I Love My Hope (Nicole's Erotic Romance) (9 page)

BOOK: I Love My Hope (Nicole's Erotic Romance)
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Instantly,
I am insanely jealous of this woman. I want to ask more about her, and I want
him to never bring her up again. I manage to choke out, “She must have been a
good person to have done that for you,” but it takes a lot of effort.

He nods
and picks up another painting. All I can think about is strangling that girl,
and smoking a cigarette, so I don’t see it until he turns it around and asks,
“Who’s this?”

Michael’s
face is staring back at me from the portrait, dark and enigmatic, with eyes
that are fire-red like the devil. “No one important.”

“Hey,” he
puts down the canvas and steps toward me.

I blurt
out, “He’s not important
anymore
. Is
she?”

Marks
concentrates on my face, seeing everything I’m trying to hide. He shakes his
head. “I think she was a path meant to lead me to you.”

My heart
hurts when I hear this, because it’s such a beautiful idea that I want to
believe it so badly! But I don’t trust men! I can’t let this guy in. I can’t
let anyone in. What is wrong with me?

He takes
another step to me, so close now, and pulls me to him. My breath catches and I
feel like I’m swaying even though his hands are firmly holding me. Staring into
his eyes, I am an open book to him. I can see myself and my fears, reflected in
the way he wants to
prove
to me he’s
trustworthy, the look he’s giving me telling me he’s
a good man
. But his eyes… they tell stories I don’t know I’m ready to
hear, promises of happiness and possibility. There’s that word again…
possibility.

I whisper
against his lips as he leans in, “I’m trying so hard to resist you.”

Pressure
from his hands on my back brings my chest against his. “Just stop.”

“Oh God.”
Our lips meet and a wave soars through me. I feel this kiss everywhere. In my
hair and the tips of my fingers, in the soft skin behind my knees, in the soles
of my feet and the top of my head and everywhere in between. When he pulls away
slowly, I hold my breath, eyes closed, knowing I will do anything he asks of
me.

He says
quietly, “Oh Nicole, I think I’ve waited a lifetime to find you. And I hate to
say what I’m about to say, but I’m going to leave now.”

My
eyelashes flutter open. Hearing what I just heard punches me in the gut. I feel
like I’m dying, and the worst part is that I know it’s not because of him. It’s
because of Michael and his doing this very same thing! Over and over leaving
me, right when he had me!

Mark sees
my pain. I close my eyes and struggle against him, but his arms have me securely
held and I stop fighting. I barely had energy or desire to fight as it was. He
reaches up and takes my chin in hand. “Look at me.”

I shake
my head. “No.”

“Nicole,
please.”

I open my
eyes, trying hard to mask the anger and hurt.

“It’s not
because I don’t want to carry you into the bedroom and do things to your body
that have never been done before. It’s because I don’t want to do them
tonight.”

I blink a
couple times, defeated. “Okay,” I whisper.

“Hey. I
need you to believe me. I’m trying to do this right.”

“Are you
married?” I ask, point blank, vulnerable.

He smiles
through a sigh. “No.
God, no.
That would be a terrible
thing to do to you. No. I’ve never been married. I have no girlfriend back
home. I promise. Believe me?”

I search
him and find only truth. “I had to ask. I didn’t, once.”

He kisses
me again to push away my fears. All the feelings of his lips on mine, race
through me again, and double. I slide my arms around his neck, nibble his lips,
touch
my tongue to his. The kiss grows more heated and
dangerously pulls at both of us to deny his wishes, and maybe my own. Because I
think deep down, I want what he wants. I want to do this right.

I pull
away. He groans. I shoot him a look as I step away to hold onto the wall to
steady my spinning head.

“Nicole.”

I don’t
look at him for fear I’ll jump on him and rip his clothes off. “I love the way
you say my name.”

