Dirty South (A Blue Collar Bad Boy Romance) Page 11
"Put me down!" I shriek. "What the hell are you on about, Tillman?"
"What's something you've fantasized about, but you've never told anyone?" he asks as we round the top of the stairs.
"You were always my fantasy," I admit with a blush as he sets me on my feet in his bedroom.
He grins. "I like that. What would we do in your fantasy?"
"Well, it was always daytime, and you were working construction, and you would see me watching you, and you couldn't help yourself...you'd come over to me, and pull me into an alleyway, and take me against the wall."
"And when you'd think about that... what were you doing?"
"I think you know what I was doing," I reply, looking up at him through my lashes.
"Show me," he says, his hand sliding over the crotch of my jeans. Even through two layers of fabric, I gasp at his touch, and his proposition.
"I don't know... I might feel embarrassed," I reply, my eyes closing in ecstasy as he moves his fingers back and forth teasingly. "Is this your fantasy?" I ask in surprise.
"It is," he confirms.
I take a deep breath. "I'll try it," I finally say. I take one hand and press it against his chest, pushing him back two steps. I keep my eyes locked on his as I pull off my shirt and pants, then my bra and underwear. I put my hand on my bare stomach, but stop, feeling too exposed.
"Close your eyes," Boone whispers. I do, and slide my hand down another inch. "I can't concentrate at work because of you. All I can think about is you, and the way you smell, and your body. The way you look after sex, your hair on my pillow and your cheeks sweaty." I slide my fingers down. "I love how tight you are." I gasp and a thrill runs through my body. I pretend my fingers are his and begin to circle myself. "I love sucking on your tits, and the way that you taste." I groan as heat builds inside me. "Open your eyes," he says, suddenly just inches away from me.
He walks around behind me, and takes my hips, guiding me toward his bureau. He nudges my face up, forcing me to look at myself in the long mirror that rests on top of it. He places one hand on top of mine and circles my fingers, encouraging me to continue.
"Look at how beautiful you are," he whispers. I keep touching myself as he slides his hands up and around my ribcage and palms my breasts. "Fuck, that is so sexy, Callie," he grunts, his eyes glowing as he watches me in the mirror. One of his hands disappears and I hear him unzip his pants. I feel his cock slide up and down my ass, and then he slowly presses it inside me.
I moan as he enters me, but my fingers don't stop. I love the look in his eyes as he thrusts slowly inside and out. It's like he's devouring me, but he knows he'll never be full. He moves faster and faster, pounding into me, until I'm bracing myself with one hand pressed against the mirror. My eyes close, but I can feel his still burning into my body, watching as I come.
I feel his warm release inside me, and my limbs go slack. His arms wrap around my breasts and he pulls me toward him. I smile as his cock twitches slightly inside me. He was right; it does feel different without a condom.
"I should get going," I murmur against his forearm. He doesn't move, and I look up into the mirror to see him frowning. "Boone..."
"I did like feeling like a normal couple tonight."
"OK..." I say, waiting for him to continue.
"I don't want to hide anymore," he says, looking up and catching my eye in the mirror.
"My dad can be...you know..." I reply, running my fingers nervously across the back of his hand.
"I've worked with him for years. Believe me, I know. I just think if we present it to him the right way, he might be open to it. To us."
"I don't know. He's already so angry with me for breaking up with Vernon."
Boone presses his nose into my shoulder, and then raises his head. "I said we could be something real."
"We are something real."
"Not until we stop hiding. I want a future with you, Callie. What we have now, it doesn't have a future."
"You want a future with me?" I ask breathlessly.
"I... well," he stammers, and his cheeks turn slightly pink.
"Boone Tillman, are you blushing?" I ask with a smile.
"One step at a time, alright?" he finally says gruffly. I gently kiss his fingertips.
"One step at a time," I agree.
