by J. Saman
Parting her lips, my tongue sweeps against hers, a groan escaping from the back of my throat. Her mouth conforms to mine, allowing me to lead us. We’re at the precipice here. One small shove and we’ll be tumbling into an inescapable abyss.
Amazing what one kiss can lead to.
It’s sexy as hell. Deep. Passionate. My hands are on her cheeks and I spin us around so her back is pressed against the back of the cool bench and then I devour her.
I can’t get enough.
Her smell, her taste, and the sounds she’s making, are all driving me wild.
Ivy’s fingers rake through my hair, frantically clinging and pulling like she can’t get close enough. And I’m right there with her. Tugging her soft warm body against mine, deepening the kiss, making her moan into my mouth.
“Ivy,” I pant against her lips. “Jesus Christ.”
She pushes me off, her lips are glistening and her cheeks are flushed, and holy hell is that one erotic sight.
It’s an image I want to burn into my brain so I can torture myself with it when she’s gone.
“I’m cold and hungry, and have a lot of things to get done,” she says, ending our stolen moment.
“What do you have to get done?” I press my lips to the tip of her nose before releasing her face and taking her hand once again.
She gives me a sheepish look. “I still have to pack.”
I laugh, leaning into her. “I’m a really good helper, and I take direction surprisingly well for a control freak type A personality. But you do realize you’re not leaving for a month?”
She giggles and it’s the best sound ever, because it says she’s relaxed with me. “Yeah, but I’m type A too. Can you fetch us some brekkie?”
“I’d be happy to. Tea and a blueberry scone?” I ask and she instantly jumps off the bench away from me. It happens so fast that I’m stunned and stand up too, but her hands fly out defensively warding me off before I can get close to her.
“How the hell do you know I drink tea and like blueberry scones?” She’s not yelling at me, but I think that’s because she’s too terrified to.
Shit. I hadn’t meant to do that.
“That time in the bar at Caltech? That was not the first time I had seen you. You used to go to Beans & Leaves. I did too. You were ahead of me in line one day and I heard you order.”
“And you remembered that all these years later?” She’s incredulous.
“I did. I noticed you that day and I made a note of what you ordered for some reason, hoping I’d see you again there on another day or something.”
“I don’t know what to think.”
I hold up my hands in surrender, wondering if this is a bad time to tell her that I watched her after our night together or if that’s a secret better left kept. Going strictly based on her expression, I’m thinking the latter.
“I swear that’s how I knew, Ivy. I haven’t been following you around Seattle or stalking you—other than showing up here this morning.” That’s as much truth as I can offer her.
She examines me closely, looking for the lie, but finds none and relaxes.
“I’m sorry, I’m just . . .”
“No need to explain. I get it. I’ll go get us breakfast and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Then you can put me to work.”
She nods, biting the corner of her lip. “I’m not having sex with you today.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Just today? So does that mean you will tomorrow?” I tease.
Ivy rolls her eyes, but quickly turns serious. “I don’t do the whole falling into bed easily thing. I’ve learned my lesson one too many times.”
“Ouch.” I grab my chest like she wounded me. “That hurts. I deserve it, but it still hurts.”
“Get over it. I’m starving and you’re wasting time.”
“On it. And I promise no sex today or tomorrow. No sex until you tell me I can have it.”
“If, Luke. And it’s a rather large if.”
“Nah, it’s a when, and you should know that when you give me that yes, I might never want to come up for air.”
She shakes her head, but there’s a definitely smile bouncing on the corner of her lips.
I amuse her and she likes me.
Could life get any better than that?
Chapter 7
Ivy
I buzz Luke back into my flat fifteen minutes later. I really didn’t think it would take him that long to get tea and a scone, but when he enters my apartment, he has a triumphant smile spread across his far too handsome face.
He really is something else.
“I went to the best bakery in Seattle for your scone, and then around the corner for your tea.”
“You really didn’t have to do that,” I tell him, but I’m smiling all the same.
I still don’t know what to make of this.
It’s all too much. Too sudden and too unexpected and everything else that tells me that I should push him out the door before locking it soundly behind him.
I don’t know him. Really. I mean, I know nothing about his life or who he is other than the very basics.
It’s the same for him, so I don’t really get where all of this newfound interest is coming from, but I want to grab hold of it and never let go. And that alone scares me, especially since that’s not an option.
There’s just something about him that sets me on fire while filling me with the most delicious calm. Try saying no to that, I dare you.
“I did, actually,” he says bringing me back to the moment. “I’m counting this as our first friendship hangout, so I couldn’t exactly get a blueberry scone from Starbucks. It’s too generic.”
He walks past me, dropping a kiss to my cheek before setting everything down on the counter in my kitchen like this is what we do. Like it’s all so normal for us to have breakfast together, though we just “met” two nights ago.
Luke’s discerning eyes scan my apartment, scrolling over each box before staring at the walls. “Do you own this place?” he asks, popping a piece of scone into his mouth absentmindedly.
“No, I’m renting.”
