by Morris, Liv
I brushed my finger along the skin above the edge of his collar.
“You’re going to kill me, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Once we were outside, Lucas held my hand and helped me into the back seat of the limo, but didn’t enter right behind me. I waited near the door to see what was going on. He was talking to his driver. I strained my ears, being my usual nosy self.
“We don’t need to be at the gala for another fifteen minutes. Make sure you’re not a minute early. Drive through Central Park. Maybe a few times. Understood.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Shaw,” he said, like it wasn’t an unusual request.
I scooted over as Lucas folded his tall body into the car. His black tux with gold and shiny diamond cufflinks made him look like a model straight out of an Armani ad.
“Straddle me.” His voice was husky and demanding as he helped me gather up my gown.
As I settled onto his lap, his fingers eased up my legs, caressing them with a soft touch. When he reached my bare sex, his eyes shot up to mine and his fingers entered me.
“You, vixen,” a laugh shone in his eyes, “are so fucking wet. Unbuckle me and lower the zipper.”
When my hands brushed over his hardness, he hissed. I quickly did as he’d demanded, freeing him from his clothes.
His fingers clasped on either side of my waist, and he brought me over himself. “Help me, babe.” He spoke through gritted teeth, controlling his need for me.
When I positioned him in just the right place, he lowered me in one quick move. My breath caught, and I threw my head back, lost to the sensations and sudden fullness.
Relentlessly, he lifted up and down, doing all the work. I braced myself on the back of the seat behind his head. This was hot as hell—nothing like the awkward car sex from my teen years.
“Can you unzip the top of your dress? I want your nipples in my mouth,” he begged in such a sweet, desperate way, I couldn’t say no.
“They’re yours, you wicked devil.” I reached around the back of my dress, pulling the zipper down and letting my boobs do their thing as gravity took over.
Lucas’s mouth was on them in an instant, giving me just what I needed. He continued to control my movements. Each breath came faster. The moans and words spilling from our lips grew wilder, until we reached the place we sought together—where nothing but the two of us existed in the world.
I wanted to collapse on his chest, but he held me up. I would’ve ruined his shirt with my lipstick and smeared it all over my face. That’s why the sexy bastard didn’t kiss me. This hadn’t been his first rodeo.
Lucas removed a handkerchief from his pocket. “What are you, eighty?” I asked.
“No. Smart.” He chuckled. No arguing there. I cleaned up and threw it into the small trash receptacle.
Lucas glanced at his watch. “We have five minutes to de-sex ourselves.”
“Your hair looks perfect,” I said. “The wilder, the better. Though, every woman is going to wish she’d made you look this hot.”
When the driver arrived at the Met, we had returned to our seats, looking like we’d sat still the entire ride. I peeked out the car window and saw the line of photographers waiting for the limos. I tried not to jump up in my seat, but it was no use. I was living the best night of my best life. This was beyond my wildest dreams.
A man dressed in a uniform-style tuxedo opened the door for me, helping me out with an outstretched hand. Lucas came around the car, guiding me with his hand at my back, toward a long red carpet sectioned off with a raised velvet-rope line.
“I can’t believe this is happening to me.” I looked up at Lucas, who appeared nonplussed. I guess this also wasn’t new for him. But he smiled down at me, giving me my moment to feel overwhelmed and excited.
“You’ve never looked more beautiful, Maggie.” He took my hand and squeezed it in his. His words melted my heart and my anxiety. He was all I needed, and I pleased him. Literally.
“And you’re a sex god.” He laughed, but I saw two women staring at him, their jaws on the ground. I smiled at them. Yep, he was mine, bitches.
Just like I’d seen on TV, there was a place celebrities stopped to have press take their photos on the red carpet. When we arrived at the marked spot, Lucas settled his hand on my lower back, turning toward the cameras.
“Who is she?” a reporter shouted. I looked up at Lucas, wondering what he’d say in reply.
“This is Magnolia Talbot, my everything.”
