Karma's Kiss, page 20
Step by step, Sawyer backs us up to his bed, but before we tumble down onto it, he unzips the back of my dress. It’s a slow, teasing movement, and it sends shivers across every one of my limbs. He peels me out of the tight fabric and then steps back, dragging his gaze from the top of my head, down over my chest—which is rising and falling with shallow breaths—along my quivering stomach, my thighs, knees, calves, wiggling toes.
Fire burns in his gaze when we lock eyes again, and I feel completely at his mercy as he takes a predatory step toward me. Then another. We kiss again, deeper, longer. I think he’ll continue undressing me, undress himself, but we linger in the shallows so long that I’m left panting by the time he finally tips me back onto his bed and peels my panties down my legs. I feel vulnerable as I lie nearly naked before him, but I don’t resist. I slip my bra straps off my shoulders and let him do the rest, peeling off the lacy fabric and setting it reverently aside, never taking his eyes off me.
There’s no discussion, no confirmation that we’re both willing. There’s no need. Our longing fills the air we breathe. It’s in the way my fingers dig into his biceps as he climbs up and over me. His mouth claims my neck, my chest, my breasts. I arch up for him and his emotions bleed into me. I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I keep them at bay as Sawyer slips down my body, kissing his way along my torso and stomach, my navel, taking his time, working me to a fever pitch before he sinks between my parted thighs, and held-back tears finally slip down my cheeks as I tilt my head back and inhale a sharp breath.
It’s already too late…I’ve fallen. Please let him fall too.
My eyes ping open with the realization that I haven’t begged in this desperate way since I was a little girl wanting a birthday party to go on forever, a carousel ride to loop endlessly, a conversation with my dad to not be the last. My emotions overwhelm me. I don’t mean to let the tears continue to fall, but they do, and Sawyer notices.
“Madison?” he asks quietly.
I tug him against me, crushing our bodies together so his weight falls heavy over me in the best, most comforting way.
“It’s good. It feels so good,” I assure him, my throat feeling too tight to get anything else out. I kiss him as proof that these tears aren’t sad, or if they are, it’s a cathartic sadness. A relief that I can still want something this much and feel it so intensely.
I don’t know if it’s appropriate to realize in this moment, but I never shared this passion with Matthew. I didn’t even know how far off I was from the real thing. I don’t say this to Sawyer. I don’t want him worried that I’m thinking of my ex-fiancé in a moment like this. There’s no way he won’t interpret it the wrong way.
So I kiss him.
I let my hands wander over his body, and eventually, the heaviness becomes lighter, the passion easier to bear. We’re just as frenzied as we were in Sawyer’s truck, only now there’s no police officer knocking on the window interrupting us as Sawyer spreads my legs and presses inside me, rocking his hips until I gasp.
The first time ends quickly. The second time we linger. The third time happens in the kitchen when we’re both desperate for a snack.
“Think we could get Queenie to send over some cookies?” Sawyer teases.
“At three AM?!”
“Fine, I’ll just eat you instead.”
“SAWYER!”
CHAPTER 17
In case you were wondering, the staff bathroom at Wildflower Weddings is decked out—floor to ceiling—with decor left over from the travel agency era. No scrap of wall escaped Luellen’s touch, and if possible, in here, she upped her game even more. The wall decals are practically layered one on top of another. Go anywhere! Be anything! Dream big! They feel satirical for someone sitting on a toilet.
Today though, the encouraging phrases are just what I need. I’ve already opened up a pregnancy test and I’ve read the instructions twice, but I’m doing it a third time because I want to be sure I have it right. I’ve never taken a pregnancy test before, and though it seems simple, the results are potentially life-changing, so if I want to read through the instructions forty-five times, I will!
I know I could wait and take the test later, at Queenie’s, but I’m too antsy to wait. I purchased three tests on my way to work and my period was supposed to start this morning but it hasn’t, so here goes nothing.
