Until I'm Yours (8 page)

N
ot him again.

I’ve been ignoring my cell all morning, but if I see Rip’s name flash on the screen one more time, I may hurl the phone through my office window. And it’s a new phone. A new window, for that matter.

“Rip, hey.” I lean back in the office chair I managed to smuggle from Bennett Enterprises in last week’s move.

“Sofie, I’ve been calling you all day,” Rip says, voice petulant.

“Have you? Sorry, I’ve been slammed here at the office.”

“Did you see what the
Post
wrote about us? They’re reporting that we’re done.”

“Is that what they said?” I massage one temple. In just the week since our split, I’d almost forgotten what a recalcitrant child Rip can be.

“How’d it get out so fast? I haven’t told anyone because I’ve been hoping you’ll rethink the breakup.”

“What can I say? We live in a bubble. Hard for people like us to keep secrets.” I check a chip in my manicure. “And I have thought this through, Rip. I told you that last week when we ended things.”

“But I thought maybe we could just take some time apart and figure things out.”

“I just think we’ve come to the end of our road.” I draw a deep breath, making a conscious effort to gentle my voice. “We can still be friends, but that’s all I want.”

“Is there someone else?”

Trevor Bishop’s face, the square jaw and lean cinnamon-scruffed cheeks dented with those damn dimples, splatters itself all over my mental canvas. Not a day has gone by since that man traipsed off to Cambodia that I haven’t thought about him. It’s really irritating.

“There’s no one else, Rip. Just me. It just needs to be me for a while.” I let that sink in before checking to make sure he understands. “Okay, Rip? Friends?”

“Friends for now, Sofie,” Rip says. “But you know how hot it was between us. I’ll try not to rub it in when you come knocking wanting more.”

Don’t flatter yourself. Don’t hold your breath or your dick.

“M’kay. Take care, Rip.”

Why did I answer? His call has thrown my schedule off, and I need to get across town to meet with François’s team about the unveiling of the Goddess scent. I’m gathering a few things to work on in the car while I ride when my cell rings again. I don’t recognize the number, but I called a few artisans for Haven. It could be one of them returning my call.

“Hello?” I don’t give more information than that in case it’s a wrong number.

“Sofie, hi.”

That voice pours over me like a vat of honey, and just those two words run down my body, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their sweet, sticky wake. I’d know that voice anywhere.

“Who is this?”

Trevor’s deep chuckle rumbles from the other end.

“You don’t recognize my voice, Sofie? I’m hurt. Truly.”

“How’d you get my private number?”

“I’m a well-connected man.”

“Are you back in New York?” Even though I have no intention of seeing him, I’m curious if it’s even a possibility.

“Got back yesterday. Sorry it took me so long to call.” A small pause hangs between us. “I read that you dumped the quarterback.”

“Did you now?”

“Which brings me to the reason for my call.”

“Which is?” I brace myself to refuse anything this man asks of me.

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

“I’m busy tonight.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Uh…the next night?”

“Sorry, no.” I heave a sigh. “We talked about this. Go find yourself a Marlee.”

“But I want myself a Sofie.” I hear the grin in his voice and want to slap myself across the mouth for grinning back.

“We all want things we can’t have.”

“That’s not my mantra.”

“You have a mantra? How very pretentious of you.”

The low-timbered laugh from the other end tightens my nipples in the silk cups of my bra.

“I can’t remember ever being called pretentious before.”

“Oh, then I’m your first. I promise to be gentle with you.”

“No.” His voice dips and goes a shade darker. “Don’t be.”

Damn, it’s hot in here. I fan myself with the report Marlee sent over this morning.

“I have to go, Bishop. I’m already late for a meeting.”

I hang up before anything else on my body goes wet or tight. Just two minutes of that Southern drawl has me making battery-operated plans for tonight.

