"Don't look at me like that, Baby Cat, you know you don't like men in our bed until you've approved them first. Although, I'd appreciate it if you gave this one a chance. At least he's studied the map and knows how to navigate his way around the cartography."
Sweeping her off the floor into my arms, I snuggle my chin against her fur and reassure her. "In fact, he's quite the explorer."
Pulling back, she nips at my ear as if to remind me that things rarely work out that easily, accidentally scratching my hand in her struggle to break free before leaping from my arms.
"Damnit, Daisy, you're killing my buzz." Staring at me reproachfully, she stalks to the bedroom without looking back, tail in the air like a true diva. When did I start feeling the need to justify my sex life to my pet? Probably when I could no longer pretend that I was okay with the decisions I was making.
Two am. Surely it can't be that late? I should be exhausted, but instead, my mind just recycles scenes from the night as I wander into the kitchen, the blue flame under the teapot flaring to life.
Mark cooking in the kitchen. Mark on his knees in front of me. The stretch in my calves as my ankles hooked over his shoulders. The feel of my body folded so tightly against him I couldn't take a full breath, instead needing to breathe through him, through our kisses.
Just as suddenly, the vision of Heath shivers through my consciousness. Me on my knees straddling him, the warmth of his fingers curling inside me, the heat of his lips burning against mine. Lotus, indeed. Two very different sides of the same position. One allowing me to control, one forcing me to release control. Yin and yang…and yum!
The need to write through it makes my palms itch as I grab my tea and curl up on the couch with my laptop. Lady Sydney has some exploring of her own to do.
* * *
"Em, I need you to read some new chapters." My jaw cracks loudly with the wide yawn that only increases my blurry vision as my eyes begin to water.
"Josie," her muffled voice says from my cell, "what the hell? It's seven am. What are you even doing up? I can't read with my eyes closed, and they're not opening for another hour at least."
"I haven't been to sleep yet," I yawn the last word out, "but I'm heading there now. I had a long night, and felt inspired to write. I just wanted you to know there were chapters in your email. I'll call you later, when I wake up."
"Mmmm… Hmmmm…call meeee…" Disconnected, I throw the phone on the desk. There's nothing left to do now but sleep. At least my mind has settled into pure exhaustion. The slip of the sheets around me feels like heaven as my head hits the pillow, and I'm drawn down into nothingness.
* * *
The smell of garlic and ginger wakes me up to the sound of a hot pan sizzling on the stove. I'm suddenly in the kitchen, trying to add more ingredients to whatever this is, but I don't know the recipe. All I know is that someone is expecting me to serve this dish and that it needs to be perfect. The flames build higher as I try to remember what it is I'm supposed to be making, when suddenly, a cookbook appears next to the stove.
I frantically turn the pages, looking for the answers, but the recipe isn't in there. Mostly because it isn't a cookbook—it's my book. Why am I searching my book for a recipe? The flame flares under the pan once more, catching the edge of the book, the pages beginning to curl and blacken.
I rush to the sink for water to dowse the inferno, but it's too late. The pages have all curled in on themselves, flaking into ash and staining the pristine marble of the countertop. Dipping my finger into the soft pile of coal ashes, I streak black trails down my face, echoing the wet tears now streaming from my eyes…
* * *
Daisy's soft yowls tear me from the dream, my head darting upright from the pillow still wet with my tears. Wiping them away with the back of my hand, I'm shocked to see that it's three o'clock in the afternoon. How could I have slept the day away?
Slowly, I sink back into the mattress as I revisit last night, and my frantic typing until dawn forced me to bed. I've taken being a night owl to new extremes. The heaviness in my head is only a little worse than the dryness in my mouth as a sleep hangover threatens to take me under once again.
Flipping my phone open on the nightstand, I groan at the number of alerts signifying missed messages and calls. Two missed calls from Mark. I wonder if they were an apology, or a pep talk? Apparently, not important enough, or maybe too important, to leave a voicemail.
