“Are you close, kitten?” I ask through labored breath.
She yanks her body closer to mine and whispers in my ear, “I’m there, sailor.”
“You can’t scream your head off,” I remind her.
“Okay,” she pants.
The recollection of those voices becomes a dare that fuels my carnal voracity. It intensifies each one of my thrusts.
I work the swinging motion of my hips with force until I feel her teeth digging into my shoulder.
“Aaaah,” she gasps against my skin. She clenches her muscles around my cock so hard it takes my breath away.
“Oh, God, your pussy, kitten,” I grunt.
“Jesus,” she chokes. When she bites my shoulder again, I lose it.
“Christ,” I growl.
I shoot my load deep inside her pussy, releasing an embarrassing amount of cum. I swear, I spew my cum for a solid minute.
Bloody hell.
That was fucking amazing.
I hold her in my arms for a very long time before breaking our embrace. I pull away from her and search her eyes.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She nods.
“Words, Charlotte.”
“That was an epic release, sailor. I’m sure my bikini bottom is ruined. Now I really do need a shower. And food.”
We both laugh.
“Deal. Let’s wash up and then we’ll have dinner. Once we’re both satiated, I can gorge on you to my heart’s content since I won’t be fucking you on empty.”
CHAPTER 33
Charlie
"Who’s calling me?" I ask out loud as I look at the unknown number flashing on my phone. “Oh, well,” I shrug, dropping the phone back on the bed.
Since I'm on a mission, I don't bother answering. I turn my attention back to the pile of designer clothes, accessories and delicate lingerie scattered on the bed.
"How the hell am I going to manage all of this?" I shake my head.
My phone rings again.
Same number.
Strange.
"Bollocks."
I ignore it.
By the third time, I realize someone is determined.
"I might as well get it over with," I mumble.
“Hello,” I say, picking up.
“Charlie, sweetie. How are you?”
“Julianne?”
"It's me!"
"Are you still in Corsica?"
"I'm still in paradise," she laughs. "Thank God I have a brand new iPhone and I can finally talk to my baby sister."
"I'm glad to hear your voice, Jules."
"Ditto, sweetie."
"What happened?” I ask. “From what Terry told me, your phone was stolen at that all-inclusive frivolous—I mean private and exclusive—resort?"
"Sweetie, it's been God awful."
Huh?
"Aren't you paying an exorbitant amount for this? I’d think it would be top-notch."
"It is. And that's my gripe with this place."
"Translation, Julianne."
"It's one of those spas that serves a holier than thou diet—no sugar, no oil, no white pasta, no white rice, no potatoes, no bread, nothing fried, forget about French cheese… and the list goes on.”
I get the picture.
“That sounds rough.”
“Exactly. Even Jesus had bread and wine."
I laugh.
"Indeed, he did."
"I knew you'd understand. Needless to say, booze isn’t on the menu and desserts are a sin punishable by God himself. I just couldn't take it anymore. Another guest and I decided to cheat."
"Oh, no. That doesn't sound too good."
"You know me. I need real food," she laments.
"What did you do, Jules?"
"Ursula—she's this feisty Swiss girl and my partner in crime—and I grabbed a taxi to a restaurant in town so that we could stuff our faces with as much fatty food and French cheese as humanly possible. Of course, that involved plenty of French wine. In my drunken stupor, I left my phone behind and it was nowhere to be found the next day when I went back to fetch it.”
"Seriously?"
"The nerve of the wanker who stole my brand new phone?”
"I'm talking about the sneaking around, Julianne."
"Well, a girl has to do what a girl has to do," she justifies.
I crack up.
"Jules, why did you travel that far just to be tortured?" For Julianne, a life without desserts and her beloved nightly glass of wine—or two—is cruelty. "You live in the land of fad diets. Doesn't everything originate in California?"
