by Aria Ford
“Well, some of them I asked already,” he said casually. I felt the air stiffen between us, as if the other questions—the ones unasked—were more important ones. I felt a prickle of interest down my spine. I wonder what they are.
“Mm?” I said.
“Well,” he chuckled. “The first one is simple—what time is your work starting?”
I blushed. “Quarter past nine is when I should be at my desk,” I admitted. “I should go just now.”
“Sure,” he said lightly. His eyes looked wistful and my heart stopped.
“What was the other question?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Lots of questions,” he said. His face was serious again. “But the second one is, will I see you sometime?”
I stared at him. My heart thudded in my chest. I felt like when my parents had taken me skiing with them for the first time. I had stood at the top of the slope, feeling as if any move I made would send me screaming into the abyss. But at the same time, I’d yearned to go down, wanting to know what it would feel like to go so fast. Longing to take the plunge downward.
I drew a breath and took that leap ahead. “Yes,” I said. “In fact,” I replied, “How about tonight?”
“Tonight?” he stared at me.
“Yes,” I said, feeling emboldened by the sheer disbelief flooding his expression. “I have an invitation to an event. I don’t see why we shouldn’t bend the rules a bit.” I ended lightly, a naughty grin lightening my words.
“Macy…” he shook his head with disbelief, the grin filling his face.
“Yes?” I asked.
He let out a long-held, ragged sigh. “Yes.”
It was only after I said my goodbye and hurried out the door, rushing to work, that I realized something. Today was Valentine’s Day. And I was about to take Maddox partying.
CHAPTER FIVE
Maddox
I stood in my bedroom, staring at myself reflected in the long window. I was wearing my new suit—the one I really bought because it was cut price, not because I actually thought I’d ever need one. I could feel my heart leaping restlessly in me. I was terrified.
I puffed out my cheeks, expelling a long, ragged breath. Why was I so nervous? I felt like I was standing on the field waiting for a kickoff against the Philadelphia Eagles—not that I’d actually ever played with them before. It was just how I felt.
“Come on, Maddox,” I told my reflection. “It’s not a shootout. You’re just going to a party.”
I sighed. I could see my forehead was sweating and I could feel the crisp white shirt starting to cling some under my arms. I could tell myself this was nothing, but I couldn’t actually make myself believe that kind of talk.
This was serious. My biggest joy and my biggest fear. I’d screwed up dating Macy once, disgraced myself, embarrassed her.
Now I have a second chance.
Was I going to get it right, second time around?
I rolled my shoulders under the burgundy jacket. I’d bought it because my cousin Stella said it was megafashionable and that dark red would suit me. I hoped now that she was right. The guy in the reflection didn’t look too bad, I told myself. With my reddish-blond hair and tawny eyes, it did actually seem to suit me. I made a mental note to inform Stella of that and turned quickly away from the reflection in the glass.
“Let’s go.”
Macy had mailed me the details of the party, which seemed to be happening on the third floor of the Highbury Hotel, though I would meet her at her apartment in The Heights. This was going to be every bit as bad as the last time I’d seen Macy. Would I manage this time?
Only one way to find out.
I took my wallet and keys from the kitchen table, hesitated and then grabbed the flowers I’d bought and headed out to the car. To drive toward my fate.
As I headed out into the violet dusk, I glanced at the bouquet. Red carnations. Those had a memory too. They were what I’d bought her on her birthday. I remembered her face then, the way she’d smiled at me so gently, and taken one out of the bunch, holding it to her nose and then putting it in her hair. I’d laughed and she’d laughed too and we’d kissed.
I shook my head and focused on the road, trying to blur out the memories of that time, of our time together. Of the slow, sweet loving that followed that exchange.
It was eight o’ clock when I arrived. I was on time. I slipped out of the car and headed to the fancy metal-finish front gate. Even the entrance to the Heights whispered of old money. I shivered. She had said number thirteen. I rang.
“Hello?”
My voice came out sounding like I was underwater. I cleared my throat and tried again.
“Hello?”
“Hi!” a voice sang out. I felt my body stiffen as if I was a piano string being tightened.
The door buzzed open, and I came in. I went into the foyer, feeling like an alien that had landed on a football field. I felt like the doorman—they had a doorman—and everyone in the whole building was going to stare at me.
“Good evening,” the man said with some surprise. “Can I help?”
“I’m here to see…ah…”
“Maddox! Good evening,” a lilting voice said. I whipped round. There she was! I stared.
She was wearing a cream dress, all soft and floating. It was perhaps two inches above her knee and showed enough leg for me to think I might have a coronary. With high-heeled sandals and her hair in a sort of updo that left that long, soft neck bare, I couldn’t look away.
“Um…hi,” I said. I realized I was staring and I swallowed, shutting my mouth. “I…” I shook my head, trying to focus. “Are you ready?”
She giggled. “I guess so,” she said. She had a light coat, also white, thrown over one arm and a tiny handbag in a shade of gray like the shoes. I shook my head.