One friendly check in text from Heath.
Doolittle: Hey, tried you last night. Wanted to see if you were up to dinner. Call me.
I will definitely have to think about how I want to respond there.
Finally, three missed calls and five text messages from Emma.
10:00 Josie WTF?
10:30 Are you kidding me?
10:45 You Jezebel, call me!
10:58 Oh. My. God. Halle-fucking-lujah!
1:15 Josie, where the hell are you? Call me damnit! You can't leave me hanging like this!
I wonder what on earth has gotten into her, before reality slams me awake and I remember sending her the latest chapters that I wrote before falling into bed. Ha! Got you, Em! You thought I couldn't do it.
A self-satisfied smile tilts my lips as I think about my new chapters. Honestly, I never meant to stray that far, but once Lady Sydney and Lord Roderick ended up on the horse together, things just seemed to combust. It's like the characters started speaking for themselves and nothing I could do would reign them in.
Poor Jane would turn in her grave if she could see me now. This is certainly not the world of polite society that I usually write, and the thought energizes me. Something changed last night, and whatever it was, I finally felt free in my writing. For the first time, the story told me where it wanted to go, something I didn't believe was possible. Now I need to make sure that I can get back to that place again.
The weight of Daisy hitting the bed is a reminder that the day is already half gone. I need to make use of the next couple hours to see if I can get a few more chapters in before the end of the night. This will take at least a quad shot of espresso. The phone is in my hand before I even finish the thought. Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone by bribing Emma to bring it to me.
I wonder how much new chapters are worth to her?
* * *
The pounding on my door rips my thoughts from the page where I've been immersed for the last half hour. Struggling to my feet, I set my laptop on the armrest of the sofa to let Emma in.
"Geez, Em, no need to break the door down," I grumble, flipping the deadbolts and pulling the door open. The sight of the venti Americano immediately quiets my bitching as I reach greedily for the cup, quickly taking a long gulp. I instantly regret those actions as scalding heat begins to blister the back of my throat.
"Shit!" Stepping back quickly, I gulp fresh air as if that can cool the burning, before giving up and sipping again more tentatively, the aroma of hazelnut and cream easing the ache.
"Do you have more chapters? When did Lord Roderick take over? What happened to Lord Cedric? I thought he and Sydney were going to fade into an HEA," Emma demands, sweeping into the room and dropping her own cup and some waxed bags on the coffee table.
Ignoring the questions, I reach for the bags, groaning in pleasure at the sight of croissants stuffed with spinach and cheese.
"God, where did you find fresh croissants this late in the day?" The words are muffled as I take another quick bite, realizing how many hours it's been since I had dinner, and dessert, at Mark's last night.
"Stop stalling. Are there more chapters?" Emma's hands reach for my laptop. I consider stopping her, then shrug and chew my way through the buttery goodness of flaky pastry.
"Not really. I was just trying to get back into a groove." Flopping onto the sofa beside her, my bare heels thunk on the coffee table, and I rifle through another waxed bag, this one filled with ham and cheese croissants. Taking a bite, I mumble with a full mouth, "I swear these are almost better t
han sex." Remembering last night, I smile and reconsider. "No, I lied—not even close."
Emma finally takes in my smile, setting aside the laptop, before grinning wickedly.
"Now I get it! Or you got it. Tell me, who did the dirty deed?" she teases. "Was it dirty? Please tell me it was dirty." Her eyes flick from my laptop to me again in satisfaction. "Yeah, it was dirty. Okay, spill. It sounds like Heath is more of a freak than I would have expected, although a man who reads omegaverse…"
The smile falls from my face as quickly as it came, causing Emma to frown. "What's wrong? Why do you suddenly look like you're going to cry?"
The croissant suddenly tastes as dry as sand as I look at Emma mutely, swallowing loudly before dropping the bomb.
"It wasn't Heath. It was Mark."
Her look of wonder turns to delight, then chagrin as she examines my face and realizes the problem.