The camera flashes blurred in my eyes. He’d announced to the world I was his.
“What are you wearing, Ms. Talbot?” another reporter shouted.
I glanced up at Lucas, unsure about speaking. He motioned for me to with a nod.
“Oscar de la Renta.” My voice was weak. Nerves.
“Speak louder,” someone yelled, rather demanding.
“Oscar de la Renta. And his creations have never looked better, wouldn’t you say?” Lucas saved me, flashing the cameras his panty-dropping smile. I sighed.
I also noticed those same ladies who’d been checking him out earlier swooning over his comments.
Inside the event space, the lights were dimmed with a sexy, reddish glow. Liquor flowed from waitstaff carrying around trays of champagne.
“Maggie,” I heard the voice of my best friend before I saw her. She looked stunning in a blush pink gown, her blond hair up.
“Tessa, I was worried I’d missed you,” I said. “You look like a pink princess.”
“Thanks, and you’re a green goddess. Wow. That dress. Barclay got held up at work. Something about a writer named Don Black.”
“No worries.”
“We’ll catch up later. Call me tomorrow. You’re busy with the man of the hour. Who knew? I’m so happy for you both.”
I gave her an air kiss on the cheeks, not wanting to leave a red set of lips on them.
Lucas and I stood near the head table, greeting those arriving. And he never let me leave his side. It felt like I’d been introduced to over a hundred people, curious to meet me, the woman who finally caught Manhattan’s wild tiger—in their words. To me, he was as tame as a pussycat.
When Lucas walked onto the raised stage to speak about his foundation, I’d never been prouder of anyone in my life. He’d come such a long way from the lonely, grumpy Herb I’d met months ago.
“Years ago, my mother, Lilly Shaw, experienced a head injury and never fully recovered. She was fortunate in that our family could afford her care.” Lucas paused. “But not every family can navigate a loved one’s care. I spoke with medical professionals, asking them what one of the greatest needs was with their traumatic brain injury patients. The overwhelming response was transportation. Getting the patients to their appointments. I saw a need and, along with Jared Johnson, created the C.A.R. Foundation.”
Tears started to fall, and an older gentleman pulled a tissue from his pocket, handing it to me.
“Here you go, Magnolia.” I smiled through the clouds, thanking the sweet man. I loved finding Manhattan men knew how to be proper gentlemen. It was like discovering a unicorn.
After Lucas finished his speech, he introduced J.J., who spoke about the logistics of the operations. A family member for a TBI patient shared their experiences at the end, asking those in the audience to get involved with the foundation. Everyone at their tables began filling out cards. Several owners of corporations pledged to underwrite projects, especially those in rural areas.
The crowd dispersed after the program ended. “It looks like the only thing left to do is turn off the lights.” Lucas laughed as we looked around the ballroom. All the hotel staff had left the room too.
On the drive back to the apartment, I rested my head on Lucas’s shoulder. “I was so proud of you tonight.”
“It was the first time I felt something good come out of the tragedy I caused.”
“You have, Lucas. And you saved your mother. She’s been doing so much better. Especially since we stay
with her so often in Greenwich.”
“Life is better, and it all started with you.” He pulled me onto his lap, holding me in his arms. “Have you checked Page Six yet?”
“You think there’ll be photos up already?”
“Are you kidding? They’ve been there for over an hour.”
I punched him on the shoulder, in a light, teasing way. “I can’t believe you’ve held out this long. You’re so mean.”
“I wanted to see your reaction in private. The headline is quite interesting.” He waggled his brows.
I reached across the seat and grabbed my clutch, pulling out my phone. I clicked on The New York Post app, going straight to the Page Six section. Whoa. There Lucas and I were, beaming in a photo of us on the red carpet. The headline read:
“Lucas Shaw is off NYC’s Most Eligible Bachelor List.” I clicked off the screen. “You bet he is.”
I could hear and feel Lucas’s laugh against my chest. “As if it was ever a question once I found you again.”
