Take Me I'm Yours (Coffee House Chronicles) (7 page)

It became apparent she would need a distraction from her distraction. She had taken up art classes a few months ago but since she wasn’t very apt at painting, she thought maybe it was time to try her hand at sculpture or pottery
.

In the morning, she’d do some internet research.
For now, she was going to enjoy dinner with an old friend.

Delilah was tossing the salad when she entered the kitchen.
The chicken fricassee smelled divine and instantly made her mouth water.

“
Hey, that smells great,” Marion said.

“
It needs to bake thirty-five minutes.” Delilah covered the salad bowl with plastic wrap before turning to inspect her friend. “You look great.”

“I have you to thank for it,” Marion said.

“And don’t you forget it.” Delilah grinned broadly. “Now listen.” She paused, pointing her finger and Marion knew she meant business. “No sex tonight, remember?”

“Yes,
Mother.”

“I mean it. You behave yourself.”
She shook a finger at Marion to punctuate her point.

“I don’t know why you think I’m going to fall into bed with him. This is Graeme we’re talking about.”

“Yeah…well…I want to make sure you know the rules.”

“Rules, schmules. Would you get out of here already?”
Marion shoved Delilah toward the door in a
hurry up and get out
gesture.

“I want a full report in the morning.” Delilah picked up her purse. “And don’t burn the fricassee, for God’s sake.”

“Promise.” She even crossed her heart.

She hugged her friend and walked her to the door where she waved goodbye. Leaning against the front door, the butterflies insisted on coming back. She was alone…but not for long
.

* * * * *

Graeme snatched the printed directions off his printer and read them over again. He knew exactly where her house was and it wasn’t all that far away.

Since he wasn’t sure what sort of evening Marion had in mind—because he intended to let her lead and
follow wherever she wanted—he brought his hostess a bottle of wine.

Dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a
button-down shirt, he grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter.

He had spent his afternoon working on the website, TakeMeImYours.Com, tweaking and making it easier
to navigate. He had never intended to host and design a website for the porn industry but it paid the bills—and very well too. It was a profession he fell into and at first he thought it’d be great to look at hot girls all the time. He had even dated some. But as time wore on, he became jaded and they didn’t “do it” for him anymore.

His true love, though, was creating life from a blank white canvas.
He could lose himself in his paintings.

His loft apartment gave him the studio space he needed for his artwork as well as a nice office for his
day job. His furnishings were clean and contemporary. Amber, a couple of girlfriends ago, had called it stark and sterile. She had tried to inject her own touch by adding a bit of color here and there with throw pillows on his black leather couch, but he would have none of it. Jade and purple pillows with bead trim and fringe were not allowed in his man cave.

Climbing into his sedan, he turned his thoughts toward the evening ahead. Marion had been on his mind all afternoon and he wondered what her ulterior motive was by inviting him for dinner. She didn’t strike him as the type to have a secret agenda but he’d been wrong before.

Whatever the reason, he’d take it. If it meant he spent the evening with her playing Parcheesi, he’d do it. If only to spend time with her. If only to see her pretty face and smell her intoxicating scent. He had been in love with Marion since the day he’d met her.

He pulled up in front of her house as the sun dipped toward the horizon. It was still hot in late September and this evening was no exception. He grabbed the bottle of wine and headed to her front door.

As he pushed the bell, his stomach erupted into a ball of nerves. He hadn’t been this nervous about a date since high school. And that was more than twenty years ago. When she whisked open the door, he stared into her lovely doe brown eyes. Her hair seemed fluffier for some reason and her shirt gave him a great view of what was in it.

“Hi! Come on in.” She smiled as she stepped aside
.

He could smell the scent of her perfume as he walked by to check out her small house.
Something smelled so good it made his mouth water. The living room and kitchen was one big room, one flowing into the next. There was a separate dining room off to one side. The entire house was small but warm and inviting.

“This is for you
.” He handed her the bottle of pinot grigio.

“Oh, thank you.” Marion took it, reading the label. “Nice brand.”

“Only the finest for you,” he replied. He wasn’t sure what she had in mind for the evening, but it seemed she had intended to stay in. Especially since she’d cooked. He couldn’t remember a woman ever cooking for him before. He liked it.

“I thought we’d stay in
, if that’s okay.” She waved toward the oven. Was that a blush he saw high in her cheekbones? “It should be ready soon. Should I open the wine?”

“If you’d like. I hope
it goes with dinner.”

“I’m sure it will. We’re having chicken fricassee.”

She opened and closed the drawers, searching for the wine opener. When she finally found it, she fumbled with it until she managed to open the corkscrew. He grinned, reaching for it and slipping it out of her hand.

“Here. Let me.”

Their hands brushed and for a moment, her smooth skin grazed his. It left his palm tingling in her wake, making him crave more, wanting to feel the rest of her. Marion pulled her hand away quickly and stepped back, watching as he released the cork from the bottle and set it aside.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice low and almost sultry. Graeme resisted the urge to pull her to him and kiss her
senseless.

As she poured two glasses of wine, a timer
dinged. She reached for pot holders and lifted the dish out of the oven. The heady aroma made his mouth water.

“Damn, th
at smells great.” He peered over her shoulder at the food and his stomach rumbled in response. “I’m hungrier than I thought.”

