Intoxicated

by Jeana E. Mann

  “You didn’t come to the bar last weekend,” he said. “I thought maybe you got back with your douche bag Brian.” With his index finger, he wiped a drop of tomato sauce from her chin then sucked it from his finger.

  “He’s not my douche bag. Not anymore.” She took a piece of garlic bread, broke it into halves and dipped it in the spaghetti sauce.

  “What did you ever see in that guy, anyway?”

  She hunched her shoulders hunched forward and concentrated on her plate. “He’s not a bad guy. Not really. Sometimes good people do bad things. And as much as I hate to admit it, it’s not all his fault.”

  He snorted and put another piece of bread on her plate then refilled her glass. If only he had something stronger to put in it.

  “Somehow I doubt that. A guy would be stupid to throw someone like you away.”

  The unexpected compliment warmed her, but she shook her head in disagreement. “No. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ve been pushing him away for a long time. I never had time for him. There was always something going on with work.”

  “Are you still in love with him?”

  There it was. The million dollar question. The very thing that had kept her awake for the last three nights. Did she still love Brian? It was hard to love someone who had conspired to deceive her. Staring into Jack’s brown eyes made it even more difficult to remember having felt anything at all for Brian.

  “Why are you here, Jack? For real. And how did you know where I worked?” A prompt change of subject matter seemed prudent.

  “I saw your ID badge in your purse the other night.” Jack leaned back into his chair. He had a way of looking at her as if she mattered, as if he saw something worthwhile in her. It sent shivers down her back. “Your nose is crooked,” he said. “Just a little. Right there.” He touched the bridge of her nose with the tip of his finger.

  “I broke it when I was twelve.” She ran her finger over the length of her nose. “I fell off a horse. My dad always wanted me to get it fixed, but I don’t see the point, really.”

  “Don’t.” He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up to stare into her eyes. Heat rushed into her cheeks under the scrutiny. “It makes you interesting…different…beautiful.”

  The very notion that Jack, the epitome of male perfection, thought she was beautiful brought a hint of a smile to her lips. Her initial perception of him as a shallow womanizer and the reality of who he was were two very different things. Charming, witty, and handsome. A triple threat by all accounts. He was so much more than she’d ever imagined and every minute she spent in his company only intensified her pathetic schoolgirl crush. When he took his finger from her chin and leaned back, she let out a dreamy sigh. He brought her food, for goodness sake – good food – and he was looking damn fine today. What woman could resist that?

  “I’m not going to sleep with you, Jack.” Even she wasn’t fooled by the conviction behind her words.

  “Beautiful and presumptuous,” he said. “Did I say anything about sex? No. I didn’t. Besides, I’m still trying to make up my mind about you.”

  She leaned forward and her blouse fell open to reveal the swell of one breast. The sweep of his gaze across her cleavage sent butterflies into her stomach as if he’d touched her there. How did that happen? One wayward glance from him had her panties in a twist. “So which one did you go home with last Friday? The redhead or Miss Ponytail?”

  “Now you really are pissing me off,” he said with a scowl.

  “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just trying to understand. I’ve been going to Felony for a long time and you always leave with someone. I’m not stupid enough to think that you changed overnight.”

  “That’s fair.” He brushed bread crumbs from his shirt and tossed the napkin onto his empty plate. “Believe it or not, I went home alone.”

  His answer took her by surprise. She didn’t want to believe him, but one look into his dark eyes and she had no doubt that he spoke the truth. Eyes like that didn’t lie. The clarity of their brown depths spoke volumes about his sincerity. He stared back at her with one eyebrow cocked as if daring her to challenge his answer. She cleared her throat and tried to look away but couldn’t. No, if there was one thing she knew for certain, Jack didn’t lie. He didn’t need to.

  She shook her head to break the spell. A few more minutes of his heated chocolate stare and she’d be flat on her back with her legs in the air. Then the office gossips really would have something to talk about. “Thanks for lunch.”

