by Lissa Del
“May I pour for you, Sir?” he asks Leo.
“That’s okay, I can do it.” Leo waves him away. He catches me watching him, still waiting for him to explain and his lip twitches upward. “It sounds stupid, I know.”
“No,” I interrupt, “it doesn’t, actually.” I notice that he only pours for me. “You’re not drinking?”
“I’m driving.”
“My mother would approve.” I raise my glass at him and he clinks his own water-filled beaker against it.
“So, do you have any particular influences yet? Any buildings that stand out, that inspire you?”
“Honestly, I can’t even get my head around most of them. I had no idea how complex a simple structure could be. I do prefer simple, elegant lines, though. I’m a modern man. Our lecturer showed us a slide-show the other day of a couple of the most amazing buildings in the world. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor when he was done.”
“Mind if I test your general knowledge?” I ask, recalling the slide show I’d seen four years ago.
“Be my guest.”
“The Basket Building?”
“Perfect place for a picnic.”
“Gagster House?”
“Too many stairs.”
“The Dancing Building?”
“Lonely.”
“The Crooked House?” I am trying desperately not to laugh. Leo considers this last one for a minute and then nods sagely.
“Crooked.”
“Not bad,” I conceded, taking a sip of wine. “I think you have a real knack for this.”
“I’m glad someone thinks so. My family are convinced I’ve taken leave of my senses.”
“Your parents?”
“No,” he shakes his head, “they passed away when I was fifteen. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s an automatic response, but Leo brushes it off, completely at ease.
“It was a long time ago.”
The waiter arrives again to take our order and I realise I haven’t even looked at the menu. I open it, take one look at the foreign terminology and snap it shut again. I was right about the pronunciation and there’s no way I’m going to attempt any of those foreign words.
“Anything you’d recommend?” I ask.
“Yes,” Leo grins, “steak.”
“So, who took care of you after your parents passed away?” I ask, once the waiter has taken our order and defiantly refilled my glass.
“My older sister, Ellen. Technically, we lived with our aunt, my mother’s sister, but Ellen was the one who made sure I brushed my teeth and did my homework. My aunt wasn’t exactly the maternal type.”
“So it’s just you and Ellen?”
“And my kid sister Trisha. She’s a teacher now, ironically.”
“Ironically?”
“Ellen was always the bossy one when we were growing up. Trish couldn’t wipe her own ass until she was about nine.”
We dine on rare steaks dripping in butter and the most delectable French beans I’ve ever eaten. I clean my plate, finishing long before Leo, who takes his time. Every movement is precise, his deft fingers slicing and shifting the food on his plate to create the perfect bite.
“You’re in your final year, right?” he asks, when he eventually lays his knife and fork together and lifts the napkin to his lips.
“Yes.”
“So you’re conducting your thesis?”
“Hmm mmm,” I reply, having just taken a sip of my wine.
“Who’s your mentor?”
“Dianna Marchant.”
“Wow,” Leo looks impressed. “You’re that good?”
“I’m that good,” I grin.
“Doesn’t she only take on two students a year?”
“Yes,” I nod. “This year it’s me and Samantha Simpson.”
“Ah,” he leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his neck. He is so confident, so assured, that again I fail to reconcile this man with the late blooming student I thought he was. “She’s the blonde with the cleavage?”
“Nice to know you pay attention,” I tease.
“I’m human,” he shrugs, “but she’s not really my type. Besides, she didn’t like my paper airplane.”
“She didn’t. In fact, if I recall correctly she tore it up.”
“After all my hard work.”
“Why did you hold up that note?” I ask, the wine giving me courage. “Not that I’m complaining, but why me?”
“Actually, it wasn’t meant for you,” Leo replies, deadpan. “I was trying to get the attention of the cutest little brunette two seats in front of you.”
I stare at him, unsure if he’s teasing or not, until he gives an amused shake of his head. “I don’t know; do I have to have a reason? I saw you as you came in and you looked kind of sad. I thought it might cheer you up.”
