Chapter One
THE JOURNEY TO SEATTLE IS SILENT. Steve, the chauffeur, keeps his eyes on the road, and David, my husband - I still can’t believe he’s my husband - studies some papers on his lap, totally ignoring me.
I can’t stop looking at his face in profile, his straight nose, firm jaw and thick, wavy hair. He really is perfect, I think, captivated.
It’s still hard to believe that this man, who I only met three days ago, is my husband, and that I am leaving the life I have always known to go with him to his home, his city, his life, of which I know nothing. I don’t care though, I feel as if I’ve been trapped in a box for years, and he has shown me what it means to fly.
Between his reading and the brief, authoritative phone calls he’s made, he hasn’t looked at me at all. It’s unfair, especially since I can’t take my eyes off him. I don’t understand how he can make such wonderful love to me, tease me until I’m blushing, and in the next moment, act as if I don’t even exist.
Feeling suddenly insecure, I look away from him. I can almost hear Aunt Josephine’s voice, telling me how foolish I am. ‘Have you stopped to ask yourself why a man like him would marry a girl like you? Don’t you think he has an ulterior motive?’
I push the doubting thoughts away. What ulterior motive could he possibly have? I’m neither rich nor successful, nor exceptionally beautiful. In fact, I was the one who begged him not to leave me.
Turning back to look at him, I see that he’s still engrossed in his reading. As I watch his strong fingers flip through his papers, my mind drifts to last night, our wedding night, and I feel my skin heat up. Last night, I was the one he was engrossed in.
After the short ceremony, we all went back to the hotel where he was staying for drinks and dinner. Halfway through dinner, which I was too tense to eat, he suddenly stood up, and announced to our few guests that he was retiring for the night with his new wife.
The look in his eyes had filled me with such want that I almost couldn’t stand. The next thing I knew, he picked me up and carried me out of the restaurant and into the elevator, amidst self-conscious cheers from our guests.
We were alone in the elevator, and as soon as the doors closed, he claimed my lips, his tongue delving hungrily in my mouth. His hands found their way under my dress and started to knead me gently through my new lace panties. I was whimpering with pleasure by the time we reached his floor.
Then he lifted me again and carried me to his room. Someone, probably his assistant, Linda, had arranged for wine in an ice bucket, and strawberries. He ignored those. He dropped me, barely able to stand, at the foot of the bed and pulled down the zipper of my dress, pulling it off my shoulder along with the straps of my bra.
When my breasts were free, he covered them with his hands. I moaned softly as he massaged them gently, arousing me until I fell against him, and he had to guide me unto the bed.
He pulled my dress up around my waist and pushed my panties aside, then his tongue was between my legs, and I was moaning and whimpering, my fingers clutching his hair. In only a few moments, my body was pulsing uncontrollably, shattering around his mouth. Then he stopped suddenly. While I was still wondering why, he pulled down his pants and in the next moment, he had filled me completely.
I came immediately, crying out as the warm sweetness shattered my body into a million pieces, then as he continued to move, I felt the pleasure build up again, heat starting up in my core and spreading until even my fingertips were filled with pleasure. I screamed my release the same moment as he groaned loudly and collapsed on top of me.
Then I said it. I love you.
And he didn’t say anything.
~§~§~§~§~
The pleasure of my memories fades into a faint heartache. No matter how I think about it, I can’t find a way to convince myself that I shouldn’t be worried about his silence after I said those words.
How does he feel about me?
I have no answer to my question. It’s scary, especially because my own feelings have taken over every part of me. It’s as if I’ve stepped off the edge of a cliff, and even though my heart’s in my mouth and my stomach is in knots, I’m the most excited I’ve ever been in my life. I’m totally enthralled by him. I want him, every part of him, and I desperately want him to feel the same way about me.
“If you keep staring at me like that I’m going to think you’re having second thoughts already.” His deep voice cuts into my thoughts. He is looking at me, his blue eyes probing into mine, and his perfect lips curved into a faint smile.
I stare helplessly at him for a moment, my skin flushing. He is so insanely beautiful to look at. Will I ever get used to being around all that perfection? It doesn’t seem likely. Right now, he looks enticing, dangerous, and incredibly sexy. His snowy white shirt is open at the collar, exposing the strong column of his throat. His dark hair curls softly into the back of his collar, making me want to run my fingers through it, and his dark blue pants stretch over the long length of his legs. Just from looking at him, my fingers are itching to touch him. I want him so much. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting him.
“I’m not having second thoughts.” I deny softly. Second thoughts are the farthest thing from my mind. I just wish I knew how he felt about me. If I did, then maybe I wouldn’t feel so out of my depth. Next to his perfection, his obvious wealth, his incredibly good looks, I can’t help feeling extremely ordinary.
His eyes linger on my face for a moment, as if he’s reading my thoughts in my expression. He puts a hand on my thigh and strokes it lightly, in a gesture that should be reassuring but only fills my mind with images of the things those hands have done to me.
“Don’t worry,” He says, turning back to his work, his hand still on my thigh. He sounds relaxed, his voice faintly teasing. “I promise I don’t have a firing squad waiting for you.”
“That’s not what I was thinking.” I reply with a self-conscious laugh.
“Then what are you so afraid of? An underground torture chamber?”
“No.” I protest. “Of course not, I was just thinking that I know so little about you.”