Brown-Eyed Girl

by Lisa Kleypas

  I scowled. “Come on, Sofia. Do I look like the kind of woman that a man like Joe Travis would go for? Does that even make sense?”

  “Ay, chinga.” Sofia did a face palm. “A big, sexy man wants to spend time with you. This is not a problem, Avery. Stop worrying.”

  “People do stupid things at weddings —” I began.

  “Yes. Go be one of them.”

  “My God. You give the worst advice.”

  “Then don’t ask me for it.”

  “I didn’t!”

  Sofia regarded me with fond concern. A sisterly gaze. “Mija. You know how people always say ‘You’ll find someone when you stop looking’?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think you’ve gotten too good at not looking. You’ve decided not to look even if the right man happens to be standing right in front of you.” Taking my shoulders, she turned me around and gave me a little push. “Go on. Don’t worry if it’s a mistake. Most mistakes turn out okay.”

  “The worst advice,” I repeated darkly, and left her.

  I knew that Sofia was right: I had developed some bad habits since my catastrophic engagement. Solitude, avoidance, suspicion. But those coping mechanisms had warded off a hell of a lot of pain and damage. It wouldn’t be easy to get rid of them, even if I wanted to.

  By the time I reached the swimming pool patio, a couple of the bridesmaids had already changed into bikinis and were laughing and splashing in the pool. Noticing that no towels had been set out, I went to Val, who was arranging lounge furniture. “Towels?” I asked.

  “Tank is assembling the towel stand.”

  “That should have been done earlier.”

  “I know. Sorry.” Val made a little grimace. “He said he’ll have it out here in ten minutes. We didn’t expect anyone to be in the pool this early.”

  “It’s fine. For now, go get a half-dozen towels and set them out on the lounge chairs.”

  She nodded and began to leave.

  “Val,” I said.

  Pausing, she gave me an inquiring glance.

  “It looks great out here,” I said. “Terrific job.”

  A smile lit her face, and she went in search of the towels.

  I went to the long table where the pie-and-coffee buffet had been artfully arranged, with a trio of white-jacketed servers lined up behind it. Three-level French wire stands held gold-crusted pies of every flavor imaginable… caramel apple, glazed peach, dense slabs of buttermilk custard, strawberries mounded over lofty cushions of cream cheese.

  Nearby, Steven separated stacks of chairs and arranged them around cloth-draped tables in the adjoining courtyard. I approached him, raising my voice to be heard over the band. “What can I do?”

  “Nothing.” Steven smiled. “All under control.”

  “Any sign of scorpions?”

  He shook his head. “We saturated the perimeter of the patio and courtyard with citrus oil.” He gave me an intent glance. “How’s it going with you?”

  “Fine. Why?”

  “Glad to see you took my advice. About getting back in the game.”

  I frowned. “I’m not back in the game. I danced with someone, that’s all.”

  “It’s progress,” he said laconically, and went for another stack of chairs.

  When the setup was complete and guests were lining up at the pie buffet, I caught sight of a man sitting at one of the tables near the pool. It was Joe, relaxed and casual, the black tie hanging on either side of his neck. Giving me an expectant glance, he lifted a plate invitingly.

  I went to him. “What flavor is that?” I asked, looking at the perfect wedge of pie, topped with a thick layer of meringue.

  “Lemon icebox,” he said. “I have two forks. Want to share?”

  “I suppose as long as we sit way back in the courtyard, off to the side —”

  “Where no one can see,” Joe finished for me, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “Are you trying to hide me, Avery? Because I’m starting to feel cheap.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Of all the adjectives I might use for you, ‘cheap’ is not one of them.”

  He followed me, plate in hand, as I went into the courtyard and headed to a far-off table. “What adjectives would you use?” he asked from behind me.

  “Are you fishing for compliments?”

  “A little encouragement never hurts.” He set down the plate and pulled out a chair to seat me.

  “Since I’m not available,” I said, “I have no intention of encouraging you. Although if I did… I’d say you were charming.”

  He handed me a fork, and we both dug into the slice of pie. The first bite was so good, I closed my eyes to focus on it. A foamy mantle of meringue collapsed on my tongue, followed by a rich filling infused with saliva-spiking tartness. “This pie,” I said, “tastes like one lemon fell in love with another lemon.”

  “Or three lemons had a ménage.” Joe grinned at my mock-reproving glance. “Usually it’s never sour enough for my taste,” he said, “but this is about right.”

  When there was one bite of pie left, Joe picked up my fork and fed me the last morsel. To my astonishment, I opened my mouth and let him. The gesture was at once casual and oddly intimate. I chewed and swallowed with difficulty, my cheeks turning hot.

  “I need something to drink,” I said, and at that very moment someone approached our table.

  It was Sofia, carrying two wineglasses and a bottle of chilled white Bordeaux. Setting them on the table, she said brightly, “Steven said to tell you we’ve got everything covered, so you can take off now.”