"Kenner is away for business in Australia for three weeks. I wanted him to come back to a slender version of me. I didn't want to end up at a spa where I might know other women who’d be onto my secret—hence Corsica, France."
Kenner Ó Sé is Julianne’s husband of three years. He's a successful dotcom multimillionaire. They met four years ago in London. He was already forty-eight—she was thirty-two—and he'd never been married. Kenner isn't at all who she imagined herself married to, but the outspoken Irish-American is perfect for her.
"I think your husband would notice regardless. Ditto for the ladies in your entourage."
"You wouldn't understand," she snaps.
"Julianne, your husband loves every single inch of you," I remind her.
"Says the slender swan of the family."
“Julianne, give it a rest."
She's been saying that rubbish since the day I was born. I hate it. Like I had any say in the way I look. She puts herself down for no good reason. She's gorgeous. Even with a loving husband, Veronica does the same stupid thing.
"No, seriously, Charlie, you inherited Daddy's genes. God graced Veronica and I with Mum’s genes—we’re short, plump, we have unattractive heavy tits that sag, loads of cellulite and forever more we’ll have to fight temptation. For the love of God, I gain weight every time I walk into a pastry shop back in California. I don't even have to buy a thing."
She can be so dramatic.
"So when are you going back to London?" I change subjects before I get upset at her.
"Today is my last day in Corsica. I'm leaving first thing tomorrow morning and I’ll spend a day and a half at the penthouse in London before Nic and I fly to Paris for four days—too many shops, too little time.” I laugh. “Then it’s back to my wonderful life in sunny Cali. Will I be able to see you before I leave?"
"Fate would have it that it will be possible."
"Brilliant! So you were able to put that horrid case behind you? What a petulant teenager that Jason is.”
"His lawyer was able to sort things out with a Greek counterpart in front of the judge this morning. I spent all day convincing Jason not talk to the press until his lawyer ties up loose ends with the Greek authorities. I'm heading back to London to organize a major press blitz to boost his image after this ordeal. I was packing when you called. The record company has generously offered to send their private jet. I’ll be flying out of Athens at eight o'clock tonight."
"Well, kudos to you and his lawyer. Anyone you've worked with before?"
I clear my throat. "The bloke is a very reputable lawyer." I leave it at that.
I don't want to get into it with her or else I’ll never hear the end of it.
"Good." Thank God she doesn't press further. "That means I can see you tomorrow night!"
"Absolutely! I'd love to have you over, but I'm sure it's going to be a mess since I've been gone for nearly a week. My cleaning lady is supposed to—"
"I won't hear of it. I'm sure you must be exhausted. I mean, the news articles haven't been very flattering. It's my treat. I'll figure out a place where we can go and spend an evening chilling, eating and catching up. I'm sure I'll be exhausted myself from my little jaunt from Corsica to London anyways."
"Of course," I roll my eyes into the phone.
Yeah, my sister lives a sweet life. She doesn't even know what exhausted really means.
&
nbsp; "Did you meet any hot blokes in Greece? I hear Greeks are phenomenal lovers. Of course, my Irish-American husband is untouchable," she laughs.
She must be referring to the same article Illis was so passionate about.
"Of course, Kenner is." It's my turn to laugh. "To answer your question, I was very focused on the case. I didn't have time for Greek men." That's not a lie. Barrett isn’t Greek.
“You're so good that way." She pauses. "So is it really over between you and Barrett this time?"
"Julianne, I still have a mountain of clothing to pack, perhaps we can talk about my ex another time?"
"No need to be that snippy. I was just enquiring."
"I'm a little overwhelmed by everything and I don't want to be late.”
Barrett bought me so much stuff that I had to buy four suitcases to fit it all. Technically, I still have four hours before takeoff, but I’m not interested in spilling my guts about my Athens’ sexcapade with my sister.
"I know you have ambition coming out of your ying-yang—and as you know, I'm in awe and a little jealous of that—but don't make the same mistake I did. You don't want to wait forever. It's like playing Russian roulette. Look at me, it took me a long time to find Kenner and now I’m still struggling…" Julianne chokes on her words.
