Constant Craving: Book Two, page 10
My mind goes to earlier, with the boy. I’ve decided to open a non-profit here to help kids like him. Justine told me to go slow, that there might be ethical concerns because I co-own the paper.
Well, St. Augustine needs to be prepared for a different kind of newspaper owner and different values. While Justine’s father wanted the paper’s name in banners at every festival, I’m going to use the paper to help the people who truly need it.
Justine sighs in her sleep.
She’d passed out in my arms on the sofa, the portrait of domestic bliss. Which means everything is getting mixed up and tender. Feelings I hadn’t anticipated are coming to the surface, and I’m not sure what to do. Normally I’m so decisive, but I feel short-circuited. A nearby streetlight pours into the room, illuminating everything with a soft golden glow. We’d left the curtains open and a window, too, reveling in the cooler air.
Justine turns onto her side, facing me, her eyes shut. I study her face for several moments. How different she is from me, with her tiny, upturned nose and the faint freckles that sprinkle across her fair cheeks. I resist the urge to touch the tip of her nose with my finger. Justine stirs and shifts the white sheet down toward her waist, and the light shines on the roundness of her shoulder and the curve of her breast.
I’m getting excited watching her. More than excited. Overwhelmed with desire and something more intimate. Back in college, we’d often had urgent sex in the middle of the night, but since we’ve reunited, the wee hours of the night have been reserved for sleeping. We’re adults, and we’re exhausted.
I carefully sweep her messy hair back with my big hand, and she smiles in her sleep and rolls again onto her back. Now both breasts are visible, lush mounds with taut nipples. Sleep is no longer a priority for me, and I’m hoping not for her, either. I press up against her and nuzzle her ear, breathing in her skin. Tonight she smells like cool air and starry skies and some unidentifiable flower. Rose, maybe. Jesus, my dick is like steel right now.
“Justine, I want you,” I say in a whisper. “Please? Can I make love to you?” I’m aware of how desperate I sound, how I’m pleading with her.
I don’t care.
Something about talking with that boy and being with Justine for days on end has stripped me bare. Maybe it’s time to give up all the grudges. Let go of my anger. I don’t know if I have it in me anymore.
She smiles faintly and turns her face to me as she opens her legs. “Take me,” she murmurs, stroking my chest with a butterfly touch, sending jolts of electricity through me.
My initial instinct is to make love to her quick and hard, equal to my desire. But something in the way she tips her head back languidly, parts her lips and repeats the words—take me—inspires me to go slow.
I draw her close, her skin cool. My nose is in her hair, my mouth at her ear.
“I’ve thought about this for years, what it would be like being with you again. And now I’ve found out. I feel lost. Lost in you.”
Justine hums softly. She’s so damned pretty when she’s half-asleep. “Show me how lost you feel.”
Muscles trembling, I move on top of her. Just my lips touch her warm skin, and she moans with each kiss. I start with her mouth, then her neck. Her breasts, her nipples, and, dragging my lips over her flesh, I devour the area around her bellybutton. Her breathing quickens with each pass of my mouth. Justine trails her nails down my arms and back, not with force or to cause pain, but with a light and sensual touch. My hand goes between her legs, and she’s so wet. Even her inner thighs are damp. I toy with her slowly until she trembles and clenches and finally cries out, loud.
Her sounds drown out the crickets. I kiss her slow, feeling a well of emotion in my chest.
She is mine.
I’m fully on top of her now, the tip of my cock at her wet entrance.
“Do you know how much I need you?” It’s a rare moment of honesty and emotion, and as I say the words, I enter her. I’m dimly aware that she might think I’m asking this in a sexual way, but it’s anything but.
I need Justine in every way.
She wraps her legs around my hips, and I slide an arm under the small of her back so I can go deeper inside.
“As much as I need you, Rafael.”
I thrust slowly, savoring each movement. Her frame is so small compared to mine, her skin so silken. She fully opens her eyes and gives me a tender smile. Stroking my face with her free hand, a groan escapes her throat.
