“I’ll do that,” I growl and bend to Mila’s pussy. I inhale the sweet scent of her arousal before I dive in and lick her pussy mercilessly.
“Oh God, Brad,” Mila moans.
“I love your pussy,” I tell her. “It tastes so good.”
I nudge her thighs further apart and give attention to her clit. I tease it, licking and biting lightly. Mila writhes and raises herself off the seat.
Hoots go off, and I curse under my breath. “To be continued,” I tell Mila.
We reach the art gallery, and I drive to their basement parking. It’s deserted, and I park the car in a darkened corner.
“Give me that pussy,” I tell Mila.
“It’s all yours,” she says.
I unbuckle my seat belt, and she does the same and pushes her seat back. I continue from where I left off. I insert a finger into her pussy and flick her clit with my tongue. It’s a double assault, and it does its magic as Mila moans and squirms. Nothing else exists except Mila, her pussy, my tongue, her scent, and her pleasure.
“What are you doing to me?” Mila cries.
“Do you want me to stop?” I tease.
She pushes my head down. I continue teasing her pussy, and moments later, I’m rewarded when she calls out my name, and an orgasm rocks her body.
After she rearranges her panties and dress, I turn to her. “Ready?”
She laughs and glances at my cock. “I don’t think you are.”
She’s right. I can’t walk around with a tent in front of me. My cock is still hard.
“I want to taste you,” she says almost shyly. Her hand goes to my cock, and I let out a breath.
I lie back down and open my zipper. It’s a relief to free my cock. Mila grips it expertly and lays the head on her tongue.
Fuck.
She sucks it alternating between applying a lot of pressure and easing back. I jerk my hips upward, pushing my cock deeper into her mouth. I remind myself to take it easy. It’s not possible for a woman to take all of my cock in her mouth. One of her hands snakes down to cup my balls.
“Suck on my balls,” I tell her, and when her mouth closes in on them, I let out a deep growl. I want to feel her touching and licking me everywhere, but for now, this will do.
She alternates between my balls and my cock. She moans as she takes my cock again into her mouth. I pump upward, groaning louder as my balls tighten. My orgasm is close. It’s happening so fast, and no matter how much I try to distract myself, her mouth and hands pull me back.
“Mila,” I tell her. “I’m going to come. You need to move.”
“Come in my mouth,” she says. “I promise not to spill a drop.”
Fuck.
My orgasm hits, and I spurt into her hot waiting mouth.
***
“I don’t know if my legs can carry me to the gallery,” Mila says as we leave the car.
I laugh softly. The laugh of a man who knows he has brought pleasure to his woman. I feel carefree. Lighter. As if the troubles of the world are something I hear about but have never experienced. “I’m here to rescue you if you fall,” I tell her.
I take her hand as we walk out of the basement. In the elevator up one floor, I pull her against me, and we kiss deeply, only stopping when it comes to a halt. We draw apart and hand in hand, we get off and head toward the gallery.
I can tell she loves it here. As soon as we enter the stark white interior, her eyes glaze over, and her attention is completely on the paintings. She stops in front of one large piece.
“This is the type of painting I was telling you about,” I whisper into her ear.
She laughs softly. We stand and take in the bold colors across the canvas. Then she starts speaking softly. “When I first look at it, I feel startled and disorganized, but the longer I stare, it begins to make sense. I feel a sense of order. The chaos disappears, and peace settles in my heart.”
Something happens as I look at it. The strokes of color settle, and I see random shapes, but they make perfect sense. A sigh escapes my lips.
“You see it too, don’t you?” Mila asks.
I’m in awe. I’ve never felt such strong emotions in an art gallery before. Granted, I usually whiz past the paintings, taking less than two minutes on each. “Yes, I definitely do,” I say, eager to move on to the next. It’s the same with every piece of work. The trick is to study the piece and give yourself time to figure out what the artist was trying to convey.
“That was an eye-opener,” I tell Mila two hours later as we make our way to the basement. “I’d really like to see some of your work.”
“It’s back home,” she says and shrugs.
