It Will Always Be You (You Series Book 1) (17 page)

Monday, June 28

The week ahead of me is both daunting and exciting. I’m training Krystal as the new guest service manager. Marshall is back in Minneapolis, where I will be visiting him for the weekend after my last day at Beacon on Friday. I have only nine more days to finish up my design ideas for the new club. Max has been working on a few Photoshop design elements for me to add to my presentation. Colorful cocktails are the core element of my design, an idea I’d gotten on my first date with Marshall at Blackwater when the big group toasted in the high-back booth. Max thought it was a great idea and couldn’t wait to tackle the lighting techniques involved in my visions.

After a long day at work, a lame dinner of chicken breast and steamed broccoli, and an episode of
House Hunters International
, I get up from the sofa, ready for a long hot bath and to get cozy for an early night of much-needed rest when I hear a car door slam out front. I instantaneously question whether or not I locked my front door. I all but run to the door to check the lock. The tap of footsteps outside my door has me reaching for the deadbolt to turn it, even though I can tell by its upright position it’s locked. Then two knocks pound in my ears. I go over to the window and see a police car stationed in front of my house. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. It must be news about my attacker. What if my horror doesn’t end with the attack? What if they came to tell me that creep made bail? What if he hunts me down? I was assured that if my attacker—a man whose name I would rather forget, but it’s hard to forget a name like Francis Ray Moe—got out, I would be notified.

“Hello,” I say, as I open the door—my voice unsteady.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Detective Damico from the Duluth Police department. I’m looking for a Ms. Elizabeth Rose Murphy.”

“Yes, that’s me. I’m Elizabeth.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we are investigating a criminal, and you may have some information that could help us. I’m sure you’ve seen the article in the paper.” My heartbeat begins to thunders even louder in my ears, as I recall the picture flashing on my computer screen that I have been working hard to convince myself I never saw. Using Marshall to try and help me ignore my horrid new reality, the one that has me scared to be alone, has me infatuated with my deadbolt and has turned my comforter into a cocoon.

“Please come in.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

We head into the kitchen to have a seat.

“I know you have already been questioned, but I’m hoping you will go back over all the details you gave us that day. There is a good chance he is involved in those other two cases we are investigating.”

Other two cases?
I feel like a fool for not knowing this, for turning a blind eye. What the hell was I thinking?

“Ms. Murphy, will you go over every encounter you’ve had with Francis Ray Moe? And give me as much detail as possible?”

I go over every detail I gave the police at the hospital: the bar incident when I first saw him, the red truck, the dance floor, the attack, and his words, “You need to pay for what you did, just like that girl from high school had to pay.”

A chill covers my body at the thought of how far he would have gone and what he has done to others.

“Is there anything else you can tell me? A facial tick, a limp, a birthmark or any other significant marks or details? You’d be amazed how far we can get with one tiny detail.”

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t think of anything else.”

“I understand, Ms. Murphy, but can you do me a favor and take down my number, just in case something comes back to you?”

“Of course, Detective Damico.”

I take down his number before walking him to the door, and I’m left with a bigger knot in my stomach than I have had since the attack. I don’t keep down my dinner.

I start to call Krystal but decide to call Rose first and ask if she can stay over. I can’t bear the thought of being alone tonight. I wish Marshall were here to hold me. It’s him I want to call, but I feel that the burden I would cause him is more than he needs. Everyone has a breaking point; I just hope mine never comes.

Knowing I can no longer avoid the newspaper article, Rose and I look for it. It tells about the alleged attack on me. “Alleged attack,” Rose says, gritting her teeth. “How can they even say that when clearly this piece of shit attacked you.”

She says what I’m thinking, and the idea of him even having the slightest chance in hell of not being charged with my attack makes my stomach turn.

The article goes on to tell how two women had been attacked—both of them raped and cut with a knife—and that the first woman didn’t survive the attack.

I sit back in my chair and cover my face with my hands. “Oh, my God, Rose. He killed someone. What if I hadn’t been so lucky?”

Rose takes my hands away from my face. “Don’t even think about it, Liz; you’ll make yourself crazy.”

