The Ground Rules (17 page)

“Touch me, Weston,” I finally beg.

His fingers glide between my lips.

And I want him so badly.

“I want you inside me,” I say softly. The ragged words escaping from my mouth shock me.

His hand leaves me, and I open my eyes. I tilt my head over my shoulder to look at him. He reaches into his pocket.

I throw my head down, close my eyes and wait for him, my body anticipating his. This magnetic pull he has over me is beyond comprehension. I’ve never seen myself as a very passionate person before—I’ve always been ruled by my good senses, not by lust.

He teases me with his shaft. I want to beg him to stop and to enter me—I want him inside me. I bite my bottom lip as I enjoy the feel of him against me.

He finally eases into me, and I want the sensation to go on forever. He moans as he stretches into me. I cry out, knowing I’m going to come, fast and hard. His thrusts are slow and intense, and he moans louder and louder. As he comes, he pushes harder into me and brings me to my own climax.

When I’m finally brought down from the waves of pleasure, I turn to look at him and smile. Thirty seconds—I think that’s all there was to it.

He laughs. “In my defense you worked me up quite a bit.”

I laugh. “I didn’t even touch you.”

He kisses the back of my neck. “What can I say,” he says softly. “You have extraordinary powers.”

He eases out of me, his hands still on my hips. “I’ll be back in a moment.” And he’s gone again.

I bury myself under the covers and wait for him. I definitely don’t want a repeat of last time.

I want him to stay.

He comes back, a plush towel wrapped around his waist. He is magnificent, and I just want to rip that towel off.

He lies next to me, pulling the covers over both of us.

“You were great,” I tell him, remembering all the sensations he’s brought on in me.

“It’s easy to be great with you.”

I trail my finger along his smooth chest, tracing circles around his nipple, and venturing further south. “You have a great body.” I slide my finger all the way to his belly button. “How do you manage that?”

His smile is bashful. “I train religiously. Two hours a day, five days a week,” he says matter-of-factly, like this isn’t completely impressive.

“Wow. That’s a lot of training. When do you find the time?” I ask, suddenly a little self-conscious about my complete lack of exercise.

“I work out from five thirty to seven thirty, Monday to Friday.”

“In the morning?” I blurt out. “When do you sleep?”

“I sleep six hours a night. That’s pretty standard I think,” he says, his hand against mine, his thumb playing with my fingers.

I realize we are so completely different. “You are very regimented.”

“It’s what feels most comfortable to me. I like to follow a set schedule. I like to know what’s coming.”

I smile at him. He’s such a nerd. A really hot nerd.

“What do you do at work all day?” I ask, wanting to learn more about this beautiful nerd.

“Ahhh…” He lets out a sigh. “A lot of meetings with suppliers and engineers, conference calls, meetings out of town occasionally, site visits, and quality control,” he explains, looking half-exhausted. “But thankfully, I have a few men to cover most of it. I delegate a lot.”

“You basically tell people what to do all day,” I tease.

“I suppose you could put it that way.”

“I tell people what to do all day too. But they’re all five years old, and they never listen to me.”

He laughs, fine lines edging the corners of his eyes.

“I guess what I do isn’t very exciting and important compared to you. Gabe likes to say I get paid to make zoo animals out of toilet paper cardboard rolls all day.”

I think this is kind of funny, but Weston doesn’t seem to agree—his smile has completely faded.

He studies me for a second with a serious expression. “You shouldn’t say that,” he chastises me, trailing his finger along my hairline. “Your vocation is most likely a lot more important than mine. You are molding the minds of our future leaders. You probably spend more time with these children than their own parents. Do you realize just how pliable the human brain is at that age? How much it takes in? How much your presence in their lives will affect who they become?”

I’d never thought about it like that.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mirella.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look more serious. “What you do is
very
important.”

“Oh…okay,” I say, sheepish. “I’ll try to remember that.”

“You do that,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose.

I kind of like when he does that. He seems obsessed with my nose. It’s sweet.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Kiss my nose and stuff?”

He smiles, staring at my nose for what seems like an eternity. I almost start to feel insecure—I don’t exactly have the daintiest of noses.

“It’s that adorable freckle right here,” he taps it with the tip of his finger, “I love it.”

