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Authors: S. Ann Cole

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Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (58 page)

BOOK: Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance)
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“You’re taking her side?” At last, he looks at me, except it’s not the look I was hoping for. No, this look is a sharpened sword, stabbing straight through my eyeballs. “You’re seriously taking her side?”

“What is this, pre-school?” I snort. “I’m not taking anyone’s side. You’re acting like a child. But you should see
her
. She’s like a meticulously arranged Crystal vase of fresh roses. Totally unfazed. Determined not to let you steal her glow. And here you sit, making yourself unnecessarily miserable, instead of being happy for her.”

“Be happy for her?” he shoots with incredulity, as he sets his laptop aside and swings his feet to the ground. “For what? That she’s hooking up with some dude twelve years her junior, who probably doesn’t even care about her and is just with her for her money?”

I’m momentarily distracted by his computer screen. A slide show is in motion; images of his parents fading in and out. Wedding photos, anniversaries, trips abroad… Dear God, the man’s torturing himself.

“Gloriel has been around for much longer than you, Noah,” I remind him. “She’s no fool. If anyone’s using anyone for anything, then that would be her using the poor guy for his much younger, tauter,
very virile
body.”

Noah shoots to his feet, looking as if he’s about to run me over like a bull in a pen. “Lotty, I love you, but I swear to God, if you don’t—”

“What would rather her be doing with her life, Noah?” I cut him off, unshrinking. “What do you suppose she should be doing instead of being a very wealthy, classy, happy cougar?”

He glares at me. But I know him; it’s a stall, to think, think about the question I just posed. And the longer he glares at me, the less likely it is he’ll come up with a plausible answer, so I don’t wait for one.

“Do you remember why Gloriel Sundays began?”

He doesn’t answer, because I’m guessing he figures I’m about to back him in a corner and prove
he’s
the one being unfair.

“Do you remember what you said to me?”

Still no answer.

“You told me she hadn’t been the same since your dad died. You told me she was unhappy and that you were worried about her. You told me your worst nightmare is to find her lifeless with a half-empty bottle of pills in her hand,” I remind him.

Still nothing.

“Well, have you changed your mind about all that? Because now she’s happy, now she’s glowing, and you’re not being happy with her. You’re shutting her out. What you told me back then, and how you’re acting right now, I can’t believe it’s all from the same person.”

Beats of silence stretch between us, until he expels a defeated sigh and drops back down to the love seat. “I don’t know…don’t know how to even…imagine her with anyone else but dad.”

Closing the two feet between us, I take a seat on his lap, his arm automatically looping around my waist, his face pressing into my neck, nuzzling. “Right now, I don’t know how to imagine you being with anyone else but me, either. But if I die tomorrow, would you stay single for the rest of your days, or move on and try to be happy?”

“If you die tomorrow,” he tells my neck, “I’ll die along with you.”

I nudge him. “Be serious.”

Lifting his face from my neck, he finds my eyes, and he’s as serious as a sharp-toothed Lion defending its territory. “If you think I’m being anything
but
serious, then you foolishly underestimate the depth of my love for you.” Eyes softening, his free hand moves up to my throat, fingers loosely circling around. “My whole life, all I’ve ever wanted is what I have with you right now. I gave so much of myself to others, and in return I was used, cheated on, and ridiculed.” His thumb presses into my clavicle. “And then there was you.”

I feel my heart pulsing against the pad of his thumb, my bones melting from his words, my soul reaching out to entwine with his. “And then there was me?”

“Yes,” he affirms. “
You
.” He gestures around the room. “Look around, don’t you see that my being apart from you is next to impossible?”

See? He
is
aware he’s taken over my house.

“You stayed away for a whole week the last time we fought about your bitch of an ex-wife that you refuse to let go of.”

