Chapter Nineteen
Asher
I sat at the table alone, reeling from the shock of what Lilah had just said to me. All this time I'd had her on my mind and, after opening up to her about my family secrets and after Friday night together, was hoping . . .
But hoping for what? Hell, I didn’t even know what I’d been hoping for. A relationship? Was I even capable of that? I'd never been able to commit before. The world had always been my oyster, and I'd never had a problem with picking—or picking up—women before. It seemed to come with the territory when you're a masculine, attractive man who also happens to be a billionaire and a prodigy in the field of business, well, you can't help attracting women. I don't state that to boast or anything. I'm merely stating a fact. Even if I weren’t attractive, the money would be.
But the fact is that when you're spoiled for choice or an object of fantasy and desire, your perception of things can get warped and twisted. I'd dated my fair share of physically beautiful women—models, dancers, pop divas, actresses. It hadn't taken much effort on my part because they'd always wanted me. That, in a way, is possibly what bored me of them pretty quickly. I'd never found a woman who challenged me. Who didn't go after me from the moment she knew I had even the slightest interest in her. Who treated me like just any other guy, rather than a billionaire.
Well . . . not until now. Not until Lilah.
So what the hell was going on here? Why was one woman causing me all this confusion and, as much as I hate to say it, heartache? Was it simply the fact that she was making herself out to be unattainable, and that I simply didn't believe there was anything in this world that I couldn't have?
Or was there something more? I’d considered that for the last four days, I had no idea she was going to tell me it was a mistake and walk away. And for those four days, she was all I could think about, even in the midst of saving a wildlife refuge.
So, what did that mean? It meant that my feelings for Lilah weren’t based solely on her being a challenge. It meant this was unfamiliar territory for me. It meant more. One word kept sneaking back into my head—a word I didn’t want to consider: love.
The word scared me because I couldn't say for sure if I even believed in it. I'd had many things growing up, many things that other kids only dreamed of. I'd been a billionaire by the age of 20, but I'd never had love. I'd only had flings, affairs, and casual encounters—things that money, power, and prestige could buy.
I couldn't buy love though, that had turned out to be true.
So there I was, sitting in a pizza parlor with a slice of pizza dangling from my hand that I hadn’t even taken a bite of. I could have been sitting there for ten seconds or maybe ten minutes. Time seemed to have ceased its march leaving me spinning in the strange, surreal moment.
I put the pizza down on my plate and called a waiter over.
“Hey, buddy,” I said to the teenager, “do you think I could get this wrapped up, to go? I'm not really in the mood for it right now.”
“Uh, sure,” he said as he took the plate away.
He came back a few minutes later with the pizza slice packed neatly into a box. I smiled, left him a big tip, and then walked back to the office, wondering if I was in a trance. I paused as I got to the Sinclair Building and looked up at it, rising majestically up into the sky.
“I own this,” I said to myself. “I own this building and most everything in it. It's got my name on it. Yet . . .” I trailed off and shook my head.
This was a first. I'd had moments where I'd felt like I was losing my edge, losing my focus, but never like this. In fact, I'd always prided myself in how utterly focused, and often ruthless and calculating, I could be. I had always remained razor sharp like the Japanese katana that Colonel Tanaka had given me.
Yet, at the moment, I felt blunted and dulled. I couldn’t go on like this—something had to give.
I strode into the building—my building—with purpose. When the elevator reached my floor, I went straight to my office and told my PA to hold any incoming calls for the afternoon. I had a plan to regain my edge and that began with shifting into overdrive and powering through everything I needed to get done. In fact, I was going to stay here late—until midnight if needed—and then do it again tomorrow. I was going to need to take Friday and the following Monday off to make it a four-day weekend, so I needed to get everything done by the end of Thursday. It would be hard but, for a workaholic like me, it was doable.
Before I jumped in, I needed to make a call—just to make sure what I was planning was actually possible.
I took out my phone and dialed a number. It took a while to connect, but eventually I heard the sound of the other party's phone ringing. After a while, a familiar voice answered: an old, hoarse voice. The voice of a man who was now nearly 90 years old. I spoke in Japanese to communicate with him.
