by Karen Booth
I smiled, threading my hands underneath his shirt, up across the flat plane of his stomach, until it was over his head and gone. He never failed to take my breath away when he wasn’t wearing a shirt—the tiny patch of coppery brown hair in the middle of his chest, broad, wonderfully bony shoulders, his trim waist from countless laps in the pool. The sight still made me feel like a hormonal teenage girl.
He unzipped my black dress pants, leaving them to slide to the floor, while I unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. The instant he was down to his blue and white striped boxers and I down to my lacy black boy-shorts, his arms quickly reined me in, causing me to arch my back. I rose up onto my tiptoes and he kissed me hungrily, his tongue sweeping along my lower lip as I matched the intensity of his kisses. His hands dipped lower and pulled my hips into his.
“I need to get you horizontal,” he huffed against my ear.
I grabbed his hand and led him to the bed, placing one knee on the mattress edge. With a firm hand, he flipped me over. The soft and silky fluffy white comforter puffed up around me like a cloud. I walked back on my elbows to the center of the bed, watching him move in on me. Chris followed like a tiger on the prowl, purposefully planting his hands on either side of my hips when he reached his destination.
He pressed his lips against the base of my throat and started a red-blooded descent, blazing a trail down my chest. There he settled in the flat spot between my breasts, which he knew drove me crazy—take-me-now crazy. He dropped down onto his side next to me, and kissed my shoulder. “There’s no way we’re going out tonight. I want to make every inch of my bride happy.” He circled his finger on my belly and slipped his hand down the front of my panties.
My eyes were about to roll up into my head as he rotated his nimble fingers, good for so much more than just guitar playing. “Oh, God.” I smashed my face into his chest. It took everything not to sink my teeth into him out of pure need. “Whatever,” my voice quaked, “you want.”
I hitched my leg over his hip and he settled his chin on the top of my head. The pressure wasn’t merely building with the precision of each pass—I felt like a shaken soda bottle about to explode. “Chris, honey. Slow down a sec.”
“Just relax, Claire. I want to make you feel good.”
I dropped my shoulders, my eyes fluttered shut, and he went faster and harder—sending the top right off that soda bottle. My breaths became deeper, ragged, hitching every few seconds as wave after wave broke through and faded, slowly bringing me back to earth, except that being in bed with Chris never felt as though it was on earth.
“Kiss me,” I said, my breaths now delivering fuller doses of oxygen.
His mouth was on mine, soft and giving, tender and wet, his hands otherwise occupied, shimmying my boy-shorts down my hips. I reached over and hooked my fingers over the waistband of his boxer shorts, doing the same for him.
“I love you so much,” I cooed into his ear as he eased me to my back again.
He hovered over me. “You have no idea how happy you made me when you said yes this morning.” His words and lovely green eyes stoked the fire inside me.
“You have no idea how happy you made me when you asked.” I raised my torso and rested on my elbows, stretching my neck to bring my mouth closer to his. As our lips met and tongues tangled, he seemed to follow my every cue, or perhaps we were perfectly in sync. I could have kissed him for a lifetime—all of it perfect, but never enough.
With gentle pressure on my lips and some strategic placement of body weight, he urged me to recline back down on the bed. I hooked my ankle around the back of his leg, caressing his thigh while I tilted my hips to make it plain how badly I wanted him. He rocked against me and kissed my neck, stopping short of giving me the gratification I craved.
I groaned when he hit an especially frustrating spot. “Chris, I need you.”
“Mmm. I love hearing you say that.” He nudged my ear with his nose. His breath came in hot puffs against my neck. “But I don’t like to leave you waiting for too long.”
He positioned himself between my legs and it felt as if the world fell away. Together, we had something that would never be duplicated, a love unlike anything I’d thought possible. It was ours, a singular experience.
