by Julie Olsen
“Sis, I had a nice time. So nice, that I’m agreeing to see him again. He…well, I can’t be sure yet, but I think he gets me.” Lucy’s eyes widened and she covered my hand with hers. My eyes were suddenly wet with unshed tears. “I feel safe with him,” I whispered.
Lucy blinked and a single tear rushed down her cheek. She squeezed my hand. “Oh Liv.” She smiled and lifted her napkin, dabbing away the tear.
My chest constricted but I willed myself not to cry, instead taking a deep breath and another sip of my mocha. Justine reached over and covered our hands with her own.
“Girls, there’s no crying in baseball. Or during Liv’s sex story,” she said softly, her own blue eyes wet with tears. She gave a final squeeze.
I shrugged, shaking off the moment. “It was just kissing. But it was hot.” My eyes caught Justine’s. “Off the charts.”
“So an eleven?” Justine whispered.
I shook my head. “Eleven doesn’t come close.”
Wordlessly, both Justine and Lucy sat back in their seats, eyes narrowed, Sphinx-like.
Justine broke the silence. “You like him then?”
Strangely, I had not yet considered an actual word to convey my feelings. Did I like him? I remembered middle school, when Cameron Johnson had told Justine that he liked me, and Justine dutifully reported the news first to me, and then far and wide to anyone who would listen. “Do you like him, too?” she asked hopefully.
“Yeah, I like him.” And with those four words, I felt such a release it was almost orgasmic. I closed my eyes and let out the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding, gripping my glass tightly with both hands. It dawned on me how the harder I had fought against my attraction for Damien, the harder he had fought to keep me from bolting. He hadn’t given up, and I didn’t want him to.
“Where’s he taking you tonight?” Lucy asked.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged, suddenly mindful of my clothing choices and doing a mental inventory.
As if reading my mind, Lucy nodded. “You can borrow anything you need.”
“From me, too,” Justine added, and then smiled salaciously. “Now, about those details.”
I concocted as good a story as I could come up with on the fly. There was no way I was divulging anything of what happened in the kitchen…and up against the door.
“You know those teenagers next door. The ones who come and go at all hours, slamming car doors and blasting their dubstep? They watched us.”
Lucy snorted. “So now you’re an exhibitionist? Jeez, Liv. Don’t contribute to the misbehavior of those delinquents.”
I glanced at Justine and winked. “Damien noticed them. Otherwise…”
“Holy shit, you have been holding out on us,” Justine declared. “Here I am, boyfriend-less, living vicariously through everyone else’s sessions,” she said, air quoting the last word emphatically, “and my best friend finally gets some and doesn’t share. Help a girl out.”
“Sorry. That’s all I’m saying.” Justine opened her mouth to complain, but I quickly continued. “And what I just told you may or may not have been made up entirely. But…” I paused for dramatic effect. “Oh, what the hell. There is this one juicy detail.” She hanged on my every word, unmoving and silent. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed even Lucy waiting on bated breath. I paused, locking eyes meaningfully with Justine. She twisted her chair to get closer.
“Oh Justine, you will love this.” My voice was hushed, and I leaned in clandestinely.
“What is it?” she whispered.
I bit my lip, my eyes darting between them. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
“Telling us what?” Justine’s voice quavered, her blue eyes wide and searching.
I smiled slyly, straightening up. “Never mind.” I drained the last of my mocha then daintily dabbed at my mouth with a napkin.
“What do you mean, never mind?” Justine blurted.
“A girl needs her secrets.” I gazed impassively at Justine.
“No. No she doesn’t. Spill it, St. Clair,” Justine said desperately.
Lucy had finished her latte and regarded me with merriment. She knew exactly what I was doing. She caught the server’s eye and motioned for the check.
“Remember last Friday? ‘Oh Damien, we’ve heard so much about you?’” I imitated Justine using my best Marilyn Monroe breathy sing-song and fluttering my eyelashes.
Justine narrowed her eyes, realization dawning.
