Eight Dates With Romance: An S. L. Scott Valentine's Day Collection

by S. L. Scott

  He’s quite cute.

  “I love Italian.”

  I lean forward with a straight face, and say, “You must be tired because you’ve been running through my dreams all night.” I can’t hold a straight face any longer. “That line is so bad, but I remember a time that I actually thought that was clever.”

  He laughs, struggling to keep his full mouth closed. His hand covers it, just in case. He’s all manners and etiquette. “You’ve got to stop, Jules. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard.”

  “You sure it wasn’t from the large meatball you stole from my plate?” I’m kidding with him. It’s fun to eat so casually in his living room. It’s easy to feel happy around him. I need easy. I need happy. I need more laughter in my life. It’s been too long. Smiling feels good. Laughing feels freeing. “Okay,” I say, “I’ve finished my pasta. You finished my meatballs. Let’s dig into dessert.”

  “You’re my kind of girl,” he replies, starting to stand.

  I read his comment two ways and it makes me feel good. “No, let me. You’ve been serving me all night. Let me serve dessert.”

  “No, you’re my guest.”

  “Nope, you just sit there and enjoy the view.” I shake my ass, then walk into the kitchen. Peeking back out, I ask, “That wasn’t too forward, was it?”

  The candle he lit on the coffee table earlier reflects in his eyes, or maybe that’s something else. “No, I liked it a lot.”

  Opening the refrigerator, I spot the container of dessert. “Austin, I loooovvvveee Tiramisu,” I call from the kitchen. I bring the container out with two spoons in hand, no dishes. I sit down on the floor on the other side of the table from him. He smiles. “No plates?”

  “I didn’t want to make a bigger mess than necessary. You know how to share, don’t you?”

  “I do. Just forget all about the meatball stealing.”

  “Already forgiven and forgotten.”

  He digs in and then leans across. “You should try mine.”

  “We’re eating the same thing.”

  “I don’t know,” he says, eyeing his spoon. “Mine tastes so much better. You should really try it and let me know.”

  I grin, leaning forward. Feeling flirtatious, I close my eyes and wrap my lips around the spoon seductively. When I’m finished, I open my eyes and catch him licking the spoon I just took my bite from.

  With a contented sigh, I say, “I think you’re right. I think yours is better.”

  “I’m not positive, but now I’m thinking it might not be the dessert. It might just be me.”

  I’ll happily play along. “Come here then and let me taste you. You know, just to figure out if it’s you or the dessert.”

  He crawls on his knees around the table, no hesitation, his body hovering over mine. My stomach tightens in anticipation as I rise up onto my knees. I want this. I close my eyes and let his kiss take me away.

  An hour later, my dress is a mess. I frantically straighten it along with my wild hair in the bathroom.

  When I walk out, I blush, not being able to look him in the eyes. This behavior is so unlike me and if we wouldn’t have stopped when we did … my mouth dries, knowing it’s time for me to go home.

  My tongue runs over my bottom lip—a lip that’s swollen from kissing—his wonderful and erotic kisses. “I should go,” I say, wanting to avoid any major awkwardness. “Thank you for dinner and dessert …” I wave my hand around, definitely making it more awkward. “… And everything else.” Oh God this is embarrassing. Hopefully I’m not blowing it after such a great night.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, but I think you’re pretty damn cute when you get embarrassed, Jules.” He takes me gently by the arm, halting my retreating body. “By the way, you have no reason to be embarrassed.”

  “It’s been a long time. I don’t know what came over me.” I talk to our feet, avoiding his eyes altogether.

  He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me, comforting me. “You were turned on. I was too,” he says, lifting my chin up against my will until I relax and look him in the eyes. “You can still see how much you turn me on.” He glances down between us then back up again. I don’t need to look. I can feel how turned on he is. “Do you want to talk about it? I don’t want you leaving here feeling bad about what we did or regretting it. I liked it too much for that. I like you too much for that.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, not tonight. I’m tired and that will take too long. I won’t regret it. It was amazing. You are amazing.”

