He heard me, and pulled me up slightly by tugging on my restraints.
“There’s an upstairs?” he asked. The tone of his voice indicated that he either didn’t believe me, or maybe thought that I was asking him to trespass on someone else’s property.
“The keys are in my purse.”
He let me go, the sudden movement causing my head to fall back against the worktable. I was able to soften the blow so he wouldn’t be dealing with a concussion later. For the record, I was acutely aware that I could simply have stood up, but I didn’t trust my legs to support my full weight. My body was on fire, every nerve ending igniting with need.
Will returned in a matter of a few heartbeats, which was impressive in its own right because they were coming way too fast. I was coiled so tightly, release was imminent and would probably come embarrassingly soon. I wondered if he’d even need to touch me.
He sensed my eagerness, as well as my inability to balance on my own two feet. So without a second thought, he scooped me up in his arms, lifting me over his shoulder so my ass stuck up in the air. My front hung down over his back, and if I’d had use of my hands, I so would have grabbed his butt. Instead, it taunted me in those uniform pants of his as he walked aimlessly around the lower level of the studio space, searching for the hidden apartment. Enjoying the show, I let him flounder for a bit longer than polite.
“In the back, toward the bathroom,” I directed.
He headed in that general direction, still hesitant until we stumbled upon the hallway that led to the restroom, and in turn the door that concealed the stairwell to the space upstairs. As familiar as I’d become with the footprint of this building since being employed here, I had to remind myself that he’d had no prior reason to explore this space. It was almost surprising enough that he even knew where the studio was located. Before me, before this, he’d had no reason to care.
“There,” I prompted when the passageway was in sight.
I heard my key ring rustle in his free hand.
“Which one?” he asked.
A valid question; they all looked alike and I was in no position to help out. I shrugged, a motion which he undoubtedly felt given the sigh that followed. Fortunately, there weren’t too many keys on the ring: the front door to the shop, the apartment, one to Blake’s Trailblazer, and the other to her house.
At least he knew me well enough to know I kept my work related keys separate from my personal ones. And considering that those were housed on a ring that included a Lexus fob, they were easy enough to distinguish. But even if they weren’t, what more would I expect from someone who’d just admitted he had a photographic memory when it came to all things Gracie?
He got the door open on the second try and we both breathed a sigh of relief. The blood was starting to rush to my head. While it helped delay an orgasm, the sensation that caused wasn’t entirely welcome.
Will scaled the stairs with little effort. For a man that wasn’t overly built, I was terribly impressed. My body weight seemed of minimal hindrance in regards to our journey. He wasn’t even breathing hard when he lowered me gently down upon the futon.
Not until he drank me in, that was. My cheeks flushed, my jet black waves splayed upon the mattress like a halo, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I struggled to catch my breath. And my hands, notably absent from where they’d normally be at this point in the game: either down his pants or my own.
I shifted on the futon to make myself more comfortable. The handcuffs bit into my skin how he’d originally set me down. I was able to adjust the bracelets enough to stop them from digging into my wrists or my back.
“You’re so pretty,” he proclaimed.
I smiled up at him, his sincerity flooding my cheeks with color. The word choice was intentional; ever since that first night, that declaration was the one that always melted me into a puddle. It was his observation alone - slightly awkward and insecure, but so completely heartfelt that it meant more than any other adjective.
My core ached for him as he tended to undressing us both. Him first, the blue fabric of his police uniform dropping to the floor. He’d come prepared, unearthing a condom from the pocket of his pants before he let them go. Then his undershirt, then his boxers, until he stood fully naked and totally erect above me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t look away.
My mouth opened, my teeth drawing in my lower lip and releasing it with a shaky breath. He met my reaction and raised it one, his fingers deftly loosening the top button of my blouse. He continued down my shirt, planting a kiss each time on the newly exposed skin before venturing on. I was lifted from the mattress while he unhooked my bra, then returned to the futon.
Since he couldn’t remove my top without undoing the handcuffs, he did the next best thing. The shirt was parted to reveal the most chest possible, the shoulders pushed down as far as they would go. My bra was pushed upward, each breast having their turn with his attention. I was sucked, licked, kissed and fondled from head to toe, with the exception of my lips.
The torture was absolutely magnificent. I writhed under his touch, unable to reciprocate. Lord knows that I wanted to, but had I been able to, some of the magic would have been lost. My man visibly gained confidence with every moan, with every shudder of my body. So much so that when the tears came, they didn’t scare him off. Instead, he wiped them away with his thumbs and granted me what I wanted most.
Will tore open the condom packet and allowed me a moment of composure as he sheathed himself. Then he entered me, urgent and forceful, and I cried out in unison with him as we gave in to our building desire.
As expected, release was quick and all-consuming, leaving the both of us completely spent. Because I was otherwise indisposed, he busied himself with cleanup first before rolling me onto my side and unlocking the handcuffs. They clattered to the floor as he freed me from their grip, and my arms instinctively reached for him, pulling him to me.
