Текст книги "Until I Met You"

Автор книги: S. L. Scott

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

JANUARY EIGHTEENTH.

The snow had turned to rain, ruining the carefully orchestrated arrangements Mrs. Stevens had planned. Dinner was moved from the conservatory to the formal dining room. The acoustics would suit polite dinner conversation better in the wood-paneled room.

The Barretts were the first to arrive. Betsy Barrett’s timeliness was better than Big Ben. Harold Barrett had just hung up the phone after telling his only son to hurry. Taylor Barrett reached the landing and shook Mr. Stevens’s hand and kissed Mrs. Stevens’s cheek, then her daughter, Clara, on the cheek, but Clara angled her head and his lips nearly landed on her mouth. They had known each other since they were four. They slept together at seventeen, on a drunken night in The Hamptons. And Clara had never forgotten the handsome Barrett boy.

The Barretts were ushered into the library and had drinks in their hands before their coats were taken away.

At twenty-five, Taylor didn’t feel like he fit in with the “adults” at the party. He smiled when he was supposed to, nodded whether he agreed or not. Except when his illness came up. He hated being discussed, dissected. He hated being their poster boy for charity, their platform for social climbing, the subject of idle chatter. Tonight he didn’t argue. He didn’t have the strength. The last week had worn him down. There were no Jude Boehlers in New York. He was angry: at himself, at her, at their perfect week. He hated the memories of her in his T-shirt. He hated the smell of smoke that lingered everywhere. He hated his kitchen where she cooked in the nude. He hated his bed where they fucked and made love, slept, and where he’d held her. He hated her. He wanted that week washed away so he never had to think of the frivolous girl again.

To Mr. Stevens and his father, Taylor nodded, trying his best to act the opposite of how he felt. He even managed to not let Clara’s sexual innuendoes bother him. He was a wall, unbreakable by anyone anymore. He would stand tall, stand firm behind his own emotional fortress. Jude had gotten to him and now the anger inside him raged for being duped. He wouldn’t fall for such novelties again.

No, he had been fooled into thinking life didn’t have to be this affected. For a short week in time, he believed in something other than a life built on a superficial foundation. But tonight he was back, serving the term he had been sentenced to. So when Clara’s hand wandered over his backside, he didn’t move away. He didn’t yelp when Mrs. Stevens grabbed his ass. He smiled and had another drink. He was finished with two by the time The Moeklers arrived. Three by the time the last guests showed up thirty fashionable minutes late.

But he and Clara were upstairs by then. Taylor fell back, his drink upright, and spilling onto the comforter, when she pushed him onto her bed. Crawling over him, she kissed him. She touched him through his pants. She whispered how much she had missed him and didn’t know where the years had gone.

He lay there—letting her.

He lay there until he sat up just enough to take another drink from the glass in his hand. She went down like the amber liquid, and said, “I’ll make you feel so good.” The sound of his zipper was the only noise he heard after that as he felt a loss in the pit of his stomach he knew Clara Stevens couldn’t fill. Closing his eyes, he could imagine another, so easily.

A loud knock interrupted them. “Clara, dinner is being served. Your mother has requested Mr. Barrett’s and your company.”

Clara huffed, but then smiled. “Don’t worry. We can pick up where we left off after dinner. Maybe you can spend the night.”

Taylor sat up. “Maybe,” he lied. When he stood, he adjusted his cock and pulled the zipper up. He set the empty glass on her dresser as they left the room. That would be all he would drink tonight. He was losing his senses, his better judgment. Almost drunk was not a feeling he liked.

They entered the dining room and greeted everyone already seated. Fourteen guests and two empty seats near the far corner, the kids’ end of the table. Taylor held Clara’s chair out for her and then took the empty seat next to her. He took his napkin from the table and spread it across his lap right as Clara’s hand joined it.

Conversation at the other end of the table picked back up and he finally looked up at the company that sat across from him. His breath collapsed in his chest as he looked into the blue-green eyes that had demolished him. Her ruby lips were parted just enough for him to hear a harsh breath escape. He leaned in and inhaled. When her eyes left his and looked at Clara, he felt sick.

