Arranging Love (7 page)

Chapter 8

Peter understood this weekend hadn’t been at all what his fiancée had expected. First Mr. Jingles, then Julie’s announcement, topped off by some disagreement she’d had with Deirdre, and now her father lay in the ICU, fighting for his life yet again.

Meghan dragged herself out of the garage and through the door Peter held open. Stepping up into the breezeway and into the kitchen seemed an almost insurmountable task. At least he’d gotten the garage door to work, and she wasn’t schlepping through the freshly fallen snow.

Another winter storm had rolled in somewhere around midnight, accumulating several inches an hour, making the forty-minute drive from
Bangor a treacherous one. Thank goodness her mother had agreed to ride back to Delmont with them.
Alice was tucked in safely at home, Deirdre and Ayden at the farmhouse, and Julie and Damon, because their apartment was so close to the hospital, had agreed to take the first vigil at their father’s side.

Absently, Meghan slipped out of her winter gear and threw it over the back of a dinette chair. Slumping into the seat, she looked like every cell of her body had been drained of energy.

“Honey, can I get you something to eat?” Peter walked across the kitchen and stuck his head in the refrigerator. “We’ve got eggs, bagels, leftover soup.”

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, Peter. How can you think about food?” A weak laugh escaped her lips. “I’m too tired to eat, but help yourself. I’m just going to take a shower to wash off the hospital before falling into bed.” Instead of standing, she laid her forehead on the table. “I should be able to get several hours of sleep before heading over to open the shop.”

Peter abandoned his quest and came up behind her, rubbing at the knots in her shoulders. “I think the good citizens of Delmont would understand if you didn’t open the shop this morning. I have no doubt word has already made it around town that your father’s in the hospital.”

Turning her head to look at him, Meghan’s eyes filled with tears. “Peter…”

“Don’t, Meggie.” Peter knelt beside her and cupped Meghan’s face in his hands, his thumb brushing a tear from her cheek. “Your dad’s a stubborn man. He’s pulled through before, he’ll do it again.”

“I just don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t.” Her voice trailed off.

Peter pulled her into the comfort of his arms, but had no idea what to say to her. Growing up in foster homes didn’t give you the luxury of a permanent family. His only memory of his mother centered around his fourth birthday, party balloons, and a bike. Shortly after that he’d been placed in state custody. His mother had never shaken her drug addiction long enough to regain permanent custody. Though he’d always believed she would come for him, her death when he was ten sealed his fate. He’d come back to
Maine
in search of the happy memories of his childhood and found love in Meghan.

“Hey, where are you?” Meghan’s fingers traced the furrow of his brow.

“Nowhere.” He stood and pulled her with him. No sense hashing over a past he couldn’t change. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“How about you climb in the shower with me?”

“Meghan.” The word came out on a husky breath. As exhausted as they both were, desire sparked in her eyes, and the heat went straight to his groin. How had he ever doubted that she was enough? His lips came down softly on hers, the contact gentle but filled with unspoken hunger.

Without a word, he took her hand and led her to the master bathroom. There would be no bondage tonight, no spanking or sex toys, just sweet caresses. As he pulled the T-shirt over her head and bent to kiss the luscious curve of her breast, he marveled at the many sexual personas of his fiancée: insatiable tigress, wanton sex-slave, and alluring angel. All his—whenever he wanted; he need only ask.

“I love you, Meghan,” he sighed the declaration into her ear. He didn’t need to say it out loud; his hands roaming her body communicated it so much better, but the emotions bursting from his heart required a voice.

“I love you too.” Reaching behind her, she turned on the shower.

Peter removed her bra as her fingers deftly worked the buttons of his shirt. It was a primal ballet that they had perfected over the years, each move intended to excite and tease while satisfying the incredible need for flesh to heat flesh.

His cock, hard and ready, slapped against his belly as Meghan slid his jeans to the floor. The silky heat of her hand running the length of his shaft elicited a mutual groan of desire. She stepped away from him, the corner of her mouth and one eyebrow lifting in invitation as she stepped into the heat of the shower.

