Chapter 19
19
M ACKENZIE
A new Mackenzie emerges from his hug.
Cheeks aflame––the fire has traveled way down, making my flesh pulse between my legs––and lips curved into a smile, I look at him with unbridled passion.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, fighting the mantel of uneasiness draped over my shoulders.
“What for?”
“I shouldn’t question you like that,” I say quietly, lowering my eyes to evade his scrutiny. “I’m in no position to do that,” I add sincerely, and he smiles.
“I’m glad we have cleared that out.”
I can’t tell whether he’s joking again or not before he draws in a long breath and takes my hand, his touch warm around my fingers.
“Unlike you,” he says, “I wanted to spend the night alone in a club.”
I cock an eyebrow incredulously.
“Alone?”
“Yup,” he says. “I know the bar going crowd. They’re just like me. Looking for the same thing. We get together and feel like one big family––an estranged family that is––and then we call it a night. See…” he goes on pensively. “We’re all running away from something. Or toward something.”
I mull over his answer, my eyes going down again.
“You put a lot of thought into how you dressed tonight.”
“I like to dress nicely. Is that a crime?” he jokes, and my eyes go up to him.
He stares at me with unending tenderness while bringing his thumb to my face and slowly stroking my cheek.
“We’ll go to the club together. This way, you’ll see what I’m talking about. All right?”
His touch dissolves my resolve.
“Okay.”
He smiles, his thumb on my lower lip, his eyes traveling to the street.
“What about a horse carriage ride?” he murmurs, his hand sliding off my cheek.
“Can we do that so late?” I ask, glancing out the window.
“I’m sure we can,” he says confidently. “Let’s go.”
We climb out and walk to the park, where we find a horse drawn carriage, and moments later, we’re on a tour of the park, sliding under vaults of snowy branches, silently appreciating the magic of winter.
The change of scenery makes what happened earlier a forgotten memory.
Living in the moment may be hard, but doing with him is easier than I thought.
He holds my hand while peering outside, slightly disconnected from me and mostly engrossed in the winter story.
Eventually, I get used to him being close yet far away emotionally.
Perhaps the park brings back some memories, allowing for a moment of introspection.
It’s a mind-blowing experience for me, like nothing I’ve ever imagined.
So I experience regret when our ride comes to an end and we climb out and say goodbye to the coachman.
“Did you like it?” he asks, focused on me again.
“I loved it.”
We take a few steps onto the alley before he checks the time on his watch.
“Are we in a hurry?” I ask.
“No.”
His smile is curt and hard to trust.
Despite what he said, my mind goes back to what had happened at my place.
“What do you want me to tell if those people come knocking on my door again?” I ask as he takes my hand and walks me out of the park.
“They won’t come again. I’ll make sure of that,” he says quietly, preoccupied.
We’re waiting for the lights to turn green before crossing the street.
“And where are we going now?” I ask, prancing next to him, proud like a peacock.
It didn’t take me long to get used to having my hand locked with his, did it?I love this despite knowing that it’s a fleeting moment.
The thought that he is doing all this to earn my trust and make me say yes to him warms me inside.
But maybe I’m overthinking things.
Maybe we’re two people stuck in a timeframe, with him running away from something and me running toward the same thing.
He wants to be alone.
I want something different.
As strange as it sounds, this thing works for us to a degree.
I’m convinced we’re headed to that club when he stops in front of a royally lit teahouse and holds the door for me to step inside.
The place is small but glows like a giant jewelry box.
Ceiling lights and wall sconces highlight the marble floors, glass countertops, and vases filled with flowers.
A friendly hostess greets us and leads the way to a corner table. She removes our coats and brings us the menus.
I go for the passion fruit mousse and citrus tea, while Callan orders Irish tea and apple cake.
It’s hard not to notice how out of place he seems to be. Although he is familiar with the place.
Even so, with his sharp dark suit and sultry dark green amber eyes, he looks more like a time traveler than a regular.
“Are you coming here often?” I ask, noticing how the street looks like a painting behind the glass wall.
“Only when I have stuff to do in this part of town.”
His answer is vague and normally would trigger more questions, but we are far from talking about a normal setup here.
“It’s a nice place,” I say, my voice bland as I look around the space. There’s no one else besides us, which is not surprising.
Our drinks and desserts arrive, and we focus on them, chatting about them.
“I used to work in Manhattan,” I say, and soon after, I tell him about my previous life.
I doubt he finds it interesting, but I think he enjoys my soft-spoken words. No matter what I say, he looks at me with interest, which might not have anything to do with my story.
I finish and almost ask him…
‘What about you? What do you do for a living? How come you are single? Where is your family?’
Almost, since none of these questions grace my lips, and he certainly doesn’t volunteer this information.
I could fill in the blanks, but what good would that do to me?
