Never Let You Go(54)

“Wait,” I say, but he’s kissing my neck now and his breath sounds fast in my ear and his hand is still rubbing circles around my nipple and I get this fluttery feeling in my stomach. “Hey, stop.” This time he brings his head up, looks me in the face. His eyes are dark, the pupils huge.

“What’s wrong?”

“I want to stop.”

He slides his hand down to my waist. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you over the music.”

“I think I drank too much. I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, shit, really? I’ll get you water.” He grabs my hand and pulls me up off the chair. I follow him down the hallway, still holding hands. Delaney is in the kitchen, talking and laughing with his friend. She gives me a wink and I try to smile back. Jared passes me a glass of water and I gulp it down, but now my head is pounding and it feels like everyone is looking at me.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I say to Jared.

He gives me a concerned look and leads me into the master bedroom. “Use this one, it’s more private. Do you want me to get Delaney?”

“No, thanks. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” I close the door.

I splash cold water on my face, the back of my neck, then look in the mirror. My lips are red and swollen, my cheeks pink from our faces rubbing together. I press my hand onto my stomach, trying to feel what he felt, my warm skin, the bumps and shapes of lower ribs. I can even feel my heart beating. I raise my hand, cover my breast, thinking about his hands, then lean forward and press my forehead into the cold glass mirror. I feel high, my mind floaty and dreamy like when I’m in the middle of painting and I can feel all the colors coming together perfectly.

Is this what love feels like? Am I falling in love with Jared? I keep staring into my eyes, waiting for the answer.





CHAPTER TWENTY


LINDSEY



“Can you take these?” I pass the last two hors d’oeuvres trays to Greg. “Mini-quiche on the coffee table, spanakopita on the sideboard.”

“Got it.” He walks out of the kitchen, balancing the glass plates carefully in his large hands. I double-check that all the food trays are out and the oven is off, then remove my apron and hang it up. I glance in the mirror by the back door, smooth my hair.

Maybe two days before Christmas isn’t the best time to throw a staff party, but it’s not like my employees are jetting off on tropical vacations or out of town for the holidays. For a couple of them, I suspect this is the most festive part of their season. And they all deserve a treat. God knows I do too.

Marcus’s deep voice rumbles from the living room, followed by female laughter. Greg’s saying something about napkins, tells everyone to “dig in.” He sounds like the host, and it irks me for a moment. I take a breath, shake it off. He’s only helping.

I glance at the phone, willing it to stay silent. When it first rang this afternoon, I assumed it was one of my guests. I’ve invited a few ladies from my group as well as my employees, and several of them have unlisted numbers. But when I answered, there was silence. It rang throughout the day, only stopping when Greg came over. He walked around the whole property and assured me that no one was lingering in the bushes, but I still can’t shake my uneasy feeling.

At least Sophie didn’t have to deal with the phone calls. She’s been at Delaney’s all day and they’re going out for a movie and pizza tonight. They won’t be home until late.

When I walk into the living room, Marcus and Greg are standing near the table. It’s the first time they’ve met, and I’m glad to see that they seem to be having a good conversation. Greg was hoping to meet my brother but I told him that Chris decided to stay home because they’re coming up for Christmas dinner. Truth is, I pretty much ordered Chris to stay home. He’s been calling to check on me almost every day and I don’t want him pacing my house, staring out the window, and making everyone, including his girlfriend, nervous. He very grudgingly agreed.

I say hello to a few of my guests, then loop my arm through Greg’s. He looks great tonight in a pair of jeans and a soft brown sweater that makes his eyes turn to warm chocolate. He’s letting his facial hair grown into a goatee, and I like the dark shadow on his jaw. Marcus also looks very nice, though more formal in a suit coat with a shirt underneath.

“What are you two talking about?”

“Marcus was telling me about his book,” Greg says. “Don’t you find all that research about death and grief kind of depressing?”

Marcus looks startled, like he doesn’t know how to answer. I feel like kicking Greg. What kind of question is that? He’s heard me talking about how Marcus lost his daughter.

“It’s not depressing,” I say. “It’s about the triumph of the human spirit. How resilient we can be even in the face of terrible tragedy.”

I smile at Marcus. “It’s brilliant.”

“You’ve read it?” Now Greg is the one who looks surprised.

“Just a few chapters, but enough to know it’s amazing. When it’s published, all the talk shows will want you, Marcus. You’ll be on tour for years.”

“I don’t know about that.” He laughs. “Maybe a few radio stations if I’m lucky.”

“That could be fun. I’ll call in and ask you all sorts of questions.”