“Rafa, you’re not wearing a condom.”
I blink slowly a few times, realizing that I’m tired and in a sex fog and had forgotten. We’d been good about using condoms up until this point, not counting the time one broke.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter.
She licks her lips, and I move to pull out. Her hands go to my ass and squeeze, holding me in place. I don’t move. It’s too good, too warm, too sensual.
“This is perfection, you and me together like this.”
I press into her even harder, the muscles of my arms straining as I rest on flat hands. When she grounds her hips toward mine, I sip in a breath.
“It’s so, so, so perfect. And it’s dangerous,” she whispers.
I lean down to kiss her, running my tongue over her bottom lip. Everything I’d told myself not to do with Justine—succumb to her charm and wit and seduction—I’ve done. And here I am, fucking her—no, making love to her—without a condom as if she was mine exclusively and forever. As if we are together again.
Wait. There’s no as if. We are together again.
I am hers.
“Do you know what’s dangerous?” I ask, slowly moving in and out of her.
“What?”
“You. Being so close to this.” Leaning on one arm, my bicep quivering, I take my other hand and touch my chest, over my heart.
Justine squeezes her eyes closed and smiles. I thrust into her hard. I think she’s crying, because her face grows wet, and I brush my mouth over her cheeks to taste her tears. She tastes like salt and air and, yeah, home.
Both of us moan and grunt and cry out with almost every thrust, grinning and softly laughing and nipping at each other’s mouths.
“Prove to me, Rafa. Prove to me how much you want me,” she whispers, suddenly serious. Her muscles tighten around my cock, and I’m acutely aware of how warm and wet she is and how I feel like I’m filling her up.
My eyes roll back, and I can’t continue, I’m so overwhelmed. I feel like I can probably taste colors right now, my senses are so scrambled.
My explosive orgasm silences us both, and I don’t pull out. The feeling is freedom and light and absolutely fucking terrifying, which is probably why both of us are laughing and kissing like crazy.
14
Kryptonite
Miami.
Normally the mention of my hometown boosts my mood after being away for any period of time.
Now, not so much.
I’ve been trying to put off going back as long as possible because things have been so perfect with Justine. Of course, I haven’t told her that in those words, but I think she knows. She has to. We’ve been spending every spare minute together, acting like a couple and not bickering at all.
The sex has been out of this world, but that’s a given. In the past couple of weeks that I’ve been in St. Augustine, I’ve come to accept that I’ll never have a physical connection with anyone like I do with Justine.
Okay, I’ll probably never have a mental connection like this, either.
So I’d asked David to put off the meeting about the new building in Miami as long as possible. Preferably after St. Augustine and after my March trip to Madrid.
“No can-do this time. The King brothers want to have dinner, preferably tonight. My sister’s coming because she knows them well. Went to private school with Colin King,” David says to me on the phone Saturday morning. After spending a few days in St. Augustine, he’s back in Miami and handling a good chunk of the business at this point. Thank God I trust him.
I run a hand through my hair. Colin and Caleb King are two of the only developers I respect in this whole state. I’m sitting on a sweet piece of downtown Miami property that’s zoned for a condo, and if the King brothers want to develop it, I’ll jump at the chance to have dinner with them. Thank God for David’s socialite sister. She knows everyone.
“Fine. Fine. I’ll be there. I also got an email on that other thing. So I’ll handle that, too.”
“What other thing? The first thing or the second thing?” David jokes.
“The serious thing.”
“Oh, shit, bro.” David can sound so Miami at times, with his liberal use of the word bro. “You mean the thing about your mom?”
“Yeah,” I say sourly.
“You sure you want to deal with that right now, when you’re in the middle of, well, whatever the fuck you’re in the middle of with Justine?”
I push out a breath. “Not really. But I’m curious to see what he found.”
I’d hired a private investigator six months ago to look into my mother’s life in Cuba. Since I hadn’t heard from him in a while, I’d assumed the trail had run cold.
