Only You

by Marie Landry

  “I’m sorry, Ivy,” he says. “I truly am. I was hoping things would work out with the Village and I’d be able to stay. I could return after New Year’s, but I have business to attend to in Scotland, so it would mean traveling back and forth.”

  “Right. It makes more sense to just stay there.” My voice is flat, lifeless. I can hardly look at Hugh’s tortured expression. His hands are wrapped so tightly around mine, I think he’s squeezed all the blood out of it. “W-we agreed not to get too serious. We always knew this was a possibility.” I don’t add that I ignored my own rule and went ahead and started to fall for him anyway. It’s my own fault.

  After a long pause, Hugh frees one of his hands and lifts my chin so I’ll meet his gaze. His eyes search mine. “You know I care for you, right? And I’d stay if I could.”

  “Of course,” I say. “And I care for you too. We’re just not meant to be. At least not right now.”

  He winces. “I know I said I didn’t want to do long distance, but—”

  “No.” I hold up a hand to cut him off. “No, I think you were right. We haven’t known each other that long, and we’ve kept things casual. It would be foolish to put that kind of strain on a budding relationship.”

  I can’t read his expression. Finally, he nods slowly. “I do agree it seems like a lot of pressure when we haven’t even officially entered a relationship. Maybe we can agree to put things on pause for now. I won’t be gone forever, after all.”

  “On pause,” I say, attempting to smile. “But we need to promise each other if something happens—if either of us meets someone else, or if you decide you’re not coming back—we need to be honest with each other. Deal?” I can’t imagine dating anyone else anytime soon, so I say this mostly for his benefit. His puppy-dog eyes—searching for understanding, wanting to make this right—are twisting the knife in my heart. I can’t make this harder for him by begging him to stay or making demands.

  “Deal.” He squeezes my hand. Strained silence falls over the table. I miss his easy smile and the laughter we’ve shared all evening. It’s been such a fun night; I don’t want this uncomfortable, guilt-ridden fog to settle over us now.

  “How would you feel about getting dessert to go?” I suggest. “We can take it back to my place and…” I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

  He doesn’t respond for a moment. Then, with his eyes never leaving mine, he lifts his free hand to motion for Don. “Sounds perfect.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  So much for the drive home not being awkward and uncomfortable. Apparently we left our effortless conversation back at the restaurant, because neither of us seems to know what to say. Five minutes into the drive, I turn the radio on and distract myself by peering into the bag on my lap—take-out containers of tiramisu, limoncello trifle, an assortment of biscotti, plus a small tub of gelato. Don doesn’t fool around when it comes to food.

  When we reach my apartment, I put the leftovers in the fridge. Hugh’s guess that I’d likely have enough to last until Christmas seems accurate. My appetite has fled, so I stow the desserts except for the biscotti, which I arrange on a plate. I take my time, mindlessly fussing over the presentation as I attempt to collect my thoughts and rein in my emotions.

  Hugh is across the room at the stereo, flipping through radio stations. When he finally settles on one, he asks, “Are you going to stay in the kitchen all night?”

  Instead of answering, I pick up the plate of biscotti and take it to the coffee table. Hugh cocks his head toward the radio, and I realize the song has changed from an uptempo pop song to a slow one. I recognize the opening chords immediately, having heard this song approximately thirty million times in the last twenty-some years.

  “Isn’t this one of your favorites?” Hugh asks quietly.

  Bono’s voice joins the familiar guitar chords, crooning the opening lines of “With or Without You”. I nod silently and Hugh’s serious expression cracks just a hint, a small smile playing around his mouth.

  He steps toward me, extending a hand. “Dance with me.”

  The air around us feels charged as I take his hand. He wraps his other arm firmly around my waist, inching me closer until our bodies meet. I swallow hard and close my eyes, fighting a wave of emotion I can’t quite name. My head drops onto his chest as we move in slow circles, neither of us speaking. The steady sound of his heartbeat competes with Bono’s voice for most soothing sound.

