The Everlasting Chapel

by Marilyn Cruise

  When I finally get out onto the streets, though, I find that traffic is horrible. Then I remember—there’s a huge concert today at the Portland Expo Center. To avoid the congestion, I decide to take a shortcut through one of the not-so-well-known, wooded backstreets.

  About halfway home, however, I drive over something, and immediately after, the car starts wobbling uncontrollably. Feeling anxious that I might have destroyed Spencer’s perfect car, I pull over to the side of the road and get out. Dammit! I knew it was too good to be true.

  Skirting around the car, I see that one of the tires has a flat. Crap! What do I do now? I don’t have any type of insurance at the moment. Spencer is at the hospital, and unavailable. Anne is probably in the middle of a church service.

  I consider my options. I could try changing the tire myself. Well, if it weren’t for the fact that I’m wearing wedges and a can-hardly-breathe-it’s-so-damn-tight miniskirt. I can just imagine how uncomfortable it would be, not to mention cold, squatting, hoisting the car up, getting the flat tire off, putting the new one on… I’ve changed a tire before, but that was with my father’s help and I was wearing pants, and it was in the summertime.

  I wrap my arms across my chest and shiver. It can’t be more than twenty degrees out right now, and I’ll freeze to death before I even manage to locate the car jack.

  I’ll see if Vivian can come help me. I call her number, but no one answers.

  Shoot! I try not thinking about calling Michael. Not only will he be very suspicious that I am driving this car, he’ll also notice that I’m wearing the same outfit I wore last night. It’s hardly something I want to start explaining to him. Besides, I know the second I tell him or just as soon as he finds out that I slept with Spencer, the guilt will start to surface. No! I refuse to feel guilty about having a great time!

  I go through my list of options again, but it’s useless. There is no one else—unless I call 911. They probably don’t consider a flat tire an emergency. If it weren’t for the wedges and my miniskirt, I’d walk home. It might take me three or four hours to get there, but it would be worth it to not stir the pot with Michael.

  Reluctantly, I dial Michael’s number. He picks up after two rings.

  “Hello,” he says.

  Oh, dear. It is way too good to hear his voice again. But then I remind myself how he was a prick last night and what a great time I had with Spencer.

  “Hi…um…I was calling you because…I kind of need your help.” Why is this so difficult? Because you’re eating crow! my alter-ego yells at me.

  “Are you okay?” His voice is slightly alarmed.

  “Oh, yes, sorry. Everything’s fine, I just…I have a…do you know how to change a flat tire?” I say, kicking the darn thing. Aren’t Audi’s supposed to be indestructible?

  “Oh, okay. Well just tell me where you are, and I’ll be right there,” he says.

  Really? Just like that? For a second, I’m speechless. Oh, yeah. I should be open with him before he arrives. “Just before you come…I wanted to let you know I’m not driving my Honda.”

  He pauses a few seconds before asking, “Did you finally spend some of your money?”

  “No.”

  “Did you rob a dealership?”

  That makes me laugh. “No. I just…” I need to just blurt it out and let the pieces fall where they may. “I spent the night at Spencer’s.”

  He’s silent for a moment. “Just tell me where you are and I’ll be right there.” His voice has fallen a bit, and it makes me feel horribly guilty.

  Dammit! Why the guilt?

  And what—no snide remarks or angry words? No reaction at all? At least yell or something! Say you won’t come! I’m almost disappointed because it makes me think he doesn’t care. Which obviously he doesn’t or he wouldn’t have divorced me, I remind myself. I give him my approximate location, climb back into the car, turn the heat up all the way, and wait.

  Fifteen minutes later he arrives. When he steps out of his Range Rover, my heart starts to beat faster. Much faster. He’s wearing charcoal gray sweats and a matching sweater, and there’s a faint patch of moisture on the front of his chest. Damn sexy man. Why can’t I just not crumble into a thousand smithereens every time I see him? Highly self-conscious about my outfit, I step out to greet him.

  “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t interrupt your work out,” I say. His eyes rake the length of me, and my inner muscles clench.