I cast my mind back to that day. I had been disappointed to find myself back in Noah’s class, but the fact that he noticed is unbelievably perceptive. I take another sip of my wine to fill the silence.
“What’s your thesis proposal?” Leo asks eventually.
“Um…” I falter, not sure how to explain it to him. “Rejuvenation. I’m proposing to tear down a warehouse in mid-downtown and build an art gallery.”
“You’re creating art to house art?” he asks, but to my surprise he doesn’t sound patronising, as Noah did when I first pitched the idea to him.
“Basically,” I confirm.
“Like the Guggenheim?”
“That is one of my influences but I have my own vision.”
“And the audacity to challenge, apparently.” He lifts his glass of water in a toast, “I like that.”
CHAPTER 11
By the time we leave the restaurant the roads are quiet, not surprisingly, as it’s after ten on a Sunday night.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I tell Leo as we pull up to the curb outside my block. He gives me an easy grin, his blue eyes almost black in the darkened interior of the car. He seems completely at ease, whereas my stomach has been wrapping itself into a tightly-wound knot of anticipation the whole drive home. I’m still internally debating whether I should ask him up, when he saves me the trouble.
“I’ll walk you up,” he says, easing himself out of the car and coming around to open my door for me. I don’t expect it – this isn’t the fifties, after all – and so, of course, I open the door from the inside just as he leans in to grab the handle. The cold metal connects spectacularly with his temple.
“Ow!” Leo howls, clapping a hand to his head. It practically covers his entire face.
“Oh God!” I stumble onto the sidewalk, reaching for him before I realise that the only places I can reach are his chest, his torso and his crotch. I drive away the wicked thoughts that this conjures and step closer to him. “Are you okay?” I ask hesitantly.
“Hm’ fine,” he mumbles from behind his hand, “just give me a second.”
I shift my weight from foot to foot, waiting. Leo has fallen silent and I start to wonder if he’s bleeding, or worse, if he might be a little concussed. I dart a glance up and down the street but all is absolutely still. If he needs to go to the emergency room I don’t think I can drive this beast of a car. I cast a dark look at it for good measure. My trusty little Fiat is parked in the underground lot, and worse, the key is hanging on a hook next to my front door. Leo is still just standing there, but at least he’s on his feet. He would’ve collapsed if he’d fainted, right? You can’t be unconscious on your feet… or can you? I automatically open my purse to retrieve my cell phone, the urge to consult Doctor Google coming over me, but then I realise how inappropriate that would be. I pick at the hem of my shirt for a minute, feeing utterly helpless and ridiculously uncomfortable when, out of the corner of my eye, I spot Leo’s shoulders shaking. Narrowing my eyes, I bend down, peering up at his face. Half-hidden by his palm, Leo’s mouth is curved up in that wicked, crooked grin.
“Oh, you asshole!” I yell,
slapping his shoulder with my purse. The hand drops to reveal blue eyes glistening with mirth. “I nearly had a heart attack!” I add, hoping he feels guilty. To his credit, there is a definite purple-tinged lump above his left eye. It draws my attention to the scar above it and I almost miss his question when he asks.
“What were you looking for?”
“What?”
“You reached for your purse. Do you have a first-aid kit in there?”
“No, I was reaching for my phone.”
“You were going to call for help?” he asks, practically in hysterics. If he thinks that’s funny, there’s no way I’m admitting to Doctor Google.
“Yes,” I nod firmly. Leo takes a bold step toward me, the humour in his eyes morphing into something else, something more intense. The shift in tension crackles between us and I draw in an involuntary breath of air.
As he advances I feel like a deer being stalked by a large cat, wild and beautiful. If the deer was attracted to the lion, of course. If it wanted to grab hold of the lion and do unmentionable things to him which would make even death worth it. Staring up into those electric eyes I find it hard to steady my hands and I clutch my purse to my chest like a shield protecting my heart. The gesture is futile, because every inch of my body is screaming for the distance between us to be obliterated. Leo moves until our bodies are touching in only the most insignificant of places, his knees brushing mine, chest pressing against my purse. I try to smile, but my lips won’t co-operate and I just stare mutely up at him as he lifts a blonde curl off my shoulder and winds it around his finger.
