by Swan, T L
“Thank you.” I shrug, suddenly feeling stupid. “Goodbye, Alan.”
“I’ll see you on Sunday when we pick you up.”
“Okay.” With a meek wave, I make my way to the check-in desk, and surprisingly there’s no line today. “Hello. I have a booking for Emily Foster.” I slide my license across the desk to the check-in clerk.
“Hello.” She types my name into her computer. “Ah yes, Ms. Foster. I see you have amended your booking to first class.”
I frown. “No.”
She rechecks the details. “Yes, your two tickets were upgraded late last night.”
“Two tickets?”
“Yes, a second was booked, and then they were both upgraded.”
Jameson.
“Oh, I see. Okay, thank you.” I collect my ticket and walk through security and make my way to the bar. I have nearly two hours before my flight leaves.
“What will it be?” the bartender asks as I take a seat.
“A margarita, please.”
I text Jameson.
Mr Miles, thank you for the upgrade.
It is very much appreciated.
Tell me, was the second seat for you or to make sure I didn’t sit next to someone else?
My drink is delivered, and a text bounces back.
My dear Miss Foster, I am outraged that you would think I could be so calculating.
Of course, I don’t want you sitting next to anyone else.
I know how irresistible you are.
xoxox
I smile as I sip my drink, and another text arrives.
Although, if I wasn’t playing hard to get and being non-pushy. I would have taken you on the company jet and initiated you to the real Miles High Club.
You wouldn’t walk for a week.
Enjoy the peaceful silence.
xoxox
I roll my lips to hide my smile, and I text back.
Goodbye Jameson.
Glad that your deviant behavior is still alive and well.
I was getting worried.
xoxoxo
A text comes straight in.
You have no idea.
And no watching Magic Mike, watch Grumpy Old Men instead.
It will make me more appealing.
xoxox
I sip my drink and find myself smiling goofily into space.
Things are going well . . . for the first time in a long time, I feel myself become a little excited for what’s to come.
Let’s see what happens.
I stare at the ceiling in the darkness from my bed. It’s midnight. My old bedroom brings a surprising comfort that I didn’t know I needed.
It’s great being here with my family, but New York seems so very far away.
I didn’t call Jameson like I said I would; in fact I haven’t spoken to him all night.
Being here with people who love me makes me realize how fragile I’ve been. I was completely alone and heartbroken in New York. I mean sure, I had Molly and Aaron, but I’ve known them all of three months. It’s not the same as having family around, the ones who will stand by your side through thick and thin.
I don’t know where I’m going with Jameson, only that I didn’t want to speak to him tonight. Why?
Maybe I’m never going to let go of this hurt; maybe he’s done irreversible damage.
Maybe I’m too good for him and his shit . . . there’s no maybe in that sentence—I know I am.
My phone vibrates on the side table, and I frown as I see the letter J light up.
I exhale heavily and answer, “Hello.”
“Hi.” He pauses for a moment. “You weren’t calling me tonight?”
“I got distracted.”
Silence down the phone. Eventually he speaks. “Em.”
“Yes.”
“Did you go there to get away from me?”
I roll my eyes in frustration. “No, Jameson,” I whisper angrily. “Why is everything about you? I booked this trip two weeks ago.”
“Okay, I just asked. Jesus. Why are you so angry?”
Tears form in my eyes. “You really have to ask?”
“You tell me why.”
Suddenly a volcano that I didn’t even know was there erupts inside of me. “Because I’m in love with a selfish fucking asshole, and I don’t know how to turn it off, and I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you walk away again,” I blurt out in a rush.
He stays silent.
“And the way you just march back in and demand my forgiveness pisses me off.”
He listens.
“And you could have any woman in the world; they are lining up for you. So why are you putting me through this shit? I don’t want the heartache, Jameson.”
“Is that what you think? That I want any woman in the world?”
Tears roll down my face, and I swipe them away angrily. “I have no idea what you want anymore, Jameson.”
“Cut the fucking shit, Emily,” he snaps. “You listen, and you listen good. I don’t want anyone else. I’ve been promiscuous since I was eighteen years old. I’ve slept with a lot of women . . . and I mean a lot of women. You are the only person I have ever had this connection with. The only woman I have loved like this. So don’t you dare throw that shit at me about wanting someone else. Have I ever given you any reason to doubt me?”
“Your masseuse,” I snap.
“Was before I fucking met you,” he growls. I can hear the anger in his voice. “If you don’t want me, then fine, I’ll leave. But don’t let me hold out and try desperately to make things work when you’re obviously not going to let me in.”
My face contorts with tears.
“Only you can decide if you want this, Emily. Forgiveness is a choice.”
I stay silent.
“Do you want to walk away from me, or do you want to try and make this work?”
I don’t answer him.
“Well?” he demands.
“You know I want to try,” I whisper.
“Then stop thinking of the bad shit, and think of the good between us.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you scare me.”
He falls silent. “You’re scared of me?”
“Yes.” I nod through tears.
