Bound to You

Nicholas

“I think you’re being much too harsh, Nicholas. Alison Price can’t be the worst woman to marry,” Tristan says, giving me an incredulous look. Somehow, Tristan convinced me that coming down to Chelsea wasn’t going to be a waste of my time. For the past hour we’ve been talking nonstop about my father’s overbearing expectations for my life, which eventually led to talking about Alison Price. My future wife.

“You have absolutely no idea how annoying she is.”

“Annoying enough to not have sex with?” Tristan asks. I can almost see the sarcasm dripping from his lips.

“It was one time.” I toss back my glass of whiskey. The liquid burns down my throat, creating a warm pool in the pit of my stomach.

“When is it not?”

It’s true, even my closest friends know that I pick up women for sex, but most of these women know my reputation. It’s no secret around town – the tabloids do their hardest to keep it that way too. I don’t romance women; I fuck them. The problem is I fucked the wrong one. Alison had other ideas about us when I met her this past summer.

“How did you meet her again?”

“We were at the black tie event at the museum. Remember, you donated the painting I told you I wanted.”

“Ah, now I remember.”

The night started like most, guests were getting drunk on champagne and having fun, throwing away thousands of dollars in the live auction. As for me, well, I appreciated a more discreet way of spending my money – the silent auction table. Alison and I got into a bidding war over one of Tristan’s paintings. She kept watching the auction table, waiting to pounce as I left. We went back forth for most of the night, trying to outbid the other. I wasn’t about to lose. I wanted the painting. After a while, I had a feeling she wasn’t interested in the painting any longer. I tested my theory, and she finally gave in when I wrote my cell number next to my bid. I guess I can technically blame Tristan for all of this. At the time, I had no idea she was the daughter of any of my father’s friends.

“C’mon, let’s have another drink and get you out of this funk. There’s plenty of beautiful women here to take your mind off things,” Tristan says, grinning as he raises his glass of wine.

Funk isn’t even close to how I would describe my mood; more like steaming mad. I can’t shake the irritation from earlier in the day. My father has managed to ruin everything. I’m being forced to get engaged to an insufferable woman, and now there's also plans for a wedding. A club is the last place I need to be, no matter how beautiful the women are, but I can’t back out on a promise to a friend.

“Speaking of women, did you meet any beauties in Los Angeles?” Tristan inquires. “Is it true that most of them have plastic tits?”

“I met a few. Some had plastic tits, but not all of them.” I laugh. “There was one in particular that I can’t get off my mind.”

“Wait, what did you say? Nicholas StoneHaven is smitten with a woman?”

“Smitten? No.”

“So tell me about her. She must be something to behold if you can’t get her off your mind.”

“She’s different than most of the women I date. Younger, curvy, fiery hair, and lips that made me want to fuck her 40,000 feet up in the air.”

“Ah, so you met her on the plane?”

“Yes.”

“So what happened?”

“Nothing. We kissed. That was all.”

“How very old school of you.”

“I’m surprised, Nicholas.”

“Believe me, I wanted to fuck her. But being arrested by a U.S. Air Marshal wasn’t an option. My face would’ve been splashed all over the papers.”

Meeting Rebecca was definitely the highlight of my trip. I could kick myself for not getting her number. Having her body meshed against me while I kissed her pouty lips made me feel like a high school boy going through puberty. I was pretty sure at one point I almost came just having her brush up against me.

“So when are you going to tell me about the big news you mentioned over the phone?” I ask, pushing away my lust driven thoughts. The crowded room around us is stifling with plastic smiles and glazed eyes.

“Well, I wanted to wait until she got here…”

“She? Are you dating someone I don’t know about?”

Tristan breaks out into laughter. “No, of course not.”

“Good.”

“Am I really that horrible that I shouldn’t even be in a relationship?”

“No, I’m merely saving you from having to make the same horrible mistake I’m being forced to make.”

“I’m meeting a prospective PR specialist who I’d like to hire for the opening of my new art exhibit, Trinity. She’s the one who put together this event,” Tristan says with a contagious grin.

“Art exhibit? You mean you’re actually taking my advice and selling your art instead of giving it all away?”

“Alright, you can’t take credit for the whole idea, but yes. I think it’s time.” Art was Tristan Knight's baby. As a connoisseur of it, opening a new art gallery was a pretty damn big deal.