“As you should be. Look, bro, I gotta go. I’ll set something up with Colin and Caleb for tonight. Probably around eight at the Shore Club.”
We hang up, and I tap out an email to the PI, asking to meet with him Sunday. Do PI’s meet with clients on Sundays? I have no idea, but I suspect my cash will make it happen.
Looking up, I can see Justine in the other room. She’s on the sofa, in soft, comfy clothes, reading a book. Earlier, I’d lit a fire because it’s cold, and the soft glow is reflecting off her pink-pale skin, making her look soft and edible. I study her for a moment, wondering how I’d lived without this warm, elated feeling in my chest for so many years.
Dammit, I’d told her that I’d go with her to buy something for Diana today. Some market or something. Well, we’ll have to cancel our plans so we can go south.
My phone buzzes with the arrival of an email. It’s the PI, saying he can meet anytime on Sunday. Do I want to meet at my condo or at his house or over Cuban coffee in Little Havana?
My condo, eleven a.m., I type.
It’s all planned; Justine and I can walk on the beach at sunrise, then have a late, catered breakfast before the PI comes over. I’ll be nice and relaxed and have plenty of time to explain to Justine why I hired the PI.
Then it hits me that Justine has Diana’s baby shower tomorrow. She can’t go to Miami with me; she’s been talking about this party for days. I swear under my breath in Spanish. I’d hoped she’d come with me to the dinner with Colin and Caleb, too. But I can’t ask her to give up something so important with her friend, even though I know she probably would, for me.
I’m going to have to man up and endure some potentially difficult truths alone. I’ve faced far worse.
* * *
“Dude, what’s wrong? You’re not yourself tonight.” David puts his cigar to his mouth while eyeing a group of women nearby. He’s wearing his glasses and, I’m told, looks like a certain famous blond actor. I think he looks like a geek accountant, which is what he is, under the expensive clothes.
I shrug. It’s post-dinner, and David’s sister, along with Colin and Caleb King, are at the bar, ordering everyone a bottle of whiskey. We’ve eaten at the Shore Club’s restaurant, tentatively agreed to a deal for the downtown Miami building, and are relaxing by the glittering blue pool. Since it’s Saturday, the place is packed with Miami’s most beautiful people.
No different than any other club in the city. I really shouldn’t be this cynical, but sometimes Miami brings out this side of me.
A DJ spins loud music in the corner—there’s seemingly always a DJ everywhere in Miami, they’re as ubiquitous as Florida alligators—and I grimace. The thumping bass, the astronomically priced bottle service, the clusters of women in tiny dresses—it’s all so tiresome and familiar. I’ve seen this exact night play out a thousand times over the years. A long-haired blonde woman in a slip of a silver dress, teetering on platform Lucite heels, seems insistent on trying to catch David’s eye and I wonder if he’s slept with her. He has a thing for flashy, straight-haired blondes.
“Did you sleep with that chick? She’s staring at you.”
“The blonde? Hmmm…” He exhales a cloud of cigar smoke and mutters something. I don’t care enough to listen for the answer. I can’t wait to get back to the silence of my condo.
I’m too old for this crap.
I jiggle my leg, anxious. All because of Justine. Her voice sounded tight and small when we talked earlier. I’m worried she’s upset. She’d seemed disappointed when I’d told her I had to come to Miami for a few days.
“You were fine over dinner. Then you called Justine, right? Your sudden funk is about her, right?” David asks.
I grunt and check my phone. No text from Justine.
“She’s sharp, I’ll give you that. She doesn’t take any crap from you, from what I saw at the paper when you two were arguing about politics. Does she have a boyfriend?”
I yawn and shrug. “We weren’t arguing. We were discussing. And as far as a boyfriend, would it matter if she did?”
David grins. “Ah. Now that’s the Rafael I know. Pursue at all costs. Never surrender. You know, I haven’t seen you this way for a woman, though. Only in business.”
