Obsessed

by Deborah Bladon

  "I want to drown in the taste of you, Ivy, in the feeling of you."

  I feel lightheaded. The scent of him permeates every one of my pores, overwhelming my senses. As much as I know I should push him away and run out the door, I don't move. All my body wants in this moment is his. I close my eyes, hoping to find some balance. I'm greeted with the mental image of him ripping my dress off and taking me on the spot.

  "You're...you're...drunk." I manage to stammer out.

  An enthusiastic laugh escapes his lips. "I'm not drunk."

  "So you're always this direct with women you barely know?" I feel the strength returning to my legs now. I'm certain I can stand my own ground as long as he doesn't push his body closer to mine.

  "I'm always this direct with women I want to fuck."

  "I...." my voice trails as he runs his tongue over my lower lip.

  The doorknob rattles violently. "Ivy, are you in there?"

  It startles Jax who pulls back, his hands freeing my wrists.

  I stumble forward feeling dizzy and disoriented.

  "Ivy? Open the door!"

  "I'm here, Liz. Give me a minute." I reach to hold the edge of the sink to steady myself.

  Jax stands motionless, his eyes fixed on the doorknob.

  "I need to go," I mumble under my breath. I skim my hands over my dress before I open the door slightly, slip out and close it. I don't want Liz to realize I'm not alone.

  "You look flush, sugar." Liz brushes her hand across my forehead. "Are you fevered?"

  "I'm fine." I start walking down the hallway, determined to move Liz away from the door before Jax emerges. I'm stopped when I almost run right into Brighton.

  "Liz? Ivy?" A look of genuine concern washes over his face. "You both disappeared. Is everything alright?"

  "I'm fine. We're fine," I say breathlessly.

  "She's not fine. She doesn't feel well." Liz continues with a noticeable slur in her speech, "I should take her home."

  "No, Liz, that's not necessary," I say, trying to regain my composure. "I can get there myself."

  "Nonsense," Brighton interjects. "I'll have a driver take you."

  I nod in agreement as I turn around to look at the restroom door. It's still closed.

  Chapter 5

  "Thank you. I can make it up on my own," I say to the burly driver Brighton assigned to drive me back to my apartment.

  "Are you sure, Ma'am?" His face shows concern as he closes the car door behind me. "Mr. Beck said you weren't well and I should see you to the door."

  I place my hand on his shoulder, pointing to the front door of my building with the other. "There's the door, we both see it."

  He smiles. "Yes, Ma'am."

  I watch him get back in the car and drive away. I breathe a sigh of relief. My mind keeps playing the encounter with Jax over and over again. I'm still feeling a lingering breathlessness from his boldness. His brazen words made me feel as though he'd take me against the wall in the locked restroom if Liz hadn't interrupted us. Those thoughts are sprinkled with images of the woman he'd left with the night before. That was a line I didn't want to cross. I absentmindedly press the elevator button for the third floor after exchanging niceties with Oliver.

  I'm met with a rush of cool air as I enter my apartment. "The open window," I say out loud. I put my keys on the foyer table as I rush down the hallway to my bedroom to shut the window. I shiver and decide a hot shower will not only warm my body but help clear my mind. The door buzzer interrupts my thoughts of the soothing water washing away the guilt that's pressing on the corners of my conscience.

  "Hello?" I ask hesitantly into the intercom.

  "Sweetheart, it's me. Let me up." The sound of Mark's voice immediately causes my body to tense.

  "I'm busy, Mark. What is it?" I know the frustration is evident in my tone and I'm glad.

  "I heard you had a letter of mine." He continues, "I want it."

  "I'll bring it down." I don't want Mark back in my apartment, even for a moment.

  "Oliver will let me up." With that the line goes dead.

  "Dammit." My heart races, knowing that within two minutes, the man I was devoted to for more than four years is going to be standing back in the home we shared together.

  I brace myself as I hear the elevator stop on my floor.

  I feel unsteady as I open the door. "Here's the letter."

  He grabs the envelope from my hand, folds it and pushes it into the pocket of the jeans he's wearing.

