Mesmerized

by Ward, Alice

  “I’m going to give you something to really make a fuss about, if you keep that up,” I warned, dropping my tone to a low growl.

  Her cheeks flushed, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of what I’d said or because she’d worked herself up into an amused frenzy. The giggles dissolved into light chortles, which ebbed into light gasps, and she finally collected herself. There was a freshness in her eyes, like she’d been rejuvenated. Almost like she’d had a good, much-needed cry.

  “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat and poised herself, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath. When she reopened her lids, she was straight-faced, but I could still see humor dancing on her mouth. “So, you wanted to be a musician, and then you wanted to be a professional fisherman, but your dad wouldn’t let you do anything outside of Pennington’s?”

  “You could say that.” If Joe didn’t hurry up with the food, I was going to have to bend her over the table and take her right then and there just to relieve the pressure building in my groin. Seeing the look of utter abandon on her catlike features had put in mind another look of utter abandon I could muster from her.

  “And your mom? Did she have an opinion about your future?”

  I wrapped my hand around the beer bottle’s neck. “Probably, but she didn’t express it. She was usually encouraging when I came to her with my cockamamy ideas.”

  “That’s how my dad was. Is, actually.” Gretchen stretched her arms over her head, and I forced myself not to zero in on her breasts as her hippie-style shawl fell from her shoulders. “We’re lucky we at least had one parent who didn’t crack the whip, don’t you think?”

  Apparently summoned by my mental demand, Joe arrived beside our table with two plates in hand. He set them down gently, and I was pleased to see that what he’d served looked like grits, though I remained dubious about the taste. “I hope you enjoy it.” He beamed at Gretchen, then at me. “If you like this, I’ll have to make my jambalaya for you two next time.”

  We thanked him as he bustled away, but his words churned in my brain. Next time. The phrase sent my stomach into a series of excited tumbles. Sitting there across from Gretchen with a plate of steaming shrimp and grits in front of me, I knew I wanted a next time, and it had nothing to do with Pennington’s.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gretchen

  Unsurprisingly, Joe’s new special was absolutely fantastic. In my Michigan opinion, the grits were done to perfection, and the shrimp was rich with flavor. Maybe it was the deliciousness of the food, maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was because I was sitting across from Cash, but I found the whole meal extremely sultry.

  I was pleased when Cash expressed his approval of dinner as well, mainly because I saw how much Joe’s face lit up upon hearing the southern man’s praise, but also because it felt like everything on this maybe-date was going perfectly.

  Our conversation had flowed so well that a third party could have mistaken us as old friends, and the chemistry between us was palpable — at least, it was to me. The rollercoaster of emotions I was on as we ate had me flying between pleasant comfort while we traded childhood stories, gleeful delight with each joke and jab, and simmering arousal when I caught his dark eyes casting shadows on me.

  By the time Cash paid the bill and we got into the car, I was both exhausted and exhilarated.

  The drive back to Auras was a short one, but it seemed even shorter as we bantered back and forth.

  “Where are your CDs?” I peeked into the passenger-side visor, then opened the glove compartment. “I know this isn’t your car, but you have to have brought some CDs with you.”

  Cash snorted. “This isn’t the nineties, darlin’. We’ve gone digital.” He held up a green iPod, which was connected to the radio by a cord I hadn’t noticed.

  I snatched the device from his hand and started scrolling through the songs, a grin plastered on my face. The wine had left me feeling warm and fuzzy and a little reckless, and it didn’t even occur to me that some people might have taken offense to my snooping through their music. Luckily, Cash wasn’t one of those people.

  “What are you looking for?” He glanced at me briefly before returning his eyes to the road.

  “There has to be some banjo music on here somewhere.”

  He barked out a laugh, and his hand shot out to grab the iPod so quickly I didn’t have time to block him. That, or I was tipsy and didn’t have the coordination. “You want banjo music? I’ve got something for you.”

