Magnus Read online

  Nothing.

  So I broke in and saw her sitting on the bed. She wasn’t moving – just sitting there not responding to my calls for her. I nearly lost my mind. I had to grab her, secure her next to me because I thought the worst had happened. Thought something had happened to her. I couldn’t lose another woman that I—

  That I—

  I couldn’t lose her, and the very thought of it made me sick. That’s why I kissed her. If something had happened to her, I wouldn’t have gotten that chance, so I took advantage. I didn’t think it through – didn’t process how it might feel. I just went with it.

  At first, I asked myself what I was doing. I’d never kissed a woman since Nicoletta. Then, when I discovered how good her lips were, how my tongue felt right at home in her mouth, I knew I wanted more of it. More of her.

  The guilt didn’t set in until I was back home, prompting me to look at old photographs of Nicoletta and my son. And that’s where I am – in the bedroom sitting at the nook by the window remembering her and MJ. My guilt thickens with each picture I see of us together. There’s one of us on vacation. She’s wearing a bikini. There’s one of us at a restaurant. An anniversary dinner. One by the pool, one with her and MJ, one with her pressing her lips next to my face. And then there’s one I took of her. She was laying out by the pool one summer day and was so relaxed, she fell asleep. I captured the moment – the peaceful look on her face.

  We were in love. We were happy.

  I temper my heartache with a long, hot shower where I ask myself what I’m doing. How did I let Shiloh get so close? Why can’t I shake her?

  When my shower is over, I’m still struggling with those questions. I can’t get a handle on them. I call Bransen.

  “Mag?” he answers.

  He’s surprised by my call. I’m equally surprised. I usually don’t talk to him outside of work, especially on a weekend day, but my current set of circumstances leaves me no choice.

  “Yeah, it’s me. I need to talk to you about something. Are you down for drinks? It’s on me.”

  “Yeah, man. Sure.”

  We meet at Hooligans – a bar in Uptown. He lives down there in one of the high-rise apartments. This place is close by – somewhere he’s been before.

  “I saw your number on my caller ID and I had to do a double-take,” Bransen says with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, I know it’s out of the ordinary, but you know the situation so I figure who best to talk to about it. And don’t give me grief, okay. It was hard enough for me to call you.”

  “Ah’ight, man. I got you. What’s up? What has Shiloh done to make this side of you appear?”

  “She’s getting to me.”

  “Getting to you? What do you mean?”

  “She’s getting close. Too close. I haven’t pulled out pictures of Nicoletta and MJ in a few years, but I did today because I kissed Shiloh and—”

  “So what? You like her. You married her and—”

  “Yeah, I married her but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. I don’t want to kiss her. I shouldn’t have, and to be honest with you, I don’t want to like her. I’ve been fighting it.”

  “If you’ve been fighting it, I’m sure you’ll win eventually,” Bransen says. “You win at everything. That’s what you do.”

  “That’s the problem, man. I don’t want to fight it.” I down a shot of Patrón then admit, “I want her.”

  “You want her?”

  “Yes, and not solely for the purpose of having a baby.”

  “Then exactly what do you want? Sex?”

  “It’s more to it than that. She—she understands me a little. I think. I know I’m a complicated person but I think she gets it. And she likes me. Not my money. Me. She never asks me for anything. She tries to handle things on her own. Like, with her father—she tries to keep the sadness all to herself the same way I did with Nicoletta and MJ. I can see it in her though. I can draw it out of her. And she can draw my feelings out of me, but I’m not sure I’m willing to take it there with her again. I let her get close. And now I—”

  I scrub my hand across my mustache and over my mouth. “Now, I don’t know what to do to be honest with you.” I drop my head and interlock my fingers at the nape of my neck.

  “Well, after listening to you talk, it sounded like you were ready to move on, but now I can see you’re struggling with this. You’re not ready, and honestly, Mag, you’ll be better off if you let her be. That’s my advice. I know it’s probably something you weren’t quite ready to face, but it’s the best option at this point. Get out before you get in too deep. If you like her, I doubt you’ll want to break her heart.”

