Midnight (McKenna Chronicles Book 1) (21 page)

He
sobers immediately. “I doubt I’ll ever trust deeply enough to fully love again,
Charlie. That’s the crux of many of my complications. I know this statement
doesn’t make sense to you and it’s not something I’m willing to go into detail
about. I can only tell you for years the women in my life were more interested
in what I could offer them versus who I am.”

“Raquel?”

He
nods. “Yes, like Raquel. She didn’t care she was with me; she cared that she
was with a United States Senator who would one day seek the presidency.”

I
can understand now why he feels hopeless, if this is the type of women he’s
surrounded by.

“You’re
being awfully open tonight,” I say, changing the subject, and I’m rewarded with
a stunning smile.

“I
meant what I said this morning; I want to be with you. For it to happen I
realize I need to open up. I’m hell bent on doing that and getting to know you
too.” He squeezes my hand.

“Thank
you.” I squeeze his in return.

We
stare at each other for a moment before he smiles and says, “Tell me about your
childhood. You’re very hard to read, Charlie. You don’t willingly share much
information either.” Tilting his head to the side, he says, “You have an
exceptional skill at redirecting the conversation away from you.” He grins a
wide, brilliant smile. I’m sure he’s trying to seduce information out of me.

The
smart ass has figured out I like to divert attention away from myself. I have
to tell him something, but where to begin? “What do you want to know?” I throw
his question back at him.

Smiling
again, he says, “Everything.”

“Everything,
as in where I was born?” I mock him, but he surprises me with his answer.

“Yes,
everything.”

I
take a moment to ponder what to share, shrugging because so much of my life is
a blur, vague and undefined. “I lived in Brighton, Michigan until I was eight.
My parents and I, it was just the three of us. I remember our house; it was
small and white with green shutters on either side of the front window. My dad
bought a new car, a Buick LaSabre. I only remember the name because he was so
excited about it. My mom was proud of him, and how hard he worked for the car,”
I say quietly, remembering the day as it’s recalled from memory.

“You
love your mother?” It’s a question, but it’s said almost as a statement.

 “Yes,
my mom is the best, my dad too. I wouldn’t have survived without them.” I
cringe, knowing immediately I’ve said too much and he doesn’t let it go.

“What
does that mean?” His eyes are filled with apprehension.

I
look at him for a long while before replying. “My mom and dad, the mom and dad
I have now, adopted me when I was fourteen.” He waits patiently for me to
continue, his gaze impassive. “My biological parents died when I was eight. My
biological father, in his excitement about the new car, took us all for a ride.
A drunk driver hit us, killing both of my parents instantly.”

The
accident is one of the memories I buried long ago, very rarely contemplating
how it shaped the rest of my life. I take another sip of wine, before
continuing. “I don’t remember the next couple of months at all, spending most
of it in the hospital. When I was healthy enough to go home, there wasn’t a
home to go to; there were no relatives to take me in. I spent the next six
years in different foster homes, a ward of the State.” My voice is strained,
clipped in the delivery as I mention foster care.

“The
Carters, my mom and dad, had two biological children, Ian and Sammy. My mom
always wanted a large family, and after Sammy was born she couldn’t have any
more babies because of a complication during his delivery. They looked into
adoption for many years and ultimately decided on fostering children.” I give
Colin a crooked smile as I continue, “That in and of itself places them in the
Saint category, if you ask me. They had a few different children who were
short-term placements, the kids who needed a family while their own recovered
financially or from drugs. It was heartbreaking for my mom to let them go when
their families were ready, so they decided to look for long-term foster
children or adoption. Ali was placed with them first and she begged them to
take me too. Ali can talk anyone into just about anything; she’s very
persistent,” I say with love.

Glad
to bring my story to a close, I end it with, “So that’s it. The Carters took me
in, they loved me and I fell in love with them. It didn’t happen overnight;
there were some rough patches along the way, but they are my happily ever
after.”

Colin
is thoughtful, his eyes warm as he studies me. Trying to move the topic away
from me I ask, “What about your childhood?”

