Merediths Awakening (3 page)

She was too far gone to try female tricks to manipulate him. All she could do was beg.

“Please, go faster. Anthony, please, I need to come.” He sped up immediately, and her voice rose to a low scream of pleasure. “Please touch me, make me come, God, Anthony, please.”

*

He felt the very second the orgasm took her. The tiny, strong muscles of her pussy began to ripple around his cock, drawing him in deeper and triggering his own explosion.

Everything about her orgasm, from the clutch of her pussy to her incoherent begging, tripped his trigger. It felt like he came for hours. And when he was done, she was still shuddering around him.

*

When they were both finally still, he pressed her to the wall for one last, lingering kiss.

“You taste like summer,” the words were so low, she didn’t think he’d meant her to hear them. He began to pull away, and she suddenly wasn’t quite ready to let him go.

“Please hold me, Anthony.” The words were entirely her. No baby talk, no Karen-voice, nothing but Meredith asking for what she needed. She marveled at her courage.

None of the men in her life gave her what she needed simply because she asked. Even Marcus only gave so much before becoming disgusted at her “silly female emotions.” Anthony responded to her request by sinking back down against her. Sheltering her from the room, she felt him fumble with the condom before he stretched out one arm and dropped it in a nearby trash container.
Convenient,
she thought. Then, still holding her with one hand, he began to straighten her clothing with the other, pausing to pet her still-quivering flesh from time to time as he smoothed the sequined fabric into place.

When he finally did let go, he didn’t go far, only stepping back enough to fasten his pants, and a few of the buttons on his shirt. He held out his hand, and she started to take a step forward, only to wobble wildly as she discovered her legs weren’t quite up to supporting her.

To her horror, a giggle escaped. He grinned in response. “Well, Princess, you might be able to walk tomorrow, but it looks like you’re wrecked for tonight.” His grin was so devilish and pleased she couldn’t help but return the smile, and then burst into laughter as she collapsed back against the wall.

“Wait here,” he instructed when their hilarity had calmed a bit. “I’ll bring us back fresh drinks.” He sent her a wink. “After that, I definitely need one.” She caught him before he could walk away.

“Make mine a lemon-drop martini.” When he raised his brows she added, “I’m not really fond of Cosmopolitans.”

He gave a little salute, and forged into the crowd. It parted before him like the Red Sea. He was dark and imposing, and looked every bit as good going as he did coming.

She noticed several other women checking out his very fine ass, and would have been insanely jealous if she hadn’t still been able to feel his imprint in her throbbing passage.

Suddenly, a movement to the side caught her attention. A very familiar dark head was weaving through the crowd in her direction, followed closely by an equally familiar blonde head.

“Oh, Hell.” Oh, disaster was more like it. Marcus was here, and from all appearances not very happy to see she was here, too. Marc’s best friend Daniel followed closely behind him, as always, and he didn’t look any too thrilled to see her, either.

She sent a wistful gaze at her dark knight’s back before the two men descended on her.

“What the
fuck
are you doing here?” Marcus grabbed her arm, propelling her in the direction of the exit without waiting for her to answer.

When she tripped and nearly hit the floor, Daniel moved up on her other side, catching her against him.

“Marc, slow down.” Her brother shot his friend an evil look, but did moderate his pace. A little. “When you said you were going to drag her out of here, I didn’t think you meant literally.”

“Fine. I’m going slow.” Marcus sounded anything but fine, and his version of slow was somewhere around warp speed. “Now, I’ll ask again, what the
fuck
are you doing here? Do you know what kind of place this is? What happens here? Shit, Meri, do you know what you were inviting leaning up against the wall like that?” He looked painfully uneasy at the smile she shot him.

“Oh, yeah. I know exactly what I was inviting.”

That did not mollify him.

“Look, Meredith, I’ve got too much shit piling up on me right now to worry about digging you out, too.” His voice was still gruff and angry, and his anger sparked her own.

“Who asked you to?” She tugged at her arm. He didn’t free her, but he did stop and look at her for the first time. She flushed a little, knowing he would recognize the sex clinging to her like a fog, but for once she didn’t really care.

“Marcus, all I do is work. Work, and try not to screw anything up.”

*

Marcus winced, recognizing their father’s voice in her words.