“Colonel Tanaka, my most revered teacher. It is I, Asher Sinclair.”
“Sinclair-san! It is wonderful to hear your voice again.”
“I need your help, Colonel.”
“You are like a son to me, Sinclair-san. I will do anything in my power to assist you in this matter that is troubling you.”
“May I come to see you and stay at your estate?”
“You are always welcome here, Sinclair-san. When do you propose to come?”
“Soon. Friday, if that's possible.”
“I will have my servants prepare a room for you.”
“Excellent. I'll drive straight there as soon as my jet touches down.”
“I look forward to seeing you, Sinclair-san.”
“And I you, Colonel.”
Without further ado I put my phone away and started on my work. There was a lot to get through by Thursday evening, and I needed my mind to be clear by the time my plane touched down in Japan on Friday morning. I needed it crystal-clear.
***
I howled with pain and dropped my practice sword as the old master cut through my defenses and struck me a savage blow on my forearm. He was 89 years old, but age hadn't put much of a damper on his focus as a swordsman. Of course, he tired far quicker than a younger man did, and wasn't nearly as agile any more. But he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
“Pick it up,” he said, pointing at the sword. “We are not finished yet.”
“Yes, master,” I said, groaning with pain as I picked up the sword and prepared to fight.
“Something is unbalancing you. This is why an old man such as myself is able to defeat you, who are but my grandson's age. You must clear your mind of whatever is plaguing it if you are to defeat me.”
I breathed in deeply and slowly, doing my best to maintain a sense of clarity and focus.
Still, try as I might, I could not get thoughts of Lilah out of my head. I hadn't seen her since Wednesday at the pizza parlor. She'd evidently been going out of her way to avoid me. Perhaps that had been a good thing. I wasn't sure what I'd say to her, anyway.
I launched into a vicious attack, hoping that my superior strength and speed would be enough for me to overcome the dated man in front of me. I was wrong.
He deflected my powerful, but inaccurate attack with ease and flipped the sword out of my hand. Then he tripped me up so that I fell forward onto one knee.
I looked up, embarrassed, as I felt his wooden practice sword pressing firmly into the back of my neck.
“If this were a real katana, your head would be rolling at my feet right now, Sinclair-san.”
“If we were using real katanas, master, you would have beheaded me an hour ago,” I commented glumly. “And from then on, you would have kept beheading me over and over again.”
The old man raised his sword from my neck, took off his mask, and smiled sympathetically.
“Stand up, Sinclair-san,” he said. “I can see that something has caused you to lose your focus. We must speak of this. This is why you came here, is it not?”
I nodded.
“It is, master.”
“Come, then. We will visit the hot springs, and there you will tell me of whatever it is that is attacking you from within.”
A while later, we were soaking in the warm waters of the natural hot spring pools in the forest near Colonel Tanaka's estate and sipping on sake as we talked beneath the cool, starry sky above.
“It is a matter of the heart that troubles you so, is it not?” asked the old man.
“It is, Colonel, it is.”
He nodded.
“I gathered as much. Few things can alter one’s focus like the heart. Such things can weigh heavily on the spirit of the young—and the old.”
“And, this one has been weighing heavily on my heart for some time.”
“Tell me, Sinclair-san, in America, you are a powerful man. A man of prestige, respect, and immense wealth and standing, are you not?”
“I am.”
“And, you carry your grandfather's legacy of honor, do you not?”
“I do. I whisper a prayer for him every day, as you taught me to.”
“Good. One must honor one's ancestors. One way of honoring them is by behaving in an honorable manner yourself at all times. Have you conducted yourself in such a manner?”
“Always, I try to. Although many times, I fail.”
“You are young, and cannot expect to be infallible. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart, women, or love.”
“Yes, and in this area, I fear that I have acted somewhat . . . dishonorably in the past. I have treated women poorly, used them only for their bodies and their beauty.”
“Such is the way of powerful men, and it always has been, Sinclair-san. But there lies a true test of one's character.”
“I understand that now.”
“So, you have met a woman who is not like these others you have been with?”
