We rode up to his floor in silence, staring at one another while we held hands, communicating with our eyes.
I wanted him to touch me again, to kiss me again, but it seemed like he was content simply holding back.
“Mr. Statham, Miss Gracen,” the bellman said once we arrived. “Have a great evening.”
“Thank you,” we said in unison.
I followed him to his suite and he pulled me inside, pushing me against the wall as soon as the door shut. “I can’t believe you did that...That was quite shocking...” He pulled a clip out of my hair and kissed my neck.
“And why is that?” I moaned as he grazed my skin with his teeth.
“The Claire Gracen I know would never run on stage and kiss me like that, especially not with everyone watching...”
“The Jonathan Statham I know wouldn’t be analyzing anything that Claire Gracen does.”
“That kiss doesn’t excuse you leaving me for three months.” He removed another clip. “I’m still very angry with you...”
“I love you too.”
He grinned as he looked into my eyes. “Say it again.”
“I don’t feel like it right now. I need to take off my dress first, and then I’ll need to think about repeating it.”
“Are you being difficult with me on purpose, Claire?” He reached behind me and brushed his fingers against the zipper of my dress. “Say. It. Again.”
“After I take my dress off.”
“Your dress isn’t coming off.” He unbuckled his pants and pressed his erection against my thigh.
“Why not?”
He reached underneath my dress and felt around for my panties, smiling when he didn’t find any. “Because I’m going to make love to you while you’re wearing it, and I’m not going to stop until it falls off.” He traced my jawline with his fingertips. “And because it always takes you half an hour to get undressed, and I’ve waited long enough.” He picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, gently laying me on the bed.
He slid his shirt over his head and stepped out of his pants. Then he slowly moved on top of me. “Now, you know how I feel about repeating myself. That hasn’t changed since you left me, so I’m going to give you one last chance to—”
“I love you, Jonathan.”
He smiled as he bent down and gently traced my lips with his tongue. “I love you too, Claire.”
I opened my eyes and smiled at Jonathan. I was curled up against him in a huge Jacuzzi, relaxing as his hands lathered shampoo into my hair.
I was sure we’d broken the world record for the number of times we’d had sex tonight, and if we hadn’t, I was sure that we would break it tomorrow.
I sighed as he poured a wooden ladle over my head to rinse out my hair. He was careful not to let the suds fall anywhere near my eyes, scooping just enough water that the soap fell down my back.
“I need you to promise me something, Claire.” He kissed the back of my neck.
“What is it?”
“That you’ll never leave me again. Once was more than enough.”
“I promise.”
“Good...” He set the ladle on the ledge. “Because if you go back on your word and even attempt to leave me again, I guarantee I won’t let you stay away for three fucking months. You’ll be lucky if you get away for three minutes.”
“Have I ever told you how romantic you are?”
“It’s part of my appeal.”
I smiled. “Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Are you and your mother okay now?”
He stilled. “We haven’t been with each other in forever and you care about the person who pulled us apart?”
I nodded.
“We’re okay,” he said, sighing. “I’m paying for her to get one on one counseling and we see each other once a week over lunch. Maybe with time we’ll do more, but that’s all I can handle right now. I don’t appreciate the way she treated you, and it’ll take me a while to get over that.”
My heart swelled. “I was just wondering...”
“I really would’ve believed you.” He gripped my hips and swiveled me around so I was facing him, straddling his lap. “You should’ve told me and all this never would’ve happened.”
“I know...”
“Don’t keep anything like that from me again. We’re not supposed to have boundaries, remember?” He kissed my lips and I nodded.
He picked up a loofah from the side of the tub and brushed it against my arms. He massaged my wrists and brought my right hand up to his face.
“How did this happen?” He circled a purple bruise with his thumb.
“I was running on the bridge one night and I slipped over some glass on the sidewalk. I used my wrist to brace the fall and nearly broke it on the way down. I had cuts everywhere.”
His jaw tensed. “When was this?”
“It was three or four weeks ago. Strangest thing though: As soon as I fell, these two guys came out of nowhere and bandaged all my cuts up. They even carried me back to my car...They said they were EMTs out on a late night jog and always carried their backpacks just in case something like that happened...Crazy coincidence, huh?”
“Extremely crazy.” The muscles in his face relaxed and he washed me until I was clean. “Your turn, sweetheart.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. I reached over to grab another loofah and saw a thick ring band on the ledge. It was silver and it had the engravings of all the same charms I had in the necklace he’d given me—even the white and red flags. The only difference was that the entwined “M” and “L” were repeated twice and our names were etched in tiny cursive within each letter.
“You had a ring made to match my charm necklace?”
He nodded. “I was going to show it to you the day you left me...I wanted us to open our boxes together.”
“Hmmm.” I ran the loofah against his chest. “What do the “M” and the “L” stand for?”
“I never said anything about that to you before?”
“No...” I shook my head.
“Well, guess.”
“My love?”
“No.” He kissed my shoulder.
“Mid-life?”
“No.”
“Mid-life love?”
“Mid-life love?” He raised his eyebrow. “You think I would honestly give you something that stood for that?”
“No, but...” I shrugged. I couldn’t think of anything else. “Tell me what it means then...”
He sighed and took the loofah away from me. He pulled me against his chest and kissed my hair, running his fingertips against my lips. “My last.”
The End
Wasted Love Excerpt
***subject to change before publication***
“Don’t get married at eighteen, Autumn...You’ll regret it...”—My mother, six years ago.
Chapter 1
Autumn
I don’t love my husband—not anymore, anyway. Our flame burnt out a long time ago, and no matter how many times I try to convince myself that it’ll come back, that one day I’ll feel those magic sparks between us again, nothing happens.
I married him when I was eighteen years old—when I was young, dumb, and thought I knew everything. I was so wrapped up in the whole “But mom, I love him!” and “He’s the only person I can discuss my deep, dark past with!” that I didn’t realize what I was doing. (By the way, having strict parents who enforce a midnight curfew hardly equates to having a “deep, dark past.”)
I don’t even think I’m attracted to my husband anymore.
As of matter of fact, he’s on top of me right now, straddling me—thrusting in and out of me, and the only thing I can think about is whether or not I turned off our coffeemaker.
I think I hit the switch...Did I hit the switch?
“You like that baby?” he asks, bringing his lips close to mine. “You like the way this feels?”
“Oh yeahhh.” I moan.
Wait. Didn’t I say “Oh yeahhhh” ten seconds ago? Damnit... “Oh, baby.” Say “Oh, baby” next...