Chapter 34 You Texted?
You Texted?
— T ODAY —
“?‘I’m sorry. I can’t’?” Ian asks as his hand travels up and down my side, his forearm on my back, squishing me against his naked chest.
I nod, my fingers playing with the short, light hairs sprinkled across his pecs. He listened to the first part of my story during the shower, then we moved back to the bed to do some more of that not-talking from before. It was glorious.
“That’s what the note said.”
“Shit. What does that mean?”
I shrug, tracing the tattoos of little triangles that circle the midpoint of his forearm. “I never asked. But my guess is… ‘Sorry, I can’t marry you.’?”
He clicks his tongue, then presses his mouth to my sweaty forehead over and over. “He couldn’t make up his mind about it before?”
Beaming so hard, I’m pretty sure I’m irreparably straining my cheeks, I look up at him and greet his lips with mine. “It’s fine, Ian.”
“No, it’s not fine . He put you through hell for six months, Amelie, only to leave you at the altar?” His jaw clenches. “And me? You know what I’ve been through since the day of your wedding, all because of that asshole?”
Feeling his muscles tensing under my touch, I hoist myself up and hold the blanket around me. I know it’s far from fine , but at this moment I couldn’t care less. Ian’s lying in all his naked glory, half sculpture, half man, and that’s really all I intend to focus on for the foreseeable future. “It wasn’t his fault—well, not only. I hurt you.”
“Hmm.” He hooks a finger in the blanket, then pulls until it falls down, leaving my body bare. “I know exactly how you can ask for forgiveness.”
“You don’t say.”
“It involves a lot of begging.”
I chuckle as he rises to a seating position and pins me down on the mattress.
“Lots of you on your knees.”
I breathe out sharply, then his lips are on mine, my hands pulling his hair and tracing his sturdy shoulders. I’d do close to anything for another chance with this man, but what he’s talking about, I’d do any day, anytime, for nothing at all.
“Then what happened?” His hand lingers over my ribs. “Martha dragged him back by his hair?”
“What do you mean?”
He leans back to look into my eyes. “Well, how did you end up getting married? When did you divorce?”
“What—” I shake my head. “What makes you think we got married?”
“You didn’t?”
“I haven’t spoken to him since. In fact, I believe the last words we said to each other were ‘Where the fuck are the keys?’ as we left for the wedding.”
His body stiffens over mine, his brows furrowing deeply. “You didn’t get married?”
“No. I told you: he was gone, and either way, I was going to tell him I wanted to call it off to be with you.” I put my hand on his cheek, wanting him to go back to his usual self. “Took me long enough, but I got there.”
“You—” He searches my eyes. “You chose me?”
I nod. “I chose you unconditionally, and I’ll never change my mind.”
His eyes close for a moment, the tension leaving his body as he kisses me. I get it. Ella didn’t choose him when it came to it, and he thought I didn’t either. But I did, and it’s a decision I will never regret.
When he opens his eyes again, he settles next to me, his hand worriedly rubbing his jaw as he avoids looking at me. “But if you… if you never got married and wanted to be with me, then… why didn’t you?”
“Well, I didn’t know where to find you, Ian.” I offer him a sad grin. “I thought of hiring a PI, but it felt a little stalker-y. And I came to Mayfield to spend the day a few times, and I might have walked around the city looking for you like a pathetic—”
His stern voice cuts me off. “Amelie, you could have just called.”
“Right. I didn’t think about that,” I say with a playful smile that dies immediately when I notice his frown. “Ian, I…” I grab my phone from the nightstand, the chain of my necklace shifting and causing me to shiver against the cold metal. I settle next to him, then find our text conversation and show it to him. “I called. I texted. But you don’t receive any of it if you block someone’s number.”
He gazes at the screen, his lips parted. Slowly, his thumb scrolls down, reading the slew of texts I sent him, dating back six months. “You texted.”
“Of course I did.”
His hand moves to his mouth, his eyes wide-open as he scrolls more and more. “You texted me pickup lines.”
“Every day for six months—except for one Saturday when I ran a fever so high, I didn’t text you because I could see you in the room with me.” As he keeps scrolling, I stroke his soft, gorgeous hair. “And I called, too, every once in a while. Just to check if I was still blocked.”
His eyebrows rise higher and higher as he goes through the texts, as if he’s not even listening to me. He smiles, then chuckles at one of the pickup lines—I’ll have to ask which one it is—and shakes his head, until eventually he sets the phone down. “Amelie, I never blocked you.”
“Hmm… yeah, you did. See how there’s no checkmark next to the text? That means I’m blocked. And if I call you, it goes straight to voicemail. Another sign I’ve been blocked.” At his questioning look, I shrug. “I might have done some research.”
“Why would I block you?” He shakes his head, then hops off the bed as he points at my phone. “Do you have the right number?”
