by Tasha Fawkes
He glanced down and grinned. “You can tell me anything you’d like. Discretion is my middle name.”
I nodded. “Fine. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d appreciate it if you’d quit trying to inadvertently grope me, brush your hands ever closer to my breasts, my waist, and my ass.” His reaction surprised me.
He laughed, a soft, deep throated chuckle. “I’ve been a little too obvious, haven’t I?”
I merely raised my eyebrows. He offered a shrug.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying, can you?”
I shook my head, then turned to eye the mass of humanity swarming through the house. Women in elegant gowns, glittering jewels, and men dressed in formal tuxedos, mostly charcoal to black in the color spectrum, talking amongst themselves, laughing softly, shaking heads, and more than plenty of gossip.
I just wanted to leave. The desire didn’t exactly come out of the blue, but the forcefulness of it did. I didn’t belong there, with those people. I didn’t want to be in the midst of them. I felt flustered and baffled that the anger I had expected upon seeing Mike Holbrook had never emerged. I felt flat, empty, and emotionless. Even more than that, what had I thought I would do? A burst of righteous anger, accusations, pointing a finger at him and accusing him of murder? And these people…these rich people walking around as if they were better than everyone else. It turned my stomach.
“Megan, are you all right?”
The words pulled me from my thoughts, and I glanced up to find Craig watching me with concern.
“You look a bit pale. You want to go outside for a bit of fresh air?”
I opened my mouth to answer, thinking that maybe that was a good idea, when once again, I saw Scott winding his way through the crowd toward us. So handsome in his tuxedo, exuding confidence. Why shouldn’t he? He was in his element. These were his people. This was his engagement party. I had yet to see Kristin, and I didn’t particularly care if I did. Things were running smoothly. My job was done. The planning. Supervising was someone else’s job. She didn’t need me here. Scott didn’t need me here.
Other than the money, I asked myself for the umpteenth time why I had even accepted this position. Even after my mother had told me about Mike Holbrook’s influence in my father’s ultimate decision, I had felt a nearly overwhelming desire to… to do what? Seek some sort of revenge? Closure? There was no such thing as closure. No, I had done it for the money. What made me better than anyone else in this room? I felt disappointment. In myself.
As Scott approached, Craig literally passed me off, but not before turning to look down at me.
“I enjoyed your presence, Megan, and I hope we can see each other again.” A slight pause and a grin. “And I promise, next time I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
I looked up at him and offered him a wan smile. At least the guy knew how to take a hint. As he left, Scott approached and noticed my frown.
“Champagne not to your liking, Megan?”
I abruptly handed the flute of champagne to him. “I made a mistake coming here.” He appeared confused by my words. He rubbed a hand against his chin, and I heard that slight scratching sound it made on stubble. An endearing sound that reminded me of my dad. My heart clenched.
“Why would you say that?”
I swallowed. “It was a mistake, working for you,” I said bluntly. I knew it now, for sure. My greed had prompted me to go against my better instincts. As soon as I saw that the application was for Holbrook, and especially after my mother told me of her objections, I should have let it go. No matter how curious I had been about Scott. I sought to explain. “While I appreciate the opportunity, I’ll be blunt. Dealing with Kristin has demanded about all the patience I can muster.” I gestured with my chin toward the gathering. “I don’t belong here.”
A frown appeared on his brow. “What is it? What’s bothering you?” His eyes widened briefly. “Is it my dad? Do you really think he—”
“Your father is a businessman,” I said, waving my hand. “So was my dad. I’m sure he knew the risks. I’m not sure what went on between those two, but I do know one thing. Your dad didn’t pull the trigger. Mine did.”
“Megan—”
“I’m sorry, Scott, but I can’t do this anymore.” He stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the partygoers.
“Megan, think about it, will you? I’ll give you a raise.”
“It’s not the money, Scott.”
“Then what is it? What’s the matter?”
