Forever Together: Medical Billionaire Romance (A Chance at Forever Series Book 3)

by Lexy Timms

  “I’ll never admit it,” he said, still chuckling.

  “By the way,” she said with a sly grin, “you just kidnapped me out of the house without even saying hello to my mom.”

  At least that got him to stop laughing.

  Chapter 7

  “I don’t know where we’re going,” Mel confessed, “but it’s beautiful up here.”

  The highway ran alongside the Pacific for miles and miles. Sometimes the hills rose and the water was hidden away, but then the road would rise as if the builders of the highway couldn’t stand to lose sight of it for long. It would quickly become too dark to see, but the setting sun on the water lent fire to the surface where each ripple and change was red and orange and gold.

  The heat of L.A. was lost in the mountains behind them. The traffic calmed down, and even the highway went from a white-knuckled eight lanes to a meandering two.

  Mel felt like someone out of time, removed from herself. The top was down, her hair flying in the wind, watching the ocean and her lover’s profile. It was like suddenly finding oneself in an old Italian movie, the kind with fast cars and passion. It made her feel beautiful and exotic, and like someone who was anyone but herself.

  She held on to that image for a long time. Brant stared straight ahead, his eyes on the road though he glanced at her from time to time and smiled. His hand was still on hers, fingers woven through hers.

  “I picked a spot for dinner,” he said during one of those glances, and she caught her breath at the beauty of the moment, at the way his eyes met hers in that single instance.

  I love him. I have never loved anyone as much as I love him.

  When she spoke, it was hard to make herself heard. Her voice felt disused. Rusty. She cleared her throat, self-conscious. “Wherever you want to go is fine.” The wind took her words and flung them away from her. She reflected how one of the things that brilliant Italian cinematography left out was the sheer impossibility of trying to talk to someone in a convertible going 80 MPH down a highway. No mumbled protestations of love here; if you have to say it, you have to yell.

  The ensuing silence wasn’t born from lack of anything to say, nor was it companionable. It was from necessity. It was a three-hour drive, and though the ocean was lost to the night the world-out-of-time feel stayed. Sometimes she felt the only thing that linked her to the here and now was him. She held his hand for the longest time, her fingers riding his as he shifted gears. Sometimes her fingertips rested on his thigh, sometimes they twined with his when the road required no such attention from him. If she let go, she’d drift away.

  The restaurant, when they came to it, could not have been less impressive. They’d drifted through several such towns as the night had passed, touristy places with advertisements for fudge and signs pointing toward the beach. She’d lost track of the names, not that it mattered. This particular place was nestled between a pizza parlor and a seedy hotel, painted in bright colors. The restaurant seemed busy, with crowds waiting on wooden benches out front, even at this hour, dressed casually and waiting for tables. A happy lobster wearing a bib, and waving enthusiastically from the sign, invited the public to come in and apparently eat it.

  Brant pushed past the crowd, and opened the door for her, a bell jangling to announce their arrival, not that anyone could hear it over the noise. Mel hung back as he talked to the hostess, surprising in this place, especially as the young woman was dressed in black and white uniform that would have fit in any fine restaurant. A quick glance around showed a sea of rickety old tables covered in butcher paper, each bearing a roll of thin paper towels standing sentry next to the condiments, like some kind of strange centerpiece.

  “Did one of your ‘business’ deals go bad?” Mel teased, then lifted an eyebrow as they were led directly to a table recently vacated and re-set hastily by the window.

  “Just sit.” Brant held out a chair for her. Mel perched as daintily as jeans and boots would allow. She was learning not to ask.

  “I take it back,” she said, looking over the menu. “Apparently, one of your deals came through in a big way!” The prices more than made up for the décor of fishing nets set with plastic lobsters and dancing crabs. She looked around, thinking that some of what they made might have gone into a fresh coat of paint. Or maybe this was where wealthy people went when they wanted to pretend to be earthy.

