Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
I was beginning to wonder if regal could perfectly describe him anymore. His hair was freshly cut. His line seemed to have been marked by a scientist who’d done extensive research and took new measurements every three business days to ensure accuracy.
He rubbed his hand down his beard. His fingers tapped against the screen of his iPad. He was fighting the urge to unlock the screen and respond to the emails flooding his inbox. Apprehension plagued him.
I stretched an arm across my body, hooking my fingers on my shoulder. The air was rigid in the cabin. Fine bumps raised my skin.
“Come ‘er, my baby.”
Ishmael patted the seat beside him. I gravitated toward him. Naturally. Instinctively. Without thought. Without contemplation. Without hesitation.
The seat next to him felt so many miles away. Instead, I removed his iPad from his lap and placed it beside him. My body fit against his like a puzzle piece. My head rested against his chest. My legs stretched across him.
His lips touched my forehead.
Once.
Twice.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
“Where to?”
“The water, love.”
“And you?”
He sighed.
“Your thoughts?”
His chest vibrated each time he spoke. With each breath he took, it lifted. He laced his fingers through mine and closed his hand around them.
“My thoughts are with you, Royce.”
“How so?” I yawned.
“One day without you nearly killed me. I couldn’t imagine more.”
“She’s not pregnant.”
“It was in the papers today. I figured that was all you.”
I nodded.
“It was.”
“Still, I don’t have good feelings about you havin–”
“Ish.”
“Yes, my baby?”
“That’s over.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“And, your wound.”
“You are something else, Royce.” He chuckled.
“What?”
“They were waiting on me when I arrived at Berkeley Medical.”
“Good.”
“The way your mind works– it’s fascinating. Politicians would do themselves a solid by acquiring you the second they decide running is in their future.”
“I don’t like politicians.”
Silence coated the cabin.
“Yet you’re sitting on my lap.”
“You’re part politician. And, something leads me to believe I’d hardly have a choice.”
“You wouldn’t,” he admitted.
“Yeah, you give stalker.”
“I’m a lot of things, my baby, but a stalker ain’t one. Maybe a kidnapper. I’ll take that.”
“As if it’s any better.”
“It is, because who has time to waste? Waiting. Watching. Shit is weird. Especially when I could just snatch your fine ass up and have you for breakfast by sun up.”
Sniggering, I wrapped my arms around Ishmael’s body. I was so safe here.
“I have a gun. You are aware, right?”
“And that motherfucker is not a prop.” He chortled.
I quieted and allowed my heart to feel things my head was still waiting for. I wasn’t regretful of my actions. Neither was I remorseful. Ishmael had been warned. He’d played a very stupid game and gotten a very stupid prize as a result.
I didn’t give a damn that things between us were unofficial. If his plan was to pursue me, his dick belonged to me the second the plan was made. Giving that away, and possibly procreating, was a violation.
“Did it hurt?”
“Not as much as hurting you did.”
He pulled my hand to his mouth.
Muah.
Muah.
“Not nearly as much,” Ishmael mumbled.
Our flight landed in the middle of nowhere. Ishmael never released my hand. He led me down the stairs and down the dock to the awaiting boat.
“Careful, love.”
I stepped on, finding the smell of the ocean to be soothing. Ishmael pulled me along until we reached our seats. Heat blew through the vents, warming us instantly. Our positions on the boat didn’t differ much from the plane. I rested my head on his chest. He closed his hand around mine.
“I’m sleepy,” I confessed, another yawn tearing my mouth open.
“Thirty-six minutes, my baby. Your rest is waiting.”
Take me back. My mind drifted.
With my head pressed against the door, I watched as Ishmael made his way down the cement path. His landscaper was a scientist in his past life. The greenery was plentiful, but so well-manicured that you hardly noticed it didn’t belong, had been planted, and didn’t come from the soil beneath it.
“I miss you already.”
Gloom danced around me, promising despondency if I didn’t keep busy. Both Ishmael’s absence and presence were punishment, because each second I had him around I was dreading the second he wouldn’t be.
He halted. His body turned a hundred and eighty degrees. Black adorned his frame. I fought the urges stemming from my center.
“How much, my baby?”
I lifted the cropped baby tee I was wearing, exposing my firm nipple.
“This much.”
In a flash, Ishmael was before me. His hands were around me. One on my breast and one on my waist, making me feel so small. He lowered his mouth onto my breast.
“Mmmm.”
He released me before taking me into his mouth again. Our tongues touched. So did our lips. And our chest. And our noses.
“I love you, my baby.”
“I love you.”
He tilted his head sideways, analyzing me thoroughly.
“You make it hard to leave,” he murmured, hand squeezing my breast.
