The Confession (20 page)

He felt her breath catch and lowered his head to nibble the side of her neck. His hands roamed down again, and her head rolled back exposing more of her neck to his kiss. Slowly, he ran his hands back up and cupped her breasts. He rolled her nipples gently between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned.

He slid his hands down her stomach, around to her sides and slid his thumbs into the waistband of her lace panties, slowly lowering them over her hips. She shook her hips to help him, sending shocks of electricity through his body.

He turned her quickly to him and molded his body against hers, covering her mouth possessively with his. She returned his kiss with force, her own need in every soft moan. She lowered her hands, clumsily working the fasteners on his pants as her need for him grew more evident. As the last barrier between them fell, he crushed her against him.

Lifting her from the ground, he laid her across the bed, never taking his lips from hers. Her body arched, demanded. He ran his hands over every golden inch of her, drowning in the sensation as her body quivered beneath his touch.

His heart pounded like a jackhammer as she slid out from beneath him, rolled him onto his back, and straddled his hips. Her mouth kissed him everywhere, her breasts brushing gently against his chest as she moved over him. Unable to bear the exquisite pain a moment longer, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, and rolled her back onto the bed. Looking down at her, her blonde curls fanned out across the bedspread, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, he knew she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She reached up her arms to him, her eyes begging him for more. He grasped her hips as she rose to meet him. She buried her hands in his hair and pulled his lips to hers as she met his hips, thrust for thrust. He heard her sharp intake of breath before he felt her body tense and explode. She shuddered beneath him, snapping the last of his control. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and followed her over the edge.

Aimee had never before been in a private jet and for the first time in her life she found herself more interested in the view inside the plane then out the window. She felt like a little girl on her first trip to Disneyland as she kicked her feet onto the reclining portion of the plush chair she sat in and drank champagne from a crystal flute.

It was apparent that Emily and Mark had flown this way a thousand times and she felt anxious to share her experience with someone who would understand how much control it was actually taking her not to run down the long stretch of thick carpet between the cockpit and the rear of the plane. She wished Luther were here.

“Aimee, are you all right?” Mark asked, looking at her peculiarly.

“Yes, I’m better than all right,” she replied, unable to mask her excitement.

She shrieked and ran her hands down the arms of her seat. “How can you remain so still and unaffected while riding on this beautiful plane?”

Mark laughed at her.

Emily turned her attention from the paperwork she was reviewing. “You’re right, Aimee. How sad that after all these years I’ve forgotten the exhilaration of floating over the clouds and sipping champagne.”

She smiled, signaled for a glass of champagne from the stewardess, and tucked her paperwork into her briefcase.

The next few hours went by in a whirl of clouds, girlish laughter and empty champagne bottles.

They arrived at the house late in the afternoon. Mimsey threw open the door the moment they’d reached the porch. She placed her hands on Aimee’s shoulders and looked sympathetically into her eyes. She shook her head and pulled her into a warm hug.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. How are you holding up?” she asked, rubbing her back.

With a final squeeze Aimee pulled back. “I’m fine, thank you, Mimsey. It’s been a long week, and I’ll be glad to get back to work.”

“You work too hard. You need some time to recover from a loss like you’ve had.” Mimsey clucked her tongue.

“I like to work, it keeps my mind occupied. Besides, the auction is right around the corner and there is still so much to do.”

Mimsey batted the air with her hand in dismissal. “Speaking of the auction, you had two deliveries this week. I put them both in your cottage. One is from New York.” She winked at her. “The other is from Peter.”

The room grew silent. Mark’s expression was unreadable, but Aimee noticed the color rising on his cheeks. The unreasonable, childish, side of her prayed that his reaction was caused by the mention of Peter. A little jealousy wouldn’t hurt him a bit.

“Oh, and Mark, a man dropped off an envelope for you as well,” Mimsey added. “All three of you go get unpacked and cleaned up for dinner. You’ve got about ninety minutes. I’ve outdone myself, so don’t be late.”

Like obedient children, the three of them scurried to grab their suitcases and headed to their respective quarters.