“Payback’s a bitch.” I grinned maliciously.
Justine huffed and crossed her arms. “You really know how to hurt a girl,” she spit, trying to appear petulant until the humor of the situation took over.
“Sorry about that, Liv,” she spluttered between giggling fits. “You know I had your best interests at heart. I am a hopeless matchmaker.”
“Oh, you’re hopeless, all right,” I grinned at her. She might be annoying as hell sometimes, but she had been my bestie since second grade.
“Let me make it up to you with a mani-pedi. My treat.” She batted her eyes, imploring my forgiveness. “You need pampering and beautifying—no offense—before your big date.”
“You’re forgiven, and I accept your peace offering, but you’re not paying.”
“Okay, okay, have it your way” She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, you and your I-will-pay-my-own-way-thank-you! There’s nothing wrong with letting your friends pay once in a while.” She raised pointed brows at me and I returned the look.
Justine shook her head in well-intentioned disgust and turned to Lucy. “How about it, Luce?”
Lucy pouted. “I wish I could but I’m relieving Lindsay at five and I’ve got prep to do before.” She rolled her eyes. “The glamorous life of a food truck operator.”
The check came and we tallied up our bill and paid. We stood and Lucy hugged each of us good-bye.
“Girls, it’s been fun,” she said.
“Wish you could join us, Sis,” I said wistfully, releasing her hug. “Guess I won’t see you till tomorrow.”
“Guess not.” She smiled and hoisted her purse onto her shoulder. “Behave yourself,” she added with a wink, walking briskly away.
Justine and I walked in the opposite direction. She rattled on inanely about work gossip while I considered if behaving was something I could actually do in the company of Damien Stone.
* * *
Fresh from my shower, I was wrapped in a towel, contemplating the dress hanging on my closet door. It was six thirty and I was cutting it close. After nearly two hours at the nail salon where my hands and feet had been buffed, rubbed and polished to a shine, Justine and I had went for lunch at a tiny bistro where we discussed my wardrobe and accessory choices for tonight. On a mission, we had shopped for hours and finally found the perfect dress.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Now that the moment of truth had arrived, I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. My skin felt clammy even after a shower. I know this was a big step for me, but seriously? I wasn’t a teenager anymore. It was a simple dinner date. People went on them all the time.
My hands trembled as I took it down and slipped it on. It really was gorgeous, and accentuated my olive coloring perfectly. It was a wine-colored V-neck sweater dress, long sleeved with a scalloped hem, bordering on obscenely short, but due to the unsexy condition of my knee, most of my legs would be covered by Justine’s dark brown suede over-the-knee boots. I had balked at the suggestion of wearing them, never having worn anything so blatantly sexual. But she assured me that I could pull them off, and short of wearing pants or a maxi dress, they would cover my banged up knee perfectly and allow me to wear my new purchase.
The dress skimmed over my curves, hugging in all the right places. I slid my feet into the boots and zipped them up. They were a little snug in the toe, being a half-size smaller than mine. But it was nothing I couldn’t live with for a few hours. As predicted, only a few in
ches of skin showed, but at least my scabby knee and elbows wouldn’t be on display.
I had left my hair loose and after a furious brushing, it hung in soft waves over my shoulders, just grazing the tops of my breasts. I opted for no jewelry except for silver chandelier earrings I had received from Lucy for Christmas. For the first time in ages, I had gone all out on my makeup, using eye shadow, liner and mascara to the best of my ability. I quickly brushed on a little blush and finished with a wine-colored lipstick to match my dress.
I thought back to the afternoon of girlie fun with Justine. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had felt so carefree and unfettered. As I appraised myself in the mirror, Anna Nalick was on Pandora downstairs telling me to just breathe. Oh sister, that was the only thing I could do.
I had grappled all day with the desire to call Damien and thank him for the flowers. I finally decided to wait until he picked me up, so I could tell him in person. As for the bike, I was still considering my options but clearly could not keep such an expensive gift. Perhaps during dinner I’d bring the topic up again while we were surrounded by other people.