“Just once,” her eyes went liquid, “just for one night, I wanted to be like you and Matt. I wanted to have fun, and not worry about who I might disappoint.” Her mouth, which was alarmingly puffy and pouty looking, turned down. “I guess it never occurred to me my being here would disappoint you, of all people.” Daniel shot him a telling look, and Marcus swore viciously. The last thing he needed now was for his baby sister to get tangled up in this mess. Not when Karen was on the warpath, threatening to expose all the kinky little details of their marriage to the press.

“Well, I am disappointed.” It killed him to hurt her, but he told himself he did it for her own protection. “You aren’t some cheap little whore, and it disappoints me to see you act like one.”

*

At her brother’s words, she felt every bit of blood drain out of her face, and her knees go weak. Was that what he thought of her? Was that what she was? A whore?

So great was her shock, she missed the furious, whispered conversation between Marcus and his best friend. She was barely aware when Daniel led her out of the club and helped her into his Aston Martin.

All the good feelings, the power and exhilaration of the night had drained away under Marcus’ disapproval, leaving her cold and sticky, and feeling vaguely dirty.

“He didn’t mean it, Mer.” Daniel’s voice was soothing, like being wrapped in velvet.

“It’s this business with that viper he married.” She flicked him a look.

“What business?”

“Oh, Hell. He hasn’t told any of you?” When she shook her head, he continued.

“Well, he’s been staying at my place for the last three days.” She looked at him in shock.

“The Viper pushed even Marcus the Great too far on their anniversary, and he walked out. It’s why he’s being a total ass and overreacting all over you.” He reached over and gave her knee a comforting squeeze. “He’s just misdirecting his anger at his soon-to-be ex-wife.”

They drove in silence for a long time, until Daniel whipped the car up the long, winding driveway leading to the Worthington Mansion. When he pulled up to the front door, he leaned over and gave Meri a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Marc and I drove to the club together, so he’ll probably drive your car home tonight. At any rate, if he doesn’t bring it back here tonight, I’ll make sure one of us picks you up for work in the morning.”

She sent him a sad smile. “Make sure it’s you, okay?” She closed her eyes wearily.

“I don’t think I’m up for having him take his mad out on me again so soon.” Daniel nodded, and stood by the car watching as she climbed the stairs to the door.

Giving him a little wave, she slipped through the door into the dark house.

The bellowing woke her. Rolling over to look at the clock, Meri winced as muscles unused to a workout like they’d received the night before protested. She smiled a little bit and thought her dark knight hadn’t been bragging after all—she very well might not be able to walk today.

Squinting at the clock, she was reassured that the bellowing didn’t have anything to do with her. This time. It was only five-thirty, so she wasn’t running late. He had nothing to be upset with her about … so far.

Groaning softly, she staggered into the shower where she let the hot water pound the worst of the aches and pains from her body. After winding her still-damp hair into a neat knot at the nape of her neck, she regretfully passed up a comfy blue warm-up suit in favor of a pair of gray tweed pants and a plum colored sweater. She could just hear the Old Man if she were to appear in casual clothes.
A professional always dresses as such. I
don’t care if you own the business, which you don’t, girl. A professional always dresses
the part.

She rarely wore make-up anyway, but today it was especially unnecessary. Her cheeks held a flush and her lips were fuller and redder than usual. She looked … well pleasured. And if she could just avoid the Old Man, and manage to not think about Marcus, she might hold on to some of that fragile pleasure.

She took the stairs two at a time, hoping to make it past the dining room without attracting any attention. It was nearly seven now, and the Old Man should be on his way to work, but it always paid to be careful.

All of her caution was for naught, though, as she swung around the corner to the foyer and found him, in a full rage, waiting by the door.

“What do you know about this … this …
perversion
?!?” He thundered the words at her, waving a rolled up newspaper, making her flinch reflexively.

“What are you talking about, sir?” She flinched again when he smacked her across the cheek with the paper before shoving it into her hand.