“Congratulations, I don’t know what to say, other than I know it’ll be amazing. You work is amazing.”

“Thanks, Nick, you know that means a lot to me.”

“If I didn’t have enough trouble with Emily as a sister, I would claim you as my adoptive brother.”

Tristan tenses slightly at the mention of my sister’s name.

“How is Em?” he asks hesitantly. Something tells me that there’s been something going on between my sister and my best friend lately. While it grinds my gears to know that any guy is looking at my twenty-two-year-old sister in that way. Who better to take care of her than Tristan Knight? At least for now, that’s all he better be doing.

“She’s fine. She should be back any day now. She was vacationing in Florida with a few friends.”

The awkwardness between them started this past summer when we vacationed in Southampton for Emily’s birthday. She stormed off the beach when she saw Tristan and me speaking with some models vacationing a few houses down. At first, I thought she was mad because we were ignoring her. Now, I’m starting to get the feeling that she was mad because Tristan was ignoring her. Funny enough, Tristan didn’t take either of the two models back to his room, but I did.

“Right, well, I’m going to make a call and grab another drink from the bar,” he says, walking away. Yeah, something is definitely going on with him. I’ll have to squeeze it out of Emily when I see her tomorrow.

My leg vibrates, telling me I must be receiving a call. When I pull it out, a single name flashes across the screen that sends my mood plummeting. Alison Price. I debate on whether to pick it up, but a tiny voice inside me reminds me that I have specific obligations now. Whether I want to or not, I’m stuck with her. So it’s probably in my best interest if I make an effort to try and have a functional relationship with her. Then again, this is my night to relax. I pocket the phone and take another swig of my brandy. I need to avoid Alison as long as possible.

When Tristan returns with an extra drink, he has a sour look of irritation on his face. I don’t often see him upset. He has the wonderful gift of always being able to muster a friendly smile. Whereas, I’ve been often told that I scowl.

“Is everything all right?” I ask.

“Yes, fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Good. When did this PR specialist say she would be here?”

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”

“Nicholas!” I recognize the voice before I even turn. Alison Price walks toward me wearing a short nude dress. Her hair looks different from the way she usually wears it. Now, instead of limp strands of blonde, her hair curls in tight ringlets. The look on her face is predatory. Most people wouldn’t notice it, but I do. It’s the same look I have when I see something I want. It’s animalistic, I know, but it’s also a natural part of me. She wants me. It should turn me on, but when it comes to Alison, I’m just the shiny new toy, for now.

“Sweetheart, I tried calling you. Your father said you were down here, so I thought I would join you.”

The translation of that is my father called her father and struck a deal. No doubt my father told Alison I would be down here. He doesn’t want to give me time to acclimate to the idea of being forced to marry someone. He just wants me to do what I’m told.

“I’m sorry, it’s hard to hear anything in here,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“Tristan, it’s wonderful to see you again,” Alison says, turning to give Tristan a once over as she extends her hand.

“Thank you, Alison. I’m glad you could make it out.”

“Would you like a drink?” I need to get away from this woman.

“I would love one. A Long Island Iced Tea would be great.” Alison slips her hand over my arm, squeezing it possessively.

“I’ll be back.”

The bar is overcrowded with groups of people waiting to order drinks, but I manage to find an all too willing waitress to take my order. She slips me her number, along with my receipt. I turn back to where Tristan and Alison are standing and spot a tall, slender brunette extending her hand to Tristan. This must be the PR woman he wants to hire. She looks sharp in her short, grey dress with black sequins. From her body language I can tell she’s an astute woman. She must know her stuff if she was able to pull off this party.

A flash of red catches my attention as a curvy young woman walks up to her and Tristan. The girl standing in front of them is young, and in her early twenties. I watch as Tristan greets her with a handshake. His eyes quickly trail over her with interest. Among the sea of bodies, she sticks out like a sore thumb in her black dress and red heels. I watch, mesmerized by her hair, long legs, and sun-kissed skin. She’s doesn’t look like your average New Yorker visiting a club, but there’s something familiar about her. My breath hitches as she turns toward my direction. Her green eyes crowned by long black eyelashes widen at me. The expression on her angelic face reminds me of the porcelain dolls my sister used to collect when she was little. It’s a mixed look of wonder and amazement. Her lips part just enough to send a streak of desire through me. Fuck, I know her. She’s the young woman from the airplane.