Now my eyes turn to the decent-sized living room, trying to see what he sees. The apartment is open concept. The only thing separating the kitchen from the living room is the island that doubles as a breakfast bar. There is a small space that could be a dining area, but I’m using it as a home office of sorts since this is a one-bedroom.
I’ve lived here for so many years and have rarely had anyone inside.
“Too bad. It could use some paint.”
“I know,” I say with just a touch of regret, taking a sip of my tea. Wanker even got me Earl Grey. I feel like that should be setting off all kinds of alarm bells, but for some reason it’s not. “I hate the white walls, but never had the time to paint them. Too late now.” I shrug.
He chuckles lightly, shaking his head. “How long have you lived here again?”
“Nine years,” I squeak out, a little embarrassed since nothing, and I do mean nothing, is decorated.
The furniture is here obviously, but everything else is either placed on said furniture haphazardly or packed in boxes. Even the television is sitting on the floor with wires strewn adjacent to it.
“I know it’s a mess, but I work a lot and just haven’t found the time to get to this.” I wave my hand around the space before turning to him and waggling my eyebrows. “But now you’re here and promised to be my slave, so . . .” I trail off with a shrug.
“I had no idea what I was getting myself into. This is going to require some form of payment. I don’t work for free you know, darlin’.”
“Where are you from?”
He laughs lightly under his breath, probably at my abrupt subject change, but he has an accent. It’s subtle, hidden under the covers, but it’s there.
“Oklahoma. Does my hint of a twang do it for you?”
“Nope,” I smirk. “Incidentally, this really is the best scone I’ve ever had.” I pop anot
her piece into my mouth, chewing and swallowing before continuing. “It’s not quite toast and Vegemite, but it may have been worth the trip to wherever you went to get it.”
“Vegemite?” His brows knit together. “What the fuck now?”
“Vegemite. Americans can’t stand it, probably because it smells like decaying feet and looks like baby poop, but it’s so wonderful and I miss it. I usually order it online and have it shipped since there aren’t many places around here that carry it.”
“I’m sorry, you lost me back at decaying feet and baby poop.”
I laugh, sipping my tea. “Just calling it like it is. You ready to get to work?”
“Sure, but after this is done we’re going to discuss payment.”
“I already told you sex is off the table.”
He grabs my waist, pulling me into his hard chest, his nose burying in my hair before I can even protest.
“I like where your mind is going with that. It means you’re thinking about having sex with me. But I told you I won’t even try until you give me the Ivy Green light.” He kisses my ear. “You get it? Ivy Green light.” He’s smiling against my neck, being adorable and playful and I can’t help but laugh at his cheesy joke.
“That’s pathetic.”
“I know, but you like me anyway.” I don’t respond to that. “But back to the payment. I may want a really fun day out. Do you ski?”
I snort. “No. I’ve never been. And before you ask, I don’t think standing on two narrow sticks and flying down a mountain at racing speed is an ace idea.”
“Okay, no skiing then.”
Luke places small, wet kisses from the base of my neck up toward my ear, and my body hums with excitement. His warm breath against my wet skin is driving me insane. It’s taking all my self-control not to squirm, or worse yet, tackle him to the ground and have at him.
“Motorcycles? I have one.”
“You mean donorcycles?” My voice is embarrassingly wanton, dripping with the lust I feel building as his mouth continues its sweet torture.
“Fuck. That’s what Duchess Kate calls them too.” He chuckles against my skin, making me shiver again. “Is that like a universal medical professional thing?”
I laugh, but swallow it down as he moves across my neck to the other side. How I’m managing to have a regular conversation with him is beyond me. Better yet, why am I not making him stop?
“Maybe, but I’ll go for a ride on the back if you give me a helmet. I used to ride with my father when I was a girl.”
“Your father rides?”
I nod, and gasp as his hands start to slide up toward my ribs.
“All his life.” God, my voice isn’t even my own. “Luke,” I rasp out a warning as he’s getting dangerously close to my breasts.
“I won’t cop a feel, Ivy. Promise. I’m just enjoying the touch of you.” A moan escapes my lips at his words and then he pulls back abruptly. “I can’t kiss you and not go further if you make noises like that. Holy shit, Ivy.” He rakes a hand through his short brown strands. “How could I have forgotten about that? You make the sexiest fucking sounds in the history of sexy fucking sounds.”
I swallow down my need and push him away. “Time to work then.”
I get a lopsided grin for that, dimple and all, and then he goes straight for the television. Figures, right? I mean, boys and electronics. I don’t know how much telly I’ll be watching in Boston, but it would be nice to have it off my floor, and it was a bit heavy for me to box up myself. I’d tell him that it’s been sitting there for six months since I bought it, but I’m a bit ashamed to admit that.
I go straight for the boxes in my bedroom because I cannot stand having them fill that room a moment longer.
They don’t take me that long to go through because it’s mostly my summer clothes I’m packing, and linens and things.
For a one-bedroom flat, there is a surprising amount of closet space, which means I’ve accrued way too much over the years. I even find my vibrator rolled up in some pillow cases and quickly stash that away in the bottom of a box before Luke comes in and discovers it.