I get the feeling that she doesn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to push her. It strikes me that someone who knows so much about art can’t have just a passing interest. It must be more. She probably just needs encouragement to pursue her dreams. I’m not ready for the day to end, and besides, we have a couple more hours before we have to pick up Isaac.
“How about a drink?” I ask her.
Being in the car reminds me of what transpired earlier. Mila brings out a side of me I thought was gone.
“I’d like that,” she says.
We smile at each other, and then I turn the ignition key.
Chapter 13
Mila
I like the pub that Brad has brought me to. It’s old-fashioned with dark paneling and wall to wall maroon carpeting. We get a nice private booth in the corner. Guilt floods me as I watch him buying our drinks from the counter.
I haven’t spent any money today, and I feel bad. Brad insists on paying for everything. He says he’s not paying me enough to enable me to buy drinks for someone else. I hate that I can’t tell him just how comfortably well off I am. If I do, this nanny gig won’t work. It’ll be difficult for him to understand how a financially comfortable person would be content to work as a nanny.
He returns with our drinks, a glass of wine for me and a beer for him.
“Do you come here a lot?” I ask him.
A far-off look comes over his features. “Not these days. Brenda and I used to come here a lot.”
Something akin to jealousy comes over me, and I catch myself. Why would I feel jealous over a part of Brad’s life that is over? The answer comes to me immediately. I feel jealous because Brenda had Brad in a way that I never will. She had his heart and devotion.
“What was she like?” I ask him.
He looks surprised by the question. “Who, Brenda?”
I nod.
“She had fiery red hair. That’s what caught my attention first. And green eyes that you could never really read into. But you’ve seen her picture in the house.”
“Yes, but I meant personality,” I say. A part of me would like to meet the person who had snared Brad’s heart.
As much as we have fun together, Brad keeps a part of himself locked away. I recognize it because I do the same. We both understand what our relationship is, and we don’t allow our hearts to get involved.
“Brenda was secretive,” Brad says. “If you asked her a question, she would hedge and haw and try first to know why you want to know. She always behaved like she had something to hide, which I suppose she did.”
“So, she was mysterious?” I say.
“Yes, but not in a good way. People in a relationship should be open with each other,” Brad says.
I swallow my guilt. I told Brad that I dabbled in art. If he googled my name, he’d realize I’m a pretty well-respected artist. Then I remind myself that we’re not in a relationship, and I don’t need to be that open.
We’re both silent for a while, and then Brad speaks up. “What about your ex-husband, what sort of a man was he?”
“He was bat shit crazy,” I say with a slight chuckle. I can laugh about it now, even accept that staying in that marriage was a result of my own weaknesses. It’s a wonder what distance does to a person’s perspective.
“Why did you stay with him t
hen?” Brad asks.
“Because I was weak and a fool,” I say and then shrug. “The truth is that I never once thought of leaving him. It never crossed my mind that I could survive without him. Stupid huh?”
Brad shakes his head. “Not stupid. It was just terrible luck that you ended up with a nasty person. He was the one who was stupid.”
His words create pinpricks of delight that race up my spine. Emotion spreads in my chest, and I’m a step away from crying. “Thanks.”
We move on from the emotional topics of our exes. I ask him about his previous week’s work, and he tells a few stories, but I notice that he doesn’t really delve into that. Perhaps it’s a privacy thing. I don’t mind. I just like the sound of his voice.
At six, we leave the pub, and every part of me feels relaxed. We head to Debbie’s to pick up Isaac. My cell phone vibrates from my handbag, and I fish for it when Brad leaves the car to walk up to Debbie’s door.
I can’t believe it when I see a text message from Clay.
Clay: Why did you go off without telling me?
Me: I don’t owe you an explanation, Clay.
Clay: You’re my wife.
I grind my teeth and force myself to be calm. What the heck is wrong with him? We have the papers to prove it, what else does he need to believe that we’re divorced?
Me: We’re divorced, Clay. I can go wherever I like, whenever.
Clay: I’m not losing you, Mila. I love you too much.
