by Lucy Lambert
I kept my eyes on the collar of his shirt. He kept the top three buttons undone, giving me a glimpse of what looked like sculpted muscle. It was tantalizing, I admit. And much easier to look at than his eyes.
He cupped my cheek like he did before, tilting my head back.
When our eyes met, a cold tremble ran through me. It was fear and anticipation and desire all in one. My lips parted and I breathed sharply through them.
“Ward…” I said, my eyes searching his. That storm I saw earlier had built to even greater proportion in him. I could feel its intensity washing over me, ready to drown me in its deluge.
“Call me Vaughn,” he said, “Or I’ll start calling you Miss Windsor.”
I thought he might kiss me right away, but he didn’t. I didn’t know if it was a calculated move or not, but it made every nerve in my body sing. He kept looking at me, letting his eyes scan my face.
It was like he was trying to commit every contour to memory. I couldn’t remember the last time any man had looked at me, really looked at me, like that.
“I don’t want to be just another one of your conquests,” I said.
“And what if I wanted you to be my final one?” he replied.
I didn’t have anything to say to that. I thought he might kiss me then, but he still refrained. Instead, he finally released my hand from his. My skin prickled at the sudden sensation of cold.
“What…” I asked when he started lifting that hand.
But then I knew what he wanted to do. He reached up and plucked the pins from my hair again. Once more, my hair tumbled down to my shoulders.
My breathing became faster. I couldn’t get enough air. The room felt ten degrees hotter than before.
He cupped my other cheek so that my face tilted back slightly in his hands. Without really thinking about it, I slipped my hands around his waist, between his jacket and his shirt.
I could feel the warmth of his body, feel the way his torso expanded and then shrank with each breath.
He smiled. It wasn’t one of his crooked, roguish ones this time. It was a real smile. “You haven’t told me to stop.”
“You’re right, I haven’t,” I replied.
And then he did press his mouth to mine. We fit together so nicely. My eyes closed, letting me better concentrate on the sensation of his lips against mine.
Again, they were gentle yet insistent. Hot with desire. His stubble prickled me lightly. My fingers squeezed into his sides when the full force of the kiss hit me.
Electricity crackled within us, that storm building in intensity, crossing from him to me over and over.
A ball of heat burned inside me, down low and getting lower with each beat of my heart.
Then his hands left my face. He traced his fingers down my shoulders, down my arms. Reaching my waist, he pushed his hands between my blouse and my jacket. Then he pulled me hard against him.
His mouth slid off mine, moving down my jaw to my throat. His hot breaths washed over my skin again and again.
“You are so hot,” he said. Then he pulled my blouse up out of my pants. His fingertips ran along the bare strip of skin he’d revealed along my hips. His touch made my skin tingle.
I loved feeling his hands explore me. I loved how his touch made me buzz with desire inside.
His hands slid down from my hips, cupping my ass. He continued kissing my neck, nuzzling his mouth against me. He squeezed and I gasped.
“Tell me you want me,” he said between kisses. One hand stayed on my ass while the other slid down my thigh. He grabbed my knee and pulled it up along his body, forcing us closer together.
“Tell me,” he said again, his voice insistent, laden with the need to hear me say the words.
He let my leg drop slowly, then he ran both hands up my back, under my blouse. The warmth from his palms soaked into me, almost matching the heat that burned inside of me.
I wanted to tell him I that I did want him. I wanted to so badly. But I couldn’t stop my mind from calling up Stacey telling me to be careful, or Alisha, telling me to stay away.
And I could still smell Alisha’s perfume in the room. What kind of man was Ward? The kind of man who seduced women and then left them. The kind of man I shouldn’t be around. The kind of man I told myself I’d never be with again.
But his hands feel so nice. And his kisses along the delicate skin of my throat were the perfect mix of insistent and gentle. The softness of his lips and the prickle of his stubble intoxicated me, and I wanted to feel him slide those lips all over my body.
I knew he wanted to feel that, too.
He started unbuttoning my blouse, started letting his lips slide down between my breasts, which heaved with every deep breath I took to try and supply my body with all the air it craved.
“Say it,” Ward said.
It took everything I had to push him away. Without our bodies pressing together, I felt cold. My desire cried out within me to grab him and hold him close again, but I resisted.
“No,” I said. That ball of heat inside me dissolved, sending tendrils of warmth up into my skin. My lips felt raw and tender. “I don’t want this.”
“Yes, you do,” Ward said. He took a step towards me and I took a step back. When he saw that, he stopped.
I did and I didn’t. I needed time to collect myself, so I turned away from him. I redid the buttons he’d undone on my blouse. From the corners of my eyes I could see my hair hanging loose around my shoulder.
I still had the hair elastic in my pocket from the previous night, so I took it out and put my hair back in a ponytail. It would do, for now.
“Quinn, stop lying to yourself,” Ward said.
I couldn’t look at him. Not yet. So I stared out at the wall. It was a raw brick one, and my eyes wandered over the little gaps in the mortar. “Am I the one lying to myself? Are you sure you aren’t? I think you’re searching for something, but not even you are sure what it is. And every time you don’t find it, you push the other person away without considering their feelings. And I can’t be hurt like that.”
