The Ground Rules: Undone (8 page)

“You smell just like I remember,” he tells me, his voice soft.

“Weston…”

He presses his mouth on the crook of my neck; the warmth of it consumes me fully. “I’m sorry, Mirella,” he says. “I know we’re done. I’ve been doing so well staying away from you.”

I still can’t bring myself to turn around and face him. I still have no words.

“Why did you really call me? That’s all it took for me to completely fall apart again.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words so small. I truly am sorry. I shouldn’t have called him that day. But I was so unhinged. Now, I regret it so much.

His face is still buried in my hair when he tells me, “I didn’t come here for this, but seeing you like this today…it’s been so long since I’ve touched you.”

His words sear. They heat every inch of me. I’m on fire. I’m out of control again, possessed by lust for this man I just can’t seem to let go. I know I can’t be with him. I realize to be with him would be cheating. He no longer has my husband’s permission to touch me. Yet, I don’t pull away. I don’t move an inch.

“I know,” I whisper. I still don’t turn around. I just stand there half hoping this moment will somehow resolve itself to a wonderful, simple conclusion. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be wanting this.

But I do. So much.

The feel of his hand toying with the hem of my skirt almost does me in. “Is this okay?” he whispers, his breath hot against my ear.

My body, my emotions betray me. All I want is for him to touch me. “Yes…”

As he sweeps my hair gently over my shoulder, his fingers graze my skin. His touch feels so amazing. I know I’ve been rendered completely powerless, devoid of any common sense. He presses his hot mouth gently against the back of my neck. “Is this okay?” he asks again.

And again, I whisper, “Yes…” Even if I know it’s not okay — it’s all wrong.

He slides a hand under the soft pink cotton of my skirt. His fingers glide against the outside of my thigh. “How about this?”

I don’t reply, but an unexpected soft moan escapes from my mouth. I close my eyes, practically melting to the floor. And I remind myself to stop wearing skirts.

According to all the pregnancy books I’ve read, pregnancy-related horniness doesn’t really kick-in until the last trimester, but damn, if I don’t want him right now, right here, in Hanna’s Bookstore. I am repulsed by my behavior but I am so aroused, I completely dismiss it.

I want him to touch me.

I grab his hand and pull it up to my rear. He sweeps it over the cotton of my panties and rubs my ass softly. He doesn’t ask if it’s okay. He knows I’m done for. I’m his. I’m sure he knows he could do whatever he wants to me at this point, right here in the gardening section of this quaint little bookstore. I long for him to take me against the rows of books, press my back against the shelving, make the books rattle.

I finally turn to face him. I want to kiss him. He fixes me with the slightest hint of a smile…an impish expression. He takes me in — my eyes, my mouth. He can’t hear my heart, or feel the pulsing between my legs, but he can probably see it in my eyes; see every cell of my being is itching for him. He leans in and I stretch to the tip of my toes to meet him halfway, eager.

When his lips press against mine, I feel the tension drain along with my resolve. Any iota of self-control I had is gone.

I pull him closer and my hands cling desperately to his face, my nails dig into his flesh. I kiss him like I’ve never kissed him before. I bite his bottom lip, the edge of his jaw. I want to eat him raw. I don’t know what has come over me. All I want is him.

He tears himself away. “Mirella…” he breathes as his gaze darts down the narrow aisle. “We’re getting…a little carried away,” he whispers, his words ragged.

I pull him to me and kiss him again. This time, he gets lost in it too. His kiss is wild. He presses me hard against the bookcase, the shelves dig into my back. I almost completely drown in him. The hunger of his kiss consumes me wholly as his tongue travels to the hollow of my neck, and his feverish hands pull at my panties.

I realize this can’t happen like this…here. We’ve both gone off the deep end, consumed by this inexplicable desire. Some kid could walk in for ice cream at any time. I push him away, ragged, and tear myself from his grip. “You’re right…we are getting…” I say, completely breathless, “getting carried away.”

The look on his face is unmistakable. He wants this just as much as I do. But at this point, I know he would never dare pursue it. I know he will fully respect me and not manipulate me, despite the fact that I can tell he wants me as badly as a starved man wants food.

I stand still. My eyes can’t seem to pull away from him. He’s so beautiful, and seductive, and gentle.

In a flash, I pull him to me, my fist full of his navy tee. “I’m closing-up-shop for five minutes.”

My fingers are shaking as I flip the store sign around, the word ‘closed’ visible to the people outside. I think about Gabe as I walk to the door and lock it.

I can’t do this to him.

What the fuck am I doing?

As soon as I reach Weston, he pulls me to him and his kiss consumes me. I try to pry myself away.

“Weston…” But his mouth on mine weakens me and renders me speechless. I want him so badly.
How do I get out of this?
He pushes me towards the back of the store, behind the shelving, where no one can see us.

I try to pull away again. But he grabs my rear and hoists me up against the back door, his mouth plastered on mine. My light summer skirt is hiked up around my waist. He presses his body hard against mine, rubs his hard-on against the cotton of my panties. Dry humping against a door — damn, I feel like I’m seventeen again.

Just a minute to enjoy him. That’s all I’m taking.

I’ve missed everything about him; the minty taste of his mouth and his clean earthy smell, the feel of his stubble on my hands, the softness of his hair, the feel of him, hard against me. His mouth lingers on mine as he rubs against me over and over, my legs wrapped tightly around him. He groans loudly as he presses harder. He’s hurting me, but he’s also making me feel so damn good. As he hits just the right spot, I close my eyes and feel the delicious pressure build.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I wonder how he keeps doing this to me. As the shuddering sensation overtakes me, consuming me wholly, anguished whimpers escape against his mouth. The soft sounds travelling from the back of my throat do not do justice to the intensity of what I’m experiencing. I don’t know if it’s the hormones or the fact that he hasn’t made me come in so long, but my climax is so intense, it hurts.

