The Mistress Mistake (23 page)

"I want to play nice, Jessica . . . you're
just not letting me," he quipped.

Anthony's comeback was accompanied with
puppy-dog eyes and a single finger that he ran down the side of her
body. She couldn't help herself, she smiled at him. "Well, stop
it."

As she pulled away from him and followed
after the group, her phone rang. Digging it out of her pocket, she
felt a thrill when she saw Connor's number. She pressed the button
and put the phone to her ear. "Hey."

"Hey. I'm watching you."

Jessica felt her nerves stretch and
butterflies take flight as she glanced around. Just at that moment,
Anthony caught up with her and looped his arm around her neck. A
hissing noise came across the phone line, and she knew in that
moment, for a fact, Connor was watching her.

"Shake him off. Now."

Jessica heard Connor's command, cut the call
without replying, and stuffed the phone back in her pocket. She
twisted her torso and ducked slightly, and Anthony's arm fell from
around her neck. She continued walking and refused to look around
again. Connor had to be somewhere behind them, so he could follow
her more easily. And she knew he would.

Her phone rang five more times in the next
two hours, each time when Anthony put his hands on her. Jessica
thought about starting some shit just to piss Connor off, but she
didn't want to play games with him. And she didn't want to have to
deal with a confused Anthony. But she quit answering her phone. She
just continued to shrug Anthony's hands off, and as she did it, she
felt
Connor everywhere.

Eventually, the evening came to an end. She
convinced Anthony, once again, that she couldn't date him, and as
easy-going as he was, he seemed to take it in stride.

When he dropped her off at her apartment, he
didn't get out and she didn't invite him in. She jumped from his
car, and he drove away.

She stood on the sidewalk that lead to her
front door and looked at Connor's car in her parking space. How had
he beaten her here? She wasn't surprised he was here, just
completely confused as she'd been all evening.

Slowly, she walked up the path and let
herself in the apartment. She was confused, she was angry, but most
of all, she couldn't deny the feeling that had been rushing through
her bloodstream with each and every one of his phone calls
today.

Relief.

****

When she let herself into the apartment,
Connor was sitting on her couch, hands behind his head, waiting for
her. She glanced his way, but didn't stop because she hadn't
figured out what she was going to say yet.

She moved from the living room and went
through her bedroom, to her bathroom where she began taking out the
gold studs in her ears. When she looked in the mirror, she saw his
reflection, where he stood, leaning against the doorjamb, watching
her. "Why aren't you at the wedding?"

"I didn't go."

Incredulous, she turned to face him. "You
didn't go?"

"No, I didn't go."

"I don't understand."

"What is it that you don't understand,
baby?"

"Connor!
You said you were going, I
worried--I
cried. I've been crying for two and a half
days."

Connor reached out for Jessica, the only
thought in his head to comfort her . . . to comfort himself at the
same time. She held herself an arm's length away from him,
hesitating, pulling from him, and then, finally, let herself go
into his arms.
Thank God
. He pressed his lips against her
forehead and lifted her chin and wiped at an errant tear. Moving
his lips to her ear, he wrapped her more tightly within his
embrace. "I didn't go because you were so upset about it. I
couldn't stand for you to be so upset--but I wasn't ready to admit
that to you, so I didn't tell you. I'm sorry you worried, but at
least it's not something you'll worry over anymore or hold against
me forever. Because I didn't go."

"Forever?"

He heard the whispered word and bit her
earlobe gently. "I can't imagine having to let you go, not today,
not ever.
I can't imagine having to go through what I went
through today. Not willingly, not again. Seeing you with him, it
almost killed me. But I took it, because I deserved it for putting
you through so much shit."

