by Olivia Luck
“I’m having a hard time trusting you,” she finally blurts out when I stop the car in front of her building.
How can Stella be insecure about what I want from her? Have I not been explicit? There’s only one way to remedy this.
I release her hand for a split second, noticing the way her face falls and then twists in confusion when I strip off my gloves. “I need to feel your skin,” I practically growl. Leaning across the console, I cup her smooth cheeks in my hand and drag her closer. Her lips are soft, sweet, supple. She tastes like beer and peanuts from the arena, reminding me that this woman is not only thoughtful, loving to her family and friends, and maintains a successful career, but she likes sports.
What else could I ask for?
I part her plump lips and stroke her tongue with mine, falling deeper under her spell.
“Would you get tired of something that intoxicating?” I ask her as our kiss ends, pressing my forehead against hers. She’s catching her breath, unable to speak, simply nodding her head in agreement.
If this is what it’s like to let someone see you sweat, I’m all in.
Stella
Blake delivers. A private ice skating session in the Scrapers training facility for our first date, new restaurants, a comedy show, and a jazz club. He opens my eyes to new parts of the city that I’ve never known. We date for nearly a month, a glorious few weeks.
And we don’t sleep together.
There’s plenty of kissing, but Blake refuses to be alone with me in my condo. He tells me that he wants to wait and never make me feel used again. I’m practically begging for more intimacy every time we’re together, but the man sticks to his principles. I admire them and I believe now that he truly wants to date me. But enough is enough.
I’m twirling a pen at my desk, daydreaming of ways to seduce my boyfriend, a term we haven’t discussed yet but seems appropriate, considering we talk on the phone every day and see each other a couple times a week. The chat program on my computer dings with an incoming message, letting me know that Ryan Sullivan from the Scrapers is here for a status meeting.
Pushing thoughts of Blake aside, I rise to greet Ryan, who’s only grown more smarmy since the Speck-a-thon, though we’ve only communicated through email and conference calls. I glue a smile on my face as the slick-haired man gives me the up and down with his eyes. It’s like I’m a piece of meat he wants to devour. What happened to professionalism, let alone manners?
“Great to see you, Ryan,” I lie.
“You too,” he mutters almost lasciviously. Ignoring his inappropriateness, I whirl around on my cold weather boots without a word and lead him into a small conference room.
“How do you know Blake?” Ryan asks without an ounce of humility before I’ve even sat down. I fold myself into one of the mesh-backed seats.
My nose wrinkles in distaste before I can stifle the automatic response. “He loves my family’s restaurant, Baccino’s.”
“Ah. You met over spaghetti. Romantic.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that there’s no romance because I don’t want this guy in our business. But we’re not hiding our relationship. Except from Zoe, a nagging voice reminds me. My stomach clenches when I think of my friend’s struggles. Blake asked her if she wanted to see me the other day. No shot there, and it hurts something fierce.
“Are you going to the Super Bowl with him?” Ryan’s boundaries clearly need some work; he’s not attune to my tense body language in the slightest. None of this talk is appropriate; he doesn’t need to know anything about my personal life and I’d love to put him in his place, but I have to please this client. My career at Speck depends on a seamless integration with his company.
“Super Bowl?” I repeat dumbly.
“Yes, the Wind are going. Didn’t you know?” Ryan’s eyes narrow sharply. What’s he trying to figure out? This inspection sits in my stomach like tainted food. It makes me feel sick.
“I didn’t realize,” I say and begin typing on the conference room computer to draw up my presentation. I’m disappointed in myself for not realizing how close Blake’s team is to the championship game. Come to think of it, he was out of town last week but I was too caught up in working at Baccino’s because half the staff caught the flu. Not my brightest moment. I make a mental note to ask him about the game and show interest in his team. Admittedly, hockey’s my favorite sport, but I’m not so dense that I don’t know about the city’s football team.
