Chapter Six
Trent
I dial the number for the thousandth time, but once again all I get is voicemail. I’ve left more messages than I can count, and Katie hasn’t returned a single one of my calls. What the hell? Usually it’s the other way around. Generally, women are the ones that come looking for me, hoping for more, but it’s me who avoids their calls.
But something about Katie is special. I can’t stop thinking about her, and ever since that night two months ago, I’ve been trying to reach her with no luck.
“Amanda,” I bark into the intercom. In a moment, she pops her head into the doorway to my office. “Has Katie called for me?”
“Katie?” she asks, brows scrunching with puzzlement. “Who’s that?”
“The woman who put together the party,” I clarify impatiently. I don’t know how she’s forgotten Katie given that she was her contact.
Amanda’s face becomes unreadable. “Oh right,” she says in a smooth tone. “No, she hasn’t tried to reach you that I know of.”
I rub my hand over my face. Of course she hasn’t. Why would she? The brunette made it very clear when she ran off that morning that what we had was a one-night thing. It didn’t matter that our sexual attraction was electric. She left as quickly as she came, clearly believing that the whole night was no big deal.
A small part of me says I should be grateful that she’s gone radio silent because this is what I want, isn’t it? After all, some of the women I’ve been with are totally indiscreet. They try and sell their stories to the tabloids. One woman even leaked pictures, believe it or not, taken from a secret camera attached to her purse strap. The damage control that Amanda had to do was fucking unbelievable on that one. I won’t deny my image as a playboy, but that doesn’t mean my personal business should be splattered all over magazines for people to see. I may flaunt my wealth at times, but I still deserve privacy.
Dread fills my stomach, making it heavy and nauseous. What if Katie’s just like the rest of them? What if she only came upstairs with me because she wanted to make a few extra bucks by selling a story to some magazine?
I squeeze my cell so hard that the glass almost shatters. It can’t be true, I tell myself, because the brunette was too giving and real, her curves lush and inviting as she moaned her pleasure. The way she curled into me while we just talked and got to know each other was incredible too. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but a part of me is certain that she wouldn’t do all that just to make a couple bucks.
Then again, maybe I’m the one who’s being stupid.
“Amanda, cancel my meetings for the rest of the day,” I say abruptly. “I have a headache. I’m going home.”
“Oh Mr. Moore, is there anything I can do?” she simpers, gaze bright and voice demure. I keep my eyes focused on hers even though I know her well enough to know her chest is puffed out like a peacock looking for a mate. But the thought of spending more time than necessary with Amanda is fucking poison to my soul. She’s the exact opposite of Katie—cunning, superficially beautiful, and self-serving—just like all the others.
I close my eyes briefly and say shortly, “Just cancel my meetings.” I turn away from her, signaling that our conversation is over, and she scampers away to do my bidding. There is no way I can do any work, so I close my laptop and shrug on my coat. Without another word to Amanda or any of my other employees, I escape down the stairs and out the back exit where my Lamborghini is parked in a private garage. After the door slams shut, enclosing me in blessed silence, I fumble around the glove compartment for some aspirin. Fuck. Is Katie going to sell our story to the tabloids? Hot Billionaire Gets It On With Party Planner? God, please no.
Finally finding the bottle of aspirin, I empty two pills into my hand and swallow them with a swift chug of water. I can feel them slither down my throat and into my system. If only the relief could come instantly. I turn the key in the ignition and let the Lambo’s tires squeal as I pull out of the garage. What a hellish day. I just want to be at home, where a glass of scotch might make things better.
Since I left in the middle of the afternoon before rush hour, the drive home is calm and peacefulness sets into my frame. But as I’m getting closer to my mansion, I notice a car parked on the side of the road ahead of me. It looks strangely familiar, like the hatchback Katie made her getaway in after our one night together. It’s yellow and faded, with a dent in the rear bumper. But I shake off the weird feeling. It’s nothing. I’m being a moony fool, and want to smack myself for being so obsessed. Why the hell would Katie be stopped on the side of the road near my home in the middle of the day? My headache is clearly causing delusions. I’m definitely going to need that scotch ASAP.
In less than ten minutes, I pull into the garage, parking my Lambo next to the red Ferrari. Finally, I can get some peace and quiet in the comfort of my home. But once I’m inside, my head of security practically jumps me.
“Sir,” Bruno says, “welcome home. You didn’t mention you’d be home early.”
I pat the large man’s shoulder reassuringly. I keep Bruno at home because I’m more worried about an unwanted presence here than at my office. Sure, my business has its enemies, but that’s all in the realm of white collar crime. By contrast, the mansion is under threat of ex-girlfriends and vengeful former lovers. Let’s put it this way—I’m much more afraid of a scorned woman than I am of any corporate titan out for blood.
