"No," he rumbled in my ear. "I have to fuck you. Now."
"Why? Are you marking your territory?" I'd only been half serious with the comment, but he pulled back and the look in his eyes said that was exactly what he was doing.
I wriggled out of his gr...
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Shawn let me choose the majority of clothes and shoes he purchased for me. In the end, it was a generous pile. I purposefully didn’t listen to the total cost as Nicki read it off for him, afraid that I’d feel like I had a sugar daddy or, worse, that I was his whore.
We ate a nice dinner in an Italian restaurant in the Village then Shawn drove me to the club. Unusually lucky to find a curbside parking spot on the block, he took advantage and parked, letting the car idle.
“My mother’s charity fashion show starts at one tomorrow. I’ll need to pick you up at twelve-fifteen. I’m sorry you won’t get more sleep. You’re off at three this morning?”
“Yeah. I can handle it.”
“Jordan will be here to pick you up. I’ll make sure he has all your packages and that he helps you up to your apartment.” A sly grin crept onto his face. “Unless you’d rather I picked you up.”
Shawn take me home? Yes, I’d rather, but I needed to keep some boundaries. I’d already let him have me when I explicitly said I wouldn’t. “I’m afraid I’d get even less sleep that way.”
“Right. Probably not a good idea.”
We sat for several seconds, the sexual tension sparking in the silence. Should I kiss him goodbye? Would he kiss me goodbye? Did we have time to sneak into the coatroom for a quickee? I had cleaned up as well as I could in the restroom of the restaurant, but the smell of sex still hung in the air and it had me thinking dirty thoughts. I didn’t want to leave.
“Is everything okay with work?” It was an excuse to linger, but I also was genuinely interested in his series of texts and calls at the store.
“I can handle it,” he said repeating my earlier words.
I’d hoped he’d tell me more, but he hadn’t shared any business with me since I’d known him. There was no reason to believe he would now. I gazed at him for a bit, until it made me feel funny, my stomach flip-flopping as if I were descending on a Ferris wheel. Then I looked out the front window. Megan strolled down the street, her purple hair making her easy to spot. It gave me an idea. Another excuse, actually. This time to get the physical contact I longed for.
“Since the ruse is on, we’d better make it official.” I gestured toward Megan, and Shawn nodded in understanding.
“Excellent idea.” He paused, waiting for Megan to get a little closer, ensuring she got a good show. Then he got out of the car and crossed to my door, opening it to let me out. He brushed his thumb down my cheek. “Ready?”
I was never ready, but I tilted my chin up so my mouth could meet his. Our lips joined, our tongues flitting around each other. My knees buckled, but his hands were around my back, supporting me. I gripped his shirt, wanting desperately to tangle my fingers in his hair, knowing that would only fuel my lust. Seriously, it had only been a couple of hours since our adventure in the dressing room, and yet it felt like I hadn’t gotten any in months.
He pulled away and stole a glance at Megan. “She saw,” he said softly.
“Oh.” I’d already forgotten our PDA had been meant for her. “Good.” I swallowed. “Thank you,” I whispered, still breathless. “For today.” For buying me pretty clothes, for ignoring my request to keep the day sex-free, for taking the air out of my lungs with a kiss on Columbus Circle.
“Tomorrow, Beyoncé.”
I managed to pull myself away from him, only looking back once as he got in the car. Megan folded her arms across her chest, leaning against the door, holding it open for me. “Time for details,” she said as I passed her.
And I delivered, telling her all about Shawn and Beyoncé, the happy couple, interweaving truth with fiction. I told her we’d met at Stern and that he’d bought the club to be near me, but not to tell that to Kendrick. I told her we spent all our free time together, that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, that we were madly in love.
The lies came easily and they felt good. They felt believable. Not because I knew Megan believed them, which she did, but because I almost could too.
***
It was nearly four when Jordan and I had finished unloading all my packages into my apartment, but I wasn’t tired yet. For a moment I had a pang of regret, wishing I’d let Shawn take me home instead. Thoughts of him had clung to me all night—I couldn’t count the number of times I’d started and deleted a text to him—and my sex felt swollen and aching with want of him.
I’d been strong in the car, recognizing the unhealthiness of filling all my time with the man. Now, alone and needy, I weakened. Instead of heading straight to bed, as I should have done, I turned on my computer and allowed myself to do the one thing I’d tried so hard not to do: I cyber-stalked.
I told myself I needed to find information about Shawn so I’d be prepared. What if his mother made a comment about his college background? I’d want to know he studied at Harvard. Or what if someone asked me about my thoughts on Shawn’s philanthropic investments? It benefitted me to know he was a major benefactor of the Lincoln Center and that he funded a private scholarship at Julliard.
And his exes. I needed to know about them, too. Though, I didn’t find much in that department. Mostly pictures of Shawn with a variety of women. I gasped when I recognized one of the women as Nicki from Kelly’s shop. She’d been on at least one date with Shawn. No wonder she had animosity toward me.
