Jamison cut the thought off of the simple Post-it note she still carried in her wallet with its heavy elegant script. God, life wasn’t fair. If it were, she would stop falling for men that weren’t suitable. Although, she had noticed something during her few hours in Alaska. The male to female ratio was vastly disproportioned. There were at least three men to every woman she saw. Even with her jet-lagged, exhausted frame and bloodshot eyes from too many inflight cocktails, she had gotten quite a few interested looks. But the mental wall she erected must have kept others from approaching her, and she spent the day sightseeing. There were many things to see and do apparently. There were tours she could take of the terrain, adrenaline-laced sports she could participate in, and wildlife refuges she could visit. She had two days before she would begin in earnest with a private showing of the film, and then she would conduct a few interviews with the workers at the rig. A quick glance at her e-mail confirmed the interviews were going to be with geologist first, as the process really started there. Geologists helped to locate mineral and fossil fuel deposits before the major job of drilling began. She was also set to meet the roughnecks who manned the heavy machinery. There were several castes of oil riggers, but it wasn’t clear exactly who did what yet. That was the point of the interviews, to get a concrete idea of how such a massive project worked from start to finish. By the time she was done, she hoped to make consumers reading her blog understand the danger to environment and the workers involved in risky business of oil manufacturing. She had some information that she read, but she wanted to learn from the people that actually performed the work and let their perceptions help to fill in the naturally unknown blanks in the subject matter.
She made her way to her hotel room and surfed the web for a corporate rental house or apartment. At the least she would be here for two weeks, and at the latest she was looking at a month in Alaska. It would be nice to have a regular place to cook and rest without dealing with people all the time or just be alone with her rampant thoughts and a semblance of peace. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew there was no solace to be found alone. Marq weighed heavily on her mind, and there was nothing she could do or say to make their parting any different. For some reason, leaving Marq after thirty days hurt worse than her breakup with Aiden. With Aiden, she was disgruntled and angry at him for the way he backstabbed her. With Marques, she hurt more for what could have been and the loss of him in her life more so than anything else. But she didn’t mean to Marq what he meant to her, and meeting Dakota made her see that crystal clear. He was going to be okay, and she couldn’t afford to pine away for a man that probably landed back on his feet like a cat within two minutes of her departure.
* * * *
When Jamison closed his front door for the last time, Marq spent the day throwing things. He flipped a TV, the one they’d watched their home movie on together. He tore the leather negligee she’d worn for him their first week together to shreds. After that he broke three plates and two coffee mugs. He went through several stages of grief in mere hours, vacillated from sadness to fear, to anger, which boiled into rage. The rage lasted the longest, but when it was spent, he was sad again. Marq was far from okay, and in fact he was going crazy. Jamison had only been gone for one day and night so far, and he missed the hell out of her. He missed shopping for her and watching her emerge from her self-imprisoned cocoon. He missed her dawn meetings with the sun and seeing her expression when she came. He missed her period.
Chapter Twelve:
Love is? A Lot of Things
There had never been a woman in his life that enjoyed his brand of care or took the time to understand him beyond the superficial. At this point, he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Even if he did, wallowing in his misery was better than actually doing something about it. Damned if he wasn’t in love with her. But how to tell her? Even if he spoke the words that beat at him, they weren’t going to bring her back to him, he knew her well enough for that. She was a woman of intrigue, and even with the heartfelt conversations they’d had in the prior weeks, he still knew less of her than he wanted. Marques knew who she was today, but what made her that woman? Why did she hide so skillfully in plain sight? As the thought crossed his mind, his cell phone rang, and he was all for ignoring it. But his gut told him to pull himself up by his bootstraps out of the funk he resided in and to answer the damn thing, so he did.
“Moreland.”
“Is that anyway to greet your mother?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Sounds like someone’s in a black mood right now.”
“You could say that.”
“How’s Jamison?”
“Why would I know that, Mom?”
“Let’s just say I had a feeling.”
“Well she’s not here, and she isn’t at home, so I have no idea how she is right now.”
“Well then, Marques, how are you?”
“Okay.”
“Since when is it all right to lie to you mother?”
“Sorry, Mom, I feel like shit. Is that any better?”
“Yes, much. Thank you. So tell me what’s wrong?”
“Everything. Deven’s latest project is a flop.” He gave her a scaled down version of the debacle he found yesterday after following up on Deven’s hunch.
“Hmm, that does sound terrible. But really, Marq, as long as you and your brothers have been in business, there have been worse things attempted. Plus, you know how to handle yourself well beyond any other man I know, even your father.” Marques felt poleaxed. It was the first time his mother had mentioned his dad without crying. When he passed away, at first Charlotte was barely able to say his name with having a nervous breakdown.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Marques, you truly have a gift. Your brothers are nowhere near as skilled as you. But you waste too much time with others, and not enough on yourself. All I want is for you to be happy, and all you seem to want is to make things better for others. Don’t think I haven’t kept tabs on you. To this day, I haven’t seen you take one dime from your trust fund. Both your brothers took their funds long ago for one project or another, while you have been self-sufficient and too proud to ask for your own money.”
