My attention is still on the stunning woman hanging back from the group, looking at her aunt's antics with horror.
I want her to look at me. I want her to look at me the way I'm looking at her. But she only glances at me occasionally, and when she does, I can't read her thoughts.
"Michael, this is my niece, Alicia," Vera's arm is wrapped around my waist as she pilots me toward Alicia.
"Hey," I'm surprised at how awkward it feels to greet her.
Approaching pretty women isn't usually my weak area, but everything about this feels different. For starters, Alicia doesn't look happy to see me. She doesn't look exactly disgusted by me, so I count that as a win, but her mom was right, Alicia definitely does not look enthusiastic about being pawned off on a strange man she's expected to marry.
That works for me. I'm fucking thrilled that she isn't measuring me for a tux as soon as she sees me, or asking me to set a date, or throwing herself at me-- scratch that. She could definitely throw herself at me. I'd be more than happy to catch some of that.
In addition to a fantastic rack, Alicia's got a curvy ass that can't be hidden under the dress she probably picked out hoping not to look too interested.
It's a classy, office-appropriate number that doesn't show too much skin but it hugs her curves. Where the buttons are done up all the way just makes me imagine the cleavage that would be on display if she left just one or two undone.
The skirt flares at her hips and she probably thinks it hides her ass but the afternoon wind swirls around us, pressing the soft material against her from behind and making the skirt flutter around her thighs. Every time the breeze kicks up there's I get a fleeting promise of a glimpse of a little more thigh than Alicia would probably like to give me.
All this marriage bullshit aside, my goal is to get her to change her mind about how much of her body she wants me to see.
The sooner, the better.
"Hello, Michael." Her smile is polite, her body stiffening when I lean in to kiss her lightly on the side of her face. She lets me do it, but steps away as soon as she can but not before tilting her face ever so slightly toward mine.
She isn't quite leaning in to my kiss. She isn't quite returning it. Just a very slight movement that lasts just long enough for me to feel her breath against my cheek.
It's enough to remind my cock what it was thinking before Vera grabbed me. And it's just enough to give me a hint that I'm not the only one that likes what I'm seeing.
Game on.
"That's a gorgeous dress," I tell her, enjoying the way she blushes under the direct eye contact.
The compliment is quiet, meant just for her ears. I don't give a fuck if anyone else hears, but I'm not talking to them. And Alicia knows it.
"Thanks." The simple word doesn't even get any sound, just the movement of her mouth as she stares back at me.
It's small and it's fleeting, but it's there. That moment. That silent communication between two people who are mutually attracted to each other. All I have to do now is wait for her to acknowledge it.
"We have such a great evening planned!" Vera steps up and takes my arm again, positioning herself between me and Alicia. "We're going to go see a lovely college theater performance of the Hobbit that my friend's son is in-- it's a musical! Won't that be fun!"
No. No, I think as Vera steers us toward the car, that sounds like the exact opposite of fun.
Alicia
For the love of all that's holy. How could anyone anywhere ever have thought that The Hobbit needed a musical score? And this is not a "college" theater presentation-- this is a community college drama project that features the dubious acting "talent" of one of Aunt Vera's friends' grandsons.
It's hard to listen to Frodo singing.
The play does, however, meet Raven's requirement that the prospective couple not drink. It is also the single greatest reason I have ever experienced to drink.
Which leaves little option for me other than to stare blankly at the stage while I tune out the horror by thinking about Michael.
He's not what I expected. Somehow, when Mom told me what he does for a living, I was picturing someone more sophisticated. Dry, refined, maybe a bit stuffy. Someone that Vera would like to flaunt in front of her snooty society types.
Instead, he's...um. Notsomuch.
The beard. That's probably the first thing that threw me off. It's neatly trimmed and well-groomed, but it's full and thick and doesn't exactly scream "sommelier."
Neither do the swirls of colored ink that curl into view above his collar and just below the long sleeves of his dress shirt.
No. Tattoos like that don't scream "wine snob," they don't scream "sophisticated society type," they scream "good, hard fuck," in exactly the same way that "sommelier" doesn't.
Iconic bad boy clues aside, it's his eyes. Deep, dark, looking at me like he can see through me.
No. Not like he can see through me, just through my clothes.
I swear if Vera hadn't tackled him when he first met up with us, I think he might have tackled me. The way he looked at me, like I was the only thing he saw. It did...something. Something I wasn't expecting and something I'm not sure I'm comfortable with.
Then he had to lean in and brush his lips so softly against my cheek that it was barely a touch, and that slightest promise of sensation was enough to send a current of electricity running over my skin.
I swear he might as well have just run his thumbs across my nipples.
And he smells good.
Really fucking good.
It was so tempting to arch my neck back and drag my nose across the side of his face, inhaling deeply as I offered him-- what? What exactly was I planning on offering?