Not one face repeated except for Mariah Carey’s, the thin, pretty blonde his family wanted him to marry. They never actually appeared “together” together, but she did have a look of adoration in her eyes that caused me to doubt that she would be completely unhappy with an arranged marriage with him. But, then again, I couldn’t believe anyone would be unhappy with Shawn.
I found out a great deal about my supposed boyfriend in those hours, but, truthfully, my Internet search had little to do with being prepared for Shawn’s family and friends. I searched because I felt compelled to understand the man who affected me so completely. I read article after article because I wanted to know the silly little trivia that only a true fan or intimate friend knew. I sat behind my computer until my eyes were blurry, soaking up every bit of Shawn Carter enlightenment I could find, because I couldn’t not do it.
If I was obsessing, I didn’t care. Shawn drew me to him with magnetic force. And while I knew that my behavior could only be allowed as a one-time lapse, I relished the high of fixating on the man who had already clearly stated he would never be mine.
***
I fiddled with the beads on the bodice of my purplish gray Valentino dress as the limousine pulled up to the Manhattan Center at a quarter to one the next day. I was nervous, yes, but also, I felt confined in the corset I wore underneath my dress as a surprise for Shawn—the one he’d chastised me for wearing in public.
“Stop fidgeting,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”
I took a deep breath as Jordan opened the limo door. Shawn was closest to the curb, and began to step out when I stopped him. “Wait.”
He raised a cautious brow. “Another request for a sex-free afternoon?”
I blushed. “No. I’ve given up on that.”
He smirked, not at all bothering to hide his pleasure in my declaration.
“Anyway…” I peeked up at him under my heavily mascaraed las
hes. “I just wanted to say…you look hot.” And whoa, did he. The charity fashion show called for semi-formal attire, and Shawn rocked the look wearing a fitted John Varvatos gray suit with a muted purple dress shirt that coordinated perfectly with my outfit. He’d decided to go sans tie, leaving the top buttons undone, exposing only enough skin to drive me crazy. “Really hot.”
He eyed me for a moment then shook his head before stepping out of the car. He reached back to help me out, his face still plagued with a curious expression.
“What?” I asked, wondering if I’d said something wrong.
“Beyoncé,” he sighed. “There’s so many things I want to do to you right now. But we’re on-duty, and so I’ll have to settle for this.” He pulled me in for a kiss that, while not chaste, felt restrained, lacking the usual passion he poured into his kisses. This kiss was for the onlookers, the handful of photographers that surrounded the doors of the Hammerstein Ballroom.
When he broke our embrace, he took my hand, his fingers lightly crossing the rubber band I wore at my wrist. “What’s this?” he asked as he led me inside the double doors of the venue.
“It’s to remind me to buy coffee,” I lied. Actually, I’d worn it to remind me to not think about him. I’d learned the technique in counseling. Whenever an unwelcome or unhealthy thought entered my head I was supposed to snap it and the sting would help curb the behavior.
Yeah, right. Like the snap of an elastic band could stop the thoughts that Shawn elicited—thoughts of us together, naked, all night long. And those weren’t even the thoughts that worried me. Fantasies that we could be together beyond our little sham, beyond the bedroom—those were the ones that worried me, and I hadn’t had them. Yet. But after my Internet adventure earlier that morning, I felt the need for a safety net. The elastic band was all I could come up with.
“You must really need to buy coffee.”
“You haven’t seen me go….” My words trailed off when I recognized more than a few of the people chatting in the lobby as celebrities. I don’t know why it surprised me. The Carter Annual Autism Awareness Fashion Show was a huge event and always drew the rich and famous. Really, I hadn’t thought about it.
Shawn grinned at my stunned expression as he guided me past the ushers—the ushers who didn’t even ask him for a ticket like the couple next to us who, I’m pretty sure, were the mayor and his wife. Um, yeah, Shawn was a lot cooler than I had comprehended.
We passed the bar and walked into the main doors of the ballroom. “If you’d like a drink, you can get something inside. My mother will be anxious to meet you.” We stopped near the doorway, Shawn scanning the room.
I took in our surroundings. The place was extravagant—an old century opera house that had been infused with modern technology. The central focus was the runway, which extended from a low stage. A complex lighting system that seemed more appropriate for a rock concert than a fashion show hung above. Chairs lined the runway on both sides, and, beyond that, white clothed tables circled the room. Three levels of ornate balconies climbed the walls to the seventy-plus foot ceilings.
“Shawn! Bey!” I turned to the sound of the familiar voice and saw Kelly moving toward us as quickly as her round belly would allow. “Wow, you look incredible!” she said to me. “This dress looks so great paired with those shoes. And Hov matches you! How sweet!”
