Chapter 11 - Emmanuil
I watch from the window as the jeep drives away.
She thinks she’s won, that she’s off on a solo adventure without any security guards, but the truth is that I have a private guard following her every move. The more obvious guards are just for show. This guy tracks her and makes sure she’s fine without her even realizing he’s there.
I couldn’t take any risks. Not after the shooting at the mall.
The jeep disappears down the road, out of sight, but not out of mind.
I wonder where she’s going.
I saw that cute little dress she was wearing. Her hair was up in a messy bun, curling waves hanging around her face.
Her lips were glossed, and when she walked away, the hallway smelled of her perfume.
She’s fine. Let her go wherever she wants to go. The guard won’t let anything happen to her, and he won’t let her get up to anything she shouldn’t be doing.
Turning from the window, I head into my home office to get some work done for the day. I have a number of things to deal with, and Ardalion also wants me to go over a proposal he’s put together for a new client to make sure I agree with everything he’s offered.
He’s already asked me for my response twice. Another delay, and he’ll start getting suspicious that something’s up with me, especially after discovering my rival’s sister in my home.
Sitting at my desk, I open the proposal and read through it. Every line I read, I have to read again.
Where did she go? Who is she talking to?
I shake my head and refocus.
Deliveries, insurance on the shipments, price per gram, and turnaround times.
My head is swimming with numbers, but none of them are sticking enough for me to make an informed decision or give Ard my opinion.
I have to know where she is and what she’s doing.
I could message the guard. He could send me a report.
Reaching across the desk, I grab my phone, which I tossed down.
My fingers flick across the screen.
Me: Please report in. Where is she?
The reply is instant.
Philip: She’s at Beach Grove Bar, having a cocktail.
My stomach tightens. I remember her wearing that pink dress, her sassy remark about how she’ll go to a bar and there will be nothing I can do about it.
A dangerous growl rolls from my throat.
I toss my phone aside and look at the laptop again, but it’s pointless. There’s no hope. I can’t focus on this at all, and even though I know Ard is going to message me later to ask again, maybe I’ll just tell him it all looks good.
Standing up, I fold my laptop closed and slide my phone into my back pocket. Beach Grove Bar is just down the road. It’s a popular spot for overly rich assholes who like to sleaze over young, beautiful girls.
I clench my jaw, not liking the images flickering through my mind.
I imagine myself walking into the bar and finding her surrounded by men, buying her drinks, chatting, laughing, her leaning into them and gently touching their chests as she smiles that gorgeous smile.
It makes me walk faster, hurrying to my car so that I can get there quicker and interrupt whatever is going on.
She can’t be behaving like that in public.
It might not be everyone’s knowledge that we’re married, but if someone found out or the story came out later, it would make me look bad.
Like, I can’t even keep my wife happy. And I don’t like to look bad.
I leave the top down on my Corvette. The hot sun and ocean breeze whip around me as I speed down the beach strip towards her.
I park like an asshole, half on the pavement, right outside the entrance. No one says anything. They know better.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the bouncer says with a nod.
“Jerry,” I nod back.
Music is pulsing from inside.
I walk in to see the sun beginning to set behind the open stretch of the front of the bar. Some people are dancing on the sand, some are dancing inside under the giant palm leaves woven into the ceiling.
I squint my eyes, searching the crowd for Anya, my eyes moving through the bundles of men standing around the bar, tipsy and laughing loudly.
Where the hell is she?
I spot Philip sitting quietly on the end, sipping soda water. He tilts his head towards a front corner table. I look in the direction of his tilt and see her sitting there.
Completely alone.
There is a giant orange cocktail in front of her, half drunk.
She’s sitting with her back leaning against the wall, one leg folded elegantly over the other as she stares towards the people dancing on the beach.
She has a soft smile on her face, peacefully entertained. Calmly happy in her own little world.
I knit my brows, leaning against the bar and watching. I order a drink, my eyes on her, waiting for something to happen—for a man to join her, for someone to take the empty seat opposite her, returning from the bar where he went to get a fresh drink.
But it doesn’t happen.
No one comes. She’s just sitting happily alone, enjoying her own company.
I pick up my vodka soda and make my way to her table, sitting down without an invitation.
“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” I remark.