Frustrated, I sigh. Yes, I have the right number. Does he really think I’d spend months texting him pickup lines, hoping he’d decide to talk to me, without being sure?
Once he’s back on the bed, I show him his contact. His lips purse, so I know it’s just fine. With a dubious shake of his head, he quickly taps on his phone, and eventually he lets out a puff of air. “You—you’re blocked.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I don’t remember blocking you.”
Well, that’s weird. It’s not exactly something you forget. Racking my brain, I think of a possible explanation, and judging by his pensive expression as he unblocks me, he must be doing the same. “I called you a few hours after you left the wedding, once I had dealt with the guests, and I was already blocked.” Tracing the curve of his neck with my hand, I sigh. “You weren’t really looking like yourself that day. That’s probably it.”
He nods, his forehead furrowed in confusion. “Yeah, I guess. I can hardly remember driving back home. Then I got so drunk, I… that’s probably when I did it.” He sets his phone down, then quickly grabs it again. He taps on it a few times, and when my phone beeps with a text, he releases a deep breath. “Just checking.”
With a smile, I move both phones out of the way and nestle against his chest. He looks so sad, I almost wish I didn’t tell him. “It’s okay, Ian. We’re here now.”
“But if it wasn’t for the ICCE, we wouldn’t be here. You would have moved on eventually, and tonight would have never happened.”
I pull him closer until his arms lock around me. “You don’t know that. Maybe fate would have brought us together some other way.”
“Fate?”
I nod. “Fate. Destiny.”
Nose buried in my hair, he inhales deeply, and I can’t help a huge smile from taking over my face. Then he says, “Maybe fate brought us here, but I’ve worked pretty hard for everything else that happened, and I’d like some recognition.”
My heart is filled with such happiness, it might just burst. After all that’s happened, I never thought we’d be here, but we are.
For the moment I choose to ignore the prickly feeling at the base of my throat, the question echoing through my mind over and over again.
This thing between us—does it have an expiration date?
“You can use store-bought beef stock for making your espagnole, but use a low-sodium or unsalted stock. You don’t want to concentrate the saltiness, especially if you plan to use the sauce to make another one you’ll also reduce. Season at the end instead.”
I glance at the nodding faces and strain the sauce, showing the audience how smooth it is as it falls into the bowl.
“And—”
The door opens, and Ian pokes his head inside. “Hi,” he says, his eyes landing on me. “Can I steal you for a minute?”
“Of course.”
Barb takes my place as I leave the room, and once the door is closed behind me, Ian’s lips are glued to mine. The taste of coffee and Ian is so good, they should make a candy out of it. “Is everything okay?” I ask when he lets me lean back a little. Not that I mind the interruption. I wasn’t that invested in the lecture to start with; who would be, when there’s a man like Ian I could be with instead?
He tugs at my hand as he walks toward the hall of the hotel. “Everything’s okay,” he says. He keeps strutting away and dragging me along. “But everything will be even better when I bottom out inside you.”
Oh. My stomach clenches, my body flushing so fast and hard, I might just spontaneously combust. “We’ll have to use your room,” I say, the thought of contradicting him not even on my radar. “My keys are in my bag—back there,” I say, pointing to the room I just came out of.
He shakes his head, then turns right at the hall. “My room’s too far.” After one last step, he opens the door to the conference room he dragged me to on our first day here and pulls me in. It’s the same as it was a week ago, except the white neon lights are on today and, judging by the scattered chairs around the room, it’s recently been used.
As soon as the door closes, Ian takes me in his arms, and I realize everything that counts is different than it was that first day. His teeth nibble my lower lip, his hands roaming under my skirt and grabbing a handful of everything as his breath fans over my lips.
“Ian, this door doesn’t lock.”
He smirks, trapping me against the wall with his forearm on either side of me. “I know.”
He knows .
My chest slowly falls, my lips parting with a needy little whimper as he hooks a finger under the strap of my top and lets it fall down my arm. “Does it turn you on?” My chin dips as he nips the skin of my chest. “Knowing that anyone could walk in and find me fucking you against the wall?”
“Yes,” I say. It comes out all breathy, needy. Not subtle at all. And I’d be embarrassed, except I’m with Ian, and he appreciates my eagerness. There’s even more in his fumbled movements.
His lips press to my collarbone, my body arching against his as his hands squeeze my ass. Every time he touches me, he leaves indelible marks I’d like to show off like tattoos.
“Hmm.” His hands work on his jeans, and once his cock is out of his briefs, hard and ready, he holds his hand out. “Be a good girl and give me your panties again.”
Shakily breathing out, I throw a look at the door and slide my panties down my legs. I give them to Ian, and once they’re pocketed, he grabs my hips and picks me up. “What if someone comes?” I ask as my legs wrap around his ass.
