by Mel Blue
Amelia knocked on the thick oak door. A series of curses and thumps sounded from behind the door. By the time the door opened, she wasn’t surprised to see a man in the desk chair. The scowl he wore couldn’t lessen his good looks. His long sandy-brown hair was tousled, likely messy from a quick finger-comb. If the hastened sounds on the other side of the door weren’t enough, his shirt was buttoned-up wrong, providing the most damning evidence of what she’d interrupted.
Seraphina followed her gaze and laughed. The woman slyly motioned to her front before she turned her attention to Amelia. “Afternoon.”
“Hey,” Amelia said and waited for some kind of introduction.
Seraphina walked them both toward the open French doors. The office still looked like Mardi Gras had exploded on the walls and every spare surface, but unlike the last time she’d come, the decorative touches no longer appeared staged. The beads on the wall were tangled as though lovely handled and worn. The miniature Bourbon Street sign was knocked over on the edge of the desk.
“What can I do for you?” Seraphina asked, not giving any kind of introduction.
They settled onto the patio chairs. The antiques shone like new. The black-checkered cushions blended well with the dark metal. The glass tabletop was cool to the touch, and she welcomed the relief from the late-evening heat. Amelia glanced over her shoulder in time to see the man closing the office door. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d seen him in the red room theater.
She turned her focus to the other woman, “You’re not even going to talk about it.”
“About?” Seraphina’s voice was as professional as ever, but the blush gave her away.
Amelia folded her hands in her lap. The view from the balcony best showcased New Orleans at the tail end of spring. By now she’d have hit all her favorite spots, mostly restaurants. Instead, she’d spent all her time in a hotel room with Dwayne.
And it seemed she wasn’t the only one getting an itch scratched. “I think it’s cute,” Amelia said. “And in your office. I’m scandalized.”
“How is Dwayne?” Seraphina countered.
Amelia stammered, tried again and said, “Fine.”
“Just fine?”
Right. She couldn’t bullshit this woman. “That man of yours didn’t sound like a native on the phone earlier. Sounded like he was from California.” She took a shot in the dark and hit a bull’s-eye.
It was Seraphina’s turn to stammer. Amelia grinned and asked, “How’s a long-distance relationship working out for you?”
“Is there a…particular reason you want to know?” Seraphina had gone into the wrong profession. She could deflect a question like a pro and dig into the heart of someone else’s troubles.
“No.” Amelia sounded cautious and defensive. She rolled her shoulders to shake off the tension. “I’m just surprised.”
“It has its ups and downs. Sometimes I want to see him or just touch him, but he’s in California. He doesn’t run the family winery yet so he’s not anchored. We’re racking up frequent-flier miles, that’s for sure.”
Seraphina’s wistful tone said it all. Amelia’s asked, “You’d leave The Beaudelaire, your life, for a man?”
“For a man I can see spending the rest of my life with, yes.” Certainty rang in her answer. “Right now, neither of us has to make that choice.”
Amelia tried to wrap her head around the statement. She’d known Seraphina for close to three years, and would never use “lovesick” as a descriptor. Ever. “So, you do love him?”
“Are you falling in love with Dwayne?”
The question knocked the breath out of her. She had to look out to the garden, but immediately regretted it since the scenery called up memories of her earlier activities.
“He’s intrigued me.”
“So it’s not just sex.”
“We talk while we’re recovering.” She didn’t add they had brunch. Or the walk they’d taken. It didn’t feel dishonest to hold back those little revelations, but… “We’re meeting at the graveyard wine tasting.”
“Could be you can’t just use him for sex. I find that often here. You want the fantasy, but you feel guilty for completely indulging. You…have feelings outside the bedroom. It’s natural. It’ll pass. Especially with Dwayne. I’m sure he’ll head back to Australia. You’ll travel to wherever a client needs you.”
True. And not even remotely close to the truth. “But I live in L.A.”
Seraphina tucked back a stray hair into her messy bun. “A lot of rich business men and women are looking for the one. They need you to travel to them, but when was the last time you were home in L.A.?”
Amelia had to count the days in her head. It was only fair if she didn’t figure in the short stops to switch out her clothes. “Two months.” The words felt damning after they left her mouth.
But what exactly did she think would happen after the Bacchanal ended? They’d ride off into the sunset? In what direction? She had interviews to conduct, clients to groom for first dates, and at least two weddings to attend.
Dwayne felt lust for her, sure. More? Maybe. She was living up to her memorable promise. Even for herself. He was her first, and probably last, virgin. She’d never met one since she turned twenty. Never had sex in public. Never let a man get her off while someone else…pleasured themselves nearby.
She straightened her back instead of putting her head in her hands. This was turning into one confusing mess. She enjoyed their murmured conversations between sex. She genuinely liked the cocky wallflower.
But even if he genuinely had feelings for her, what would happen the moment she fell back into her old habit of critiquing a man? Fix your tie. Sit up straight. Make eye contact. In small ways and big ones, she’d tell him over and over again he was flawed, undesirable, and that she found fault with his very being. It’s what she’d done in every relationship. It’s why she had two failed engagements. She didn’t want to be that person, but old habits die hard.
