Why did this sound logical? I knew that it wasn’t. “But we’re friends. Just friends.”
“And don’t you think this is something a friend should do? If they could?”
Again, totally reasonable.
My conclusions meant that I was not myself because I knew somewhere deep inside me that this was not a good idea. And what if I was truly bad at it? Did I really want him, of all people, to know it? “Maybe we shouldn’t. Since we’re both a little drunk.”
What are you doing? Shut up! He wants to kiss us! But he didn’t really want to kiss me. He was just offering to judge me and I was pathetic enough to agree to it because I had wanted to kiss him and more than kiss him for what felt like a very long time.
“I’m not drunk,” he said, his eyes glittering with a look I didn’t recognize. “I consent to it if you consent to it.”
That almost sounded like a dare and something inside me rose to respond. “Okay.” After I’d said it, I felt unbelievably awkward. What was I supposed to do now? For a judgment kiss? Was I supposed to kiss him first to prove my talents or was he supposed to kiss me?
Suddenly some part of my brain buzzed, like an annoying fly, that this was a Bad Idea. “You know, we don’t have to . . .”
My voice trailed off as he moved closer to me. Oh. I guessed he was going to kiss me. He moved in close, reaching up with his right hand to hold the side of my face. I drew in a trembling breath, unprepared for the onslaught of feeling that came just from him barely touching me. Every nerve ending crackled and sparked with excitement.
“You bought my dog a present,” he whispered.
I looked into his beautiful eyes, noticing that there was a ring of gold around the pupil, something I’d never noticed before. Mostly because our faces had never been this close before. Well, not when there was light and I could see him.
“Yes,” I whispered back. “We already established this earlier.” It felt like a weird thing to bring up, given the moment.
Then he smiled and moved toward me, like he was underwater or going in slow motion. It took me a second to realize that he was doing it so that I could say no.
He confirmed this when his lips hovered above mine. “Are you sure?”
Every cell in my body hummed with anticipation and desire. “Yes.”
Then his lips were against mine, softly, sweetly, a featherlight touch. The kind of kiss you imagine when you’re a tween dreaming about your first kiss. He’d obviously intended for it to be sweet and gentle. Which meant that it should have made me feel dreamy and nostalgic and swoony.
It did none of those things. From the moment his lips touched mine, it was like someone had plugged my mouth into an electrical socket. A surge zipped through me, giving me goose bumps and heating my blood.
It lasted for only a few seconds but it almost zapped my ability to hold myself upright.
He pulled back slightly, still within kissing range. I felt his warm breath against my face and it took all my restraint not to press my mouth against his and keep this going. Which he may not have wanted. I swallowed, trying to figure out what to do next. I settled on finding out what he’d thought of our experiment.
“How,” I started to speak, surprised at the breathy quality to my voice. “How was that?”
His lips pulled up into a smile. “I think I need more data before I can draw any conclusions.”
Again, perfectly sound logic. I nodded, feeling as if I couldn’t quite catch my breath. I noticed that he was looking at my lips. As if he’d only had a fleeting impression and now needed to do a more thorough investigation. The look in his intense blue eyes made the air around me feel charged with energy, like lightning could strike us both then and there.
That feeling didn’t lessen when he pressed his lips against mine again, this time kissing me. Not just a peck, but moving his mouth against mine with a gentle firmness that left me weak and shivering. He made the nerve endings in my lips explode from sheer pleasure.
Now both of his hands were on the side of my face, guiding my head this way and that as he kissed me over and over again.
Some detached part of my brain was warning me to pay attention to the technical aspect of the kiss, so that he wouldn’t think I was terrible at it, but I was so caught up in what was happening that I couldn’t focus on anything except the feel of his strong mouth on mine.
He tasted like champagne, and it was delicious. He was delicious.
Time passed—seconds, hours, I didn’t know—and somehow, something changed. A sense of urgency crept in and I didn’t know whether he was the cause of it, or if I was.
I suspected myself. Because while kissing him was almost transcendent, better than anything I could have imagined, I wanted more. More kissing. More of him.
At this point I didn’t even care if I was truly bad at it. It didn’t matter because obviously Tyler had been created solely to kiss women into oblivion. Yet another thing he was fantastic at.
The pressure of his mouth increased, his movements faster, and I immediately responded. A buzzing sensation whipped through me, and I wanted to get closer. My hands moved of their own volition, wanting to touch him. Hold him close. Feel the strands of his soft hair against my fingertips.
His arms went around my waist, tugging me up. I got to my knees so that I could be closer to him. He shifted his body up into a kneeling position, too. The sensation of him wrapping his arms around me, holding me tight, made me sigh with pleasure, every part of my body tingling in response.
The sound I made did something to him, as if the electricity passed through me and traveled into him, and he groaned against my mouth, deepening the kiss. A lightning storm burst to life under my skin, making my lungs constrict and my heart feel as if it were about to explode.