I squirm uncomfortably in the theater seat, keenly aware that Vera is right next to me, sitting between Michael and me like a true chaperon and not at all like a woman who wants us to get to know each other, let alone end up married.
Married. Damn. I don't know if this guy is exactly marriage material. Then again, I'm not exactly ready to get married anyway so what does it matter?
The play is bad enough that even indulging my imagination in thoughts of what's under Michael's perfectly starched dress shirt isn't blocking out the caterwauling. That's my excuse for quietly tapping my Mom's arm and letting her know that I'll be back shortly.
I slip out of the row past horrified audience members, several of whom look up at me as if pleading for me to take them with me.
Out in the lobby I take a moment to take a few calming breaths. It wasn't Gollum confronting his inner demons in song that drove me from the theater so much as that the thoughts running through my mind had far exceeded wondering what Michael's tattoos are of.
It was all too easy to imagine the swirling ink adorning a defined chest and then I started wondering how far that ink descended, trailing down across perfect abs and a flat stomach till it dipped below the waistband of his neatly pressed slacks.
Once my imagination got into his pants it was bound to get out of hand. Or rather-- in hand, as my imagination would have it.
I couldn't sit between Mom and Aunt Vera thinking filthy things about a man I just barely met and feeling all fidgety and wet between the thighs.
And also singing Gollum.
It was too much.
"You too?"
The deep voice has a vibrato to it that tickles my chest. It's only recently become familiar and my brain seems to think it needs to hear far more of it. Preferably saying dirty things the man it belongs to wants to do to me.
Despite the way my body warms to the deep timbre-- or maybe because of it-- Michael's voice startles me and I almost jump out of my skin.
"Sorry," his smile is disarming. Warm and genuine and entirely too easy to melt into.
"It's OK," I pat my hand against my heart like that's supposed to calm me down, "I didn't know you made it out alive."
His laugh is even more intoxicating than his smile.
He steps up to me,
moving into my personal space in a way that suggests he's entitled to share it with me. It fills my lungs with the smell of him and my heart rate doesn't have a chance at slowing down.
"I'm pretty sure Raven didn't know this play existed when she came up with her no alcohol rule," he tells me, looking down at me with dark eyes that seem to ask a question I don't want to answer.
My body screams "yes."
"I'm so sorry," I edge backwards, hoping to get his scent out of my lungs only to discover I desperately want it back.
Fortunately, Michael follows my movement as if we're connected.
Thoughts of getting connected to him burn a fierce, hot trail from my brain to that spot between my legs that reminds me how long it's been since I've met a man that affected me on such a primal level.
When was the last time I met a man that did this to me?
For almost a second I'm not focused on Michael as I scroll through the mental files.
This reaction to a man, this pure lust, doesn't seem unfamiliar but I can't think of another man that made me feel this way just by standing next to me.
"For the hobbits?"
Shit. While I was thinking, he got closer. We're in a little space next to the balcony stairway where the staircase curves in a broad sweep, creating this little nook that feels hidden from the rest of the lobby.
Not that there's anyone else in the lobby with us. Impossible as that seems, it's just us.
"For my aunt." My voice cracks as I try to keep it light.
I know light isn't how things are going between us though.
"Vera's harmless," he whispers. There's no point in speaking normally when he's this close to me, "I'm not sure she was your best choice for picking a husband for you."
His lips are so close to mine, his eyes still fixed on mine as he leans against the wall behind me on one upstretched arm that runs next to my head and makes me feel strangely secure rather than caged in.
His words barely register with me before his lips press against mine, stealing my breath as well as my questions about what he means.
Michael
Her lips are as soft as they look and even warmer than I expected. I'm a little surprised at how easily she lets me close the space between us and even more surprised at how quickly those warm lips part against mine to give me access to her mouth.
I swear I wasn't going to kiss her. Not yet. I was going to spend more time talking to her. I wanted to get to know more about her, figure out what makes her laugh and then make sure it happens often.
The play is terrible. I can think of a dozen better ways for adults to enjoy an evening without alcohol but then, I also don't see any reason for responsible adults to avoid a drink or two.
It's not my game, these aren't my rules, and I wasn't in charge of planning the evening.
If I had been, we wouldn't have endured half this play, Vera and Rhonda would have left long ago, and I'd have this woman spread out on my hotel bed begging me to make her come.
Maybe there's still time to get at least part of this night to go my way?
I take my hand off the wall behind Alicia's head and let it comb into her hair, wrapping my hand around the back of her head and holding her firmly, pulling her deeper into our kiss.
Alicia's arms dangle beside her, like she hasn't decided if she's really kissing me or not. Then they press lightly against my stomach and I prepare for her to push me away and break the kiss. Instead her hands flatten against me and slide up my chest till they rest on my shoulders.
The feeling is unexpectedly erotic. I don't know if it's because it's not the first move most woman make or if it's because something about this particular woman has me coiled up and ready to snap.