Chapter Twenty-Five
"Ever heard the expression, 'a watched pot never boils'?" Mrs. Hunt asks. I glance up from the window seat in the living room, where I've been sitting and chewing my nails as I watch the street. "You look like you're waiting for someone. Is he late?"
"No. I'm early. Wait—why'd you think it was a he?" I ask, trying to backtrack.
"Your clothes... sometimes they smell like a man," she says, her eyes twinkling.
"Oh my god," I reply, covering my face with my hands. "See, this is why a grown woman should do her own laundry."
She laughs. "That's what your father pays me for." I see Boone's car pull up in front of the house and stand.
"Speaking of, is he still in the study?" I ask.
"Yes," she replies warily.
"You might want to be ready with a whiskey," I tell her. "I'll get the door," I add, even though Boone hasn't had a chance to knock yet.
"All right," she says. "I've got a feeling I should wish you luck."
"Thanks. I'm going to need it." I head for the door as she walks back to the kitchen. My palms are so sweaty I nearly lose my grip on the knob as I let Boone in.
"Hey," he says, stepping inside. I smile as I see he's put on a suit for the occasion.
"You look nice."
"You ready?" he asks, placing his hands gently on my waist. It feels odd to have him touch me here, in my house, in broad daylight.
I laugh softly. "Definitely not. Come on." I nod behind me, and he follows me down the hallway. My dad's study door is closed, and I can hear music coming from inside. Well, at least we're not interrupting his work. I reach forward to knock, but hesitate. "Can you take the lead? I'm afraid I'm going to lose my nerve," I whisper.
He nods. "It's going to be fine. You'll see." I swallow hard, and raise my hand to rap on the wood.
"Come in!" my father yells from inside. I push the door open, and see him sitting in the big leather chair, his feet resting on his desk.
"Hey, Dad," I say as normally as I can.
"Grace," he replies coldly, pausing his music. "Boone!" he exclaims, his expression changing as Boone steps around me. "Didn't hear the doorbell. Come in," he says, gesturing to one of the armchairs in front of his desk.
"Thanks, Mason," Boone says, and takes a seat. I falter behind him, and then nervously step forward to the other chair.
"Oh, are you joining the family business?" my dad asks me sarcastically.
"Mason, I—" Boone begins.
"Actually, Grace, go get me some Motrin or something," my dad interrupts, rolling his left arm around. "I must have twisted my arm or something because it's killing me."
"Doing what, Dad?" I ask, frowning. My dad's one of the most sedentary people I've ever met.
"I don't know," he says, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.
"You feeling alright?" I ask, stepping around the desk. "You look awfully red. Maybe you've got a fever or—"
"No, no," he says, pushing my hand away and standing up. "Just can't seem to get a good breath—"
"Dad!" I exclaim as he wobbles back and forth on his feet, his hands reaching out to his desk, futilely searching for something to hold onto. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Boone jump to his feet.
"Callie, call 911," he says firmly, and rushes around the desk. I feel my body want to shut down with fear but I force myself to move. I pick up the phone and quickly dial, watching Boone reach his fingers under my father's chin to try and find a pulse.
* * *
I stare at the wall opposite me in the hospital hallway. My spine aches where it's hitting the uncomfortable plastic chair, but I don't move. I know that the longer we're kept wai
ting out here, the worse the news will be. There's an ugly brown stain on the wall, and I wonder why no one's cleaned it up. Boone's hand moves into my periphery and his fingers just touch my knee.
"Don't," I murmur. "I don't want them to think..." I wave my hand around at the hospital staff. I'm too tired to care if I'm being brusque.
"Ms. Woodall?" I glance up to see a doctor approaching. I scan his face for clues to my father's wellbeing as tears rise to my eyes. I feel like I'm made of glass and could break at any moment, but I need to stay strong for my father.
"Yes?" I reply, and stand.
"Is this your husband?" the doctor asks, glancing at Boone.
"My father's business partner," I explain.
"Would you like to talk privately?" he asks.
"It's fine," I say, both wanting him to hurry up and for time to slow down.
