Wanted: A Bad Boy Romance (31 page)

I obey his command, shut my eyes, and lean back into my
pillow. The warmth of his body leaves my space as he crawls under the covers
and gets into position between my thighs. Pulling in a deep breath, his hot
tongue slides into my most sensitive parts, lapping up my wetness. My body
pulses in response to his touch. It won’t be long before I’m twisting in sheer
ecstasy with Sutton at the helm.

I wipe my mouth, and
Lauryn’s
arousal, against
my arm. Her body is limp, almost melted into the mattress, and she’s trying
hard to catch her breath.

“Your mom will be home soon,” I say, crawling up. I pull her up and into
my arms, holding her as she comes down from her orgasmic high. “I’m not staying
over.”

She whimpers, though she’s still wordless.

“I have to visit my mom,” I say, brushing her cheek with my hand. “And
my plane leaves tomorrow morning.”

Lauryn
nuzzles her face into my shoulder.

“My plane leaves at nine tomorrow from LAX. It’d be really great if I
when I got to the terminal, you were there waiting.” My palm brushes against
her bare arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps. I wait for her to speak, but all
I get are soft hums. “I have to head out now.”

I don’t tell her I’ll see her tomorrow because I know the choice is
hers. I’ve said all I can say. I’ve presented my case, and now the defense
rests. Guiding her back into the barrage of pillows and blankets, I tuck her in
bed and kiss her sweet lips. She kisses me back but says nothing, and I slip
out under the veil of dusk and drive to my mother’s house.

***

“Hey, Mom.” I kick my shoes off at the service entry and head straight
for the den. Knowing my mother, she’s doing what she’s always done late at
night: enjoying a nightcap and listening to some classic jazz by the fireplace.

“Sutton!” She says my name with her trademark, breathless influence. Her
face illuminates, and she runs to me with open arms, though one hand is
clutching a crystal tumbler filled with a finger of Scotch. Funny how someone
so light and airy can drink a man’s drink and make it look natural. “I’m so
happy to see you.”

She buries her face in the crook of my neck, and holds me as tight as
she can, standing on her tiptoes.

“I’ve missed you so.” She says with
an exhale
.
I hope to God she doesn’t pick up a hint of sex on me. “Would you like a
drink?”

“No, thank you.” She leads me to a grouping of leather club chairs, Etta
James’ softly wafting from nearby speakers.

“Will you be staying the night?”

“Yes, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,
Sutty
. Your room is all made up
and ready to go. I just had Roxy put fresh linens on your old bed.” She smiles,
but it’s a pained smile. She’s smiling through hurt and tears and trying to
hide the fact that her world is crumbling. Mom takes a sip of Scotch and then
another. A third sip empties the remaining liquid, and she
rises
up, heading toward the bar to pour another finger. “
DeVonn
moved out last week. We tried to make it work. He was willing to go to
counseling, and he found one of the best counselors in Brentwood.” She takes a
sip of her freshly poured drink before turning back to face me. “In the end, it
was
me
.” Her mouth smiles but her eyes do not. “I was
the one who decided to end things. Funny how things work out, isn’t it,
Sutty
?”

“I’ve been talking to
Lauryn
,” I say, figuring
she’d welcome a fresh topic. I’m sure she’s been drowning in her own thoughts
lately, mourning her former life.

Mom’s face brightens, even in the dimly lit den. “
Lauryn
?
How wonderful. How is she?”

“She’s doing okay. Going through some things. Trying to figure out what
she wants to do with her life.”

“I always did feel bad,” Mom says, taking a sip before continuing, “that
my being with
DeVonn
caused a rift between the two of
you. You two needed each other. She needs her father too. A girl always needs
her father.”

“I don’t think she has any intention of reconciling with him.” My
fingers form a triangle as I rest my elbows against my thighs.

