She gives me a wry smile and catches my wrist to lower my hand. “Sorry, darling, I meant ill the other way.”
My mother and her decorum. “What have you eaten?”
“Nothing unusual. I’ll be fine.” She makes her way to her bedroom door before pausing. “Be sure and turn off the television before you go to bed.”
With that, I’m left alone. I lift the remote and shut off the TV. Soft yellow light filters into the room through the shade of the blue and white Ming Dynasty lamp on the side table. It’s quiet, and without her presence, I can’t stop my brain from resuming the whirlwind of torment.
Standing hard, I go to my room. I’m determined to push forward. Nothing has changed. I’ve been sexually adventurous before with other men—absolutely no reason why this weekend should have me so off-balance.
Except that before when I’ve been adventurous, it was fast and fleeting, quick hook-ups with no further interaction, no exchanging of personal information, no lying in their arms, talking about hopes and dreams.
That’s where I made the critical error. I let him get too close. Even Armand hadn’t been allowed that far inside the walls. How had Marcus managed it? How had I been so careless to let him in, and why didn’t it make me want to run?
It scared me. Hell, yes, it scared me. Yet, it was a different kind of fear. It wasn’t a sense of pushing away like matching ends of a magnet. It was the fear of falling, of losing control. Let me show you I’m different...
In the confines of my bedroom, I strip out of my clothes until I’m standing in front of my mirror in only my beige lace panties. I’d come home and showered and washed my hair earlier. The grey Henley I’d worn had somehow gotten wound up in the sheets with us all night, and it now smells of crisp linen and warm wood.
Lifting it to my nose, I inhale his scent as I trace a fingertip lightly over the top of my breast, just above the dark areola, where a blood-red crescent curls above my nipple. Heat floods my core thinking of how he’d bitten and sucked at the tender flesh. Turning to the side, I trace my finger over my birthmark now slashed by throbbing burgundy. No fucking angel kisses, you’re mine...
My camera sits on the side table, and I lift it, turning it over so I can click through the photos I took for the website. A jolt hits my insides when his face appears on the small screen, smoky hazel filled with lust staring right at me. I’d snapped it the moment he’d looked up at me, and staring at it now, I can see plainly what was on his mind even then.
The next shot is of him standing back, one hand on the rigging while the breeze pushed his jacket open. The line of ink along his hip makes my lip catch in my teeth. Uncertainty is essential.
Oh, god! I toss the Henley aside and flick the camera off. Putting it in my bag, I push through the covers on my bed and curl into a ball. I have to get back in control of this. How will I ever go in to work tomorrow if I don’t? How will I keep true to me if I don’t?
Squeezing my knees against my bare breasts, I push Marcus Merritt out of my mind. I don’t do what he wants. I don’t allow anyone to control me. I don’t let anyone take away my freedom. I stood by and watched that play out once before with someone I trusted to do no wrong, and I vowed then I would never be made a fool that way.
I’m not going back on that promise.
* * *
Marcus
It was hard to leave our little world below the waters of Lake Michigan, especially when I was pretty sure once we returned to work, Amy would return to distant. I kissed her long and slow before she left, savoring the feel of her velvet lips, the sweet taste of her mouth. She fit in my arms perfectly, like she belonged there, but I didn’t say the words. No mention of a future or anything next.
We haven’t spoken since we parted, and now it’s Monday, I’m back in the office. She’s not in yet, and all I can do is wait. Sitting at my desk, I pull up Fieldinghouse, but it’s impossible to express how uninterested I am in the problems of a water treatment plant right now. So sue me.
The swift click of heels in the hall snaps me to attention. I’d recognize the clip-clip of her stride anywhere. So forceful and determined, I can’t help a smile. She’s so fucking stubborn, and fuck if I’m not falling in love with her.
She’s one of the strongest women I’ve ever met—apart from her aversion to relationships—only, I’ve found the exact line down her back where I can trace my finger and she melts into my chest. I know the spot behind her ear that causes goose bumps to appear on her slender, beautiful arms. I know what she likes when she’s blindfolded... hell, I know she likes being blindfolded. I know she likes it hard, and I know her body has several very specific marks on it right now.
Images of our weekend sends tightness across my fly, and I have to distract myself before I call her in here on some pretense. I want her to come to me, or at least I want to wait until it’s necessary to go to her. Crowding her won’t do me any good.
A soft rap on my door surprises me, and glancing up. Amy is standing there in a blue dress that’s a cross between professional and stylish. Her face is hesitant. Take it slow.
“Have something to show me?” I smile casually, as if nothing outstanding happened two nights ago to rock us both to the core.
“Um, yes.” Her voice is quiet, a little high. She’s pulled back, I know. “Your portion of the site is complete. I wanted to show it to you, see if you have any feedback or changes...”
“From what I saw yesterday, the photos were perfect. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Still...” She steps to the edge of my
desk. “Want to pull it up and see what you think?”
“If you say so.” I turn in my chair and move the mouse.
The screen flickers to life, and I quickly type in the URL. Our webpage loads quickly with at brief animation showing the two named partners and me engaged in various professional poses, ending in a casual shot of the Chicago skyline.