She smirks, her eyes narrowing and sparkling as she shoots me a look. “It is. What are you doing here?”
“I was passing by after work. Thought I’d stop and have a drink.” I shrug, leaning back and sipping my vodka.
“Specifically here. You just happened to choose this bar.”
“I like this bar,” I say casually.
She continues to grin at me as though she knows a secret I don’t. Her cheeks are rosy from the sun. I can smell sunscreen and sweet fruity drinks.
“Do you come here often?” I say, knowing I’m playing with fire by throwing this flirty, playful comment at her. But it slips out before I can filter it away.
“This is my first time. I’m in San Diego on vacation,” she answers, immediately playing along. “And you? I can’t imagine a lot of men coming to a beach bar in a suit.”
“I came from work and need to relax a bit before I head home.”
“Wife and kids waiting for you?” She lifts her drink and wraps her lips around the straw, drinking the last of it, her eyes on me.
“No, I’m a free man,” I grin.
Her eyes glitter again, her perfect lips curling into a perfect smile, and my heart flutters in my chest. If only I could meet her all over again. No past. No pain.
“Well, free man, I’m Anya. Now, are you going to buy a girl a drink or just sit there flirting?”
I lift my hand in the air without taking my eyes off her. The waiter comes over and I order her another drink. He smiles at her, not at me.
When he’s gone, she giggles and dips her hand into her purse, pulling out her lip gloss.
“It really is beautiful here, though. Did you track my phone again?” she asks, not sounding in the least bit bothered as she touches the gloss against her lips, and I wonder if it tastes like strawberries.
“Perhaps,” I answer elusively.
She rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I’ve been toying with the idea of going for a swim. I haven’t been in the ocean in ages. Will you swim with me?”
“In my suit?” I chuckle.
“I was hoping for fewer layers.” She bites her lip, and it sends a wild thrill of desire bolting straight to my cock.
The waiter sets another cocktail in front of her, and she takes several long sips, then licks her lips.
She giggles again. “I don’t have my bikini, either. We could swim naked and cause a big scene.” She gestures across the crowd of dancing people.
“How many of those have you had?” I ask, realizing that she might be a little drunk. Why else would she be this playful with me?
“A girl never tells.” She winks at me. “But seriously, it’s hot—and we should swim.”
“We can swim at home.”
“I don’t want to go home yet, it’s boring at home. No one talks to me there and I’m all alone,” she huffs, pouting out her bottom lip.
She’s definitely drunk. It’s amusing, but I don’t like the idea of her being drunk in front of these men. I’d rather take her home where it’s safe.
Anya perks up in her seat, sitting straight, her brows shooting up.
“I want ice cream,” she declares, as though it’s the best idea in the entire world. I laugh, shaking my head.
“Alright. Then ice cream you shall have.” Standing up, I take this as my moment to coax her out of here without too much of a fight.
She jumps up too, a little unsteady, and takes my hand.
I lead her through the bar, her body pressed close to mine as we weave between people.
Every now and then, I hear her giggle, or she stumbles and grips tight onto my shirt.
When we’re past the crowds, I pull her to my side and wrap my arm around her waist, walking her to the car.
“I think I can guess how many cocktails you had.”
“Oh, shush, what are you—the fun police?” she waves her hand through the air in front of my face.
The top is still off the Corvette, so I lift her in my arms and place her in the seat without opening the door. She finds this hilarious and gets a proper fit of the giggles.
Climbing in next to her, I have to keep reminding myself that this isn’t like old times. This isn’t us on a night out, laughing together, having fun.
But she looks so beautiful, so carefree, and so sun-kissed—it’s stirring so many emotions inside me.
While I’m driving, she leans over and puts her head on my shoulder.
It catches me off guard, but I end up wrapping my arm around her anyway.
“Are you okay, kitten?” I ask, glancing at her.
“I’m wonderful. How are you?” she asks.
“Fine. I’m fine,” I say tightly, trying to ignore how incredible she feels against me.
At home, she forgets she wanted ice cream, but she’s still hell-bent on going for a swim.
“Oh my goodness, who keeps making the floor move?” She giggles, holding onto my arm and pulling me towards the patio. “Let’s swim.”
“I am not swimming now, Anya.”