  “We aren’t done yet.” He glanced at the brass and mahogany grandfather clock behind her. “I still have another ten minutes of your time.” She stood and he rose with her, a lithe and graceful motion. “You want to know what I think?”

  “Does it matter? I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.” She took a step backward and he moved with her, herding her backwards in a seductive dance until the backs of her thighs came up against the desk, so close that her skin prickled with a sudden rush of heat.

  “I think that if you were really into Brian, you would’ve made the time for him. I think that you’re secretly relieved to be free of him and feeling guilty about it. I think that deep down inside you’re dying to break out of this cage you’ve built for yourself with someone who knows how to give a girl what she needs.”

  Despite the climate controlled environment, her temperature shot up another degree. Those brown eyes bored into her, fringed by ridiculously long black eyelashes, the irises flecked with black and gold and turning darker by the second. “And I suppose you think that you have what I need.” It was a stupid statement; by the size of the bulge in his jeans, he had what every woman needed.

  Her heart stuttered, stopped, and started up again with the notion that he was going to kiss her…right in the middle of her office…in broad daylight. He licked his lips, and she mimicked the action without conscious thought. Her gaze flickered from his lips to his eyes and back again.

  “What is it you need, Ally? All you have to do is ask for it and I’ll be more than happy to give it to you.”

  A dozen illicit thoughts ran through her mind all at once. She needed a lot of things and most of them culminated with Jack between her legs. She sucked in a ragged breath, tried and failed to think about anything that didn’t involve tearing off his clothes. All the moisture left her mouth. With his nose next to her ear, the warmth of his breath sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. He inhaled through his nose as if testing the bouquet of a fine wine.

  “You ever fuck someone, Ally? I’m not talking about prim and proper missionary position in the dark. I’m talking about a ball-slapping, headboard-banging, sweaty fuck. Hard. Deep. And very…very… slow.”

  The breath caught in her throat then escaped with a small, strangled noise like a drowning cat. He hadn’t touched her but she could feel the heat from his chest seeping through her blouse to her breasts, bringing the nipples to rigid peaks. He leaned forward, his lips millimeters from her ear, his breath hot on her earlobe. The scent of his soap, clean and fresh, filled her nostrils. She let out another shuddering breath and gripped the edge of the desk.

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” she whispered, focusing her attention on his hand which had come to rest next to hers on the desk as he leaned into her. The soft denim of his jeans rubbed against her knees and with the slightest pressure, wedged them apart, forcing her to sit back on the desk.

  “Why? Does it make you hot for me?” The words scorched against her ear. She angled her head and his lips brushed the fluttering pulse point at the angle of her jaw.

  “Yes.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it. All that testosterone affected her like a truth serum, as well as an aphrodisiac, and had her wanting to shout out absurd confessions.

  “Do you think about fucking me?”

  “Yes.” Good lord, wasn’t that obvious? As if in proof, a shudder of pleasure rippled through her. If he didn’t stop talking like that she w
as going to come before he even touched her.

  The hand on the desk moved to trace down the length of her hip and thigh until his fingertips rested on the tender skin in the crook of her knee. With the slightest of pressure, he lifted her knee and hooked her calf over his hip. Both of his hands swept up underneath her skirt, skimming her thighs.

  “Maybe you’ll let me have a little taste of this tonight?” One of his fingertips traced along the edge of her panties and slipped inside the elastic boundary.

  Jesus! Sweat broke out on her upper lip. If he laid her out on the desk, swept all the papers to the floor, and took her right there she would be powerless to stop him. In fact, she hoped that he would. Screw the office gossips. She’d give them something to talk about for years. His nose nuzzled along the curve of her jaw and down her neck to place a kiss on the hollow of her throat, the scruff of his bearded stubble tickling her skin. Then, to her great disappointment, he released her and stepped back.

