Chasing Wishes (20 page)

Two drinks leads to three, three to four, and with each drink, the conversation between us loosens up a little more. I should've cut myself off two drinks ago, but I’m actually having too good a time to bother stopping. Terrence’s life story—or at least what little of it he can keep straight after his fifth drink—is about what I expected it to be. He grew up in a rich family, paid his way through MIT, and then founded his company with the substantial leftovers after graduating. It’s amazing what doors open up to you when you don’t have to beg leftovers off your high school cafeteria at the end of each day to keep from going hungry.

"So where’s your family now?" I ask, my tongue seeming not quite sure of how to make syllables anymore. "Do they... um... shit, totally lost my train of thought."

I shakily slide the remains of my drink to the bartender and ask for water instead.

"They... we don’t talk much," Terrence answers, and for a second, I almost get the impression that he’s angry. "I don’t get along with them anymore, and we don’t see each other these days."

"Can I ask why?"

I probably shouldn’t have asked that, but at my current blood-alcohol content level, my mouth has long since given up asking my brain for permission to say things.

He shakes his head.

"No, I don’t like to talk about them. They’re a bunch of dicks," he says, practically spitting the last word, and then he braces himself against the bar as he nearly topples out of his chair. I reach out to steady him and take it as a sign to abandon the topic.

"I think you’ve had enough fo ha toppler the night, Terrence."

"Yeah... let’s just sit here until I sober up a bit, and then..." he trails off, staring wide-eyed around the bar as if he’s seeing all sorts of amazing things that are invisible to me, "... and then maybe we can order more cheese!"

I burst out laughing and then wave down the bartender to get Terrence a glass of water. I don’t think we need any more booze—or cheese—tonight.

****

T
errence pays the bill when the room finally stops spinning, and then we stagger arm in arm out the door and into the cold night air. The chauffeur, Alex, is waiting at the curb in the limo, and I drag my wobbly companion to the passenger door and help him in.

"Ahh, what a night," he sighs contentedly, leaning back and folding his hands behind his head. "I haven’t had this much fun in years."

"I'm glad you had a good time."

"A good time doesn’t even come close," he says, shooting me a smile that awakens butterflies inside me. "It’s been
fantastic,
Irene."

The conversation dies abruptly, and I turn away and stare silently out the window. The streetlights zip past in the night as we drive through downtown Groton on our way back to Mystic. Thanks to a nearby naval base, Groton has far more bars than a town its size ought to and they're all packed tonight.

As we pass Christopher’s Pub, I burst out laughing and nudge Terrence to get his attention.

"There’s another bar fight outside Christopher’s. Police cars surround the building with their lights flashing, there’s an ambulance, and even the fire chief’s red pickup is there."

Terrence laughs and bounces excitedly in his seat.

"Awesome! Can you see the fight?"

"Sure can. The police are holding back two drunken sailors, but they’re still struggling and trying to hit each other. Christopher's has fights like this all the time—like, two or three times a week, easily."

"That place is nuts," he tells me. "I hear about fights there two, sometimes three times a week."

"Hey, what was I supposed to do? They were looking at you funny, so
of course
I started those fights," Terrence teases, sticking out his tongue at me.

"Maybe take me to a classier joint than Christopher’s Pub next time?" I tease right back. "Some date
you
are, taking me to a dive bar."

He laughs, flashing those perfect white teeth again, and then he pushes a wisp of blond hair away from his forehead. It’s probably that I’m still drunk, but
Jesus
he’s sexy tonight. The way his hair falls in waves as he runs his fingers through it is just... wow, someone pinch me.

When we finally get back home, I help him out of the limo and loop my arm around his as we head for the door. He feels so warm against the freezing night air and I press closer against him as we make our way down the path. Even though guiding him like this is my job now, it somehow feels so... different, so
thrilling
, mayb>

The memory flits away just as quickly as it came, and I’m back with Terrence again.

"Has anyone ever told you what your house looks like?" I ask, slowing our pace as we pass the fountain.

"Only Marcus, but he’s not much use for that sort of thing."

"It’s big. You live in a really big house with a roof and windows," I tell him, and I giggle when he groans and hangs his head.

"I hate you."

I smile and lean in closer, my pulse quickening as I begin my tale.

"Your house isn’t really a house, for a start. You live in a mansion, Terrence. It’s a beautiful, old stone mansion on an emerald-green lawn so large that you could host a football game."

I look over my shoulder at the fountain as we walk, taking in the details as I describe it to him—the giant fish, the irregular pattern of anatomically incorrect fins and scales, the bug-eyed, almost cartoonish look on the fish’s face—and Terrence gapes at me in a mix of embarrassment and delight.

"Jesus, the fountain’s that ugly?" he whispers, and I laugh and carefully pull him in close to my side as he starts to veer off the flagstone path.

"Yep. It’s downright comical," I answer. "Marcus didn’t tell you that part, did he?"

"Not at all!"

"Well, now you know," I whisper in his ear. "Don’t worry about the fountain, though; most people won’t pay attention to it because they’ll be too busy staring in awe at the ivy climbing the smooth, gray stone walls of your estate. Your mansion is gray and green, stone and ivy. Well, and moss too, of course—you can’t avoid that this close to the ocean."

"It sounds beautiful," he whispers.

"It is. Apart from that ridiculous fountain, it’s a gorgeous, elegant old house and definitely a place to be proud of."

"Thank you, Irene."

"You’re welcome," I whisper back to him as a proud smile streaks across my face. He’s not thanking me for complimenting his house and I know it.