“She is nothing like them at all.”
“And this is what has captivated your attention so fiercely, has it not?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
He nodded.
“And unlike the women you pursued before, she does not seem to care about your wealth, power, and prestige. Is this correct?”
“That's right.”
“You are not able to control her. She is like a female samurai, is she not?”
“There were female samurai?”
“Oh, yes. They were fierce warriors, as skilled and courageous as any male samurai. They were rare, yes, but they existed. Their names live on in legend. This woman who has captivated you, I suspect that she is like the female samurai of old. Fierce, independent, strong-willed, intelligent. Yes?”
I nodded. “She is all of those things.”
“This is what frustrates you. With every woman that has come before her, you were able to win her without effort—your money, social standing, or power did that for you. But these things, they are not you. The female samurai knows this. She has these things herself or, at least, she is working toward them herself. So, she does not want them from you. She wants to earn them and take pride in her own achievements. In fact, those very things that have always worked for you in terms of winning over beautiful women are now working against you.”
“That is almost exactly what she told me. So, what can I do, Colonel?”
“There is only one thing you can do, and that is what every man who comes against a female samurai must do, whether he is a beggar or an emperor.”
“And, what is that?”
“Show her your heart and nothing else. Then it is up to her to decide if she wants it or not. You, I'm afraid, have little say in the matter.”
I slumped my shoulders and sighed. “I'm not used to this, Colonel. I'm not used to this at all.”
He chuckled and smiled sympathetically at me. “No man, even the fiercest warrior, is ever ready for the attack love wages on the heart. All you can do is embrace the experience and accept the outcome, whether it is in your favor or not.
“Life is a strange thing, young Sinclair-san. But you cannot afford to become too fixated on one thing. Let her choose—and accept her choice. There is little you can do to influence her in this matter. Show her who you are and what you have to offer her on her terms. Not the terms you have grown accustomed to.”
I nodded slowly. “You're right, I suppose. There is nothing much I can do.”
“Hold on for now. But be prepared to let go if you must. It is a more beautiful thing to see a wild horse run free and come to you of its own will than it is to capture it and break its spirit.”
“I will.”
“Come. Drink your sake, and we shall call it a night. We must resume your training at sunrise. I will help you find your focus again.”
“Thank you, Colonel.”
I sipped the last of my sake, stared up at the stars, and wondered what the coming weeks would bring.
***
I returned to the office Tuesday morning with a fresh sense of purpose and a keenly-honed focus. My long weekend in Japan with Colonel Tanaka had proven to be very beneficial.
Lilah was, of course, still on my mind, but I'd realized that, as the Colonel had told me, whatever was going to happen between us was entirely up to her. If that turned out to be nothing, there was little I could do but accept that and move on.
Still, that didn't mean I wasn't going to at least try. I wasn't prepared to simply give up on the idea of us together—not just yet.
I sat down at my desk and went through my emails and lists of tasks that would need to be completed. First and foremost, was the French account. I had a message from Anton about the VIV Perfume campaign. He was hoping that I could meet him in Paris again and bring whichever member of my team was going to be heading the campaign.
Naturally, that team member was Lilah. After all, she had a friend in Paris in the fashion industry whom we had already spoken to. Of course, now that things had become a bit more complicated between us, informing her that we’d be going to Paris might be a little awkward. Still, we had to act like professionals. She was already deep into the French campaign, so there was no way I could suddenly pull her out now and replace her with someone else.
The Sinclair Agency had already come perilously close to losing a good portion of its prestige and respect with the initial failure of the Harry Winston campaign, and there was no way in hell I was going to risk repeating something like that. No, I needed to have an extremely talented person working with me on this particular campaign and that was Lilah.
I put a call through to her office, and a slight shudder of nerves shot through me when I heard her voice as she picked up her phone.
“Hi, Asher, what can I do for you?” her tone was professional and no nonsense.
“Could you come to my office, please? There's something important I need to discuss with you regarding the VIV Perfume campaign.”
“Sure. I'll be right over.”
A tingle of anxiety immediately began building inside me as I waited for her to arrive.
