Page 146 of Perfect Satisfaction

The relief has me reaching out to smooth away a piece of hair edging toward her mulberry-tinted lips. I glance down and find they match her shoes. Then I cock my head and ask, “So, if you wear blue shoes, do you wear blue lipstick? If yes, I’ll buy a pair for you.”

My off-the-cuff comment catches Sula off guard. She laughs uproariously and I feel something twist inside my chest.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

I feel like no matter what I do or how much love we feel for each other, there are forces trying to wedge us apart. I’m here to try to close the gap that’s growing between us. I need to understand the woman I love before I lose her all over again.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh. Does this mean StellaNova’s going to turn into a cooking blog?” she remarks drolly, her good humor still evident.

“Not a chance in hell.”

“Well, there goes the bet I had with myself. Only something cataclysmic could have you sitting here.”

I’m about to share with her she’s the driving urge I had to jump on that plane with her. I wanted to be near in the off chance I’d be able to plead with her that we need to look ahead into the future. But my words dry up when I notice her eyes shining at me. My argument about paying attention to what’s right in front of her face crumbles as I stare down into her face. There’smyUrsula. My Moore. She’s still living inside the cool sophisticate twirling her pearls back and forth around a slender neck, begging for my lips.

I can’t stop myself from touching her. My hand cups her chin.

Her breath catches.

Electricity arcs between us so wildly that we must cause a power surge in the building.

I’ll never know what would have happened next because the door flies open on the far side of the room. Helen, the assistant who escorted me to Sula’s office, announces, “Sula, you have an hour before you’re due on the phone with the defence minister of Australia. Now is the only chance for you... oh, I’m sorry.”

Sula scoots back and waives off the interruption. “Not to worry. It gives me enough time to give Arek a quick tour and grab some food. Would you be available to escort him through any areas I miss he happens to be interested in?”

“Certainly.”

Sula stands, placing herself practically in between my legs. Her black dress shifts into place. She reaches behind her chair for a jacket to slip on top. With a small smile, she asks, “Want to take StellaNova global for the day?”

Both my brows fling upward, even as I begin salivating at the opportunity she’s affording me. “Are you serious?”

She reaches over and lifts my badge so I notice it’s stamped with a large redM. “No one will speak with you unless given clearance by me. I’m all you’ve got. Use me well.”

As she passes by and I catch sight of her graceful figure in her preferred death-defying heels, my body shudders at the unintended invitation in her words.

Don’t tempt me, my Moore.

Dutifully, I follow her out of the office.

I’m astounded by the information Sula’s shared about MSW on the nickel tour. “Helen can show you some more of the property later.”

“I never realized the company is that diverse. I somehow pegged it as the software responsible for making my laptop work.”

Sula’s response is wry. “My father never believed in placing all his eggs in one basket.”

“Some might have envied the childhood you led,” I remark as we enter the executive lunchroom.

Fortunately it’s empty because Sula stiffens. “None of us had a childhood, Arek. Ever since we were able to ambulate, we were schooled. Plus Brendan changed his name the moment he could.”

I ignore her use of pluralism and ask, “What did the great West Moore determine was a proper education for his daughter?”

Her lashes drop over her remarkable eyes, concealing her thoughts. “I had private tutors for my entire childhood—even when I lived with my mother. Public schools were sneered at. College was my first public schooling experience. And, I’ll add, he disparaged my choice. It took weeks for me not to sustain persistent verbal abuse over my choice of UPenn over a different Ivy.” Her lids lift and her shoulders shrug. “But they offered me a full academic scholarship.”

“Are you trying to tell me you paid for your own schooling?”

“The moment I turned eighteen, my father stopped paying a dime.” She steps out of my arms, and they ache from not holding her. “MIT wasn’t quite as generous when I transferred schools. I only finished paying those loans off a few years ago.”