Pushing the button to call the elevator, I stiffen as Todd’s body heat fills my bubble of personal space. His hands grip my upper arms and begin rubbing up and down. The friction sending a jolt of awareness to my lower belly. A quick intake of air and I stiffen as he whispers.
“So crazy the cool air can make you shiver when your skin is so warm.”
And I’m a pile of goo. Melted chocolate right here on the marble floors.
Before I can offer a retort, the elevator doors open and I step inside, pushing the seven button as Todd follows behind me. Standing side by side, we both look up at the number display. I doubt his mind is racing like mine. Thoughts of pushing him up against the wall of this elevator and throwing myself at him are the most vivid. By the time the display ticks to a five, I know I have to make a decision. We flirted, we kissed, and we cuddled in Idaho but here, tonight, I feel like we’re at a turning point in our friendship. I want him. I want his lips on mine, his hands caressing my skin, and his body melting into my own.
I need his touch and his kindness.
Stepping off the elevator, I walk quickly to my front door and pull the key from my pocket. Slowly, I turn the key and open the door only to pause before stepping across the threshold. With a deep breath, I take a step and then another.
When the door closes, I don’t allow myself more than a second to contemplate my next move. In two large steps, I throw my arms around his neck and my lips capture his. Startled at first, he doesn’t kiss me back, and my heart falls. Regret is instant, and I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. But I don’t sit with that feeling for long because his arms wrap around my waist, tugging my body flush to his. His mouth opens, and our kiss deepens. My heart soars and my panties dampen.
I’m a thirty-four-year-old woman and have kissed plenty of men in my life. Not a single kiss has sent my heart racing and my body into hyper drive like kissing Todd Chimolski. Never have I wanted to crawl inside a man, to know not only what he’s feeling but what he thinks. This man challenges me and puts me at ease all at the same time. His compassion and his humor force me to look at life through different lenses, and I want more. I need more.
His hands glide up my hips, one under my shirt and the other at the base of my neck. When his lips abandon mine, I let out a sound of frustration, but the moment they find my neck, with a slight flick of his tongue, my sound morph to one of passion and desire.
I release my grip from behind his neck and begin unbuttoning his shirt. When it opens another piece of thin cotton greets me. Groaning in frustration that I can’t touch his skin, Todd laughs and steps back to discard not only his dress shirt but the damp undershirt stuck to his sweaty skin.
Eyes wide, I lick my lips in anticipation of touching his skin. Instead, of allowing me the opportunity, he grips the hem of my shirt and quickly pulls it over my head and tosses it behind me.
“Fuck,” he grumbles as I smile. My breasts are full, and my nipples are hard in response to his gaze. Stepping up to me quickly, he tugs down a cup and sucks a nipple into his mouth. I’m pretty sure I’ve just died and gone to heaven. My fingers weave into his hair and I moan as he licks and nips. With a pop, he releases my nipple and lifts his head to face me.
“Donna.” My name is a plead from his lips, and I place a chaste kiss to his lips.
“Make love to me, Todd.”
Growling, he bends and lifts me by the waist, bringing my face even with his. Giggling, I fling my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life as he walks us to my bedroom. Setting me down inside the door, he turns to Mr. Tuddles who has followed us.
“Sorry, dude. This isn’t a show.”
The door closes, and I know what happens next will change everything. In all the best ways.
Two days of sex and laughter is by far the best workout I’ve ever experienced.
Two days with Todd in my world is by far the best life change I’ve ever experienced.
After the impromptu jumping I did, we’ve spent hours lying in bed talking and making love. And fucking. We’ve basically turned my body into a pretzel and while I’m paying the price right now, unable to get up from the couch, I’ve never felt better.
“I hate that you have to leave.” I don’t bother to hide my disappointment that his time in Phoenix is over.
“Don’t guilt me. You know I’ll stay.”