Mark was silent as they walked across the yard. He’d insisted on carrying her bags but was walking steps ahead of her. At this point, she’d have to jog to catch him.

He waited patiently on her small porch for her to unlock the door. She swung the door open and walked inside. Mark stepped in behind her and set her bags down. On the table inside the door was a large box and sitting next to it was a beautiful arrangement of flowers spilling out of an etched crystal vase. She bent over the table to inhale their sweet scent. She plucked the card from amidst the blossoms and opened the envelope. Peter had sent his condolences and asked if she’d be willing to join him for dinner after she’d settled back in.

She set the note down on the table and reached over to open the box. Mark walked into the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked with his back to her as he reached in for a bottle of juice.

“No, thank you.”

Walking out of the kitchen, he leaned a hip against the counter, crossed his ankles, and took a large swig. “So, I take it the flowers are from Peter.”

Aimee didn’t look up. Still fumbling with the tape on the box, she mumbled an “ah-huh” as nonchalantly as possible.

Mark didn’t say anything else, but his grunt spoke volumes. She struggled to mask her pleasure in discovering he was jealous.

She worked the tape loose on the box and squealed with glee as she pulled out the contents. The handbag she’d designed for the auction was everything she’d imagined. The fabric was a deep blue with an intricate silver chain for the handle. Colored jewels covered the clutch, shimmering in the light, and the clasp was a single diamond like stone.

“Have you been catalog shopping?”

She turned to him, and placed her hand on her hip. “No, I haven’t been catalog shopping. This is an original, one of a kind, Amore’ Handbag, designed especially for the Preston Talbot Foundation auction.”

“It looks like a purse.”

She glared at him, trying to keep in mind that he didn’t know it was her creation he was insulting. “It’s a work of art, and should bring in a nice sized donation for the foundation.”

“Really?” he reached over and snatched it from her hand for a closer inspection.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” She pried open his fingers and gently lifted it from his hand. “Be careful with that.”

He looked at her curiously. “You sure seem all worked up over a purse.”

She growled at him. “Wait until you see Emily’s face when she sees this. You are obviously a man with little taste for excellence.” She wrapped the handbag back in the tissue it was packaged in and set it tenderly back into the box. “I’m going to unpack and shower. I, for one, have no intentions on being late to dinner. Mimsey scares me a little.”

He laughed and grabbed her suitcase from the entry and walked across the room to lay it on her bed.

She walked in behind him. “That was very chivalrous of you.”

He crossed his arm in front of his waist and took an exaggerated bow. “At your service, madam.”

He straightened and stepped to her. His eyes appeared unsure, so taking it upon herself, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him tenderly.

“You are definitely welcome.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “We could be late for dinner, you know. I could make it worth your sacrifice.”

She stepped back, standing just out of his reach and placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what kind of you girl you think I am, Marcus Lee.” She mimicked a southern belle accent. “But I will only allow your hands to roam freely over my body after said body has been properly nourished. Go and unpack before Mimsey tans us both.”

He shook his head and headed out of the room while she pretended to busy herself with unpacking. Stepping closer to the wall, she used the mirror to watch him leave. Just as she suspected, he stopped, looked over his shoulder, and lifted the note from Peter, before placing it back on the table exactly where she’d left it.

• • •

Mark walked into his cottage and set his bag down. The emotion he was feeling was a new one, and he didn’t think he liked it. His stomach churned, and not from hunger. He paced the floor, recalling Peter’s hand on Aimee’s back as she climbed into his girly, little Jaguar. Her head tilted back in laughter at something he’d said, and the memory of Peter’s armed wrapped around her in an embrace. Even knowing it had been merely a friendly goodbye didn’t ease the anger raging inside him.

He had no right to feel this way. They’d slept together, not declared their undying love for each other with a vow of exclusivity. So why did he feel she belonged to him in some way? He cursed aloud his frustration. Mark knew she felt something for him. He’d seen it in her eyes when she’d come to him last night. He’d felt it in the way she kissed him. He hadn’t imagined that. But would she go to dinner with Peter?