“It’s okay, Bruno,” I tell him, stifling a yawn. “I have a bit of a headache. I’m headed upstairs.”
Before I can take another step, I’m accosted by Charles, my butler. Again, I have too many employees who have nothing to do all day but wait for me to get home. Charles meets us in the entryway and helps me remove my coat. “Sir, welcome home. Would you like some lunch? Roast chicken, perhaps? Or something lighter, like a crisp wedge salad?”
A ham sandwich sounds better than that fancy stuff, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. So instead of just ignoring him and walking past him like I desperately want to, I respond. “A scotch is fine for now. Please have it sent to my room.”
And finally, I’m left alone, both individuals scurrying off to tend to their tasks. I continue through the foyer to the stairs leading to the second story. I led Katie up these same stairs two months ago. I thought about pounding into her right here, in fact, but that would have left a bad impression on my guests. If I had my way, I would ravish Katie in every room in this monstrous mansion. And then I’d do it again. That’d be a good use for all this space instead of useless antiques that are collecting dust.
Once I’m in the master suite, my memories of the curvy girl are even more vivid as I look at my bed covered in the same sheets she curled her fingers around and drenched with her juices. My cock twitches at the thought of that plump body, and the way her slick pussy cushioned my pole as she moaned. Shit, the brunette was so good, so tight, and so responsive. I definitely want more, and I know she didn’t want to leave either.
So where the fuck has she been? Why won’t she take my calls? I pull out my phone and dial her number one last time. Just like the hundreds of times before, I’m sent directly to voicemail. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred. Proceed directly to jail.
In a fury, I throw the phone on the floor. This girl has me doing things I’ve never done before. Since when do I obsessively check my phone and keep calling a girl I slept with only once? It should be the other way around, goddammit.
“Sir?” Charles asks, knocking softly before letting himself in my room. Fucker should have waited for an invitation, but my butler’s been with me for ages, so I just sigh.
“Your scotch,” he says formally, setting down a tumbler a quarter filled with amber liquid on a marble coaster.
I take the glass and down it in a single gulp. The liquid burns as it slips down my throat, and I breathe out bitter fumes. Fuck, that burns. But it feels good, and I can feel the warmth settling in my belly already.
“That’ll be all, Charles. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir.” My butler takes the empty tumbler from me and exits my room, and not a moment too soon because my cock’s begging for relief. At the mere thought of the female, I’ve become painfully enlarged, and I find myself wishing for a photo of Katie or something to use as I jerk myself off to release the frustration. But my memory of her is so vivid that I don’t need a photo—I can remember her smooth, beautiful face contorted in an expression of overwhelming pleasure, and it makes me hornier knowing that I was the cause of that reaction.
I quickly remove my dress slacks and lie back on the bed with my eyes closed. I begin touching myself, imagining it’s her tongue. She’ll slip me into her mouth like a good girl, gently caressing the vein on the bottom of my cock before lightly sucking on the tip. Fuck, that would feel so good. And then she’d take my entire massive length down the back of her throat until her eyes water and she gags.
The vision is so tantalizing that it doesn’t take long for me to finish, white cream spurting all over my hand, virile and hot. And unfortunately, this has been the extent of my sex life since that night with Katie. Every fucking day, I stroke myself to the memory of her tantalizing body and moans, and it drives me crazy. I’m a man who can get any woman he wants, so why am I touching myself like some teenage kid? Shit. I try not to think about how pathetic I feel as I clean up and straighten my slacks.
My phone sits where I threw it on the carpet, and desperate to try again, I pick it up and dial Katie’s number once more. When it goes to voicemail, I’m tempted to throw the cell at the wall this time, but reason prevails. I set it carefully on my nightstand instead.
“Fine,” I mutter bitterly in defeat. “If she doesn’t want to talk to me, I’m done.”
As hard as it is, I decide I’m not going to put in that kind of effort for a woman who clearly doesn’t want me. It’s pathetic. It’s pitiful. It’s not what I do. She’s just one random girl I fucked, and there will be many more where she came from. Shit.
Throwing myself back on the bed, I vow to erase her from my memory. But despite my efforts, everything comes back to Katie. Her beautiful face drifts before my mind’s eye, and my hand reaches down to my cock once more, the length already hardening at the image of her beautiful visage. Damn it. And this time, when I climax, an involuntary cry erupts from my throat.
“Fuck,” I grunt, voice hoarse from both the strain and pleasure. “Katie!”
Because I’ve fallen for her completely…but unfortunately, the beautiful brunette isn’t interested.