We kissed and kissed, building and building the storm until it threatened to rage out of control. I couldn’t have guessed how long we stayed locked in our embrace, only that I wanted to spend the rest of time kissing, and being kissed by, this man.
I’d never known anything to be quite as glorious or as intoxicating.
Then he suddenly stopped, resting his forehead against mine. His hands moved to my shoulders, and I didn’t know if he meant to push me away or pull me back in. I was confused, but felt a primal surge of satisfaction that he was breathing as hard as I was.
I heard his husky intake of air, and it made my shivering intensify.
“You,” he said, his voice raspy and harsh, as if he could barely control it, “are not a bad kisser.”
The tingly sound of his voice made me want so badly to lean forward and capture his clever lips again. I was about to do just that when, without another word or touch, he got up and left the room. I heard his bedroom door close.
What?
My nerves still buzzed, and I had the residual feel of his mouth on mine, as if it had been permanently imprinted there. I collapsed back against the couch, not trusting my legs to work.
Pigeon cocked her head at me, seeming confused. She wasn’t the only one.
“Is there anything written in Sharpie on my forehead?” I asked her. Because I worried that would be the only way I would understand for sure what had just happened.
I slept in a little later than normal because all night I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. I understood that it had been some kind of weird tipsy/friend/pity kiss, but if somebody compiled a list of Top Ten Kisses of All Time, that one would have to be put on there. Which then made me wonder what it would be like if he really kissed me. If he did it because he wanted to and not because he was drunkenly trying to make me feel better about myself.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed the next morning, I smelled bacon. One of my favorites. It was also one of Pigeon’s favorites, so this didn’t necessarily mean anything.
I wasn’t sure how this morning would go when I saw him again. Would he just pretend it had never happened? Could it possibly move toward being something more? Although I’d already dec
ided before the kiss that maybe trying to have a relationship with him was a mistake. I didn’t want to jeopardize our living situation or our friendship.
But truth be told . . . if I saw him and he said that the kiss had been incredible and that he wanted to try an actual relationship? I just couldn’t picture myself saying no.
I came out into the kitchen and he turned when he saw me. “Madison, good morning.” He finished up the last couple of pieces of bacon, putting them onto a paper towel–covered plate, and turned off the stove. “I made you breakfast.”
“Thank you.” He made me breakfast pretty frequently. There was no need to announce it, which made me think there was more he wanted to say.
He ran his fingers through his hair and said, “Last night, that was a mistake. I was buzzed and I shouldn’t have . . . it was wrong for me to . . . can we just forget it ever happened?”
Ha. As if that were possible. That kiss was seared into my memory banks for all time. But that didn’t mean I wanted things to be more awkward between us. And it sounded like I had my answer as to how he wanted things to move forward. As if none of this had happened. “Of course.”
I just didn’t think that I’d be able to forget.
Giving him the response he wanted made him grin. “I’m glad. We got a little carried away.”
Yep. I was there. But I didn’t want to make a fool of myself again and admit that I’d hoped he might have a different reaction to what we’d done. I could play along with this game, tell him what he wanted to hear. “I was upset and you were just being a friend. Which I need, because I think I’m done with men for a little while.”
Especially since I was so emotionally involved with Tyler, even though he had no idea. I didn’t really have it in me to try and find someone new.
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Do you want some bacon?”
“The answer to that question is always yes.” I hoped I wasn’t radiating my disappointment. Disappointment that I had no right to feel since he kept being clear with me. I was the one who wanted more so I was the one who was going to have to keep my feelings to myself.
Our intercom buzzed just as he finished serving me three pieces of bacon. I had taken a bite; he somehow always cooked them perfectly. I hated chewy bacon where the fat felt greasy in my mouth, and I didn’t like it too crisp. I loved them just the way Tyler made it.
“Hello?” he asked.
“Good morning. I have a Julio here for Madison.”
I stopped midchew. Julio? That meant only one thing.
He had been sent to retrieve me and this time my mother hadn’t even given me the courtesy of a heads-up. Which shouldn’t have surprised me. It was like the universe was trying to balance itself back out. I’d been part of something amazing last night so, obviously, I had to suffer for it today.
“Tell him I’ll be right down.”
Tyler relayed my message and then asked, “Who is Julio?”
“One of my family’s drivers. Which means one or both of my parents wants to talk to me and I need to go get changed and head out to their house.”
“You don’t have to go.”
Was he going to tell me I had a choice? He wasn’t really in a position to be giving me parental advice. He lived his life just to take care of his mom. He didn’t tell her no because he knew the fallout wouldn’t be worth it. Just like me and my mother. “I think you, of all people, know that I do.”
I looked at the bacon he’d made me and suddenly I didn’t feel very hungry. My mother had a natural talent for appetite suppression. I pushed my plate away. Pigeon could finish it for me.
Normally I would get dressed up to go back to the house, but if they were willing to be rude, then so was I. I put on a pair of comfortable leggings and a dark-green tunic. I put my hair up into a ponytail and brushed my teeth. Then I went to get my coat and purse and I called out, “See you later!”