Me: This conversation is ridiculous. You already had me, Clay, and you lost me when you left me for Terry. Remember?
I watch the screen and wait. Silence. Relief surges through me. Maybe now he will leave me alone. Then my phone vibrates. I celebrated too early.
Clay: I like LA too.
My pulse races and my hands tremble. I bring the screen to my face just to be sure I’m reading correctly. Another text comes in as I’m staring at the previous one.
Clay: I’d like to sit on a bench and watch a baseball game.
I clamp a hand over my mouth. Don’t panic I tell myself over and over again. I look around wildly, and then I realize how ridiculous I am. Clay is not in LA, but somehow, he knows I’m here, and he knows I’d gone to a baseball game. There’s only one way he could have found out, and I can’t wait to get home to ask Jessica.
“Hi, Mila,” Isaac says as he enters the car.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I say and plant a smile on my face. “Did you have a good time?”
“It was the best,” Isaac says, bursting with enthusiasm, and he launches into a minute by minute narration of how the afternoon went.
I can barely concentrate, which makes me feel doubly guilty. I can feel Brad’s eyes on me as we go home. I try to act normal, but I guess he can tell that something is off with me. Right now, I just need to be alone to figure out this mess. I hate Clay, I really do. Why does he have to reappear in my life just when I’m learning to let loose and have a bit of fun?
At home, I excuse myself and tell Brad and Isaac that I’ll see them the following day in the morning. Isaac protests, but Brad places a hand on his shoulder.
“Mila needs her own space as well, son.” I can hear the hurt in his voice.
I’m sorry, my mind screams, but I really can’t be in their house right now. We had sort of made plans to spend the evening together, and Brad had whispered what he would like to do to me that night. I wave goodbye and hurry to my rented house.
As soon as I shut the front door, I speed dial Jessica’s number. I grip the phone as I wait for her to answer. She picks up on the fifth ring just as I’m about to lose hope.
“Oh God,” I say.
“Mila, what is it?” Jessica says.
“Give me a minute,” I tell her suddenly unable to breathe. Am I having a panic attack? I haven’t had one in almost a year.
“Breathe in deeply,” Jessica says, and I follow her instructions.
“Okay, I’m good now,” I say and then tell her about the text from Clay.
“Hang on, Mila,” she says, and I hear her whispering angrily to someone.
“Fuck, Mila, I’m so sorry,” Jessica says when she comes back to the phone. “Remember I told you I forwarded it to David? Turns out he spoke with Clay, and he was asking about you. David must have forwarded the picture to him and told him you’re in LA. I’m going to kill him, I swear.”
Her anger brings down my own. I sigh deeply. “Why is he all over me now when I’m living my best life?”
There is nothing on earth that would make me go back to Clay. He was a bully. I’ve never told anyone how Clay and I lived, not even Jessica. She would have been horrified at the control he exercised over me.
A part of me knew it was wrong. Otherwise, why didn’t I confide in my best friend? Of course, it didn’t help that David and Clay are cousins. I’d have hated to cause tension between them or to put a strain on Jessica’s marriage. Like now.
“Hey, don’t let Clay stop you. He’ll tire of pestering you, and don’t you worry, David won’t tell him anything else. Right, David?” She shouts the last two words.
It’s not funny, but I laugh. Jessica is protective of me as though I’m one of her boys.
“LA is big; he doesn’t really know where I am, right?” I say.
“Right, though I don’t know how much David told him.” Jessica knows the address and the area, but I don’t see how David could tell Clay all that.
“Look, Clay is harmless. David says that too. He’s all big talk. He’ll move on. Let’s cross our fingers that he finds another woman pronto.”
“Yeah, that won’t be too hard,” I say. When Clay turns on the charm, he goes all in, and it’s impossible to resist him unless you know him as I do.
I shiver. I really need to have him gone from my life. Jessica and I say goodbye, but afterward, I don’t feel reassured. I have a feeling that Clay is not done with me yet. I want to laugh it off and call myself paranoid, but I’m worried about Isaac.
