The Ground Rules (18 page)

“Let me help,” he offers, loosening his tie in one smooth move, making it look so easy. I pull the loop over his head, messing up his hair in the process.

I undo his top button and land a quick kiss on the edge of his jaw. He’s looking sexier by the second.

Next, I reach for the buckle of his brown leather belt, unclasping it with ease—this I’ve done before. I run my hand down his crotch and explore a little. He’s rock hard. He smiles and a soft moan escapes from his mouth. He’s enjoying this just as much as I am.

I move my hand back to the top of his shirt, teasing him a little. I undo the buttons swiftly. I sweep my hand over his broad shoulders to take off his shirt.

“The cuffs,” he whispers, his eyes heavy.

I take his hand in mine, and reach for the cufflink and undo the diamond-tipped sphere. So many restraints…

I just want to get this beautiful man naked.

I remove the other cufflink, and finally pull off his shirt and let it fall to the floor.
Finally
, part of him is bare. I slide my hands against his torso and reach for his undershirt. I stretch up on the tip of my toes to pull it over his head. And finally, I have him half-naked. I cannot resist bringing my lips to his chest, trailing kisses over his stomach, down his smooth skin, and back to his chest. I can feel his heart pumping hard…for me.

I close my eyes, and trail my tongue down his stomach again, traveling down below his navel.

He pulls me up, breathless.

“Mirella,” he breathes, his words ragged, “you’re driving me insane. Take my pants off.”

I smile up at him. “Yes, back to work, sir,” I say, my words playful. I pull down his pants, revealing tight black boxer briefs. I kneel down and take off his dressy brown leather shoes and slip off his socks, sneaking a peep up—those boxers are just about to burst.

And finally, I stand back to my feet and pull down his boxers, freeing his erection. I glide my hands against his ass as I slide the briefs down. I crouch as I pull them lower, letting my mouth slightly brush his erection.

He’s not the only one who can tease.

The second his briefs are off, he pulls me up and hoists me up against the wall. My legs tighten around his hips as he presses into me. He grabs ahold of me tighter and carries me to the bed. He throws me on the mattress, and I bounce like a rag doll.

Then he pounces.

His kiss is wild and untamed. His teeth scrape against mine and trail along my cheeks and my jaw. His hands are all over me—in my hair, on my breasts, between my legs.

His naked body slides against mine deliciously. I wonder if I’ll ever tire of this.

I reluctantly pull away from him, and reach for his pants on the floor, in the pocket, where he always keeps a condom.

When we find ourselves together again, he’s over me, kissing me gently. He’s heavy, but I manage to pull myself over him. I want to be on top. I want to look at him, at his beautiful face, at his amazing body.

I slide over him, and he eases into me. Our eyes lock, and it feels very intimate. I push back and forth slowly, looking into his eyes. He reaches for my hands, not taking his eyes off mine. Our fingers intertwine gently.

I ride him gently at first, but he feels so good, I soon go faster and harder. He grinds into me and hits just the right spot, over and over. And with each thrust, I moan as I’m brought closer and closer. He can see my face, and I can see his. We read each other—we know we are both nearing the edge.

And finally both of us are brought to orgasm, still looking at each other. As the waves crash through me, I feel like he’s looking right into me—into my soul. And I feel I can almost see his.

I close my eyes.

We lie, tangled in the crisp white sheets. I stare up at the ceiling. Weston lies on my chest, and I cradle his head in my arms, running my hand through his thick dark hair.

“I can hear your heart,” he says. “It’s beating so fast.”

I laugh. “It’s because we just had sex.”

“That will do it every time. It’s good for the heart. Or that’s what they say.”

“Then my heart must be in tip-top shape,” I joke, thinking about all the sex I’ve had lately.

He laughs, trailing his finger down my side, all the way to my legs. His touch arouses me every time, even as I lie here in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Did you have a nice evening?” he asks. “Sex notwithstanding, that is.”

“I did. It was a wonderful dinner. Thanks for taking me there.”

“I wish I could do more,” he says, tracing circles with the tip of his finger around the small mole on my hip. “I wish I could take you to see the world.”

My heart hammers in my chest, and I’m sure he can hear it.

“Where would you take me?”

“Everywhere…” he says softly. “Hawaii, Paris, Venice. Have you ever been to any of those places?”

“No,” I reply, knowing he probably expected that answer.

“You would love it.”

“You’re going to have fun in Italy next week,” I say with a sigh, thinking about the fact that Bridget is the one who gets to see all those places with him, while I sit home, watching television in my rec room.

“I wish I could take you, Mirella,” he says again. “But you understand why I can’t…right?”

“Yes, I understand.” I work my way out from under him. “I think it’s time for me to go. Our five minutes are up.”

“Mirella,” he says softly, his eyes pleading. “You’re not upset, are you?”

I can see genuine concern on his face. I force a smile. “No, I’m fine. It’s just getting late. I should be going.”

He grabs my hand and kisses it. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.” My words are ragged. And I feel tears coming on as I turn away.