He needed a beer, not the juice he’d gulped down earlier to keep his hands busy. Hell, he needed something stronger than a beer. His hands itched to rip Peter’s card to shreds and throw the flowers into the trash. Walking into his kitchen, he saw the large envelope lying on the table.

He stared blindly at the latest reminder of why he had no right to ask Aimee to stay away from Peter. He lifted the envelope. The weight of it was heavy, but he knew it was more than the number of pages it held. It was the representation of his inability to trust. How could he say, even to himself, that he’d fallen in love with Aimee, and hold an investigators report in his hands?

A war was raging inside him as his heart battled his head. He told himself he could read it, if only to confirm that she wasn’t hiding anything from him, and never question her again. He knew the simple act of requesting the report, of needing that proof, already posed a problem. His heart knew that breaking the seal would be a complete act of betrayal.

His decision made, he stood up and walked purposely to his desk in the corner, yanked open the bottom drawer and dropped the envelope inside.

“Mark’s in love,” McKenzie sat down in the open chair beside Emily. “I’d about given up hope that would ever happen.”

“I noticed it, too.” Emily kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs beneath her. The rose garden was quickly becoming her favorite after dinner hangout.

“His smile reached his eyes, and the way Aimee returned his smile leads me to believe she returns his affections.”

“I was beginning to believe he’d never find her.” Emily sipped from her tea. “It seemed unlikely when he hardly dated, and the ones he did date were brainless.”

“I think he did that on purpose. As a way to protect himself from meeting someone he could find himself caring for.” McKenzie turned to her friend, her head tilted to the side, worry lines etched in her forehead. “Emily, this girl, is she one of the good ones? No games? No hidden agenda? No tattooed boyfriends waiting in the wings for her to cash out and bail?”

“You really need to watch less cable.” Emily shook her head. Her expression grew serious and she placed her hand over her friend’s in reassurance. “I think she is one of the good ones. I’ve been fooled before, so maybe you shouldn’t trust my gut instincts as much as your own, or as much as Mark’s, but I’m drawn to her. I don’t know how to explain it.” She stood up and lit the candles around them. McKenzie sat quietly, waiting for her to continue. “Simply being in her presence makes me happy. That sounds so strange when I say it out loud, but there is something about her. I feel like I’ve known her forever.”

“She certainly seems to have had an undeniable impact.” McKenzie seemed to search for her words. “Something has changed around here. The entire house feels transformed. It’s brighter, happier, and almost more peaceful.” McKenzie turned to Emily. “You’re different, too. I can’t explain it, but you are.”

Emily smiled. “This year seems a little easier than last, and the year before that. Maybe I’m getting better at handling things in my old age.”

McKenzie didn’t laugh. Instead, her eyes welled with tears and her voice faltered. “You’re always so haunted at this time of year. It’s like you’re reminded of the life you should have lived, as you talk with the ghosts of the people you should be surrounded by.”

Emily reached over and placed her hand on her friend’s. “It’s not quite that bad. Not anymore. I won’t lie and say this time of the year isn’t hard for me, because it is, but I’m living a great life. I’m happy.”

They both turned their heads toward the sound of laughter that penetrated the air. The bits of dialogue they were able to decipher told them Mark was in the process of threatening to throw Aimee into the pool. Apparently in her favorite Jimmy Choo heels. That would be cause for retaliation in ways that no one could fathom.

“She reminds me a lot of you when you were younger,” McKenzie said.

“I’m not the only one around here that would kill over her favorite pair of Jimmy Choos.” Emily tilted her head back and laughed at her own joke.

“It’s more than that. It’s something in her mannerisms. The way she processes things before she speaks, the way she blushes so easily. Like you, she doesn’t complain, or show weakness. I mean, she just lost her mother, and she’s completely focused on the auction. I think it’s less a strong work ethic, and more an escape. Again, a lot like you.” McKenzie grew silent for a moment, then continued. “There is something so familiar about her. I feel like I’ve known her forever and it’s only been a couple days. I just have a feeling, one I can’t identify.”