  It took a full thirty seconds for her mind to regroup and her breathing to return to normal. A full minute passed before the moisture returned to her mouth. When it did, she stood up, straightened her skirt with a twitch, relieved to feel her panties in place, and tried to gather the shreds of her dignity.

  “Just a preview. Give you something to think about today.” He smiled and she smiled back. “Any objections?”

  “No…no… not that I can think of.” To be honest, every thought in her head had been chased away by the violent eddy of her turbulent hormones. “You’re like some kind of sexual Pied Piper, aren’t you?” She whispered in awe.

  “Gotta jet, baby girl.” He quickly gathered up the plates and leftover food and strode toward the door. She looked down and saw her nipples on full alert, straining against the thin silk of her blouse. Color flooded her cheeks as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs at five-thirty,” he said and disappeared out the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It was past six o’clock when she finally powered down her computer and locked up the office. She had deliberately lingered in hopes that Jack had either forgotten or grown impatient with waiting and left. God help her, if he pulled another stunt like the one in her office this afternoon, she was going to throw herself on him or burst into flames of sexual frustration. With visions of cheesecake and neckties floating in her head, she’d barely been able to finish up her work. The idea conjured a confusing mix of excitement and guilt. If she had truly loved Brian, how could she be so attracted to someone else? She’d never felt this kind of pull toward Brian.

  As the elevator car descended smoothly to the lobby the numbers above the doors ticked by like an apocalyptic countdown. Her heart beat erratically and she felt a little dizzy as she stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. She’d been holding her breath; it escaped with a whoosh of disappointment and relief when she saw the deserted lobby. The clicking of her high heels on the marble floor echoed in the emptiness. Everyone had gone home long ago. The only person who remained behind was the security guard, half asleep behind his desk. She pushed open the front doors and stepped into the blinding afternoon light.

  The heat of the day blanketed her, heavy and oppressive. A fine dew of perspiration sprang up on her skin, fueled by humidity. She squinted into the sunlight and waited for her eyes to adjust. As the spots disappeared and her vision cleared, she saw him and froze.

  He was there — really there — waiting for her. For her. It was like Christmas and her birthday all wrapped up in one. He leaned against a large black motorcycle, dark eyes obscured by mirrored aviator shades, chatting with a motorcycle cop who was parked in the next spot. Somehow she had doubted him, had never believed that he meant what he had said. He smiled at her, stood up and shook hands with the cop, then held out his hand to her. Without thinking, she took it and smiled back. He yanked her to him and kissed her right there in the middle of the sidewalk. It was the kiss she had hoped for earlier that day…long and lingering, yet surprisingly gentle. When he released her, she stumbled a little and tried to regain her dignity without appearing obvious.

  “Jack! People can see us,” she hissed, looking around in dismay. Stolen kisses in the back hallway of a bar were one thing; the middle of a busy thoroughfare was another. She had a reputation to uphold. People continued to walk down the sidewalks, oblivious to the public display of affection.

  “So what?” he asked. He took a helmet from the back of the bike and handed it to her. By reflex, she grabbed it, the weight of it pulling her hands down to her thighs. It was sleek and black, devoid of ornamentation with a clear plastic face shield. When she didn’t move, he placed it on her head and tightened the strap beneath her chin. His helmet had a mirrored black shield with a silver skull and cross bones airbrushed on the back. He flipped up the face shield and tapped the top of her helmet. “Ready?”

  “I am not getting on that thing with you.” She backed away as if the machine might animate and spring on her.

  “Sure you are.” He swung his leg over the motorcycle and scooted forward on the black leather seat to make room for her. “What’s the matter? Chicken?” With a press of a button, the motorcycle roared to life, growling and rumbling like an angry lion. Roused by the noise, pigeons roosting on the roof of the bus stop shelter thundered into the sky leaving a flurry of feathers in their wake.

  “I am not chicken!” she shouted just as the engine quieted. The man at the corner newsstand looked up from his work and stared. Jack laughed. She laughed, too.

