“Just because no one tells you when it happens, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”
I took a bite of my spaghetti to give myself a moment to bask in the compliment. So what if I could lose a few pounds? So what if my hips would always be big? So what if I would never carry myself with Cleo’s grace? He thinks I’m beautiful.
I finished off my ice water before speaking, hoping it would rinse away anything stuck in my teeth. “Thank you. And I guess if we’re being honest with each other, I must tell you that you were quite the topic of conversation while my sister drove me to the airport.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, same sorta things. I told her that you were interesting, surprising. Cute.”
“Cute, huh?” A half smile.
“Good-looking.” I looked down at my pasta, wondering suddenly if this was giving away too much information too soon. “I hope our conversation isn’t laying out our cards too soon.”
“Why not though? I don’t know about you, but I’ve been through too many relationships that I hurried into without any discussion of what brought us there in the first place. I’m making a real effort to avoid the whole dating ‘game.’ I think that if you’re honest about what works and what doesn’t, and why you’re both there, then you have a better chance of having it be an authentic relationship. Don’t you?”
I thought of Liam, of our long and happy courtship, but despite how good it was, dishonesty had been the common theme of every day and every encounter. His dishonesty with me and with himself. “Yes. That’s refreshing.”
Our plates were taken away and we were served our little scoops of spumoni ice cream in tin dishes. “So, I noticed that you’re reading Positively 4th Street,” Adam commented.
I’d almost forgotten my plan to look more interesting than I actually was. But it wasn’t a lie that I had been reading it. I just hadn’t been reading it recently. “Oh, yeah. It’s really interesting.” I racked my brain to remember what I had already read.
He nodded. “Yeah, it’s a good book. I can admit to being a Dylan fan, even if he comes off like a jerk in the book.”
“I like him, too,” I agreed, as pleased that we had somewhat similar tastes in music as I was that my reading material had spurred this topic of conversation. “And Joan Baez…she looks much better in the book than Dylan does.”
Adam took the final bit of ice cream onto his spoon. “From what I remember, Hajdu interviewed Baez’s sister as one of his main sources. That could contribute to the slant.”
“Have you heard Dark Chords on a Big Guitar?” I asked, finishing my own ice cream.
“I have. Baez’s voice is so soulful these days, now that she’s older.”
We exited the decadent velvet and wooden booth. “Is folk music your favorite genre, Adam?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. I like a variety of music.”
“Put it this way: What’s in your CD player right now?”
We walked through the front doors of the restaurant and breathed in the fresh night air. “I don’t have a CD changer in my car, just the original radio and cassette player. But in my CD player at home I have Sean Paul, The Dave Matthews Band, Julio Iglesias, and Tracy Chapman that I remember for sure.”
“Which Tracy Chapman album?”
“Her first one. The self-titled one. And what do you have in your CD player?”
“In my car I have Dylan, Odetta, and Tracy Chapman. Crossroads. It’s one of my favorite albums of all time. I think I have The Doors in there, too.”
“Are you an L.A. Woman?” He took my arm.
“San Diego Woman. More of an Orange County Woman, originally.”
We moved toward the car, and he dropped his eyes, thoughtfully, then looked back up. “So you say that your favorites are Dylan, Joan Baez, Odetta, The Doors. It’s interesting that so much of what you listen to is older music. A lot of that stuff was recorded before you were even born.”
“I guess that’s true.” I shrugged. Interesting observation, but not so relevant.
“Has it always been that way? Dylan. The Doors. Were they always your favorites?”
“No, I used to listen to the usual Top-40 kinda stuff. But maybe when I heard the older music, I realized how much better it was.”
I must have been veering the wrong way to the car, as Adam rested his palm on the small of my back and steered me slightly to the right. “Maybe.”
“You don’t think that’s the case?”
“No, I mean, I have no idea. I just thought it was interesting.”
“But why do you think I only like old music?”