“I’m very excited to tell you about our progress on the integration.” I shift the subject abruptly and keep Ryan in professional mode until I shuffle him out of the office two hours later. Luckily, members of the development team joined us halfway through and I didn’t have to be alone with him again. Once he is gone, the rest of the day flies by with a fire drill from one of my first clients, Morgan Trucking.
Later that night, I’m cooking enough penne for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow when my doorbell buzzes. Wiping my hands on my half apron, I cross the kitchen and use my thumb to activate the intercom. “Hello?”
“Snow White, Snow White, let your hair down.”
I can’t help but giggle. “That’s Rapunzel. Get your fairy tales straight.”
“Let me up and we’ll discuss it.” Smiling to myself, I grant Blake entry, open the door a crack, and head back to my boiling water.
Warm hands cup my waist and lips tinged cold press against my neck. “How’s my Snow White?” he asks against my skin. The shivers running down my back aren’t because he’s brought the chilly temperatures inside with him. I want him.
“You never told me the origins of that nickname,” I murmur.
Blake spins me around. His hands dive into my thick hair, tenderly clutching my skull. “Tell me how you do it,” he demands.
“Do what?”
“You’re cute, breathtaking, and beautiful all in the same moment. It steals my breath every time I see you. Those impossibly big, sky blue eyes, tumbling dark hair, creamy skin; you’re a dead ringer for Snow White.”
My lips tilt upward.
“Rosebud lips, pink tongue, do I need to go on?”
Lifting to my tiptoes, I press a gentle kiss to his cheek then I spin back to the task at hand. “This is the first time that you’ve been in my apartment since the family night.”
“Too tempting,” he chuckles, but I don’t find it funny. Doesn’t he want me? “What are we having for dinner?”
I cast him a glance over my shoulder. “Nothing fancy, eggplant, tomatoes, pasta, cheese, basil.”
“Mmm.” Without me saying a word, Blake begins moving around the apartment, collecting items to set the table. He produces a bottle of wine when I’ve finished cooking, pouring us each a glass.
“I had an interesting meeting with Ryan Sullivan today,” I tell him as I serve. Blake flashes me a look of appreciation that almost melts my bones. The little things that I do for him—ordering a beer he likes, remembering important meetings he tells me about, picking the movie that he wants to watch at the theater—they all seem to give him immense pleasure. And in that, I find my own happiness. It’s easy to make him smile and I love doing it.
“Oh?” He captures my wrist and presses a lingering kiss to the back of my hand. “This smells wonderful. Thank you for accommodating.”
As if I would ever refuse the chance to have dinner with my dream guy.
“He mentioned the Wind are headed to the Super Bowl and I’m a terrible girlfriend who hasn’t asked about your football team. I can’t believe that we haven’t discussed this!” My words start spilling out of my mouth once I realize that I referred to myself as his girlfriend. “You’re going to the game, right?”
Blake lifts one dark eyebrow. “Terrible girlfriend?”
“You caught that one.”
“Well, I was waiting to see how long you’d wait to use it. I’ll admit, twenty-four days isn’t too bad, though I’ve been committed since day one,” Blake says.
�
�Blake…”
“Accept it, we’re together, and if you want to use the term girlfriend, that works perfectly for me. As for the game, your boyfriend wanted to surprise you with tickets. Can you get off work Thursday and Friday? The Bowl’s an all weekend thing and I’d like you to be with me at all the events.”
My breath catches in my throat. “That’s a pretty public declaration. Are we ready for that?”
The fork heading toward his lips freezes mid-air. He fixes me with one of his surly, stubborn glares. “Hell, yes. What, are you are embarrassed by me?”
“No!” I recoil in horror. “Of course not. Zoe still doesn’t know about us, and it would be strange if she caught us together while watching the Super Bowl.”
Blake’s expression loses some of its anger. “Fair enough, but my sister hasn’t turned on a television since September. She spends most of her time watching movies and reading. I’m not worried about the off chance that she notices you in the stands with me. And if she does, I know that she’ll be thrilled.”
