Trouble Won't Wait (17 page)

I haven’t ever told him I wanted to work things out, though. I tell him at nearly every turn what a jerk he’s been, and how I’m not getting over it, ever. He just refuses to accept it.

* * * *

I wait for Adam in my Durango in the parking lot, going over the remainder of my Christmas lists, making a note to wrap the gift for Rachel’s teacher tonight. I look up in time to see Adam walking toward me, and my breath catches. He’s dressed for business today, in a suit. A very
nice
suit, obviously tailored. My heart races, and I want more than anything to pull him into my vehicle and get some long, wild kisses out of him before we eat. I’m flushed with the idea when he opens my door for me. His eyes search out mine, and our gazes lock together for a bit. God, it’s like when we first met. I think he said hi to me some time ago.

“You clean up good,” I tell him in a sensual voice I’m not forcing a bit.

His eyes widen a smidge. Looks like he’s had a lascivious thought. Maybe because he was looking at my chest–push-up bras are the best!

I swing my legs out, then the rest of me, and he closes the door. I’d love to hold his hand walking in, but it’s a bad idea.

Adam asks for a “quiet” seat, telling the hostess this is a business lunch. Since it’s still before noon, we’re given a table in a corner, far away from any other occupied ones.

Over his menu, he says, “Nice sweater.”

I can feel myself blush again, like a girl on her first date.

“Is your meeting over?” I ask in between chips. I shouldn’t be eating them again. This is how I ended up with rolls around my middle.

He nods, and then we place our orders.

“I finished your books.”

My eyes roll involuntarily. Way to blow a good lunch–embarrass me.

“What did you think?” I might as well ask. He appears eager to offer his review.

He looks over at me for some time. “You’re a romantic.”

“Don’t sound so surprised. Do I seem that bitter?”

“A romantic doesn’t consider living out her life with somebody who broke her heart, just to avoid divorce.”

“Haven’t you ever heard ‘Love conquers all’? That’s a romantic’s notion, isn’t it?” I’m not getting angry with him today. Time together like this is too precious. “Please let’s not go there today. I made my decision. And yes, I’m a romantic. But I could write romance if I wasn’t.”

“Not like that. Your books are very good. I think you should be making a lot of money.” He leans forward, his forearms flat on the table in front of him. “Do you have an exclusive contract?”

He really did want to talk business! But what does he know about publishing books, and do I want him in on this? “No. My first novel was accepted by this publisher, and then the second. They expect more books from me, and I expect that they’ll buy them.” It sounds pretty wishy-washy when I put it that way.

Adam shakes his head. “I have, er, access to a publisher. Would you be interested in seeing what they’d pay you for your next novel?”

“It’s not finished. I seem to have trouble concentrating lately.”

Our plates are being served, and I look meaningfully over the rim of my glass at him. His returning look almost melts me, it’s so hot.

He hands me a business card. “Contact him. He’s expecting your call.”

The guy on the card is a senior editor. Adam knows him?

“Okey dokey. Thanks?” This is just weird. I don’t even know what to think now. Probably nothing will come of it, but I’m willing to shop around. Maybe this guy knows Adam from college or something.

“Enough business.” Fork in hand, he openly stares at me and says, “You should have a sweater like that in every color. I’d like to come home every day of the week and find you waiting for me in a new color of that sweater.”

God, I’m supposed to eat with him saying things like that? I can’t even breathe! What does he mean, anyway?

“Sorry.” He must think he scared me. “That was probably a bit much for somebody getting ready for a divorce. You just look really good. Really…well, really good.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“I liked it when you said that. I know I’m nuts, but I liked it. And I’m glad you enjoyed my books. I’m always afraid people won’t like them, and then they won’t like me.” I’m tempted to tell him Mike hasn’t read my books, but I don’t want to spoil our lunch by mentioning Mike.

Adam shrugs. “It’s art. If you didn’t like one of my sculptures, would you think of me differently?”

I hadn’t thought of it that way.

“Only if all of them were wildly different from my taste. I guess nobody would read my books if they were only into horror stories, huh?” Just like that, the simplest explanation ever, and I feel so much better about my work. Why the hell was I so self-conscious about it before? Light-bulb moment.

I stick out my tongue at him, and his dimples are all-out. I wonder, if we made babies together, would they have those dimples? I always wanted more kids, but Mike only wanted two, so he went off and got snipped after Rachel was born safe and sound. My feelings were hurt, but I figured Mike’s opinion mattered as much as mine did, and he felt very strongly about it.

“What are you thinking about?”

Ha! I can’t tell him I’m thinking about making babies with him, that’s for sure. There’s one guaranteed way to distract a guy: mention his penis.

“Remembering the peep-show you gave me when you were sick.”

Success. He turns red and looks across the room. Now I really am remembering that view.

He tosses a chip at me. “Not much longer until you can do more than remember, you horny thing.”

Which reminds me. “I have a little surprise. Mark arranged for my mom to pick up my kids the twenty-sixth, and take them to Arizona until after New Year’s.” I let him think of it some, absorbing the implications of my week of freedom.

“I’ll probably keel over sometime the next week from anticipation, and never see my fantasies realized.” His dire prediction makes me laugh out loud. “After three weeks of waiting–”

“God, has it only been three weeks?” I guess it has. “It feels like months.” I feel like I haven’t had sex in a decade, especially now, sitting right across from Adam. “I think I need to go now. I have a lot of, um, energy to burn off today.”

When he puts me in my Durango, I tug him in by the tie to steal a kiss. “Mmm. Makes a meal complete, somehow,” I murmur against his smooth, Drakkar’d cheek.