I laugh out loud. “I hate it. I’ve always hated it,” I confess. “I hate them all. But that one…it’s the biggest. And smack in the middle of my nose. I hate it the most.”

“I think every single freckle on your face is exactly where it belongs. Especially that one.”

I think I’m going to melt.

And I guess he can see right through me because the next second, he tells me he has to go.

I sit up on the bed, wrapped up in the crisp white sheets. “My five minutes are up?”

“Something like that,” he says, dropping his towel—accidently, on purpose, I’m not sure—what a tease. I peep at the sleek hard lines of his naked body as he makes his way to the en suite, wishing we could have another go.

Damn…this is like the same movie playing all over again. I went to the city, hell-bent on breaking up with Weston and ending this once and for all. And now I find myself standing on my doorstep, staring down at the potted geraniums, not wanting to go in and face my husband. Because I certainly don’t want to admit what I’ve just done…again!

I suck in a breath, and I slowly turn the doorknob. My fingers seem to be made of lead—they feel so heavy.

As soon as I get in, Claire runs up to me and hugs my hips tightly. “Missed you,” she says, and her sweet little voice brings out emotion in me. Gabe comes out of the den, papers in hand, and as soon as his gaze meets mine, he knows—it’s as if we communicate telepathically—I suppose that’s a result of almost twenty years together. But surprisingly, he doesn’t seem angry. He simply walks up to me, gives me a big bear hug, and rests his chin on the top of my head. “You’ve changed your mind?”

I can barely croak out the word when I say, “Y-Yes.”

We don’t belong to each other…

“H
E
A
SKED
Y
OU
T
O
D
O
W
HAT
?” Gwen asks, a little too loudly. We are at our Saturday painting class and I’m recounting my latest meeting with Weston for her.

“Shush,” I whisper, finger over mouth, looking over at Cecilia who seems completely focused on her task, meticulously adding crimson red to a bouquet of tulips with the tip of her paintbrush.

But I know better. I know she’s listening.

She’s
always
listening.

I dab a little cerulean blue, adding color to my sky, a little pizzazz to my scenery of Old Montréal. “You heard me right.” I’m copying the image from a photo I took years ago, when Gabe and I went there for a romantic getaway—we had so much fun—all we did was walk, eat good food, and make love.

“He really asked you to strip for him?” Gwen asks,
trying
to whisper—but there’s no whispering in Gwen’s range—it’s conversation volume, loud, and louder.

A smile curves on Cecilia’s lips. And I decide I don’t care if she’s spying on me. If I can add a little excitement to her life, then so be it.

I stretch my arm out to get a look at my artwork from a distance. “I was so nervous.” To my dismay, my perspective is completely off. I should have been a little more focused on my art and a little less on dishing about Weston.

“I couldn’t even get the dress off,” I whisper. “I was all twisted up like a pretzel, trying to unzip it.”

Both Gwen and Cecilia giggle.

“Ah,” I say, pointing a finger. “I knew you could hear me, Cecilia.”

She looks away and swiftly focuses on her tulips, pretending to be innocent.

But I know better.

“So what happened?” Gwen asks, completely intrigued. She’s stopped painting—her half-finished cow stares blankly at us, waiting for her spots.

“He helped me out,” I say softly. “He unzipped me. He was so tender about it, kissing me on the neck, undoing me really slowly. I think it might have been the most erotic moment of my life.”

“Wow,” is all Gwen manages to say, her mouth agape.

I look over at Cecilia—she’s staring at us again, jaw hanging.

“You should see this man, Cecilia,” Gwen tells her. “He’s absolutely gorgeous.”

I can’t believe I’m sharing all these details…but, I can’t help it.

And I don’t care if Cecilia listens. And everyone else is at the far end of the room. I wonder what Cecilia thinks about all this. Although we’ve sat beside each other for a few classes, we’ve never actually spoken. Does she know I’m married? If she has any observation skills, she would have noticed my wedding ring.

But I don’t care.

“How far did you go?” Gwen asks.

“All of it.” I confess. “He wanted it all off.”

Gwen bites her lip. “What underwear did you wear?”

“The black silky ones,” I whisper, “with black thigh-highs and a garter belt.”

“God…that’s hot.”

Cecilia is still staring, jaw still hanging, eyes bulging out of her head. I think I’ve thoroughly scandalized her.

I almost want to apologize.

