’m now making myself sick so I ask him to have pity on me.

“Please, Ian, just spit it out. The suspense is starting to hurt.”

Nodding grimly, he begins. “I met a girl in high school…”

By the time he finishes with the story of Natasha, I sit there flabbergasted. So this horrible woman not only arranged my miserable night with Lucien but my whole employment with the motherfucker? I feel as used as a dirty dishtowel and could probably take the bitch on myself right at this minute, not to mention her boy toy, Lucien.

“So what happens now?”

He looks surprised. “What do you mean, what happens? We ignore her as best we can and you have continuous protection around the clock.”

“How long will she be a threat? Ian, it is against the law to stalk and harass other people, you know. Do I now have to live my life looking over my shoulder?”

“She’ll go away after a while. If she doesn’t we’ll have to look into more… proactive measures.”

I literally stomp my foot. “I say we look into more proactive measures right now. I’ll be damned if I’m going to live my life in fear of some insane woman.”

Shooting up off the sofa, he begins to pace in front of me, his hand rifling through his hair, which now suffers unduly from his anxiety. “Ian, your hair makes you look like a madman. How long have you been messing with it?”

Levity doesn’t seem to perforate his armor of stress—he’s in full-out war mode. I can see it in his comportment: his entire body stands ramrod straight, stiff as an oaken board, and there’s an inferno raging in his eyes.

“I’m not sure how to proceed. I need to speak to my grandfather about the case involving hers. But this is revenge, pure and simple. If her grandfather is in a vegetative state, there’s no remedy we can provide. Anyway, my instincts tell me he got what he had coming. My grandfather was an advocate for immigrants and tried his best to prevent their deportation unless they were involved in crime. As I recall, during the nineties, there was a huge exodus out of Russia, mobsters coming to our shores to run drugs and guns. I as much as said that to Natasha. It’s a little hard for me to believe she’s been nursing this vendetta since we were kids but there it is. I’m very sorry that you became involved in this sordid affair, Ariel.

I shake my head at his thickness. “Ian,” I get up and walk to him, “I am your fiancée; we are getting married, for better or for worse. Don’t apologize for getting me involved because you had no fault here. But I’d like to ask you one question and I want an honest answer.”

He nods nervously, I think. I continue. “What exactly are your feelings for Natasha?”

And he sits down again. Feeling like a yo-yo, I seat myself next to him, our legs touching. His body is throwing off so much heat, I start to have carnal thoughts about him but I need his answer first.

Hesitantly, he starts to explain. “I used to love her, Ella. I fell hard for her in high school and we made long-range plans to be together. It was all a lie for her but not for me: I planned our future to be together and I worked toward it. When I learned of her betrayal, it cut me—deeply. I spent the next five years keeping myself from forming any emotional attachment.” He stares me in the eye. “Until you. Somehow you broke through the barriers I had carefully constructed.”

“How do you feel about Natasha right now? Are your feelings conflicted?” I’m so afraid of his answer that my voice is barely audible.

His face shows no hesitation. “No, not at all. I have no love for her, Ella. Zero. I intensely dislike her, hate her even, especially for what she was responsible for doing to you.”

I accept his answer but there’s something he’s not telling me—I can sense it in the furtive glances he’s throwing at me, as if he’s guilty about something. I decide to give it one more try.

“Is there something else you have to tell me, Ian?”

Is it my worry reflecting back at me in his eyes or is it his own, generated by my probing question? “Why do you ask?”

“I sense you’re holding something back, something you feel guilt over. Am I right?” I never take my eyes off him lest I miss any of his nonverbal cues.

Completely shocking me, he nods and hangs his head, refusing to look at me. That punch of nausea assaults my stomach again as I fight the urge to vomit. “Let’s have it, then. Get it all on the table, please.”

He looks up again and there’s actually amusement in his eyes. Now I’m truly flummoxed but I wait as patiently as I can, my rocking knee the only evidence of my anxiety.

“It’s embarrassing and stupid but I do need to tell you, Ella. It’s just that when the woman came into my office, I actually became physically aroused. It infuriated me.”

Well.

I sit back to consider his confession. I look at his face: he’s openly wearing his guilt. It’s not as bad as I had been imagining but it certainly doesn’t elate me. Still, I could understand it since his relationship with Natasha was predicated on sexual attraction… and in the final analysis, sex was really all it was other than bad blood. It’s not out of character for him, either, since it doesn’t take much for him to get, ahem,
engaged
. People can’t help who they are physically attracted to, can they? Even if a person is deeply in love, that person can still be physically attracted to another. I recall my uncontrollable reaction to the luscious male morsel that is Daniel Butler. It’s biology. Or chemistry. Or is it physics? Whatever.

My eyes volley back to his anxious ones. He’s barely breathing as he watches me digest his confession. I choose to take the high road and give him a break…
this time
. Reaching for his hand, I squeeze it and scoot closer to him. “It’s okay, Ian. I understand that these things happen.”

Genuine shock is etched on his face. “You do?”

“Of course.” My curious hand travels from his hand to his thigh… to his crotch. “But,” I whisper in his ear, “I’ll need for you to demonstrate exactly how you became excited.”

Before he can reply, I begin to kiss and lick his neck, working my way down to his collar. Pushing it open, I bite his neck. In one fluid motion, he stands and sweeps me up into his arms, proceeding to rush us up to the bedroom. The rooms flash by my eyes in a blur and in our wake is an echo of my giggles. My boy is so damn predictable.