“Wouldn’t that question be best answered by you? Why do you think you only like old music?”
I almost answered the same thing as before, that it was just better music, but the question was good enough that I gave myself a moment to think. I kept my head down as we walked, pursing my lips while I thought. Adam didn’t rush me, and I filed away my thought that he was more interested in what I had to say than just moving the conversation along. The air had chilled since we left the house, and I shivered in my thin shirt. Adam wrapped his arm around me as we walked through the parking lot, his warmth seeping through to my skin immediately.
At the car, as he began to open my door, I turned to him with an answer. “I think I prefer old music because it doesn’t make me think of anything in particular. I don’t have memories tied to old music.”
He nodded, but didn’t answer, as though waiting for me to go on. I hadn’t planned to, but there he was with his eyes locked on mine, with his muscular forearm resting on the top of the door frame, his shirt clinging just slightly to his solid torso. Did this look get him his way with all the girls? It must. How could you refuse this man anything when he looked at you this way? He didn’t even need to ask.
I began clarifying what I meant. “So much music reminds me of different things from my past. I had a happy past for a lot of it. But then so many of the good things came to sad ends. And it’s hard to listen to music even from happy times without it making me sad. For example, I started listening to Celtic music and chant after my dad died because we used to listen to Top 40 music when he would drive me to school and so that music made me sad. And then an ex of mine got me into club music. And after that relationship ended, I tossed out all the mixes he’d made for me and picked up on folk music. Because I have no emotions tied to it.” I ducked into the car.
“Good answer.” He closed the door after me.
When he opened his driver’s side door he smiled, maybe to lighten the mood. “I hope it works out well with us, because I’d hate for you to link Dylan with me and someday stop listening to him because he reminds you of me.”
“Let’s just see how things go then.” In my mind I thought, Don’t break my heart.
“Okay, so here’s my idea of what we could do next, and if you don’t want to, that’s fine. Just say so. It’s even a little weird to say, to be honest. It’s just that there’s this ice-skating rink a few exits down from here. The Iceoplex. A colleague plays hockey there, and he said it would make a good impression on you if I took you ice skating.” We both laughed, and then he continued, more seriously. “Really, though, does that sound fun to you? Or are you more of a dinner-and-a-movie kinda date?”
Ice-skating! Not sexy, but fun nonetheless. “That sounds like so much fun. I haven’t ever been to that rink. I see it every day on my way to work, but then I always forget how close it is when I’m trying to think of something to do. Ice-skating is a great idea!”
“Then let’s go work off this pasta, and after that, depending on the time, we can decide what to do next.”
“So that must mean that this date is going well.” I was only half joking.
He looked over and smiled, dazzling me. With his face so close, I could see the silver flecks in his midnight eyes. “Yeah. I’d say it’s going well.”
My breath caught and I thought he might kiss me. My mind flashed
back to the garlic butter I’d spread on my bread. But he didn’t kiss me; he pulled back with what I hoped was a look of regret. Maybe his mind had flashed back to his garlic-parmesan chicken dinner. I had a toothbrush in my purse. I hoped he had a mint or something. Not that it mattered to me what his breath smelled like right now, but I didn’t want him to be so self-conscious that I might be robbed of a kiss.
* * *
I made it through ice-skating without falling, which I took as a good sign. I didn’t get so warm while skating that I had to worry about reapplying deodorant, which I also took as a good sign. And we were “actively” spinning and sliding and laughing the entire time. Another good sign for things to come.
The best sign, though, was when Adam took my hand at the far side of the rink, raised it to his lips and kissed it gently, half on the knuckles and half on the fingers. His lips were smooth and soft against my caramel skin. The world froze in place for just the few moments between when his lips touched my skin and when he lifted his eyes and smiled.
And that was a good sign.
* * *
Even in the midst of our conversation on the way home, I was running through lines that I could use to invite him in without sounding trashy.
Would you like to come in for a bit?
