The concern on his face was palpable. “Come here.” I moved into his arms, against his chest. He kissed the top of my head. “You will have quiet. I promise you.”
The determination in his voice made my heart swell, and in that moment I could actually see a future free from the shackles of my past. I looked up into his adoring eyes. He stared into mine as though he could see the future in them, our future. Blake leaned in and kissed me tenderly before greeting my earlobe, catching it gently between his teeth. I inhaled the cold air, my body warming with every rapid beat of my heart. He continued his soft, sensual kisses down my neck. When his mouth returned to mine, his kiss was deeper, more passionate. Our tongues settled into an unmistakable rhythm, one his body clearly understood and responded to. He pulled me tightly against him. As our kisses slowed, I ran my tongue along the inside of his upper lip, a move that made him tremble and moan approvingly. Scooping me into his arms, he carried me inside and straight to his bedroom, my head nuzzling his neck the whole way.
He was breathing heavily, but it had nothing to do with carrying me from the gazebo to his bedroom. We soaked each other in with our eyes, gently pressing our hands together for a long few moments. Soon, Blake stroked the back of one hand along my cheek, and I began to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one. It was odd, really, but with each button I unfastened, I grew calmer; there wasn’t a single doubt, no second guesses. There would be no regret. Everything about this moment was right. I ran the palms of my hands up his bare chest and pushed the shirt off of him. His heart pounded fiercely, perhaps even more so than my own.
The tips of Blake’s fingers journeyed the length of my arms before reaching their destination: the straps of my gown. Before slipping the dress off completely, Blake looked at me, almost as if he needed to make sure this was what I wanted. I nodded ever-so-slightly, and my dress fell to the floor.
“You’re breathtaking,” he breathed.
I undid the buckle on his pants, my eyes never leaving his. Slowly sitting down on the edge of the bed, I stared at Blake as he removed the rest of his clothing, the moon gleaning off the lake in the background. I’d always thought he was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. Out of his clothes, he was, hands down, the most remarkable man my eyes ever had the great fortune to witness.
I moved back on the bed and took great pleasure in watching him crawl on top of me, moving like a powerful tiger. His hands drifted over my body, removed my undergarments, and proceeded to touch me in ways I had never been touched before. I gasped and arched in surprise. Blake’s tongue and hands were studiously learning my typography. When his eyes met mine, a small smile appeared on his face. It was such a simple smile, yet it said so much. My body was on fire—I wanted him so badly.
“Now,” I breathed, kissing him, my voice yearning. “Now…”
His eyes never leaving mine, Blake said raggedly, “Maggie.”
The ache of needing him, wanting him forced me to cry out as he gently took me over. The sensation was unearthly. I kissed his shoulder, gently grazing my teeth against his smooth skin, drawing a growling moan from deep within him. My body was alive; every movement, every kiss, every ragged breath, was life’s force, a reason for something, anything…everything. Blake’s rhythm, slow and powerful, drew me to the edge of delirium. I had no idea making love could feel so fantastic, and the aftershocks, the trembles, the extra little jolts that accompanied it, sent me soaring into a whole other galaxy.
We lay with each other for hours, him stroking my hair, me tracing my nails in random shapes on his stomach.
“I didn’t know it could be like this,” I said.
“And how’s that?”
I thought for a moment. “I’m not sure how to explain it. Maybe…mutual?”
Blake chuckled. “Well, it’s definitely not always like this. This is special, different.”
I kissed his chest. “I like different. And I like special. Good words.”
“Great words,” he said, his voice raspy.
And then an ill-timed funny thought popped into my head, making me laugh, utterly shattering the moment.
“Well, where did that come from?” he asked, his voice fighting the urge to laugh.
“It’s twisted. I blame my brain.”
“Clue me in.”
“I was just thinking…maybe next time we should mix it up and…you know…trade in the regular protection for the glow-in-the-dark variety I have in my room.”
Well, Blake lost it. I suppose this was the story of us: laughter; finding the funny in just about everything.
“Where are they?” he asked.
