The Everlasting Chapel (10 page)

But I can’t handle being without him
either.

We pull into his courtyard, and he turns the
ignition off. Facing me, he says, “I’m really glad you’re here. I
wish I didn’t have to go to my meeting, but this is a huge deal.”
He cups my chin, and presses his thumb to my lips, dragging my
bottom lip down.

Oh…I want him to kiss me.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he opens his door,
and steps outside. Following his lead, I hop out of the car and we
head inside.

When Lucy sees me again, she runs up to me
and throws her arms around me. From the corner of my eye, I think I
see Michael smiling. Although she doesn’t ask me about anything, I
can see in her eyes that Lucy’s dying to know what’s going on. If
only I had the answers to that…

It has only been a few weeks since I’ve been
here, but already the place seems different—empty. Maybe it’s
because the holidays are over, and all the decorations have been
taken down. Or maybe it’s because there was a death in the family,
and the place has taken on the emotional state of its owner.

Michael takes my hand, leads me up to his
bedroom, and kisses me briefly before hopping into the shower.
Being here again brings back memories of all sorts of steamy
encounters—ones I unsuccessfully tried to erase from my mind. Not
wanting to linger on those hazardous thoughts, I start to pace
around the room. Entering the walk-in closet, I notice that my
clothes are still there. Was he counting on winning me back all
along? Arrogant son of a bitch. I smile.

I head back into the bedroom and sit on the
red, velvet chaise lounge in the corner. How did I suddenly end up
back here? Haven’t I been very good at distancing myself from him
and all the craziness he put me through? I thought I had finally
been able to screw my head on straight and become sensible.
Rational. Levelheaded. Yet with just one kiss, here I am again,
imprisoned, bound, and broken by this man. I am terrified, so how
come I can’t get myself to run?

Michael finally comes out wearing nothing
but a towel around his hips. My eyes drag languidly, longingly over
his body. He’s not as muscular as Spencer, but damn, Michal has
perfect proportions, with long, well-developed arms, broad
shoulders chiseled to perfection, an impossibly firm chest, a
to-die-for six-pack, grooves in his lower abdomen that lead to…

My breath hitches when I remember the size
of him. That’s one thing he has on Spencer, although I’m not really
into comparing. Except for now.

I drop my eyes to the floor, finding I have
become extremely aroused, the heat and wetness between my folds
increasing by the second. I still haven’t come down from where he
took me yesterday. And I’m afraid I won’t until he finishes the
job.

He walks into his closet, and returns
wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and carrying a crisp light
blue shirt and a business suit. He lays the clothes on the bed, and
takes the shirt off the hanger. Is he doing this to me on purpose?
Teasing me? Taunting me? Reminding me of what I’m missing? Because
at the moment, hell, I am missing it.

I clear my throat and force my eyes to focus
on the plush ivory carpet. “So you even have to work on
Sundays?”

“Only today,” he says. “I have a huge real
estate deal coming through with a few long time business
associates.”

He keeps talking, but my eyes now wander to
his bulging calf muscles, up to his knees, to his defined thighs,
the bulge between his legs…

When I notice he has stopped talking, I lift
my eyes to meet his. Seeing him stare at me with a wicked grin, my
face burns. Holy shit, my entire body is a blazing inferno.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asks,
securing his cufflinks.

“Sorry…I…” I stammer. He has no idea the
effect he has on me.

He pulls on his pants, buttons and zips it,
secures his belt, and sits down next to me on the chaise. He hasn’t
buttoned up his shirt all the way, and I can see the top of his
chest from where I’m sitting.

Easy, Scarlett, I tell myself. “Sorry. I’m
just tired. It was a late…night.” Okay, not the right words.

His jaw tenses for just a second, but then
he’s back to normal. “What I said was that the business deal
involves four corporations, and my ex-fiancé’s is one of them.”

Oh… Immediately, I find that I’m
uncomfortable about the entire thing even though I have absolutely
no reason to be. I mean, Michael and I aren’t even an item, only
two individuals who might be going on a date once a week. Yeah
right, my alter-ego shouts at me. With Michael it’s all or
nothing.