“Come on, Asher, be cool, be calm,” I said to myself. “You've got this. Put your personal feelings aside and be professional.”
I breathed in deeply as I heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said.
She walked through the door, and I let slowly out the breath that I'd been holding in through my teeth. She was wearing a pencil skirt and a form-fitting blouse that revealed her curves in a tantalizing manner. I could hardly keep my eyes off her. Still, I forced myself to remain cool, and put on an air of calm indifference.
“Have a seat,” I said.
She walked over to my desk, her hips swaying subtly without effort, and took a seat.
“You're fully committed to the VIV campaign, aren't you?” I asked.
“Absolutely. That’s why you put me on point. I've been doing a lot of research and have put together a few ideas that I think could work really well.”
“Excellent. Well, there's no better place to do research than on the ground, right?”
“That's true, but we're a few thousand miles away from the ground at the moment.”
“Yes, we are. However, tonight you're going to need to go home and haul out a suitcase or three.”
“Why is that?” she asked, a curious eyebrow raised.
“You and I are going to Paris.”
Chapter Twenty
Lilah
I sat in stunned silence for a while and stared at Asher.
“We're going to Paris?” I eventually said.
“Yes,” he replied, with the slightest and subtlest of smiles curving across his lips.
“I, uh . . . can I think about it?”
“Well, Anton has requested an urgent meeting with myself and the second-in-command of this campaign—which is you. So, unless you're willing to relinquish that position, it'd be best if you came along to Paris.”
I nodded. “All right then. I guess I’m packing for Paris.”
“Don't worry,” he added hastily, looking suddenly uncomfortable, “we'll be in separate hotel rooms.”
“Okay. When do we leave?”
“Friday morning before sunrise, so make it an early night on Thursday. I’ll have a car pick you up from your place and take you to my private jet. There won't be any airport lines or any of that stuff to worry about.”
I couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of excitement. Not only at going to Paris unexpectedly, but also at the thought of being flown there on a private jet, even if it was with a man I was trying to force myself to keep my distance from. Of course, there was the simmering attraction I still felt toward him, and the tantalizingly pleasurable memories that still popped into my head—uninvited—of the night we'd spent together, and of the memories I was currently trying to push back.
“Lilah?”
I snapped out of the sudden trance I'd fallen into. “Oh, sorry, I just drifted off for a second. I, umm . . . was thinking about everything I need to get done before Friday,” I stammered, hoping he didn’t see through my lie.
“No worries. Needless to say, you'll probably have to shift up a gear today and tomorrow. I expect all your tasks for the week to be complete before we leave for Paris. If you need to delegate some of the less significant ones to Jason, I think he’s up to the task.”
“Got it. Is there anything else?”
“That's all. We'll talk closer to the time but, obviously, make sure you bring your notebook, hard drive, and any relevant files with you.”
“Of course, I have everything backed up to the cloud, anyway.”
“Great. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
He turned away from me and started typing, staring coolly at his computer, and I walked out of the room feeling a strange mix of emotions swirling around my head.
***
“I think we're a lot clearer on Anton's aims for this campaign now,” said Asher to me as we sat in the back of the limo he'd hired for the weekend to transport us around Paris.
“Yes, I'm glad we came. Being on the ground here and taking everything in—and, of course, speaking to the executives at VIV—has definitely helped reshape a number of ideas I've had about the campaign.”
“Likewise. Well, we're done with work for the day. If you'd like, I can drop you off to meet Alicia and have the driver on call to pick you up and take you back to the hotel whenever you're done.”
It was strange, watching him act so cool and distant. I suppose it was exactly what I'd asked for, though. Even if deep down it wasn't really what I wanted. Still, I had no right to complain about it. I'd said that we had to put business and professionalism first, and he was honoring my wishes.
Regardless of what I’d said, I still felt an unyielding attraction to him. And beneath his calm exterior, I could tell he still felt the same for me. It was there in the fire in his eyes every time our gazes locked, even though it was always brief. However, it seemed that we had both silently agreed to maintain our strictly professional relationship. As much as I hated to admit even to myself, I couldn't help but feel a twinge wounded, a little rejected even, given that we were in the city of love and his demeanor hadn’t even broken once.