He smiles
and I can’t help but look over my shoulder to see it. He walks past me toward
the door and says, “If you have plans tomorrow, cancel them.” He turns. “I want
to spend the day with you.
The night, too.
We’ll go to
Central Park and to dinner…and do anything else you want to do. I want the
whole day.”

I lean on
the wall, and smile. “Okay.”

“After
one o’clock, that is,” he adds, holding his finger up.

I laugh.
“What’s before one o’clock?”

“The
meeting with potential investors.”

“Oh,
right. Well, then after one o’clock, I am all yours.”

“I don’t
want to leave.” He shakes his head, using a hell of a lot of will power to walk
away. I follow him, my eyes scraping up and down his gorgeous body. His ass is
to die for in those pants. He is killing me. He turns around and I look up. He
smiles, catching me in the act, and reaches over to pull me to him again, passionately
kissing me as he lifts me a little off the ground. I slide my fingers into his
soft sandy-brown hair, pressing against him. This feels so good.

I groan
against his lips, “No. I think you’re right. I want to wait, too. Why is this
so hard?” and push him away, kick my feet to be let down.

“We’re
idiots.” He sets me down and drags his feet the last couple steps. He opens the
door and stands in the hallway, shaking his head at me. I lean on the open door,
rest my head on it.
 

He points
to my welcome mat. “I’ll meet you here –
right here
– at 1:30
p.m
!”

“I’ll be
here. Oh!” I run over to where I dropped my bag, pull out a card from my
wallet/phone case and run back. “Here! Just in case you’re running late… or
something happens.”

He takes
it and gives it quick flick with his finger. “Deal.”

We look
at each other for a tormented second. “Bye, Mark.”

He shakes
his head. “I’m not saying goodbye to you.”

He walks
away to the old elevator, still waiting on my floor. He throws me one last look
and waves before the doors close. I don’t wave because already my imagination
has gone places I don’t want it to. I close the door and go inside, trying to
shut my brain off. “Stop it!” I say aloud, as I imagine him getting hit by a
car, or running into that girl. All imagination leads to my never seeing him
again and that being our last kiss. These are the types of thoughts that always
come when I’m feeling happy.

I say
aloud, “Don’t be stupid, Nicole. He’s going to be fine. You’ll see him
tomorrow.”

But the
fear feels very real.

I pace
around and call out to my guardian angel. “I didn’t get the cigarettes, right?
You owe me one! Go watch over him… okay?”

Only
silence is my answer.

I look
toward the paintings, thinking about his dream. How can that have happened? I
look back up to the ceiling, desperately. “I’m serious. Make sure he’s here
tomorrow. I can’t take another heartbreak so soon. Look at me! I’m chattering
to myself, alone in my apartment.” I stare, waiting for a response I know will
not come. Sighing and giving up, I’m surprised by a knock on the door.

He came
back for more kisses!

“Oh, I
don’t think I’ll be able to turn him away if he wants more,” I mumble,
excitedly running over to swing open the door.

Standing
there with fire in his eyes, his strong jaw set firm, is the last person I
would expect to see at my home. “Who was that?”

My heart
stops. “What are you doing here? Were you following me, Michael?”

He pushes
past me. “Close the door.”

I’m so
shocked. I comply without argument. I follow him as he storms into my studio.
He scans the place fast. His glare lands firmly on the two large piles of
paintings, askew from Mark’s perusal. Michael marches to them and picks one
painting up, then another, and another, until he’s devoured them all like a
blind man who’s been given one day to see…but only one.

I’m
silent as I watch. What does he think? Does he like them? Sweat sparkles on my
forehead and in between my breasts. My chest is heaving from astonishment. I
bring my palms together and subconsciously hold them in the prayer position,
the tips of my fingers touching under my chin. Michael sets the last one down,
looking straight at the wall in front of him. His voice is hoarse and pained.
“Who was that guy you were with?”

I don’t
answer. I’m so angry with myself, because for the life of me I can’t help but
be elated by his presence. His being here should be repulsive to me, but I’m so
happy that he’s here! The conflict is a nightmare I can’t wake from.
 