Connor felt her trembling hand grip his arm
and the feel of her grasping him, leaning her body into his, was
his undoing. He'd meant for this moment to be a declaration of . .
. a declaration. But it was quickly turning into something else, as
pure need sizzled down his spine and hardened him completely. He
had things he needed to say to her, things he needed for her to
understand. But right now,
he
needed to sink inside of her.
He needed to claim her, in the most primal way possible. He needed
to feel her naked skin against his, feel the tight clasp of her
body around his, to take the edge off the panic he'd felt earlier
when he'd seen her laughing and happy with that dumb fuck frat
punk.

As they stood in her bathroom doorway, he
reached down between them and began to lift her shirt over her
head. Her body stiffened again and anxiety jolted through him and
landed in his stomach at both the denial he felt from her body and
the one coming from her lips. "Connor, no, I don't think--"

He caught her off with a kiss on her lips,
ready to do anything to make her forgive him and let him take her
into his arms. "Jessica, please baby. I fucked up. I fucked up,
bad. I promise I'll never put you through hell like that again."
Her eyes clung to his, and he could see the waver in them. "I'm
going to make this up to you, I swear to God. I'll never do
anything to hurt you again. But I've got to touch you now. You've
got to let me. I'll die right here and right now if you don't."

Her eyes flared, she exhaled deeply, and her
torso relaxed against his. Gratification, swift and strong, bled
through his system, as she let him to take the shirt away from her.
Twisting the cups, he quickly released the front enclosure of her
bra and her breasts spilled out. They were beautiful as always, but
today they were beautiful in a different way, an added way. They
were his,
she was his,
and he'd never willingly give them
up.

He took the soft mounds in his hands and slid
his thumbs over the pink tips until they pebbled for him. He heard
the sweet sound of her gasping breath, and he lowered his head and
took a nipple into his mouth. He was impatient, and began a slow,
but relentless move toward the bed, dragging her with him. When
they reached the side of the bed, Connor moved his hands from her
shoulders to the enclosure of her shorts, and with not as much
patience as he'd have liked, unsnapped them and pushed them and her
panties down her legs. "Step out of them."

She did, with a small stumble against him,
and that telltale struggle to stay on her feet along with the fine
trembling of her limbs did something to his insides that he
couldn't explain. His hands grabbed her hips and pulled her body
against him, banding one arm around her waist and pushing the
dangling bra from her slender shoulders with the other.

When he had her completely, irresistibly
nude, he held her tightly in his arms and breathed in the scent
that he'd so quickly become addicted to. He raised her chin and her
eyes lifted and tangled with his, almost decimating him where he
stood. Her eyes were so beautiful, so amazing, he could look into
them forever.

"You're so incredibly beautiful." As he
spoke, he sank down on the edge of the bed and brought her between
his spread thighs, holding her at her hips, absorbing her soft
weight as she leaned into him. Her hands landed on his shoulders
and he experienced an emotion that swirled through his guts that
told him he would always want to hold her up. Physically,
emotionally, in any way she ever needed . . . the way he needed to
do it and the way he wanted her to hold him up and be there for him
when he needed it.

He laid her on her back in the middle of the
bed, tore his clothes off, and within seconds, he was pushing
between her thighs. "I need to be inside of you. I need that like I
need to breathe."

When he felt her hands land on his shoulders,
he lifted her legs around his waist, and not wasting a second, he
plunged inside of her.

Relief, sharp and intense, slammed through
his head and slid down his spine. The pleasure was there, but it
was a secondary emotion. He reached down and kissed her lips, and
began taking slow, even strokes inside her body. Her hips lifted to
his, and very soon, they were moving together, bringing each other
the emotional relief they needed.

He lifted his hands and wrapped them around
her face, and stared down into her eyes. "I love you, Jessica."

Her eyes flared and filled with tears as they
clung to his.

He took another stroke and the
rightness
of it all spread through him. "I love you so much.
I'm so, so sorry for what I put you through."

Her fingers gripped his shoulders, and her
lips parted. "I love you, too."

Joy, strong and sure, wrapped around him in a
silken cocoon of euphoria. He lowered his mouth to hers and made
slow, sweet love to her.

