The Everlasting Chapel (7 page)

I laugh, and lean my head back onto his
shoulder. Gazing up to the second floor, my heart suddenly stops
when I see who’s standing up there.

Michael.

I feel a sharp pang in my stomach. What the
hell is he doing here? And what’s worse is he has his arm wrapped
around a gorgeous blonde’s waist, and he’s whispering something
onto her ear. I think I’m going to be sick.

7

What is he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to
be at the grand opening of his new business? And here he is feeling
up some blonde who looks like she does nothing else than to spend
her day in the spa, hair salon, and nail salon all day long.

Well, he’s not technically feeling her up,
if I’m going to be completely fair, just nonchalantly wrapping his
arm around her back. But I know Michael all-too well. I know what
he’s thinking and that he’ll probably take her home and screw her
tonight. The thought zaps all the energy out of my body, and I stop
moving all together. He told me he would be at his new business’
grand opening!

Then it hits me. This is a grand opening.
This is technically a business. This is…
his
business? I
don’t know. Maybe he already went to his own business’ grand
opening and stopped by here to celebrate with the Miss Blondie up
there. I don’t really have anything against blondes. Only when
he
shows interest in one of them.

Didn’t he say he would wait for me forever?
He just told me a few days ago that he would wait! That fucking
liar! Well, again, here I am the fool. I so wanted to believe him
this time, and I thought he might be sincere, but no. He’s nothing
but a horny, lying rat!

I haven’t been looking at him for longer
than a couple of seconds, my mind is processing at lightning speed,
but before I’m able to look away, his eyes connect with mine.

Shit! He saw me. What do I do now? The petty
part of me wants to hurt him back, wants him to suffer as much as I
do, as much as I have. He’s put me through the ringer so many
times, and yet time after time I return to him, a whipped puppy, a
desperate woman who is unable to let go.

Spencer moves his hands from my waist to my
front abdomen. If Michael has any shred of feeling left for me, he
won’t like it that I’m here with another guy and that I’m dancing
with him in this way. I grab Spencer’s hands and move them to my
breasts as I lean my head back onto his shoulder. I hope the
double-dealer is still watching. I turn around, grab Spencer’s
shoulders, pull him to me, and crash my lips to his.

Plunging my tongue into his mouth, I press
myself up against him. His breath tastes of mint and tequila, and
it almost turns me on. Spencer kisses me back, a little reluctantly
at first, but when I move my hands across his back, he fists his
hand into my hair and deepens the kiss. Okay, I’m feeling it
now.

Oh, dear God, even though he is an amazing
kisser, I really hate myself right now. It’s not that I don’t want
my relationship with Spencer to progress—I am attracted to him and
really enjoy spending time with him—but right now I’m using him to
try and make Michael jealous.

That is so wrong.

Just so wrong.

I would blame it on being drunk. However,
I’m not that drunk—actually not drunk at all only buzzed, and
haven’t really lost any judgment.

I pull back a little, but continue to press
my body against Spencer’s, noticing his impossibly firm chest
against mine, his solid thighs, his rock hard biceps as I grip
them. He feels really good. Warm, sweaty, willing. I wrap my arms
around his neck and we start to sway with the music.

“Sorry,” I say into his ear.

“What’s there to be sorry for?” He removes a
stay hair from my forehead and presses his lips softly to mine
before pulling back and saying, “That was so hot.”

I give him a thin smile, but when his eyes
light up, I look away. “Excuse me. I just have to use the ladies
room.”

“I’ll be waiting at the bar,” he says.

I nod and weave my way through the crowd of
men and women. Uncertain if Michael is still watching, I peek up to
the second floor again. He’s gone. I’m so stupid. Well, at least I
sent him a strong message: that I’m not available, and that I have
moved on.

But if sending him a message was the right
thing to do, why do I feel so horrible? Why do I despise myself and
wish I could turn back time and undo what I did? This entire
situation is wrong. I was on the mend before he came to my house.
Before he took me out to coffee and declared he loved me. That was
my mistake. I should never have let him in—not even for a
second—because now I’m heartbroken. Again.

