And touching yourself with him on the other end of the phone is another adventure...
“Don’t pity me too much,” he said, bringing me from the ledge. “This is the part I love. Meetings. Debating. Winning.”
I could almost make out the yummy smile that curved his lips. Personally, I knew if I were in London and I spent most of the time handling business I wouldn’t be a happy camper.
The Tower of London, Buckingham Palace...I wouldn’t mind the lines or the dreary weather if it meant I’d get to experience the culture of the city. But where sightseeing made me salivate, Jacob lived for the boardrooms and nitty gritty that made Whitmore and Creighton a powerhouse.
“How are things at the office?” he asked.
“Same ole,” I shrugged, swiveling my chair from the left to the right. “Your calendar’s been updated to accommodate the London trip for almost 48 hours now but I’m still getting a steady stream of calls for you.” I eyed the list in front of me, ranging from board members to prospective clients who hoped personal appeals would give them an advantage over those who used their assistants to query for representation.
Tucked in between calls rom celebutantes and squirrely investors was a thread dedicated to Alicia alone. After call one I told her that Jacob was unavailable and was utterly swamped...and it was a waste of breath. Every call started out with an apology about Macy and spilled into a list of other reputable planners and businesses that could make all my dreams come true. Every call I was quiet instead of telling her it wasn’t my dreams because the only one that got ME was the very woman she fired.
Since she wasn’t actively trying to end me and Jacob, I didn’t want to rock the boat but that left me fielding calls from a woman that had a new project: turning my wedding into an event talked about for years to come. I didn’t have the guts to tell her I didn’t need a legion of planners, florists, and staff to make my day special. The only thing I needed was Jacob.
But I hadn’t talked to him either. As much crap as I gave Megan, her words got through. We needed to talk about what he wanted. What I wanted.
Well at the moment, I need something to distract me from being so horny that I’m actually entertaining the idea of phone sex.
“You’re really quiet,” he observed, his deep voice taking on the concerned edge that made me want to spill my heart and soul to him.
But I drug my feet, fidgeting in my chair and suddenly not feeling chatty at all. He’d barely blinked at lunch after his mother said she was trying. That she wanted this to be their fresh start. if I told him a huge, lavish thing was pretty much my nightmare, I knew he’d hear me and tell his mom to back off and I didn’t want to cause any friction between them. And the important thing was Jacob, right? Loads of brides hand over the guest list to their parents and focus on things like the dress and the cake and the bridesmaids.
Either way, I needed to say something if I didn’t want him to know how stressed I really was about this whole thing.
“I’m just thinking about wedding stuff.”
“So my mother’s been harassing you, then?”
Ding ding ding. “She’s just...” Too much? Completely nuts? “Really excited.” I opened my mouth, the truth lingering on my tongue. I could even give him the watered down version. ‘It sounds nice, but I think we should consider doing something smaller.’ or ‘What do you think about doing something a little more low-key?’.
“You know, I’m at the point where I’m just gonna let her have at it.” Just when I was ready to hurl the phone across the room he finished with, “As long as I get to call you my wife at the end of all of this, the how’s aren’t important. We’re important.”
Great. He was simultaneously uber sweet and contradictory without meaning to be. I’d never get tired of hearing his excitement about making me his wife, but the reason I was gritting my teeth and gripping my phone tight was because I felt like we wouldn’t be represented in the ceremony. All the right people behind the scenes, all the right names on the guest list. A ceremony worthy of the Whitmore name. It was so far removed from the essence of me and Jacob that you could just copy and paste another society couple into our places and none would be the wiser.
It's not like it would suck. Nothing less than fantastic would get that woman's stamp of approval. And even though Jacob would rather chop off his arm than admit it, I knew there were pieces of him that wanted a connection to his mother. To try and grow and move past the things that happened in hopes that the future was their chance to get it right.
I released my choke hold on my lip, tucking away the tiny voice that whispered ‘What about me?’ and listened instead to how much I missed him.
"Have a date yet for when you're coming home?"
"We're getting close," he answered. "Two more days if I had to guess." There was a shuffle, and my body warmed as I imagined him rearranging in the bed. Muscles rippling, golden lines of his chest roping me in and making my temperature rise despite the frosty air flowing from the vent a few feet away.
"You miss me?" I said, my voice breathy. Hot.
"More than I can say." His voice was just as thick, burning with a need that made me tremble.
Thick with sleep! The part of me that knew how dangerously close I was to sliding the hand on my thigh a little closer to the hem of my skirt, under it, was trying desperately to hold onto the illusion that this conversation wouldn't end up where we both knew it was headed. Even with all the wedding drama, I could feel my body drawn to him like he was in the room and not millions of miles away.
And it's not like you've followed that whole 'professionalism' rule, the inner desire whispered. I didn't want to fight. I wanted to hear what he wanted to do to me. How badly he needed me.
"What are you wearing, Leila?"
I swallowed hard, every syllable of the question rippling over me. I was gonna do this, but no way would I not lock the door. With my luck the mail clerk would decide to deliver the mail right when I was in the throes, moaning wildly; too wild to explain away.
"I'm just gonna lock--"
"Don't you dare," he growled. I froze like he was towering above me, blue eyes glaring me into submission.
Truth was I could slip over and lock it and he wouldn't be the wiser, but I rooted myself in place, letting out a, 'yes sir'.
"I don't need to repeat myself, do I Leila?"
I frowned, my cheeks flaring. I answered his question. "I--" Oh. The first question. I glanced down quickly, suddenly forgetting. My brain was a fuzzy mess, everything hazy except the steady throb between my thighs. I fingered a button on my blouse. "I'm wearing a black button down blouse--"