Lost in Love (23 page)

Meredith turned onto her side, curling around one of the pillows. She’d never felt so alone in her life, not even when she had her surgery the year before. The thing was, she’d had a taste of heaven with Quinn, and now that she’d pushed him away, the hole he’d left in her life was dark and gaping.

She wrapped the edges of the pillow around her ears, trying to block out his voice telling her she was a coward and may as well die.

No, those weren’t his words, but he may as well have told her that because that’s what it amounted to.

Tears came to her eyes, and she rubbed her face in the pillow. She was sick of crying. Crying wasn’t taking away her heartache or changing the fact that she loved Quinn.

A hypocrite—that’s what she was.

She sat up suddenly.
Hypocrite
. The word echoed in her head and settled in her chest. She thought about her list. She’d decided to start to live life, but what had she done so far? Nothing. Every item she’d crossed off was due to Quinn, not because she’d done it herself.
She
was still hiding from life. And when he suggested that she change that, she hid herself away. She was doing the opposite of making every moment of her life count.

The thing was, whether she had fifty years or fifty minutes left, she wanted to spend them with Quinn. She loved him.

Fear tightened her chest. She put a hand over her heart, trying to ease the pain, trying not to picture herself withering away in a hospital bed with Quinn standing tortured next to her.

She shook her head. “It’s time to stop thinking that way.”

Her voice startled her in the stillness of her room, sounding loud and strong—exactly how she didn’t feel.

Exactly how she
should
feel—how she wanted to feel.

Scrambling out of bed, she turned the lights on as she went to into the kitchen area of her hotel room. She pushed the folders and swatches out of the way, not caring that they showered to the floor as she looked for one particular piece of paper.

She found her bucket list. She hadn’t wanted to die with regrets.

She’d regret not loving Quinn.

Picking up a pen that had rolled onto the floor, she wrote in bold letters at the very top: LOVE QUINN FOREVER.

But because writing it wasn’t enough, she went to the bedroom, stripping her nightclothes on the way, and opened her closet. It was time to take action.

Not allowing herself to stop and think, she slipped a coat on over her nakedness and left her room.

The elevator took forever, but she refused to think about what she was about to do and how badly it could backfire.

At Quinn’s door, she took a deep breath and then knocked. The sound of her fist on the door sounded much more confident than she felt, and it boosted her. She was about to raise her fist to knock again when the door burst open.

Quinn stood in the doorway, hair disheveled, wearing his glasses and pajama bottoms. “Meredith?”

She blinked, mesmerized by his bare chest and the ripple of abs. She put her hands behind her back so she wouldn’t just grab him.

“Is something wrong?” His gaze sharpened, the sleep disappearing from his face. He took her arm and pulled her inside. “Do you feel poorly?”

Nodding, she let him guide her to the couch. “I feel wretched.”

“What do you need?” He brushed back her hair and felt her face.

“You.” She took his hand and held it to her, keeping him close so he could see the truth in her eyes. “You were right. I was a coward.”

“You were.”

She frowned. “You didn’t have to agree so quickly.”

“I figured there was no reason to beat around the bush.” His mouth quirked with humor. Then he sobered. “What does this mean for you, Meredith? Because I’m playing for keeps.”

“Yes.” She swallowed the fear, which wasn’t as overwhelming with him sitting beside her. “Me too. I want you next to me, holding my hand, through thick and thin.”

“I know what you’re thinking, and whatever happens in the future you and I will deal with it together.” He lifted their entwined fingers and kissed her knuckles. “Together, you and I will defeat any adversity that comes our way.”

She heaved a breath. “Okay.”

“Do you believe it?”

“Yes,” she said, surprised that she actually did. She smiled at him. “I do.”

He touched her face. “That’s what I like to see.”

“I have more I think you’ll like.” Before she lost her courage, she stood up, unbuttoned her coat, and let it fall.

He stared at her at though struck. She held her breath, staying still even as his gaze roamed over every inch of her. Forcing herself not to hide, she angled her body so that her scar was visible.

Quinn stood and took her hand. “Come to bed with me.”

