Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Natalie Charles

  “Don’t,” he groaned. “I can’t take it.”

  He gripped the bare backs of her thighs and pulled her closer. With one smooth thrust he was deep inside of her. She savored the feel of him and moved her hips in slow circles. “Goddamn it.” He threw his head back against the couch, and even in the dim light she could see his eyes were closed and he was fighting to hold back.

  She wouldn’t let him.

  She held his wrists in her hands and brought them to rest beside his head. Then she rocked her hips against his with slick, deliberate motions, feeling him jerk inside of her. She teased him the way he’d teased her, nipping his neck, pausing above him and making him beg before taking him completely inside. They were still fully clothed, minus the tights, fucking like teenagers in public: frantic with need for release. But she held him back.

  “No. Where are you going?” He moaned as if in pain as she stepped away from him.

  “It’s my turn.”

  She knew where he kept the toys. For God’s sake, they’d used them enough. She was in the bedroom sifting through the drawer when he entered. “What are you looking for?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Did I tell you that you could speak? Get on the bed. Now.”

  He gave her that dirty half smile that told her he’d be keeping score. Then he eased back onto the bed, his hands above his head in surrender. She cuffed his right hand to the bedpost, leaving his left hand free to explore. Which he did: right up her skirt. He wasn’t playing around. He went straight to the spot that made her legs tremble, and he smiled when it worked.

  She held on to the headboard as he toyed with her. “No fair,” she gasped. “It’s supposed to be your turn.”

  He grinned. “Life’s not always fair, sweetheart.”

  Like he needed to say it. Like she couldn’t run down her own list of unfair circumstances, or break down in tears right then at the thought that they might always have to meet like this, under cover of darkness. Their love felt so right that the sneaking couldn’t feel wrong. It felt unfair, when all she wanted to do was to announce to the world that she was in love with him.

  He noticed she was far away and paused. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

  “Nothing. Nothing.” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, savoring the feel of his mouth on hers. She would return to this moment later, when they were apart, but imagining was never the same.

  He plunged into her with desperate need, slinging his free arm around her waist to hold her in place. It wasn’t her plan, but she couldn’t fight him. After a few deep thrusts, he moaned her name hoarsely and arched his back against the mattress. Their clothes were half-hanging off their bodies, soaked with sweat.

  “Come here.” He held out his arm to cradle her, and she crouched down, feeling like a child huddled against his massive frame. His breath was labored but recovering.

  “You were okay.” She grinned and kissed his chest. She loved the muscles there and the coarse, dark hair that grew down the middle.

  “You were incredible.” He looked up at his handcuffed wrist, still attached to the bedpost. “Are you going to make me stay like this?”

  “For a little while. I’m punishing you.”

  “For what?”

  For making me feel vulnerable again. For wrapping terror in an exquisite package of pleasure.

  “For all those times you tied me up and didn’t let me touch you. I intend to have my revenge.”

  Because revenge was a much less frightening feeling than love, and love could be easily disguised as lust.

  He leaned over to kiss the top of her head, almost as if he could see straight through her armor. It never ceased to astound her that he could be at turns aggressively dominant and sweet as could be. How had she lived for so long without him?

  CHAPTER 19

  ON THANKSGIVING MORNING, I rose early to put the turkey in the oven and then got down to work with food preparation, eating fistfuls of cereal in between peeling potatoes and chopping beans. Dinner was going to be served at two o’clock. At one, Eric walked in carrying three bottles of red wine. He set them down on the kitchen counter, scratched Odin on the back, and then came over to wrap his arms around my waist. “Hey, beautiful.”

  He kissed me under my right ear, and my breath hitched.

  “You smell nice,” I whispered. He looked pretty nice, too, wearing tailored gray pants and a green sweater that brought out his eyes.

  “We still have some time before everyone arrives. . . .” He slid his hands down my thighs.

  “Are you kidding? I still have to make the sweet potato casserole and set up the appetizers!”