  I frowned. “I’m the one who decides if I can take off, not Steven.”

  “You’ve had less sleep than any of us —”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “— and there’s nothing left except to manage the cleanup crew. We can do that without you. Have a drink and enjoy yourself.” Sofia left before I could reply.

  I shook my head as I watched her go. “I’m not as irrelevant as they seem to think.” Relaxing back in my chair, I said, “However… they did well today. And they probably can manage the cleanup without me.” I stared up at the sky, where the mottled white band of the Milky Way glowed against the plenitude of stars. “Look at that,” I said. “You can’t see that from a city.”

  Gesturing with his glass, Joe said, “See the dark lane running along the center?”

  I shook my head.

  He moved his chair closer and pointed with his free hand. “There, where it looks like someone scribbled through it with a Sharpie.”

  Following the line of his arm, I saw the ragged stripe. “Yes. What is that?”

  “It’s the Great Rift, a big cloud of molecular dust… a place where new stars are forming.”

  I stared in wonder. “Why haven’t I seen it before?”

  “You have to be in the right place at the right time.”

  We glanced at each other with a shared smile. The wash of starlight had turned the little crescent scar on his jaw a faint silver. I wanted to trace it with my fingertip. I wanted to touch his face and stroke the hard contours of his features.

  I picked up my wineglass. “I’m going to turn in after I finish this,” I said, drinking deeply. “I’m beat.”

  “Are you staying at the ranch, or at one of the hotels in town?”

  “Here. There’s a little cabin along the drive to the back pasture. The trapper’s cabin, they call it.” I made a face. “There’s a stuffed coon on the mantel. Hideous. I had to put a pillowcase over it.”

  He smiled. “I’ll walk you over.”

  I hesitated. “Okay.”

  The conversation turned quiet, halting, as I drank the rest of my wine. It seemed as if some secondary, unspoken dialogue were filling up the space between the words.

  Eventually, we stood and left the bottle and two empty glasses on the table.

  As we walked on the side of the paved drive, Joe said, “I’d like to see you again, Avery.”

  “That’s
… well, I’m flattered. Thank you. But I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve enjoyed your company. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Joe was silent the rest of the way to the cabin. Our pace was leisurely, but my thoughts raced, my brain cataloging a jumble of ideas about how to keep him at a distance.

  We stopped at the front door. While I fumbled in my bag for the key, Joe spoke quietly. “Avery… I don’t mean to presume. But I know what it feels like to want someone who doesn’t want me back.” A long pause. “And I don’t think that’s the case here.”

  Shaken, I managed to say, “I’m sorry for whatever I’ve said or done to give you that impression.”

  “Then I’m wrong?” he asked gently.

  “It’s… no… but it’s a matter of timing.”

  Joe didn’t react, didn’t appear to believe that, and Jesus, why should he? Why would anyone? He was like something from a dream as he stood there in a wash of moonlight, sexy in his rumpled tux, his eyes midnight dark.

  “Can we talk about it for a minute?” he asked.

  Reluctantly, I nodded and opened the door.

  It was a one-room cabin, designery rustic with a handwoven rug and leather furniture and modern light fixtures that looked like crystal antlers. I flipped on a switch that illuminated a sconce in the corner and set down my bag. Turning to face Joe, I saw him standing with his shoulder braced against the doorjamb. His lips parted as if he were about to say something, but he appeared to think better of it.

  “What?” I asked in a hushed voice.

  “I know there are rules for this. I know I’m supposed to play it cool.” A rueful smile touched his lips. “But to hell with it. The fact is, I liked you the first moment I saw you. You are a beautiful, interesting woman, and I want to see you again.” His tone softened. “You can say yes to that, can’t you?” Seeing my uncertainty, he murmured, “Pick the time and place. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  Pushing away from the door, Joe approached me without haste. My heart began to work in sharp jolts, and I went hot and cold with nerves. It had been too long since I had been alone with a man in a bedroom.

  Studying me intently, Joe touched the side of my face, his hand curving beneath my jaw. I knew he could feel the way I was trembling.

  “Should I leave?” he asked, and began to draw back.

  “No.” Before I could stop myself, I caught his wrist. A few minutes earlier, I’d been calculating how to push him away, and now the only thing I could think about was how to make him stay. My fingers curved around the thickness of bone and sinew, the strong rhythm of his pulse.

  I wanted him. Every part of me wanted him. We were alone, and the rest of the world was far away, and I knew somehow that if I slept with him, it would be extraordinary.

  To a woman who’d lived twenty-seven years of ordinary, one night with a man like this didn’t seem too much to ask.

  I pulled his hand to my waist, and I stood on my toes, deliberately molding my body against his, and he was warm and sturdy, his arms anchoring me firmly. He began to kiss me slow and deep, as if the world were about to end, as if it were the last minute of the last hour of the last day. The things he did with his mouth, his tongue… it was like a conversation, like sex, the way he found what I wanted and gave it to me. There was more pleasure in that kiss than in any act of physical intimacy I had ever known.

