“My glasses!” She clapped in delight and, not thinking, opened the door. As she reached for them, her bathrobe gaped open.
Most of her breasts were exposed. Hara was afraid to look at him as the heat rose from the skin on her chest and she drew the bathrobe tight again. “Th-thank-k you.” She felt not only exposed but vulnerable. At the same time, she didn’t want Derek to leave. Why was she always so conflicted with this guy?
He picked up her suitcase, pretending nothing had happened. “Do you want this?”
“Sure.” She didn’t want to let go of the bathrobe again. “Do you mind just sliding it in here?”
She shuffled back to let the door open farther. With his eyes averted, he bent forward and set the suitcase inside the room, but then startled her when he straightened and inhaled deeply. She took another step back. “I know, I smell a little ripe—”
He chuckled, a rare event, and finally looked at her. “Not unless your body odor smells like lavender and vanilla. I’m guessing you found the bath salts. I love that smell.”
She laughed. “You use bath salts?”
“I’m a complicated man, Hara.”
“A complicated, floral-scented man.”
“Maybe not right now.”
“Luckily, I’m not close enough to tell.”
He made a funny, tiny hop toward her. “How about now?”
“Whew. You’re not wrong. You are the one who is ripe.”
He ducked his head, blushing, backing out into the hall. “All right. I’m going to take a shower.”
“I was only kidding—”
“I know. But it’s time to get cleaned up, and then I’ll make us something to eat. Deal?”
* * *
Emerging warm and clean, a glow on her caramel skin, her hair smelling like soap and flowers, Hara slid back into the plush bathrobe, decadently soft on her silky arms and legs. She brushed out her long hair, and then used a hair dryer to get rid of some of the dampness.
Putting her glasses on, she was surprised they were no worse for the wear. One problem averted. She opened up her suitcase and dug around for a pair of underwear. She dropped a faded blue pair back into the case. Not that anyone would see her panties, unless she, too, ended up in the hospital. Yet, without thinking about it too deeply, she chose a pink lacy pair, the least embarrassing, just in case someone “accidentally” saw them.
An email notification chimed on her phone and showed an unread message from the Salem prison. Her father was allowed access to a computer once a week, if he had money in his account for sending a message; the computer was set up with a program specifically designed to monitor prisoner emails.
Hey baby girl,
I heard there was a big storm tonight. The guards have been talking about a power outage during the game. I’m not sure if you were there. I’m hoping you are home and safe. Write me back, let me know. Don’t stay mad. I only want what’s best for you. I needed to help. Not because I think you can’t do it on your own, but because it’s the only thing I can do for my child. If you are still there, be careful. Better yet, come home. I mean it. Do not get close to O’Donnell, you can’t trust him.
I love you.
—Daddy
Hara read it again and then closed out her email without replying. Bitterness churned in her stomach. Obviously she couldn’t trust O’Donnell, not if he was willing to do back-alley deals with a convict. Her father. She loved her father and knew he loved her. She even understood his logic. That didn’t mean she had to forgive him. But she didn’t want him to have a stress heart attack, either. She opened the email back up and replied:
I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.
—Hara
Derek called, “Hara! Let’s eat!”
The appealingly low timbre of his voice was not to be ignored. When she paused to think about it, she was surprised she’d so easily given in to staying at Derek’s for the night. She barely knew him. Yet, after all they’d gone through in the past few hours, Hara felt like she knew enough.
She had to accept that she’d been partially wrong about her initial impression. He was wealthy, but he was not entitled or without compassion, not like she’d thought. His demeanor could be dour, but that didn’t mean he was heartless. Derek had helped both Hara and Naomi when he didn’t have to, even putting himself in danger to do so. He was judgmental and standoffish, but if given the chance, he was kind, in his own way, and he was loyal to the people around him.
Hara started to take off her robe in order to get dressed, but her arms and torso broke into goose bumps. She shivered, hard, then decided she was fine, wrapped up in the thick cocoon. She rewrapped it around her, making sure it would stay securely in place, and tightened the sash. “Coming!”
She sat at the long kitchen bar. Derek, his hair damp, and dressed now in loose Adidas joggers and a clingy T-shirt, took ingredients out of the refrigerator.
“I can make a mean roasted chicken panini. Interested?”
“You cook?”
“My parents have a full waitstaff. I do not want that. I do not need that. So. Panini?”
“Yes, sure, that sounds great. I get not wanting to follow in your parents’ footsteps—though your parents’ footprints are from handcrafted Italian loafers, while mine are from rubber boots and Croc knockoffs. But are you not close at all to them?”
“I see them every once in a while. Which is too much time, especially with my father.”
“I’d give anything to be able to have my father around again.” Hara immediately regretted her words. She did not want to have a conversation about Thomas Isari, the reason several of Derek’s peers were in jail. No need to remind Derek her father was a felon. “But let’s talk about something else. Maybe we should call the hospital, check on Naomi.”
