Holy Hell, just writing that email has me panting. I press send. I know I’m acting totally irrational, being a bitch even, but I can’t help it. My heart is hoping he’ll want the real me back, but I have to know if he truly means it. Will his actions line up with his words?
Not a second later, there’s a ping on my computer. Shit. I close my eyes and slowly breathe in and out a few times. I have to read it eventually. I stand up and pace around the room a little, the butterflies in my stomach multiplying a hundred times per second.
I just need to read it, dammit! I sit down by my laptop and start reading.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Meet me!
Date: 12.25.2013 Time: 11:29 a.m.
_______________________________
Samantha, meet me in The Black Chapel today. Noon.
Sincerely, Michael
_______________________________
2
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What the hell? Well, at least now I know. Now I know without a shadow of a doubt he doesn’t want me, and that if I ever were to marry him for anything other than the money, he wouldn’t be faithful to me. He’d cheat on me whenever a random stripper or a random woman would hit on him.
But crap, I didn’t think he’d actually want to meet me today on Christmas! Besides, now that I know he’s a serial cheater, the absolute last thing I want to do is to meet him. I wouldn’t be able to have him kiss me and fondle me and…touch…me…
Oh… Just thinking about his hands on me makes the space between my thighs wet. I am so messed up.
Screw this. I don’t have time to sit here and consider my bleeding heart at the moment—only act. I need to call Laila, tell her I’m working with Mr. Manning today and that she needs to open the club. I’m sure she’ll take me back in a second; it’s worth a butt load of money for her.
I bolt out the door, hop into my car, hit the gas, and speed through every street as if I had the devil tailgating me. While driving, I call Laila, and as I suspected, she is more than happy to accommodate my request of opening the strip club pronto. She doesn’t even ask why I changed my mind and want to work with Mr. Manning again. Maybe she knew all along that I would. Damn her and her intuition about everything. It’s like the woman knows every one of the girls working for her better than we know ourselves.
Once at The Black Chapel, I park right behind the building where I usually do. No time to look over my shoulder for Mrs. Manning’s spy, but I gather she’s approved of me anyway and has told whomever it was following me around—if there even was anyone—that he or she could stop. So why bother? In addition, Michael will be parking in front of the building so he won’t see my car.
The Black Chapel sign, usually a magenta neon blaring light, is turned off. There are no lights inside, and the place is as empty as a ghost town.
I glance around for one of Michael’s cars. I’m sure he has a bunch more vehicles that I have never seen, so any car driving by could be him, really. But it’s a quarter to noon, and he’s usually very punctual, never early or late.
Just in case that son of a bitch is early, I tuck myself inside the short passageway leading into the club to keep out of sight. It also helps keep me out of the sub-zero wind rippling against my not-warm-enough jacket.
Standing here, shivering, I grow increasingly frustrated. Where is Laila? Michael will be here in fifteen minutes expecting a hell of a performance and I need to put on piles of make-up to ensure he doesn’t recognize me. The last time we were in there, I thought for sure he would, but not even when we were making out and fondling, or when his eyes hungrily raked across my curves did he…oh…
It bothers me that I’m actually really excited to see him again. Just thinking about him makes me lose my ability to think rationally—reason vanishes into thin air. I was the one who ended it, dammit, and I know full well we’re too screwed up to make this work. Our issues will take years of counseling to resolve, and that’s if he even agrees to go to a shrink. Then why, if we’re so wrong for each other, is my heart racing like mad? The heart wants what it wants, I suppose.
Finally, I see Laila’s powder blue Mercedes pull up. She hops out of the car, opens the front door, drags me inside, and hands me a key. She’s wearing a fancy red dress and a white fur coat.
“I’m sorry. I hope I wasn’t interrupting…” I start.
“Don’t ask about my personal life,” she snaps.
Okay. “Aren’t you going to ask me why…?”
