Chapter Fifteen
Poppy
I know watching Netflix with a tub of double chocolate ice cream is kind of pathetic, but if this is what I need to do to heal and move on, then so be it. Bring on the reality TV shows and weight gain, because I’m committed.
Just as I settle in to watch the latest episodes of Keeping Up With The Kardashians, the intercom for the door buzzes. Seriously? Just after I sat down. FML.
With a heavy sigh and very reluctant effort, I jump up and head over to the intercom to press the button. “Who is it?”
I hear muffled voices on the other end, one high-pitched and the other older and feminine.
“I can say my own name!” I freeze when I recognize that little voice. “It’s Micah Stone. Can I come up and see you, Poppy?” My gut somersaults. What the hell is Nathaniel’s kid doing here?
“Um, okay,” I manage to sputter out, and before I stop myself, I hit another button, allowing Micah entry into the lobby downstairs. Shit. A second thought hits me. What if he isn’t alone? What if his asshole, yet devilishly handsome father is with him? And Nathaniel’s using Micah as a way to see me. No… surely, he wouldn’t stoop so low.
Within a minute, there’s a series of solid raps on the front door, and when I sneak a peek through the peephole, I’m relieved to see Micah and his nanny. Thank God.
I step back and release the chain over the door before opening the door wide. Micah practically leaps into my arms, squeezing me so tight my bones start to hurt. What on earth is this about?
As soon as Micah releases me, I take a deep breath. Seeing him and his nanny was about the last thing I expected today, and my mind is still reeling. The nanny starts to apologize profusely, saying that they found my address on some paperwork in the penthouse, and Micah wouldn’t stop insisting on talking to me.
I smile and reassure her it’s okay. “Honestly, it’s fine. I was just having a quiet night in anyway,” I tell her, then look back down at Micah. “Micah, how can I help?”
“It’s my dad,” he replies, his eyes glazing over a little. “He’s so sad, and I don’t know what to do. I try to cheer him up all the time—I even gave him my favorite teddy to cuddle, but he still cries.”
The wave of sorrow that sweeps over me is the worst one yet. Poor little Micah; he shouldn’t ever see his dad like that. Maybe I was too hasty the other night at the gallery. Maybe Nathaniel and I should’ve made a time to talk about things properly; clear the air on a better and more mature note.
Fast forward an hour, and I can’t believe I’m here. Standing outside the gallery.
If I had any sense of self-preservation at all, I’d turn myself around and go back home to the safety of my Netflix and decadent tub of ice cream.
But when a brokenhearted little boy shows up on your doorstep and tells you that his daddy’s been crying and he bets you could cheer him up, you pull on your big girl panties and go check on the asshole you’re pretty damn sure you might be in love with.
Micah’s earnestness, his big, hazel eyes that reminded me too much of his father’s… I just hadn’t been able to say no. I’d promised him that I would check on his dad.
And here I am.
I might be an idiot, but at least I’m one who has a heart.
I use my key (which I forgot to return to Nathaniel) to let myself into the gallery and quickly put in the code, so the alarm doesn’t trip. The nanny told me that Nathaniel had been holed up here at the gallery for days, so this seemed like the place to find him.
I grimace. If he’s in his office with some bitch, I’m going to lose it.
As I walk in, I see that there’s a light on in one of the back rooms, so I head that way, hoping I’ll find him there and get this over with.
“Nathaniel?” I call softly as I approach the door. There’s no answer, so I step inside the room and look around. All that’s in here is a large drop cloth, splattered with paint, an array of painting supplies, and a huge canvas. I glance around again for Nathaniel, but there’s no sign of him. Curious, I walk around to the front of the canvas.
As soon as I look at it, I freeze. My jaw drops.
It’s… me.
I can barely breathe as I step closer to the painting. It’s gorgeous. The artist captured everything, from the angles of my face to the weird way my lips quirk up when I’m smiling. The woman in the painting… me… is giving that little smile, her eyes sparkling mischievously. Who the hell has done this?
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” a deep voice says behind me. I spin, and Nathaniel’s standing there in the doorway, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand.
I tilt my head and gesture at the bottle. “Please don’t tell me that’s what you’ve been doing the last few days.”