“For your information, she isn’t with anyone. And she’s special to me. Which kind of surprises me I’d say that after everything that happened between us.”
“Are you going to let your crush prevent you from having fun tonight?”
I sigh. “I’m not interested in any of this mierda.” I sweep my hand across the pool area, then check my phone again. This is more than a crush, and David knows it. I tap out a text.
I’ll call you later, mi cielo. Get some sleep.
I’m also uncharacteristically nervous about tomorrow’s meeting with the private investigator. For the millionth time, I wish Justine was here with me. She’d know what to ask the PI.
David points with his eyes at a group of women who are grinning in our direction and glances quickly down at the ground when he spots his sister and the King brothers coming toward us. “You’re sure? I mean, I’m off the market now that I’ve met my girl, but you can indulge all you want.”
“No appetite to indulge.” Even though my mind is in turmoil, my body is perfectly sated.
David appraises the women again, then cocks an eyebrow. “So what exactly do you want from Justine, anyway? It can’t be her newspaper. That thing’s sinking faster than the Titanic.”
“That’s for damned sure,” I sigh. Even if I wanted an actual relationship with Justine, the reality of what I’ll have to do to make the Times profitable will almost certainly push her away from me. That fact becomes more evident the deeper I dive into the paper’s finances.
Why the fuck isn’t she responding to my text?
A girl in a tiny dress with a box of cigars slung around her neck approaches and coos about whether I’d like something from her stash. I shake my head and wave her off. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about the paper or about Justine. We’re in pretty deep together at this point. At least I am. I dunno. Maybe she’s not into me at all. Maybe she’s using me to bail out the paper.”
Christ, I sound pathetic. But that’s my biggest fear, now that I’ve set up Justine to sleep with me in exchange for money. A stupid fucking idea on my part, in hindsight.
Newsflash: billionaires can be insecure, too. Especially if their kryptonite is named Justine.
David clears his throat. “By the way she looked at you when I saw you two at the paper the other day, I’d say she wants you for more than your money. She either wants to murder you or marry you, I can’t tell which. But there’s a passion there, something I’ve never seen before in real life. It’s like only-in-the-movies passion. I could barely sit in the same room as you two because of it. It was kind of hot, honestly. But a little scary. I’ve never watched anyone affect you like Justine does. A couple of times, I thought you were going to come unhinged, like when she bent down and showed you the property appraisal.”
I glance up from my phone. “What do you mean? Unhinged?”
“No offense, bro, but when her hair brushed your arm, you looked at her as if an angel had touched you. I thought you were going to propose to her right there in her office. Then your face morphed into this angry, disgusted mask. I’ve never seen such a…I don’t know. Range of emotion from you. Usually, you operate on two speeds: arrogant and shark.”
I chuckle. “I can always count on you for an honest assessment of my personality. Thank you.”
So David had picked up on my vibe with Justine. Then again, how could he not? Justine and I had undressed each other with our eyes from the very moment I showed up at the paper. Stripped each other down to our souls. I have no control over my feelings for her. I never have, and I never will.
I shrug. “Yeah. It’s intense between us. I don’t know where it’s headed. I mean, look at me. I’m here in Miami, surrounded by gorgeous women. We just sketched out a three-hundred-million-dollar deal with the King brothers. Exactly what I’ve wanted for years. And all I want to do is check my phone every ten seconds to see if Justine’s returned my text, like a high school kid.”
David’s laughing his ass off. “From the sound of things, I’d say you want to do more than get over Justine. Knowing you, I’d say you either want to destroy her or marry her. I’ll get the popcorn. It’s going to be interesting to see how this ends.”
15
Betrayal
I stand at the floor-to-ceiling window of my penthouse condo on South Beach, staring at the wide blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. I can’t meet the eyes of the private investigator who sits on the sleek black leather sofa. He’s an older, silver-haired Cuban man with eyes the color of the Florida sky. His name is Carlos, and he looks like one of those old men who wear guayaberas and plays dominoes in the park in Little Havana. But from what he’s revealing about my mother, he’s got impeccable contacts on the island, and I’m grateful for however he worked his magic to get my information.