  It was too perfect. We were flirting, teasing each other, laughing, acting like we weren’t engaged in a cage match of wills to see who would come out the champion of business. At least a dozen times since he’d picked me up, I’d expected to see him pulling that damn file folder of papers from some mysterious hiding place, but the closest he’d come was asking me the specific reason for my attachment to my property. And to confuse the situation even more, it seemed like he actually cared about the answer.

  Is that why I’m so drawn to him? Because he keeps surprising me? Help me out here, Gram.

  No warmth spilled over my shoulders, and my heart continued beating at its regular pace. Apparently, my grandmother had enough decorum about her even in the afterlife not to accompany me when I was out with a man.

  The twangiest sound I’d ever heard suddenly poured from the speaker by my ankle, and I was jarred from my musings. I turned to look at Cash incredulously. He spotted my expression, which must have been comical, and burst out laughing.

  “Hey, you said you wanted banjo music, darlin’.” He gestured to the radio. “There you go.”

  “You play this kind of stuff?” I wanted to cover my ears. It wasn’t the sound of the banjo I found particularly objectionable, but the instrument’s high pitch in conjunction with the loud volume was a bit more than I could comfortably handle.

  “Not anymore, really, but I used to.”

  I shook my head, and the mental image I’d summoned at dinner of Cash sitting on a stool in one of his fancy suits with a banjo slung across his middle snuck back into the forefront of my brain. I rolled my eyes and laughed softly, and he looked over at me with one raised eyebrow.

  “You find this awfully funny, don’t you?” I nodded through my laughter, and that smirk I hated and loved reappeared. My panties grew damp at the sight. “All right, I’m turning it off.”

  The silence was abrupt, but my ears were ringing for several seconds afterward. As I readjusted to hearing only the sound of the Honda’s engine, I was surprised to discover just how… happy I felt. There was no better word for it. I was happy. Being around Cash and interacting with him like this was as fulfilling as a good meditation session, which was something I hadn’t encountered before.

  Trying to be subtle so he didn’t notice I was looking at him, I feigned brushing a few tangled tresses of hair and tilted my head in his direction.

  We had bonded. Whether I liked it or not, whether I wanted to admit it or not, and whether he knew it or not, we had bonded over stories of our parents and banjo music and experimental food. I felt free to open up to him in the same way I did Elena despite the weight of the whole Pennington’s situation still very much present in the back of my mind. I related to him, and I sympathized with him that he’d never been close to his father, and he’d lost such an important person in his life before he’d been able to make the relationship one that he wanted.

  He hadn’t expressed that he wanted a close relationship with his dad, of course, but I knew he did. His aura changed when he talked about his father, and I saw sprigs of unfulfilled wishes in the radiant colors.

  While I hadn’t yet lost a parent — and hopefully wouldn’t for a very long time — I still ached for him. Learning the deeper, uglier part of his journey to becoming CEO was a window into both him and my situation in relation to him. I understood now why he came to Fawn, why he was irritatingly persistent some times and almost lax about his purpose at other times. The man next to me wasn’t comfortable
yet in his role. Maybe he never would be.

  A selfish part of me hoped he wouldn’t. If the attraction that was clearly between us could ever grow to be anything more, I was certain our future would be much brighter if the man I was with wasn’t heading up a major corporation that stood for everything I was against.

  His hand slid off the center console and moved onto my knee. The warmth of his palm was a soothing balm on my skin, and the gentle pressure he applied was almost intimate. He didn’t look away from the road as he made contact with me, but I could see his midnight eyes edging into the corners to gauge my reaction.

  I didn’t protest.

  What are you doing? This guy wants to take everything you’ve built for yourself and throw you a check as a consolation prize. You’re getting into hot water!

  It was amazing how disconnected my consciousness was from the rest of me. I heard the chidings in my head as clearly as I would have heard a human voice, but I didn’t consider them my own. They were someone else’s, that little shoulder man who shouts warnings we needed the most but rarely heeded. I knew there was truth to it, a lot of truth, but I didn’t care. The night had been too perfect.

