ANightatTheCavern

by Anna Alexander

  “God, you’re pushy,” he grumbled, but sat as instructed. “You need a man to break you down and make you more pliable.”

  “No such man exists.” She perched on the sofa next to him and took his hand. “Let me guess, our plain wallflower was not as she appeared. Say it. I love to hear the words.”

  Jorges laughed and kissed the back of her hand. “You were right.”

  “Of course I was. Tell me everything.”

  “You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “Then tell me the juicy, non-sexy stuff.”

  “Well, she was…amazing.”

  While he told Amaryllis about mundane things about Miranda, like her job and their first conversation, in his mind he replayed the personal details that had imprinted themselves on him like a tattoo to be carried forever. Like the way her eyes sparkled just before she laughed, the satin texture of the curve of her hip against his palm and the way she bit her lip as she gathered her courage.

  The night had been magic. Then came the cold dawn of morning when he woke up alone in an empty nightclub. Only the pleasant ache in his balls and the smear of her pale-pink lipstick on his skin confirmed that the night hadn’t been a complete fantasy. At least she had taken the time to cover him in a sheet before she disappeared.

  The morning after a one-night stand was not an uncommon occurrence in his life, but this was the first time that his heart felt the pain of disappointment. He wanted to take her to his favorite breakfast spot and see the color of her hair in the sunlight. He wanted to show her his latest design and ask for her opinion. He wanted her to share in his life.

  For the first time in longer than he could remember, he wanted to let someone see past the two-hundred-dollar haircut and designer clothes to the man he was beneath the skin. Amaryllis didn’t count. She forced her way past his barricades and claimed a spot like an explorer stealing land from the locals. With Miranda, he wanted her to see him.

  Sheer madness on his part, for certain. She had come to The Cavern looking for a good time, and he delivered it in spades. When the sweat of their bodies had chilled on her skin, she’d probably been ashamed of her wanton behavior and skipped out before she had to face an awkward morning after. Hell, how many times had he done the same thing himself? Why would she ever think he was interested in more?

  “So, when will you see her again?” Amaryllis asked.

  “You’re funny.” He stood and swallowed down the lump caused by the thought of not seeing her again. “You know me. I’m the goodtime guy and she’s a forever kind of girl. I filled a need, and that’s all that will be.”

  “Yes, you fulfilled her need. But she hasn’t filled yours.”

  As he busied himself with the task of correcting her packing job, the weight of her too-seeing gaze bore into his back. “I don’t have needs, besides the basics.”

  “What is that word? Ah, yes, bullshit. You need to be loved by a woman who wants more from you than your cock.”

  “That’s not true. What, in the entire history of our relationship, has ever given you the idea that I need a woman’s love?”

  “Because you are human, and humans need connections to another. To live for that one person, as they live for them.”

  “You’re human too, babe. Who are you connected to?”

  “I’m not as human as you may think. But I have not given up hope that he is out there somewhere.” Her gaze turned inward and darkened as she whispered, “Maybe even heartbeats away.”

  Jorges thought about the darkly fierce man he saw dancing with Amaryllis the night before. Perhaps there was more to his reappearance in her life than a dire warning.

  Amaryllis jumped and ran her hands over her hair. “Damn, I wish I didn’t have to go, but I really shouldn’t tarry any longer. My ride is here. Jorges, make me a promise.”

  “That depends on what the promise is.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “Go see her. You know where to find her. Try, at least try to see if the magic of last night continues to pulse in the daytime.”

  He laughed. “You do have a way with words.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Fine, fine. I promise,” he said as a knot formed in his gut.

  She narrowed her gaze. “And you know that I will know if you do not follow through.”

  “Yeah. You have scary skills like that.”

  She pressed two quick kisses to his cheek. From her back pocket, she withdrew a piece of paper. “Here. I will be without a way to communicate. This is the number you can call if you absolutely need to reach me. Please look after the staff. I love them dearly, but with me gone, the temptation to play may be too great to resist.”

