Tarnished Love by Bianca Borell

 

 

CHLOE

 

“Good luck, even though you don’t need it.”

“Thank you, Damien.”

“Make me proud.”

I clutch the phone to my heart and smile. Ever since that night, the offers kept coming, and you don’t say no walking the catwalk. There are clothes everywhere, people buzzing around me. I stop scanning the place, afraid I might get dizzy.

“First time?” a lovely woman with a headset and clipboard asks.

“Yes,” I answer, and she smiles, the first genuine one I’ve seen, and I breathe relieved.

“Chloe?” I hear someone shout my name, and I turn in the direction of the voice.

“For me?” I ask and the delivery guy smiles.

“If you’re Chloe, then yes.”

I sign, wrap my hands around the bouquet, and walk toward the changing room. My heart pounds in my chest and I pluck the note, my hand flying to my mouth.

I’ll be in the first row, imagining fucking you. Filip

That prick, I think and burst into laughter. There is something wrong with me, but Filip just being himself is refreshing. I’ll give him a show all right. When I return to my chair, some of the other models grumble.

“I never received flowers from anyone.”

“Wish my man would send flowers to me sometime.”

“I wonder if they’re from him.”

I get why my welcome was more than icy. Damien. Everywhere he goes he leaves behind a string of broken hearts.

The lights heat my skin as I try to calm my nerves. One flowing step after the other, I conquer the runway, and when my eyes find him, I can’t look anywhere else. He’s a sexy bastard. The problem is he knows it. His eyes trail over me, and goosebumps erupt.

Every man has wanted me only for my body, but with him it doesn’t disturb me. Another sign I should stay far, far away from him. When the show ends, he’s not at his place anymore, and a pang of something strikes me. As I rush to change for the after party, I spot him, leaning on a wall. Why him? Why, why him?

With the courage I fake more than possess, I run down the hall to Filip. He tilts his head, and when I pass by him, he grabs my elbow and slams me to his chest. There is nothing I can do to change this pull he has on me. Stupid, stupid Chloe, I chastise myself. His eyes seek mine. What are we doing?

“Great show,” he rasps, his mouth inches above my mouth.

“Thank you,” I whisper, wetting my suddenly dry lips.

“Hmm, do I affect you?”

“I know I affect you,” I retort, and we smile.

“Why are you here?”

“Half-naked models. Who would have said no?” he says and ruins the moment with his crassness. Something I believe is only directed at me. My hand slams against his chest to push him off me, but instead it rests there on his thumping heart. One moment of distraction and he cups my neck, bends it, and presses his lips on mine. I moan, my body craving him as I kiss him back with abandon. My tongue probes his, and he smiles against my lips. He’s arrogant, and I don’t mind a bit. His grip tightens around me, and I mold my body to him, and he ruins the moment again.

“I need to fuck you out of my system.”

This time, I push him off me. He stares at me with an impenetrability that hurts.

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Yes, same for you,” he grumbles, and I stomp into my dressing room and change into a dress. That was the last time. Mm-hmm, the deranged part of me answers, and I storm from the room and hope to lose myself in the night.

“You looked beautiful up there. You are beautiful,” a guy compliments me. A nice guy who tries his best to stare more in my eyes than at my cleavage. And all I can focus on is the entitled, rich prick who trails a finger down my colleague’s naked back making my blood boil. Not because of jealousy. No, because while he touches someone else, he’s staring right at me.

“Excuse me, you were saying?” I ask. Filip smirks, and I could bash my head.

“Do you want something to drink?”

“A gin and tonic.” I smile, and when he disappears, I rush to the restroom and reapply my lipstick.

“You’re going to go back in there and ignore him.” I point at my reflection. “He just wants to get a rise out of you. Don’t let him get to you.”

My chin is so high up, I don’t see him, but his addictive scent gives him away. He grabs me and cages me against the wall.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

I nod, and he takes my hand. I must be crazy, no I am emotionally starved for attention, and whenever he is around me, I have all of his. I shouldn’t crave it, but I do.

In his car, I turn to him and ask, “I thought you wanted someone else for tonight?”

“We both know who I wanted, and now she’s coming to my place.”

“Is she?”

“I haven’t heard her say no.”

He starts the engine and drives away.

“So, a supermodel now.”

“Yes.” I sigh and watch the buildings passing by.

“That bothers you?”

“I am where I am because of Damien.”

“Come on, Chloe.”

I like the way my name sounds from his lips, lyrical, almost dreamy.

“It’s true. Ever since that weekend, the offers keep coming.”

“You were the most beautiful one tonight, the liveliest.”

“I did put on a show.” I trail my finger down his arm, and he puts a hand on his chest, the corner of his lips lifting.

“All for me? I am honored”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smiles, and when the light turns red, he cocks his head to me and asks, “What are we doing?”

We reach his house, a duplex in the most exclusive neighborhood of London. Why am I not surprised? My back hits the door, and he presses his forehead on mine.

“Make the right decision, because I can’t.”

The mix of pleading and vulnerability in his voice has me almost telling him to bring me home, but the desire that courses from my blood to my heart stops me. I can’t say no to him when he’s like this—sweet, open, and vulnerable. I turn the key, and we stumble through the door. Clothes fly off, skin meets, lips kiss, the bed dips, a haze of passion, and a desperate rush. Why does he feel so right? Why does he have to hit all the places that have me seeing tiny, sparkling stars? My nails bite into his back, his thrust splits me, and I moan.

When we come down from the rush, the realization crashes over me. What is wrong with me?

“It’s just fucking around.”

“It’s not just fucking around.”

“I fucked you twice. What do you want, a ring, my eternal commitment? You let Damien screw you the same weekend I did.”

I wince, slap him, then hop off the bed. I won’t break in front of him. No. Tears brim in my eyes, and I caress my chest. The weight of my loneliness subdues me. My mother didn’t even congratulate me, just said “enjoy it while it lasts and don’t let that rich guy slip through your fingers” and my dad wrote “my friends loved your show.” Am I this bloody unlovable?

Strong hands wrap around me.

“Was I that bad?” he jokes and a sniffle laugh sound escapes my lips.

“I don’t remember,” I answer, and he lifts my chin.

Through kisses he tells me, “Let me refresh your memory.”

He penetrates every part of me, and I cry for an entirely different reason—over why I have to have feelings for him.