Tears blur my vision and I can’t think
of a single thing to say.

His head
turns as though on a swivel and he glares at me, raking over my body because
it’s plain that I’m dressed-up and in his mind this means I had a date with
Mark, maybe not our first. The jealousy bursting out from his skin is
intoxicating. To see how much he cares, so plainly on his face... I can’t
believe it!

“Who was
that? Why aren’t you answering me?” He aches as asks. He isn’t hiding the
torture inside him. I want to punish him. I want him to hurt more than he hurt
me, if that’s even possible.

 
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” I
whisper.

“Fine!”
he growls and yanks free of the visual hold I’ve got him in.

He storms
by me to the front door. From deep inside my soul comes
an
anger
unknown to me. As he passes me, I leap onto his back, clawing at
his head and snarling, “How dare you come here and act like you own me!” He
spins in circles, growling at me as I kick at him with my dangling legs,
holding on for dear life. He reaches back, grabs hold of my thighs and wrestles
me to the ground. He pins my arms down. I fight and twist against him, tears
racing. I’m overpowered by the ravenous desire for him to kiss me or die, or
both.

I yell into
his face, “I hate you! I hate you!”

“Stop it!
Stop it, Nicole!” he roars. The war rages inside him, mirrored back to me in
his eyes – both of us haunted and tormented by
impossibility.

He lunges
and kisses me hard on the mouth. I bite his lip harder. He yells and jumps off
me as blood oozes out from a small hole I made with my teeth. Both our chests expand
and contract rapidly with our wailing heartbeats as we stare furiously at each
other. I scramble to a seated position, fast, holding onto the floor with both
hands as I stare at him, looking like a crazy woman – no more crazy than
he is.

He turns
to leave and freezes, torn. I can’t stop myself from whispering, “Michael…oh
God… don’t go.”

He grabs
the door handle, his knuckles white like they were when they gripped the
canvas.
All the muscles in his back tense up, beneath the
weight of his decision.
He jerks the door open, leaves without looking
back, and slams it shut. A sob rips from my heart and I collapse beneath its
brothers and sisters, crying for what seems like hours until I fall asleep in the
fetal position in the middle of an unforgiving floor, once more.

 

4:44 a.m.

 

 

Opening
my eyes, I remember quickly where I am and what happened. I peel my body up,
sore from sleeping on wood, and drag myself to the bathroom. Turning hot water on
in the tub, I flip over the bottle of bubble bath and drain all of its contents
into the steaming stream. As the bubbles rise, I slather on facial soap, taking
extra long to circle it into my pores, all over my face and even my lips. I
want to wash away Michael. I want to wash away my weakness for him. Just
thinking about it crushes me because the yearning for him isn’t gone. Not by a
long shot. I slide out of my clothes, tie up my hair and bring my phone in so I
can find my opera playlist, hoping desperately for its healing powers. My
softest hand towel gets folded into a rectangle and I carry it into the bath. I
lower myself into the scorching hot water faster than I should. I want it to
hurt. I want to burn him off of me. Sliding the towel under my neck, I wedge it
between my head and the ceramic rim. With Lady Lorraine singing just to me, and
with suds all around and rising fast, I close my eyes and say a little prayer
for help.

I don’t
get out until the
water cools
so much, that I can’t
stand it anymore.

When I finally
crawl into bed and fall asleep…
I dream of earthquakes.

 

Saturday

 
 

Sunlight
shining on my face wakes me hours later. I roll out of the way of a
particularly nasty beam, and try to fall back to sleep, clutching my pillow.
But then I remember that Michael was here last night, and the racing thoughts
begin. He followed me. Has he followed me before? The idea that Michael has
been tortured enough by my absence to stalk me is so bizarre and distracting a
concept that I find myself more alert than if I’d had ten espressos.

BOOK: I Love My Hope (Nicole's Erotic Romance)
2.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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