Rachel and I say hello to Callan, and then Rachel casually says, “Hi, Tahoe,” and I’m suddenly facing him and only him—and if Malcolm Saint is some sort of Zeus, then Tahoe Roth is a blond Hades—and I’m forcing my tongue to move as I stare into his face.
“Hey, stranger,” I say.
His sudden smile electrifies. “Hey, back.”
He may look like an Adonis, but there’s a darkness in his gaze. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who sees it. I see it now as I stare at his gorgeous, haunting face, with a shadow of a beard and full pink lips that I continue to see in my dreams.
He continues to smile, but his eyes are somber, blue pools of darkness sucking me in.
“Saint, I want to show Gina the pics of our Bali house and all those castles we went to.”
Saint signals to Tahoe, who, with a raise of his hand, confirms that he has Saint’s phone. He doesn’t hand it over, but merely watches me as he takes a seat on a long brown leather couch and continues looking at me, as if waiting for me to come and see them with him.
I sit on the couch beside him, and as I lean over and peer into the screen, his scent reaches me. He smells like pine trees. I love the scent of pine trees. It’s exotic to me. Like a vacation.
He uses his big thumb to scroll through the images as we both take in the pictures. Images of lush greenery and the most fantastic landscapes I’ve ever seen, like the Saints’ massive modern house in Bali and a lovely gray castle with a moat sitting in paradise.
“That’s my new place.” I reach around his arm and tap the picture of the gray castle.
“Nah…” He backtracks and shows me a picture of Versailles. “That’s the one.”
I set my chin on his shoulder and stare at it longingly. “That’s delightful…When do we leave?”
I nudge his elbow with mine, and he nudges me back with a twinkle in his eyes. “Whenever you want…perks of having a private jet.”
“Jackass. Should I pack a swimsuit?”
He smirks mischievously and nods at me slowly. “If you want to, but it’s certainly not required.”
“You’re not seriously alluding to skinny-dipping? You know I only do that drunk and at weddings.”
“I’m just saying, fortune favors the bold.” He looks at me with a raised eyebrow and that lone dimple of his.
“The bold, not the nude.”
He laughs—deep, rich male laughter—and I have never felt someone’s laugh course through my skin like a shiver.
“Hey, guys?”
I start at Rachel’s voice and only then realize that Tahoe and I are sitting so close we could be one. One of my breasts is basically pressed up against the back of his arm, nearly flat against his triceps muscle, and my chin is resting on his shoulder as I peer at the pics.
Rachel and Saint stand at the door. Rachel looks at me with curiosity, and Saint’s expression is unreadable.
“We’re starved and our kitchen won’t be stocked until tomorrow. Want to get something across the street?” Saint asks, looking at Tahoe meaningfully.
I stand slowly on rubbery knees and Tahoe says, “Saint,” and tosses his phone in the air.
* * *
We end up heading across the street to have dinner at a small café. Wynn joins us after the gallery opening, and because it’s so crowded and the restaurant only offers tables that seat up to four, the guys sit at the bar while Rachel, Wynn and I sit at one of the small tables.
The guys are causing quite the stir. Several women who were originally seated at tables are now moving to wait for seats at the bar, hovering near the guys and hoping to catch their attention. Saint ignores them, Callan chats them up, and Tahoe simply charms their socks off as they pant all over him.
Curious to hear what he’s telling the girls to make them look all googly-eyed, I decide to refill my glass at the bar. I’m surprised to realize he’s telling them about lacrosse. I would have thought the conversation to be a lot more lewd and crass.
They ask him all sorts of questions, but while he absentmindedly answers, he watches me. He’s still flirting and smiling, but his eyes are on me.
The feel of him watching makes me so nervous I trip on the leg of his stool on the way back to my table. He reaches out and steadies me, his fingers tightly grasping my arm. I recuperate quickly and mumble, “I got it.”
But actually, it’s Tahoe who’s definitely got it. He’s got his hands full with two women and somehow the guy still manages to get one of those hands on me!
