The Everlasting Chapel

by Marilyn Cruise

  Easy, Scarlett, I tell myself. “Sorry. I’m just tired. It was a late…night.” Okay, not the right words.

  His jaw tenses for just a second, but then he’s back to normal. “What I said was that the business deal involves four corporations, and my ex-fiancé’s is one of them.”

  Oh… Immediately, I find that I’m uncomfortable about the entire thing even though I have absolutely no reason to be. I mean, Michael and I aren’t even an item, only two individuals who might be going on a date once a week. Yeah right, my alter-ego shouts at me. With Michael it’s all or nothing.

  “This deal has been in the making for years, and I want to assure you that it is strictly professional.” He places a hand on my upper arm. Heat collects there.

  I just nod as I try not to bite my lip.

  He buttons up the rest of his shirt. “Saturday evening we will be celebrating by throwing a ball at my ex-fiancé’s mansion. I would be honored if you would be my date for the night.”

  “I don’t have…” I’m about to say ‘anything to wear,’ but then I remember that I have an entire closet waiting for me. I can imagine there are a few dresses in there that would be fitting for such a grand event. “I’ll have to get work off.”

  “Does that mean yes, you’ll come?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Okay.” He stands up, loops a black and gray tie around his neck, and starts to tie it. When he’s finished, he slips his dark gray suit jacket on.

  Standing up, I wish my knees didn’t feel quite so wobbly.

  “You’re welcome to stay here all day. I’ll be back at around eight this evening, and I’d love to talk things through,” he says.

  “I need to get home. Lately Sunday is the only day I have to spend with my father. And he’s probably wondering where I am already.”

  Michael wraps his arms around me and kisses the top of my head. He smells way too good.

  Driving me home in his black Mercedes, he stops by a local drive through coffee shop and orders us both lattes, remembering to add extra sugar to mine. It’s a small gesture, but it makes me think he’s paying more attention to the details than what I thought.

  Once we arrive back at my place, Spencer’s Audi stands parked in my driveway next to my car. The flat is fixed.

  “I’m really glad you called me,” Michael says.

  Am I glad I called him? I think so, although part of me is still holding back. “Me, too.”

  He leans in, and his eyes drop to my lips.

  It amazes me how just a few hours ago I wanted nothing to do with him ever again, and here I am ready and wanting nothing less than forever.

  He rests a hand on my knee, and without my consent, my inner thighs squeeze together. He must have noticed because he reaches behind my neck and firmly presses his lips to mine. His wet, warm, slippery lips glide across mine, and I moan when I feel his hand skirting up my thigh. Sliding his hand underneath the leather of my miniskirt, he quickly locates my panties and tugs at them. A rush of desire tears through me as the anticipation of not knowing what he’ll do next makes me hyperaware of his every move.

  He runs his fingers across the thin, now wet fabric, teasing my clit with feather-light circular motions. I can’t even breathe.

  Pushing my panties to the side, he deftly shoves two fingers inside of me. Gasping in delight, I want to lean my head back, but he holds me firmly, and grinds his lips harder against mine.

  When he presses against my G-spot, I push my hips up to intensify the sensation. A high-pitched squeal escapes my lips, but he still doesn’t release my lips. His tongue plunges deep into my mouth, and I notice that the movements of his fingers mirror the movements of his tongue. Holy Hell.

  “Please,” I whisper into his mouth. But he doesn’t release me. Instead, he thrusts his fingers deeper into me, and starts moving them at whip-like speed. I cry out as I come, as his tongue delves deeper, and his hand presses firmly against my clitoris. My entire body is zinging with pleasure. It’s not the best orgasm I’ve had—more like a starter one, but I’m convinced he’s doing it on purpose.

  He loosens his grip around my neck and pulls out his fingers as the kiss turns sensual. I don’t want him to stop. I want so much more.

  His left hand drags across my abdomen and up to my breast where he lightly tugs at my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra. A current of fire shoots back down between my legs, turning me into nothing but putty in his skillful hands. I make a low gasping sound, and I feel his lips spread into a smile across mine.