A ball of worry grows in my stomach. “You’re so sure of yourself.”
“What other way would I be?” he says as if he never considered anything else.
“That confidence has gotten you a long way.”
“Why wouldn’t you be confident? You kick ass at your job, own a home, have family and friends who love you, are in good health, and have a boyfriend who adores you. Now tell me about your day.” The abrupt change in topic doesn’t give me time to revel in his adoration, but it does make my heart speed up to double time.
“Things are moving along nicely with the new integration at the arena. Phase one goes live on April one.”
“And your promotion rides on this phase?” Blake asks, though he knows this is the case.
Nodding, because my mouth is occupied chewing, I watch him assess me. “The project’s on time, on budget, and hitting every requirement. This one’s in the bag,” I smirk like he does and he laughs.
“I expect nothing less from you. How’s working with Ryan?” His tone is nonchalant, but I don’t miss the sharpness in his gaze.
I choose my response carefully. Ryan hasn’t done anything wrong, per se, and I know Blake to be a tad alpha when it comes to the women in his life. There’s no need to cause unnecessary worry for him about a couple of lewd looks. “Straightforward and direct. He’s better than other clients who know nothing about the technology. He understands how the employees use Speck so it makes my life easier.”
Blake chews slowly, watching me closely. “Okay. You’ll let me know if he gives you any trouble?”
“Don’t worry, Blake. This project is going along swimmingly.”
He flashes his straight white teeth and my stomach clenches. “Now you sound like Violet.”
I laugh; I had stolen the phrase from her. “Katya said the Chicago Center program will weigh heavily on my promotion, but there’s more to it than that. She wants me to manage that project and all of my others. Then she’ll talk promotion.”
Blake leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Is that what you want, a promotion at Speck?”
My shoulders lift and fall. “Right now, I need a career goal. It seems silly to look for a new job when there’s a new challenge at a company that I’m enjoying. If it doesn’t work out at Speck, I’ll look for something new.”
“When you’re ready, would you consider a job with me?”
My jaw almost comes unhinged because it practically falls to the table. “What?”
Blake looks affronted, his face slipping into a frown. “You always find it surprising when I mention more commitment in our relationship. It’s starting to hurt my feelings a bit.”
“No!” I cry, jumping up from my seat and scooting around the table. I wiggle into his lap and drape my arms around his shoulders. “That’s not what I meant at all. It’s just… You keep surprising me. It’s hard to believe that you want all the things out of this relationship that I do. I’m not sure if we should work together, but I’m thrilled you’d offer, let alone want to spend all that time together.”
A sense of relief drifts through me, soothing an anxiety that I didn’t realize was building when he relaxes and slips his arms around my waist to pull me closer. My feet dangle off the ground and I press my cheek against his wall of muscle, listening to the familiar cadence of his heart.
“Think about it,” he requests softly, and I nod. A hand lifts to stroke the trail of hair from the crown of my head to between my shoulder blades. He repeats the soothing process. Instead of calming me, his touch sends licks of desire lapping at my body. I can’t help myself, squirming at his touch.
“Don’t do that,” he rumbles.
“Blake, I’m ready.” I’m breathless, shifting to enable our eye contact again. He’s not doing a good job of hiding his own lust—eyes dilated, expelling hot breaths quickly, hands becoming more aggressive in their strokes down the length of my back.
“Stella…” Regret flashes in his eyes then he brushes a tender, chaste kiss across my lips. “Not yet. Tonight you showed me that I haven’t earned your trust yet. I haven’t made it clear that I’m all in for this relationship. That’s okay,” he hurries to say when I open my mouth to argue, “but I don’t think we should make love until you know that I’m not walking away again.”
Make love. The phrase echoes in my mind, pleasing me endlessly to think that he would refer to our coupling in such a tender way.
“I guess that makes sense,” I reluctantly admit.