  “Scarlett, no matter what time of day or night, you can call me, understood?” he says.

  I wait for a scathing remark, but it doesn’t come. He doesn’t even mention my outfit, nor does he ask about it. Does he not remember what I wore last night?

  “I’ve called my company and they’ll be fixing the tire and towing the car to your place. Would you like to come back to my house so I can get cleaned up?” he asks. “I have an important meeting I need to be at in a bit, but I can take you home before then.”

  Cleaned up? My thoughts immediately go back to our encounter in the shower. Hot, Slick. Wet. Skin. His hands on me. His tongue on me. Inside of me. Our bodies sliding across each other. I suppress a wince that wants to come out.

  “Sure.” I manage to spit out. I snatch my purse from the car and lock the vehicle. Michael helps me get into the front seat, and I can’t help but notice how he glances up my skirt when I get in. Then he walks around the SUV and gets into the driver’s seat.

  Not a second after he closes the door, not only does the car start smelling like his cologne mixed with sweat, but the atmosphere in the vehicle changes. It’s charged. Dark. Dangerous. Sensual. From the corner of my eye, I see him watching me, but he doesn’t say anything. Finally, once he’s been staring for a ridiculously long time, I turn to look at him.

  His perfectly chiseled face is so close to mine, and his hair is messier than usual, making me want to reach out and run my fingers through it. Tug at it.

  Not thinking about it!

  He says, “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t want it to come across as me wanting to control you. And I didn’t want you to feel rejected. However, there is a reason I did reject you. I promised myself I wouldn’t…be with you in that way again until you knew for sure you wanted to try again. I suppose it’s my way of proving to myself and to you that you mean so much more than just a quick fuck. Obviously telling you this didn’t have the effect I hoped it would, and in the moment it came out all wrong.”

  I feel my face turn hot, and I have to look away in shame. I pretty much slept with Spencer because Michael turned me down, didn’t I? To get back at him and to define my independence.

  It’s official. I’m a slut.

  He places a hand on my knee, and an energy surges straight up to the deepest part of my core.

  “I love you, Scarlett Hansen. I don’t care what you do or what types of jobs you have had. I made a huge mistake, and I’m trying my best to figure out how to fix it. But I need your willingness to do that, and I need you to let me know if I’m on the right track.”

  “It’s just too hard between us,” I say. “Everything is so complicated. With Spencer, it’s so easy. I’m so tired.” A tear rolls down my cheek, and I squeeze my lips together.

  “Are you saying you don’t want me to try anymore?” His voice is flat.

  I look him in the eyes, and honestly, I have no idea what I want at all. Being here in his presence again, it’s almost as if I want him even more than before, and quite honestly, it scares the shit out of me. Because with just one touch, he can melt my mountains of ice, and with just one glance, he makes me want to surrender everything to him.

  That can’t possibly be healthy—it isn’t healthy. But then it also occurs to me: part of me believes what we have is too good to be true. But is it really? Am I trying to make it not work because I don’t think it’s real?

  On a conscious level, of course I understand that the love I felt for him, was real. I also understand that our relationship was all a façade, and could ne
ver have worked. He did do the right thing when he divorced me. The old had to die if we were to have anything new.

  Yet, I’m still afraid of these strong feelings, and on a subconscious level—the whirlwind affair, the billion and a half dollar deal, how much and how soon I loved him, how wickedly amazing the sex was—it seems more like a very unlikely fairytale. A fairytale that will never come true.

  When I don’t answer, he asks, “Do you want to be with him?” There’s an unmistaken tinge of pain in his voice, and he withdraws his hand.

  I let out a cry. “I don’t know. Everything’s been so difficult lately, and I just don’t even know what I want anymore. I need more time, and I don’t want to be pressured into it.”

  He sits back and thinks for a moment. “I’m not giving up, Scar. No matter how hard things are or how hard they get. Do you understand? You belong with me and I belong with you.” He runs a frustrated hand through his cinnamon hair.

