Digging for her keys in her purse as she turned down Belmont towards her loft, she thought the air whispered her name.
Stopping and looking up, she realized it was him who was calling her. He stood on the sidewalk waving towards her.
Great. Exactly what she didn’t need at this moment. Fuck it. After the way he’d treated her, she owed him nothing. Pivoting, she continued walking away. God, she wanted to run, but that would be undignified. She wasn’t a coward and wasn’t about to start acting like one right now in front of him.
Because of him.
“Calleigh, wait up!” he yelled. He must have realized not only wasn’t she waiting for him, but was actively ignoring him, because he increased his pace to a slight jog, quickly catching up with her.
“Calleigh! Please wait.” His pleas sounded like a command until he reached her and grabbed her arm to spin her around.
“Get your fucking hands off of me, Shalvington,” she hissed at him, her long blonde hair blowing around her face, strands becoming trapped on her freshly-glossed lips.
David removed his hand and put both of his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offered.
“You didn’t scare me, asshole. You don’t have the right to touch me. That’s why I told you to remove your hands.”
“Did you hear me calling your name?” he asked, his deep blue stare concerned and slightly pissed off at the same time, clearly shocked that she could have, in fact, heard him calling her name and pointedly ignored it.
Score one for the girl.
She rolled her eyes and considered the male specimen in front of her. Even though she’d actively ignored him for the last hour and a half, she had been intensely aware of him. Of his deep, husky voice whenever he opened his mouth. His spicy aftershave that floated subtly around her, enveloping her as seductively as a lover. His strong, tan hands that had confidently gripped his beer bottle and spoke of a self-assured man who knew exactly what to do with those hands.
“My hearing works fine,” she tartly responded, hands on hips, swinging her purse to her opposite shoulder and planting her legs apart as though bracing for a fight.
“Why didn’t you stop then?” He looked honestly perplexed. Chasing after any woman and not have her stop as soon as the command rolled off his cruel lips must be a novel experience.
“Why would I?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t you?” he countered, furrowing his brows.
“You honestly want me to answer? After what happened the last time I talked to you? Excuse me. I need to get home.” She tried to side step his wide form in the sidewalk, but he blocked her path again.
“Calleigh, please,” he pleaded, putting his arms out as though intent on physically restraining her again.
“Please what, David? What exactly would you like me to do? I’m sorry. I guess I’m unfamiliar with the protocol in these types of situations. I’m a little out of my league when a man, who, last time I saw him, told me he wanted nothing to do with me and I was essentially the most repulsive woman on the face of the earth, now wants my attention. What is it, exactly? What can I, Calleigh Stuart, do for the incomparable David Shalvington?”
His mouth twisted in the semblance of a smile. He was so smug. God, what she wouldn’t do to wipe the smile off his face. She, who’d never harmed a living soul in her entire life, was tempted to kick him in the nuts.
Twice.
Just cause.
When his mouth remained silent, she said, “I’m tempted to call the cops and report I’m being accosted by a large, two hundred pound man who is preventing me from getting home. Cops aren’t usually too sympathetic to a man like yourself.”
“Like what?”
“Big and macho.”
“You think I’m macho?” He looked pleasantly surprised by the statement. And pleased. Way too pleased.
“Oh for the love of God. Now, please, get out of way before I use my feet to ensure you can never father children.”
He laughed, a rich, husky sound, one that did funny, unexpected things to her gut.
“We don’t want that now do we,” he purred.
“Doesn’t matter to me, but it might to your future wife.”
“Why all this concern about my romantic future?”
“Are you truly this insensitive? Honestly? I ask you out, you turn me down in a way that was beyond cruel, and now you want to flirt with me? Are you bipolar? Or just fucking crazy? Either way, it doesn’t matter much to me.”
As the words rolled off her tongue, she realized their truth. They didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t anyone’s doormat. No man could talk to her the way he had, without repercussions. Think there wasn’t a price to be paid. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. It didn’t matter that she still found him devastatingly attractive. No way was he treating her poorly again.
He looked down at the sidewalk for a brief second before raising his eyes to hers again.
“Calleigh, I’m sorry.”
“For what? What part are you sorry about? Sorry I ever asked you out? Sorry you said no? Or sorry you’re an asshole? For the record, I’m sorry you’re an asshole too, but I can’t fix your personality defects.”
“I’m sorry I said no when you asked me out,” he clarified.
“Noted. Now, please move to the side and let me pass.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? Your legs not working?”
“My legs work fine. As do all of my other body parts.” His look was so flooded with lust, it made her cheeks flame and warmed other body parts as well.
“Can we fast forward through whatever is taking you way too long to tell me? Because honestly? I’m tired. I’ve had a shitty day and all I want to do is go home. So please. Finish what you started and then we can each go on our separate ways,” she continued. She refused to acknowledge her attraction to him was still pulsing with life. She had enough self-destructive habits already in her own life. She did not need to add David Shalvington to them. And she would never be with a man who demonstrated such little respect for her and her feelings.
