Catching Maggie Page 5

  “I… uh… I haven’t seen his face yet.” My face burns red hot as her eyes widen.

  “Why the hell not? Is this a blind date?”

  “No, I met him at a club. He was wearing a mask. We’ve talked on the phone, though,” I add, my face still bright crimson with embarrassment. Libby’s jaw drops, once she fully comprehends what I’m saying, and then she smiles wildly.

  “You went to a sex club without me? You bitch!”

  “Libby, nobody can know,” I plead. She chuckles as she pulls out this teeny tiny bandage dress from the back of my closet.

  “I won’t tell anybody, but my silence comes at a price,” she grins, holding the dress up. I wring my hands together and look at her, worried at what kind of crazy antic she’s going to come up with.

  “When you do have magical unmasked sex, because you will, I want details. Not some bullshit about your world exploding. I want real details. Amalie never tells us anything and Victoria only talks about anal. I want the good stuff; I want every kinky detail, you dirty bitch.”

  I think about it for a second, I mean what was I thinking? Should I even go out with him? I’m pretty certain I probably won’t ever have sex with Jackson. I mean I don’t even know what he looks like and although I was contemplating it last night; today, in the light of day I feel different. Am I doing this because I am just lonely? I close my eyes for a moment and think about his black eyes. I think about how I feel when I hear his voice. How I want to please him, how I want to make him laugh and watch his face pull into a smile. I’m nervous and I don’t think I could live with another man’s rejection so having a man be that close to me again? It’s too frightening. If I don’t leap into this with him then I’ll always be stuck in that place of being a widow afraid of moving on. I have to move on, for my own sake.

  “Okay, yeah, sure,” I agree, which seems to appease Libby, before taking the dress out of her hands and turning to go into the bathroom to change.

  I SMOOTH DOWN MY HAIR one last time before Jackson is supposed to arrive. My blonde locks are long, straight and sleek; my bangs are slashed dramatically across my forehead. My makeup is light and my lips are coated in a sheer mint flavored gloss. Thanks to Libby and her skills, I’m also wearing the bandage dress that she took out of the back of my closet. The dress is something old, but I have never actually worn it because Sammy told me I looked fat in it. I’m even bigger now, but Libby said it looked fantastic and she loved how it molded my curves. The dress is strapless and shorter than I would typically wear, hitting me at mid-thigh. While I haven’t been working out lately, I still feel beautiful and sexy in its body hugging mint color. I complete the outfit with leopard print high heels and a short cropped jean jacket.

  A knock on the door tells me that it is time. With one last look I smile and nod walking toward the door. My mind is reeling with excited apprehension at each step I take toward Jackson. Nervous butterflies flutter in my belly at the anticipation of seeing his face, wondering if the sexy baritone voice will match. I pull the door open and am greeted by a gigantic bouquet of orange roses, covering the one thing I’m so desperate to see.

  “Marguerite,” his voice is deep as he greets me behind the roses.

  “They are beautiful, Jackson,” I say reaching for the abundant bouquet.

  “Go put them in water, gorgeous girl,” he orders sternly.

  I bring the roses to my nose and lift my eyes to meet his. I am a little surprised by how handsome he is. I knew he would be beautiful; the pieces of him, his black eyes, his strong jaw, and his straight nose were the makings of a gorgeous man. But now, all of his details pieced together, he’s simply breathtaking.

  “Enthusiasm and desire,” I say, breaking the silence and the staring contest.

  “Excuse me?” he asks as he narrows his eyes at me. I turn to find a vase for the flowers and define my words.

  “The meaning of the orange rose, enthusiasm and desire,” I explain, filling the crystal vase with water. I carefully slip the flowers inside, so that they may drink the tempting cool water. Jackson slides behind me just as I finish arranging the vibrant roses in the clear vase.

  “I must admit that I enthusiastically desire you, little bunny. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on and your innocence is so very tempting to corrupt,” he whispers. His lips are so close to my neck and yet they do not touch my skin, even though I yearn for them.