  “Then let’s talk about me and how inflated my ego is now that I gave you an orgasm from second base.” He chuckles, the sound is refreshing and when I start to laugh, I feel the weight of a long carried burden beginning to lift from my shoulders. He adds, “I haven’t made out like that since I was in college.”

  I hit his chest in jest and reprimand lightly, “You are so bad.”

  “I can’t have you taking things like tonight too seriously. We have enough problems in life. We don’t need to add embarrassed over having an amazing time with a handsome man to the list.”

  “Stop it!” I playfully reply, squirming in his arms. “Next time I’ll resist just so I can deflate some of that ego of yours.”

  Gripping me tighter, not wanting to let me escape, he takes me by the waist and swivels me. After kissing me lightly on the head, he says, “Never. I don’t want you to ever hold back. You don’t have to with me. Outside of our apartments you can be who you need to be to feel comfortable enough to face reality, but in here, I want the real you—the you I saw tonight. The you that laughs, and recites cheesy pick-up lines, and spontaneously orgasms when a guy grabs your boobs. That’s the you I want when it’s just the two of us.” He kisses me on the corner of the mouth. “Now please tell me that I get to spend more time with this you sometime soon.”

  I nod, wanting this, wanting to spend more time with him because I like this me too. I like the me I am with him.

  “Yes, I want that.” I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him slowly down to me. “I’d like that a lot.” Kiss. “Even the spontaneous orgasming part.” Kiss. “Especially the spontaneous orgasming part.” Kiss.

  I step back from him, grabbing my purse and head for the elevator. “I hate to orgasm and go, but I have an early morning meeting.”

  “I think your embarrassment is now called bragging. Ms. Braggy Braggerton, how’s Sunday night for you? Can you fit me in?”

  I glance down at his erection that’s straining against his pants, then back up and reply, “That remains to be seen … or should I say felt, but I’m free that evening. My place. I’ll text you directions.” The elevator doors open and I step in.

  “I’m too much of a gentleman to reply to that, but I want you to know that I think you’re pretty damn fantastic.” He leans his shoulder against the door that is trying to close on him.

  “Also,” he says, stepping back, but I finish his sentence, “I owe you one.”

  I see him fist-pump just as the doors close. I laugh aloud because I’m happy, because no one is around to judge me, or take away how perfect this night was.

  CONTINUED in the bestselling From the Inside Out Series. Each book in the series (Scorned, Jealousy, Dylan, and Austin) can be purchased separately or as one collection.

  http://tinyurl.com/jxuu5ls

  Chapter Ten

  The Resistance

  Dalton has invited Holliday to meet him at the Eiffel Tower Restaurant in the Paris Hotel in Las Vegas. When she shows up, it is closed, so she starts to leave.

  “What do I know about keeping a woman happy? I haven’t had a relationship that lasted. The one thing I have learned though is an apology should be genuine or it’s pointless.” ~ Johnny Outlaw

  “Mademoiselle, wait. Is your name Holliday Hughes by chance?” The hostess asks after tapping me on the shoulder. Startled, I turn around and see fascination written all over her face.

  “Yes,” I reply, sucking down my disappointment th
at Dalton’s not here.

  “I’m sorry. I was told the woman would be wearing a black dress.” She smiles and says, “Mr. Outlaw is waiting upstairs for you.”

  “He is?”

  She continues smiling as the elevator doors that will lead me to the restaurant open. Swinging her arm out for me to enter, she says, “He is.”

  Just before the doors close, I ask, “What about Mr. Dalton?”

  She tilts her head confused, but the doors close too soon for her to respond. It was rhetorical anyway.

  I grip the railing as the elevator takes me up. When the doors open, I hesitate and take a deep breath before walking out. I go to the bar, instantly spying Dalton across the room standing near the large windows. The Bellagio Fountains are lit up, as if on demand, as the man they’re performing for watches. His silhouette is dark against the bright and choreographed water rising high into the sky. Even with the dancing water, he outshines it all.