“Okay,” I finally say. “That’s enough talk about that.” I’m not about to tell anyone about spreading my legs wide for him, and kneeling on all fours to give him a VIP view of my ass.

That would be going too far.

“You’re such a tease,” Gwen pouts, picking up her paintbrush.

And Cecilia smirks.

I’m filled with nervous energy as I sit on the sleek leather seat of Weston’s car. I’m not sure where I’m heading. All I was told in Kathryn’s e-mail was to dress up—something red.

I’ve picked the shortest of my three red dresses, a classic flowing, silky dress, snug at the waist. I’ve paired the dress with strappy red heels and a chunky silver necklace.

Edward drops me off at the Lake Point Tower on the peninsula. As he opens the car door for me, I gaze up at the sky, trying to see the top of the spectacular building, but my eyes can’t seem to reach high enough.

Weston meets me at the entrance, dressed in a tailored two-button gray suit, with striped navy shirt—he looks as splendid as ever.

He touches my elbow ever so slightly and kisses me on the cheek. “You look wonderful. I love the dress.”

“I’m glad you approve,” I reply, noticing his red tie—we make quite the handsome couple.

“Why red?” I ask as he leads me toward a private elevator.

“I wanted to see you in red.” His eyes have that look again—that look which makes me want to just rip his clothes off. But I settle for a light touch of his tie, which is peeking through the bottom of his jacket. I notice he only has one button done again—it gives him a casual, very sexy vibe. I don’t know who his stylist is, but she must be the best in the business—she definitely has sex-appeal down to an art.

My touch doesn’t go unnoticed. I can see it in his eyes. I get a thrill out of the fact that my touch seems to affect him as much as his affects me.

“I thought red would suit your complexion—your dark hair and dark eyes.”

“And?”

He smiles, taking my hand. “I was right on the money.”

We make our way into the elevator, and I hope to steal a kiss, but the ride to the seventieth floor is so fast, we barely even have a chance to look at each other, let alone get frisky.

The hostess takes my jacket and leads us to our table. The restaurant seems to be glowing—candlelight, plush seats, mirrors, steel and polished copper. The panoramic views of the city and lakefront completely mesmerize me. As I look out at the city lights stretching for miles, I understand why Weston insisted on a late dinner.

We sit down at a quaint cloth-covered table right by the window. The atmosphere is so classy and romantic.

It’s perfect.

I feel like a princess. Weston makes me feel like a princess, I muse, looking up at him in his fabulous suit.

“This is one of my favorite restaurants,” he says, unfolding his cloth napkin. “I wanted to share it with you.”

“Thank you.” I take in my surroundings. “It’s wonderful.”

“I like the logistics, the design,” he explains. “It’s very streamlined. It was designed by a mathematician.”

“A very brilliant man I’m sure.”

“A woman actually. I think it’s what makes it so unique.”

I smile up at him. He has got to be the most adorable geek I have ever met. “But what about the food?” I tease.

“Delicious. Best scallops in town.”

The server takes our drink orders. Weston orders a bottle of white.

I order a martini—I want to be languid, without a care in the world.

I want to get lost in this night.

“This place is spectacular.” I want him to know I appreciate his efforts.

“I want to make you feel special, Mirella.” He’s not quite looking at me. “I want you to know how dear you are to me,” he stresses, his fingers toying with his tie clip. “I don’t want you to feel like…”

“Like what?” I ask, curious. But he doesn’t answer. “Like a high class escort?” I venture, a smile on my face.

But I can see from the expression on his face—my words have stung.

“I don’t want you to ever feel that way, Mirella,” he says, his words strained. “But I understand if you…I wine and dine you, and then I take you to my suite, and…”

“I don’t feel that way, Weston,” I assure him. “I get as much from this as you do.”

He looks up from his glass, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” I ask him. But I think I know the answer—I’m not sure he sees what everyone else sees. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

He smiles, his expression soft and sweet.

And I want him even more.

I enjoy a delicious lobster bisque soup, a wonderful watercress salad, and scallops. Weston has the lamb. And we share a crème brûlée. I’m glad I’ve finally found my appetite. In the early days, I couldn’t eat a thing around him.

