“Sure!” Now it’s my turn to be cheery. Has wishful thinking finally paid off?
“Awesome! You’re the best, Gabi! And I promise it won’t just be you feeling the cutback on hours. It’ll be spread out, myself included.” She’s doing that damn sad face again but I don’t even care enough to be annoyed.
“No problem, send me home anytime,” I cheese like a lunatic. Her chirpy disposition must be rubbing off on me. That and the fact that my plans for the day have just took a turn for the better. I hurriedly fold the jeans and shove them on their reserved shelf and head back to the stockroom, vigorously texting on the way.
To Dorian, 1:28 P.M.
-Plans just changed. I’m off :)
Geez, I’ve got to quit with these damn emoticons. I get a reply just seconds later and am nearly jumping with glee. Dorian has got me wide open and I haven’t even known him a mere 48 hours.
-I’m at Starbucks. Come see me.
Though it’s a demand, and I don’t take kindly to demands from any man, I am only too eager to race down to the coffee shop in record time. I stop at our employee restroom to finger comb my hair and reapply my lipgloss before grabbing my things and waving goodbye to my coworkers without a second glance. So long, Suckas!
As I approach Starbucks, I slow my pace and take a few deep breaths, trying to get my head in a more level, nonchalant space. But no matter how cool I try to appear, it all evaporates as soon as I see him sitting at the very same table we sat at the day before. I pause for a beat and have to consciously remind myself how to walk. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. I shakily approach the table and just stare. The man is simply gorgeous, clothed in a black V-neck t-shirt, jeans and a black leather jacket. He gazes back at me in a sultry, lustful way. I can’t tell if he’s laying on the sex or if that’s his usual look but I’m buying it. All of it.
“So we meet again,” he smiles crookedly. His ice blue eyes flash momentarily and my knees almost buckle underneath me. He waves toward the opposite seat. “Please, sit.”
I do as I’m told, again, with controlled movements, careful not to seem too compliant. That’s when I allow myself to tear my eyes away from him long enough to notice that he has two disposable coffee cups in front of him. He pushes one towards me.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says.
I take a tiny sip of the steaming liquid and let it quench my parched mouth. It’s a cinnamon latte, my favorite! How did he know? “Thank you,” is all I can choke out in surprise.
“So it seems we have the whole day to enjoy each other. What shall we do?” He takes a sip of his own drink and looks up at me seductively through his thick eyelashes. They are ridiculously long and lush, giving any Covergirl model a run for her money. Contrasted with his unbelievably light eyes, the combination is downright dazzling.
“Hmmm,” I ponder. Then I have an idea that will score me some alone time with him and offer an opportunity for us to enjoy the sunshine. “Ever been to Garden of the Gods?”
“Can’t say that I have. But I’m always up for an adventure.” Dorian cocks his head to one side as if he’s contemplating something. The gesture makes him look incredibly sexy.
“Well, I don’t know about an adventure but it is one of my favorite places,” I smile sheepishly.
Revealing a personal detail about me, especially something as intimate as one of my favorite hideaways, makes me feel bashful, childlike even. I really do care about his opinion of me. It’s more than just the physical attraction; I want him to know me.
“Then I’m sure it will soon be one of my favorites as well.” Dorian then stands, grabs both our coffee cups and I follow suit. “Come on. I’ll drive,” he winks.
The ride in the sleek, black Mercedes is invigorating and I’m pleasantly surprised at how much I’m enjoying it, having never been much of a car enthusiast. Dorian is an impeccable driver and he makes it seem so effortless. We cruise down Academy Boulevard, Robin Thicke crooning sweet, soothing melodies from the state of the art sound system. He’s singing about being all tied up and urging his lover to rescue him, pleading his need for her. It’s provocative and I instantly find myself swaying to the beat. I glance over at Dorian to find him smirking at my little performance.
“Like the music?” he asks when I catch his gaze behind the dark lenses of his designer shades.
