Isabel Sharpe

by Surprise Me. . . (lit)

  “No.” He swirled his wine in a gesture that looked more like habit than intent. “You’re right.”

  She held out her glass, wanting to take the frown off his face. “I’m honored to be cooked for by you.”

  “I’m glad.” He clinked his glass with hers. “I admit I put special effort into tonight to impress you. So I shouldn’t throw stones at Mom and Dad.”

  She smiled, feeling weirdly shy as she sipped the wine. Not that she had the most educated palate, but it tasted good to her.

  “Mmm, that is good wine. Thanks for bringing it.”

  “You’re welcome.” She felt absurdly pleased, which was silly because all she’d done was go into Ray’s and ask for help.

  Except, no, she shouldn’t beat herself up; it was more than that. She was pleased because she made Edgar happy, and because she’d added something of quality to the evening.

  “Have some?” He offered her the dip, which turned out to be salty and creamy, flavored with dill, and delicious. “Thanks for coming tonight. I know sitting still for an entire evening isn’t your thing.”

  She lifted her chin. “I might become a convert.”

  He grinned, light slanting across the balcony floor, glinting in his hair. “Of course, we could play party games if you get restless.”

  “Twister?”

  His grin turned wicked. “That might work. Or strip poker.”

  She laughed, stretched her legs, feeling relaxed and comfortable, enjoying the view, the wine and the company. “This is a great apartment, Edgar.”

  “It is. But cramped. I’m saving for a house. I should have a down payment in another few months.”

  “Really?” She blinked at him, wondering why this was such surprising news. “Where will you be looking?”

  “Depends. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do next.”

  “Next?” She spit out the pit of her olive; he was right there with a small dish to discard it in. “Like what? You’re not going to leave Triangle Graphics, are you?”

  “I might.”

  Melanie was aghast. She couldn’t imagine coming to work every day without Edgar. It would be dull. Cold. Impersonal. She had Jenny, other friends, but she looked forward to seeing him. Her cubicle-mate, her confidant…

  A voice inside her whispered that she might have been denying feelings for him for a long, long time.

  “I’d like to start my own design business, buy somewhere I could have a first-floor studio-office, around Downer or Brady Streets. I’d also like to go back to school, get my MFA.”

  “While fencing.”

  “Of course while fencing.”

  “That’s…wow. You…wow.” She sipped her wine while she tried to sort out her thoughts. What were her plans? Drinking? Partying? Getting laid? “That’s impressive.”

  “And somewhere in there I want a family.”

  Melanie nodded, her throat suddenly dry, though he spoke casually. “Me, too. Someday.”

  She glanced at him. In profile his nose was noble, balanced by the high forehead his new haircut exposed. His jaw was strong, his mouth firm, his eyes lit by the setting sun.

  It hit her, an unwelcome thought. Edgar was a man, and she was still an adolescent.

  The realization was a shock. She’d spent so long thinking he was a cute, inconsequential geek and she was this great catch, and now she understood in one stunning second that she had it completely backward. He was the great catch; she was an immature fish, suitable only for throwing back. Maybe that was another reason her relationships didn’t work out. She was a child expecting serious, committed grown-up results from men who were still children, too.

  What plans did she have for her future? How was she contributing to her community besides filling the coffers of bars and clubs? She’d volunteered for a while at Habitat for Humanity—and met Sawyer there, lucky Alana—but she’d done that to meet men. Everything she did was all about her.

  “Something wrong?” Edgar was frowning in that puzzled way that endeared him to her so strongly. She’d never met a man—she’d never met anyone, except maybe her mother—who was so tuned in to her emotional changes. Which, face it, were numerous and hard to keep track of, even for her.

  “What the hell do you see in me?”

  To her surprise, he laughed, put his wineglass down and stared at her thoughtfully. “I have no idea.”

  “Edgar!”

  He laughed again, moved his chair close to hers, put his arm around her and kissed her hair. “Let’s see. If I try really hard I might come up with something.”