He kisses me again, hungrily, and I picture myself putting his hand on my breast, then between my legs. My moaning stops him, and he looks at me with eyes wide and dark. I hold his hand until he pulls it slowly away and shuts the door, still staring at me with that lusty look. If coveting is still a sin, I’m going to hell. Straight to hell.

* * * *

At home, I find an email before I go out to run.

Sloane,

I want you so much. Every minute, in every way. I know it’s insane, but if I could, I’d marry you next Friday. Those three big little words keep coming up in my thoughts when we’re talking. I’ll save them, knowing you probably aren’t ready for them yet. But when you are, I promise to–insert little word–you like you’ve never been before. And for always, okay? For always. Yeah, like you’re really ready to hear all this, right? Sorry, had to say it.

Crazed Always,

Ferris

I wrap my arms around my silly self for a little hug.
I love you too, Ferris. I may be damned eternally for it, but I do
.

I run the entire loop today, I’m so jazzed up.
He loves me!

Heaving great needy breaths, I’m stumbling exhausted when I get into the cemetery, but I grin when Adam comes out his back door. I run through his back gate with the little strength I have left and throw myself in his arms, bumping him against the wall. Sweat drips down my neck and off my forehead, and I’m still trying to get my breath. I lean against him, letting him hold me tight, and it doesn’t feel wrong.

“Do you think I’m cheating?” I need to know. I don’t want him to believe I’d ever cheat on him.

“No. Your marriage is over, except by law. Besides, we haven’t done anything.”

“Not anything?” I think we’ve done something, I just don’t know what he would consider cheating.

“Not cheating. Why, does this bother you?”

For my answer, I shimmy closer to him. If we were inside, I’d probably do much more. I kick around the idea of going in. “No, but I’m about to leave my guilt-free zone. I better go.”

Before I back away, he pulls me around to the door and inside for a scorching kiss. I find my hands traveling, grasping his rock-hard butt, using it as leverage to press myself against him and feel how hard he is for me.

When his mouth moves down around my neck, I arch against him, spiraling out of control. I hear myself murmuring his name again and again. His hand cups a breast and I suck in my breath. The Guilt-free City Limits sign is in my rearview mirror. “Help me stop, please. No, don’t stop. Oh, please, we have to stop. It’s been so long, I feel like I’ll die.”

He’s pulled me close against him, and he talks into my sweaty hair. “You think it’s been a long time for you?”

“Okay, how long has it been, hot bachelor?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

I nip his shoulder to prompt him to talk.

“Two years.”

“Bullshit!” I laugh.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe it.”

I pull back to look at his face, and he’s not joking. “My God, it’s almost a medical emergency! Should I have paramedics standing by for us next week?”

He swats my bottom, then squeezes me when I yell.

“Shit, I’ve been tempting fate comin’ around here. You should get in the Guinness Book or something. Can you document that?”

Another swat.

“I got your email.” I’m earnest now.

“And?” He’s holding his breath, I can feel.

“And I ran the whole three miles here.”

His breath goes out with a chortle.

“Hey, Ironman, you’ve gotta release me so I can get home to the real world.”

“This is real, Mandy.”

My heart just missed a beat. “Yeah, I know,” I sigh, elated. “Still, I have to go. Thanks for lunch, and the email, and this.”

He lets me go and I blow him a kiss on my way out his door.

When I get to the street, I see him up in his studio, watching me. He can see me up the street until I turn off to my own.

My phone rings as I’m rounding the corner. It’s him.

When I answer, he says, “I miss you already.”

I laugh and admit to feeling the same, with a promise to call later.

* * * *

Rachel wants to make treats for her class party tomorrow, so we venture down the hill to the grocery store for ingredients.

“Mama?”

“Yeah, sunshine?”

“Will you and Daddy be married forever?”

Shit. “Why would you ask that?”

“Cause Damon’s mom and dad are getting a divorce, and they fight lots. You and Daddy don’t fight, so I guess you won’t get a divorce.”

God, give me strength
. “Well, honey, it’s more important for kids if their parents love them, than if they’re married, right?”

“I guess. But don’t weddings say ‘death to us part’? Doesn’t that mean forever?”

Careful not to smirk at her getting the words mixed up, I answer, “Yeah, baby, it does. People get married
intending
for it to be forever. But sometimes, well, people change and they don’t get along anymore.”

“Or one of them has an affair, like on TV.”

“On
what
TV?” Good grief, she’s ten!

“Mom!” That’s the Welcome to the Twenty-First Century tone. Okay, yeah, she knows what an affair is.

Pulling into a parking space, I sigh at how world-wise kids are these days. “Yeah, or one of them has an affair. But no parents get divorced because of their kids, understand? It’s always grown-up things that cause divorce.” Or slutty acquaintances.

Rachel rolls her eyes and walks beside me holding my hand, to buy her Rice Krispies and marshmallows, and the red and green M and M’s she wants to smash into the top.

We’re making the treats when Mike gets home and scoops a hot handful out of the pan where Rachel just finished mixing them. “There’s my two favorite girls!” he cries, standing between us and tickling Rachel with his free hand while he plants a sticky kiss on my forehead. It seemed he was aiming for my lips, but I ducked my head a second before he made contact. He whistles past a mouthful of Rice Krispies as he strolls through the living room to shower.

Supper is an unusually happy affair, with Mike teasing the kids and telling me jokes. I’m getting afraid Adam was right and something is up. After dinner, Mike calls Rachel back to her room. She emerges a few minutes later, skipping and swinging her arms in arcs around her, and I know she has a secret. I’m hoping Mike didn’t show her the ring he bought. The return still hasn’t come up on his credit card, though he daily drives past a franchise of the store he bought it from. And he did say he was keeping it, because one day I’d forgive him and it would still be there for me.