Authors: Bella Costa
"I have no idea, but it is good," I sulk. "And you're
supposed
to order at the counter." I narrow my eyes at him as he ignores me. "This isn't over you know."
"I hope not, you're quite something when you're mad. I may have to find a way to subdue you."
Fuck. I swallow hard. Images of angry sex on a desk wearing a slutty burlesque outfit, flood my memory, making me blush. The same young girl that served me skips over.
"Nice to see you back again, Mr. Donavan. What can I get you?" I narrow my eyes at the exchange as Chayton orders
the same as me and the chirpy waitress bounds off.
"What? I know the owner." He shrugs.
I sigh and gaze at him warily, trying to ignore the hormones causing a riot in my system. "So what are we going to do about this?"
"Nothing! I've bought a green tunic and a pair of green tights, just in case. But I won't need them." He sounds incredibly confident.
"You're lying." I gaze at him sceptically.
"Me? Never! Why would I do that!" he teases. He knows exactly what he is doing to me and it's not fair that it's working.
"You are."
Chayton reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He hits a speed dial button and murmurs a few words. He pauses a minute. "Just do it!" he snaps, shoving the phone back into his pocket. "Look out the window."
I look out the window, glancing quickly at all the luxury cars circling the drive to pick up shoppers. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be looking for. Then I spot Morgan, still standing at the entrance, directly below us. He is looks ready to murder and I can see why. Dangling from his paws, held up high, is a pair of grass green tights. Oh no! The poor man.
"You are such a bully, Chayton!"
"I have my moments. Don't feel bad for him though. He's done far worse to me."
Chayton's meal is delivered, and I decide to call a temporary truce. "Why is Morgan so formal all of a sudden?"
"He takes his work very seriously. I guess he perceives the risks to be higher here and he is more focused when he is formal."
"Are you at risk?"
"Probably not, but I have made enemies. Enemies that are more likely to attack using my reputation or money; but Morgan is very cautious. He has been protecting me for a long time."
"But why is it so important to him?"
"Morgan was in a gang, Acacia. He was caught up in some pretty tough shit as a young man. He thinks he owes it to me for taking him off the streets and setting him up in his business."
"Wow."
"Thing is, I make quite a bit of money from the investment so he doesn't really owe me anything."
"I had no idea. But you are younger than Morgan, aren't you?"
"Only a couple of years," he frowns. "Can we leave this conversation for another time?"
"Okay."
"It's time to get you home. I want to finish arguing with you about how good you're going to feel in that dress tonight," he orders softly, his eyes twinkling.
"But..."
"Shhh..." He leaves a generous tip on the table, takes my hand and leads me out of the coffee shop.
Morgan is waiting on the drive, at the open door of the Bronze Maserati. In his, darker than dark, glasses he looks positively intimidating. A gangster. Wow. I don't think I'll ever see Morgan quite the same way again.
As we pull into Chayton's drive, I spy a sign on the gate - Falcons Lodge. Makes sense! The car stops and I follow Chayton out. He pulls me close and gives me a bruising kiss, which leaves me breathless.
Pulling
away, he studies my face intently. "Are you sure, this isn't about how Robert used to treat you? I am not like that Acacia, at least not always. If I am it's for different reasons," he looks so sincere, so candid. It pains me that I've made him worry. I smooth back a lock of hair from his face and smile.
"I love you. You know that
, don't you? I am just being an over righteous bitch. I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry and I love you too. As much as I'm big time turned on, by a very angry Acacia Ward in full battle mode, I don't like to cause you stress."
"Big time, huh?"
"Oh very big," and he pulls my hips into his to prove the point.
"You really do like these," he says in awe as I tuck to my SUBWAY greedily. "Did we get it right?"
"Perfect, just the way I like it," I reply awkwardly through a full mouth. It's divine. "What have you got?
” I ask between bites.
"The same. It is good, although I'll have to try them all to work out which are my favourites."
We eat in silence for a while and I can tell that Chayton is enjoying his meal. For some reason, his approval of my favourite weekly treat makes me glow inside and I beam at him in happiness, choosing to relish the moment.
"Sir," Morgan interrupts from the far side of the room.
"Morgan, I'm at home. Enough with the 'Sir' please."
"Sorry Sir," Morgan replies and I spy small smile crinkle the corners of his eyes.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," Chayton purrs into my neck on his way past. "Have your boxing gloves on and be ready for me."
Shit, he makes that sound so hot!
The room gets incredibly warm as I watch Chayton and Morgan disappear into a room under the far stairs.
I clear away the Subway wrappers and dishes from the breakfast bar and pour myself another beer. What to do? I stroll over to the large windows facing the back garden. I haven't had a chance to look the place properly. Wow
. A wide expanse of lawn, fringed on left and right by large trees and shrubs, extends down a gradual slope toward the shore of Lake Washington. The shoreline is obscured by a small retaining wall, but I would not be surprised if there was a private jetty down there with a boat bobbing alongside.