  She crossed her arms petulantly across her chest. “Don’t strain yourself.”

  “I don’t know…. This could be tough.”

  She laughed and nudged his shoulder. “I’m not fishing, Edgar, I really want to know. I mean, you have life goals, you’re cultured, sophisticated, talented.”

  “First, on the shallow end, you are beautiful. And sexy.”

  She forced a modest smile, hiding her fear. She didn’t just want to be desired. That might be enough from most guys, but she wanted more from Edgar.

  “You have this amazingly energetic and positive life force, which is incredibly compelling for those of us who sometimes dwell in the valley of insecurity and grumpiness.”

  A sexy, happy party girl. Was that all? Not the woman he’d want to install in his new house? Just a diversion? Someone to play around with? He said he loved her. Was he mistaking infatuation and fantasy for the real thing, the same way she always did? That was one thing she did not want them to have in common.

  “Thank you, Edgar.” She smiled at him. “That was so sweet. You don’t have to keep going. I guess it was more a backhanded compliment on how great you are than a real need to hear my qualities.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What am I missing?”

  “What?”

  “Something’s bugging you.”

  She laughed uneasily. How did he do that? She could hide nothing from him. “No, nothing.”

  “Uh-huh.” He took her wine, put it on the table, held both of her hands in his. His fingers were long and strong, well-formed. “I’m missing the deep end.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You already know I think you’re incredibly hot. You want to know why I love you, and I’m not sure I can tell you that exactly. We have the same sense of humor, the same values. Some of the rest is bound up in this caveman need to save you from yourself, and I know that probably sounds macho and stupid.”

  “No, I understand. Unfortunately.”

  “But I think it has more to do with this spirit in you that I don’t think you’re aware you have. I don’t mean to sound condescending again, but I think you…are destined for things you haven’t tried yet.” He broke off in frustration. “I don’t know how to say this. I think we have more in common than it might seem on the surface. There is a lot of depth to you, certainly a lot of intelligence. I want at it. Because I think we can grow together in the same direction. And that’s what makes relationships succeed.”

  His intensity started her heart pounding, both in pleasure and fear. He understood her, maybe better than she did—at least until she started paying attention. He was incredible. And he’d been right under her nose for two years.

  She put on a deliberately innocent face. “So…you’re saying you want into my depths?”

  “Oh, Mel.” He grinned, his eyes darkening. “You know I do.”

  She widened her eyes in faux shock. “Right now?”

  His eyebrow lifted; his grin turned devilish. “We don’t have to worry about the soup getting cold.”

  “Well.” She giggled, and an evil thought struck her. They were facing the river, which curved around his building, heading southwest to east. Who would see them?

  She gasped and pointed down at the water through the balcony railing bars as if she’d just seen something extraordinary. “Look! Look right there, on the river. That bird! What’s it doing?”

 
He stood, leaned over the railing, searching earnestly. She whipped off her shirt, laid it gently on the floor. “Where?”

  “Right there, by that…black thing.” She unhooked her bra, let it drop, picked up her glass and sat nonchalantly back in her seat, feeling the breeze caressing her breasts, tightening her nipples.

  “I don’t see…”

  “Maybe it flew away.” She turned her face to the sun and sipped her wine, out of her peripheral vision catching him turning back toward her.

  “Yeah, may—” He froze as if he’d been zapped. “Melanie.”

  “Mmm?” She tilted her head, sent him a look. “Anything wrong? You look kind of…stiff.”

  He passed his hand over his eyes as if he couldn’t trust them. “I think I just came down with something. Or rather…up with something.”

  She stood, came close to him, a breeze pushing her hair to catch briefly on his lips, breasts brushing the soft cotton of his shirt. “Maybe you better sit down.”

  “Out here?” He moved backward under the pressure of her hand on his chest. She could feel the developed pectoral muscles under her fingers, and her sexual temperature started rising.