“Was that Rip again?” Stil places a mint green and white shopping bag on the corner of my desk. “Here’s a few pieces from Kerris Bennett’s Riverstone Collection, like you asked for.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah, she and I are supposed to meet soon. Can you confirm?” I peer into the bag at the three boxes stacked neatly. “And, no, that wasn’t Rip. Well it was, and then it wasn’t. Two calls.”

“Rip’s still not getting the message?” Stil drops into the seat facing my desk. “Even after we went to the trouble of leaking the story to the
Post
?”

“Yeah, even still. I’m done being subtle and sweet.” I grab my floppy leather clutch and my iPad, standing. “Remind me again why I’m not at least experimenting? Men aren’t worth the trouble.”

“I’m sure I can find you some girl-on-girl.”

“No, thanks.” I pair a wicked smile with a wicked wink. “I like riding stick too much.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Stil giggles. “You said it was and then it wasn’t Rip. Who was the other call?”

“Oh, the
other
call.” I lower my head and bend over, focusing on slipping my heels back on. “That was Trevor Bishop.”

“Ooooh.” Stil rubs her hands together vigorously enough to make fire. “We like him.”

I make my face stern.

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.” Stil’s face softens. “I can tell you do, Sofie. You should give him a chance. I would.”

I stand up straight and give her my “you better not ever” eyes.

“You won’t.”

“Oh, is my girl jealous?”

“Never.” I grab my wrap for the October breeze that snuck into the city over the last few days. “You know I don’t do good guys.”

“You forget I’ve seen that good guy, and I bet he could do you good.”

You’re telling me…

“Well, he won’t get the chance, will he?”

Stil has this way of just staring at me when she knows there’s more, waiting for me to give it to her.

“Stil, everyone would ask what he saw in me. What he’s doing with me.” I grab the bottled water from my desk. “I’ve never been that girl, and I’m sure as hell not starting now. We don’t fit. We make no sense.”

“You never know.”

I smile at her over my shoulder on the way out.

“And I never will.”

H
aven.

The scripted writing on the office doorplate makes me smile. I never did find out what Sofie was up to. Guess I will today. A mahogany reception desk takes up a good portion of the cool-toned lobby. A man, slim, brown-haired, early twenties, is on the phone. He holds up an index finger, silently indicating that he’ll be right with me, and then waves me toward a set of sleek leather chairs. What’s with all the skeletal furniture? A guy as big as I am needs something wooden and sturdy. I’m afraid I’ll squash Sofie’s little leather sofa.

“How can I help you?” The receptionist runs his eyes up my legs and over my chest before finally reaching my face. “I’d
love
to help you.”

Well, this is awkward already.

“Um, hi.” I stand and approach the guy at the desk. “I’m here to see Sofie Baston.”

He glances from an iPad on his desk back up to my face.

“I don’t see an appointment.”

“Yeah, she must have forgotten to put it down.” I hope the smile I’m giving him is actually persuasive.

“Yeah, sure. That must be why she left for the day.” He rolls his eyes, but still looks interested. “You could leave a card with me.”

I don’t want to leave a card. I want…after three weeks, I’d just like to see Sofie. In a short time, I’ve grown to enjoy the way she layers sarcasm and testiness to hide what she’s really feeling. She may as well be using cellophane, that’s how apparent it is to me that she wants to explore what this could be between us.

“No card, but thanks.”

I’m headed toward the exit when a petite woman with dark, pink-streaked hair enters the lobby from the hall presumably leading to the offices.

“Gil, were those illustrations delivered?” A frown puckers her eyebrows together. “Sofie needs those for her meeting tomorrow.”

I hover near the door in case she drops information I may be able to use. She flicks a glance my way, looking away and then back again, eyes focusing on me.

“Have you been helped?” she asks.

“He was looking for Sofie.” Gil does air quotes, skepticism lining his otherwise unlined face. “An appointment that she must have forgotten.”

“I keep Sofie’s schedule,” the little lady says. “She didn’t have an appointment this afternoon.”

“Miscommunication, obviously.” I head for the elevators.

“Trevor?”