I regret the request that Rose sleep in my bed with me when I awaken to my bedroom light on and Rose in a panic, begging me to wake up while standing by my side of the bed. She tells me I was screaming and thrashing around. She couldn’t wake me up. I don’t even recall my dream, which is weird since the others were so vivid.

Rose, being a teacher and the nurturing type, spends time researching natural sleep aids and gives me chamomile tea to drink before bed. She makes me promise to drink a cup each night before bed and insists she stay the next two nights. I, however, refuse to let her stay in my room again and insist she take the guest room. I’m not sure if the tea works, but I can recall no dreams. Then again, I was so tired I could have slept through nearly anything, and I think Rose was too.

***

Thursday, July 1

My second to last shift at Beacon Pointe is officially over, and I’m instructed to head to the party room. I’m stunned when I enter the room full of my coworkers, most of whom I would consider to be friends. They all yell, “Surprise!” I wasn’t surprised that Kiki had planned something for me, but I was surprised by the lengths she had gone: streamers, balloons, a cake decorated with a picture of me posing in front of the hotel, coolers stocked with beer and wine coolers for the staff lucky enough to have that night off. And it was when I spotted the fish-taco bar that it hit me that Kiki knows me so well. She has clearly put hours of effort into setting up the taco bar, making me feel all the more guilty for leaving.

I’m greeted with hugs, farewells, and promises to hire me as a designer someday. Everyone understandably thinks I plan to stay here in Duluth, but in truth, my recent desires and dreams have me wishing my career as a designer will take me to new places. I would love to learn more about Tuscany and Italian design. How amazing it would be to travel the streets of Italy, eat gelato every day, ride a gondola at sunset, and tour some of the old farmhouses in Tuscany.

The laughter coming from the other end of the room where Kiki is awakens me from my daydream. I make my way to the group, and I can hear Kiki’s story.

“So the kid was trapped there with his shirt stuck in the supply room door and an armful of our complementary toiletries, and instead of helping him spring free, Liz here, knowing what room he was in, decided to call his parents to come retrieve him. I bet that kid thought twice the next time he decided to mouth off to an adult.”

After the laughter subsides, Kiki comes over to me. “We sure are going to miss you around here.” She hands me a gift bag with a card inside and walks away, pretending to check on the food, but I saw the moisture in her eyes she was trying to hide. I have a seat at the table next to me to open my gift, aware that most everyone’s eyes are on me. There’s a farewell card signed by the entire staff, but it’s Kiki’s message that jumps out at me:

I have no doubt you will succeed, but if you ever want to

come back, you will always be welcomed with open arms.

Stay true to who you are always.

There is nothing you can’t do.

I couldn’t be more proud of you if you were my own daughter.

Go get ’em, Elizabeth!

I let the tears fall and don’t care who sees. Damn, why do you either need to be going away or dying before you know how people really feel about you? The gift from the staff was a beautiful business card holder with
Elizabeth Rose Design
engraved on it and a heavy—no doubt high-quality—pen also engraved with my business name. I leave my party with a pride and confidence I wish I’d always had.

***

Marshall has been so busy at work that we’ve hardly even spoken this week. He had promised in a text that he would call me Thursday night. And he does call.

“One more night before I get to see you again,” I say when I answer the phone.

“Less than twenty-four hours, and I will get to touch you, feel your lips on mine, and watch you squirm under my tongue.”

I intend to tell him about my visit from Detective Damico, but as soon as I hear his voice I can’t even possibly bring myself to change the mood he has already put me in.

My heart sings with the knowledge that he is as anxious as I am. “I miss sleeping next to you,” I say.

“What are you wearing, Beth?” His sexy voice makes my heart jump.

“A pair of black panties, like the ones I had on the first time … you explored me with your tongue, and I have on one of the T-shirts you left here. It smells like you.” I lift it up to my nose, taking in a full breath of the aroma that is uniquely Marshall.

“Mmm, and how does that make you feel?”

My hands shake with delight. “It turns me on so much I can hardly stand it.”

His breath gets heavier. “Well, take in a deep breath of that shirt now, because I want you to take it off so I can play with those sweet, soft breasts of yours.”