She gave up and rubbed her forehead. “I’m going to be late.”
Seraphina had the grace not to point out the obvious. “Where was he when you left him?”
“Asleep in his room, but I left him a note. I needed to shower and put on some new clothes.”
Seraphina was quiet long enough that Amelia looked up. She had a pensive expression. “There comes a point when you have to change. You know how you’re living is wrong, but you’re stuck.” She smiled. “Sometimes you have to fly blind.”
“Punny.”
The woman’s cheeks bloomed with color. “You interrupted what was going to be great sex on top of my desk, to ask for my advice. Take it.”
Good point. “Did you fly blind?”
“Not at first.” Seraphina exhaled. “Took some convincing.”
Amelia swallowed. If Seraphina, the most buttoned-up woman she’d ever met, could let go, what the hell was her problem? Right. In order for something like this to work, both parties had to be on a level playing field. Both had to want more than just sex. Shit. They actually had to know each other. What she knew about Dwayne could fit in a thimble. If she discounted that she knew his parents names, knew he missed them and loved them. She knew how guarded he became when talking about the crash even while he let her touch the scars on his arm. He was the kind of man who put someone he cared about first. His compassion barely made a foundation to do something fucking insane.
“I’d better go,” Amelia said.
Understanding filled Seraphina’s gaze. “Go get him. It’s what you want.”
That and so much more. Amelia sighed, because wanting wasn’t having.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Meet me at the bar for the wine tasting at ten. We’ll probably see something salacious.
A
That succinct, yet flirtatious note was the only reason he was in the bar. This late at night, the dim lights only highlighted the monied feel to the hotel. Gold accents and oak chairs decorated the room. The servers were seen and not heard. A
ll of that paled in comparison to her.
He should have gone back to sleep. Amelia sat at the long counter, her legs crossed, wearing the same heels he’d fucked her in. Her lush mouth was curved in a smile as she held a conversation with a middle-aged African-American man. She’d donned a low-cut dress that molded to her seductive figure. Nothing in her body language screamed “save me.” The man said something that made Amelia tilt her head back and laugh. Her exposed neck looked biteable.
Unless the man was half dead, he had to feel the punch of her presence. She’d shared herself with him in his bed. And even out of it. Yet here she was… Wait. Stop. He was jealous. The realization pulled him up short.
He’d dated before. He’d known and been fine with women who openly dated other men. He hadn’t minded, because he wasn’t ready to reveal his biggest secret. He got the reputation for being respectful and gentlemanly by not looking for a quick fuck. If only those women had known the truth.
Yet seeing Amelia with another man, an innocent-looking exchange really, made some part of him want to beat his chest. Fuck, even piss a circle around her while growling, “Mine.”
Oh, yeah. He felt something more than strong attraction for her. He pushed back his shoulders and crossed the bar. She hadn’t seen him, but pleasure warmed him when she sent the man on his way. Dwayne couldn’t fight the need to put a hand on her back and kiss her cheek before he sat down next to her. In case any man was watching.
Fuck. Possessive much?
“Evening” He kept any emotion out of his voice.
She tugged at his collar. “It was up a little bit. ” She dropped her hand. A foreboding expression darkened the hollows beneath her eyes.
Something had changed. He could read it in the way her shoulders had bunched. “What are you drinking?”
“Nothing yet. I’m waiting for them to put out the spread. There’s going to be brie.”
Her excitement wasn’t fake, but there was something off in her tone. He could understand it on his end. She’d dozed on his arm, and again he woke up with the limb inflamed with sensation, and the sound of metal being crushed like a soda can roaring in his ears.
She cupped his cheek, a frown marring her brows. “What’s going on?”
His stomach clenched at her concern. She cared about him outside of his bed. He craved that genuine emotion like he did her mouth. Both things weren’t something he could lay claim to.
“I’ve never been to one of these things.”
She smiled, waving her hand. “I have. Nothing to brag about. You sip wine and spit it back out. The important part is to pretend like you taste a difference. Really, I’m here for the cheese and I plan to swallow.”
The tension in his stomach loosened. “You do know how that sounded?”
Her smile widened. “Was seeing if you were paying attention or about to brood some more.”
He shouldn’t have been jealous earlier, but he had been. The next sexual position they decided to conquer should have been at the forefront of his mind. But he wasn’t thinking about that, because it was more than sex. For him. He’d come to the Den for a quick, no-fuss way to obliterate his virginity and maybe learn a thing or two about the art of seduction. A fine idea, until he had to pick a woman.
If Amelia had never walked into the ballroom, he’d still be a virgin. Most of the women had looked too eager and on the prowl. The way she’d scanned the room and quickly dismissed the men had made it crystal clear she wasn’t just looking for a hard dick. So when she’d approached him, shocked him and made him laugh, that’s when he’d made his choice. He’d wanted her.
He tried to shake off the emotions with humor. “I don’t brood often, but when I do…”
She shook her head. “Wine should put you in a better mood or relax you enough to tell me what’s bothering you.”
