by S. E. Hall
But just in case, I slip the letter opener (seems fitting) in my coat pocket as I leave the apartment.
My relief is abundant when I find the precious old man holding the door open with his back, grinning from ear to ear as I hesitantly approach.
"I can't wait to see your face!" he greets, motioning me inside. "Come on."
Standing in front of the counter, brilliant eyes astute and friendly, is my favorite contemporary romance author. Like really there, in the flesh. I've read her bio, of course; I always knew she claimed to live in the area, but I never dreamed I'd ever meet her!
Awestruck, she offers her hand and speaks first. "You're indeed a beauty. It's nice to meet you, Amelia."
Beauty. How'd he managed this in such a blip of time?
I'm at a loss, but all that matters is she's here. "You too, so much." My voice trembles, as does the hand I use to shake hers. "I…I can't believe this."
She laughs. "Me either."
I raise a questioning brow.
"Forgive me, but when Shaw called, the last thing I expected was for him to want a favor, and for a girl."
Now it's both brows that shoot up. For a girl? Did she think he was gay?
"That came out wrong." She chuckles, lowering her head before meeting my gaze, seriousness bright in her eyes. "Shaw's never been one to do much other than focus on school or work. He's dated, obviously—the boy's always been gorgeous—but I've never met any of those women personally, so this is a real treat for me."
Before I can ask how she knows him, she continues. "This is for you." She pulls several folded white papers from her purse. "Probably the most interesting thesis I've ever read."
"It's only a couple pages," I burst out, concerned for his grade despite myself.
"You already know the beginning and middle." Her voice takes on meaningful depth. "He figured he'd save you some time; all you need is the ending. I couldn't agree more, myself."
Oh, but I did so enjoy the middle.
No. No, I didn't, and I despise him.
Squaring my shoulders, resigned to unforgivable dismissal, I meet her challenging, almost smirking, gaze. "I'd much rather have you sign one of your books for me. I've read them at least a dozen times each. And your latest…" I struggle for words to convey the amount of heart-wrenching emotions it evoked from me.
She grins, understanding without words. "On the counter." She tilts her head toward it. "But Amelia, trust me. Read the paper."
I nod absently, my response a whisper. "All right."
"It was lovely to meet you," she says, giving me a quick hug. "Good luck."
I stand dumbfounded, watching her say a quick goodbye to Walter before strolling out.
If you'd have told me two months ago I'd be meeting my favorite author soon, well, I'd have laughed and thought you a liar. If you'd have then said I'd walk away feeling more desolate and alone than ever…I'd have called you a fool.
I have no idea what time I finally fall asleep later that night, but I took her advice and read the six final pages of Shaw's thesis. He took a huge risk, his conclusion anything but, instead another question, using it to tell me as though I'd given him the chance to explain. He believes separating mind and body is impossible.
"Even consistently being of mind, that it was to be of only body, I accomplished the exact opposite. Do we deceive ourselves to believe we have any control over either?" I read aloud for the fourth time, shaking my head at his insight.
The handwritten footnote on my copy, I assume, is one of a kind.
Amelia,
I confess, my intentions in the beginning were corrupt and ignoble. I fought it, but as I've said before, you destroy anything I've ever thought I knew, magnificently. You and I became more than a hypothesis long before our bodies joined or my mind itself told me what it already knew. The only regrets I will ever have are my initial deception and any pain I caused you. Mind or body, I can't, don't want to, erase you from either.
Please forgive me, Beauty.
Yours always,
Shaw Elliott Bryant
And I do.
Chapter 20
All night I thought of him, missing him the moment I felt the forgiveness lighten my chest. Strangely, it was one of the easiest things I've ever done. His words drifted through my restlessness and settled me into a dream-filled slumber. Maybe I didn't know the Shaw his friends knew, but the connection between us was undeniable. There was something deeper than I could explain…it just felt right.
My phone sat on the nightstand, calling out to me with every glance I inevitably cast its way. I didn't want to talk about things over the phone. I wanted to see him in person and I had a feeling I knew exactly where I could do just that soon enough.