“I do. So you listen to a lot of music like this?” Perfect time to squeeze out some information.
“My tastes are eclectic. I listen to whatever moves me,” he responds.
“Humph. Me too, I guess,” I reflect. I do like to mix it up a bit.
“The power that a musician holds is truly fascinating. To touch the masses, relaying their pain, anger, joy, lust… through song…,” he stares ahead lost in his own train of thought. I look intently at him, hanging on to his every word. He seems so passionate, so full of conviction. “The true artist is one who can evoke those raw emotions in their audience, bring them to their knees, and convey their message to them in a foreign tongue. Or without words at all. That type of power is immeasurable.”
I’m totally consumed by Dorian’s outpouring of emotion. It’s so unexpected and unbelievably alluring. Like maybe there is more behind the incredible looks and sex appeal. As if he can sense my suspicions, he turns to flash me a heart-stopping smile.
“Seems like you know a bit about the music business,” I comment, desperately trying to recover from the sight of it.
“A little,” he smirks, and we go back to enjoying the tunes and sensual static of our close proximity.
When we arrive at the park of bizarre red rock formations, I feel a surge of energy. I’m excited even though I’ve been a dozen times. The possibility of spending time with Dorian and sharing this place with him is exhilarating and part of me really wants to impress him. We walk down to the first display of rock and marvel at nature’s splendor.
I take a moment to reflect on all I’ve learned since my birthday, just a meager 2 days ago. What if the red boulders weren’t fashioned this way simply by nature? What if this was the work of a supernatural being? What if the rocks were erected as a result of an intense battle between opposing forces?
“Weird, huh?” I turn to Dorian to gauge his reaction.
“Peculiar, yes, but beautiful.” He grins down at me and I notice he’s removed his shades, giving me full access to his magnificent irises, safeguarded by long, black lashes. I blush and hurriedly turn away to hide the flush of my cheeks.
We walk through the park in content silence, stopping every so often to admire the red sandstone. It totally boggles me how I can be so comfortable with Dorian, a complete contradiction to my usual distrusting nature. Being in his presence feels oddly right, as if we were somehow meant to be in this moment together.
“So you like to come here. Why?” he asks after a while.
“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “I guess I’ve always enjoyed being outdoors if the weather is nice, of course. And I find the stones to be intriguing. Like, how on Earth did they end up like that? An act of God? Or something else entirely that we could never imagine? Nature is fascinating that way.” I look up and Dorian is studying me intently. Being that he’s at least 5 inches taller than my five feet four inch frame, I tilt my head upwards to meet his gaze.
“I find you fascinating,” he breathes. An unnamed emotion washes over his face and his expression is unreadable. It’s as if he’s trying to relay something to me but is unsure if he should.
“Sorry to disappoint you but like I told you before, I am far from it,” I reply. My eyes drop to the ground, my own words wounding me because it’s true. “I’ve never been fascinating or interesting. I am so unbelievably ordinary, it’s a surprise that you haven’t gotten bored with me yet.” I pick up my head and mask my discontent with a rueful smile. No need to let my pessimism ruin the mood.
We stroll upon one of my favorite sandstone formations. “Kissing camels,” I say when we stop to admire it
. The red rocks have created the impression of two camels facing each other engaged in a charming lip-lock. The sight makes me grin involuntarily. When I look to Dorian to gauge his reaction, he is looking down at me, much closer than I anticipate. I am momentarily startled at his close proximity, and can feel an intense heat surge through my veins at the prospect of contact.
Dorian looks at me with hooded eyes and licks his lips. The sight of the pinkness of his tongue spikes my breathing and my own lips part reflexively from the excitement. As if I have given him some carnal signal, he slowly, deliberately bends his head down and places his soft, full lips on mine. They are strong and dominating yet as supple and light as satin. My mouth parts wider, welcoming his tongue to explore further. The sensation from his touch is electric and the familiar tingling that I experienced on our first encounter returns with a vengeance. From the pout of my lips down my neck, through my breasts and down in my belly, it’s spreading like wildfire. It meets its desired destination with ferocity and my pleasure counters the inexplicable prickling with its own throbbing. I’ve never felt anything like this; it’s simply amazing. It can only be best described as when hot and cold collide. Fire and ice.