  “You could come with me,” Hugh says in a low rumble that echoes through his chest to my ear. My head jerks up; he appears as surprised as I feel. After a moment, he takes a deep breath and repeats, “You could come with me,” except this time it’s more of a statement than the semi-question it sounded like before.

  “To Scotland?” A bubble of laughter clogs my throat. I swallow it down, knowing it would be one of those crazed-sounding cackles that tend to escape me when I’m shocked or confused.

  He nods. We’ve stopped dancing, although we’re still locked in the same pose. Hugh’s warm hand is solid and comforting in mine, keeping me grounded. Grounded in the present, grounded in reality. And the reality is I have a life here. As much as I care about Hugh and would love to have a real relationship with him, I can’t leave now. Part of me wants to—longs to—but in the grand scheme of things, we hardly know each other. We’re not even an official couple. I have Bridget and Marla and Celia here, plus my career and a new job with Piper. A job that’s as close to my secret dream as I’ll probably ever get.

  A sad-looking half smile flits over Hugh’s face. “Never mind. It was foolish of me to ask.”

  “No,” I say quickly. “It wasn’t. I appreciate it more than you know.” The last few words come out sounding choked as I fight back tears. My eyes prickle and fill despite my best efforts to stop them, and Hugh’s face crumples. I pull my hand free from his so I can dash the tears away. “You know it’s not that I don’t want to, right? But I have obligations here, just like you have obligations in Scotland.”

  I need to turn this night around, stop this moment and the sadness in Hugh’s eyes from becoming etched in my brain. “Maybe if you’re still there in the spring or summer, we can plan something. Bridget would hop on a plane back to Scotland in a heartbeat, and I’ve always wanted to go. It would help having our own personal guide, especially an authentic hot Scot.” I brush my fingers over his cheek and he finally graces me with the smile I was hoping for.

  He captures my hand and holds it in place against his cheek. “I’d love that. It’d give me something to look forward to.”

  “Me too.” Ugh, why is my voice all wobbly? “This is ridiculous,” I say on a shaky laugh. “You’d think it was the early 1900s and you were heading off to war or something. We can text and call and Skype each other whenever we want. I could resurrect the art of snail mail—pick up some fancy stationery and write to you, spritz the paper with my perfume before I stick it in the envelope.”

  He chuckles half-heartedly. “We can do all that. We can stay in touch and plan for you to visit, but…” That ‘but’ makes my stomach drop. I’m tempted to press my finger to his lips and beg him not to finish the sentence. “I don’t know for certain when I’ll be back. If I can’t get the permits I need for the Village next year, I’ll likely stay in Scotland and simply return here for short business trips. It’s never been an issue before because I’ve never had any reason to stay in Canada other than work. I have a reason now, but it’s not as simple as moving my entire life and business here to see if we could make things work between us. I don’t want to make plans and promises I’m not certain I can keep. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting you, Ivy.”

  “Then we’ll hit the pause button from the moment you leave. We’ll talk if and when we can, and in a few months maybe we’ll plan for me to visit Scotland. Or maybe we won’t. No promises, no expectations.” That’s how our whole non-relationship has been so far anyway. It’s not the way I imagined things would be, but that’s life isn’t it
? Things don’t always turn out how you expect or plan or even want. Maybe Hugh and I will be together eventually, and maybe we won’t. I can’t put my life on hold indefinitely, but I can manage a pause. A wait and see, at least for a while. He’s worth that.

  A deep V has formed between his eyebrows. I give him a questioning look and he shakes his head. “No promises and no expectations, but…” There’s that ‘but’ again, and just like before, my stomach swoops. “We talked about being honest with each other if either of us meets someone else. If that does happen, I’ll wish you well and wallow for a bit over the lucky bugger who wins your heart.” His lips quirk, and I can’t help smiling in return. “But I want you to know I’ll do everything I can to come back. I think we could be great together.”

  Now when my stomach swoops, it’s for a whole different reason. Hugh’s eyes have gone soft, his smile achingly sweet. He’s still pressing my hand to his cheek, and I raise the other one to cup his face. “I think we’d be great together too.” He lowers his forehead to rest against mine. We’ve agreed to hit pause in a little over a week, but I wish I could hit pause right now. I’d like to hold on to this moment for just a little longer.