“Would I be a horrible person to ask you to? I mean, you have an empire, why do you need more work?” Yes, I sound like a child, but I don’t care. I like having him here. I like how he makes me feel. And I’m scared how I feel. My emotions and feelings for Todd are a rollercoaster, and while the high is the greatest feeling, the low is devastating and not one I’m used to.
“We need to talk about this,” he replies.
Sighing, I fling my arm over my eyes and let out a deep sigh. Todd squeezes my feet that rest on his lap. When I don’t shift, he pulls my hand from my eyes and smiles.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I whisper before clearing my throat. “You live thousands of miles away. We’re adults, and we can say we had a great time this weekend and that’s that.”
Liar.
“I think it’s just bad timing. We’re still friends though, right?”
“Of course, we’re friends. You’ve easily become one of my best friends. I just . . . I’m being a girl. It’ll pass.” The smile I offer him is small and hopefully hides my disappointment.
Rising from the couch, Todd tugs my hands, pulling me to stand before him. Brushing the hair off my shoulders, he cups my face and places a series of small kisses on my lips. “It’s just bad timing.”
Nodding, I follow him to the door. As he’s stepping into the hallway, I say, “I’ll see you at the NANAs?”
“Yeah, for sure. Save me a dance?”
“Always.”
Without another word or a kiss, he walks away, and I think he may have taken a piece of my heart with him.
Chapter 26
Todd
The NANAs are not at all what I expected. With an acronym like “NANA” I thought we’d show up to a community center somewhere and sit around circular tables that wobbled because one of the legs was a little too worn. Then someone standing at a podium would begin speaking, probably blow out our eardrums when the mic squealed. The nominees would be presented with a plaque for a job well done and we’d all enjoy a potluck. I was looking forward to some homemade deviled eggs.
That is not what the National Association of Narrators Awards are. First, and foremost, it’s a black-tie event. When Aggi found out I was in the running for best debut narrator six weeks ago, she hounded me to get a tux. I thought I’d mosey on down to the local rental shop, but she went on one of her rants about investments and branding. I stopped listening at one point but did find myself standing on a box with a tailor becoming far too acquainted with my inseam. She still insists this is all because she doesn’t want me to stand out in a bad way. I say it’s because she likes torturing me. There is probably some truth to both theories.
Then, Spencer reserved a limo for us to ride in—me as the third wheel to their disgusting party of two—to the hotel that had the entrance blocked off just for this event. It was weird since we’re actually staying at the same hotel the awards are being held at. We literally drove around the block in the name of “presentation.”
But I suppose they weren’t wrong. When we pulled up to the front of the hotel less than two minutes after getting in the back seat, we walked a red carpet that was well and truly red. Dozens of people stood in a long line taking pictures. These weren’t the same women I met at the book signing. No, these were actual photographers taking pictures. With cameras. I have no idea who they are or what they’re for. All I know is the cameras being used probably cost more than my last commission. When we settled ourselves around circular tables decorated with candles and glittery shit that sparkled when the flames moved, I knew this was much more than a potluck.
Since then, no microphone has sq
uealed. No table has wobbled. This is definitely not my grandmother’s award show. It’s more like the Oscars without the A-listers and musical guests.
Although I thought I saw a B-list celebrity on the other side of the room. But still no deviled eggs. Talk about disappointing.
For whatever reason, the usher seated us at this table right in the middle of the room. If I happen to win, it’s going to be really hard to walk through all the chairs to the stage. Not that people should complain about getting Todd-in-the-Box at eye level. But a man doesn’t have anything without his dignity. And my deductive reasoning guesses the organizers already thought this through and the people who are actually going to win have a straight shot to the microphone. That’s not me.
Eh. At least the flan is good. There’s nothing more satisfying than caramel covered custard.
The only downside so far has been the company I’m keeping. I haven’t had a reason to get up yet, except possibly to find a barf bag, thanks to Spencer and Aggi, pardon me . . . Adeline Snow, as I have been instructed to refer to her when she’s at an event like this. Whatever she calls herself, I can’t help but roll my eyes at how lovey-dovey my best friend and her betrothed are. It’s even worse because they’ve been apart for the last couple of weeks due to her touring schedule and his physical therapy for his bum knee. Not that they keep their hands off each other normally.
