45. Byron
45
BYRON
I ’ve had my fair share of kisses in life. And by fair share, I mean a lot. Not one stood out as particularly thrilling, all of them just a means to an end.
This was definitely not one of those kisses. This kiss would be etched into my memory till my very last breath.
It was the sort of kiss when time does a little trick and pauses…right there, in that shared breath, in that perfect alignment of lips and taste, and the heat that started as a spark and ignited in a wildfire that you couldn’t control.
I wanted to tell Meg that, despite our very short acquaintance, I was now absolutely, positively sure that there was no one else for me but her. But it was probably a little too fast, and I figured this was not the moment to declare my undying devotion before coming clean about BB.
The fact was, it wasn’t me who knew her best. It was BB. He knew everything. Her dreams. Her little quirks, like how she took exactly three sugars in her coffee, and how she always drank her espresso black, bold, and unapologetically bitter.
Then there was her bizarre, insane fear of balloons, and the oddly official name for it: Globophobia.
She loved The Princess Bride (a personal choice of mine, too).
Her favorite word was susurrus which meant the low, soft whispering of the trees in a summer breeze.
She had a scar on her thigh from a spring in her Nonna’s old couch when she was fourteen. And that tiny bump on her nose? The result of a roof-jumping stunt when she was ten.
What really made her extraordinary was her devotion to family. They weren’t just important, they were her everything. And that included Isabel, of course.
But what Meg didn’t know was that she knew me better than anyone else, too.
She knew how I could lose myself in a good book, especially The Alchemist . She knew I’d read The Lord of the Rings five times, and how I fantasized about having a family one day. A real, close-knit family, the kind I never had growing up.
And that my favorite drinks were a Belvedere 10 neat, and a Macallan Old Fashioned.
We spent hours chatting about food. She wasn’t much of a cook, unless you count the time she nearly singed her eyebrows trying to fry an egg.
I, on the other hand, as a man of leisure in my previous life, had taken a few cooking classes in Paris and Italy, and if nothing else, I could whip up a good meal in a pinch.
It all came down to Meg understanding BB like no one else could, even if that meant I had to bend the truth a little now and then.
She believed that BB was just an ordinary man, with simple, everyday dreams. And honestly, if you stripped away all the money, that’s exactly what I wanted to be.
It hit me then that no one had ever asked me those inside questions, nor had I ever thought to ask anyone else. Meg had somehow picked up on the little, ridiculous things that most people wouldn’t bother to ask, unless, of course, they actually cared.
And now, with all these trivial details woven between us, it felt like the right time to finally tell her that BB was me.
But then she looked up at me, those chocolate brown eyes filled with questions, her lips still plump from our kiss, and I froze. What if Nelson was wrong? What if, instead of relief, she’d be upset to find out that BB and I were one and the same?
So far, everything tonight had gone smoother than I expected. We were here, in this perfect moment, and I didn’t want to ruin it. So, I stalled.
“We have some things to talk about,” I said, still tasting her in my mouth.
“Okay,” she breathed, voice husky, her gaze melting into mine. “Is this about the plan you have to get Isabel back to Newport?”
“And back to Belmont Manor,” I replied. “She and Roman belong together. But first, let’s make ourselves at home, relax, and get a drink.”
She kicked off her shoes and took a casual seat on the couch, all languid and effortless, like a cat claiming the sunniest spot in the room. “Let’s have a drink then. If we must.”
And it’s the way she said it, looking me up and down as if she was willing every button on my shirt to unbutton itself.
Like I said before, I always had impeccable control. My dick didn’t move unless I commanded him to. But ever since the minx breezed into my life, he’d become a disobedient rogue, making a mockery of my self-discipline.
The air was still pulsing with the memory of that kiss. And beneath that pulse, something else stirred. Anticipation, razor-edged and intoxicating, like the electric buzz before lightning struck.
I slid onto the couch beside her, and she leaned over, dabbing a finger across my lips. “I won’t use any more lipstick tonight. This shade doesn’t look good on you.”
How could I not laugh, and at the same time, every single molecule of blood in my body scrambled south. And yet, against all odds, I was holding it together. Remarkably well, I might add.
“So, how do we order these drinks? Using telepathy?” she teased, pulling me from my entranced haze.
“Yes, drinks,” I remembered. “What would you like?”
Her tongue brushed her upper lip as if she had the biggest life decision ever to make.