“Good. I’m glad you brought your appetite.” Marion reached for a serving spoon and plated the dish, a green salad on the side
.

They settled at the dining room table. Graeme wondered what they could possibly have in common
they could talk about. But then…this was Marion. He’d known her a few years.

“So how have you been?” he asked, finally breaking the silence
.

“Good.” She forked green lettuce, keeping her eyes lowered to her plate.

“I haven’t seen you since that day at the pool hall. That’s been—what? A couple of months ago?”

He remembered that day like it was yesterday. Buying her a beer, shooting some pool and having some laughs.
And the kiss that wasn’t. Did she think about that too? She hadn’t let him kiss her then but she did earlier outside the book store. Only a few hours ago. Had it affected her the way it affected him?

He
had loved spending time with her alone then. He had resisted the urge to tell her how devastating it had been for him to give her that note. How could he tell her seeing her heart broken like that had torn him apart? She wouldn’t believe him. He had been so comfortable with her then and now he was a nervous wreck. It was as though the Universe was giving him a second chance and he didn’t want to blow it.

“Yes.” She
kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet his. “It seems so long ago.”

“You know, that day at the church—”

She flinched and he stopped talking. He had intended to tell her what had happened then between him and Ethan and that he hated being the bearer of bad news. Clearly she was still affected by it and he was a thoughtless idiot for bringing it up.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Finally, she lifted her gaze, meeting his, and then waved it away like it was nothing. “You know...six months ago, I’d have told you it was the worst day of my life, but today, I see it differently. You rescued me by keeping me from making the worst mistake of my life. I guess I owe you for that.” She put her fork down and reached for her wine.

With his hear thudding hard, h
e grasped her other hand, gripping her soft fingers in his. She felt like an angel.
His
. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”

“It’s not your fault.” She
slipped away her hand, placed it in her lap. “Besides, I think it was for the best. Ethan is rich and spoiled. I’m not sure he’d be happy with me anyway.” She shrugged, as if to say it all didn’t matter anymore.

But I would.
“He’d be a fool not to be happy with you.”

A small smile crept up her cheek. “That’s sweet of you to say
.” Blushing, she glanced down.

“I mean it, Marion. And now he wants you back after everything he put you through.” Something inside him
snapped. He wanted to protect her from more heartache. He wanted to tell her not to take him back.

“I’m not
taking him back,” she said. “I’m fine without him or anyone, for that matter. I like the way my life is right now. And I’ve decided to take art lessons.”

“Art?” Surprise flooded him. He had no idea she was interested in art and he wondered if she knew about his own passion for it.

“Don’t laugh now. I’ve been taking painting lessons but I want to try something different. I was thinking sculpture or pottery or something.” Marion glanced up at him through her lashes, looking sheepish.

He couldn’t help but grin.

“You’re laughing at me!” she said, sitting up straight.

“Not at all,” he said. “I think it’s fantastic you want to try your hand at art.”

“My painting skills are less than fantastic and I’ll probably suck at anything else I try.”

“If you want my opinion, you should try pottery. You have good hands for molding clay between your fingers.” He couldn’t help but stare at her slender fingers. He resisted the urge to reach for her hand
again and run his thumb over the curves of her knuckles.

She cleared her throat. “I’ll look into it. Anyway, I think it will get my mind off Ethan.”

“So you don’t want to date?” He turned serious, watching his hope of seeing Marion on a more continuous basis float out the window.

“I don’t think so. I’m not ready and besides, men are really more trouble than they’re worth. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.” He tried to pretend it didn’t hurt, but it did. Oh, it did. He wanted Marion more than he’d care to admit.

“I mean, you don’t count because we’re friends. Right?”
She glanced up through her lashes. Was that a hopeful look on her face? Did she really want to be friends and nothing more?

Graeme
put on his best false front. “Of course, we’re friends.”

“That’s why I asked you here for dinner tonight. So we could catch up on old times.”

Swallowing the sting in the back of his throat, he reached for his glass and held it up. “To old friends.”

She clinked his glass with hers. Despite her declaration, Graeme couldn’t help but still be in love with her
and was determined to change her mind. He wasn’t sure how yet but she would be his.

Chapter Six

Marion touched her glass to Graeme’s, listening to the resounding
clink
. She searched his face for any sign he wanted to mean more to her than a friend but he gave no hint whatsoever.

Her heart sank,
in spite of her best efforts to keep it from doing that. If they were friends, she wondered, then why did he kiss her that way at the book store? She had hoped, for whatever reason, there was something between them. Some spark. Or maybe she imagined it all when he kissed her and she was projecting a huge fantasy of this romantic involvement with him that didn’t exist.

Still…she could feel his lips on hers even now, hours later
.

She shoved away the thoughts
. If that’s the way he wanted it, then that’s the way it would stay. She could live with that. And perhaps they would still see each other.

“So what have you been doing for the
last few months?” she asked, forking some of the chicken.

“Work and more work.” He took a bite of the main dish and paused, giving her a look of bliss. “I have to say, Marion, I had no idea you could cook. This is wonderful.”

“Thanks. Neither did I.” She bit her lip. She wanted to tell him she didn’t make it, but choked back the words. Especially since this evening seemed to have spun in a totally different direction than she had originally imagined.