“You said you would,” she teases me. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”
She lets go of my arm, risking her balance, and grabs the bottom of her summer dress, pulling it up over her body. Black lace G-string.
I groan loudly, gritting my teeth together, wondering if I should stop her or enjoy the show.
For fuck sake, Emmanuil. Stop her. What the hell are you thinking?
“You can’t swim now. Not after so many drinks,” I laugh, trying to grab her dress and pull it back down.
That perfect waist. Her beautiful, tight little ass. I can’t be tortured like this. It isn’t fair.
She sways a little and glares up at me, leaning into me, her breasts pressed against my chest as she sasses, “I’m hot.”
“Yes, yes, you are,” I whisper.
She grabs her dress again, and this time she manages to get it all the way over her head, but she gets stuck with it wrapped around her arms, up over her head.
“I didn’t undo the zipper,” she laughs, muffled from under the fabric as she almost falls over. I reach out and grab her. My hand brushes over her naked skin. She wiggles against my body, rubbing herself over me as she continues to try and free herself from the dress.
“Stop, let me help you,” I laugh, trying to make light of the situation, but the truth is I’m in agony. My desire is so heated that my cock is rock-hard. She hasn’t noticed, thank fuck. But I want her. I want her so badly.
She stops maneuvering and patiently waits for me to untangle her. I pull the dress up, over her arms, pausing with it wrapped around her wrists like a restraint.
I have her hands held above her head, her body on display. Black lace panties and a black lace bra that covers nothing. Her dark, round nipples are pressed against the sheer fabric, pert and taunting me.
I take a step forward, and she takes a step back, her ass sitting against the back of the outdoor sofa, and she spreads her legs, looking up at me with glittering golden eyes.
“Swim with me,” she whispers, and I have a feeling she isn’t talking about swimming at all.
If my heart beats any faster, I’m going to need a hospital. If my cock gets any harder, it’s going to tear through the seams of my pants.
I clench my jaw, begging myself not to do this.
Anya notices my hesitation and nose scrunches as she puts her lips. “I haven’t had sex in so long, stop teasing me like this.” She tugs her hands away from mine. I release her wrists, the dress still in my grasp.
She wanted sex. Why else would she say that? Just sex? Can I sleep with her and have it mean nothing?
My mind has gone into overdrive. My cock is dripping, throbbing, begging me to thrust myself into her perfect little pussy.
She wouldn’t fight me. She wants this.
Anya giggles and sways, even sitting down on the back of the sofa.
She’s too drunk.
What the fuck am I thinking?
Everything about this is wrong.
She leans forward, resting her cheek against my chest.
“So, are you going to swim with me or—“
Leaning down, I scoop her into my arms and cradle her against my chest. “You’re going to bed, kitten. I have a feeling you’re going to wake up feeling like hell tomorrow.”
She mumbles something I can’t hear as my hand drifts over her nakedness. Taking the stairs two at a time, I rush to get her to her bedroom. I don’t want to control myself. I need to get away from her.
Peeling her blankets away from the bed, I lay her gently beneath the covers and quickly pulled them up over her beautiful body.
It takes everything in me to walk away.
But the truth is that, despite everything Anya has done to me, and whether I want to admit it or not, I never want to hurt her. I never want to do anything to her that would make her hate me.
“Can we get ice cream?” she mumbles, her eyes closed, her lips parted, and her face pressed into the pillow.
“Sure, we can get ice cream,” I whisper back, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “In the morning.”
Her skin is soft and warm against my lips.
Before I walk away, I watch her for a long moment, wondering what life would have been like if it hadn’t gone so wrong.
After setting a glass of water and some headache tablets on her bedside table, I go to my room, leaving her door slightly open so I can hear her if she calls out to me or needs anything in the night.
I climb into bed thinking about her.
When I close my eyes, I picture what I wanted to do to her tonight out on the patio, with her legs spread around me and her perfect nipples shining through her lace bra.
I wonder when she last was with someone. She’s going to die of embarrassment tomorrow if she remembers telling me it’s been a while.
The thought angers me, though.
I don’t want her with anyone. Even if it has been a long time. I don’t want to think of any man touching her.
It’s been five years since you broke up, Emmanuil. She’s probably dated many men since then.