“Freckles,” I said, closing the distance between us, “you’ve given me everything. I just wanted to do a little something to show you how much I love you.”
“Oh wow.” She pulled the box out of the refrigerator and noted the name of the bakery. “You’ve been talking to my mother, haven’t you? I bet that was an adventure.”
“Jackie Miracle is an incredible woman who adores every freckle on my Freckles. She was happy to help me since I’m still learning all there is to know about you.”
“Babe, I’m a woman. You could know me for a hundred years and still not know everything about me.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “I look forward to trying then.”
“This is a peaches and cream cake, isn’t it?”
“Jackie said it’s your favorite.”
“It is.” Maegan breathed in deeply, a lot like I had when my nose was pressed against her pussy. Of course, that reminded me of the second part of the punishment I had planned for her.
My phone rang as soon as I turned back to the sink to start handwashing the crockpot. “Do you mind seeing who that is?” I asked Maegan.
She set the cake down on the counter and pulled my phone out of my pocket. “It’s your mysterious caller again,” she said. I could tell by her expression she was thinking about answering it.
“Please don’t, Maegan. There’s nothing I want to say to whoever is calling. They’ll eventually get sick of being ignored and give up.” I hoped but wouldn’t hold my breath.
“Okay, Elijah,” she said softly, slipping the phone back in my pocket. She rose on her tiptoes. “Thank you for the cake. It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever given me.”
“You’re welcome, Freckles.” I leaned in for a longer kiss, but I could hear Memphis and Lyric coming back downstairs. They had some ivory and gold jar-like thing with them.
“Oh cool! A pipe tobacco humidor,” Maegan said when she saw it. “That’s a large one too.”
“It smells like the tobacco wafting through the air whenever Anthony is around,” Memphis told her.
“Really? I wonder if this is the item he’s attached himself to.”
“It would seem so,” Lyric told her. “Especially since we think it holds his remains.”
“Whoa!” I said. “His what now?”
Maegan slowly opened the lid like she expected something to pop out and get her. We peered into the humidor for a few seconds before she closed it. “Looks like cremated ashes to me,” she agreed. “The question is: how’d they get here?”
“And when?” I asked.
“I hope to find those answers for you and more while I’m in San Francisco,” Lyric said. “I’ll be in touch when I find something out. In the meantime, what would you like to do with Anthony’s ashes?”
“I’ll put them in a place of honor on the mantle above the fireplace, of course.”
“Whoa, Freckles, can we talk about this?” I asked, following behind her.
“We live with his ghost, babe. What’s the harm in placing his ashes on the mantle?” She set him right in the middle of the mantle then rearranged other antique items belonging to Bliss House around it. I had to admit it looked lovely but still…
I heard Memphis say, “We’ll just show ourselves out,” but Maegan and I were too busy preparing ourselves for battle to respond, knowing we could apologize for our rudeness later. “Yeah, I know,” I replied. I don’t know why an urn sitting on our fireplace skeeved me. “How do you know Anthony wants them there? Maybe Anthony thinks my softball trophy should go there.”
“I don’t see a trophy to put on the mantle, Elijah,” Mae said, turning to face me. She placed her hands on her hips, and the raised brow told me she wasn’t going to compromise or budge about the placement of the urn. “Anthony, do you mind if I keep your urn on the mantle for now?” The answer to her question came in the scent of tobacco smoke floating through the air. “He approves, and you haven’t even won that first-place trophy.”
“Yet.”
“Yet,” she agreed. “We’ll talk about it when you do.” My cell phone rang again just then. “Babe, it seems to me that its past time you deal with some ghosts too.”
Damn it. Whoever was calling me multiple times a day wasn’t going away, nor would they leave a message. Before I could talk myself out of it, I answered the phone. “Hello,” I said gruffly. No response came, and I thought about hanging up until I heard a familiar cough on the other end of the line. Smoking three packs of cigarettes a day took a toll on a man. It wasn’t Axel Washington calling to threaten me; it was someone who could hurt me far worse. In fact, he already had. “Hello, Dad.”