“Baby,” he whispers as empathy floods his voice. “Don’t be scared of me. Please, don’t ever be scared of me. I love you.”
“I’m trying.” I sob. “But I can’t help it.”
We both stay silent for a while, lost in our own thoughts.
“I want you to take this weekend to think about us. I was serious about what I said—if you don’t want to live in New York, we can move. I’ll resign from my position immediately.”
“Jameson,” I sigh. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I want you to know that you come first to me now. All of this shit—my money, my apartment, my job, New York—it means nothing if I’m fucking miserable, Emily. And believe me, I am fucking miserable without you. If you want to live in a tent in the back of bumfuck nowhere, we can.”
I get a vision of Jameson living in a tent and being eaten by mosquitos on the daily. “You idiot.” I smile softly. “I don’t want to live in a tent. I love New York. I love you running Miles Media. I wouldn’t change anything about you. Why would you think that I would?”
“Because I’m a lot to take on, I know that. You said to me once before that to love is to be brave. I need you to be brave, Emily, and move forward from all this. Please think about it. Come back to New York and back to me one hundred percent, and we can start working on a new life together. Holding me at arm’s distance isn’t the way to navigate this. We won’t be able to work it out if we’re not together.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Will you think about what you really want?”
I stay silent.
“Please, Em?”
“Yes, okay. I will. I promise.” The line falls silent for a moment, and
I want to change the subject. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I ask.
“Shopping.”
“Shopping—you? What are you shopping for?”
“Well, where do you get the tents with bathrooms in them?”
I smile. “Bumfuck nowhere.”
He chuckles, and it’s a beautiful sound; it does things to my insides. It’s been a long time since I heard him laugh.
“Em . . . I’m not going to speak to you again until I pick you up from the airport on Sunday night. I want you to really think about your future and who you want in it. Either you come back to me with open arms, and we give this a red-hot go, or you end it.”
My heart drops.
“It has to be this way. If I can’t have all of you, I would rather be without you.”
I listen as my mind begins to go into overdrive . . . he’s giving me an ultimatum.
All or nothing.
I honestly don’t know if I can give him my all. I don’t think my all exists anymore.
“I’ll see you then?” he asks hopefully.
“Okay.”
“I love you.” He hangs up, and the line goes dead.
I roll over in the darkness and exhale heavily.
What do I want for my future? Do I give him away . . . ? Or give him everything? Or what’s left of my heart, at least. It’s been smashed to smithereens.
I literally have no idea.
Chapter 27
Jameson
I tap my foot as I crane my neck to look at the traffic backed up in front. Shit.
I press the buzzer to the front of the limo. “Are we going to be late?” I ask Alan.
“No, sir; we’re an hour early. Plenty of time.”
“I don’t want to miss her flight. Go the back way.”
“You won’t. Relax.”
I sit back and try to control my nerves. Emily hasn’t contacted me all weekend, and I’m pretty sure she’s coming home to end it between us. I’ve run and run and run. The only time I have had any semblance of peace is when I’ve pounded the pavement around New York.
I can’t accept the possibility that I won’t be in her life, that she won’t be in mine . . . the thought sickens me. How could I have been so fucking stupid?
I’ve been trying to pull a logical argument together in my head as to what I’m going to say if she ends it . . . so far I’ve come up empty.
The limo pulls up at the airport, and I climb out in a rush. “You’ll be here?” I ask.
“No, I’ll circle. Let me know when you have her, and I’ll come back around. You still have fifty minutes before her plane lands.”
“Yes, yes, I know.” I pat down my pockets as I look around nervously. “Do I have everything?” I’m flustered and vague.
“Yes, sir.”
I drop my shoulders and exhale heavily. “Wish me luck.”
Alan smiles broadly and, with a jovial nod, says, “Good luck, sir.”
I walk into the airport and up to the arrival gate of her plane. I still have forty minutes. I look over to the bar, and it calls my name in a sweet song.
A scotch would be so good right now . . . take the edge off.
No.
I need to cut that shit out. I haven’t allowed myself to have a drink all weekend. Emily deserves more than a drunk.
With nerves racing through my body, I walk to one end of the airport and then back to the arrival lounge. I glance at my watch. Thirty-five minutes to go. I do it again and again.
I can’t sit still.
Not when I know what’s coming.
Emily
I walk with the crowd into the arrivals lounge. My flight has just landed, and my heart is beating hard in my chest.
I’ve dug into the bottom of my soul this weekend, searching for the answers.
Trying to work out what to do with my life and who to do it with.
One thing is clear: the only thing that is clear . . . is who I love.
I can’t deny it.
Jameson Miles is etched into my heart, and as petrified as I am of him hurting me again, his words keep coming back to me. “To love is to be brave.”
I’m going to swallow my pride and be brave. I’m going to let myself go . . . and hope to God I’m doing the right thing, because I can’t go through this again.
He comes into view, and he smiles as our eyes lock. Excitement fills me, and I do a little skip and begin to run, and I jump into his waiting arms. We cling to each other tightly, locked in an embrace. We don’t speak; we don’t kiss; we just hold on.