My name called behind me stops me in my tracks. I turn to find the lady smiling now.

“Trevor Bishop, right? I thought that was you.” She grins, gesturing for me to follow her down the hall. “Come on back.”

What happened? Am I missing something? Only one way to find out. Little lady leads me back down the hall into a spacious office decorated in shades of gray and green. She indicates another tiny chair that looks like it probably can’t hold me.

“So I finally get to meet you.”

I freeze, halfway down to the narrow seat.

“Finally? You obviously know my name.” My brows go up as I sit down. “And you are?”

“Call me Stil.” She sits on the edge of her desk, her sharp eyes taking in my shoes, gray slacks, and dark sweater. “You’re even better in person.”

“Excuse me?” I manage a quick, self-conscious laugh. She doesn’t hide the admiration in her eyes, but I don’t get an interested vibe from her at all. “How do you know me?”

“Sofie watched some of your talks.” Stil rolls her eyes and grins. “Actually a lot of them.”

I run my palms over my knees, keeping my face neutral so she won’t know how much that information pleases me.

“She did mention that.” I look at her like I fully expect her to answer my next question. “Where is she?”

Stil gives a husky laugh and wags a finger at me.

“Oh, no, buddy. I’m not that easy.” Her face drops any sign of amusement. “What are your intentions toward Sofie?”

“My
intentions
?” I run a hand over my closely cropped hair. “Does she have a dowry I should know about? Are we be betrothed now? What do you mean my intentions? I want to get to know her.”

“A lot of guys want to ‘get to know’ Sofie, but I was hoping you were different.” She stands, her mouth a straight line, and raises blue, disappointed eyes to me. “I’ll show you out.”

“I like her.”

The words spill out before I have time to think better of it. I don’t even know this little sprite of a woman, but it’s apparent to me that she cares about Sofie, that she knows her. And the fact that she knows more about Sofie than I do means I should take her question seriously.

Stil slowly settles back onto the edge of the desk, a small smile playing around her lips.

“What do you like about her exactly?”

I wasn’t prepared for a Sofie pop quiz.

“I like that she is absurdly honest,” I say. “Like rudely so.”

“You
like
that?”

“I hate bullshit. I hate having to figure out what people really mean behind what they say, and she’s not like that.” I shake my head and give a quick laugh. “Except for the fact that she pretends not to like me.”

Stil lifts one pierced brow.

“Confident, aren’t we?”

“Would she want a man who wasn’t?” I return her grin before continuing. “So will you help me? Tell me where she is?”

“No, I’m sorry I can’t tell you where she is.”

I stand up, ready to head out. As much as I want to find Sofie today, Henri will be calling soon reminding me about the meetings that take up the rest of my afternoon. The reason I’m actually in New York.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Stil.” I start toward the door.

“Wait.”

I look back to find Stil walking toward me, eyes fixed on her phone.

“I can’t tell you where she is now.” She glances up from her phone to offer a conspiratorial grin. “But I can tell you where she’ll be tomorrow.”

N
o pain. No gain.

Really, I put myself through this pain so I
don’t
gain. Even though I’m retiring from runway, I’ll have opportunities for years to come, if I play my cards right. If I expect to still fit the sample sizes my favorite designers send over, I’ll keep pressing through the pain of these crack-of-dawn workouts. Look at Christy Turlington, Giselle, Kate Moss. All older than I am. All with endorsement deals and contracts coming out of their perfectly toned asses.

These are the things I recite to myself as I walk to Bodee Barre Studio a few blocks from my apartment building. I, along with just five other women, take private barre classes from Jalene, a former ballerina and the tyrant we voluntarily submit to at least four times each week. I hang my coat up in the small coatroom at the back of Jalene’s studio, tugging off my UGGs and pulling my gripping socks out of the bag. My black capri leggings and hot pink halter top are both from a line I’m test running for Haven. It seems like everything I eat, do, or wear lately connects to Haven. I’m not complaining. With all the crap going wrong in my life right now, Haven feels like the only thing going according to plan.