“She’ll learn to forgive him as we all do.” She exhales, staring over my
shoulder toward a bookcase full of trophies and red carpet photographs of my
mother with various co-stars. Her looks have faded slightly over the years,
dimming her star along with it, but the little things serve as a daily reminder
that she was once relevant if only for a fleeting moment. “Tell
Lauryn
that forgiveness is not something we do for others.
It’s something we do for ourselves.”

I’m sure a therapist gave her that nugget of wisdom, but it doesn’t make
it any less true. She’s right.

“
Lauryn’s
hurting. It’s going to take a while
to undo a decade worth of damage,” I say. “But I think she’ll get there.”

“Oh, honey, did I tell you they’re honoring me at the Annual Goldstein
Gala?” My mother flits from one topic to another like a hummingbird flits from
bird feeder to bird feeder. “I’m the guest of honor. It’s next month. The
twenty-first. Will you care to escort me? I’ll need a date.”

I laugh. “Yes, Mother. I’ll be your date.”

She smiles and continues rambling on about how great it feels to be
honored once again. She mentions something about a lifetime achievement award
and then somehow that turns into a spiel about how she had to fire her
decorator and ended up hiring college intern with more talent in his pinky finger
than anyone she’s ever worked with combined.

I sit back and let her talk, and when she retires for the evening, I
send
Lauryn
a goodnight text. I want her to know I’m
always thinking of her.

Always.

I wash up for bed and set the alarm on my phone, mentally calculating my
morning routine so that I’m not late arriving at the airport.

I check my phone one last time before shutting off the light.

No response.

It’s way too early to be up. This is not normal. This is not natural. I
take scalding sips of hot coffee, letting it burn my throat on the way down.
The faster it works its way to my bloodstream, the better off I’ll be. I’m
still on east coast time, and this is brutal.

My foot twitches wildly. I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be, but I am.

I’ve secured a seat on a Miami-bound plane that departs LAX in less than
an hour, and there’s no sight of Sutton yet. Knowing my luck, he cancelled his
flight so he could harass me into coming home with him even more.

That boy is relentless.

I smile, finding his determination charming and amusing and admirable.
The fact that I can admit that now, that I can be comfortable admitting Sutton
Pierce is the best thing that’s ever happened to me speaks volumes. I barely
recognized myself that morning as I got ready, but I have a hunch I’m going to
love the girl I’m becoming.

Throngs of travelers make their way to their terminals in burst of
people. A group of people chatting idly pulls my attention to my left. They
take up the entire walkway, walking shoulder to shoulder, and I sit up in an
attempt to see over them.

The moment they clear, I see him.

“Sutton,” I mouth, loving the way his name feels coming from my lips. I
sit there, smiling like an idiot, and waiting for him to notice me. And then I
rise. He steps in my direction, a leather messenger bag slung across his chest
and a coffee in his hand. His hair is still shower-damp, and I can only imagine
how delicious he smells.

His gaze lifts until he sees the terminal sign, stops short, and scans
the area for a free seat. And that’s when he sees me.

I stand with bated breath, hoping for a hint or sign that he’s happy to
see me. He doesn’t smile immediately. He doesn’t come running into my arms.
This isn’t a movie scene.

He marches toward me and drops his bag at my feet. “You didn’t text back
last night.”

My brows furrow. “I-I was sleeping. I had to get up early this morning.”

He still hasn’t smiled, and that’s concerning to me because we’re due to
sit next to one another on this plane in less than an hour, and several hours
sitting next to someone who suddenly doesn’t want anything to do with you is
bound to feel all kinds of horrible.

Without warning, his hands find my jaw and he smashes his mouth upon
mine. His kiss is unapologetically bold. He wants the world to know, once
again, that I am his.

And I am.

I. Am. His.

“Ladies and gentleman, we will now begin boarding flight 352, non-stop
to Miami. If you’ll…” the flight attendant’s voice booms over the speakers, and
he peels his mouth off mine. We’re both gasping for air, and our lips curl in
tandem.

“I’m going to need a place to live, you know,” I say. “I kind of quit my
job.”