"Well, your father has had a heart attack, as I'm sure you might have figured out. His heart stopped, but only briefly, and we were able to restart it."
"It stopped?" I repeat in shock.
"Yes, but for less than a minute, so I'm not concerned about blood flow to the brain. He's just regaining consciousness now if you'd like to go in."
"Will he be alright? What caused it?"
"I called over to his general practitioner and got his files... it seems that he was warned about having early symptoms of heart disease. Has he been under any unusual stress lately?"
I think of the tension between us regarding Vernon and the permits and nod. "Yes."
"Well, that could be a contributing factor. Going forward, he'll have to be careful to reduce his stress levels, and dedicate himself to a healthier lifestyle. Do you both want to go in?"
"Maybe I should go in by myself," I say.
"I'll be here waiting," Boone says, and I follow the doctor down the hall. I draw back as we enter the hospital room and I see my father in bed. He looks so pale and weak. I step forward, and I hear the doctor withdraw behind me. I pull a chair up to the bed, and my father's eyes blink open.
"Hi, Dad," I whisper.
"Grace... what happened?" he asks, his voice hoarse.
"You had a heart attack," I tell him, reaching up to grasp his limp, clammy hand. "The doctor said you're going to be fine, though."
"Don't feel fine," he mumbles.
"Well, your heart stopped."
"Christ."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, tears beginning to fall down my cheeks. "This is all my fault. I know that you were stressed out about Vernon and me."
"I just want to make sure your future is secure. Your future, and the company's."
"What does Vernon have to do with the company?"
"Woodall & Sons is a family business," he says, sounding exhausted, but I press him.
"I don't understand."
"If you'd been interested, it would have passed to you. But you're not, so it will pass to your husband. Vernon has an MBA, ties to the city..."
I pause, trying to process what I'm hearing. "But what about Boone? I always thought you'd hand the business over to him when the time came."
"Boone has turned the business around, but he's not CEO material. He's not like us."
I feel myself go cold. All this time, I thought my father had accepted Boone, but clearly he's still just as hung up on his background as he was when we first had dinner together. I look at my father's profile, feeling my emotions churn inside me, and consciously press them down.
"You there, Grace?" he rasps.
"I'm here," I reply, grasping his hand tighter.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After a few days, my father is allowed to come home. Mrs. Hunt and I set up a bed for him in the den, because he's not supposed to walk up the stairs quite yet, and the den has both a TV and a bathroom. I made Boone go home after that first day at the hospital. I told him it would seem strange for him to stay, though that wasn’t the whole truth.
Now that I know my father isn't intending to hand over the business to him, I feel like I'm keeping a secret from him. And I know it's not completely rational, but my relationship with Boone is what set off my father's heart attack, and my guilt over it is keeping me from truly being present with Boone. It's like we've been tainted. He visited the hospital a couple more times, just in his capacity as my father's business partner, and I tried to act like everything was normal, but I think he could sense I was acting a little distant.
Even though my father was only in the hospital for three days, I got used to the safety and routine there. As Mrs. Hunt escorts him into the den and helps him into the special hospital bed we bought, I'm struck anew by how gaunt and fragile he looks. He takes a deep breath as he settles back against the cushions and I step forward.
"There's water next to you on the table, Dad, and a bell in case you need one of us to come in. Do you want anything else? Something to eat?"
"No. Just want to sleep," he murmurs as his eyes close. I frown in concern. Is it normal for him to be this exhausted by the trip home from the hospital? Mrs. Hunt touches my arm and I follow her out into the hall. She quietly shuts the door almost all the way, and then I follow her back into the kitchen.
"Why don't you go get some sleep?" she asks as I pull a stool up to the counter.
"No, I'm OK," I murmur, resting my head in my hands.
"I hope you don't think I'm getting out of my place..." she replies, centering herself across from me.
I look up in surprise. "I would never think that. I mean, I think of you as family."
