The Arrangement Book 3

TWO MONTHS LATER

Nothing said goodbye like a party, and I had to admit it had been a long time since I’d seen a party so spectacular at the yacht club. Even the annual bash couldn’t hold a flame to tonight's extravaganza.

Angela had truly outdone herself.

And all in my honor, no less.

Despite the festivities around me, I couldn’t help but feel a certain wistfulness.

The party was to publicly celebrate my official retirement from Knight Enterprises. Forty years of toil and fighting to build the world’s largest oil company, followed by the world’s most sought-after luxury hotel brand.

It all boiled down to this, to five hundred of my closest friends and colleagues in their Sunday best, chin-wagging at the yacht club.

Don’t mistake me.

I could feel only the utmost gratitude for my comrades and their desire to celebrate my accomplishments.

The signature mango-infused and strawberry-topped drink, named The Bradlini in my honor, and the live band playing my favorite tunes flat-out tickled me pink.

One single thought, though, left me sitting in my chair, chasing ice cubes around my glass with a little pink umbrella. One single thought gripped my old heart.

“What are you doing all the way back here, old man?” my son said suddenly, clapping me on the shoulder.

My son, my pride and joy, Xavier.

Once, I’d worried he might not have it in him to inherit my estate. Over the past year, he’d proved himself twice over. That was why I was stepping down.

Xavier didn’t need my guidance anymore, not even part-time. He was a man in his prime, filled with the hunger required to be a great businessman, with the drive to make something great of himself.

He would bring honor to the Knight name, to our legacy.

“Just taking a moment to soak it all in,” I told him then turned to address his beautiful wife. “You’ve really outdone yourself, my dear.”

Angela blushed, as always, a vision of altruism and grace. “It was my pleasure.”

“Why don’t you join the party?” Xavier urged again. He grabbed a Bradlini from a passing waiter and held it out for me.

“The dancing will start soon,” Angela chipped in.

I accepted the glass of frothy, sunset-colored booze. “You two go. I’ll catch up.”

They shared a quick look, and then Xavier took his wife’s hand and led her toward the dance floor.

That was the trick of it all. I felt just the same as I had forty years ago. Just as vibrant. Just as hungry. Like I could wake up every morning and storm Wall Street.

It wasn’t until I looked in the mirror that I was reminded of the truth. Then, as I took in the wrinkles and balding head, I knew it wasn’t possible, that the time had come to pass the torch.

I’d lived a good life. I’d had love as great as the stuff in fairytales. I’d raised a son who was the apple of my eye. My career had been more successful than most could ever hope to achieve.

As I let the chatter and din of the retirement party wash over me, my eyes fluttered shut.

Suddenly, a high-pitched squeal screeched through the yacht club. I winced, ears ringing, and opened my eyes.

A woman stood at the center of the stage, a young sultry thing, with wide hips and mocha skin.

“Sorry about that,” she said, fumbling with the microphone. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to start you off with one of my favorites.”

She counted the band in, and then the sweetest notes I’d ever heard filled the air.

As though possessed, I found myself standing from my chair, my sixty-five-year-old bones carrying me closer.

Closer to the enchantress dominating the stage.

Closer to an uncharted future.

“See, I told you. Everything is fine,” Xavier said, pulling me into his arms.

I wasn’t convinced but let him hold me anyway, leading me as we began to sway to the music of the band.

The dancing hadn’t started yet, not really, but I wasn’t about to point out to Xavier that we were the only couple on the dance floor. Not with how he was looking at me now.

Instead, I let his strong arms act as a comfort as I worried over his father.

Brad hadn’t seemed like himself the whole night.

When he’d approached me to plan his retirement party, I had been excited about the opportunity to help out. Brad had done so much for Xavier and me that it was an honor to be able to repay him, even just a little.

Now, I couldn’t help but think that I had done something wrong.

I took a peek over Xavier’s shoulder. Brad was still in his chair, eyes now closed.

“I don’t think he’s going to come dance with us,” I whispered to Xavier.

