She didn’t know how long they kissed. Two minutes? Three? Five? Only that it seemed to go on a long, satiating while.
And when finally he ended it, pulling back, she sucked in her breath, stunned. Stunned that it was over. Stunned that it had happened at all. Stunned that she’d let it, that she’d wanted it, that she hadn’t broken away the very moment it had been feasible. For a while, everything else had ceased to exist, but now sights and sounds came back to her—people arguing in the bar—though she could tell the police had arrived and were getting things under control.
She felt adrift, bewildered, standing there in the alley. Like this couldn’t be real. She simply couldn’t wrap her head around it—it was as if she’d become someone else.
As if he’d made her someone else.
That was why she followed one more simple impulse—the urge to pull back her hand and slap him. She’d never slapped anyone in her life but was instantly proud of the effort; it was a firm, well-landed slap across his face and the sound of it pleased her, making her feel a little more back in control. Like she was used to.
For a brief second, the stranger appeared surprised, lifting his hand to his cheek. But then he just laughed and said, “Little late for that, Ginger.”
She drew back slightly, as if he’d uttered a dirty word. “Ginger?”
“Like on Gilligan’s Island,” he said easily. “You remind me of her.”
She said nothing in response because she could think of nothing to say. Though she’d only ever seen a little of the show, wasn’t Ginger some über-sexy, sensual movie-star type? She simply stared at his chest, focusing on the dark T-shirt he wore—she’d learned early on during this encounter that it was so much easier than looking him in the eye. She wanted this to be over, wanted to be anywhere else. More to the point, she wanted this to never have happened.
Even without allowing herself to lift her gaze, she sensed him looking her up and down. And then she felt it, too. Like his eyes were touching her. Running smoothly over her body from head to toe. Her breasts heaved slightly within the lace that held them, leaving her shockingly aware of them and making her wonder if her nipples were showing through her blouse and bra.
But wait—I have a jacket on, so it doesn’t matter. He can’t see that part of me.
And then she flinched, wondering why the hell that realization actually disappointed her a little. Who was she? Who had she become with this man?
Casting a mischievous expression her way—oh damn, she’d accidentally glanced up at his face—he said, “You look a little shaken up. Come on. Let me walk you to your car.” And he motioned easily toward the alley’s exit onto Ocean Drive in the distance.
Yet April simply stood there, utterly astonished. He’d kissed her like that and now they were just . . . done? No names, no discussing the kisses, nothing? Even if she’d been contemplating her own escape, willing herself away from here only a few seconds ago, somehow having him want to end it, and so easily, offended her.
But then . . . God, did she want to discuss this, to acknowledge it?
No, she’d been right in the first place, even if his nonchalance about it stung. It would be much easier to just forget it and move on, easier to remember who she was. Which was certainly not a woman who made out with strange men in dimly lit alleyways.
So she said, “I’m fine on my own,” pleased when the words came out sounding strong, sure, like her usual sturdy self.
The man before her hesitated; then a twinkle lit his dark eyes. “That’s debatable, but whatever you say. Have a nice night, Ginger.”
When he turned to go, she started to relax—but then, just as quickly, he spun back to face her. And he lifted both hands to smoothly draw loose fabric together over her chest. She glanced down, gasped softly. To see that a button had come loose. To see his hands there. Despite herself, her breasts ached to be touched—she felt the fabric tightening over them far more keenly than made sense. They both watched in silence as he slowly took his time threading the button through the hole.
“Think this came undone,” he said deeply.
Then he turned and walked away.
* * *
April sat in her office the next morning, feeling out of sorts. Partially because she’d slept badly and had run late, then discovered the blouse she’d planned to wear had a stain on it, and now she felt tacky for having decided to wear it anyway and just keep her jacket buttoned all day.
Between clients, pro bono work, and family commitments, she had too much on her calendar today, as usual. And that reminded her: Don’t forget to schedule a few minutes with Ellen to talk about Kayla’s divorce and whether it’s truly feasible for me to handle it.
And . . . then there was the guy who’d kissed her senseless last night. She couldn’t believe she didn’t even know his name. And she still wasn’t quite sure how she’d let something like that happen. It was so not her.
Maybe it’s because he was absolutely gorgeous.
She let out a sigh as the revelation whispered its way through her mind. Okay, yes, he was gorgeous. Probably six-two or six-three, hair black as the night, and an olive complexion shadowed with the dark stubble that had ever so lightly abraded her face, adding still more sensation to what had already been extremely potent kisses. He’d dressed simply, wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt that had stretched over broad shoulders and a well-muscled chest. Add in his sturdy grip and she’d been left knowing just how strong he was. In fact, she could still almost feel his hand on her arm, holding her like a vise she’d had no chance of breaking free from.
Remembering that—that sense of being trapped, detained, against my will—should horrify me. But what actually horrified her at the moment was the realization that instead it was making her panties a little wet. Good Lord, what was that about? She had no idea, but she didn’t like it. It made no sense, no sense at all. And April was a woman whose world made sense. It might be busy as hell, and stressful as hell, but it always made sense—and she liked it that way.
Maybe it’s all just a reaction to being kissed like that.