As I work in my bedroom, I think about the fact that there is a man in my living room packing up my things, and he may or may not be something more than a friend.
I’m still not sure what to make of him, or this thing going on. I mean, it’s been less than forty-eight hours and I’ve kissed him. And I let him make-out with my neck not even ten minutes ago.
Not smart, Ivy. Not smart at all.
But we feel so much more familiar than two people just meeting or getting reacquainted.
It all feels so . . . natural.
Shoving some more items into a box and closing it, I seal it up with clear packing tape. I’m done packing everything in here that can be packed for now, so I close my bedroom door and head for living room.
Luke is clad in a white t-shirt that clings to his muscular body like a second skin, and low slung jeans. The light blue sweater he was wearing is thrown over the back of the chair, as is his jacket. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand like rugged, hardworking men do in commercials.
He’s insanely hot. My attraction to him is definitely not in question.
In fact, I’ve never been this attracted to a man before, ever, which is probably why I practically threw myself at him a decade ago. But I’m not that woman anymore. I’ve been traumatized, and that sort of thing makes you cautious. It makes you weary and slow to trust.
But that was all a long time ago, and one crazy, stalking ex doesn’t mean all men are that way.
But Jason was normal. So normal and adorable and smart and funny.
He was just like any old bloke.
And Luke is definitely not.
Luke is complex and has very clear issues packaged up nicely with a questionable past. And yet, I let him into my life and my apartment with very little protest. I can’t even say I put up a fight.
He tells me he understands our limitations, and somehow I believe that about him.
He also portrays the overprotective, will-walk-through-fire-for-those-I-care-about vibe. And that is so very alluring.
But there is still something hidden beneath that perfect model façade that I can’t quite put my finger on.
Luke gets the television mounted above the fireplace and takes a step back to admire his handiwork.
“Looks good,” I say quietly so I don’t startle him. “But you do realize it was on the floor so I could pack it up, right?” I can’t help but grin.
He spins around with a broad smile on his face. “Yeah, but you need a television. I’ll pack it up when you’re closer to moving.” He crosses his arms over his chest. The thick muscles in his forearms and biceps roll with the motion. “And it looks better than good. It looks fucking professional.”
I laugh, shaking my head. He’s right, he did do a professional job. I don’t even see any wires or anything.
“Did you finish in your bedroom?” he asks and I nod. “We have these boxes to get through and then I can take you out for a proper meal.”
I pause, wondering if this is the time to say something . . . well, not useless, but unhelpful maybe? “We don’t really know each other.”
He glances up at me, his hand stilling on the top of a box of old text books.
“Not really, no.” Luke abandons his task, moving toward me with determination. “I know some basics. Good basics. I know you’re a doctor who saves children’s lives. I know you’re beautiful and smart with a quick tongue and a dry sense of humor. I know what you like to drink and eat for breakfast. I know where you went to school and where you’re originally from.” He places his hands on my shoulders, giving me a good squeeze. “The rest I’ll have to learn as we go, but those things I listed?” He looks up at the ceiling as he thinks about this. “Those nine or ten things are a solid start, Ivy. Don’t try to avoid this just because you’re leaving and we don’t know each other.” He tilts this head with
an impish grin. “And I was a complete gentleman and didn’t even mention all of the naughty things that I remember with perfect clarity that you enjoy.”
I can’t help but grin at that. Yeah, I remember that too, Luke, but I’m not going there.
“I don’t think I even know ten things about you, though.”
He leans into me, keeping his eyes focused on mine. “You know I grew up in Oklahoma. That I went to Caltech, but had some trouble with the feds over a hacking ring I was involved with. You know I work in cyber security with Ryan, and that I drink coffee.” He laughs to himself. “Okay, maybe you’re right. That’s really not a lot.”
“See what I mean.”
“I do, baby, but we’re both really attracted to each other and I don’t think a list of all of the things we know is going to change that. Sometimes you just get a feeling about someone and that feeling is worth more than all of the little things put together.
“So you’re a Gestaltist then?” I tease and he furrows his eyebrows like I’m speaking in a foreign language.
“I have no idea what that means.” He points to his chest. “Computer nerd.”
“The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”
“Sure, however you want to categorize it, but you really can’t put attraction or liking someone, or even love, into a theory or neat little package. It’s boring that way.” He winks at me.
“And boring is bad,” I deadpan.
“You’re not boring, Ivy. And that’s not what I meant. I’m just not a big fan of overanalyzing something to the point of shutting it down. Enjoy the buildup and the newness—and the fun.” He bounces his eyebrows playfully.
“Are you always this pragmatic?”
Luke laughs, pulling me in for a hug. “Never. Pragmatism is also boring. Seriously, if we keep this up we’ll be eating dinner at five-thirty—just in time for the early-bird special—asleep by eight o’clock without having sex, and lamenting over how expensive everything has become.” I smack his chest, eliciting a rumble of laughter to escape him. “I just want to spend time with you and I think you want the same with me.”