Jaded (The Butterfly Memoirs)

by Kane, M. J.

  What would I have done if he hadn’t come tonight?

  As promised, he’d done his part in distracting me from dwelling on the depressing aspects of my life.

  All too soon, a slow song played, giving the couples a break. Both of my hands were in his when I released my hold.

  Zack didn’t. I looked at our hands, then up into his eyes. The deep hazel irises darkened as his gaze went from fun to something else.

  “We should sit down,” I managed, trying to convince myself the increased heartbeat was a result of dancing.

  “I disagree.” He released one of my hands and slipped a hand around my waist instead.

  It was impossible to escape the sensual smell of his cologne up close and personal mixed with the musk of flesh damp from dancing. A rush of desire covered me from head to toe.

  “What are you afraid of?” he challenged.

  Um, being this close? Wanting him? Falling for him?

  “Nothing.” I put as much steel in my voice as I could muster. Liar, liar…

  Zack pulled me close, taking control, moving our bodies as one. His gaze never left mine. It was as if we were the only two people listening to the music. The clinks of glasses, short bursts of laughter, the sound of children running around the room, were inconsequential.

  I became a slave to the sultry sound of a bass guitar, the hypnotic rhythm of drums, and melodic voice of the singer. Zack assumed full control of my body as he guided us in a seductive sway.

  Okay, I was used to the strength of a man’s arms and feel of firm muscles pressed against me. I could handle the ripples of desire running through me, making my knees weak.

  What I could not ignore was the heat from his gaze as it explored my mouth, the warmth of his breath against my cheek, or the gentle slide of fingers along my waist as he enveloped me in his arms.

  To make matters worse, the lyrics of the song hit every nerve. They spoke of ignoring the pain of past relationships and accepting love again.

  I closed my eyes in an attempt to find pieces of the wall I had built around my heart. It was impossible; Zack had chiseled them away in the short time we’d known each other. The pain plaguing me from past relationships was easily forgotten while in his arms.

  “Yasmine…” His whisper was husky, the laughter from earlier gone. “Look at me.”

  I did.

  Never had a man’s gaze pulled me in this hard. Desire replaced reasoning, a feeling so strong it could not be ignored. How did this happen? Was it the theme of the day, the alcohol consumed, or the fact this man seemed to have eyes only for me?

  Zack gazed hungrily at my mouth and licked his lips.

  Panic built inside. This could not be happening. I couldn’t ignore the fact I wanted it, maybe even needed it to happen.

  “Yasmine…”

  My lips parted of their own volition as Zack lowered his mouth to mine.

  The moment our lips connected, the world stood still. Breathing ceased as desire exploded inside of me, drawing me deep into forbidden territory.

  Who knew a kiss could be so earth shattering?

  I pressed closer, my hand slid over his chest; the heat of hard flesh through fabric drew me in to accept everything he gave.

  The first touch of his lips was a soft contact, testing. The second, an exploration of the water, dipping a toe into the pond.

  The third was so much more. My mouth opened involuntarily and Zack’s tongue caressed mine.

  He tasted like the wine he’d taken from me. I gripped his shirt as an uncontrollable whimper escaped. Zack responded by releasing my other hand and slipping his to the nape of my neck, holding my mouth hostage to the onslaught of his kiss. We no longer moved to the music.

  All control was lost. The need to pull him the short distance to my bedroom to ease the ache in my heart and have his naked body against me was the only thing on my mind.

  This was not supposed to happen. We were friends, not lovers. I valued his friendship. Our relationship was perfect. With no strings, no attachments, and no commitments, neither of us risked being hurt.

  We were supposed to be platonic.

  Then why did his mouth feel so good? Why did his controlling grip cause my body to weep for more?

  I forced myself off this natural high and focused on his response. My eyes closed, I listened to his breathing as he continued his assault on my senses. It was as ragged as mine. Damn, he felt it, too.

  I pulled away from his mouth, struggling to be free of his arms. “I can’t do this…”

  “Yasmine,” he held firm, “don’t leave.”

  “Let me go, damn it, Zack, let me go.” I was unable to keep the panic from my voice.

  Zack stilled, his brow lowered. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

  I looked away, not wanting him to notice the tears about to hit. “I know…just…I can’t, please,” I implored.

  “Yasmine, we need to talk about this.” When I looked back, his expression seemed as pained as the way I felt.

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  He lowered his gaze and loosened his grip, allowing me to wiggle free.

  I avoided the festivities by slipping into my room by way of the patio.

  “I’m sorry.” Zack’s apology drifted over as I slid the door closed behind me.

  In my room, I locked the door and closed the blinds.

  Unable to move farther, I stood frozen against the doorframe and cried my heart out.

  Chapter 12

  How could I have been so stupid?

  Yasmine asked for support, for me to be a friend. I took it to a whole new level and kissed her.

  Kissed. Yeah right. Kissed the hell out of her would be more exact.

  I climbed out of my car, grabbed the twelve-pack of beer from the back seat, and slammed the door. The sound dissipated in the night air. With the way I felt, there would be no empty bottles in the morning.

  The fact Yasmine avoided my calls was a cue our relationship had ended. Damn.