Lost in my body’s own symphony of sensation, I hardly notice the extent this kiss has deepened. Our bodies are pressed against each other as if we have melded into one. Dorian’s hand is knotted in my hair, firmly massaging my scalp, while the other is on my lower back, pulling me closer still. My own hands roam his soft, tousled black hair and broad hard shoulders. I know we must be making a spectacle of ourselves but we’re oblivious. At least I am. Tongues intertwined in a slow, seductive dance, exploring, tasting, teasing. It could go on forever and I still could not get enough of Dorian’s succulent flavor. He tastes refreshing and cool like an ice cold drink on a hot summer’s day. Yet the current our bodies emit is pure fire and heat. The mixture is intoxicating and addicting.
Approaching voices break our trance and we simultaneously pull away. I’m panting and flustered, looking up at Dorian in wonder. He looks oddly calm and collected, smug even, as if he knows he’s unraveled me. Shit, he knows he’s got me under his spell. But there’s no turning back now. I can’t even begin to walk away from him, not after what just transpired between us. He’s the only thing that even remotely makes sense right now. His presence these last few days has given me the comfort and happiness that I so desperately crave-that I so desperately need- to keep sane. Even if his only purpose in my life is to provide me with mind-numbing passion, I’d happily accept it with open arms. And open legs.
“That was…. Interesting,” I say, breaking the tense silence between us.
“The stones are interesting,” he replies, licking his lips. He closes his eyes for a long moment, as if he’s savoring the memory of our mingled tongues. “You are absolutely delectable.”
Suddenly, a horrifying clap of thunder roars overhead and I notice that the skies are dangerously dark. Just seconds before we were basking in the warm sunlight without a cloud in the sky. I am baffled but I know we should find shelter to avoid getting drenched. A violent storm is approaching and lightning strikes in the Springs are a known threat.
“We should head back,” I remark as a bright flash of electricity lights the dark sky. A loud rumble quickly follows, indicating that the lightening is close. Dorian looks up and frowns at the heavens then nods, grasping my hand and ushering me back towards the parking lot. We make it back just as the torrential rain begins.
“Did you want to go home? Or would you mind spending a little more time with me?” Dorian asks as he fires up the Mercedes. He looks devastatingly sexy, with his jet black hair slick and speckled with rain. I’m tempted to lean over and lick the raindrops from his face, expecting them to taste as sweet as his lips.
“I don’t mind,” is all I say. Inside I’m jumping for joy since I expected our date to end because of the weather. I use all my willpower to keep the goofy grin off my face.
“There’s a little place I want to take you,” he says. And with that we are back on the road.
Robin Thicke is still playing and he’s singing a smooth ballad about being dangerous. Though his words warn his lady love to stay away and to avoid falling in love, his sugary sweet melody doesn’t match his threat of imminent danger. It’s alluring and inviting. You don’t want to turn away; you want more and more no matter the risk. I recall Dorian’s account of the power of music and my brow furrows. He was onto something.
“Would you rather listen to something else?” Dorian asks suddenly and the song switches abruptly. It’s Coldplay’s “Paradise.”
“Well, no but you’ve already changed it,” I reply.
“Oh? I thought I saw a frown on your face. Maybe you took the song as a warning.” He flashes a devilishly sexy smile. I squirm against the leather upholstery.
A warning? Oh shit. Has he realized that being around me could be perilous to him? Of course. How could I have been so stupid? I’ve got a sadistic Warlock out for my blood and here I am, ready to spread my legs and do the forbidden dance with an innocent, though totally gorgeous and mysterious, man that I hardly know. Yes. That song was a warning. For him.
“No, this song is fine. You can let it play.” I turn my head to look out the window at the beating rain, wishing it could wash away my shame. And my fear.
