The Ground Rules

by Roya Carmen

  I rest my head against Weston’s chest, tracing circles around his navel with the tip of my finger. I love the dark line trailing from his navel to his pubic bone—he’s ticklish right there, and I can always get him going.

  He laughs, pulling my hand away. “Stop it.”

  I smile up at him. “You like it.”

  “I do,” he admits.

  We lie in silence for a while, staring up at the ceiling, both of us lost in thought. I think about the way I’ve behaved—it was atrocious. “I’m sorry about my behavior. I was acting juvenile. It’s just…this is so hard.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “I know.”

  I hold him tighter, realizing this arrangement is probably not exactly easy for him either.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asks.

  I look up at him, not sure what he means.

  His eyes are dark, and I realize he’s talking about the sex.

  “Oh…just a little.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mirella.” There’s a foreign emotion in his gaze, something I’ve never seen in his eyes…shame perhaps.

  “It’s fine,” I insist. “I could have stopped you, Weston.”

  “But…I still shouldn’t have,” he argues, his words soft. “I—”

  “I’m fine, Weston. I promise.”

  He sighs. “It’s just that,” he says, his words slow, “you drive me mad.”

  I look up at him, shocked by his words.

  “I’m usually always in control,” he tells me, playing with a strand of my hair. “I crave control. I’m in charge at work, at home, wherever I go, it seems. I have hundreds of employees who do exactly what I tell them to do. I know what to expect from them. I even have a handle on Bridget, believe it or not.”

  “Now, that’s hard to believe,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  “But…you…you make me feel completely out of control.”

  Completely out of control.

  That’s what love feels like, I want to tell him.

  But I don’t dare say a thing.

  I’ve been feeling a little uneasy since my last date with Weston. Memories of that night—the passion, the raw emotion, the confusion and pain on his face, swirl in my head on a maddening, endless loop.

  To make matters worse, since school is still out, I find myself without distractions. I take the girls to the park, Gwen’s pool, the library, but still, I am constantly bombarded by thoughts of him. Our last date has affected me more than all the previous ones combined.

  I think Gabe has noticed something is wrong, but he hasn’t said a word. I’m pretty sure he knows my mood has something to do with Weston. But since our last fight, we haven’t really talked, we haven’t had sex…we’ve grown apart. I can’t very well tell him my heart is in shatters. I can’t tell him he was right—I am in love with another man, a man who doesn’t share my feelings.

  And I do still love Gabe.

  I’m in love with two men.

  I am royally messed-up.

  It’s Wednesday morning, and as I’m dashing out of the house for the girls’ swimming lesson, my cell rings, and I absently pick it up, buckling Claire in her car seat.

  It’s Weston. He wants to see me.

  “Can we see each other next Friday?”

  I ask him why he’s calling me. I tell him he’s breaking the rules. He doesn’t quite seem like himself. I ask him if something’s wrong.

  He says he needs to see me.

  I’m so curious, I can barely contain myself. I’m as giddy as a schoolgirl. I can barely eat—and forget about sleep. I don’t understand why he still has this effect on me, after all these months. I should be over this by now, but just the thought of him…

  I wish I had more control over my emotions. I wish I could tell my heart what to feel, order my mind to stop thinking about him endlessly.

  He’s still all I can think about.

  I decide to go a little sexy tonight—sexy but classy. I slip on a sweet, cream lace dress with a soft flowing skirt. The hem is probably too short for a woman my age, but I’m feeling daring tonight.

  Claire strokes the velvety texture of my shoes with the tip of her chubby little finger and says I look pretty. She always loves to watch me get ready. I feel a little twinge of guilt knowing she has no clue I’m about to go out to meet another man. In her perfect little world, there’s just Mommy, Daddy, and Chloe.

  I’ve paired the rather innocent dress with a flashy pair of leopard print, peep-toed heels. My hair falls over my shoulders in wavy tendrils, and my eyes are smoky.