I grabbed my brown suede evening clutch and carefully navigated the stairs in my high heeled boots. Nearly two weeks after my accident, I was feeling back to normal physical-wise. Emotionally? Well, I guess we’d find out how tonight went. Moving to the kitchen, I divested my everyday purse of the necessary items for this evening and placed them in my small clutch. I couldn’t help a giggle when a strip of condoms fell out, a gift from the ever-thoughtful Justine. “A girl can never be too careful,” she’d stated while stuffing them in my bag. I slipped them inside the inner pocket with my phone and snapped the bag shut.
Lucy had placed my flowers in the middle of the kitchen table, and I bent and breathed in their fragrance. It was six fifty-five and something told me he was punctual. At that moment the doorbell rang. I took a deep breath and walked to the front door. My breathing was erratic and I felt flushed and I hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet. How ridiculous! I grasped the doorknob, pausing a second to calm myself, then opened the door wide.
Dear God!
CHAPTER 8
He stood on the threshold, his hands in his pockets and a rakish grin on his beautiful face. He had shaved that delectable stubble, fully exposing his strong jawline and revealing a sexy dimple on his chin. My heart flip-flopped at his impossible sexiness. His dark hair remained casually windblown as usual, and I longed to smooth it beneath my hands. He was dressed in dark blue designer jeans and a black button-down shirt with a charcoal gray jacket, opened at the collar, baring a tanned throat and the tiniest glimpse of a smoothly muscled chest. My mouth watered as I stared at him.
Finally tearing my gaze away from the yumminess that stood before me, I raised my eyes and found him staring at me with equal fervor. He pulled his hands from his pockets, letting his arms hang at his sides, the grin disappearing as his sparkling eyes turned dark.
“Olivia. You never fail to leave me breathless.”
Wow. He certainly did have a way with words.
“Thank you, Damien. You look pretty ravishing yourself.” I flushed. I had never been so bold, but something about this man gave me the freedom to say and do what I yearned, without fear of embarrassment. It was surprising, but I found myself wanting to express myself to him. And press up against him. And let his hands and lips continue what they started last night.
He quirked a brow. “Ravishing, huh?”
My eyes met his. “Very.” My voice was low and gravelly.
He smiled slyly. “Hungry?”
Ignoring the innuendo, I nodded, and then, appalled at my forgotten manners, I frowned and stepped aside hastily. “I’m sorry. Would you like to come in?”
His eyes gleamed and darkened. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” He smiled that half-smile of his, so full of dark promise, and everything south of my belly button clenched and heated. “But, as we have dinner reservations,” he continued, “perhaps that’s not a good idea.”
My breathing accelerated as my heart beat an irregular pattern. I swallowed and my palms dampened as the carnal meaning of his words settled. “Okay,” I said meekly. “I’ll just get my wrap.”
Mother of God, how would I keep my hands off him tonight when he said such things?
With my wrap and purse in hand, I joined him on the porch, locking the door behind us. He took my hand and squeezed gently, those delicious sparks flying. I braced against his strong grip as I tottered in my heels down the porch steps. Once again there was no sign of Paul. Damien opened the passenger door and I slid in, fastening the buckle as he walked around the car and gracefully got behind the wheel.
“All set?” he asked. His deep voice filled the enclosed space of the car, and the smell and feel of the leather against my skin brought the memory of the last time we had been alone in this car and it was all I could do to suppress a shiver.
“Yes.”
He pushed the ignition and the SUV rumbled to life. His hand grasped the shifter, but instead of shifting into gear, he tightened his fist and turned toward me. “I know what you’re thinking, because I’m thinking about it too,” he said softly.
My breathing was loud, too loud for the confines of this car. He could surely hear. I tried to control it, mindful of the way my chest heaved, as if I’d just finished a workout. My hands itched to move off my lap, but I didn’t trust them and kept them where they were. Attempting to still my erratic breathing, I stared straight ahead.
