The White Chapel: Book 2 in the Steamy New Adult Contemporary Romance Series (The Chapel Series)

by Marilyn Cruise

  The charge between us is back full force, but this time, I feel calm and steady, not anxious and impatient like the other times we’ve been together.

  Michael tugs at my waist, encloses his lips around mine, and pulls me with him to the bed. He sits down, and has me stand between his legs while he rests his head against my abdomen. I notice that the sheets have been changed and that they’re now white.

  I run my fingers through his soft hair, and he wraps his arms around my legs, just holding me as his heart beats steadily against my thighs. I’m no longer afraid of losing my heart or of being hurt by him. If he needs me to give him up for him to be happy, I’ll do that. If he needs me to be strong for him, I’ll be that. If he needs me for healing sex, I’ll give him that. Whatever he needs, that’s what I’ll be. For him, anything.

  He lifts up my shirt and kisses the skin on my abdomen, the feather soft touches causing my nipples to harden against the inside of my bra. Wet patches collect on my skin, but not just from his kisses. When I look down, I see tears glistening his cheeks. I lean down and kiss them away.

  He slowly stands up as his hands drag across my abdomen, my breasts, and my shoulders, all the way up to my face.

  He takes my head in his hands and kisses me tenderly, his lips just barely skimming mine. I let him set the mood and the tempo, only mirroring what he does because at this moment, nothing I do is for me, only him. Only what he needs.

  He starts unbuttoning my emerald silk blouse, the material tickling my skin. He pulls the shirt off me, and reaches around to my back and unhitches my bra clasp. I pull my bra off, and let it fall onto the floor, my body zinging with anticipation.

  When he grabs my right breast and puts my nipple in his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around and around, I gasp. “Oh, Michael.”

  He pulls his shirt out of his pants and I undo each button until his firm, broad chest is revealed. I let my eyes drag across the hills and valleys of his tight physique, the sight and smell of him highly arousing.

  His soft lips press against my shoulder and I wrap my arms around to his back, pulling him close so my breasts rest against his hot skin. My heart speeds up.

  “Thank you for staying,” he whispers.

  “Whatever you need, Michael. I’m here.”

  His mouth finds mine, and then his tongue slips between my lips, grazing mine softly. He slowly swivels us around so that the back of my legs press up against the bed, and ever so gradually, he guides me so I end up lying on the mattress. While I pull my pants down my hips, he grabs my right leg and tugs the pant leg off. He grabs the other one and slides it off my leg so I’m left in nothing but my underwear.

  I watch him intently as he takes his pants and boxers off, his erection springing free. Fully undressed, he walks to the side of the bed and lies down next to me. His warm smooth skin brushes against mine, causing me to shiver in delight.

  “God, you’re so beautiful,” he says.

  His fingertips trace my arm, sending delightful electrical currents through me. He kisses my shoulder as his fingers make their way to my stomach, every stroke pleasurable beyond expression.

  With one deft move he’s on top of me, kissing me deeply, while one hand gropes my side, the other interlacing with my fingers above my head.

  His erection is hard and warm against my stomach, and he moves his hips back and forth so he rubs my sex, causing me to shudder in anticipation.

  This is a side of him I haven’t seen before. Tender. Soft. Gentle. Nurturing.

  Vulnerable.

  Beautiful.

  Without taking his lips from mine, he slides inside of me, and I moan into his mouth as I feel his fullness stretch me to the brim. He moves ever so slowly and ever so subtly, causing that low burn to build deep within, that acing throb to awaken.

  Oh, God, I want him to go faster, but this isn’t for me. This is for him. Whatever he needs.

  “Sweet Scarlett,” he says, his hands ravishing my body, as he picks up speed ever so slightly.

  He’s killing me!

  “I love you,” I say. I am fully aware that he probably doesn’t want to hear that right now, or that he won’t return the affection, but I can’t help say it. It is what I feel inside. It is what’s true.

  He presses his lips hard to mine, grinding against them as he starts to thrust a little harder. But his thrusts are still not as forceful as before—gentler, rocking my body, crushing me with his hips.

  “My angel,” he says as he kisses a trail from my lips to my ear.

  I feel myself rise higher and higher toward that delicious peak as he buries himself inside me at a painstakingly slow pace.

  Oh, faster, please…

  Suddenly, he flips us around and sits up, so I end up on top of him, my knees on the mattress, straddling him.

  I look into his eyes, dark blue irises, and in them I see admiration. Tenderness. Grief. Love.

  As we gaze into each other’s eyes, I move my hips up and down over his erection, the pleasure unspeakable. With one warm hand he grabs my hip, with the other, my shoulder, and every time I come down, he shoves me hard as he thrusts his hips upward, his shaft delving into me.

  I lean my head back and let out a cry as I feel myself build.

  “Yeah, baby, yeah,” he says.

  “Faster,” I finally speak. I can’t hold back.

  He picks up his speed, slamming into me so I immediately climax, bursting into a great big explosion around him. He reaches up with his other hand so he has one hand on each shoulder now, and jerks me downward, making his erection tear into me over and over.

  He flips me over again so he’s on top, his hands on the mattress, and his trusts become aggressive, his face warping in anger.

