Second Chance Girl--A Modern Fairy Tale Romance Page 10

  She thought of how everything had turned out. “My friend Pallas is engaged to this guy. Nick is a gifted artist. He actually painted the wedding gown.” She shuddered. “The outcome was amazing, but it still breaks my heart to think about him taking paint to the lace.”

  “Because it simply isn’t done?”

  “Exactly. I’m so glad you get that.”

  “I’m English. I was born to be proper.”

  “I suspect you have your moments.”

  His eyes locked with hers. Tension seemed to build between them—the kind of tension that stole her breath and made her want to be reckless. Her fourteen-year-old self was thrilled at the prospect.

  She sighed. “You’re a dangerous man.”

  “Me?”

  “Oh, yeah. I know it’s the accent. I wonder if that’s because we used to be a colony. Liking an English accent is in our DNA or something. Maybe the groundwater. Anyway, you could read the phone book and it would be appealing. Does it work that way back home?”

  “Sadly, there I do not have the pleasure of being exotic.”

  She wanted to say he could stay here a few weeks and soak up the worship, but knew the statement would come out wrong. Or worse, sound as if she were... What? Interested in him? She was, in an I-know-you’re-leaving-tomorrow-so-it’s-safe-to-flirt-tonight kind of way.

  For a second she thought about how things were going to end that evening. Could she suggest that they go back to his place? She liked him. She found him attractive and she would be delighted to take things to the next level. But her next level and sex weren’t exactly the same. She’d never had a one-night stand and guessed that she never would. She wasn’t the type. She wanted to be the one, which was the opposite of hooking up. And while that hadn’t happened yet, it was important that she keep hoping. Sleeping with a guy for one night violated that dream in a way she didn’t like.

  Not that, you know, Ulrich was asking.

  “You’re thinking about something,” he murmured.

  “That I am. So, you’re going to have to get married and have heirs, aren’t you?”

  He nearly choked. “That’s direct.”

  And a neat change of subject, she thought smugly. “I know. It’s an American thing again. So, is there a future duchess waiting at home?”

  “Not at this time. There is, however, pressure.”

  “Sure. Your grand estate had needs.”

  “Don’t remind me. It was difficult enough the first time.” He glanced at her. “Getting married, I mean.”

  “I didn’t think you were talking about the heir producing.”

  “Excellent.”

  She smiled. “Why was it difficult? You have commitment issues? Too many fish in the sea?”

  “It was more about finding the right fish. Penelope and I were very much alike. Family and duty mattered. We were friends and thought that was enough.”

  They hadn’t been in love? How sad. Violet wanted to be in love and she wanted to be loved in return. Otherwise, why get married? Of course she didn’t have a five-hundred-year-old inheritance to steward into the next century.

  “I’m sorry it wasn’t,” she said quietly.

  “I am, as well.” Ulrich finished his drink, then looked at her. “She left me for someone.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. Your grandmother wouldn’t have mentioned that to me.”

  “You’re right. She wouldn’t.” He paused. “It was a woman. When I asked Penelope why she hadn’t told me the truth from the beginning, she said she’d been hoping she was wrong. That I would change her mind.” His smile was self-deprecating. “I like to think I’m rather good, but no one is that good.”

  Violet honestly had no idea what to say. “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too.” One shoulder rose and lowered. “I’ve heard she’s in a relationship now and is very happy. I wish her the best.”

  “You’re a good man.”

  “Thank you. I try. Now we shall change the subject to something slightly more interesting. I’d like to hear about the wedding you’re currently working on.”

  “It’s normal. Completely and totally regular. No under-the-sea, no aliens, no cowboys.”

  “How disappointing.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  * * *

  THE EVENING FLEW BY. Violet found herself more charmed with each passing minute. Ulrich had her laughing as he told her about his trip to Hollywood and she talked about her summers in South Africa and how she was so not the outdoor type. By the time she and Ulrich finished their coffees, she found herself wondering if it was possible to fall for someone in a matter of hours.

  Not that she had. She was caught up in a very fun, very unreal set of circumstances. Her reaction to Ulrich was partly the wine, partly the fact that he was leaving and partly all the daydreams she’d had about the young man who had taken the time to make her younger self feel special for a moment or two. It wasn’t real. Come tomorrow, he would fly home and she would return to her regularly scheduled life. All she had to do was get through the next few minutes without making a fool of herself.

  They tussled briefly over the bill. Okay, she offered to pay half and he gave her a withering look followed by, “That is simply not how things are done. I invited you, Violet. The pleasure is mine.”

  As they walked to the front of the restaurant, he placed his hand on the small of her back. She felt the warmth of each finger, the pressure of his palm and did her best not to purr like some lonely cat. When they reached her car, she gave herself a quick “say goodbye and get out of here” lecture, in a futile attempt to keep herself from acting foolishly. Or worse, to avoid throwing herself at him. After all, they were in a parking lot and while it was dark, they were hardly anywhere private. Even more significant, she had no idea what he thought of her. She tried to be strong but the fear of rejection always made her feel small. Still, she had to say something only she had no idea what it was supposed to—

  He drew her close and kissed her. The unexpected action stole her breath—or maybe it was simply the proximity of the man.

