It Will Always Be You (You Series Book 1) (14 page)

Sunday, June 20

I’m less than present at breakfast this morning, feeling anxious to go for a run and to get my hands back on my guitar. Mom’s famous eggs benny is something I never thought I would have to force down. Rose pushes me for a chat, but I assure her that I will be fine. I just need some more sleep and to get the final details of my presentation ready to show the club owners on Wednesday, then I will be good as new. She reminds me that I need to put the final touches on her living room so Max can take pictures tonight. I agree to come after dinner.

My run clears my head just enough to allow me the creative flow I have been so lacking lately, having had my thoughts consumed by a wild mix of emotions that had me feeling lost in a fog. This morning, I awoke in my old bedroom, glistening with sweat. But this time, it wasn’t because of one of my bad dreams. This time, I was having a dream about Marshall.

He took me into an elevator, positioned my hands above my head, bit at my neck and shoulders, and told me how amazing I am. The dream was so vivid I had woken with a tingling heat that lingered over every inch of the flesh he had touched in the dream, just like it had that day by Lakeside Trail. Last night, he hadn’t actually touched me, but the effect had been the same. I was disappointed I wasn’t at home where I could get myself off and feel some release of the pent-up tension wound tightly in my belly.

The nightclub presentation—well, it’s really more of a preview where I will share my past work with the club owners—is nearly wrapped up after three hours. If they decide they like my work, I will then have two weeks to prepare and present a club design. I have not seen the building for the club yet, so I plan ahead and search for the old mom-and-pop grocery store building, looking for pictures, trying to get some ideas that I can share with them on Wednesday to give me a leg up.

The large brick wall just inside the building’s entrance has my mind back on the idea I’d had at Blackwater Lounge on my first—well, only—date with Marshall. I send Max a text message to see if he can meet me Tuesday morning for coffee. I want to go over my ideas for the club wall and pick his brain for any last-minute creative additions. Max and I seem to have similar visions, but where I lack, he thrives. I’m hoping his eye for everything photography can make up for any possible shortcomings in my vision.

***

Monday, June 21

My Monday back at work was long and tedious. Surprisingly, I never saw Marshall; his truck was there when I got in but not when I left. I debated calling him several times today, and after being home for about an hour, I finally decide to reach out to him.

I let it ring several times before bringing my finger to the screen to hang up. As I do, I catch his voice message and put the phone back up to my ear, just wanting to hear his voice. His words in my ear only remind me of the warm breath that had been upon me when we had shared ourselves with one another. The slow, steady rhythm that had brought me to a height I hadn’t known was possible. A closeness that I had never felt and that my body aches to feel again. A want and desire that is so consuming it almost makes me feel dirty.

I end the call and set my phone in front of me on my coffee table, cringing at the cracked screen, before leaning over the side of the sofa to retrieve my guitar. I anxiously strum away, feeling almost giddy to work on one of my new favorite songs off the Jamestown Revival album
Utah
, which is getting much play time on my phone’s playlist. Peter had been absolutely right about me liking them. A soul I never knew I had flows out of me, and at moments, I wonder if my neighbors can hear me. I keep playing, reveling in the sense of peace that I wish I could experience forever. I’m greedy for this feeling. How amazing it would be to always have this sensation that only Marshall and music can give me.

My phone rings and rattles on the coffee table. Marshall’s name comes up, and I’m instantly nervous to answer. A strained-sounding hello leaves my lips. Yikes, my vocal cords are going to need some more practice.

“Beth, are you all right?”

I don’t want him to know I’ve just been singing my heart out. “I’m fine. Just a little tickle in my throat. Hold on a second.” I pull the phone from my ear before he can respond and take a sip from my water bottle. “Sorry about that.” That little sip was enough to get my voice to sound more normal.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Your voice sounds different, Beth.”

I could never tire of hearing him say my name, a name only he calls me. The worry in his voice sends chill bumps over my body. I don’t want the underlying excitement to show through. “Yes, Marshall, I promise I’m okay.”

“I need to see you, Beth.” His commanding voice oddly enough turns me on.

“Well, there’s a way to remedy that.”

“I’m just leaving work. I can come over now if you’re not busy.”