  Brant ordered for them both, much to her chagrin, but he reminded her that she was, after all, kidnapped and therefore had no say in what her captor chose to feed her. She barely caught one word in three of what he said, given the noise level, but the chatter around them seemed cheerful as sunburned beach-goers discussed things such as surf and tide at nearby tables, set close enough to where strangers sometimes leaned in to contribute to the discussion.

  The whole thing was crazy fun in an intimate, friendly way, and Mel found she liked it better than she had the fancy places they’d been dining in back in L.A.

  The real surprise came as the food came in a shining steel bucket and was unceremoniously dumped on the table. Brant reached over and picked up something that looked like it was meant to have been an insect and cracked it open. Cautiously, Mel followed suit. It was glorious.

  Seafood, potatoes, big chunks of spicy sausages—the mound on the table seemed like a lot, but it was half gone before she realized she’d eaten any.

  “You were hungry,” Brant said, throwing a shell from a crab leg into the bucket where it rattled against the remains of several others.

  Mel winked. Truth be told, she’d been absolutely famished. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt like eating. The wedding stuff had her in such a tight bundle of nerves that nothing had looked good since his mother had showed up. Not that she was about to tell him that. So, she smiled, and found something to say that evaded the issue entirely. “Just practical. I eat at the whim of my abductor; how can I be sure when I’ll eat again?”

  Brant reached for the last lobster tail, looking askance at her as to whether she wanted any more. When Mel shook her head, he expertly pried out the meat, dipping it in the remains of the melted butter with a look on his face that could only be described as blissful. “Practical. I like that in a woman,” he said, mouth full.

  Mel laughed, and poked around in the remains of their dinner until she found an untouched shrimp. “Besides,” she continued, waving it at him, “I need to conserve my strength. You never know when I might make a break for it.”

  “You need to save your strength,” Brant agreed, raising his eyebrows and waggling them at her, “but for entirely different reasons.”

  “You are a wicked thing, sir.” She fluttered her eyelashes with such exaggeration, the waitress came over to see if she needed anything. Mel blushed and apologized, but Brant wouldn’t stop laughing even when she hit his arm.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you even had lobster before?” Brant asked suddenly, when their laughter had subsided.

  Mel ducked her head, blushing a little, knowing that he’d seen her awkwardness in prying the meat from the shell. She thought she’d done a passable job of imitating everything he’d been doing thus far. “I’ve seen the kind you get when you see them all in the water tanks at the front of the store. I didn’t know there were different kinds of lobster, though, until tonight.” Mel set down the shrimp she’d been peeling. “Is that a problem, Brant?” she asked, hating feeling so unsure.

  “That you’re not an expert on lobster?” He looked at her for a moment and must have decided that she was serious, or at least that he was in uncharted waters. “Of course not. Why would that even matter?”

  “It’s not that. It’s not just that.” Mel took a drink of her soda and flagged the waitress to ask for water. Suddenly, she wasn’t so hungry anymore. “Brant.” She sighed and stared at the table. “I don’t know this world. I don’t… I don’t know about any kind of gowns other than surgical. I don’t know about over-priced food like this.”

  Which, of course, she
said as the waitress had arrived with her glass of water. At least the waitress had the grace to pretend she hadn’t heard that statement, as her smile never wavered as Mel thanked her profusely. It was Mel who was appalled, and wishing she could dive under the table and stay there forever.

  Why can’t I ever do anything right?

  Mel slouched in her chair, her fingers picking idly at a bit of lobster shell. “Look, I love your mother, I really do. Hell, I love mine! But I’ve landed in Oz, or Wonderland, or something. I’m used to making my own way, being in charge, of… of knowing what the hell I’m talking about. Your mother must think I’m an idiot, no, hear me out. She has to think I’m an idiot, Brant, because around her I am. All I do is say ‘uh’ and look around a lot. I feel like an idiot around her and now… today I felt like one around my mother. And I can tell you that has never happened to me before, Brant.”