  His mouth was firm yet gentle. One hand settled on her hip while the other tangled in her hair. She rested her fingers on his strong, broad shoulders. He smelled good, he kissed better and after maybe eight seconds, she knew she was a total goner.

  Figuring some version of what the hell, she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned into him and parted her lips. He didn’t hesitate—not for a second. His tongue swept inside, then swept her away. Heat grew, as did need. Wanting whimpered. Oh, to be that girl, she thought regretfully.

  Ulrich drew back and looked at her. “You are an unexpected treat, Violet Lund.”

  “As are you.”

  He smiled and stroked her cheek. “At the risk of saying the wrong thing, would you like to come back to my hotel room?”

  She thought about how it would be between them. Both naked, his dark blue eyes blazing with passion. He would feel good inside of her—she just knew it. She could ask him to talk in that sexy voice of his as he touched her everywhere. There were so many reasons to say yes.

  “I want to,” she admitted. “But you’re leaving and I’m not that girl.”

  His expression never changed. He kissed her again—lightly this time. “You not being that girl is part of your charm. Thank you for a wonderful evening. One I shall never forget.”

  The perfect words. She hoped there was a touch of regret in his voice. Maybe more than a touch.

  He stepped back, brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her skin. Then he opened her car door for her and waited until she was safely inside before stepping back and waving. She drove away with the thought that doing the right thing had never felt so incredibly sucky in her whole life.

  * * *

  MATHIAS’S M
OUTH CLAIMED Carol’s with an intensity that stole her breath. His hands moved up and down her back and her sides, arousing with every touch, confusing her and exciting her at the same time. She didn’t know what was happening or what he was thinking or what she was thinking, she only knew that she never wanted him to stop.

  “Carol,” he breathed, then eased her sideways so they weren’t trapped by the sofa and coffee table anymore. “Carol. You have to say this is okay. Please.”

  His voice was thick, his tone pleading. The passion was clear in the way he claimed her mouth over and over again. She could barely manage a quick “Yes” between kisses. When his tongue skimmed her bottom lip, she parted for him and then groaned when he swept inside.

  Heat poured through her. Hunger stole her breath and any chance at rational thought. When he grabbed her hands and put them on his chest, she allowed herself the thrill of touching him. His shoulders, his back, his arms. He felt good. He felt right. She wanted him, wanted whatever this was.

  When his hands reached for her T-shirt, she only had a moment to think that she was wearing her work clothes and probably smelled of hay and gazelle feed. But before she could figure out how to offer an apology or ask for a second to shower, her shirt was off and his hands were touching her breasts over her bra.

  At the first stroke of his skilled fingers, she knew that showers and eau du gazelle didn’t really matter. Then her bra went flying and his mouth was on her tight nipple and she couldn’t care about anything except what he was doing to her body.

  He kissed her everywhere. Somehow her clothes disappeared and she was naked. He hadn’t done more than take off his shoes, but before she could complain, he was pushing her onto the club chair across from the sofa and dropping to his knees. Then he parted her and leaned over to kiss her so intimately, so deeply, that she nearly came right there.

  He found her clit on the first try and sucked it gently. He inserted a finger inside of her, pushing in all the way, then withdrawing. At the same time, he circled her swollen center, finding the perfect steady rhythm that had her gasping, straining and hoping he never, ever stopped.

  It didn’t take her long. About thirty seconds in she drew her knees up and pushed down on his finger. A minute in, she was panting and pleading and five seconds after that, it happened.

  She came with a cry that was ripped from the very soul of her. Pleasure filled her as her muscles rippled and released. Mathias kept touching her, kept moving in and out, drawing every ounce of it from her, then slowing so the sensations lingered. Only then did he sit back and smile at her.

  “That’s my girl.”

  She stared at him, both satiated and in shock. “I can’t believe that just happened.” She was naked. In his living room. There was a dog on the sofa, although Sophie had snored through the entire, ah, event. What on earth?

  He reached for his jeans and pulled a condom out of his wallet, then stretched out on the carpet and smiled. “Any chance you’d consider being on top?”

  Seven simple words. Seven words that chased away any thought of being confused or embarrassed. Seven words that made everything right.

  “I just might.”

  “Good, because I’ve had this recurring fantasy about you.”

  “It’s not that...what?” Fantasy about her? Had he really said that?

  He winked at her, then closed his eyes. “This is going to be good.”

  She smiled, then waited for him to start undressing. Or say something else. Or look at her. Only he didn’t do any of those things...he just breathed heavily. Too heavily. The deep breathing became a snore nearly as loud as Sophie’s.

  Carol sat there, naked, sexually satisfied and totally humiliated. She didn’t even have to ask what had happened. It was obvious. More than obvious. She’d had the best sex ever and Mathias had passed out.

