The Manhattanites: Unscrupulous Part 24

p.i.s.sed as a teething baby whose father had taken her pacifier, she argued, "Don't take what's mine away from me."

"Am I yours?" Waiting for his answer, he unb.u.t.toned his oxford, tearing at each white plastic b.u.t.ton. How many b.u.t.tons does this shirt have? At last, his shirt fell to the floor. He was naked in his stretch Maybach with the most beautiful woman in the world and he didn't want to f.u.c.k. No, they needed to talk.

"Perhaps." She went back to his c.o.c.k. Licking, pumping and sucking with a frantic stride. Taddy loved a career challenge, but could she take a personal one?

His hairy bag swelled tighter. The air-conditioning blew on his a.s.s cheeks, which were now held tight in Red's grasp.

Her acrylics felt like meat hooks in his flesh. He couldn't move. He didn't dare.

She sucked harder.

He'd waited months to find her, and he'd loved having her with him this weekend. She couldn't leave.

He gripped her face. "Taddy, stop. I'm going to-"

The limo's intercom chimed.

"Monsieur Truman, we'll be arriving at the airport in about ten minutes," his driver voiced over the limo's speaker.

Warner withdrew from her embrace. "Thank you, driver." He turned the intercom off and kissed Taddy again. "You make me insane with desire."

"Ahem." Her sourpuss face returned.

"We need to talk."

"No, we need to have s.e.x." Taddy grabbed his hands, guiding them under her red mink bra straps. She unleashed their beauty in one fell swoop.

My, my, my. He knelt back down and admired Brill panorama.

Her pear-shaped b.r.e.a.s.t.s in his hands looked as perfect as a fifty-eight-facet diamond. If the Gemological Inst.i.tute of America would have graded Red's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, without question, "FL" for flawless. "I love your b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

"They haven't changed much since this morning. Do they still turn you on?"

"Very much so. I'm in awe each time I see you. It's a new experience every time. You're everything I've ever wanted. You're all I need." He looked up at her.

Her mouth fell open. Taddy's eyes glistened.

He cupped her face in his hands. Get real with me, baby.

Shaking off her confusion, Taddy gave him a PR-diva smile. "My tah-tahs say thank you for the compliment."

"Taddy..." d.a.m.n your intimacy issues. He'd get her to open up, one way or another. His attempt to make love in the car had seemed like a good idea but hadn't worked out too well. She'd come close. He could tell. Taddy just might start to trust him. He'd love her if she'd let him. "I promise I'll come see you in New York. I will."

She reached forward, holding on to him. "I don't want to be a clingy girl. But for the first time in my life...I'm weak over you."

"Why can't I be stronger than you?"

"Vulnerability is foreign to me."

"Order a pa.s.sport for your emotions."

"Meaning-I don't like it." She ma.s.saged his biceps. "I've taken care of myself since I was a kid. I don't want to need you."

"But I need to want you," he comforted. "Let's celebrate us."

Taddy wiped her eyes and admitted, "I'm scared, Warner. We hardly know one another, and already my stomach is upset. I'm dizzy. I've never felt this way about anyone, ever."

"Good to hear, Taddy." Their feelings were becoming mutual. He held her hands in his. They felt warm.

"I shouldn't be talking to you like this. It's not good for me." Taddy shook her head and her lips trembled.

"Why do you fear us? What's the real reason? Tell me."

"No."

"Is it your family?" Warner pressed.

Her eyes narrowed. "I can't explain."

"Yes, you can and will."

Taddy swallowed loud enough for him to hear. Her eyebrows rose, maybe with the revelation he was being serious, she offered, "In time, Warner. I don't want to frighten you."

"Nothing you can say will make me run away. I promise I won't hurt you. I want to get to know you better."

"I want to spend more time with you too."

"We can go at whatever pace you're comfortable with as long as it's forward."

"Backward would suck." Taddy huffed into a laugh but it didn't come out convincing.

He pulled her into him. "Do you remember last night, at dinner I said you hadn't felt a man's touch in a while?"

"Yes." She buried her face in his chest.

"I can also tell you haven't experienced love. Not in a long time-if ever."

"No, you're right."