He laid gingerly beside me on the futon, as if it would break now considering it hadn’t already. His head rested upon my chest, his ear directly over my frantically pounding heart.
“For you,” I whispered, voice thick with emotion, “always for you.”
He didn’t respond, simply because there was nothing more to say. So we lay in silence, save for the sound of our breathing. His fingers entwined in mine, loosely staking his claim, not yet wanting to completely let go. Even after we came down from the respective highs of our exertion, he still remained in place, refusing to leave the confines of the heady moment we’d created.
My eyes slid shut, a tactic to better remember the experience. My senses were heightened, and I knew without a doubt that I’d be able to relive this distinct event by sound, touch and smell alone. I imagined him doing the same, attempting to memorize the stroke of my bare breasts against his cheek as I drew air into my lungs, the echo of the blood racing through my veins, the scent of our sex mixed with that of the vanilla body spray I’d used this morning.
All too soon, his hand tensed, his fingers clasping mine and I knew what it meant without asking. I squeezed back, but didn’t open my eyes even as I felt him withdraw from me. He vacated the space beside me, pausing to throw on his clothes and pick up the handcuffs.
He had to go, and I had to pretend I was still interested in working the rest of the day. Emma would be home from school soon, and though she had been very understanding about our situation thus far, Will didn’t desire parading me in front of her like a trophy any more than I wanted him to. And since us going public was very new, I wanted to take baby steps with introducing myself into his everyday life.
So I didn’t watch as he left, waiting until I heard his footsteps on the stairs to open my eyes. I took my time dressing, buttoning up my shirt in slow motion before reaching for my underwear and pants, then my shoes. By the time I made it down to the first floor, I was certain he was gone, yet I still made a detour in the bathroom to check my reflection to make sure.
When I emerged into th
e back room, he was nowhere to be found, as I fully expected.
What I hadn’t accounted for was the dozen roses on the worktable.
Chapter Twelve
Lauren
The knock at my office door came so tentatively that I almost convinced myself I’d imagined it.
But then I heard it again, and my head raised up from the mound of paperwork outstretched before me. Eye contact was made with my visitor, and I immediately wished I hadn’t.
“What is this?” I quipped, “Visit With My Least Favorite In-Laws Week?”
Chris Taylor hovered in the threshold, all six foot whatever of him. Not quite as tall or as built as Matthew, most would still find him a formidable opponent in the looks department. If dark hair and chocolate brown eyes were your thing, which they weren’t mine. Especially not when tempered with the sarcastic, demeaning nature that always followed Blake’s husband like ozone.
My comment amused him, evidenced by the smirk that stretched across that supposedly handsome face. He leaned against the doorjamb like he owned the place, further pissing me off.
“So you’re saying I’m not welcome here?” he joked.
I sighed, my shoulders slumping as I gave in. He read my body language correctly and entered, knowing that with as much animosity that existed between us, I still wouldn’t be able to deny him outright. Anyway, if I would, he’d just wait for me out in the parking lot and accost me there. He’d done it before, and I knew he’d do it again if the situation called for it.
Apparently, he’d deemed something important enough to cross the enemy lines. I didn’t need two guesses to deduce what it was, at least in essence. Last night weighed heavily on my mind, too.
As if seeing him reminded me of the tension flowing between our spouses, I felt it in the back of my neck. My hand reached up to massage it away.
“I don’t go away that easily,” he laughed.
“Tell me about it. You’re like a cockroach.”
“I’ve been called worse, I suppose,” he mused.
That’s when I saw it. The peace offering that he placed on my desk. A white flag of surrender in the form of a takeout bag from the bar and grill down the road. Perking up, I tried not to look too impressed by his thoughtfulness, or too eager to see what it contained.
“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” he asked.
“Nope,” I confirmed.
Since he made no move to empty the bag, I pushed back my chair and stood up. I leaned across the desk, needing to stand on my tiptoes so my short arms could dig inside and unearth the contents.
“Shut up,” I breathed when he didn’t offer an assist.
There were two containers inside, obviously one for him and the other meant for me. But which was which? There was something that seemed inherently wrong about me rifling through things and touching his meal.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered as he shook his head. Apparently I was taking too long and he only had so much patience. The next thing I knew, my hands were being batted away and he was taking control.
With a flourish, he removed a styrofoam box from the bag, held it for a moment in his upturned palm as if weighing it, then handed it over to me. I took it from him, clearly questioning his methodology.
“Trust me,” he growled, “it’s yours.”
He took the remaining container for himself, plopping down in the seat across from me as if sharing lunch with me was the most normal thing in the world. He flipped open the lid of his meal and snatched a french fry, likely pretending it was my head and chewing it violently.
Before he could accuse me of being rude or unappreciative, I peeked inside my box. Expecting something akin to what he’d ordered for himself - some chicken fingers or maybe a burger - I simply stared when I saw what it was.
“You’re bribing me with steak?” I asked.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s actually really nice. Thank you.”
“Medium well, just like Gracie told me to order,” he admitted proudly.
