Chapter 9
HOLLISTER
I left through the back. Not in shame, not exactly, but with damp boxers, a pounding heart, and a thousand things unsaid still lodged behind my teeth. She didn’t follow. She couldn’t.
There were still patrons inside, hands to shake, art to sell, and photographs to be taken by her name etched in gold at the entrance.
She had to return to the festivities. Had to slip back into that perfectly poised hostess role, smooth the event over with smiles, and make small talk while my taste is still on her tongue.
I waited on the veranda behind the gallery for a full ten minutes, letting the night air dry the evidence of just how undone I was by her. Letting my mind absorb everything that had happened between us. Then I rapidly began making plans to see her again.
Very discreet. Very careful. Very sure.
Yeah, I was going to make sure I was all those things. I called my family driver to pick me up and drop me back at home, but not before arranging my plan. Send him to her house the next morning before sunrise. I didn’t ask her. Didn’t demand.
Just sent it with a simple note for him to give her.
If you’re serious about being a sinner,
come find me.
—H
I could have texted. Should have, as I stand here waiting.
But something about the car and note made it more bold, daring, and romantic.
Now I’m here on the tarmac. My shirt’s half-buttoned, sleeves rolled, linen pants loose around my hips, both blowing in the wind.
My sunglasses fix on the horizon, searching for that sleek black car, carrying my private little sinner.
The jet gleams behind me. Crew waiting, engine idling.
With every passing second of the sun rising and beating into my back, I wonder if she’ll come. My patience thins when I look at my watch for the dozenth time. I knew this was a huge risk. Having shut off my phone to intentionally block out any protest she could have sent, denying me this weekend.
It’s a gamble. One I’ve never taken for a woman. Yet she’s not just any woman. She’s badass Babs Barrett.
Stunning, perfect, and elite.
I force my gaze away from the gates where the car should be pulling through.
Exhaustion pulls at my body. I sketched all night.
Badly, I might add. Distracted. Every line turned into her.
Every stroke of charcoal circled back to the curve of her shoulder, the ridge of her mouth, the heaviness in her stare.
All with a hard cock and more feelings in my chest than I’m used to.
I can’t believe I came in my pants like a damn teenager. It speaks to how much I want her. She could touch me right now, and I’d probably bust a load even though I jerked off twice since she kissed me last night.
Fuck if that wasn’t a win.
I wasn’t sure what I was doing when she joined me out there. But I knew I had to try. I had to taste her, kiss her, and see if she was as into me as I was her.
I’ve fucked enough women to know that chemistry makes every encounter better.
Fuck me. The chemistry between us is incredible.
The banter is beyond anything I’ve known.
I definitely want more, but would she? That kiss was something, but not enough to go all the way with me.
I’ve kissed tons of women with no intention of fucking them.
Then again, it’s not even fair to compare her with them. She’s in a league of her own.
I close my eyes. Breathe her name into the wind like a fool. She’s not coming. I overplayed my hand. Then I hear it, the quiet vroom of the car’s engine.
My eyes flip open, and my head swivels to the black Rolls-Royce pulling in several feet away. My heart thunders in my chest. I don’t move, having practiced my position rooted by the stairs, having waved the staff away. If anyone was going to greet and show her in, it was going to be me.
The driver gets out. His face is polished professionalism that gives nothing away when he opens the back door.
A pair of black stilettos hit the concrete, followed by miles of glistening skin, until she accepts the driver’s hand.
A little black dress, hair swept up like she’s attending another charity event.
Huge sunglasses hide her face, and the red of her lips reminds me of how stained mine were last night when I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror.
She dressed completely wrong for where we are going. I gave her no clue as to our destination.
So she wore her armor.
It makes me smile. Makes my heart beat faster. Makes my cock harden at the thought of peeling it off. Her heels click sharply on the tarmac, owning the airstrip as easily as she did the gallery last night. The driver wrestles with her luggage behind her.
“I wasn’t sure about this.”
My smile widens at her honesty. Her vulnerability.
Yet she’s walking toward me. Toward this.
The world can fuck off if that’s what she’s worried about.
I close the distance, wanting to hug and kiss her.
But I don’t. Not in front of the staff. Not until I get her alone.
