Plum Girl (Romance)

by Winters, Jill

  Lonnie typed back okay and started feeling more of those sweats and palpitations coming on. It's just going to be a quick drink, she thought to herself, and rested her elbows on the desk to support the weight of her forehead in her hands. So what if this would be the first time they'd been out together when one of them didn't have to rush back to the office? So what if it included alcohol? So what if it didn't take even one drop of any mind-altering substance to make Dominick look damn good?

  Then again, for all she knew, Dominick might have someone in his life already. Although she had a strong feeling that he didn't considering what he'd told her last month about spending his thirtieth birthday playing poker with his brothers. Surely if he had a girlfriend, he'd have had better plans than that.

  For probably the millionth time that month, she mentally replayed the day she'd run into Dominick. She had just narrowly escaped Beauregard Twit, grabbing her long, furry ice-blue coat and heading to lunch before he could thrust another task on her. Once safely inside the elevator, she'd pressed L and contemplated what to get. Should she go across the street to the new salad place and waste a perfectly good Wendy's that was six blocks out of her way? When the elevator jerked to a stop on twenty, the heavy brown doors opened, and a tall, dark-haired man entered.

  He gave her a small smile as soon as his eyes met hers, and she offered the requisite phony smile in return, inwardly cursing the affected standards of elevator etiquette. She stared straight ahead, as if there really were something fascinating about those heavy brown doors, until his voice broke her forced gaze. "Lonnie?" She turned to him, her green-honey eyes searching. "Lonnie Kelley."

  That time it was more of a statement than a question. She searched his face for about three seconds before it clicked. "Dominick!"

  He smiled widely and nodded. "Yeah, how are you?"

  Once Lonnie brightened and kicked herself out of zombie mode, she said, "Good, good. What about you? I haven't seen you since college!"

  "Yeah, back in college when you"—he hesitated before picking the most tactful verb—"dated my friend, Eric." Dated? Lonnie thought incredulously. More like made a raving fool out of myself on a daily basis for him. Sure, I remember Eric.

  "Eric?" Lonnie repeated, deliberately vacant. Then she waved her hand and threw in casually, "Oh right, now I remember." The elevator dinged and the doors opened to the airy, pink-marbled lobby. Dominick held out his hand, waiting for her to step out first. She did, and asked, "So how is Eric?"

  Dominick just shrugged. "Actually, we sort of lost touch after college." They walked toward the front doors of the building and then paused for an awkward moment, both not knowing how to end a conversation with someone they hadn't seen in eight years when the reunion had barely progressed to banal small talk. Just then Lonnie's stomach growled audibly, prompting Dominick to ask her to lunch.

  And he'd certainly been charming. He'd told her about his experience working as director of Web site development at GraphNet, an Internet company three floors down from Twit & Bell—the whole time punctuating his stories with self-deprecating humor. He'd described his plan of starting his own company that would design corporate software, and told her all about his brownnosing protégé, Harold. And the whole time Dominick had been talking—despite her best intentions—Lonnie had been checking him out. It wasn't like her to feel a sexual attraction for a man so quickly, but that day with Dominick it hit her suddenly and profoundly.

  Probably six feet tall, dark eyes, hair almost as black as her own. Not handsome exactly, but the sexiest grin she'd seen since...

  Then she'd caught herself, feeling embarrassed, afraid that Dominick had somehow read her mind and knew what she'd been thinking. And, speaking of that, what the hell had she been thinking to check Dominick out when she already had a perfectly adorable practically-semi boyfriend named... Terry? Terry, that was it.

  Chapter 2

  "Working hard?"

  Lonnie looked up and smiled. Her favorite attorney, Macey Green, was taking the time to make conversation with her when she virtually never offered that opportunity to anyone else in the firm. It wasn't that Macey was rude. She was simply all business. Crisp and articulate, she was a shark of an attorney who, for some reason, had taken a special liking to Lonnie—who, in return, respected her tremendously.

  "Hi!" she said cheerfully, and then noticed the black leather coat and briefcase in Macey's hand. "Are you heading out?" she asked.