After all, it had been a long time since she’d been kissed. Too long, some would say.
The last time she’d dated anyone seriously had been . . . well, years ago. She stopped to do the math—she was thirty-three now and she’d broken up with Greg when she was twenty-nine. Wow—okay, so it had been even longer than she’d actually thought. And she’d dated a few guys briefly since then, but it hadn’t led to sex or even serious kissing—certainly nothing like the kissing that had gone on in the alleyway outside the Café Tropico last night. And it wasn’t that she couldn’t get a date—it was simply that she had other priorities, and possibly also because she didn’t often put herself in places that easily facilitated the meeting/dating thing. She was just too busy doing the things she had to do—being there for the people who depended on her—and social time came after that. Which meant usually not at all.
But she was okay with that. It wasn’t a big deal. She hoped to get married and have children someday, and she figured that when she chose to start making that more of a priority in her life, then it would happen. But she just wasn’t a romantic at heart, and she also wasn’t a woman who needed sex all the time. She had enjoyed the sex she’d had with the few guys she’d dated seriously over the years, but she didn’t feel deprived without it. She just wasn’t that needy, in body or soul.
So maybe this weird occurrence—and her continuing reaction to it—was her body’s way of telling her it did need a little more attention. Or maybe it was God’s way of telling her she should get out and date more, lest she end up resorting to a heated make-out session with a stranger in a dark alley. She rolled her eyes at the thought—but then a weird little shiver snaked through her again at the memory. Stop it.
Who was she talking to? Her body? Her brain? Or both?
Just then, her cell phone rang and she checked the screen to see it was her sister. Pushing the button to answer, sh
e said, “Hey Amber—what’s up?”
“I’m calling to see if you can come to a gallery opening with me tonight.” Her baby sister sounded downright bubbly, barely able to keep the giddiness from her voice.
And April hated to be the bearer of bad news, but . . . “Well, I’m a little confused on how you can go to a gallery opening tonight.”
That definitely staunched the bubbliness. “What do you mean?”
April just sighed. “Oh, Amber. You promised to go to Gram’s tonight to help her get groceries. So that I could work late and maybe do something really selfish like buy our own groceries.” Amber had moved in with April a couple of years back.
“Shit—I forgot. But now . . . oh, April, the most amazing thing happened! Because it’s not just any opening I was inviting you to. I was going to surprise you, but . . . it’s for me!”
April blinked her surprise in the solitude of her office. “For you?” A buzzing noise drew her attention to the much larger phone on her desk, letting her know she had a business call, but her mind was spinning at the moment, so that would have to wait.
“You know my friend who has connections to that gallery in Wynwood?” Amber began babbling quickly. “Well, they’re having a big multi-artist show, opening tonight, and get this—one of the artists had to cancel! And my friend got me in! Can you believe it? I actually got a show, April! At a real gallery! In Wynwood!”
April just sat there, speechless. She was truly thrilled for Amber—she’d been selling small tropical-themed paintings and stained glass pieces at the beach on weekends for years, but she’d never had an outlet for her larger works of art. And a gallery show . . . well, this was indeed huge. A bright, shining moment for her little sister.
She just wished she weren’t so tired. And busy. Even busier now, she supposed. “That’s . . . amazing, Amber,” she finally said.
Now a little more tension weighted her sister’s voice. “Thanks. And . . . so, I’m sorry to ask, but would you mind getting Gram’s groceries? And you can kill two birds at once—just get ours while you’re there, too. That works out well, doesn’t it?”
Not really. When you mixed frozen or refrigerated products with the Miami heat . . . well, it would mean two entirely separate trips to the store. And it wasn’t like she could just rush in and out at Gram’s anyway. She would need to spend a little time with the woman who raised them. Amber needed to do that, too, and April would remind her of that—soon. But not right now. “Sure, I can take care of it,” April said.
Amber flew into exuberant-little-girl mode. “Thank you, sissy! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Now that she thought about it, though, it seemed like Amber was often in that mode, even at the age of twenty-five and regardless of whether or not she needed a favor. Oh well, that was just Amber.
“You owe me,” April said softly.
“I know. And . . . well, it is my first opening ever, so . . . do you think after you do the groceries you could come by? Because it wouldn’t be right if you aren’t there, you know?”
April sighed. But Amber was right. She really had to stop by. She really wouldn’t want to miss her baby sister’s big night. “Of course. Tell you what. After I take Gram’s groceries and visit with her a while, I’ll come to the gallery. Then I’ll get our groceries on the way home.” As an afterthought she added, “It’s probably dressy, isn’t it?”
“Well, not super dressy, but . . . kind of a wine-and-cheese affair.”
April let out a weary breath. “I’ll just leave my suit on.” What was a few more hours in high heels?
“Thank you so much, April. And I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“Sure you will,” April said teasingly. She loved Amber with all her heart, but she knew getting her sister to keep that promise would be like extracting teeth. And despite her previous thought, she added, “You should still make a point of visiting Gram soon. Like tomorrow or over the next couple of days.”
“Well, between the showing and stuff I already had scheduled with friends, I’ve got a lot going on right now—but I’ll try.”
