In the Land of Milk and Honey Read online

  “This is bullshit,” Jill mumbled and crossed her arms. We ignored her. It was the only thing to do when she got like this.

  “Where and when does he want to meet you?” August asked, turning to me.

  “Oh, tonight. He said he wants to talk over dinner. Some place on Fifth Avenue,” I relayed as I scrolled through the message on my phone, and when I looked back up August’s features scribbled with concern.

  “That’s the house he owns in the city,” he said and darted his eyes to Jill and Violet, and I knew what he was getting at. August didn’t think it was a good idea to meet Daniel at his house. “Did you want me to come along?” he ventured, his brows raising.

  I pursed my lips as I scrolled through re-reading the message, when I found a second one in the inbox.

  -Email Sunday 3:46 p.m.-

  Sender: D. Baird

  Recipient: mgvalentine- Valentine Designs

  Come alone.

  I closed the email. “No, this is between him and me. I think it will be fine,” I said quietly, and the protestors dispersed.

  While Ian and August played a board game with Tristan, the girls went to my closet and pulled out a black power suit. Jill said I needed a look that appeared ‘about business’, so we compromised with a Violet pick: a fitted white button up and slim jeans. After cleaning up dinner and saying goodbye to Ian and Jill—Vi was staying behind to help babysit—August signaled to speak with me privately.

  “You know I won’t tell you what to do or how to handle this but, on your peace mission, try to get some answers tonight.”

  I nodded.

  ~o~

  I arrived two minutes early. I guffawed when we pulled up to the residence on the address. I didn’t even want to speculate the cost. It was an architectural marvel in limestone with a direct view of the park. I took a few deep breaths and went over the high points I’d discussed with August before I climbed the stone stairs.

  I knocked gingerly on the massive mahogany door at the front of the townhouse and held my breath as it slowly creaked open. A butler of some sort straight out of The Great Gatsby eyed me suspiciously like I was here to sell him shrimp from a suitcase.

  “Mr. Baird is expecting me,” I explained, but as I did, I heard the rapid footfalls of expensive Italian shoes on the marble floor approaching. From down a hall behind the grand iron stairway, Daniel strode quickly towards us with a hard look on his face.

  “Let her in,” he ordered, his eyes narrowed at me. He turned and said over his shoulder, “Follow me.”

  I gave a nervous smile to the butler, quickly stepped in the home, and hurriedly followed Daniel’s descending figure through the house. It was palatial and grand with a strong English influence. Gold-framed oil paintings and sconces; the furnishings were rich but not dark. It was a spectacular home. I kept my eyes on everything else but the back of the angry form that walked with determination a few feet in front of me. I saw a chandelier hanging in a lit room as we approached the end of the hall.

  “We’re dining in here,” he said when he stopped momentarily and turned to face me. His green eyes were cold and distant as he strode to the head of the long mahogany table and pointed to the other end. “Sit.”

  The table had to have been fifteen feet long, surrounded by empty dining chairs. I turned and obeyed by taking a seat at the entirely opposite end in front of the only other place setting. I scooted my chair in and saw Daniel at the other end glaring at me intensely with his mouth in a tight line. I’m guessing his seating selection was more symbolic than I’d realized. The very air around him was adversarial, and the only sound was the metronome ticks of the grandfather clock creating an eerie echo as the sound reverberated in the empty space. It became the Russian roulette of all staring contests until the butler entered and finally interrupted by clearing his throat.

  “We’ll be having the cabernet,” Daniel said dryly, and the butler poured his glass from the bottle of red in his right hand while holding the white wine in his left. I was surprised because Daniel had told me he didn’t drink. When he came to my glass I put my hand over it indicating I’d pass, but as the butler pulled his arm back, Daniel snapped, “Pour it.”

  I smiled reassuringly at the butler as he poured, but when I saw his face he looked angry now, too.

  “Take her coat,” he added. I hesitated but when I saw Daniel cock one brow at me, daring me to contradict, I decided on the path of least resistance and shrugged off my coat, and I felt uneasy as he watched me twist free of the sleeves. Once I handed away the coat, I straightened in my chair to my most professional posture and looked at him expectantly, hoping to have a civil conversation. Daniel just took a drink from his goblet and stared me down. I cleared my throat.