“I was a jerk,” he reluctantly acknowledged.
“When? Then? Now? Or every day you’ve ever taken a breath? Because my answer is D, all of the above.”
“I should have said yes when you asked me out,” he admitted.
“Ok. Great. Should have, could have, would have. If you’re finished, I have to go.” Again, she motioned to go around him and make her way to the safety and serenity of her loft.
David gently placed a warm hand on her forearm to stop her.
“I said I was sorry.”
Calleigh grimaced. “Actually, you haven’t yet said you were sorry. You said you should have said yes when I asked you out. There was no ‘sorry’ that was a part of your statement.”
“You’re right. There wasn’t.”
“Are you saying it now?”
“Do you want me to?”
She closed her eyes and called on all of her years of training on how to dealing with surly, hormonal teenagers. How in the world had she sustained such a huge crush on him for the better part of the year when he was a complete and utter prick? She was in an alternate universe, one tilting off to its side and spinning out of control. She was defeated with no fight left in her. He had worn her down and now all she wanted was to take a long, hot bath and fall into bed. Alone.
“I don’t care what you do so long as you simply allow me to go home.”
“Then you won’t care if I do this.” And with that, he placed both his hands around her head and kissed the ever-loving soul out of her. The kiss a hard demand from warm, firm lips.
Don’t open your mouth. Don’t give him your tongue. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t…
She did it. He opened up her mouth with his while his tongue darted inside to plead with hers. She felt his hands on her bottom as he brought her in direct contact with the middle part of hi
s body, where she felt every single part of him.
After several minutes, he pulled back and practically had to hold her up.
“You need to come over for dinner. Next Saturday. I’ll email you my address and the time.”
“That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?” she asked, mentally telling her legs to stand up, straight and tall. If that’s what the man did to her with one brief kiss, she’d be toast if they ever did anything more. Which they wouldn’t. Ever.
He simply stood there, smiling at her, all too pleased with himself.
Smug, sexy bastard.
“Maybe, but it’s the least I can do to make amends,” he said.
§ § §
Her eyes had sparked as though they were firecrackers and it was the Fourth of July, David thought. She was full of piss and vinegar tonight. Which was turning him on in a big way. Surprise, surprise.
Could he even remember the last time he’d kissed one of his partners on the lips? Kissing wasn’t a significant part of his bedroom proclivities, but she was making him reconsider. Her lips were voluptuous and supple and she tasted like lime and salt.
God, she’d be a wildcat in bed. Wouldn’t it be fun to tie her up and tease her for a few hours? A few days?
“Forget dinner. What was that?” she asked, her gaze clouded with confusion that he was responsible for.
“It’s called a kiss, Calleigh. Don’t tell me it’s your first one. Because that, I would most definitely not believe,” he teased.
“Thanks for that clarification, sport. I’m not sure why you kissed me,” she accused, her eyes glinting with self-righteous indignation tempered with glorious lust. Despite her evident enjoyment in the kiss, simmering anger rolled off her in waves. She was still pissed off at the way he’d treated her. Which made him respect her even more.
“You looked like a woman who needed kissing. Lucky for you, I was around to provide it at exactly the right time. You should probably thank me right about now.”
“You might be the most arrogant SOB I’ve ever met. Good night,” she said turning around.
“Calleigh, I really am sorry. For what happened last time and I’d like to make it up to you,” he said to her back as she continued down the sidewalk.
She turned towards him, wariness dotting her eyes. Cars passed by at a moderate pace, the melodious noise cocooning them on the street as the sun descended over the city.
“I’m listening.”
Listening, maybe. Not giving an inch, definitely.
Could she give him what he needed? Everything that he demanded? In return for something she’d probably never contemplated for a second in her entire rarified life.
“Like I said, I’d like to make you dinner. Come to my house Saturday night at six. I’ll email you directions.”
“You don’t have my email.”
“I have our team’s roster, which includes your email. Don’t be late.”
§ § §
Shit, shit, shit, Calleigh thought for the hundredth time the following Saturday night on her way to David’s house. His house. Not some public place. Not her loft. His house. The place he called home. The place that contained his cleats, his washcloths, his aftershave, his razors, and all of the other mile markers of a man’s life. The space where he planned to cook dinner. For her.
What had she been thinking? Well, the answer was that she hadn’t been thinking. Her hormones had been making all of her decisions and spoke up for her when they should have otherwise remained silent. Unfortunately, they, too, found him irresistible. And so they had answered affirmatively for her when he’d asked her over earlier. After the kiss they’d shared, a kiss that had seared her from the inside out.
He fascinated her. She yearned to know all the mundane details that defined his life. What color were his towels? Did bottles of wine have a place in his kitchen? Was he a scotch man? Whiskey? Tequila? Classic beer? Did his refrigerator contain more than condiments? What did he eat? Who were his friends? Was he a movie guy, a reader, or a gamer?