His mouth lingers on mine as I’m brought back down from my orgasm, clinging to him. He pulls his mouth from mine and I open my eyes. My heart still pounds like a jack-hammer.

I feel so guilty. I need to ask him to leave. I know I shouldn’t have let things go this far.

I hate myself.

He eyes me with a playful look and I look away, mortified.

It all happened so fast, and I was just so damn horny.

He presses his mouth against my ear and kisses it softly. “You eager little butterfly.” He releases me gently and drops me to the floor with a cheeky smile. “I suspect my work here is done…” he teases. “I must be getting better. I didn’t even need to remove a single stitch of clothing this time.”

I’m crying when I lift my gaze to his. His smile fades swiftly.

“We shouldn’t have done this, Weston.”

“I know,” he concedes. He buries his face in my hair and growls, the sound vibrating against my skull. “God, all I want to do is take you in the back room and lick every inch of you and make love to you. But I know…I know we can’t. I know you can’t do that to Gabe, and I can’t do that to Bridget either.”

That’s what I love about Weston. He understands. He’s probably standing there with the biggest hard-on he’s ever had. But he’s knows what’s best for both of us. He respects me. He respects my wishes.

“If we ever make love again, we need to do it right,” he tells me. “We need to talk things through. We need to officially put an end to our marriages.”

My stomach drops. He can’t be saying this. “What are you taking about, Weston?”

“You and I…we’re inseparable, Mirella,” he tells me with so much conviction, I almost get lost in his words. “We’re soul mates.”

I don’t want to utter these next words, but I need to. “No, we’re not, Weston. It’s infatuation. We are strongly attracted to each other, Weston. That’s all.”

The light in his eyes seems to dim as he takes my hand in his. “There are a million women out there, Mirella… some even more beautiful than you,” he says. “But you are the only one who has fully captured me, who has intoxicated me, whom I can’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard I try.”

“But what about all the work you’ve done, Weston?” I ask, trying to knock some sense into him. “All the advice your therapist has given you? You were doing so well.”

He takes a hold of my other hand, bringing both hands together and holding them tightly between his, not letting go. “This has
never
happened to me before, Mirella. Don’t you understand? This is a first for me. You are my soul mate.”

I close my eyes.
Do I believe in soul mates?
I’m not sure anymore. I did. Ever since the day we were first in love, I’ve always thought Gabe and I were true soul mates. But what did I
really
know? I was a naïve seventeen year old girl in love, on the verge of sexual discovery.

But I
do
know what I believe in now. I believe in the promise you make to someone, the promise you make to the children you bring to life, and the responsibly you have to them.

I pull myself away from him. I need to be harder on Weston. I really don’t want to be. I don’t want to break his heart, but it’s what needs to be done.

I shake the bag vigorously. The drumsticks bounce around against each other, and are rapidly covered in bread crumbs and Italian spices. I shake the bag harder than I need to, letting out my frustrations and nervous energy. I haven’t been able to breathe properly since what happened…

Hanna came back later in the afternoon, and I was happy to hear her grandson was fine. But I couldn’t even look her in the eye — I was so full of guilt. She probably wondered what I’d been up to. She’s probably checking the cash register right this minute.

It occurred to me on my way home that I might have officially cheated on Gabe. Is making out and dry humping against a door cheating? Most would say it is. In the past, it was always a consensual adultery — an open-marriage of sorts. But now, Gabe has no clue Weston is back in my life. He has no idea what I’ve done. The remorse is just eating me up.

I’m a cheater.

I tell myself it was just the one time — we got lost in the passion of the moment. I tell myself that we’ll never do it again. And I desperately want to believe what I tell myself.

Chloe walks past the kitchen counter, clutching three stuffed animals. “Ugh, chicken
again
.”

I glare at her. “Yes, chicken
again
.” It is a wonder I can even manage to make dinner every night in the state I find myself in.

I am so tired of all these secrets.

My mind wanders back to a few hours before…

Weston’s hands under my skirt, his hot mouth pressed against my neck…we had wanted each other so desperately. I can’t seem to forget the wrecked expression on his face when I told him he needed to leave and I did not want to discuss our relationship further. I pressed my finger to his mouth and shushed him with a heavy load of remorse in my heart. I would have liked to make him feel as amazing as he had just made me feel. But I also knew we couldn’t take things further.

Chloe and Claire are playing nicely together — some kind of pretend zoo game Chloe has dreamed up. For once, they aren’t bickering. This would be a perfect moment, if it weren’t for all I’ve done, all I bear. I’ve sinned so many times, I’ve completely given up on myself. I am a hopeless case.

I hear the door as Gabe gets home. He’s his usual happy-go-lucky self. He kisses me on the cheek and squeezes an inch on my hips. He always tells me he never wants me to lose weight because he loves squeezing that little inch. “How was your day?”

My heart sinks.
How could I have done this to him?

I mix the rice noodle dish, twirling it around in the saucepan. “Eventful,” I simply say, not quite looking at him.

He cocks a brow as he grabs today’s paper. “How so?”

I tell him all about Hanna’s grandson and her unexpected visit to the emergency and my taking over the book store.

He looks up from his paper. “Was it just like the old days?” he asks with a cheeky smile.

I turn away from him, pretending to be busy stirring the noodles. On the plus side, these noodles are definitely not going to stick. I clear my throat. “Not exactly.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

His mark is all over me.

E
leven weeks. The day I’ve been waiting for, both dreading and anticipating, is almost here and I still have no idea what to do. According to my book, the baby is about two to three inches now and weighs about half an ounce. How can something so small potentially mess up so many lives?