"Let's start at the beginning. Why do you look so crushed? Because judging by that," her eyes flick to my laptop again, "and your earlier expression, it sounds like it was pretty great."
"It was amazing," I admit slowly. "I didn't intend for it to happen, I just thought I was helping him with—" I quickly change my words. "A project." No matter what happened, Mark's business is his own and not mine to tell. "We ended up at his place so he could show me his kitchen, and one thing led to another, and yeah. It got hot and heavy." My smile twists with the memory. "I'll say one thing for him—he is focused when it comes to cooking."
"I'm going to take it that cooking is a euphemism here," Emma jokes.
Laughing lightly, I agree, "He certainly knows how to spice up a kitchen."
"So why the letdown all of a sudden? You went from looking like the cat that ate the canary, to someone that looks like they lost their favorite pet."
"What will I tell Heath?" My voice is practically a whisper. "I really like him, and I don't want to hurt him." My words come out more strongly. "Don't you think I owe him the decency of at least telling him?"
The warmth of Emma's hand covers my own in sympathy.
"I liked him, too, but if he's not the one, and Mark is rocking your world, then you should let him down gently. Just because you're cutting him loose doesn't mean that you can't be friends."
"I'm not ready to let him go."
"I get it," Emma says with exasperation. "I just said there's no reason why you shouldn't still be friends. Unless you think Mark will be jealous?"
"I don't want to be just friends, and Mark won't be jealous in the least." I stare at Emma, not knowing how to say the words I'm afraid to even think, as she continues to frown at me.
"So, you'd give up great sex with Mark just on the promise of what Heath might offer?"
"No, because the sex with Heath was pretty damn great, too," I admit. "Although not quite in the same category as Mark's, but it definitely had the potential to be."
Silence reigns as Emma continues to stare at me, her mind trying to process my words. "Let me get this straight. You've been seeing Heath. You like Heath. You had sex with Heath."
I nod quickly in acknowledgement.
"When did you and Heath have sex?"
"The night we had dinner with Mark at Lulu’s."
"So, last week."
I nod again.
"Then last night you fucked Mark." I wince at Emma's pointed tone. "He rocked your world, but you would still rather go back to Heath and don't know how to tell him you fucked Mark?"
"Not exactly." I take a deep breath before letting it all out in a rush. "I want to keep seeing them both for now. I like them both, and I don't know how to choose between them."
Crickets. Really, it's getting to be twilight, and I can hear the chirping of crickets outside as the silence stretches between us. Who even knew there were crickets in the city?
"Excuse me, do you know where my friend Josie is? Because you're tripping, and I'd like to talk to her right now."
"Sarcasm does not become you, Em."
"Josie, do you have any clue what the hell you're saying?"
"I'm pretty sure I do." God help me, I do. "What I don't know is why after all the teasing and badgering about my love life, the constant complaining that I need to get laid, I thought of all people, you'd be the one to understand and not make me feel bad about it." Even I'm surprised by the note of hurt that creeps into my voice.
"Bad? Girl, I'm in fucking awe! What are you going to do? What are they going to do?" Emma's eyes are as wide as stars now, shining with a glee that can't be contained.
"I don't know," I moan. "That's the problem. Obviously, Mark knows, and for the record, he doesn't care what I do with Heath. As long as he gets 'equal time and benefits,' was the way he put it."
Emma's laugh peals until I quell her with a look.
"What do you think Heath will do?" She sobers at my serious question. "How will a man whose wife just cheated on him react?"
"Ouch. That's a tough one. It could go either way." At my serious nod, she continues, "What will you do if he refuses to play?"
"That's the question isn't it? If he's not willing to play his hand, do I just fold my cards and walk away? I don't even know the rules of this game. It's not a situation I ever imagined myself in."
The heels of my hands press firmly against my eyes, calming the dam of pressure splitting my head in two. How could something that felt so good just a short while ago feel so wretched now? Does the reality ever live up to the fantasy?