  Cash’s index finger started moving, stroking a gentle pattern along the arc of my kneecap, and I held back a shiver. The wine had me considering grabbing his hand and shoving it between my legs just to ease the hot tension there, but I had enough of my wits about me to remain still. He was so close, though. All he’d have to do was slip his hand up a little more, and he’d find the place where I craved his touch so badly.

  The place I’d touched myself while picturing him.

  Auras came into view, and I exhaled a deep sigh of relief as quietly as possible. Just a few more yards, and I’d be home alone in the privacy of my apartment without any risk of doing something I was sure to regret later.

  As he pulled up to the curb, he removed his hand from my leg. Goose bumps rose on my skin where his fingers had been, and the spot was suddenly cold in his absence. I reached for the door handle and opened my mouth to thank him.

  “Oh, wait.” He cut me off before I had a chance to speak.

  I closed my mouth and waited as he reached into the cubbyhole on the driver door. He straightened up with a piece of paper in his hand, and my heart sank. Here it was, the pitch I’d been waiting for all night. Somehow, since we’d made it through dinner and back to the car without incident, I thought I’d been wrong about his motive. Apparently not.

  “I wanted to ask you if you know about this company.” He showed me the paper, and rather than a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo in tiny print, there was a black-and-white picture of a sailboat. Above it was printed “Carson Brothers Charters,” and beneath it was a list of services.

  My heart lifted again. I took the paper and kept the relief out of my voice as I answered. “Sure. Rick and Eddie Carson own it. Why?”

  “I haven’t been sailing in a while, and it says they have sailboat rentals.” He was keeping his gaze trained on me as he spoke, and I sensed a bit of hesitation from him. “Have you ever been?”

  “No, not sailing. My dad took me on one of their charter fishing trips when I was little, though.”

  He plucked the paper from my hands. “Would you like to go sometime?”

  There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it this time. That was a date. Nobody did business on a sailboat unless they already knew the outcome of their proposal, and I’d been very clear about my stance.

  “I’d give it a try.” I hoped I played it off as coolly as it sounded in my head.

  He grinned, his ruggedly handsome features relaxing as he stuffed the flyer back into the door compartment. “Good. I’ll figure something out.” I nodded and moved for the handle again, but he reached across me to pull my arm back down. “No, darlin’, you wait here.”

  I replaced my hand on my lap and held myself together until he’d extracted himself from the car and slammed his door closed. Once I was alone in the vehicle, I let out a very brief but very girlish squeal of excitement. The second he reached my side and opened the door for me, I cut it off and acted as though nothing had happened.

  He extended his hand to help me out. I couldn’t help feeling a little silly because I was wearing leggings, not a ballgown, and was capable of standing up on my own, but I took it anyway. Cash was from a place where manners and old-fashioned chivalry still meant something, and my jaded self needed to see the charm in that.

  We walked to the door of Auras together, and my pulse started racing. If this was definitively a date, then this would be the time when I would turn toward him and find out if he intended to kiss me goodnight or not. As he hadn’t once broached the subject of giving in to Pennington’s demands and the number of reasons why I should, I wanted to assume it was a date. But I also didn’t want to be the idiot who was painfully wrong.

  I pulled out my key, but before I could insert it into the lock, I felt him edge up behind me. His front fell flush with my back, his suit rubbing against my shirt. I turned.

  The little bit of alcohol I’d consumed instantly flooded my brain. I no longer saw the street behind him, the many stores that had closed or were in the process of closing at his hand. The distant sound of cars meandering through town turned to white noise. I was bathed in Cash. The sight of his chiseled chin, the heat from his pressing eyes, the scent of his cologne. We were inches apart, maybe less, but I would have sworn on a million Bibles at that very moment that we were connected.

