Meant to be More (Meant to Be Series Book 4)

by Amelia Foster

“What color is her dress?” He repeated the question to the woman on the other end of the call. “Well, how the heck am I supposed to know that?”

  A damning sigh came across the line and made him frown into the phone as though the woman could see him. “Because she will want her corsage to match her dress. Could you imagine if you had a tiger lily corsage and a maroon gown? That would be an absolute atrocity.”

  Well, damn, this woman took her flowers pretty seriously. How the hell was he supposed to know this was such a big deal?

  He scrubbed the back of his neck and cradled the receiver between his cheek and shoulder and slid his phone from his back pocket, his fingers flying across the screen as he sent Jillian a text he was certain she wouldn’t answer in time. “Is there anything like…I don’t know, generic?” He searched his brain and cursed the fact Connor wasn’t around to give color advice. “Like wouldn’t white work?”

  Once again the clerk huffed and mumbled under her breath. Before she could admonish him again for some random floral faux pas he had no idea he was even committing, his phone sprang to life blaring out the pop tune he’d assigned to Jillian.

  Saved by the obnoxious, overplayed song.

  Jillian: It’s dark blue. Although you asking, much less caring, is slightly concerning.

  Dean typed back a “thanks” accompanied by the middle finger emoji. He cared about stuff. Maybe not dresses or flowers, but he cared about the shows she watched and what she wanted to do with her life. He cared about her dreams and her plans.

  Wasn’t that what really mattered? Not some stupid wrist bouquet. Who the hell came up with that thing anyway?

  “Blue,” he finally managed to blurt out the word. “Her dress is a dark blue. And she has red hair and green eyes.” He had no idea why he felt the need to add that, but it was important.

  For some really strange reason he didn’t actually care about, that answer seemed to please the irritating woman on the other end of the phone. “Good, very good, I can work with that. It will be ready for pick up at five Saturday evening. We close at six, so please be prompt.”

  With that she hung up and he was left to stare at the phone. This was all getting way too weird. Since Erica broke up with him after the most ridiculous fight of his life, he just figured taking Jillian to the homecoming dance he’d already bought tickets for would be the easiest option.

  That was a joke.

  His mother leaned against the archway leading from the kitchen to the living room, her arms folded in front of her and a knowing smirk firmly in place. “Wasn’t as easy as you thought, was it?”

  Respect dictated he control his tone, but being the baby of the family did offer a few benefits. Mostly that, even though Connor liked to believe he was their mother’s favorite child, she had a soft spot for her baby, the last child she would ever have.

  So he knew he could offer an eye roll accompanied by a slightly chagrined smile and not get reprimanded. “As usual, you were right. Which is kind of annoying.”

  Her grin widened in response. “There has to be some perks to being the mother of four boys.”

  Dean bent slightly at the waist and planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek, a well-used tactic to stay firmly on her good side. “You mean other than having bragging rights for creating four spectacular specimens of mankind?”

  She half snorted, half laughed and pushed off the wall, walking toward the backdoor and grabbing her garden gloves along the way. “Yeah, fantastic. When they aren’t giving me headaches or heart attacks or backtalk.”

  ***

  Jillian

  Ten Years Earlier

  “But we have a gala scheduled tonight. You’ll just have to cancel.”

  The utterly dismissive tone in her mother’s voice set her teeth on edge. She couldn’t count the number of events at her own school she’d missed because Helena required Jillian’s presence at some ridiculous, over the top affair designed to make her mother look like the philanthropist of the year.

  Jillian couldn’t miss this. She’d not only promised Dean she’d go, she still held a measure of guilt over the fact that the only reason he even needed someone to go with him was because of the disastrous double date she’d insisted on.

  Her stomach churned at the memory of the night that ended with them both single. Yeah, she definitely needed to make this up to him.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but Dean has already purchased the tickets and I’ve picked out a gown.” She schooled her face into as cold and aloof of a mask as she could. Basically just emulating her mother. “I won’t be able to attend your gala function.”

  Helena’s jaw worked back and forth in a barely perceptible motion, but one that Jillian was well attuned to. “I do not recall telling you that your presence was optional.”

  A small bead of fear iced Jillian’s spine, but she straightened nonetheless, bringing herself to her full height. While Helena had never raised a hand to her, and never would, Jillian always had a need to please her mother in hopes of gaining some small amount of approval from the older woman. And to avoid the arctic silent treatment sure to follow any disappointing moments.

  “I told you about this over a week ago, again last weekend, and three days ago.” She pulled in a shaky breath, hoping her mother hadn’t noticed the defect in her outward composure. “I have made a commitment, it would be unfair and irresponsible of me to break it. Besides, Bradford is home from VMI and you can,” her tongue caught the word ‘force’ before it spilled free, “ask him to wear his uniform. I am sure that will be much more impressive than having me in attendance.”

  Unspoken was Jillian’s full belief that her mother loved her brother more. That she could never quite measure up to the standard Bradford had set just by being born a boy.

  Rather than respond, Helena left Jillian to finish getting dressed in her room. The knot that had formed in her gut the moment her mother entered tightened a bit more. She was certain her mother would have some retribution for the entire event, most especially for Jillian’s unwillingness to back down and give Helena what she wanted.

