“I know.” I took a deep breath, “So what kind of car is this?” I wasn’t stupid, I knew what kind of car it was. I just didn’t want the focus to be on me.
“I don’t know, a BMW Z-something,” he answered, narrowing his eyes.
“Really? Is it yours? Or did you rent it to impress girls?”
“It’s mine and, no, I wouldn’t rent it to impress girls—unless it’s working?” He looked over at me and smiled.
“Yeah, it’s working,” I said real low.
“I guess my plan is falling into place.”
“Plan? Something I must hear about.” I shifted my body to slightly face him.
“Eventually, you’ll see it. What was your favorite color again?” He was smooth.
“Green—yours is blue.” He stared at me and his cheeks rose above his smile.
“What else do you know about me?” His eyes squinted.
“Well, I know you drive a BMW Z4. I know your favorite color is blue and you really like Italian food. I know you’re honorable and sensitive and you’re really passionate about your job.” I looked out the window.
“Wow, you figured all that out by getting in my car? What else do you know?” He slid his hand to my thigh. My butterflies noticed.
“I know you like to stay after work to plan your next day. I know you smell good and your family has a cabin here. I know you like to listen to new bands that nobody has ever heard of.” I took a breath. He looked at me and shook his head.
“What?”
“You’re collecting data on me.” He laughed, amused.
“Well, what do you know about me?” I watched his face. His smile dropped and his lips pulled tight.
“I know enough about you. Your favorite color is green. You look really good in powder blue ski suits.” He stopped.
“That’s it? Really? Wow you’re so misinformed. Quite sad,” I played.
“Okay fine, I know you’re an only child. You’ve been in boarding schools since you were eight years old. Your grandparents raised you and, sadly, you lost your grandfather a few weeks ago. I know your best friend is Joanie Emerson, and that you’re here in this car with me because you find me completely irresistible. That’s what I know.” He smiled.
I didn’t say anything. I pushed my window down and felt the freeze swirl around my hair like the hands of God, trying to clasp a necklace without looking. He had me pegged. I was a person who didn’t have a family. I guess the wounds didn’t heal as quickly as I had thought.
“It’s your turn—tell me what else you know about me.” He glanced over. I cleared my throat and started to tell him what I knew.
“I know you also drive a Champagne-colored Lexus. I know this is your first year teaching on your own. I know you hate sweaters but you have to wear them to work. I know you immediately go and change your clothes once classes are over. You are irresistible in a flannel button-down with a cotton T-shirt and jeans. You like to stay after to watch me erase your boards,” I said, trying to keep my family life away from this conversation.
“That’s the best part. Watching you drag those huge erasers across my boards. When did you know…you had feelings for me?”
“Pretty much the first time I saw you. Last year you came into my history class to cover for Mr. Kringer.” I felt the car swerve.
“You knew then? That long ago?”
“Yeah, you were trying to explain the significance of comparing the Industrial Revolution to modern times. You were so passionate.” I stared out the window lost in a moment.
“Well the first time I knew it was something more for me was the day you walked into my government class. You were so confident. You sauntered past me and looked right into my eyes. You had your hair pulled back off your face. You sat right in the front row. It was such torture but I took it, because even that little bit of you was worth it.” His forehead creased and his eyelids dropped as he told me this. Wow, he was pulling me into his world and I wanted to feel it.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked as he turned down a long driveway.
“You’ll see.” He glanced at me.
“What if I want to know now?”
“That depends on how badly you want to know,” he played back to me.
What was going to be the best way to get him to talk? I grabbed the zipper on my moon suit and lowered it just enough to torture him.
“I wonder where we’re going.” I mumbled. His eyes caressed my body and hovered at my chest.
“My house,” he answered, biting his lower lip. “I hope you don’t mind. Nobody’s there. We can have the place to ourselves.”
He drove down to an exceptionally breathtaking contemporary mansion. Huge pillars invited me to the rippled glass double doors. Earth-toned multicolored slate sheathed the porch and walls. Statues of partially nude angels pouring water from huge vases fit flawlessly on either side. The whole top story of the house appeared to be one big window separated by the roof of the gigantic porch. With the huge parking area and no cars around, it seemed vacant. He pushed a button and pulled the car into one of the four garages.
“Well, here we are.” He took a deep breath.
He slipped out and tracked to my side, pulling my door open. His chivalry was so romantic, something guys my age didn’t have. He held his hand out to me, inviting me to him. I took hold and he pulled me from the car. He curved his arm around my waist and shut the door. His hand pressed delicately across my hip and I could feel his warmth through my suit.
“Right this way.” He held his other hand out, pointing the way to a plain white door. He leaned across me and pushed it open. I stepped in and stopped short. His body pressed against me. I don’t think he expected me to stop. My breath was robbed. We were in the most beautiful kitchen I’d ever seen.
“It’s okay to keep walking.” His hands wrapped around me. His warm breath steamed across my neck.
I noticed a massive basket loaded with boots and shoes next to me on the floor. I leaned against him and pulled my boots off.
“You don’t have to do that.” He anchored himself against the door frame.
“Do you usually do it?”