“You won’t have to worry about a damn thing,
Lauryn
.”

One Year Later

“Ah, look at that.” I flip to the back of the Miami Herald where an
advertisement for a local used car dealership takes up the entire thing.
“Cheapest cars in town. Nobody beats
Dealy
Dan’s
Domestic Dealership. Did you know
they’ll
take any old
trade-in? Even if it doesn’t run?”

Sutton removes his sunglasses, turning to me with a smirk as he finishes
his bite of his breakfast bagel. “You want a new car?”

“No,” I laugh. “Look.”

I hand him the newspaper with my finger pointing to a photo at the
bottom.
Dealy
Dan’s staff is pictured along with
their cell phone numbers, and James’ picture is smashed right in the middle.

“James.”

Sutton brings the paper closer to his face, as if it can’t possibly be
James. “No way. He wouldn’t work at a used car dealership…”

“I can’t imagine Colette
DuBois
hung around
long enough to watch him fall to his social-status death,” I huff. “Daughter of
an oil baron dating a used car salesman? I don’t think so.”

“He lost it all, baby,”
Sut
laughs. “I believe
that’s what you call karma.”

The faint sound of a baby trails toward us, drifting on a breeze through
the window of our
next door
neighbor’s house. It makes
me smile, and I look over at Sutton. He’s smiling too.

“Soon,” he says. “I know you’re anxious to get started with that next chapter.”

“I know,” I say. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have baby fever
something fierce. Something about knowing you’re with the most amazing person
in the world, the person you’re going to spend your life with, makes waiting to
get your life started unbearably tortuous. “I just want these next thirty days
to fly by.”

“They will,” he says. “A month from now, we’ll be strolling the white
sandy beaches of Turks and Caicos as man and wife.”

“So weird,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “Like I never thought you’d be my
husband.”

Sutton drops the paper to the side, reaching for me and pulling me into
his lap. Our breakfasts sit half-eaten on our patio table. The sun rises over
the horizon, threatening to bring with it some humid Miami heat, but none of it
matters.

“I knew. I always knew.” His sturdy doctor hands cup my face, pulling me
in for a kiss. “I knew I’d find a way to make you mine eventually.”

“I never stood a chance, did I?” I laugh. “You’d never let me get
away.”’

“Never.”

“Good.”

He kisses me again, longer, slower. Our mouths dance and our tongues
flirt. He has to leave for work soon. Those babies won’t deliver themselves.

“Will you deliver our baby?” I ask, pulling away.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, when we have kids someday. Will you deliver ours?”

Sutton doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t pause or think about it. He shakes
his head. “No,
never
.”

I arch an eyebrow. I’m truly shocked. What doctor wouldn’t like to
deliver his own children if he could?

“I’ve always wanted to be on the other end,” he says, running his hand
along my thigh sweetly. “I’ve always wanted to be at the head of the bed,
holding my wife’s hand, keeping her calm, reminding her to breathe. I want to
be surprised when the baby comes out, and I want to be snapping pictures from
the moment the baby takes its first breath until it finds comfort in the arms
of its mother.”

I wipe away a tear. “That’s some deep stuff, Sutton.”

For a tattoo-donning, cock-pierced, baby doctor, Sutton has proven, once
again, that he can’t be pegged. He’s Sutton Pierce: one of a kind and strictly
mine.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this,” he says, reaching for his
coffee and pulling in a careful sip.

I rest my head on his shoulder and breathe in his soapy, showery
fragrance. “I wish you could call into work today.”

He laughs. “We go through this every time. Doctors don’t get sick.” He
kisses my mouth, tasting like toothpaste and bagel. “You need to get ready for
work. Those kindergarteners need their fearless leader.”

I rise up, letting him stand and silently permitting him to go to work.
I watch as he slips his keys into his pockets and waves before turning to head
inside. One month from now, he’ll be my husband.

My everything
.

But then again, he always was.

THE END