“In my bag. There’s a note from Ivy attached to them. You can’t miss them.” He raised an eyebrow and one side of his mouth curled. “Are you ready for round two?”
“I’ll just go grab those glow-in-the-dark friends.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Blake was my anchor and my kite—he grounded my fear, burying it beneath sea and sand, all while raising my hope and lifting my soul as high as the heavens. The same could be said for his effect on my body, which I was about to enjoy yet again.
Chapter Twelve
Needless to say, Blake and I didn’t sleep much last night. Herein rests a tremendous benefit to being fellow insomniacs. Morning drenched the great room and kitchen in golden rays. With nothing more than Blake’s dress shirt on, I attempted to show him how to get the right ratio of milk to cereal, a silly game I was happy to play. We were sitting at the bar, cuddled close together.
“No, no, no! See, your pouring is too heavy handed!” I snapped, slapping his hand and taking the carton of milk. “It all depends on bowl size and how much cereal you pour.”
“I like a lot, much more than a taste,” he said playfully.
“So I gathered last night,” I retorted, my heart rate speeding up again. He nibbled at my neck and earlobe. “Will you pay attention?”
“Sorry, sorry. Carry on.”
“Now watch.” I poured the milk and held up my hands triumphantly when done. “Not too much to make it soggy, not too little where you think you’re eating tissue paper.”
Blake applauded and I did a little mock curtsy. “You really are a gold medalist cereal pourer.”
“I know. I can’t fathom why they don’t make it an Olympic event.”
“Well…”
I knew that ‘well’ meant it was time to get back to the big city.
“Time to get ready to go,” I said, unable to conceal my disappointment.
Blake nodded, then quite unexpectedly threw me over his shoulder and carried me upstairs. “But not yet.”
Oh boy!
After another satisfying hour and some lazing around, we eventually hopped in the shower—where a little more than showering took place. It was probably the only time the chill of tiles against my skin felt so damn erotic. Post-shower, I packed up and Blake took our bags to the car. I lingered a moment, marking every room to memory. Blake waited patiently for me by the door. Walking hand-in-hand to the car, I peered over my shoulder for one last look at a house that just gave me the most spectacular weekend of my existence…a house and a happiness I was suddenly worried I would never see again.
I slept nearly all the way back to New York City. Blake had to wake me once we had reached his aunt’s old brownstone. There, Finn waited by the town car to take us back to our respective apartments; Blake had work awaiting him at his Tribeca place. Having Finn drop me off first, Blake, as always, gathered my bag and tote full of souvenirs and escorted me up to my apartment.
“I’ll see you at the hub tomorrow,” said Blake, holding my hands once he’d set my things just inside the door.
I nodded, keeping firm eye contact with my feet.
“Hey,” he said, raising my chin. “One day, I’ll find you that quiet. And together, we’ll enjoy the hell out of it. When I make a promise, I keep it.”
I smiled weakly. “I believe you.”
He kissed me slowly for w
hat seemed like forever. I would have been good with a forever like this one, but, alas, it couldn’t last. He pulled away, but not before pressing his forehead against mine, a gesture I found so profoundly meaningful.
“Bye.”
“Never bye,” I said, shaking my head. “Let’s try…in a little while.”
Blake smiled and stroked my hair. “In a little while.”
I closed the door and locked it, a loud, borderline forlorn sigh escaping me in the process. I just damn well didn’t want the weekend to be over. Insert another dramatic sigh. Facing my bag—the dread of having to unpack and do laundry weighing on me—the brief need for a classic pout overcame me, pushing my lips out, crinkling my forehead, and rounding my shoulders in the process.
Tossing up my hands, I said, “Have the best sex of your life with a man you’re completely falling in love with means you suddenly become a drama queen? Get a lid on it, Maggie.” Talking to myself had never been considered a precursor for a straight jacket, at least not to me. Others, however, would probably have had me hauled off years ago. Ah, well, crazy behind closed doors just ensured sanity out in public. That was my motto.