  With our lips still touching, he says, “Whenever I look at my fingers today, I can remember this moment. And I just wanted to make sure you remember me today, and not that other guy.”

  “Well, you should have finished the job then,” I say with a smile.

  “Oh, I will, believe you me. When you’re ready.” He kisses me lightly on the lips once more.

  I am completely at the mercy of this man. He owns my pleasure, and I simply cannot continue on unless we’re together. Without even thinking, I spit out, “I’m ready.”

  There’s a slight pause. “Are you just saying that, or…”

  “I want to try again.” I can’t live without this man. I can’t believe I made it three weeks without him.

  His lids lower and all the muscles in his face and shoulders relax.

  “But there are terms,” I add.

  He opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. “I’d love to hear those terms.”

  “Tonight. Come pick me up after your meeting.” I need some time to organize my thoughts.

  His eyes soften and he narrows them. “Scar…you have no idea how wonderful it is to hear you say that.” In his voice, I hear that he truly means it.

  “Don’t say that until after you have heard my terms,” I say with an innocent smile.

  “No amount of terms will make me change my mind.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I trust you,” he says.

  “Well, you shouldn’t,” I say, opening the door.

  “It doesn’t matter. I do anyway.”

  11

  When I arrive inside, the scent of bacon and eggs greets me, and Vivian and my father are sitting at the kitchen table finishing up a late breakfast. For the first time in months, my father’s cheeks have some color to them, and it actually looks as if he has gained a few pounds. I smile as my hand automatically reaches for my heart.

  For whatever reason—being home again, having gone through the surgery and survived, a renewed hope for life, or the company of Vivian—he has come back to life. Vivian smiles warmly toward me and bids me to sit.

  “Did you have a good time last night?” my father asks.

  “Yes.” My cheeks warm. I hope he doesn’t ask about particulars.

  “Did you buy me a new car?” he asks, glancing out the window.

  I chuckle. “No. That’s actually Dr. Jamison’s car.”

  He squints his eyes and gets a mischievous smile. “Dr. Jamison’s, huh?”

  “We’re just friends.” With benefits. Well, not anymore. Wow, that arrangement sure as hell had a short lifespan. God, did I really sleep with him last night? I had better stop thinking about it before shame overwhelms me. Which it won’t since I deserved every one of those orgasms!

  “How about you? What did you do last night?” I ask.

  “Vivian and I stayed up and watched the History Channel,” my father says.

  “Really? That sounds like a lot of…fun,” I tease, glancing at Vivian.

  “I actually rather enjoyed it,” Vivian says with a sensible smile. And is she…blushing? Holy hell, she is!

  My father could definitely do much worse than Vivian. What’s funny is she even reminds me of my mother sometimes, the way she wrinkles her nose when she doesn’t like something, and the way she steamrolls anyone who won’t accept her assistance.

  We decide to go see the ice sculptures at the Congress Square Park. I’m glad to get my father out of the hou
se and get some fresh air. I’d hate to sit indoors all day thinking about what Michael is planning to do to me later since I agreed on wanting to try again.

  When we arrive downtown, the streets are jam-packed with cars, and the sidewalks are crawling with people. We’re lucky enough to find a parking spot about a quarter of a mile away.

  After we’ve been to the park and seen all the myriad of ice sculptures, we’re all exhausted from walking so much. None of us really want to stand in the kitchen and slave over the stove for an hour and then over the dishes another hour, so we head to The Eating Tree. It’s my father’s favorite restaurant. Knowing I’ll have dinner again in a few hours at Michael’s, I order a salad and a bowl of chicken noodle soup just to tide me over.

  On the ride home, we each sit in our own quiet thoughts. I let my mind drift to Michael and how his fingers were inside of me and how he kissed me, and how much I’m looking forward to spending the evening with him. I just hope his meeting doesn’t go long, and that he’s not too exhausted after closing the deal and dealing with his ex-fiancé.