“I know why, Scarlett. I can read it all over your goddamn I wanna-be-fucked by Michael Manning face.”
I look down and blush. If she only knew the whole truth.
“Consider it my Christmas present to you. When you’re done with him, drop the key in this slot.” She shows me a two-inch mail drop slot in the dimmed glass door. “Good luck.” She’s almost out the door when she stops and turns around to face me, her brown eyes darkened with a hint of excitement. “Oh, and you know, jingle bells and all that shit.”
“Merry Christmas to you too,” I say, shaking my head at her.
I sprint through the hallway and into to the dressing room, and immediately start rifling through the hundreds of costumes. I pick out the black fallen angel costume, knowing Michael has a thing for angels. Plus, the benefit of this outfit is that the black, sheer fabric covers my entire body so it will be impossible for the badass sexy liar to figure out who I am.
The room still smells like dozens of different kinds of perfume, hairsprays, and powders, and it’s strange being in here alone when usually thirty or so girls are eagerly yapping away.
Before I pull on the black feather mask, I apply enough make-up that even Anne wouldn’t have recognized me.
I slip into a padded, faux diamond-studded push-up bra, giving me the appearance that I’m a double D. I’m really only just shy of a single D, but since he’s pretty much sucked on, fondled, and massaged every inch of me—not thinking about it—I need to make sure I’m as different from the real me as possible.
I struggle for a while to get into my wings, but I eventually manage. I spray Anne’s perfume on heavily and with my shoes in hand, I jog to Jim’s booth. There, I put on some sexy music—a little louder than normal—and enter The Sanctuary.
Michael is there within a minute, and I both sigh and frown inside at the same time. Sigh because I made it here and because I’m in full costume and frown because he’s here for the stripper. Can I go through with it? The moment our eyes connect, my inner muscles clench in delight, and I know that I not only can, but also want to.
I might as well enjoy our time together since this will be one of the last times, if not the last time I do anything with him. I’m going to be selfish and take what I want…I stop myself.
I can’t do it.
I can’t be that—just selfish. I need to and want to please him too.
Being in such a rush to get here and to get ready, I haven’t had time to consider what I might say or do to Michael now that I’m Samantha. Usually I take a few moments to get into the right state of mind before performing, but there’s no time for that now.
I stand up to greet him. “Hi, Michael,” I say in my angel voice. The music is sufficiently loud to drown out my voice. “I’m really excited that you decided to come see me.” I smile, letting my eyes drink in the sight of him. He’s wearing loose, faded jeans, a white shirt and a navy turtleneck that is unzipped at the neck. Damn. I bite my lip. Why does he have to look so good in everything?
His eyes scan my body, and from the lustful expression on his face, I know he definitely likes what he sees. But then what he says, surprises me.
“I have to admit, I don’t really know why I’m here, Samantha. I thought I had moved on, but when you sent me your last email, I just had to see you again. It’s like you’re a drug to me.” He approaches me, and not until he’s a few inches away does he stop. Peering down at me with hooded eyes, he inhales deeply while tugging at my waist.
His hand
s circling around me like that immediately makes my entire body go weak.
His cologne fills the air, making my head spin. “How much do you want me?” I moan, unable to stop my body from responding so favorably to his.
His eyes lower to my lips, and then he grabs my chin and presses his thumb to my open mouth. He leans down and kisses me, his dangerous tongue forcing its way into my mouth. My knees become jelly in two seconds flat. Oh, he’s even a better kisser than I remember. I want him to touch me, fondle me, and give me my release like he has done before. On the bed. In the shower. On the airplane…
My body tingles and I feel a deep, throbbing desire right at the apex of my legs.
“I want you so bad, Scar…” he says.
My breath catches and my eyes pop open. Did he just almost say…Scarlett? He did! Holy hell, he did! My heart beats even faster now, and in a moment of pure joy, I pull him closer to me and kiss him passionately.