  Brant took the shell from her hand and dropped it in the bucket. “Let me tell you a secret about Wonderland,” he said, capturing her fingers with his own and drawing them to his mouth where he could kiss each one. “No one in it wants to stand out. They’re all terrified about looking different.”

  “Tell that to your mother.”

  “That’s my point. My mother isn’t afraid of looking different. She never was. And because she’s firmly anchored in Wonderland, everyone else tries to be her. What I’m saying is that she brings the old-style Golden Age to everything she does because that’s who she is and everyone mimics her. Actors are all mimics; it’s being themselves they can’t understand.”

  “What does that have to do with—”

  “Mel. You have someone who’s so rooted in this fantasy world that I wasn’t able to get free of it. I had people asking me to get my mother’s autograph throughout medical school. Twice while cutting into a cadaver. Just… be you. Wear what you want to wear. They’ll look at you funny for a while, but you have my mom’s full support. And then they’ll start looking at you to study you and see what you’re wearing and, believe it or not, in a year, they’ll all be little clones of you.”

  Mel sighed, and pressed her free hand to her temple, trying to massage away a sudden headache. “And what do I do with my degree? My license? What do I do about being a doctor? I like being where I’m needed. I like being… useful. I’m not useful here, Brant. Not even with my own wedding. Now, now I feel like it’s all being taken out of my hands.”

  Brant squeezed her hand. “Sometimes it’s nice to have things taken out of your hands. Tonight, you’re a victim of a dastardly abduction. You have no rights or privileges. You’re not even allowed a phone call to arrange ransom. You’re going to be sorely taken advantage of and used for my selfish ends and then be turned loose.”

  “Don’t.” She smiled.

  “Don’t… use you?”

  “Don’t turn me loose. Ever. Keep me your hostage.”

  Brant chuckled. It was good sound, from deep within his chest, and his pleasure in her shone from his eyes. “For as long as we both shall live.” He held his free hand over his heart.

  Mel leaned over and tapped a finger on his nose. “Take me, mister. Now.”

  Brant paused as if considering. “I think that can be arranged.”

  He threw down a large bill in the midst of the remains of their dinner.

  Together, they nearly ran to the car.

  * * *

  What the restaurant had lacked in amenities, the hotel more than compensated. Brant somehow managed to book a suite on the top floor with a balcony that looked out over the ocean. When Mel asked him how he’d managed to accomplish such a feat on such short notice, he’d only laughed and looked mysterious. She suspected he’d called and made reservations when they’d stopped to get gas. Except she had no proof.

  “Not to dampen the moment, but should I call my mother and let her know we’re all right?”

  Brent paused a moment inside the hotel room. “Hmmm… Not such a great first impression, eh?” When she shook her head, he grinned and whipped out his phone. “I’ll text my mother, tell her my adolescent hormones have run wild. She can explain it to your mom.”

  Mel shook her head. “That’s not going to help.”

  He pressed his lips tight. “I’ll apologize to her tomorrow. Bring her some flowers or something?” He began unbuttoning his top and Mel lost focus on what they were talking about.

  “Yeah… that’ll help.” She ran her teeth against her lower lip when his shirt came off. Whatever conversation they were having was over for now.

  They left the door to the balcony open, closing the screen against the bugs and the incessant susurrus of the water reaching to the shore and falling back again and again lay a musical track to their lovemaking. They were naked almost before the door to the hallway closed, attacking each other’s lips and tongues and fingers. They explored each other from foot to scalp, as though they’d forgotten what the other felt like and needed to know.

  This time, when Brant lifted her, it wasn’t a fireman’s carry with her over his shoulder, but a lover’s lift, she looking down on him, holding his chin in her fingers, bending down to smother his lips with hers. His powerful arms made nothing of holding her in the air, her legs around his waist and his large, strong, talented hands covering her hips.

  He shifted his grasp and braced her back and she slowly slid down his belly, lips interlocked, hands in mutual exploration. She felt the mattress under her and sat, then let go of him and lay back on the bed, legs still wrapped around him, and admired the view.