  “Okay, got it.” He planted a kiss on my cheek. “But maybe later.”

  For purposes of Thanksgiving dinner, Eric was my colleague and a friend who had nowhere to go for the holiday. We were definitely not dating and most certainly not sleeping together. We’d had a long talk in which I’d established ground rules and prepared him to meet my family. “No politics of any kind, unless you want to watch Dad and Win go at it. That means no talk of the president’s performance and no mention of any kind of social-welfare program. Oh, and don’t talk about tort reform unless you want Dad to explain how it helps corporations and hurts individuals.”

  Eric was sprawled out on my couch for the talk, his head on my lap. “That doesn’t leave me with much,” he quipped.

  “I’m not finished. Mom lives in one of those age-restricted condominium developments, so don’t talk about how they’re bad planning policy, overpriced, and probably motivated by a fear of racial minorities and schoolchildren.”

  “I don’t—”

  “I’m just saying. And Sadie’s been a vegan for three weeks now, so maybe try not to wear leather. Although knowing her, she won’t draw the connection. And Faye and Win had an open marriage that has recently closed, so just . . . don’t say anything about that. Okay?”

  He was watching me with a big smile. “Anything else?”

  I took a breath. “My niece and nephew are adorable. . . .”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “But you can’t say anything about Portia being bossy or shame her in any way. Better yet, if she does something wrong, let her get away with it. If it’s really bad, nudge Faye. God knows Win doesn’t know how to discipline.” I smiled and stroked his hair. “That’s it, really. We’re on the road to having a great Thanksgiving.”

  But as we stood in the kitchen now, with me dropping mini marshmallows (vegan!) on top of the sweet potato casserole and him slicing a loaf of Italian bread, I searched my brain for more off-topic subjects. “I forgot to mention this the other day, but Dad is sort of paranoid, so it’s best not to mention anything about home-security systems.”

  Eric continued slicing the bread. “Why on earth would I talk about home-security systems?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you feel strongly about them. Maybe you think those companies prey on paranoia. But you can’t say anything about it, because then Dad will march out fifty reasons why he needs to fear for his personal safety, and Sadie will start drinking too much and then educate all of us on safety in other countries, and she’ll develop this affect and talk condescendingly about Americans—”

  “Lettie.” Eric set the knife on the cutting board. “You can’t manufacture a perfect holiday with a set of rules.”

  He was right. I could mold Eric to be the most considerate, noncontroversial guest my family had ever seen, and then Faye and Win could muck it all up by fighting about what she did in the dentist’s chair. “Sorry, that’s a fair point. God knows one of my own family members will say the wrong thing at some point, or Mom will ask me how James is doing—”

  “Honey.” He shook his head. “Can we go with the flow and stop imagining all the things that will go wrong? I want to meet your family. I want them to like me
. Just trust me on this. Okay?”

  I held my breath, counted to three, and released it. “Okay.” No problem, I could be cool. I’d just smile and have a glass of wine in my hand at all times.

  For all of my neuroses, Thanksgiving was my favorite holiday. What’s better than an indulgent meal with the people you love most in the world? Mom brought a box of mini cakes from a local bakery, Dad and Sadie brought some more wine and a dish of marinated tofu cubes, and Faye and Win brought homemade cornbread, a chocolate trifle pudding, pies, and a healthy green salad that no one would eat.

  “Auntie Lettie!” Portia and Blaise ran over to rub their faces against my apron. “Can we have a snack?”

  I gave them each a kiss. “I put some appetizers out. Baked brie and crackers, some grapes—”

  Portia noticed Eric right away. Recognition settled on her face. “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi there,” Eric said congenially. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  Portia drew closer to me, keeping her eyes fixed on Eric. “Aunt Lettie, is that the one who gave us the snake candy?”

  I ushered Portia to one side and helped her out of her coat. “No, sweetie, that was someone else.”

  “It looks like him—”

  “All of my friends look the same.”