  Was that just exactly her life?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MATHIAS WOKE WITH the mother of all hangovers and a beagle licking his face. The previous evening was mostly a blur. He knew Carol had stopped by and they’d talked. At some point, he’d fallen asleep in the living room—hopefully after she’d left. Near dawn, he’d made his way to his bed. He remembered that much, as well as having to push Sophie aside so he could squeeze under the covers. But the rest of it...not so much with the memories.

  He got up and winced as bright sunlight burned through his eyes. Note to self, he thought grimly. No more drinking when he was feeling stupid about his lack of talent. It only led to disaster and pushed him a little too close to the Ceallach side of the road. Staying sane meant being his own man.

  He let Sophie out and started coffee. While his Keurig worked its magic, he scanned the living room, but nothing was out of place. In fact all the glasses from the previous night were neatly placed in the dishwasher and the salsa and chips had been put away. Had he done that? Had Carol? Jeez, he really hoped he’d stayed awake long enough to escort her to the door. He had, hadn’t he?

  Sophie bounced back into the kitchen, her tail wagging. He fed her before retreating to the healing warmth of a hot shower. As he stripped down he remembered the incredible sex dream he’d had, then groaned. Once again Carol had dominated his night. Damn, everything about touching her, kissing her, pleasing her, had been so real. So vivid. If only, he thought with a sigh. But his luck wasn’t that good.

  Once he was showered, shaved and dressed, he made his bed and took his second cup of coffee out onto the back patio. Through some quirk of geography or weather, there was still mist clinging to the ground of the animal preserve. The wisps of fog made him think of fairies or maybe just trolls.

  Before he could decide which was more likely in Happily Inc, a couple of gazelles raced into view. They tore across the damp grass with the energy of schoolchildren being released for the day. He sat down and reached for his sketch pad. As he picked up a pencil, something nibbled at the back of his mind. Something about the previous night. Had he said something? What was it he couldn’t remember?

  Before he could pursue the lack of thought, Millie stepped into view. She moved more slowly than the gazelles, as if each step required planning. Or maybe she was just sad. He wished there was a way to let her know that Carol was working the problem. That as soon as there was money a herd would be purchased and—

  Carol joined Millie. It was something she did nearly every morning. Only this time was different. Mathias wasn’t sure how he knew that, but as he watched, every part of him went on alert. Something had changed. Something had happened or was going to happen or—

  Carol spoke. Mathias saw her lips move. Millie bent down just as Carol looked up. Sunlight broke through the mist and in that moment, the giraffe and the woman nearly touched.

  The image was perfect—all lines and curves. Friendship, maybe love, surrounded them. Carol’s chin was raised, Millie’s neck arched. There were trees behind them, a hint of mist and the light from the sun. Everything was exactly as it should be, he thought as he drew frantically. This was what he’d been waiting for and now he knew exactly what he had to do.

  He finished the drawing, then went inside and made copies of it before heading to the studio. After dropping Sophie off with Natalie, he began the painstaking process of turning glass into magic.

  It took hours. Nick joined him and together they heated, formed, rolled and discarded different pieces. Finally, as the sun headed toward the western horizon, Mathias set a ten-inch giraffe on his desk and studied it.

  There weren’t as many details as he would like, but that would come with size and practice. Still, progress had been made. The piece looked like Millie. Even more important, there was a sense of movement, as if the giraffe would take the next step any second.

  “Damn,” Nick breathed. “You nailed it. What’s next?”

  “I do it again, only bigger.” The final piece would be
maybe three feet high, he thought absently, turning the glass around on his desk. Millie leaning down and Carol looking up. Tomorrow he would make his first attempt at creating Carol out of glass. Once he had worked out the basics in the smaller piece, he would make that one larger, as well. And then...

  He stood and studied the giraffe. He had no idea what happened after that, but he was okay with the uncertainty. It had been years since he’d created something other than dishes and pendant lights. Years since he’d been willing to take a chance.

  The last time, he’d been all of nineteen. Mathias did his best to ignore the past, but it flooded him with detailed memories and once again he could see the swirling abstract design—part star, part wave, color pulsing in every curve. He’d stunned himself with its beauty and had sensed down to his gut it was the best thing he’d ever done.

  Both Nick and Ronan had been silent—as if they had no idea what to say. Their looks of admiration and envy had been enough. He’d known he’d nailed it. Known this piece was going to be the one to put him on the map. He would be more than Ceallach’s talented son—he would be famous in his own right.

  He’d waited anxiously for his father to see what he’d done. Waited for judgment to be pronounced. Ceallach had slowly walked around the pedestal, had frowned and said nothing. Mathias had waited confidently, ready to be told he was good enough.

  His father’s expression had hardened into distaste. “Garbage,” he’d growled, before pushing the pedestal and causing the huge, glorious swirling, living thing to tumble to the ground and shatter into a thousand pieces.

  All three brothers had stared in disbelief. Ronan had spoken first.

  “You’re jealous,” Mathias’s twin had shouted. “That’s why you did it. You know he’s better than you and you can’t stand it.”

  Ceallach’s next swipe of his fist had been to his son’s face. Mathias had pulled Ronan back while Nick had shoved their father out of the studio. They’d stood there together, their breathing loud in the silence.