“Morning, Sofie.” Anna, one of the girls in the class, walks in and starts the same ritual I just completed, hanging up her coat and slipping on her barre socks. “How are things going?”

“Great.” I pull my hair into a high ponytail and manage to grin at her despite the early hour and lack of caffeine. “How’d the audition go?”

Anna spends the next few minutes telling me about her upcoming Broadway show while we walk back out into the studio. The other three girls have already assumed their places at the barre.

“Morning, ladies.” Jalene’s bright eyes and smile defy the early morning hour. “Hope you’re ready to work hard. We’re supposed to have a guest, but I don’t see—”

The door behind me opens, ushering in some of the brisk October morning air.

“Ah, here he is now.” Jalene’s aging-but-still-lovely face breaks into a girlish grin.

I glance back to see the guest who elicits such an uncharacteristic response from the termagant ballerina.

Unbelievable.

Trevor Bishop’s eyes locked with mine are like hot chocolate on this cool autumn morning, steaming up the room around me. I’m trying hard not to eat this man up with my eyes, but after three weeks, the way he fills out the sweatpants dripping from his hips and the Princeton sweatshirt pressing against those massive shoulders, has me greedily taking in every detail. I still feel his eyes on me when I make myself turn away.

I miss whatever Jalene says about him joining us today. It doesn’t matter. Whatever flimsy excuse he offered to get into my class doesn’t interest me. We both know why he’s here. I search for anger, frustration, irritation—something more appropriate than the tiny shoot of pleasure springing from some secret part of me that has hoarded images of him for the last few weeks. That part that should know better than to think things could work between a woman like me and a man like Trevor.

I face the barre, adjusting my socks, tugging on my leggings, tightening my ponytail—anything to occupy myself while he walks past me and into the coatroom without a word to stow his things.

“Glad I showed up for class today.” Anna glances over her shoulder at Trevor, her eyes running up then down his body as he walks back to the coatroom. “They don’t make ’em like that anymore. Not sure I’ll be able to focus on any positions this morning but the ones I’d like to have him in.”

I swallow a cutting reply. I have no right to be peeved over Anna’s appreciation for Trevor’s body. Wasn’t I just doing the same thing? And yet I want to strangle her with my towel even after she turns away to chat with someone else, the thespian hussy.

Something wide and hard and warm at my back makes me go completely still.

“Mornin’, Sof.” Trevor’s breath in my ear sprouts goose bumps all over my arms that have nothing to do with the slight chill Jalene maintains in her studio.

I turn to face him, ready to snap and hiss for this unconscionable invasion of my privacy, but every word dries up in my mouth at the sight of him. So this is what he’s been barely hiding under those perfectly tailored suits. The heavy slope of his shoulders strains the thin white T-shirt clinging to rungs of muscle in his abs. Arms and legs thick and cut up with muscle stretch from his sleeves and shorts. And if his big body wasn’t enough assault on my senses, his scent—something clean and unabashedly masculine—makes me wetter and weaker by the second.

“Cat got your tongue, Sof?”

Trevor’s words don’t even snap me out of my lusty inspection. Forget the cat. Trevor can have my tongue anywhere he wants it. Every reason I shouldn’t give this man a chance burns away under the heat of those dark, laughing eyes.

He’s too good for me, but I’m going to have him. At least once, and maybe only for a night, but I will have this big, beautiful creature.

And then I’ll walk away like I’ve always done before.

That certainty settles inside me. It slows the mad race of my heartbeat. It eases the ache at the apex of my thighs. It emboldens me.

“Bishop, so good of you to join us.” I step closer, becoming the aggressor, reaching up to run my fingers over the reddish brown pelt of his hair, lightly scraping my nails over his scalp. “You cut your hair. I like it.”

He draws a deep breath that brushes his wide chest against mine. My nipples predictably spring erect, tightening under the fitted halter top. His eyes drop to my breasts, slide over my hips, and caress the length of my legs before meeting my waiting gaze.

