by Karr, Kim
His silhouette is strong against the backdrop of the night as he circles the car and opens my door. His fingers skim the small of my back again as he leads the way to the driver’s side. Before he opens the door for me, he surrounds me with his arms and my pulse races at the closeness of his smoldering sexy grin. His eyes gleam in the moonlight and his warm breath whispers across my neck. “Thank you for spending the day with me.”
“I had the most amazing time.” Then suddenly, it hits me. “Jagger, we didn’t talk about my uncle. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. When is your audition?”
His hand moves up to my face and his thumb moves back and forth across my cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It just gives me another reason to ask you out again.” He pulls back to look at me. “Aerie, will you go out with me again tomorrow night?”
“Oh, Jagger. I’m sorry, but I have to leave for Louisville in the morning for work and don’t get back until late next Sunday night.” I wish I didn’t have to go because I really want to go out with him again.
His smile fades, but his eyes beam. “Then next Monday night.”
“Okay, but I’m not sure I’ll be home early enough since that will be my first day back in the office.” I intentionally don’t say I have yoga as well. Normally that always works as an excuse to get out of a date—but I’m not trying to get out of this one.
“Then I’ll bring over dinner and we can make the evening a productive work one—eat and discuss your uncle. You do eat dinner, don’t you?”
I nod. “Yes.” I giggle.
Our bodies are aligned in such a way that I swear I can feel the beat of his heart and the throbbing of his pulse, or maybe it’s mine. His eyes seem to be swirling again, like he’s thinking about something. I’m staring at the curve of his mouth when my tongue flicks out to lick my lips and before I know it his hands move to tangle in my hair and his lips are on mine. I gasp at the contact as he pulls me close. His soft lips move aggressively once our mouths finally meet, and I don’t want them to leave. I open wider, inviting in his tongue. Just like our conversations, this kiss falls into an easy rhythm immediately. Our lips connect, our tongues intertwine, and by the time he pulls away we are both breathless. He tips my head back and slides his lips down my neck and I think I whimper. The heat of his hand against my neck flares within me and a strange urge runs through my body. It’s not a need for human contact; it’s a need for him, for his body to meld to mine. But before I can press my body to his, he pulls away. His hand moves to the door handle of my car and he opens it as I step aside. Ushering me in, I sit in my seat and just stare at him—lost in his swirling gray eyes.
“Goodnight, Aerie. I’ll see you next week,” he says, closing my door.
“Goodnight,” I whisper back. I shake in silence in my car as I turn the ignition on and try to figure out what this is I’m feeling.
As I drive away, he stands in place, not moving, just watching me the same way he did last night.
Chapter 4
Hold On, We’re Going Home
On Monday, a light morning breeze ruffles the leaves of the palm trees surrounding the Sound Music building. I can see the serene Pacific framed in the distance through the large window in my office. The magazine headquarters is thankfully located at the Jamboree Business Center in Irvine, a quick hop on CA-133 to I-5N and I’m here. But I’ve been in a daze the last week and I’ve had a hard time focusing on work.
I avert my eyes from the gorgeous view and look over my desk. The surface is uncluttered. My eyes settle on the photo of Dahlia and me at her wedding. It’s hard to believe that just a few short years ago I was so worried about her. My heart broke as I watched her battle depression. It’s a feeling I know all too well. For a while I feared her falling back into the blackness when Ben resurfaced, but she didn’t. She was much stronger and thankfully proved my fears wrong. Nothing in the world makes me happier than knowing she survived her struggle and emerged with a full happy life in front of her.
Jagger has my mind wandering and I know I can’t let that happen. My mind never rests. It stays busy all the time. It’s who I am. Type A personality. I know it’s not proven that depression is hereditary, but I often think it might be. I prefer to take precautions and keep my body healthy and my mind busy.
But while I was away, Jagger and I spent at least three hours every night on the phone with each other. We discussed the band I was in Kentucky interviewing—Whisky Row. They were there to take publicity shots along Main Street and kick off their tour. The Wilde Ones were stopping there as well, so I had already arranged to stay the weekend to catch their concert. Zane and I moved past our tryst and although I didn’t see a blooming friendship there, I still wanted to support the band. I got the feeling Jagger would have flown out if I had asked him. I’m not sure why I didn’t. Now, I wished I had.
I laughed when he told me all about how corn whiskey had coursed through the state starting with judges sampling from barrels to whiskey warehouses anchoring ports along the Ohio Trail. River was right—Jagger knows the most random facts. I even told Xander some words of wisdom Jagger had shared with me—to order whiskey with a branch. Xander had looked at me with skepticism. But once he swirled, sniffed, and sipped his fine bourbon with the added drop of water, he agreed it did make it taste better.
Jagger and I became well acquainted over the phone. We flirted and danced around seductive statements. We talked about everything from our favorite movies, to pets we had as kids, to places we had visited around the world. We discussed my uncle—who he was and how important his career was to him.
“Two things to always keep in mind,” I told Jagger. “My uncle was tough, but charming and he called every man ‘brother’ and every woman ‘darling’.”
