I can't hide the smirk on my face as I pull out Whitley's chair. Eleanor's face is priceless. Her cheeks turn red, and her eyes are wide, probably from a mix of embarrassment and anger. Whitley isn't the type of woman to sugar coat things.
Eleanor nods her head, unable to say anything as she shuffles away, disappearing down the steps.
"You know, jealousy looks extremely sexy on you."
"I have no clue what you're talking about."
A new server comes after a couple minutes. He is a tall man, very proper, with his hands behind his back. He reminds me of Frankford, to be honest. "Good evening, my name is Ricardo, and I'll be your waiter this evening. Would you like to start with anything to drink? Any wine?"
"Please, what do you have from the year 1995? Best year, in my opinion." I slide my gaze over to Whitley, but she is staring at the menu. I have a feeling she doesn't know much about wine.
"We have a 1990 Penfolds Grange from South Australia. It's a rich purple color with a hint of smoke and rich plum flavors."
"Sounds delicious. We’d love to try a bottle."
The waiter bows. "Yes, sir." He fills our water glasses with sparkling water before leaving.
I lean my elbows on the table. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You're jealous. The green-eyed monster is a real thing, I see."
She takes a big gulp of her water. "I have no idea what you're talking about. The woman was throwing herself at you. It's just rude, is all. I wanted her to see that."
"Just admit it."
"No."
"Come on. You know you want to."
"Do not."
"Just one time and I'll never ask again."
"Fine, yes, I was jealous. Have you slept with her or something?"
I bark a laugh. "No. God, no. She’s tried, but I keep saying no."
"So, she harasses you?"
"Eh, she doesn't mean any harm. She thinks I'm keeping her waiting. She doesn't know that I have no interest in her, at all, whatsoever, no matter how many times I tell her otherwise."
"Well, if we are to be on a proper date, I don't want to have to compete with anyone. That isn't fair to me. So, if you want her, tell me now, so I can get up and walk away."
I stand and pick up my chair with one hand, bringing it closer to her, and sit back down. I gently reach my hand to touch her arm, trailing my fingers up her shoulder. "You think after all the convincing and bribing I had to do to get you here, I'd let you go over someone that doesn't interest me at all?"
She swirls her finger around the rim of the crystal, causing a beautiful tone to emerge. "Have you seen her? She is gorgeous."
I put my fingers under her chin to have her look at me. "Have you seen you? You're the most extraordinary, beautiful, breath-taking woman I have ever seen."
Her eyes dart back and forth between my dull brown eyes. "You don’t mean that."
"I do. From your pale skin, to your beautiful cherry-red hair," I ghost my fingers over the styled strands, "To your ruby-red lips that are under this lipstick color. And let's not forget to mention your body. It's trouble."
Her pupils are so dilated they almost take up her entire iris. "How?" she chokes, gripping her glass by the stem and taking another gulp of water.
"How?" my fingers glide down her neck and my eyes follow the languid strokes. Her skin beads from the feather touch, and I make my way down her neck and trace her collarbone. "It's a devil's playground, Cherry. You're all curves. It makes my mouth water." I lean forward, skimming my lips across her ear. "You know how many times I've dreamt of you? Of your body? Too many. Especially since I haven't had you."
She continues to slurp her water until it runs out of the edges of her mouth. She is nervous, flustered. Hopefully a little turned on. It’s hard to keep my composure. Good thing the table covers the bottom half of my body, because something else is also very, very hard.
"Is that right?"
I grin, inches away from her cheek. Everything in me wants to kiss her, but I hold myself back. "That's right."
"Is that all you want me for?"
"Would it be so bad if I did?"
"Yes," she says like the truth has been eating at her soul.
My lips sweep across her cheek. "Why?"
She finally turns her head, and her lips are millimeters away from mine, begging and taunting me. "Because I didn't wait so long to have my body just be used."
There it is. The truth. "Are you saying you're a virgin, Cherry?"