Her gaze drifted back to him and Jude ran her finger subtly over her mouth, and he knew. Knocking Clara’s hand away, he grabbed his napkin and scrubbed at his mouth until fuchsia lipstick was smeared across the white cloth. The blonde to his right had marred him so deceitfully. She knew what she had done. She had staked claims where she had no right. And now he sat in front of the only person he would never want to hurt, hurting her.

Clara, bubbly, completely unaware, introduced them, “Taylor Barrett, this is Judith Boehler and her cousin Isla Boehler. Judith and Isla, this is Taylor.”

Isla spoke first. “It’s very nice to meet you, Taylor.”

He stood, reached across the table, and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” He remained standing, turned his full attention on Jude and reached his hand out for her, palm up. It was the only offering he could give, and he hoped she accepted. “It’s very nice to meet you, Ms. Boehler.” His voice might have cracked, his nerves sneaking out, but he wasn’t sure.

She placed her hand in his and when their hands embraced, her lids dropped closed, the heat, the memories, the attraction almost too much. The long greeting was not awkward for them. It was needed. It was wanted. But Clara did not appreciate the extra attention shown to Jude.

Clara asked, “Have you met before?”

Taylor waited for Jude to answer, not sure why they were pretending.

“No,” she said, releasing him and leaning back in her chair. She raised her glass of water to her lips to hide the quiver of her bottom one.

A distraction was needed and one was provided in the nick of time for Jude. Bigger than life Rufus Stevens walked in, apologizing for his lateness. He’d been working. His grandiose entrance garnered smiles and happy chatter as a chair was added to the head of the table along with a place setting.

There was a time when Taylor liked Rufus, but many years had passed and dirty deeds had tainted the relationship. Rufus was a womanizer of the worst kind—he paid for sex with jewelry and expensive dinners and treated all women as if they were subservient. His expectations never exceeded a good blowjob and fuck. Taylor had spent more than a few nights comforting the women he’d abandoned at parties where they had been picked up, used, and dumped for the next conquest. There was something about a woman in tears that Taylor had trouble ignoring, even if she did know what she was getting into.

But more than any other woman, Rufus was the same “friend” that had slept with Katherine when Taylor was in the hospital. An engagement had been looming, the pressure from both families firmly planted on Taylor’s shoulders. When he told his friend, his “friend” did what any enemy would do: pursued Katherine, and when he got her, when he broke the happy couple up, he dumped her.

Her tears were the only ones Taylor never consoled. Would never console.

His mind was occupied on other things. He had his illness to deal with. A broken heart was just another part of him that he hoped to find a cure for one day.

Rufus and Taylor greeted each other with faux-civility. The former friends had not been in contact since Taylor’s disease had been diagnosed, and since the betrayal had made the rounds of social gossip circles.

Their salads were promptly served and their glasses topped off. Taylor ordered a Whiskey on the rocks, knowing there was no way he could make it through this dinner without something to slow the bombarding thoughts bouncing around his head.

Not wanting to focus on his foe, he turned back to the brunette who sat directly across from him, suddenly his heart feeling exposed. When she dared to look up, she was met with a fury of emotions, all seen so clearly in his eyes, and she looked away.

He didn’t.

Her hair was pulled tight, up in the back. Her bangs hung down to her eyebrows then fell softly across. Her lashes were darker, her lids lined with a thin black line. Pink graced her cheeks, but this pink was unnatural to the blush she had given him. This pink was the opposite of when she was tired, worn out from making love, and sated with their love.

Her pearl necklace covered the divot in her neck that he loved to lick, to suck, to caress. Small, delicate pearls adorned her ears and matched her pale silk dress.

Taylor stared at the brunette across from him, not recognizing her at all. He watched her over the soup course, over the salad course, over the main course. Over dessert. He watched her all night hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl who had ransacked his world.

