by B. Avery
In his dream, he wasn’t at all surprised to see her. When he stepped from behind the counter to greet her, she walked into his arms without a word. Soft music was playing and they waltzed through the shop, the closely-lined shelves staying out of their way. “I missed you,” Carmine murmured, hiding her face against his throat.
“You’re back now, love,” he assured her, feeling her smile against his skin when he dropped a kiss on her hair.
“I won’t leave again,” she promised as she lifted her head to look at him with eyes that were earnest and filled with love.
“And why not?” he whispered, needing to hear her say it.
“Because I love you.” Her smile was breathtaking, and she wound her fingers through his hair when he dropped his head to finally, finally kiss her. She parted her lips for him with no hesitation, letting him devour her and moaning happily into his mouth as he did.
She tasted like raspberries and roses, and he’d never get enough of her. With desperate hands, he pulled her more tightly against him, needing to be closer. Carmine loved him, and she was still too far away. Together they fell onto the fainting couch, Carmine beneath him as they kissed endlessly, eternally. Clothes disappeared in the way of dreams, leaving them twined around each other, as close as any two people could get, and it still wasn’t enough-
He woke with a cry, reaching frantically for his dream-Carmine. The shock of finding only tangled sheets hit him like a punch to the gut, and he rolled onto his side with a whimper, clinging to the dream. Reaching down, he took hold of himself, teeth bared as he brought himself off with a few rough strokes, trying to pretend it was Carmine’s sweet body bringing him such pleasure.
When it was over he lay gasping, knowing he’d crossed a line. Looking and daydreaming was one thing, but acting on his desires- even in his own head- was very different. Perhaps it was for the best that she wouldn’t be in that day. He couldn’t imagine how he’d ever be able to meet her eyes.
Even worse, it was as though the dream had signaled the breaking of a dam. Suddenly he couldn't stop fantasizing about her, his mind obsessively providing vivid images of how she'd look in the grip of passion, her lips swollen from his kisses, chestnut hair tangled by his hands. Every flat surface in his house seemed a perfect place to make love to her from against the broad glass front doors to on his kitchen table. Would she be loud and vocal in her pleasure, or quiet and shy, making him listen for changes in her breathing to know when he was pleasing her? What would please her? Slow and sweet and gentle or rough and desperate?
God, he was losing his mind.
He started his day with thirty minutes in a frigid shower that did little for his mood but a great deal for his sanity. Carmine was wise beyond her years, his dearest- indeed only- friend in Bartley, and she was so young. And his employee. He couldn't have these thoughts. It was inappropriate even by his own low standards. Too many years between them was not socially acceptable, particularly in such a small town. Especially when she’d be leaving for college any day now.
He never thought he'd be grateful that he wouldn't be seeing her, but that was the position he found himself in. He needed a day to get his head back on straight, to try to shove her back into the neat box labeled 'friend and companion' and put all the other boxes into storage. He never should have danced with her.
The day dragged without Carmine's presence to distract him. He fixed the clock he'd been toying with for a week and made some real progress on her necklace, and when he looked at the time, he still had three hours to go before closing. Leaning on the counter, he stared blankly out the window, wondering what she was doing. Getting dressed, he assumed, maybe fixing her hair in a different style. He couldn't remember ever seeing her dressed up. When he realized he was thinking about her again he rolled his eyes at himself. Clearly some kind of aversion therapy was in order.
Then again, what harm would it really do to fantasize? Touching her was forbidden. She never had to know what he was thinking; it couldn't hurt her. Someday he'd tell her- say, when she graduated from college and maybe she'd even be flattered he'd been so preoccupied with her.
There were no customers, but he kept the shop open late anyway, not relishing the thought of returning to his empty house. As long as he was here, he could pretend his dream was prophetic and Carmine would come skipping in to tell him about her evening and ask him to dance with her, and then they could put that fainting couch to better use than just being an eyesore. He closed his eyes, reliving the dream, and when the bell jangled and he heard “Good evening, Mr. Smith,” he assumed he was hallucinating.
“Carmine?” he whispered, his brain feeling sluggish. Surely she couldn't be here, yet there she was, standing before him in her frock, looking even lovelier than she had in his dream. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” she pointed out with a smile, coming further into the shop, and flipping the sign to 'Closed.' “You're open awfully late, aren't you?”
“Busy night,” he lied, trying not to notice the way the filmy layers of lace clung to her body.
“Oh, really? What'd you sell?” She glanced around, trying to see if anything was out of place.
Giving up on misdirection, he went back to his initial question. “What are you doing here, love?” He could feel his heart beating as she got closer, but instead of stepping into his arms like she did in the dream, she hopped up to sit on the counter, her skirt bunching around her legs.
“Your dance lessons weren't particularly helpful,” she informed him, swinging her legs and cheerfully ignoring his question, “Apparently not much waltzing happens at school proms.”
He probably should have realized that, but it didn't seem like she was here to scold him. “No?”
“No,” she shook her head and pulled a face, “Most of it was more like combat with some groping thrown in.”
He glowered at the thought of her date trying to grope her. He could probably take the tall boy down, and he'd deserve it if he'd upset her. “Didn't have a good time, love?” he asked, cursing himself for sounding hopeful.