I'm out of bed before the sun, taking obsessive care of my appearance. I've never been more ready to attend a wedding in my life.
I think I know where I stand with the mysterious Elliott for once. I have his mind and his body and I can't wait to march in there and claim them both. I just have one last thing to clear from my path.
Arriving early, I visit Ashley in the bridal suite in the back of the church for a private moment of congratulations before the chaos of her day begins. I keep one eye wandering, there's a particular someone due for a "come to Jesus" chat before the crowd arrives.
Speaking of the suspect, as I finish helping the tiny flower girl restock her toppled basket, she appears. I stand and smile at the sweet child, then casually stroll up to Mabry.
"Hey, I'm glad you're here. We need to talk," I say, searching out a private spot. "Over here."
"Okay," she drawls in suspicion. I catch the uneasy crease in her brow as she follows. "What's up?" she chirps, unaware her pupils are dilating in and out, flicking side to side.
Guilty. Caught. And deep down, she knows what's coming. There's no way she missed my attack on her so called "man" Friday night. It was written all over her face and I haven't forgotten how she never once checked in on me after I ran out. Ashley had blown my phone up with texts insisting I confirm I made it home safe, but not a one from Mabry!
"Why'd you lie, Mabry?" I say softly, not wanting a huge confrontation but needing the truth. "I thought we were friends."
She can't even look me in the eyes. "Lie about what?" She pops her hip, crossing her arms defensively.
"Mabry." I frown, my tone full of condescension. "Stop. I know, so just be honest and tell me why. I deserve that much."
Her eyes narrow. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Amelia. And I don't appreciate being called a liar," she snarls. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm here to celebrate, not be attacked in corners."
"You know what I don't appreciate?" Blocking her move to leave, I pin her with my menacing glare, making it clear I don't plan on cowering no matter what tone she takes. "Being lied to by someone I trusted. But since you're going to play the ignorant card, I'll just lay mine on the table. You've never slept with Shaw, aka FedEx, have you?"
She guffaws sarcastically, a poor attempt to demean me. Doesn't work when your cheeks light with scarlet shame. "Not yet today," she replies haughtily, "but that'll change after the ceremony. Why the third degree? You know I have, many times. Jealous?"
Unsure how to process her level of insanity, I slowly shake my head, stunned I considered her such a close friend. And I thought I needed therapy?
"Okay, let me explain this nice and slow so you can understand," I hiss, my face close to hers. "I. Know. You're. Full. Of. Shit!"
Before she can respond, I hold up a hand and start ticking off points on my fingers. "One, I believe him and he said he's never been with you. Ever. Two, you said you were with him at the Halloween party? Impossible, because I was." A smug grin spans my face with that zinger.
Mabry attempts to look indifferent but I catch the tick in her jaw as I continue. "And your 'fabulous weekend,'" I air quote and cock a brow, "I was with him then too. Give it up. Just tell me why."
Her eyes rolls back with her scoff
. "Whatever, Amelia. You're insane. I don't need this." She steps around me but I reach out and snare her arm. She refuses to look back at me, body rigid and trembling.
I speak low, my voice catty in warning right behind her ear. "You wanted him, and something tells me you knew he wanted me. Why else would you lie through your teeth to deter me? I never went after him. I didn't even know he was the guy I was falling for."
"He asked me for your phone number months ago," she muttered. "How could you not know?"
My anger fizzles into a touch of sadness. I never meant anything to her. "I guess you'll never find out," I say sadly, "because I only discuss my relationships with my friends, which you no longer are. But what I will say is, when you decided to go the route of deception, you tangled your own web."
She prances off with a huff and I mentally pat myself on the back, feeling empowered and territorial…and ready to search him out.
A few anguished tears escaped during the ceremony, but thankfully everyone assumed I was touched by the beautiful love and vows on celebratory display, which I am, but the fact that he's not here plays a larger role.