I’D NEVER SEEN A PERSON lose their color as fast as Elijah did after answering the phone. And his voice… I never again wanted to hear his voice shake with hurt and hesitation as it did when he spoke those two little words. I reached for him, but he stepped away from me, his deep brown eyes wide and skittish and mouth forming a stern line as he listened. It was like the last six months had faded away and we were standing at the curb on our old street. We’d recently met and rushed into a night of passion without care of the awkwardness that would come later. Of course, it was made worse when Elijah immediately disappeared for a few days. I later learned he’d retreated to his grandfather’s cabin in Tennessee, but at the time, I just felt the sting of his rejection. After he returned, he was cold and aloof, signaling that whatever we experienced would never happen again.
Oddly, for as new as our relationship was, I rarely engaged in bouts of doubt. Elijah said he loved me, and I believed him. He wasn’t the kind of man to whisper words of love just to get laid. But feeling his rejection again filled me with doubt as I retreated upstairs to lick my wounds in private. On my way to our master suite, I stopped at the door to my favorite room in the house. It was the bedroom tucked inside the turret overlooking the back yard with the amazing window seat and bookshelves built into the large bow window. As if drawn to the room by some invisible pull, I walked inside and flipped on the light switch, bathing the room in a soft, ambient glow. Whoever lived in this room would have a little reading nook and library.
I had big dreams for the room and had even imagined Elijah and myself bringing home our adopted child and placing them in a crib or, depending on their age, a toddler bed in there. I’d had Andy paint the room a soft yellow color that would act as an amazing backdrop for so many themes, like those vintage Beatrix Potter figurines I bought for the store but couldn’t bring myself to list online or display. Why? I knew someone would gobble them up, and I finally admitted I didn’t purchase them as an investment for the store; I bought them for the nursery I would have someday.
Instead of worrying that Elijah was downstairs resenting my pressure to answer the phone or fearing our relationship wasn’t as solid as I thought, I began to design a whimsical mural that would look stunning in the turret and could spread out to encompass the walls around it on a smaller scale. The soft yellow walls on the inside of the turret morphed into a quirky, hand-painted tree, and surrounding the room would be a picket fence with flowers, birds, and butterflies here and there. I knew just the artist to pull it off too. Our, or maybe my, child would sit there, and it would be as if they were in their own little treehouse overlooking the back yard. Andy’s electrician friend could tuck rope or tape lighting under the bookshelves once the mural was complete to give the treehouse extra lighting. On second thought, I could string twinkling lights that would resemble fireflies. How perfect would that be for a kid? He or she would want some task lighting for reading, but I’d find a way to disguise it as best I could.
“Freckles,” Elijah said softly behind me, startling me from my fantasy. “I—” His words died when I turned around to face him, and his eyes opened wide in shock. “Baby, why are you crying?” His voice was so tender which was completely opposite of the coldness I saw in his expression and body language downstairs.
“I didn’t realize I was,” I said, wiping at my fa
ce. I looked at my hand in shock. “I’ve become a leaky faucet today.”
He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms. I didn’t bother resisting him because it was exactly where I wanted to be. No games. No bullshit. I’d give him a chance to explain. Elijah placed one hand on my lower back and slid the other in my hair, lowering his forehead to mine. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry you met me?” I asked. “Or sorry you listened to me and answered the phone?”
“God no, Maegan. I’ll never be sorry I met you. I wasn’t pulling away from you or rejecting you downstairs. I was just in shock and overwhelmed by all the memories and pain when I realized who was calling me. I’m so sorry for making you cry, Freckles. Please tell me you forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Elijah. You had a terrible shock and you went into protective mode. I get it.” And I did. I’d found myself doing the same thing many times over the years. I heard the sincerity in his voice and felt the love and adoration in his gentle touch. “You don’t have to tell me about the conversation.”