I have three tests out and ready to go. I pee, count to five (three times), then set the sticks flat on the counter and wash my hands before I start my phone’s timer. The first thirty seconds of waiting is agony. Every second is a year. I prop my hands on the sink and keep my focus anywhere but the tests; it feels like I’ll jinx it if I look at them. Instead, I study the distressed black letters nailed into the sheetrock above the vanity sink. D E S T N Y. The I is either missing or was never there to begin with. Destiny. Maybe Luellen hammered those Hobby Lobby letters in here years ago knowing one day I’d need to read them. Everything in life happens for a reason, those letters assure me.
Thanks, Luellen.
I’ve waited close to a minute when I hear a car pull up out front. Crap. Queenie and Marge can’t be back from lunch already! They said they were headed over to Cactus Cafe. I figured Waylon and Lucinda would keep them occupied for at least an hour.
I poke my head out of the bathroom, expecting to see Marge’s maroon Toyota Corolla, but instead there’s a black Escalade with tinted windows. The sleek-looking SUV doesn’t belong to Queenie or Marge, that’s for sure. I watch as the doors open in tandem, and then my stomach drops.
I blink, not quite believing what I’m seeing. Three Masons have arrived in Oak Hill, Texas. Matthew and his parents walk up onto the sidewalk and squint at the door of my mom’s office, reading Luellen’s Travel Agency and probably wondering where the hell they’ve found themselves. They’re dressed like they’ve just come from the campaign trail, Mr. Mason and Matthew both in sharp navy suits. Mrs. Mason is wearing a shift dress with pearl buttons running down the center.
They’re probably hot outside, but I’m all too happy to let them stay confused out there in the sweltering heat. Unfortunately, Mr. Mason strides forward with determination and yanks the door open. I don’t think fast enough to duck back into the bathroom before he sees me.
Immediately, his stern expression softens. “Madison!” Turning back, he waves the others in behind him. “I knew this was the right address.”
There are a million ways forward right now, only a handful of which include me stepping out of the bathroom and being gracious to these uninvited out-of-town guests. Matthew walks in behind his mom, looking a little like a shamed puppy. His shoulders are slumped and his attention is on the floor. I look at him as I walk over to greet them, willing him to meet my gaze, to say something, but he doesn’t. It’s his father who comes over to me and gives me a hearty side hug. His mom smiles and compliments my dress. It’s like, for them, nothing has happened; I should be happy they’re here.
“It’s so good to see you, hun,” Mrs. Mason gushes, taking my hand in hers and patting the back of it.
The small smile I was able to muster when they first arrived is already starting to fall as I look between them and ask point-blank, “What are y’all doing here?”
Mr. Mason chuckles and smooths a hand down his Auburn red tie. “Thought we’d pay a visit to our favorite girl, of course. Matthew, be polite, would you?”
My ex-fiancé lifts his head and looks at me, his expression schooled into neutral indifference. “Hi, Madison.”
“Hi” is all I can manage.
Then suddenly the three-minute alarm I set on my phone starts blaring.
OH MY GOD.
I reach into my dress pocket and turn it off, blushing as I apologize. I want to run to the bathroom and look at the tests, but I can’t. Not while they’re here.
WHY are they here?!
When I left Montgomery, I assumed I’d never see Matthew or his family ever again. Now they’ve shown up at the worst possible time.
“I apologize if I sound rude, but honestly, I’m really not sure why you’ve all come to Texas,” I press. “Isn’t…Isn’t Matthew getting married this weekend?”
Saturday is July 1st, isn’t it?
The mention of Matthew’s wedding has the three poised Masons appearing, if not quite embarrassed (they would never deign to show that much emotion), at least deeply uncomfortable.
“No.” His dad laughs and squashes the question like he wishes he could extinguish it from existence altogether. “Of course not. That was all such nonsense.”
I look quickly at Matthew to see him wince, but he doesn’t argue. It seems the wedding is off. Does Emma know yet? Is she somewhere distraught over the turn of events? I almost feel bad for her.
