by Liv Bennett
Any other day, I’d be annoyed by Lena’s seductive lean on the front desk to showcase her breasts spilling out from her revealing top. Today, my eyes are fixated on Fran. She blushes a girly blush at Austin’s offer of fries and picks one, thanking him while batting her eyelashes at him.
I’m a girl, so I may not be the ultimate judge when it comes to female sensuality, but between Lena’s overtly displayed breasts and Fran’s innocent blush, I’d definitely go for Fran.
Fortunately, Austin doesn’t seem to be fazed by the female attention and winks at me seductively. I giggle like an embarrassed school girl. Leaning toward him over the front desk, I snatch the whole box of fries out of his hand, and we all hurry into the server’s room to grab our belongings.
“Ready for our date?” Stepping behind me, Austin snatches my jacket to help me put it on, and, out of the blue, plasters a kiss on my cheek. A kiss right in front of Lena, the queen of jealousy and intolerance.
I should wrap up my investigation about my sister’s death right at this point. Austin must be the killer, and I must be the next on his to-kill list, or why else would a gorgeous, hunky, wealthy man like him show an interest in a girl who’s mediocre at best in looks and has no academic or career success under her belt? I’m convinced. He’s here to kill me. That’s why he’s pursuing me.
Even though the possibility of my assumption is undeniable, I can’t resist him. I melt like butter on fire. Female hormones are the worst.
He holds his hand out for me, and I lace my fingers through his and say goodnight to the others before heading for the exit.
Ch 7
Donuts & Kisses
“You’re gonna get me fired,” I say and pop the last French fries into my mouth once we’re out of the restaurant.
He glances at his oversized watch, possibly to check to see if he was too early to pick me up. “How so?” He’s frowning when he returns his eyes to me. I like it when he tries to look at my face at every chance even while walking side by side with me.
“Have you heard about female jealousy? My colleagues will start plotting my end because of it.”
He chuckles with a full display of his pearly whites. “I’m sure your colleagues will only care about your work performance.”
“How naïve men can be sometimes.”
His laughter gets louder, a deep baritone melody of manliness. “I’ll make sure not to shower and shave when I pick you up tomorrow night.”
I do my best not to swoon inwardly. He’s already planning to see me tomorrow night as well! “You’re truly hopeless if you think not shaving will make you look unattractive.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I was when you arrived, but the French fries were just the right amount.”
“Good because donuts may make you nauseous on a full stomach. But, we can still grab a dessert afterward.”
“Let me guess, donuts?” I joke with a smile, following his steps down the street, not knowing exactly where we’re headed.
For the first time, he doesn’t respond to my joke with a chuckle or, at least, a grin. “You’d be surprised to know there’s not a single donut shop that sells old-school donuts in Boulder. There were two donuts shops that I loved as a kid. Their donuts had diabetes written all over them, but I’d eat until my stomach hurt. There’re weed stations in their places now.” His voice softens, and he sounds truly disappointed.
“I bet the donut shops here are all locally-owned, organic, farm-to-table, free range.”
I finally get a laugh out of him. “Yup, you summed up the Boulder food scene pretty accurately. But, don’t forget the blunt taste!”
“I don’t need dessert, but I wouldn’t say no to coffee, or I may fall asleep in the car.”
“That’s easy to fix.” He stops suddenly beside a black Mazda and slips his car keys out of his pocket to unlock the doors.
“That’s a cute car.” I approach him from behind as he leans down to open the passenger door for me.
He straightens up sharply and turns to me, his hands reaching my hips without a warning, pulling me toward him. “Don’t call him cute. He’s a donut king.”
His face is so close to mine, I feel his breath warm on my skin, his coffee scent filling my nostrils. His eyes are two orbs of wild ocean waves that can swallow me up with their intensity. They’re on my lips, clear with his intent.