Well, St. Augustine needs to be prepared for a different kind of newspaper owner and different values. While Justine’s father wanted the paper’s name in banners at every festival, I’m going to use the paper to help the people who truly need it.
Justine sighs in her sleep.
She’d passed out in my arms on the sofa, the portrait of domestic bliss. Which means everything is getting mixed up and tender. Feelings I hadn’t anticipated are coming to the surface, and I’m not sure what to do. Normally I’m so decisive, but I feel short-circuited. A nearby streetlight pours into the room, illuminating everything with a soft golden glow. We’d left the curtains open and a window, too, reveling in the cooler air.
Justine turns onto her side, facing me, her eyes shut. I study her face for several moments. How different she is from me, with her tiny, upturned nose and the faint freckles that sprinkle across her fair cheeks. I resist the urge to touch the tip of her nose with my finger. Justine stirs and shifts the white sheet down toward her waist, and the light shines on the roundness of her shoulder and the curve of her breast.
I’m getting excited watching her. More than excited. Overwhelmed with desire and something more intimate. Back in college, we’d often had urgent sex in the middle of the night, but since we’ve reunited, the wee hours of the night have been reserved for sleeping. We’re adults, and we’re exhausted.
I carefully sweep her messy hair back with my big hand, and she smiles in her sleep and rolls again onto her back. Now both breasts are visible, lush mounds with taut nipples. Sleep is no longer a priority for me, and I’m hoping not for her, either. I press up against her and nuzzle her ear, breathing in her skin. Tonight she smells like cool air and starry skies and some unidentifiable flower. Rose, maybe. Jesus, my dick is like steel right now.
“Justine, I want you,” I say in a whisper. “Please? Can I make love to you?” I’m aware of how desperate I sound, how I’m pleading with her.
I don’t care.
Something about talking with that boy and being with Justine for days on end has stripped me bare. Maybe it’s time to give up all the grudges. Let go of my anger. I don’t know if I have it in me anymore.
She smiles faintly and turns her face to me as she opens her legs. “Take me,” she murmurs, stroking my chest with a butterfly touch, sending jolts of electricity through me.
My initial instinct is to make love to her quick and hard, equal to my desire. But something in the way she tips her head back languidly, parts her lips and repeats the words—take me—inspires me to go slow.
I draw her close, her skin cool. My nose is in her hair, my mouth at her ear.
“I’ve thought about this for years, what it would be like being with you again. And now I’ve found out. I feel lost. Lost in you.”
Justine hums softly. She’s so damned pretty when she’s half-asleep. “Show me how lost you feel.”
Muscles trembling, I move on top of her. Just my lips touch her warm skin, and she moans with each kiss. I start with her mouth, then her neck. Her breasts, her nipples, and, dragging my lips over her flesh, I devour the area around her bellybutton. Her breathing quickens with each pass of my mouth. Justine trails her nails down my arms and back, not with force or to cause pain, but with a light and sensual touch. My hand goes between her legs, and she’s so wet. Even her inner thighs are damp. I toy with her slowly until she trembles and clenches and finally cries out, loud.
Her sounds drown out the crickets. I kiss her slow, feeling a well of emotion in my chest.
She is mine.
I’m fully on top of her now, the tip of my cock at her wet entrance.
“Do you know how much I need you?” It’s a rare moment of honesty and emotion, and as I say the words, I enter her. I’m dimly aware that she might think I’m asking this in a sexual way, but it’s anything but.
I need Justine in every way.
She wraps her legs around my hips, and I slide an arm under the small of her back so I can go deeper inside.
“As much as I need you, Rafael.”
I thrust slowly, savoring each movement. Her frame is so small compared to mine, her skin so silken. She fully opens her eyes and gives me a tender smile. Stroking my face with her free hand, a groan escapes her throat.
“Rafa, you’re not wearing a condom.”