“Cat got
your
tongue, Bishop?” I ask, my voice husky.

He narrows his eyes at me and catches my hand, still touching the silkiness of his hair. He senses the shift in our dynamic but is trying to figure it out. Trying to figure me out.

Don’t worry, Mr. Bishop. I’ll clear it up for you soon enough.

“You’re not angry that I showed up in your class?” He releases my arm, and it drops to my side, a small frown furrowing those thick brows.

“Angry?” I feign surprise, touching the exposed skin of my chest where the halter dips, drawing his eyes back to my breasts. “Why would I be angry? I’ll warn you, though, Jalene’s tough. This class is not for the faint of heart.”

“Somehow I think I’ll be fine in your little ballet class.”

The road to humility is paved with cocky grins like the one he gives me as he looks from the slim barre at the mirror to the slim woman assuming her place to lead our class. A body like his doesn’t just happen, so I know he works hard at keeping fit. But barre requires something different; it will test muscles he probably doesn’t usually use in ways he’s never used them.

This should be fun.

I turn around. Between Jalene’s kick-ass barre routine and my ass in his face for the duration of the class, he’s in for an hour of torture.

“Good luck, Bishop.” I bend over to touch my toes, giving him an unobstructed rear view that has inspired poetry and prose from more than one melodramatic suitor over the years.

Did he just groan behind me? Already, and I’m just getting started.

And that’s not his last groan. Over the next hour, from the first position, through each grand plié, to the grand relevés responsible for all the killer calves in Jalene’s class, Trevor groans and grunts through a routine that, even after a year, still leaves me aching and sore. Jalene has no mercy on him, ruthlessly correcting his posture, adjusting his positions, and demanding his attention, all while I do my best to distract him with every stretch and lean of my body. Poor man must be exhausted, physically and mentally, but he brought this on himself.

And boy is he gonna get it.

“Excellent class, ladies.” Jalene concedes an appreciative grin for Trevor. “And gentleman. I’m impressed, Mr. Bishop. Beginners don’t usually fare as well in my classes.”

“If that was faring well,” Trevor drawls with a chagrined smile. “I’d hate to see crashing and burning.”

All the ladies laugh at his remark, and Anna is practically coquettish. She walks over to Trevor as everyone disperses.

“I’m Anna, by the way.” She appears so small and delicate beside him. I can’t stand petite women like her who look like they need saving all the time. Anna bats her lashes, lays a hand on Trevor’s arm, and even giggles. I’m so glad I haven’t had breakfast yet.

Have you no self-respect, woman?

And besides, I have plans of my own for Trevor Bishop.

I’m just about to break up that little tête-à-tête when Jalene stops me.

“Sofie, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back yet.” Jalene blocks my path to Trevor and Anna.

“Call?” I lean subtly to the left, just in time to see Anna following Trevor into the coatroom.

The hell.

“Yes.” Jalene raises her penciled brows expectantly. “You asked me about a series of instructional barre videos for your new lifestyle website, remember?”

“Oh, yes.” I try to focus on the conversation, but can’t help wondering what’s going on in that coatroom. “Of course.”

“I was afraid I wouldn’t have time, but I can do it.”

“That’s awesome, Jalene.” I give a quick smile. “My assistant Stil will contact you to set up details.”

“Great job in class today, Sofie.”

“Thanks.” Having Trevor behind me added a little something to my usual enthusiasm. “I need to grab my coat. Thanks again, Jalene.”

I speed walk to the coatroom, jerking the door open like I might catch Trevor and Anna in the middle of a compromising position. They are both fully dressed, though. Both layered up for the cool morning and laughing over something I’m sure I wouldn’t find funny.

“Sofie, hey.” Anna leans into Trevor, her head well below his shoulder. “I was just inviting Trevor to opening night for my new show.”

“Really?” I lean against the wall by the door. “And what did Trevor say?”