  After drawing his mouth away, Joe cupped my head to his shoulder. We stayed like that for a hard-breathing minute. I was dismantled, everything inside me thrown into chaos. All I knew was that I had to be close to him, I had to feel his skin. I grasped the lapels of his tux jacket, pushing them back. He stripped off the garment and dropped it to the floor. Without hesitation, he gripped my head back and his mouth found mine again, ardent and intent, as if he were feeding on something delicious. Somewhere in the midst of all those kisses, he reached down to my bottom, cinching me closer against a ridge of hard, impatient flesh. The need sharpened until it seemed I would die of not having him. Nothing had ever felt like this. Nothing ever would again.

  You had to run with a feeling like that, all the way to sunrise.

  “Take me to bed,” I whispered.

  I heard a quick, rough-sawn breath, and I sensed the conflict of desire and indecision.

  “It’s okay,” I said anxiously. “I know what I’m doing, I want you to stay —”

  “You don’t have to —” he began.

  “Yes. I have to.” I kissed him again, excitement pulsing through me. “You have to,” I whispered against his lips.

  Joe responded voraciously, caught up in the heat just as I was, his hold on me changing as he sought to make the fit between us even closer, tighter. After a while he began to undress me, and himself, clothes littering the floor in a trail to the bed. The light was switched off, the darkness relieved only by the starlight sifting through the mesh of the window blinds.

  I pulled back the covers and lay on the mattress, shaking from head to toe. He lowered over me, the feel of hair-roughened limbs stimulating my skin into excruciating sensitivity. I felt the hot whisk of his breath against my throat.

  “Tell me if you want to stop,” I heard him say hoarsely. “No matter what, I’ll stop if you decide —”

  “I know.”

  “I want you to understand —”

  “I understand.” I pulled him down to me.

  Nothing was real in that quiet room. Things were being done to me, and by me, in an ecstasy of sexual greed that I knew I would be shamed by later. His mouth was at my breast, his tongue articulating delicate circles until the tip budded, and he began to lap and tug until the pleasure went singing to the quick of my body. I gripped his shoulders, the tough muscle of his back, massaging blindly.

  Skilled and sure, his fingers teased along the insides of my thighs, coaxing them to part. The pad of his thumb brushed a place so tender that I cried out, my hips lifting. His finger slid inside me, caressing deep into a frantic wet pulse. My body tightened to hold the sensation, drawing the pleasure inward.

  His weight slid over me, his legs spreading mine, and I gasped out a few words… we had no protection, we needed to use something… He reassured me with a hoarse murmur, reaching over to the bedside table for his wallet, which I hadn’t even been aware of him setting there. I heard the rip of a plastic packet. Momentarily distracted, I wondered when that had happened, how he had managed —

  My thoughts imploded as I felt the pressure of him working slowly, circling intimately. He entered me in a low, thick slide, sensation blooming within sensation, hot and sweet and maddening. A cry stirred in my throat.

  Joe nuzzled at my ear. “Shhhh…” He slid an arm beneath my hips, pulling them high. Every thrust was a full-bodied caress, the hair on his chest teasing my breasts. I’d never felt so much at once, raw sensation eliding the spaces between every heartbeat and breath until I was blind and silent. The release wrung pleasure from every muscle, tightening until I shuddered in long, liquescent spasms. Joe held me tightly, breathing in rough gasps as he reached the pinnacle. He kissed my neck and shoulders, his hands moving over me gently. His fingers traversed my stomach, down between my legs to the verge of our joined flesh, and I felt him caressing intimately, teasing around the small centered ache. Moaning in astonishment, I sank into an erotic darkness where there was no thought, no past, no future, only pleasure that made me twist in helpless ecstasy.

  I awakened alone in the morning, aware of the slight aches left by another body’s intrusion into mine, the faint whisker burns on skin that had been kissed and kissed, the tender pull of inner thighs.

  I wasn’t sure what to think about what I’d done.

  Joe had said little when he’d left, other than the obligatory, “I’ll call you.” A promise that no one ever kept.

  I reminded myself that I had the right to sleep with someone if I wanted to, even a stranger. No judgments were necessary. No one had to feel bad.

  Still�
� I felt as if something had been taken from me, and I didn’t know what it was or how to regain it. I felt as if I would never be the same again.

  Letting out a shuddering sigh, I used the bedsheet to blot my eyes as tears threatened to well up.

  I pressed hard against my eyes. “You’re okay,” I whispered aloud. “Everything’s okay.”

  As I huddled back into the damp pillow, I remembered how, when I was in grade school, we had studied butterflies for a science project. Samples of a butterfly’s wing under a microscope had revealed that it was covered with tiny scales like feathers or roof shingles.