  I will not start to cry! I swallow again and again, and keep blinking the tears away. It’s so much easier with Spencer. With Michael, every fucking thing is complicated. We can’t even have a normal conversation!

  “Okay, here’s what I propose,” he says.

  I give him a look, and he laughs and then sucks in a sharp breath.

  “Okay, bad word choice. Not a proposition, just a plan,” he says. “I’ll take you out on a date once a week. Can you spare me a few hours once a week on either Friday, Saturday or Sunday?”

  “Before we do, in case you weren’t aware, I need to let you know I slept with Spencer last night,” I blurt out.

  He takes a long, slow, controlled breath. “I figured as much. But currently we have no commitment, so until we do, you are at liberty to do as you please.”

  Does he really mean that or is he just saying that? “Are you kidding me? Doesn’t it bother you at all that another man’s hands, tongue, and cock have been inside of me?”

  He glances at me, a vein popping out of his forehead now. “Scarlett…”

  “That he sucked on my breasts…” I say, lingering on the word ‘breasts.’

  “Scarlett…” he says a little more sternly.

  “That he made me come over, and over, and—”

  Without warning, he lunges over to me, reaches behind my head, pulls me in, and crashes his mouth to mine. His sudden move startles me, but before I can muster an ounce of protest, all my reasonableness has vanished and I am left with nothing but the ability to surrender to the kiss. His hand moves down to the nape of my neck and as he pulls there, his tongue slips into my mouth.

  Oh. Dear. God. He tastes so good.

  He is intense, passionate, and angry even, as he claims me back with the ruthless kiss. Every ounce of me wants him, and I know every ounce of him wants me, too. I can feel it in his savage kiss. Will he be able to keep his promise of not having sex with me until I am ready?

  Hell…ready is a very lose term.

  Oh, shit.

  I am so ready for him.

  Dripping wet ready. Right now I would give him anything he asked of me, forgiveness included.

  Unable to contain myself, I climb out of my seat and straddle him. When I feel how hard he is, I gasp into his mouth and grind myself against the bulge hiding underneath his pants. All I want, all I need is him buried deep inside of me.

  His one arm reaches around to my back, and the other grabs my ass, pushing me down harder over him as he thrusts upwards, his hard-on pressing viciously against my clit. Oh…I might just come right now. I never knew dry sex could be so…oh, God…

  I let my head fall back, and when I do, my back presses against the steering wheel, making the horn go off. I startle to a jump, and then I start to laugh. Michael laughs, too, and I look him in the eyes.

  “What am I going to do with you?” I say, leaning my forehead to his, half-laughing, half-crying.

  He pulls back a little and looks at me in all sincerity, his gaze filled with so much adoration and love, that I start to cry. What a rollercoaster ride.

  “I’m so sorry I messed up,” I say. Somehow I manage to speak around the strangled feeling in my throat. Helpless to stop it, I feel the muscles in my face contort into a myriad of emotions. I press my palms against my face, embarrassed about my sudden outburst of sadness, but there’s nothing I can do about it when this horrendous ache resides within me. I feel like I’m losing my mind. One second I’m on such a high I can hardly contain myself, but before I know what hits me I’m trembling with anxiety, unable to escape the harrowing darkness around me.

  Michael grips my wrists and lowers my hands. He lifts my chin so our eyes meet, and then he traces his thumb across my cheek.

  “I’m the one who messed up,” he says. “I never should have let you go. Is there still a chance for us?”

  If I gave him yet another chance, will it last? At the moment I don’t care, although I’m not sure if I’ll feel the same tomorrow. Or the next time he breaks my heart.

  “Obviously we still feel something for each other.” I laugh through my tears. “But we need to talk. A lot. Like…for months.”

  “Okay,” he says, stroking my hair, giving me a soft smile.

  “Okay,” I say. I lean down and kiss him softly on the lips.

  10

  As we head back to Michael’s place, I try to hide my nerves. I glance over at him from time to time, but he doesn’t seem to notice how I’m drinking in every part of him: his messy hair, the stubble lining his jaw, his long fingers gripping the wheel. Oh, those hands…

  All of him just makes me shudder with molten desire, makes me want to be his again—forever. My body is telling me what it wants to happen. Hell, I can’t think about anything other than the aching need that’s simmering between my thighs—the need that’s been there since…well, since we met.