  "Yes. I have a few errands to take care of before my court appearance tomorrow." With her free hand, she combed some pale blond hair neatly behind her ear. "What are you working on?" she asked.

  "Macey!"

  Lonnie glanced over and saw Lunther Bell barreling down the hall toward her desk. In truth, she never knew quite what to make of Lunther. His I'm-just-a-humble-good-ol'-boy demeanor always seemed more like a well-honed shtick than a genuine personality. There was something else, too. Lonnie couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something odd about Lunther Bell that she just didn't trust.

  "Macey, hold up!" he called as he jogged the last few steps to get beside her. He had a big smile on his face, not that it enhanced his physical appearance all that much. On a good day, he resembled a less stylish version of The Penguin. "I wanted to talk to you before you left tonight."

  Lonnie couldn't help noticing Macey's expression change. The changes were subtle—a slight tightening of her full mouth, a barely perceptible squinting of her blue eyes—but her reluctance to speak with Lunther was clear.

  "I'm afraid I don't have the time," she replied in a clipped tone without even looking at him. Instead, she shifted her briefcase to her other hand and smiled at Lonnie. "Have a nice night, Lonnie," she said, and walked briskly through the main doors. Lonnie assumed that Lunther would follow her out so he could catch her before the elevator came. But instead he stayed planted where he was, surveying the papers in his hands.

  Abruptly, he glanced at Lonnie and gave her a forced smile. "Well, I guess I'll go fax this." He walked past her and set his papers on the large white machine. He punched in a number and hit send before turning around to attempt chitchat again. "Modern technology," he announced. She could only assume he was referring to the fax machine. "Gizmos, gadgets, you name it, they've invented it. It all gets a little confusing to me." He inserted an artificial-sounding chuckle, and Lonnie just smiled amiably.

  The fax machine started beeping, indicating a confirmation sheet was coming out. But when Lunther turned back to grab it, it slipped out of his chubby hand and floated out of reach. He clapped his hands together in an effort to catch it midair, but the flyaway sheet continued to elude him, until it landed on the floor not far from Lonnie's chair.

  "Here, I'll get it," she offered, and wheeled her chair a little closer to the piece of paper.

  Lunther came up alongside her just as she was reaching for it, and shooed her hand away. "No, no," he insisted. "Now don't pay me any never mind. I've got it." Despite his words, he was gritting his teeth as if he were just barely containing his rage. He bent down to pick up the sheet, and ended up shoving his behind in Lonnie's face. She almost gasped.

  She didn't mean to stare. Honestly, she didn't, but... Good Lord. Okay, yes, Lunther weighed around two-eighty, so that, in and of itself, suggested a large rear end. But still... the bulbous monstrosity in her face seemed disproportionate even to his body. She'd never noticed it before; his suit jackets obviously worked wonders. Only now his jacket had ridden up and flapped over across his back, allowing a completely unobstructed view. Hell, he looked like a beaver, and Lonnie couldn't tear her eyes away.

  Lunther stood up and spun around, and she averted her gaze so he couldn't tell what she'd been thinking. "Well, 'night," he said quickly, and plodded heavily back to his office.

  Less than a minute passed before Lonnie checked the clock again: 5:48 p.m. Twit hadn't emerged from his office in the past half hour, so she hoped she could just slip away to freshen up in the rest room before
meeting Dominick downstairs. Of course, at that moment, she heard a door swing open, and within seconds caught a glimpse of her boss waddling around the corner and toward her desk.

  "Leslie? Oh, good, you're still here. I know you secretaries like to cut out early whenever possible," Twit said. Well, there went the freshening-up plan. She knew that she should correct her boss when he called her by the wrong name, but she really didn't care enough. Anyway, she figured it was only a matter of time before he went through every other L name until he accidentally stumbled upon Lonnie. She was waiting for that day, and delayed gratification was perfectly fine with her.

  "Did you need something?" Lonnie asked with as much eagerness as she could muster, considering her panty-inflaming-but-utterly-platonic friend was waiting downstairs, and she had yet to apply some Plum Daiquiri lipstick.