As I admire the view, Chayton and a young man walk slowly along the lawn. I crane my neck to look along the sides of the building, wondering where they came from. I realise that all the rooms in the house, have doors leading outside. Even the upstairs rooms have doors leading onto a balcony. I did not notice the doors when I was in Chayton's room. Then again, I was otherwise occupied.
The young man is scruffily dressed, much the same as the young men who hang around in groups, in the seedier parts of cities. His clothes are purposely too large and garishly printed with branding. A look that is intentional. A statement. Morgan is hovering protectively, a few paces behind Chayton and I see Chayton give Morgan a discrete hand signal behind his back. Morgan stops, settles into a super-guardish stance, feet parted, hands behind his back, watching carefully through his dark than dark, shades.
Chayton and the young scruff, stroll a little further, coming to a stop at an iron garden table. The young man looks nervous, shifting from foot to foot as they talk. Chayton just stands, relaxed and comfortable, his hands buried deep in his pockets. About fifteen minutes later, they shake hands and stroll back to the house, disappearing through one of the many doors. Morgan spots me at the glass and offers me a brief wave before he too disappears.
I am
almost at the point of becoming incredibly bored, wanting to explore but not feeling at home enough to do so. The huge open plan kitchen, dining and living area is double height and well lit. The huge arched windows, front and back of the room, allow the natural light to stream through; reflecting off the white stone floors. Cutting the room in half is a floating mezzanine bridge that joins the upper floors of the two wings, accessed by ornate stairs on either side of the room. I know that upstairs, on the right, at the very end of the corridor, is Chayton's room. But that is all I know.
The contrast between Falcon's Lodge and the cabin is baffling. This man is very complex. I wonder what
has brought on his weird personality change. Since coming down from the mountain this morning, he has been sharper, harder. The sense of power emanating from him has been palpable. I haven't seen this side of him before, and it's a little scary in an exciting adventure sports kind of way.
My reverie is broken as Chayton joins me again. "Sorry to abandon you like that," he says sincerely and sweeps an arm around my waist.
"It's fine. I was just admiring the view."
"I can think of a few views I'd like to admire," he whispers into my hair.
"Would you care to join me in the shower?"
I look up into his face, shivering as I realise this isn't a request. His mouth closes down on mine, crushing my lips to his and he coaxes my mouth open. He tastes of beer and Jalapenos and desire and I surrender.
~.~
I stare at the dress bag hanging on the back of the closet door. A
shoebox and small pink bag are on the floor underneath. I got chicken, not wanting to see the dress in front of him. I promised myself, I would try to be agreeable tonight and was petrified that I would have a negative reaction to the dress and worse, not be able to hide it. He was a little disappointed but allowed me to dress in a guest room next to his. At least now, I will have time to compose myself.
This is it; time to unveil his torture implements. I start with the bag. Whatever
underwear he has chosen, will not be seen by the masses tonight, so I am not as apprehensive about these. I pull out the items. The first thing I notice, gratefully, is that the tags have been removed. I can at least pretend they did not cost the earth, although in my heart I know otherwise.
Oh, it is beautiful.
It's a deep burgundy, multi-way, velvet bra and thong set with small diamante insets where the straps join the cups. A small chain of five diamantes dangle between the cups and a triangle of diamantes finish off the back of the thong
. And it fits perfectly. I find a pair of black thigh high stockings with lace tops and slip them on. I would not normally wear these, and hate to admit it - but they do feel sexy. Really sexy.
I brace myself for the dress and slide the zip down the white bag.
Oh!
It is
a Carmen Marc Valvo creation, stunning in passionate red chiffon. I pull the dress from the cover and slip it on, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I adjust the straps of the bra to allow for the one-shoulder neckline of the dress. The ruched bodice is gathered at the right hip and held in place with a floral appliqué. A matching appliqué adorns the left shoulder, balancing the design. From the hip, the skirt drapes loosely, flowing down to a small train behind me. It is timeless, flattering and absolutely gorgeous. I feel amazing; it is so not fair! A little more eager now, I dig the shoes from the box and blush. '
Oh yes and a pair of shoes I'm having some serious fantasies about.'
I gaze at
a pair of silver Charlotte Olympia sandals with killer five and a half in heels and a one and a quarter inch platform. Three intricate silver leather lace panels hold the shoe in place - one over the toe, over the middle of the foot and the last curving around the back of the heel and ankle, to tie at the front. Hell,
I
could have serious fantasies about these!
I slip them on and brush through my hair. I'm going to leave it loose tonight. It's behaving and that doesn't happen often. My makeup is light, but I
do not think anyone will be looking at my face with this dress on. I feel ten feet taller in the beautiful shoes - taller, sexier and ready to take on the world. Okay maybe just the party.
I head down stairs to where Chayton has promised to wait for me.