What if he is in LA? Jessica and I are sure that the picture tipped him off, but what if he was watching me? The thought is so frightening that my knees wobble. I stagger to the couch and sit down. I’m not worried about my safety. I seriously doubt that Clay would harm me.
But what about Isaac? I give it careful thought. Clay was okay with children; he actually liked playing with them. For a short period. He’s not evil, just twisted. Still, I owe it to Brad to let him know what’s going on.
Chapter 14
Brad
I’m worried about Mila. She’s been very quiet throughout dinner and now looking back, this morning as well. I wait until Isaac goes to bed when we’re relaxing in the living room to ask her. We’re on the couch, lying top to bottom and facing each other. I gently massage her bare leg.
“Something’s wrong, Mila. You’re not yourself. What’s going on?” I ask her.
She tries to smile, but I can tell that it’s forced. “It’s not a big deal, but I thought I should tell you because of Isaac,” she says.
At the mention of Isaac’s name, I sit up. “Go on.”
“Well, it turns out that Clay knows I’m in LA. I told you about Jessica and that her husband David is Clay’s cousin. David’s the one who told him, and yesterday, he sent me some messages.”
“What kind of messages?” My voice comes out harsh, and Mila cringes. I’m sorry for that, but where Isaac’s safety is concerned, I don’t take risks.
She passes me her phone, and as I read the messages, I grow worried. “Mila, these messages are disturbing. You guys are divorced.” That’s putting it mildly. Her ex sounds like a psychopath. Who calls a woman his wife when they’re divorced?
“Jessica and I talked about it, and we all agree, David included, that Clay is harmless. He’ll get tired of sending me messages when he finds someone else.”
I glance down at the messages again. Unfortunately, they are not threatening in a way that you can go to the police. But the threat is there all right. It’s veile
d, but it’s there.
“Hey, don’t worry, he’d never come here,” Mila says.
I’m worried, but I don’t want to go on and on about it and make it worse for Mila. Isaac is not at risk. Mila and her friends agree that her ex is harmless. They know him after all, and I satisfy myself with that.
“If he sends you a message that makes you feel frightened, you’re to tell me immediately,” I tell her, and she nods. The thought of having this conversation must have stressed her to no end because afterward, Mila is back to her normal self.
Still, I make a note to myself to have Collins check him out. I want to know if he has a criminal record. It’s better if I know what we’re dealing with here. I don’t tell Mila my plans, not wanting to worry her needlessly. Men like her ex are cowards. Any man who preys on a woman’s weakness is a bully and a coward.
“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Mila asks as I switch off the lights and check the doors.
“If you don’t, I’ll be in yours,” I tell her.
I’ve missed her in my bed. We shut the door behind us and immediately turn to each other. I stroke her cheek, and she covers my hand with hers. Why would anyone want to bother a sweet person such as Mila? She bothers nobody and does what she can to make our lives comfortable.
I momentarily imagine Mila as my wife. Coming home to her every day knowing that she belongs to me? I’d move heaven and earth to make her feel special and cared for every day. If she were mine, she would never experience a moment of anxiety about our marriage.
A thought so startling comes to my mind. I had done the very same thing with Brenda. I’d been the perfect husband. I had showered her with love and affection and ensured she lacked for nothing. And still, she left me for another man. That thought is sobering. It leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth. Brenda taught me that first and second impressions can be deceiving.
I compare the two women. The only thing they have in common is the lack of a career. That in itself is a recipe for disaster. I’ve written off ever having a romantic relationship, but who knows how I’ll feel when Isaac is older. One thing I know for sure is that I’d never have a relationship or marry a woman without a career. Not after what Brenda did. For months after she left, I kept thinking I should have pushed her harder to find something she loved doing. Maybe then she wouldn’t have had an affair. I don’t know. It’s stupid to reach that conclusion, especially when I know women like Debbie who are stay-at-home moms and loyal as hell to their husbands and families. Why am I thinking about this now? It’s hardly relevant. I’m not planning to marry Mila.
Unexpected Heat: An Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 7
