by Meg Evans
“Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to do that!”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” I say, eager to finally get out. I don’t even want to wait until the rain calms down; the only thing I need right now is to leave this car as soon as possible and pull myself together after that traumatic experience.
I collect all the things from under the seat, grab two shopping bags with my brand-new purchases in, say bye to my friend and break into a run. I sprint toward my porch, but my furious pace doesn’t save me from getting soaking wet. I wave to Rach, who, having made sure I’m on my porch, allows herself to take off.
The only thing that’s keeping me now from settling back on the couch in front of the TV, sipping hot cocoa in a dry and cozy house, is the front door I need to unlock. I fumble around in my purse for the precious key in it. Unfortunately, after several seconds I realize that the key is missing.
Damn it! I stomp my feet a couple of times. I must’ve left the keys on the kitchen table this morning while searching for the notebook.
There’s no one in the house. Maddie and Cynthia are at the hairdresser’s now. The only thing to do in this emergency situation is use the garage door.
A second before my desperate do-or-die run in the pouring rain, an unpleasant feeling spreads in my chest; I realize I can’t remember the new code. No sense in going to the garage. I know that the combination of numbers needed to unlock the door is the date of the end of my aunt’s first marriage, but that’s not helpful at all. I’ll have to call her and ask to give me the code.
No sooner do I reach into my purse for my cellphone than I realize it’s not there. I rummage through my purse frantically, but there’s no doubt that while I was grabbing my stuff in feverish haste, I didn’t spot my phone. Rach is probably struggling with the rain on her way home at the moment and isn’t even aware that under the passenger’s seat lies my cell.
Desperation spikes inside me; I feel homeless. I’m forced to taste the curse of my own recklessness. I should have written the code down instead of assuring Cynthia I’d simply remember it. The rain is pouring down and I can’t get into the house to hide from it. I slap the bags on the plastic chair. I feel like kicking it to take out some of the exasperation that has welled in me.
I hunch over on the porch with my hands in the pockets, wondering what to do without a cellphone, house key, and car. Usually I savor the sound of the rain and find it relaxing, but right now it doesn’t soothe me at all. On the contrary, with every single raindrop coming down from the sky, my frustration grows bigger. I hate to admit it, but the only solution that comes to my mind is turning to Charlie and asking him for shelter until my family comes back. I wince at the thought, but I can’t think of anything better.
I’m about to jump into the rain and sprint to Charlie’s house when something steers me away from doing so; I clearly sense someone’s presence near me. My skin prickles. I look around and spot my neighbor, sprawled comfortably on a porch sofa. I wonder how long he’s been hanging out there. His stretched-out legs, crossed at the ankles, are propped up on the coffee table in front of him; his hands are clasped behind his head. Because of the hood that covers most of his face, I can’t tell whether he’s gazing into space or asleep.
I freeze, sizing him up; it’s just the two of us. Excitement shivers through me, and something flutters in my gut. I can’t be sure whether he’s conscious of my presence, but I can’t stop staring.
Unexpectedly, he twists his head in my direction. I can just make out his eyes in the shadow. When our gazes meet, I’m gripped by a strong thrill. As we stare at each other for a lingering moment, a hot wave washes through me, reaching every fiber of my body; unable to withstand his intense look, I break our eye contact. There’s something intimidating about him that takes away my already microscopic confidence.
“Nobody home?” His voice penetrates the slanting rain and reaches my ears.
“No,” I answer with a touch of hesitation; I just admitted in front of a total stranger I had nowhere to go.
“Do you need some company?” His voice cuts through the rumbling rain again. “You can wait here.”
His question makes my heart hammer. When I raise my eyes back to him, adrenaline immediately starts to fill my veins.
“I… actually…” I mumble, stunned; his offer is tempting, considering that I’ve been dying to finally meet the mysterious man who has made both my cousin and my friend swoon at the mere sight of him.
But doesn’t he have a girlfriend? Wouldn’t it look suspicious if she found us sitting together on the porch by ourselves?
I hold my breath and make a spur-of-the-moment decision. “Actually, why not?”
I have a hunch that I’ll regret it later, but I take my chances anyway.
CHAPTER four
I sprint through the pouring rain. It only takes me several seconds to make it around the front yard fence and reach my neighbors’ porch.
“I’m Zara Logan,” I introduce myself, climbing up the stairs. The butterflies in my stomach multiply with every step I take. I’m overly excited, which isn’t like me. I usually keep my cool, but this guy seems to overturn all my level-headedness.
“You have a quite unique name,” he says, taking off the hood. It immediately becomes clear to me why the other girls were swept off their feet when they saw him for the first time.
He has tousled, raven-black hair; his face is strong with pronounced features, angular cheekbones, and a sharp jaw. Up close he seems oddly familiar, as though I’ve seen him somewhere before, and not only through my kitchen window. I fix my eyes on his soft lips, which are dangerously captivating. But what entrances me the most are his extraordinary, ocean-blue eyes.
For a swift moment, I’m lost in a mystical depth of his eyes, but I manage to finally strangle something out. “My real name is Zahara, but that sounds even worse.”
