Petite Madeleine: Drew's Story (Meadows Shore Book 3) (11 page)

She took a deep breath. “Once we’ve cleared the path forward, I’ll be ready to put on these beautiful things for you, and for me too, and I hope you’ll be ready to help me slip them off.”

His groan was low and rough, rumbling from somewhere deep, deep in his chest. “Ready? I’ve barely been able to think of anything else since I first set eyes on them.”

He met her inside the terminal, standing behind a column so she wouldn’t see him while he watched her come down the escalator. Then, following closely on her heels while she made her way toward the exit, he grabbed her bag from behind at the first opportunity.

She stopped cold, turned, and then smiled when she realized it was him. It wasn’t just a simple smile, it was one that appeared to engage every pore, every cell, one that began in her heart and completed itself in her soul.

She stood on tiptoes and nipped his bottom lip before soothing it with a tender kiss. “I think you’ve done this to me before.”

He was so happy she’d come to Boston, his chest was about to explode, and from the way she greeted him, it seemed she had no regrets about making the trip either. And he fully planned on keeping it that way. Winding his arm around her waist, he kept her close while they made their way to the parking lot. More than a dozen people stopped him, offering congratulations on the afternoon’s game. A few even asked about the lineup for the next day’s game, as though he might reveal it in passing while in the middle of the airport.

“Let’s go this way, fewer Boston fans. How was the flight?”

“Easy, so easy.”

“Yup. Easy, peasy.” One obstacle checked off.

“I heard you guys won before we even deplaned. It was a forty-five-minute flight, but the pilot kept updating us—can you believe that? What is it with Boston fans?” She shook her head.

“Best fans in the world, and the toughest. Unlike Yankee fans, who are a bunch of cream puffs.” He hip-checked her while both they chuckled at the absurdity of the statement.

“
Hmmm
. A jeep? I would have guessed some sleek little number where the roof rolled back.”

“I’ve owned one of those. Too flashy and impractical.”

“People recognize you everywhere, huh?”

“In Boston, it’s a high-profile job. Everyone’s always trying to tell me what I need to do to get the team on track, or they’re trying to persuade me to tell them what I might do next. That, and I’m related to my brothers.”

“Not to mention you’re hot and eligible.”

“Yeah, right.” He shook his head.

“Hey, I read the papers like everyone else.”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to believe everything you read? I’m not hot… Okay, I’m hot,” he teased. “But I’m not eligible. Someone already has my heart, and she’s had it for more than a decade.”

She looked up at him through long, dark lashes.

“Just stating the facts.”

“You’re not going to make this easy?”

“Nope. I’m a determined guy, and I don’t give up easily. Especially where you’re concerned. And I’m warning you, when I put my mind to something, when my focus narrows and intensifies, I always get my way. Always. It’s the combination of my hotness and my boyish charm,” he teased, reaching over the console and gently tugging on the neat ponytail she’d fastened with a tortoise shell barrette. A small action that went a long way in lightening the ferocity of his words.

He pulled into the underground parking lot of a swanky high-rise apartment building.

“Before we get to the heavy stuff, I thought maybe we could have dinner tonight, somewhere fun. I don’t want your first trip to visit me bogged down in angst. I want some happy times for you to remember too, so you’ll come back again.”

“Drew, we need…”

“Oh yeah, we definitely need to talk about everything, and we may not get it all done this weekend. But I want to spend a little time building a foundation for the future, too. You game?” He cradled her cheek.

“A little fun sounds like a great idea.”

* * *

After he grabbed her bag from the back, they took the elevator up to the top floor.

“You live in the penthouse?”

He shifted from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at her, seeming sheepish about the extravagance. “The view over the city is unbelievable. You can see the ballpark and the harbor. I couldn’t resist. Why are you smiling?”

“The guy I knew wouldn’t have cared about the view.”

“The guy you knew always cared about the view.” She knew he wasn’t talking about the ocean or the skyline, and it made her face burn. Even though she wasn’t fair-skinned, and most people didn’t notice, he always knew when she blushed, and rarely let it go without comment. Maybe today would be different.

“I made you blush,” he teased, elbowing her playfully. “And it took so little effort.”

She pretended to swat him. Yes, the man who had explored her body for hours on end, the man whose body she knew almost as well as her own, made her blush with a silly comment. This promised to be quite a weekend.

His apartment was polished but masculine, with a tartan plaid throw folded neatly over one end of an enormous leather sectional strategically positioned so everyone who sat on it could have an unobstructed view of the giant screen on the wall. Oversized chairs with ottomans, a square coffee table, and what looked like a bar in the far corner of the room completed the décor. It wasn’t hard to guess the room’s main purpose.

“I’d bet you’ve entertained more men here than women.”

“You’d win that bet. I wanted to put a regulation pool table right where the never-used dining table sits, over there. There’s a light above it and everything—it would have been perfect. But when I suggested it, Lainey and Ella acted like I’d dripped on the toilet seat and hadn’t bothered to wipe it up.”

“I bet they did,” she laughed, moving over to the bank of windows. “The light must pour in here.”

“This room catches the morning sun. It’s another thing I love about this place. I can walk to work, too, which is a huge bonus. Some days it’s the only quiet time I can carve out for myself. There’s Blues’ Park,” he pointed out one of the floor to ceiling windows.

Taking her hand, he pulled her away from the panoramic view of the city. “I’ll show you the rest of the place. I want you to make yourself at home.”
And one day I hope it will be your home.

“This is…”

“You still play?” She asked, moving over to the drums, the focal point of the room, and running her hand over the smooth cymbals.

“Mm-hm. This room was another big seller for me. The previous owner was into some—well, let’s just say he needed a soundproof room.”