“Mom, I haven’t needed any of it, and I’ve been taking money from the fund. As a matter of fact, I made a withdrawal yesterday.”
“That’s the reason that I called you. Since you were given control of the trust fourteen years ago, you haven’t taken anything but the interest accrued. Yesterday’s withdrawal against the principal was the first you’ve made in the history of the account. So I had to call and see what historic and cataclysmic event had to occur to make you utilize family money.”
“It’s Jamison’s.”
“Hmmm…” His mother’s voice trailed off as if she found what he said to be interesting in the extreme. He didn’t plan on saying anything more, but it just spilled out. All of it. He told his mom how he walked in on her in the red room and had him seduced at the moment he saw her in downward dog. He even told mom about the thirty-day challenge he’d given her. That only gave his mom more questions, especially when he mentioned the tapes. That was an even longer story, and once he gave her the nuts and bolts of what happened in college, he knew she was stunned by the silence that greeted him at the other end of the phone.
“Wow, Marq,” was the first thing she said, long minutes after the tale ended.
“I know, right.”
“It’s just that…” Charlotte paused, as if she were attempting to gather the words together to make sense of everything. “After all these years, I never thought you would finally tell me the truth of what happened in school.”
“You knew?”
“Of course, Marques. I’m your mother. When it comes to my kids I know everything. Charyn doesn’t think I know about his rope tricks. Even Deven doesn’t realize that I knew about Charli before he told me or the special harness he made for her either. I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I s
till have my edge.” She laughed, and Marques felt his mood lighten. There was even a slight hint of mirth that arose to his mother’s giggles.
“Harness?”
“That’s best left for your brother to tell you about. Needless to say, I raised a passel of horndogs.” Marq couldn’t contain the laugh that barked from his chest.
“You know what, Mom? It seems like you’re right.”
“So let me ask you again, how is Jamison?”
“I thought we already talked about that.”
“Marq, don’t you think you need to find out then? Duh.” Each word was clearly enunciated, like his mom thought he was nuts.
“Mom, slang is not a good look on you. You know that, right?”
“Slang may not look good on me, but sulking looks worse on you.” He thought about that for a moment. He was sulking. His house was smashed by his own hand, and he metaphorically cried in his beer. He’d never gained anything in life without personal sacrifice. Even knowledge came with a great price because it came with an obligation to use it or waste it, like chaff blowing in the wind.
“Damn, you’re right about that.”
“Anyway, Marq, can you come get your mother?”
“Huh?” What in the world was Mom talking about?
“I’m at the airport.”
“Not that I have a problem with that, but why are you at the airport, Mom?”
“Well, I decided it was time to leave the dusty old mausoleum and see my boys on their turf.” Crap, he thought, as looked at his house, Mom definitely couldn’t stay here tonight.
After that, Marq stumbled around a bit until he was dressed somewhat, opting for a sweatshirt and terrible jeans that he knew his mother would scoff at, and he redlined the Audi. He arrived at the airfield ten minutes later.
When he arranged his mother’s vintage Birkin trunk into the back of his car, they were on the road. Although, he was grateful that his mother refused the hospitality of his condo for her visit.
“Marq, that’s hardly going to work. You only have one bed, and I know we are both getting too old to be crashing on couches.”
“All right then, where do you want to stay then?”
“What about the house Deven’s got in Ogden?”
“It’s in the middle of a construction site, mom. When they come back to work, it’s going to be hard to sleep in the middle of all that noise.”
“I don’t have a problem with early morning risings, Marq. That’s you.”
“If that’s what you want then.” She was going to call him and complain. He could hear it already.
But by the time he dropped her off at Deven’s old house, Marq decided just to stay with her. He hadn’t really spent as much time with his mother as he should have. Especially considering how he lost his father suddenly, he didn’t want to feel guilty about not being with his only remaining parent while he could. Mom took Deven’s old room, and Marq used one of the spares by the office.
He couldn’t sleep though, just like last night. Why did he let Jamison walk out of his life like that? Jackass. Marq idly wondered how many hours he could go without sleeping before he went crazy. He was so disturbed he did something he hadn’t done in years. He stumbled into the kitchen around three a.m. and scuttled about in the kitchen looking for chocolate. His mother walked out of the back bedroom in a long nightdress and matching robe. Her wan gaze told him that she couldn’t sleep either. Mom was the first one to smile, and he lifted his lips in a small grin to match hers.
“You’re trying to make hot chocolate?” Charlotte beamed from ear to ear as Marq responded with a nod.
“Yeah, want some?”
“Of course, you know I have a love-hate relationship with chocolate. I love it, and it loves me back, but my thighs detest the results.”
“Mom, I think you need to stop fishing for complements. You’re near the same size you were when you modeled.”
“Pish posh, it takes hard work to keep a woman of my years in shape. Every year I have to work harder to keep my metabolism up. You don’t get it now, but even your dad started to get a bit of belly toward his later years. Hell, I had one, too.”