Adding salt to the wound, I catch the wink that Dylan's best man, Brady, throws his girlfriend Addison. Or judging by the extravagant ring she continues to twirl on her finger, I'm guessing fiancée is the more appropriate term. His eyes have been on nothing or no one but her the entire ceremony. Some girls have all the luck.
I finally found the one person that makes me feel alive, the person who brings out the uninhibited vixen hidden deep within and opens my mind like no one else can. But now, when I'm ready to explore the possibilities of being his, he's nowhere to be found.
If he's sincere in his apology and genuinely wants me, which I thought was affirmed by the grand gesture of his remorse, why isn't he here sweeping me into his arms?
Is the man incapable of any normalcy?
Needless to say, I'm two drinks in by the time the bride and groom's arrival is announced at the reception. After their first dance, a crowd joins them on the floor to Cupid Shuffle and Wop, but I'm just not feeling it, nursing my drink in the corner through a forced smile.
Max strutting my way will not help my mood, but here he comes.
"Amelia, beautiful as always. Having a good time?"
I'm no longer even the tiniest bit annoyed with him—why would I be? He's not the one I want, there's no big spark between us, so he looked elsewhere. Can't blame the guy, honestly, so I reply politely with a halfhearted yes.
He holds out his palm. "A dance?"
What the hell. I accept, finishing my drink with a final gulp.
Max glides me around the floor to "Two is Better Than One," which is aptly appropriate, misery loving company the only reason I accepted his invitation in the first place.
The end of the song fades to white noise in my ears, the periphery of the room a hazed fuzz as my tunnel vision focuses on the heavenly sight headed directly toward me. I can't look away from those determined steely blue eyes lasered in on their target, complimented perfectly by his light grey suit.
He's breathtaking.
"Get lost, Treat," he says to Max but remains focused on me. "Our song, our dance," he growls, dangerously low and possessive.
Max practically runs, not as much as a feeble attempt at protesting, and I'm scooped forcefully into the enormous arms I've missed. My body is his to handle, willing and compliant, blissfully pulled taut against my favorite broad chest as "Beneath Your Beautiful" begins to play.
"Are they going to play it twice this time?" I simper into the fresh scent of his white dress shirt, eyes closed.
"If you wish," he rumbles against my hair, just above my temple, where his lips irresistibly rest.
Our bodies sway delectably close through most of the song until he speaks again. "Are you ready to listen to me, Beauty?"
"No, just hold me," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut tighter, inhaling his scent, reveling in the ambience of our song, enveloped in the snug safety of his overbearing, solid embrace.
"Amelia." A soft kiss on my forehead breaks the trance.
"Shaw," I reply. Testing the name aloud while in his arms is an experience of its own. His hands tense around me. He's not just my Elliott anymore, he's so much more. Shaw, the entire package. Half-lidded eyes stare up at him, so handsome, gentle, and charming when he wants to be—no, when he knows I need him to be.
"Walk outside to the terrace with me?" he asks, lifting our joined hands to brush that delicious mouth over my knuckles.
I nod my consent and his smile spreads, dimple on the left winking at me.
It's a glorious night, cool with an energizing breeze, a million stars our ceiling. Shaw leads me to a bench in the courtyard and pulls me to sit on his right leg. Tucking a flyaway wisp of hair behind my ear, his hand lingers, softly gliding the length of my face and across my jaw.
"You're beautiful, brilliant, kind…" He looks away with a heavy exhale.
"And?" My finger hooks his chin, turning his face back to me.
"Did you read the ending? he asks.
My smile grows. "I did and I loved it. Thank you for the unbelievable way it was delivered."
He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Forgive me, Amelia. I believed if body won, no one would get hurt. But you have my mind completely." Our eyes are locked, his hand resting against my cheek. I lean into it. "I want to give us a try, whatever you'll accept. I can't walk away from you. I've tried, it nearly killed me."
I feign contemplation, switching gears quickly and catching him off guard with a sudden kiss to the corner of his lips. "Let's get out of here," I say, taking his hand as I stand.