I blink slowly a few times, realizing that I’m tired and in a sex fog and had forgotten. We’d been good about using condoms up until this point, not counting the time one broke.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter.
She licks her lips, and I move to pull out. Her hands go to my ass and squeeze, holding me in place. I don’t move. It’s too good, too warm, too sensual.
“This is perfection, you and me together like this.”
I press into her even harder, the muscles of my arms straining as I rest on flat hands. When she grounds her hips toward mine, I sip in a breath.
“It’s so, so, so perfect. And it’s dangerous,” she whispers.
I lean down to kiss her, running my tongue over her bottom lip. Everything I’d told myself not to do with Justine—succumb to her charm and wit and seduction—I’ve done. And here I am, fucking her—no, making love to her—without a condom as if she was mine exclusively and forever. As if we are together again.
Wait. There’s no as if. We are together again.
I am hers.
“Do you know what’s dangerous?” I ask, slowly moving in and out of her.
“What?”
“You. Being so close to this.” Leaning on one arm, my bicep quivering, I take my other hand and touch my chest, over my heart.
Justine squeezes her eyes closed and smiles. I thrust into her hard. I think she’s crying, because her face grows wet, and I brush my mouth over her cheeks to taste her tears. She tastes like salt and air and, yeah, home.
Both of us moan and grunt and cry out with almost every thrust, grinning and softly laughing and nipping at each other’s mouths.
“Prove to me, Rafa. Prove to me how much you want me,” she whispers, suddenly serious. Her muscles tighten around my cock, and I’m acutely aware of how warm and wet she is and how I feel like I’m filling her up.
My eyes roll back, and I can’t continue, I’m so overwhelmed. I feel like I can probably taste colors right now, my senses are so scrambled.
My explosive orgasm silences us both, and I don’t pull out. The feeling is freedom and light and absolutely fucking terrifying, which is probably why both of us are laughing and kissing like crazy.
14
Kryptonite
Miami.
Normally the mention of my hometown boosts my mood after being away for any period of time.
Now, not so much.
I’ve been trying to put off going back as long as possible because things have been so perfect with Justine. Of course, I haven’t told her that in those words, but I think she knows. She has to. We’ve been spending every spare minute together, acting like a couple and not bickering at all.
The sex has been out of this world, but that’s a given. In the past couple of weeks that I’ve been in St. Augustine, I’ve come to accept that I’ll never have a physical connection with anyone like I do with Justine.
Okay, I’ll probably never have a mental connection like this, either.
So I’d asked David to put off the meeting about the new building in Miami as long as possible. Preferably after St. Augustine and after my March trip to Madrid.
“No can-do this time. The King brothers want to have dinner, preferably tonight. My sister’s coming because she knows them well. Went to private school with Colin King,” David says to me on the phone Saturday morning. After spending a few days in St. Augustine, he’s back in Miami and handling a good chunk of the business at this point. Thank God I trust him.
I run a hand through my hair. Colin and Caleb King are two of the only developers I respect in this whole state. I’m sitting on a sweet piece of downtown Miami property that’s zoned for a condo, and if the King brothers want to develop it, I’ll jump at the chance to have dinner with them. Thank God for David’s socialite sister. She knows everyone.
“Fine. Fine. I’ll be there. I also got an email on that other thing. So I’ll handle that, too.”
“What other thing? The first thing or the second thing?” David jokes.
“The serious thing.”
“Oh, shit, bro.” David can sound so Miami at times, with his liberal use of the word bro. “You mean the thing about your mom?”
“Yeah,” I say sourly.
“You sure you want to deal with that right now, when you’re in the middle of, well, whatever the fuck you’re in the middle of with Justine?”
I push out a breath. “Not really. But I’m curious to see what he found.”
I’d hired a private investigator six months ago to look into my mother’s life in Cuba. Since I hadn’t heard from him in a while, I’d assumed the trail had run cold.
“As you should be. Look, bro, I gotta go. I’ll set something up with Colin and Caleb for tonight. Probably around eight at the Shore Club.”