  “I don’t want to do that to her.”

  “Then get out.”

  Bransen’s advice has always steered me in the right direction. I don’t want to question him this time, so I don’t. I take it for what it is and let it marinate.

  * * *

  Two Patrón shots later, I’m back home. To avoid running into Shiloh, I go straight to my bedroom. I shower and lay across the bed naked thinking about how I got to this place. Attached. Too close. Shiloh was in my home and had been here for a week. Bransen is right. I’m not ready for this and it was time for her to go.

  Sunday, I stayed away from her. She’d texted me that evening, asking where I was – a text I didn’t answer but I was in the house, more specifically my home office for most of the day, refocusing my thoughts on work, or so I thought. Whenever I looked at the computer, her face was there. And then there was the gift she bought me…

  As much as I wanted to forget about it, I couldn’t leave it in the garbage. I needed to know what it was. So, a few days ago, I retrieved it – it was a bookend shaped like Superman – something simple. Something I didn’t have. Now, it’s on my desk. Every time I look at it I think of her, trying to determine why out of all the things she could’ve bought me, she chose this. Did it have any meaning behind it? Am I her superhero? Does she see me as some kind of a rescuer? Or does this hunk of metal have no significance and is just something she wanted to buy because she wanted to purchase something for me?

  I pull the receipt out of the bag. The thing cost $25.99. There’s a note scribbled on the back in her fancy cursive handwriting:

  My hero.

  I frown, instantly thinking of the words Nicoletta had engraved on the watch I’m wearing. I was her hero. Not Shiloh’s. I ball up the piece of paper and toss it. I can’t be her hero. Truth be told, I’m nobody’s hero. If I was, I’d still have Nicoletta.

  * * *

  I’m relieved when I get back to the office on Monday morning. I jumped right back into the swing of things. First on the agenda was a meeting with Bransen, one in which I intentionally didn’t bring up Shiloh’s name. I was proud of that. She wouldn’t be a permanent part of my life and there was no sense in me tricking myself into believing that.

  Then, I found myself on a few conference calls. I had a meeting with a reporter from the Observer.

  The lunch hour came and went.

  In the early afternoon, I had a meeting with the engineers – one that was interrupted by a phone call from Mason St. Claire – a call I took since it’s one I’d been waiting for. He said he wanted to meet me so we could talk in person. I told him I’d get back to him, took down his number and hung up the phone.

  Then another call comes. It’s Lucille.

  “What is it, Lucille?” I ask. She knows I don’t like being disturbed at work, yet here she is, clogging up my line.

  “Hi, Magnus. I apologize for the interruption, but—”

  “I’m in the middle of a trial run for a new product. What’s going on? Is there something urgent?”

  “Mag, it’s—um, look I don’t know what happened between you and Shiloh, but I thought you two were getting along so well.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re interrupting me at work to talk about Shiloh?”

  “Yes. You care about her, don
’t you?”

  I sigh. I’m seconds away from hanging up.

  “I thought you’d like to know I talked to Shiloh a few minutes ago and she told me she was leaving. I got a funny feeling she ain’t coming back this time.”

  “What gives you that feeling?”

  “Well, she called you a flake among other things—said one minute you like her, the next minute you’re avoiding her. She said you didn’t talk to her at all on Sunday.”

  “She’s right. If her opinion of me is that I’m a flake, that’s her opinion to have. And yes, I did avoid her all day Sunday. It was intentional.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think that’s any of your business, Lucille?”

  “Because it is. I’ve watched you be miserable since you lost Nicoletta and MJ. And I watched you with those other two women you brought up in here—”

  “You mean the guesthouse.”

  “Yes. In the guesthouse. You didn’t like them. You wouldn’t let them in your home. They were only allowed in the guesthouse. You didn’t panic whenever you couldn’t reach them. You didn’t buy them a car. Didn’t ask me to take them shopping.”