“What would I like?” she asked, her voice a wicked purr. “Are we still talking about drinks?”
In that moment, I had two choices. Take the high road, sow the plan, and reap the delicious fruit after, or just ravish the minx now and sort it all out later.
Two guesses which thought tipped the scales.
Let it be known that I made a gallant attempt at taking the high road. “We should probably talk first.”
“Talk first?” she said. “How about we take a vote? I say no to talking first.”
I laughed, which elicited a soft giggle from her. This woman was now unleashing all my bad intentions, and my original plan slid so far down the goalpost, it disappeared into the abyss.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I asked.
Her eyes gleamed. “Thought you’d never ask. Where will we go?”
Well, there was that. We couldn’t go back to Belmont Manor for obvious reasons. I still had the loft from my previous life, but that was the last place I wanted to take Meg.
“Your apartment?” I asked.
“Can’t, Marguerite’s cousin from Spain is staying on the couch for a few nights, so I’m staying with the family
I had an idea. “We can go on a yacht.”
“You have a boat?”
“I have access to one. It’s private and we’ll have it all to ourselves. For the weekend, if we want.”
“On the sea in the dark?” she ventured. “Can’t say I’m crazy about that idea. I have this fear of drowning at night.”
“Drowning in daylight also has its drawbacks, believe me.”
Her laughter rippled through the air, and leaning in, she brushed my mouth with hers, and she could thank her lucky stars this room didn’t come with a door that locked.
“We’ll stay docked in the harbor,” I said as soon as I could find my voice again. “Unless we decide to go for a little cruise. And I promise to keep you safe.”
She slipped into her shoes, all smiles. “What are we still doing here? Let’s go.”
Her words still clung to the air when the crystal beaded curtains were swept aside, and in marched an incensed Celeste Van Buren, her eyes latching onto Meg with the wrath of Khan. “It IS you!”
I prepared myself to once again fight for Meg’s honor, but it turned out she didn’t need me to do that at all.
The minx’s big brown eyes blinked innocently as she stared at Celeste with exaggerated curiosity. “Do we know each other?” she asked, her tone sugary. “You look so familiar, but then again, I just came from the plastic surgery convention, and honestly, everyone looks the same. Spill your secret, is there a group rate for that dipshit cookie-cutter look?”
Celeste gasped, “How dare you!?” she hissed. “Do you have any idea who you are fucking with?”
A megawatt smile lit up Meg’s face. “I do! You’re the silly tramp who has to polish the crypt keeper’s knob when he tells you to. I love that for you, Celeste.”
It took every ounce of self-restraint not to laugh.
Bitterness pulled at the corners of Celeste’s mouth. “Says the dumb little bitch wearing a retail rag.”
Meg smiled with the serenity of a meditating monk. “Celeste, oh, sweet summer child, if that silly insult is what you bring to a battle of wits, you’re bringing a very dull knife to a gunfight. Let me give you some advice. Don't come for me unless I send for you. Okay?”
This time, I laughed out loud, and Celeste aimed a lethal gaze at me. “And this is now the type of woman you find charming. You and your brother have both lost your minds.”
When I finally stopped laughing, I stared Celeste down. “You know, I should apologize to you for blatantly using your vindictiveness to push my own agenda back when. I was an asshole, what can I say. Also, tell your husband it was money well spent hiring those thugs to beat the shit out of me. Even if it was because of a lie. It changed my life.”
I took Meg’s hand, and we sprinted from the room and made a beeline for Silver Spoon’s exit, leaving curious stares in our wake.
“Crypt keeper?” I laughed. “I’ve never heard a more apt description of Porter Van Buren.”
“And from what Isabel told me, calling him that is a compliment,” Meg replied.
“He’s a delight, really. Takes pleasure in everyone else’s misery. I’m convinced he and Celeste sacrifice their souls in the basement, but even Satan is like, “Thanks, but hard pass.”
A snort-laugh ripped out of Meg, which set me off, and of course, that just made her laugh harder. I loved her laugh, and I loved that I was the one who could make her laugh.
Standing outside Silver Spoon, a little out of breath, we waited as the Range Rover was driven up by a valet.
I was drowning in this ridiculous, unshakable happiness. It was that kind of bliss that filled you up so completely, there was no room left for any doubt.
And tonight I felt like the happiest man alive.