We hang up, and I tap out an email to the PI, asking to meet with him Sunday. Do PI’s meet with clients on Sundays? I have no idea, but I suspect my cash will make it happen.
Looking up, I can see Justine in the other room. She’s on the sofa, in soft, comfy clothes, reading a book. Earlier, I’d lit a fire because it’s cold, and the soft glow is reflecting off her pink-pale skin, making her look soft and edible. I study her for a moment, wondering how I’d lived without this warm, elated feeling in my chest for so many years.
Dammit, I’d told her that I’d go with her to buy something for Diana today. Some market or something. Well, we’ll have to cancel our plans so we can go south.
My phone buzzes with the arrival of an email. It’s the PI, saying he can meet anytime on Sunday. Do I want to meet at my condo or at his house or over Cuban coffee in Little Havana?
My condo, eleven a.m., I type.
It’s all planned; Justine and I can walk on the beach at sunrise, then have a late, catered breakfast before the PI comes over. I’ll be nice and relaxed and have plenty of time to explain to Justine why I hired the PI.
Then it hits me that Justine has Diana’s baby shower tomorrow. She can’t go to Miami with me; she’s been talking about this party for days. I swear under my breath in Spanish. I’d hoped she’d come with me to the dinner with Colin and Caleb, too. But I can’t ask her to give up something so important with her friend, even though I know she probably would, for me.
I’m going to have to man up and endure some potentially difficult truths alone. I’ve faced far worse.
* * *
“Dude, what’s wrong? You’re not yourself tonight.” David puts his cigar to his mouth while eyeing a group of women nearby. He’s wearing his glasses and, I’m told, looks like a certain famous blond actor. I think he looks like a geek accountant, which is what he is, under the expensive clothes.
I shrug. It’s post-dinner, and David’s sister, along with Colin and Caleb King, are at the bar, ordering everyone a bottle of whiskey. We’ve eaten at the Shore Club’s restaurant, tentatively agreed to a deal for the downtown Miami building, and are relaxing by the glittering blue pool. Since it’s Saturday, the place is packed with Miami’s most beautiful people.
No different than any other club in the city. I really shouldn’t be this cynical, but sometimes Miami brings out this side of me.
A DJ spins loud music in the corner—there’s seemingly always a DJ everywhere in Miami, they’re as ubiquitous as Florida alligators—and I grimace. The thumping bass, the astronomically priced bottle service, the clusters of women in tiny dresses—it’s all so tiresome and familiar. I’ve seen this exact night play out a thousand times over the years. A long-haired blonde woman in a slip of a silver dress, teetering on platform Lucite heels, seems insistent on trying to catch David’s eye and I wonder if he’s slept with her. He has a thing for flashy, straight-haired blondes.
“Did you sleep with that chick? She’s staring at you.”
“The blonde? Hmmm…” He exhales a cloud of cigar smoke and mutters something. I don’t care enough to listen for the answer. I can’t wait to get back to the silence of my condo.
I’m too old for this crap.
I jiggle my leg, anxious. All because of Justine. Her voice sounded tight and small when we talked earlier. I’m worried she’s upset. She’d seemed disappointed when I’d told her I had to come to Miami for a few days.
“You were fine over dinner. Then you called Justine, right? Your sudden funk is about her, right?” David asks.
I grunt and check my phone. No text from Justine.
“She’s sharp, I’ll give you that. She doesn’t take any crap from you, from what I saw at the paper when you two were arguing about politics. Does she have a boyfriend?”
I yawn and shrug. “We weren’t arguing. We were discussing. And as far as a boyfriend, would it matter if she did?”
David grins. “Ah. Now that’s the Rafael I know. Pursue at all costs. Never surrender. You know, I haven’t seen you this way for a woman, though. Only in business.”
“For your information, she isn’t with anyone. And she’s special to me. Which kind of surprises me I’d say that after everything that happened between us.”
“Are you going to let your crush prevent you from having fun tonight?”