  “I thought you didn’t want me if my innocence was lost?” I ask with an arched eyebrow.

  Not that I am some innocent virgin. My husband was a cheating, unloving bastard but he never shied away from fucking me. That was exactly what it was, cold and impersonal fucking. I know that he was capable of warmth during sex, I saw photographic evidence on his phone; but why wasn’t he capable of that with me? Even faking it? I shake the thoughts from my head, not wanting to spoil the evening with thoughts of Sammy.

  “You misinterpret me, Marguerite. I don’t wish for your innocence to be lost by seeing something that cannot be unseen. I want to be the one to shatter that piece of you, the one to watch it leave your eyes while I do something deliciously wicked to you.” I can hear it in his voice when he grins and in the middle of his speech, I find my eyes closing and my body swaying even closer to his.

  Jackson slides his hand up my back and fists his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck. Wrenching my head to the side he orders me to open my eyes, his fingers tugging at my hair so roughly it brings me to tears. Jackson is looking down on me, his eyes unreadable, the blackness consuming me.

  “Be a good girl, now. Let’s eat.” he commands, dominance laced in every single word. His assertion is obvious. With a bite of pain his assertion is made obvious. I comprehend it. A piece of me is already beginning to crave it.

  I am surprised when Jackson leads me to a very nice Audi sports car. As I slide inside, I let the new leather smell calm me. We ride to dinner in silence; the only noise is Jackson fiddling with the radio station changing channel after channel. I find that I enjoy the silence, it is calming to stay inside my own head instead of nervously trying to talk to him.

  The restaurant we pull up to is fancy, too fancy for my denim jacket and short dress. The valet opens my door and helps me out just as Jackson appears and slides his hand around my waist. I finally take in his appearance and am surprised to see that he is wearing dark wash denim jeans. Of course, they fit his narrow waist perfectly. His light gray, button up shirt tucked in, and his ensemble is finished with a pair of leather loafers on his feet. He looks too casual for the restaurant he’s taking me too and it makes me even more uncomfortable. Although, he is a man and men can always get away with a more casual look than women.

  “I don’t think we’re dressed up enough for this restaurant,” I say, scrunching my nose up as I watch the other people walk inside with cocktail dresses, shirts and ties on.

  “You look fine, don’t worry about it, beautiful,” he says as he smiles down at me.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to the point of tasting blood. I feel so very underdressed and out of place, but one glance at Jackson proves that he isn’t worried about it in the least.

  The hostess seats us immediately and with Jackson’s big, warm hand burning a hole through the fabric at the small of my back, I can’t think about my outfit any longer. I can’t think about anything other than him. One touch from him and all of the doubts that were circling around inside of me earlier are not crushed. I want him to kiss me again. He has been so close to me all evening; his spicy scent filling my nostrils, his lips just a breath away from my skin...

  If he is purposely teasing me, it’s working.

  Once we are seated with water Jackson asks me what I would like to drink before our waiter arrives. I assumed he would just order for me like he did at the club, but the fact that he is asking me makes me go all warm and squishy inside. I ask for a white wine and I’m beside myself when he orders just that -though he’s a bit more specific. Jackson as
ks for a Pinot Grigio and spouts off some brand and year. I know nothing about wines and trust him to take care of me. A jolt goes through my body at this revelation. I trust Jackson a, man I hardly know, to take care of me.

  “May I order your meal, Marguerite?” he asks. I nod, unable to speak at his request. I’m in awe and I’m terrified of the beautiful way that he tempts me to trust him. There’s something about the way that he asks my permission in this moment that draws me to him in a way that I have never felt drawn before, even to my own husband.

  “Tell me more about yourself, Jackson. I feel like you know quite a bit of my story already.” His eyes flash with something unreadable, but in a second it is gone and he smirks.

  “I’m nobody special, Marguerite. I have a good job and I work hard. I’m not as close to my family as I would like to be, but sometimes you can’t make people behave the way you would want them to, no matter how hard you try.”

  I take a gulp of wine and nod my head in agreement. If life were fair, we would all have people behave in ways that benefit our minds, souls, and bodies.