  The brief discussion played on repeat in her head as she stepped into the blue gown, pulled it up onto her shoulders, and slid the zipper up the side. She eyed the ornate clock hanging on the opposite wall and quickly put her shoes on. She wanted to be downstairs and waiting before Dean showed up in case her mother felt the need to intercept.

  Jillian would put absolutely nothing past Helena Monroe.

  As she slipped her toe into her satin ballet slipper shoe a much more welcome voice greeted her ears. “Don’t you look lovely tonight, darling.”

  The very first syllable pulled a wide smile from her and eased some of the Helena-induced tension in her stomach. She held out her hands to the older man approaching on her right. “Grandfather, you look dashing as always. New tux?”

  He drew his bushy, gray brows together. “At my age? Bah! Why would I buy a new tux?” He lifted an arm and twirled her beneath it. “Unless my granddaughter requires someone a bit more dapper to dance with tonight.”

  She laughed lightly and rested a hand on his shoulder as she came to a stop. She desperately tried to ignore the fact that his cheeks were just slightly hollower than they had been before his latest trip to the hospital. “Sorry, Grandfather, I’m going to a dance with Dean tonight.”

  In an opposite reaction to what she’d expected, her grandfather’s eyes brightened at her declaration and a spark of mischief twinkled at the corner. She’d long ago realized that one of the things she loved best about Dean was how close his personality was to her grandfather’s.

  Perhaps most girls gravitated toward men who reminded them of their father, but not Jillian. While her father was a mostly quiet and docile man, he was also rather absent, spending much of his time holed away in his library or at the club with friends. A fact her grandfather had noted and commented on more than once with choice words for his son.

  “You are going to have a much better evening than I.�
�� He bent forward slightly and laid a soft kiss on her cheek. “And I do like that young man. Good to see he finally asked you out.”

  Heat crept up the back of her neck. “It isn’t like that, Grandfather. We’re just going as friends. His girlfriend broke up with him and he’d already bought tickets. It isn’t a real date.”

  The older man cupped her jaw. “You never know when things may change.”

  Warmth spread up to her cheeks, engulfing her face in fire. He couldn’t possibly know about that stupid crush she had on Dean…could he?

  The doorbell rang, cutting through her muddled thoughts and her grandfather grinned. “That must be your young man.”

  Before Jillian could find the words to correct him, he disappeared around the corner, undoubtedly heading toward the kitchen to pester Frieda and pilfer snacks before the gala commenced. Or possibly hunt down her father and give him another lecture on spending the evening holed up in his study playing poker or rummy or whatever he chose to overestimate his abilities on this time.

  With a sigh she headed to the front door just as Henry pulled it open and stole every molecule of air from her lungs in the same moment. Dean stood on the other side of the threshold with a lopsided grin holding a delicate pink tissue paper-covered lump in one hand and sporting a perfectly tailored black suit that did absolutely nothing to help her dismiss the dozens of ideas about her best friend that had been playing on a loop since talking with her grandfather.

  This was going to be a very, very long night.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dean

  Present Day

  “You’re drunk.”

  He held his breath as he waited for her to respond and prayed to every god he could remember from his Greek mythology class that he wasn’t dreaming.

  Jillian smiled and his heart nearly quite beating. She popped the top button of his shirt free. And then the next one down. “Sparky, I had two glasses of champagne. You know me well enough to know it takes a hell of a lot more alcohol than that to get me drunk.”

  She pulled her lips between her teeth, intent eyes boring holes through the small, flimsy wall of chivalry he was desperately trying to cling to. Her finger circled the next button. “If you don’t want me, if you don’t want this…tell me to stop.”

  That word most certainly wasn’t on his radar. But a mountain of concern and doubt was. “There isn’t any sex in the world that is worth me losing you.”

  Her entire face softened. She moved her hand from his shirt to his jaw. “You are the only man in this world I know I can count on without even a shadow of a doubt. I have always known you’d be there for whatever I needed, but you proved even that to be an understatement when you agreed to basically sign away your life for damn near two years to just bail my sorry family out…just because I asked. There isn’t anything in this universe or the next that could ruin that.”

  Now. Now was the time to tell her, to finally confess that he loved her.

  She pressed her body to his and he gripped her hips, keeping her firmly in place. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth as the heat from her flesh mixed with the smooth decadence of her satiny gown mixed in his grasp.

  Damn it all to hell, maybe tomorrow he’d tell her. Because right now getting the woman of his dreams, the woman he loved, naked and writhing beneath him was not something he was willing to risk by opening his mouth.

  Until he did.

  “You don’t owe me anything for that. I agreed to it because you needed help. I’m here because you’re my best friend and I love you, and I wouldn’t let you handle something that big on your own.” He swallowed several times. “But you don’t owe me anything, especially not this.”

  A salacious smile curled her lips and her fingers walked to the back of his neck, where she held on tight. “What if I owe myself this? It’s been a hell of a long time, Sparky.” She rubbed herself lightly against him and he couldn’t fight the shiver that trickled down from his head to his toes in response. “Besides, plenty of people have friends with benefits.”