  “Amen, sister! Shout it to the rooftops!” He revved the motor again for emphasis. “Now get on. You’re going to love it. I guarantee it.” His dark eyes sparkled with the promise of the very element that had been missing from her life for so long — adventure. “Come on, Popsicle. Pull that stick out of your ass and live a little.”

  She didn’t do things like this. She didn’t take risks or act without considering every single possible outcome for her actions. The burden of so much thinking had become unbearable. All that planning and plotting had gotten her nowhere. For once, she just wanted to act like the twenty-five year old that she was without regard for consequences or implications. The newsstand guy smiled in approval as Ally hiked her skirt up to her thighs and climbed on behind Jack. She put her hands on his waist, afraid to touch him.

  “You’re going to have to hold on tighter than that,” Jack warned. She tightened her arms. “Tighter.” He revved the engine and let the bike lurch forward a few inches. The sudden movement caught her off balance. She flung her arms around his waist to stay mounted, pressing her breasts flat against his back. He flashed a mischievous smile over his shoulder. “That’s better. Now don’t let go.”

  ***

  They rumbled through the city, zipping between cars and weaving through traffic. Jack handled the heavy fat boy with a care and reverence that made her feel safe despite the rushing pavement beneath them. As they left the concrete and steel of the city behind them, the temperature cooled and Ally’s tension began to ease. Traffic thinned out until they traveled alone on the road. Factories, bus stops, and people disappeared to be replaced by miles of white fence, cows, and rolling meadows. She held tight to Jack’s waist, her fingers hooked in his belt for added security, her inner thighs squeezing around his slim hips and the rock hard muscles of his legs. Eyes closed, she savored the caress of the wind through her hair and the vibration of the finely tuned machine beneath her. The energy and strength of Jack’s body seeped into her with every passing mile. With him next to her it was easy to imagine that she was someone else, living someone else’s life, without a care in the world.

  He pulled off the road at a copse of aged oak trees. The road narrowed into an overgrown access trail that curved beneath the gnarled branches. The midsummer heat dissipated in the shade of the lacy canopy. Sunlight dappled the path, interspersing patches of warmth with the coolness. The scent of damp earth and fresh water filled the air. After a few minutes, they
emerged from the trees into a clearing of vibrant green grass dotted with violets and dandelions and patches of blue and white phlox. Beyond the meadow lay the shore of a lake, its surface glassy smooth, reflecting the azure blue of a cloudless summer sky. The motorcycle rolled to a stop. Jack put down the kickstand and climbed off before extending a hand to help her dismount. In less than an hour, they had left behind the constraints of their lives and been transported to an idyllic world where there were no rules and no prying eyes to judge. They were miles from anywhere and completely alone.

  “If you pull a rope and some duct tape out of those saddlebags, I’m going to freak,” she said with a nervous smile.

  He had already removed his helmet and turned to unbuckle the strap on hers. “Only if you use them on me.” He chucked her under the chin, a gentle caress of his fingers. “I knew that girl was inside there somewhere.” He began to dig in the saddlebags and removed a blanket that he spread out on the knoll overlooking the shoreline. “Take your shoes off and have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

  A hot wind gusted across the meadow, rippling the grass like an ocean wave, as Jack disappeared behind one of the trees. When he emerged a few minutes later, he carried a small cooler and a picnic basket. Once again he had put thought and effort into pleasing her, as if he really liked her. Why did she find that concept so unbelievable?

  Uncomfortable with this revelation, she focused her attention on Jack as he went about the arrangement of an intimate picnic for two. He set the cooler beside the blanket. From its depths he pulled out a bottle of wine, grapes, and an assortment of cheeses cut into cubes. After the food had been arranged to his satisfaction, he popped the cork on the wine bottle. Frowning, he looked around and scratched the back of his head. “Well, shit,” he said, “I forgot the wine glasses.”