  Hugh lifts his forehead from mine and replaces it with his lips. They’re warm and gentle, and they linger for a moment before trailing down, kissing between my brows, the tip of my nose, the corner of my mouth. I wait for his lips to meet mine and when they don’t, my eyes pop open. He’s bent slightly so we’re face to face, staring into each other’s eyes.

  “I wish things weren’t so complicated,” he whispers. “I wish I could—”

  I press a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Do you remember the second time we met? In that alley in the Village?” He nods. “You told me to make a wish because you were Santa and Santa is magic. And that even if Santa couldn’t grant my wish, there was power in putting it out in the Universe. When I blurted out my wish—wanting something of my own—you said you’d do whatever you could to make it come true. I had no idea what you meant at the time. I’m not even sure I knew what I meant. Then all these wonderful, unexpected things kept happening: you became part of my life, I made friends at the Village, Fiddlesticks found me, I got a job at the bookstore. I’m still figuring some things out, but my life is better. Richer. So yeah, things might be a bit complicated, but sometimes complicated isn’t the worst thing. I’m finally learning to enjoy the ride and see things don’t always have to be a certain way.”

  Hugh is quiet for a moment and then he bobs his head. “You’re very wise, you know that?” he says, his eyes twinkling in a way that makes me want to laugh.

  “I don’t know about that, but I’m trying.” I give a little shrug, grateful the mood is beginning to lighten. Wanting to keep steering things in the right direction, I add, “I mean, I am a Ravenclaw. ‘Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure’ is our house motto at Hogwarts.”

  “JK Rowling: another very wise woman,” Hugh says. He lowers his smiling lips to mine, and I sigh contentedly as we finally kiss.

  What starts as a light brushing of lips quickly turns into something more. It’s the kind of intense kissing we’ve reached a few times during our couch makeout sessions, knowing things can’t go much further because of Celia’s imminent return. We don’t have to worry about Celia tonight, though.

  I ease away, practically gasping for breath. Hugh’s swollen lips and glazed eyes send a jolt of lust straight to my core. “Celia’s gone for the night.”

  Without a word, his mouth returns to mine, his hands skimming restlessly over my back and sides. I break away again, this time taking his hand and tugging him in the direction of the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

  We’ve made it halfway down the hall when he pulls me to a stop. “If this is heading where I think it is, won’t it make things more complicated?”

  His concerned expression doesn’t quite hide his dilated pupils or the heavy breathing that matches my own. He wants this as much as I do. Despite the lust fog clouding my brain, I seem to recall some of my wise words from a few minutes ago being something along the lines of ‘sometimes complicated isn’t the worst thing’. “I just want to be with you. If that’s what you want…”

  He makes a sound somewhere between a loud exhale and a laugh. “God, yes.” In one quick movement, he scoops me off the floor. I hook my legs around his waist, laughing breathlessly as he carries me the rest of the way to my room. He nudges the door open with his foot, and I swallow a startled cry when my eyes land on the two glowing orbs peering at us from the middle of my bed.

  “Just Fiddlesticks,” Hugh says, his chest and shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. I bury my face in his neck, glad it’s too dark for him to see my face, which I’m sure is bright red.

  “I forgot about my own cat. She usually hangs out wherever I am.” I raise my head and watch Fiddlesticks stretch languidly before hopping to the floor. She stops at Hugh’s feet and sniffs him, then scurries from the room. I swear that animal is telepathic; she knows now isn’t the time for snuggles or playing. I’ll have to remember to give her extra treats tomorrow. But for now…

  I meet Hugh’s smiling eyes. “Where were we?” he asks.

  I shimmy down his long, hard body—hard everywhere, I notice with barely-suppressed glee—and land on my feet. As much as I liked him carrying me, I want his hands free to do other things. He grips my hips and I wrap my arms around his neck again, pulling him to me and resuming our passionate kisses.

  Hugh’s hands release my hips to slide under the front of my shirt, caressing my bare skin. I tremble under his touch. It takes all my willpower not to push his hand lower. I’m a girl who enjoys foreplay before the main act, but right now I’d like to strip us both naked and jump into bed.