Pulled by an invisible force of nature, he followed her and pulled her tight against him, the rush of heat adding to the flush of water trailing over his body. He kissed her, long and tenderly, his tongue flirting with hers. She tasted of mint and something totally her own, and Peter’s head spun with the dizzying need to drink in all of her.

Without breaking contact, Meghan poured shampoo into her hands and began lathering his hair, her fingers masterfully massaging away the stress of the day. The suds slid over his shoulders and down his back, coating them both in a slippery sheen. His hands followed the contours of her torso, up over her hips to her narrow waist, and settled on her breasts. She moaned as his thumbs teased the pearled peaks. Bending her back, he let the water rinse away the last of the shampoo and expose her beautiful breasts. His mouth traveled over her chin and down the curve of her neck, stopping to scrape his teeth along the sensitive pulse at the base of her neck before laving one steepled nipple.

Meghan murmured his name, digging her fingers into his hair, arching her back, her body begging him to suckle and tease the sensitive flesh. One arm held her as she melted against his assault. The other hand slid over the quivering muscles of her belly and curled around her pubic bone, the fingers gliding into her slit. Her legs separated for him, and he found the nub of her clit, already firm with desire. Silken moisture poured from her sex even as the heat of the water pounded down on them. All the while, his tongue and teeth flitted over her nipples, her moans of pleasure driving him into a frenzied pitch of need.

Turning her, he canted his hip and his cock slid between her legs. He held the fleshy mound of her tits in his hands, alternately massaging and pinching her tender nipples. Meghan leaned forward, bracing her hands on the wall of the shower. Her pussy pulsed as she arched her back, inviting him to fill her.

With one hand, Peter slid the head of his cock through the creamy wetness of her slit, the other reached around to flirt with her swollen nub.

“Please, Peter, don’t tease. You, I want you.” The husky heat of her voice washed over him, and he couldn’t deny either of them the satisfaction of joining their bodies.

He pressed into her, slowly filling her body, reveling in the silken warmth of her surrounding his cock. The need for release pulsed through him, and he pumped his hips in time with the rhythm. Meghan quivered in his hands, her muscles taut. They were both close, their bodies having climbed the torturous mountain of desire, and now they both circled the precipice of elation.

Peter continued the leisurely assault on her body, even as Meghan begged for him to increase the tempo. He wanted to draw out their bliss until their bodies teetered on the edge of release.

Meghan’s internal muscles clenched, pulling him impossibly deeper. Her body tensed, then trembled as her orgasm ripped through her. Her cries of pleasure rose with the steam, filling the bathroom.

Ecstasy filled him, and Peter tumbled with her into the sublime rapture of release. His seed pumped from his body, and a feral cry of satisfaction ripped from his throat. His heart pounded in his chest and swelled with love.

He held Meghan until her body no longer quivered, whispering sweet words of endearment, wondering how he ever could have questioned their relationship. Why he had wanted something more was beyond him. Meghan’s unconditional love and that of her family were enough for him. Ayden and Damon had echoed that sentiment.

Today would mark the end of his quest to find something more.

* * * *

Silence echoed through the house, and though no one else was home, an odd sense of presence hung in the air. Peter had left for work an hour earlier, and this was usually the time she and Mr. Jingles snuggled. The cat had been spoiled for sure, but without Mr. Jingles mewling for his breakfast, Meghan could hardly stand the eerie feeling of her home. Perhaps it had more to do with the weight of worry on her heart, but she was finding it hard to get herself motivated this Monday morning.

On a heavy sigh, she shrugged into her coat, gathered her purse and gloves, and headed to the garage, her keys jingling in her hand. Peter had put the Volvo in the garage late on Saturday; at least she didn’t have to deal with defrosting the windshield.