In all fairness, they’re not really that bad. I’d never admit it to Aggi, but I would be way more bored if I didn’t get to poke fun at them every few minutes. Seriously. How many people do I know who have sat through an entire Oscar ceremony without losing their mind? None. That shit is long and boring, and they have comedians hosting. This shit has all the bore and none of the comedy, so I have my choice of entertainment: conversing with the lovebirds, or the old bat to my right.
Mrs. Buford is friendly enough in a stodgy, aristocratic, judgmental sort of way. She reminds me of Queen Elizabeth with her bouffant and powder blue pantsuit, except she doesn’t smile as much. Her daughters-in-law aren’t as hot either. I should know, I sat through thirty minutes of looking through pictures in a little accordion picture wallet thing. No lie, the second she opened it, it looked like a Slinky of pictures, each one more boring and pointless than the last.
She has yet to explain why she’s here, and I can only assume it is for one of three reasons. She’s either a publisher, an author, or a narrator. I don’t want to think of this woman writing or saying the word “cock,” so I’ve decided she’s a publisher. Regardless, I should get an award for listening politely and not making smart remarks. That’s just the kind of guy I am. Even if Aggi hadn’t kicked me under the table I still would have been on my best behavior. You never know when these old ladies are going to turn on you and start beating you with an overstuffed purse. The last thing this face needs is “MK” shaped bruises. That would be hard to explain to my next client.
I’m pretty sure I should be paying attention because my category is up next, but I’m having a hard time focusing over Mrs. Buford’s current tirade. She’s been droning on for the last ten minutes about AM radio in her day, or something to that effect. I don’t really know. I lost track around the time her husband interjected, and they began arguing over whether or not John Flynn and Virginia Moore, whoever they are, should have an honorary NANAs for their work on some 1950s radio show. It’s the “origin of narration,” they said.
For the record, this nana thinks John Flynn doesn’t deserve an honorary NANA because he was a hooligan. Sounds like my kinda guy.
While they continue to argue, a presenter walks across the stage, black dress swishing behind her as she sways. I don’t know who she is, but she has a bright smile on her face, obviously thrilled to be standing on the stage right now. She settles behind the podium, looks around the room as people quiet, including the Bufords, finally, and begins speaking.
“Good evening. My name is Rebecca Trepid. I’m pleased to be announcing the next award for best debut narrator.”
Yep, it’s my category all right. Aggi grabs my hand and squeezes in support. Or to keep me from doing something stupid. I’m not really sure.
“The nominees are: Hawk Weaver for his narration of Extreme Adventures by Adeline Snow . . .”
Polite applause ripples through the room and I do my best to look around and smile at people until one particular person catches my attention.
Donna.
Everything goes silent around me as I watch her clap and smile while the nominees are read. Her blonde waves cascade down her back, covering the skin that peeks out from under her slinky red dress. My entire brain stutters and shorts out by how beautiful she is. But that’s not what holds my attention. No, I spoke to her briefly when we first arrived, so I know how amazing she looks.
What keeps me watching and from hearing anything else the presenter says is the way she’s smiling at her date. Matthew, I think is his name.
What a normal, boring name. Probably for a normal, boring man even if he is a male model.
Matthew.
Even thinking about how it sounds makes me want to sneer. Never mind how he’s touching Donna’s arm right now.
But jokes on you, Matthew. Little do you know we text every day. And we talk sometimes. And she’s been a wealth of information regarding Phoenix real estate, even if I could have gotten the information by asking some of my other connections. No, Matthew, I had real excuses to call her. We even video chatted when she got an advance CD copy of the narrated book. So you may be her date, Matthew. But I’m her friend.