What was I supposed to tell him? That I still had feelings for him? That I was appalled by his decision to marry a creature like Kristin? That I believed that he was making the biggest mistake of his life? Was I supposed to tell him that I had always had a crush on him, and had yearned for him to notice me? If he was too blind to notice, it wasn’t my problem, but I couldn’t do this anymore.
“Megan, please, don’t make a rash decision,” he said. “I’ll call a cab to take you home. Take a couple days off to think about it, all right?”
I sighed, then finally nodded. While I didn’t think I would change my mind, I had to make a decision. I had been looking forward to the money. Shame on me, but it’s what had compelled me to take the job, over and above the knowledge of the obviously difficult relationship between Mike Holbrook and my father.
Bottom line; what did that say about me? I was no better than anyone else in this room.
Chapter Twelve
Scott
She said yes. Of course, I was glad she had, but I hadn’t really expected her to. Since the engagement party Friday night, I couldn’t get the image of Megan wearing that gorgeous, form-fitting dress out of my mind. So here I was, at nine o’clock on Sunday morning, staring at my phone, asking myself what the hell I was doing.
To say that I had been confused, discouraged, angry, and more than a little haunted by Megan’s revelation to me about how my father might have been, albeit indirectly, involved in her father’s suicide, was an understatement. I knew that our business was cutthroat at times. A lot of people didn’t have the gut instincts, or the balls, to make some of the business deals we made. Sure, there was often undercutting and negotiating going on behind closed doors, but it had been that way for decades and likely would be for decades to come.
I didn’t necessarily like those kind of deals, but it was the way of the industry. I always tried to deal with my clients fairly, but yes, there were times when I pursued deals that focused only on the end goal.
Would I be feeling differently about marrying Kristin if it hadn’t been for the fact that Megan was now working for her, or that I had been the one to hire her? Would I have accepted my fate a little easier if Megan hadn’t appeared?
She had looked so sexy, so sophisticated, elegant, classy—all the adjectives I could think of—to describe her the other evening. Regardless of her financial circumstances, she had walked into that party as if she owned it, head held high, a pleasant yet composed expression on her face. If she had been intimidated by the wealth and some of the snobbish conversations going on around her, she hadn’t given any indication.
What surprised me most, was her reaction when I introduced her to my dad. A slight widening of the eyes, followed by a brief frown. I had almost dreaded the introduction, hoping Megan wouldn’t fly off the handle into a fit of outrage, shouting accusations, but I should’ve known she was much too classy for something like that. Kristin probably wouldn’t have been. And that was the crux of the matter.
Megan had indicated that she wanted to quit working for Kristin, and basically, for me. But I didn’t want her to quit. I had this confusing and extremely irrational fear of losing her again. I’d never see her again. At the same time, I knew that my feelings weren’t only inappropriate, but irrational. We didn’t have a life together. I hadn’t even seen her in nearly a decade. Last but not least, she didn’t belong to me. Not even close.
That was over and above the fact that I was engaged to another woman who was carryin
g my baby. I had been trying so hard to convince myself that because this engagement and my upcoming marriage to Kristin was nothing more than a sham, I was allowed to experience a return of feelings I had for Megan—always had— even after all these years. My engagement and forthcoming marriage was nothing more than a lie on my part. I tried to convince myself that, eventually, I might grow to have feelings for Kristin. But she had manipulated me; literally blackmailed me into this engagement. On top of that, she had gotten my father involved.
I knew I would never be happy with Kristin. I didn’t love her. While I could put up with it for now, what would I feel six months from now, a year, or even five years down the line? The resentment would grow. Those feelings would naturally morph into a deep sense of bitterness. I would become a bitter man. God, I would become my father.
I felt bad that Megan had spent all these years struggling, financially at least. She and her mother both, while I spent money on material things like there was no tomorrow. My drinking, womanizing, my partying… it all seemed so very pathetic when compared to the life that Megan had been forced to live. And her mother, eking out a living, working hard, living simply. Still, they loved each other.
