Everything I Hoped For

by Ann Christopher

  Unless he intends to—?

  Anthony wanted to ask her if she was insane. Wanted to confess how close he was to prostrating himself and clinging to her ankles so she’d have to drag him along with her when she tried to leave the building. But it was all too soon, and this thing between them felt terrifyingly real. It seemed incredibly important to keep himself on lockdown until he had a better handle on it, lest he scare himself any worse or scared her away.

  So he blinked back the hot yearning currently scorching his face, met her eye and held out his phone.

  “I don’t have your number,” he repeated quietly.

  Her lips curled. A vivid blush brightened her cheeks. She took the phone. Input her information. Handed it back with a wry smile.

  “It’ll be fine.” He returned the phone to his pocket with a tremendous surge of satisfaction. “You’ll see.”

  “Will I?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly.

  They stared at each other for an endless beat or two, heat simmering between them. Honest to God, he could have stayed there all night, memorizing the way her eyes turned up at the ends and the light made her skin gleam like rose gold.

  “Well.” She took a serrated breath and nodded crisply. “I should get going—”

  He raised a brow at her. She didn’t honestly think—?

  She stopped talking.

  He reached for her hand. She hesitated before twining her fingers with his.

  They headed for the sliding glass doors, falling into stride together. The early December night’s frigid air felt good against his face, but did nothing to cool him down as she led him down the sidewalk and past several rows of cars.

  He stroked the tender skin of her wrist, drunk with anticipation.

  She gasped. The clicking of her heels sped up.

  The deserted parking lot grew maddeningly larger the longer they walked.

  She finally slowed as they approached a nice Acura SUV.

  “This is—” she started to say, turning toward him.

  He couldn’t wait another second and pulled her in with a low growl, his hands already going to the sides of her head.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, tipping her chin up to meet him.

  8

  The first lingering brush of their lips caused an electrical charge to flash through him, the kind of power surge that knocked out grids and left entire city blocks in the dark. He made some kind of incoherent sound—of surprise? Recognition? Unadulterated joy? —and pulled back to get a better look at this siren and try to figure out what he’d got himself into.

  He didn’t lose his mind about women or anything else. Ever.

  Kisses didn’t burn like this.

  This—she—wasn’t normal.

  But when he looked down at her, all he saw was the same bewilderment mirrored back at him. The same heavy-lidded gaze, hot with lust. Her mouth looked tender and dewy, ripe for more kisses. Her coat was open in the front, revealing the lush rise and fall of her breasts against that sexy red dress as she tried to catch her breath.

  And her glittering eyes…

  “Anthony.”

  There was no mistaking her plea or the answering clench of his gut. He reached for her again, incapable of any pretense of gentlemanly behavior or a man in charge of his reactions.

  Yes.

  This.

  Her.

  He claimed handfuls of that glorious hair, sifting through the warm spirals because he needed to claim it all and touch every single strand. He stroked the sides of her neck, which was satiny on one side and rough from her scar on the other, both sides equally thrilling. He cursed himself for a fool because he was the genius who’d retrieved her coat and put it on her, blocking her body from his touch. Slid his hands beneath the sides of the coat, stroking over the filmy material of her dress in his search for her breasts. Her hips. Her round arse. Her round arse. Her round arse. He claimed it for his own, clamped a hand on each half and thrust against her, the ridges of his zipper cutting into his rigid erection and causing him a significant amount of discomfort.

  He didn’t care in the slightest.

  Why?

  Because she fit in his arms and against his body. Her mouth needed his as much as his needed hers, and she needed it with the same rhythm and urgency. Her cries and her croons had to be music for his ears alone.

  They each belonged exactly where they were, doing nothing else but this.

  But if they kept up like this, he’d be taking her against the side of her car, and she deserved so much better.

  So he broke the kiss—the loss of her eager mouth felt like an amputation—and rested his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath as it continued to sprint away from him.

  “Come to my room with me.” His voice had degenerated to less than half a rasp. “I’m begging you.”

  She snuggled closer, her arms tight and strong around his waist, and shook her head. “I want to. In case you hadn’t noticed. But I can’t.”

  He meant to respect her wishes. Honestly, he did. But she didn’t actually think that they could resist this for very long, did she? It would be like rigging a system of buckets at the bottom of Niagara Falls and trying to get the water back up.

  What was the point?

  “Why?” He eased back so he could see her face, keeping his voice gentle. “Tell me why.”

  She smoothed her hair and blew out a breath, her lips swollen from his kisses.

  “For one thing, I’m not looking for a quick hookup.”

  “Nor am I. I want to see you.”

  “Yeah, well, you live in London. Even if I didn’t work all the time, it’s not exactly an easy day trip. If nothing else, we need to be slow and careful about whatever we’re doing with each other.”

  “Melody…”

  “And we barely know each other. I don’t even know what you do.”

  Stymied, he dropped his gaze and said nothing. She bloody well had him there, didn’t she?