I felt him sigh. “Angela, please try to have some fun. You planned a wonderful party. If I know my father, the last thing he wants is everyone fussing over him.”

I tightened my grip around him and started paying attention to the steps he was leading me through. “Okay.”

I had a surprise coming up soon, anyway. If that didn’t get Brad up on his feet, I wasn’t sure anything would.

As if on cue, a high-pitched noise pierced through the yacht club, making me falter. Xavier pulled me tighter to his chest, stopping me from tripping and making a fool of myself.

“What’s she doing here?” he asked, eyes fixed to the stage.

I turned, too, and smiled as Penny took the microphone.

“It was the least I could do,” I said to Xavier.

“For what?”

“Her helping to rescue me.”

Xavier’s lips pressed into a thin line as Penny began to sing.

His relationship with Penny was a complicated one. Honestly, she was a wonderful person. Very kind and surprisingly shy for someone who took to the stage so convincingly.

But I think she reminded Xavier of a time in his life that he didn’t like.

A time when he was a meaner, angrier person.

I guess it was kind of like looking back at awkward childhood photos. Cringing at how stupid and goofy you looked…only a hundred times worse.

Maybe inviting her had been a mistake.

Penny was a singer, though, and a good one at that. She knew all of Brad’s favorites.

Plus, I hadn’t meant to hire her.

I’d found her name by accident on a list of singers to hire for events. As soon as I’d seen it, I’d known I had to call her, to thank her.

Xavier had told me that it had been Penny who had given him the final clue all those months ago.

If it hadn’t been for her, Xavier wouldn’t have found the warehouse where Jacques had taken me. He wouldn’t have made it to me in time.

Jacques had died that day, and despite the terrible things that he’d done, I knew there were people out there who loved him, who relied on him.

People like Penny.

The least I could do was give her a job she was more than capable of doing.

It seemed like it had been a good choice too, because out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Brad had stood up and was slowly making his way to the dance floor.

He was transfixed, his eyes glued to Penny as she belted out the final chords of “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”

“Look,” I whispered to Xavier, pointing at Brad.

“I am,” he replied. His husky voice had me turning back around to face him, and I realized he’d been looking at me.

The music changed, a slow Spanish beat filling the air. Xavier pulled me up against his hard muscled body.

I gasped as his hand ran down my back to my butt. “Xavier!”

My husband was far too comfortable with intimate displays in public.

It was difficult for me to initiate a simple kiss in the privacy of our own home, let alone touch him when we were in a room full of people.

“Yes?” His leg slid between mine as he began to lead me in the familiar steps of the bolero.

I felt my cheeks warm. “I’m not sure if this is the right time.”

We’d grown closer in the past few months, and I felt more connected to him than ever before, but I wasn’t sure why I needed to prove it by letting him grope me every time we stepped out of the house.

The kind of affection he seemed to crave was so foreign to me it was overwhelming.

Xavier kissed my bare shoulder then my neck. “Am I not allowed to enjoy dancing with my wife?”

“O-Of course, it’s just…”

My words trailed off, half because I lost the courage to say them, half because Xavier kissed me.

Two months.

Two goddamned months.

This had to be a record. If not a world record, then a personal best.

I couldn’t remember ever going more than two days without sex, let alone two months.

Angela was nervous. She wanted to wait.

I understood that, logically. Emotionally, I was ready to hit her over the head and drag her into a cave to have my way with her.

The need to touch Angela, to feel her body rub against mine, was constant.

Her hand on my shoulder, the brush of her leg against mine, our fingers laced together… The smallest touches had turned into the most erotic dance.

Even tonight, in a room full of older people, at my dad’s retirement party, as my ex-fuck buddy looked on, all I could think about was taking her right there, in the middle of the dance floor.

All I wanted was to get her home, to slip her out of her tight white dress, and ravage her.

The lust frequently left me with a sort of whiplash. One second I was sweet and hot, the next, cold and surly.