“Yeah, but—”
“But nothing, I want to honor your parents’ wishes.” I dropped my boots into the basket. He pulled off his and stacked them next to it.
He caught my hand and pulled me through the kitchen of my dreams. Huge white cabinets with brushed chrome handles, glossy black countertops with gray lines that glistened as the sun from the huge skylights bounced off them. On the butcher block island, a delicate arrangement of orchids warmed the room. Brushed stainless steel appliances punctuated the space.
“Max, this is beautiful.”
“The kitchen? Wait until you see my favorite room.”
He pulled me into the equally gorgeous modern dining room. Warm, deep red walls and dark mahogany crown molding encased the room. A table fit for twelve sat centered under a gigantic glass light that sent bright stars of crystal dancing against the walls. I couldn’t keep from getting dizzy as he pulled me into his favorite room.
“This is your favorite room? This is not a room.” I spun to take it in.
“It’s called a great room. This is where I spend most of my time when I’m here.” He guided me around, pointing out what he liked about it. One whole side of the room was filled from floor to ceiling with books. The other side held an enormous pool table with a stained glass light over it. The fireplace was made from giant river rocks partnered with an old stressed chunk of wood protruding out above the opening. A soft leather sofa facing the gigantic plasma screen T.V. above the fireplace separated one side from the other. Sunlight shone down from six massive skylights peppered throughout the open-beamed ceiling. I could see why he loved it in here. It was warm, functional, and fun.
“Play you a game of pool,” I offered, grabbing a pool stick and spinning it in my hands. I didn’t know how to play.
“Really? I’m pretty good at it. You’ll have to prepare to
be spanked.” He grabbed a pool stick and rubbed a small block on the tip.
“Spanked, huh? Well, let’s just see how much you know,” I teased.
He grabbed a triangle and set it down on the green. He pulled a bunch of balls from the pockets and dropped them into the shape. Then he mixed them up and slid it across, gently pulling the triangle off.
“Stripes or solids?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you want to be solids or stripes? The balls you’re trying to hit into the pockets.” He looked at me, astonished I didn’t understand the question.
“Stripes.”
“Ladies first.” He backed away from the table and rested his pool stick on the ground, his hands stacked near the top of it.
“Okay, thanks.” I held the stick up. I could figure this out; all I needed to do was break up the pyramid of balls.
“Wait, you need to hit the white cue ball into the group of balls to break them up.” He grabbed it from the other side of the table.
“I knew that.” I smiled and held the stick across my chest, resting it in one hand while I clutched it in the other. I felt the muscles in my arms get tight.
“Wait, you need to rest your aiming hand on the table. Here, let me help you.” He put his stick against the wall and pulled mine from my hands, demonstrating how I was supposed to hold and aim it. I tried; I guess I didn’t get it because, in a flash, his body was up against mine. His smell invaded me, marching its way down to feed my butterflies. His arm wrapped around and held my aiming hand. His other arm followed mine, resting his hand on my pool stick. His head tight against me, his breath warmed my ear with words of encouragement.
“Do you feel the motion? Forward and back.” He moved the pool stick. His chest pressed heavy across my body.
I nodded.
“One, two, three.” He tangled the words in my hair and helped me push the stick, hitting the white ball. The crack of the break echoed through the room.
“Nice break,” he breathed into my ear. I shivered as he slid his hands up my arms.
“Thanks; couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“Looks like you’re solids. You get to shoot again.” He pointed to the ball in the little basket at the corner.
I held the stick wrong again. This time on purpose. He noticed and slid up behind me, holding his hands against my hips.
“You need to bend more at the waist, like this.” He pushed down on my back with his chest. He was teasing me. I could barely focus.
“Let me see you do it by yourself.” He pulled away and I tapped the white ball straight into the pocket.
“No fair, you did that on purpose,” I straightened to tell him.
“Of course I did. That’s my strategy. Now step aside and watch.” He grabbed his pool stick and made it look easy.
He bent level with the table. His hair fell to his eyes; his arms stretched tight across the table. The curve of his back and the bend of his knees were so incredibly tasty looking. He snapped the pool stick forward and knocked two striped balls into the side pockets. In one shot he was beating me.
He circled the table, studying his next move. I leaned against it and blocked him.
“Excuse me—I need that spot to score.” He pointed to me. Without saying a word I refused to move. He put his pool stick on the table and came next to me. His hands pressed at my waist, browsed up my sides, and across my ribs to under my arms. He brought his face close. I inhaled the scent of his breath.
“I need to score here.” He pulled back, making eye contact with me. I knew he was going to score—maybe not all the way, but far enough.