  Obviously, learning more intimate things about Jackson is going to be tough. He’s closed off, but in that way that I still think I could get to know a lot about him. However, I doubt I will ever know everything about him. I don’t know if that is something I want. After Sammy, I am unsure if I could give my heart to a man who hides things from me.

  Jackson and I don’t talk about anything particularly serious the rest of the evening, but we discover that we enjoy quite a few of the same things. We like stupid comedies and eighties movies. I admit that I have a love of classic black and white movies and, although they aren’t for Jackson, he says he would be willing to try one or two as long as they aren’t musicals.

  I find myself laughing, truly laughing, something I haven’t done in years. I don’t know if I ever really laughed with Sammy. I was always so worried about trying to win his affections that laughter and enjoyment weren't an option for us.

  “I like the part where he does the truffle shuffle,” Jackson says, pretending to do his own version. There is no truffle to his shuffle. His stomach is flat and I assume, tight and toned too.

  “No way. The best part is when he gets locked in the freezer with the stiff and all that ice cream,” I giggle. We are recounting the best scenes from that eighties movie based in Oregon, The Goonies.

  When dinner is finished, Jackson grasps my fingers in his and walks us away from the valet, toward the sidewalk lined in shops. Wrapped around mine, his hand is warm and I can’t help the surge of lust that rolls over me. It’s silly to feel this surge of lust over a man just holding my hand.

  “Are you sure this lifestyle is something you really want, Marguerite?” Jackson asks, looking straight ahead.

  “I don’t know what I want, Jackson. Honestly, my relationship with Sammy was such a mess. This lifestyle, I don’t know what to expect; not really,” I admit. It’s true that I am innocent as Jackson has reminded me over and over. I don’t know exactly what he would want from me.

  “How about we do what normal couples do? I’m not asking to tie you down and whip you tomorrow night. I like you and I think that we could truly be beautiful together. I know that this would be your first relationship of this nature. I’m willing to go as slowly as you need me to. I would never want to rush you and I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  Jackson stops and tugs me against his hard body. I wrap my hands around his biceps for stability and to look into his dark eyes. He could easily consume me.

  “Slow would be nice. It’s been so long since I have been intimate and I’m nervous,” I confess.

  “I can do slow. For you, I can at least I can try,” he grins as his thumb traces my bottom lip. “You’re simply gorgeous,” he says softly.

  I hold my breath waiting for a kiss, but he doesn’t deliver. Instead, he kisses my forehead and wraps his hand around my waist, guiding us back to the car.

  The car ride back to my apartment is anything but silent this time. I enjoy the easy conversation between us. It’s simple. It’s easy. It’s delightful.

  “I had a great time tonight,” I blurt, standing at the front door of my apartment. Jackson snags me around the waist, which seems to be a thing for him, and pulls me into his chest. I don’t think I could ever tire of the way he holds me against his body.

  “You are not only gorgeous on the outside, Marguerite, but you are also funny and smart, sweet and kind. I thoroughly enjoyed our evening out. I hope that tomorrow, after your commitment, we can enjoy a quiet evening inside, maybe watching one of your black and whites?” He cocks his head to the side in question and my breath catches. My eyes meet his in disbelief.

  “I would love that, Jackson,” I breathe, unable to speak any louder as the hope of a perfect evening steals my voice.

  “I also have a prior engagement, so it will be later in the evening. However, I would very much like to spend the rest of tomorrow evening wrapped around you, doing something you enjoy,” he says. I nod, unable to find words. Even if I could, I don’t think I would actually be able to speak them out loud to him.

  “Now, give me a kiss, beautiful. Give me something to dream about,” he murmurs as my body melts closer to his.

  I slide my arms up his chest and wrap my fingers around the back of his neck. As I part my lips and close my eyes, I lean in and lift myself up on the balls of my feet so that I can reach his delicious lips.