As we pulled up in front of our building at the end of the night, I found myself fluctuating back and forth between the two.

“Good night, Marco,” said Angela as I helped her from the back seat.

I put my hand on the small of her back, pushing her toward the door, before Marco could even reply. “Let’s get inside.”

She looked up at me as we crossed the lobby. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” I bit back, closing my free hand into a fist.

She continued to rattle on nervously as we stepped into the elevator, the flush rising in her cheeks as she took in my tense shoulders.

We’d played this game countless times in the last few weeks. She knew exactly what was wrong. What I wanted. What I couldn’t have.

“Did you have enough to eat? I could whip up a little something. I—”

I needed to fuck something, or punch something, whatever opportunity presented itself first.

The elevator doors pinged open, and I rushed forward into the penthouse.

“Xavier?”

Right, Angela had asked me something.

I stopped in my tracks beside the kitchen and turned on my heel. “I’m not hungry.”

Angela slowly sauntered toward me, her brows knit together with worry. “That’s not what I said.”

She was inches from me now, so close our chests touched. She brought one of her hands up and wrapped it around the back of my neck.

I almost groaned at the contact.

I licked my lips, trying to ignore the increasing ache in my crotch. “What do you need, Angela?”

A small smile crept over her lips. “To thank you. I had a great time with you tonight.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine in the most delicate of kisses.

It was like a spark from a flint. Suddenly, my whole body was ablaze.

In less than a second, I lifted Angela in one arm and used the other to clear the kitchen island.

Candlesticks and salt and pepper shakers clattered to the hardwood floor as I placed her on the counter.

“Xavier,” she breathed.

I pulled the zipper of her dress down and let my hands run over the now bare skin of her back.

Angela wrapped her legs around me, pulling me closer.

Her fingers wound through my hair as I pulled off my suit jacket and began working down the buttons of my dress shirt.

I reached behind her again, fingers finding the clasp of her bra.

For a second, I thought she was going to let me do it.

She was finally going to give me access to her full breasts.

Let me take her like I wanted to.

Then, I felt a familiar pressure against my chest and her little hands pushed me back, off of her. “Xavier, stop.”

I growled, pushing away from the counter, away from her and down the hall.

“Where are you going?” her small voice called after me.

I couldn’t help the edge of anger in my voice as I growled my reply. “To the fucking shower.”

I sat on the counter, half dressed, heart racing in my chest, trying to catch my breath.

I could still feel Xavier’s hands on me. Asking. Begging.

I knew that I would have to give in soon.

We’d been dating for over two months now, had been husband and wife for almost a year, but our marriage had yet to be consummated.

Xavier had been patient with me. Never pressing. Never forcing. I appreciated his efforts more than he might know.

I could see that it was getting to him though, that he needed a release.

We’d gotten close a couple of times, but each time I’d stopped him from going further.

No matter how often I said it, though, we didn’t seem to be any closer to making love.

Every time Xavier and I were close, a wave of panic would wash over me and I would push him away.

As I reached down to pick up the now chipped salt shaker, I heard the shower turn on down the hall, and a steely determination hit me.

I pushed my dress off my shoulders, letting it fall to the living room floor, and took a step toward Xavier’s bedroom.

Then another.

He’d left the bathroom door open, like always. An invitation, he called it. Steam billowed out into the bedroom, almost beseechingly.

I unclipped my bra, shimmied out of my panties, and stepped through the open bathroom door.

I couldn’t let my fear hold me back any more. I wouldn’t push him away any longer. In private or public.

Xavier stood in the shower, his eyes closed, and his head thrown back. Steam rolled off of his shoulders. He had one hand braced against the tiled wall, the other wrapped around his—

I couldn't stop the gasp that escaped my lips. My hand flew up to cover my mouth, but it was too late. He’d heard.

Xavier’s head whipped around, his eyes growing wide they landed on me, his hand ceasing its up-and-down movement. He rushed to cover himself.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and the realization of what I’d just seen hit me like a brutal gust of wind.