  “Well, who’s that?” Mom came into the kitchen with a sunny smile. Every time I saw her these days, I thought about how Faye looked more and more like her. The only differences were some wrinkles and gray strands of hair.

  “Grammie!” Portia and Blaise spun toward her and flung their arms around her legs. Then Blaise looked up and said, “Do you have a present for us?”

  “Blaise, your manners!” Faye scolded. “Sorry, Mom. He’s excited.”

  Portia stuck out her lower lip. “Grammie Sadie always has a present for us.”

  I eyed Eric, who was standing by the cupboard observing the entire exchange. He turned to me, and I gave him a knowing look that said, See? They barely have their coats off, and already it’s started.

  Mom looked confused, and for a moment I was afraid she was going to be angry. “Grammie Sadie?” She started laughing. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

  Faye, Win, and I released a collective breath. “So you’re not mad?” Faye asked.

  Mom waved a hand. “Mad? If she wants to call herself a grandmother at her age, then what do I care? She’s no competition.” Dad and Sadie entered the kitchen from the living room, and the tight expression on their faces told me that they’d overheard everything. “Why, here’s Grammie Sadie now!” Mom said.

  Sadie pulled her shoulders back like she was physically shrugging off the barb, and then she leaned over to greet the kids. “Hello, my sweethearts. Sadie has a little surprise for you.”

  “You mean Grammie Sadie,” Portia said.

  “Well.” Sadie took their hands. “Just Sadie is okay, too.”

  “Hello, Grace,” Dad said as Sadie and the kids left the room and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good to see you again.”

  “And you,” she said, but I think I knew what she was thinking: that standing next to a woman his daughter’s age didn’t make him look younger, just more delusional. She’d said as much to me when they first married. She reached up to touch the hair that framed his face. “Are you coloring your hair? Silver looks distinguished on men.”

  Dad huffed something and looked away. Mom had actually made him blush. She was a marvel. I cleared my throat and set a hand on Eric’s arm. “Everyone. I want to introduce you to my friend Eric. He’s the vice principal at Noah Webster.”

  “John Osbourne.” Dad reached out his hand, and Eric accepted one of his patented firm handshakes.

  “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  Oh my gosh, he called him sir. Dad’s chest swelled a little, and he gave me a look of approval.

  “And I’m Grace.”

  I held my breath. I should’ve warned Eric that Mom is a kisser. She doesn’t believe anyone in a relative’s house is truly a stranger. Sure enough, she kissed Eric on the cheek. More points there: Eric didn’t balk. Instead, he said good-naturedly, “It’s a pleasure, ma’am. Lettie looks just like you.”

  Now he was lying, but Mom was pleased just the same. “She has her father’s jawline,” she replied with bizarre sincerity, like this was something she’d concluded after long research. “Lettie, where can I put the pastries?”

  I led Mom into the kitchen, so I didn’t get to witness Eric meeting Faye and Win. All I knew was that when I came back, Win had his arm slung around Faye’s shoulders, and the three of them were standing together and laughing at something in the news. Jiminy turkey, he was talking politics with Win, and no one was bleeding. I swept my hands down the front of my apron as Eric caught my eye and winked. I smiled.

  Touché, Mr. Clayman. Touché.

  ERIC HAD EXPECTED the worst. Drama and food fights. Thin-skinned people with personality disorders and axes to grind. Lettie had set his expectations so low that he couldn’t help but like her family so long as there was no bloodshed. Her mother? A little quirky but sweet, and he saw where Lettie got her warmth. Her father? He seemed like a fun guy to have drinks with. Sadie? Well, Eric was keeping an open mind. And he had already met Blaise and Portia. They were active and silly, just like the kids he saw in the kindergarten classrooms at school. No reason to head for the hills.

  Lettie had told him before about Faye and how beautiful she was. “Like, stunning,” she’d said. “She could’ve been a model.”