  "Bye Mark." I start to close the door, only to feel the resistance from his hand on it.

  "Sweetheart, let me in." His voice is just as I remember it. The word sweetheart pulling at my heart, while at the same time, bubbling up a feeling of rage within me.

  I stand my ground in the doorway. "There's nothing for us to talk about. Nothing."

  "It's about my mother." His voice is tinged with sadness.

  I instantly form an image of Mark's mother in my mind. She had become the mother I had longed for after the death of my own when I was an infant. Mark's mother, June, and I had struck a close bond instantly. I move to the side so he can enter.

  "How's June?" I ask expectantly, knowing that her health has been fragile in recent years.

  Mark sighs heavily before speaking. "She's at Lenox Hill Hospital. She was asking for you."

  "How serious?" I ask not certain I want to hear the answer.

  Mark's blue eyes well up with tears. "I'm scared, Ivy."

  I study his face. His usual beard is unkempt, his blonde hair in desperate need of a cut. The deep bags under his blue eyes that have always been a sign of his insomnia are even more pronounced now. His face is gaunt. I can tell he's lost weight off his small frame.

  "I'll go up to see her tomorrow." I open the door, wanting Mark to leave before my heart takes over and wants to comfort him.

  He ignores me and walks farther into the apartment, settling himself down on a taupe chair in the living room. I grudgingly follow him.

  "I miss you so much." He looks up at me. "I'm sorry for everything, sweetheart."

  "Stop calling me that, Mark." My tone is stern and serious. "I hate when you call me that."

  "I can't help it." He shrugs. "That's who you'll always be to me."

  My temper is rapidly racing to the surface. I want to shout at him, "You have no right to call me anything after what you did. You slept with three other women while I was planning our wedding."

  I hold my self-control, not wanting to waste any more emotional energy on him. "You need to go, Mark. There's nothing for us to talk about."

  He rises slowly. "I'm hosting a broker's open house at Carleton Towers next Thursday night. I want you to come."

  I smirk at the mention of his last name. I'm not surprised he named his latest luxury condo complex after himself. After all, only one person matters to Mark.

  "I won't be there, Mark." I hold the apartment door open. "Go now."

  "You're a shareholder, Ivy. The building is as much yours as it's mine."

  I turn to him and chuckle. "We both know I didn't want those shares. You gave them to me because you felt guilty. Just go." I hold back the urge to bring up his multiple affairs again but I'm in no mood to rehash the past.

  He stops briefly before stepping out of the apartment. His blue eyes lock on my face. "I did it because I was scared, Ivy. I loved you so much it scared me."

  I hold back the instinct to laugh. "It doesn't matter anymore."

  After closing the door, I feel the tears instantly fill my eyes. Damn Mark. Damn him.

  ***

  "You're not going to believe who came to see me last night." I hand Liz one of the cold lemonades I picked up for us on my way to her studio.

  She takes a long drink from the straw. "Is there any sugar in this at all?" Her brow furrows as she purses her lip.

  "Half-sweet." I take a drink from my own. "We're already sweet enough."

  She ignores my attempt at humor. "It's too sour." She pushe
s it aside and turns back to the canvas she's working on.

  "Aren't you going to ask who?"

  "Who what?" she says with her back to me.

  I sigh, dismayed that this is becoming very anti-climactic. "Who came to my apartment after I left Brighton's."

  "Just tell me." She turns, the paint brush, brightly adorned with blue, waving in her right hand.

  "Mark."

  I watch the brush fall and hit her stark white shoe. I leap forward in an effort to help.

  "Rats!" Liz yells at she bends down to pick up the brush.

  I laugh in reflex to her reaction. "Rats?" I grab the brush from her hand, playfully waving it in the air. "This is more like a fuck moment. You've ruined your shoe."

  We both look down. We're standing toe-to-toe now and it's blatantly obvious that Liz's white flats cost much more than the worn out sneakers I've matched with my jeans and t-shirt.

  "They're just shoes, sugar." She reaches to cradle my face in her hands. "How was it? It must have been hard."

  I cover her right hand with my left briefly before stepping away. "It was fine. He wanted to talk about June and pick up the letter."

