Everything I Hoped For

by Ann Christopher

  And the truth was that while Tony had been a poor father, Anthony had never been much of a son, either. Did he call? No. Did he observe birthdays or holidays? No. Did he even remember he had a father most days, or do anything other than nurse old slights and grudges? No.

  So when Melody held up her mirror and forced him to look into it, it wasn’t that hard to see that he was his father’s son after all.

  He nodded, turning away to take his seat at the table, and she was kind enough to give him a moment to compose his features.

  “Who thought popcorn was a good idea?” she asked later, after they’d eaten and cleaned up the kitchen. He sat on the sofa and she handed him the giant bowl. “Can you even eat after all that delicious chicken and pasta we just had?”

  “’Course I can eat. What’s the point of watching a movie with no popcorn?”

  “True.”

  Standing just to the side of him, between the sofa and the coffee table, she found the remote and clicked on the TV, which was mounted over her mantel. A fire crackled. A candle flickered on a side table. Their refilled glasses of pinot grigio already sat on the coffee table. And if Anthony had ever spent a happier or more contented evening in his life (notwithstanding his father’s call), he couldn’t remember it now.

  Funny, wasn’t it?

  He’d insisted on coming tonight because he’d wanted to take care of her after her difficult day. He’d thought a quiet dinner together might be just the thing she needed. Little had he realized how much he also needed this little slice of paradise.

  “But I still think Skyfall is the best Bond movie,” she said.

  “Agreed. But we have to start with Casino Royale and suffer through Quantum of Solace first.”

  She shot him an incredulous look over her shoulder. “We’re not going to make it through all that tonight.”

  “I’m hoping you’ll invite me back.”

  “Oh, you are?”

  “You know I am.”

  Blushing prettily, she turned back to the remote and calling up the movie.

  Which allowed him the opportunity to note her plump arse. The toned thighs and calves. The smooth golden skin within easy reach of his eager hands.

  His heart thumped into overdrive. Why? Because he rode the horns of a dilemma.

  On the one hand, they’d agreed they wouldn’t make love tonight. And he knew it was too soon. Best for them to get to know each other better first.

  On the other hand? He’d behaved like a perfect gentleman all night. Could anyone really fault him if the reins of his control slipped out of his grasp for a minute or two?

  “No comment?” he asked, setting the popcorn on the coffee table. “I blatantly angle for an invitation, and you leave me hanging?”

  She pursed her lips, still not looking at him. “You might forget all about me once you get back to London and the Annabella Carmichaels of the world.”

  If only she knew. If only he could tell her he had a better chance of forgetting to breathe or to blink.

  “Unlikely,” he said quietly, succumbing to temptation.

  Leaning forward, he ran his fingers up one of her calves, across the sensitive back of her knee and around to the petal-soft inside of her thigh, stopping only when he reached the lower edge of her shorts.

  She let out a long and serrated breath. A shudder rippled through her as her head fell back, shifting the heavy tumble of her hair lower.

  “Anthony…”

  “Shh,” he said. “Give me the remote.”

  She turned to look at him, a question in her eyes.

  The heat of his desire and intentions burned his face, so he could only imagine that he was looking at her the way a starving wolf regards a grilled steak dinner. He tried to smile. To dial back some of his intensity.

  But this was his woman—they both knew it—and he couldn’t wait to touch her.

  “Trust me,” he said, taking the remote and setting it on the side table. “It’s only for a minute.”

  Her lips curled. “A minute is all it would take.”

  “Not for what I have in mind for you when that glorious day comes. But you can come here. Just for a minute.”

  She hesitated. But not for long. Her glittering gaze held his as she took his hand and he drew her closer. She took her time about straddling him and settling her knees on either side of his hips. Then she stared down at him, waiting to see what he would do.

  He filled his hands with the hair on either side of her neck and tugged just enough to bring her head down. Until her mouth came within range.

  Then he kissed her.

  Slowly at first. Just a few lingering brushes so he could adjust to the voluptuous feel of her the way a man needs a moment to dip his toe in and adjust to the thrilling heat of his steaming bathwater. And he meant to leave it at that. He really did. They’d already had a spectacular evening together, and now he’d had the added pleasure of touching her leg and kissing her. Best to leave well enough alone.

  But then she emitted a tiny sound, one of those helpless mewls that women make when their blood runs hot and they teeter on the edge of their control. And of course there was no real way of controlling the surging lust between them any more than a scientist could flip a switch and stop a smoke-spewing volcano from erupting.

  He broke the kiss and stared into her face for one startled moment, trying to wrap his mind around all these new developments as they hit him with the power of a fire hose.

  This woman existed in the world. He’d never imagined a woman like her was out there, let alone hoped he could find such a creature and somehow interest her in him. Yet Melody was here now. In his arms.

  Flustered, he opened his mouth and tried to convey some of what he felt. But there were too many questions jockeying for position for him to manage anything coherent.

  Did she feel this too?

  Could she possibly care for a chap like him?

  And the biggie:

  Would she remember him once he left town?