“I hadn’t gotten around to saying anything yet.” Trevor walks over to stand in front of me, taking my hand. “Maybe we could go together.”

Just past his shoulder, the dismay on Anna’s face is almost humorous. I’m sure when she invited Trevor, she wasn’t thinking he’d bring me along. And he won’t be.

“See you Thursday, Anna.” I address her, but my eyes cling to Trevor’s. Will I have to climb the man for her to take the hint?

“But, Trevor and I—”

“Thursday, Anna.” My eyes and words cut into her sentence like a razor blade. “Good-bye, Anna.”

She’s out the door without further protest.

Trevor rests one arm against the wall by my head, his scent and the warmth of his body sheltering and stimulating me, making me feel safe and completely vulnerable at the same time. He stares down at me, waiting for my move. I’ve never taken a step in his direction, and the fact that I sought him out obviously pleases him, but he knows me at least well enough to guess there must be a reason.

I reach behind me to lock the door. Trevor’s eyebrows lift, but he otherwise remains still. I reach up to rest an arm on his shoulder, sliding my fingers into the short, soft hair close to his scalp.

“Let’s get straight to the point and not play games, Bishop.”

His hand, wrapping around my waist, cupping the curve of my back, lays warm and heavy through the thin fabric of my workout clothes.

“I don’t play games, Sof.” Trevor leans down to whisper in my ear. “I’m a man who goes after what he wants and usually gets it.”

He pulls back, dark eyes not laughing, close to sober.

“Am I getting what I want?” He drops his other arm from the wall, bringing that hand to my side, and pulls me close enough to feel his hard body through the sweatpants and hoodie he’s put on. “Say yes.”

I’ll do better than saying yes. I’ll show him.

I tug his head toward me until our mouths touch. Those full lips are softer than I imagined. He opens me up with his tongue, delving into my mouth slowly, like he’s savoring the first taste of me as much as I’m savoring my first taste of him. He groans into our kiss.

“God, Sofie. I knew you’d taste like this.”

His words drop off and he pulls my bottom lip between his, every suck and pull a direct hit between my legs. My wandering hands explore the strong neck, the broad shoulders, the bulge of his arms, the tight waist. Even though he can never truly be mine, I’m claiming him for these moments at least. I open my mouth wider, stretching for him, pulling his tongue deeper into my mouth.

A warning flutters across my heart. This isn’t what I planned. This hot, sweet communion of a kiss. Part pure, part drug. You don’t model as long as I have without seeing drugs, maybe even sampling, and that’s what this kiss is. Like that first hit of cocaine, heady and entering your bloodstream with claws that sink in and steal all control before you know you’re addicted. This first kiss is that addictive. It’s not the hardness pressed to my stomach. It’s not the way my nipples pebble against his chest. Those things feel so damn good, but that’s not what I could become addicted to. It’s the feeling of rightness that could grab hold of me and never let go.

He skids his palms down my sides and over my hips to cup and squeeze my butt.

“When can I pick you up?” His question is a heavy pant against my lips.

“Now.” I curl one leg around him, waiting for him to hoist me up against the wall. “Pick me up now. We’ve got a little time. The door’s locked.”

I miss his breath on my lips as soon as he pulls back and peers down at my face. I don’t even try to hide the absolute need that must be burning from my eyes and smeared all over my face. Every part of me burns for him, wants him urgently, but only like this.

He cups my neck with one hand, his fingers slipping up to caress the skin there while his thumb plays over my lips. A smile softens his mouth and his eyes.

“No, Sof, I mean for our date. What time should I pick you up?”

I haven’t been as clear as I thought. I slip shaking fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and wrap my hand around his thick cock. Lord above, he’s big. My mouth waters at the thought of him holding my head still while he’s pushing down my throat. I squeeze the impressive length that might daunt a lesser woman, but not me. I slide my hand up and down until he squeezes his eyes shut, his mouth falling open as he leans into me and rests his forehead against the wall beside mine.