I also told him about the close relationship my uncle and I had shared. And swallowing back tears, I even managed to tell him about my uncle’s battle with cancer. He shared with me what spurred his move to LA—a breakup with a girlfriend.
Feeling restless, I look over my desk again—a silver pen, my computer, a Filofax, Post-it notes. Everything was neat and in its proper place, but for some reason I wanted to open the window and let the wind in. Let it blow across everything—shake it up a little. I laugh—the feeling is so unlike me.
My phone rings and takes me from my thoughts.
“Hello.”
“Hey, how about lunch today?” Dahlia asks.
“Oh, I’d love to but . . .”
“No buts. I’m almost to your office. I have to drop off some artwork changes for The Wilde Ones album re-release.”
“Okay, okay but only if we eat here. My other half starts today. Her plane is delayed, but I’m supposed to meet her when she arrives.”
“Your other half?” Dahlia questions.
“I’ll explain later.”
“Okay. Can’t wait to hear the latest. See you at Bowls in fifteen minutes.”
I place the receiver back on its cradle and push my chair back, surveying my toes. Even though I got back late last night, I canceled my workout for this morning. Instead, after a quick run on the treadmill, I painted my nails and took an extra long shower, making sure to shave my legs and under my arms twice. I’m restless and my mind constantly drifts to Jagger. I pat my hair and make sure the bun in the back of my neck is in place before I leave my office.
By the time I arrive at the restaurant, Dahlia’s already in line. She looks up and waves at me as a huge smile crosses her face. She’s wearing dark jeans with a sweater over a geometric-printed top that looks like it could be pieces of a guitar scattered across it and her tall black boots.
I approach her and her large hazel eyes pop.
Her eyes scan me with unabashed humor. “Aerie Daniels, you said you were working today.”
“I am.”
“It doesn’t look like you are.”
I roll my eyes.
We approach the register together. “Two salmon apple Fiji salads please,” Dahlia says.
“Oh, I think I’ll have the chicken Asian flatbread today,” I tell her.
She looks at me puzzled. “Sorry make that one salmon apple Fiji salad and one chicken Asian flatbread,” she tells the girl. We select our drinks and the clerk slides us a number.
Dahlia puts her hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
I purse my lips together and scrunch my brows. “Yes, I feel fine. Why are you asking?”
She slings her arm around my shoulder. “Oh my friend, we have so much to talk about.”
She finds a table near a window and I point to the outdoor patio. “Let’s sit there today.”
“Okay now you’re worrying me. You’ve ordered the same salad for lunch since you started working at Sound Music and you never, I repeat never, want to eat outside. So spill it, now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing to spill.”
We make our way outside and sit under the bright yellow sun. She sets the number stand on the table. “Don’t sit down yet,” she waves her finger at me as she takes a seat.
I look at her and try not to laugh. I already knew this was coming.
“Since when do you wear the clothes from the wrong side of your closet to work? If you’ve told me once, you’ve told me a million times,” and she air quotes, “‘My work clothes are on the left and my play clothes are on the right.’ And, Aerie, I know that purple suede dress is from the right side.”
I laugh. “I told you I’m meeting the woman who is going to share the managerial title of the magazine with me today.”
A cute boy brings our food and I sit down with an exaggerated roll of my eyes and push her bottle of water her way.
“I’m not done.” She grins, tucking her hair behind her ears.
I unroll my silverware. “Please continue. This is very entertaining.”
“Oh, I plan to. You’re wearing snakeskin sandals to work and not pumps, you have on your grandmother’s jewelry that you only ever wear on the weekends, and did I mention—you’re wearing snakeskin sandals to work?”
“They’re cute, aren’t they?” I push my foot to the side to admire my shoes again. She’s right. I have two sides to my closet and honestly I hardly ever wear anything from the play side to work.
“Might your clothing choices have anything to do with a certain guy who happens to be living at my house?”
“Oh, Dahlia, I wouldn’t pull out the violet card for River,” I say pointing to my dress. Then with a shrug I add, “It just might.”
Since Jagger is coming over tonight and I wasn’t sure if I’d have time to change before he arrives—I decided to select my clothes for tonight this morning.
“I want to hear all about it,” she says stabbing her fork into the salmon lying on top of a bed of fresh greens.
We eat our food as I fill her in on what’s been going on with Jagger and me.
“I like him. He’s different from anyone I’ve ever gone out with.”
“Like how?” she asks fondly.
“Not like Zane,” I joke.
She almost spits her water out and her eyes dance with hysteria. “God, I hope so. I mean, Aerie, the fact that you could tell me you liked his ceiling fans told me he wasn’t the one for you.”
“To his defense, they were really funky. Twin fans turned sideways and connected by an industrial sized rod.”
We clear our area and deposit our trash in the can near the door. She pulls me in for a hug. “Just have fun with him.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“Aerie, you forget how well I know you. You look for a guy’s flaws before he even asks you out and find them before you finish your date.”
“I’ll have you know, we’ve gone out on one date and I’m seeing him again tonight and still haven’t found a reason not to date him.”
She smiles. “Well, that’s progress. And I’m proud of you that the ex-girlfriend thing didn’t bother you.”