“Should I still walk you up?” he asks, throwing down the challenge.
I nod, placing one hand on his chest and feeling the taut muscle beneath my palm. Leo places his one hand over mine and weaves his fingers through it so that when we turn toward my apartment block we are holding hands. His palms are dry and he swings his arm slightly as we walk, his thumb weaving tiny circles on my palm, sending shivers of anticipation through me. He doesn’t let go of my hand until we reach my door and I have to fumble for my keys.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” I ask over my shoulder as I dump my purse on the table in the hall. The response is an abrupt ‘no’ and then his hands are on my hips, encircling my waist and drawing me back against him. The action is so sudden I give a small cry of surprise, but the feel of his hard body against my back is heavenly. My stomach dances in tune to his fingers which are gently stroking my belly and skimming just a hairsbreadth below my breasts. I try to turn around, but his arms tighten like a vice-grip, pinning me in place. Jess was right, he does like to be in control. He hasn’t spoken since we left the car and the silence seems to exacerbate my other senses. I can smell him, the faint trace of aftershave which lingers on his jaw, the lemony scent of fabric softener, and something else; something more primal – the scent of hot-blooded man. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone as badly as I do right now.
Keeping one hand around me, Leo slides the other up my arm and over my shoulder, lifting my hair off my neck. Even though I’m anticipating it, I can’t suppress the shiver that runs through my body when his lips drop onto the topmost point of my spine. I can feel his small, satisfied smile at my reaction, and he kisses me again, brushing feather-light kisses across the nape of my neck and across onto my shoulder. I squirm against him, but the consequence of that rebellion is that he drops my hair back into place and draws himself up to his full height, withdrawing his attention. Looking up I catch sight of us in the mirror above the hall table. My cheeks are flushed and my eyeliner has smudged under my eyes, making me look wanton and desirable. Or it could just be the light – there’s a bulb missing directly overhead. The lack of fluorescence, however, does nothing to dull the unnatural blue of Leo’s eyes as they lock on my own in the reflection of the mirror. He gives an imperceptible shake of his head, warning me to be still and, coyly, I let my head fall to the side, exposing the arch of my neck for his undivided attention.
Of course, knowing what I want, he deliberately ignores me. Instead, he slips his hand shamelessly up inside the waistline of my blouse, grabs hold of one side of my bra and yanks it southward. My breast falls out of the bra like an overripe plum and, to my horror, I can see my nipple practically conga-ing its way through the fabric. Leo is still watching me and it’s both unnerving and erotic. My body feels weightless and liquid, and when his fingers close over my nipple it is almost my undoing. My knees groan in protest at having to hold me up. Leo pushes aside the cowl neckline of my blouse so we can both watch as he expertly caresses me, his fingers moulding and kneading me into delirium. Just when I think I cannot take another minute of this relentless torture, his left hand plunges fingers first into the waistband of my skirt. I experience a nano-second of burning, core-rocketing pleasure, in real danger of simply collapsing in a heap, when there is a musical rat-a-tat-tat drumming on the door beside us.
CHAPTER 12
I am going to kill my brother. I’m going to murder him in his sleep when he finally decides to leave and take his interrupting ass back to his own apartment where he will climb into bed alone, much like I’ll be doing, thanks to his impromptu, unannounced visit.
“You seem upset,” he asks, a snide grin plastered in place. “I’m assuming your visitor wasn’t actually ‘just leaving’ when I arrived, as he so politely claimed?”
Leo has just left, making his exit shortly after Dylan’s arrival and subsequent introductions. He had kissed me chastely on the cheek as I let him out. It had taken me only a second to yank my bra and shirt back in place after hearing the knock, but now, ten minutes later, I still hadn’t brought my heart rate under control.