She ignored his eyes. She ignored the animated conversation going on around her. She ignored the nudges from her cousin. She ignored most of the food in front of her. But she couldn’t ignore him. He’d given her seven days of happiness. He’d given her seven days of acceptance, of love, of trust. She could avoid his eyes, but no, she couldn’t ignore the man that had consumed her days and nights. That consumed her memories.

And she looked up, straight into his hazel eyes and smiled just for him, for her, for them, and the memories they had made.

In the eye of the hurricane, only the two of them existed, the others lost in the deadly winds that swirled around them. It became hard to breathe as she stared into the eyes of the one person she couldn’t have. She couldn’t destroy him. She wouldn’t. She had to let him go, for good.

His hand slowly reached for her and her fork fell, clanging against the plate. The hurricane was gone, everyone sitting in silence and staring at her. Everyone but Taylor, who stood. “You’ve gotten something on your dress. Here,” he offered, along with his hand, “I can help you.”

She took his hand and lightning struck twice, her heart failing to fend off the currents. “Okay,” she replied, barely audible.

Clara laughed at the ridiculous notion. “Sit down, Taylor. The help will get that out. Just go into the kitchen, Judith.”

Taylor ignored the snob seated to his left and held tight to the only woman that mattered to him. Their arms were raised above heads as they walked out of the room refusing to let go of the other. Through the swinging wood door, they entered the kitchen, and kept walking until they exited the other side and walked down the hall into the conservatory. They stood in the dark room, the rain beating down loudly on the glass that surrounded them. The harsh weather drowned away the world outside their bubble. And for a few seconds in time, he saw his Jude again.

Not wasting time, he said, “You didn’t come back. You said you would.”

Then she disappeared again…

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, adding him to the long list of people she felt she had disappointed. “I would’ve if I could.”

“Why couldn’t you?”

Her hand slipped from his and she walked to the window, the other side covered in battering drops of rain. “Does it matter?” She pressed her hand to the glass, feeling the cold, feeling the pressure of heavy droplets hitting it. “You and Clara seem close.”

“Looks are deceiving.”

“I guess,” she replied, her expression lackluster. She shrugged ever so slightly.

“Don’t do that! Don’t act like that week didn’t matter, like I didn’t matter.” Anger was taking over despite his best efforts to remain calm around her. His hurt had morphed and this was what he was left with. “Everything about you makes sense now. That’s not you at all. My parents don’t even recognize you from that night. You look different and you’re acting differently. Where’s your beautiful chaos? Where’s the wrinkled sundress and the snow boots? You’re not the girl who unapologetically crashed both a party and right into my world.” He looked at her and said, “Tonight, you’re stunning, but I don’t recognize the woman standing before me at all.”

Desperately wanting to find that girl as much as he did, she whirled around to face him. Her smile was gone when she realized her skirt was fitted and wouldn’t twirl. “This is how everyone wants me to be. Am I not perfect? Am I not prim? Or proper? Presentable?”

“You’re all those things, but you don’t get it. Where is the girl I met?” He went to her, got as close as he could while holding back so he wouldn’t touch her. He was weak for her and he needed to be strong. “Where’s the girl who double dips and cooks in the middle of the night? I want her back.”

Becoming frustrated, he had finally set her off. “So do I, but that’s just too bad, Taylor!”

“Don’t call me that, Judith!” He raised his voice right back at her. “Speaking of, I thought you said your family called you Jude. Everyone in there calls you Judith.”

She was insistent. “My real family does.”

“You make no sense. You’re fucking crazy. I should have gotten the hint at the last party.”

She grit her teeth as she stared at him. She became a woman possessed. Maybe obsessed was at the root of her affections, her anger toward and for him. “Don’t call me crazy.”

Her reaction took him aback. The colloquial phrase had slipped from his tongue with no thought behind it and he looked at her, really looked at her. Then he said with his hands up, “Calm down. We need to return in a minute and I don’t want to explain how well we know each other. Not to any of them.”