At my comment, his lips curl up.
“Dorian Hatch,” he says. “Do you want to join me?” He makes some space for me on the sofa.
“Sure,” I say brightly, pretending that I’m as cool as he is.
As I approach, he quite openly studies me. I daintily sit down next to him, tension creeping up my spine. No sooner do I touch the backrest than I’m struck with his scent. I’ve never smelled anything like that before. If someone were able to fumble through my brain in order to find the one smell that would have the power of leading me into any temptation, it would be exactly the one that Dorian is emanating. It’s masculine but soft, with some spicy notes. I inhale it deep into my lungs and relish it.
“Nice to finally meet you,” he says, sinking into the cushions. He’s far more comfortable than I am.
“How do you like this neighborhood?”
“It’s nice. Very peaceful.” His voice is deep and low, every word pronounced with an unusual precision.
“I’m glad you like it.”
My mind is like a blank page. Socializing is my big weakness. I’ve never been good at small talk, especially with handsome guys. I don’t even know what to ask him about and how to direct our conversation. He takes the initiative—thank God.
“Does it happen to you often?”
“What, forgetting my key or chatting with a stranger?”
“Which one do you think I mean?”
I fidget on the sofa. “Actually, both are happening to me for the first time.” I try to control my shaking hands.
“In that case I feel honored that I’m the first stranger you decided to talk to.”
“Well, we practically live in the same house, so you’re not completely unknown to me. I’ve seen you a couple of times.”
I have the impression that every breath I take puts me more and more at ease. It’s such a strange feeling, as if someone is injecting me with an anesthetic. My tensed spine starts to slowly relax, and the adrenalin rush slows down.
“It doesn’t change the fact that I may be a secret criminal who’s only waiting for occasions like this one,” he says.<
br />
He makes a good point, but there’s not even an ounce of fear inside me right now. “I’m a risk-taker.”
“Oh, are you?” He raises his brow in curiosity.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?” That’s something that Rach would say.
A half-smirk spreads on his lips. “How much are you willing to put at stake?”
His question surprises me. “It depends on how much I want what I’m interested in.”
Our conversation has taken an unexpected tone. I didn’t anticipate that when I decided to join him on the porch. It feels like flirting to me, but I don’t want to stop; I want to continue this innocent game of going back and forth.
“Let’s say… you’re craving something to the extent that you can’t concentrate on anything else. Your hunger is so overwhelming that you feel physical pain and aren’t able to function until you satisfy it.”
His words cause a dizzying current to race through me. Is it me or has he just described desire in its purest form?
“I believe that the answer is obvious.” I strive to look unshaken, as if our conversation hasn’t made my heart speed up again.
“Not until you say it out loud.”
“I’m ready to sacrifice anything for something like that.”
Dorian gives me a raking gaze. “Now it’s clear.”
It’s so unusual the way he articulates every word, every syllable; so slowly and clearly.
“And you?” I ask.
“Same.”
“Has it ever happened to you? Have you ever felt such a desire?”
Dorian doesn’t respond straight away. His eyes shift from me to the lashing rain. He seems to have dived into his thoughts, whirling around a particular moment from his past. All emotions are wiped from his face, and I can’t tell whether he’s remembering something pleasant or rather something he’d like to erase. “Yes, it’s happened to me before.”
“Was the risk worth it?”
“No.”
Dorian intrigues me. Usually when people first meet, they talk about their interests and hobbies, or maybe the weather. They don’t touch upon their desires and thirsts right away. Nonetheless, I’m enjoying our little chat, and grow more and more interested in my neighbor. He’s very peculiar.
“Why not?” I ask.
“At times, something deludes us in such an irresistible fashion that it’s easy to believe that our future life will be meaningless and empty if we don’t get it. Trust me,” his gaze returns to my face, “the price is irrelevant when one’s deepest urges are involved. Man is unable to think reasonably when the object of his desire is right in front of him. He’s ready to sacrifice whatever it takes to get what he’s longing for.” He pauses for a second to analyze my reaction. I’m speechless, carefully listening to every word coming out of Dorian’s mouth. “Once in a while it pays off to take a risk, but not always. Sometimes you come to realize that by taking that risk you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life; unfortunately, now there’s no coming back, and, as a result, you need to pay for your recklessness and impulsiveness.”
“I don’t quite understand,” I say, intrigued.
“You won’t understand until you experience it yourself.”
“Experience what?”
“Such an overwhelming desire that if you don’t feed it, it’ll drive you insane.” His eyes hold me still; it feels like he’s penetrating right into my soul with his gaze.
Dorian’s scent hits me again with double power. He has this potent magnetism that pulls me toward him, regardless of the fact that we’ve just met. I swallow hard. My thoughts are tangled up in his words, setting my insides on fire. Every cell in my body is yearning to experience what he’s talking about.
“I want to know what it feels like,” I declare, as if Dorian could make it happen right at this second.
My words echo between us. A shutter seems to fall over his eyes. After drilling me with his gaze once more, Dorian frowns, as though he’s just noticed something on my face that wasn’t there before.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, pulling away.
Do I have a massive zit or something?!