  “You’re angry with me?” she asked.

  “What? No. Of course not. But…I feel like there might be some other reason as well. Something else going on.”

  She ducked her head. Looked off across the parking lot. Back at him.

  “I had a friends with benefits situation with one of my med school classmates for a while.”

  “Friends with benefits situation,” he echoed dully. Well, of course a woman like this had had sex in her life. But as a man whose hormones were still singed and smoking, he didn’t particularly want to hear about another man who’d fully enjoyed her delights when Anthony had only had a taste. “You still have feelings for him?”

  “No. I never had feelings for him. I mean, he was a buddy. I never thought it was going to be anything else. Never wanted anything else.”

  “But…?” he asked, his ears perking up.

  “The thing was, he wasn’t special to me and I wasn’t special to him. At all. He basically took one look at the woman he’s engaged to now and dropped me like a bad habit.” She snapped her fingers. “I don’t think he’s thought twice about me. And that stung.”

  Anthony frowned, beginning to see where she was going with this.

  “Seeing the way Baptiste is with Samira really solidified this for me,” she continued. “He’s crazy about her. Crazy. I meant what I said earlier about being married to my career. But if I were to open myself up again, I’d want someone who could lose his head over me and I could lose my head over him. I’m not settling again.”

  Anthony wanted to put up his hand and mention that he was more than pulling his half of that equation, but now didn’t seem to be the time. She probably wouldn’t believe him yet, anyway.

  He took a deep breath.

  “Understood.” Actually, that was only partially true. His head understood completely, but his private parts had seized up with frustration. “It’s too soon to make love. But can I see you tomorrow?”

  “Not tomorrow,” she said with unmistakable regre
t. “I’m at the hospital, remember?”

  “What? All bloody day?”

  “Yes, all bloody day,” she said, laughing, in her best British accent.

  “Can’t they let you out to eat dinner?”

  “You’ll have to forgive me. If I’d known you were going to show up in my life, I would have dropped everything and rearranged my whole schedule.”

  “As well you should,” he said sternly, scrubbing his hands over his head in frustration. “There must be something we can do before I fly back to London on Monday night. Please tell me there’s something we can do.”

  She thought it over. “Well, it’s not thrilling, but maybe you could meet me at the hospital for breakfast Monday morning. I’ll have a little bit of a window—”

  “Done.”

  She brightened. “Really?”

  He snorted. “Did you think I wouldn’t grab any chance I could get?”

  “I wasn’t sure.”

  “And you also weren’t sure whether I would kiss you good night or not, I believe?” Running his hands beneath her coat and around her waist again, he eased her closer. “On second thought, I’m not sure that Harvard degree’s done you much good at all.”

  A sultry woman’s laugh from Melody.

  “I’m not sure kiss is the right word for what we just did.”

  “Agreed. I believe the word you’re looking for is foreplay.” He ran his nose down the side of her face and neck, breathing her in before he worked his way over to her ear and nipped it. “And I did warn you not to kiss me again unless you wanted me to fall in love with you. So now I can proceed with impunity.”

  “Ah,” she said, tipping her head to the side to give him better access. “But you kissed me that time. Not the same thing at all.”

  He laughed. Held her tighter as they swayed together.

  “I don’t want to let you go, Dr. Harrison.”

  “I don’t want to go,” she said, sighing.

  “Will you think of me tonight?”

  She tipped up her chin and stared him in the face. “I think you know the answer to that question.”

  He stared at her for a minute, lost in her big brown eyes and the way they shone at him. The thrilling feel of her against his body. The promises that felt like they were forming between them. The only cloud on his otherwise perfect horizon had to do with his family and the desperate hope that, just this once, a person could want him for him.

  “I wonder if you could do me a favor?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Maybe we could, ah, get to know each other a bit without doing online searches and background checks and the like. Just see how much we like each other on our own merits.”

  “Now you’re making me nervous.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s the kind of thing pedophiles and Charles Manson would say.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” he said quickly. “Ask Baptiste if I’m okay if you like. You trust him, don’t you?” She nodded. “It’s just that I have sort of an unusual family. As you could probably tell from my dad. And sometimes it’s hard to know whether people like me for me, or whether I’m just a sideshow attraction. Am I making any sense?”

  “But you’re not married…?”

  “God, no. Never married. No children. Clean record. Upstanding citizen. Kind to puppies and other small animals.”

  A couple of beats passed while she studied him closely.

  “As long as this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.”

  He thought that over. Wondered if he should confess everything now.

  But he couldn’t. Not with Melody. Never in his life had it been this important to verify that a woman wanted him for him.

  “I feel reasonably certain it won’t come back to bite you in the ass. And I’ll tell you everything you need to know about me. In my own time.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I hope you appreciate this gesture of goodwill. I’m way too soft.”

  He stroked over her arse again. “You are soft, aren’t you?”

  “Stop that,” she said, grinning as she pulled free.

  “What about my good-night kiss?” he cried, outraged.