Southern hospitality and outright curiosity have me inviting them to take a seat on the couch near the front door. I can sense their relief as they sit—Mr. Mason, Mrs. Mason, then Matthew—all in a straight line facing me as I take the chair across from them.
Mr. Mason clears his throat. “I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking plainly—”
“Actually,” Matthew interrupts. “Could I use the restroom? It’s been a long travel day and—”
“NO.” My response is a bullet fired too fast. None of them are allowed in the bathroom, not while those pregnancy tests still sit on the counter. I force an apologetic smile. “No bathroom.” I point to the sidewalk. “But there’s one at the coffee shop next door if you really need one.”
Mr. Mason sends his son a lethal glare, and Matthew swallows meekly. “It’s fine, actually. I’ll hold it.”
“Right. Now…” His father straightens and reclaims everyone’s attention. “As I was saying, we’re all adults here, and I’d rather cut to the chase so we don’t waste anyone’s time. These last few weeks have been hard on everyone, and we—our entire family—want nothing more than for you and Matthew to get back on track. We’re prepared to make that happen by any means possible, starting with a buyout of Evermore Events.”
My jaw goes slack. What is he talking about?
Mrs. Mason leans forward on the couch, smiling ear to ear. “We’ve already discussed it with Tanya. She’s ready to hand over the reins of the company.”
No. That can’t be right. Tanya loves Evermore Events. I assumed she’d continue building the business for another decade or two. She’s not even close to retirement age.
When I point this out to the Masons, Matthew’s dad laughs. “Well, let’s say things changed. She seems very happy with the arrangement we presented to her, so there’s no need to worry.”
He exchanges a glance with his wife, a look of confirmation that they’re laying out their plan flawlessly. It’s Matthew who’s yet to say a word. He sits on the far end of the couch, studying his shoes.
“Matthew?” I prod.
“Hmm?” He looks up almost dazed.
“Are you okay?”
I’m actually concerned to see him like this. It’s all so…weird.
He looks hurriedly at his father then sits up and fixes his posture. “I’m fine, Madison. Just feel bad for all the trouble I’ve caused.”
He looks at Mr. Mason again, and I wonder if it’s approval he’s searching for. Or maybe just his next cue?
Mrs. Mason clears her throat delicately, recapturing my attention as she smiles kindly. “Maybe we haven’t been clear enough, and I apologize for how overwhelming this might seem, but we’re eager to bring you home, Madison. We want you back in Alabama. We want you to take the lead at Evermore Events, change it however you see fit, with our backing of course.” She laughs lightly, obviously trying to ease the tension.
“With the understanding that you and Matthew remain a couple,” Mr. Mason adds succinctly.
“Remain?”
I say the word harshly, emphasizing it so they all have to endure its awkwardness.
Matthew leans forward, his eyes full of contrition. “Madison, these last few weeks…” He shakes his head. “I was wrong. I should have never considered an end to our relationship, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. This is yours. It belongs to you—” He reaches into his suit pants pocket and extracts a black velvet box. My old engagement ring, the one I hid in the back of the toilet, is nestled in soft velvet, more sparkly than ever. Turns out, he was able to clean it just fine.
Seeing it, I can’t help but laugh. The sound of it pierces the silence, and three Masons stare at me as if I’ve just grown a second head. The sentiment behind their shock is clear: No one laughs at this many carats.
I shake my head at the ring. “No thank you.”
Mr. Mason grits his teeth and elbows Matthew, who leaps off the couch and comes to me, clasping my hands as best he can while keeping hold of the ring box.
“You’re the love of my life. I was such a fool.” His tone has taken on a desperate edge. “Forgive me, Madison,” he begs imploringly.
“What are you talking about? You’re marrying Emma!” I exclaim, wrenching my hands away from his. “This weekend! Or…”
“No. He is not,” Mr. Mason states firmly and impatiently. “That was all a ridiculous mix-up.”
Matthew winces, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment. When he blinks them open again, our gazes meet, and I feel a mixture of pity and disgust for this adult-boy cowering on his knees in front of me, at the beck and call of his parents, too spineless to stand on his own two feet and decide what he wants for himself. I can imagine what happened behind the scenes when he told his parents about our breakup. How easily did he bend to their will? How quickly did he agree to go through with this apology?