When I’m almost to the restroom, I feel
someone grab my elbow, and as I turn around, I see two angry,
intense blue eyes glaring into mine.

“Michael,” I gasp. He takes my hand, pulls
me with him down the hallway past all the crowds of people, and
into a small office. There’s a nice new wooden desk, a swivel
chair, a file cabinet, and a flat screen TV that is mounted to the
wall.

“What are you doing here? Did you come here
to hurt me?” he asks, his eyes ablaze.

“What? No…I…”

‘Then what was that? I know you saw me
standing up on the second floor. Why else would you stick your
tongue down someone else’s throat?” He runs a hand through his
dark, messy hair. “Jesus, Scarlett. You’re fucking killing me
here.”

“Well, you were groping
Blondie
up
there. I thought you said you would wait for me forever, and here
you are just a few days after—”

“Well, I invited someone else first, but she
turned me down so I invited my cousin instead,” he yells his voice
stern.

She’s his…cousin? Oh...shit. I turn away
from him, feeling like such an idiot. Crossing my arms over my
chest, I close my eyes.

“I just have one question for you,” he says
in a low voice. I can hear the anger behind it and how he’s doing
his best to temper it down.

Feeling like a complete asshole, I open my
eyes and cautiously glance at him. His eyes are full of emotion,
his nostrils flared, and his entire body rigid.

“Did you do it because you were hurt and
wanted to get back at me?” he asks.

Part of me wants to say absolutely no, but
that wouldn’t be true.

“Or do you actually care about him?” he
continues.

He takes a step closer, and suddenly that
invisible power that draws us together ignites the space between
us. I notice even more now how it’s there with Michael, and how it
isn’t there with Spencer. It’s like day and night. Fire and
ice.

“I thought—” I start.

“I know what you thought. Shit, Scarlett.
We’re so messed up.” He drags a hand down his face. “I can’t even
make a promise to you, and next thing I know, you think I’ve broken
it. You don’t even give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s why I don’t know what to do! Every
time I open up to you, it’s a slap in the face! I’m so fucking
tired and scared of being hurt again, Michael. Aren’t you?”

He steps closer to me, and I inch backward.
He moves toward me again, and I retreat. I feel as if I’m being
hunted by a wild predator, one who will take no prisoners. Part of
me wants for nothing else than for him to take me, to claim me as
his, but a big part of me is terrified, too.

He keeps advancing, and I keep retreating
deeper into the office. Soon I bump up against the desk and have no
more room to recoil. But he doesn’t stop. Slowly, he walks towards
me, his eyes intently on mine, burning with that same desire I’ve
seen before.

Oh. Dear. Heaven.

My breath is held hostage by his stare as my
ability to flee dwindles into nothingness. He stops a few inches
away from me, but doesn’t touch me, only glances down at me from
where he towers above.

If I just rise to my tiptoes and lean
forward, I could be kissing him. I could have his strong arms
hungrily caressing my body, his mouth and tongue driving me wild
with need, him buried deep, oh, so deep inside of me.

All of a sudden my legs feel like two
useless pieces of jelly, and oh, the burn in my lower stomach wants
nothing but to be extinguished by him. How does he do that to me?
Why is it so different with him than with Spencer? I can’t even
begin to explain it, but the difference is astounding.

“I won’t do anything until you tell me to,”
he says in a deep, raspy voice that shoots straight to my core.
“Not until you are ready to give it—to give us—your all.” His eyes
drop to my mouth, my cleavage, and he licks his lower lip.

He must be thinking of all the things he can
do and say to me to make me go off—hell, his eyes are ablaze with
lust and desire—but he’s holding it all in, waiting patiently for
me to make up my mind. If I do give him the green light, I have to
be sure I’m ready. That will mean I will be giving him my trust
again. All of it.