The chill of December slammed into her the moment she stepped from the breezeway into the garage and Meghan snuggled deeper into her parka. Sliding behind the steering wheel, she started the car and turned the heater up full blast, hoping to push away the cold enveloping her.

The CD player blared out the guitar riff of a Guns and Roses song, and Meghan huddled in the front seat, listening to the opening line. Their haunting strains talking of childhood brought back memories of her father in a younger and healthier body. The hot fire of sadness burned in her throat, and she gave into the tears for the first time since her father had collapsed. For a few minutes she let herself wallow in frustration and self pity for the illness and the loss of the man she’d come to think of as indestructible.

As the final screaming questions pounded out of the speakers, Meghan blotted her face with a tissue from her purse and absently pushed the remote for the garage door. Nothing. She pressed it again, pulling it from the visor and banging on the button. Still nothing. She flung it to the floor and stomped out of the car, slamming the car door in frustration.

Tipping up on her toes, Meghan reached for the power box above her car. Peter had told her to jiggle it and try again. It took several attempts before she maneuvered herself enough to rattle the damn metal box.

“Work, you stupid thing,” she yelled. Meghan pulled on the door handle, intent on getting in the car, but the handle slipped from her grip. Another try confirmed she had locked herself out of the Volvo. “Like I needed another thing to make this sucky day suckier.” She kicked the tire, which did nothing to quell the anger coiled in her belly, but did manage to bruise her toe.

Limping to the kitchen door, intending to grab the spare keys on the hook in the breezeway, she grabbed for the knob and found it locked as well.

“What the fuck?” She pounded on the door and yelled in frustration. Then grabbed the handle and began shaking it with no results. She sat down heavily on the stoop. Well, at least it wasn’t cold and dark like the floral cooler. Amend that. Cold, but not dark.

How the hell had she gotten into this mess? Checking her watch, she realized Peter would be at the hospital with her father. Calling him and asking him to get her out of this mess would mean explaining how she’d locked herself
out
of the car and
in
the garage. Better to call
Dee. Meghan fished in her pockets for her cell, but found nothing. Fear clawed her throat, making her cough—her phone was in her purse locked in the car.

She walked around the Volvo checking each door and discovered them all locked. Nothing to worry about—she was safe. She coughed again, choking on dust. Then it hit her.

The Volvo was still running.

Chapter 9

Peter’s loafers clicked along the hospital corridor carrying him to the Acute Care Unit. The ACU was a step up from ICU with no visitation restrictions. Hopefully, someone would figure out what was wrong with the man he’d come to love like a father, and fix him. John had a lot of people depending on him.

“Good morning.” Peter slipped into the room and kissed Julie’s cheek. This was the fourth day in a row they’d played out this familiar routine.

She opened her eyes, yawned, and stretched muscles cramped from the hospital recliner. “What time is it?”

“Right around eight.” He pointed to John’s still form, tubes and wires snaking around the now frail body. The familiar beep of machines echoed off the walls. “How’s he doing?”

“Good. Not much change.” Tears welled in her eyes.

Peter laid a hand on her shoulder. “Jules, he’ll pull through this. He always has.”

She stood and stared down at her father. “He’s a fighter, but how much longer can he fight, Peter?” Julie turned and stared at him. “I want to believe…” Julie let the last word hang between them. Everyone understood that each heart attack brought John closer to the edge, but without the definitive diagnosis of a blocked artery or muscle failure, there was simply nothing to fix. Perhaps tests this time would finally find the problem.

Peter cleared the emotion clogging his throat. “Damon around?”

“He took a cab back to the apartment. I’m going home, showering, then heading over to Mum’s and bringing her back here.” Julie stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. “That’s the plan, anyway.”

“Jules, you’re beat, why don’t you call Meghan and have her bring your mom in this morning?”

“Already tried. She’s not answering her cell, house or shop phones.”

“It’s not like her to be out of touch, especially now.” After last Friday’s fiasco with the cooler, Peter wondered if it had happened again. He was sick thinking of her nearly freezing to death while he’d been ogling
Crystal.