He stuck his head out of his bedroom door. He looked concerned, but all he said was, “Good luck!”
I was going to need more than luck. I was going to need all the strength and willpower I could muster to stand up to them, because I knew what was coming next. I didn’t have to wonder why they’d sent for me. I knew.
I greeted Julio as he opened the back door of the black SUV for me. We’d been on the road for only a few minutes when my phone buzzed.
Brad had texted me.
I wondered why his grasp of the English language was so very poor. Since he couldn’t follow basic directions, I blocked his phone number. I blocked his email. Then I went into every bit of social media I had and blocked him there. I felt satisfied that I had done my best to cut him out of my life completely.
I knew that the only reason he’d bothered to reach out was that he was probably getting yelled at, too.
About a half hour later Coughlin let me into the mansion and told me that I could wait in the library. As I got closer to the door I heard someone crying and talking. Did my parents have a list of people they planned on torturing today?
“No. I know. I love you, too. But you don’t understand. I have to marry him . . . You know I don’t want to. I only want to be with you. No, Santiago, please, they will disown me and—”
Violet was walking back and forth, talking into her phone, her free arm wrapped around her waist as if she were trying to hold herself together. Never once in my entire life had I seen my sister cry. My father loved to tell the story of the time Violet was thrown from her horse and fractured her arm in two places. She didn’t cry once, not on the way to the hospital, not when they put a cast on her, not when they had to rebreak the bone because it was healing improperly.
I said her name and she stopped short. “I have to go,” she murmured.
“What was that about?” Who was Violet in love with? “Are you okay?”
“Mom and Daddy are making me marry Howard Hurley.” At my blank expression she added, “The man I had with me at dinner the last time you were here?”
Oh yeah, the guy I’d wanted to tell to run. But Howard was not the name she’d just said on her phone call. “Then who is Santiago?”
She looked sad and conflicted, and I thought she wasn’t going to tell me, as we’d never been especially close. But then the words came rushing out of her, as if she couldn’t help herself. “Santiago is my personal trainer. And I’m in love with him. But Howard works at Weston Wilshire. He’s set to become president of our overseas division and our parents think he’s the perfect match for me. I have to marry him.”
This was insanity. My sister should be able to marry whomever she wanted. “No, you don’t. I broke up with Brad. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s why I’m here. So that I can get yelled at. But they’re not going to change my mind. Mom and Daddy don’t get to dictate who you marry. You’re the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the entire country. Nobody should be telling you what to do. Tell them you’re in love with someone else and you’re not marrying Howard.”
There was a brief spark of hope in her eyes, but I saw the way she immediately squashed it. “They’ll cut me off. They’ll fire me. I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for.”
I shook my head. “Not everything. You’ll have Santiago. You have your degrees and your experience. I bet there are forty companies out there who would hire you as CEO in a heartbeat. You can get another job.” I took a step toward her, not sure what she would do. “And you’ll have me. I know what it feels like not to have any support. But that’s not your situation. I’m on your side and I’ll stand by you. No matter what decision you make. But it is your decision, hard as it may be. Someone told me recently that we always have a choice. Make the one that will make you happy. Not our parents.”
She nodded, clearly miserable, and I wondered what she would do if I tried to hug her. This was probably the most personal conversation she and I had ever had. Part of that was due to the ten-year age difference, but it was also due to our parents pitting us against one another, trying to make us compete for
their affections.
Another game I was no longer going to play.
“I have to go,” she said, and I stepped aside, wishing I could offer her comfort but knowing she wouldn’t accept it. I let out a deep sigh as she left the room. My poor sister. Her personal trainer? My mother was going to break her favorite pearl necklace from all the clutching she was about to do. That image made me smile a little.
Sitting down in one of the overstuffed armchairs, I considered my sister’s fate. I knew how hard it would be for her, probably even harder than it had been for me as she’d been under their thumb for longer and was more reliant on them than I was. Her entire career, which had always been the main focus of her life, was due to their benevolence.
But that also meant they could withdraw it any time they chose. It was like having a sword hanging over your head that hung by the weakest thread. It could drop at any moment and you had all the constant stress and anxiety of not knowing when or how that would happen.
Except for today. I knew that sword was headed straight for my head.
I was a little proud of Violet that she’d found the time to fall in love. That she’d taken a risk and chosen something for herself.
Just as I’d started to wonder how long my mother was going to make me wait, another one of her favorite tactics, I smelled her Chanel perfume. She came into the library a moment later.
“Madison.”
“Mother.”
She sat down across from me, perched on the edge of her chair, her legs crossed at her ankles. Her pink business suit was perfectly pressed, her french knot elegantly done. She looked over my slouching, comfortable form and her dismissive gaze let me know I’d been found wanting.
I didn’t feel less than. She was mistaking my appearance to mean I wasn’t prepared and that I would crumble under the weight of her disapproval.
She was wrong.
My mother could bring on her own personal Spanish Inquisition. I was ready.
Roommaid Page 21