As we reach the front stoop, he tightens his grip around my arm and my heart skips a beat. I suddenly feel light-headed as we climb the stairs to the front door, and the scent of his cologne mixing with the apple and pumpkin on his breath isn’t helping any. The electric lanterns on each step cast sharp shadows across his face as we pass them and... oh, I can barely think straight anymore. I want so badly to kiss him right now, but I know better than to give in to the temptation. It’d ruin everything, and I can’t let myself lose control like that.

It’s pitch black inside, and Terrence clears his throat as I fumble for the light switch.

"Irene... I had a wonderful time with you tonight," he says, sounding almost shy for a moment. "Thank you so much for getting me out of the mece clears house... and out my shell, too."

" I had fun too, Terrence," I whisper, flicking on the light just in time to gaze into his gorgeous green eyes and get dragged down into them.

Between those eyes and that handsome smile, I just can’t take it anymore. I move in close, place my hands on his shoulders, and kiss him softly on the lips.

I have to stand on the tips of my toes to reach him, but God it’s so worth it! A delicious shiver races from the base of my skull all the way down my spine as I kiss him and taste the sweet apple on his lips.

He tenses up as my lips find his, but then suddenly his arms are around me, pulling me in tightly against his chest as he kisses me back with a passion that takes my breath away. His tongue parts my lips, playing with me, exploring me, and I let out a soft moan and close my eyes as he runs his hands softly down my back.

God, I wanted this so badly. I’ve wanted to kiss Terrence all night, and now that I’m in his embrace, it’s everything I could've hoped for and more. Terrence's embrace has the same inscrutable feeling of comforting calm and electrifying delight that I felt when Isaac held me, and it's the best feeling in the world.

Stop it
, I tell myself, pressing in closer to Terrence and letting my fingers trail down his strong chest.
Terrence is wonderful on his own—he doesn’t have to be Isaac.

Terrence breaks away from the kiss for one brief instant, his breathing shallow and quick with longing, and he takes my hands tightly in his before diving back in for another kiss. He misses this time, kissing me first hard on the cheek and then the chin before finally finding my anxiously waiting lips.

I let out a soft sigh as his lips touching mine, and suddenly he yanks me in close, spins me around, and pushes me back against the door with my hands pinned on either side of my head. My heartbeat races faster and faster as his lips crash into mine in a heady kiss, so perfect, so intoxicating that my legs start to shake.

Terrence releases my hands as he slowly trails his fingers down my arms, setting my skin on fire as he gently traces the curve of my neck, and I draw in a sharp, excited breath as he fumbles with the top button of my blouse. I can’t believe I’m letting him do this, but... but I want it. I want to feel his hands on my body, to feel his warmth and his strong arms around me.

"God, I need you
right now
, Irene," he whispers, his voice quiet but urgent and so filled with desire that it sends an icy-hot shiver down my spine. His voice is like a shot of caffeine straight to my veins, awakening my entire body and making my head spin with longing.

I want him. I want him so much!

"When you two are finished, I kind of need to get to the front door," calls out a cold voice from behind him, and suddenly the mood not only dies but also handles its own eulogy and burial. "It’s getting a little late, you know, and I’d like to go home at some point."

Charlotte stands mere feet from us, dressed in her perfectly fitted black dress-suit as always, and she taps her foot impatiently with her arms crossed over her chest as she holds an enormous pile of binders.

"Oh, sortifaps her ry," apologizes Terrence in embarrassment, pulling away from me as I hurriedly straighten out my shirt. "We didn’t mean to get in your way."

Suddenly, he’s as cold and distant as the day of our interview. It's as if he’s somehow slammed the door on the passion he felt just seconds ago. It was everything he could do not to undress me right then and there, but now he's just my boss again as he hooks his arm around my elbow for supports. Whatever he felt only a moment ago is gone.

"Oh, don’t let
me
inconvenience you," says Charlotte, poisonous sarcasm dripping from every word. "I’m just working late on a Friday. Again. Don’t mind me protecting your company, Terrence; I’ll just head home and leave you two to... whatever it was you were doing."

As she passes, she casts me a black look that makes my blood run cold. It’s more than just anger or hatred—it’s something deeper, something more threatening than that. I can almost hear the unspoken words in my mind as she heads for the door. I’ve overstepped my bounds, she’s saying, and I’m taking something she’s already laid claim to.

She saw what Terrence and I were doing, and she’s going to get even with me for it.

"Charlotte?" Terrence calls after her, but she slams the door behind her without another word.

"I don’t think she likes me," I whisper, and he sighs and shakes his head.

"No, she doesn’t," he says with a shrug, "but that’s her problem and not yours, okay?"

I’m pretty sure she’s going to make it my problem soon enough, but I agree with him anyway. Now that our moment of passion has passed, time and fatigue catch up and crash down on me. I can suddenly barely keep my eyes open, and Terrence’s contagious yawn spreads to me moments later. I could almost swear that he magically grew a five o’clock shadow in the time since Charlotte interrupted us.

"Would you mind walking me up to bed, Irene?" he asks, but I can tell there’s nothing hiding behind the question—no implications, no request for me to join him... he just wants my help going upstairs.

The moment has passed and the passion is dead. I'm once again nothing more to him but an employee.

"Yeah, it’s getting late," I whisper. "Come on, let’s go."

Step by slow, awkward step, I guide him silently up the stairs.

"I had a great night, Terrence," I tell him as we reach the top. He says nothing, though, until we’re down the hall and almost to his bedroom door.