“Well, what about you? What are you going to do?”
“Me? After I drop you off I'm going to head over to the hotel gym, get a good two-hour workout in, and hit the hay early. We've got more meetings tomorrow. I don't think that I need to remind you that we need to be prepared for them.”
I nodded.
“Yeah, that's true. Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Bright and early,” he agreed with a smile. “Ah, and here we are—this is the restaurant where you're meeting your friend, right?”
I looked out the window and saw her waiting outside the restaurant for me.
“That's the one.”
“You've got the driver's number, don’t you? Just give him a call when you're done and he'll come and get you.”
“Thanks, Ash. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I climbed out of the backseat.
“See you then,” he called just as the driver closed the door and returned to his position behind the steering wheel.
***
After a lovely dinner with Alicia, I’d headed back to the hotel and crashed. The jetlag had hit me more than I’d anticipated. But, I slept nine hours straight and thankfully so. My wakeup call came in precisely at 6:00 in the morning and the day was non-stop from there.
In addition to the meetings and presentations, Anton had managed to squeeze in visits to two museums, in what he said was an effort to help us understand the essence of Paris. But when the day was over, we were back in the limo and Asher was starting to seem more like his old self—less rigid and businesslike. I had to admit, I was finding it harder and harder to maintain the cold, distant, and disinterested façade I'd had up over the past couple of weeks to maintain that distance I was trying so hard to keep.
“Wow. It's been a long day,” I remarked.
“That it has. How are you feeling?”
I could sense that he was asking for reasons beyond merely small talk. That meant there could be more than just a boring night in my room or sightseeing alone. It was up to me to decide whether I would shut things down immediately and return to my hotel room or take a chance and see what happened. I thought about it for a moment, and then replied.
“Actually, I'm feeling pretty good. Energized. After all, we're in Paris! It would be a sin to simply go back to the hotel and sleep now.”
His face lit up with that heart-stopping smile that sent my stomach into flips. A smile that not only reached his lips, but also sparkled in his eyes.
“Well, let's do something touristy, then? I mean, it's your first time here,” he said. “Right?”
“It is.”
“All right. Wine and cheese at a small café overlooking the Seine?”
I couldn't help but smile. “That sounds fantastic.”
Two hours later, we were still sitting at a cozy outdoor café, taking in the scenery and people watching.
“So, what do you think of Paris?” Asher asked.
“It's everything I'd hoped it would be,” I replied, sipping on my wine. “And this wine is exquisite. I don't think I've ever had better.”
“I come for the cheese, but I stay for the wine,” Asher joked.
I couldn't help but chuckle. The warmth of the wine flowing through my veins, relaxing my muscles as it went.
“The Eiffel Tower makes for a pretty spectacular marker on the horizon, doesn't it?” I said.
“It does. We can go visit tomorrow if you’d like. I know someone who can get us past the crowds. It's quite a view from up top.”
“That sounds lovely,” I smiled at him and suddenly found myself staring deeply into Asher's eyes. I saw in them a profound, crackling passion, like the embers of a fire still glowing orange against the darkness of night. And at the sight of that deep, simmering desire, my own desires stirred.
It was happening again.
I was at a definite crossroads here: I could either end this right now and go back to my hotel room; or I could stay, order another bottle of wine, and prove to myself that I could maintain a working friendship with my boss.
“Let's have a little more wine,” I suggested. “The night is still young.”
“I agree,” replied Asher with a smile.
He called a waiter over and asked him to bring out a selection of the finest wines in the house, which the young man did, after returning with the manager of the establishment. We perused them and picked out a vintage port.
“Are you sure, monsieur?” asked the manager, a portly, red-faced man in his 60s. “It is a very, very fine wine, but it also commands a somewhat, how do I say, extreme price tag. There are only a handful of bottles of this left in all of France.”
“Price is of no concern to me,” Asher assured him with a casual smile. “After all, how can one put a price on a moment such as this?”