Julie squeezed his shoulder. Obviously, his concern was visible. “Peter, she’s fine. Probably just in the shower.” Bending, she retrieved her purse and coat. “Either way, if I don’t reach her, I’ll stop by your house before I pick up Mum. If she’s not there, I’ll head over to the shop. I’ll be sure to have her call you as soon as I talk to her.” She tipped up and kissed his cheek. “Tag, you’re it.”

* * * *

Meghan yanked up on the handle of the garage door, but of course, it didn’t budge. It was locked in place by the broken electrical mechanism. Sighing, she roamed around the car, checking the doors one more time. How could she be trapped in a confined space—again? At least it was light, and she was dressed for the elements. Two pluses. Rubbing her fingers in circles at her temples, she forced herself to think through the pain throbbing in her head. She had no idea if it was the fumes or stress causing her headache. Either way, it hurt.

Think.

There was nothing to break through the kitchen or garage doors. No sharp tool to break the window and shut off the Volvo. She liked a clutter-free garage, so all hatchets, axes, and other small tools were stored in the shed out back. Besides the insurance claim would be hell if she did any of that.

The car’s motor purred gently, poisoning her air. Her lungs spasmed, and she coughed again. She needed to get out, and soon.

She thumped the heel of her palm to her forehead. “You are so stupid, Meghan.” The sound of her voice helped slow her pounding heart. All automatic garage door openers had the override lever. All she needed to do was pull the cord and disengage the electrical system, allowing her to open the door manually. But when she looked up, her stomach lurched.

The cord wasn’t there.

* * * *

Crystal roamed the corridors of the
Bangor
Hospital
in the white lab coat of a doctor. The morning was progressing just as she hoped, and soon everything would be set, and she would be a permanent part of Peter’s life. Things couldn’t be working out any better.

She stepped into the ACU, knowing her confident walk and authoritative air would satisfy the staff. The newly acquired name badge swinging next to the stethoscope was a nice addition to her attire.

Slowing her pace at room 318, she surreptitiously scoped out the area, making sure no one questioned her entering John Tilling’s room. The curtains were open on the windowed room and revealed that family members were conspicuously absent—one less complication to her plan.

The patriarch of the Tilling clan looked worse than she expected. The gray pallor to his skin, thinning hair, and gaunt face made him appear much older than his sixty-four years.
Crystal stood next to the bed, holding the open chart but studying Meghan’s father. What kind of a life had they had?

The familiar sadness pressed hotly in her throat.

It shouldn’t matter. Nothing about Meghan Tilling’s life should matter to her.
Crystal wanted only to step in and become part of Peter’s. But here lay the man the Tilling sisters had leaned on. The one who had probably made them believe in unconditional love. No matter her original intentions, it was hard for
Crystal to look at John Tilling and not be moved by his pain, and not to wonder how her actions would change Meghan’s life.

John’s eyes unexpectedly fluttered open, and
Crystal jumped back. She would have fled from the room, but his imploring gaze locked on hers, and his lips moved. The whisper of breath rattled from his chest, but she couldn’t decipher what he was saying over the constant hum and beep of the monitoring equipment. Leaning in close, her ear to his lips, she asked him to repeat himself.

“My angel … Are … you … my guardian angel?”

She straightened and smiled down at him. This was certainly an unexpected development. Perhaps getting to Peter wasn’t a straightforward process, but one best achieved through John Tilling’s illness. “No, Mr. Tilling, quite the opposite.” She reached for his hand lying limply at his side, nonchalantly noting the striated pattern of color on his fingernails, before gently setting it back on the blanket and adding a comforting pat.

She leaned in close to his ear. “Just keep up the good fight. I have a feeling this will all be over soon.”

His lips quivered with the hint of a smile, and he relaxed into the pillow, his eyes closing once again.

Crystal replaced the chart at the foot of the bed and went to finish what had begun.