We talk about our lives. I tell him about my last day at school and the fun and quirky presents the kids gave me—lots of brooches—everyone knows I collect them. He tells me about a new loft development he’s undertaking and the upcoming trip to the south of Italy he’s taking with his family. I don’t really enjoy hearing about the trip—feelings of envy and jealousy consume me every time he speaks about Bridget. This part is so hard—knowing this wonderful man is not mine.

But I put on a smile and listen intently.

As we make our way back to the suite, I remind myself why I’m here—to have sex with this Greek god of a man. I’m very lucky, I tell myself. How many women like me would die for this chance—the sex, the excitement, the magic.

Don’t think too much. Just enjoy the moment.

He trails his fingers down the small of my back. “I have yet to undress you, Mirella. I want to take everything off you.”

I smile, liking the idea very much. I desperately want him to undress me.

He trails a finger along my neck, and reaches for one of my silver hoop earrings. With one hand, he manages to unclasp it and take it off, not taking his eyes off me.

His movements are so very slow. He’s teasing again. And I know this is going to take a long time.

It will be a late night.

I wish I had
all
night with him.

He leaves me to set the earring on the desk. And as he walks back to me, his gaze locked on mine, looking brilliant in his suit, I suddenly want to undress
him
.

I reach for the button of his jacket.

He stills my hand and smiles at me. “Not yet,” he says with a playful expression. “I get
you
naked first.” He reaches for my other earring and repeats his little dance. At this rate, this process is going to take
all
night. I sigh at the thought—I don’t know if I can be that patient.

He walks behind me, sweeps my hair over to the side and kisses my shoulder softly. I take a deep breath. His sexy woodsy smell lingers around me.

The slight touch of his fingers on the back of my neck sends shivers through me. He takes off my chunky silver necklace, unclasping it gently. I look out at the beautiful view of the city as he lingers behind me—the twinkling lights are magical. He sets the necklace delicately on the desk. He reaches for my arm and slips off my matching bracelet, his fingers trailing slowly along the inside of my wrist. He takes my hand in his and rests his thumb on my wedding ring.

“Of course, this stays,” he says. “But I want everything else off.” I almost wish he hadn’t spoken—his words have brought me back to reality—I’m married, he’s married, and we don’t belong to each other.

He’s not mine.

Then, his hands are on my waist, turning me on my feet. His hands move slowly as he undoes the back of my dress. He gently pulls it off my shoulders, letting the material pool softly to the floor. But he doesn’t touch me.

And I so want him to touch me.

“Nice,” he whispers in my ear, his body pressed against my back.

“What?” I ask, smiling.

“The red lacy underwear. Very sexy.”

“I thought you might like it.” Yes, this is the
when you want to get fucked hard
set. And I definitely want to get fucked hard.

“You were right,” he breathes in my ear. The warmth of his hands wrapped around my waist is wonderful.

I’m in heaven.

“But as much as I appreciate it—it has to come off.” He hooks his thumb into the waistband of my panties and pulls slowly, kneeling behind me as he does so. It is amazingly erotic.

I gingerly step out of my panties. I’m down to my red lacy bra and heels.

He stands back up to tower over me, his hands at my back, unclasping my bra. It falls to the floor, my breasts exposed to the cool air. He kisses my shoulder as he slides his arms around me and takes my breasts in his hands. My nipples are hard against his fingers.

His touch is sending me through the roof.

He slides his body along my back and trails a finger down to the back of my leg, then reaches for the strap of my heel. His hand lingers there for the longest time, undoing the clasp. I realize there have been a lot of clasps he’s had to undo. And I make a mental note to not be so shackled next time—things might move a little faster.

This sloth-like pace is absolutely killing me.

He slides the shoe off, his thumb stroking the top of my foot and teasing the tip of my toes. He moves to the other foot and repeats the excruciatingly slow ritual, but his lips linger on my ass this time, and he trails kisses there, teasing me.

As soon as my shoe is off, I turn to him. I want to kiss him. I pull him to me, and his lips touch mine but just ever so slightly.

He’s teasing again.

“Undress me first,” he breathes. “It’s your turn.”

I reach for his jacket button and pull his jacket off, moving as fast as I can.

“Slow down…little butterfly.”

I take off his silver tie clip and set it on the desk. I reach for his tie but I hit a stumbling block—I’m not used to ties—Gabe never wears them.

Weston notices my clumsiness and smiles.