But he doesn’t respond at all the way I expect him to. He pulls away, steps back, and sits down on the white couch, his head hanging low.
“What’s wrong?” I say, my heart still racing a mile a minute.
His hand rests against his temple, and he looks away. “I think it was a mistake coming here.”
“What do you mean?” I sit down next to him, and place my hand on his thigh, dangerously close to the bulge in his pants. It takes a lot of willpower not to stroke it.
“I’ve met this girl—” he says.
What the…? No, I’m supposed to hate him. He’s supposed to cheat on me with the slut, and now he’s backtracking? This isn’t happening. I had decided to dump him and to move on because he came here. Because he’s a liar and a cheater. If he does this—rejects the stripper and chooses me—it means he’s not that anymore! And where does that leave me?
Suddenly I’m very, very afraid.
“Well, she’s not here right now. I am,” I say.
“She’s absolutely amazing.” Michael’s eyes light up, and I see that he’s thinking about me.
Tears form in the back of my eyes, but I keep swallowing them down. “Really, why?” I ask, pretending not to care at all, pretending to be annoyed—offended. He seems surprised that I would ask that question, but I don’t care. I need to know why I’m so absolutely amazing.
“I don’t know if I feel comfortable talking to you about her,” he says with a half a smile.
“Oh, please. I’ve heard everything and I won’t be jealous, I promise.” I bat my eyelashes at him. Wow, Samantha is way too forgiving.
Michael’s eyes narrow. “She’s just everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman. I mean, at first I thought she was just an average girl, cute and sweet, but somewhat boring. She just seemed too tame for me.” His eyes go soft.
“And she’s not that anymore?” I ask, squeezing his thigh as I lean in even closer to him.
He takes my hand and gently removes it, placing it back on my lap.
“She never was,” he says. “I just had this image in my mind that she was a certain way, when in reality, she’s so much more. My mother has never approved of any woman I’ve ever brought home,” he continues. “And even though I always thought I wanted the exact opposite of what my mother wanted for me, I don’t. She’s the one, Samantha. She’s the one for me.”
My mouth wants to drop to the floor, but I clamp my teeth shut. Overcome by his confession, I stand up and walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink. He…wants me? Shit—no! We’re not good for each other.
He’s not good for me.
I already decided that.
I can’t go back now.
I drum my fingers on the bar, considering my options. What should I do? Should I come clean? Should I take my mask off? He might just strangle me if I do. I can see the headlines now: Murder at The Black Chapel. News at nine.
I glance back at him and his expression is that of a conflicted man. Could it be that he has finally decided? That he has realized he wants me and is even at this moment, when he has a stripper throwing herself at him, decided to resist?
“Well, I’d be careful marrying someone just because your mother likes her.” I say, as mockingly as I can in my angel voice.
“Of course. But Scarlett is different. She seemed like a prim and proper, and dare I say prude girl at first, but she isn’t that at all. We have a deep connection. It’s like she sees me for who I really am. She knows my flaws, but isn’t afraid of them. And I can tell she loves me heart and soul. Though I’m not sure she knows that yet.”
My breath catches at his words. I want to fling my mask off and reveal to him that I am Scarlett—I am her! But again, he’d kill me.
However, is his heart true?
Completely true?
I need to know how much he can resist a sexy angel, to what lengths he’d go to, to remain faithful to me. How much he cares about me.
“If she’s so amazing, then why are you here with me?” I’m in my stripper mode now, and the seductive side of me takes over full force. I glide over to him, climb onto his lap so I’m straddling him, and grind myself against him. Oh, heaven help me. He still has a hard-on, and rubbing myself against him in this way, I can’t help but feel the need build in the deepest part of me.
He scowls at me, so intently that my heart nearly stops beating.
“I don’t know why I’m here,” he says. “I have to go.” He pushes me gently off of him, and then he stands up.