As I plopped on the floor and sorted laundry, my eyes caught an odd shaped object wrapped in red tissue paper sitting catawampus atop my souvenir tote.
“Huh. Not something I remember packing.”
I crawled over to the tote, pulled out the object, and carefully opened it. As soon as the last bit of tissue paper fell away, a smile stretched across my face, for in my hands was a hand-carved wooden sculpture of the very same steamboat where Blake and I had dinner, watched fireworks, and started a few of our own.
“Blake,” I whispered, holding the little boat close to me.
When and where he bought this, I could not begin to guess, but the fact that he thought to do so meant more to me than words could ever do justice.
“Have the perfect spot for you.”
Cradling my mini-steamboat, I brought it to my nightstand and set it atop a stack of books.
“There. Perfect.”
No matter how all of this ends, no matter how my existence may struggle from here, I would always awaken to a reminder that for one weekend, life was perfect and safe and beautiful.
*****
For a Monday afternoon, the hub was particularly charged. Blake texted everyone that he planned to meet us earlier than usual to conduct a thorough rundown of our recon plan for Halloween. Of course, the formal text wasn’t the first one I found on my phone this morning. In fact, one specific text made me want to stay in bed a little longer.
Besides Ivy, I wasn’t entirely sure which of my cohorts knew I spent the weekend with Blake. Certainly no one acted any different. Greg banged on his keyboard as usual, if not with a tad more urgency; Pike and Ty were huddled over the interactive table in the back corner, pointing things out to one another and clearly discussing options of some kind; Ivy, meanwhile, busied herself by flipping through a magazine, her feet propped up on her desk.
Barely lowering her magazine to look at me as I walked into the hub, she growled, “Did we make progress?”
I smirked and tossed the empty bag of glow-in-the-dark protection on her desk.
Keeping her voice low enough where only I could hear her, Ivy muttered, “Probably all missionary and in the bed.”
You know, for someone who claimed to be uninterested in friendship, Ivy certainly circled the girl-talk realm, albeit in her own ‘Ivy’ way.
“I’d say it was a lot of everything and most definitely not of the bed-only variety,” I whispered saucily.
Ivy actually pulled her feet off the desk, tossed her magazine aside, and flashed me a genuine smile. “You surprise me, newbie. Brace yourself, but I think I actually do like you.”
“Took you long enough,” I muttered. “Only took banging the boss to get your approval. You do see how twisted that is, right?”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I have perspective. You and I both know this weekend went much deeper than banging, and Blake is far more than just your boss. I might be cold and repulsed by monogamy and love, but that doesn’t mean I can’t shove two love-struck fools together.”
“Ivy…that’s probably the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Don’t get used to it. Now, go to work…you little slut.”
Ivy smacked me on my rear as I turned to head for my desk. That was the closest thing to a confirmation of friendship as one could hope to get from Ivy.
Pike and Ty occupied all of my work time, familiarizing me with the touch screen table and other high-tech gadgets. By the time Blake arrived, I had a decent handle on the techie table and was busy learning the layout of Mankazian Mansion.
“Hey all,” said Blake, sweeping through the hub. “If everyone could gather around the tech table, we’ll get started.” When he moved behind me, he brushed his hand along my lower back.
“Now, Greg, you just keep your ass glued to that chair, like always. No need for you to join in on the big boy stuff,” said Pike.
“Prick,” Greg muttered. “Let me know when you learn how to tie your shoelaces by yourself and I’ll throw you a party. Better yet, when you actually beat Blake at chess, I’ll hold a press conference and put your name in the papers. How’s that?”
Pike just laughed. He did crack his neck, though, and I wondered then if Greg’s words didn’t strike at least a tiny nerve; Pike was just too manly to show as much, but he clearly hated losing to Blake in chess.
“Now, some of what I cover will be for Maggie’s benefit, since this will be her first heist,” said Blake, all business. “First rule of a successful heist is to play to the size of the heist. A large scale heist requires a larger team. In our case, the diamond will be on display during the New Year’s Eve party, one we’ll all have invites to—”
“Except Greg.” Pike just couldn’t resist the urge.