“Sorry. Dumb question. After you,” I added, standing back so that she could float down the path ahead of me.
When we reached my car, I unlocked the front door on autopilot. I looked at the seat just before she got in. My eyes stretched. There were the flowers.
“I…oh!” she stood, laughing. Then she stared down at the bouquet. She looked up at my face.
She lifted it, her face strangely shattered, all color drained. She drew one flower out of the bunch. Sniffed it.
“They’re beautiful,” she said. Her voice caught in her throat. “I love them. Thank you.”
I sniffed, realizing that my whole body was tense and my eyes burned. I felt like someone had hit me in the chest. “Thanks,” I murmured softly.
She lifted the flower, then paused. Deliberately, she walked to me and stuck the stalk through my buttonhole.
“There,” she said. She positioned it and looked up at me. Her hands, touched to my chest as they were, ignited my soul. I was shivering, my entire body tense. I knew I wouldn’t be able to speak—my cock was rock hard, and my blood was in my feet. I coughed.
She chuckled. “It’s almost time to start,” she observed.
I shook myself mercilessly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
I closed her door after she’d slipped into the seat, still smiling, flowers on her knee. Then I slid into my own seat and slammed my door, drawing on my belt. The flower pressed against my chest, precious and recalling the touch of her hand on my shirtfront. I swallowed hard.
“Let’s go,” I said again. I turned the key in the ignition and reversed, heading onto the street.
We were both silent for most of the drive. As I neared the hotel, she frowned.
“We’re still in good time,” she said.
“Yeah,” I commented. The clock showed 8:20 p.m.—we were ten minutes early.
“We’ll get there with a minute or two to spare,” she said. She sounded pleased. “That’s good.”
“Yeah,” I agreed again. I was sweating, and I felt like my shirt had suddenly shrunk, pressing in on me and fighting me for my right to draw breath. I shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with the button at the top.
She looked at me sideways and I had the impression she was trying to hide a smile. I felt my own cheeks lift with a smile, recognizing her naughty expression. I sighed. This was so difficult! Half of me was too frightened to move in case I did something inappropriate, but the other half was throbbing with longing, demanding that I throw myself on her and kiss her sweet lips.
“Here we are,” I said, drawing up outside the hotel. I felt my heart flutter with nerves. This was just the sort of place that set me on edge, all dark stone and fancy lettering and guys in suits who looked at you oddly if you broke some unspoken rule of politeness.
“Here we are,” she echoed. She looked at me and I frowned.
“What?”
She smiled. Closed her eyes. “Nothing,” she said. Her face was glowing and I got the impression that she was blushing like I was. I shook my head and unlocked my door.
“We should go,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
We both stayed where we were for a while and I drew in a breath. Made myself grip the door handle. Got out and let her out at her door.
“It’s not too cold out here,” she commented lightly, slipping her hand into my elbow a moment to steady herself. I drew in a sharp breath and she glanced at me as if she thought she might have hurt me. I shook my head and made my voice light, fighting the throbbing desire inside me.
“It’s quite warm,” I agreed politely.
We went inside.
Inside, the hotel was as scarily modern and stylish as it looked from outside. I glanced around, looking to Macy for assurance. She was heading to the lift, completely unperturbed. I followed.
“Third floor,” she commented.
“Oh. Yes.” I nodded, and joined her in the lift. She frowned at me, one slip, arced eyebrow curving down over those magnificent gray eyes. I shrugged.
“What?” she asked. This time I knew I wasn’t imagining the teasing in her voice. I shivered as it crept over my skin, alighting old memories deep inside. She always spoke like that when we were just the two of us, together.
“Uh…nothing,” I said nonchalantly. She leaned back on the elevator wall and then, as we neared the floor, stood, steadying herself by gripping my wrist. I winced. Her hands on my pulse made my poor body ache for her: I was thankful to whichever designer made a pants cut that could hide an erection. Or I would be embarrassing myself and her badly now.
I breathed in the scent of her, a sophisticated, intoxicating smell, spicy and sweet and musky. Then the elevator was opening and we were heading out. Into the party. Together.
I blinked as we stepped out. The third floor was a vast restaurant, the walls lined with massive windows that looked out onto the city and the distant horizon. The light was dimmed and the tables were pushed back to make room for dancing couples on a small floor.
“Em!” a voice called out, happy and enthused. I looked round to see a woman with brassy ringlets running to embrace my Macy. Smaller than Macy, despite a pair of high-heeled pumps, the small, pointy-faced woman grinned up at Macy and then, belatedly, looked at me.
“Oh! You’re Macy’s extra guest. Welcome!” she said enthusiastically. I grinned. She clearly hadn’t remembered my name, but her enthusiasm made up for that oversight.
“Hi,” I said, holding out a hand. “I’m Maddox. Thanks for saying I could come.”
“Of course I did!” she said, beaming at her friend.
“Thanks,” I said again. I meant it.