"You deserve to be loved. Please let me show you." He drew her face to his and kissed her. "I'll show you if you let me."

"I'm needed in New York. I'm..." Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, unable to finish her words. Taddy didn't mean what came from her lips. He knew her reb.u.t.tal was bulls.h.i.t. She wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.

Warner shushed her and held her in his arms as they pulled into the airport. When the limo arrived, he got dressed, stepped out with her and walked her as far as airport security would let him. He'd promised Taddy he'd come to New York on his way to Asia. He gave her the keys to his penthouse, his personal a.s.sistant's name and contact information in Manhattan. Warner guessed she'd never use it. She was Miss Millionaires Independent, but he hoped these "strings" would provide a.s.surance that they'd continue this new relationship.

He wanted her to be as excited about "us" as he was. But she radiated terror. His words had meant nothing to her, he could tell. Taddy's media world was built on hearsay and things that might not ever come into reality. Her personal life was about action. So he'd realized in the limo that talking to her wouldn't do either of them any good because she wouldn't listen. She had to be shown.

I'll give you action, Miss Brill, like you've never seen.

Chapter Eighteen.

Suck It, Blake Morgan May 22 Upper East Side, New York City While stuck talking to Air Euro Airways' President, Monsieur Jerome du Tautou, in the first-cla.s.s lounge, Taddy had missed her flight and booked herself on the next departure, two hours later.

A true Frenchman, Monsieur Jerome didn't scold her over the Hotel du France Kiki debacle. Rather he'd asked to use her Park Avenue residence this summer. Taddy didn't see his visit as a problem, since she holidayed Memorial Day through Labor Day out east in Bridgehampton with Blake and Vive. Since he'd busted her s.e.x toys up, her replacement items would be off-limits. Jerome promised to arrive with his own d.i.l.d.os, corsets and whips.

Late from her Paris connection, Taddy finally arrived home. Her Manhattan penthouse felt unlived in and dark. Dima, already asleep in his servants' quarters, had left a note in her boudoir that read, "m.u.f.fie stopped by. The puppies were good while you were gone. Breakfast is at 8."

The city's summer humidity had settled in early for the spring season. She set the air-conditioner to sixty-eight. Kissing Ruby, Carmine, Scarlet and Cherry on their black snouts, Taddy doted over each puppy. Cherry danced in circles, spinning the tucked-in sheets out from the bed's corners. Scarlet barked with a not-quite-a-dog yelp. Ruby licked Taddy's dry hands with her tongue. And to finish the list, Carmine waited for Taddy to snuggle her face in his silk coat and kiss his belly.

She crawled under the covers but before she closed her eyes, she did what she promised herself she wouldn't do-Taddy referred to her cell phone. No calls, texts or emails from Warner wishing her a good night. She was familiar with personal disappointment and realized she might have to accept that being in his arms this weekend would never come to more than a Big Daddy good time. If she allowed her mind to fill with expectations, she'd go mad.

At eight o'clock the following morning, her cell phone chimed two messages, one from Lex and another from Vive. Leaving them unanswered, she dressed in a Chanel suit, pulled her hair into a bun and sat in the formal dining room while Dima served her breakfast.

Dima called the dish zavtrak. She identified it as c.r.a.p. He considered breakfast an essential meal for the day. His usual preparations included protein-rich foods fit for an Olympic athlete. With a loud thud, he placed a Hermes bowl before her filled with Kasha.

Yuk. "Dima-darling, didn't I say you can't make me suffer like Oliver Twist living in some G.o.dforsaken orphanage by serving me this...s.h.i.t?" Resentment filled her empty belly.

"Huh?"

"You can't put this c.r.a.p in my good china either. It dries like flippin' concrete."

"Kasha is good for you."

Taddy stared at the gray-brown slop, wishing he'd prepare crepes, eggs Benedict or lemon poppy seed pancakes. "Why do the Shih Tzus receive better meals than me?"

"Ms. Brill, please do not start." For some reason Dima's Russian accent thickened in the morning. His muscular body frame leaned over the table, teasing her with his chest as he poured orange juice.

Once tempted to make him wear a slave collar, she'd settled on a formal black-tie uniform. "Where's your bowtie?" She shook her head, dropping the spoon in the gruel.

