Redeemed By Passion. Joss WoodЧитать онлайн книгу.
heard a throat clear and lifted her head to see Corinne hovering by her partly open door as if deciding whether to knock or not. Teresa dropped her hands, swallowed her sigh and gestured her assistant inside. Corinne’s face reflected the grim mood of the rest of her colleagues: they were worried about the future of Limitless Events, and Teresa didn’t blame them. For any event company, Saturday’s events would be a death knell and she had no doubt that most of her people were brushing up their résumés.
Teresa gestured for Corinne to sit. When Corinne’s eyes met hers, she saw her curiosity and knew a dozen questions were hovering on Corinne’s tongue. Teresa’s respect for her increased when Corinne just powered up her iPad and asked a simple question. “So, what’s the plan?”
Teresa tucked a strand of hair that had fallen from her loose bun behind her ear. “The plan is that we arrange Brooks Abbingdon’s big blowout wedding.”
Corinne’s brown eyes widened. “He’s getting married? To whom?” Corinne read the social pages and entertainment magazines with utter dedication and Teresa knew that she was wondering whether she’d missed a crucial piece of gossip.
“He didn’t say.”
Corinne looked at her like she was, finally, losing it. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”
Yep, crazy. “Brooks didn’t tell me who he was marrying. I suspect it’s someone very famous and intensely publicity-shy. And that’s okay. We don’t need her input because Brooks was very explicit in what he wanted.”
Corinne leaned forward, her expression intense. “So what does he want?”
Teresa half smiled. “He wants me to recreate Delilah Rhodes and Alex Dane’s wedding. With one crucial difference...”
Corinne bounced up and down and gestured Teresa to keep talking. “What? What’s the difference?”
“Delilah and Alex had a massive budget.”
“Our budget is smaller? Dammit. Okay, we can get creative.”
Teresa shook her head. “No, we have an unlimited budget. We can spend what we like, how we like, but it’s got to be blow-your-socks-off amazing. But we only have two weeks to get everything organized.”
Corinne pulled a smile up onto her face in an effort to appreciate the joke. “Ha ha.”
“I wish I were joking. But I’m not. Brooks has thrown Limitless Events a lifeline. Minimal time is the cost of that lifeline.” Teresa forced a smile of her own. “But, if we work every hour of the day, maybe we’ll all still have jobs at the end of the month.”
Teresa watched as confusion and disbelief flew across Corinne’s face and gave her assistant a minute to take in the news. She’d come into her office thinking that the company could not possibly recover from Saturday night’s fiasco but instead of getting pink slips, they were going to organize the wedding of the year.
How did this happen? Why was this happening? Teresa couldn’t answer Corinne’s questions, not without explaining that she owed someone a favor and that this was his way of collecting. The Fixer had told her, when he checked on Joshua to see if the $7 million debt was real, that she owed him a nonmonetary favor and she was finally being asked to cough up.
She’d always worried that The Fixer would ask her to do something illegal, something below board—she wasn’t an idiot; she knew that he wasn’t a law-abiding angel—and she was so relieved that he was asking her to use her skills to repay her debt. Yeah, Brooks’s time frame was totally ludicrous but, compared to some of the scenarios she’d imagined, this was child’s play. And, thank God, legal.
And best of all, Brooks was still going to pay her. Bonus.
Teresa couldn’t help wondering how Brooks had heard of The Fixer and whether asking for help on organizing his wedding was all he’d asked of the man who, it was reported, could arrange anything, anywhere. She’d heard of The Fixer through her previous boss, Mariella Santiago-Marshall, but how had Brooks connected with her sure-his-hands-are-dirty angel? It had to be word of mouth, whispered over boardroom tables or over glasses of five-hundred-dollar whiskey. But unlike hers, The Fixer’s fee to Brooks was sure to be hard cash.
Hey, she didn’t care. She was ridding herself of one debt. And she’d use the enormous fee Brooks had offered her to pay some of Josh’s debt, hoping to placate Joshua’s money lender and buy them some time.
But nobody would be getting paid if they didn’t get to work. Teresa looked at Corinne and issued the first of many instructions. “I’d like you to make up a mood board of all our most expensive weddings to show to Brooks, to get an idea of what he does and doesn’t want. Focus on the Newport Bridge wedding.”
When Corinne left the room, Teresa stood up and walked over to her window and watched the Seattle-Bremerton ferry cross Elliott Bay. She placed her hand on the window and sighed at the wet, miserable day. Normally, the weather didn’t bother her but today it just reminded her of her soggy heart, her tear-soaked soul.
She missed Liam...
Get used to it; you’re going to be missing him for a long, long time.
Never again would she feel his mouth on hers, the scratch of his two-or three-or four-day stubble on her skin. Her body wouldn’t hum in pleasure as he traced her lips with his, drawing out the anticipation of his tongue moving into her mouth to tangle with hers. She doubted that she’d ever again experience the flood of wet, warm heat between her legs as his hands tightened on her hips and he laid siege to her mouth.
Memories of how he made her feel rushed over Teresa. He’d slowly, too slowly, pull her shirt from the waistband of her trousers or skirt, his fingers drawing bright, bold patterns on her skin. Liam loved to turn her around in order to trace the bumps of her spine, his hard and rigid cock pressing into her butt. No matter how much she begged, Liam treated her like a present he wanted to take his time opening, slowly removing her clothes, one feminine piece at a time. His words burned her skin—“You’re so pretty,” “God, I want you,” “Can’t wait to watch you come”—and with a flick of his tongue across a lace-covered nipple, he’d have her hovering on the edge of an orgasm, desperate to take flight.
He’d take his time, too much time, before slipping his fingers into her panties, to find the heat between her slick folds. He always knew how to touch her, whether it was with a flick of his finger or a swipe of his tongue. He’d bring her to orgasm, sometimes once, a couple of times twice, with his fingers and his tongue, not entering her until she was limp and languid and so very, very well loved.
Then he’d push inside her, hot and long and devastatingly masculine and build her up again. And again. And yet again before allowing her to crash and burn and flame.
None of that would happen again.
The thought made her want to cry. But she didn’t because she was Teresa St. Claire, and when had tears helped with anything? No, the best she could do was to soldier on because that was what she did best.
Like brightly colored pieces of a shattered mosaic pile, Teresa always picked up all the pieces she could and rearranged them to make a new pattern or picture. But damn, it was getting harder and harder to do.
* * *
In his office at the Abbingdon private airport on the outskirts of Seattle, Brooks lifted his head to watch an ACJ—an Airbus Corporate Jet—land on the runway to the left of his office on the top floor of the office block that housed Abbingdon Airlines’ headquarters. The jet was exquisite and the touchdown perfect on the slick runway. Brooks looked at his watch and yep, the limousines were leaving their hangar to pick up the twenty guests who had flown in, as he’d heard, for Carmen, playing at the Seattle Opera House. He’d been offered tickets to attend but couldn’t remember by whom.
Brooks shrugged. It didn’t matter since he didn’t have time to waste attending the theater when he had a wife to find, a future to secure.
Pulling