Not again, I added, but in my mind only. Everyone has baggage, I thought, remembering the way Alisha told me Ward was damaged.
“But it would be so good. We both know that,” Ward said. I could feel him standing behind me, his presence solid and large. My body ached, and I wanted him to wrap his arms around me and pull me against him again. I knew I couldn’t let him, though.
“Just because something would be good doesn’t mean that it’s also right,” I said. I hoped he understand the difference.
Tension built behind me. I could feel it so that the hairs on the back of my neck stood. And then it dissipated.
Ward didn’t say anything. He turned around and went and sat on the couch, throwing his arms across the back.
My knees trembled for a few seconds while my body calmed down. Now that all that warmth was gone, everything felt cold. I even did up a couple buttons on my jacket.
And it was still light outside. I thought it was funny how something important could feel like it lasted forever but in actuality probably only took a few minutes.
Be professional, I thought. It was a ridiculous thought, I knew, but I needed something to fall back on. Something to keep me from thinking about what might have happened.
I looked at Ward, and Ward looked at me. At first, I thought he might apologize. He didn’t. I suppose he was one of those types who didn’t see the need to apologize for the way they felt, for following their desires.
“If we go down to your study, I can show you my proposed changes,” I said, wanting nothing less than to leave this house. I knew I couldn’t though. Not if I wanted to keep my job.
“I don’t really care about that right now,” Ward said. He looked back over his shoulder out the window. We both got quiet so that the dull noises from the street reached us. The hum of an engine. Someone laughing as they walked by.
“Then I’ll go, and later I can send you a message with the det
ails,” I said, not liking that feeling of emptiness stretching between us.
Of course, home didn’t sound that great, either. I would be alone there. Unless Mary asked me to watch the kids again. I really did need to go and adopt a cat or something.
“No,” Ward said, “I have a better idea.”
“What might that be?”
“There’s a pub down at that corner I’ve been meaning to try. A few drinks sound really nice to me right now. And I think you’d be lying if you disagreed on that point.”
I felt wary, but at the same time I admitted he was right. If there was ever a time I needed a drink or two it was right then. It might give me a sense of warmth inside, however false, to replace the coldness.
“Fine. Just drinks, though. Nothing else.”
“Just drinks,” he said, nodding.
We went down the stairs. I kept thinking how strange it was that someone like Vaughn Ward wanted to go someone as pedestrian as a corner pub. Judging by what I’d seen of him so far – driving expensive cars, buying expensive houses on a whim, dating beautiful and famous women – he’d want to go to some fancy restaurant.
But I guess I was wrong about him in that way. Which made me wonder what else I might be wrong about.
Chapter 13
VAUGHN
We got to the pub and seated ourselves on stools at the bar. It was a nice place, as far as pubs went. Very Irish feeling with its Irish flag hanging behind the bar, and little leprechaun ornaments at various places. There was a digital countdown to St. Patrick’s Day as well.
The place smelled like Guinness and felt a touch too commercial, but I didn’t mind. There were only a few other people in the booths, and no one else at the bar.
“What now?” Quinn said.
The stool was high enough that her feet dangled off the floor. When she swung her head to look around, her ponytail swished back and forth. I wanted to reach out and catch it.
Instead I curled my fists against my thighs. I kept thinking about how nice she smelled, and the way her skin had pebbled into gooseflesh when I touched it with my lips.
I kept thinking about the way she sucked her breath in through her teeth when I ran my hands up her back.
And I kept thinking about how she was probably right. I had a lot of wreckage in my wake, and I didn’t want to make her a part of that.
“Drinks,” I said. “What else?”
The bartender was a pretty redhead who came over when I made eye contact with her. Almost without thinking, I slipped into my normal way of interacting with good-looking women. A crooked smile and a casual attitude.
“What do you need?” she said, leaning against the bar. She wore a blouse like the one Quinn had on. Except she had it unbuttoned a fair way down, and when she leaned forward she wasn’t shy about displaying her assets.
“I don’t know, what do you have that you think I’d like?” I said, letting my smile widen just a touch. I kept my eyes on her face, which I knew she found interesting.
And then I noticed Quinn giving me a slight shake of the head, as though she expected nothing less.
I snapped out of it, leaning back from the bar. I ordered us a pitcher of beer, asking for whatever was most popular on tap and hoping it wasn’t Coors Light.
The bartender looked disappointed.
“This reminds me of college,” I said, looking around the pub some more. Lots of wood paneling. I guess everyone who lived in Back Bay loved wood paneling. At least it made the place feel warm.
“I can see it now,” Quinn said. “Sorority sisters and waitresses fighting for your attention. A party everywhere you go.”
The bartender put a sloshing pitcher of beer down in front of us and pulled two frosted mugs up from beneath the counter, finishing it off with a little glass bowl in the shape of a four-leaf clover filled to the prim with unshelled peanuts.
Quinn’s comment earned a rueful laugh from me. This felt good, just sitting here with it. Normal, somehow. Familiar. Even though I’d never been to this place before and had known Quinn for about a week.