He is leaning against the breakfast bar, talking on his mobile and glances up at me as I reach the bottom of the stairs. We both gasp at the same time. Holy shit, he is hot in that tux. His eyes darken as I cross the room, suddenly feeling a little unsteady in the heels.
"Let's forget tonight and just stay here," he whispers hoarsely.
"What, why?" Now? When I finally
want
to go out?
"Because I'm not sure how long I can keep that dress on you."
"Oh!” I blush. "Well thank you. You were right and I am sorry. I feel great. You look pretty hot yourself Mister."
He gazes at me, his eyes feral. "You sure I can't talk you into staying?"
"Nope!" I grin.
"Not even like this?" he smiles as he runs his lips along my throat to my bare shoulder.
"Nope."
"Alright," he sighs.
~.~
Morgan drives us to the Fairmont Olympic Hotel and two liveried doormen open our doors. I've always wanted to come here. Just to look. It certainly doesn't
disappoint. Chayton offers me his arm and leads me through the foyer. He clearly knows his way around and a few staff greet him by name, greeting me as Ma'am as we stride by.
"Do me a favour, please?" he asks with a low voice as we walk through the impressive building.
"Depends."
"No righteous bull about cost versus outcome or self serving ego's tonight."
"Oh! Is it going to be that bad?"
"Acacia, this is more than a fund raiser. It's also a thank you
, to a lot people who support Liberal Brotherhoods charities throughout the year. It's my party and it's one I throw every year."
"Oh. Sorry, I didn't realise. Thanks for the warning," I mutter. "So your ego is well fed?
” I tease at the end.
"I'll have you in the hotel broom closet if you don't behave," he growls then nods and smiles at a couple walking in the opposite direction.
"Promise?” I ask sweetly, and I am rewarded with a dark smouldering glare and a gentle squeeze of my fingers.
We arrive at the entrance to the Spanish Ballroom and I stare in wonder.
Every description I've ever heard or read, has not come close to the wonder that greets my eyes. And it's huge!
Chayton leads me through and immediately
we are set upon by smiling well-groomed guests. In between a string of endless introductions and small talk, I try to take in the details of the room.
There are intricate plaster moulds everywhere. Even the half columns are covered
in complex patterns, which I am determined to get closer to at the first opportunity. Elaborate wall sconces set off a warm golden glow against the eggshell walls and deep, dark bronze trim sets off a fabulous contrast, drawing the eye to the detail. Along one side of the long ballroom is a balcony breaking the six meter height of the room. Along the other side, are a bank of huge arched windows, you could probably drive a bus through. The windows are elegantly dressed in thick bold swags. Three enormous and beautiful chandeliers hang at regular intervals dragging attention away from the modern inset down lights. The overall effect is total regal opulence.
The thick carpet absorbs much of the sound and despite that fact there is easily six hundred people here, the usual hubbub of voices and tinkling glasses is relatively low. So low in fact, that even above the sound of a small orchestra playing at the far end of the room, everyone is able to talk at normal levels.
"Will you do me another favour?” Chayton drags my attention away from the details on the nearest pillar.
"Hmm. Sure."
"If you want to study the architecture, I will bring you back."
"Really?
” I grin, letting my enthusiasm show inappropriately.
"Acacia, the party. Enjoy the party
. Please?" he groans.
"Oh, sorry. I get a bit carried away."
He gazes at me and sighs. "Don't apologise. It is actually refreshing. Most people are more interesting in catching up with or creating some kind of scandal. They take a room like this for granted."
"That's shocking," I gasp. "A room like this deserves admiration."
"So do you," he smiles. His eyes are glowing and his hair is calling to me to wind my fingers through it. "Would you care to dance Ms. Ward?"
"That might not be a good idea," I frown. "Put on a bit of bass, give me a pair of
sneakers and I can probably clear the dance floor of a bikers bar – but to this? I fear I may have six left feet."
"Trust me," he whispers against my forehead and leads me to the dance floor in front of the orchestra. We are the first on the floor and reach it just at the band starts playing a Strauss number. It's waltz and it's up lifting and light.
I had no reason to worry. Chayton takes the lead and my feet barely touch the floor. I feel like I'm flying, the room becoming a blur as we spin around the space at dizzying speed. I'm laughing breathlessly, clinging to his arm when the song finally ends. A small crowd has gathered and are applauding our efforts enthusiastically.
Oh no!
I can feel my neck and face turning the colour of my dress.
"This is embarrassing!
” I mutter under my forced smile.
"Why? No one is laughing at us."
"But still," I groan. Chayton laughs lightly and plants a kiss on my lips.
"You are beautiful. Enjoy the admiration."
The Master of Ceremonies takes to a small stage set up halfway down the length of the room. It has to be there, I realise. It's really hard to see anything from one end to the other: the room is just too long. I do some quick calculations. Gosh the room is easily thirty-six meters long, eighteenish wide. What I could do with a space like this if it were a blank canvas.