I let out a long sigh. "It's going to happen, Jules."
"When, Charlie? We've been trying for three years and I still can't get pregnant." That familiar tinge of frustration laces her voice. It always does when we talk about this sore subject.
"You will have a baby, Jules."
"I keep telling myself that, but every single month when I get my period, it's a big disappointment."
"For some women, it just takes a little longer," I sympathize.
"I bet you three million pound that Veronica—who, may I remind you, just got married a few months ago—will conceive faster than I can sneeze," she says with contempt. “She might not be ready yet, but I’m certain that when the time comes her body won’t betray her like mine is.”
"Jules."
"Don't Jules me, Charlotte," she snaps. "You know I'm right. Everybody in the family knows it, that's why we don't talk about it. No one has the guts anymore to ask me if it happened—if I got lucky this month. The subject of my impending pregnancy has officially become the white elephant in the room every time I visit. That's why I'm bloody here."
"What are you talking about?"
She doesn't answer immediately.
"Julianne Marguerite Wentworth Ó Sé," I press.
She lets out a heavy sigh. "Corsica is all a lie."
"You're not in Corsica?"
"I am. But this trip has nothing to do with me being an excessively rich and superficial housewife who needs a break from her posh life in America."
"It's not?" Okay. I'm lost.
"Not even close. The Inia Spa isn't about rejuvenation or anti-aging—”
"What’s it about, then?”
“It's a front for a New Age fertility clinic."
"What?" I'm baffled. "Why weren’t you upfront with us?"
"I didn't want to disappoint Mum, Dad, Nic or you."
After hundreds of tests—in the UK and in America—doctors still can't figure out why my eldest sister Julianne is having such a hard time getting pregnant. Sure she's thirty-six, but plenty of women have kids later in life. It's been a crushing experience for her and for all of us watching her suffer every time she loses faith and her spirits get crushed.
"Julianne, we’re your family. We’re supposed to be there for you. You not being able to get pregnant isn't a disappointment." I pause. "Should I assume that you didn't even tell Kenner?”
"No." There's a long stretch of silence before she speaks again. "I just don't feel like I'm living up to my end of the bargain."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not much of a wife if I can’t give him kids. At this rate, he’ll be sixty before that happens."
"That's a horrible thing to say."
“Hmph.” That's her fucking response?
"How did you find out about this place?"
“A woman from our yachting club tried for six miserable years. She came out here as a last resort. She lived off of the shit they call food here and lost five stones.” That’s equivalent to seventy pounds. “Three months after she returned to California, she got pregnant. Six months after that she was delivering healthy twins. I was hoping to channel her success story by losing the pesky extra four stones I’ve been carrying for far too long." That’s equivalent to sixty pounds. Julianne has been struggling with those extra pounds for years.
"Is the treatment only one week? That sounds a bit short to lose that much weight."
"No. It's six weeks," she says.
What?
“Why won’t you stay for the whole treatment?"
“I'm bailing out early."
My heart breaks for her, but that doesn't stop me from speaking my mind.
"That doesn't make any sense. If your goal is to get pregnant, why would you cut your time short? It’s like you’re sabotaging your chances, Julianne.”
“They’ve been pumping our bodies with shitty kale juices, disgusting beetroot elixirs, chia seed puddings that look like vomit, shots of grotesque aloe vera gel and the bloody list goes on. It's revolting. For all that money, I would expect something more substantial and that doesn't taste like sewage. And don't get me started on the stupid daily meditation sessions. My mind can't keep quiet. It just keeps screaming at me, ‘You can't get pregnant. You'll never have a child’. And contrary to you, I hate exercising with a passion. All that sweating rubbish is nonsense in my book. I’d rather have a glass of wine."
Her inability to get pregnant ghosts every one of her words.