“Pretty opposite of that, actually. I’m one of those late-bloomer types, if you can believe it.” I poured us each a beer, tilting the glasses to avoid too much foam.
“That I don’t believe,” she said. She kept looking at herself in the mirror behind the liquor bottles. It wasn’t out of vanity, I could tell that.
It was a self-deprecating look I knew well. That manner of picking out every little perceived flaw and imperfection. She was hard on herself, I could tell.
And that discipline was what got her to where she was. Her bosses spoke highly of her, and even if I hadn’t wanted her I would have let her handle my account.
“It’s that same discipline that lifted you up that’s holding you back,” I said.
Quinn started, glancing at me and then at the mirror. She blushed when she realized that I’d caught her. “I’m not a narcissist, I swear.”
“I know. But sometimes a little narcissism goes a long way. You have to appreciate yourself before other people will.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” she said, bringing the mug to her lips. She was careful to wipe away the foam mustache left behind, I noticed.
I admired her profile while she let me, her nose and her cheekbones and her lips. I considered telling her again that she was beautiful, but I still didn’t think she would believe it.
“You need to give yourself a little freedom. Some slack. That’s where you’ll find that things really start to come together,” I said.
“Is that how you did it?” she said, glancing at me and then away again.
I looked around the pub and took a mouthful of beer. It bubbled against my tongue and tasted of hops, leaving a sharp aftertaste when I swallowed. Yes, this place did remind me of college.
Except I wished it didn’t. “Something like that. Too much slack, maybe.”
It was my turn to look in the mirror behind the bottles. I had to peer around an enormous Crown Royal, and then between two tall, frosted Smirnoffs.
I recognized the face staring back at me, but didn’t. What was it? The 17th most beautiful? The face of a man who’d built his own company from the ground up, who could buy this entire block of buildings without any appreciable dent in his cash flow.
He was a man I didn’t know. A man I never really expected to become.
I could still see the college kid in there somewhere. The one with an idea for an app he thought might make him a few bucks. Maybe enough for some beer every few weeks.
I didn’t want to think about that anymore. I looked back to Quinn, who set down her mug half empty. I refilled it for her and topped mine up as well.
I caught that fiery bartender stealing glances at me from the corner where she wiped at the already clean countertop. I knew I could just give in and have her in my bed tonight, maybe forget about things for a while. I didn’t want to do that anymore, either.
“So who hurt you?” I said.
She jerked like I’d smacked her, some amber beer sloshing over into a frothy puddle on the bar. “Who said anyone hurt me?” She glanced around the bar like I’d just given some secret away to the world.
Normally I liked surprising her. This time I didn’t. “I’m guessing someone I remind you of in some way,” I continued.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quinn said.
“Takes a wreck to know a wreck,” I replied, “Maybe if you just let somebody in it will help…”
I trailed off when she turned on me with fire in her eyes and a cruel smile on her lips. “Really?” she said. “And does it help you, letting all those women in? Do you even know how many anymore? Do you even care? Or are all you after is a quick fix? I’m sorry, I don’t want to throw people away like they’re empty, used syringes.”
I got angry. Heat flared up in my chest and I squeezed the handle of my mug beer sloshed down the sides. A dozen different rebuttals ended on the tip of my tongue, ready t
o lash out like whips.
“So who hurt you?” Quinn asked, “Who are you trying to forget and get away from? Easy to ask, not so easy to answer, you see?”
My anger turned to sooty cinders at the back of my throat. I tried quenching the last few embers with another mouthful of draft. The sharpness of the aftertaste helped.
“You know, I could say that you’re trying to avoid the question by throwing it back in my face.”
Her jaw clenched, and that fire glowed behind her eyes. But the glow died down and she turned away from me again. I couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she looked when she was angry. And the sadness hanging from her expression now didn’t diminish it.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “I’m not worth it.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re worth,” I replied. My body ached for her. I wanted her so badly. I wanted to take her back to the brownstone and tear all her clothes off and not stop with her until we were both lying on my bed, panting and sweaty from the exertion. Make her forget whatever her worry was. Push away the memories.
It was a deep ache. And one I knew probably wouldn’t be relieved. But am I trying to help her forget, or am I just trying to help myself?
The beer started buzzing in my brain, leaving a warm, thick halo around my head.
“Because I think it’s what we both need,” I said. I caught her eyes with mine and didn’t let go.
Hers were an earthy green, reminding me of the color of mid-summer leaves right after a rain shower. A green that was deeper than it first appeared. There was no sign of that fire anymore, and I knew she’d pushed it back down to smolder inside of her.
She tore away from me. “This was a bad idea.”
“Coming to the bar?” I said.
“Agreeing to this job. Thanks for the drink, I guess. I’m going home.”
She got up. I thought about reaching out to her, asking her not to go yet. Why does it matter so much? I wondered. Just let her go.
Part of it was that I knew she expected me to do that. And I also knew that if I did she might stay. But I’d made a habit of defying expectations, and bad habits were always the hardest to break.