  “Yes. Out here.”

  He sat, staring at her hungrily, amusement lurking in his eyes. “I’m in for it, aren’t I?”

  “Oh, you have no idea.” She brought her hands to the back of her neck, lifted her hair and arched toward him, then brought one hand down over her face, her lips parted by her descending fingers.

  “I’m in for it,” he whispered.

  She covered her breasts with her hands, touched them for him, offering them to him, one by one without moving closer.

  Edgar shifted in his chair, adjusted his fly, cleared his throat. “I think this might kill me.”

  “I hope not.”

  She put her hands to the waistband of her bright blue skirt, edged it down, swinging her hips in opposition to the motion, rocking down, right and left and right and left, until it cleared her hips and slid to the floor. She’d worn thong underwear, since the skirt clung in back, and was glad of it now.

  “No, you don’t understand, this is definitely going to kill me.”

  “Oh, what a shame.” She turned her back to him, undulating her ass, twisting so she could look at his face. One by one she put her fingers into her mouth, sucking each, tasting olive, salt, wine and anticipation.

  “Mel…” He groaned and unzipped his shorts, brought his erection out and started stroking. “I think I’m going to lose it.”

  “Let me help you.” She stepped between his legs; he leaned forward and kissed her stomach, slipping his free hand around, moving his fingers lightly over her exposed rear, following the material of the thong down between her buttocks.

  She moved one leg, straddling him, then the other, preparing to lower herself. “Condom?”

  “Not out here. I can go inside and—”

  “No.” She hated interrupting the spontaneous flow of arousal. “We’ll do without.”

  “Melanie, I’m not going to—”

  “Shhh.” She shook her head. “No risks. Just watch.”

  She sank down slowly, carefully, until she was sitting on his lap, his cock lying hot and hard against the small strip of her panties.

  “Now.” She braced her feet on the chair’s side rails and started to move, up and down, stroking his erection, while its hard length rubbed her clitoris through her panties. The friction was indirect, hot, tantalizing. She lifted his cock against her, palmed its other side, lifted to cup his balls underneath her, then slid back down again. “How’s this?”

  “Ohh, it’ll work.” He was breathing hard, watching her sliding against his penis, his hands on her waist, helping support her. Always helping, always taking some of the burden onto himself. An extraordinary man.

  He leaned forward, caught her breast in his mouth, sucked hard, pinching her nipple with his teeth.

  “Mmm.” She quickened her rhythm, legs starting to tremble, but unable to stop craving the thrust of that hard heat between them.

  He left that breast, which turned cool with damp in the breeze; his warm mouth started on the other while his hand found the back of her thong and pulled rhythmically, sending the material deeper into her, tightening its pressure against her sex.

  She started panting, the world became blurry around her, her senses focused on the contact between them, on the strong muscles of his arm against her back, on the need to climax and to have him with her when she did.

  “Later,” she whispered. “After dinner, inside, in your room, I want you to blindfold me and tie my hands and feet to the bed, spread-eagle, facedown, with pillows under my stomach lifting my ass so I’m naked and spread open to you. I want you to make me wait, doing nothing, just having me lie there with the air licking and stroking me while I imagine you doing the same.

  “Then I want you to silently touch me, fingers, feet, tongue—slap, tickle, pinch, bite, caress—whatever you want to do to me, just so I don’t know when the next touch will come from, how you’ll want to give it to me. Then I want you to kneel behind me and tease me with the head of your cock, but not give it to me yet, not yet, not until I’m begging you, Eddie.”

  “Melanie,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re going to make me come.”

  “Yes, yes, go.” She was so worked up she wouldn’t be far behind. “Because there’s more. When I’m there, helpless, tied up with my ass in the air, I want you to be like a fencer, make a sudden attack, lunge and thrust, give it to me hard until I’m pleading with you, please, to make me come.”