"Julianne, what’s the real reason?”
No answer.
"Julianne, talk to me."
Still nothing.
“Bloody hell, Julianne.”
"I'm afraid that after all of these sacrifices, all this money spent and the dramatic weight loss, I still won't be able to get pregnant. That it will still only be Kenner and I."
I reflect on her words for a few long seconds. "Do they allow spousal visits?" I finally ask.
"You make it should like I’m in prison."
"Just answer the bloody question."
"Yes, they do," she says in a low voice.
"Do you want my opinion?"
"Not really, but I doubt that’ll stop you."
She’s right. Her flippant tone isn’t a deterrent.
"You know me well, big sis. So here we go—”
“You’re wasting your—”
“Hush,” I snap. And she does. “Better. Hang up with me, go back to the spa, and ask them to stay— No, beg them to stay. Call Mum and Dad. Be honest with them. Call your husband and tell him you're going through this major milestone in your life alone. Ask him to come and be by your side. I have no doubt he'll divert his big ol’ jet to that small French island you’re on the minute he finds out. Then, call Nic and cancel this stupid trip to Paris. For the love of God, Veronica and you already have too much designer clothing.”—Is that not a bit hypocritical considering Barrett just doubled my wardrobe and I also did a bit of shopping while in Athens? Yeah, but that’s beside the point—“Once that’s done, you’re going to put on your big girl knickers and you’re going to swallow every last drop of that bloody sewage they serve up and you'll drop to the floor and give them as many bloody push-ups as they demand. Enough of this rubbish of keeping something this important from the people who love you. Open up to us. And one last thing, believe that God will do right by you and Kenner. Trust me, Jules, He’s heard your prayers. I’m sure He’s just a little tied up at the moment."
I'm fully prepared for my sister to fight me or even tell me off. Her reaction surprises me.
She explodes in laughter, and she laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
When she gains her composure, she says, "You and your tough as n
ails approach."
"So you'll change your mind?"
I'm not letting her off the hook.
"This was supposed to be a light-hearted conversation. How did it turn into a counselling session?"
"We’re sisters. I’d fail you if I let this slide. It's my job to be hard on you when you're head is up your arse."
She laughs again.
"All right. You win—”
"No. I don't gain anything out of this other than knowing that I did the right thing by shaking some sense into you. You’re the one who wins if you end up knocked up like Yachting Club Lady."
"My wise little sister. I'll follow your advice, as long as you promise to follow mine."
"Which is?"
"Don't wait. Go out there and find him. Greek, British, Italian, heck, even American, like me. Fall in love and have loads of beautiful babies. You have a ten-year advantage on me because you’re much younger. Don't waste that."
"Don't worry about me, sis. Mr. Right is around the corner." Or on the fifteenth floor of this hotel.
CHAPTER 34
Barrett
“Hey, Tyler.”
"Hey, mate."
"Am I catching you at a bad time?"
"I'm just getting ready to go out for dinner with Ava."
"You're not at the office racking up billable hours?"
"Tosser."
"What's going on? Are you ready to pop the big question?” I tease.
"Wash your mouth out with soap, mate. I've only been seeing this woman for a few weeks. I agreed not to be a manwhore while seeing her because I actually like her, but I'm not ready to give her the keys to my house, let alone present her with an engagement ring," he chuckles.
"Still. It must be a special occasion if you're willing to forfeit an evening of work."
"I'm taking a chapter out of your book."
"How so?"
"If you can chill out by the pool on a Monday night with your girl, I can take Tuesday off," he declares.
"Charlotte isn’t my girl," I correct him.
"Sure. You keep telling yourself that. You can’t even work with her and keep it at just that."
"It's just while we’re in Athens," I retort. “She's been dating plenty of other men. Remember footie douche bag Owen Leahy? That was a very public relationship.” One that had me seeing red.
You're All I Think About_Second Chance Romance Page 27
