Chapter 20
Fate is a funny thing.
Just as we were about to head out, the auctioneer made an announcement. “Our last lot is titled, Portrait of Annabelle.” Each muscle in my body tensed at those words. Margo must have sensed it because she stopped to look at me. “Get your paddles ready because this is a one-of-a-kind painting.”
“Should we stay?” Her sweet voice relaxed me. I gave her a swift kiss on the cheek. Did I want to stay? No, not really, but I sat down and pulled Margo onto my lap. Something about feeling her against me made everything better.
When the screen lit up with a large image of the picture for auction, my pulse gained momentum. The original was on an easel on the right side of the stage.
Margo’s eyes narrowed as she studied the screen. “Who’s Annabelle?”
“My mother.”
“Don’t you want it?”
“Nope.” There was a lot Margo didn’t know about me. Her brother knew all the details, but she didn’t. I had a feeling I’d be rectifying that soon. Talking about my parents, other than the fact that they were divorced, wasn’t something I did. They were out of my life, and that was all anyone needed to know.
When the auctioneer started, once again paddles flew up and down. A deep voice called out, “Four hundred thousand dollars!” outbidding the others by at least ten thousand dollars.
My head snapped in the direction of the bidder, and Margo’s did as well. And there she was, the bitch who gave birth to me, clinging to the bidder’s arm like he was her lifeline. When she turned to look at us, Margo gasped.
“Is that your mother?”
“Yes.”
The room was silent, except for the highest bid being repeated over the loudspeaker. “Four hundred thousand going once, four hundred thousand going twice . . .”
Without raising my paddle, I snapped, “One million dollars.” Photographers moved to the aisle, clicking away like the vultures they were. From my peripheral vision, I could see my mother’s eyes shooting daggers at me. Keep looking, I thought, because over my dead body would she walk out of here with anything. If my grandfather had wanted her to have it, it would be hanging in her home, but he didn’t. Margo looked at me with pure confusion. Yeah, we were going to need to talk.
Not wanting to stay any longer, I shifted Margo off me, grabbed my phone out of my pocket, and texted Rudy, the facilitator of the auction, instructing him to send the painting to the same address as the dress.
“Let’s go.” I snatched Margo’s hand and pulled her out of the auction house.
“Don’t you need to sign for it?” Her voice was smaller than usual.
“It’s taken care of.” Margo’s feet scurried next to me in an attempt to keep up.
Just as we were approaching a quiet intersection, a woman’s voice called out. Even though I hadn’t heard it in years, it registered instantly. I kept moving. “Noah!” Margo’s head turned to glance over her shoulder. “Noah Harold Winston, I’m talking to you.”
“Fuck.”
Margo stumbled as I brought us to a halt. “Are you okay?” All I needed was to hurt the one woman I cared about trying to escape from the woman I hated.
“Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”
Before I could answer her, my mother stood in front of us. “Mother.”
“How dare you put my portrait up for auction and then buy it!” she spat, her hands on her hips, glaring at Margo. She crinkled her nose. “Who is this harlot?”
Harlot? Every ounce of me wanted to lunge at her, but Margo’s hand wrapped around my bicep, reminding me to maintain my composure. “She’s my girlfriend, and you’ll show her respect.”
An older man, the same one I outbid, walked up next to her. I didn’t know who he was, and I didn’t give a shit. My darling mother once again clung to him. “This is my husband, Samuel.”
I scoffed. “Lucky guy.”
One reporter was off in the distance, but looked to be in hot pursuit. I levelled a glare at him over my mother’s head, stopping him in his tracks.
“Listen here, Noah. That portrait is mine. It’s of me, and it’s worth a fortune. You had no right to that painting to begin with. Just because my father and I had a falling out doesn’t give you permission to sell off his things. That picture meant the world to me.”
In an instant, my free hand raked through my hair, which was damp from sweat. “Of course it did, because it’s of you. What about your father? Did he mean anything to you, other than a bank account? Where were you when he was sick?” My mother looked away for a moment, but she didn’t look remorseful in the least.
“Where were you when he took his last breath? Did you hold his hand and tell him you loved him? Did you cry when he said you meant everything to him or that you were all he had? Did the doctor put his hand on your shoulder in sympathy when he noted the time of death?” My breathing labored with each statement. My mother remained silent. Anger flowed through my veins.
“No, and you know why? Because he didn’t say those things to you. He said them to me. You were nowhere to be found until the funeral and the reading of his will. And I hate to break it to you, but I can do whatever I see fit with grandfather’s belongings, since they are all mine.”
“The only reason you were at his bedside was because you wanted his fortune.”
Margo slid her hand back into mine. She gently squeezed it, and I knew she was right there with me. “Think whatever you want, Mother, because you and I both know that’s a lie. That man, your father, practically raised me. He took me to my Little League games; he was the one who helped me move into my dorm. For years he was the only parent I had. So, fuck you.”
Samuel put his finger in my face. “Don’t talk to your mother that way.”
“I’m done talking.” I turned away, with Margo by my side.
In a snarl, my mother said, “Hey, little lady?”
Margo stopped and turned to her. My poor girl’s voice trembled. “Yes?”
This wasn’t how I intended this weekend to go. All I wanted was to relax and have fun with Margo. Seeing my mother wasn’t in my plan. It was never in my plans.
The condescending bitch said, “You’ll never see a dime, you know.”