Chapter 21
It's impossible to conceal my disappointment when he pulls up to my apartment building. I in no way meant I wanted to go home!
Does he want the night to end? Not happening.
"Walk me to my door?" I coo, batting my lashes.
Not responding, he climbs out and comes around to open my door, helping me out. We walk in silence, hands intertwined, toward my apartment, then abruptly he stops.
"I thought maybe you'd come to my place tonight," he suggests.
Um…the expression on my face, staring at my awaiting apartment must speak for me because his cocky grin mixes with a chuckle and he's pulling me toward the stairs past my door.
"The night on your balcony, so abandoned, exposing your ecstasy…" He looks down at me. "It was the most gorgeous sight my eyes could ever hope to behold."
What? I follow his lead up each step processing his words.
"Come on in."
The door right in front of my face opens, and only now, after recovering from what he'd just said, do I finally consciously grip what's happening.
He lives upstairs. He watched me on my balcony that night.
I'm opening my mouth to begin my litany of questions when a half-naked man wanders through the room, either unconcerned or unaware of his company as he scratches his balls and yawns.
Shaw clears his throat and the man startles, moving to face us, eyes wide, fully aware now.
"Ah, shit, sorry man.," he mumbles.
Shaw shakes his head. "Amelia, this is my roommate, Vaughn. Vaughn, Amelia Hill, my girlfriend." He squeezes my hand tighter and gazes down at me with a tender smile, which I return, my approval of the status contained within it.
Vaughn's body is pure muscle, I notice as I catch a glimpse of what appears to be a large tattoo on his back, boxer briefs his only clothing. He's shorter than Shaw by less than an inch, with raven black hair sticking up every direction.
I take a wild guess. "Vaughn, now that we're meeting, perhaps we could discuss your love of death metal and volume levels."
Shaw ducks his head into my neck and chuckles. How the hell he wrote a thesis amongst all those blaring screams, I'll never understand.
"What, no good?" Vaughn asks without a trace of sarcasm.
He actually doesn't realize the problem.
"Um.
" I hold up my thumb and index finger in measure and squint one eye. "Little loud."
"Gotcha, I'll watch it." He flashes me a white smile and playful wink.
"But I didn't mind 'Almost Lover,'" I add to cushion the criticism. "Quite clever too."
He strokes his jaw, one brow rising. Shaw's body tenses against me.
"Almost who?" His eyes dart between me and his roommate. "Never played that shit. I don't even know it."
Max. Almost lover. Cock block. I wasn't imaging it.
I slap the back of my hand against Shaw's washboard abs. "You ass!"
"Worked." He shrugs, leaning in to steal a kiss and making me forget his mischievous antics. His plan, I'm sure.
We exchange a smile, one that's full of need and possibilities. A spark flashes. This is real. He's real and he's mine.
I push up on my tiptoes and whisper so only he can hear, "You gonna show me your room?"
His eyes darken, his tongue darting out, glistening across his lips. "I believe that can be arranged." His throaty timbre vibrates straight to my overzealous pussy.
Vaughn chuckles. "Right. Well, have some fun for me. I gotta jump in the shower, long haul ahead of me. Looking at six or seven days, man," he says to Shaw, "but no worries. I got it handled."
"Amelia," he groans from above me. "Open your eyes, baby. See me."
With strenuous effort, I force my lids to comply despite their hunger to remain closed in delirium. Eye to eye, Shaw holds my stare while he thrusts into me, steady and forceful as ever, but with a new tender adoration.
He braces his weight on strong elbows near my ears, lowering his head to tangle our tongues. Transfixed further into our thundering connection, I wrap my legs around his sturdy waist, locking my ankles and arching my pelvis up in hungry need.
"Shaw," I purr, savoring the sweet friction as he unites us over and over.
"Say it again. My name. My Amelia," he grunts, now lavishing my nipples with hot wet affection.
I do more than say it, I scream it, as we consummate our relationship with face to face, real name, mutual giving and receiving sex.