She smiles, looking touched. "I just wanted to ask, did something happen that day? When Mr. Tillman and you went into the study?"
I sigh. "You mean, did something bring on my father's heart attack?"
"Not that anyone is to blame," she hurriedly adds. "But you were so nervous, looking out the window, and then I was surprised to see Mr. Tillman show up. I just wondered if there's something I don't know."
"Well, my father doesn't know either, though we were going to tell him that day. I don't want to ask you to keep a secret from him."
"So you and Mr. Tillman...?" she asks, leaning forward. I nod, and for some reason, tears spring to my eyes. "Oh, Callie, what is it?" she asks, hurrying around and wrapping me in a hug.
"I just wish... I wish it could be a little easier for us, Boone and me. And I'm worried that my dad's heart attack is my fault. He's been stressed ever since I broke up with his heir apparent and he had trouble with these permits." She bends her head down and looks at me in confusion. "I think that part's fine. I just don't want to cause him any more trouble."
"You didn't make your father eat all those unhealthy foods and drink too much, did you?"
"No, I guess not," I reply, still feeling miserable nonetheless.
"So, is Mr. Tillman a good man? I know he's good at business, but personally, I mean. He always seemed nice when he'd come over to the house."
"He is. He's thoughtful, and brilliant, and—"
"Handsome," she concludes, and I giggle. "Well, he is."
"No, you're right, he is. But I was going to say kind."
"So it's serious, then?"
"I'd like it to be. And I think he would, too. But how can we really be serious when we have to hide our relationship?"
"You're a little stuck, huh?"
I nod. "And we can't tell my father now. I guess we'll have to wait until he feels better. Is it all supposed to be this difficult?"
"It's never been your nature to go against the grain, so to speak," Mrs. Hunt observes, her arm still around my shoulders. "But sometimes it's worth it."
Before I can fully digest what she just said, a bell sounds from down the hall. "I'll go," I say, standing up.
"Let me," she replies.
"No, no. I'll do it," I say, and head back down the hall before she can argue. I push open the door and find my dad struggling to sit up.
"I can't figure out this damn thing," he says, holding up the bed controller and pushing its buttons angrily.
"Just make it go down alright?" he snaps, and then sighs. "I have to go to the bathroom." I press the down button and help him swing his legs over the side, and then let him lean on me as we walk to the bathroom door. "By the way, my lawyer is coming over later."
"Your lawyer? Are you really up for a meeting?"
"No, that's the point. We need to go over my will." I stop in shock. "Just a precaution," he adds, continuing along. My phone buzzes in my pocket just as he puts his hand on the doorknob and I reach down to check it. "Who is it?" he asks.
I hurriedly silence Boone's call and put it back in my pocket. "No one."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"I was so sorry to hear about what happened," Martha Horne murmurs as she stands in the door of my cubicle.
"Thank you," I reply. I wish she hadn't come down here. It was kind of her, but now the other interns are staring at me, wondering why the Creative Director is speaking to me so personally.
"Please let me know if you need any more time off," she says.
"Thank you, but I'm alright. My dad has help at home."
"Of course. Well, let me know if you'd like to sit in on the meeting with Boone Tillman on Thursday. You know, sort of be your father's representative. We're finalizing everything for the River Street project grand opening."
"I'm sure that Boone will be able to handle it himself," I reply as graciously as I can.
"Just let me know if you change your mind," she says, and gives me a quick pat on the shoulder before leaving. I lean close to my computer so I can't see the people staring at me. Of course I'd love to be more included in creative decisions here, but not like this. I want Martha to ask for my input because I've earned it, not because my father can't make it and they want to keep their big client happy.
I work the rest of the day in a fog, wondering whether every co-worker's smile is genuine, or if they think they can get ahead by sucking up to me. This is exactly the kind of situation I wanted to avoid. I should just go ahead and change my nameplate on my cubicle from Keene to Woodall. Fat lot of good it did me anyway.