“Okay, let’s see what you can do.” I kissed him and fireworks exploded low in my groin. He pressed hard against my mouth. I pushed my hands through his hair and around his ears. Down past his jaw line my hands found the perfect spot. His hands slid down to my hips and across to the back of my thighs. I felt his arm tighten when his hands caught and lifted me to his waist. I wrapped my legs around him as he set me on the table. He kissed me before his lips drifted, tracing the line of my jaw down to my collar bone and across the top of my chest. He stopped and looked into my eyes. My skin ran cold as he pulled on the zipper of my suit. Watching my reaction the entire time, his eyes asked for permission. He stopped at my navel. My hands pulled at the zipper of his hoodie. Waiting for the right to touch, he helped me take his sweatshirt off. I pulled up at the bottom of his shirt and he lifted his hands in the air. I pulled it off, too. His chest was exquisite—muscular and tight with just the perfect amount of hair. I pushed my lips to the space between his collar bone and neck. He pushed to clear my shoulders of my space suit. I pulled my arms out of the sleeves and wrapped my bare arms around him, feeling the exchange of our body heat. He kissed my neck, pressing light; it sent goose bumps through to my chest. I felt his hands caress their way up to the clasp of my bra and work to release the tension. My heart leapt high into my throat. I guess this was it—this was going to be the moment I let him see me, exposed.
“Wait.” I pushed against him. His hands pressed hard into my back.
“Yeah?” he whispered into my ear.
“I don’t want to do this—” I swallowed, trying to lose the extra bubble in my throat before I continued “here. Take me to your bedroom,” I whispered back to him.
“Nobody’s home,” he breathed.
“I just don’t feel comfortable doing this here.” He bent down, grabbed his hoodie from the floor, and wrapped it around me. I slid my arms through the sleeves and zipped it up. He lifted me off the pool table and slipped his hand into mine. He kissed me so softly and led me up to his room.
I waited for him to let me in. He slid his body against my back and opened the door. He pressed his chest against me. I entered, looked around, and glanced back to him. He seemed a little shy about having me in his space. He shrugged his shoulders and forced his hands in his pockets as he followed me.
“This is my room.”
His room was masculine and clean. A black, four-post, queen-sized bed was draped with a burgundy and dark green comforter. A huge stack of pillows at the head and a folded brown wool blanket at the foot made his bed look super cozy. Framed black and white blown-up photos of mountains covered in snow splashed the walls. A plasma TV hung over the slate fireplace.
“It’s very comfortable. I really like these pictures of the mountains.” I stopped in front of an aerial photo of a construction site.
“Yeah, that one is this place here. That’s when my family was having it built.” He pointed to the picture. “See this tree here? That’s the tree out front to the left. That’s the garage…and that is my room, there.”
I watched as he got lost in the picture of his family history. Desires bridged across my mind to my heart, and I couldn’t stop myself from picking up where we’d left off in the great room. I pulled the zipper down on my sweatshirt. His eyes intensified and fixed on mine; he reached up to stop me when the zipper reached my bra.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes, I am.” My voice caught in a shiver and wavered slightly. I couldn’t say I wasn’t scared or nervous, but who wouldn’t be? This was the first time anyone other than Joanie and Cindy was going to see me naked from the waist up.
“Because I can wait for you.”
“I know you can,” I nodded and let him finish pulling the zipper open. His head tilted to one side and his eyes strained.
He slipped his sizable hands up the sides of my sweatshirt. I could tell he was waiting for an okay, so I grasped his hands and spread them apart; my sweatshirt opened. He gently took it off my arms, leaving my bra resting loosely across my chest; his fingers slinked under the straps at my shoulders. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, swallowed, and pulled. I stood there—naked. It wasn’t so bad. He liked what he saw; it felt good. I pushed my hands past his chest and down around his torso, into the curve of his lower back. Our bodies fit together perfectly, and I swam in
his warmth.
He kissed me wildly with his tongue; I could tell he was letting go of caution. His lips deserted mine, wandering along my neck and down to right above my chest. I ran my hands through his soft, black hair. Tangling any fears into knots, I let them fly away with the wind.
He plucked his mouth from my skin, paused—I was taken by his ability to make me feel so much more emotion than I ever thought possible—and looked at me. I nodded, afraid to say anything; I didn’t know what would come out. I could tell him to take me all the way, that was how strongly my feelings were raging for him.
His hands dropped to my waist as he continued to kiss me above my chest. I pushed my hands around his neck and bent to get him to come back to my lips. His hands caressing my back, chills rippled down my spine. He lifted me to his bed.
Cool air wafted over my naked skin before he slinked up across my body and kissed me. His knee slid up between my legs and pressed against me; I was so hot from the waist down. The damn space suit was suffocating me and retaining the heat he’d created down low.
I wanted to take it off, but didn’t want to imply that I was ready to go that far. His lips pressed lower on my chest and brushed across the front. Chills thrashed through my body. While he lingered there, he looked up at me. His mouth was so delicate, his tongue so warm, I felt the intense connection lower in my body. The way his hand traced my side and all around me, his experience was almost frightening.
I’d wondered what it might feel like to have him explore my body, entirely. I had no idea that it would be so passionate. Everything he did felt so natural. It made me wonder if it was a sign that I should go all the way with him. His mouth traipsed between my breasts and down above my navel.
“Max?”
“Yeah, did I go too far?” He narrowed his eyes.
“No, I’m just really hot in this ski suit.”
“Okay…”
“But I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”
“And what impression would that be?” He dragged his finger across my stomach, piquing my arousal.
“That I was ready to…sleep with you.” I could feel the blood flush fast to my cheeks.
The Wilson Mooney Box Set Page 13