  Gabe and I are two passing ships in the night. He’s going out tonight too—with Bridget. I watch him fiddle with his phone, standing by the kitchen counter. He looks good in a fitted black top and stylish gray pants. I’ve noticed he’s been dressing a lot better these days.

  He turns around and notices me—definitely notices me.

  “You look amazing,” he says with that devilish grin of his. “You look hot.”

  “Not so bad yourself,” I reply with a sly smile.

  He drops the phone on the counter, makes his way to me, and wraps his arms around my waist.

  He slides a hand under the hem of my dress. “Quickie?”

  I laugh. I’m almost tempted. We haven’t had sex in forever, and I miss him. “No time…Edward will be here any second.”

  “He can wait,” he whispers in my ear.

  The man is insatiable.

  “You look very nice,” I say, trying to distract him. “Very sexy. Did you go shopping?”

  He pulls away and nods, not quite looking at me. I get the sense he doesn’t really want to talk about it. I have a feeling Bridget might have taken him shopping—probably had a little fun with her “boy-toy”—another little Ken doll she can dress up. The thought annoys me a little, and I push it away instantly.

  The doorbell chimes.

  “Your car is waiting, madam.” Gabe smirks and gives me one last kiss on the cheek.

  The drive to the city seems long tonight, too long. It’s the same duration as always, but the anticipation of seeing Weston makes me impatient.

  And after what seems like an endless trek, we finally get there.

  Edward opens the door for me as he always does. I take his hand and thank him. And then, I turn to see Weston waiting for me, standing tall in a sleek charcoal suit and bright pink shirt.

  He’s splendid…as always.

  He smiles at me. It’s that special smile, my favorite—the one he gives me just before he has his wicked way with me. God…I love that smile.

  “You look amazing,” he whispers as he kisses my cheek.

  “You too,” I say in a barely audible voice, my heart stammering. Geez…it’s been barely five seconds, and he already has me flustered.

  We eat at a French restaurant on the fortieth floor of the Chicago Stock Exchange. This doesn’t surprise me in the least, with Weston’s obsession with sky high views.

  The atmosphere is sexy—contemporary, sleek chrome finishes, muted colors. But then again, I probably think everything is sexy at this point…I’m just so turned on. One slight touch from Weston, and I’m done for. It’s as easy as the tap of a button—I’m completely pliable under his stare, his touch.

  As the hostess leads us to our table by the window, I notice the breathtaking views of the Chicago skyline. But I’m not awestruck or surprised—I’ve come to expect this from Weston—the man knows how to entertain a woman and bring her to her knees.

  “I can’t wait to get that charming little dress off,” he teases as soon as the hostess leaves us. His tone is even and business-like, without the slightest hint of playfulness, which makes his words all the more…hot.

  My heart leaps in my chest, and I’m at a loss for words.

  “Cat got your tongue?” he says, his words almost dancing. He knows what he’s doing to me. And he loves it.

  “Uh…I…I’m glad you like the dress, Weston,” I finally manage, trying to sound coy. But it’s
no use—I’m completely flustered.

  He smiles. That smile again.

  I want him to take off the dress.

  As soon as humanly possible.

  Weston orders a bottle—a Bordeaux of some kind—I’m not paying too much attention, I’m just too distracted.

  Something’s not right.

  Despite the playful smiles, Weston seems in a rather serious mood tonight, and I wonder what’s on his mind. He’s not quite as talkative as usual.

  He looks at me…he stares, really. There’s emotion in his gaze, something foreign, something I haven’t seen before. I’m not sure what it is, and I tell myself I’m reading too much into it, as I always do, overanalyzing everything and everyone.

  Weston orders the oyster appetizer, and I opt for the peekytoe crab. Taking my first bite, I’m happy with my choice—it’s delicious.

  Weston offers me an oyster.

  I refuse without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, playful.

  I nod profusely. “Yes, I’m positive. I don’t like them. They look disgusting.”