  “Done.”

  “Good.” She hugged him tight and under his hands he felt the tremors running down her spine.

  Suddenly the seriousness of her departure hit him and he tightened his hold, somehow sensing that the woman in his arms was never going to return quite the same way she was now.

  “Be careful.” He pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “I need you as my wingman.”

  “You be careful too. You are my family and I would die without you.”

  “Always with the dramatics. I’m sure this mystery is all a ruse because you’ve found a man you’re ashamed to tell me about and are off to have a hot, kinky weekend together.”

  “I wish.” She hugged him again. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  He helped her carry her luggage, but she refused to allow him farther than settling her into the elevator that carried her to the parking garage, claiming that the less he knew about her departure, the better. With her foot planted firmly in the way of the door closing, she gave him another hug. “Call her.”

  “I will. Good luck.”

  “You too.”

  The doors slid shut with a soft hiss and he stared at the burnished metal. The polished surface reflected his troubled expression and the deep line bisecting his eyes.

  What was wrong with him? It was one girl. If Miranda was able to place her trust in him, then he could trust himself as well.

  He pressed the down button and tapped at the wall while he waited for the compartment to make its return trip. Tracking Miranda down was not an impossible task. He didn’t know where she lived, but he had an idea as to where she worked. It was as good of a starting point as any. The real question was, did he have the balls to follow through?

  A smile curved his lips and a tingle brewed in his gut. If Miranda thought last night was all of their story, he was more than eager to prove her wrong.

  * * * * *

  In the wedding world, there were bridezillas and then there were the monstrous she-bitches who used their wedding day as an excuse to make everyone around them more miserable than the lowliest being in hell. When you work in the event business, you learn to smile and take notes, forcing yourself to endure the torture because, after all, they were the one’s signing the checks. When the obnoxious creature was your sister, torture took on an entirely different meaning.

  Miranda didn’t bother to stifle her yawn as she watched her younger sister Megan and their mother add yet another napkin to the table of china and glassware. It wasn’t as if they were paying her any attention, or cared to ask her opinion as to whether silk or shantung was a better fabric choice for the napkins. This was the third visit in the last year, and after having Megan claim that all of Miranda’s suggestions were in poor taste, she had learned to keep her mouth shut.

  Poor taste. Miranda mentally snorted. Quality and design over price was not poor taste.

  There was no containing the devilish smile that broke free as she pictured the tacky peacock feather-trimmed table cloths that arrived the day before. Would Megan insist on having them if she was told they were fifty dollars each? What a photo spread that would make.

  At least Miranda wasn’t alone in her misery. Across the showroom floor Roxanne was catering to the needs of her own pain-in-the-ass clients. About two thirds
of the warehouse samples lay in heaps around the display table as the bride and her maid of honor demanded to see more, while the groom held up his wineglass for another refill of the complimentary champagne.

  Why did women even bother dragging along their fiancés to pick out table linens and stemware? In Miranda’s experience the only thing from their shop men were interested in was the final bill. They couldn’t give a rat’s ass if the fabric they wiped their mouth on was cotton or satin, if they used a napkin at all. Maybe forcing the groom to attend was some sort of punishment? That made more sense as to why they were obligated to participate.

  This poor schmuck was tucked in the corner, head down, swilling wine with cell phone in hand as his bride-to-be and her maid of honor kept running to the window and back with different fabrics to see how the color appeared in the sunlight. Any questions thrown his way were answered with a grunt and a nod.

  Roxanne caught her gaze and they shared an eye roll as Miranda’s mother snapped, “Miranda! Are you listening?”

  “Of course. How many napkin rings?” She readied her pen to take notes.

  “We’re at three hundred fifty now, but include some extra.”

  Good Lord. A thousand dollars just on napkin rings? Why don’t they just give her the money and let her do something more useful with it, like arrange to have her sister elope in Vegas. Or kidnapped. Either option sounded fantastic.