“Do you love her?” I ask him gently, lowering my voice. “Emma?”
I wish she were here, this woman I no longer hate. Seeing her would help shake him out of this spell his parents have him under.
He looks down, not answering.
I sigh and lower my voice. “Matthew, you should be with her.”
“Enough!” Mr. Mason explodes.
I reach for Matthew’s hands again and bend forward so we’re eye to eye. Now I’m the one looking desperate. “If you love her, be with her! Don’t listen to them.”
His mother snorts in disgust and shoots to her feet, sending me a venomous look. “This is ridiculous. It’s clear you can’t comprehend our offer, so we’ll give you a few days to consider it.”
Oh no. No way, lady. This ends here and now.
I stand just as confident and sure of myself as she is. “No. My answer is no.”
I fully comprehend what they’re offering me. My old job, my old fiancé, my old picture-perfect life—it’s all there for the taking, but I don’t want it. I don’t want Evermore Events, the neat office, the experienced employees, the helpful accounting department. Somewhere deep inside me, I’m crying at the loss of how easy it would be to take over a company run so seamlessly. Instead, I’m agreeing to stay here, among the piles of boxes, the lost invoices, the absolute chaos.
I don’t care. My future is suddenly crystal clear.
Matthew tucks the ring back into his pocket and rises slowly to his feet, dejected in the wake of my rejection or perhaps—hopefully—as a result of his involvement in this entire charade to begin with. He doesn’t want to be here right now, fighting for a woman he doesn’t love.
“I’ll give you a few days to reconsider,” he says, echoing his mother without meeting my eyes.
“Matthew, come on. This is stupid!” Breaking through the formality of the meeting feels good, so I continue trying to get through to him. “You’re a spineless coward if you let your parents force you to break up with that woman—”
His mom huffs and tugs on his arm, impatiently trying to drag him away from me and my bad influence. “Let’s go, Matthew.”
“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life!” I shout after him as he lets them hurry him through the front door.
As quickly as they arrived, the Masons shuffle back into their shiny black SUV, peel out of their parking spot, and disappear down Main Street. I can imagine the heated conversation between his parents as they fire off insults about me and my mom’s company, absolutely disgusted by my refusal to rejoin their family. I wonder if Matthew’s in the back seat agreeing with them or if he’s silently mulling over what I’ve told him.
I guess if he calls in a few days, I’ll have my answer. For now, all I can do is hope he finds some courage to rebel. Trust fund be damned.
Not even a full second after their car drives out of sight, I’m curving around the dust bunnies and haphazard box piles on my route toward the bathroom, holding my breath until I turn the corner and my gaze zeroes in on the three tests waiting for me on the counter. I’m expecting and desperately hoping to see two pink lines on each, a positive result. Instead, they’re negative, three times over.
Not pregnant.
I pick up each stick, tilting and angling it to try to detect a faint line. Even squinting with the utmost concentration and laser-sharp focus doesn’t bring about a magical change. But I don’t give up; I’m still looking them over when the front door opens. Marge and Queenie laugh about something, and I sweep the tests into the trash can, unspooling a mound of toilet paper and pressing it down on top of the tests—concealing what’s causing hot tears to gather in my eyes. I wash my hands and take a deep breath before emerging from the bathroom.
“How was your lunch?” Queenie asks.
“Uneventful.”
Marge waves a little cardboard box for me. “More stuff got delivered while we were gone.”
“Open it! Open it!” Queenie claps excitedly.
I can’t look at them. “You do it.”
I get to my desk and click-click-click my laptop’s trackpad, willing it to wake up faster. I study the screen as they exclaim over what’s in the box.
“Now that is too cute. They didn’t have anything like this when I was pregnant with David and Madison.”
“What is it? Oh, a little book with pregnancy milestones,” Marge explains. “Compares the baby to various fruit. How many weeks are you, Madison?”