"Pardon?"

"I told you man-cleavage turns me on." But oddly this morning, Dima's pectoral wonderment exposed did nothing for her. Zero. Zilch. Nada. WTF? This is a first. Usually I'm sitting here eating my porridge imagining a c.o.c.k ride on your Mount Elbrus. She studied her butler's physique. Nothing had changed. Standing tall, delicious and Eastern European imported, he remained a stud, one who, as a rule, she'd f.u.c.k. d.a.m.n, Big Daddy, get out of my head.

"Apologies, Ms. Brill." Dima withdrew his tie from his front pocket and slid it around his neck. "Let me cook you something else. Kolbasa won't take but a few minutes."

"Perfect." She pulled out her papers and jotted down her day's punch list.

Not caring if Taddy paid attention, Dima talked to her from the kitchen. He chatted on, claiming to be a distant relative to Michael I of Russia, first Tsar from the House of Romanov. Dima filled the dead silence between them with elaborate stories on the Romanov dynasty's former wealth. Supposedly, they too ate-and enjoyed-the buckwheat paste.

Taddy thought about what her father used to like to eat when she was growing up. "You noted Aunt m.u.f.fie came by yesterday."

"Yes, she brought a friend," he shouted from the kitchen in broken English.

"Who?" she asked then sipped her orange juice.

Dima popped his shaved head out of the kitchen. A whiff of meat sausage filled the room. "A small woman, late fifties, black hair. She introduced herself with a regal t.i.tle. I did not get name."

"Flat-chested?"

"Very."

"C-Countess?" Taddy choked on the t.i.tle as it left her lips. "Countess Irma Brillford?" The citrus nectar in her stomach turned over to acid. Her mother had accompanied her aunt?

"I don't recall. m.u.f.fie mentioned she will ring you today."

"Dima, I'll take a rain check on your sausage. I better get into the office."

"What is a rain check? It's sunny outside."

Ignoring his lost-in-translation question, she grabbed her bag and called down to Jose, who pulled the car around. As she rode to work, she couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She just needed to work.

Taddy headed straight for Blake's executive offices on the opposite side to her suite. Pushing her mother and Big Daddy from her mind, she focused on the day ahead. a.s.s kissing remained on her agenda to cover up for her s.e.x-filled weekend. But she wasn't looking forward to Blake filling her in on the Neve Adele account. She imagined his tone would be bitter.

She walked into his office, unnoticed. Blake sat at his desk surfing Craigslist for a.s.s. "Happy Tuesday, Blake."

Blake grinned. "For someone who claims to have worked the Cannes film festival this weekend, your smile is anything but media related." Sporting Prada, he walked out from behind his desk. "Did you attend the parties I emailed you?"

"Well..."

Arms crossing at his chest, Blake examined her. "My Vanity Fair peeps reported back that you didn't show up to any of the events. Not a one." He made a tsk-tsk noise, as if he'd already come to the conclusion she'd spent the weekend in bed.

"I worked on Hotel du France for three days." On purpose, she kept her voice flat, so she wouldn't raise suspicion. "Time escaped me. Please tell your magazine friends I'm grateful for the invites, and I'll be sure to go next year."

"Work doesn't explain why your lips look like you've had a collagen injection." Blake's signature wit and sarcasm never stopped.

"It's from Baden Cosmetics' new lip treatment. It's called Blow Me," she lied.

"You sucked d.i.c.k." Going in for the attack, he accused, "I can smell the s.e.x coming off you." Blake stepped closer, breathing in. Sniff.

"Stop it." She pushed him back. "Jealous green isn't becoming on you."

"Pardon me." He laughed. "Over-s.e.xed red looks fabu on you."

"Ha ha. And how long has it been since you and your hubby got it on, Blakey?" She attempted to redirect his interest but realized they were tormenting one another as if they were kids again.

His manicured eyebrows rose. "My soon-to-be ex-husband and I haven't topped or bottomed in years. Speaking of bottoms..." Whack! He smacked her a.s.s.

"BLAKE." Taddy rubbed her heinie. Inching back to the door, she realized her office visit had backfired.