“I’m
still asking questions about you, Charlie. It’s my turn.”

Rolling
my eyes, I wait for his next line of questioning, not prepared when it comes.

“You’re
almost reverential when you talk about Ali. She’s special to you?”

How
do I describe this so he understands? “Ali’s my best friend.” My voice is low.
“I was alone for a very long time in foster care. I moved from family to
family; life becomes very solitary when there isn’t a constant person to hold
on to, to talk to.” I can hear the bleak tone of my voice, an accurate
reflection of this period in my life. “Ali and I met when we were placed with
the same foster family and we became inseparable. She's confident, outgoing,
funny and gorgeous.” I smile as I think of her. “Ali protected me then and she
supports me now.”

“Where
does she live?”

“Washington
D.C, finishing her residency program at Georgetown University.”

“You
miss her.”

“Very
much, but she has found her passion. I’m so proud of her.”

“What’s
your passion, Charlie?” His voice is husky.

I
stare for a moment, thinking. My goal has always been survival, not worrying
about what tomorrow will bring. And within that lies my answer. “Finding
happiness. For a long while when I was a child that was a struggle.”

“Are
you happy now?”

This
is the second time he’s asked me this question. “For the most part, yes.”

His
brow furrows, but he changes the subject. “You live alone?”

“Yes,
I bought a small condo a few years ago.”

“No
boyfriends?”

My
eyes grow wide, but I guess this question is only fair because I asked Colin
about his wife. “No, no boyfriends.”

“How
is it someone hasn’t persuaded you to enter into the fine constitution of
marriage, Charlie?”

I
choke on my wine at his very unexpected question. Waiting patiently, Colin
raises his eyebrow as a concerned hand rubs my back.

After
recovering, I give him my sincere answer. “That’s easy,” I say, looking
directly at him. “I haven’t fallen in love.”

Our
eyes remain locked for what seems like an eternity. I have never been afraid of
the future, because in foster care it didn’t seem like I'd have one. When I was
adopted, each day became my focus, not what might happen tomorrow. Now, with
Colin, the future beckons to me. I know the odds that he'll be a part of my
forever are slim, but in a way he's already included. He will forever be in my
heart as the first man I’ve opened myself to. So, while I look into the deep
pools of blue, I let him see me and a glimpse into a fairy tale I never hoped
to live. I dream of my own picket fence and the possibility of a relationship
where I am loved and I give love in return. I let him see the dream shine in my
eyes and how just the possibility of it, flushes my cheeks.

He
watches as the impossible fantasy filters through my consciousness, never
looking away. Eventually he opens his mouth, but he says nothing, only tilts
his head and remains contemplative.

After
another moment he sips his wine and leans forward. “What’s your favorite
color?” A grin slowly spreads across his chiseled jaw.

“Hmm,
I have to consider this carefully. There are so many to choose from and it
changes as life moves on.” Smiling back at him, I answer “Magenta.”

"Magenta.”

“Yes,
magenta. A cross between red and purple, it’s beautiful.”

“Yes,
it is.” Lifting his wine glass, he watches me above the rim.

I
can’t help the shiver spreading down my spine. I’m amazed he can seduce me with
a look, a hot, sexy, shiver-inducing, dark-eyed look. It makes me giggle and he
smiles in return.

As
our light banter continues, he motions for Anthony so we can order.

~

Leaning
back in the booth, my hands wrapping around my stomach, I moan with little
tack. “That was delicious; you may need to roll me out of here.”

Colin
smiles. “I’m glad you like it.” His hand reaches under the table, rubbing my
thigh. Hot molten spikes of pleasure travel up my leg from his touch.

Just
a moment ago I thought I was full, but with his hand kneading and rubbing up my
thigh I’m hungry again, hungry for all things Colin. Ignoring the pangs of desire,
I ask, “How far away is the hotel?”

“Only
a couple of blocks.” He lifts his right eyebrow.

“Would
it be okay if we walk, get some fresh air so I can work off some of the
linguini?”

“Anything
for you, Charlie.”