  “That’s because I didn’t have to. They took the money. They didn’t need anything else from me! Again, why are you disturbing me?”

  She sighs. “Well, seems you got everything under control then, Magnus.”

  “What does that mean, Lucille?”

  “Nah, I’m gon’ shut my mouth now.”

  “No. Tell me what that means.”

  She’s quiet for a moment then says, “I’ve been thinking about you and those other women—how you supposedly been trying to have a baby but after four months with each of them, they don’t come out pregnant. I asked myself how that’s possible and I can only come up with two things – either you done ran and got yourself a vasectomy, or you’ve been using protection with those women. You weren’t trying to impregnate either one of them, were you? You didn’t want to get them pregnant.”

  I don’t respond, only listen because she’s right. She’s right about everything. I didn’t try. I couldn’t make myself give my seed to another woman. I couldn’t do it. Every time I thought I could, I changed my mind at the last minute. Protected myself. But I didn’t do that with Shiloh. I gave her my seed. I wanted her to have my baby. Truth be told, I still want her to have my baby.

  Lucille continues ranting, “You were conducting your own little experiments—wanted to see if you’d have feelings for the first two women, but you didn’t. The first woman, I don’t think you ever really liked, but the second girl had feelings for you. You didn’t have any for her. So she had to go. Then Shiloh comes along—the only one you decided to marry. The only one you wanted to take prenatal vitamins. The only one you tracked and made rules that she had to tell you where she was at all times. The only one you cared about. The only one who’s been inside your home. Shiloh. She’s clearly different from the first two and you like her which is the reason I believe you avoid her so much. You like her and you’re going to let her leave even while knowing she could be carrying your child. Why? Because she’s not Nicoletta?”

  Her words sting. The reality of what she said is getting to me. Shiloh’s leaving. It’s probably for good this time. She’s tired of me. One minute we’re sharing laughs, the next I’m staying as far away from her as I can. I know it’s getting to her.

  It’s gotten to me.

  All day Sunday I was miserable without seeing her smile. And even today, I had a hard time concentrating on work. I couldn’t shake any thoughts about her. I let them grow and mature in my mind until I had to chastise myself for being a jerk. For ignoring her. For tossing her gift in the trash. For leading her on. Playing with her feelings.

  She needs to leave. It was for the best. Bransen confirmed it.

  So why do I feel like I’m about to suffer another loss?

  I step back inside the lab to inform my head engineer I’d have to continue this later. That something urgent has come up. And then I jog to the parking garage to get my car, telling myself I’m not going to talk Shiloh into staying if she doesn’t want to stay. Whatever happens, happens. I’ll just have to roll with it.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Shiloh

  “Running away again?”

  I turn toward the door to see Magnus standing there with his arms crossed, leaned against the door frame.

  It’s a good thing I’m a lot calmer than I was earlier when I was talking to Lucille. She tried her best to get me to stay. But this wasn’t her house. She wasn’t the one stringing me along, making me feel things – false things, apparently. I can’t lie – Lucille warned me from the beginning not to fall for Magnus. It’s so hard not to. He’s charming and generous. He comes off as a man who cares about me and my father, but he’s not available. Well, his heart isn’t. He’s lost so much. He wouldn’t know how to love anyone else.

  “I’m not running away, Magnus,” I say evenly. My voice is light and airy. I don’t want to give him the idea that I’m upset, because I’m not. I’ve made peace with this. I’m not letting him get to me – not this time.

  “Then what are you doing?” he asks.

  “I’m going home.” I fold a pair of jeans when I hear the door close. I’m thinking he’s left with nothing else to say, his usual M.O., but when I look toward the door, I see he’s closed it and is walking toward me, removing his suit jacket along the way. He lays it on the dresser and then I feel him behind me – like immediately behind me. We’re sharing each other’s body heat. I can hear him breathing. Smell his cologne.