The manager smiled. “Very well, monsieur. Please though, if you would not mind, could I pose with you and your lovely companion for a photograph at the moment of the uncorking of the bottle? I am a wine connoisseur myself, and a bottle like this only gets uncorked once every few years. I wish to have a memento, if you will.”
Asher smiled. “Of course. And, since wine is your thing, I would like for you to have a glass as well. As can this nice young waiter.”
Both the waiter and the manager gasped.
“Monsieur, we could not possibly!” exclaimed the manager.
“I insist,” Asher said. “Otherwise, we don't uncork the bottle. Deal?”
“Very well,” the manager agreed, still flabbergasted at this proposition.
The wine was then uncorked, we posed with the manager for a photo. Then Asher made good on his word and insisted the manager and waiter each have a taste of the wine. I half expected the manager to pass out from the thrill of it.
“This is . . . It is simply . . . magnifique!” he exclaimed.
After that, he and the waiter left us to enjoy the remainder of the wine in peace. To be honest, while it was really good wine. I wasn't sure that it was the best I'd ever tasted—but then again, I didn't consider myself to be much of a wine snob. More importantly, I was enjoying Asher's company much more than I was the wine.
We sat and talked, joked and laughed late into the night, loosening up and becoming more at ease in each other's company as the night drew on and the wine did its work.
Eventually, the manager came over, wringing his hands apologetically.
“Monsieur and mademoiselle, while we appreciate your patronage, I am sorry to say that we need to close up now.”
“That's all right,” Asher said as he finished off the last of his wine. “I need to stretch my legs anyway. I think a stroll through Paris is in order.”
He handed the manager his credit card to settle the bill. When that was done, we said goodbye and began strolling along the river, taking in the sights and enjoying the atmosphere.
I slipped my hand through his arm almost instinctively and felt his fingers intertwine with mine as he squeezed my hand gently.
When we reached a point along our walk that had a breathtaking view of the Eiffel Tower, I stopped to take it in. My gaze journeyed along the skyline until I found myself looking into his eyes. Once more, the electricity of our connection crackled in my veins. His gaze searched mine, as if seeking permission for something.
“Asher, I . . .” I opened my mouth to admit what I’d been feeling in spite of what I’d said, but I didn’t get the chance to tell him. It was as though he’d already read my heart. Before I could finish, one strong hand enclosed gently around the base of my neck while the other wrapped around my waist. He pulled me in close and placed his lips passionately against mine. The sensation of his hands moving across my back gently, yet with power tingling in those strong arms and hands of his, sent a wave of want through me.
I could feel his longing, his intense need for control, and it made me go weak at the knees. My breath quickened and my pulse began to race.
I could hardly breathe.
He paused from the kiss for a moment and stared down at me.
“Let's go back to the hotel,” I said, panting and gasping.
“No,” he replied.
“No?”
“No.”
“But . . . but why?”
“There's a beautiful hotel around the corner, and I don’t want to wait for the 30 minute cab ride back to our hotel is going to take. I want you now. I need you now.”
I smiled up at him. There was no need to say anything.
We hurried across the street where Asher stopped at an ATM and withdrew a hefty sum of cash. We then proceeded to a grandiose, old building, shining spectacularly against the night sky with lighting that illuminated the baroque architecture.
We walked inside, still holding hands, our blood hot and eager in our veins. The reception hall was palatial and reminded me of something straight out of the 17th century, aside from the computers at the desk.
The concierge at the front desk looked surprised to see us, and I suppose he was justified in that reaction, given the nature of the establishment and the late hour.
“Good evening,” Asher greeted him in English as we approached the desk.
“Mademoiselle, monsieur. Is there something I can assist you with? The hour is very late.”
“We're not guests—not yet, anyway,” Asher said.
“Well, I'm afraid that it would be impossible. We are—”
“Nothing is impossible,” Asher interrupted as he opened his coat, withdrew a block of euros, and set them down on the counter in front of the concierge.
The man's eyes widened as he glanced at the stack of money in front of him.
“Er, yes, yes . . . You are correct monsieur. Nothing at all is impossible! Will you be wanting the presidential suite, then?”
