Isabel Sharpe
Page 20
“I…don’t—”
Melanie put her hands to her shoulders, started flapping. “Buk-buk-buk, buk-eek.”
Tricia laughed and drew her in for a long hug. Melanie buried her head in her mom’s shoulder. Her life was coming together, finally. Family and love. Marriage and children with Edgar. Children she could be a solid, steady mom to, stay home at night—most nights—and bake cookies, join the PTA, drive them to soccer…. Someday.
Right now, tonight, she had something much more fun in mind.
EDGAR LAY IN BED. He wasn’t sleepy; it was only eleven, but he hadn’t been able to keep his mind on books or TV, didn’t want to practice fencing, the kitchen didn’t appeal, neither did bars or movies or concerts—in short, he was in a prime, grade A funk. To make it worse, Kaitlin and Stoner had come over before going out again—he hoped soon—and were laughing and being revoltingly goopy in the living room, something he didn’t think his brother would stoop to, but that’s what love did. Edgar would rather do just about anything than have to be around that, so he figured if he was going to be brooding and miserable, he might as well do it in his room, in bed, in the dark, so he could be truly and outstandingly pathetic.
Stoner mumbled something in the next room, which made Kaitlin giggle. Edgar drew the sheet over his head. Maybe he had earplugs somewhere, but theoretically Goopy and Giggles were leaving soon, and anyway, he didn’t have the energy even to remember where the earplugs were.
A knock on the door; Stoner answering. Probably one of the friends they were meeting for a night of dancing and drinking and titillation and fun before they crashed at Kaitlin’s house and got to screw each other’s brains out all night long. Kaitlin had already quit her job at Caffe Coffee and signed on as the band’s PR director, revamping their Web site, working on getting a buzz to go viral online. When she graduated from Marquette in December, she’d be traveling with the band, and most likely whip them all into shape. Edgar was glad for Stoner. When love hit like that…
He groaned and turned over, his face pressed into his pillow until his need for air overcame his need to punish himself. What now? For him, what now? See if he could salvage something from the horrible mistake he’d made with Melanie? Leave her alone to calm down and think over how she felt? He didn’t know. Maybe he’d misread her. Maybe he was a hopeless romantic thinking his love could be enough to cure her restless searching in all the wrong places. Maybe she really was too damaged by her upbringing and experiences with her mother to let herself commit to one man. Maybe in ten years she would, maybe twenty—he couldn’t put his life on hold that long to find out.
If nothing else, she’d given him a lot. More confidence in himself and the value of what he had to offer women. He’d have that for the rest of his life even if he didn’t have her.
He groaned again. It was the part about not having her that he wasn’t sure he could survive.
His bedroom door opened. He stiffened. What the hell? Had Stoner left something in here?
“What’s going on?”
“Shhh.” The door illuminated a silhouette for a brief second before it closed.
He knew that silhouette. Knew it inside out. He even knew that “Shhh.” His heart started pounding. Melanie wouldn’t come all the way over here tonight to reject him again. Had she changed her mind? About marrying him? He didn’t care. She was here.
“Kaitlin!” He pretended annoyance. “If you want something, just say so.”
“Yeah, I want something,” she whispered. He heard the sound of clothes being taken off, hitting the floor.
“Again?” He grinned, his cock stirring immediately. “Look, kid, I can have sex only so many times a day.”
Silence. No more clothes noises. “You—”
“Melanie.” He threw back the sheet. “Get in bed.”
“Why you—” She hurled herself in with him, wrapped her body around his. “I thought—”
“Never.” He kissed her, touched her everywhere. “I know you, Melanie. You could call me on a terrible connection from the middle of Antarctica in the middle of the night, not say a word, and I’d recognize you from your breathing.”
She laughed softly. “In that case you’re a complete pig to put me through that, even for a second.”
“I’m sorry.” He stroked her hair, tried to stop himself from hauling out bondage materials and tying her to his bed so she’d never leave again.
“No.” She put a finger to his lips. “I’m sorry. Sorry I freaked out so badly last night. I really do love you, Edgar.”
Oh, thank you, God. He could get down on his knees and be grateful the rest of his life and it still wouldn’t be enough. “I love you, too, Mel.”
She kissed him, drew her tongue across his lips, kissed him again. He tried very hard to stay sweet and supportive, but she was in bed with him, wearing only underpants, which was driving him completely insane. She felt so good. She smelled so good. She was so good.
And maybe now, finally, now, she’d really be his.
“It was my fault.” He stroked her, up and down, stopping demurely at the small of her back. “The last thing to do to someone recovering from commitment phobia is demand commitment before she’s ready.”
“I am ready.” She wrapped her legs around his hips, started a gentle pulsing rhythm against one of his favorite parts. “Mmm, getting readier all the time.”