Anticipation swirls around in my belly, and a nervous sigh seeps from me.

A little laugh on his end. “Let me know when it’s off. And light that candle next to your bed and turn out the light. I’ll wait.”

I set down the phone and quickly throw off his T-shirt, light the candle, and flip off the light. I bring the phone back up to my ear, feeling stupidly nervous even though he can’t see me.

“All right, Marshall. I’m sitting here on my bed in my black lace panties with nothing but a candle lighting my way and your voice.” My voice quivers with thrill.

“I want to touch you, Beth. I want you to rub your hand over your stomach. Now slowly run your hand up to your sweet pink nipples.”

I do as I’m told, and a long easy moan fills my room.

“Oh, Beth, I love that sound.”

I keep working over my breasts, one at a time.

“Roll each one between your fingers now. How does it feel?”

“Oh, Marshall, it feels so damn good.”

“Now I want your hand to travel down to your inner thighs. Touch your fingers lightly over them and imagine I’m kissing everywhere you touch.”

My hand keeps skimming softly up and down my thighs while behind my closed lids I imagine the view of the top of his head moving all around my body.

“I can’t stand it anymore. I want to taste you. My mouth is watering for your taste. I want you to slowly roll your panties off.”

Again, I do as I’m told, and the warmth of his desire and mine fully engulfs me.

“Now touch yourself and tell me exactly how it feels.” His words are laden with arousal.

“I’m so wet, Marshall. I feel soft and warm.”

“Put me on speaker phone, Beth, because I want you to use both hands.”

I shiver as I press the speaker button and lay the phone down on the pillow next to me. “Marshall, I so badly want to touch you too.”

“All right, as soon as you have both hands working, one hand on your soft, sweet wetness and other hand on your breasts, massaging them and rolling your nipples one at a time.”

I moan really loudly now.

“Take your pants off,” I demand.

“Okay,” he agrees.

I keep up my solo dance as he does.

“Don’t touch yourself yet,” I tease. “I would be rubbing my hands along your sexy abs, and that’s what I want you to do.” I’m nearing climax now, so I stop briefly.

“Don’t stop, Beth.”

How the heck does he know?

“I have to, for just a moment,” I say with heavy breath. “I want us to do this together, and I can’t handle much more. Let me focus on you for a minute.”

“A minute? Is that all the time you think it will take me? Pretty sure of your abilities, aren’t you?”

We both laugh. I love it. I love how we play, how we tease.

Put your game face on, Elizabeth
.

“Strip, Marshall,” I demand, and he rustles around for a few moments.

“Now I want you to touch that gorgeous cock of yours. Long, slow motions. Imagine it’s my hand gliding up and down.”

He begins to moan, and I nearly start to convulse.

“Touch yourself again,” he demands.

My fingers meet my wetness. I step up my game. “My warm, wet mouth wishes to slide up and down every beautiful inch of you right now. You’ll need to add some moisture, Marshall. I don’t want to hurt you.” I make my voice as sultry and sexy as I can, impressing even myself with its effortlessness.

“Good God, woman, are you trying to kill me?”

I giggle. “Maybe slowly, because I’m sucking you hard now, Marshall, running my tongue up and down.”

No way is he going to let me have the upper hand here.

“Beth, I need to explore the depth of your sweetness. Keep one hand massaging your clit while your other fingers bury deep inside.”

I slide two fingers in, working upward on my sweet spot, but only for mere seconds. “I’m ready now, Marshall!” But before I do, I take back the upper hand and hope I will have to pay for it later. “Come on me, come on my chest,” I beg, knowing very well he can’t top this, something I have never experienced but have seen in videos. The guys seem to really enjoy it.

“Oh, shit, Beth!”

“Oh, Marshall!” We come together in a mesh of moans, shakes, and shutters. One mind-blowing orgasm, and I think we’re done.

“Slow it down, but don’t stop. You look so beautiful. I can feel you and taste you on my tongue, like you’re here with me now. But, baby, I wouldn’t be done with you yet. I don’t want you to stop. I haven’t finish exploring and tasting you yet. Now rock your hips up against your hand.”