  “So, you’re ready to talk?” I encouraged, he narrowed his eyes and he set his glass down hard on the wooden surface.

  “I changed my mind,” he replied coolly, and furrowed my brow, worried what exactly he’d changed his mind about, but his eyes darted to my glass.

  “Drink,” he commanded. I really didn’t want to pick up that glass because I knew it would give away my shaking hand. His eyes were boring in to me and I did as I was told, hoping my acquiescence would calm him. I noted that the butler set Daniel’s plate down before mine, which was contrary to etiquette, but I thought it best to keep that to myself. The plate of food smelled delicious but I had zero appetite. The thick pungent tension in the air was now scented with the lovely aroma of rosemary and filet, but like a spritz of perfume on a skunk, it concealed nothing. When the butler finished, he stood patiently in the corner with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Out,” Daniel said without lifting his eyes from mine, and the butler scuttled away.

  I sat silently watching Daniel take another sip and begin his meal. He looked as magnificent as ever when I saw him in the foyer dressed in crisp black slacks with a black button up, a few buttons undone exposing his collar, and coordinating black belt with silver buckle. And now I watched him as he rolled up the sleeves over his strong forearms and began cutting his steak. He kept his eyes on his plate, and eating seemed to have distracted him from his anger, but maybe he just found a new outlet for it. I watched him slice and chew efficiently; intermittently taking sips of wine, and it seemed unfair to the rest of us that someone could look that attractive when in the midst of a rage. His jaw flexed with each bite, his forearm muscles rippled as he sliced. I suddenly reached for my wine and took a big gulp. I couldn’t let him distract me from what I came to do. There was someone more important at stake here than both of us. I wouldn’t let him draw this out any longer or leave us in limbo. It was now or never.

  “I’m not asking for any sort of financial support,” I started bravely and calmly. “We just need to know what kind of contact you’re interested in.” His silverware stilled in his hands and he didn’t look up from his plate, but after a few seconds he continued eating as if I hadn’t spoken at all. A few more uncomfortable minutes passed and my knee began to shake.

  “I understand it’s all very new for you, and I want you to take as much time as you need,” I said in a sincere and understanding tone. He kept his eyes on his plate and reached for his wine. After a long pull from the glass, he cut his steak with renewed vigor.

  “But,” I started and cleared my throat. “But I need you to be sure. I can’t introduce you as his father only to have you disappear from his life. We can’t risk that,” I finished sternly, finally getting it off my chest. He hunched over and bowed his head over the plate, setting both his elbows on the table wide apart, and released his silverware from his hands. The weighty metal clattered loudly on the table, echoing through the hollow room and I jumped in my seat. With his head still bowed, he picked up his steak with his long fingers and lifted it to his mouth, ripping off a chunk of meat and chewing. My nerves were completely frayed, and that must have been why I found the action completely erotic as the juice ran down his chin.

  “And I’ve arranged for a
paternity test. We’ll take care of that,” I added, my eyes still glued to his down-turned head and flexing jaw. “I want you to be sure…that…he’s yours.”

  He took one more rip of the meat and dropped the savaged chunk onto his plate carelessly. Without looking up at me, he waved me over. I swallowed thickly and stood from my chair, slowly crossing the room making my way to him. I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to sit or if he was dismissing me, so I just stared at his immobile hunched form.

  He suddenly pushed himself back from the table, sliding back in his chair. He lifted his napkin from his thigh and tossed it on the table roughly.

  “Sit,” he said, still looking down.

  I pulled out the chair next to him and began lowering myself, when he reached over and hooked an arm around my waist, pulling me between his legs. I gasped at the sudden movement and my heart started pounding. He let his eyes travel up my body slowly and when they met with mine, I saw they were completely on fire, all the facets blazing with heat.

  He jerked me down onto his thigh and hissed, “I said sit.”