My cock is so hard it's aching. All I want to do is push Alicia up against this wall. I want to pin both of her wrists in one hand and hold them over her head while I shove my other hand under her skirt. I want to unzip my pants and pull her panties to the side and fuck her up against the wall right here where any one could see us.
I want to hear her trying hard not to make any noise as I slam my dick into her like I'm trying to nail her to the wall behind her with it.
That's pretty brazen even for me. The idea takes hold of my brain and it's hard to keep from pushing my luck.
My free hand slides around her waist and I take a step closer, pinning her to the wall with my body.
When she feels my hard on digging into her stomach she makes this little whimpering noise that sounds so much like she needs my cock right here and now that I almost pull her down the hall looking for an unlocked closet.
"Give me your number," I gasp against her lips when we both need air.
"Huh?"
Fuck. I open my eyes and see her looking up at me. Her eyes are glazed over and her face is flushed. Her lips are swollen and red from being crushed against mine and she's breathing hard.
"Your number," I repeat.
I don't want to take my hands off her yet but I can hear the audience in the theater breaking into enthusiastic applause. No doubt in gratitude that the play is over.
"Oh."
She still looks a little off balance as I reluctantly take a step away from her and reach into my pocket for my phone as the doors open and people begin to flood our sanctuary.
"Um, yeah," Alicia licks her lips and I have to fight the urge to crush them with mine again.
I wait while she pulls herself together and reaches into her purse for her own phone.
"What's your number?" I ask her again, noticing that my voice sounds a little more desperate than I'd like.
She watches me tap the digits as she recites the number from memory and in seconds her phone lights up with a silent notification of a new text message.
"I'm going to fuck you as soon as they leave us alone."
I watch her throat work in a swallow as she reads it and then Vera's voice cuts through the white noise of the crowded lobby, "There you two are!"
Vera's taking her job as chaperon a little too seriously. She hasn't given Alicia and I a chance to talk privately all night and finding us alone together doesn't seem to impress her.
Jeeze, lady, how do you expect us to know if we can even stand each other? I think as she latches on to my arm again and drags me several feet away from Alicia.
Alicia gives me a shy smile and slips her phone back into her purse.
"Well that was certainly different," Rhonda remarks, her eyes darting from her daughter's guilty expression to my face.
I'm pretty sure Rhonda's on to us.
Vera, however, is as dense as she is obnoxious.
"Oh, I should say so!" Vera chatters as she pulls me by the arm toward the parking lot, "If I'd known that Hobbit movie was a musical I'd have made sure to go see it!"
I catch Alicia's eye roll when I turn to see the rest of our party's reaction, and I can't contain my laughter at the way Rhonda glares at her sister in law's back as though she might be considering having the woman committed.
Vera is quick to drop Alicia off at her apartment first. Which seems insane to me but at least I know where she lives now.
"Now, Michael is only here for a couple of days." Alicia stands on the sidewalk, leaning over to look back at her aunt behind the steering wheel.
As the guest and the tallest member of the party, Vera granted me the privilege of riding in the front passenger seat. I suspect it also meant keeping me and Alicia from sitting too close to each other.
Vera is definitely taking this chaperon thing too seriously.
Right now, the passenger window is down and I'm able to rest my arm along the edge of the door where the glass would normally be while Alicia leans into the window to hear her aunt. It means her boobs sway gently against my forearm.
Vera seem oblivious, "tonight is the only night we're allowed to go with you two, so you make sure you call me in the morning and I'll let you know how you two kids can get in touch with each other, OK?"
I have to turn my head
away from Vera so she doesn't see my smirk.
"OK Aunt V," Alicia looks a little mortified, a little like she wants to laugh too, and a little like she's paying more attention to the feel of my arm against her nipples than anything her crazy aunt is babbling about.
"I'll talk to you later, sweetie," Rhonda says from the back seat.
"OK, Mom," Alicia answers.
"I guess I'll talk to you later too," I tell her before she steps away from the car.
She doesn't have time to answer me before we're pulling away from the sidewalk and I have to quickly move my arm because Vera's raising the window.
Alicia
It takes 20 minutes for my phone to light up.
Not that I'm counting.
Or watching.
Or have spent the entire time since I stepped through my front door trying to decide if I'm really going to go through with Michael's plan to sneak out to hook up like teenagers.
I pretend I still haven't decided on that as I decide whether or not I'm supposed to change my clothes.
Am I going to his hotel room? After all, I am the one who lives here. I have a car. I know the area. It would only make sense.
Which means it would not make sense for me to change into a slinky pajama set.
I pace the floor and wait. When the message comes in it simply says, "Do you live alone?"
"Yes."
It's a tiny one bedroom just outside the city but I'm pretty damn proud that I can afford my own place when the business is still getting established.
"Good."
There's a knock on my door immediately after the text comes in.
It takes me a moment to put two and two together and I stare at the front door blankly for a minute as I set the phone on the kitchen counter.
An Elegant Solution: Arranged Marriage Romance Page 4