It felt weird, being received so openly in a classy place like this, where the other guys all stood around in designer suits with Hollywood-appropriate haircuts. I shifted where I stood, looking around. We were one of about twelve couples in the room, the others all either seated at the tables, chatting in low voices, or looking out over the city. I could smell ultraexpensive cologne and the subtle hint of something savory and nice.
As the two women chatted, I tried to keep calm. I used the techniques I taught my clients for managing their own stress levels. Breathe. In through the nose. Out. In. Out. Count your breathing. One. Two.
“Maddox?”
I blinked. Macy was looking at me, a brow raised.
“Sorry?” I said, embarrassed.
“Shall we find a seat?”
“Sure,” I said desperately. I was quite determined not to do anything to embarrass her. Or myself. Or anyone else. Not this time.
We went to a table. It seemed like Harper—the small enthusiastic lady—had organized a dinner and dance for her friends here. Macy explained that it was semitraditional for her to do this once a year.
“I think she wanted to invite me to cheer me up,” she commented.
“Cheer you up?” I asked.
She blushed. “Not that I was sad or anything…” she didn’t finish the sentence and I coughed, not wanting to probe. If she wanted me to know her secrets she’d tell me. I wasn’t going to risk making her mad at me.
All the same, I wish I knew what that was all about.
“Harper said she’s organized a three-course dinner,” Macy commented as I poured her some of the drink that stood on the table between us. It was bubbly and pink. I poured myself some and lifted my glass. She clicked hers with mine.
I smiled at her. Our eyes met and held. Again, the whole room seemed to go still. My heart thudded loudly in my ears. Under the table, I was aware of her leg. I moved mine to rest against hers.
The evening passed in a happy blur. I chatted to Macy, telling her about my new job and, to my surprise, she seemed really interested. She told me about her work with the company. We talked about the football and the weather, the news and some mutual friends, like Grady, for instance. Not that I’d heard from him since school, really.
If I held back a bit on my recent past, she also did. We were clearly, neither of us, ready to address anything that personal. Not yet.
“Oh, look,” she commented as a man came to our place, a tray balanced on one hand. “Here’s our first course.”
I raised a brow at the delicacies on the plate between us. Macy smiled.
“Seafood cocktail,” she explained. “I suspect Harper has planned a special menu.”
I nodded, my breath catching in my throat as she spooned a little of the mix into her mouth. Her full lips slid across the steel of the spoon and left the barest trace of breath. I winced as it slid between, my whole body shivering as if it was a part of me those soft lips touched.
“So,” she said, raising a brow at me as she swallowed. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
I tasted some, aware of her eyes watching me. I chewed and swallowed. It was good. Smooth and delicately flavored with some kind of spices and fruit juice. I let the taste flow through me. Looked up to find her eyes on me.
“It’s good,” I murmured. “In fact, irresistible.”
She blushed. She knew as well as I did that I didn’t mean what I was eating. She looked into my eyes and gave me a naughty smile.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
We finished our food in silence. When the dishes were cleared away, I cleared my throat.
“Macy,” I said. I needed to ask what she’d meant earlier.
“What?”
I sighed. “I was wondering if…”
“Oh,” she looked up as our second course appeared. This was another fish dish, this time grilled and served with lemon. I thanked the waiter and watched Macy approach it.
“Mm,” she commented, cutting into it with enthusiasm. She had never been shy of enjoying her meals, something I had always loved about her. I watched, aware that my eyes were fixed on her plump, wet lips, as she spooned a bit into her mouth and chewed, closing her eyes slowly.
“Oh, it’s good,” she murmured. “You try some.”
I did so again, amazed by how good it tasted. I hadn’t had anything like this, not for a long, long time. My daily bread consisted of, well…daily bread. And heat-and-eat meals. And sometimes my own limited repertoire of cooking skills. Provided
enough time had lapsed for me to forget how bad they all tasted.
“It is good,” I commented, swallowing with some pleasure. She smiled.
“I’m so glad you could be here,” she said in a small voice.
“Me too,” I said honestly.
Under the table, I felt the warmth of her leg move closer. I shifted and, very gently, let our ankles touch. To my surprise and pleasure, she didn’t move away. In fact, her calf aligned with mine, our legs pressed close together.
My heart was thudding now. My head pounded. I breathed shallowly.
“Macy,” I whispered.
“What?” she smiled. Her smile was wicked and sent tingles of desire running down my spine. I cleared my throat.
“Nothing,” I said. I had plenty I wanted to say, but none of it was things I could say in here, with waiters and guests close by, ready to overhear what we were discussing. The things I wanted to say were strictly private. If I had the courage to say anything at all to her.
I leaned back, savoring the moment. I stared at her. The low, golden light played over her soft skin, making it glow. Her long, elegant neck was bare, touched by the gauzy collar of the dress. The rest of her skin, down to quite close to her cleavage, showed below the chiffon, the cloth strained slightly over the front of the dress where her high, rounded breasts pressed against it, pushing it out marginally. I wanted to touch that soft skin, to slowly take off her dress. To sample that sweet body.