Deliciously Obedient (23 page)

Lydia
had been open, explorative, sensual and grounded, their shared
experience into uncharted territory, for her, a new level of sexual
commitment.

To
what?

“
We
need to go. Grandma’s doing better and I need to see her.”

Jeremy
looked down at her, cocooned in his arms, and he willed Mike away.
Go
away,
he thought.
Just leave
.

Because
if she has to pick, she’ll pick you.

A
few shaky hiccups and then she released him, the withdrawal of her
soft body from his arms like a rebuke. Nothing he had done was wrong,
and no words were out of place. The simple, slippery sensation of
having been bad, in a schoolboy way, wouldn’t subside. At some
point everything between the two of them had slipped by a millimeter,
a nanosecond, their rhythms out of sync just enough to leave him
constantly breathless, ever impatient, unsure and in agony.

And
then there was Mike.

The
words bulged at the base of his throat, a large, swelling ball that
gagged him.
Are you okay?
he wanted to ask.
How does it
feel to see Mike?

What
he really wanted to ask, though, had an answer he likely did not want
to hear.

And
so he said nothing, retreating quietly to let her get dressed, his
last view of her naked back so beautiful that his heart joined his
throat, nearly swelling shut.

“
She
okay?” Mike’s voice was tight, eyes razor sharp with concern, but
not worry. All Jeremy could do was nod.

Both
expelled enormous sighs filled with frustration and impatience, their
breath mingling in the air like a triggered forcefield, as if an
unknown, ambiguous alarm system had just shifted to a heightened
level, but they didn’t know what the measurements were or how it
was calibrated. Too many unknowns for Jeremy made him itchy and ready
to take off, to leave behind the anxiety that not knowing always
brought.

“
Where
the hell have you been?” Jeremy’s words squeezed between his
teeth, oozing through as his jaw clenched. The bite in his words
seemed to make Mike go to attention, his back suddenly straightening,
eyes piercing Jeremy’s, no emotion in them other than pure
observation.

Which
was emotional in its own way. Having Mike’s complete attention was
never easy.

Fucking
the woman he wanted....

“
Around.”

“
I
don’t want to have the same damn circular conversation, Mike, so
let’s cut the Abbott and Costello
Who’s On First
crap, and
how about you tell me what happened. You broke her damn heart and now
you show up after we’ve made love—”

“
In
my bed—”

“
All
right!” he growled back, feeling the words bounce like gravel
against the back of his throat. “I ruined your bed! I’ll buy you
a new one and hire some spiritualist to sage the room so the icky
memory of me and Lydia having sex in here doesn’t sully your future
relationships with”—he waved his hand—“whoever you’re
with.”

“
You
know who I want to be with, Jeremy.”

The
tug of war between them was strictly verbal, but that last sentence
made his heart move three inches closer to Mike.

All
his adult life, Jeremy had lived by one basic motto: tell the truth.
At no point in any step of this mess had he lied (the lie of omission
about Diane aside…), and, in fact, being emotionally honest
generally got him the outcome he was aiming for. Except with Dana, of
course.

That
had led to a disaster.

Which
was it? Trust his instincts and just flay himself before Mike, or
keep hiding and fearing and freaking out on the inside over the very
real, palpable worry that what he felt for Lydia wasn’t actually
returned?

Grinding
his teeth, he felt a rush of adrenaline pump through him as Mike
stared him down. The guy had this uncanny ability to do that without
flinching. Not a single muscle on his face would move, and you felt
as if Gandalf himself—in younger, trimmer, more macho form—were
commanding you from on high. Jeremy could see through it, normally,
but not right now. Right now, Mike’s gaze did exactly what it was
supposed to do.

It
made him blink.

“
I
want to be with her, too.” The words hovered between them, simple
words that he could have said about five or six other women they’d
both found attractive over the years. Easy words to say to Mike,
because this was Mike, for fuck’s sake. They shared a bond. They
shared women. They shared cabs and basketball games and liters of
beer and—

Could
they share Lydia?

Fierce
and protective, his hands flexed, his heart beat a strong, steady
drum that resonated in his gut, and as the seconds ticked by with
Mike just staring, without movement, Jeremy regained control of
himself. The shtick wouldn’t work—ever—because Jeremy knew as
Mike remained immobile and unyielding, that this was the man’s
downfall.

The
billionaire CEO alpha-male macho bullshit would never, in a million
years, work on Lydia.

But
it had.

That
fucking voice intruded his thoughts just as Mike opened his mouth to
say something. “I want—” and then he stopped, his throat
clicking from hitting the brakes so hard.