  I threw my keys into the empty dish on the small table next to the door, my jacket on the kitchen counter. The cap was off a bottle in seconds. Leaning against the counter, I gulped like a mad man, nearly emptying the thing. Didn’t I stop Yasmine from drinking like this a few hours ago?

  The bottle empty, I threw it in the trash, grabbed another, and studied my half empty apartment.

  Over the past year, my life had turned into nothing but wide-open space and emptiness.

  Life was perfect when Melissa and I bought the condo. She found the place just as it went on the market. The loft was part of a warehouse converted into loft condominiums and featured a great view of the city. It was on the outskirts of town, thirty minutes from anywhere, as long as traffic wasn’t too bad.

  Large windows ate an entire wall, leaving magnificent views, and plenty of natural light, day or night. I loved the open floor plan of the living room, dining room, and kitchen all in one area with no walls to separate it. A small half bath hid beneath stairs leading up to the open bedroom and master bathroom.

  My eyes traveled up from where I stood in the kitchen to the rail that marked the end of the bedroom. Visions of Melissa wearing lingerie to entice came to mind. One look at what she wore and I would be upstairs in a heartbeat.

  Back then, the place was full of furniture, life, laughter, and love.

  Melissa liked to decorate. Nearly every paycheck she brought home went towards something new to make this place ours. If electronics were my vice, shopping and decorating were hers. I didn’t mind because I made enough to pay the bills.

  Man, she knew how to make a house a home. Pictures, flowers …everything modern and clean.

  When she decided she didn’t want to wait around to see if my mother lived or died, she cleaned the place out, taking everything except for the bed and kitchen table. Guess those items were too big to move.

  I finished off the second beer, rimmed it into the trashcan, and screwed the top off a third.

&
nbsp; Now it was a man cave, a place where my friend, Nick, came to hang out and watch the game. A flat screen TV and a large sofa were the only pieces of furniture occupying the living room. Bedroom furniture consisted of a bed and dresser. My computer desk sat tucked in a corner of the living room. Melissa bought that too. I guess she considered it an act of mercy to leave it behind.

  Another empty got trashed. Grabbing two more bottles and putting the rest in the fridge, I headed upstairs. I stripped and threw my tuxedo to the bottom of my closet. The only reason I had it in the first place was because Melissa insisted on me buying a tailored tux for our wedding instead of renting one. That monkey suit was proving to be bad luck.

  Wearing nothing but boxer-briefs, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared into the depths of my brew.

  That kiss.

  What the hell had I been thinking?

  Everything up until then went smoothly. I did my job. I distracted her, made her laugh and smile. As a result, the intoxicating fragrance of her perfume and feel of soft flesh as my hands slid over her body while we, danced blew my mind.

  Caught up in the moment, I got cocky and insisted we continue dancing when the music slowed.

  It had been so long since I’d held a woman in my arms it had been hard to let go. Then there was the way she had looked at me. I could tell she enjoyed being in my arms as much as I enjoyed holding her.

  Involvement in a relationship that led to anything emotional or physical was out of the question.

  Wasn’t I the one who’d said we’d be friends who never slept together?

  No matter how hard I tried, it was impossible to ignore how the soft curves of her body against mine felt…right.

  Sex wasn’t my goal, though. Correction, sex wasn’t the only thing I wanted. My thoughts leaned towards a relationship that would…

  I drained the bottle in my hand and reached for the last one on my nightstand.

  Continuing this train of thought would lead to nothing but heartache. One time around that block was enough.

  Unfortunately, I inherited my parents’ love of romance.

  I was pathetic.

  After barely looking at a woman to appreciate her appearance in over a year, the moment I got close to Yasmine, the first thing going on in my head wasn’t sex. Oh no, I thought about building a future and family.

  Damn. I could see her wearing my ring and becoming my wife.

  The most beautiful, smart, confident, opinionated, arrogant, and hardheaded woman I had ever met.

  I stared at my cell phone, willing it to ring. After calling twice and getting kicked to voicemail, I refused to call again. I wouldn’t become that guy – the one who called begging like a wimp for a woman to answer her phone. She didn’t owe me anything. If Yasmine wanted to call me, she would, plain and simple.

  The bottle depleted, I reached absently for another before realizing I’d drunk the ones I brought upstairs. Damn, half of the twelve-pack was gone, six beers in less than an hour. I hadn’t drank like this since the night Melissa left.

  Tomorrow morning, I would be screwed.

  Whatever. For now, I needed to forget the mistake I’d made tonight and pray Yasmine would forgive me in the morning.

  Unable to ignore the buzz and lightheadedness any longer, I turned out the light and sat in the dark. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t forget the softness of her lips, the taste of her tongue, and the way she kissed me back.

  Damn. It was going to be a long night.

  ####

  The ringtone of my phone woke me. The smooth jazz wreaked havoc on my already pounding brain. I groaned and pulled a pillow over my head. Intelligent communication was not about to happen.

  It was probably my mother calling to see how the night went. She was the last person I wanted to talk with. I was in no mood to tell her how my libido screwed up our arrangement with Yasmine. After last night, she wouldn’t be coming around anytime soon.