Elijah straightened to his full height and looked down at me. “I want to.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” I knew he might need some time to organize and process his thoughts before he shared them with me. He was deliberate and methodical like that, and it made him a great detective.
Elijah nodded then changed the subject. “What are you doing in here? You looked all dreamy until I saw the tears on your face.”
“I was just fantasizing about the mural I want to paint in here someday.”
“You’ll have your nursery, Maegan. I promise you. We’ll paint any mural you want.”
“We won’t, but Vanessa will,” I corrected him. “She is so much more than a tattoo artist, Elijah. She is so unbelievably gifted, and she already agreed to paint a mural here once I decided what I wanted.”
“And now you know?”
I nodded. “And now I know.”
“So, we can expect the mural complete by Christmas?” he teased.
“Halloween,” I countered half-jokingly. Vanessa was like me when it came to putting plans into action, so it was possible she’d have it done by then. “Of course, we can help fill in the mural after she draws it on the wall. She numbers each section and puts a coordinating sticker on each one.”
“Paint by numbers but on a much larger canvas?”
“Yep,” I answered. “I’ve helped Van paint a jungle-theme mural before. She’ll go back in once it dries to add shading and highlighting to give it an extra special touch.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It was,” I admitted. “I’m in the mood for a hot shower and a big slice of cake. Care to join me?” There wasn’t any suggestiveness in my tone or expression because this felt like one of those times where sex just didn’t fit.
“Not a hot bath?”
“Well, I would, but our earlier activities kind of ruled it out.” I loved Elijah, and I even loved the possessive ways he marked me with his cum, but I didn’t want to soak in the tub while it floated around in the water.
“We’ll take a quick shower to wash the sex off, and you can run a bath while I get a beer for me and a glass of wine for you.”
Bathing in hot-as-fuck July should’ve sounded like a terrible idea, but it was just what I needed. I felt Elijah’s hot gaze on me while I quickly cleaned myself, and I wasn’t surprised to feel his hard dick pressed between our bodies when we kissed. I decided that I didn’t want to waste a good erection, but Elijah dropped his hands from my waist and stepped back before I could reach between us and fist his hard length.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, exiting the shower and wrapping a towel around his hips. I didn’t feel rejected by his actions because I saw the love and tenderness in his eyes and heard his desire in his lust-roughened voice.
I shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around my body before heading over to the large, clawfoot tub. Instead of fragrant bubbles or bath bombs, I dropped a handful of Epsom salt into the hot water filling the tub even though I knew it wouldn’t provide the kind of soothing Elijah needed for a hurt that ran bone-deep.
He returned promptly with a glass of red wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, highlighting our different alcohol preferences, although I did prefer an ice-cold brew with pizza or burgers. Waiting patiently for Elijah to share the details of his phone conversation went against my nature. I was a planner first then a hardcore doer. I was a woman of action, but there was nothing for me to do except show Elijah I loved him by giving him the space he needed. Luckily for me, he didn’t want a physical distance because I loved resting between his parted thighs and reclining my back against his chest. I loved even more the sweet way he kissed my temple and trailed his wet fingers up and down my arms once we were submerged in the soothing water. We abandoned our drinks on the small, antique shelf that made the perfect bath caddy once Elijah laid a piece of glass over the wood surface of the table to protect it from water damage when we…um…splashed about.
“You give me greater peace than I have ever known, Maegan,” he whispered huskily. “I can’t thank you enough for it.” He wasn’t worshiping my body; he wasn’t talking about the all-consuming desire that raged between us; he was showing his gratitude for the way I made him feel. It was the loveliest compliment I’d ever received, and I discovered being patient wasn’t all that hard. A person just needed the right motivation and bringing peace to his riotous mind was all the reason I needed.
“I don’t just love you, Elijah. I adore you.” There was a difference.