With a pained expression, he shifts me off his lap and into a standing position. Then he begins clearing the table of our used dishes. “This is the only way that I’ll keep my hands off you,” he mutters, sending me into a fit of laughter.
“It can wait,” I finally agree.
But for how long?
Self-awareness is a bitch. Okay, most of the time it’s pretty useful to be in touch with my emotions. Except for now. Like I said, from where I stand in the doorway of a three-bedroom casita suite of the Four Seasons Sedona, self-awareness is a bitch. I only know about the three bedrooms because Cam, Blake’s closest friend, teased us as we checked in. Now, surveying the sitting room, fireplace (is that necessary in the desert?), ten person dining table, and warm Sonoma-themed color pallet, I’m aware of every nerve on my body humming with anxious anticipation.
What am I doing here? I am not ready for this. Blake’s right, I shouldn’t have sex with him because I am not prepared for the consequences. He’s a man, one who can afford magnificent hotel suites. He owns two freaking professional sports teams!
Self-awareness is functioning at one hundred percent. Fretful, apprehensive, uneasy—all of those describe me perfectly. What was I thinking getting on the team airplane with him this morning? I’m going to meet Blake’s father this weekend for the first time. Ever! Then there will be tons of football people, probably celebrities…
Blake interrupts my frantic inner dialog by calling my name from deep within the cabin where he led the bellhop toting our luggage.
Reluctantly, I break through the invisible threshold preventing me from entering the little house, following the timbre of his voice past stunning views of the Crescent Butte Mountain (according to the bellman) and, I notice, a hot tub and a privacy wall. The bellhop passes me on his way out and I offer a stiff farewell. I’m wound tighter than a brand new watch.
“What do you think?” Blake’s unaffected, an arm extended to invite me to move next to him. I press up against his side, reveling in his warmth. “What’s wrong?” He drops a lingering kiss to the crown of my head, a trickle of reassurance dripping through my veins. He wants you here; you made the right decision. It’s Blake, and he hasn’t done anything to break your trust. Stop fighting this.
Leaning my head back, I allow my lips to tilt up when our eyes meet. He’s watching me with unabashed adoration. All the worries slip away, and I’m filled with a sense of calm and anticipation of the excited vari
ety. Did I say self-awareness is a bitch? I meant it’s a blessing. “I’m thinking about how glad I am to be here with you. I’m thinking that you know how to woo a woman. I’m thinking about how comfortable I am around you.”
He cuts me off, not allowing any more of my confessions to spill out because he covers my lips with his. It’s a tender, unhurried touch. His fingertips trickle down my back, one hand curling around the curve of my bottom and fitting me snuggly against his taut body.
“That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear.” His forehead falls against mine, but Blake’s eyes remain closed. A pained sigh escapes from his lips.
“You sound like holding me hurts,” I tease him.
“Snow White, it hurts more than you know. There’s nothing that I’d rather do than act on that confession, but I’ve got an owner’s meeting that I need to attend on behalf of my father.” Glancing down at his watch, Blake swears softly and shakes his head in frustration. “We need to make an appearance at the team dinner tonight, but then you are all mine. Capisce?”
I giggle at his fumbled Italian. “Are you taking lessons from my father?”
With a peck to my nose, Blake smirks, “Trying to speak your language, Snow White. I have to shower and then run out. I’m sorry that I’ve got to go so fast.”
Clucking my disagreement, I unravel from his embrace and unzip my rolling suitcase. “We talked about your obligations on the plane, Blake. It doesn’t bother me. I brought my computer, and I have a crazy demanding client who needs my attention.”
An arm hooks around my waist, hauling my back to his front. Kisses rain from my temple to the crook of my neck, tickling me along the way. “Which client is that?”
“A behemoth of a stadium on the west side of town.” I nearly choke on my laughter when fingertips dance across my ribs. “Don’t!”
With little trouble, he lifts me into the air and sends me flying onto the duvet covering the king-size mattress. My legs fall to either side of his hips as he leans forward with a mock snarl on his face. “Don’t what?”
