He was certain she could sense his feverish need for delivery behind his yearning groans.
She helped him get there.
Her delicate, womanly hands pressed against his butt, pulling him even further into her. Her nails digging into his skin electrified him.
Her own groans and whimpers stimulated him.
He rode her, let his manliness show itself, lost control. All he could think of now was satisfaction. Taking what he wanted. All he could think of now was snatching something for himself simply because he needed it.
He slammed her, pumped her, rubbed himself by her tightness.
He got on his knees, lifted her by the waist, thrust into her so she yelped. Her butt was off the bed, held up by her feet behind him and his hands under her ass. She was howling now, urging him on. "Yeah, baby, come on, yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, baby. Yeah!" she cried.
She slammed her pelvis into him.
Sweat dripped from her thighs and from his abs. Her bouncing breasts made him weak.
Sounds of smacking skin-on-skin echoed from the walls, laughing at him.
He was lost, delirious, lacking blood in his head, light-headed.
It was her shudder that brought him back, her clenching, her tightening around his cock. Her groan was so primal, so earthy, so low and barometrically deep, that his gun fired.
Finally.
It was Nirvana.
He blasted, poured himself into her.
She rocked and crashed against him as they came together.
It was Shangri-La, watching her shatter under him.
Their groans—their mutual groans—were pure animal. Meaningless, and yet, so full of meaning.
His echoed hers.
He kept thrusting her meek body against his while he just, simply pounded her. Completely taken over by instinct now.
Every slam was music.
Every cry was music.
Their mutual breaths, in sync, were music.
In the end, he collapsed on top of her.
She kissed his ear, rubbed his hair with trembling hands. Kissed him more, his cheek, his nose, his lips.
He felt his own body quiver with hers, his hands shaking by her waist.
Her eyes hunted his. He could barely look at her.
The one thing Mitchell Langford knew about women, was how to lose one.
The thing he didn't know, and for the life of him could not figure out, was how to keep one.
There would be no more debt after tonight, he realized.
He might even need to take out a loan.
-12-
Jacqueline thought of her son in the morning. She called him from the balcony while Mitchell prepared breakfast for her inside.
She could get used to that.
"Hey, you having fun?" she asked William.
"Yeah." She heard the chugging of the train in the background. They were no doubt already on their way to Aunt Nora.
He sounded bored. "What is it?"
"I was reading."
"What you reading?"
"The Heroes of Olympus."
"Is it any good?"
"Yeah."
William was obviously not missing his mother as much as she was missing him. "You looking forward to seeing Aunt Nora?"
"Nana says she'll give me a present."
"Nana will give you a present?"
"No, Ma, Aunt Nora will give me a present."
"Well, if she doesn't then don't take offense."
"No, Ma, Nana already said she would."
"Well, that's nice of her. Don't forget to say Thank You."
He huffed. "Yes, Ma. I always do."
"OK, mommy loves you. Have a good time."
"Yeah."
"And?"
He mumbled, "I love you, too," no doubt embarrassed by his "cooler" and much older cousin—weighing in at a whopping nine-and-a-half years old. "Can I go now?"
"Yeah, call me if you need anything."
"OK, bye!" He hung up.
Only when she got inside did she realize how cold she was. She tightened her robe around herself and put the phone on the counter.
Mitchell was slaving at the stove. Bacon and eggs sizzled and filled the room with their smoky fragrance.
Without thinking, she went up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, rested her head on his back.
She felt one of his hands rub against hers in front of him while a spatula in his other hand worked away at the pan.
"Everything OK?" he asked.
She took a deep whiff of his showered body and the fresh cotton of the robe she'd loaned him. "Everything's bloody brilliant."
It was indeed brilliant. That is, until Mitchell would leave.
This one was going to sting.
Mitchell turned, spatula in hand, he bent down to kiss her lips once. He'd intended it to be fast. But that Kiss...
That dastardly Kiss...
It kept him there.
"Bacon's gonna burn," she said.
"Let it."
She wanted to let him continue, but even for Jacquie this was getting too difficult.
She'd kiss him again later, certainly. They'd make love again, absolutely.
But she couldn't let him continue kissing her like this all day and at every hour.
She wouldn't be able to let him go.
She played it cool, played it bad. She smacked him on the ass and said, "I'm hungry!"
He purred, "Oh, Jacqueline Conway, so am I."
The statement sizzled her.
Mitchell felt her hesitation as he pulled in once more to meet her lips. He decided to let it go. Something obviously wasn't OK.
But it wasn't his place to ask.
Maybe he'd overstayed his welcome. He could live with that.
Jacquie had a son. He understood it wouldn't be right for the boy to grow accustomed to a man who wouldn't necessarily become the equivalent of his father.
He finished up the breakfast and placed it, with a stylish sprig of parsley garnish, in front of her. "Sorry, but there's no coffee."
"I don't drink coffee," she said.
"That's why there isn't any."