  The phone rang again.

  I groaned; it was now or never.

  My pillow still over my head, I reached blindly for the phone, slapping the nightstand, knocking over the empty bottles, and found the vibrating thing. I didn’t bother to check the caller ID.

  “Yeah,” I said, absolutely no enthusiasm in my tone.

  “Zack, it’s Yasmine. We need to talk.”

  My eyes popped open, and I sat up too fast. Groaning, I held my head with my free hand. I glanced at the alarm clock; eleven-fifteen. I’d slept most of the morning.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” I managed, lowering myself down and closing my eyes. “I got caught up in the music and —”

  She laughed lightly. “Yeah, me too.”

  “You’re not mad, are you?”

  “No.”

  I sighed. “Yasmine, you walked away from me crying.”

  Ran was a more accurate description.

  “The song struck a chord with me, that’s all. I overreacted. I’m over it now. Don’t worry, it wasn’t about you.”

  My eyebrows pulled together in frustration. It wasn’t about me? If my drunken memory served me correct, when she was in my arms, I kissed her, she cried, and ran away. How could that not be about me? Women were so hard to understand.

  The good thing was she called me. I was in no position to question her logic.

  “Okay…you’re not mad.” The tightness I hadn’t realized was in my chest lightened.

  “There’s something else I want to talk about, though.”

  The hesitation in her voice made me wary. I massaged the top of my brow. Man did I have a hangover. I slid out of bed and worked my way to the medicine cabinet in my bathroom. I grabbed the bottle of aspirin, walked back to my bed, and sat down. I screwed off the cap to get at the drug and popped a couple of tablets into my mouth. It was then I realized I didn’t have water nearby. I shook the beer bottles littering the nightstand and found one with a fraction of liquid left. I threw it back, chugging down the room temperature liquid, nearly gagging. “What’s on your mind?” I sat back in the bed, closed my eyes.

  Yasmine inhaled deeply. “There’s obvious sexual attraction between us, Zack. Neither one of us can deny it.”

  My body went on alert. I looked down at my second head as it stiffened when the word ‘sexual’ came from her lips.

  I cleared my throat. “I agree.”

  “I have a proposal. We agreed early on that neither of us was looking for a relationship. Yet we obviously enjoy each other’s company. ”

  My eyebrows creased. Where was this going? Yasmine confused the hell out of me. First it was dinner at the most romantic spot in town. Next was escorting her at a wedding. What was left?

  “We’ve both admitted to a dry spell when it comes to sexual partners,” she continued. “I suggest we take advantage of it. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of playing with toys and I imagine your hand needs a break.”

  What the hell???

  “I suggest we keep our friendship on even terms six days a week. But one day, or night, we get together to…relieve our sexual frustration.”

  My mouth opened, but no words came out.

  “Hello? Zack, are you still there?”

  I blinked rapidly and shut my mouth. I reached for the nearest bottle on the night stand; empty. I needed another drink.

  “Zack…”

  “I’m here, I’m…here.” My mind raced in so many directions it was hard to concentrate.

  “What do you think?”

  What did I think? This sexy woman whom I kissed and dreamed about last night was on the phone asking me to sleep with her. What the hell else did I think?

  The dog in me wanted to jump in the car, drive back to the hotel, and take her right now, no questions asked.

  The stupid romantic side of me needed answers.

  “You want us to be friends six days a week and sleep together once a week?” I asked for clarification. With the hangover I was experiencing, I needed to be sure I wasn’t making this stu
ff up.

  “Yes. I can make a schedule. Of course it’ll change once a month when I have my period, but if you’re willing to be flexible…”

  Yasmine wasn’t kidding.

  I spent half the night berating myself for pushing things too far, worrying I destroyed our relationship. The other half was spent imagining all the things I wanted to do to that body of hers. Then I wake up with the hangover-from-hell with her on the phone calling with a proposition. Not just any proposition. This wasn’t about changing the oil in her car, or painting a room in her house in exchange for pizza and beer.

  This was a proposition for sex.

  On a schedule.

  “Are you drunk?”

  “What?” Her tone was indignant.

  “Are you drunk? You had three glasses of wine last night. I need to be sure you know what you’re asking.” I glanced at the four empties on my nightstand.

  “You know what, I’m sorry I called,” Yasmine snapped. “I expected…I don’t know what I expected. Forget I called.”

  The line went dead.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  On my feet again, I made my way downstairs to the refrigerator. Bypassing the juice, I shoved the container aside and went for another beer. What was the saying? The fastest way to get over a hangover was to drink more? I was about to find out.

  Halfway through, I revisited the conversation. Yasmine wanted to have sex. Not just sex for fun or building a relationship, but sex with no strings.

  She told me from the beginning she preferred sexual relationships to be this way to avoid being hurt.

  While I respected her decision, I viewed sex differently. Every encounter was a chance to nurture a relationship.

  Yasmine’s suggestion was nothing more than a scheduled booty call.

  What was wrong with this picture? Who was the woman in this relationship? Her or me?

  All signs were pointing to me.

  There was no denying I wanted to take her to bed. The more I got to know her, the more I wanted to spend time alone with her.