“Oh, Christ, not this again,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “You asked me to fire her, I fired her. You asked me to lose all contact with her, I lost all contact with her. You ask me to tell her fiancé she’s been cheating on him, on their
wedding day
, I said no, and you throw a tantrum because, one time, just
one
time, you didn’t get your way. And from that you tried to make me look like the son of Satan.” He shakes his head at me. “You needed a breather. And I had to give it to you, as hard as it was.”

Okay, so maybe I’d been a teeny bit bitchy and irrational and pointlessly jealous that time because it was my time of the month. I cried and screamed at him like a nut-basket, declaring it was over between us because he was still in love with his ex-wife. When all he did was vote no to my ridiculous and vindictive suggestion.

A stupid, pointless fight, all in all.

To that, I don’t say anything, mostly because I’m ashamed of my own folly.

“Being apart from you makes me feel unbalanced, Lotty,” he goes on. “It’s like you’re my fulcrum, and without you, I’ll just collapse into nothing. You give me laugh-lines I’m proud of. Orgasms that blow my mind. Challenges I have a field day with. Love like I’ve never tasted before. And days that I’m always, always looking forward to, simply because you’re in them.

“Some days with you are so goddamn perfect that I just want to stop time and live forever in that perfection with you. While some days, you just irritate the patience in me, push me, drive me up the wall. Yet I cherish those days just as much.” His hand comes back to my throat, squeezing gently. “I don’t just want to live the rest of my life with you, I want to live the rest of my life
for
you,
because
of you. So, take me
real
serious when I tell you that if you die tomorrow, I’ll die along with you.”

I blink, a million blinks a second, attempting to quell the stinging behind my eyes. “Jeezuz, dude, no need to get all sappy, Edgar Allan Poe on me.”

“What about you? If I die tomorrow, would you move on?”

Eyes sweeping to the ceiling, I tap my fingers against my lips, as if thinking about it. “Eh. I’ll just become a spiritual medium.”

Noah is not amused. “What?”

“A medium. You know.” I shrug. “I can ring you up from the other side whenever I’m lonely, and we can have kinky spirit sex. Whenever you start bossing me around, I send your bastard ass right back, show you who’s boss now.” 

As my gaze moves back to Noah, I find him grinning at me. “Is that your non-sappy, tough-girl way of saying
no
, you wouldn’t move on?”

Dammit
. I hate it how he can see right through my BS.

Biting my lip, I nod.

“Awww,” he teases me. “She’s shy. My Little Lotty doesn’t want me to die.”

“Shut up.” I smack him. “Are you gonna grow a pair, get over your snit, and come downstairs?” I add, “Muscles brought Miss Latino what’s-her-face, and Kiki is pissed. Sure you want to miss out on that?”

He grunts, but then presses his face in my neck again, more nuzzling. “I will…if you give me a quickie.

The mere suggestion has my thighs squeezing together as heat surges south, yet I shake my head. “No. No way. You
do not
know the definition of ‘quickie.’ Plus everyone’s already seated at the table waiting for you to come.”

“Precisely,” he says between peppering kisses. “They’re waiting for me to come and you’re refusing to let that happen. So, who’s really holding the dinner up, me or you?”

He’s thinks he’s sooooo smart, doesn’t he? “Bastard,” I grumble under my breath, parting my thighs for him to slip his hand right between them, up under my skirt, knuckles skimming over my covered, but dripping wet, folds.

“You
love
being touched by this bastard,” he taunts as he shifts my panties aside and slips a finger in. “Christ, feel how wet you are for this bastard.
Soaked
. You love this bastard.” His finger glides in and out torturously slow, and I press my face into his hair, hiding from him.
Bastard
. “Relax, babe. This bastard loves you right back.”

As his finger picks up momentum, I part my thighs wider, giving him more room. “You love me, or you’re in love with me?”

No answer.

Not until he makes me come with his fingers, then hauls me astride him to ride him until we both come together; not until our competing heartbeats merge and even out; not until he’s kissing me so deeply my mind blanks out, that he grips the back of my neck, bumps my forehead to his, locks his soulful eyes to mine, and answers, “I’m in love with you.”