His lips traveled down my chest to my breast as he began to rotate his hips at the end of each thrust. It didn’t merely feel good, it felt as if my brain was turning to sticky toffee pudding and couldn’t have been happier about it. His tongue wound circles on my skin and sent electricity zipping through me. I responded by wrapping my legs around him tighter, digging my feet into the backs of his thighs. When that wasn’t enough, I reached down and grabbed his incredible ass, with both hands. He got the message. Big time.
With new force, his thrusts became more insistent and I did my best to keep up. We kissed—hungry, passionate, staggering kisses that left me light-headed. It felt as if the peak was circling around me, sometimes perilously close, other times teasing and elusive. Once it barreled into me, I was gone.
Every wave of physical pleasure bloomed in my mind, dots of color dropped on to a canvas, spiraling and changing of their own will. He groaned and buried his face in my neck. His body tensed in my embrace and let go, his familiar bodyweight gradually coming to rest on mine.
I wasn’t sure where I stopped and Chris began and it was of zero consequence. He was mine. All mine.
Chapter Five
“That was ring-worthy, Mrs. Penman,” I said, kissing Claire softly and taking in her appealing post-lovemaking scent. Honestly, I’ll buy you ten rings after that.
“I don’t even know what that means, but I agree,” she muttered, rolling her neck.
“I’m buying you a Tiffany ring tomorrow and however beautiful and stunning it might be, it won’t come close to matching that.”
“Poor little jewelry store. They never stood a chance.”
“Not with us, they didn’t.” I pecked her on the forehead, just as my stomach growled with a vengeance. “We need food.” I rolled out of bed, fetching the room service menu from the bureau.
Claire peeled back the covers, granting me an unobstructed view of her pert breasts and smooth stomach. The hollows of her collarbone were stunning—I wanted to pour champagne into them and drink them dry. She swished her hand seductively across the mattress. “You sure? I think I can exist on you alone.”
Everything below the waist tightened and not because I was hungry. I eased into bed next to her. “I need the chance to gather my strength.” I thumbed through the pages. “What do you want?”
She scooted next to me and wormed her head into the crook of my armpit. “Whatever we get, it has to involve dessert.” Her delicate fingers stretched across my bare stomach, sending cues to my groin.
It’ll be a miracle if I don’t have a stiffy by the time room service gets here. “I like where you’re going with this. So you want me to decide?”
“Just promise you’ll order something green.”
“Got it. One something green and one something sweet.”
I picked up the phone receiver and pressed the button for room service. “I’d like to place an order, please.” The woman who’d answered put me on hold, but I had to get Claire. “My fiancée has worn me out and I need sustenance.”
She popped up on to her elbow and narrowed her stare, admonishing me with a headshake that made her hair fall into her face. So hot.
I stifled a smile. “Yes. Great. We’ll take a Porterhouse, medium-rare, with fries, the roast chicken and I guess you’d better give me the vegetable medley with that one. Oh, and chocolate mousse. Two spoons.” I looked down at her sparkling blue eyes and winked at her. “And a bottle of the Prosecco.” Claire nodded. “A half hour? Perfect. I’ll be sure to put on some clothes by then.” I hung up the receiver and tossed the menu onto the nightstand.
She giggled. “You’re so bad.”
“That’s not what you said earlier.” I inched down far enough for her to rest her head on my chest. “This is perfec
t.” I combed my fingers through her mussed hair. “I don’t think I could want much more than you, naked of course, and a steak.”
“I vote that we never leave this hotel room.”
“That can be arranged.”
“We might start to miss our family and friends. Speaking of, did you talk to Graham?”
“I did. He and Ang both are both ecstatic.” My heart felt as though it had taken off in a gallop. How long had it been since I’d had something so happy to share with my oldest friend? Too damn long. “They both send their best, although I think Graham sends more than his best.”
She laughed, her tittering, musical laugh. “Sounds like him.”
“He also had a bit of a proposition for me.” Let’s see how this goes.
“Oh yeah?”