“Oh, someone’s coming all right.”
His shaft presses against me, sinking in with little effort, and I gasp, my head gently resting against the wall.
“If you knew how many times I pictured you like this.” He pulls back and rams back inside, my eyes fluttering as I get lost on the dangerous mix of sensations coming from his hands on my ass and his lips on my chest. “Pressed against the wall, dripping on me.”
“Ian, please,” I whine, quickly silenced by his lips.
“If I were you, I’d keep it down.” His rocking movements fall into a steady rhythm that leaves me breathless. “That is, if you don’t want to get caught begging for more of my cock.”
Heat envelops my whole body, fear mixing with something that feels like excitement but can’t possibly be that. I swallow the next of my moans as my fingers dig into his shoulders; it’s the most self-control I’ve ever exercised in my life.
“That’s my girl.” His nose dips into my hair before he kisses the side of my neck. “I love every single noise that comes out of those lips, but they’re only mine to hear.”
Oh, God, I can’t. I push my mouth to his, hoping it’ll stop him from saying the hottest, filthiest things anyone’s ever said to me when I can’t freely express my approval. But it’s not enough, and every time he’s crammed inside me, I can hardly smother my whimpers. In fact, I don’t even want to. Let someone catch us. Who cares?
“More, Ian,” I manage before I drop my forehead to his shoulder. “Fuck me harder.”
“As hard as you want it, beautiful.” He slides out and safely returns my feet to the floor, then spins me around. “Hands on the wall.”
With my dress pulled up, he presses his erection against my ass. It makes shivers rain down my body, every one of my nerves tense with anticipation. “Fuck me, please ,” I beg as he rolls his shaft over my clit, his hips grinding on my ass.
“Well, I can’t say no to you, can I?” He’s inside me again, his fingers wrapping around my throat and holding me up when my arms give out. His lips graze the top of my back as he backs up and thrusts hard inside me. “You’ve ruined me, beautiful. You’ll have to let me fuck you forever now.”
“Forever,” I choke out. Since yesterday, this is the only reference he’s made to this—us—being something beyond a few days’ thing, but my obsessive worry about the future will have to wait until my brain can function. “You feel so good, so good, so good,” I chant, my voice getting increasingly loud.
“You feel like a fucking dream I don’t want to wake up from, Amelie.”
As he speeds up, his hips slapping against my ass and his fingers like a necklace around my neck, the talking subsides in favor of moaning, grunting, and swearing. All the sounds echo in the empty conference room, my hands sliding down the wall once I start sweating.
“Shh,” he says sweetly when a loud grunt escapes me. “I’m not going to stop if someone comes in, Amelie. They’ll watch you fall apart on my cock.”
“More, Ian, more.” My voice is raspy as my hand flies behind me and I tug at his shirt, uselessly trying to pull him closer.
“Will you keep it down?”
“Yes, please, I promise,” I cry out, which I realize isn’t convincing at all.
His hand abandons my throat, running through my hair until he wraps the strands around his fist, then pulls my hips back. “Fine.” Once I’m basically folded in front of him, he thrusts again. I can feel him better now, opening me up and breaking me down. My next moan is so loud that, letting my hair go, he puts his hand over my mouth. With a breathy, faltering voice, he says, “Gee, beautiful. Your word’s worth nothing, huh?”
I mumble confused words against his hand, my body slamming back and forth to meet his.
“You’re so pretty like this,” he huffs as his hands move across my back. He grips my hips, and when his hold tightens, I could die from that alone. From knowing fucking me with little restraint is what he wants.
“Yes, Amelie, come,” he gasps, and, pumping slower inside me, he lets out a low grunt. “Just like that, beautiful.”
My orgasm explodes around him as he hits the same spot over and over again, and with his thrusts faltering, he gushes out his pleasure and pulls me up.
My body shudders as his mouth rests on my shoulder, his hot breath making that spot his as he rides the last wave of his orgasm.
For a few seconds, nothing happens. We stand against the wall, sweat dripping down both of us and our orgasms still tingling, electrifying the air. But his hands don’t rest for too long before he starts rubbing them over my ribs, then my thighs, tracing my body like a map. He kisses the back of my head, my neck, and once he slides out and turns me around, he takes my lips with his.
“I can’t go one day without being inside you now. Do you understand?” he whispers, his words slurred and only half pronounced. “I’m done for, Amelie.”
I hook my arms around his neck, his warm breath mixing with mine and my heart skipping a beat. He said it again. Maybe he really means it. Maybe he’s forgiven me.
Once we clean up and walk out, we’re entrapped in a cloud of giggles, kisses, and whispered words I really hope nobody else hears. But to be honest, I’m too busy being disgustingly happy to actually check. On top of that, walking is challenging as Ian grabs me from behind and forces me to move with my back against his chest as he kisses the side of my face.