  Eric had noticed the insecurity in her words, the fear that he might find her sister more attractive than he found her. And to be sure, Faye was a beautiful woman. But he couldn’t actually imagine preferring her to Lettie. He couldn’t put his finger on why—until he looked across the room and saw Lettie laughing at something Portia had said. She was covering her open mouth, her hazel eyes bright and shiny, her cheeks flushed. His heart skipped and he thought, There it is. That was the reason he was falling in love with her. He couldn’t name it, but he could see it.

  When they first met, Win shook Eric’s hand and immediately asked him about his job. “Acting vice principal at Noah Webster. For now. Usually I’m at the middle school.” But Eric knew instinctively what Win was looking for. “How about you, Win? Lettie tells me you’re a lawyer.”

  Win lifted his chin a little higher and launched into a speech about himself he must’ve given a thousand times. Eric listened carefully at first, but it went on for so long that his mind started to wander. Trial attorney. Corporate defense. Major verdicts. Awards. Partnership at a young age. “Unprecedented age, really.” Win took a sip of his wine. “But I’d threatened to take my clients and my skills to New York. I’m licensed in both states. You really have to be, living so close to the city.”

  Eric nodded politely and was almost relieved when Faye gently changed the subject. “I tell him we should move to New York so he can run for judge one day,” she said. “He’d make such a great judge. Tough on crime.”

  Win released a breath, like didn’t he know it. “I’d be a reformer, Faye. I don’t know if they’re ready for me.”

  She set her hand on his forearm. “Of course they are. Of course. They need someone to show everyone else how it’s done.” She turned her large blue eyes to Eric. “I’m sure you must see it in the schools. The criminality at a young age.”

  This sounded like politics, and Eric had been given strict orders to stay away from any kind of politics. “Criminality? I don’t think so. We have some kids who need a little extra guidance, sure. Like a few years ago, this one kid took a permanent marker and drew caricatures of the faculty on the hallway wall, including yours truly.” Eric grinned at the memory. “He drew me as a penguin.”

  “A penguin?” Faye knit her brows. “Why a penguin?”

  “I had no idea until I asked him. Then he told me it’s because I had such a lon
g pole up my ass that I waddled.”

  Faye and Win broke into laughter, and Win draped his arm around Faye’s shoulders. “So,” Win said, “let me guess: juvie hall? I mean, it’s defamation of public property.”

  Eric shook his head. “Nope. I had a long talk with him.”

  “The penguin discussion?” Faye gave a knowing smile.

  “The same. How’d you know?” Eric said.

  Win groaned. “You bleeding hearts. A long talk? For defacing property? That kid obviously had issues.”

  “You’re right there. A whole string of them.” Eric held up one hand to tick off on his fingers. “An absent father. An alcoholic mother who’d tried to drink herself to death and ended up losing her job and her apartment. The kid was homeless and acting out.”

  The explanation sobered Faye and Win. “So what happened?” Faye asked.

  Eric shrugged. “I made a case to the principal. This student was a talented artist, and given the right support, I thought he could still have a future. The board of education agreed not to press charges, but the student had to stay after school every day to repaint that wall. He ended up designing the most magnificent mural. A landscape of this one section of River Junction.” Eric smiled thinking about it. “He added a penguin in the corner, too. He said it was his license as an artist, and that this time it was supposed to be a compliment. He’s in art school now, out in Chicago. Not a criminal,” he added.

  “Hmm.” Faye leaned her head against Win’s shoulder. “Maybe you should run for judge. It sounds like you get results.”

  Eric waved off the compliment. “I’ll leave that to Win. I’m challenged enough by elementary school.”

  ERIC WAS CHARMING. Easygoing. At dinner he made my dad laugh out loud a few times, and Win liked him so much he invited him to join him for a charity golf tournament in the spring. “Our firm hosts it every year. It’s a great time.”

  “I love golf. I played in college.”

  Well, look at Mr. Copper Hill, I thought and reached for a glass of wine. “You’re a golfer, Eric? I’m learning something new.”