“He wants the band to do some shows, in New York. Radio City Music Hall. He’s already spoken to our booking agent.”
She bolted upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. “A Banks Forest reunion? Seriously?”
I scanned her face, somewhat taken by surprise. “He thought you’d be happy.”
“Are you kidding? I’m ready to start jumping up and down on the bed.”
I laid back and folded my arms behind my head. “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll watch.”
She kneeled next to me, earnestness painted on her face. Her eyes were bright and eager, a total turn-on. “I’m serious. This is really exciting.”
“I have to say, this is more enthusiasm than you show for most things.”
She crinkled her forehead and pursed her lips. “That’s not true.”
“It’s not a criticism, darling. I’m merely saying that you aren’t easily impressed.” I cleared my throat. “If things go well, Graham wants to go into the studio and record a new album, possibly tour after that.”
She took my hand. “Wow. Really? What did you say to that?”
“I told him I’d think about it. Not sure I’m ready to commit to all of that. I’ve said yes to the shows and we’ll see how it goes.”
“It’s certainly a lot to think about. There are a lot of moving parts to our life right now.” She gnawed on her fingernail. “I actually have my own wrench to throw into the this. I got a job offer today.”
“New writing assignment?” I got up and plucked my boxer shorts from the floor. “Water?” I reached into the minibar for a bottle.
“Yes. Please. And while you’re up, can you grab my pajamas from my suitcase?”
I unzipped her case and rifled through her clothes. “How long did you think we’d be gone? There are enough clothes in here for a Trans-Atlantic cruise.”
“A woman needs options. You should know that by now.”
I located a tank top and lounge pants, and tossed them to her. “Tell me about this new writing assignment.” I wandered over to the towering windows. The night sky had taken a rich, inky blue turn after a murky gray start.
“When I said job, I mean a job. A full-time writing job.” She threaded her arms through the tank top. “As an editor. But I’d also write features and do interviews.”
“There’s a job like that in Chapel Hill?”
“Will you please come here and sit down?”
I smirked and traipsed over to her, slugging down my water. “Sorry.”
“Let me start over. Laura Simmons, from Vanity Fair called. You met her in LA, remember?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“She’s starting a new magazine and wants me for entertainment editor. The offices would be here in New York, but she said I could stay in Chapel Hill. She’d only need me up here one or two days a month.”
Guilt washed over me. My enthusiasm for her news in no way matched hers for mine. “That sounds brilliant. Really, Claire. You’ve worked so hard.” She’s worked harder than hard. She’s worked her ass off.
“So you think I should take it?”
Bloody hell. How do I know? “You should consider it. I guess my only concern is that part of the genius of being a freelance writer is that we’d have flexibility when the baby comes along. You’d be giving that up. We’d be giving that up.”
There was a knock at the door—room service, with the world’s worst timing. Or perhaps it was the best timing, giving me a moment to regroup. I got up to let them in, trying to get past the feeling that I was being a selfish prat. Granted, there was a big difference between a handful of shows and taking a new job, but it still made me wonder why I couldn’t simply shut up and be happy for her.
The bloke from room service wheeled in our food, but I declined to have him set things up for us. I signed the bill and showed him the door.
“If you think about it.” She climbed out of bed and joined me on the couch. “This will at least be more predictable work. I’ll know exactly what the expectations and workload is like from the beginning.”
“Being an editor is a big responsibility.” I set down our plates and removed the metal domes. “Damn. This steak looks good.”
“I know it’s a lot of work, but it’s an amazing opportunity.”
“I’m not discounting that at all, darling. Really, I’m not. But I don’t want you to get so wrapped up in the opportunity that you lose sight of how it will change our life.” I popped a french fry into my mouth and opened the Prosecco.
“I don’t even know what that means. Do I not get to be excited about this?” She stabbed a piece of broccoli with her fork, but didn’t eat it. Instead, she looked at me with disappointment.