  "Yes. I just want to let you know that within the next couple days I'm going to be expecting some confidential materials—faxes, actually—and I want you to keep an eye out." He altered his inflection, making his words deliberately slow, so she'd be sure to comprehend. "We really need to be discreet—that is to say, careful—with confidential faxes, okay?"

  Her expression remained even, and she replied, "Sure, Beauregard, no problem. When any faxes come in, I'll bring them right to you."

  Twit held up his hand as if to say sloooow down now, and interjected, "Now, wait, Leslie. I never said 'any' faxes. I mean, I don't want you to bring in materials from the Atrium." The Atrium was a cafe on the second floor that faxed a list of daily specials to every company in the building. Lonnie hardly classified that as confidential, but apparently Twit wasn't as optimistic about her reasoning skills.

  Looking at him, bemused, she just answered, "I understand, really. Don't worry."

  With a curt nod, Twit turned and duck-walked back around that damn corner. Okay, five more minutes, she thought as she scurried to the rest room. She looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. Curvy was one thing—and a description she'd heard since adolescence—but she was starting to think that if she didn't locate a treadmill and/or a craving for lentils and lettuce wraps soon, her curves would push right through to the next size. She shelved these insecurities for the moment, though, and quickly applied just enough lipstick to give her mouth a hint of wine color, before heading out the door.

  She found Dominick leaning against a marble column in the lobby. Her stomach dropped, but then, she had skipped lunch (unless you counted those two Kit Kats and diet Coke she'd had at her desk, which surely you wouldn't). She held her ice-blue coat at her side and moved purposefully toward him. Her heart fluttered when Dominick's face broke into a wide grin, and his eyes gave a super-quick scan of her body in her wine-and-black paisley dress. She loved the dress; it came right below the knee, with black lace trim at the hem of the skirt and long sleeves. It hugged her body without being tight, which—she hated to admit—made her feel sexy.

  Damn, why did she have to wear this dress when she was already feeling sexy just being near Dominick? Now, all she'd need was a spicy Bloody Mary to warm her blood, and she'd probably crawl right into Dominick's lap. Then again, who was she kidding? She'd never been the instant gratification type. And definitely not the uncontrollable-passion type. Not for a long time, anyway.

  "Hey, you," he said, smiling.

  "Hey," Lonnie said, returning his smile. She was only five-four, so even with high heels she was a good five inches shorter than he was; for a fleeting moment she had an image of herself jumping up and wrapping her legs around his waist. Oh, God, she thought to herself, I need help. Of course, if I tried to jump on Terry, he might just fall backward. No, stop it.

  Dominick's smooth voice broke her winding train of thought. "So, what d'ya think? Rattlesnake?" he asked, his dark eyes flickering.

  "Hmm..." She angled her head slightly to the side and smiled up at him. "Sure, okay. Let's go to Rattlesnake."

  * * *

  The booth was secluded, and the bar itself was lit only by small table candles and muted pink rays from streetlamps outside. Lonnie and Dominick were on their second drink, and he was telling her about his family in Connecticut. She already knew that he was the youngest of three boys in a close-knit, middle-class family. Now he was telling her about a big brother program in east Boston he'd volunteered for a year ago because he'd never experienced being an older brother. Apparently, he'd wanted to do the job better than his own older brothers, who still derisively called him "Dotcominick" because of his affinity for computers.

  Lonnie told him about her work in east Boston at a battered women's shelter that had started as part of a sociology project but continued until the shelter had closed down five months ago.

  They had been seated at the table and talking for about an hour already, and neither was making a move to go anywhere. Now he was telling her an amusing story about his family, and she was trying to stay focused on what he was saying rather than the way his mouth formed the words. It was hard, though, because his mouth was beautiful. His lips were wide and subtly full, his teeth were white, and his tongue was... well, she'd like to find out.

  While he spoke, he absently ran his hand over his chin and occasionally shrugged his shoulders, which she couldn't help noticing were broad and strong. He looked hard and solid... but so huggable that Lonnie had some difficulty focusing on the conversation. Instead, her mind wandered through a lascivious maze of graphic images. The most innocent—by far—involved wrapping herself around Dominick's naked, muscled body, feeling him everywhere with her hands, her mouth, her breasts, and seeing what he would do about it.