I take my seat, and Rachel continues drilling me about Trent.
Trying to keep my eyes off the bar, I tell her more details about how we met, but I avoid mentioning the condom issue. Nobody knows about that but T-Rex and I want it to stay that way. And speaking of him, I’m also thankful that Wynn doesn’t jump in and tell Rachel that just the other night, Tahoe spooned me.
I tell Rachel that Trent is red-haired and good-looking in a non-overwhelming way. As I say that, I glance at Tahoe—the danger symbol and the complete opposite of Trent—and I notice that he’s moving like a blond panther toward our table. And he is looking directly at me. God help me, his dimple is showing.
“Regina,” he takes my arm to help me to my feet, “can I see you for a minute?” There’s laughter in his voice, and it makes me curious to know why, as well as want to share in that laughter for some reason.
“Yeah, sure.” I immediately stand and let him guide me to the door. “What’s up?” I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously, feeling myself smile because he’s smiling so hard.
He squints up at the clouds crowding the night sky, that Cheshire grin still on his face. “Too cold out here, let’s go sit in my car for a bit.”
We walk to his car, which is parked in the lot beneath the Saints’ building.
He opens the door for me then climbs behind the wheel. It’s warmer inside, but I rub my hands together and blow into them anyway.
“What is it?” I insist. “Come on, I’m freezing. And your floozies are probably dying after two minutes without you now.”
“They’ll be fine,” he cockily assures as he looks at me, his lips tilted, his dimple still showing.
“What is it?” I ask again. “I’m seriously starving and you’re interrupting my dinner, Roth.”
“I’m interrupting?” He laughs richly at that. “You, sending a little present to me, was not interrupting?” He pulls out what takes me a moment to discern are a pair of red lace panties.
“Those aren’t mine.”
He looks at them closely.
“Those damn panties aren’t mine. God, you’re disgusting!” I laugh.
“These aren’t yours?” He studies them again, then grins and stares at me. “I figured you for a red lace kind of girl.”
“Never.”
He opens the glove compartment, which has a shit-ton more panties.
“God, you’re disgusting, Tahoe!”
He shuts it after tucking the red panties in there, and he is wickedly sexy and shameless about it.
“What’s your kind then?” he asks, reaching out to my backrest and leaning forward into my seat a little bit.
“What?” His hand on the back of my seat makes me start for a second.
“Your kind? Men can tell a whole lot about a woman based on her underwear.” He nods knowingly.
“You totally flatter yourselves. You only think it says a lot but all they hint at is the mood we’re in.”
“Really.”
“Umm, yep. Really.” I nod knowingly too.
“So what mood are you in?” His voice drops a little bit as he looks down at me.
“I’m hungry,” I say flatly, aware of my stomach rumbling.
“Hunger is not a mood.”
“Right now it’s a state of being. I’m super hungry and I get moody when I’m hungry.” I glare at the glove compartment. “Now what woman on Earth would want to add her panties to that pile? Huh?”
“Someone fun and naughty,” he s
ays.
I meet his gaze, and he meets mine back, so very blue and so very taunting.
I pull my eyes away and stare out the window, feeling a little bit provoked. It’s nothing unusual, really, but tonight it feels worse, I can hardly stand it.
The night is cold; winter is coming to Chicago already. The windows are fogging up with our body heat. He alone is hot enough to fog any window; his body feels like a furnace. I can feel the warmth he emanates all the way to my seat and it takes effort not to draw closer.
I’m feeling reckless, crazy reckless. Determined to show him that I can be wild, fun, and unpredictable too. Fucker.
I turn my body so that he can’t see, then reach beneath my skirt and slowly start to ease off my panties.
He’s narrowing his eyes and smiling in disbelief, and I toss him a mischievous smirk as I ball them up and toss them into the glove compartment.
“Did you just take your panties off for me, you wicked girl?” he croons.