We tumble into the hallway, our bodies still together as I shriek and tell him to let me go, though that’s the very last thing I want. We’re back to being us, finally, though it’s even better now because there’s no distance, no phones, and no Frank. Just us. As for the seed of fear planted deep in my soul, I’m trying as hard as I can not to let it sprout. Trying even harder not to think of Ella’s words.
It feels as if this is more than just a few days’ worth of adventure. But he hasn’t flat out said it. He hasn’t spoken of logistics, of what kind of future he envisions for us, if any.
“Let’s grab lunch?” he whispers into my ear as we move in front of the counter. The receptionist glares at us as his arms wrap around my stomach, holding me to his chest. “Or I could just eat you.”
“Your diet appalls me.”
“Then I’ll eat some food,” he says, dropping kisses onto my shoulder. “And you can eat my co—”
“Ian.”
We both turn to the right, and standing in front of the revolving doors are two men. I’m not sure which one I recognize first. If it’s my dad, standing to the right with his nostrils flared and the face of someone who’s just been stabbed in the back, or the one who called Ian’s name. He’s sucked away all the light in the room, as if he’s acting like a black hole where all my joy goes to die.
William Roberts.
“Dad?” Ian asks with a jovial voice. Immediately, his body stiffens behind mine, and once I check his expression, I notice his glare is directed at my dad. It’s probably for the best, because judging by William Roberts’s expression, he definitely didn’t expect me to be here, just as I didn’t expect him.
“Get your hands off my daughter right now ,” my dad demands.
Ian scoffs, leaning closer to me. “I really was onto something when I said your dad’s stuck in 1968.” Then, with a smirk, he turns to my father. “Mr. Preston, I will get my hands off your daughter as soon as she asks me to, and not one second before that.”
There’s such tension in the room, it’s almost hard to breathe, the air warm and dense despite the AC. Though I have lots to add to that conversation, I can’t utter a single word, because all I can see is William Roberts.
Panic makes me freeze. I knew I was bound to meet this man again, especially if things between Ian and me turned out to be more than a few days of adventure, but I expected I’d have some sort of notice—some time to prepare. Or maybe I just lied to myself about ever being ready for this moment. Either way, it looks like it’s time to face the music.
“Let the kids be, Hammond,” William says, waving my father off. His voice is deep and cold, making shivers run along my arms and neck. Next to my dad, he looks taller, fitter, and younger. Surely, he looks handsome in his fitted suit. He approaches us, and I almost want to shy away, almost want to run and hide somewhere in this hotel until it feels like I can breathe again.
Once he reaches us, he quickly hugs his son, glancing at me from over his shoulder with a predatory look in his eyes that makes my skin itch. Whatever shock he must have felt on seeing me is long gone and has been replaced by his usual scheming expression.
“Dad,” Ian says as they break away. “This is, uh—”
His eyes jump from his father to me until William comes to his aid. “Amelie Preston?”
“Yeah, thanks.” Ian rolls his eyes. “She’s the woman I told you about. She’s… from the past year?”
“Oh. Ooooh ,” William says in surprise as his eyes bob from his son to me. “Of course.” Squeezing Ian’s shoulder, he asks, “She’s not engaged this time around, is she?”
My stomach drops. He knew ? William knew all along about his son and me?
“Dad,” Ian scolds with a smile. “She’s single. Or, er—” He takes his hand in mine. “Well, we haven’t—we’re not—” With a sigh, he focuses on his dad again. “Jesus, thanks a lot.”
His dad chuckles, throwing amused glances at me. Somehow, I know he’s not laughing about the awkward position he’s put his son in. He’s probably remembering that night, four months ago.
Is it now when he’ll say something? When he’ll ruin this thing between his son and me? Is this the moment in which he’ll deliver the final hit that’ll leave me in a bloody mess on the floor?
“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. Forgive me.” He turns to my father, who’s watching from the sidelines. “We’re here for the concluding seminar.”
“And if I’d known you’d show up, I would have never accepted,” my dad manages through gritted teeth.
“Enough with this, will you, Hammond?” William’s cold eyes focus on mine. “Especially now that we’re all family.”
“Holy—Dad! We’re just—” With his shoulders straight, he says, “Do you fucking mind?”
“Sorry, sorry.”
Ian’s eyes narrow, then a quick puff of air comes out of his lips. He throws a glance at me and, noticing my “anything but happy” expression, looks away.
Involuntarily, I take a step backward. Family , this demon said. I can’t be family. I can’t be around him at all. I’ll do anything in my power to be with Ian, but I don’t think I can accept this man. That I can pretend nothing ever happened.
“Oh, so rude of me.” William walks toward me, and my whole world crystallizes as I await the fall of the hammer that will smash it to pieces. He holds out his hand and with a smile says, “Wonderful to meet you, Amelie.”