We pull up to a little bistro that could best be described as quaint. It’s beautifully decorated with fresh flower arrangements, magnificent framed artwork and several displays of wine. It’s a warm welcome from the relentless rainfall. Our friendly hostess smiles at us sweetly and leads us to a quiet table for two, noticeably separate from the other diners. I eye the display case of fresh-baked pastries and cakes on the way and my mouth instantly waters. I am famished and glad that Dorian thought to come here. I quickly open the menu once we’re seated and scan their selections.
“Hungry?” Dorian smiles, peering over his own menu.
“Starved,” I say sheepishly. And not just for food. “So what’s good here?”
“I’ve only been here once and everything I had was fantastic. Do you like seafood?” Dorian puts down his menu and folds his hands on the table in front of him.
“I love it,” I reply.
“Good. Their mussels and clams are excellent,” he remarks.
Just as I’ve decided what to order, our server approaches us, a tall, thin brunette with a bright smile, a notable change from our waitress from the sports bar. She is pretty in a girl next door kind of way and has kind eyes.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle, monsieur,” she greets each of us with a bow of her head. Dorian returns her friendly acknowledgment and answers back in flawless French. I fail at hiding my shock after the waitress leaves.
“Whoa. You speak French?” I ask, clearly impressed.
Dorian answers with a sheepish half-smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Yes. Among other languages.”
I note his nonchalance with a raised eyebrow and a shrug of my own. We make small talk until our server returns with glasses of wine and a large bottle of sparkling water. I take a swig of the cool, crisp rose wine and an involuntary ‘Mmmm’ escapes my lips.
Seeing as it is still pretty early in the day, I opt for a Muffeletta sandwich while Dorian orders a Nicoise salad. The waitress smiles at us both and leaves to put in our food orders, returning moments later with a large platter of clams and mussels in a white wine sauce. They look and smell amazing. Dorian must’ve ordered these in his perfect French along with the wine.
“Dig in,” he offers and he scoops a few shells onto each of our plates.
He was right; the seafood is exceptional. We lose ourselves in the delicious shellfish and giggle as sauce dribbles down our chins. It’s remarkable how down to earth and easygoing Dorian is. Though I am taken aback by his startling good looks, he has a way of making me feel totally at ease with him, something I’ve only experienced with Jared. I feel this inner draw to him, as if I can tell him anything. Like I c
an already trust him wholeheartedly.
“So what do you plan to do after you receive your degree in May?” Dorian asks.
“Really, I have no idea,” I reply, finishing the last mussel on my appetizer plate.
“No plans to head to a 4 year university to get your Bachelor’s?”
“That would be the most logical thing but I really don’t have the desire to. Then again, I definitely don’t want to be a sales clerk for much longer.” I put my napkin down and sigh. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea what I want to do with my life.”
“Really? What’s your major?” he asks.
My mouth twists into an uncomfortable grimace. “Undecided.” About just about everything, that is.
“Well, what are you passionate about?” Hmmm, good question.
“Honestly?” I give him a fake smile to mask my shame. “Nothing. I’ve never been great at anything in school. Never was a cheerleader or even an athlete. The only thing I really excelled at was martial arts but that was some years ago.” Dorian looks at me quizzically. “Oh yeah, I was known for being a bit of a bad ass,” I snicker, nervously.
My rough and tumble ways are probably a direct opposite, if not insult, to Dorian’s cool and polished demeanor. Even with his bad boy good looks, I can tell he comes from a refined background. Might as well lay all the cards on the table now.
“You? Really?” He eyes assess the length of my body, causing me to squirm.
“Yeah,” I shrug sheepishly. “I never was one of those girls that wanted to be a princess or a ballerina. A while ago, I really wanted to enlist in the Marine Corps. Then ultimately, try to join the CIA. But it was just a crazy dream.” I chuckle nervously, shaking my head at my absurdity.
Dark Light (The Dark Light Series) Page 6