She nodded, taking his hand and letting him take her to his bedroom.

“I’m going to leave the lights on, Meredith,” he told her, his voice husky. “I’m going to see every bit of you. I want to watch your face as I make you come.”

Her breath hitched at his bold words. She could only nod as he led her to the bed. As she scooted back, he followed her, covering her with his body.

It felt hot and firm—one part especially. She carefully ran her hands over his shoulders, down his back, and to the waist of his pajamas. Her fingers flirted under the silk.

He took her hand and kissed it. “Later. First we have an item on your list to cross off.”

Her heart leapt, knowing what he meant. The trepidation came back, and she lifted herself on her elbows. “Quinn, I don’t—”

“Trust me, Meredith,” he whispered in her ear, his hand roaming down her body. Before she could reply, his fingers slid between her legs. “Open for me.”

Her body responded before her brain could process his request, and then his fingers were everywhere—in her, over her, pressing and caressing until she was panting. She gripped the sheet with her fists, trying to anchor herself as the room began to spin.

“Okay?” he asked, his breath against her neck.

“I feel drunk.” She arched up as he touched a particularly sensitive spot.

“You like that,” he said, focusing the tip of his finger in the right spot, a slow but persistent pressure.

Just like that, she felt her orgasm begin to build.

She felt joyous, and then she stiffened, afraid she was going to lose the feeling. What if not even Quinn could make her climax?

“Be here with me,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers.

His lips touched hers, and a spike of renewed pleasure shot through her. His tongue mimicked the glide of his finger, soft and insistent.

The pressure built, stronger than when she touched herself. Her hips arched up of their own accord, and she gaped as he began to rub her faster.

“Yes,” she heard, and then she realized she’d said it.

“Come for me.”

It was a low command, one she was powerless to resist. She cried out, grabbing his shoulders, and let herself go.

He caressed her until she was whimpering, and then his hand disappeared. She lifted her head up to see him put on a condom. Before she could formulate a thought, he rolled on top of her and eased into her.

The sharp feelings crested again as he moved in and out of her. He framed her face with a hand and, with his other hand, wound his fingers through hers. His eyelids were lowered, but she could see the passion and desire he had for her.

It spiked her own need, and impossibly, she felt another orgasm begin to build.

“I feel you,” he said, teeth gritted. “You want to come again, don’t you? With me this time.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes, feeling the waves become more insistent, trying to hold on to the feeling.

He bit her neck, and then he kissed her. “Look at me, love. Come with me now.”

When she opened her eyes, he thrust into her hard. Her orgasm hit her suddenly, and she moaned.

He slowed, and he moaned himself. “
Meredith.
”

Collapsing on top of her, he squeezed her hand. “I love you.”

Her heart swelled, and she wrapped her legs around his. “I love you, too.”

“This is forever,” he promised.

“Yes.”

Shifting off her, he reached for the drawer in the bedside table and pulled out a familiar blue box.

The necklace.
Meredith shook her head, sitting up. “Quinn—”

“Before you say no, you should see what it comes with.” He opened the case. Nestled in the middle of the necklace was a matching ring. It glittered, bold and beautiful.

It stole her breath away—not the ring itself, but what it symbolized. Because of the man who offered it to her.

“You just agreed this was forever,” Quinn said, taking the ring out and holding her hand. He looked her in the eye as he slid it on her finger. “This is binding our contract.”

“Like shaking hands?” she asked, looking at her left hand. The ring felt oddly grounding, settling her instead of weighing her down.

“I prefer sealing it with a kiss.” He pressed his lips to her knuckle, right above the ring. Then took her in his arms and spent the rest of the night making sure their contract was indissoluble.

Chapter Thirty-three

Portia stood in her closet. You had to dress properly for the occasion, and today it was especially crucial.

It didn’t take her long to decide. No black, no Chanel suits, no glasses. Today she was going as herself. She plucked a dress she’d bought on impulse a year before off a hanger. It was a spicy pink color with a plunging neckline. She added a pair of metallic heels and looked at herself in the mirror.

Perfect. It clung to her in all the right places, and Catherine’s pearls—Portia’s pearls—couldn’t have topped it better.