  Which brings up another thing: if I agree to be his date next week, I’ll meet her. I remember the things Michael said about her: that she’s a demanding sex goddess and selfish as hell. Wow, and he wants to do business with her? I already don’t like the idea of them continuing to work together, and I haven’t even met the woman.

  Back home again, I see that I’ve missed a call from Spencer. He’s probably calling about his car and about lunch tomorrow. I don’t want to discontinue contact with him completely because I feel like we have such a great connection. But at the same time, I realize if I do keep in touch with him, it will do nothing to strengthen the trust between Michael and me.

  Then again, Michael is working with his ex-fiancé, someone he had a much deeper relationship with than Spencer and I do. I mean, I’ve only slept with Spencer once, and we were both in complete agreement that it was nothing more than a friends-with-benefits type relationship.

  Oh, dear, here it comes again. The complication. Shit, what do I do? I’ll just have to be completely open with Michael about everything, and if he doesn’t like it, so be it. I don’t like how he’s working with his ex, but I doubt he’ll pull the deal if I asked him to.

  Besides, we’ve only just started dating.

  I call Spencer back and tell him I had a great day with my father and Vivian. He tells me he needed to do emergency surgery on a very prominent person in Portland, although he isn’t allowed to tell me exactly who it was. I inform him that while driving over to my house, the Audi had a flat, but that I called Michael up and he had the vehicle towed to my house.

  I listen very carefully to hear if there’s any disappointment in his voice, but the news about Michael doesn’t seem to bother him at all. Thank goodness. All I need is for Spencer to want more than just sex, and for me to start feeling guilty that I led him on.

  We agree to have lunch tomorrow and that I’ll drive his Audi to work so he can have it afterward. Curious to know what Spencer thinks, I tell him I’m considering dating Michael again. Spencer tells me to be careful and that he doesn’t want to see his new buddy get hurt. If all else fails, you know where to come to feel better, he says.

  I grin, remembering that we did indeed have a great time.

  The rest of the day I hang out with my father, help Vivian with some chores, and think about what terms I should present to Michael. However, when I sit down to write them down, I don’t come up with a single idea. I call Anne.

  “Let me see if I understand this correctly,” she says. “You’re making a list with terms that will outline the parameters and rules of your relationship?”

  “Kind of.”

  “First of all, why do there have to be terms? If you have to make all these rules, doesn’t it only mean you don’t trust each other?” she asks.

  I groan inwardly. “Well, we’re working on the trust.”

  ‘Then why do you want to be with him if you don’t trust him?”

  Good point.

  “You guys…you’re going to kill each other, you know that?” she says.

  “I know. But I really think he’s changed,” I say.

  “How?”

  “I told him that I slept with Spencer, and—”

  She gasps. “You slept with the doctor? When did this happen?”

  Oh, yeah. I didn’t tell her about that yet. “Last night,” I admit.

  “Holy shit, Scarlett. How was it?”

  “Great, but…it was just once, and we both agree we’re strictly friends,” I say.

  “So now you’re moving on with Michael, and he already knows about Spencer?”

  “Yes,” I squeak. Saying it makes me feel even more like a slut.

  “Your life is like a soap opera on steroids, girl.”

  I laugh. “Yep, that pretty much sums it up.”

  “So Michael didn’t…care that someone else fucked you last night?” she asks.

  “Well, he said he didn’t, but I could tell he did.”

  She’s quiet for a long time, and then she asks, “Do you still love Michael?”

  Why did she have to ask me that question? And does it even matter? Just because I love him doesn’t mean we should be together, does it? “Yes,” I say.

  “Then screw all the rules and requirements and shit. It seems he wants to try for real this time, and if you hold onto past hurts and regrets, you’ll never make it. You have to give it everything.”

  It sounds nice but also frightening.

  “Will you be able to keep the past relationship with him separate from this new one?” she asks.