She straightens her shoulder back and sits up straight. Suddenly, there is more distance between us, which makes me ache. "Yes, so what if I am? I'm not ashamed of that."
I reach out my hand again, softly brushing my index finger against her cheek. "I really respect that. Know that I don't take that lightly. It actually kinda turns me on that I'm going to be the first person you sleep with."
"You seem so sure of yourself."
I chuckle. "If there is one thing you need to know, Cherry, it's that I'm always sure of myself."
The sexual moment is broken when Ricardo comes back, showing me the bottle of wine we ordered. "I took the initiative to let the wine air out for ten minutes before bringing it to you. It’s ready for tasting, Mr. Stone." He pours about an inch in two glasses, and I give the first glass to Whitley.
"Um." She takes the glass in her hand, unsure of what to do.
"Take a nice mouthful, swish it around, and swallow it. You've done that before, haven't you?" I hope she catches my meaning.
She narrows her eyes and shoots the glass back, swishes the liquid. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I would very much like to know, yes," I chuckle, gulping the wine like it's whiskey.
She pouts her bottom lip. "Aw, too bad, so sad."
Ricardo clears his throat. "Is it acceptable?" his voice waivers, obviously trying to pretend like he doesn’t know what we’re talking about.
"It's delicious. Thank you," Whitley says, pushing her glass forward.
"Excellent." He pours each glass halfway, then wipes the bottle clean before placing it on the table. "Would you like to hear our specials?"
"Please." Whitley smiles, sipping her wine. My hand slips up her leg, lifting her dress to her thighs before trailing my fingers back down. Her legs are smooth, freshly shaven. I want to rub the helmet of my cock up the velvet of her thigh.
"We have a lovely Steak Diane, a lean cut of steak like a filet mignon with a beautiful caramel white wine sauce paired with roasted radishes. Our other dish is Lamb Navarin. A lamb stew packed with carrots, onion, and peas."
"That sounds delicious. I'd love the Steak Diane, please. Medium rare."
"Make that two," I say.
"Excellent. I'll put that in for you now." He smiles, but it's a bit strained like he feels awkward for intruding on a sexual moment. It's fine. I can get it back.
Once he leaves, I turn my head back to Whitley.
"We were saying?"
She smiles, shaking her head. "We were talking about swallowing when that poor waiter had to overhear your poor conversational skills."
"I'm offended. I thought I did quite well covering up what I meant."
She snorts into her wine. "Right, okay, and I'm not a virgin."
A few people from nearby tables turn and stare before going back to what they were doing.
"Hmm, I don't know. I have to take your word for it. You could be lying."
She shrugs her shoulder and runs her hand up my inner thigh. "Would a virgin do this? I have no idea."
I can't rip my eyes away from what her hand is doing. I don't care if everyone can see. They should all be jealous. "You are playing with fire," I warn, as my cock lengthens to full mast, trying to bust free from the constraints. If she moves her hand even an inch, she’d feel exactly how damn much I want her.
"Is that so?" she leans forward, mimics what I was doing a moment before, and brushes her lips over my earlobe. "What if I like fire?"
I groan, gripping the tablecloth in my
hand so hard that my knuckles turn white. I scoot over to the other side of the table and decide that this date needs to be about getting to know one another. If I feel her lips on me again, I don't care that we’re in public. I might bend her over this table right here.
I clear my throat, taking a swig of my wine. "So, what is your family like?" Nothing can get rid of an erection like talking about your parents.
She looks smug, like she won this round. "Great. I have two brothers. One said he’s friends with you. That he’s known you since high school, and you still hang out on occasion. Anthony Pope ring any bells?"
I smile so wide my cheeks hurt. "Anthony is your brother? No kidding! Wow. I didn't even think about making the connection since…" I trail off, swirling my finger over my head to indicate the red hair. Her brother has dark hair and tan skin, and they look nothing alike.
"Yeah, we get that a lot. It isn't easy being the baby. Anthony is very protective of me."
"I don't remember seeing you while he and I were in high school?"