“Now is good.” Now is more than good. I knew he wanted to see me today when he got back into town, but the thought of seeing him again leaves me shaking in anticipation.

I say good-bye and instantly run to change out of my work clothes and freshen up. I resist the urge to wear something to make him look at me like he did that day, the day he took me like he couldn’t live if he wasn’t with me right then and there. I settle for a pair jeans and a scoop-neck T-shirt. I can’t resist the urge, however, to take my hair down, touch up my makeup, and add a dab of my MAC lipstick.

He takes longer than I’d anticipated, allowing me time to fluff pillows, throw my morning dishes in the dishwasher, and light a candle in the kitchen. I nearly drop to my knees when I open the door. He is in the salmon pink fitted button-up shirt and matching tie he was wearing the day he first asked me out. I don’t need to look down at the shoes and sexy jeans to know what they look like; the vision of him wearing them is still bright in my mind.

I invite him in, feeling awkward as hell. Where do I lead him—the kitchen, the back deck, the sofa? I know where I
want
to lead him, into my bedroom where I can take off that sexy tie of his. I’d work each of his shirt buttons open, exposing that—
Good God, Liz, get your shit together. This isn’t about sex; it’s about being treated the way you deserve to be treated.

I decide on the kitchen table, taking a seat with my back to the patio doors. He doesn’t sit across from me like I had anticipated. He grabs the end chair and slides it in close to me, so close our knees are touching. I’ve dated, slept all night next to, and had sex with the man sitting before me, but here I am, speechless, back to square one. I suddenly can’t even remember why I had ever been upset.

I study his face as he settles onto his seat and notice the tension in his jaw and the sadness written in his pale-blue eyes. It breaks my heart to know that I am likely the cause, at least somewhat. He has been through so much, and in the little time we have gotten to know each other, I have been the cause of so much more. I remind myself that I am unlovable, that even if he thinks he wants me now, it will soon fade and I will be left once again, feeling broken and alone. My gaze lowers before he has a chance to meet my eyes. Why did I have him come over? I should have let him go, should have at least saved myself from some heartbreak.

He grabs my hands, pinching two fingers around the ring I was unaware I was spinning. “I hate knowing I’ve upset you, Beth.” He takes a deep breath. “I need you to know that what happened between us was never my intention. I promised myself I wouldn’t do anything more than kiss you until you healed, and I didn’t have the self-control to hold back when you opened that door and looked so … you’re just so beautiful.” He balls one hand up in a fist and squeezes it tight with the other. “I felt like I would lose my mind if I couldn’t have you.”

“I’m a big girl who is capable of making her own decisions. If I wanted to say no, I would have.” I know I need to address that he’d left me for his sister that day, but right now, seeing him tied up in knots but somehow still oozing with sex, whether he intends to or not, has me so turned on that I can’t see straight.

“I was supposed to be taking care of you, Beth, not taking advantage of you like that.”

My blood instantly boils with these words. “I’m not goddamn broken, Marshall. You can’t take advantage of someone who is willing.” I see him taking in my words but can sense I’ve not gotten him to realize the impact he has had on me.

“I hate to break up this whole beating-yourself-up thing you’ve got going”—I twirl my finger around in circles—“but, Marshall, the way it felt in your arms my first night home and then sharing my bed with you in other ways the next day—quite frankly, you couldn’t have made me feel better. So if taking care of me is your ultimate goal here, then maybe you should focus more on that and less on beating yourself up.” My little outburst leaves me biting at my lips and sends my heart into overdrive. He stares at me for the longest time. I want to say more but hold back. He needs to talk next.

“Goddammit, woman, you’re making it impossible for me to try to be a gentleman here.” The chair screeches across the floor as he gets up and slides it back forcefully with his legs. He moves over to the sink, wringing his hands tightly in his hair.

Holy shit, why is seeing him like this totally turning me on? He wants so badly to do what is right—well, what he thinks is right—when really I can see in his eyes that he wants me as much as I want him. I get up slowly, watching him struggle quietly, staring out the kitchen window. I come up behind him. I touch his arm, gently willing him to turn to me. I stare intently into his eyes; that unmistakable passion is fully alive in them.