Jacquie pondered what to talk about. She'd noticed the snow had stopped somewhat outside. Surely Heathrow would be open again today. Surely Mitchell would be able to fly home now if he wanted to. Maybe even tonight.
Her heart iced up at the thought. The fried egg currently moving down her throat actually went cold.
The one thing Jacqueline Conway knew about men, was how to throw one away.
She didn't want to throw this one away. Not yet.
Mitchell mused on what step to take. He couldn't quite evaluate her. She sat with her eyes to her plate. The only sound was the sound of cutlery scraping against it.
He could play it cool, pretend that it had been fun, and that he should be on his way now. That would be the way to play it if she wasn't interested in anything serious—which it looked like she wasn't.
He could make love to her again, unsheathe her from her robe and press his tongue against her mound and lick her sweetness up until her thighs spasmed against his ears.
Oh how he wanted to make love to her again.
And again.
And again.
But he felt now, unavoidably, that he was perhaps imposing.
Damn it, he hadn't been this uncertain about a woman since Number Zero!
Jacquie made an abrupt statement. "I have a son, Mitchell." She continued to look at her plate.
He tried to break it down. What did that mean? "Sure, I understand. And so you can't commit—"
"No." She looked up at him, fork dangling. "That's not what I'm saying." Her eyes were liquid, trembling. "All I'm saying...is that I have a son, and that I have to think of him."
Mitchell fought for understanding. He'd be damned if he was gonna tell this woman how much he liked her only to have his heart broken again afterwards.
Hopeless romantic. That was his flaw. Ruthless in business
. But in romance? Jelly. Whenever the right woman came along—and he was absolutely certain of it now, that Jacquie was indeed the right woman—and he was instantly defeated.
He wouldn't do that to himself.
He'd had his three strikes. He was benched. He'd long since accepted that he was destined to spend love in the spring of it and get out before it ever hit its winter.
Always.
"Jacquie, you don't have to worry about it. I understand."
Did he? she wondered.
Did he really understand that she actually liked him? That she'd like to maybe even date him? You know, go for dinners and talk over wine and...heck, fuck under the covers whenever they wanted to. Just to see where it went.
Did he truly understand these things?
Or did he "understand" that this had been a quick fling—arranged by her own family mind you!—and that, like Christmas Day, the gifts had been unwrapped and now the fun was over?
She was too proud to chase a man. William was her life. And, in the final equation, he would always be her first choice anyway should it ever come to that.
So why confuse things?
"Good," she said. "Good that you understand."
The room went cold.
Knives and forks scraped as they ate.
Then, "I just want you to know," she said, "that, I'm cool either way, I mean, if you'd like to spend a few more days, fine by me, or, if you'd like to leave, no problem. I don't want you to feel pressured either way."
She waited.
"What would you like me to do?" he asked. The question was direct. It was the businessman coming through, she observed. Straight answers, no bullshit.
"Uhm," she said... But she didn't finish. In her mind, she had a lapse. She realized, now, that she'd let herself actually and factually fall for this man. And that was no good. The pressure of it was too much for her. Too complicated. "I can't fucking believe this," she mumbled. "Fuck."
She regained her composure, looked up at him, and said, "Like I said, Mitchell, I...have a son...and...he's my priority."
The point was coming across loud and clear to Mitchell Langford.
He knew how to lose a woman.
He always had.
"Well," he said, "I guess I'll just be on my way then after breakfast."
He watched her downward gaze.
And then he saw the tear break loose from her eye and fall on her plate. He saw her hand tremble on the fork.
She got up abruptly, sheltering her face from his eyes. "I just need the bathroom. Excuse me."
In Mitchell's mind, he was confused as hell. It would probably be best if he just left. He'd most certainly overstayed his welcome. And he felt like an idiot for putting her in the uncomfortable position of having to gather up the courage to let him know politely that the fun was over. He should have known better.
A few minutes later, when Jacquie came back out, Mitchell was already dressed. Suit and tie.
It was probably for the best, she figured. They'd shake hands and part ways. She'd go back to raising her child. He'd go back to eating competitors for breakfast.
And fucking lots of women, no doubt.
"I'll be out of your way soon," he said.
"Uhm, sure, sure, uhm, no rush."
No rush? What the fuck was this girl actually thinking!
Damn it. He added to his list the one other thing he would never, for the life of him, be able to do either: Understand women!
He put on his coat, grabbed his luggage. Jacquie had settled by the kitchen counter, her eyes red.
He was so darned confused by it all, by her reactions.
One more kiss, he thought. One more. This can't end like this. We're adults for Pete's sake!
He put his luggage by the door, went over to her.
He'd kiss her goodbye. It would be the best damned kiss he'd ever give someone. He'd do that at least.
Fuck what she thought. Fuck it if she wanted him out of her life or if she wanted him in it but couldn't do it because of her son, or whatever it was that she wanted!
Fuck all those damn things.
He would kiss her now, and he'd kiss her like he damn well wanted to kiss her.