I had all the money I could want, but my world experienced very little love or affection. Megan was, for all intents and purposes, living just above the poverty level, but she was well-adjusted and obviously loved her mother a great deal, and vice versa.
And all because of my father’s selfish greed, that ambition to close one more deal, to put another notch on his belt. Had he really pulled the trigger, at least figuratively, that had destroyed Kristin’s life? No, she was right. My father hadn’t pulled the trigger. Her father had. But could I blame him?
I felt stuck, trapped between my desires to branch out on my own and build my business empire free of my father’s controlling influences, and, admittedly, my fear of failure. That fear of failure was what had kept me sitting in my CEO chair for so many years.
I needed to do something about that.
Impulsively, I had pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialed Megan’s number. It was her day off, so I knew she would be home. I’d asked her to join me this morning for a day-trip to the wine lands, just to get away for a while; to talk to her privately, to support her, whatever it was that she wanted. I was surprised that she had taken me up on it, and only after a brief moment of hesitation.
I would pick her up in an hour.
Now, as I sat here, staring at my desk, I realized that my invitation to her was risky. Extremely risky. Someone might see us. My face was familiar at many of those vineyards. I had no idea whether my father ever ventured there, but I knew that somehow, in some way, gossip traveled hot and fast.
Hell, for all I knew, Kristin had her own way of keeping tabs on me. She was spending the weekend at her family’s vacation house down near San Diego, “recuperating” from the engagement party. It’d been the first time in weeks that I had my house to myself. So quiet, so calm, peaceful, the way it used to be.
It wasn’t only the concern that somehow my day trip with Megan would be discovered by someone who would report the incident to either Kristin or my father. I had to think about my very real concern that I wouldn’t be able to control my urges for her. And that’s what surprised me the most. I had always liked her in high school, no doubt about it. I had never made a move on Megan back then, not really. I knew she liked me, but my insecurities had pushed their way to the forefront of my sexual attraction toward her. What if she rebuffed me? What if any move I made on her ruined our friendship?
What was the difference between then and now? Now, perhaps, driven by my current circumstances, I found myself even more attracted to Megan than ever before. Call me shallow, but there it was. I couldn’t help but compare Megan to Kristin every time I saw one or the other. Yes, I was engaged to Kristin, but my feelings—they were for Megan.
If I had at all misread Megan’s expressions, her subtle looks, her eyes seeking me out not only at home, but on the yacht the other weekend, things could go quite badly.
Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
***
I couldn’t remember when I’d had a nicer day nor in better company. After leaving the office I’d quickly gone home and changed, opting for blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a simple t-shirt and baseball cap. When I pulled up in front of Megan’s apartment building, she was standing outside, wearing much the same. I couldn’t help but smile. This was what it was supposed to feel like! This sense of enthusiasm, of pleasure, of simple joy doing something with someone you cared about. No pressure, no expectations. As she climbed into the car and offered a smile, I couldn’t help but remember how much fun we’d had in high school, just hanging out.
The afternoon passed into a blur of strolling, snacking on crackers and cheese, sipping wine. Now, as the sun slowly descended toward the west, I glanced at the B&B in the corner of the wine estate. Should I?
Again, nothing lost, and nothing gained. My emotions exploded, filling me with a sense of calm. I felt an overwhelming surge of attraction, an intense desire for this woman beside me. Her hair smelled like lavender and mint. Her skin glowed, makeup free. She was au natural.
“It’s getting late, Scott,” she said. “Don’t you think we’d better be heading back pretty soon?”
I glanced down at her and raised an eyebrow. “Have you enjoyed the day as much as I have, Megan?”
She laughed softly. “Probably more. I can’t remember the last time I just puttered a day away, and in such handsome company.”
I looked at her, then glanced toward the B&B. She followed my gaze. I was delighted to see the flash of color in her cheeks. “Would you like to spend a little more time here?” I asked softly.