  She could barely speak, rubbing herself up and down on him, cheeks hot, body shaking, orgasm building. She had to hold on. “But don’t let me come, Eddie, not until I’m so hot for you I’m nearly crying. Not until I promise I’ll do whatever you want with whatever part of my body you want me to do it with, and then make me do that as many times as you want.”

  He gripped her hard, took in breath harshly; she rode him a few more times and allowed herself to let go. At the peak of her climax he looked up and she sank into his beautiful blue eyes, feeling him contract and go over, the wetness spreading between them.

  She couldn’t look away. They sat there she didn’t know how long, eyes locked, sharing everything, holding nothing back.

  “Melanie,” he whispered. “I love you.”

  She nodded. She couldn’t answer out loud, but she knew he didn’t expect her to. She knew this incredible man would keep giving and giving whether she ever managed to give back or not.

  And that made her finally realize what she must have known for a long time but had been too scared to admit.

  Edgar, I love you, too.

  14

  MELANIE SAT AT The Wicked Hop, waiting for Stoner. Same bar where she’d waited for him a week and a half earlier, but it was hard to imagine different emotions. He’d called, asking her to meet him, but without anything more than mild flirting that sounded like habit. He’d seemed distracted, unsure of himself, not the Stoner she knew. Not her fantasy, anyway.

  She grinned at the thought. Quite a few aspects of her previous behavior with men were coming clear to her. Slowly. She wasn’t going to change overnight, but she could at least commit to dating Edgar, one day at a time. Yes, she was nervous, yes, she was wary, but the emotions she felt when she was with him, the easy way they were together, his kindness, his undeniable talent in the bedroom…

  “Hey, Mel-a-nie.” Stoner clapped her on the shoulder, nearly toppling her off the bar stool. “Sorry I’m late. Rehearsal ran late. How’s it going, babe?”

  “Fine.” She smiled, thinking how grateful she was that Edgar never called her “babe.” “How’s the performing going? You’re heading on soon, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Had a concert in Fort Atkinson Saturday, but we’re about done.” He leaned on the bar, rubbing his hands together. “Heading on…yeah, I guess.”

  The bartender came over; Stoner ordered a double shot of
tequila.

  “You guess?” She was mystified. Not that she knew him well, but every time she’d seen him, he’d been ultrasmooth and drank only beer.

  “I, uh, called because I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Okay.” She started getting a bad feeling. Was this going to be something about her and Edgar? A skeleton in the closet? Or some objection from Stoner? His family? Or God forbid, was he going to come on to her now, one of those guys who didn’t want women until they didn’t want him? Though she was not getting a sex vibe from him. “What’s up?”

  “I need some advice.”

  Melanie blinked. Advice from her? What could Stoner possibly—

  “It’s about a girl. A woman.” He grinned at her with those beautiful blue eyes. Funny how all she saw in him now was a lesser version of Edgar.

  “Ah, okay.” She felt somewhat relieved. This would be easier than anything she’d been imagining. “What’s the problem?”

  “I think she likes me. I do. But, um, I keep messing up, and I’m not used to that. I’d talk to Edgar, but man, you know, it’s like guys don’t admit that shit to each other.”

  “Messing up how?”

  “Like, I asked her if she wanted to go out. And she looked all excited. But then I said she could come watch me play and she was all like, um, I’m busy that night.”

  “And you don’t think she was?”

  “No, man, I don’t.”

  Melanie grinned. How many times had she gone out with guys like this? How had she ever put up with it? At least this woman had more sense than she did. “Okay, I do have one idea.”

  “Yeah?” He looked so hopeful she was actually touched.

  “Maybe she’d like to do something…” Melanie paused, not sure how to say “something that doesn’t involve admiring you all night” without offending him. “Something that involves her more. I mean, where you could get to know her. That might be more fun for you, too. It’s kind of hard to talk in those loud places.”

  She heard herself and nearly burst out laughing. Why hadn’t she had this talk with herself, oh, say, about ten years ago? She wouldn’t have listened. The evolution of Melanie.