  I think for a moment. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, once you find out that answer, then you’ll know what to do,” she says. “Listen, I have to go to work, but call me tomorrow. I really want to find out what happens. And Scarlett?”

  “Yes?”

  “Honestly, hun, I think you should go for it.”

  “Thanks,” I say as goosebumps rise on my skin.

  For several more hours I wrack my brain, trying to come up with acceptable terms for our relationship. I agree with Anne that I shouldn’t have to have these rules in the first place, but I’m not quite sure she realizes how I completely lose the ability to think clearly when I’m around Michael. I have to have something concrete to present to him or things could just revert back to what they were before.

  And then we’d be back where we started.

  I finally realize I only have three terms, but those terms are non-negotiable. If he agrees to them, which I hope he does, then I feel comfortable moving ahead.

  Michael calls me at seven o’clock and says he’s on his way. I take a quick shower and straighten my long, dark hair. I dress in dark skinny-jeans, a ruby red silk blouse and stiletto heels, leaving the top two buttons open on my blouse. And after applying light make-up and a little perfume right behind my ears, I’m ready to go.

  By seven thirty he’s outside my door. Thankfully my father’s sleeping on the couch or he’d be grilling Michael with all sorts of embarrassing questions like what his intentions are with me. Not that I don’t think Michael can handle it. I just don’t need the added stress of a skeptical parent breathing down our necks while I’m trying to make sense of everything.

  Michael opens the car door for me, and pecks me on the cheek. Getting inside, the song Unchained Melody is playing on the radio, and I immediately melt into a thousand drops of sappiness.

  Michael gets in on the other side and as he drives off, he starts to sing along. I just sit back and enjoy listening to him and he holds my hand, and glances at me nostalgically.

  “I’ve hungered for your touch…” he sings. “…a long, lonely time.”

  I smile, the words of the song, coming out of his mouth, completely hypnotizing me.

  “And time…goes by…so slowly, and time…can do so much. Are you…still mine? I need your love. I…need you love. Speed your love…to…me.”

&
nbsp; Is that how he really feels? Part of me hopes so, but part of me is still trying to strangle that hope to keep it from getting out of hand.

  Twenty minutes later, we arrive at his house. After his valet drives off with the car, Michael loops his arm through mine and walks me inside.

  “You look and smell amazing,” he says, dipping his head into my neck and inhaling.

  “Good meeting?” I ask.

  “Excellent.” He smiles. “This is the largest deal I have ever made.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s exciting.”

  He leans his head toward me and runs his nose along my jawline, sending a hot spark through me. “Did you bring your list?” he asks.

  “No.”

  He looks at me with a bewildered expression. “No?”

  “I’ll explain later—when we’re alone,” I say glancing around at the servants.

  He nods. “I thought we could take a swim in the pool,” he says, tracing his fingers along my collarbone.

  “You have a pool?”

  “Yes. Swimming helps me relax,” he says.

  “You can’t be serious. It’s twenty degrees outside.”

  “I have an indoor pool, silly.” He smirks. “Did you think I meant outside?”

  “How was I supposed to know you had an indoor pool?” I ask.

  He picks me up and twirls me around. “Well, no matter how crazy you think I am, I don’t do ice-bathing.” He kisses me briefly on the lips and tells me to go change into a swimsuit.

  I step into “my” closet and find dozens of swimsuits and bikinis hanging in the swimsuit armoire. They are all designer brands and are skimpy as hell. Pervert. I grin. I don’t mind it one bit. For Michael, I’d wear anything he wanted me to. What? Okay, I’m in dangerous territory now. I had better keep my head on straight long enough to deliver my terms.

  I dress in the hot pink and gold barely-there bikini. I’m not really ashamed about my body, but I don’t like the idea of the servants seeing me dressed like this. Thankfully, there’s a black silk robe, and I slip it on.

  We head down the upstairs hallway, and once we reach the end, we descend the stairs to the basement. After we’ve walked through another wide hallway, we take a right, and suddenly in front of us there’s a large, rectangular, indoor pool.