“You read my mind,” Asher responded with a smile and took a business card from his coat pocket. “All my info is on there,” he said. “You can fill out whatever forms you need when you get back downstairs. For now, just get us to the room—oh, and send a bottle of champagne up, please.”
“Certainly, monsieur. I will take you there at once. Please, please, follow me.”
We followed him up the great, curved stairway hand in hand. He led us to a room with two ornate, gilded doors which he threw open with dramatic flair, revealing a room that looked as if it could have been that of the Sun King himself.
“The presidential suite!” he announced. “While it is decorated with old world charm, you will find that it has all of the 21st century amenities you would need. There is a hot tub in the bathroom, and a media center—”
“I’m sure it will do nicely,” Asher said cutting his speech short. “We'll buzz you if we need any help. Right now, though, we need to be alone.”
“Understood, monsieur,” the concierge replied with a hint of a knowing smile.
He handed us the keys and then hurried back downstairs.
We stepped inside, closed the ornate doors behind us, and immediately resumed kissing. Once more, the passion began to flow like water through a broken dam. We began to stumble toward the bed as we kissed—but then I had a different idea. I knew that Asher craved control, and I had to see what would happen if he was denied that control.
I pulled back and pushed him away from me.
“What . . . what's wrong?” he stammered, breathing heavily.
His arousal was easily seen through his pants—he was ready to go.
“I'm going to the bathroom to freshen up,” I said. “You wait outside.”
“Wait?! No!”
“Do you want this or not?” I asked, keeping my tone calm and even.
“I . . . Oh, God, I do. Yes.”
“Then you'll do what I say,” I replied matter-of-factly. “And, I'm telling you to wait here until I'm ready.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, although I could see that was unhappy about it.
That was good. I wasn't about to let him have complete control over me. I sashayed into the bathroom, shifting my hips as seductively as I could. I could feel his hungry eyes devouring every step I took—undressing me, violating me. It made my blood pump with a beautiful heat.
I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
Once inside, I nearly gasped at the opulence of the bathroom. It was huge—the size of a living room, and all the fittings were gold. The soaring ceiling was, like the main room, painted with classical figures by what appeared to be an old master in a past century. A gilded mirror made the place look even more spacious.
In the center, sunk to floor level, was the hot tub. I walked over the cool marble floor, kicking off my shoes and removing my dress and underwear. I turned on the hot tub, and smiled as the bubbles started to flow. I dipped my toes into the water. It was cool, but warming up quickly.
“Asher!” I called out.
“Can I come in now?”
“No. But make sure they bring the champagne up.”
“As you wish.”
He was disappointed, but he would soon discover that his wait would have been worth it.
Once the water had heated up to a suitable temperature, I slipped into it and had a seat, relishing in the simple joy of the bubbles, jets, and hot water.
Arousal was still coursing through me, and I couldn't wait any longer, no matter how much I wanted to tease him with anticipation.
“Asher!”
“Yes?”
“Is the champagne here?”
“It is.”
“Bring it in, then.”
He opened the door and sauntered in, carrying the bottle of champagne in a steel ice bucket. He saw me, nude, lounging in the frothy water of the hot tub and stopped dead in his tracks.
“My God,” he exclaimed, half under his breath.
“Come on in,” I said.
He didn't waste time. He practically ripped what remained of his suit off his body in his rush to get undressed. I watched, utterly captivated, as each item of clothing came off. I'd seen his body before, of course, but only once and not from a point of view that I could fully enjoy it.
Watching him, it was almost as if it was being revealed to me for the first time. I allowed my eyes to rove over his carved figure, with its rippling muscles and perfectly formed . . . everything. Every single muscle on his body had been worked on, refined, polished, as if by a master sculptor. All that obsessive dedication and discipline in the gym had certainly paid off.
Eventually, he stood nude before me, his broad chest rising up and down with the deep, almost harsh breaths he was drawing in, like a wild animal that had just run down its kill. Lust was fueling his gaze. He wanted me with an almost primitive hunger, a hunger that drove fiery blood through every one of his extremities—especially one incredibly hard, pulsating extremity—with every beat of his heart.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked.