Hey, why not come on in?
Shall we finish this conversation over a glass of merlot?
When he walked me to my door, Adam caught me before I could choose a line to cast out. He pulled me into an embrace and I felt myself being swallowed up in his arms, pressed against his chest, and I was breathless even before he laid his lips against mine.
The most glorious kiss in all of history, surely.
But then he released me and stepped down the first stair, away from the door. “This was a wonderful night, Eliza.” He pushed a wisp of black hair away from his face. His shirt pulled snug against the muscles moving in his arm. It was especially sexy since he seemed to do it unconsciously, as though he had to deal with this annoyance each and every day.
I was confused by his backing away, my brain clouded by his kiss. “I—I had a wonderful time, too. Thank you.” I cleared my head and cast the line before I lost the opportunity. “Would you like to come in and have a drink? Some wine, I mean?”
“I would love to,” he said, stepping back up, and giving me a quick kiss on the lips before he continued, “but that’s probably not a good idea at the moment. Things are a little too…well…I have to work tomorrow, and I have to drive home afterward, so I shouldn’t drink.”
His words were a brush-off. But his discomfort indicated something deeper.
“Then just conversation? No wine?” I ventured, not yet defeated.
But then he pulled me close again, and looked into my eyes hungrily. “We’ve agreed to be honest, so it’s my turn. You’ve led me toward something before, Eliza. Twice. Just to pull away. I know that the third time is supposed to be a charm, but something keeps causing you to lead me on a course to something more and then draw away from me. It’s your turn for honesty.”
“I hadn’t been sure…”
“And are you sure now?”
I wasn’t. I wanted it to just happen. So I don’t have to take responsibility? My silence was telling.
Adam sighed, and ran a hand over the curve of my waist, settling on my hip. “Tell me goodnight, Eliza. I’ll go, and, hey, we’ll have plenty more chances. But if you’re sure that you want me to come in…”
I turned my back on him instantly, and he stopped speaking. Our breath hung in the air.
There was the jingle of my keys, the scratch of the key entering the keyhole. I felt Adam’s fingertips touch the small of my back. Still, he wouldn’t let me out of making the decision. His respect for me was torment. Gorgeous torment.
When I stepped inside, his fingertips disconnected from my back. I set my purse on the entry table and looked back over my shoulder. I could see anticipation in the muscles of his neck, in his slight lean toward the door.
“Come on in.” The words had barely left my lips when Adam gathered me into his arms in one dramatic lunge, closing the door on the way in.
Between kisses, he said, “Eliza, you’re sure.” It was a statement, not a question.
Two firm tugs untucked his shirt. My fingers found his tie, undoing it just enough to reach the brick red buttons underneath. One button undone, and another. With each, another several inches of smooth, tan muscle appeared. I thought he might not even know what my hands were doing, since his sole intent seemed to be focused on my lips, my neck. But when I reached the final button and pulled open his shirt, running my hands over his incredibly solid abs, he drew in a breath and drew back his shoulder blades to let the shirt fall off behind him.
I stepped back to take in the sight of him. The black tie slashed his perfect chest in two halves, two tight collarbones, two smooth pecs, two sides of a knotted six-pack. His tie looked like a road map, a direction, the very end pointing to something even more impressive.
He didn’t stay there for my ogling for very long before closing in on me. My hands reached behind me to untie the wrap-around shirt. He didn’t touch me, and he didn’t breathe, watching me unwrap the light fabric from my body like a dance of seven veils, slowly exposing more and more of my body.
I turned then, unbuttoning the top button of my slacks, and swayed my way out of the entryway. Still facing away from him, but surely being followed since Adam’s breath was falling against my bare shoulders, I unzipped loudly, so he’d know where I was going.
His fingertips brushed my waist before his hands grasped at it hungrily, turning me toward him. He reached around and undid my bra with precision, then pulled it off in one fluid movement.