“I adore you too, Freckles.” Elijah wrapped his arms around my chest and held me even tighter. I felt tension creeping back into his body just before he spoke again. “My father has lung cancer.” The words sounded rough and jagged like they were ripped from his soul. I wanted to turn and take him in my arms, but his hold around my chest didn’t allow movement.
“I’m sorry, Elijah.”
“That’s what he said too after he dropped the first bomb. Not ‘hello, Son,’ or ‘it’s good to hear your voice.’ Just ‘I have lung cancer’ followed by ‘I’m sorry, Elijah.’” It seemed like such a cold, brittle way of delivering the news, but then again, Elijah’s father picked the side of his older brother after he slept with Elijah’s wife while he was overseas, knocking her up in the process.
“Was he apologizing for his horrible communication skills or for the way he treated you ten years ago?” I made no effort to hide the contempt I had for the man.
Elijah chuckled and kissed my temple once more. “I think both. He wants to see me.”
“Do you want to see him?” I asked, softening my voice.
I felt the way his body trembled and understood the reason why he had me pinned against his body. He didn’t want me to see his tears. Screw that. I squirmed until he loosened his hold then turned around until I kneeled between his thighs. “I thought I was all cried out when it came to this,” he whispered.
I tapped on his thighs, indicating that I wanted him to close his legs so I could straddle them. I needed to get as physically close to him as I could. Once I was exactly where we both wanted and needed me to be, I said, “I don’t think that’s a real thing. Some hurts run too deep, and they sneak up and smack us upside the head out of the blue, causing tears of sorrow and grief to flow.” I wiped his face before I leaned in and kissed him. “Did he say how advanced his cancer is?”
Elijah leaned forward, resting his forehead on my collarbone. “He only said that he has a good prognosis. He’s completed chemotherapy already to shrink the tumor and is having surgery in a month or so. They want him to recover fully from chemotherapy first since it weakens the immune system. After that, he’ll have radiation therapy.”
“Do you want to go see him?” He never answered my question when I asked the first time. Elijah raised his head and looked into my eyes. I cupped the face I adored and said, “I’ll go with you.”
He didn’t say
anything at first, and I half-braced myself for him to refuse my offer. Then an expression of relief washed over his face seconds before he nodded.
“You just let me know when. Mom can cover for me at work.”
“I—” His voice broke off, and he closed his eyes like he was trying to gather himself. I kissed his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, then finally dropped a soft kiss on his lips. The tension in his body lessened but didn’t quite disappear, and his eyes looked less turbulent when he reopened them. “Tell me what you imagined for our nursery. I want to think about hopeful things tonight.”
He made me feel hopeful all the time, and I wanted to repay that gift to him. “I would like to paint the bow window to look like the interior of a treehouse,” I said then told him about the other details I envisioned. “I don’t want to make it seem too feminine or too masculine.”
“It sounds amazing, Freckles. I know you’ll strike the right balance.”
“Some time ago, maybe a year, I found these vintage Beatrix Potter figurines at an estate sale. They were in pristine condition, and I knew a collector would easily pay more than double what I gave for them. I could never bring myself to upload them to my site or even display them in the curio cabinet at the store. They felt like they belonged to me and any future children I might have.”
“So, bring them home and place them on the bookshelf inside the future treehouse. It’s obviously where they belong. Just like you belong here in my arms.”
After our bath, we went downstairs to eat big slices of the cake Elijah bought as a surprise. I took Lulu out to do her final business while Elijah sat on the couch facing the fireplace. When I returned inside, I sat on his lap instead of sitting beside him.
“I have to admit that the humidor looks right on the shelf.” We both stared at it quietly. “Two things occurred to me while you were outside.”
“Yeah?”
“The Blissview Hotel logo is on the lid of that humidor, and there should be at least twice the amount of ashes inside it if they belonged to an adult male.”
The Lady Stole My Heart (The Lady is Mine, #2) Page 7