For a second, her eyes widened and she glanced at me. She hesitated, nibbled on her lip a second, and then glanced from the B&B and back up to me. I held out my hand, and she took it. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes. I hadn’t misread. A flush of color appeared in her cheeks again, and I gave her hand a squeeze.
In less than fifteen minutes we stood in a quaint, simply decorated yet comfortable room toward the back of the B&B, the only customers for the moment. I closed the door softly behind me, watching as Megan stood in the middle of the room, taking in the décor. Then she turned to me. Without a word, she slowly pulled the t-shirt over her head.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Without hesitation, she reached for the small clip at the front center of her bra and unhooked it. Her pert, perfectly formed breasts, freed from the constraints of her bra, beckoned. I felt my dick surge to life. Instantly. I felt her hand on my shoulder, and then we met, chest to chest. Her breasts squished against my chest as I gazed down at her. She looked down at me, mouth slightly open.
“I’ve struggled to keep my hands off of you,” I whispered. “I know this isn’t… I don’t—”
She nodded. “For once in my life, I’m throwing caution to the wind,” she said, leaning closer.
To hell with it. Her tug on my emotions and body were undeniable. I couldn’t help myself and might not have been able to stop myself now if she changed her mind. I lowered my head and brushed my lips against hers. This was no chaste kiss. Hell no. Almost in desperation, we let our doubts go, felt the emotion surge between us, and completely let go. I would deal with my guilt later.
Now, I just enjoyed the deeply sensuous kiss as her lips parted and her tongue gently traced along the contours of my lips. I allowed her access, tongues swirling around the other, my dick hardening, my blood pounding in my ears. I hadn’t had sex since Kristin moved in. I hadn’t slept with her, using her early pregnancy as an excuse. I was horny, and that was putting it lightly. As our tongues tangled, I felt the thrill of my pulsing cock in every nerve in my body. My hands cupped her breasts, tweaked her nipples until they grew into hard little nubs. I ached for her touch.
I took a step backward, my back pressed against the door. Her hands were everywhere:
stroking my back, tugging at my shirt, my zipper… everywhere followed by a trail of heat. My hands were doing the same. Our breathing grew heavy. Small, desperate noises escaped from her throat as I ravished her mouth with my tongue while my fingers plied her taut nipples.
With a heavy groan, I bent slightly and lifted her into my arms, aiming for the bed. I settled her gently on the quilt, every sense alive, and hot and pulsing. She lay beneath me, a smile on her lips as I divested her of her jeans. Both of us kicked off our shoes, thumping dully onto the hardwood floor at the end of the bed. She impatiently shoved my jeans down past my hips and I helped, hesitating only long enough to tug the wallet from my back pocket.
Balancing myself on my elbows, I opened the wallet and pulled the condom packet from the money slot, looking down at her with a raised eyebrow. Mouth open, chest heaving, nipples thick and dark aiming toward me, she nodded.
We lay naked on the bed, our hands impatiently exploring every inch of skin. In seconds, she was hot and wet, my fingers sliding easily along her slit, eliciting low-throated moans. The only words racing through my brain. Hot. Wet. Ready. Delicious sensations as her hand grasped my hard, velvety, warm erection for only a moment before my fingers once again dipped down into that cleft between her legs, my fingers working their magic within her depths, only to slowly slide out and trace a circular pattern around her nub before repeating the process. Soon, she lifted her hips in desperation and I obliged, first with my fingers as she spread her knees wider apart, then, with her tugging on my hips, finally nestling between her uplifted knees. I tore open the condom wrapper with my teeth and rolled it on with the swiftness of experience.
I gazed down at her flushed features, my voice thick and heavy. “You sure?”
“Yes!” she gasped, hands cupping my ass now.
I didn’t hesitate. I surged inside, filling her with my engorged dick, buried to the hilt. I paused only a moment, relishing in her tightness surrounding me, and then, my nerves on fire, the blood pulsing through my length, I thrusted upward. She matched me stroke for stroke.