I gasp, astounded by his suddenness, the acuteness of his desire. I can feel it in the roughness of his fingers gripping my hips. My breathing quickens, and my chest heaves up and down way too fast. His eyes fall on my cleavage, the wild waves turning into scorching flames. He’s staring at me as if he can hardly restrain himself. If we were somewhere else where no one could see us, he’d ravage me.
A couple walks by us, their steps urgent, loud, but unable to distract Austin from his mesmerized gaze at me. He doesn’t even blink as his eyes drink me in. His fingers dig deeper into my flesh through the thin fabric of my dress. I’ve never been the object of such fierce desire.
My body is limp, and I’m panting through my mouth, my lips dry. I lick them in desperation, in urgent need of tasting him.
At last, he closes the distance between us and plasters his lips on mine, sliding his tongue into my mouth, starting a slow tango with mine. He tastes like sweet coffee with milk, a flavor I can’t get enough of.
The kiss ends as suddenly as it began. I was just getting started. I wobble when he pulls away and lets go of my hips.
“That was nice,” he says with a satisfied grin and opens the car door for me,
That was more than nice.
I practically throw myself onto the seat, feeling dizzy and in another world. Inside the car, the strong smell of coffee and him doesn’t help with my dizziness. I want more of him, of his taste, of his hands. I feel too ashamed to glance at him as if he can sense my desire with one look at my eyes.
Unlike my bewilderment, he smoothly and calmly starts the car and maneuvers it into the street as if the moment of fire hadn’t just happened. He must have done this many times. The thought sends a chilling shiver through my body.
“Hey, try the coffee,” he says, grabbing a fancy, foot-long blue thermos off the car console.
My hands are jittery when I open the top. I get the thermos to my mouth without spilling anything and take a sip. My taste buds weren’t wrong. He likes his coffee with milk and sugar. I take another, bigger sip. “It tastes great!”
“It’s Ozo blend, locally owned, organic, sustainably harvested.” His grin tells me he’s reminding me of our talk about the local food scene.
“But, not blunt at all. I love it!” I cheer, too loud and too excited, as if I’m not talking about coffee but something else…someone else. “Is the car yours?” I ask quickly to distract him before he notices my weirdness.
“Yeah.” He glances at me and nods before returning his eyes back to the road.
“What about the Corvette?”
“That’s mine too, but believe it or not, I like my Mazda better. The Corvette is great for a fun night out, but this one is a good, dependable car.”
That sounds awfully like the description of girls good to have fun with and good to marry. I bite down on my lip to resist the smile.
Once we’re on Broadway, he floors the gas pedal, and the engine roars. Rather than waking me up, the coffee relaxes me after the tumultuous moment of my kiss with Austin. I rest my head on the back of my seat and watch the dark night.
“Are you going to the gym tomorrow morning?” Austin asks.
“Probably not. Everything hurts. I need a long sleep to recover from today’s workout.” I remember our unexpected encounter at RockAthletic this morning. He didn’t have workout clothes on, and he came to my hotel following me right afterward. Strange. “Were you going to work out at RockAthletic this morning?”
“No, I don’t do RockAthletic anymore. I was there to pick up someone.”
Someone as in a long-legged blonde with iron muscle
s? The thought sours my mood instantly. He’s young, attractive, and has his last name on various local businesses in downtown Boulder. Women must be sticking to him like flies, and he’s no saint not to take advantage of the situation and sow his wild oats.
“You okay?” His eyes flicking back and forth between the road and me, he reaches over and puts his hand on my bare knee. Just like that, no awkwardness or hesitation, as if he’s done it dozens of times. His touch isn’t sexual but not friendly either, although the hem of my dress has rolled up to mid-thigh.
He glances at me for a moment longer now, searching my face for an answer to his question. “I’m just tired.”
“Do you want to do it another time instead? If you’re tired…”
“No, no, no. Tonight is perfect.”
“You can nap if you want. I won’t mind. We have at least twenty minutes of driving ahead of us.”
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
He takes my answer as flirtation I guess and returns it with a wink. “I feel the same.”