He seems to make good money.
He has connections.
And people work for him.
Some of the things he does are questionable.
In terms of having a family?
Maybe he is in a feud with his family.
Or maybe there is no family left.
For sure, some stories from the past have their fingers on his complicated present.
Who knows?
The man was not exactly lonely when he met me.
“May I ask you something?” I say, putting my dessert spoon down and bringing the cup of tea to my lips.
“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, staring at his tea.
I take a sip and swallow hard.
“It’s about you and that woman, Carmen…”
He brings his eyes to me.
“Normally, I wouldn’t ask you about this, but… It was hard not to notice how noisy she was when you know… You two were…”
I stop, embarrassed.
And I use my hands to suggest what I have in mind.
“You two were…”
“Fucking?”
“Uh-huh.”
A smile threads through his gaze.
“What was the question?”
“Uh… Yeah. The question. Was she too loud and theatrical? Or was it that good?”
He looks down, his eyes smiling.
“What do you think?”
“I used to think it was that good.”
He looks at me again.
“And now?”
“After seeing her, I think it may have been good, but she is a bit of an actress.”
“You’re saying she was faking it?”
My cheeks burn.
“That was not what I was saying.”
I stall.
“You were jealous of her?”
I nod, wanting to come clean.
I also want him to be truthful.
“I thought she had a great time. So, yes, I was.”
“Other than her being loud, what made you think that?”
Shrugging, I put my cup of tea down.
“The entire setup. It appeared that you only met for sex.”
“You don’t seem too convinced about that now…” he comments, his eyes making me lower my stare.
He grips my fingers and squeezes them slightly.
“Do you want to find out how great it feels?” he asks, studying me through his dark lashes, a taunting smile on his lips.
A flareup of lust burns at my edges.
“Fucking me against the wall?” I say quietly, indulging in that fantasy.
My back against the wall, his body against me.
“Can I get you something else?”
The hostess startles me, pulling me out of my head.
I flick my eyes up.
A smiling face looks at me, and I can’t say a thing.
“We’re good,” Callan says. “Bring the check, please.”
The woman pulls away, and he slides his hand into his pocket and leaves money on the table before she returns.
“Thank you,” she says, collecting the money.
“You can finish that,” he says when we're alone again, tipping his chin toward my dessert.
I start eating.
“Did you think it was happening against the wall?” he asks quietly, curious about my answer.
I struggle to respond, indulging in the fresh aroma of the passion fruit.
“I liked to think that,” I say, chewing on my dessert.
Pursing his lips, he studies me, entertained.
“What else did you imagine I was doing to her?”
“Not much. I just thought she wasn’t fond of her furniture or the walls and wanted to ruin them at some point.”
A few moments pass while I swallow the rest of my dessert.
“What do you like, Mackenzie?” he asks in a husky voice that tickles my skin in delicious ways.
I look at him, intrigued.
“What do I like? You mean… About that?”
“How do you like to fuck?” he asks directly.
I swallow hard and munch on my lip.
“Shouldn’t we talk about that someplace else?”
He shakes his head.
“I want to hear your honest answer, so this place is as good as any.”
“If we’re doing that…” I say after a few moments.
He lifts an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips.
“We will do that. There’s no doubt about it. You just want to do it on your terms, so I want to know what those terms are.”
“You already know that, or we wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have brought me here and given me your time and attention.”
He’s waiting for me to continue.
“I don’t know the answer to your question. But I liked what you did to me last night,” I say.
“Hmm…”
“You don’t seem too happy with my answer.”
“I want you to be direct with me.”
“I am direct with you––”
“Mackenzie?”
“The wall…”
“Okay.”
“That might be nice. I’ve never done that.”
“Noted.”
“And maybe me being bent over the table.”
He laughs.
“Or your desk.”
“You saw that somewhere? Or have you read about it?”
“I imagined it… with you. ”
“You’re fucking with me?”
“I wish. If it doesn’t work for you, I can––”
He squeezes my hand harder.
“Shut up, baby.”
He’s firm, yet he’s smiling.
“So no other men…” I murmur to his delight.
“No other men. You tell me when you’re ready.”
Oh, my eyes soften.
Am I ready? To sleep with him?
Yes. Yes, I am.
I only need to get ready for the ending of our story, which will naturally come. And I don’t think I am.
Reading my eyes, he’s getting my answer.
Whatever it may be in his interpretation, I can say from how he pushes his chair back, rises from his seat, and signals to the hostess to bring our coats that having sex with him might happen sooner than I think.
He holds the coat for me before draping his over his broad shoulders and then taking my hand.
“We’ll spend the rest of the evening together and talk more,” he says, and my heart sings.
Soon after, we exit the tea house.
He hauls a taxi, and we head to the club, his car still parked near the park.