She called Mass General while he sautéed chicken pieces and onions, then made the sandwiches. It was nice, him gliding around the kitchen, being domestic. A famous basketball player, making her a meal. On hold, waiting for the nurse, Hara quietly watched him. Admired him. It was funny how even just cooking, he moved with graceful strength. His face remained calm, emotionless. She noticed the cute dimple in his square chin, and it made his countenance seem less stern.
The food was ready by the time the nurse got back on the phone, stating that Naomi remained the same; she was sleeping comfortably but the fluid in her lungs was still a concern.
“Thank you.” Hara hung up, wanting to feel relieved but, instead, felt increasingly anxious.
Derek handed her a loaded plate, garnished with sliced apple and Brie. Oh, he’s so fancy. I like it. She took a bite, and then another. It was delicious, seasoned by burned adrenaline and fatigue.
He said, “I hope Naomi is going to be okay. You did a great job tonight, keeping it together. It was tough, seeing her like that.”
“At first I thought she was dead. There is no way I could have kept it together if that had been true.” She paused as he handed her a glass of red wine. After taking a drink, she said slowly, “My grandpa died the same day my dad was sentenced. Not long after that, my grandmother’s dementia spiraled and she was moved to an old folks’ home.” She took another drink. “Even my mom changed, became distant. All these people, gone. It’s not like Naomi and I are longtime besties—but it was still terrifying to see how close she was to being a goner, too.”
Derek leaned against the counter, listening, eating his sandwich. He swallowed and said, “For the record, I would have lost my shit if Naomi was dead, or even if she was screaming in pain. I hate it when people suffer. But especially this time, when I could have prevented it.”
“You are not the reason Naomi was hurt. It was a combination of circumstances. We could have waited a few more minutes and you would have come in. Or, frankly, Naomi and I could have hunkered down at her place for the night and let you go on your merry way.”
“I would never have left you there.”
“Are you like this with everybody?”
“What? Responsible? Yes.”
They ate quietly for a few minutes more.
Slowly, hesitantly, Derek broke the easy silence, saying, “You can tell me if this is too personal, but that night at the club, you thought I was asking you a racist question … but why does it bother you if someone wants to know your heritage?”
“Because my cultural background does not define me. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not ashamed at all. It’s just that my family is diverse, obviously, but they did very little to create cultural roots in me. My mother is African American and Daddy is Japanese American, but no one in my family has ever tried to share what it means to be a part of either of those races. I didn’t realize I was missing out on learning about who I am, about my roots, until I was in middle school. And that was only because it finally dawned on me that my first name is Japanese and not from the Greek goddess Hera. No one ever talked to me about it.”
“Do you ever embrace your Asian heritage? Now, as an adult?”
She shook her head slowly. “I want to, but my grandparents were put into an internment camp and came out two years later determined to prove they were Americans. They spoke only English, scrubbed anything Asian from the home, made sure my father had no accent, played football, and ate steak and potatoes. He used to joke that they wouldn’t even let him play chess—it was too Asian. Growing up, I never saw a kimono or ate sushi, nothing.”
“What about your mother’s family?”
“None left, except her. My mom was just like every other mom. I was just another Pacific Northwest farm kid. She grew up in that town, too. About the only black family history I get from her has to do with how to deal with racism. And the only bit of Japan my grandparents maintained had to do with gardening and caring for the apple orchard. My father grew up knowing next to nothing about being Japanese. He promised to take me to Japan one day, but, well, that didn’t pan out, for obvious reasons.”
“It must have been hard, growing up in a small town with your dad in prison.”
“You have no idea.” She took a long drink of her wine. “I learned to just keep my head down and work, knowing eventually I’d be out in the bigger world, away from all that. I don’t plan on being back for long. Besides, though it might not seem like it sometimes, I try to make it a habit to find something positive and live in the moment when I can.”
“I have to ask, and I don’t want to start an argument, but if you are so dead set on not being like your dad, why did you let him rig the contest with O’Donnell?”
Time came to a crashing halt. The air in front of her swam.
He remained leaning against the counter, and yet Derek suddenly felt too close.
Hara drained her glass. “I know you won’t believe me, but I had no idea. Not until the night after the first game, when I heard O’Donnell talking about it. I thought I was here because I deserved it. Because I earned it. If I could rip out my heart and show you the truth, I would. It’s crushing me, making me doubt myself.” Hara gnashed her teeth. “I could kill Daddy for doing that to me.”
He tipped his head to the side, a range of emotions scuttling across his face.
“You believed them, Derek. I know you did. I hope you don’t still believe them. You’ve been so hot and cold, you can’t blame me when I come off as defensive.”
“Listen, Hara, like I said at the bar, I’m not that great in social settings. I’m awkward and serious and if I try to say something funny, it comes out wrong.” Derek put the remains of his sandwich down and folded his arms. “But it’s true, I did believe Madeline and O’Donnell. I am sorry about that now. They were very convincing, and I hadn’t really spent time with you, gotten to know you.”