 

 

 

The End…for now.

 

A
CKNOWLEDGEMENTS

 

I
F YOU HAVE EVER
read any of my acknowledgements before, you know they all start with me thanking my Jehovah. Simply because he comes first in all things, at all times, in every aspect of my life. So just imagine me shouting this from the top of my lungs right now, at the top of Blue Mountain Peak:
THANK YOU JEHOVAH!!

Thank you,
to Debbie Alsdorf, author of
A Woman who Trusts God
. Simply for penning that amazing, life-changing book. It felt as if it was written with me in mind. I don’t know this author personally, except through her inspiring written words that lifted me up out of one of the deepest, darkest pits I’ve ever been in. 

Also to Charlie Hoehn, for his
FREE 10-Day Anxiety Fix emails
. He gave to me for
free
what expensive doctors and therapists couldn’t, what Xanax and anti-anxiety meds couldn’t:
peace of mind
. Don’t know this author personally either, but I feel like I owe these authors who helped me through one of the roughest, toughest years of my life a big ole
thank you
.

Thank you,
to my beta readers. Sarah, Cat, Em, Talia, and to my newest addition Robin—who is sooo badass at beta that I fell instantly in love with her. Thank you lovelies for your honest feedback and helping to shape this novel into what it is. Your contribution is greatly appreciated!

Thank you,
Al, my rock star, for being one of the best friends a gal could ever ask for. I may act like a badass most of the time, but what you don’t know is that I deeply appreciate you and all that you do for me. Your yeses are swift and your no’s are super slow. That’s all a friend could ask for.  Thank you for being a rock star!

 

Thank you
, Julia, for
running
from your house to my workplace when you heard I got robbed with a knife to my throat (I still can’t believe it. A normal person would’ve taken the bus, or a cab, but you
ran
). For staying with me at the station throughout the whole day-long process—despite all your ADHD twitches—and for spending the subsequent days trying to help me lower my anxiety levels. You are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. Please don’t move back to New York! Stay here with me, you awesome creature you!

 

Thank you
, Chris. For just being you. Luv ya!

 

Thank you
, to my wife, Keisha. For being my wife. My bestest bestest bestest friend-est. And the mother of my soon-to-be husband. I love you like a fat kid loves cake.
Forevaaaaaa
!


You say man a wicked, but woman a Delilah…
” Bapbapbapbap! Wheeeeeel an’ cum again! Bombaaat starrrr!  #Jamrockbabes4life

 

To my mother, and my brother Omar. This is less of a thank you and more of a
congratulations
. I’m so proud of you both. Omar, you are living proof that miracles do happen. You have inspired me to keep pressing on. I love you both so much. Believe me when I tell you: “
Betta must come
!”

Mom, “
Don’t worry, about a thing, ‘cause every little thing, is gonna be alright”.

 

Thank you
, last but not least, to the handful of loyal readers who keep reading my books. Thank you for accepting my books for what they are, for loving/liking/hating them for what they are, and for opening my newsletters and replying with enthusiasm. I tried to quit writing last year, and I failed, because of
you
; the emails kept on coming to reassure me that I don’t suck. And whadda you know? A new book! Hahaha. I love all of you! THANK YOU

 

ONE LOVE

ONE BLOOD

ONE HEART

 

 

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

 

S
.
A
NN
C
OLE
is a passionate writer and reader, and a lover of anything that distracts her from the real world.  Reader first and second a writer, S. Ann Cole is an exaggerator, a laugher, sometimes overly chatty, sometimes overly shy. She’s afraid of cats, dogs, snakes—heck, she’s only tolerable to gold fishes in a tank. Because if they
do
jump out and try to attack her, the suckers will surely die…

She
hates
fireworks, schmaltz and arrogance.

She
loves
carbs, Chris Brown and humility.

She lives nowhere and everywhere.

Jokey people are her favorite people, as laughter is the way to her heart.

BOOK: Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance)
6.82Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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