Offended, Jude turned on her heel and walked to the door. “No explanation necessary. To your parents, we’ve known each other forever. Wasn’t that what you said? ‘Feels like our whole lives’? For everyone else, we met tonight for the first time.” Her voice was cold, matter-of-fact.

Nope, not the Jude he recognized at all.

Walking out, she went into the bathroom across the hall and locked the door. A light knock on the other side caused her to take a step back from the door. His voice permeated the enclosed room, like it permeated her chest. “Jude?” he said so softly she barely heard. “I didn’t mean what you think. I just meant I don’t want to share what we had… what we are with them.”

“What are we?”

“Lost.”

“It’s best to cut ties now then. Save ourselves the trouble.” Save our hearts any more pain. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself, refusing to cry over him. She leaned her head against the inside of the door, closed her eyes, and said, “Don’t worry, Taylor. Our secret is safe.” But my heart never stood a chance.

TAYLOR SAT AT the table, mindful of the worthless conversation that surrounded him, included him, and angered him. His foot was tapping uncontrollably as he waited and waited for Jude to return. Clara reached over, put her hand on his knee, and whispered, “Stop. We can hear you.”

He pushed back from the table, and away from her. He couldn’t sit there any longer, across from the empty chair. He didn’t care what people thought. He needed to find Jude. He was about to stand up when she entered from the main hall. A smile was placed on her face, her eyes blank as she made her apologies. A small, wet circle on her ribs drew everyone’s attention to her dress. No food. No stain. An acceptable cover.

Mrs. Stevens said, “I’ve got a great dry cleaner if you need a reference. They will make your dress look new again.”

Jude quietly replied, “Thank you,” and went to her chair.

Taylor stood. His fingers pressing so hard against the wood the tips whitened.

Rufus eyed Taylor and stood up as well, buttoning his jacket as he did. The dinner guests watched the two men. Their competitive stance was obvious to everyone except the girl they were competing for.

Jude kept her eyes on the full wine glass at her place, but before she had a chance to sit, Rufus walked around and said, “We’re done in here. Would you like to join me in the conservatory, Judith?” His proffered arm hung in the air between them. Seconds ticked by as her gaze drifted over the antique lace covered banquet table and up the navy blue pinstriped suit to eyes on fire, eyes that burned for her, eyes that scorched her from the inside out.

She knew it was pointless, but she tried to steal her heart back and slipped her arm around Rufus’s. She was escorted from the dining room and down the hall with the adults continuing to the library and the kids following their lead into the glass room where she’d just been.

With an unflinching glare, Taylor bore holes into the back of Rufus’s head. Then turned his attention to the woman who walked in front of him. His gaze flowed down the curve of her neck and over her back. He wanted to caress her bottom while bending her over and fucking her until she called out “Hazel” at the top of her lungs. He wanted to melt into her heat, into her mouth, into her world again.

His arm was pulled and he looked at Clara who signaled toward the stairs. “I want to cash in that rain check.”

“It’s still raining.” He pulled his arm away and followed Jude into the conservatory.

“Taylor!” she screeched.

He ignored her.

The lights were turned on. Music filled the large room and Taylor walked to the bar and made himself another drink. He’ll feel like shit in the morning, but he didn’t care anymore. Morning had no significance when tonight was saddled with this much turmoil. Clara slithered up to him. “What is going on with you tonight? You’re not acting like yourself.”

“That’s good, right?”

From across the room, Isla’s laughter broke the tension and Taylor looked over at Jude, who was watching him. Taylor’s gaze skimmed down her arm to where Rufus was touching the inner part of her forearm, the same place where Taylor had touched her that first night, had tasted her at his place, had licked her sweet sweat.

Clara draped herself on his shoulder and poked him, the wine going to her head. “This is so boring. Let’s get out of here, Tay.”

His eyes never deviated from Jude who he watched leave Rufus and Isla to stand at the window. She stared out into the garden that was now lit up, and wordlessly he joined her, standing so close his chest pressed against her back. Her eyes met his in the reflection. She wanted to say so much, to tell him everything that had happened. But as the pink pill wore off, she started seeing the pain in his eyes, and the damage she had done.