  What changed?

  What is he thinking about?

  What is he mad about?

  Me?

  His mother dying?

  Whatever he needs…

  He comes down onto one elbow, and with the other he grabs my ass. Pounding into me, he starts to sweat, but instead of slowing down, he speeds up.

  He thrusts deeper and deeper, faster, and faster, making me cry out in pleasure. Oh, angry Michael is hot. I absolutely love this!

  He shoves himself upward and in, the friction of his cock massaging every angle of my inner walls, heat rising like red flames until I come completely undone. I yell his name as I find my release.

  But he keeps going.

  Angry.

  Hard.

  Thrusts.

  His eyebrows low over his eyes, his pupils boring into mine. I grab his hair and pull hard. He lets out a moan, and then he pulls out of me, his glorious, full erection springing free. I hate how he has pulled away, but I quickly see it as an opportunity to offer him more pleasure. I sit up and enclose my mouth around his girth.

  He gasps and lets his head fall back with a sigh. “Shit.”

  The way he reacts is music to my ears, making me want to pleasure him more. MAke him forget the pain and think of nothing else that this moment.

  My tongue circles around him again and again, and then I start to suck on him hard. Sheathing my teeth with my lips, I draw him deeper into my mouth, all the way to the back, filling me with his length. I pull back, squeezing my lips together hard just as I reach his tip. I do it again, faster, and again.

  “I’m going to come,” he says, his voice thick with need.

  I suck harder, and he finally finds his release in my mouth with a loud, angry cry. I swallow the salty fluid down, and let him go as I lick my lips.

  He collapses into the bed beside me and lets out a long sigh. For a moment he lies still, panting, his arm resting over his eyes. I kneel next to him and wait to see what he needs next.

  Grabbing my arm, he pulls me in close, nestling me in his arms.

  “Thank you for that,” he says.

  I’m not so stupid that I think this changes anything, but an overwhelming feeling of joy fills my chest, knowing I could be there for him when he neede
d someone. I just wish it meant something more to him—that he could see how good we are together even though we’re two broken souls just trying to make it.

  “Why do you love me? Why?” he asks, squeezing his strong arms around me. He kisses the top of my head.

  I lie still for a long while, trying to come up with a rational answer to his question because surely there is one, isn’t there? But after wracking my brain, no answer can be found.

  “I don’t know. I just do,” I say.

  15

  He drifts off to sleep, and when his breathing turns steady, I carefully ease out of his arms so I can get dressed. I don’t turn the lights on since I don’t want to wake him. He needs his rest, because once his mother has passed there could be many sleepless nights ahead.

  I want my exit to be clean—no more heartache for the either of us. Especially not for him. I don’t want to be a means of irritation or frustration when he has to deal with the aftermath of his mother passing. He doesn’t need another problem to focus on. He needs time to sort out his feelings, to ease his way back into reality. And it will take years.

  When my mother passed, my entire world crumbled. She was the strength I had held onto for so long, the rock, and the foundation to my world. Michael hasn’t been open enough with me to the point where I can tell how he’ll cope with his mother’s death, but one thing I do know is that he loves her. I saw it in the hospital, how afraid he was, how out of control he felt. How no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop death from having its way. No matter how dysfunctional their family is, she’s still his mother, and there will be a mourning process he needs to go through.

  I just don’t think it will be very helpful if I’m there to remind him of the last dirty deal he made to ensure he’d receive his mother’s money.

  After having packed my bags in the trunk of my car, I head home. I think about calling Anne, but she’s at work. Then I think about visiting my father, but he’s probably sleeping.

  When I arrive home, I head straight to the kitchen, grab some tequila and pour myself a few shots. One after another, they go down, as I let the tears run down my face. Soon, I settle into an alcohol-induced haze that lessens the pain that is in my heart, and all I can think of is how wonderful it was to be back in his arms again, loving him, giving myself to him. Nothing feels better than that. Nothing.

  I crash on the couch and the last thought before I pass out is, “I love you, Michael Manning.”

  * * *

  The next morning I wake up with a monster headache. All the crying and alcohol are not good for me, and on top of that, I’m feeling the most depressed about my life I ever have. I hate myself. I hate where I’m at, and I’m the only one I have to blame for my woeful state.

  I hop into the shower and let the scorching water run down my body, wishing it could wash away all the crap on the inside, too.

  While I’m putting my make-up on, I hear my phone ring in the kitchen. I bolt downstairs and answer it just in the nick of time.

  “Hello” I say, panting.

  “Scarlett?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hey, it’s Michael.”

  My heart immediately squeezes at the sound of his voice. “Yes, I know.”

  “I…I just wanted to call you to let you know my mother died early this morning. She was surrounded by family, and she passed away peacefully,” he says.

  I hold my breath for a split second before letting out a nearly inaudible gasp. “Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry. I don’t have the words to express.”

  “The funeral has been scheduled for Friday at 10:00 a.m.” His voice is far too robotic. He must be distancing himself from what has happened just to be able to inform everyone. “Could you come, please?”

  He wants me there? A flicker of hope ignites inside my chest. “Of course, anything you need.”