I look at her and there must be confusion and jealousy written all across my face.
“Jules, his ex . . .”
“Oh, Dahlia, you know how much I despise talking about other women,” I say before she has a chance to say any more.
As we walk back to my office, Dahlia talks about a new band she and River are signing, but my mind is trying to recreate the conversation Jagger and I had about his ex. He never mentioned her name. Should I have asked him more questions about her? We arrive at my office building quickly and I realize it’s late. I have to get back to my office—and besides, jealousy is never a becoming quality.
“So what do you think? You’ll interview them?” Dahlia asks.
“Yes, sure. Of course. What was their name again?”
She laughs and puts her hands on her hips. “Aerie Daniels, you weren’t even listening to me. It’s Look Again.”
“Look Again. Yes. Okay, I’ll get in touch with them and see what we can work out.”
We part ways with a giant hug, and when I enter my office, I find a note on my desk. It reads, “I stopped by to introduce you to Ms. Hudson but you were out to lunch. We are out of the office the rest of the day. I arranged a meeting with your secretary for eight a.m. tomorrow morning. Please plan to be there. ~Damon.”
I stare at the note. The penmanship is exquisite, but the man rubs me the wrong way. Something about him irks me, but I can’t pinpoint it. I feel bad that I missed meeting Kimberly though and look forward to meeting her in the morning. I twirl around in my chair and stare at my sandals again before I settle at my desk to read through the copy for this month’s columns. I manage to get through half of them when my phone beeps. I pull it out and see a text from Jagger.
Just making sure we’re still on? Should I bring Indian or Mexican?
I’m actually going to be able to leave work early. So I was wondering if you’d like to pick me up and go out instead?
Time seems to stand still as I wait for his reply. Staring at the screen, I smile when my phone rings.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Hi, Alice.” His voice is low, but deep and I feel that now familiar flip in my stomach. “I had to call to make sure I was reading my screen correctly. I can pick you up? Like a real date? You know that means you have to ride in my car?”
“Yes, you can pick me up and yes, I know I’ll be riding in your car,” I say. Then I add, “Do I have to wear a crash helmet?”
He chuckles. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
I like his laugh. “See you then,” I say, glancing at my watch thinking three hours seems like forever away.
***
When the doorbell rings, my heart practically storms out of my chest. I stop in front of the antique hall table to glance in the mirror one last time. I smile when I see the bottle of bourbon I brought back for him. I quickly flatten any flyaway pieces of hair, which I have fastened loosely behind my neck, and take a deep breath. I had left work shortly after my phone conversation with Jagger and headed home. Even though I had selected what I thought was the perfect outfit for this evening, I began to rethink my choice. I thought about Dahlia’s natural style and how I think she always looks sexy without even trying. And on a whim, I decided I wanted to look sexy as well, not professional, not uppity, but simply sexy.
So I called Dahlia as I pulled into the mall and asked for her help. I walked through the store describing the clothes and sent her a few photos. Within twenty minutes she had helped me select a pair of tight, ankle-length black skinny jeans and a slightly oversized shimmery gold blouse with a deep neckline. I know that if I bend down my red lace bra will be on full display. I added my own leather jacket and red
studded high-heeled pumps to finish off the look.
Once I got home I decided to strip down and soak in a lavender scented bath. As I lay in the tub, soaking in it for the first time since I had moved in, I smelled the fragrance that reminded me of him and remembered how my body goes on alert whenever I see him or hear his voice. And when an ache erupted between my thighs, I squeezed my legs together and closed my eyes. I tried to push it away, but to be honest . . . it’s been there since I first saw the cupcake thief.
As I swing open the door, a nervousness overtakes me. He stands in front of me looking like sin on a stick. God, he’s beautiful. His hair is styled the same way as the first time I saw him. He’s wearing jeans, and the orange laces of his now-familiar boots put a huge grin on my face. His blue quilted vest is absent and replaced with the most handsome black pea coat.
His eyes swirl like impending storm clouds as he looks me over, head to toe. “Hi,” he says, his voice as smooth as molasses. His tone sends electricity through me in bolts.
“Hello,” I say back. My voice sounds high, almost squeaky.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say another word and neither do I. Hours of flirting and dancing around this seduction have left me unprepared to face him now. My pulse races out of control as he steps toward me. I take a deep breath and the moment his lavender and sage scent graces my senses, I begin to tremble. Our eyes share a silent conversation and then his mouth is on mine in a heartbeat. And this, our second kiss, is just as satisfying as the first. No, it’s so much more. His hands grip my hips, graze my ass, run down the sides of my thighs. My body tingles with every touch. I push myself into him and when I feel the hardness between his legs that must match the ache between mine, I let all my inhibitions go.
I have never wanted a man like I want him. I’ve never wondered what any guy looks like naked, what he feels like—but I want to do nothing more than explore the man in front of me. The harder he presses into me the more I can’t wait. He kicks the door closed and slams me up against the wall. I gasp, returning his hungry kiss. When he stops kissing me, he pulls back to look into my eyes. His hands are still on my ass and his gaze is bright, full of promise, but nervousness makes my words tumble out without thought.