“Then don’t.”
He sighed, regretfully. “Berkeley needs me.”
I ironed the creases of his suit with my hands.
“I know. I know.”
I raised up on the tips of my toes and pecked his lips.
“Good day, Mr. Grayson.”
Chuckling, Ishmael stole parts of me I had yet to secure myself.
“Good day, Mrs. Grayson.”
My cheeks fluffed. Flattery was etched in each movement. My lashes batted. My weight was shifted from one foot to the other. I couldn’t help myself.
“It has a ring to it.”
“It will, my baby. It will have a fucking rock to it soon enough.”
“Later, baby.”
“Later, my love. Dinner at seven.”
“Dinner at seven.”
I closed the door behind me. My body slid down the hard surface, landing on the floor in his black briefs. I pulled my knees to my chest and placed my chin between them.
Proper love hurts so good.
I mustered the strength to stand. Up on my feet, I made my way through Ishmael’s lovely home.
“Ahhhhhhh.”
My hands covered my mouth. I shook my head from side to side. So much was right in my world. Almost too much was right in my world.
I slid my phone from the counter and dialed the number of the woman whose voice I missed something awful.
The call connected. I popped a piece of the turkey sausage Ishmael had prepared for breakfast into my mouth as the phone rang. It wasn’t until the third ring that the difference in time registered with me.
Shit.
“Hello?” Grogily, she answered.
“I’m sorry. You’re sleeping. I didn’t realize what time it was.”
“No. No. It’s fine.”
“I can call back lat–”
“Royce. I’m awake now.”
I peered down at my feet. Ishmael’s slides covered parts of my feet, protecting it from the cold floor. Regret filled me. I wanted my mother to rest.
“And, it’s because I want to talk to you. So, fix your face.”
I smiled. She knew her children well. Each of us.
“Now, talk to me. You have something to say.”
“I do.”
“Then, let me hear it.”
“I met someone.”
“Ishmael.”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“My children.”
“Teddy?”
She quieted.
“It was him.”
“Why does it matter who told me?” she laughed.
“Because, he’s always been vocal when it concerns me.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. It’s not. Not at all. Sometimes I just wonder– you know.”
“Wonder what?”
“Why?”
“As much as you wonder, he worries.”
“He doesn’t have to. I’ll be fine.”
“He knows that. But he also knows that things changed for you when Richie died. Your father was your rock. Your stability. Your safety net. It was pulled from under you with hardly a warning. Simultaneously, Teddy was away. He still hasn’t forgiven himself for not being here.”
“He should.”
“I tell him every day, but his head is as hard as yours. He just won’t admit it.”
I let my thoughts roll in. Neither of us said anything as they registered.
“He’s good to me.”
“He doesn’t have much of a choice, baby.”
I cringed as I nodded. The blood that soaked his white button down was fresh on my brain.
“He doesn’t.”
I chewed another piece of turkey as I waited for more words to appear. After swallowing, they finally materialized.
“How did it feel?”
I shifted my weight from one side to the other.
“With Dad?”
“Like a Sunday morning. Every morning, Royce.”
My mother and father had met early in adulthood and never spent another day without each other. Richie didn’t have to question anything when it came to my mother. She was the one thing in life he was certain of.
“What about a Friday night? When the world has been exhausting and there’s only one pair of arms you want to fall into? Or when you’re at the bottom of your bottle of wine and there’s only one person you care to call? Or when the noise has been so loud that you need them to quiet it all?”
“Friday night… Saturday morning… Sunday morning… Tuesday. Thursday. It doesn’t matter, Royce. As long as it doesn’t feel like the Monday blues. Or the hump you just need to get over Wednesday.”
“He doesn’t give me the blues. Neither does he feel like an obstacle.”
“Then the rest is manageable.”
“He’ll be the mayor of Berkeley in the next forty-eight hours.”
“And he found time to have you blushing on this line this morning?”
“He makes time for me. Always.”
“A man after your heart.”
“He has it.”
“And that makes me so happy, Royce. I’ve heard your change of tone over the last few months. I admire the peace his presence has brought you.”
“I’ve been wanting to tel–”
“I’m your mother, baby. I birthed six of your best friends. Catherine bore the first. I have come to terms with the fact that I’m the last one to get news and I’m okay with that. It’s working out exactly how I planned.”
“I haven’t seen much of the girls.” I sighed. “I’ve been so tied up with Ishmael and his campaign. I feel awful.”
“You spent your entire childhood with your sisters and most of your adulthood. You think those girls are worried about you not seeing much of them lately? They have so much going on in their worlds. I’m sure they haven’t noticed much.”
“You’re right.”