Page 113 of Naughty Nelle

The anger in Ari’s eyes grew fierce, his features hardening into a wall that almost stopped me from asking any more questions.

Bravely, I asked, “Where is she now?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.” His voice was gruff. Full of contempt. “The last thing I heard she was fucking her brains out in Europe. But as far as I’m concerned, she’s dead. And that’s what my son thinks.”

The cold fury and resolve in his voice sent a sharp shiver down my spine, rendering me speechless. I didn’t know what to say. An intense mixture of anger and anguish washed over his face while his stormy eyes held me fiercely in their gaze. And then his expression softened.

“Here’s the deal.” His voice went from livid to business-like.” If we continue to see each other, you must know that I will never spend the night with you here as I must go home to my son. He suffers from nightmares because of the cunt, and I need to be there for him.”

As much as his words rattled me, I respected him and admired his love for his child. I had grown up with a loving single parent myself. In all the eighteen years I’d lived with her, my mother had never brought a man home, fearing he would disrupt our magical bond. Or that he would break her heart as did my musician father when he abandoned her to live in a hippy commune with another woman. With the advent of the Internet, she was able to trace him…only to learn soon afterwards he’d died all alone from a drug overdose. But that only added to the pain. I’ll never forget that day, that phone call. I’d just turned five. She was painting my portrait. Bringing me back to the moment, Ari continued.

“And you shall never spend the night with me. In my bed. The last thing my son needs is to be confused by another woman. Or hurt.”

Obviously, there was a lot he wasn’t telling me about his ex. And what had gone down between them. My curiosity was piqued, but a little voice in my head told me not to go there…yet.

He sucked in a breath. “One last thing. Don’t count on any kind of long-term relationship. You need to understand that…because I like you.”

For some reason, this part of the deal made me inwardly shudder. It was some form of rejection even before I was rejected. But I knew on his part, it was a defense mechanism; he was afraid of having a relationship, afraid of commitment, afraid of being hurt again. Before I could respond, the unexpected buzz of the intercom startled me. I jumped up from the couch. Shit! Who could be here? Lauren again? The Grim Reaper? The redhead? My heart beat as fast as the vibrations below in a place called “there.”

“It must be Andre,” said Ari, rising from the couch.

“Andre?”

“My driver. I asked him to bring me some clean clothes.”

Hmm. So he had this all plotted out. I wanted to be mad at him, but instead I cracked a small smile. Wrapping my improvised toga once again around my breasts, I padded to the entryway and pushed the intercom button, allowing Andre to enter the building.

Shortly afterward, there was a loud knock at my door. I peered through the peephole and recognized the uniformed driver from last night. I opened the door halfway.

“These are for Mr. Golden.” His voice was strangely soft and melodic for such a big man. “I will be waiting for him downstairs.”

Before departing, he handed me two bags. Both were from Bergdorf’s. I returned to the couch and handed them to Ari. He reached into the smaller of the two. I watched in awe as he slipped a brand new pair of designer jeans over his bare ass and managed to zip up the fly despite the large package between his thighs. The jeans hung perfectly on his narrow hips, like they were custom made for him. A crisp, oversized blue and white striped collarless shirt completed the ensemble; he left it open, exposing the golden cream of his taut chest, and let the tails hang out over his jeans. Damn, he looked sexy!

“The other bag is for you,” he said.

“I can’t keep taking presents from you,” I stammered.

“Stop it. I’m going to buy you the entire women’s department if you don’t open what’s inside.”

“Is that a threat?” I asked playfully.

“No. It’s an order. Open the packages, Saarah.”

The sexy, languorous way he said my name totally unraveled me. I dug inside the bag and located the smaller of the two boxes. After sliding it out, I fumbled with the lid. My eyes grew wide. Another pair of stilettos. These shiny red strappy sandals. Prada. My size. My heart palpitating, my eyes met his.

“I enjoy seeing your toes. They bring back fond memories.”

I felt myself turning as red as the shoes. My sex was blushing too.

“Now, open the other box.”

Both hands, now trembling, I reached inside the bag again and slid out the much bigger package. I felt giddy with the excitement of a little girl getting an extravagant birthday present. I lifted off the lid and unfolded the layers of delicate tissue paper inside. Gasp! Before my eyes was an exquisite floral halter dress. Prada again. Size 6. Holy shit! I remembered seeing this dress in one of Lauren’s Vogues and gasping at the price. $4,000! I held it up and admired it. The strappy red stilettos matched the cabbage patch roses perfectly.

“Ari!” I croaked, too taken back to say another word.

“I want you to wear these this evening.”

I gazed at him, cocking my head like a puzzled puppy.

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