  God, I want him to claim me back, taste every part of me again as his tongue roams my body, and have his cock fuck me until I have no choice but to call out his name in wild ecstasy.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This is insane. My mind is flashing a big, orange neon sign, telling me that I must be crazy to even think about getting back together with Michael. He’s going to break my heart, and I can’t handle that.

  But I can’t handle being without him either.

  We pull into his courtyard, and he turns the ignition off. Facing me, he says, “I’m really glad you’re here. I wish I didn’t have to go to my meeting, but this is a huge deal.” He cups my chin, and presses his thumb to my lips, dragging my bottom lip down.

  Oh…I want him to kiss me.

  But he doesn’t. Instead, he opens his door, and steps outside. Following his lead, I hop out of the car and we head inside.

  When Lucy sees me again, she runs up to me and throws her arms around me. From the corner of my eye, I think I see Michael smiling. Although she doesn’t ask me about anything, I can see in her eyes that Lucy’s dying to know what’s going on. If only I had the answers to that…

  It has only been a few weeks since I’ve been here, but already the place seems different—empty. Maybe it’s because the holidays are over, and all the decorations have been taken down. Or maybe it’s because there was a death in the family, and the place has taken on the emotional state of its owner.

  Michael takes my hand, leads me up to his bedroom, and kisses me briefly before hopping into the shower. Being here again brings back memories of all sorts of steamy encounters—ones I unsuccessfully tried to erase from my mind. Not wanting to linger on those hazardous thoughts, I start to pace around the room. Entering the walk-in closet, I notice that my clothes are still there. Was he counting on winning me back all along? Arrogant son of a bitch. I smile.

  I head back into the bedroom and sit on the red, velvet chaise lounge in the corner. How did I suddenly end up back here? Haven’t I been very good at distancing myself from him and all the craziness he put me through? I thought I had finally been able to screw my head on straight and become sensibl
e. Rational. Levelheaded. Yet with just one kiss, here I am again, imprisoned, bound, and broken by this man. I am terrified, so how come I can’t get myself to run?

  Michael finally comes out wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. My eyes drag languidly, longingly over his body. He’s not as muscular as Spencer, but damn, Michal has perfect proportions, with long, well-developed arms, broad shoulders chiseled to perfection, an impossibly firm chest, a to-die-for six-pack, grooves in his lower abdomen that lead to…

  My breath hitches when I remember the size of him. That’s one thing he has on Spencer, although I’m not really into comparing. Except for now.

  I drop my eyes to the floor, finding I have become extremely aroused, the heat and wetness between my folds increasing by the second. I still haven’t come down from where he took me yesterday. And I’m afraid I won’t until he finishes the job.

  He walks into his closet, and returns wearing nothing but black boxer briefs and carrying a crisp light blue shirt and a business suit. He lays the clothes on the bed, and takes the shirt off the hanger. Is he doing this to me on purpose? Teasing me? Taunting me? Reminding me of what I’m missing? Because at the moment, hell, I am missing it.

  I clear my throat and force my eyes to focus on the plush ivory carpet. “So you even have to work on Sundays?”

  “Only today,” he says. “I have a huge real estate deal coming through with a few long time business associates.”

  He keeps talking, but my eyes now wander to his bulging calf muscles, up to his knees, to his defined thighs, the bulge between his legs…

  When I notice he has stopped talking, I lift my eyes to meet his. Seeing him stare at me with a wicked grin, my face burns. Holy shit, my entire body is a blazing inferno.

  “Did you hear what I said?” he asks, securing his cufflinks.

  “Sorry…I…” I stammer. He has no idea the effect he has on me.

  He pulls on his pants, buttons and zips it, secures his belt, and sits down next to me on the chaise. He hasn’t buttoned up his shirt all the way, and I can see the top of his chest from where I’m sitting.