  "How's June?" Her voice rings with genuine concern.

  "I saw her this morning. She's fine. Just as feisty as ever." I smile remembering my brief visit hours earlier with Mark's mother. "She's getting over pneumonia. She said she'll be home in a few days."

  Relief washes over Liz's face. "That's great news. How's Mark?"

  "Mark is Mark." I take the brush to the sink. I'm hopeful that Liz won't press for more.

  "Did he talk about anything else?" There's a suggestion of real anxiety in her voice.

  "No." I turn around, shaking my head. "He didn't."

  "Did he talk about his feelings?" Liz's gaze falls to the floor.

  "He tried." I sigh heavily. "He also mentioned that he's throwing a party at his new building next Thursday night. It sounds like another one of those ridiculous lavish parties with all his rich friends."

  She raises a brow. "Are you going?"

  "Of course not," I snap back. "Have you forgotten what he did? He... " I stop myself before blurting out that it wasn't just one woman Mark slept with, there were three. My pride, to this point, has stopped me from sharing that juicy bit of Mark gossip with anyone, even Liz.

  She rushes over to hug me. "I could never forget."

  "Can we please talk about something else?" I turn back around to wash the paint brush, hoping Liz will let the subject of Mark rest in peace.

  "Brighton?" Her voice takes on a lighter tone.

  I glance back over my shoulder at her. "Did you spend the night?"

  "Ivy Marlow!" She pulls her hands to her chest. "I barely know him."

  I laugh heartily. "This is Manhattan. If you've spoken to him once, you know him well enough."

  "Never mind me." Liz's face flushes crimson. "What about you and Brighton's brother?"

  I completely turn to look at her. "Brighton's brother?"

  "Jax." A small smile pulls at the corner of her lips. "Technically they're half-brothers. They have the same mother, different dads. His last name is Walker, or Walters…something with a W."

  I stand in silence trying to process this news. I flash back to the moment in the gallery when I referred to Brighton's so-called-masterpiece as Confusion and my flippant remark last night about Leonardo da Vinci.

  "He asked about you after you left." There's excitement in my best friend's voice.

  "What did you tell him?"

  "I said you were the most remarkable woman I knew." Liz's eyes start to well with tears.

  I'm surprised by her emotional reaction. "You're so sweet to me."

  She looks down at the cement floor of her studio, slowly shaking her head from side-to-side. "I'm not. You've always been the better friend."

  "That's not true," I say gently. I'm hoping that my words will comfort Liz enough that she'll bounce back to the topic of Jax.

  She smiles weakly at me. "He seems taken with you. He talked non-stop for ten minutes about you and your jewelry."

  "Really?" I know I sound overly excited but I'm completely enthralled with the man. "What do you know about him?"

  "Let's see," Liz pauses as she settles down on a stool next to the canvas. "He's twenty-six, single, and no kids. He moved back here from Los Angeles a few months ago. He just bought into a business here, I think."

  "Wow," I say, taken back by the biography of Jax I've just been handed. "Single is good, although I did see him leaving the opening with a gorgeous woman the other night."

  "Celeste Gladu," Liz reveals. "She's a model."

  I feel my heart sink at that announcement. "That's not surprising," I say under my breath.

  "No." Liz holds back a chuckle. "They weren't together. Jax is friends with her beau, Jeremy. Jax was seeing her home that night as a favor."

  "How do you know all this?" I ask in bona fide amazement.

  "I saw Celeste at the opening. I was coming to fetch you to meet her when we got sidetracked by Brighton." Liz rambles on, "I met Celeste years ago when we lived in the same walk up in So-Ho."

  "And you saw her with Jax at the opening?"

  "Yes." She continues, "after you left Brighton's last night I mentioned Celeste to Jax and we started talking and before you know it, I had a fistful of information to give my best friend."

  "Very helpful information." I grin widely. "I like him."

  "I could tell at the opening." She winks at me before turning back to her painting. "I should get back to this. Brighton is coming by later to see more of my work."

  I walk up next to her and give her a hug from behind. "I love you, Liz."

  "Love you too." She squeezes my arm.