  There would always, she suspected, be a sense of wonder at the man who loved her. The beauty of him, the soul. But even acknowledging that, she couldn’t deny the raw animal attraction that left her panting and breathless, and needing to devour and be devoured by him in return.

  She relaxed the grip her legs had on him and spread herself in front of him. His touch was wild and hungry, but when he slipped inside of her, he entered slowly, so agonizingly slowly. She raised her hips to meet him, so that he could bury himself in her. To fill that emptiness. But he only chuckled at her impatience, and raised an eyebrow as he held himself back until she found herself pleading with him, whimpering and begging him to continue, which he did. At his pace.

  Which turned out to be just fine after all.

  Each touch, whisper-soft, lit her skin on fire. She arched under him. Moaned as he began to move his hips, stroking in and out, first deliciously slow, until neither of them could bear it any longer. Soon it was she who was begging for more, and he obliged, filling her again and again as she arched and writhed beneath him.

  She came hard around him, spasm following spasm, but he wasn’t done, good lord he wasn’t done. She caught her breath, lost it again as he continued to torment her. His hands reached for her breasts, the one with the scars being treated no different than the other. His grasp brought her again to the brink, and this time as she cried out and shuddered, he locked his thick arms and his hips went from a pulsating rhythm to a spasmodic thrust and then he, too, cried out in his release.

  They collapsed together on the bed, sheets drenched with the effort of their passion.

  “Wow.” Mel blew her bangs away from her forehead in a half effort.

  There seemed little else to say. Mel lay in a soggy daze, feeling the breeze from the open door to the balcony caress her heated flesh in places that left her shivering delightfully. Somewhere far below, the waves thundered and crashed.

  It was impossible to move, not that either of them made any effort in that direction. It was just enough to lay, still entwined, murmuring nonsense, touching. Energy expended but too much in love to sleep just yet. They spoke of everything, of nothing. Small things. Remembering first meetings, first touches. Replaying those touches with a hand just here, a kiss there. Reassuring each other that, with all the craziness going on around them, they were still just them. Together. As they would always be despite what life threw at them, be it weddings or some other wild and crazy thing not even dr
eamed of yet.

  Mel couldn’t touch him enough, but finally even soft kisses against his arm, his chest, his throat brought no response. His breathing evened out and he was asleep. Yet she was still wide awake.

  She lay, listening to the ocean, thinking how it went on forever. The waves crashing never stopped; where one ended, another began. Can our love be like that? she wondered, and finally had to go see for herself.

  She disentangled herself as delicately as she could but still woke him, enough so that his hand followed her, reaching to pull her back down into the nest of sheets and blankets. She eluded his grasp, stooping to kiss his cheek and whisper, “I’m going to go shower,” because it seemed silly to say that she needed to see the ocean and ask it whether Brant and she would truly be together forever.

  He seemed not to notice. In fact, he was already sound asleep again. He shifted so that he sprawled on the bed, taking most of the area, laying on his back. She had to repress a giggle at the flaccid penis that looked so tragically spent and worn out lying against his thigh. She tugged the sheet up, covering him, because it seemed the right thing to do.

  I ought to be sleepy. It had been a very long day with two mothers, a long drive, and the sex… the sex had been wonderful, bursts of lightning and fireworks and everything it should have been, but she was still perversely awake. Maybe that was just as well, since the bed seemed like it wasn’t going to happen—her fault for marrying such a big guy.

  She stepped naked to balcony.

  A short stucco wall ran the length of the balcony, the railing a little higher than her belly, so that by sitting down, she could still see the ocean in the moonlight, but no one could have seen her. A warm summer breeze was constantly blowing. It was a great place to relax after sex. The wind ensured that no flying bugs would bother her and dried the sweat upon her skin.

  A year ago, she wouldn’t have done this. Six months ago, she would have been fully dressed, bra, underwear, jeans, shirt… all that just to go swimming. Here she was, naked, unashamed, and not embarrassed. She’d changed, and was still exploring those changes.