“Next time you blow your nose, be careful. You really can’t afford to lose any more brain cells,” Greg replied, his voice monotone.
Ty snickered and Pike crossed his arms.
“As I was saying,” said Blake reprovingly, glaring at Pike and Greg. “Let’s begin with phase one of the heist: the recon. Recon missions are—”
“Where you scope the place, get the lay of the land, determine what security measures are in place,” I supplied.
Blake’s face radiated pride. “That’s right. We play it conservative during recon, meaning we overestimate our opponent, never underestimate. So, whatever we see, we don’t take it at face value.”
“By now, folks can pretty much guess what kinds of valuables the Manx would go after. We can never assume we know everything they have planned in terms of security,” offered Ty.
“Makes sense,” I said.
Blake nodded. “Recons are usually conducted by Ivy, Pike, and Ty. Pike and Ty get down to the bare bones of the facility, namely security. Ivy handles people.”
“Oftentimes literally,” offered Ivy.
“Thank you, Ivy, for that unnecessary clarification,” said Blake.
“My pleasure,” Ivy retorted with a flip of her hair.
Blake carried on. “We typically spread out our recon mission over several days. Naturally, everything depends on our allotted preparation time—”
“And that depends on when you find a potential item,” I added, my brain working very hard to keep up.
“Exactly. We’ve found items months in advance, affording us a great deal of preparation time. Other targets have had little more than a twenty-four hour turnaround time,” said Blake. “For my part, I rarely partake in recon. Usually, I review recon findings, then build an official heist plan from there. This particular situation, however, is different. The diamond is going to be on display at a mansion during a New Year’s Eve party, the very same mansion holding the annual Halloween Bash, a bash we all have invitations to. We’ll all be there on Halloween, thus we’ll all be in on the recon. Greg’s job is perha
ps the most critical—he’s our omnipresent, of sorts. He will control cameras, any lasers, alarms, and essentially be an extra pair of eyes for us all. Pike and Ty will secure the area, observe any guards, determine what weapons they have on them. Ivy, you’ll be our distraction, as always. One of the other duties Ivy has involves planting Greg’s devices. They’re undetectable and they enable him to get a full read on an establishment’s current security and anything they may add later on.” Blake paused for a moment.
“They’re undetectable?” I inquired.
“Yeah, and they’ll self-destruct on Greg’s initiative,” said Ivy. “They can never be traced.”
“That’s impressive,” I said, floored.
Smiling, Blake said, “Those little gems were created by friends in high places that now inhabit low places. Greg then tweaked them, made them better. So, we all have our jobs…except Maggie.” My spirits soared; I was about to get an official job for the recon. “Maggie, all I want from you is to observe, shadow Ivy, learn from her.” Well, bummer. “If we ever need you in her situation, you must have a feel for how she works. Though I hope to God we never will require that of you.”
“Okay.” I said, trying not to be offended. I know he worried for my safety as a lure. Ivy was older, sexier, and worldlier.
Blake handed out tiny, clear earpieces. “All of us will wear these. They’re completely invisible to the naked eye once in place. We can communicate with one another, hear one another, and, depending upon the situation, hear any guest talking directly to us. Now, about the actual heist… Needless to say, this is a high-risk heist, probably the riskiest we’ve attempted, and yet, the setting…”
“Makes it easier,” Pike chimed in. “New Year’s party, drinking, distractions…I can’t think of a time we’ve had an easier atmosphere for a heist.”
Blake tilted his head. “Yeah, agree to some extent. Then again, there are more people present, more eyes. Normally, this diamond would be under outrageous security in a museum, under glass, surrounded by lasers, whatever. In all likelihood, since Blair and her family want this presented before partygoers, the diamond will likely lack the tech security and rely more on guards. Thus, we’ll have the same jobs on heist night for Greg and Ivy. Pike and Ty usually handle the acquisition of our object…but this time…it’ll be me.”
Watercolor Hearts (Watercolor Love Book 1) Page 18