"That's why. He is so protective or embarrassed. I'm not sure. I never met any of his friends. Ever. No one. Well, until now."
I lean back in my chair, gob smacked that Anthony is her brother. It just made an almost impossible situation, seem even more impossible. "I play golf with him every other Sunday. It's been that way for the last—hell, I don't know—seven years?"
"Wow, he didn't even bother introducing us. I wonder how he would react if he knew I was here now."
Let's not go making rash decisions here.
"If I would’ve known, I would have asked for his permission."
She scoffs, shaking her head as she tilts the glass back. "We wouldn't be sitting here if you went that route."
"You think he would say no?"
"I know he would. It's probably why I'm still," –she leans over the table and puts a hand beside her mouth to block out any rubberneckers—"a virgin."
"Like any brother, he is just looking out for his baby sister."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm not a baby anymore."
"I can see that," I say, my voice low and mixed with desire.
Her beautiful smile flashes before she can hide it with her wine glass. “What about you? What’s your family like?”
I clear my throat and tap my fingers on the table. I don’t think I want to answer this. I guzzle the wine and take the bottle to pour myself another glass, but her hand stops me. She grabs the dark green glass and pours it herself. I hadn’t even noticed that she’d slid her chair next to me. "I’m sorry. I didn't mean to bring up a subject that would ruin the evening."
"It isn't ruined. To be honest, the only one that really knows about my family is Frankford, since he has been a part of it for so long. I'm not used to talking about it."
"You don't have to." Her eyes are soft and full of honesty. The light glow from the candle in the middle of the table flickers against her half her face, making one eye seem a bit brighter than the other one hiding in the shadows.
"I know, but I want to." I grab her hand, this time, intertwining our fingers together and bring her hand to my mouth to give it a light kiss. "My family fell apart years ago, right after my father died. He was the glue, you know? He held us together. My mother drinks herself to a stupor every day. To the point where she forgets to put on her clothes, and she wanders around the house naked asking for more vodka or bourbon, whatever her mood is. My sister, well, she’s always been a bit wayward, but never serious trouble, always rebellious. It pissed my dad off that she wasn't suit material. She has dreads and tattoos up and down her arms. An amazing artist can draw and tattoo anything. She has a real gift. Well, she did, until Dad died. Now she can't seem to stay out of jail because of drugs or theft, or whatever else she does. She’s in the local jail cell right now, probably sleeping off the night before. The police department called me, but I told them to leave her there." I stare at her, showing the guilt I felt through my eyes. "I'm a horrible person. I'm a horrible son. I'm a horrible brother."
"Logan," she breathes, her voice reminding me of a leaf floating through the wind. She wraps her arms around me, holding me tight.
I can't remember the last time I was held. Probably when I was a baby. I sit still for a minute, not knowing what to do when she wraps my arms around her and pulls herself tighter against me. I snap out of it, pulling my arms around her as I hide my face in the crook of her neck. She smells so good. I'm starting to like the scent of cucumbers. Why does she feel so good? Everywhere. My mind. My heart. My body. Everything.
"You aren't horrible. You can only do so much. You can't save people. They have to save themselves. You can only love them."
"I haven't shown them love, because I've grown to dislike them."
"You don't have to like someone to love them, Logan."
Whitley
After I made the mistake of bringing up his family, the rest of dinner goes on without a hitch. The steak was delicious, and so tender it cut without a knife. I only had to use my fork. The meat melted in my mouth. I can definitely see why people wait an entire year to eat there. It was the best food I've ever had.
Now, we’re walking downtown, hand in hand, and while I hate that it made him upset to talk about his family, I'm glad he did. It makes me like him a bit more, knowing that he isn't the perfect person, even though he looks it. He has issues just like the rest of us.
"Oh! An ice cream cart! Can we get one? Please, please, please?" I beg, batting my eyelashes at him.
"You don't have to ask me twice to see you lick something, Cherry."
"Oh good, I thought I had to get on my knees."