So he’d done his research. A fringe benefit of him becoming close with my best friend, I supposed. But what were his motives? I was almost afraid to find out.
“I’ll be right back,” I said abruptly, smoothing the skirt of my suit down with my suddenly sweaty hands. “I just need to use the restroom.”
“Whatever,” he said with a shrug.
I breezed past him, turning around in the doorway to make sure this was really happening. Then I tore off down the hallway to the ladies room to get a grip.
Composure regained, I made a detour in the break room. George was refilling his coffee cup, and he watched intently as I rummaged through the kitchen drawers in search of what I’d come in there for.
“Everything okay?” he asked from over the edge of his cup.
“My brother-in-law is here,” I explained. The words themselves sounded strange on my lips, especially coupled with the knife that I now wielded.
George’s eyebrows raised, almost imperceptibly. “Should I be concerned?”
I followed his gaze, then laughed. “No, this is for my lunch.”
“Carry on then,” he suggested, lest I be a bad hostess. And really, the thought of keeping Chris waiting and giving him yet another nail to drive into my coffin was not appealing.
I returned to my office, the knife held behind my back so as not to draw too much attention to it. The bank was a rumor mill as it was, and I’d been on the receiving end of my coworkers’ suspicions more than once. I could only imagine the stories that were already being concocted about Chris’s identity. And me shutting the door to my office as I went back inside would only add fuel to the fire. But it was necessary. I knew without a doubt that he hadn’t come to talk mortgages.
“It’s for the steak, Chris,” I said as he too focused on the blade in my hand. “The ones they give you in the takeout bags are pure shit.”
He relaxed and went back to his lunch. Really, he had nothing to worry about. If it came to the two of us being in a knife fight, he’d win hands down. Even in tall shoes, the guy towered over me and there was no doubt that he could lift me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“What are you thinking about, Lauren?”
“Huh?” I snapped out of my reverie and focused on the true meaning of him being seated across from me. This wasn’t a social call. We didn’t do those.
“You’re wondering why in the hell I’m here, aren’t you?” he assisted.
“Among other things, yes,” I admitted.
Because I couldn’t stand to look him in the eye any more than I needed to, I fixed my attention on the steak, cutting it methodically into bite sized pieces. I knew he’d continue eventually, tiring of my stalling tactics. And truth be told, I didn’t really want him here any longer than he had to be anyway.
“He didn’t tell you what happened, did he?”
He was obviously Matthew, and my silence confirmed that he hadn’t. A self-satisfied grin spread across Chris’s face, as if he’d just ticked off a tally mark on a chalkboard in his head. He’d definitely scored one on me, and he was clearly ahead.
“I gathered that things didn’t go well last night,” I hedged, “but I didn’t press. I’m on a need to know basis, and if he wants me to know, he’ll share when the time is right.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard all day, Lauren.”
I speared my steak more forcefully than necessary. Of course he’d use my ignorance against me. I supposed he and Blake had had a heartfelt discussion after her brother had taken off and that Chris knew exactly what was going on. He had simply come to rub my nose in the fact that I was still in the dark, not to offer any solutions. For a split second, I’d almost believed he wanted to help.
“Hey,” he said, his tone softer than before. The change in his voice prompted me to look up at him again, and his demeanor had changed. Concern was etched over his features, and I shook my head to rid my brain of the mental whiplash. �
�You have a right to know what happened. In fact, I’d argue that you need to know what happened.”
“And you’re going to tell me?” I huffed.
Did I really want his version of events? They’d be hopelessly biased, painting Matthew as the bad guy and his wife as the angel that he called her. Granted, by thinking that, I’d done exactly the same thing, only with the roles reversed. Unless he was possibly seeing things from Matthew’s side? Would he choose his best friend over his wife?
“Look. I know that we don’t like each other. But the fact of the matter is that the two of us have plenty in common.”
My eyebrow raised.
“We’re both in love with Snyders, aren’t we?”
Reluctantly, I nodded.
“And Blake and Matthew aren’t exactly the type to air their dirty laundry for everyone to see. They internalize things, letting them fester until the last possible moment. And sometimes, they never let them out.”
I couldn’t disagree.
“Let me tell you something. I’ve grown up with them and probably know them better than anyone else. Even you.”
That stung a little, but I knew it was true.
“Blake wouldn’t talk to me about it last night.”
Bombshell dropped, he now had my undivided attention.
“But Lauren, I was there. I excused myself to the loft, but when things got loud, it was impossible not to hear. And don’t get me wrong; they’ve fought before, but this time it was the ugliest I’ve ever seen it.”
“I’m sorry, Chris. It’s all my fault.”
Guilt washed over me, the realization of what I’d set into motion finally catching up with me. My intentions had been pure, but I should have left well enough alone. Matthew and Blake had come to terms with the loss of their parents in their lives, and I had taken it upon myself to right that wrong. A misguided attempt that would cause more grief than it healed.
“Stop it, Lauren. Don’t beat yourself up about this. To be honest with you, I’d had dreams about this happening, about hatchets being buried and peace being restored.”
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