“It’s no different than the Banks reunion. I could get swept away with the excitement that comes with being on the road and recording an album.” Pour the Prosecco, Penman. “I love doing those things, but they’ll take away from our time together. We need to be realistic about what our life is going to be like with a baby.”
“I worked full-time when Sam was a baby and I didn’t have a husband to help me. Rosie next door babysat her on weekends when I took a waitressing job to make ends meet.” She watched as I filled the glasses. “I can juggle this. I’ve done it before.”
Chapter Six
Well, that’s it. I tossed the wrapper in the trashcan and washed my hands. We’d already had time to deal with the disappointment. The confirmation was merely a somber dose of reality. Why does this have to happen on the day we go to pick out my engagement ring?
I emerged from the bathroom. “It’s official. I got my period.” I forced a smile, and it took even more effort than I thought it would.
“It’s okay, darling. We already knew that, didn’t we?” He pulled me close and I sank against his chest, taking in his warm and musky smell.
“We did. I’m just bummed. The tests can be wrong sometimes.”
“Let’s focus on the positive. We’re going to buy you a big fat diamond ring today.”
“Big and fat are two words I definitely would not use when describing jewelry. That doesn’t really seem like me, does it?” I’d had this discussion with Chris about dozens of things since I’d met him—cars, vacations, dessert.
“I want to buy you the ring you deserve.”
“I have a feeling that if I had the ring you want to buy me, you’d need to hire someone to hold up my wrist for me.” Chris lacked very few things, but he did lack restraint.
He chuckled, zipping his overnight bag shut. “I’m sure Lou would love to move to Chapel Hill and make some extra money.”
In the elevator on the way down to the lobby, I had to broach the subject that I’d been waffling about since our talk. “I checked my email while you were in the shower. The offer from Laura came. The money is really good.” Better than good. There was a time, not particularly long ago, when I would’ve fainted at the notion of the starting salary. The problem with impressing Chris was perspective—it probably wouldn’t seem like more than a pittance to him.
“I knew I should’ve made you take a shower with me this morning.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, as the elevator doors slid open.
&n
bsp; “It means that I wanted to take a shower with you. It has nothing to do with the job.”
“Are you sure? Because I need you to be honest with me.”
He took my hand and we walked to the front desk, where he dropped off our room key. “Checking out. The room is under Penman.” He turned to me. “I want you to be happy, so that means I want what you want. If you want the job, take it.”
“That’s not really the answer I want. I was hoping you’d be excited for me.” His unwillingness to tell me that everything would indeed be okay if I took the job, left me that much more uncertain.
“You’re all set, Mr. Penman.”
Chris unhooked his aviators from his t-shirt. “Claire, I’m extremely excited for you. Truly. I just want you to know that you don’t have to take it.”
The doorman opened the door and Chris placed his hand on my lower back. I glanced up at him as the sun glinted off his sunglasses and had the most bizarre flashback to the day we met. More specifically, to five minutes after we’d met—when every last thing out of his mouth was infinitely fascinating and he could fluster me just by uttering words that began with “p”.
I scooted across the backseat of the waiting town car. Chris took my hand. That was all I really wanted—the two of us, together. Everything else was gravy, even if I’d worked my ass off to get this far in my career, and even if not writing wasn’t an option for me.
We zipped along Sixth Avenue, hitting small pockets of traffic along the way. Lou pulled up in front of Tiffany & Co. on Fifth Avenue, and Chris squeezed my hand, hard, before we climbed out of the car. The Manhattan air was thick with inescapable summer heat and yet I couldn’t have cared less as we strolled past the engraved stone facade, through the glass front doors, into the most famous jewelry store in the world.
The maze of glass cases, stocked with shiny, magical things amidst shocks of Tiffany blue sent a flutter of excitement through me. A hum of quiet talking amongst the scores of salespeople in black blazers and greater numbers of eager shoppers filled the room. Jobs and career choices seemed so insignificant. We’re getting married.