  I lose control of my faculties when I feel him pull the elastic ponytail holder from my hair. I don’t know what he does with it. I don’t have time to think about what he does with it because I feel his arms close around me while his chin rests on my head. He takes a deep breath of me, smelling my hair. I close my eyes, grip his arms.

  He moves his hand to thread his fingers through my hair, rakes my strands over my left shoulder. His lips gently touch my neck, not kissing, but touching – brushing back and forth across my skin. I feel his hair – his mustache, his beard – flirt with my softness. He doesn’t say a word, just does this over and over again while holding me tight against his body. Then the kisses begin – small ones. Intimate ones. Seductive ones that send my temperature rising. Makes my body tremble a little. It trembles a lot when he opens his mouth, breathes heat on my ear and pulls my earlobe between his lips.

  I moan and squeeze his arm tighter – the one that’s wrapped around me. His warm tongue flicks across my earlobe back and forth. Slowly. Methodically.

  He whispers in the most seductive, spine-tingling tone I’ve ever heard, “I don’t want you to leave, Shiloh.”

  His breath smells like cherry Twizzlers. Makes my mouth water. I peel his arms off of me, turn around to face him and stare into his longing eyes. I see confusion. Lust. I see need. I see a man who’s lost. “Then what do you want, Magnus?”

  He traces my quivering lips with his thumb and responds, “You know what I want.”

  “No, I don’t,” I say, but I do. I want him to tell me what he wants – to say it like whoever Ne-Yo was talking to when he made a song by the same title. Say It.

  “I want to make you forget what pain feels like,” he whispers, his voice a combination of sin and sensuality.

  He lowers his lips to mine, kisses me again, the second time he’s ever done so. Our mouths blend together in beautiful submersion. His to mine. Mine to his. He tastes my lips, savor them and I’m savoring the taste of the man I’ve fallen in love with. He’s attentive to every move I make. Every breath I take. To the slightest movement of my tongue.

  His sweet, cherry-flavored tongue fills my mouth with warmth and I melt into him while he feasts upon me. I feel one of his strong hands settle on my back, the other hand clutching my neck, his tongue inching closer to the back of my throat.

  I moan louder. I swallow him, consume him. Absorb his tas
te. I’m giving in to his advances preemptively deciding that whatever he wants is what I want. His actions say he wants me. I equally want him the same. I moan as I purposely taste his tongue and acquaint myself with his mouth. My arms wrap around his neck as I hoist myself up onto him, my legs cinching his waist.

  He’s still kissing me. Tongue still at my throat. Still dominating everything we’re doing. Controlling every breath I’m able to take.

  He smells good. Gosh, he smells good. The comforting scent of being this close to him puts me under a spell. His smell – oh, that smell. And his mouth – he tastes good – so good, I try just as hard to kiss him the same way he’s kissing me.

  Now I need to know how he feels. I want him skin-to-skin with me. Chest to chest. Lips to lips. I want every part of him touching every part of me. I’ve dreamt about what this would feel like hoping it wouldn’t be anything like the transaction between us at his guesthouse. I’m sure now, that it won’t be.

  He lowers me to the bed, strips me bare and removes his clothes while I watch – the first time I’ve ever seen him naked. His body is cut like steel, welded into this grandiose statue of a man. His pectorals beg to be seen. They’re thick and beefy. His abs are firm. My eyes follow them to the silky hair of his abdomen and straight to the part of him that sets him apart as a beast of a man. It’s the part of him I’ve felt before so I knew its size already. Actually seeing it was another matter. Hard caramel…

  I couldn’t believe all of that had once been inside me, but it had. To see him firm and thick, in control and turned on by me had me ready to feel it again. But this time, it would be different. He said nothing about making a baby. He wanted this because he wanted me. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  He crawls on top of me. I’m panting. Nervous. Rightly so. He’s different this afternoon and his thick, caramel-drippin’-body looks so different when he’s naked. My goodness. This is foreign to me.