“Oh no,” she assured him, “It was fun.” Despite her words, her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
Not convinced, he pressed, “Then shouldn't you still be out with your friends?”
Carmine traced a pattern on the wood with her index finger. “I don't have friends,” she said, her voice oddly stifled, but she wasn't crying and her face was serene, “I have this place. And you.”
Guilt twisted in his stomach. He'd ruined her somehow by keeping her locked away with him. She couldn't relate to her own age group anymore, and even the dance she'd been so looking forward to had clearly been a disappointment because of it. “I'm sorry,” he rasped.
“Don't be silly,” she scolded, a faint smile playing at her mouth. Then she abruptly changed the subject, “Do you want to know why I was upset on Tuesday?”
He thought back to earlier in the week and answered her question for her. “Because you wanted to go to the dance, and you didn't think you could.”
“No,” she snapped, looking affronted, “Is that what you thought? That wasn't it at all.”
Resolutely, he strangled the spark of hope that was trying to flutter to life in his chest. Whatever she was about to say was not going to be what he longed to hear. “Then why?” he asked, feeling like a masochist.
She leaned closer, looking him directly in the eye. “I was upset because I didn't want to go to the dance! Corbin's cute, and he asked me, and any other girl would have been thrilled, but I wasn't, because I just wanted to be at the shop with you. And I realized I was never going to be normal because I'm not supposed to want that. But I do. So much.”
Sniffling, she looked away as her nerve seemed to break. “And you couldn't shove me out the door fast enough.”
He was dreaming again, he realized, dismay filling him. This wasn't real, couldn't be real. Even so, he couldn't bear to see her unhappy, and if it was a dream, h
e was allowed to touch. He placed his hands on top of hers where they rested on the counter, the gesture bringing him close enough to her that he could feel her warmth. “I thought you wanted to go. I was trying to make you happy.”
“You make me happy,” she half-sobbed, and his mouth twitched a little at the irony.
“I can tell.” She lifted her head to look at him, her mouth inches from his and he froze, sucking in an involuntary breath.
“Don't laugh at me,” she pleaded softly.
Nothing could be further from his mind. “I'm laughing at us. I didn't want you to go to that damned dance. I wanted you here with me.” And now she was. If he was dreaming, he didn't want to wake up, and if he wasn't, they were in a world of trouble.
“Really?” her eyes searched his face, all sign of tears gone now.
“I don't like to share,” he rumbled, leaning closer until he could feel her breath against his lips. She smelled like cinnamon, and that decided him. She always smelled like raspberries and roses in his dreams. This was real.
He needed to step back. They were entirely too close, and she was far too tempting. Even if she wanted him, she was so young. “You don't have to,” she whispered, her blue eyes turning dark, “If you want me, I'm yours.”
Smith gave up. Releasing her hands, he plunged his fingers into her hair, destroying her neat up do as he brought his mouth down on hers. Carmine made a muffled sound of surprise against his lips, but before he had time to panic, she was grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket and yanking him closer until their upper bodies were plastered together. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, running his tongue over the tempting bit of flesh before gently nibbling, and she arched into him, wrapping her arms around his neck to hold him against her.
He was standing between her legs, and he had just enough time to be grateful that the height of the counter meant she couldn't feel how hard he already was when Carmine opened her mouth for him, freely offering what he'd been dreaming about. With a choked groan he thrust his tongue into her mouth, trying to taste her everywhere at once. In his fantasies, he’d never imagined the hint of spice he discovered, but it was so perfectly Carmine that he knew he was never going to be able to live without it. She was soft and warm and delicious and his, and he’d never get enough of her.
Carmine moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, wrapping his arms around her to pull her closer yet. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and he fancied that the rhythm perfectly matched his own heartbeat. When she stroked her tongue against his, he had to pull back to keep from biting her, the sheer animal drive to claim her nearly overwhelming him. He trailed kisses down her throat, sucking greedily at her pulse point as Carmine sighed and tangled her fingers in his hair to hold him in place. She smelled like heaven, all musk and sweetness, and if he could just breathe her in, he’d never need oxygen. Her nails scratched gently at his scalp, the sensation turning his bones to taffy. She yelped when he nipped at her throat, and he forced himself to back off, convinced he’d hurt her. “Sorry, love,” he apologized, struggling to control his breathing.
It was all he could do to keep that control when he got his first look at her since they’d started. Carmine’s face was flushed, her eyes huge and dark. A tiny smile played about her lips, reassuring him that he hadn’t hurt or frightened her. “You should be,” she scolded, her voice breathless, “I didn’t tell you were allowed to stop.”
Of course she’d tease him about this; why would he have ever thought differently? She wouldn’t be Carmine if she didn’t challenge him, and if she wasn't Carmine, he wouldn’t be doing this.
Doing it in the still-lit shop where anyone walking by could clearly see what they were up to, he realized with some dismay. The door wasn’t even locked, despite the closed sign. “We should-” he started, meaning to say that they should stop this. She was still too young, and they really needed to talk about that.