“This deal has been in the making for years,
and I want to assure you that it is strictly professional.” He
places a hand on my upper arm. Heat collects there.

I just nod as I try not to bite my lip.

He buttons up the rest of his shirt.
“Saturday evening we will be celebrating by throwing a ball at my
ex-fiancé’s mansion. I would be honored if you would be my date for
the night.”

“I don’t have…” I’m about to say ‘anything
to wear,’ but then I remember that I have an entire closet waiting
for me. I can imagine there are a few dresses in there that would
be fitting for such a grand event. “I’ll have to get work off.”

“Does that mean yes, you’ll come?” he
asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Okay.” He stands up, loops a black and gray
tie around his neck, and starts to tie it. When he’s finished, he
slips his dark gray suit jacket on.

Standing up, I wish my knees didn’t feel
quite so wobbly.

“You’re welcome to stay here all day. I’ll
be back at around eight this evening, and I’d love to talk things
through,” he says.

“I need to get home. Lately Sunday is the
only day I have to spend with my father. And he’s probably
wondering where I am already.”

Michael wraps his arms around me and kisses
the top of my head. He smells way too good.

Driving me home in his black Mercedes, he
stops by a local drive through coffee shop and orders us both
lattes, remembering to add extra sugar to mine. It’s a small
gesture, but it makes me think he’s paying more attention to the
details than what I thought.

Once we arrive back at my place, Spencer’s
Audi stands parked in my driveway next to my car. The flat is
fixed.

“I’m really glad you called me,” Michael
says.

Am I glad I called him? I think so, although
part of me is still holding back. “Me, too.”

He leans in, and his eyes drop to my
lips.

It amazes me how just a few hours ago I
wanted nothing to do with him ever again, and here I am ready and
wanting nothing less than forever.

He rests a hand on my knee, and without my
consent, my inner thighs squeeze together. He must have noticed
because he reaches behind my neck and firmly presses his lips to
mine. His wet, warm, slippery lips glide across mine, and I moan
when I feel his hand skirting up my thigh. Sliding his hand
underneath the leather of my miniskirt, he quickly locates my
panties and tugs at them. A rush of desire tears through me as the
anticipation of not knowing what he’ll do next makes me hyperaware
of his every move.

He runs his fingers across the thin, now wet
fabric, teasing my clit with feather-light circular motions. I
can’t even breathe.

Pushing my panties to the side, he deftly
shoves two fingers inside of me. Gasping in delight, I want to lean
my head back, but he holds me firmly, and grinds his lips harder
against mine.

When he presses against my G-spot, I push my
hips up to intensify the sensation. A high-pitched squeal escapes
my lips, but he still doesn’t release my lips. His tongue plunges
deep into my mouth, and I notice that the movements of his fingers
mirror the movements of his tongue. Holy Hell.

“Please,” I whisper into his mouth. But he
doesn’t release me. Instead, he thrusts his fingers deeper into me,
and starts moving them at whip-like speed. I cry out as I come, as
his tongue delves deeper, and his hand presses firmly against my
clitoris. My entire body is zinging with pleasure. It’s not the
best orgasm I’ve had—more like a starter one, but I’m convinced
he’s doing it on purpose.

He loosens his grip around my neck and pulls
out his fingers as the kiss turns sensual. I don’t want him to
stop. I want so much more.

His left hand drags across my abdomen and up
to my breast where he lightly tugs at my nipple through the thin
fabric of my bra. A current of fire shoots back down between my
legs, turning me into nothing but putty in his skillful hands. I
make a low gasping sound, and I feel his lips spread into a smile
across mine.

With our lips still touching, he says,
“Whenever I look at my fingers today, I can remember this moment.
And I just wanted to make sure
you
remember me today, and
not that other guy.”

“Well, you should have finished the job
then,” I say with a smile.

“Oh, I will, believe you me. When you’re
ready.” He kisses me lightly on the lips once more.

I am completely at the mercy of this man. He
owns my pleasure, and I simply cannot continue on unless we’re
together. Without even thinking, I spit out, “I’m ready.”