On the outside I’m trying to look confused, but on the inside, I’m grinning from ear to ear. This might actually work! I’ll have Samantha die a gruesome death, from a new, deadly strain of sexually transmitted disease or something, and only Scarlett will remain.
“I’m sorry I dragged you down here on Christmas Day. I’ll pay Laila for your troubles,” he says.
“You know what?” I lean back into the couch sideways, careful not to crush my wings. “Don’t worry about it. It was a pleasure helping you figure out your life. Good luck with the girl. She sounds great.”
He smiles at me warmly, his dimples playing on his cheeks.
I watch him disappear through the red curtain and I’m left smiling like a kid on Christmas Day.
Then I realize, shit, it is Christmas Day! I’m going to head home and then seduce Michael so thoroughly he won’t know what hit him.
3
After I’ve showered and I’m back in my normal clothes again, I hop into my car and speed home. Laila will be furious with me for not collecting on the money, but once the deal with Michael goes through, I’ll make it up to her.
Michael’s rejection of the stripper is the best Christmas present I’ve ever received. He has finally realized he wants to be faithful to the real me. Maybe he did all along, but just didn’t know it, like his mother said. Life is just wonderful at the moment. I’m thoroughly excited about my future again for the first time since—I can’t remember, it’s been so long.
I’m very pleased, though somewhat uneasy, when I arrive home to see that Michael is already waiting for me on my front porch steps. I climb out of my car, and walk up the snowy pathway leading to my house, all the while my gaze glued to his.
He stands up and squeezes his hands into his pockets, his breath puffing in clouds around him, his body shivering.
“I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. I just had to see you.” He stares at me as if he hasn’t seen me in a hundred years or as if I’ve just returned from the dead.
“No problem. I just came from—” I was about to say from visiting my father, but there will be no more lies from these lips. “Why are you here?” My breathing has suspended, and now I’m shivering, too. Snowflakes start to fall around me, sticking to my hair and coat.
“Can we talk?” he asks, taking a hesitant step forward, the snow crunching beneath his feet.
My stomach does a summersault. “Is it something serious? Because if it is, I’ll have to make you wait until it’s not Christmas anymore,” I tease.
I see the relief
in his eyes at my attempt at humor. “It is serious, but I think it is also very happy.” Michael’s eyes darken and my heart skips a beat.
“Alright,” I say. I walk past him and he follows me up the stairs and into the house. Stepping inside, I notice that it doesn’t feel much warmer than the outside. I flip the switch to the lights, but nothing happens. Has the power been shut off? Oh, no. I forgot to pay the bill. Self-consciously, I turn to face him. “Well, this is just embarrassing,” I say.
“Power’s not working?”
I shake my head.
“Well…” He glances over at the fireplace. “Do you have any firewood?”
“Tons. Outside behind the house.”
“I’ll be right back,” he says and darts out the door. He returns in under a minute, carrying an armful of logs.
Right—matches. I go to the kitchen and search through the drawers. I know they’re in here somewhere. I find the shabby box in the bottom drawer and bring them to Michael. He has already stacked the logs in a neat pile inside the fireplace, and has stashed tightly twisted up newspaper pieces in between them.
“What are you like a boy scout or something?” I ask.
“Eagle scout,” he says with a smile that has me melting even though it’s freezing in here.
“Really?” I ask.
“That surprised?”
“Well, you haven’t exactly been a very personable, business partner. I don’t know much about your personal life.”
He gets an expression on his face like my comment bothers him. “What do you want to know?” He lights a few matches and throws them into the fireplace, the newspapers immediately taking the flames.
Just like that, he’ll tell me? I stare at him blankly for a moment. Of course now that I have the opportunity to ask any question under the sun, suddenly my mind draws a blank. Too much silence.
“Can I make you a cup of…water?” I ask, remembering I can’t make anything without the power.
The White Chapel: Book 2 in the Steamy New Adult Contemporary Romance Series (The Chapel Series) Page 2