She was ready.

Picking a coat and matching scarf, she went downstairs. As she reached the front door, it rang.

More reporters, likely. Steeling herself to tell them what they could do with their questions, she opened the door. “We don’t—”

She stopped short when she saw an older couple in the doorway. They didn’t look like reporters. The man looked familiar. He was tall and broad and resembled an older Jackson.

His father—she remembered him from the office.

Portia studied the woman. Even if Jackson’s father hadn’t been holding her hand, she’d have figured out she was Jackson’s mother immediately. They had the same smile and kindness shining from their eyes.

She swallowed nervously, a hand on her pearls. “Can I help you?” she asked hesitantly.

“We’re here to see Portia Summerhill,” Jackson’s mother said, stepping forward. “Are you her?”

“Look at her legs,” his father muttered. “She’s got to be.”

Mrs. Waite elbowed her husband, her smile never dimming. “We’re Jackson’s parents. I’m Laura and this is my husband Hiram.”

Portia didn’t know what to do, so she resorted to her ingrained politeness. “Yes. Please come in.” She allowed them in and closed the door. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me when I was about to leave.”

Jackson’s mother’s face fell in disappointment. “Oh.”

“But I can delay a bit,” she said quickly, hating to be the reason behind the woman’s frown.

Just then she heard her mother’s heels clack down the hallway. A month before, Portia would have run away to keep from dealing with her mother and Jackson’s parents. Now she only felt relief. “Mother”—she hooked her arm through Jacqueline’s—”this is Laura and Hiram, Jackson’s parents.”

Her mother stared at where Portia held her, her body abnormally still. Then she put her hand over Portia’s, smiled brightly, and looked up at the other couple. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure this is. Jackson speaks fondly of you both.”

Laura blinked in obvious surprise. “You’ve met Jackson?”

“In passing, through serendipity.” She squeezed Portia’s hand and then let go to shake Laura’s. “Jackson is a lovely boy.”

“Like hell he is,” Hiram muttered.

Before Laura could jab him again, Portia shook her head. “With all due respect, sir, I won’t allow you to speak that way about Jackson in my presence.”

Laura groaned as Hiram’s white brows pulled together. “You won’t?” he roared.

She narrowed her eyes and stepped up toe-to-toe with him. “No, I won’t.”

He glared at her, and then a slow smile lit his face. He laughed, clapping a heavy hand on her shoulders. “No wonder Jackson loves you, girl. You’re perfect for him.”

She staggered under the weight of his hand. Then his words registered. “Jackson loves me?” she asked.

“Of course he does.” Hiram frowned at her. “Don’t you love him?”

She put a hand over her necklace. “With all my heart.”

“Good.” He pulled out a jewelry case from his coat pocket. “Then I’m glad I had the idea to give you this as an early wedding present.”

“You had the idea?” Laura asked with raised brows.

“Yes, woman, I did.” He glared at his wife and then turned it on Portia. “You’re going to marry the boy, aren’t you? He needs someone like you, with good sense, to keep him in line.”

“Is that a proposal?” Portia asked, taking the case he shoved at her.

“Of course it is.”

“How romantic,” her mother said wryly.

“My husband is nothing if not romantic,” Laura replied in the same tone.

Portia studied the box, wondering what it could possibly be.

“Open it, damn it.” He waved at it. “It won’t bite you.”

She glanced at him as she pried the lid open. “Are you going to act like this the rest of my life with Jackson?”

“You get used to it, sweetie,” Laura assured her.

But Portia was already distracted by what was in the box. It sparkled richly, encrusted with flawlessly cut diamonds in intricately laced white gold.

The Summerhill tiara.

Hiram cleared his throat. “It’s yours again.”

She heard the apology in his voice. Touched, she closed the case and reached up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

He cleared his throat some more, patted her gruffly on her back.

Laura wound her arm through her husband’s, beaming at Portia. “They have their moments.”

“I see that.” She lifted the case. “If you don’t mind, I need to take care of a couple things.”

“Is one of them Jackson?” Laura asked hopefully.