  “I bet you’ve never even tried them,” he says. And it’s true—I haven’t.

  But still…

  “You know what they say about oysters,” he says, his words playful.

  I laugh a little. “Yes,” I reply, a little shy all of a sudden. “They make you horny.”

  He laughs. “Well, we both know you certainly don’t need them.”

  My jaw drops. “What are you saying?” I ask, my words buried in laughter.

  He flashes me his megawatt smile. “You know what I’m saying.”

  “I haven’t heard you complaining,” I point out rather coyly.

  “Oh…I’m not complaining,” he says. “I love the way you are. I love the way you respond to me.”

  His words bring on that old familiar feeling deep in my core—desire.

  “I love the way you react to me too,” I say softly.

  He looks at me but doesn’t say a word for the longest time. And his eyes fill with that foreign emotion again—I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  He pulls his gaze from mine and takes a drink of his wine. “We do fit well together,” he says, his words soft.

  What the hell is bothering him?

  I desperately want to know.

  We eat our meals mostly in silence. It isn’t uncomfortable but rather intense, emotionally filled. I can barely eat the halibut I’ve ordered under the scrutiny of his gaze—his stare is passionate—I know he craves me as much as I crave him.

  “You look quite different tonight. Very sexy…I like it.”

  I laugh. “I know…you’ve been looking at me all night like you want to eat me up.”

  “I do,” he says, his voice soft, “I want to feast on you.”

  Good God.

  He puts his knife and fork down—his steak half-eaten—his gestures slow and deliberate. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his cell, and I wonder what is so urgent all of a sudden.

  “Hello, Edward,” I hear him say. I take another bite of my fish, but I don’t really taste it, my senses lost in Weston’s conversation.

  “Well, there’s been a change of plans,” he says with a soft laugh. “We’ll need the car in ten minutes…”

  He shoots me a playful smile and tucks his phone away. “I hope you won’t mind,” he says with a mischievous grin, “but we’re skipping dessert.”

  “Are we, now?” I ask, my voice silky. I wonder what he’s up to.

  “Yes, we are. I need you.”

  And that’s all he needs to say.

  I undo his buttons and pull him between my legs onto the bed, my hands sliding down his torso and sliding off his suit jacket. He takes my face in his hand and kisses me softly.

  He slips his hand under the sheer fabric of my dress. I reach for his belt and undo him. I slide my hands over his rear and pull down his pants, freeing his erection. I turn over him and straddle him.

  “I like a woman in charge,” he teases.

  His playful grin is doing things to me again.

  I undo his shirt buttons one by one, slowly, shooting him a sly smile every now and then. He grins up at me, not saying a word—he loves it when I undress him. I pull up his undershirt, trail kisses down his chest, and make my way to that dark line straggling under his navel. My tongue swirls around his belly button and travels south, teasing him. I hear grunts of pleasure—I’m probably driving him insane.

  “You are so cruel,” he breathes.

  “Payback,” I whisper…and finally take him in my mouth. He moans as he grabs a fistful of my hair. I want to give him the same sensations he’s given me.

  I delight in the sounds he makes as I pleasure him. As I go a little harder and faster—his breathing becomes labored—I can tell he’s close, and the thought arouses me.

  I’m shocked when he tenses up.

  He slides his hand against my cheek, pulling me to him. “Mirella,” he breathes. “I had something different in mind for tonight.” His eyes filled with that same foreign emotion I had noticed back at the restaurant—I want to know what it is. “I want us to be together.” He kisses my cheek softly.

  I don’t quite understand. What man doesn’t want a blow job? I’d done it before and he loved it.

  “But,” I say, doubt suddenly filling me. “I wanted to…was I not doing a good job?”

  “God…” he sighs. “You were doing an amazing job. It’s just not what I want tonight.”

  He reaches for my back zipper and pulls it down slowly, his eyes fixing mine. He slides his hand slowly up my body, pulls the dress over my shoulders, freeing me of the sheer lace fabric. I’m left in my white lace underwear.