  “What’s the second choice in case we’re out?”

  “Out?” Megan screeched. “Why would you be out?”

  “Because,” her fingers tightened around the pen, causing the plastic to crack, “it’s six days before your wedding and orders for this weekend have already been filled. It may be hard to believe, Megan, but you’re not the only one getting married this weekend.”

  “Well I’m the only one that matters!”

  “Girls, stop this shouting.” Eloise put her arm around her youngest daughter. “Darling, you must stay calm. You don’t want to pop a blood vessel before your big day, and, Mandy Pandy, stop antagonizing your sister. She’s under enough pressure as it is. Go to your little computer and find us those napkin rings.”

  “I’m not promising anything.” Miranda marched away from her family before she did something childish, like throw a glass at the wall. While the crunch of crystal against drywall would have been oh so satisfying, it wasn’t worth having the destruction come out of her paycheck.

  As she walked toward her desk, she heard her mother trying to placate her sister. “Don’t mind her, Megan princess. You know how jealous she must feel about you marrying a successful doctor and she has no one. Show some compassion.”

  “What do you want me to do, Mother? I made sure to invite Bryant’s single fraternity brothers. If she can’t land one of those men, she’s hopeless.”

  Indignation burned the back of Miranda’s throat but she refused to acknowledge the irritation. Their pity was stupid and misplaced. She didn’t need a man in her life to be happy, and she certainly didn’t need her sister and mother trying to set her up. She was perfectly capable of finding a man on her own, if she so wanted.

  Like Jorges.

  Tears welled up at the thought of his name. Had she been insane to leave him all alone in that big bed, looking sexy and sated with the curve of his butt and golden expanse of his back peeking out from beneath the rumpled sheets?

  Nope. That move had been completely logical.

  As she had stood there staring over him like a creepy stalker eyeing the weak and tasty, she knew the worst thing she could do was wake him and face the horrible morning after. To have his sexy smile turn indulgent as he patted her on the head and said farewell would have been a butter knife to the heart. He probably forgot all about her before she left the nightclub.

  For one night, she’d been bold and sexy and Jorges had given her that power. It was a gift she’d always treasure. No, it was better to leave first and not risk tarnishing her perfect memories.

  Of course, as is wont to happen to all best-laid plans, that idea was obliterated to smithereens as she walked to the main part of the showroom where her desk was located and spotted Jorges near the front window display. His arms were folded across his black cotton-covered chest and a contemplative frown marred his brow. The moment her heels skidded to a stop on the concrete floor he lifted his gaze in her direction.

  “Hey.” He smiled and gestured to the table. “Who put this together?”

  “I—” She coughed and tried again. “I did.”

  “Really? It’s fantastic. I would have never put together that bright orange with that shade of blue. And the stone platters are an excellent touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know, I’ve been working on a project for a restaurant in Madrid and haven’t found my inspiration. May I use your ideas?”

  “What? Uh, sure.”

  He liked her design? A highly sought-after designer wanted her design? Really? But even as the warmth of his compliment stroked her ego, his unexpected appearance caught her completely off-guard and before she could control herself she blurted, “What are you doing here?”

  His gaze narrowed as his lips pressed into a firm line. “You didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye.”

  “Oh, well.” Heat raced across her face. “I didn’t, um, know. I—I didn’t want to make things weird. The entire night was a first for me and I’m not exactly up with the etiquette.”

  “That night was a first for me too.” He glided the few steps separating them then brushed her hair over her shoulder. The light touch sent goose bumps down her arms and tightened her nipples.

  What was it about this man that made her want to march up to her beautiful table, knock all the fine china to the floor with a grand sweep of her arm and beg him to take her on the cold surface? One look, just one tiny glance from those crystal-blue eyes and she was a quivering mass of need ready to be ridden hard and put away wet.

  “Pandy!”