There’s a slight pause. “Are you just saying
that, or…”

“I want to try again.” I can’t live without
this man. I can’t believe I made it three weeks without him.

His lids lower and all the muscles in his
face and shoulders relax.

“But there are terms,” I add.

He opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow.
“I’d love to hear those terms.”

“Tonight. Come pick me up after your
meeting.” I need some time to organize my thoughts.

His eyes soften and he narrows them.
“Scar…you have no idea how wonderful it is to hear you say that.”
In his voice, I hear that he truly means it.

“Don’t say that until after you have heard
my terms,” I say with an innocent smile.

“No amount of terms will make me change my
mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“I trust you,” he says.

“Well, you shouldn’t,” I say, opening the
door.

“It doesn’t matter. I do anyway.”

11

When I arrive inside, the scent of bacon and
eggs greets me, and Vivian and my father are sitting at the kitchen
table finishing up a late breakfast. For the first time in months,
my father’s cheeks have some color to them, and it actually looks
as if he has gained a few pounds. I smile as my hand automatically
reaches for my heart.

For whatever reason—being home again, having
gone through the surgery and survived, a renewed hope for life, or
the company of Vivian—he has come back to life. Vivian smiles
warmly toward me and bids me to sit.

“Did you have a good time last night?” my
father asks.

“Yes.” My cheeks warm. I hope he doesn’t ask
about particulars.

“Did you buy me a new car?” he asks,
glancing out the window.

I chuckle. “No. That’s actually Dr.
Jamison’s car.”

He squints his eyes and gets a mischievous
smile. “Dr. Jamison’s, huh?”

“We’re just friends.” With benefits. Well,
not anymore. Wow, that arrangement sure as hell had a short
lifespan. God, did I really sleep with him last night? I had better
stop thinking about it before shame overwhelms me. Which it won’t
since I deserved every one of those orgasms!

“How about you? What did you do last night?”
I ask.

“Vivian and I stayed up and watched the
History Channel,” my father says.

“Really? That sounds like a lot of…fun,” I
tease, glancing at Vivian.

“I actually rather enjoyed it,” Vivian says
with a sensible smile. And is she…blushing? Holy hell, she is!

My father could definitely do much worse
than Vivian. What’s funny is she even reminds me of my mother
sometimes, the way she wrinkles her nose when she doesn’t like
something, and the way she steamrolls anyone who won’t accept her
assistance.

We decide to go see the ice sculptures at
the Congress Square Park. I’m glad to get my father out of the
house and get some fresh air. I’d hate to sit indoors all day
thinking about what Michael is planning to do to me later since I
agreed on wanting to try again.

When we arrive downtown, the streets are
jam-packed with cars, and the sidewalks are crawling with people.
We’re lucky enough to find a parking spot about a quarter of a mile
away.

After we’ve been to the park and seen all
the myriad of ice sculptures, we’re all exhausted from walking so
much. None of us really want to stand in the kitchen and slave over
the stove for an hour and then over the dishes another hour, so we
head to
The Eating Tree.
It’s my father’s favorite
restaurant. Knowing I’ll have dinner again in a few hours at
Michael’s, I order a salad and a bowl of chicken noodle soup just
to tide me over.

On the ride home, we each sit in our own
quiet thoughts. I let my mind drift to Michael and how his fingers
were inside of me and how he kissed me, and how much I’m looking
forward to spending the evening with him. I just hope his meeting
doesn’t go long, and that he’s not too exhausted after closing the
deal and dealing with his ex-fiancé.

Which brings up another thing: if I agree to
be his date next week, I’ll meet her. I remember the things Michael
said about her: that she’s a demanding sex goddess and selfish as
hell. Wow, and he wants to do business with her? I already don’t
like the idea of them continuing to work together, and I haven’t
even met the woman.

Back home again, I see that I’ve missed a
call from Spencer. He’s probably calling about his car and about
lunch tomorrow. I don’t want to discontinue contact with him
completely because I feel like we have such a great connection. But
at the same time, I realize if I do keep in touch with him, it will
do nothing to strengthen the trust between Michael and me.