  He just looked so good. And he smelled heavenly. And he was right there…

  Be careful.

  I barely noticed the warning from my conscience, and it was quickly silenced by the more verbose voice of the wine.

  When have you ever let fear stop you?

  “Thank you.” I murmured my gratitude so quietly it was barely audible, but we were so close at this point that there was no way he didn’t hear it. “For dinner.”

  “My pleasure,” he replied. And then he leaned in.

  Our lips touched lightly, two feathers brushing together, a gentle tickle. I held my breath as his scent took me over, and I closed my eyes as his hand skimmed my waist.

  We met again, harder this time. The next thing I knew, we were crushed together, and I was tasting him. The bitterness of the beer he’d drunk mixed with the savory flavor of the grits. Both were combined with the flavor of… him. It was like chocolate and sweetgrass. I roped my arms around his neck, and he circled his around my middle, and our chests collided in hot, breathless passion.

  It was probably the alcohol that made me do it. I’d never been a make-out kind of girl, not even in my few serious relationships. I’d certainly never been a make-out-in-public girl. Any hesitation I could have had, though, was gone, and I had become as free as an uncaged tiger.

  I slipped my tongue past his teeth, desperate to drink up more of his enticing flavor. He seemed surprised by the advance, his tongue pausing for a split second before greeting mine with vigor. I drowned in him, and I drowned in the growing feelings I’d had toward him since he arrived in my shop that first day.

  I didn’t know who ended the kiss. It just seemed to slow until our mouths eased apart, and our bodies followed suit. I stepped back, my shoulder bumping my still-locked shop door, and he dropped from the concrete stoop to the sidewalk. We were eye-level, and I was positive I could see arousal burning in his gaze. If it hadn’t been too dark to see, I would have snuck a glance down to find out if the arousal was as physical as it was mental. I was just in that kind of intoxicated state.

  “Thanks again.” My voice sounded out of place in the night after what had just happened, but there didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

  Cash nodded. “Anytime.”

  As he walked back to the car, it occurred to me that I could have invited him upstairs to continue what we’d started, but I dismissed that notion as quickly as it came. Our situation was still too messy to bring sex into the equation, and anyway, I’d stepped out of my comf
ort zone enough for one day.

  I slid the key into the lock, let myself in, and waved goodbye to him before he drove away. As the sound of his engine faded, I closed and relocked the door behind me, and I headed upstairs with a light head and buzzing lips.

  Still mesmerized by what had happened between us.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cash

  The thing that I, and probably most men, hated so much about those big-budget Hollywood romance movies was that they set a thoroughly unrealistic precedence for relationships.

  Women saw a handsome man with a White Knight complex acting like an asshole, with way too much time to think about how to sweep the female lead off her feet, and they believed that was how it ought to be in real life.

  Men, on the other hand, saw characters they could never live up to getting women they could never get. Which was why men decided to throw in the towel because there was no point in bothering. Women wanted too much, men did too little, and relationships with solid potential were suddenly thrown in the trash all because of those ridiculous movies.

  After last night, however, I was able to attest to at least a grain of realism in those modern-day fairy tales. The kiss I’d shared with Gretchen was the epitome of a romance script, though it was completely organic. If there had been an orchestra, cameras, and a director shouting instructions at us, we could have passed as well-seasoned actors.

  But we weren’t. And it hadn’t been a scene. The magic was all real.

  Once we parted ways, I’d returned to my room at Bullfrog Bay without a clear thought in my head. Every part of me had felt like it was on searing, exquisite fire. I’d sat down on the bed to sort through what had just happened and what it meant, but the only thing I could think about was how sweet she’d tasted and how soft her lips were and how perfectly her body fit against mine.

  So, I’d masturbated myself stupid and fallen asleep.

  Unfortunately, with the light of morning spilling through the windows across Old Man Fletcher’s hardwood floor, I wasn’t any more enlightened about Gretchen and the kiss.