  Douse. And just as quick as a fire hose on a campfire, the flame was snuffed out cold.

  Miranda jumped back and turned to see her sister glaring, shellacked fingernails curled into her hips as her Ferragamo-covered foot tapped an impatient rhythm.

  “Excuse me, Jorges. That’s my sister and she’s getting married this weekend. She’s a little…demanding.”

  His gaze flicked between the two sisters and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “No. Go ahead. I’m in no rush.”

  “Good. Um, wait here.”

  She scurried to her desk, keeping one eye on Jorges, and nearly missed her chair as she sat down. With frequent glances at him from over the top of the monitor, her hands shook as she typed out the information she was searching for.

  He came. For her? Why?

  Tingles raced over her skin with the implication that Jorges wanted to see her again. Why else would he have gone to the trouble of tracking her down? It sure as hell wasn’t because she didn’t say goodbye, although she’d wager very few women ever wanted to say goodbye to Jorges. Maybe he really, truly wanted to spend more time with her.

  Now the question was, did she want to see more of him?

  She choked on a snort. Of course she did. What woman wouldn’t want to see more of this sexy, interesting, exciting man? Even if it were just for coffee. It wasn’t beyond her social skills to be cool and sophisticated while sipping a latte.

  The click of heels striding in her direction made her fingers type faster. Just great. Let’s have her mother and impatient sister meet her lover. Yeah, how to explain how they met without making her look like a total slut?

  “Come on. Come on,” she stage-whispered at the computer.

  Finally. Data. She dashed her notes across the page and jumped up to stop her sister’s progress only to draw up short when she saw that the footsteps had belonged to the maid of honor of Roxanne’s client, who sprinted the last steps to Jorges and threw her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug.

  “Jorges,” she squealed an
d popped a kiss on his mouth. “Fancy meeting you here, you sexy beast.”

  “Oh, hi, um, Tina.”

  “Tammy.”

  “Right, Tammy.” He pulled the girl’s arms down from around his neck. “How are you?”

  “Good.” She giggled. “But not as good as I was the other week with you at the club. Do you remember my friend Caitlyn?”

  She pointed to the bride standing in the corner who was waving fabric samples in front of her fiancé’s face as if she were performing semaphore. She turned to shoot them a furtive glance over her shoulder and Miranda noticed her cheeks were pink and a wild look darkened her eyes.

  Breathe, girl. Just breathe.

  In through the nose and out through the mouth. Miranda slowed her racing heart as she contemplated avenues of escape from behind her desk. The only way out was to skulk around the clingy couple, and she was fairly positive she couldn’t make it past them without doing something stupid like vomit or punch the woman in the boob.

  Miranda sank back into her chair as Jorges said, “Yes, Caitlyn. I— I didn’t know she was engaged.”

  “That was the point, silly. Let me tell you, you gave us the night of our lives. Will you be at the club this weekend?”

  From the corner of her eye Miranda saw Jorges sneak a glance in her direction before answering the bubbly blonde. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Oh, pooh.” She pouted, walking her fingers up his chest. “Well, when? I’d love to meet up with you again.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, call me sometime.” She withdrew a business card from the side pocket of her purse and ran the sharp corner of the paper across his lip, down his chest and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.

  Holy shit. Tears burned Miranda’s eyes as the girl cupped his cock and gave him a light squeeze before turning on her heel and slinking away with an extra wiggle in her step.

  Oh. Right. That was why she had left Jorges behind without another glance. Apparently the powers that be thought she’d be oblivious to a gentle reminder of why they weren’t a good fit and needed to slap her upside the head with proof.

  Somehow she found the strength to remain sitting upright when all she wanted to do was crawl under the desk and mentally berate herself some more. God, had someone slipped her hallucinogens or was she just that brain dead? How was she supposed to compete for his affections when women appeared out of nowhere and publicly fondled him? Did she even want to compete? Gah, just the thought of having to bear witness to his admirers made her sick to her stomach.