Before he could get any further, Carmine ran her fingers through his hair, stroking him like a treasured thing. “I always wondered if it was as soft as it looked,” she mused.
Bloody hell, the woman did not play fair. He took her mouth again, fast and hard, before wrenching himself away from her, his entire body protesting. “Lock the door,” he managed, retrieving his keys from his pocket and handing them to her.
She slid off the counter, letting her body brush against his, and her eyes widened when she came in contact with the part of him that was begging for her touch. “The back?” she suggested, arching her spine to press herself against him, and he couldn’t remember why he’d thought to stop this.
It was only once she’d darted off to lock up and he’d managed to drag himself into the back room that sanity intruded. He lowered himself into his chair and rested his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands as he struggled to regain some control.
“You want to stop,” Carmine’s voice pulled him back into the moment as she curled up in her own chair opposite him, looking disappointed but unsurprised.
“Stopping-” he had to pause and clear his throat, his voice so gravely he was barely comprehensible, “Stopping is the last thing I want to do.”
“Then why are you all the way over there?” Carmine leaned across the table, her eyes pleading. Being patient had been well-nigh impossible when he thought the attraction was one-sided. Having to wait when he knew it was mutual might well kill him.
“You’re eighteen, love.” He met her eyes, willing her to understand.
Carmine’s brow furrowed, “But that’s the age of consent. I’m legally an adult.”
His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “As your employer, I have authority over you. It would be wrong. I would be taking advantage of you. Besides, people would talk, especially since you’ve been working here since you were just a child.”
Carmine processed the situation, “But that’s the only reason? It’s not that you don’t... want me?”
He should say no. He should tell her that he’d just been caught up in the moment when he kissed her. If he hurt her feelings now, he could spare her the pain of wishing her life away until they could be together. It would be the mature and responsible thing to do, but he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing hurt in her eyes that he’d put there. “I want you desperately, love,” he confessed instead, “Have done for an eternity.”
Carmine’s eyes fluttered closed, and she breathed in sharply. “It’s the same for me,” she whispered, “I’ve always wanted you.”
There was something unbearably erotic about hearing those longed-for words from Carmine’s sweet lips. He sighed and covered her hand with his, fighting the urge to pull her into his lap. She smiled sadly and squeezed his fingers, “So, what do we do?”
“We wait,” he rasped, not liking the words any more now that they'd been spoken out loud instead of just recited in his head, “Until you’re much older.”
Carmine nodded, her eyes huge in her pale face, “Will you still want me? If we wait?”
“Try to stop me.” She blushed at his fervent growl, a shy smile lighting her face.
“Alright,” she breathed, lifting his hand to her mouth and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “We wait.”
“The day you come back from college...” he started, trailing off when he realized that anything he said would only torture them both.
Carmine smirked at him, her customary sangfroid slowly returning, “You'll make it worth my while?”
“Oh, yeah,” he vowed, unable to suppress a wicked smile of his own. He had four years to plan her seduction; his precious Carmine was going to think she'd died and gone to heaven.
Her face flushed as she held his gaze, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Belatedly, he realized that she'd have four years to plan too, and he'd be lucky to survive the experience. He couldn't imagine a better way to go. She broke the eye contact and glanced down, biting her lower lip. “And... there won't be anyone else? Four years is a long time.�
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“There's no one for me but you, love,” he assured her, her smile warming his heart. He raised his eyebrows in mock concern, “You're the one running about with other men.”
Her eyes narrowed playfully, “Corbin is hardly a man. Besides I only agreed to go out with him because someone seemed to be shoving me at him.”
She had a fair point. He still couldn't believe how badly he'd misread her when it came to the dance. “Whoever that fool was, I'm sure he won't make the same mistake twice.”
“He'd better not,” she threatened, and they spent a few minutes just gazing at each other in silence before she sighed, “I suppose I should go home.”
She was right, and he knew it, but that still didn't make it any easier. He'd be content to just spend the rest of the night staring at her and knowing that she wanted him. Of course, if they did that, the staring was certain to progress to other things that it was still too early for. “I hate it when you're right.”
Carmine giggled. “Unfortunately, I always am.” She stood up and pressed a kiss to his temple, kindly not mentioning the way he grabbed the edge of the table to keep himself from reaching for her. “Good night.”
“Good night, love,” he murmured, unable to resist adding, “You look beautiful.”
She hesitated in the doorway, turning back with a faint smile playing at her lips, “You do not play fair,” she scolded, blowing him another kiss before making her way out of the shop, the ringing of the bell sounding mournful as it announced her departure.
Smith watched her go, torn between lust and hope. They were going to be all right. Carmine could still smile and tease despite the tension between them. She wasn't revolted by his desire for her, instead she returned it. It was going to be a hard four years, but the reward would be worth every second of denial and frustration. They'd make it.
****
Not long after he found himself rethinking his earlier assessment. Carmine still came to work every day, still laughed and teased, but there was a wall between them now that had never been there before. It had started innocently enough. They'd been chatting as she dusted one of the higher shelves. Once she'd finished, she climbed down off the ottoman she'd been standing on, using his shoulder for balance as she had a thousand times before.