Clinging desperately to the hope that we can get past this.
My shadows are chased away for a little while.
“I missed you,” he whispers into my hair.
“I missed you too.”
He bends, and his lips take mine as we forget where we are. His tongue slowly strokes through my open lips, and he holds my face in his two hands as we get lost in the moment. His kiss is tender and, more importantly, familiar.
With him, I am home.
An hour later, we walk into my apartment, hand in hand.
We hardly spoke on the way home. I sat on his lap, tucked safely in his big arms, and enjoyed the closeness. His lips dusted back and forth over my temple as he held tight, as if not believing I was here with him.
I’ve missed the closeness. Our closeness.
It’s not even about the sex with us anymore. I mean, it was in the beginning. But my heart has eclipsed any physical need that my mere body desires . . . and I know he’s the same.
He turns me toward him, and his eyes search mine. “Em . . .” He pauses as if trying to get the wording right in his head. “I swear to you, from this moment on . . . you are my everything. Our new life together . . . starts right now.”
I smile up at him as my eyes fill with tears anew. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” We kiss, and unlike the tenderness we have shared over the last hour, a new desperation fills us.
Suddenly I want him . . . all of him. “Take me to bed.”
He scoops me up and carries me into the room like a bride and stands me before him. His lips drop to my neck, and I smile at the ceiling as goose bumps scatter over my skin. He bites me with an edge I remember so well.
Oh, I’ve missed him.
I lift his shirt over his head and throw it to the side, and he does the same to mine. We become animals as we tear each other’s clothes away. There is nothing between us now. Only skin . . . and love.
His lips tenderly take mine as he lays me back on the bed, and his lips go to my neck and then start to go lower, and I cling to him. “No, I need you up here with me.”
We stare at each other in some kind of otherworldly experience. This is special.
I wish I could bottle this moment.
“Now, Jim,” I whisper, “I need you now.”
His eyes close in pleasure as he lies on top of me; our lips are locked, my legs open and cradling his large body as it rocks against mine, searching for its own release.
With one deep purposeful thrust, he slides home deep, and we both moan in pleasure.
“Fuck, Em,” he whispers into my neck.
I cling to him as I ride the pleasure wave between us. “I know, baby, I know.”
He pulls out and pushes back in, my body rising to meet his.
The need for more overwhelms us, and I begin to thrash beneath him. “Fuck me,” I whimper. “God, give it to me hard.”
He pulls out and slams back in, knocking the air from my lungs. He repositions my legs over his shoulders and, with dark eyes watching me struggle to take him, begins to ride me.
Long, sharp, punishing hits—the bed begins to hit the wall, and I can do nothing but watch the perfect male specimen in all his glory.
Jameson Miles is the most sexual being I have ever known.
Everything about him screams “fuck me.”
Watching him in the throes of passion, where he is grappling for control, is every woman’s ulti
mate fantasy; he’s like a sexual time bomb waiting to explode. Perspiration dusts his skin; his dark hair hangs over his forehead, and his breath begins to quiver as he struggles to hold off his orgasm.
His pumps become piston fast, and the burn of his possession overtakes me as I fall into the abyss. I cry out as an earth-shattering orgasm rips me to shreds.
My body contracts hard around his.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pushes out as he slams repeatedly into me. The sound of the bed hitting the wall with force echoes through the apartment.
He tips his head back, holds himself deep, and moans loud as he comes hard, deep inside of me.
And then we kiss, and my whole world returns to good. To the place I’ve missed so, so much.
The emotion between us is so strong that it brings tears to my eyes.
“Welcome home, fuck bunny,” he whispers against my lips. “Welcome home.”
One week later
“We need to do a follow-up story, a where-are-they-now kind of thing,” Athena says as we stand together at the printer.
“Yes, I know. I’m going to go over the notes this afternoon as soon as I get a chance.”
The office is a hive of activity today; news has broken overnight. A married senator has been caught in a scandal with his secretary, and the phones are ringing off the hook.
People are everywhere as they try to decipher the truth as the rumor mill spins into overdrive.
I’m having trouble concentrating, if I’m honest. I’m on a Jameson high. I think I can successfully say I’ve joined the Miles-High club.
This last week has been . . . magical.
I’m completely and utterly in love with this man. We moved me into his apartment on the weekend. Any trepidation that I had has finally gone.
I hear an unusual sound coming through the office, and Athena and I look up as the office watches on. I hear “The Piña Colada Song,” and I frown as Jameson comes into view through the desks.
Tristan is with him and holding an old-fashioned tape deck, and the familiar tune is blasting through the office.
If you like piña coladas,
And getting caught in the rain.
“What in the world?” I frown.
Jameson smiles hopefully as he approaches me. His eyes search mine.
The office falls silent as they watch on.
“Emily Foster,” he says.
“Yes?”
He drops to his knee, and the office collectively gasps. My hands fly over my mouth.