  This proximity was bad for my health and doing crazy things to my body. I timidly searched his face trying to understand what was going on in his head, but when he gripped my thigh and slid me further up his, I got a good idea of what he was thinking. He wasn’t lying about his ‘stick’, and I couldn’t stop my body’s own chemical response. My heart was fluttering in my chest as his eyes studied mine, but his face was still stone, giving nothing away.

  My body shifted with his from where I perched on his muscular thigh as he reached for his wine and brought it to his lips for a long pull. I watched his Adam’s apple bob and tried not to think about how wonderful he smelled. Then he brought the glass to my lips and nodded his chin up minutely.

  “Drink,” he said, and I tilted my head back as he poured the drink in to my mouth, and he watched me swallow. I felt a little braver so I spoke.

  “If you want to walk away now and wash your hands of this, you still can,” I quietly said the words I dreaded, but I was giving him his final out. “There’s still time. I won’t hate you,” I added. If he walked out now with no damage done, I couldn’t blame him.

  He narrowed his eyes and I could see he was breathing harder, as was I, and then he reached his free arm out to his plate and swirled a finger in the béarnaise sauce. He slowly brought his finger to barely touch my lips and I panted a little.

  “Does it look like I want to wash my hands of this?” he asked in a rich smooth voice, and then involuntarily I slid the tip of my tongue out to his finger and he sunk it in between my lips. The pull was back. Whatever it is that makes my body aware when he’s around, and the loss when he’s gone, was back. The taste of him, the smell of him, and the feel of him was making me dizzy. He withdrew his finger slowly, his arm around me tightened, his hand started creeping under my shirt up to the smooth skin of my back.

  “As for your other questions,” he said as he looked down in his lap and watched his own hand begin rubbing my thigh. “I was out of time a long time ago. And you probably will hate me.”

  His hand was running circuits on my thigh and I thought I was melting. He lifted his eyes up to meet mine evenly because for once, while sitting on his lap, we were equal.

  “I know he’s mine,” he said in an emotionless tone, but then he ran his hand all the way to my inner thigh lightly stroking my center, causing me to quake. “And you should be, too,” he smoldered when he looked at me and then gently pressed his warm soft lips on mine. Without thinking, I responded, my lips moving in slow deep synchronicity with his, like they needed no introduction at all. He pulled me against his chest and held me against him firmly. Our lips stayed molded as I angled my mouth, deepening the kiss, and his tongue found mine. Our heavy breaths were fogging our cheeks as we breathed harder and harder, refusing to break. I let my hand slide up his forearm and up to his muscular shoulders and then around his neck, pulling him closer, my fingers slipping into his hair, and his hand pushed the fabric of my shirt up until he reached the back of my bra and started to unsnap it. I tensed momentarily and he began softening the tempo of the kiss and spoke against my lips.

  “You can do this, Gabrielle,” he whispered in a husky voice. “See how easy it is?” and then he pulled me tighter right on to his hardness, and in an instant I was unbuttoning his shirt and running my hands up and down the smooth hard muscles of his chest. Maybe it was the wine and spirits, or maybe I was possessed by a spirit, but my body was speaking a language with his I’d never learned.

  Fluently.

  He lifted me off his lap until I stood between his legs, and I almost resisted, wanting the kiss back, until I saw his hands go to the button of my jeans. I stepped out of my shoes and he slid the jeans down my legs. I began to step out of them, too, but he grabbed the back of my knee and gently bent my leg for me, pulling the fabric off my ankle, and then he did the other. He put both hands on the back of my knees and slowly stroked his way up the sides of my thighs and under the thin black satin bands of my panties that clung to my hips. He leaned forward and softly kissed my thigh right under the slip of fabric as his big warm palm slid up the inside of my thigh directly to the pooling heat of my center, and I trembled as he stroked it lightly with one finger.

  “And this should be mine,” he said resentfully, and he looked up at me with fire and determination in his eyes. In a flash, he stood to full height, lifting me off the ground with him as he crashed his lips in to mine. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he pressed me against the wall, kissing, panting, and starving.