Her eyes widened when he winked at her with a wolfish grin.

“I guess playrooms aren’t just in E. L. James’s imagination. If there’s time this weekend, will you play for me?”

“For you, or on you?”

She swallowed hard, remembering that lazy Sunday afternoon at Brown.

“Either way, I’d love to,” he said catching her eye before leading her to another light-filled room. “This is the guest room.”

There was a cut crystal vase with a single white rose by the bed, and the body cream she loved.

“The bathroom’s through there.” She peeked in and saw her brand of shampoo and conditioner on a shelf in the shower, and a pretty silk robe hanging from an ornate hook on the wall.

“I picked up a couple of things you like. That way you don’t have to drag everything with you when you visit. I want you to be comfortable here.”

“Drew.” Her heart was long past ready to leap out of her chest when she turned and jumped into his arms. “We’re getting way ahead of ourselves, but I don’t care.” She found his mouth, and there was nothing careful or gentle about her kiss. He moaned softly, parting her lips with his tongue, tasting her. Forcing himself away only when they needed to catch their breath.

“We should—I should—I need to get in the shower before I do something I promised I wouldn’t do this weekend.”

“I kissed you.”

He cocked his head slightly to the right with his dimple on full display. “So you did.”

* * *

He stood alone in the shower, with an erection as thick and hard as it had ever been. This weekend might just do him in. He soaped himself up and took the edge off. Otherwise the promise he’d made would be out the window, and they’d never make it out to dinner, or anywhere else, for that matter.

But more importantly, they wouldn’t say the things they needed to say so they could rebuild their relationship. And for that, he was willing to endure any amount of discomfort, even if it meant his balls were going to fall off if it went on too much longer.

* * *

Her body was still humming from his kisses, and her panties were damp. Natural occurrences for most young women, but the Tamoxifen sometimes got in the way of a young body’s normal reactions, and things didn’t always go according to script. If that happened, she’d deal with it—no,
they’d
deal with it.

She wanted to make love with him, plain and simple.
God, did she want that.
But first they had work to do. Hard work, emotional and gut-wrenching work. Maybe she should have stayed in a hotel, where the temptation wasn’t two doors down, standing under the pulse of the shower, soapsuds sliding down every inch of his hard body. His hands gliding over skin where hers ached to be.

There hadn’t been a day since he walked into Lola’s that she hadn’t fantasized about making love with him, hadn’t imagined running her tongue over the deliciousness, feeling him quiver and throb. But it was only in the past week that she was ready for the reality of him, ready to share her reality, and somehow being in Boston, in his apartment, had made her long past ready.

She threw on a short skirt with a sleeveless top secured by tiny jeweled buttons, and a colorful scarf. Sandals, a pair of dangly earrings that brushed against her neck when she moved, and a bevy of bracelets completed her look. She felt like a schoolgirl primping for a date with the most popular boy at school.

* * *

“You look nice,” he said, thinking about what she might be wearing under her little skirt. It was a habit he’d picked up in college, almost like a game, guessing what she was wearing against her skin. Didn’t matter if she had on the grungiest jeans or a buttoned-up business suit, there was always something special, some hidden treasure for him to find. And more than a few times, she’d surprised him by wearing nothing at all.

“Are you up for Asian food?

“I’m so up for that.”

“There’s a restaurant in the Back Bay, it’s real casual, but it’s going to blow your socks off.”

“Do they have dumplings?”

“Dumplings that’ll make your toes curl.”

“Well what are you waiting for? Take me.”

Take me.
Dinner, dinner, dinner, she was talking about dinner.
“They don’t take reservations, but I called, and they’ll save us a couple of seats at the counter in the back of the restaurant. We can watch them cook, plus no one will bother us back there. Is that okay?”

“Dinner and a show with you. What could be better?” She brushed her hand over his cheek.

“We should get going.” His voice was like gravel, and if they didn’t leave now…

When they arrived, the restaurant was loud and crowded, but they made their way to the back and found the seats that had been saved for them.

“Drinks?” the waitress asked.

“Seltzer with lime, please.”

“I’ll have the same.”

They watched the waitress push her way toward the bar. “You don’t drink anymore because of the cancer?”

She nodded. “I drink occasionally, but there’s good evidence that it’s better to keep alcohol consumption to a minimum. But that doesn’t mean you can’t drink. A beer goes down real smooth with Asian food.”

“I don’t need a beer, Cassie—I have you.”

“I know you don’t need it, but if we’re going to make this work, if we’re committed for the long term. I can’t feel like you’re making sacrifices…”

“Foregoing a beer isn’t a sacrifice.”

“But it’s your normal behavior. I need you to be normal, so I can feel normal too. One of the most difficult things about telling people about the breast cancer was when they got all weird on me. Even close friends. Everyone had a different reaction, but mainly it was weird. It made them uncomfortable. I made them uncomfortable. Please don’t get weird on me,” she pleaded, in a voice barely above a whisper, almost a prayer.

The waitress placed their drinks on the counter in front of them, and they ordered dinner off the menu, stopping periodically to ask her about a dish the chef was preparing. “On your way back, would you bring me a Tsing Tao beer, please? No rush.”

Cassie smiled and cupped the side of his face, and he rested his hand on hers, entwining their fingers. “I know all about avoiding a subject because it makes other people feel uncomfortable. It was like that after my parents died. And I know what it’s like to have people give you long, pitiful looks. It sucks. I hated it.” He brought her hand to his mouth, placing a soft kiss each on each of her knuckles. “I promise to try and not be weird about things, but I’m new at this. You may need to kick me in the ass every now and again.”