Barely moving his lips, he whispered, “I need to see you.”

Turning around, her chest to his, she looked up. “You’re seeing me now.” She stepped around him and left the room, left him standing where he was, staring out at the rain-soaked gardens alone.

Rufus called to her but didn’t bother leaving the company of Isla, who had been chatting nonstop since walking into the room. Clara bumped into Taylor and remarked, “For such a pretty girl, she’s moody. Let me know when you’re ready to go upstairs.” She stumbled away and fell into a chair next to Rufus. Taylor could hear her tinkling laugh behind him, and the sound grated on his nerves.

Outside, the rain had stopped and a small familiar figure stepped into the moonlight, her hand running along the hedges as she walked. Taylor hurried from the conservatory.

The house was a maze and he ran checking doors until he found a maid who directed him through the sunroom on the lower floor. He swung the door wide open and ran into the night until he reached Jude. Grabbing her, he pulled her into the shadows near the trimmed rose bushes and kissed her.

He kissed her despite her hands against his chest.

He kissed her holding her to him.

He kissed her until she stopped pushing him away.

He kissed her until she kissed him back.

In the dead cold of winter, their bodies heated as they reconnected. Jude felt alive. She felt stronger than the drugs. She felt wanted. She felt loved and lusted after. Holding him to her, she kissed him until her thoughts fogged and he was the only thing that remained clear.

They shifted and the chilly air came between them. “Why did you leave me?” Taylor asked, feeling the curse of time beating down on them.

“I had no choice. I wouldn’t choose to.” She stepped closer, preferring his heat to the cold.

“Nothing makes sense.”

“Including us.”

Staggering back from her, he needed space, needed clarity, needed to feel less insane. “Who are you?”

“You know me, Hazel.”

“I don’t. I only know what I’ve seen tonight and Judith is not the girl I spent the best week of my life with. I don’t know you right now.”

The best week of mine, too. Tears welled in her eyes. “You know me. You just have to look closer, deeper, underneath…” She started choking on her words and looked down. “Underneath what you see before you.”

He was losing his mind like he’d lost his heart. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled at the crown. “What is going on, Jude? Please tell me.” He stumbled into the light and his face looked fragmented, shifting between torture and concern.

“You’ve drunk too much tonight.”

Arrogance slipped out, and he snapped, “I haven’t even gotten started.”

Images of him staggering into the dining room with Clara Stevens produced a new emotion, one she had never felt before—jealousy. “You started before I even showed up. That shade of lipstick did nothing for you,” she mentioned offhandedly.

“Fuck! Why won’t you talk to me? You came into my life, disrupting my peace—the peace that took me years to find—and destroyed it.”

“You were living in the past. A disruption is what you needed to finally put that picture of your ex-girlfriend away. I think I’m owed a thank you.” Her insides untied and she calmed, hating that these would be her memories of them, replacing the magical ones they had once made. “Why are we fighting? You can kiss who you want. You can fuck who you want. You owe me nothing, Taylor.”

He swayed, unable to stop the storms that raged inside. “Stop calling me that!”

“This is why we’re no good. This is why I couldn’t come back. We know nothing about each other and we’re fighting like we have that right, like we have a future.”

“We know each other.” Rushing forward he took her by the arms and bent his legs until he was eye level with her. “Look at me, Jude. You know me. I know you. I know the real you. I know everything that’s important about you.”

“You don’t know the dark that follows me like my own shadow. It’s a part of me that can’t be fixed.”

“Then show me your shadow, show me the dark. When I told my parents that it felt like we’d known each other our whole lives, I meant it. You gave me that and now you’re taking it away. It doesn’t work like that though. What we had you can’t just erase. That week meant something to me, even if you act like it meant nothing to you.”