I nod slowly, inwardly feeling more disbelief than he. “If you can figure out which ones are mine, I’ll give you an A-plus and a gold star,” I say, trying not to sound breathless as I reach out to pat his stubbled cheek three times. Then, without another word, I get out of the car.
As I close the door, I see him grab all of the panties before getting out and following me. He shuts the door and locks the car with a beep, and as we head back to the sidewalk, he throws all of the panties into the first huge trash can that we see with the exception of one pair, which he keeps tightly fisted in his hand.
“You just threw away your entire collection? You could have totally thrown out mine!”
“We’ll see.” A confident smirk graces his lips.
He guides me back inside and takes his seat at the bar, while I return to the table with my friends.
From across the room, I watch as he reaches one thick finger into the right pocket of his leather jacket and pulls out an inch of fabric.
Peeking out at me, I see the navy-blue stripes of my little sailor boy shorts.
It should be funny, I mean, I was just joking around. Instead, all the dormant feelings and longing this man stirs in me are heightened as I think about him possessing something as personal as my pair of panties. And when I think of the collection he already had, I want to hit him nearly as hard as I want to take his goddamned beastly handsome face and kiss him.
I’m relieved and a little guilty when I get a call from Trent. I pick up and cover my free ear so that I can hear him better.
“Still with your friend?” he asks.
“Rachel, yes. We’re having dinner.”
“Where at?”
I tell him the name of the café.
“I’ll stop by on my way home, pick you up?”
I glance at Tahoe and notice there’s a girl talking to him and a part of me wonders if she’s the one who slipped her red panties into his pocket—panties that he thought were mine.
“Sure,” I whisper.
When Trent arrives in a cab twenty minutes later, I introduce him, “Trent, this is Rachel. Rachel, Trent.”
“Trent, I’ve been back less than a couple of hours and I haven’t stopped hearing about you,” Rachel says warmly as she greets him.
I lead Trent to the bar to introduce him to Saint and tell them all that we’re leaving.
Tahoe, who’s talking to some blonde, watches Trent narrowly while Saint shakes his hand.
As we say our goodbyes, Tahoe kisses the blonde on the cheek and comes to his feet. “I’m on my way out, I’ll drive you.” He looks directly at Trent as he fishes out a hundred-dollar bill to set on the bar.
I start at the offer, but Trent is already pumping his hand in greeting. “If you don’t mind, we appreciate it. Thanks, man.”
I ride shotgun in his Ghost, while Trent rides in the back, whistling appreciatively over the fine interior of Tahoe’s vehicle. “Great wheels, man. Spectacular.”
“She’s a smooth ride, isn’t she?” Tahoe’s voice is low and so intimate as he looks sideways at me that I feel naughty just hearing it. “A bit temperamental but I like her just like that.”
Trent laughs, but I’m scowling.
There’s silence before I once again hear Tahoe’s raspy voice. I notice his drawl is more evident.
“Hey, Regina, can you store this in my glove compartment? Some gorgeous cupcake left this in my possession and I want to be sure it’s in pristine condition when she wants it back.”
He smirks at me, his eyes dark and challenging.
I shove my navy-striped panties into the glove compartment, gritting my teeth, stealing a glance over my shoulder to see if Trent is watching. He isn’t…he’s preoccupied with the smooth leather and gadgets of the car.
When Tahoe finally drops us off at Trent’s building, I follow Trent out only to make an excuse and walk back. I swing open the passenger door of Tahoe’s car, lean in, and say in a demanding tone, “What are you doing?”
He looks at me, his eyes wild and untamed.
“Do you want him to break up with me? He likes me. He’s going to think you and I…”
I exhale, fighting very hard to recover my patience and self-control. I’m mad, but I don’t want to make a big deal out of it and alert Trent that something is up, so I open the glove compartment in an effort to retrieve my panties.
He reaches them first. He pockets them again, his expression unapologetic, a muscle working in his jaw. Then he nods at Trent, who’s looking at me. “Your prince charming awaits.”