Touching her smarting face, she shook open the paper and froze. The headline was bad enough: “Millionaire Dom Doesn’t Play Nice.” But the picture is what turned her blood to ice. There, in all their dark and grainy glory were her, Marcus and Daniel. At the club. In what appeared to be a very compromising situation. Daniel had one arm wrapped around her waist, while Marcus propelled her across the floor by the arm. The caption,

“Worthington, joined as usual by friend and colleague Daniel Ellis, leads another conquest astray,” brought bile to her throat. Thank God for the poor quality of the picture, and the fact her back was to the camera.

“I’m talking about your brother,” her father’s hissed words broke her paralysis. “I’m talking about the fact he likes to tie his women up.” He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into the same place Marcus had bruised the night before. “I’m talking about the fact he tied up Karen, and now she’s broadcasting it all over the fucking state!” His voice had raised to a shriek, and his face turned an alarming purple as he shook her like a rag-doll. “He should have known better than to treat Karen like that. She is a woman of worth, and you don’t treat a woman of worth like a common whore.”

“Sir,” she broke in, “Sir, you’ve got to calm down. You’ll make yourself sick.” Her words only seemed to inflame the man more.

“I’ll make myself sick? Oh, no, my children do that for me. My youngest, a complete immoral slacker. And you. A woman. Useless! And now, my first born. My hope for the future!” He shook her relentlessly, screaming in his rage, spittle spraying with each word.

“A pervert! And it’s not bad enough he’s a pervert, but he had to let the whole world know!”

Finally the Old Man released her, and she staggered, catching herself against the wall as he continued.

“And what does my son say to me when I call him on his deviancy … and his stupidity?” His whole body was trembling, now, and Meredith was frozen with fear.

“Mind my own damned business is what he tells me!” He paused, clutching at his shoulder, before advancing on her again.

“He
is
my business! He’s the public face of my family business.” He struck unexpectedly, like a snake, backhanding her across the cheek, knocking her to the floor. Meri pushed herself up against the wall, shaking her head and blinking away stars.

She forced herself to focus, ready to defend against another blow, when he fell silent, and an odd look contorted his face.

“My son,” he whispered. “My only child.” Slowly, like a balloon with the air let out, his legs began to fold under him. “My only heir, dead to me.” With his final word, Stirling Worthington hit the floor. Before Meredith’s horrified eyes, he began to convulse. She leaned there against the wall with one hand pressed to her rapidly swelling cheek, horrified, until the maid walked through, and with a scream of shock, called 911.

* * * *

Meredith stood by the grave, staring into space. She couldn’t seem to bring her eyes into focus on the flowers, or the casket, or the yawning pit her father would spend eternity in. At some level she found it fitting: They would put his earthly body in a cold, dark pit. A place that mirrored his shriveled-up heart. A place that mirrored the Hell his soul was undoubtedly in at this very moment.

She could feel countless eyes on her, crawling over her like so many bugs. She imagined they were taking in her pale, un-made-up face, severely pulled back hair, and most of all, the livid, swollen bruise covering her right cheek.

In the confusion of Stirling’s massive heart attack, she hadn’t even thought to put ice on the place he’d hit her, and by the time it even remotely occurred to her, the damage was done. There would be no hiding
this
mark. Even her most opaque, theatre quality concealer couldn’t entirely hide the greenish-purple of the bruise, or the swelling.

To Hell with it, and with Stirling, too
, she thought. All these people were here to pay respects to the man. To recognize all he’d done. Well, let them recognize
everything
he’d done.

Of course, in her defiance she hadn’t taken into consideration the way people would stare. Or the way she would react. With every look, with every hushed whisper that was abruptly cut off when she drifted too close, Meri wondered what they were saying about her.

Were they commenting on her marked face, or were they recognizing her from the devastating newspaper story?

Of course she’d seen the looks they were giving Marcus. How could she miss them?

Several prominent citizens had very blatantly refused to go to him and pay their respects, turning instead to her or Matthew as they cut Marcus dead.

Now, standing across the grave site from him, she felt Marcus’ eyes on her most of all. She’d seen his gaze snap to her damaged face at the hospital, and ignored his furious questions. Four days later, she was still unable to deal with the discussion he obviously wanted to have. If she’d been able to talk about it, she thought she’d like to say
, Too little
too late, big brother. Where were you the first time he hit me? Or the fifth? Or the
fiftieth? Why all the concern now, when he can never hurt me again?
And what a lie that was. The Old Man was hurting her with every breath she took.