The
bathroom door opened and there stood Lydia, eyes hard and shut down,
unable to look at Mike, barely glancing at Jeremy. She looked so tiny
and defiant, made smaller by fear and overwhelm—the same issues
that made his heart race and his mind splinter.

But
her grandmother’s tenuous recovery, seeing Mike for the first time
since he’d disappeared…those were taking a toll on her in ways
even he couldn’t diminish.

Even
if he desperately wanted to take some of the anguish off her soft,
strong shoulders.

Stopping
himself from doing anything—looking at Mike or Lydia, taking a
step, making any sort of move—he took a few seconds to just
breathe. Think. Process. Half an hour ago he’d been in that bed,
the one in his peripheral vision now, sheets rumpled and covered in
their scent and excitement. Thirty minutes ago he’d been in her,
she’d moaned his name, they’d made love and gone to new places
together, trusting and revealing themselves in a relationship that
meant more to him than anything.

Anything.

Of
course he was reeling. And Lydia had the compounding of her
grandmother, and of Mike, on top of it all.

“
Can
we go?” Lydia asked no one in particular, forcing Jeremy to look at
Mike, who just shrugged, faltering.

“
Of
course,” Jeremy said, taking a step closer and instinctively
reaching a hand out to touch her back, then withdrawing it. Mike shot
him a look that said,
C’mon
.

Jeremy
flipped him the bird.

“
We’ll
talk
,” Mike mouthed.

Jeremy
nodded, thinking he should at least shake the guy’s hand, or that
Lydia should—

“
Mike?”
she said, her voice turning up at the end, so quiet it was nearly a
whisper.

“
Yes?”
Mike’s tone was clipped but pleasant.

“
We’ll
talk.”

Mike’s
eyebrows shot up as Lydia walked across the living room, opened the
front door and slipped out, clearly assuming Jeremy was behind her.

Scrambling
to catch up, he turned back to see a stunned Mike staring at the
doorway, his celebrity features grittier, more normalized, as if he’d
recently become an average Joe and not Michael Bournham, playboy CEO.

Maybe
he was an average guy after all—just like Jeremy.

Just
when he thought all was clear, bruising fingers bit into his bicep,
jarring him. Mike had moved with breakneck speed across the room,
like a vampire in a cheesy B horror flick. Those eyes bored into
Jeremy, the bright blue a series of gradated hues, all coming
together to give the appearance of a cohesive mass, but really just
fissured, tiny pieces that made up a mosaic masquerading as a whole.

“
This
isn’t a competition,” Mike said, fingertips biting into the ropy
ridge of Jeremy’s now-taut biceps.

“
Everything’s
become a competition with you,” Jeremy said as evenly as possible.

Mike
cocked one eyebrow. “Because of Dana? Because she wanted just me,
and not both of us?”

“
She
wanted just you.”

Mike’s
grip lessened. “And you’re worried that’s true with Lydia.”
It wasn’t a question.

“
I’m
worried about
Lydia
right now.” He shook the hand off him,
hating the way his blood pounded in his chest and hands, feeling
every bit like he did after punching Siggi.

After.
Not before.

“
Her
grandmother’s in the hospital and she just saw you for the first
time since…well…”

Mike
tilted his head, studying Jeremy. “You’ve fallen hard, haven’t
you?”

Silence.

“
Just
physically, or…?”

“
Both.”
Jeremy’s turn to give clipped answers. It made him feel like a
character in a Bond film.

Mike’s
long, slow draw of breath seemed like a white flag. Truce?

“
Good.”

“
Good?”

“
Jeremy?”
Lydia’s voice floated down the hall. Abandoning Mike, Jeremy strode
out to the hall and down to Lydia, leaving Mike hanging.

Cliffhangers
suck.

That
was what Mike deserved, though, and he knew it.

And
even a few days ago, he would have accepted Lydia’s desires and her
departure with respect, thinking that holding himself back and doing
what she asked was the right thing to do, under the circumstances.
Even yesterday, he would have restrained himself and thought through,
carefully, the options in front of him as he navigated this
completely new terrain of being back in her life, however
tangentially.

An
hour ago, still, his approach to her would have been more refined and
sophisticated, his willingness to comply with her wishes a difficult
challenge, but one he would meet head-on and with determination.

Right
now, though, that all went out the window as the vision of Lydia
pounded through his eyes, his blood racing through his veins as if it
were meeting some deadline that had been invented on the spot, the
dull roar of his own pent-up need now becoming a loud thrashing in
his ears as he stormed through his own open doorway and then ran,
sprinting down the hall, the breath in his lungs pushing in and out
like a heartbeat.