  He gazes at me as he trails his finger down my stomach. “You are so beautiful, Mirella,” he says, his words soft. “You’re perfect. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  I’m both flattered and a little uncomfortable—I’ve never taken compliments easily. But his words make me happy—no one has ever made me feel as beautiful as he does. “Thank you,” I say, my words barely a whisper.

  “And you are just as beautiful inside.”

  “You’re beautiful too,” I whisper as our lips meet. His kiss is soft and tender, his hands are gentle as he undoes my bra and explores my breasts with his mouth. He has always been gentle, but never quite like this—this is different.

  He pulls me under him and slides my panties down, kissing the length of my thighs. His lips travel all over my body, and his gaze catches mine occasionally, his eyes full of longing. He kisses me again and again, softly…kisses my eyelids, my cheeks and the tip of my nose, the sensation of his lips soft on my skin. He looks into my eyes for an eternity—I sense he wants to say something—I can almost hear what he wants to tell me. His eyes don’t leave mine as he sinks into me.

  He’s making love to me.

  My heart swells up at the realization.

  Just maybe…he loves me too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Oh…shut up, you stupid cow.

  KATHRYN CALLS ME ON TUESDAY MORNING—I’m surprised—Kathryn never calls.

  She tells me Weston and Bridget would like to meet with us as soon as possible at his office. I’m surprised and extremely curious. The last time we met at his office was when he first made us the proposal for the exchange. What could they possibly want to talk about now? This must be somewhat important—I can’t imagine what in the world would require an official meeting at his office.

  Different possible scenarios run through my brain—and the worst comes to mind—they want to end the arrangement. But then, I think about it for a second—things have been going so well—the last time Weston and I were together was…almost magical.

  It can’t be it.

  Maybe they want to organize a trip for all of us…

  “What is this all about?” I ask Kathryn.

  “I honestly don’t know. I was just asked to contact you and mak
e arrangements for a meeting, as soon as possible.”

  I call Gabe and tell him about the meeting.

  “Do you think they want to end it?” he asks, going exactly where I had gone.

  “I don’t know, Gabe,” I say, my heart sinking a little. “How have things been with you and Bridget?” We’re not in the habit of talking about this stuff, but the situation warrants the question.

  “Good. She seems happy. I haven’t sensed anything different. How ’bout you and Weston?”

  “Uh…” I hesitate, thinking about the night I told him I loved him, the night we fought. But the last time we met seemed so perfect. “I think we’re okay,” I finally manage to say.

  “That’s probably not it. Maybe it’s something good.”

  “Can you take some time off tomorrow afternoon?” I ask. I want to arrange this meeting as soon as possible, or the suspense might very well do me in.

  “Uh…sure,” he says. “Just let me know when.”

  Gabe has never been to Weston’s office, and he seems both impressed and unimpressed—the sleek glass and chrome finishes probably don’t appeal to him—he’s more of a traditionalist—solid hard wood is more his style.

  The receptionist tells us Weston will come and meet us in a minute. We sit impatiently on the ultramodern white chairs—Gabe’s large frame seems out of place, tucked in the compact curved seat. He seems as eager as I am.

  Finally, Weston appears and greets us, dressed in a fitted gray suit. He extends a hand to Gabe with a forced smile. He does the same to me, not quite making eye-contact. And suddenly, I feel strange—the moment is reminiscent of the early days of our relationship. We wait awkwardly at the elevators, my attention drawn to Weston’s tapping foot.

  He stares at the wall, clears his throat. “How was your drive here?”

  “It wasn’t too bad,” Gabe tells him as we enter the mirror encased elevator. “But my truck is brutal on gas—it costs me quite a penny to make it to the city.”

  “You should consider a hybrid,” Weston suggests as he presses a button. As we make the quick trek up to his offices, it occurs to me that he hasn’t looked at me once.

  Bridget greets us when we enter Weston’s office, dressed in a tailored black suit.