He grabbed the champagne bottle and stepped into the water, doing his best to maintain his composure. But I could see how wildly his heart was pumping, how desperately he wanted me. There was no hiding the crazed beast within, writhing madly beneath that exterior of physical perfection.
He pushed through the water toward me, but I held up a hand to stop him.
“Whoa, cowboy. How about some bubbly first?”
He chuckled, although I could see the need in his eyes, ravenous as any wolf.
“Very well,” he said with a tilt of his head.
“Don't shoot the cork at the ceiling. It's a work of art.”
He looked up and smiled.
“True.”
He aimed the bottle at one of the towels hanging on the rack and popped the cork.
“Wonderful,” I said, and I stood up, revealing my entire body to him from the thighs up. I walked through the water, and he stood up, reaching for my breasts, but I pushed his hands away and took the bottle from him.
“Who said you could touch?” I giggled playfully as I drank a swig of champagne.
“Want some?”
“There's only one thing I want right now,” he said hoarsely, his eyes devouring my body.
“Show me how much you want it,” I purred as I set the bottle down.
He stood, stepped over to me, and cupped one of my breasts in his hand as he gazed into my eyes. He kissed me suddenly, madly, and passionately. While one hand massaged my breast, the other slipped down my lower back to both grab my ass and pull me in closer to him.
As we kissed wildly, I grew more and more aroused. Heat was building between my legs, and a slick wetness was growing. I felt his hand move down from my breast, slowly, deliberately moving further and further down, caressing my body as he continued to kiss me.
A gentle brush of the inner thigh—just enough to cause me to jump with pleasure, but only for a split second as he moved it away to the outside of my leg. His other hand, meanwhile, was softly caressing my back. He was much gentler and slower than he had been the last time.
I, meanwhile, was running my fingertips over his gloriously hard, sculpted muscles, listening to him gasp with pleasure at each touch of my fingertips as he kissed me.
Again, he brushed my inner thigh ever so quickly, and a shiver of pleasure rushed through my body. He was teasing me, and it was working. A furious, unquenchable hunger was taking over.
His fingers were digging into my flesh, and his manhood, hard as steel, pressed with an almost explosive force against me.
Still, I refused to relinquish control.
I detached myself from our passionate kissing and grabbed a fistful of his hair. He reached up to grab my arm, but quickly, I shot out a hand and caught his wrist, preventing him from grabbing me.
“No,” I said. “You're going to do something for me first.”
And then, I sat on the edge of the tub and pulled his face down, still gripping his hair as I did. I spread my legs open for him, and felt the tightly-clenched muscles of his arm grow loose in my hand as his head moved towards the opening between my thighs.
With a sudden surge of strength, however, he yanked his arm out of my grasp, and then put both of his hands around my waist, almost forcefully.
It appeared that he wasn't willing to relinquish all aspects of control, after all.
Then, with a boost of primal strength, he lifted me up in the air, holding me aloft as if I were nothing but a child. The raw power in those heavy, muscular arms made my pulse race even faster. This was a true beast of a man, a wild savage beneath that cultured exterior.
Then he opened my legs and pulled them over his broad, muscle-knotted shoulders, so that his face was right up against my hot, wet, waiting opening. He kept me balanced there as he started to use his tongue, finding the exact center of sensation in but an instant.
With his powerful arms cradling me and stabilizing me, he began to lick rhythmically and steadily, building up wave after wave of sheer pleasure. I moaned and gasped as the rushes of pleasure became bursts of ecstasy, and then sheer, body-shuddering elation as an orgasm started to build with the patient yet vigorous action of his tongue.
As I stared up at the magnificent artwork splayed across the high ceiling above, it started: the first orgasm of the night.
The painting began to swirl, the figures coming alive with the intensity of the orgasm. I cried out in utter ecstasy, my whole body shuddering with a beautiful violence. And below me, still supporting me, he looked up, panting, gasping, and smiling with smug pleasure.
“That's just the first of the evening,” he said. “But the rest are going to be on my terms, Lilah—my terms.”