38
Lucas
Me: Landed. Heading home. Are you still up?
A few minutes went by before the bubbles appeared, indicating an incoming response. At least I knew she wasn’t asleep yet.
Maggie: Yes, barely. I thought you weren’t coming home until tmrw.
Me: I couldn’t wait. I have something exciting to tell you.
Maggie: Like where you’ve been for two days?
Me: Yes. You’ll never guess.
Maggie: K. Now I’m up.
My driver was waiting for me near the private jet terminal entrance. I tossed my bag in the back seat, wanting to get home ASAP. Who had time to even open the trunk?
I’d lucked out. The late evening traffic was light, so we sped down the highway, hitting the streets of midtown in record time. I had my hand on the door handle before the car came to a stop at my building. I thanked my driver and raced inside and up the elevator.
My hands were sweating as I entered the access number to the apartment. When I heard the lock click, I took a deep breath. It was show time. I just hoped Maggie didn’t throw tomatoes at me when I finished telling her my news.
The apartment was almost pitch-black. Esmé’s door was closed; she’d likely been asleep for hours. I checked our bedroom, thinking Maggie might have drifted off to sleep. Yet, she wasn’t there either.
When I headed toward the hallway leading down to my office, a flickering light on the terrace caught my eye. I noticed a small form wrapped in a blanket on one of the loungers.
I dumped my bag on the kitchen table and opened the terrace door. She glanced up at me, a weary look in her eyes. I couldn’t help but laugh inside, knowing what I was about to share with her.
“Okay, spill.” She didn’t like surprises or waiting for them, apparently.
“I made a trip to Monroeville.”
She blinked at me, her mouth open wide. “What? Are you kidding?” She squinted, having changed from weary to disbelief to possible anger.
“I have proof. Right here.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a brochure. She grabbed it out of my hand.
“Wait.” She stood up from the lounger, her blanket falling to the ground. “I can’t believe this.” She shook the glossy covered paper at me.
“I walked the infamous Bronze Sculpture Trail around the town square. Here’s a picture of Truman Capote’s hat and glasses.” I showed her the actual photo on my phone, and then another one. “Here’s the bronze gavel for Harper Lee’s How to Kill a Mockingbird.”
The bronze trail was an amazing tribute to the writers from Monroeville. The town was an incubator for creativity.
“You really were there?”
“Yes, Maggie. And I finally met your mother.”
“You did? I just talked to her tonight after Esmé crashed. She didn’t say a word.”
“Let’s go inside. It’s getting cold. Winter’s coming soon.” I placed an arm around her shivering shoulders, leading her back inside.
“What were you doing there? And why do you have that goofy smile on your face?” I laughed. She’d seen right through me.
“Let’s sit on the couch.” We’d replaced the expensive piece of shit sectional I’d had with a couch that was so soft; it’s almost more comfortable than our bed.
“Okay, but you’d better start at the beginning, leaving nothing out.” She sat facing me with her legs crisscrossed.
“You know we’ve been talking about starting over. Neither of us are hot on Manhattan, and I’m okay at Greenwich, but it’s still a place of memories from a time I’d like to forget.”
“I know, Lucas.” She rubbed over my forearm, taking my hand in hers. “What about your mother? We can’t leave her in that large house alone.”
“Exactly. I spoke with her doctors. They think she’d be okay to move from Connecticut, so long as she has access to good health care.”
“But to where?” She’d gone back to her weary-eyed look. “Like Monroeville? Don’t tease me.”
“I’m dead serious. I even met with a realtor today. Mrs. Flora Jenkins, your mother’s friend.” Maggie nodded, her eyes kind of blank. Shock, I guessed. “There’s this old farm off Highway 41. It has a beautiful old mansion. Needs a shit-ton of work, but I can afford it.”
“Oh my God. That’s the old Turner farm.” She was smiling now, finally realizing I meant business. “Old man Turner died a few years ago. No kids or family close. Just a nephew in Atlanta. So, it’s for sale?”