Marques laughed at his mother. He’d never seen her less than svelte. Fifteen minutes later, they unearthed some squares of dark chocolate. Marques heated them in a double boiler and just short moment later made passable beverages out of the molten delicacy.
“Marq, this is good. It’s so strong it tastes like espresso.” They sat on the couch, and each sipped on their mugs topped with melted marshmallows. His mom had a thick moustache of the drink above her lip, and Marq would be surprised if he didn’t have one to match. The heat from the late night indulgence started to work magic on the insomnia that plagued the pair as they yawned in sync. Mom stood first, and Marq followed suit. They hugged once and went to their beds. He fell asleep nearly as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Jamison flowed around him. Her hair tickled him over his flesh. She smelled delightful, and he wanted more. He couldn’t wait for her, and impatient to feel more, he took over and rolled her beneath him. She already made him crazy. He needed inside her now. It was so natural and easy to get inside her, only one strong flex of hips seated his head inside her puffy soaked slit. He didn’t have to even guide himself with his hands. She fit him so well her pussy molded his cock better than his own flesh did. He needed to be deeper inside her, although there was nowhere else to go. He bottomed out with every stroke, hit every spot he could, before she gave him a guttural cry and screamed his name. She quivered and jerked stiltedly, wet and wanting more. He could tell by the way she cried his name. The one word left her lips over and over again, nearly a prayer for more. He was so gone words had left him, and he only grunted in response. His hips rolled and snapped into hers, before he gave her everything he had to give.
Marq awoke with a pillow clenched between his teeth and his own sticky cum staining the sheets beneath him. When he looked over, he realized it was dawn, and he wasn’t about to have the luxury of his normal view today. Once that thought took over, he was ready to roll over and take a nap, just for the peace that sleep would bring. At least then he wasn’t alone and left to want. But when he closed his eyes in a vain attempt to shut out his misery, it wasn’t going to happen. He assessed the reality, knew that he lay in his own wet spot, and had cotton fibers in his mouth. Even with the facts made perfectly clear, he still rested in the sticky mess until he physically couldn’t stand it anymore. His shower was cold and quick, and he shuddered into a bathrobe before tossing the stained sheets and yesterday’s clothes in the washer.
He perked up some coffee, but the beans were not very good and seemed slightly stale when he sniffed them. The freshly ground stale beans would do for now, but he would get another cup for certain when he went across town to his house after his clothes dried. The bed was made with spare sheets from the linen closet, and he dug through the near empty cabinets. Only two held food, and none of it was anything he wanted to eat. There was no way he was eating caviar, oatmeal, or brown bread in a can. Who the hell ate bread in a can anyway? That was going to be a no-go. The coffee finished perking, and it smelled decent, so he drank it straight black. Yeah, the beans were stale. That didn’t improve his mood any, and he was sure going to make time to get more when he went home later. When the dryer finished its cycle, he remade the bed and dressed in his clean clothes.
* * * *
After her first few days, Jamison was cold and still in Alaska, no matter how she wished otherwise. She found a rental house. It was a vacation home and cost a bit more than she wanted to pay, but the home was perfect. It was the kind of house that had every amenity possible and a honeymooner would love. There was an incredible view from the back porch. She found that if she stood outside, she never wanted to leave, especially from the hot tub. God knows, it was super awesome. She found it amazing to have everything she wanted at her fingertips. Even in her naturally perfect setting, she was just lonely in a way that she
never thought possible. She never realized how much Marq truly meant to her. Ugh, she was so disgusted with herself. There was no way that a man should mean so much to her happiness. Why in the world was she giving him the time of day? Why was he her first thought in the morning and the last before she went to bed? Why couldn’t she let him go? Was it truly just the addiction she had to his hands and the numerous orgasms he had given her? So what if he made her come ten times a day? She couldn’t do that for herself, true, but there were other things she could do for herself. She could love herself. She didn’t need a man for that, but she did need someone else to have a conversation with. It was definitely kind of lonely around here. She would have loved to share the panoramic views with another person, but there was no one else. Just her.
She wondered if Marq was in bed with Dakota right now or what else he might be up to. But she was not a clairvoyant, and she could only guess. Everything that she guessed made her skin boil. So she had to let the thoughts go, especially since she was trying to find her Zen. It was hard, but the last few days she had an issue with her usual workouts. It seemed like she would get started, but her meditation left her with too much time to think. That was the last thing that she needed. What she really wanted to do was forget everything that she had encountered in the last months. But no matter what she did, there was no way she could think about anything but Marq. Everything she did reminded her of him. She imagined him watching her work out when she did her sessions in the mornings greeting the sun. She saw him when she got dressed, and she could see his reaction to her garments. Right now, she looked like shit. She knew it but couldn’t fathom giving a damn about anything or anyone else. God, she must be depressed. She hadn’t even felt like this when Aiden cheated on her. But then again her feelings for Marq were so vastly different from anything she imagined before. The comparison was similar to the juxtaposition of a candle flame to a forest fire. It was the difference between a lit match and the sun. The sparks from a flint and tinder to the ones created white hot in a steelworkers forge.
Willows, Jennifer - A Harem of One [The Moreland Brothers 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 16