  Walking slowly across the room, I’m not sure what I’m going to say. John Mayer is crooning through the speakers above and it feels out of place for the French setting. I stop next to Dalton, watching the fountains move across the lake, and whisper, “Hi.”

  Dalton’s eyes flash to mine. “Hi.”

  With both of us watching the fountains outside, I say, “I didn’t take you for a John Mayer fan.”

  “I’m taking notes. He’s a king at romancing the ladies.”

  “I hear he’s gifted in other ways as well.” I turn to look at him, really look at him. “Not that I would know or anything.”

  “Drink?” he asks.

  His drink is on the table next to him, it looks like whiskey or bourbon—either will do. “I’ll have what you’re having.” I pick up the glass and take two sips.

  He chuckles under his breath. “Literally, you mean, you’ll take what I’m having.”

  I shrug. “Figured since we’ve swapped spit already, what does it matter now.”

  His tone turns serious. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For not telling you who I was.”

  Guess it’s better to deal with this now then to beat around the bush. “I’ve been thinking a lot about it, trying to understand why you didn’t tell me.”

  “It wasn’t to hurt you,” he says.

  I turn back to appreciate the fountains before the show ends. “But why lie?”

  He’s next to me watching the show, but his hand crosses the divide and takes mine in his. “I didn’t want to ruin it.”

  I whisper, “You didn’t.”

  His hand goes flat against the glass and he says, “It’s magical.”

  “The Fountains?”

  “No.” He doesn’t say more. He doesn’t have to. I feel it too.

  I place my hand flat on the glass next to his, our thumbs touching. “What now?”

  When he looks at me, light reflects in his eyes, and he smiles. “I thought we’d eat, then move on and cover a few what-ifs you might have.”

  “Hope you’ve got some time because I have a whole slew of what-ifs to cover.”

  “I’ve got all night, but my flight is at ten in the morning.”

  “You’re leaving Las Vegas?”

  “We were only here for meetings and the gig. Are you going back to Los Angeles tomorrow?”

  “Yes, back to the real world.”

  “This world is real, Holliday. It’s my world and I’m asking for it not to end here, for us to get to know each other better.”

  Every girl dreams of hearing someone like him say that to them, but as I look around, it’s not just words with him. He means it. “Tempting. You did rent an entire restaurant just for us, after all. That’s quite the romantic overture.”

  “Guess it’s a good thing you came then,” he says. The lake across the street goes dark, the show officially over, leaving us lit by a flickering candle in the center of the table. He takes my hand down from the glass and faces me. “Maybe we can start with a meal. Will you stay for dinner?”

  “Only if I can apologize first?”

  “For what?” He repeats what I said to him earlier.

  “For letting my own insecurities judge you instead of taking you for who you’ve shown me.”

  His hand touches my cheek gently, and he says, “No need for sorries. I’m new at this too.”

  “You’re new to dating?” I ask, joking with him.

  “No. Just new to dealing with real feelings.”

  Silence, as my breath is taken away, stolen by him just like my heart. I want to kiss him, but I don’t.

  Moving behind me, he reaches and pulls out my chair. After sitting down across from me, he subtly bites his bottom lip. I remember him doing that last night and liking it.

  A waiter introduces himself and I place my order, “I’ll have another one of these please.”

  Dalton orders the same, then leans forward, and whispers, “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know if you would. You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I glance down and pull my napkin into my lap. “I’m glad I did, but why did you want to meet here?”

  “I hated how things were left. I did that. I’m sorry. Our time together meant more to me than you know, you mean more. Already.” He chuckles to himself, embarrassed. “I feel crazy thinking stuff like this much less saying it.”

  “I’m just a girl. There’s nothing special going on here.” I lean forward to whisper to him, but the waiter arrives with our drinks, setting them down in front of us.

  “We’ll need a minute more before we order. Thank you,” Dalton says to the waiter.