  I pick up the small straw purse I brought with me. "Did you tell Mark about the letter?"

  She sits silently before slowly turning on the stool to face me. "Did you mention it to anyone else?"

  "Mrs. Adams knew."

  "It must have been her then," Liz responds before turning back to her work.

  "Yes, it must be her." I say as I walk out the door.

  ***

  "Ms. Marlow." Oliver greets me as I arrive back at my apartment. I'm not certain walking the eight blocks from Liz's studio was such a good idea in the heat of this very humid, Sunday afternoon.

  "Oliver." I smile at the elderly doorman as I use my hand to fan my face.

  "There's a delivery for you."

  I'm wary. Surprises have never been something I embrace. "What is it?"

  "It's there." Oliver gestures to a grand package leaning against the wall near the elevators. It's square and at least four feet across wrapped completely in brown paper.

  "I'm going to guess it's not flowers."

  Oliver laughs. "No Ma'am. I'll get Phil to help me bring it up in the freight elevator."

  I give Oliver a quick peck on the cheek. "You're a doll."

  I stare at the mystery package as I wait for the elevator to arrive in the lobby. It's hard to focus on it given all the Jax details that Liz so willingly offered up this afternoon.

  The elevator doors open and Mrs. Adams steps out.

  "Mrs. Adams." I give her a quick hug. "How are you today?"

  I watch the doors close behind her as the elevator races up to retrieve someone else.

  "Dear, were you jogging?" She reaches to wipe some errant hairs that have clung to the perspiration on my forehead.

  "No." I instinctively smooth my hair back into place. "I was walking. It's hot out today."

  "That's why I brought this." She pulls a small black umbrella out of her bag. "Rule number one is a lady must always be prepared."

  "Do you want me to walk with you?" I ask, concerned by the idea of her wandering on her own.

  "Absolutely not." Her mouth transforms into a sly grin. "I have a date."

  "Who's the lucky fellow?" I raise my eyebrow playfully.

  "Rule number two." She holds up two fingers. "A lady
never kisses and tells."

  "That's a very wise rule."

  "I'm not one to mind anyone else's business, but I noticed Mark paid you a visit last night." Her voice has become a whisper now.

  "He did." I whisper back knowing she's trying to keep our conversation out of the range of Oliver's ears. "He came to get that letter."

  "How's Mark?" She places her fragile hand on my arm.

  "He's fine," I say a bit puzzled. "Didn't you ask him how he was when you called him about the letter?"

  "Dear?" Her voice stops at that. Her expression is one of bewilderment.

  "Didn't you call Mark to tell him about the letter?" The confusion is mutual now.

  "I would never," she declares strongly. "After what that boy did to you, I want nothing to do with him." She waves her hand in her Oliver's direction.

  "Thank you. Enjoy your date and play safe." I give her a small wink.

  "Ivy!" She grins as Oliver comes over to help her out to the car that just arrived for her.

  I take the elevator up to my apartment, the entire time wondering how Mark found out about the letter. It makes no sense. One of those two women had to have told him.

  Within twenty minutes there's a knock at my door. Oliver has enlisted Phil Johnson to help him bring the enormous mystery package to my apartment door. It easily slides in as I make small talk with Phil about his parents, who manage the building. The conversation shifts to his sophomore year of college and all his challenges. I listen attentively while wishing I could politely slam the door in his face so I could deal with the package.

  He finally says he needs to run and follows Oliver to the elevator.

  I turn to look at the package. The only writing on the brown paper wrapper is my name and address. There's nothing indicating who sent it. My stomach begins to turn because of my always present dislike of surprises.

  I take a deep breath and pull the paper from the corner. It falls revealing a canvas covered with bright colors. I start to laugh as I rip off the remaining paper. It's Brighton's painting from the opening. I stop for a moment to survey it in its entirety in the natural light of my apartment. I still don't see the appeal. I turn it around and find a small white envelope with my first name written in blue ink. I excitedly rip it open.

  Ivy,

  Please accept this offering as an apology for my behavior last night. Let me cook you dinner tonight. I'll send a car for you at 8:30. You bring the wine.