  “Then I can also have you sign the annulment papers at the same time,” he says.

  I freeze, all my hopes suddenly crushed. But what was I thinking? Of course he wants to move on with his life as soon as possible. Get the business deal taken care of. Get rid of me. I just didn’t think things would happen so quickly. “Yes, of course,” I say as evenly as I can.

  “Thank you for being there for me last night. I wanted to let you know…it meant a lot to me.”

  “You’re welcome,” I reply, my voice thick with emotion. Despite what I had felt yesterday, that I was no longer afraid of losing him or having my heart broken by him, I feel utterly devastated. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thanks.”

  He hangs up, and I’m left to my own devices, my own sorrow and my own shame.

  Michael is no good for me, I reason to myself, Anne was right all along. He’s too absorbed in his own needs to see what I’m going through. For a moment I’m glad that things haven’t worked out between us. The worst thing that could happen is that we’d stay married, and then ten, fifteen, twenty years down the road, we’d find out that we still don’t trust each other. All that time would have been wasted, and I’m sure the sorrow would have been so much worse than it is now. It feels good to have that chapter behind me now.

  Well, almost. Okay, not at all.

  My heart is still a raw, festering wound. And neither Michael nor I have any idea what kind of an amendment to the will Diane has made.

  For all I know, I could lose my parents’ house. I could lose my car. I have no job. But at least I have enough money in the bank for a few months of my father’s treatments. And I’ll move in with Anne, get a new job, and start over. That I have. I still have my health and a new future where I can make things the way I want.

  Closing this door will be painful—the most painful yet—but once it’s closed, I’ll have another door to walk through. And somehow, I know I’ll be alright.

  16

  The next few days I immerse myself in finding a cancer treatment facility for my father. After interviewing several centers, I decide on the Portland Cancer Clinic because when I walk in through their doors I don’t just feel like a number. The doctors take the time to answer all my questions, and express with utmost sincerity that they will do everything within their power to cure my father.

  I also create a new resume, and send it out to dozens of hiring companies in the greater Portland area.

  Of course Anne is eager to have me move in with her, and has already cleared the one side of her room. I’ll be living in tight quarters, but it doesn’t matter. It’s only temporary until I can afford my own place, at which point I’ll be moving in with my father to take care of him until he finishes his chemo.

  I still haven’t broken the news to my father about having to sell the house. I thought I would wait until after he started his treatments, but I have contacted a realtor, and the house goes up for sale this weekend. I’m hoping the bank will accept a short sale since I owe more on the mortgage than what the house is worth.

  Friday is quickly here, and with so much happening to improve my life, I feel better about the whole annulment thing. Well, at least that’s what I tell myself.

  I dress in the black dress I wore to Michael and my first date at the Portland Grill, apply subtle make-up, and head for the Portland Episcopal Church. When I arrive, the parking lot is filled to the brim, so I have to park on the other side of the road and walk about a quarter of mile.

  Walking into the church, I see Michael up at the front next to the closed casket, surrounded by a slew of people. The entire church is filled with flowers, the sweet scent flooding my nose. Even from here, I see how my soon-to-be ex-husband’s eyes are red, and how his cheeks are sunken. Michael sees me and raises his right hand to greet me, but doesn’t come over.

  I don’t quite know how to approach him, or if I even should, so I sit down in a pew by myself, and wait. Without missing a beat, he strides across the church and takes my hand in his, pulling me to the front.

  “Sit with me,” he says.

  Oh yeah. We still need to ke
ep up appearances. As we walk through the walkway in between the pews, everyone smiles at us as we pass them. No one knows the main reason I’m here is to fill out my annulment papers, and they probably think we’re still happily married.

  Although he’s dressed in a really nice black suit, black shirt and dark gray tie, Michael looks awful. There’s a look that grieving people have, and if you haven’t been in that place, you wouldn’t recognize it. But it’s a raw, courageous look, not suffering or agonizing. Just empty. Just brave.

  I see it in Michael’s eyes, the exact same look I had when my mother passed. Part of me wants to reach out and console him, help him through this rough time, and the many more rough months and years to come.

  But I can’t.

  He leads me to the pew in the front, the very one we sat in when we first met here. Oh, God, it seems like a lifetime ago. He glances at me, giving me a thin smile, letting me know he’s thinking of it, too. Interlacing his fingers through mine, he kisses the top of my hand.

  Shivers run through my spine.

  The hundreds of people who have showed up are reverent, and slowly make their way to their seats. A few individuals I don’t know come over and offer their condolences to us, telling Michael he must find at least some comfort in having someone to share the sorrowful days ahead. If only it were true.

  The service is lovely, filled with all sorts of stories about Diane Manning and her life. She accomplished so much, but between the experiences, I know there was a sea of loneliness and pain, a woman who was tormented by her demons just as much, if not more, than anyone else.

  Michael speaks too, and though he looks strong at the pulpit, his eyes dry, I know he’s hurting on the inside.

  Once the service is finished, we head outside to the back of the church and lay Diane’s body to rest. Michael clutches my arm the entire time Reverend Summerlin speaks, but although his face overflows with grief, still, not a single tear falls from his eyes.