I sigh. “I’m not interested in any of this mierda.” I sweep my hand across the pool area, then check my phone again. This is more than a crush, and David knows it. I tap out a text.
I’ll call you later, mi cielo. Get some sleep.
I’m also uncharacteristically nervous about tomorrow’s meeting with the private investigator. For the millionth time, I wish Justine was here with me. She’d know what to ask the PI.
David points with his eyes at a group of women who are grinning in our direction and glances quickly down at the ground when he spots his sister and the King brothers coming toward us. “You’re sure? I mean, I’m off the market now that I’ve met my girl, but you can indulge all you want.”
“No appetite to indulge.” Even though my mind is in turmoil, my body is perfectly sated.
David appraises the women again, then cocks an eyebrow. “So what exactly do you want from Justine, anyway? It can’t be her newspaper. That thing’s sinking faster than the Titanic.”
“That’s for damned sure,” I sigh. Even if I wanted an actual relationship with Justine, the reality of what I’ll have to do to make the Times profitable will almost certainly push her away from me. That fact becomes more evident the deeper I dive into the paper’s finances.
Why the fuck isn’t she responding to my text?
A girl in a tiny dress with a box of cigars slung around her neck approaches and coos about whether I’d like something from her stash. I shake my head and wave her off. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about the paper or about Justine. We’re in pretty deep together at this point. At least I am. I dunno. Maybe she’s not into me at all. Maybe she’s using me to bail out the paper.”
Christ, I sound pathetic. But that’s my biggest fear, now that I’ve set up Justine to sleep with me in exchange for money. A stupid fucking idea on my part, in hindsight.
Newsflash: billionaires can be insecure, too. Especially if their kryptonite is named Justine.
David clears his throat. “By the way she looked at you when I saw you two at the paper the other day, I’d say she wants you for more than your money. She either wants to murder you or marry you, I can’t tell which. But there’s a passion there, something I’ve never seen before in real life. It’s like only-in-the-movies passion. I could barely sit in the same room as you two because of it. It was kind of hot, honestly. But a little scary. I’ve never watched anyone affect you like Justine does. A couple of times, I thought you were going to come unhinged, like when she bent down and showed you the property appraisal.”
I glance up from my phone. “What do you mean? Unhinged?”
“No offense, bro, but when her hair brushed your arm, you looked at her as if an angel had touched you. I thought you were going to propose to her right there in her office. Then your face morphed into this angry, disgusted mask. I’ve never seen such a…I don’t know. Range of emotion from you. Usually, you operate on two speeds: arrogant and shark.”
I chuckle. “I can always count on you for an honest assessment of my personality. Thank you.”
So David had picked up on my vibe with Justine. Then again, how could he not? Justine and I had undressed each other with our eyes from the very moment I showed up at the paper. Stripped each other down to our souls. I have no control over my feelings for her. I never have, and I never will.
I shrug. “Yeah. It’s intense between us. I don’t know where it’s headed. I mean, look at me. I’m here in Miami, surrounded by gorgeous women. We just sketched out a three-hundred-million-dollar deal with the King brothers. Exactly what I’ve wanted for years. And all I want to do is check my phone every ten seconds to see if Justine’s returned my text, like a high school kid.”
David’s laughing his ass off. “From the sound of things, I’d say you want to do more than get over Justine. Knowing you, I’d say you either want to destroy her or marry her. I’ll get the popcorn. It’s going to be interesting to see how this ends.”
15
Betrayal
I stand at the floor-to-ceiling window of my penthouse condo on South Beach, staring at the wide blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. I can’t meet the eyes of the private investigator who sits on the sleek black leather sofa. He’s an older, silver-haired Cuban man with eyes the color of the Florida sky. His name is Carlos, and he looks like one of those old men who wear guayaberas and plays dominoes in the park in Little Havana. But from what he’s revealing about my mother, he’s got impeccable contacts on the island, and I’m grateful for however he worked his magic to get my information.