* * * *

Hospital coffee sucked, but at the moment, bleary-eyed exhaustion was about to take over Peter’s body, and the black sludge was the only source of caffeine available to him. It was nearly nine-thirty, and Julie had yet to arrive with
Alice. What was holding them up was beyond him. The fact that he hadn’t heard from Meghan only added to his sense of unease.

He sipped absently at the Styrofoam cup he had filled in the guest lounge as he came back onto the ACU. A doctor strode purposefully out of John’s room, retreating in the opposite direction. It wouldn’t have bothered him, since
Bangor
Hospital
was a teaching hospital, and residents and interns filed in and out of John’s room continuously, but the waist-length flaxen hair fluttering behind the shapely woman brought back memories he’d been trying to bury. It couldn’t be
Crystal; panic squeezed the breath from his lungs.

“Excuse me, doctor,” he hollered at the woman.

She turned only briefly, her hair obscuring her silhouette, and quickened her pace.

Peter did the same, spilling hot coffee over his hand. “Please, wait.” Frustration mounted as she pushed through the swinging doors at the other end of the hall. He needed to find out if
Crystal had somehow slipped into his life. He moved faster, his strides closing the distance between them. But when he stumbled through the doors, only seconds behind her, he found the hallway empty and the door to the stairwell easing shut.

He crashed through it, peering over the railing and down the stairs before snaking his head to see up the stairs. Empty.

“Hello,” he hollered, hoping the tone sounded friendly rather than desperate. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but I wanted to talk to you about John Tilling.” That was a lie, but it made him feel less foolish. Only the hollow echo of his words came back in reply.

“Damn it all to hell.” Throwing what was left of his coffee into the trash receptacle in the stairwell, Peter slammed through the door back to John’s room. No one could have disappeared that fast. He’d spent the morning working his laptop, trying desperately to find
Crystal. Exhaustion, paranoia and guilt were making him see things that weren’t there.

How the hell would a Dominatrix from
Boston find him here in
Maine
, anyway? He laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

* * * *

Blood rushed in
Crystal’s ears, and her heart pounded in her chest, obscuring all other sounds. Hiding among the cleaning supplies of the utility closet,
Crystal wrung her shaking hands. She filled her lungs, willing herself to remain calm. Desperation only caused you to make mistakes. She’d just proven that.

Peter’s footsteps had pounded past her into the stairwell—that much she’d heard. Hitting the door before seeking refuge in the closet had been a stroke of genius. Peter had fallen for the ruse. She leaned her back against the door, promising herself to stay put for another five minutes before venturing out.

She had one more important thing to do, and then she could leave the hospital—hopefully undetected. It wasn’t time for Peter to know she was here.

* * * *

Meghan slipped again, and she fell forward on the roof of the car, catching herself before she toppled to the cement floor. Another coughing fit seized her, and she held her stomach, the nausea getting worse. Patience—she needed to slow down and do this methodically. Obviously, no matter how far she stretched, she’d never reach the toggle switch. Sitting back on her haunches, she stared at the mechanism, then swept her gaze around the garage, looking for something—anything—to extend her reach.

And there they were, plain as day. The one concession she’d made with Peter to decorate the garage. His old license plates from his first car were hung on nails on the wall. Meghan slid down the windshield and pulled one of the plates from its hook. If this didn’t work, she’d need to break a window and shut off the car. Her chest was heavy and her head light as she climbed back up the hood of the Volvo and onto the roof, praying her plan would work.

Steadying herself with one hand, she leaned forward and hooked the plate between the toggle switch and the body of the garage door opener and pulled down. It moved, but slipped away before fully disengaging the mechanism. Meghan repeated the process, this time twisting the license plate so it remained stabilized against the door opener; increment by increment the toggle switch moved from horizontal to vertical. The click as it disengaged was unnaturally loud in the stillness of the garage.

Tears of relief burned her eyes as she once again slid off the car. This time when she pulled up on the handle of the door, it lifted with a hearty rumble, and fresh winter air assaulted her scalding lungs.