“Why are you here, anyway?” I demand, rounding on my brother. “It’s almost midnight!”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he shrugs, “and my cable’s on the blink. I thought I could watch over here.”
“I hate you.”
“You hate that you didn’t get your obviously anticipated leg over,” he corrects, utterly unapologetic.
“Dylan, I’m being serious. This is my house. You have to respect my privacy!”
“Okay, okay,” he relents. “I didn’t know you had someone here. Honestly, Sarah, I wouldn’t have knocked if I’d known.” He looks sincere and my irritation subsides slightly. Until he opens his mouth again. “Hey, you should get one of those signs – you know, the ones you find at those fancy hotels that say ‘occupied’? That way I’ll know when to steer clear.”
“Get out!”
“That’s a no to the cable, then?”
“Out!” I point furiously at the door. “Now! And don’t you dare come back here without phoning me first. And if it’s after nine, I don’t care if your house is on fire, don’t call, don’t visit!”
“You must really like this guy,” is all he says as he lopes out of the apartment.
I stomp into the kitchen, snatch a bottle of water from the fridge and take a huge swig before pressing the cold plastic against my cheek. What a shitty way to end my evening. I flip off the kitchen light, plunging the apartment into darkness save for the low glow in the hall. I really must get that bulb replaced. Drawn to the window, I heave a sigh and glance down at the street. My heart stutters in my chest at the sight of Leo’s SUV still parked outside. What… where? As I spin around I only just clap my hand over my mouth in time to smother the scream that bursts from my lips.
“That’s not how I say goodbye, Sarah.” Leo is standing in the hall, his coppery hair even more tousled than when he left, as though he has spent the last fifteen minutes running his hands through it. As frustrated as I am, I can totally empathise.
“I should hope not.” I say, feeling the excitement that I have only just managed to clamp down burst back into being. Leo grins, turning to lock the deadbolt. He crosses the room in a few strides and I close my eyes, praying he doesn’t trip over any furniture in the dark.
“Just so you know, that door doesn’t open again until morning,
” he growls, towering over me.
“I have no problem with that,” I breathe.
His eyes dip to my cleavage, but he hesitates. We’re both unsure how to continue, exactly how to pick up where we left off. Summoning my courage, I reach for the zipper of my skirt myself, undoing it and letting it slither down my legs. Leo watches me intently, his eyes following my every movement as I step out of the skirt and kick it aside. I’m no exhibitionist, but his hungry gaze gives me courage. I want to be sexy for him. I lift my shirt slowly, inch by inch, exposing the pale flesh of my torso for his benefit alone. When I drop the red satin to the floor, leaving me naked save for the hot pink scraps of lace and my stiletto-heeled boots, Leo lets out a breathless sigh. Thrilled with his response, I do a quick mental calculation. My boots aren’t as easy to take off and I really don’t want to bend in front of him and expose my inadequately-covered ass. Still, they have to come off. Gritting my teeth, I start to move, but Leo grabs my arms.
“Leave those on.”
I am twenty-four years old and I’ve had my share of lovers but never have I felt so horny as I do now, hearing those words. If I had to tell Jess or Tom about this they would laugh, because saying it back sounds like a line right out of a cheesy movie, but in this moment – right now – it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. The lower half of my body contracts.
Through eyes heavy-lidded with desire, I watch as Leo lowers his head. My mouth meets his and the same fire as before ignites as though it never went out. As his head moves lower I suck in a shaky breath, feeling his warm lips and flickers of the wet heat of his tongue against my neck, my collar bone, the dark valley between my breasts. His expert hands slip beneath my bra, igniting duel fires as he squeezes my nipples. It’s hard enough to hurt, but it doesn’t. Instead, it only leaves me wanting more. His movement is limited by the bra and, desperate for his mouth to join his hands, I lift my arms, unclipping the offending garment and hurling it away from my body. Leo moans, a deep, satisfied sound that merges with my own cry of contentment as his mouth covers first one breast and then the other. By the time he lifts his head I am squirming with desire and his blue eyes are heavy with lust.