“Maybe you just need to quit trying to be a gentleman.” My words are brave, but my hands are unsteady.

His jaw tightens and his nostrils flare before grabbing ahold of my waist and placing me up on the kitchen island. I grab his necktie, pulling him forcefully into me while his hand coils into my hair and crushes me against his lips. I swallow every one of his breaths while our ravenous tongues playfully explore each other to the point that neither of us can breathe. He pulls my head back enough to find my eyes before nipping at my chin and then down along my neck. His hand moves down and slips under my shirt. The warmth of it on my rib cage brings me back to that day I fell at Lakeside Trail, and I can’t help but smile. He sees this.

“What are you smiling about?”

“I was thinking about that day by the lake when your hands first touched me.”

He laughs. “What, the day you fell and I had to brush you off?”

“Not one of my finer moments, but it was well worth having your hands on me. It’s a good thing you can’t read minds.”

I love the look on his face right now, mischievous, but there is still a trace of seriousness he is trying to hold on to.

“Well, let’s see if I can prove you wrong on that one.” He grabs my shirt, lifting it up over my head, laying it on the countertop behind me. “Lie back,” he instructs.

I lie back. The heat of my joyful anticipation makes the coolness of the countertop feel welcome through the fabric of my shirt.

Kisses travel down my belly with slow, sensual wetness. I’m so caught up in his attention to my ribcage as he slides his tongue along my skin that I didn’t even realize he had unbuttoned my pants. He guides them down quicker than the last time, but he’s not overly eager, either. He drops my pants to the floor, then places my legs up over his shoulders. He leans down, and I can feel his warm breath against my tender zone through my panties as he nips playfully. Soft moans flow from my lips repeatedly.

The soft nips and warm breath are on my inner thighs when he asks, “Am I getting warmer?”

I lift my head to look at him, intending to speak, but I just nod and grin.

He releases my legs briefly to slide me out of the warm silk he had been teasing me through, then places my legs back on his shoulders as he moves down to his knees. His slippery tongue runs in long, wide, sweeping strokes up and down the sensitive folds and then switches to a twirling motion that makes me squirm. My senses are heightened to the point where I’m nearly uncomfortable, but I bask in every second.

“Is this what was on your mind, Beth?”

I blush at the thought of him literally reading my mind. “Yes,” I breathe out.

“I saw it in your eyes that day, Beth.” He moans. “You weren’t the only one who was thinking about it.”

He gets up to his feet and scoops me up. “You deserve to be much more comfortable than this when those dirty little thoughts of yours become a reality.”

His words turn my blush a deeper shade of red. I watch his face as he carries me to my bedroom. His lips glisten with my fantasy, and I need to taste them. He lowers me onto my bed, and I pounce, grabbing his face and drinking in the taste of his mouth united with the unfamiliar sweet and salty taste that is me. A deep moan frees itself from his throat before he releases me to stand. He removes his tie and begins to unbutton his shirt. I sit up.

“I wanted to do that.”

I rise to my feet, standing up in front of him, then bend down to pick up his tie, placing it around my neck, which makes him smile. That perfect smile could bring me to my knees, make me forget my own name, as I’ve clearly forgotten we never finished our talk. I start unbuttoning his shirt. He stays still, watching my every move. After my fingers leave the last button, I run my hands slowly up his solid, smooth chest. My fingers touch every firm peak and valley before sliding the shirt off his shoulders and dropping it to the floor behind his feet.

“My turn,” he says, reaching around me and unhooking my bra, leaving me in only his tie while he looks me over. Oddly enough, his tie keeps me from feeling completely exposed, giving me comfort that I may not have felt without it. He pulls me into him, biting at my lower lip while moving me back onto the bed. His body presses lightly against mine as he travels down, flicking a soft tongue over each aroused nipple, trailing down over my belly. He slides in between my legs, and without hesitation, he traces his fingers down, over the ultra-sensitive flesh, before he sinks them deep inside me and fastens his mouth over my clit. Fingers and mouth work in tandem, and in only moments, I plummet into an intense orgasm that teaches me how close the feelings of pleasure and pain really are. And I fucking love it. I’m totally breathless as he reaches my side.