****

As they lay in bed, entwined together, Connor
cleared his throat and knew he had to explain. He wanted to
explain. He took a deep breath and began slowly. "I fucked up with
you. From the very beginning and for damn sure this past week." He
lifted his hand from her chin and brushed her hair away from her
face, pushing it off her cheek, exposing the fragile shell of her
ear. "I promise it'll never happen again. I've been lying to myself
since the first time I got you in this bedroom, and probably even
before then. I want to start all over with you. If you'll give me
that." Connor was drowning in the eyes that clung to his but he
managed to keep speaking, to say the things he needed to say to
her. "We started out in a way that no couple ever should. But it
happened and truthfully, I'm only thankful that we met at all. But
now we need to fix things, make them as they should be. I know
you've wanted to do that, and I . . . I'm the one who screwed
things up." He swallowed as he found it difficult to go on, but her
fingers gently pressed into him, asking him for more and he
continued, "To make you understand, I need to tell you about my
wife, okay?"

Her hand lifted to his cheek and the physical
connection she wanted with him calmed his soul. "Okay," she said
simply.

"Valerie and I were married right out of
college. Right after I finished my undergrad. We'd dated for a
while, and we finished our bachelor's at the same time."

As he sucked in a breath, Jessica asked, "She
was at UTD, as well?"

He could hear something in her voice, and he
was glad the truth wouldn't upset her, even a little bit. "No. She
was at North Texas. We met through mutual friends, and began making
the commute to see each other." Connor could see the hint of relief
in her eyes, and he knew that UTD would be their Alma Mater,
only theirs
. Even if he had no control over the past, he was
glad of that truth. What had once bothered him . . . Jessica
attending UTD, now only pleased him.

"Val got a really good job in Dallas right
away, and I was starting on my Masters. I'd already developed one
application that was taking off, and between marketing that, and
going to school, I was pretty damn busy. I slipped into the
relationship because it was easy and convenient, and I stayed in it
for the same reason. At first, Valerie was independent and had a
life of her own in addition to what we shared, and I thought it was
the perfect relationship. When she kept pushing for marriage, I
caved. She loved me, and I thought at the time that I loved her."
Connor felt as much as heard the gasp that Jessica let out, and his
arms tightened around her.

"The marriage was almost one-sided from the
start. But it was convenient for me, and for the first couple of
years, it was fine. I was busy, she was busy, and we didn't see
each other enough for things to matter. But then I finished my MBA,
and started working my ass off trying to launch my company. It went
well for me, and when the money started rolling in, she wanted a
house. Not just any house, and not the one I live in now."

Jessica inhaled and asked a question. "You
haven't lived there long?"

"I moved right after she died. I had to sell
the house we lived in . . . I couldn't breathe in that house. She
wanted a fucking mansion . . . not literally, but almost. I didn't
see the need for it, I wanted to pour the money back into the
business, but I had to buy it for her to shut her up. And then she
wanted to quit her job and 'take care of me', which she did. She
quit her job, and then she began smothering me so much I damn near
couldn't take it. Very quickly, she had no life of her own, no
friends, and I was her world.
Her only world.
Maybe I should
have liked it, but I didn't. I hated it. And then she came home one
day with the first tattoo. A heart, and my initials, on her hip.
And within a few years, she'd decorated herself with a 'Connor'
theme. My name, the date of our first meeting, first kiss, wedding
anniversary, and bullshit like that. I was in denial about our
marriage from there on out. I knew, deep inside, that it wasn't
going to work. But she loved me so damn much, and I felt so damn
guilty for thinking about divorcing her that I put it on the back
burner and concentrated on my business. But it was there, in my
heart, every day. And it was there, also, on the day she died. And
so was the relief.
Relief.
Can you believe that? How fucked
up is that? I've been so damned ashamed of that feeling of relief I
had, that it's almost crippled me. I can't explain how guilty I
felt,
and Jesus Christ, when I met you. .. "