  Watching him speak, it’s hard to imagine he’s the same guy who was singing on that stage tonight. His body is relaxed and I sense he feels calm, safe around me.

  When we’re alone again, I say, “I’m not fishing for compliments here. I can get a date, but you’re trying so hard. What are you trying to convince me of?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, looking into my eyes. “I trust you. Even though you’re not fishing for compliments, I have a million I can give you.” He spins his glass slowly between his fingers with noticeable strength and agility. I don’t fill the moment between us, wanting to hear more. “You’re different, Holliday. I don’t need a week to know that. I knew the minute I met you.” Shaking his head, he smiles. “I still can’t believe you agreed to leave with me.”

  “I’m in Vegas and you know what they say when you’re here.”

  “That’s not how I see you.”

  My tone comes out flatter than I intend. “You keep saying that, but that’s who I wanted to be this weekend, just for a weekend, someone else, someone carefree again.”

  “I wanted to be Jack Dalton again.”

  And with that simple comment, my heart melts for this man—a man who just wanted to be who he is on the inside. I get up and walk around the table. He slides back in his chair unsure of what I’m going to do. I straddle him, not caring how it looks to the few people working. After wrapping my arms around his neck, I kiss him, leaving him no outs or choice in the matter. He wants the same. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulls me closer and deepens the kiss. Our tongues meet and slowly mingle; my hips start a slow gyrate.

  “I want you,” he murmurs against my mouth, refusing to give up the kissing for words.

  Moving up his cheek, I place kisses all the way to his forehead and down on top of his eyelids. His hands hold my hips against him and I feel him grow beneath me. A moan escapes as I drop my head back, enthralled by the feel of him between my legs.

  “Shhhh,” he whispers in my ear. “They can hear you.”

  My eyes open and I take a deep breath. “We should leave.” I maneuver my leg from over him, standing up. “Like right now.”

  “Fuck, let’s go,” he says anxiously. He grabs my hand and turns me fast, pulling me behind as he rushes toward the bar where the waiter is stationed. “We’re gonna go. You have my card. Give yourself a big tip and thank you.”

/>   “No dinner, Sir?” the waiter calls after us, confused.

  Dalton’s pace never slows as he heads for the elevator. “Nope. Thanks.”

  I keep my mouth shut, fighting all the tingles bursting beneath my skin while trying to regulate my breathing. I don’t think I’ve ever been so hot for someone in my life and the thought of a cab ride … damn, it adds to the whole experience. How am I not going to have sex with this man in that cab? That will be the tricky part.

  The elevator doors open. I’m swung inside and he presses me into the corner. Dalton’s pelvis is against mine as he kisses me, holding me in place. My only thought is that I totally want to have sex with him in this elevator.

  One of his hands squeezes my breast as the other squeezes my ass. I lift one leg up, wrapping it around his thigh and he begins to grind into me. The elevator doors open and we hear a clearing of the throat.

  We jump apart, Dalton flying to the other side of the elevator trying to act nonchalant. “Okay,” he says, walking forward and talking in a business tone. “We’re here.”

  “Yes, Mr. Outlaw,” the hostess says with a huge flirty smile. The top button of her black blazer seems to have popped open revealing the very low cut vest she’s wearing underneath. “I hope you’ll join us again.”

  He slips her money, and says, “Thank you for staying and working late.”

  “My pleasure. Can I be of service to you?”

  Whatever she means by that, that’s my cue and I take his arm, sliding mine around his as he replies. “No, that’s all. Thank you.”

  After a kiss to my temple, he says, “I need to get you to bed.”

  “I’m liking this idea a lot.”

  We start walking toward the doors that leads to the cab line, but I stop him, pulling him just past the exit.

  He looks at me, questioning. “What?”

  I pin him against the wall and kiss him again. With my hands on his chest, I say, “I don’t care who sees us or what anyone thinks of me. I want you, Jack Dalton. I want all of you. The good. The bad. And the rock star. No holding back on me. Okay?”