  She felt a warm flutter between her legs, but instead of that being a signal she was fantasizing too much, it was a foreshadowing. Pretty soon, the warmth turned to heat, the flutter turned to pulsing. Not to mention, she was experiencing a fierce need for him to take her right on the little square table. What had come over her lately?

  "So, enough about my family. What's yours like?" he asked, and she had to restrain herself from reaching out to touch him.

  "What do you want to know?" She went for an even, casual tone, and took more than a sip of her spicy Bloody Mary. The intention was to calm her nerves a little, but she forgot the other effect the drink would have on her body. More heat.

  He moved the small candle over and extended his arms so that his hands were only an inch away from hers. She wondered if he was battling the same urge to make physical contact. He lightly rapped his knuckles on the table and said, "Well, let's see. So I know you live downtown with your younger sister the artist, and that your parents have a condo in Brookline. And that you all have dinner together there—what, every week?"

  "Well, it depends if I have other plans." She paused and then added, "Yeah, every week."

  His grin widened. "So, when you're not hanging out with your family and temping at Twit and Bell, what do you do?"

  "Hmm, you mean besides sleep and eat?"

  "What do you like to do for fun?"

  "Um... campaign for a feminist Utopia."

  Now she grinned. Their eyes locked, and her pupils were so dilated with infatuation, they appeared coal dark, rather than green-honey-brown.

  Dominick cocked his head and said, "No, smartie, what do you really like to do for fun?"

  Lonnie's heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest. Suddenly, Dominick's index finger was grazing the back of her hand, and it hadn't escaped her attention that his question had come out dripping with sexual suggestion. Another finger joined the first, and the two began trailing slow, sensuous circles on the back of her hand. His hands were warm and strong and gentle, just as she had thought they would be. She imagined his heated fingers circling on a much more sensitive spot and immediately flushed at the thought—which was ironic considering all the Spice channel-esque notions she'd been having a minute ago. But then they were just notions and in no danger of becoming reality.

  Fluidly, his thumb slid into her hand, against her palm, and followed the same rhy
thm as his other fingers. They moved slowly, hypnotically, applying deliberate pressure and making her breath catch. Something so simple shouldn't be so arousing, but considering that she'd started out hot and aching for him to touch her, it was inevitable that anything could send her over the edge.

  Sudden anxiety clutched her chest.

  And just like that, she withdrew her hand. Awkwardly, she brought it up to her hair, and moved black, silky strands behind her ear. She looked around, then said, "What time is it anyway?"

  He looked at his wristwatch efficiently, but Lonnie could tell he was a little unnerved by her abrupt withdrawal. "Uh, seven twenty-five," he said.

  "Oh."

  "Yeah."

  She thought she should say something before one of them started whistling. "I don't usually go out after work. What about you?" She toyed with the wedge of lime on the edge of her glass.

  "Uh, no. Not that often. My staff goes out for happy hour a lot, but I'm not really into that scene." He shrugged with an irresistible mix of confidence and self-deprecation. God, he was sexy. She had to keep reminding herself that that was not enough of a reason to bust up her relationship with Terry.

  She and Terry weren't officially exclusive. In truth, they weren't officially anything, and she liked it that way. The superficial, simple connection they shared was about all she could emotionally handle right now. And she definitely couldn't be involved with two men at once. It would be too confusing—too unher. She was Catholic, after all. (Well, most days.)

  Oh, God. Why did Dominick have such a maddening effect on her?

  "I should probably go soon," Lonnie said. "There are some things I've got to do at home." Damn it, why was she lying? But she couldn't stop herself. And Dominick didn't protest at all.

  "Oh, okay, yeah. I should probably head home, too. I'm supposed to test some software tonight, anyway." He left a twenty on the table and waited for Lonnie to go out ahead of him. Her gut was knotted the whole walk to the subway station. When they parted, she got on the T, flushed with lust and sick to her stomach.