Ohgod, I’m her friend. Have I been friend-zoned? There’s no way. We had sex. Amazing, toe-curling, mind-blowing sex. Surely that means something, right? Just because she’s talking to the guy and touching him and, and, smiling at him doesn’t mean she has feelings for him, does it?
Good lord, I have got to stop hanging around with Spencer. Green might be a good color on me, but jealous bastard is not.
Besides, every Matthew I’ve known has been a giant asshat. This one is probably no exception. He’ll probably try to get handsy later and Donna will kick him in the balls.
That sounds right. She’ll go all karate chop on him and bring his ass to the floor, writhing in pain. Serves him right for having that stupid beautiful face with his stupid big smile and the stupid right amount of scruff on his face.
You won’t be looking so handsome when you’re grimacing in pain, will you Matthew?
Just the thought of it makes me chuckle. Not loud, but loud enough that I miss whatever is said before the room erupts into applause.
Looking around, I watch as some guy from Donna’s table stands up and walks straight for the stairs by the stage.
“I’m so sorry,” Aggi whispers in my ear. “You deserved it so much more than him.”
I blink twice and turn to look at her. “What?”
Her eyebrows raise ever so slightly. “The award?” I continue my blank stare her direction until she rolls her eyes. “You lost.”
“Oh.”
Exasperated, Aggi shakes her head and turns her attention back to the stage. She seems genuinely puzzled that I didn’t win, but had she noticed the placement of the tables, she would have seen the same pattern I did. Frankly, I’m disappointed in her inability to hypothesize just because her boyfriend is here.
It’s obvious that tables in the middle of the room are for losers, as proven by the straight shot the man who currently holding a statue had. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t win, too. That dude has a lovely speech thanking his mother and everyone else in his life since first grade. I would have just taken the statue and made some joke like “Romance readers. Am I right?” It’s better this way.
Poking at her arm to get her attention, Aggi bats my hand away in irritation. Mission accomplished. “What?” she hisses.
Pointing at her untouched dessert I ask, “Are you going to eat that?”
She rolls her eyes and pushes in my direction. This ceremony just got a hund
red times better, now that I’ve had double dessert to drown my pitiful sensitive emotions in.
Fortunately, there are only a few more awards left before we’re finally free from the never-ending speeches and clapping. Just in time too. My eyes were glazing over so hard I’m sure they would have been mistaken for donuts at any time.
Popping up from my chair as soon as music begins pipping through the speakers, I quickly try to make my escape. “Mr. and Mrs. Buford, it was lovely meeting you. Good luck getting that third son married off. I’m sure any blind dates you set him up with will be lovely.” They nod back at me, murmuring their appreciation or whatever. “Spencer, Aggi, I’ll see ya later.”
Aggi places her hand on my arm, stopping me. “Where are you going?”
Standing up straight, I button my jacket and straighten my bow tie. “I have places to go and people to see.” Gently placing a kiss on her cheek I add, “Don’t wait up,” and wink at her as I walk away.
As predicted, my crotch ends up in the hands of a few more people than I planned, mostly by accident but I’m not convinced old Mr. Hannivan didn’t cop a feel on purpose. Word on the street is he’s a big perv and always looking for opportunity. Romance readers. Am I right?
Nope. Still doesn’t work, and it’s still a good thing I lost.
Eyes on my target, I make a B-line to Donna, who is laughing at something Matthew is saying to her. Seriously. Can he make it any more obvious what kind of man he is?
Clearing my throat as I approach, I catch Donna’s attention. Her smile gets even bigger when she sees me.
Take that, Matthew.
Before she can speak, I reach my hand out in offering and bend slightly at the waist. “May I have this dance?” And nothing. Hoping I’m not bent over in front of nothing, I peer up to find Donna looking down at me.
Furrowing her brow a bit she says, “Um, I don’t really know how to dance to this kind of music. Is it a waltz or . . .?”
Rising to my full height, I shrug. “Who knows. We can figure it out together.”
Ear Candy Page 17