  “You can’t forget me when I’m gone,” he said hoarsely, tightening his grip on her hair, but not enough to hurt. “Don’t you forget me.”

  She looked incredulous.

  “No,” she said, kissing him again.

  This time there was no pretext of caution or moderation. They were just two people driven temporarily insane by the feel of each other. Her eager mouth tasted tart, like the wine, and met his at every turn, gliding through endless positions as they explored all the ways their lips and tongues could fit together.

  She ran her hands through his hair, pulling it in her unrestrained efforts to get closer to him.

  The prickling pain across his scalp drove him higher. He couldn’t breathe with her body this warm and solid against his. Couldn’t think with her fragrance in his nostrils and her taste in his mouth.

  And the feel of her…

  Planting his hands on her flexing arse, he toppled her to one side and rose up over her, an animalistic sound rumbling in his chest. She quickly scooted up, laid her head on the armrest, spread her thighs and opened her arms to receive him.

  But before he settled his weight on her, he yanked his sweater off over his head, dropped it to the floor, and yanked up the bottom of her shirt, revealing heaving breasts encased in some sort of a sports bra.

  He had to have the skin-to-skin contact, even if it was only a little bit.

  Had to.

  And she was more than ready for him.

  Those glittering eyes, heavy lidded now, tracked his every move. Her lips, swollen and tender from his kisses, turned up in a half-smile. And feverish color highlighted every inch of her skin.

  Utter disbelief made him shake his head.

  He didn’t get this lucky.

  It just didn’t happen.

  And then he dove in, kissing her again. Kneading her silky thighs as he urged her to wrap them around his waist and then, when she’d done that, to wrap them tighter. He ran his hands up and down her sides, savorin
g that smooth flesh and the feel of her soft belly against his. He wove his fingers through her hair and kissed her harder. Deeper. Longer.

  His hips, now entirely outside his control, thrust against her.

  She cried out.

  That was it for him. He had to make her come tonight. Had to.

  He reminded himself of a couple things in a half-hearted fumble for self-control.

  They weren’t teenagers messing around in the back of a parent’s car, for one thing. There would be no satisfaction for him tonight—not like this, not unless he wanted to do the drive of shame back to his hotel with a sticky wet spot at the front of his trousers—for another.

  But he’d found a driving rhythm that seemed to have taken the rest of Melody’s breath away, and her face twisted with gathering ecstasy. His hands were full of her bare thighs and shorts-covered arse, and the concrete length of his cock was right at home against her sweet spot.

  Bottom line?

  He wasn’t leaving here tonight until the lovely Dr. Melody Harrison came for him.

  Oh no, he was not.

  So he surged harder. Sharper.

  More of her cries. Louder. Unabashed. Maybe with an incoherent attempt at his name thrown in.

  He dipped his head, kissing and nuzzling her until she arched into him. He would have kissed her lips again, but he wanted her mouth free to make all the sensual sounds she could possibly produce for him.

  And he had so much to tell her.

  He ran his lips around to her ear. “Don’t you forget me while I’m gone.”

  She said something he didn’t catch.

  He nipped her lobe just hard enough to make her shudder.

  “Melody. Don’t forget me while I’m gone.”

  Dazed, she cracked her lids open and watched him with eyes that shimmered like the finest brown crystal.

  “I won’t,” she said.

  “Promise.”

  “I won’t,” she said, scratching her nails up his bare back and generating the most exquisite pain imaginable. “I won’t forget—”

  He shifted around without breaking the contact between their hips, running his mouth over her baps until he found the beaded point of a nipple. He nuzzled it through her little bra. Scraped gently with his teeth.

  And held her tight while she called his name and flew apart in his arms.

  He greedily watched it all, splicing together a home movie he could binge on tonight when he finished himself off in the shower before he and Baptiste flew back to London later, and then again tomorrow and every day and night between now and when he had her like this again.

  The way her features tensed and then slackened into a smile of purest rapture. The way her labored breath evened out. The vivid color that crept across the tops of her breasts, up her neck and across her cheeks. The haywire curls surrounding her head in a gleaming halo.

  All of that was the best reward imaginable for his unselfish act and helped ease the insistent ache in his bollocks that would remain blue until he could get himself into that shower.

  But not yet.

  For now, there was only her. This.

  He sprawled out, half on and half off her, and pressed his face to her fragrant neck so he could wallow in this perfection for another minute or two.

  “What about you?” she asked drowsily when she’d caught her breath. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

  “Like what?” he asked, running his hand up and down her thigh, which still held him tight about the waist. “Feeling like the king of the world?”

  Sultry laughter from Melody.

  “When did you say you’re coming back again?”

  “A week from Friday,” he told her, now circling her nipple with his thumb for the thrill of feeling the way her hips jackknifed against him. “So you make sure you don’t forget me.”

  14

  Back in London two afternoons later, Anthony arrived ten minutes early for tea with his grandmother and was ushered into the sitting room of her private apartments by ancient Mrs. Brompton, a woman who had, he felt certain, also been a retainer for Anne Boleyn.