THE
WIND HAS
settled, or it may be hidden by the tall buildings surrounding us.
The street is relatively quiet, with a few couples passing, hand in hand. We
stroll in easy silence, my hand enclosed firmly in Colin’s, his side pressed to
mine. I have never been to New York City, and being here with him is surreal, a
page out of someone else’s book, certainly not my own. I take a mental picture
of the moment so I’ll remember it always.

Snow
begins to fall, big, fat flakes sinking heavily to the earth, laying a fine
white blanket over the muted gray tones of the city streets. I stop abruptly,
dropping his hand to look up at the sky, wondering at the beauty of the moment
and at the heavens for creating it. Colin gazes at me, his own wonder glowing
in his eyes, watching the snow land on my face.

Slowly
he walks to me, placing his hands on either side of my hips, looking down into
my face. I smile easily at him as he leans down to sweep his lips against mine.
Closing my eyes, I focus on his touch, the soft fullness of his lips, resting
my hands lightly on his biceps, enjoying the warmth radiating from beneath his
coat.

Colin
pulls back to look into my eyes; his are filled with desire. Sinking back into
me, his mouth is more persistent; forcing my lips open, he sweeps his tongue
against mine. I match his fervor. A chill shakes my body and I can’t be certain
if it’s from his kiss or the cool air.

Murmuring
against my lips, he says, “Let’s get you back to the hotel.” We walk quickly,
hand in hand, to the warmth of the lobby. It’s a welcome haven from the
downpour of snow now layering heavily on the streets. My eyes grow wide,
overhearing a couple discussing the late winter blizzard that will disable the
East Coast for at least the next twenty-four hours. Colin checks in as I watch
people run down the streets, trying to make it to their destination before the
sidewalks are impassable.

“Ready?”
Colin says, placing his arm around my waist, directing me toward the elevator.
Suddenly I feel shy, the wine from dinner not enough alcohol to brazen my
bravado and prepare me for what I know is sure to follow.

He’s
quiet on our ride to the eleventh floor, lost in thought, his fingers worrying
his lower lip. I wish I could climb into his complex mind, understand what
takes him from light, fun-loving Colin to the troubled, introspective man
standing silently next to me.

Our
luggage is already in the room, waiting for our return. How easily the road
we’ve traveled has led to a shared room, my bags set close to his without
question, an assumption we’d be together. Laying his coat on the back of the
couch, he walks to the bar grabbing the brandy. “Would you like some? It will
warm you up." His voice holds its own tension.

“Yes,
please,” I say, consciously switching gears from shared rooms to the fascinating
winter wonderland blanketing the streets below.

Colin
hands me a glass and we stand in companionable silence, sipping the brandy, his
chest tantalizingly close to my back. My eyes move to the amber liquid, the
same color as the unique sliver in his left eye. I take a sip, it sears a
delicious molten path to my stomach. It’s a lot like Colin, warming allover.

“It’s
so beautiful.” I motion toward the snow. When he doesn’t respond I turn to find
his eyes, heated, and it’s not from the drink.

Taking
the glass from my hand, he puts it along with his own on a side table. Circling
back, he gracefully sweeps me up into his arms, my answering gasp muffled by
his lips as they stake claim, devouring me with his passion. I want him with an
instant urgency, my mouth meeting his incessant demands, matching his fervor.

Once
in the bedroom he loosens his hold on my legs, but my hands are nestled in his
hair and I cling to him, feet barely skimming the floor. Colin’s touch is
tempting, seductive as he removes everything between us—nothing separates him
from me and we come together, skin against skin. Enfolding me in his arms, he
worships my mouth with his, my body heated, cherished as his hands caress and
feel every whispered shadow.

He
captures my moan, taking it in to mix with his. I call for him when he
withdraws his lips from mine, trailing sweet kisses across my cheek to my ear
and down my neck, nibbling at the hollow above my collarbone.

My
hands move: they are everywhere, his shoulders, arms, running smoothly over the
hard lines of his back. Desire builds between us, taunting the wicked pulse
between my thighs and encouraging a burgeoning need.