  The words should have been an ice bucket to his libido and a samurai sword to his heart, but holding her this close was too much for him to resist. And the opportunity was too golden to allow it to slip through his grasp.

  He groaned and dropped his mouth onto hers. It was damn near an instinct to allow himself to drown in her scent, her taste, her touch. He wasn’t certain he’d survive the “benefits” she suggested once, let alone multiple times when simply kissing her practically drove him to his knees.

  This woman was going to be the death of him.

  She fisted his shirt and pulled him with her, their lips staying firmly locked as she walked backward toward the bed. When they both jolted from her legs reaching the bed, he slid his hands from her waist to cup her ass briefly before his fingers wandered up to the bottom button holding her dress on.

  He tilted his head a little further and deepened the kiss as he slowly pushed each satin covered pearl through the hole. On the top one he paused and drug his mouth from hers. “We will still be best friends.” It was a statement, a question, and his deepest fear all rolled into one.

  Jillian nodded and swallowed, her chest heaving. “Always.”

  Dean groaned and freed the last button, letting the gown fall from her body. He sucked in a sharp breath at the curves on full display with a pathetic, but sexy as hell, excuse for lace underwear and a strapless bra barely covering her. “Dammit all to hell, Jillian, why didn’t you tell me you had grown up?”

  She tossed her head back and laughed, the waterfall of perfectly styled ginger curls falling over her shoulder. “You’re the same age as me, Sparky. Didn’t put two and two together until now?” She smiled. “Besides, you’ve seen me in a bikini more times than I can count.” She stepped out of the circle of material pooled on the floor and reached behind her back.

  His heart stopped as she flicked open the back of her bra and let it fall to the ground as well. She hooked her thumbs under the sides of her panties, shimmied her hips, and the slip of lace joined the rest of her clothes on the carpet.

  This was it. This was absolutely how he was going to die. Just from looking at Jillian naked.

  Not naked. His pants tightened to a level he wasn’t certain was humanly possible. She was still wearing the five inch heels that had amazed him to watch her spin in with ease on the dance floor.

  She bent over to pull one free and he set a hand on her shoulder, halting her movements. “Don’t you dare.”

  Jillian straightened and smirked, arching a brow at him. She got on the bed and laid down, scooting toward the middle before she crossed her legs at the ankles. “Got some shoe kink going on there, Sparky?”

  Within seconds he shed his jacket, shirt, and pants, whipping them across the room, unconcerned with where they landed until he only wore his boxer briefs. He stood at the foot of the bed and ran his fingers slowly up and down her calf. “Only on you.”

  He knelt on the bed and uncrossed her ankles, planting soft kisses from the top of her foot above the shoe to her hip bone and back down again on the other side. He moved up slightly and gripped her hips, his thumbs caressing the gently protruding bone.

  “No matter what, you’re my best friend.”

  She nodded and her voice came out far more strangled than it had been moments earlier. “No matter what, you’re my best friend.” The rebellious glint he’d come to expect from her sparkling gaze danced once more. “I’ll even make sure to scream Sparky instead of baby or sweetie or honeybun.”

  He lowered his mouth to kiss a far more sensitive spot than her leg and grinned when she sucked in a sharp breath of air. “That’s good, because I like Sparky better anyway…but you’re assuming you’ll be able to speak when I’m done.”

  His tongue and lips moved with an intent purpose and he was quickly rewarded with soft moans. Every sweat-covered dream and dirty fantasy he’d entertained couldn’t compare to the sweetness of Jillian in reality.
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  This woman most definitely was going to be the death of him.

  But what a perfect way to go.

  ***

  Jillian

  Present Day

  Electric currents zinged along every nerve in her body. She had no idea Dean was a damned magician. That was the only possible explanation for the near immediate surge of heat through her as he lavished attention on her aching core.

  “What in the holy hell kind of classes did you wind up taking, Sparky?” She panted as her fingers dove into his hair, needing to keep him exactly where he was for just…just a few more…

  He offered a gentle “mmmm” and the vibration was the final push to send her spiraling off the cliff of ecstasy. She couldn’t even remember what she screamed, but she wasn’t fully convinced there were any decipherable words.

  He kissed up her abdomen, his tongue swirling inside her belly button as he went further north. His hands lagged his mouth and within moments dove between the trembling folds he’d so recently satiated.

  She dug her nails into his shoulders. “Dean…I couldn’t…not…I just…”

  He grinned up at her before licking a circle around one of the hardened nipples. “You underestimate yourself, Jillybean.” He wrapped his lips around the brown pebble and sucked. “And me. You definitely underestimate me.”

  Damn it all to hell if the bastard wasn’t right. The attention he lavished on her chest and the mystical powers of the digits moving rapidly inside of her quickly reignited the blazing inferno of need that hadn’t had a chance to burn out.

  She clung to the same precipice again, simultaneously amazed at his ability and her body’s response to him. She whimpered and pled for the relief she didn’t possibly think she’d need so soon.

  His tongue made a path from her chest to the column of her neck and to her earlobe. He sucked lightly before moving his lips up and whispering softly, “Just let go, Jillybean.”