Was she fucking kidding right now? Just as I was about to tell her to go to hell, Margo unleashed.
“We don’t know each other, so let me introduce myself.” Mother’s hip cocked to the side at the same time she crossed her arms in front of her chest, fanning the flames of Margo’s rage.
“My name is Margo Perry, and I don’t care what you think of me, but I will tell you what I think of your son.” Her fingers tightened around my arm. “Noah is a wonderful, caring, and generous man, which he proved here today. He’s a good person, and his heart is much bigger than his bank account. That is what I’m interested in. If he was destitute, I’d still be by his side. I could stand here and judge you, but I won’t. Actions speak louder than words, and today, yours spoke volumes. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” she linked her fingers back with mine, “we have plans.” I had never felt so much pride, admiration, and what felt like the beginning of love for anyone as I did for Margo at that moment.
It was solidified. Margo Perry was in a league of her own. We continued in the direction we were headed, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I maneuvered our bodies until we were chest to chest in a tight embrace. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, it was all true.” Who is this woman, and where has she been all my life? That was a dumb question, because she had been right in front of me. It’s funny how fate worked. Were we fated? Did Margo know all those years ago that we were meant to be together?
“Let’s go get something to eat, you must be starving.”
She looped her arms around my neck. “I’d rather go home and have you . . . for dessert, of course, because I’m famished.”
Yeah, we were fated.
Margo’s head was in my refrigerator when I came down from getting cleaned up. As soon as we walked in, she shooed me out of the kitchen. According to her, I needed to shower, and even though I did my damnedest to get her to join me, it didn’t work. Her pretty ass shook back and forth as she hummed a song. She emerged with lettuce and a few other things in her arms. “Hey there, I hope you like strip salad.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had it, but I’m sure I will.”
She smiled. “Good.”
There was something about the tone in her voice that made me a bit skeptical. “What is it?”
“Every time I add a new ingredient, you take off an article of clothing.”
I glanced down at what I was wearing. “That’s not going to take long. I’m only wearing three things.”
She smiled. “First is lettuce.” Margo set a bowl down, then put the green leaves on a cutting board, slid a knife out of the marble block on my counter, and stopped right about when she was going to cut. “Shirt.”
Fine, I’d play her game, but if she thought I was the only one getting naked, then she had another thing coming. With deft fingers, I unbuttoned my shirt, shrugged it off, and laid it over the back of a stool.
Margo began cutting the lettuce and tossed it in the bowl. “Next, grilled chicken.” Again, as she cut them into strips she looked at me with an arched brow and waggled the knife toward me. “Shorts.”
I let out a laugh. I found this to be completely one-sided. My basketball shorts now lay on top of my shirt, leaving me in my white boxers.
“Damn, you are pretty.” She licked her lips and took a sip of Merlot. Ahhh, was she getting a bit tipsy? Not that I could blame her. I wanted to drink a fifth of bourbon after dealing with my mother.
“Pretty?”
“Yes.” Her voice was airy and sexy as fuck. “Very, very pretty.” She grabbed shredded cheese and looked at me. “Lose ’em.”
Doing my best to hold it together, I slid off my boxers. My dick sparked to life and decided to join the party. “Satisfied?”
She cocked her head to the side to study me. “Very.”
With purposeful strides, I made my way over to her. “Where’s the dressing?”
Margo stared at me. “I didn’t make it yet.”
“Allow me.”
“But . . .”
I cut her off with a kiss. “No buts except for yours, which is going to be bare soon.” I knew for a fact she didn’t have much on since I watched her get dressed this morning.
I refilled her glass. “First, olive oil.” She looked up at me through hooded lids. “Take off your dress.”
I trickled the oil over the lettuce, her lips curling up into a gorgeous smile as she untied the small belt around her waist and then pulled her dress over her head. Margo’s matching white lace bra and underwear were like beacons calling out to my cock. Like a good compass, he pointed north.
“Next . . .” I reached for the red wine vinegar, drizzled it over the salad, and gave her my next instruction. “Bra.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d guess she had once been a stripper. First, she lowered the strap on her left shoulder, then her right one. She pivoted so her back was toward me. Her arms reached around and as if she was moving in slow motion, unhooked it, and before I knew it, the bra dangled from her right index finger then it dropped to the floor.
I swallowed, took a sip out of her glass, and held up the pepper grinder. “Thong.”
Doing as she was told, I watched the scrap of lace roll over the curve of her ass, down her legs, until it joined her discarded bra.
When she turned back to face me, I was mesmerized. No inhibitions, no fear, just a perfect-for-me body adorned with a salacious smile.
Margo peeked into the bowl. “You forgot the croutons.”
“Fuck the croutons.” I scooped her up, forcing her legs to wind around my waist. Her wet heat found the tip of my dick as I carried us to my room. The tip slipped in, causing a euphoric wave to wash over me. I’d never gone bare when having sex. I’d never trusted anyone enough, but this was Margo. I wanted . . . no, needed to feel what it would be like.
She shifted her hips until I was deep inside her. Our groans were stifled by a kiss. Without losing our connection, we laid down on top of my bed. “I’ve never not worn protection.”
“Me either.” When I arched my brows, she started laughing, which made her constrict around my cock. “I’m on the pill, so if you want to . . .”
No need to finish her thought. Our bodies moved in unison, enjoying something together for the first time. Another first for us, and I couldn’t be happier.