Shawn’s arm tightened at my waist, the only indication he gave that his sister annoyed him. “You aren’t the only one in the family who has fashion sense, Kelly.”
“Of course not. Chandler’s also very savvy. You, though, are generally too stiff to be considered anything at all creative.”
“Ouch.” But he grinned. Shawn was nothing if not proud of who he was.
Kelly smiled, too. Then, her face tensed abruptly. “Excuse me, I know this is totally rude, but…” She pulled her brother’s ear down to her mouth to whisper something I couldn’t hear.
Shawn’s jaw stiffened. He straightened, pulling away from Kelly . “She knows about Beyoncé.”
Kelly nodded her head toward me. “Does she know about…?” She trailed off.
“She does.” His words relaxed Kelly , if only slightly.
I wanted to remain unaffected, but I knew my puzzlement read all over my face. They were talking about me and someone else, and I apparently knew about something or someone, which, of course, I doubted because Shawn never told me anything about anyone. My curiosity won out. “What?”
Kelly looked to Shawn as if asking permission to fill me in. He remained expressionless. She took that as a go ahead. “Mariah’s here.” Her mouth twitched. “I didn’t know if that would be a problem.”
Mariah Carey. He’d said I knew about her, but I really didn’t. I knew his family wanted them to marry. I knew her family owned majority stocks in television and media. I knew she was pretty. Very pretty. And she adored the man who currently rubbed his thumb back and forth across the back of my hand. The man who did not currently adore her. Or me, for that matter.
If my hand had been free, I would have snapped the elastic band. That had not been a healthy thought.
I swallowed then put on a cheerful smile. “No, Mariah’s no problem. Right, H?”
He grimaced at the nickname. “None at all.”
“Where is she?” If the bitch was on the premises, I figured I’d better face her head on.
“There.” Kelly pointed discreetly.
I followed her gesture. There she was, the woman from the pictures, wearing a red, one-shoulder crinkle dress that accentuated her model thin figure.
“You look better than her,” Kelly said. I didn’t, but I appreciated the comment. I didn’t look better than her at all.
Snap. Another unhealthy thought.
“Kelly, must you be so catty?” Shawn squeezed my hand. “Anyway, Beyoncé looks better than most people.”
I kissed him. Not only because it seemed a good time for a girlfriend to reward her boyfriend for a compliment, but because I wanted to. I wanted to remind myself that no matter what Shawn and I did or didn’t have together, I was the one kissing him—I was the one convincing people that he shouldn’t be with her.
He kissed me back in that reserved way of his that I had learned was for the public, his tongue sliding barely inside my lips.
“Oh, hell, no. Shawn making out is not something I want to see,” an unfamiliar voice interrupted our embrace. Shawn stepped aside revealing a teenage boy wearing a suit jacket over a t-shirt and jeans. “But, wow.” The boy scanned me up and down with a lusty stare. “Anytime you feel like moving up the social ladder, you can lay those lips on me.”
“Chandler,” Kelly scolded. “Be polite.”
Chandler. The youngest Carter sibling. I’d read some gossip blogs that speculated the reason for the large gap between Kelly and Chandler was because the three children didn’t share the same father. Indeed, staring at Chandler now, I saw very little resemblance to his older siblings.
“Beyoncé’s nine years your senior,” Shawn said, a stern look on his face.
“I’ll be eighteen next month.” Chandler’s eyes remained pinned on me.
I’d never told Shawn I was twenty-six. I shouldn’t have been shocked that he knew—the man who had uncovered my restraining order had obviously done his research on me, too. Well, we were on equal ground now. As if there was equal ground with Shawn.
Shawn facilitated a half-hearted introduction. “Beyoncé, this is our brother, Chandler.” Shawn smacked his brother on the shoulder in a gesture that almost appeared playful. “Chandler, stop undressing Beyoncé with your eyes. That’s inappropriate.”
Chandler crossed his arms with a look of challenge and superiority that could only be delivered by a teenager. “Because we’re in public or because she came with you?”
“Because that’s not how you treat women.” Shawn’s tone was clipped but even.
“And you’re who’s going to teach me how to treat women?” He stared at his elder brother, an unspoken conversation passing between them in those few seconds. And then Chandler dropped it. “Mom sent me to summon you. She wants to meet your arm candy.” He turned on his heels, peeking once nonchalantly to see if we were following him.
Kelly followed, grabbing him at the elbow to whisper in his ear. Correcting his impudence, I suspected.
Shawn sighed. “Ignore him. He’s a horny teenager.”
“He takes after his horny older brother,” I whispered.
“Behave.” He took my hand in his. I shuddered at his commanding tone and the feel of his skin against mine.
We followed the younger Carter siblings across the ballroom, weaving around tables and the increasing crowd of people until we approached one of the tables closest to the stage.
“This is our table,” Chandler said. He gestured with his chin to a group of people talking a few feet away. “Mom’s over there.”