I could really use a crystal ball right now to read his mind and find out exactly what he sees in me. I don’t think I’m ugly, but I’m in no way in his league either.
“If you’re not gonna sleep, then tell me, what brought you to Boulder?”
I’ll have to kill you if I tell you the real reason. “I needed a change of scenery.”
“I need that too. Same people, same problems. It gets old after a while. It’s not that easy for me to move, though. At least, not right now.”
“Where would you move, if you could?”
“Somewhere where people don’t know me.”
Here I thought he was enjoying being the center of attention. “The businesses in downtown with your last name on them…are they yours?”
“Not mine. My father’s. Stanley Knight, soon-to-be-mayor of Boulder.”
Is he one of those wealthy heirs who are stuck in the shadow of their successful fathers? He certainly seems to enjoy the financial benefits of it. I shouldn’t judge, though. There must be more to this than meets the eye. He stopped for me on the highway, the only one out of the hundreds of drivers who drove past me.
“So what do you do?” I ask.
“After college, a good friend of mine and I opened a hamburger joint, a small, no-name place with juicy hamburgers. Just the right thing for a college town. Soon, the business boomed. We were named the best in town within a year. We were planning to open another joint. Then life happened, and we ended up selling the business for pennies,” he says, staring at the road ahead the whole time, without a single glance at me. Perhaps it’s his way to look cool and in control, to hide the hurt, but his voice reveals glimpses of the emotional toll I can’t see in his eyes, the shame, the feeling of failure, the trauma.
“Even if it ended, you know you have what it takes to succeed in the competitive business world. Not everyone can claim that.” Especially someone like me, practically a leaf going where the wind blows.
“Yeah,” he whispers, and we fall into a somber silence. I don’t push him for more information or give him a motivational speech. I know how hard life can be. I got its slap on my face as a kid, and ever since, I’m trying to get back on my feet.
An urge to reach out to him, hug him, whisper in his ear that he’s more than his past or his failures overwhelms me. While I admire him for opening up a past wound to me, I feel I ruined our night, and I can’t even apologize for my nosiness.
After a nearly fifteen-minute drive uphill, we come to a slow stop by an empty parking lot. Five or six orange cones stand on a thin layer of snow covering the ground.
“This is the perfect spot,” Austin says, animated but with a vulnerable look on his face. “Watch carefully because you’re going to drive, too.”
“What? Me?” I try not to show my hesitation. “Are you sure?”
“I am. As long as you know what to do, donuts are easy. It’s basically spinning.”
He turns off the traction control and changes the shift to first gear and turns to me. “You’ll use both feet, one pressing the brakes, the other flooring the gas pedal. Don’t be shy about it. Really go full throttle. Don’t worry; the tires can take serious abuse. They won’t blow out. Then spin away!”
Without any forewarning, he roars the engine back to life and pushes both the brakes and the gas. It’s a strange feeling having the car unmoving while the back tires are rolling like a captured wild animal. The engine is growling, and when I look back over my shoulder and see smoke coming up from the back tires, I shriek.
“That’s crazy!”
“You haven’t seen crazy yet!” He starts the spins, steering the wheel fully, round and round until I’m laughing loudly at the crazy movement of the car. I close my eyes to keep myself from getting dizzy from the spins and allow my body to just feel—feel as if I’m flying. And free.
As I relax, I let go of my fear. We could crash, go off the road, spin in the wrong direction, or fall off the mountain. The road is icy. We could end up dying tonight. Anything can happen. The crazy spins force me to accept the sheer possibilities and relax as it’s the only way to hold down the nausea. Once I’m truly relaxed, the real fun begins.
The dizziness comes in full force when he stops the car, but it’s the kind of dizziness half a bottle of wine would cause. My laughter dies down to a silly grin, and I rest my head against the seat, my eyes hooded. My heart slams in my chest the same way it did after my workout this morning.
“You look like you liked it!” His earlier moment of gloom is gone, and he offers me a cheerful wink.