He'd kiss her like he loved her.
Because, God darn it, he did!
He loved her endlessly.
Standing above her now, with all the control and certainty he could muster, he cupped her cheeks in his palms and breathed his soul into her, taking some of hers with him.
Jacquie felt her lips tremble. She felt her defensive walls shatter and the confidence she'd always carried about herself, collapse.
Tears broke loose as the gentle man's lips warmed her chest and made her heart race so fast he could bloody well fly home on that damned engine if he wanted to!
She got off the stool, almost fell from lack of strength in her legs.
She grabbed his cheeks in return.
His damned kiss. The bastard! Why did he always have to kiss her like this?
Why did he always have to kiss her...like he loved her?
She felt her teary moisture on her cheeks now.
She wasn't sobbing, but she was indeed crying. And that was OK. She deserved a good cry once in a while.
She also deserved to fall in love once in a while.
She thought at a mad pace. She processed and figured and considered and wondered and...What if?
She wanted him inside here again, yes, but she wanted something else more. She simply wanted...him.
Fuck her bloody pride!
This man hadn't made a huge name for himself in business by not taking chances.
She'd take a leaf out his book and do the same!
Fighting for breath, she asked him this: "Mitch—Mitchell..." She fought for air. He wasn't making it easier. His lips tried to block her from speaking. His hands were all over her, hunting, questing. "Mitchell, please—"
He kissed her even more. She kissed him back.
She felt her erogenous zones swell and she knew she needed to rein this baby in now or she might never get another chance.
"Mitchell! Damn it!" He paused, so briefly, then started moving toward her lips again. She cut in and said it! "Mitch, what if—what if... I mean..."
"Woman, speak, damn it, or I'm going to take your clothes off and you'll have to hold the thought off for another hour!"
His eyes were predator's eyes, ready to take her.
Oh, God. She fought the urges down.
"What if—what if—" She braced herself. Then, finally: "WHAT IF I WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN?"
"What? I'm right here. I'll be here for days."
"But you said you'd be going—"
"Jacqueline, you're confusing me. You've been confusing me all morning."
"I know. I know. But...what if...what if I wanted to see you...uhm...romantically...again?" Pause. Swallow. "Later."
"Romantically?"
"Yes, dinner, that sort of thing."
"Are you asking me out to dinner?"
"I suppose I am."
"Then I'd say yes." He moved in to kiss her once more, thirsting for her.
She held him back. "Wait."
He liked this, liked her assertiveness. He waited. Because she'd told him to.
She was playing boss now.
And, hell, he liked it!
"What I'm trying to say is, what if I'd like something more than...just...sex?"
"Isn't that what we have now?"
Years of romantic fear came back and slammed at her. She fought it down. "Is it?"
Mitchell laughed. "I was...kind of hoping it was."
"So...what you're saying is...you'd like to date me...as well?"
"I would. If possible."
"But how would it work? Would you come to England? Would you...see other women?"
He cocked an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Sorry, just checking," she said.
"I'm in London often, but I could come here more often if you wanted."
"I have a son, Mitchell."
"You mentioned that."
"I can't...be...with a man around him. It would confuse him."
"I understand completely. We'll be discreet in the beginning."
She was out of excuses.
"So that settles it then," she said.
"Settles what?"
"We're officially...dating?"
"Looks like it."
For the first time, she smiled.
Mitchell's heart melted. There were those patches of red on her cheeks again. But this time from shyness, not from temperature.
He would date her. He would dine her.
But he wouldn't marry her. Oh no.
Because all the women he married, he lost.
And he had no intention of losing this one.
This one, he was damn well gonna keep!
For good.
Epilogue
For three more days and three more nights, Mitchell Langford pleasured Jacquie Conway in ways she'd never dreamed possible. His tongue touched her in spots no man's fingers had ever reached.
And she did the same.
He swayed into her, held her, felt her.
Loved her.
They took a walk, watched the snow melt, watched it again when it fell once more.
He told her of his life, of his mistakes.
She did the same.
When little William returned from Aunt Nora's, Mitchell took a step back, let Jacquie be a mother, let the boy experience the normalcy to which he was accustomed.
But William quickly grew to like him.
It helped that Mitchell was a PlayStation fiend.
Mitchell extended his stay. He spent New Year's Eve with the Conway family, Skyping with his own when it hit midnight at both ends of the world.
His mother looked good. She looked happy for him. She looked particularly happy when he "introduced" her to Jacquie.
She'd never looked that happy with any of his previous girlfriends.
He assumed this was some maternal instinct he would never come to fully understand.
Mrs. Conway also looked happy, suspiciously so.
He appreciated her efforts.
At the end of a PlayStation game that William kicked Mitchell's ass on the next day, little William asked him a question.
"Are you going to marry my mum?"
Mitchell Langford sat there stunned. Then: "Would you like me to?"
The boy thought on it a second. "Stick around a bit. I'll let you know."
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