"Hey, calm down. The reality is right now, you hold all the cards. You have something they both want, and if I were a betting man, I'd say that Heath may just up the ante and call both of your bluffs."
"Well, I guess we'll see who's bluffing all right. For now, I have to figure out how to invite him into the game without tipping my hand. Any ideas?"
Closing her eyes, Emma takes her time before answering.
"Yeah. You invite them both out to dinner—neutral territory, public place. Then you set up the rules of the game."
Chapter 19
Dressed to Drill
There's laughter in the parlor, deep masculine tones accompanied by the sound of chairs scraping across wood floors and booted feet moving around the room. The heat of the ballroom is stifling. Ladies wave fans languidly as they observe the dancers with critical eyes, wondering how Miss Hersham convinced Lord Starling to stand up with her. Apparently, inheriting one hundred pounds per year is all it takes for a moon-faced heiress to snag a lord these days.
Tired of the games, I turn back to the parlor where gentlemen have gathered for cards. Waiters slip like ghosts among the tables pouring deep garnet glasses of port, silently palming the chips thrown their way in careless thanks.
The bodice of my dress is so tight, I can barely take a deep breath. Not for the first time, I wonder why we ladies allow ourselves to be encaged in the ruffles and stays that hamper our movements and rob us of our autonomy, like pretty flowers in a fenced garden just waiting to be plucked.
As I turn away, I catch Lord Roderick's attention, deep in a hand at a corner table. His smoldering eyes touch something that twists inside me, although I refuse to acknowledge it now that our illicit encounter has been put behind us. Glancing to his card partner, I stiffen to see Lord Cedric facing him across the table. Why is Cedric here? And more importantly, what is he doing with Roderick? Their relationship, while friendly, has never been close.
Cedric's glance shifts my way, surprise filling his eyes as he sees me standing indecisively in the doorway, before glancing back at his cards. Roderick's eyes follow, and I realize they're not holding cards, they're holding pages of my book.
Rushing toward them, I reach for the pages, wanting to rip them from their grasp. My words are not meant for them. As if anticipating my fevered approach, Cedric finally tips his pages toward the candle, casting them down on the table as Roderick laughs, watching them burn…
* * *
I jerk awake at the beeping of the alarm, entangled in the sheets, sweat dr
ipping from my body. Disturbed by my thrashing about, Daisy leaps from the bed, meowing in protest. Glaring at me like I'm insane, she hunkers down on the floor with her ears back and her fur fluffed in distress before scrambling under the bed.
This is getting ridiculous. At what point did I lose my mind? Just believing that Heath and Roderick—I mean, Mark could ever coexist in a liaison with me is ludicrous. I've shown I can barely support one relationship. My skills, or my conscience, dictate that I choose.
Why did I ever set up this dinner, or think it was best to do it in public? I'm going to look like a fool when they both get up and leave me sitting at the table alone.
Mark won't, my inner diva whispers, making me wonder if that's true when the pressure’s on.
Great! The beeping of the snooze alarm reveals just how long I've been twisting my thoughts around this to no avail, and now I'm going to be late to work again. I congratulate myself for finally giving someone else keyholder privileges at least. It takes a bit of the pressure off, knowing that I don't have to rush. Besides, Marco is a good kid. Not counting his lack of judgement in playlists, he's proven that he can handle some extra responsibility. If I didn't think he'd laugh at us, Nate and I would like to give him some of the unofficial management load.
For now, I need to focus on my professional strategy, and I tend to think best when doing some of the more mundane tasks of the day. While brushing my teeth, I continue to ponder how to lure Marco into taking on some responsibility without the pressure of 'leading.' I swear, these kids act like they're expected to narc on all their friends, just because we ask them to be accountable for a single damn thing.
When did everyone become so averse to responsibility? Hell, we used to jump through hoops at that age and offer to do anything that would propel us up the next rung of the ladder. Are people so self-absorbed now that they can't be bothered to think of helping or leading anyone else, or are they all too afraid of failing?
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