He stops walking and the sudden movement causes me to stumble until he yanks me in his arms. "You can get on your knees. I'll have zero complaints."
I gulp, trembling in his arms while I debate dropping to my knees right then and there. I hate how attracted to him I am. I was all prepared to think he’s just a jerk who wants in my pants, but Logan is actually—sweet? And considerate?
"One triple cone, please."
Logan hands the man behind the retro cart a fifty dollar bill for a three-dollar ice cream cone. "Keep the change."
"Thank you, sir! Have a wonderful night."
I reach over and grab the delicious three-tiered cone. It has chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla.
"Frankford is on his way to pick us up and take us to my estate."
That should terrify me, but it doesn't. I know in my heart that if I only want to watch a movie, he will sit there and watch it with me, even with a hard-on. "And why are we going there?"
"Because I know once I have you in the car, watching you lick and slurp that fucking cone, I'm not going to want to be away from you."
"You think because I lick a cone, that I’d lick yours?"
"A man can only hope, Cherry. If you don't want to come, I'll be happy to take you home, where you feel safe."
"I feel safe right now, and I don't want this night to end. I'm having a good time." I lick up the three scoops, getting all the flavors from the ice cream.
"Don't sound so surprised."
I smile at him, and the city lights flash over his face from the theater across the street. "I am surprised. I didn't expect to laugh so much. I thought you'd be kind of dull, to be honest, because you're all business."
He throws his head back and laughs. The sonorousness of it reverberates off the buildings, and a few people turn around to see where the loud noise is coming from. "You make me sound so predictable."
"Well, you most definitely are not. Hey, while we wait for Frankford, can we go check out the theater?" I skip along the sidewalk in my Jimmy Choos. I'm gifted like that.
"Have you ever seen a show?"
"No, but I've always wanted to, or a ballet! Oh, gosh. I bet seeing a ballet would be so beautiful." I twirl, and the end of my dress spins. I glance up at the sky and take in all the stars, licking my ice cream cone as I relish in the beauty.
"I'll have to
keep that in mind for next time."
"So confident, Logan Stone."
"Indeed I am, Cherry."
The white limo pulls over, and Logan opens the door. "Your chariot awaits." He bows like I'm royalty or someone super important.
I hop into the limo that probably cost more than my entire life, rolling the ice cream over my tongue. The door slams and the glass that separates the front from the back rolls up, leaving me alone with the infamous Logan Stone.
He sits across from me, arms spread over the back of the black leather seats as he watches me eat my cone. He crosses his ankle over his other knee, showing his argyle socks. Of course he wears argyle.
Logan pours himself a glass of scotch, and he swirls the amber in the glass as he watches me, like I'm his personal entertainment. I make a scene out of licking the ice cream as I meet his gaze. My tongue flicks a dollop of chocolate, and it melts instantly in my mouth before I wrap my lips around the scoop, taking a larger amount down my throat.
He seems unaffected as he watches me from the darkened corner. He lifts the tumbler to his mouth, the glass shining against the lights that flow through the windows from the city. I twirl the cone around, lapping at the delicious strawberry scoop. I moan when the cold cream slides down my throat, and that's when I hear his breath hitch and the glass clank against the counter.
Before I can blink, he’s in front of me. The scotch lingers on his tongue as he puffs his breath over my lips. I inhale the smoky scent, letting it invade my system, giving me a slight buzz. He jerks the cone out of my hand, rolls down the window and throws it out.
"Hey! I was eating that!" I say, but I’m not mad. I’m transfixed by him.
“Not anymore, you aren't." His hand travels up my arm, to my hair, and releases my hair clip, causing the locks to tumble down. "So beautiful," he whispers in awe. He tangles his fingers in my red nest, massaging my scalp as he stares at my lips. "I can't wait anymore."
He pulls me a bit closer, and the beginning of his cupid's bow rubs against my top lip. "Don't," I whisper breathlessly.
The Hangover Page 10