That night on the street, he’d left her tied up in knots. She hadn’t wanted the kiss to end. Ever.
The day following their kiss after a pick-up game they’d both played in, he’d walked over as she was replacing her cleats with flip-flops, all tawny and sexy. His head of thick hair and his laser-like blue eyes had settled on her for what felt like forever before he spoke.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” Normally, Calleigh would have let her nerves over take her mouth as they were ever inclined to do, but not that day. Not after the prior night when he’d unaccountably kissed her.
“You still planning on coming over for dinner Saturday night?” he’d asked.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On who my potential dinner companion is.”
He looked exasperated. “That would be me.”
She cocked her head before becoming engrossed with how her flip-flops looked. “Since that’s still the case, then I’m busy.”
David leaned both his arms beside her on the bench and towered over her before placing his mouth next to her left ear. “I promise to play nice,” he whispered.
“Maybe I’m not willing to be played with,” she squeaked.
“Come on. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be fun.”
“If I say yes, will you please remove yourself from my personal space?”
“Only if you promise to come to dinner,” he countered.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
Now, here she was driving to his house. As much as she wanted to wear a potato sack to annoy him, her conscience and pride wouldn’t let her. Instead, her green crew-neck cashmere sweater highlighted her eyes, while her caramel leather pants showcased her long legs, seemingly made even longer by her three-inch neutral pumps.
She pulled up to the cedar-shingled bungalow on the east side, double-checking the piece of paper to make sure the address was right.
Ringing the doorbell, she waited and mentally braced herself. Every time she was with him, he kept her off balance.
He opened the door while simultaneously drying his hands on a blue towel. “Hi. Come on in.” He stepped aside while she walked past him, turning to study his environment so she could avoid the man for as long as possible. Which was silly since she was there to have dinner with him, but she was off her game. Had been ever since she’d met him.
Gleaming hardwood floors spread throughout the entire house as far as she could see. His living area held a medium-sized entertainment center that housed a television, DVD player, and stereo system. A dark brown couch and chair circled a living room table that held a few best-sellers Calleigh recognized as well as the current issue of Sports Illustrated. On the opposite side was what appeared to be the dining room complete with a small, square oak table with matching chairs and two matching table settings, set especially for the two of them.
Start with something simple, she instructed herself. “Nice place you’ve got here,” she commented.
“Thanks. Let me take your coat.”
She unzipped her leather jacket and handed it to him, still trying to avoid both eye contact and any bodily contact. She worried she could spontaneously combust simply by being in his vicinity. If he kissed her again, she’d probably come on the spot.
Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore him all night. Turning, she studied him. He wore khakis, sharply creased, along with a dark blue dress shirt with several buttons undone, displaying a tantalizing amount of a gorgeous chest. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal tan forearms dusted with hair slightly darker than those on his head. The only piece of jewelry he wore was a plain, silver watch on his left wrist that only accentuated his dark skin.
“Come on back to the kitchen with me. You can keep me company while the pasta finishes cooking,” he said as he turned around and sauntered back towards his kitchen.
“You were sure I’d be on time? What if I’d been late?”
“I knew you
wouldn’t be.”
He offered her a glass of red wine without even asking if she wanted it.
Taking it, she asked, “How could you be sure? Maybe I’m a woman who runs on her own time clock. I could have been an hour late for all you know.”
“But you weren’t.”
“But I could have been.”
“Come on, Calleigh. Give me some credit. It’s not in your nature to be late. Even for me. Even if I might otherwise deserve it.”
She wanted to argue with him, but couldn’t. Because he was right. She was always on time, early even when the situation didn’t require punctuality. People who were late, especially those who were habitually late, frustrated her. As though everyone else’s time was less important than her own or anyone else’s.
“What’s on the menu for tonight?” she asked, noting a deep saucepan on the stove with the lid on that couldn’t quite contain the dish’s spicy smells.
“It’s a dish called Shrimp Diablo,” he responded, smiling at her, revealing a slightly crooked smile that should have been a turn-off, but had the opposite effect.
§ § §
Standing in his kitchen was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known. It had been forever since he’d actually set out to seduce a woman. The other night after soccer and then afterwards, he’d realized that he wanted to seduce her. He wanted to take her to bed and keep her there for as long as she could stand it. Hours. Days. He wasn’t exactly sure when he’d decided to toss his old rules to the side. Maybe it was when she’d spent the entire evening at La Calaca Comelona ignoring him. Or perhaps it had been before, once he realized how much he’d hurt her when he turned her down. And how much it bothered him to think he had hurt her. Now, whether she’d actually be receptive to the same bedroom activities he was, presented an entirely different matter for consideration. Either way, he couldn’t lose. If she wasn’t into it, assuming they progressed that far, he’d respect it, they’d have a short-lived affair and then return to their separate lives.
Bound Hearts Page 4