“It was.” I waited a second before I told her the next part. It would be a hit or a miss. There was no in-between. “I actually bought it today. There’s a great room for an office upstairs where I can write. It looks out over a creek. And the grass-covered farmlands are perfect for raising your beloved alpacas.”
“You sneaky, handsome jerk.” Maggie’s smile nearly broke her face. “I can’t believe you.”
She plopped herself down lengthwise on my lap. I cradled her in my arms, looking at the woman I’d give up the world for. Screw Manhattan. I wanted to make love to her in our mansion somewhere in the hills of Alabama, crazy animals and all.
“I can’t believe this. You bought the old farm? Like you have a receipt for it and all?” She was flipping out, confirming I’d made the right decision.
“The deed should be mailed in two weeks. I bought it under the name Magnolia Farms, LLC. We can always change it, but there were magnolia trees planted all over the grounds. And since it’s going to be yours for raising your favorite animals, I thought you’d like to have your name on it.”
“You’re the sweetest man in the world. And your mom with us all the time will be magical for her and Esmé. And—oh my God! I have to call my mother.”
“She’s waiting for you.” Maggie raised off my lap, and I tapped her ass as she walked away to grab her phone from the terrace.
She brought it back inside and starting screaming in glee as she talked to her mother. I worried about Ms. Talbot’s eardrums at this point.
After a few minutes, Maggie hung up, then ran toward me and jumped into my arms, hugging me around my neck.
“You’re so good to me.” She wrapped her legs around my hips. My palms immediately cupped her fine ass. “You sexy beast. Now, let’s burn up some of this crazy energy.” She nodded toward the bedroom. “Or I’ll never get to sleep.”
I carried her to bed and fulfilled her wish. As she lay sleeping in my arms, I thought of us, Maggie, Esmé, my mother, and me living in a quiet town, soaking up the peaceful things, miles away from the memories I’d been tormented by for so many years.
It was a fresh start, a new beginning with limitless possibilities, and I’d never been happier in my life.
39
Two Years Later
Maggie
“Esmé Shaw, quit chasing the chickens. You’re scaring them. They’ll never lay any eggs if you don’t stop.” I watched her run around the yard while I sipped my coffee on the back porch.
> Welcome to the terrible twos. That child. What was I gonna do with her? She was as stubborn as her father sometimes.
With the mention of live chickens turning into a child’s toy, it was pretty clear we’d made the move from New York City to Alabama.
I loved being near my mother and this sleepy town of Monroeville, full of lively characters and a Piggly Wiggly. God, how I missed that grocery store.
Lucas finished his book and was working on his second. His best friend, Barclay Hammond, published his first one, and it actually hit the New York Times bestseller list in fiction. I couldn’t have been prouder of Lucas for going after his dreams.
He made my childhood dreams come true too. I was the proud owner of twenty alpacas, the sweetest animals ever. We had farm tours every Wednesday afternoon and Saturday. Families came from all around the area to see the furry creatures. Everyone called them llamas, and I passed out sheets of paper explaining the difference between them and alpacas. I think alpacas would be more popular if their name was cuter and easier to pronounce.
“Need more coffee?” I asked Lilly, who was sitting next to me in her favorite rocking chair.
“I’m good,” she said, rocking back and forth. “Thank you, Maggie.”
Lilly truly was good, better than she’d been in the last twenty years. She still didn’t understand Lucas was her son, but you could see the love in her eyes for him. And that love came from the memories lost somewhere in her mind.
“Look. Look.” Esmé came running toward the porch, her blond hair flying in the air behind her. “I found a egg.”
She held out her hand and gave me a perfect brown egg. It was an improvement from the cracked shell and soupy, sticky mess she normally handed me.
“Miss Lilly, did you see?” Esmé asked.
“I did. Good job.” Lilly straightened Esmé’s cockeyed dress. “They’ll lay more if you stop spooking them.”