Instead, I cup her elbow, helping her up the stairs.
“Neither was I.”
My words settle over her. A visible breath of relief eases the tightness around her lips when we get inside the cabin.
Her dark features and black clothing look out of place against the cream interior.
When she drops into the seat, crossing her legs and looking expectantly at me, I think black cat is more accurate to describe her. Graceful, solemn, and always watching.
She doesn’t remove her glasses. Not when reciting her Bloody Mary drink order and waving away the offer for food.
I sink into the captain’s chair next to hers while the staff closes the door and prepares the plane for takeoff.
She peers around the cabin, expressionless with only a clipped, “Thank you,” to the attendant bringing her drink and my water.
It’s not until everyone is seated and out of earshot that she leans toward me. One perfectly manicured hand slides the sunglasses down her nose like she’s not just about to ask a question, but deliver a challenge. They catch at the tip, her eyes locking on mine. Cool, sharp, and unreadable.
“Where are we going?” She surveys my half-buttoned shirt, linen pants, and casual shoes. “Why do I feel wildly overdressed compared to you?”
I grin.
“That’s easy. I dressed for seduction. You dressed for self-defense.”
She arches a brow.
“Interesting that your version of seduction looks like you wandered out of a Luca Faloni beach shoot. Do you always wear linen when you’re plotting something?”
“Only when I’m hoping the woman in stilettos will take pity on me and strip me out of it.”
She hums low in her throat, setting her drink down.
“You assume I packed mercy in my suitcase.”
I lean in, my lips brushing against her ear and sneaking in a quick kiss.
“No, Barbara. I’m counting on the fact that you didn’t.”
She slides her sunglasses off completely now, folding them with slow, deliberate grace. Her gaze meets mine. Now, smoky, unflinching, and dangerous.
“If I end up barefoot in a sundress in some bougie little hideaway, just know I’m blaming your reckless charm and this aggressively smooth plan of yours.”
“You say that like it’s a threat,” I murmur, eyes lingering on her mouth, wanting to devour it. She notices. Her eyes dart down to mine and then back up.
“It is.”
I smile, every inch of me pulsing with lust at the fact that she got in the car at all.
“Good. I like a woman who makes good on her threats.”
“You’re a masochist.”
She smiles, the first one of the day. One of many more if I can help it.
“That makes you a sadist.”
My cock is blistering hard and uncomfortable. I make it a point to adjust him right before her eyes. Like fucking catnip to my black feral feline, she takes the bait and watches. Those red lips mash together, and I can’t wait to separate them with the head of my cock.
“What’s life without a little pain, Hollister?”
She leans back, sipping her drink and looking out the window as we ascend into the sky. As if she didn’t just leave me leaking in my underwear, once again.
“Holy mother of sin,” I mutter, adjusting my cock again and locking eyes with the attendant, seeing it. She quickly looks away in embarrassment.
The rest of the plane ride is quiet. Both of us are lost in our thoughts.
Mine, of all the ways I’m going to fuck her.
All the ways I’m going to sketch her naked.
I can barely contain my excitement, and my knee bobs because of it.
The forty minutes fly by with barely any movement from her until I realize that she’s dozing off.
Perfectly still, head resting against the seat, eyes closed but otherwise poised in elegance even when sleeping.
This woman.
Everything about her is a testament to her beauty and wellness regimen. It’s enthralling and intriguing. I study her the whole time. Memorize the angles of her face and silhouette. Quickly becoming my muse.
It’s only upon our final descent and landing that her eyes flip open to stare into mine. A glimpse of surprise before recovering into her steely mask.
“The Hamptons?”
Her voice question is quiet against the noise of the crew securing the aircraft for our exit.
“Very discreet. Very careful.”
She smiles, hearing her words come back to her. Little does she know, I commit everything she says to memory. All artists strive to bring authenticity to their works.
“Your family home?”
“Yes.”
“And the staff?”
“Paid handsomely for their discretion.”
And non-disclosure agreements are signed before they set foot on any of our properties. I assume it’s the same at her estate, at least that’s what Dom said when he took me to Barrettmoor once, several years back. A place he hates yet escapes to. The paradox of that lost on me.
“And Barbara?”
She raises her eyes from her drink, not answering.
“Very sure.”