  “What was that?”

  “Warm-up.”

  “You’ve had enough kissing for tonight,” she said, laughing as she turned her back on him, pulled out her key and opened the door. “And I need to get home.”

  He scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets lest they try to reach for her again. “Cruel woman.”

  She hesitated, a seductive smile playing at her lips as she faced him again. Then she leaned in and gave him a sweetly lingering kiss that he planned to add to his treasured memories of tonight.

  “Good night,” she said firmly, getting into the car.

  “Good night, darling.”

  She looked surprised. “Did you just call me darling?”

  Yeah, he’d surprised himself with that one. His ears burned, but he didn’t want to retract it.

  “I believe I did.”

  She raised her brows, grinning, as she shut the door.

  He backed away, watching her pull off with a wave. When the red pinpoints of her taillights disappeared around the corner, he fought off a wave of loneliness as he matched up one of her pictures with her phone number in his contacts, then sent her a text.

  Just to assure you I don’t think I’m a hard-ass.

  Grinning to himself as he set off walking, he’d just made it back to the lobby when his phone buzzed.

  Good to know, she said.

  Laughing, he sent her another one:

  You’re not texting while driving, are you?

  He waited, but no answer.

  So…what now?

  Anthony surveyed the lobby—the gala was still in full swing, from the sound of it—and considered his options.

  Off to bed? No. Didn’t think he could sleep just yet. Or at all tonight. Too excited.

  Drink, then.

  But rather than go back to the gala, which had far too many people and the distinct and horrifying possibility of running into Mrs. Carmichael and Annabella again, he headed for the sedate and elegant bar down the hall, where a pianist plinked away on some melancholy tune. Ordered his whisky. Slid into a booth in the corner, where he could wallow in his thoughts of Melody and sip in peace.

  He’d just raised his glass to his lips when a movement across the way caught his eye. It was his father, he realized with a sinking heart. By himself in another booth, looking morose as he stared down at his drink.

  Christ.

  Anthony was just weighing his chances of sneaking back out without having to deal with the old man again, when Tony glanced up and saw him. With a wry twist of his mouth, Tony toasted him and drank deeply.

  Anthony sighed harshly and decided there was no time like the present for getting it over with. So he walked over and had a seat opposite his father, taking care to put his phone on the table so he’d be sure to notice if Melody texted him back.

  “Where’s Miss Melody?” Tony asked, swirling his bourbon in its tumbler.

  “She’s gone home.”

  Derisive snort from Tony. Which was his lifelong default response to pretty much everything Anthony said or did. “So you couldn’t close the deal, eh? Why am I not surprised?”

  It was no good telling himself not to rise to this bait. Not to give this man any more control over his emotions. Not to allow these old wounds to open up again.

  So much for getting it over with, Anthony fumed, his spiking temper making any sort of a productive conversation impossible now. Not when he wanted to hit the old man about the face. No surprise there, really. Tony and he had always got on like Churchill and Hitler, the only question being how much earth they’d scorch between them on any given day.

  “Why are you not surprised? Probably because you’ve never taken more than thirty seconds to get to know a woman and can’t conceive of why that should matter.” Anthony downed his drink and reached for his wallet, to
ssing some money on the table. “Lovely as always to see you. I look forward to you popping up again in another year and a half or so. Actually, let’s try to make both of us happy and stretch that out indefinitely. And if I pass any half-clothed nineteen-year-olds on the way out, I’ll send them your way, shall I?”

  Anthony planted his hands on the table and levered himself halfway up—

  “You just might get your way this time.” Tony’s jaw tightened. “I’m sick.”

  Anthony froze. Then he slowly lowered himself back to sitting.

  A server breezed by just then. “Can I get you two—”

  “We need doubles,” Anthony said, beginning to recover from his shock.

  He took a deep breath and tried to think.

  This must be bad. Really bad. As a man’s man who could sever his arm with a chainsaw and call it “a little scrape,” Tony would have to be at death’s door before he admitted having so much as a cold.

  “A whisky and a bourbon,” Anthony told the server. “Thanks.”

  The server left. Tony fiddled with his cocktail napkin.

  “What’s going on?” Anthony asked.

  “Eh.” Tony looked up at last, his expression carefully neutral as he flapped a hand. “Got heart disease. Had a little heart attack. And a bypass.”

  “What? When?”

  “Few months back.”

  “And you didn’t think to mention it?”

  “That’s what I’m doing,” Tony said evenly.

  Anthony tried to lock his feelings into some semblance of control, no easy task when he’d already lost his mother and felt the flare of an orphan’s panic at the thought of losing his remaining parent, even if he was a poor specimen.

  “Well,” he said gruffly. “Looks like you’re taking care of yourself. Your spray tan is firmly in place, I see. You must be feeling fine.”

  Self-deprecating smile from Tony. “Let’s hope I can keep myself healthy. Since that’s the only way I’m going to live to torment you another day.”