“Damien, thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful,” I said, keeping my face averted.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his lips turn up in his trademark half-smile. “I’m glad you like them.”
Long moments passed. Neither of us said another word.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
I turned toward him. We gazed at each other and that delicious spark sizzled between us, like a taut cord, threatening to snap. My nipples tightened against my bra, and a low throb invaded my belly and moved lower. I stared into his darkening gaze, so attuned to his scent, his presence, that before I could control it, my body convulsed. I closed my eyes and exhaled. Oh God. He hadn’t even touched me, but being in this car, so close to him, alone…
“Fuck.”
My eyes snapped open and in a flash he unbuckled his seat belt and then was kissing me like his life depended on it. His hands cupped my face, his lips sucking at mine desperately, his tongue exploring the inside of my mouth. Unable to hold back, my own tongue darted out and met his in a languid, sensual dance.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said against my lips, continuing to ravage my mouth and swallowing my soft moans of pleasure. My hands were in his hair, ruining whatever semblance of order he had made on his tousled locks. I wanted to move closer, press against his hard body, but I was held in place by my seat belt. As one, his right hand and my left fly to the clasp, our fingers clumsily pushing on the mechanism until at last it came free. Gasping, he pushed me away to remove the belt, and then I turned in my seat so he could pull me over the console and onto his lap.
“It’s not enough. Tell me you want more,” he said on a groan, his lips continuing their brutal assault.
I hovered outside my body, floating in surreal sensation. I was so aroused and this beautiful man wanted me. I tried to calm my wild thoughts, desire rippling through me in waves. Maybe I should play hard to get, even though all I wanted to do was straddle him right here in the car, feel his chest against my breasts, his erection grinding against my clit.
It was no use. I wanted him and couldn’t stop now.
“More,” I moaned into his mouth. “Please.” His hands stilled unexpectedly, and he pulled away. What? No!
He looked at me in the dark car, my legs stretched uncomfortably and awkwardly across the center console. “Inside,” he said on an exhale as he pressed the ignition, stilling the car. His eyes searched mine but would get no
resistance. I was already lost the minute I gazed into his pale green eyes.
“Yes,” I breathed, and he straightened up and reached across, gently pushing me up into my seat. Remembering my earlier words to the girls, I shifted my gaze toward the neighbor’s windows, expecting to see faces at the curtains, but the teenagers weren’t watching tonight. I didn’t care who saw us anyway. I didn’t care about anything right now, except feeling Damien’s skin on mine. I glanced at him and felt his hot gaze, dark and sensual. I smiled timidly.
Oh yes, I was going to do this.
“Stay there.” He got out, moving gracefully around to my side. He opened the door and held out his hand. I reached for him, feeling his strong fingers as he helped me to my feet, that familiar electricity crackling at our fingers.
“That was a short date,” I said with a grin. “A cheap one, too.”
His features hardened. “Olivia, I never want to hear you call yourself that,” he said in a low and menacing voice.
I gulped. “I was just teasing.”
His expression softened. “You are remarkable and rare. I want to lavish the finer things in life on you.” He spoke softly and my heart fluttered. “And I will.”
God, this man and his words.
“But right now, I want to get you inside and ravish you. Can you wait for dinner?” His eyes penetrated mine, and delicious heat once again traveled down to my core. How did I ever think I could say no to him?
“Yes,” I whispered.
With my hand held tightly, he led me up the porch. I located the keys and unlocked the door, turning toward him and capturing his gaze. A shiver ran through me. This was it. This is what I wanted, and what I had been fighting against. Taking his hand, I walked through the door, pulling him behind me and into the house where a lamp in the living room was the only illumination. He closed the door and turned the lock, leaning back against it, my hand still in his. He rubbed his thumb across my knuckles, slowly and methodically, his gaze never leaving mine. The fragrance of the roses hanged heavy in the air, the silence in the house interrupted only by our collective breathing.