And I know full well, I’m not ready to take
that step.
Yes you are!
my body screams at me. The burn
between my legs turns into a throb, and I feel the wetness in my
panties. I lift my chin, press my hands to his rigid chest, and
rise to my tiptoes. His chest rises and falls below my palms, and
it reminds me of the staggered breaths he makes while he’s fucking
me. Oh…

He lowers his head, and our noses bump as or
lips feather-lightly brush against each other. I’m panting, and
he’s holding his breath. Oh, I need him to take me.

He reaches around my waist with one arm, and
tugs gently at my hair with the other so my head tilts backwards
just a notch.

“Goddammit, Scar. Say the words. Say them.”
He leans his hips into mine, and I feel him hard and ready.

Oh… “Shit, Michael. I need you. Please.
Just…can we just…no commitment. Just…” I press my lips to his,
putting in that kiss all the begging I can muster. But he doesn’t
react the way I want. He slowly moves away from me, clamps his
mouth shut, and breathes in and out several times.

“What is it?” I ask, squeezing my inner
thighs together to try and relieve my arousal.

He stands aside. “Not until you are one
hundred percent ready. I won’t let this moment become an instant
gratification between us. That’s one of the places we screwed up
before. And I don’t want another screwed up round, Scar.” He looks
at me with all sincerity. “With you, I want forever.”

That is the most beautiful thing anyone has
ever said to me, and I feel the tears burn in the back of my eyes.
But even as beautiful as it is, and even as amazed as I am at his
newfound self-control, the rejection stings. “I don’t know if I’m
ready for that yet.”

“I know you’re not ready for that yet,” he
says.

“How would you know that?” I narrow my eyes
at him.

“I see the hesitation in your eyes. But
until you are ready, may I continue to date you?”

“You’re not making a very good impression on
me if that’s what you want,” I say.

“I don’t care to make a good impression. I
want to make an everlasting one.”

He really is serious about this. “So does
this mean no sex until I’m ready?”

“I believe we’ve already established that
we’re compatible in that area, wouldn’t you agree?” He smirks.

Boy is that ever true, but that’s beside the
point. “You know, why do you always have to be the one in charge?
Can’t you give up the control a little for once and let me take
over?”

“I did give you control. You tell me when
you’re ready, and I’ll spread your legs wide apart and sink my cock
into your tight pussy, thrusting into you so many times you’ll
never want to kiss another man ever again. Not even to hurt me.
It’s up to you.”

“Stop talking like that,” I say.

He gets a puzzled look on his face. “I’m
sorry. Did I offend you?”

“No, you’re freaking turning me on, okay!
How am I supposed to come down from this?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

“But this isn’t fair!” I yell.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because you’re setting up the rules!”

“Do you have a new set of rules you would
like to suggest?” He stares at me with a blank glare.

“As a matter of fact I didn’t have time to
come up with them in the past few seconds,” I retort.

“Well, you might want to ask your date to
take you home and then you can get to work on those rules. I’m sure
he’s wondering where you are. Maybe he was even hoping he’d get
lucky tonight. Hell, if you kissed me like that, I’d definitely
think you had other things in mind.” There’s a sharp edge to his
voice, and it makes me feel guilty now because I was trying to hurt
Michael. But for some reason, I feel I have to defend Spencer.

“He’s not like that,” I seethe.

“Like what? A man who notices how fucking
sexy you are, and who just by looking at you doesn’t get a
hard-on?”

I walk up to him, wind my arm up, and slap
him as hard as I can across the face. It feels really good to
finally get some of the frustration out, and for the moment, before
the guilt sets in, which it will momentarily, I’m going to fully
enjoy it.

“You can go to hell!” I yell.

“I’m already there, baby!”

If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going
to kill him! Or
make
him fuck me. What is wrong with me?

I swing the door open and storm back to the
bar. When Spencer sees me, he smiles warmly. Why can’t Michael be a
little more like him? Reasonable. Friendly. Easy to talk to. But
then again I’m reminded of how little spark there is between
Spencer and me. The only thing I have felt is when I kissed him,
and that was nothing compared to what I feel when Michael just
looks at or touches me.

I signal to the bartender to bring me three
more shots of tequila, and a few seconds later, I’m swigging them
down.