Could he? She wasn’t here for a relationship. What he wanted was to take what they’d found here out into the real world. That sounded far-fetched in his mind. His home, in the strictest terms, was Egypt. His parents had settled in and never planned to leave as long as there were still discoveries to be made. He’d moved to Australia to get away from his past. But if he never saw the continent again, it would still be too soon. Telling her all that meant exposing himself in a way that clenched his gut.
But fear of rejection was one thing and being a coward was another. “What do you plan to do after this?”
“Hoping to go to your room,” she said, sounding cautious.
He indicated with a shake of his head that wasn’t the answer he’d wanted. “This event. When it’s over, where are you headed?”
“New York. A mogul is in need of a bride. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’s abrupt but has a good heart. He’ll be a challenge.”
And where would he fit in with that plan? Nowhere. He brushed aside the longing and focused on the table being set up in the middle of the room. The small, round tables were carried away efficiently. Men and women in white coats and bow ties brought out exotic dishes, as well as trays of cheese and meats. The event was orchestrated to impress.
The distraction didn’t work. His mind refused to obey the command to forget about the illogical needs springing up. Like, he wanted to talk to her about her past, her secrets, anything about herself she was willing to part with him, even when they weren’t cuddled in bed. His jaw clenched. The reality was she planned to move on after this risque escapade, leave him behind.
She’d always be his first, though. There was no escaping that emotional landmine.
“Now I’ve never been to a wine tasting,” he said, trying to let the unease go. “But I do know a thing or two about wine.”
“Really?” She leaned into him. “Do tell.”
He couldn’t help it. He brushed his thumb over her cheek. Her skin flushed beneath his touch. She was beautiful. Not just her looks, but her spirit. He’d met a lot of survivors, beaten by the elements, right there on the brink of death, and they came out on the other side even stronger. Maybe she hadn’t experienced the beauty and horror of what he had. But, without knowing it, she was showing him how to live in the smallest of moments. Lose your virginity. Laugh even when it hurts too much to do anything else. Kiss as often as possible. And touch. She was teaching him about living. He could brood about all the unsaid words and desires later. This was a lesson he didn’t plan to miss.
***
Dwayne had blacked out on impact. The sound of glass shattering around him propelled him from that darkness. At first, he thought the burning sensation on his arm was shards of glass nicking his exposed skin. Except he wore long sleeves and nothing touched his face. No. Flames ate at his skin. Whatever calm had washed over him was gone. He swallowed the scream as he tried to scramble away, but he couldn’t run from himself.
He yanked himself out of the dream. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The soft cushion of Amelia’s breasts against his chest grounded him. He relaxed into the cool sheets. He wasn’t scared to fly. He wasn’t scared to crash. If you chose to fly, you accepted that simple possibility. Fuck, it was no different than getting behind the wheel of a car. He wasn’t brave or crazy. Walking out the front door could end your life. Shit. People died without leaving their home. But what he felt with Amelia? For her? That sent icy shards of fear coursing through is veins. He didn’t need some dream therapist to spell out the obvious.
Amelia shifted, raising her legs between his. He glanced down. She’d left the bathroom light on, and the door cracked. The dim glow slanted over her face. An emotion much deeper than concern pulled her brows into a frown. She rose and placed kisses along his brow. He gasped, torn between longing and contentment. She wanted to soothe him. Had known he needed it with one glance. She rained kisses over his jawline. An ache he couldn’t describe clutched his chest.
“I’m sweaty,” he said.
“You were having a bad dream.” She licked her lips. “You were dreaming about the crash?”
“Yes.” He
was tense, despite her offer of comfort.
She inspected his face. “How often do you have them?”
He scrubbed at the sweat on his brow. “Not a lot now. I had them every night after I left the hospital.”
“Tell me what happened.” Hesitation spaced out her words.
Something akin to relief settled into his bones. After he left the hospital, he had refused the offer of therapists and pills. Outside of his parents and a few colleagues who had asked, he didn’t talk about what had happened. His plane had gone down. He’d survived. The end. But Amelia would want to know more than facts so he told her everything about the crash.
“I was found a day later. By then I’d run out of water, and my arm was infected. Another day, and I’m sure they’d have had to cut it off.”
Absently, she rested her hand on his arm. “It wasn’t that long ago.”
A part of him had died out there. He didn’t know if it was sometime after the flames had extinguished, or when he saw his rescuers coming toward him from the horizon. Everything had happened to a different man. One who didn’t have nightmares. “Feels like it.”
“As though it happened to someone else?”
He glanced down at her. She did understand. “Yeah.”
She wet her lips again. “Why do I scare you?”
He kissed the top of her head and lingered until his racing heart slowed. “Not you. I—” He tried to put into words the ache, the heat, and the confusing emotions between them.
“It’s the uncertainty, the loss of control.” A corner of her mouth turned up. “Or it could also be hormones.”
He pulled her closer, so they would be face-to-face. Her lips were right there for the taking, but what he wanted wasn’t sex. “I still love flying.”