“That’s strange…” he says; his eyes narrow with a flicker of suspicion.
“What’s strange?” I duck my head as an unwelcome blush creeps into my cheeks.
Dorian doesn’t bother to enlighten me. Instead he’s slowly leaning toward me, minimizing the distance between us. A quiver surges through my veins; he’s perilously close.
He flicks my hair from my neck and studies the uncovered area. Prickly tingles go over me as his warm breath touches my bare skin. An explosion takes place somewhere in my abdomen. I can’t take this anymore and sit upright. Our eyes meet; he’s puzzled.
“How is this possible?” Incredulity flashes across his face.
“What do you mean?”
Our conversation is interrupted by the sound of a car engine cutting through the rain. I cock my head and see two bright yellow spots coming in our direction. I recognize it even, from afar; it’s the black Bentley pulling into the driveway. I have no doubt that it’s Dorian’s girlfriend sitting behind the wheel. The sight of her sobers me a bit.
Dorian is taken, and I need to break out from this weird trance I’ve fallen into. Preferably even vanish from their porch and never come back.
The girlfriend stops at the garage door, but she doesn’t open it right away. I can’t see a thing through the heavy raindrops bouncing off the windshield, but deep in my bones I sense her gaze. She’s watching us, most likely wondering what the hell a strange girl was doing with her boyfriend while she was gone.
My face flushes with humiliation and anger at myself. What the hell I was thinking?
When the garage door finally rolls up and she disappears inside, I rise swiftly from the sofa. “I think I’ve got to go now.” I flatten the front of my sweater.
“Why is that? I didn’t notice you finding your keys.”
“I don’t think your girlfriend is okay with me sitting here with you alone.”
“My girlfriend?” He makes a face as if he didn’t quite understand the question.
“Yeah, the one who just showed up.” I point my head toward the garage door.
“Rita?” He chuckles. “She’s my cousin. I don’t do relationships. No girlfriends.”
Cousin?! I squint in disbelief. It blows my mind. I need a few seconds for my brain to process this revelation, but when I think about it, I realize that they’ve shown no sign of being a couple. I’ve never seen them affectionately hugging, holding hands, or kissing. Somehow this news is a powerful relief; I don’t feel out of place anymore. I lower myself beside him again.
“Rita won’t have anything against you being here. I even bet she’ll come over to meet you,” he says.
“I’d love to meet her,” I say. “There’s one question I need to ask you, though. Since you said you didn’t do relationships with girls, does it mean that…” I feel dumb saying it aloud.
He makes it easier on me. “No, I don’t date guys either. I’m just not good at long-term relationships. I’m much better at those short but intense ones.”
We’re sitting closer than before, his thigh pressed against my leg. A shockwave of desire rockets through me, and my throat goes dry. “How intense?”
“There are no words descriptive enough to answer that question. You won’t understand until you try it yourself. It’s like nothing you’ve experienced ever before.”
It sounds like an offer, but I can’t tell if it really is one, or IF it’s just my brain misinterpreting his words, giving them the meaning I want them to carry.
“I’m not sure if I’ll ever have the chance to give it a shot,” I say. Dorian is definitely too close; I feel the warmth his body is emanating. It’s hard for me to think straight.
“You might one day.”
The moment his gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, a wave of pain suddenly washes over my chest. It comes and
goes. I keep it together, not wanting to reveal my sudden indisposition.
The front door swings open. We both turn left to face Rita, who’s standing on the doorstep. Close up, her beauty is even more overwhelming. Her face is a perfect oval with a small, charming nose, and soft, rounded, red lips matching the light rouge on her upper cheekbones.
She tosses me a kind smile, and says, “I see my cousin has some company.” Rita has a warm and soothing voice. She’d be a great children’s book reader.
“It’s our neighbor—Zara,” Dorian tells her.
“Nice to meet you, Zara. I’m Rita.”
The two of them are both unusually attractive, but nothing alike. Besides tar-black hair, they don’t share any similar features that would suggest they’re related.
“Don’t you want to come inside? The weather is awful,” she asks, opening the front door wider.
“I don’t want to impose,” I say.
“It’s okay—no problem at all. We love having guests, don’t we. Dorian?” She throws him a meaningful look.
“Of course,” he replies curtly.
“Come inside, seriously,” she encourages me.
“We just met; Zara may be uncomfortable with coming inside,” Dorian reminds her.
“It’s okay,” I say, “I’m fine with it.”
“Give us a second, Rita,” Dorian demands.
“As you wish.” She shrugs unenthusiastically and vanishes inside the house.
“Those two women you live with are your mother and sister?”
“No, they’re my aunt and my cousin. My parents died right before my fifth birthday.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. It’s been a long while. I don’t even remember them too well.”
“At least you have a couple of family members who take care of you,” he says, seemingly trying to comfort me.
“Cynthia isn’t my real aunt; she was my mom’s best friend. We don’t know why, but the whole family turned away from my parents even before I was born.” This time it’s me looking into space, considering for the hundredth time what might have been so terrible that it made every single member of my family turn their back on my parents. “Families…” I sigh.