THANKSGIVING
I tell no one about the panties and throw all my energy into the Thanksgiving holiday—I want it to be special since it’s the first holiday I’m spending with Trent. I ask him over for dinner at my place—and he’s “looking forward to it.”
It’s a bit complicated, having a vegan boyfriend. I spent the whole day yesterday trying to figure out what to cook for us. I researched online and end up trying a quinoa recipe and a cranberry sauce. We have a nice dinner at my apartment, and thankfully Trent seems to enjoy the meal. He brought wine and lifts his glass.
“I’m thankful for you this Thanksgiving, Gina,” he says.
“I’m thankful for you too.” I smile. We kiss a little, but I tell him I need to go to bed early, so he reluctantly goes home.
I want to get a good night’s rest so I’m ready for the Black Friday sales tomorrow. It’s one of the busiest days of the year at the department store. But even after going to bed early, I still have a restless sleep and spend an extra twenty minutes on my makeup the next day, trying to cover the bags under my eyes as I head to the store at 5 a.m.
THE PERFECT GIFT
It’s the first week of December, and I don’t know why I’m surprised that my parents can’t make it for Christmas. They can never make it. It almost feels like they would rather spend Christmas anywhere in the world, with any other person, than with their only daughter.
“I hope you make plans with one of your friends,” my mother says over the phone. “I don’t want you spending the time alone in your apartment. And I’m very sorry about the loan, but with all this traveling, we really can’t afford the expense.”
“Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll figure something out.”
I knew it was a stretch to ask them for a loan, but a part of me is still loath to leave my apartment.
I have the first half of next year to figure out my new situation, and although I’ve been working overtime to pay my rent, I still need to buy Trent a Christmas gift.
* * *
I schedule a shoot with a photographer for the first week of December, and on the second week, I go pick up my pictures. Since Trent left a few days ago to visit his family, he’s taking a little longer to answer my texts.
Peering into the manila envelope with the pictures, I sit and ponder what to do.
I call Tahoe’s cell phone. I don’t know why it’s his opinion I want, why he’s the first one I’m going to show these to, but I tell myself
it’s because he’s the player that I’m closest to and maybe I also want to start our friendship back up.
“Hey. Hi. It’s Gina. Hey, could I come over to your place today?”
“Yeah, sure, Regina. Everything alright?” I imagine him frowning.
“Oh yes. No…hospitalizations.” I laugh at my own joke. “I just wanted to make sure you’re not busy. You know, doing…”
He chuckles a low, lazy chuckle, catching my meaning. “Come by my office, I’ll be here for a while.”
“Okay, I’ll see you there. I won’t really take up much of your time. Oh and hey.” I pause. “Thank you.”
* * *
His office is in the corporate building that handles most of his enterprises, a massive forty-floor skyscraper that could not be more modern had it been built a hundred years into the future. After being allowed inside by the receptionists in the lobby, I take the elevators to the executive floor.
I introduce myself to a young, handsome guy who is probably Tahoe’s PA. He greets me cordially and shows me down a hall with dozens of black-and-white photographs of oil rigs. The floors are dark wood and the furniture light in color; the combination simple and powerful.
“Miss Wylde is here, Mr. Roth,” his assistant says as he opens a massive brass door.
He keeps it wide open and there sits the dark prince of the playboys. The blond beast in his cave.
Tahoe Roth knows how to rock his suits. But every time he wears one, I’m struck by the ruggedness that still seeps through, like he’s more of an outdoors kind of guy —an adrenaline junkie and a nature lover, one who hit a gold mine when he struck oil and invested well. There’s smarts and pride behind those eyes. He owns the suit but it looks like his cage; the beast is prowling within.
His blue eyes flare when he sees me. His lips curve up in a smile as he stands. He moves like a lazy feline, stretching his muscles after a long nap.
I’m massively impressed as I head inside. “Nice cave,” I say appreciatively.