His hands were running up my rib cage, pulling my torso up, until they stopped at the place where my breasts swelled. His thumbs met between them, curved around each, his long fingers wrapping around the sides of my rib cage. He dropped his head to bury it between my heaving breasts, kissing, nipping. When his lips tentatively touched my right nipple, lightning flew through my body.
I threw my head back and whimpered, “Oh, Adam…”
There was no going back, and who would want to?
I shimmied so that my slacks fell to the floor in an instant. Grabbing for his tie, I pulled Adam up to meet my eyes. “Do you believe me when I say I’m sure?”
Adam’s eyes skimmed the length of my body. “Goddess,” he moaned, “I’ll believe whatever you tell me.”
Goddess? And there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Only want. Only a desperate desire.
“Then believe that up those stairs you’ll find everything that your mouth, your hands, your body have been seeking.”
I edged up the stairs, Adam in playful tow by his black tie. We’d only gone a few stairs when he picked me up effortlessly. I gasped, throwing my arms around his neck.
“And what have you been seeking, Eliza?” he asked as he carried me up the stairs.
My breasts pressed against his warm chest, and the muscles in his arm burned seductively into the sensitive area behind my knees.
He carried me into the room, set me gently on the edge of the bed. I pulled Adam closer by his belt until he was standing between my spread knees. In a moment his trousers fell.
“What I’ve been seeking?” I queried. One final tug and his silky boxers were on the floor. “I think I’ve found it as well.”
CHAPTER 9
When I woke, Adam’s body was spooning mine, and his strong arms surrounded my naked body. I wondered how I could get up and take my shower before he saw me so disheveled. But he was already awake.
“Good morning, Eliza.” His voice was huskier in the morning. Last night it had been all velvet. He rose on an elbow to look down at me.
I turned my head and saw that—how was it possible?—he looked even better in the morning than he had last night. His long hair was undone, falling around us like a dark veil.
“Oh, good morning,”
was all I could think of to reply, the seductress of last night completely evaporated in the clean light of morning. “I’m sorry, I must look a mess.”
“You look like a goddess,” he muttered, leaning over and laying a dozen light kisses on my exposed neck and shoulders.
A blush spread over my neck, and I turned onto my back, pulling the sheets up to my chin. He pulled them back down and dusted my collarbone and breasts with kisses. “Gorgeous. You’re just gorgeous, Eliza. What time do you have to be at work?”
My body filled with electricity as his hands ran over my waist, over the curve of my hip, and made their way to the insides of my thighs. He tempted me with, “How much time do we have?”
All the time in the world, I wanted to say. “We have time. I don’t have to be in until eight.”
Adam’s hand stopped its sweet caressing.
“What is it?”
“Its 8:10 right now, Eliza. I’m sorry, I thought you had until nine or ten.”
My stomach churned. I knew I’d hear about this from Jane, and she’d probably even call HR, just to try to keep me out of the running for the job. But oh, it had been worth it.
“It’s okay, Adam. If I get ready now, I should be fine.”
“Take the day off,” he challenged. “I will, too. We’ll stay in bed and make love all day. I promise it will be worth it.”
“I don’t doubt that it would be! But it’s Thursday and—”
“You have that police thing today.”
He had listened to me. He had remembered.
* * *
I must admit that I was a little out of it for the first part of my meeting with the police officer. I explained that I’d developed a little motion sickness while riding on the trolley, and Detective Wilson didn’t seem to see the difference between motion sickness and a very late night, which was good. He asked me basic questions about myself, my position at J Press, and about my relationship with “Ms. Orwell.” I answered it all honestly, with a little sugar-coating about my relationship with Rain.
Detective Wilson shuffled through some papers on his desk and pulled out one sheet with some notes on it, scribbled on it in the same way he had been scribbling notes during our conversation. “I spoke with Ms. Orwell’s assistant already—”
Best of Luck Elsewhere Page 10