“You are?” He took charge of the rhythm, dipped his hands under the elastic of her panties. Was she talking about—
“Yes, Edgar,” she whispered.
He had to be sure. “Are we talking about sex or commitment?”
“Keep doing that and you’ll find out.”
He groaned and untangled their legs, yanked down her panties and made her writhe to the point of gasping with his tongue, then he grabbed a condom and rolled over her, pinioned her wrists over her head and looked into her beautiful blue eyes, darkened from desire. For him. Plain old Edgar. “Let me ask you again. Are you ready?”
“Yes-s-s.”
He slid inside her; they rocked together, feverishly, impatiently, greedy for each other, familiar but also new tonight, a beginning.
She held his shoulders, turned to whisper in his ear. “Ask me again.”
“If you’re ready?”
“To marry you.”
He lifted, looked down into her adored face and felt the rest of his life’s happiness contained in this one awesome, humbling moment.
“Melanie, my incredibly beautiful and sexually arousing love, will you marry me?”
She giggled, brought his head down for a long sweet kiss, then met his eyes, hers honest and clear of doubts. “Yes, Edgar. I will marry you. Because of all my sexy and exciting bad boys, you’re the most sexy and the most exciting. And the only one I’ll need for the rest of my life.”
Epilogue
Society Page, Milwaukee Tribune, December 22
ALANA HAWTHORNE WAS married to Sawyer Kern last Saturday in a moving ceremony at Church of the Gesu in Milwaukee. The weather cooperated, providing a chilly but brilliantly sunny day—the predicted snowstorm passed to the south. Sources close to the bride revealed that she’d been performing antisnow dances with Mr. Kern’s nephews all week long.
Ms. Hawthorne wore a stunningly elegant strapless embroidered lace sheath gown, adorned with beads and sequins, that emphasized her slender height and dark beauty. She was accompanied down the aisle to the strains of a Mozart quartet by her soon-to-be stepfather, Jim Bronson, who presented her to her groom beaming with pride. The entire Kern family and the cream of Milwaukee’s fine citizens were arranged throughout the spacious church, the nave of which was nearly full.
Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer Kern celebrated their marriage immediately afterward at the exclusive University Club of Milwaukee with lobster, filet mignon and champagne. The newlyweds took time off from their work at the Kern Family Foundation supporting local artists to honeymoon in St. Thomas.
Harley Museum Newsletter, June
On May 8 we hosted the marriage of Jim Bronson and Tricia Hawthorne outdoors on our grounds by the Menomonee River on an overcast but warm day—unusual for spring in Milwaukee, right? The bride looked beautiful in a cream-colored linen suit, the groom dapper in jeans and a black leather vest.
After witnessing the happy couple’s vows, the few dozen family members and close friends feasted on Solly’s butter burgers and Usinger brats washed down with Wisconsin beer. The “cake” was an enormous mountain of cream puffs, the annual Wisconsin State Fair favorite. Music was provided by the fabulous Paul Cebar and his band Tomorrow Sound, and all passersby were encouraged to join in the dancing, which they did in droves.
The couple purred off on Jim’s vintage Electra Glide bike to honeymoon on the shores of Lake Michigan in northern Wisconsin’s Door County. Jim and Tricia plan to move to Florida at the end of the month, where Jim will establish a new photography studio and Ms. Hawthorne will launch a career as a children’s book author and illustrator. Her first work, The Calendar Witch, will be published by Kent Press next June.
Letter postmarked June 30, Santa Fe, NM
DEAR FAMILY AND FRIENDS,
Yesterday Edgar and I had the best day of our lives. First, he won a bronze medal in the fencing match! While he was standing on the podium I thought I’d explode with pride. To celebrate we went out on the town—yes, I even got him dancing. That was last night.
This morning…brace yourselves. We’re married! It was so beautiful. We got the license yesterday and then by some incredible chance, there was an opening at the magistrate court today, and we jumped on it. I know you all wanted to be there, I’m sorry for that, but when we arrived here, we realized we just couldn’t wait any longer (no, Alana, I’m not pregnant). He is everything I’ve ever wanted—thank God I grew up enough to realize that—and it’s more and more miraculous to me every day that he thinks I’m as wonderful as he does.
I promise we’ll have a second ceremony in Milwaukee or maybe just a party when we get back, but for now we are Mr. and Mrs. Edgar Raymond! I’ve never been more sure I’ve done the right thing and I’ve never, ever been happier.
Sending love, see you next week!
Melanie
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5495-8
SURPRISE ME…
Copyright © 2010 by Muna Shehadi Sill
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*Men to Do
*Men to Do
**Do Not Disturb
†The Wrong Bed
††The Martini Dares
‡Forbidden Fantasies
‡‡The Wrong Bed: Again and Again