  I felt his hand reach between us, quickly undoing his belt and pushing his pants lower. And then I felt his throbbing hardness unleashed against my coming warmth. He pressed me against the wall harder, and I felt every inch. He broke the kiss and pressed against me again.

  “I’m going to fuck you until you remember me, Gabrielle,” he whispered harshly into my hair as he hiked me up higher and reached between us to slide my panties out of the way for him to enter. He was right there at the slippery edge, hard and smooth. And without warning he shoved inside me and groaned loudly. I gasped and clawed at his back, I felt like I was drowning, I couldn’t breathe, and the heat of him inside me was incredible. I felt filled to the brim, painfully so, and then he slid out slowly, agonizingly.

  “I’m going to fuck you until you forget everyone else,” he hissed, and slammed into me, my shoulder and back thudding against the wall, and he kept his hard firm body pinning me to it. I writhed against him, my hips squirming as I adjusted to his size. I felt delirious and high. He slid his hand between us and rubbed my slippery center with his thumb and I was a goner.

  “You know why you’re so undone for me, Gabrielle?” he asked as he bent his head and leaned his lips against my ear, tickling with his breath. He swirled his thumb around and around and my head fell back as I whimpered helplessly. He removed his hand and gripped my bottom tightly with both hands as he kissed the tip of my nose and readied himself.

  “Because I am the one who taught you this,” he growled and thrust powerfully in to me, so hard, and I thought I’d split in two or blackout. He began devouring my neck aggressively, mouth and teeth, licks and sucks, and rocking in to me, against my center, pressing his hard length impossibly deeper, shoving me closer to him as he gripped me in the palms of his hands, and I started to unravel. It was like a wave crashing over me made of everything good in the universe, sucking me in, taking me under, and then it surged, breaking the surface and exploding in bursts, my skin tingling everywhere, and my arms were wrapped too tightly around his neck because I needed a life preserver so I wouldn’t disappear. He was relentless and I finally felt him pulse inside me before letting his hard body collapse vertically and press completely against me, sandwiching me between the rock and the hard place. I didn’t even care. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever felt. He leaned his forehead onto the wall behind me as mine rested on his shoulder, still trying to find air. We
stayed like that for a while, but the trembling trill in my blood wouldn’t calm.

  I felt him stir and I hoped he didn’t put me down because my legs were still rubber. His head turned until his lips were above my ear.

  “You’re not leaving until I show you,” he snarled and I gasped when I felt him getting hard inside me again and then he spun us, carrying me the few feet before laying me on the dining table like I was a piece of fine china, just so he could smash it.

  And for the next few hours, he did.

  Show me.

  Everything.

  ~o~

  He finally started to drift off to sleep and I tried to lift myself off of his chest, but his arm was ridiculously heavy. Or maybe I had not a drop of energy. I let my head fall back on him; my ear nestled against the warm skin over his beating heart and just listened for a while. A few minutes passed and I decided I couldn’t wait any longer to call home. I wriggled from under his arm and slipped out of bed, tiptoeing around his dark bedroom to find something to cover up with and saw his shirt lying on the floor next to his side so I bent over and grabbed it, sliding it on. As I started to do the buttons, his hand whipped out and grabbed my wrist, drawing me close until my knees hit the edge of the bed.

  He wordlessly unpropped himself off his elbow, laying back on the white pillow, and pulled me until I had one knee bent on the mattress and was leaning over him, my long dark hair curtaining us in. His hair was disheveled attractively, and he had a few scratch marks on his chest and I smiled. Silently, he reached up and began buttoning the buttons of his shirt over me, only pausing once to stroke my breast with his fingers, inspiring a shiver, and when he was done he ran his hand up the muscle of my thigh and under the tail of the shirt. I gave him a questioning look but he just removed his hand and rolled over in the bed stretching his broad back and tucking his long arms under the pillows.

  I shook my head and smiled as I tiptoed through his home, trying to find the dining room where I’d left my purse. I followed the gingerbread trail of clothes, picking them up as I went, which lead me there easily. I began digging through my purse for the phone. And then I froze when I heard clicking heels.