I cry all the way home, burying my nose in tissues, trying not to sob too loudly. Edward minds his business and doesn’t say a word. He must be wondering what the hell Weston is doing to me. But I suppose it’s his job to be discreet and loyal to his employer.

When I get home, Gabe is already there, lounging in his sweats on the sofa, eating pretzels and watching a rerun of
Seinfeld
. He looks so relaxed, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Sometimes, I wish I could be a guy and not be so damn emotional.

“What’s up?” he asks, knowing not to ask more. We never talk about our dates, with the possible exception of where we had dinner.

My body drags as I sit next to him, shoulders hunched.

He sits up suddenly and looks at me. “What’s wrong, Ella?”

I reach for him and wrap my arms around him.

“Did the bastard hurt you?” he asks, his words clipped. “I swear I’m going to kick the shit out of him.”

“No, no.” I pull back. “He didn’t hurt me. He was a perfect gentleman, as always.”

“Then, what happened?” he asks, looking confused.

“I don’t know,” I say. I don’t want to tell him I’m jealous—jealous of Bridget. That would be saying too much. That would be admitting I care, admitting I’ve crossed the line, and have actual feelings for this man.

“I just don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

His large hazel eyes contemplate me for the longest time. “We can put a stop to this whenever you want, Ella. Just say the word.”

“I know,” I say, and give him a small smile. The truth is…I don’t want to put a stop to it. I feel I couldn’t live without Weston in my life right now, which scares the hell out of me.

“I’m just tired. It’s been a long night.”

“Yeah, you’re home pretty late,” he points out, and I sense he would like some kind of explanation, but doesn’t dare ask.

“Weston took me to this amazing restaurant,” I explain. “The place has the most panoramic views of the city. And he wanted to have a late dinner so we could see the twinkling lights at night.”

“Oh…I see,” he says. “The guy sure knows how to show a gal a good time.”

“Yes.”

“It helps when you’re filthy rich,” he adds, not quite looking at me. And I can tell it bothers him—the fact that Weston probably makes more money in a week, than he might make in a year.

I reach for him, wrap my arms around him, and my mouth tugs at his ear. “Well, you know who’s best at showing a girl a good time in bed?”

“Oh…” he says, laughing. “Weston couldn’t get the job done?”

“Well, I had to do all the work. I’m exhausted. I want to be a little lazy with you now.”

A smile plays on his lips. “You want it soft or rough?” he whispers in my ear.

I laugh out loud. “What I really want is to cuddle with you and watch
Seinfeld
.”

“Well, you know I’m always available if you change your mind,” he jokes, squeezing me into his arms.

I laugh again.

Who needs Weston when I have this?

This is a nice moment, I muse, my legs stretched across the picnic blanket.

It’s a lovely day, hot and sunny, and Chloe and Claire are playing at the park just a few yards from where Gabe and I sit. I’ve brought along sandwiches, fruit, and chocolate cupcakes for dessert.

“Those look good,” Gabe says, eyeing the cupcakes. “Did you make them?”

“Yes,” I answer proudly. “This morning, with the girls. They loved it.”

“I bet they did,” he says, laughing, tiny lines forming at the edge of his eyes. “I bet it was a mess too.”

“Oh…it was,” I say playfully. And he smiles at me. And then it occurs to me I’ve forgotten how gorgeous he is—his curly, unruly dark hair brushes the collar of his white T-shirt, the black stringed hippie necklace he always wears falls at the top of his broad chest, his tribal tattoo as sexy as ever. When I first met him, he was ink-free, but over the years, he’s practically become a human canvas—a large tattoo covers half of his torso and left arm—I think it’s pretty hot.

I haven’t been thinking enough about him, I realize. I’ve been thinking too much about Weston and what he might be doing with his family, driving myself insane in the process and forgetting to enjoy my own wonderful life.

“I love you,” I say out of the blue, inspired by the moment.

He eyes me with a funny look, curiosity in his eyes. “I love you too, Ella,” he replies with a sexy smile.

And just then, I think I don’t need to see Weston again, just yet.

“Bridget and Weston are back from their vacation next Friday. But I don’t think we should get together with them right away.”

“Oh…okay,” he says. “Why not?”

“Well, because I think we could use more time for us.”

He smiles at me. I can tell he’s happy to hear me say this. “I thought you were counting the days until he came back.”

“I was not,” I argue. But, he’s right. I had been. And I realize I’ve been silly.

If we can wait for them…Weston and Bridget can wait for us too.

I contact Kathryn by e-mail, explain we can’t make our arranged date, and tell her I will contact her about future plans. I realize this is leaving Weston in limbo, and he will absolutely despise this, being such a slave to routine and schedules. This is a man who likes to have his whole life planned ahead of time, practically down to the last hour. This will drive him absolutely bonkers, and I smile at the thought.

In the following weeks, Gabe takes some time off work, and we spend quality time with the girls, going on day trips to the beach, to the city, to Gwen’s pool, and the zoo. We enjoy movie nights with popcorn, and Gabe and I get reacquainted, making love often.