  The second our lips touch, a shock erupts throughout my entire body. I open my mouth wide as his tongue slides deep inside. Bolts of electricity race from head to toe, lighting me on fire. Jackson’s hand slides down and roughly cups my ass. His fingers digging into my skin over the fabric of my dress, earning a moan from my throat as I wrap my leg around his calf.

  Jackson groans, moving us around as he pushes me back against my front door. His other hand wraps around the front of my throat, loosely pinning me to the spot. His grip fuels my desire, which is soaking my already damp panties.

  “You are pushing my control and I do not like being out of control… but fuck me, baby, you make me want to completely lose it all,” he growls, thrusting his hips into my wet core. I can feel the outline of his hard shaft as the rough denim meets my panties.

  “Jackson,” I mutter breathy and wanton.

  I feel so slutty. I’m sure Mrs. Winston the fourth is watching me in complete horror and disgust from across the hall. I can’t find one reason to give a shit, not when Jackson is licking, kissing, and biting my neck, his hand lightly applying and releasing pressure at its base.

  “You tempt me, Marguerite, but you’ll not be getting what you want tonight. Now be a good girl, go inside and go straight to bed.” I whimper at his words as my head falls back against the door with a bang.

  “Yes, Jackson.” I agree reluctantly and he releases me, but not before kissing the tip of my nose.

  He steps back and the loss of his warmth is felt throughout my entire body. I smile wistfully and open the door, telling him goodnight before I close it behind me. I lock it in place and then I do exactly as he instructed. I go straight to bed and I lie down. Closing my eyes, I envision Jackson doing deliciously wicked things to me. The imagines are enough to make me do something I have never done. I touch myself. I caress my body, imagining that it’s Jackson. I make myself come, thinking about his lips on my body, on my neck - everywhere.

  I can only hope that I am not latching on to him because he is the first man in years to show me a bit of attention. I hope that whatever this is between us is mutual and real. I’m scared, nervous, and excited that this could truly be the start of something beautiful - but my walls haven’t completely crumbled yet.

  I FEEL SWEAT DRIPPING BETWEEN my breasts, and it has nothing to do with being turned on. Right now, it’s because of the dread and anxiety that consumes me. At this moment, I am about to step out onto the baseball field in front of, thousands of people and on live television, p
laying the grief-stricken widow for the last time. I hope.

  “It’s time,” Nick, the teams owner, states as he holds out his elbow for me.

  This is the first time I have ever been this close to him. Sammy was always good about keeping me fairly separated from his work colleagues, minus Carlos, Jarrod, Pete and their wives. I had never even met Sammy’s manager until after his funeral, when we had a meeting about his finances and wishes.

  Slowly, we walk out onto the field. Multiple cameras point at my face and the lights are hot, causing me to sweat even more. I send up a silent prayer that my makeup isn’t melting. The entire team is out, every single one of them¸ but I can’t distinguish who is who. They are all a blur to me. I look over to the podium and see Amalie, Libby, and Victoria standing there for support, all with sad smiles on their lips. Nick places his hand at the small of my back and gently pushes me toward my support group - my girls.

  Amalie immediately grabs my hand as Libby slides her arm around my waist. Together, we stand and listen to Nicks speech, though I don’t hear a single word. As sick as it might be, all I can think about is Jackson. I remember how his lips felt on mine, how his tongue expertly swept my mouth. I shiver at the memories, hoping that nobody can read my lusty face.

  Nick is suddenly in front of me, pulling me from my wanton thoughts. He hands me a jersey, Sammy’s jersey or one of them. I look over to the side and see there is another that has been framed - for public display, I suppose. Nick offers me a smile as he nods and I grit my teeth as I make my way toward the microphone. The last thing I want to do is speak about Sammy. I don’t even want to think about him anymore and they want me to talk about how flipping fantastic he was? He was an emotionless asshole who cheated on me more than I will ever know.

  “Thank you, Mr. Savoy and the entire team,” I begin. “Sammy loved this team. His teammates were his only family and the game… the game was his life. Samwell came from poverty and, through baseball he discovered that hard work and dedication pay off. For all of his efforts and his determination, he saw something that he never had seen before.