  Hugh’s exploring hands tell me he’s in no hurry to rush things. His rough fingers glide over my stomach and move around to my back, pausing at the band of my bra. My breath hitches. Just as I think he’s going to unhook it, his hands slip out from under my shirt. I let out an involuntary sound of distress that makes him look far too pleased.

  “Can I…” He motions toward the lamp beside my bed. Faint light from outside filters between the crack in my curtains, illuminating the room enough to make out Hugh’s face, but not much more. “I want to see you,” he says. “All of you.”

  How can I say no to that? I nod and he flicks on the lamp, casting the room is a soft yellow glow. The second he returns, his hands bunch the hem of my shirt—his shirt—and lift it over my head.

  “You’re not getting that shirt back, just FYI,” I tell him.

  “It’s yours. Looks better on you anyway.”

  I’m about to say I don’t know about that, but I’m struck speechless when he starts unbuttoning his own shirt. I watch, practically salivating as his skin is revealed inch by inch. My hands are on him as soon as the last button is free. A dusting of dark hair covers his broad chest. The other guys I’ve been with have all been mostly hairless, whether natural or not, which has led me to being indifferent to hairy chests. Until now. It fits with Hugh’s whole rugged Scotsman look, and I swear I get weak in the knees as my hands wander, following the trail that tapers down his belly and disappears under his jeans.

  Hugh watches me with patient amusement as I touch every inch of his chest. The faint smile around his lips wavers when I lean forward to press my lips right over his heart. I meet his now-serious eyes before leaning in again to kiss a trail across his skin, stopping when I reach his left nipple. He tenses slightly. I’m not a body language expert, but I think that means his chest is a sensitive area. Testing my theory, I lean forward and close my mouth around his nipple, suppressing a smile when he gasps and grips my upper arms tightly.

  “Ivy,” he growls.

  I straighten, meeting his eyes. “Yes?” I ask innocently.

  He lets out a shaky laugh, releasing me to run a hand roughly through his hair. When he doesn’t say anything else, I lift my hands to his chest aga
in, watching his eyes darken as my fingers skim over his nipples. His breathing quickens, and he swallows audibly. He growls again, this time in the back of his throat as I lean in to capture his other nipple between my teeth.

  His hands return to my upper arms. I’m not sure which of us is more turned on by this. My clit is starting to throb, and I feel a sense of power I’ve never felt in the bedroom before. Hearing his labored breathing and feeling the tension in his body, knowing what I’m doing to this big, strong man is such a turn on. He’s letting his guard down, giving me control. It’s sexy as hell.

  The minute I release his nipple, he pulls me up and covers my mouth with his. His hands move to the clasp of my bra; after some fiddling, the hook finally comes free. The material falls away, and his mouth leaves mine so he can look at me. His hungry gaze moves over me, his eyes meeting mine at the same moment his hands cup my breasts.

  I briefly wonder if I’m about to experience payback for the erotic torture I just put him through. All thoughts flee my mind when he bends to kiss my breasts. Still cupping them, his lips brush the top of one, then trail across my chest until he reaches the other. I gasp when his grip suddenly shifts and his hot, wet mouth meets my sensitive skin. He sucks my nipple into his mouth. My short, gasping breaths elevate to a cry as his teeth graze my skin. His tongue and teeth are doing magical things, all while his hand does its own magic on my other breast. If he doesn’t soon turn his attention south, my knees are going to buckle and I’ll become a boneless puddle on the floor.

  He must sense this because he raises his head to meet my eyes, his own eyes gleaming. He straightens, lifting me into his arms and depositing me gently on the bed. I scramble back toward my pillows, wriggling out of my jeans as I go. He watches from the side of the bed, his eyes lingering on the pale blue lace thong covering me. My own gaze moves to his hands when they start working the buckle of his belt, then the button and zipper on his jeans. He pushes them down and steps free, kicking them aside. I hold my breath when his fingers clasp his boxer briefs, ready and eager for the big reveal.