She shook her head. “You only know a medicated girl you met at a party that made you feel alive for a short time. I can’t be that girl.” I can’t go back to the center. I can’t drag you down with me. “I can’t be her anymore. Not even for you. This is me. This is the only me that is left.”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t believe you. I don’t know who this Judith is tonight, but that’s not who you are. Medicated or not. You showed me the real girl that week, so I’m not going to believe your lies now.”

Her glassy eyes stared into his impossibly gorgeous eyes, and she weakened and said, “Jude is gone. Judith is all that remains. Don’t you see? You met me under a drug-induced haze of pink pills. Save yourself the trouble and let that girl go.” Just as a tear slipped down, she glanced up and over his shoulder.

He followed her gaze and saw Clara and Rufus watching them from the conservatory, their bodies silhouetted by the light that shined behind them. Rufus drank from a glass that sparkled and Clara walked out of the room. Rufus gave a lazy salute, then left as well. He wanted to ask her about the pink pills, but something more pressing was threatening. Taylor turned to her and swallowed hard. “He’ll destroy you, Jude.”

“No more than I already am.”

Walking side by side, he stopped with his shoulder against hers, not able to look at her. “I cared about you.”

“I know. That’s why it’s called a tragedy.”

The reference to the devastation to his heart did nothing for his mood or the pain he felt. He didn’t want to live a real-life tragedy. He’d been living that long before her. Taylor walked back to the house, leaving her standing there.

Minutes later when Jude entered the house, her parents clapped their hands in delight at the other end of the hall. “Oh good, you’re still here,” proclaimed her mother.

“Of course.” She walked to the front door. Voices carried from the library drawing her attention to the left as she passed the dark wood-paneled room. Taylor stood leaning against the mantle, a fire roaring in the fireplace, his back to her. Clara was talking vividly to a man she was too clueless to notice wasn’t listening. Rufus sat on a chair opposite Isla, facing the hall. He grinned and raised his glass to Jude, who kept walking.

Her stepfather smiled, and asked, “Are you ready to go, honey?”

“I am. Thank you so much for having us. Dinner was lovely,” she said, the robotic response programmed when she was young.

Her parents got into the car and then she got in. When the door shut, she glanced up and saw Taylor, her Hazel, watching her through the tall window. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel the heat of his gaze on her. A fire started in her heart, an attraction that would burn them both. The car drove away and she started breathing again.

Her mother patted her hand. “You did good, honey. You did good.”

As the buildings rolled by outside, one after the other, she replied, “Thank you.”

Back in the library, Clara ran her hand up Taylor’s back, and over his shoulders, squeezing his muscles. “Come with me.”

“Have you no dignity?” he asked and jerked out of her hold. Walking to the door, he took his coat from the rack and opened the door. Letting the cold air hit him, he walked down the steps to the sidewalk, leaving the front door wide open. He put his coat on and headed for the corner where he hailed a cab.

Shortly after, Taylor entered his apartment and poured himself another drink before removing his coat. He didn’t even bother with ice this time. The warm liquid coated his insides, fanning the flame that burned inside his chest. Boehler. Brewster. Renee. Judith. Boehler. He set the empty glass down on the bar and took his coat and suit jacket off.

He fell onto the bed and kicked off his shoes. His pants followed and he lay on his back in his shirt still buttoned and his tie still in its Windsor knot. He lay there alone, fucking alone again. He missed the unpredictable girl he met weeks earlier.

Boehler. Boehler. Boehler.

Judith. Judith. Jude.

He missed her.

And he wanted her back.

Reaching down into his pants pocket, he pulled his phone out, and flipped to his photos. He regarded the photo he took of her when she hadn’t been looking. It was the saddest picture he had ever seen. Jude was listening, looking at Clara at dinner. But her eyes held no life, no energy, not the girl he’d met at his parents’ party. She looked like no one at all. Not even Judith. She was empty.

All night he fought against exposing them to the others, revealing that not only did he know her, but that he might have real feelings for her. But when they were apart, something happened to her, something distressing, something destructive.

But what?