  He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat on one of the pale green silk sofas in the room that never changed (green damask wallpaper, priceless paintings of the hunt in gilt frames, framed family photos, fresh flowers), eyeballing the elaborate tea service and cakes while Mrs. Brompton fussed over it.

  “You didn’t put the salmon sandwiches on rye bread again, did you?” he asked. “You know I can’t stand rye bread. The whole operation will be ruined if I see any rye bread anywhere. And if and when I get to be in charge around here, I’ll make it my first day’s work to get you fired.”

  Mrs. Brompton, who had never smiled in living memory and might not, as far as anyone knew, possess teeth, remained, as ever, unruffled. “Then it’s a good thing you’ll never be in charge, isn’t it, sir? You’ve got several cousins to take that burden from your back, don’t you? And if you don’t care for rye bread, you’d best take it up with your grandmother. That’s all she eats.”

  “I know,” he said glumly.

  “Touch nothing. She should be here any moment.”

  “Won’t you stay and bless me with your sparkling personality until she arrives?” he asked brightly.

  Mrs. Brompton stiffened. “No.”

  With a final severe looked aimed at the dead center of his face, she creaked off toward one of the mirrored doors, but not before he caught a glimpse of a dimple.

  “You’re twinkling at me, Mrs. Brompton,” he called after her. “One of these days, you’re going to slip up and smile. The whole thing. With teeth and everything.”

  “Unlikely,” she replied, swinging the door shut as she went.

  He waited a good five seconds before, propelled by his rumbling belly, he reached for a smoked salmon sandwich.

  On rye.

  Scowling, he popped it into his mouth, then hastily rearranged the remaining sandwiches to hide the empty space. It looked pretty good, he thought.

  “I told you to touch nothing,” Mrs. Brompton called from the other room.

  “Sorry! Accident!” he said.

  Grumbling reply from the other side of the door.

  Chuckling, he reached for his phone and settled in to wait.

  No response from Melody yet, he saw with a tiny stab of disappointment. He’d texted her this morning already:

  Get out of my head. I’m trying to work.

  Of course, she was six hours behind now, so she hadn’t been awake yet. And of course she had work. Dr. Harrison was a delightfully accomplished and busy woman. But she’d get back to him soon, he knew. She always did.

  Grinning to himself, he scrolled back through some of the other texts they’d exchanged so far. It was an impressive batch considering he hadn’t been gone that long.

  Anthony: What should I bring you back from London?

  Melody: I get a souvenir??? Yay! How about a crown jewel? Not all of them. Just one. Two at the most.

  The irony of that one made him chuckle. Still did, as a matter of fact. If only she knew.

  He’d thought about his reply. Then,

  Anthony: Since you’re determined not to help a bloke out, I’ll figure something out on my own.

  Melody: Don’t you have strange and delightful candies over there? Bring me some. But nothing with nougat. I hate nougat. And no fruitcake. Americans hate fruitcake.

  Anthony: This relationship is over. I cannot proceed with someone who doesn’t appreciate the hearty deliciousness of fruitcake.

  Melody: That’s a shame. You were beginning to grow on me. Farewell!

  Anthony: I was??? Kindly do not toy with my emotions.

  Melody: YOU’VE BEEN BLOCKED.

  Anthony scrolled through several other messages, still grinning. Ah, here was one he liked:

  Anthony: What are you doing? Send me a pic.

  Melody: Just out of the shower. Getting ready to brush my teeth.

  Anthony: SEND ME A PIC
!!!

  And she’d sent him a picture of a toothbrush with toothpaste on it.

  And later,

  Melody: I’m thinking about getting a dog. I love dogs.

  Anthony: Oh, yeah? What kind?

  Melody: Not sure. Something smallish and manageable in an apartment. Do you have dogs?

  Anthony: No, but I like them. My father has owned several border collies and my grandmother loves dogs.

  Melody: Tell me about her.

  Anthony, again appreciating the irony: She’s a force of nature. Very no-nonsense and smart. Knows how to command the room. There’s no one like her.

  Melody: She sounds scary!

  Anthony, laughing to himself: You’ve no idea.

  Melody: Hope you have a good visit with her.

  Anthony, hesitating because he understood the enormity of what he was about to say: I’d love for you to meet her one of these times when you visit me in London.

  Melody, after a longer pause than usual: Don’t say things you don’t mean.

  Anthony, heart thumping: Funny you should say that because I thought twice before I sent that message. And I still wanted to send it.

  And Melody had replied with a smiling face—

  His phone rang, startling him. He turned it off, grateful it hadn’t happened during tea with his grandmother, and was about to put it away when he saw the display and realized it was Melody wanting to video chat.

  He quickly checked the time. Two minutes. He had two minutes.

  “Hey,” he said as the picture resolved into a lab coat wearing Melody sitting behind the desk in her hospital office with a steaming mug in hand. And her smile. Honestly, her smile carried enough wattage to light the entire city on this rainy London day. God knew it lit him from the inside out. “It’s great to see you. What’re you doing?”

  “Taking a quick break between patients. Thinking about what movie to watch tonight.”