A feeling of relief washes over me seeing him beam again. My eyes fall on his mouth. I’m embarrassed to admit it to myself, but I want his lips on mine again and again.
“More than you can imagine.” I sprawl on the seat like a cat, enjoying my moment of peace after the tornado.
“Your turn!”
“What? I can’t. I’m too dizzy.”
“You have two minutes.” He grabs the coffee bottle and takes a long sip while I adore his profile with little risk of getting caught. He’s a sight to look upon, even while chugging coffee. When he offers me the thermos, I drink from the same spot on the rim of the thermos. If he notices my little act of perversion, he keeps it to himself.
I want to taste his lips again. The urge is intoxicating and more dizzying than doing donuts. I never knew such a pull existed. I tasted his lips just once. Now they’re all I can think about. I’m addicted. Even I know it’s too fast, too intense, but I can’t push the brakes.
The dizziness is gone at last. I have no excuse other than being completely consumed by him, and it’s not an excuse I can vocalize.
He’s watching me sideways in anticipation, his eyes teasing me with their intent, heating me up from inside out. “Ready?”
“I guess I am.” I’m not! I open the door, and a wave of ice-cold air hits me. I close the door immediately. “It’s freezing out there.”
He runs his eyes down my body, a concerned look on his face, but it has the same effect as any of his other looks. “You’re not properly dressed.”
My cotton dress and my flimsy jacket are more appropriate for a sunny afternoon in the fall than a chilly night in the mountains.
He checks the backseat, finds a dark-green woman’s cardigan made of wool and hands it to me. “Here, problem solved.”
The cardigan startles me with how soft it feels on my skin. It definitely isn’t regular wool, but cashmere or some other rare and prohibitively expensive fiber. Touching it feels like a sin, much less putting it on. I wince when I spot the Chanel tag on it. It must have cost a couple of thousand dollars—at least.
“It looks very expensive. I don’t want to ruin it.” I try to push the gorgeous knitwear back into his hand, but he won’t have any of it.
He’s already unbuckling and getting out of the car. “It’s just a sweater, come on! Stop with your excuses.”
I take off my own jacke
t first and slide an arm into the expensive cardigan. Goosebumps flare on my arm at the ticklish, tender contact with the fabric. With extreme care, I put on the other sleeve before putting my jacket back on over it. It’s truly a magical fabric and protects me from the harsh cold as I get out of the car and walk around to the driver’s seat.
Austin goes over the instructions with me; traction control off, one foot on the gas, the other on the brake, while all I can think about is my doubt in my ability to control the car. He’s crazy to entrust me with his good and dependable possession. What if I ruin it? What if I drive us both down a slippery road? Donuts on a wide, empty parking lot can cause a major accident, how much more so on a small, icy lot in the mountains? What am I doing?
The angry roar of the engine once I hit the gas drowns out every other irrelevant noise; especially those in my head. We spin in an eternal circle, both of us riding the high together. The tires must indeed be of high quality to hold up under such extreme abuse. This is a rare bonding experience, walking the fine thread between life and death, looking death in the eye together.
When I stop, I’m exhausted. The thrill, the fear, the late hour of the night drain me completely. I’m going to need more than coffee.
While I fight to keep my eyes open, Austin reaches for my hand and raises it to his chest.
“Do you feel it?” he asks when he presses my palm where his heart is. After a moment of concentration, I feel soft but furious thuds.
“Wow.” Mine must be beating just as fast.
“It’s not from doing donuts,” he informs me, the look on his face turning serious, dark yet vulnerable.
Me? Is it me that gets your heart beating so fast? I can’t find the courage to ask. It’s the fear of him laughing at me. It can’t be me anyway. Why? How? I don’t turn heads walking down the street. Men don’t blow up my phone with texts.
There must be a mistake. Austin must be seeing the wrong girl in me. Maybe I look like his dead mother, or he’s after my father’s Subaru. I can only stare silently into his beautiful eyes, because that way, my perfect dream won’t be ruined.