“Like you give a damn,” he says with a smirk, but there’s no missing the bitterness in his voice.
I walk toward him. I can barely breathe. My stomach is twisting, my heart pounding. I knew I’d be affected seeing him again, but I didn’t expect it to be so intense.
I should have known better.
I reach him and lift my hands, cupping his face between them. “I care,” I murmur, meeting his eyes. He looks away, and I say his name. He meets my eyes again. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Micah came to see me,” I add, still being gentle. “He’s worried about you. He said you’re sad, and that he thought I could make it better.”
A tear slides down his face, and I gently wipe it away with my thumb. “I’m sorry he bothered you… I didn’t know he realized…”
“He didn’t bother me. I’m glad he told me,” I say softly. “He was worried. He’s a good kid, clearly. He doesn’t seem to believe in standing back when he thinks someone needs help.”
Nathaniel gives a small smile. “He was asking me about you. I thought I played it off okay, but maybe not,” he says. Then he takes a deep breath. “Micah’s mom—”
“You don’t have to tell me,” I say, remembering what little Dad had told me.
“I need you to know this,” he says, quieter, and I nod. If he wants to tell me, I’ll listen. “Micah’s mom and I were married for a little over a year. I was crazy about her. When we found out we were expecting, it was one of the happiest days of my life.” He pauses, and it seems like he’s struggling to continue. I gently run my fingers through his hair, and he takes a deep breath, meeting my eyes again.
“She had a good pregnancy, right up until the end. There were some complications…” Even before he says it, I know the words that come next. My heart breaks more than it ever has in my life. Oh, what a fool I’ve been. “She died in childbirth,” he finishes in a whisper, and I blink back the tears.
“Oh, Nathaniel,” I whisper, my heart aching for both him and Micah. “What was her name?”
“Danneel,” he says, almost inaudible. “After she died, I never expected to love anyone that way again. I didn’t think there was anyone who could make me feel the way she did. Until you.”
All I can do is stare at him.
“I’m so in love with you, Poppy. It knocked me on my ass, and it was the last thing I expected. But this week… the prospect of living without you—”
I don’t let him finish, pulling his head down so I can kiss him. I pour every bit of love and longing I can into my kiss. He sets the whiskey bottle down, and then his arms are around my body, holding me close, devouring me.
“Poppy,” he groans.
“Yes,” I whisper. It’s all he needs. He carries me to a chair and sits down, pulling me onto his lap, so I’m straddling him. He pulls down the bodice of the strappy dress I’m wearing, freeing my breasts. The cool air makes my nipples pucker, and Nathaniel’s intense gaze only makes them harder. He lowers his head and takes one nipple between his lips, sucking greedily, and I cry out in need. His other hand tweaks and pulls my other nipple, and I’m on the verge of coming just from having him touch me again.
“Nathaniel,” I moan, and he hikes up the skirt of my dress and rips the thin little silk thong I’m wearing right off.
“I need you,” I murmur, undoing his jeans and lowering the zipper. His cock springs free, and it’s all I can do not to cry in relief. I’ve missed every bit of him, and I knew after that first time we were together that no one would ever make me feel the things he does.
Without another word, I lower myself onto his cock, and he fills me, so deep, stretching me, and I cry out at the overwhelming sensations he’s making me feel. I stay, just like that, impaled on his cock, my forehead pressed to his as his hands torture my breasts.
“Mine,” he growls as he gently rubs his thumbs over my nipples. It’s exquisite torture, and I moan. He always knows exactly what I need.
“Yours,” I pant. “I’m yours.” There’s no point in denying it. He’s everything I want; everything I need. I move over him, slowly, savoring the sensation of my sex sliding over his cock, of him filling me, then retreating almost completely, over and over again; a slow, decadent torture that has me sweating, panting, begging.
“I’m never letting you go again,” he murmurs, watching my face with intensity as I near my release.
I smile down at him. “As if I planned on giving you a choice,” I tell him, and in the next breath, I’m coming, hard, and I hear him shout my name as he goes over the edge with me.
Afterward, he takes me up to his office, and we spend the night putting the sofa in there to good use, eventually falling asleep in one another’s arms.