A few minutes later, April hung up with Amber and took the call on her other line. She had just enough time to shoot Ellen an e-mail about Kayla’s divorce case before her cell rang again, and this time it was her other sister, Allison. The middle sister, Allison had just turned twenty-nine and was a mother to two toddlers. “Is there any way you could watch Jayden and Tiffany tomorrow night?” she asked only a moment into the conversation.
Just say no. “To tell you the truth, I’m pretty swamped and really need a night to myself tomorrow.”
But then Allison explained that Amber had called about her show. And she and her husband couldn’t afford a sitter right now, and she knew April was going to the opening tonight, but she’d promised that she and Jay could at least go tomorrow night. “Amber really wants us there, of course. So . . . maybe I could drop the kids at Gram’s for a couple of hours,” she suggested.
Which made April’s spine go rigid. Allison knew good and well that their grandmother was in no shape to be babysitting toddlers—the very idea was ridiculous, and clearly designed to bend April to her will. At least when Amber needed something, she resorted to honest begging and did her best to express her appreciation, whereas with Allison, it was generally more manipulative. And April knew she needed to start handling Allison’s passive-aggressive behavior more directly, but for now, this moment, she couldn’t come up with an easy answer. So she just said, “Fine, I’ll watch them. But only for a couple of hours.”
After disconnecting with Allison, she dove directly into her next task—some billing work that needed to be turned in to the accounting department today—though her mind wandered. How had she ended up being the only person in her family whom anyone could really depend upon? Maybe it’s always been a mistake to be so dependable. Let them all down a few times and maybe they’ll start taking some responsibility for their own lives. But April knew better. A person didn’t just wake up one day and become undependable. It was in her blood, who she was, and her sisters knew it—and relied on it.
Their parents had been killed in a car accident when April was twelve. And the three girls had found themselves being shipped from Ohio to Florida to live with a paternal grandmother they barely knew. Gram had been older than most grandmothers of kids that age; she’d had her son later in life. And she’d done her best, taking in three little girls and ending up with a family she hadn’t expected or asked for—she’d always been good to them. But at the same time, as the oldest, April had taken on a mothering role to her sisters. She’d never planned it, never decided on it, never even realized it—but she’d become the person who bandaged their wounds, helped with their homework, advised them on their love lives . . . and so much more.
And somehow, despite her best intentions, she still hadn’t managed to outrun that role. She’d even chosen to become an attorney with the idea that a good job would ensure everyone always had enough money to get by on. And as a result, she mostly supported Amber, who’d worked only at a string of part-time, minimum-wage jobs while she pursued her art, and she “loaned” money to Allison and Jay on a regular basis, knowing full well that she’d never get it back.
Though it wasn’t the money that bothered her as much as simply the time it took to hold them all together. Whatever needed to be done, it fell to her. Groceries for Gram, babysitting, Gram’s doctor’s appointments, picking up this, doing that—you name it. And as much as she often tried to say no, she feared that if she didn’t do things, they truly wouldn’t get done. And that mattered, especially when it came to Gram.
All of which was why she didn’t really have time for Kayla’s case. Or to be kissing strange men in alleys, for that matter.
Maybe making out with him had been a form of stress relief. Maybe she’d just needed to let go of herself for a few minutes.
Looking up from her paperwork, she absently found herself Googling Ginger from Gilligan’s Island. Her e
yebrows shot up when she realized that, wow, they actually looked a little alike. If Ginger’s red hair had been more auburn, and if Ginger had been a little more conservative—or a lot more conservative.
For a brief second, she let herself feel . . . flattered. Maybe it felt . . . surprisingly fun to be compared to someone—even a fictional character—who had been so glamorous, seductive, sought after by men.
But then she shook her head, clearing it. That was silly.
And none of this mattered because it was over now.
Even if she still felt his kisses on her lips.
Even if she still felt his fingers so near, yet so far, from her still-aching breasts.
* * *
A week later, April found herself walking briskly up Ocean Drive, going to meet Kayla again. With Ellen’s help and guidance, she’d concluded she could handle Kayla’s divorce with relative ease. Hopefully it would be quick and simple—no muss, no fuss—aided by the fact that the couple had no children and few assets to fight over. And hopefully tonight’s meeting with her client—at a frozen yogurt shop near Kayla’s current place of employment, a couple of blocks from the Café Tropico—would be a lot more no muss, no fuss than the last one had been. Her first order of business when she’d called Kayla to set it up was to explain that it should not be in an establishment where her husband hung out with his friends.
“That’s why I was in a hurry last time,” Kayla had explained. “I work right around the corner at a souvenir store and I was supposed to meet him there. And I thought it would be okay ’cause he was supposed to work later than me. But he showed up early. Sorry.” She’d sounded like a wounded puppy, making April feel guilty for chastising her.
“Well,” April had said on a sigh, “the important thing is that you’re okay, that he didn’t hurt you. You are okay after that, right?”
Kayla explained that she’d spent the night with a friend, but that Juan had summoned her home the following morning. “He was mad, but he wasn’t too rough on me. He ended up believing what you said, that we just ran into each other accidentally.”
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