“Yet, you almost kissed me.”
“There is that.”
“Yeah, that.” Why was she bringing this up? The conversation so far hadn’t been mortifying enough?
“Well, I don’t have any regrets. Except maybe that Madeline interrupted me.” He dragged his gaze to hers. Hara’s heart leapt at his words, whether or not it was wise. He continued, “I mean it. I didn’t know how to react, either to the kiss or their accusations, and I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“Well.” She picked up her empty glass of wine and glared at it reproachfully. “I should probably drink some water.” Before he could do anything more for her, Hara slid off the bar stool and went to the cupboard for a glass.
She could sense Derek move behind her. Even without contact, she could feel the heat and energy he radiated. Not thinking, she stepped back, into him. Touching him was better.
Both of his arms went around her, pulling her back into him, closer, his cheek pressed to the side of her head, his breath trickling warmly into her ear. He nuzzled the hair at her temple.
Hara’s heart pounded hard enough she was sure he could hear it. This was so far outside of her normal pattern with men, but she wanted it. One more gift the universe was offering, if she wasn’t too afraid to take it. She wanted him, now. She was breathless. Terrified, exhilarated, confused, and aroused. Hara made herself turn to face him.
One arm remained wrapped around her, the other reached over and gently removed her glasses. Then, slowly, he bent and kissed her. His full lips caressed hers, his copper eyes open and intent on her. Inquisitive. Making sure she was okay. His enticing offer of intimacy was sealed by his respect.
She opened her mouth slightly and ran the tip of her tongue just inside his bottom lip. He responded by pressing her mouth open and sliding his tongue inside hungrily.
Passion torched through Hara, burned away any misgivings, any thought of complications and conflicts. The heat in her stomach spread, warming her in every corner and crevice. Their bodies slammed together, the friction intense.
She bent her head back as he kissed down her neck, arching her body into his. Her hands reached up, moved over the hard muscles of his chest, the rounded pecs under his thin T-shirt fitting perfectly into her shallow palms. So firm. So strong. So …
Hara lost her words then, as Derek pushed her robe down, revealing the top of her breast, his lips now tracing her collarbone with an occasional flick of his tongue. Hara moaned. Her nipples were erect, rubbing against the material, crying out for Derek to release them. He heeded the call, slowly, moving his lips down to just above the hem of the robe, then pushed it down with a light fingertip. His hand went to her breast, holding her up as he took her fully into his mouth, gently flicking and sucking. His other hand slid inside her robe and cupped her ass. He squeezed, and pulled her even tighter to him. She ground against him, moaning.
She was bare to the waist. He undid the sash and slid two fingers between her legs, stroking over her panties. It was unbearable.
“Please, Derek.”
He eased the pink lace over her hips, letting it drop to the floor. “Yes?” he asked.
“Yes. Yes.”
Derek swiftly picked her up and sat her on the counter, kissing and sucking on her nipples. “You are exquisite,” he groaned against her skin.
He continued downward, soft butterfly kisses moving up her thigh, driving her mad. By the time his hot breath was directly on her, she was writhing, saying, “Yes, please, Derek. Please, Derek!”
As his tongue lightly touched her, and then plunged, she cried out. He groaned, vibrating against her as she pushed closer, closer. When his tongue slowed and flattened and teased, she thought she would explode. “Wait! Wait!” she cried out, holding his head. “I want you inside me.”
As he stood, Hara wrapped her legs around his waist. Derek picked her up like she was nothing and carried her to the bedroom. She wanted so badly the deeper connection to this man she had once thought was beyond her reach. Within seconds, she had her wish.
His sculptured body slowly lowered on top of her, hard and ready. Then, Derek surprised her by rolling them over, so that she was on top. His face was flushed and soft but his eyes burned like sparking metal in a forge. “I want you to be in control,” he whispered. Then he
put a hand to her cheek, running a thumb over her cheekbone. “I want you to be happy.” He moved his hand down to the curve of her breast.
Hara, looking down at him, almost burst into tears. The gentle affection was as alluring as his physical strength and overcharged masculinity. She had never imagined she could feel so safe, so desired, and so turned on at the same time—especially not by a man who had to have had hundreds of one-night stands. But she was in control and she liked it. If nothing else, she’d be walking away with a memory that would keep her warm for years.
Hara knelt over him, slowly settled herself onto him, just barely, not sure how she was able to keep her movements slow and controlled. He groaned and started to thrust, but she put her hand on his chest. “Shhh. Slow, slow.”
She pulled back up but immediately slid back down, just a little farther, slowly. Derek watched her, helped her, his strong hands on her hips. Her insides were pulsing; he grew harder, bigger, and she couldn’t hold off any longer, sliding all the way down, crazed with satisfaction, filled like never before. There was no emptiness. She moved, gripping him as she came up, grinding and crying out as she came down.
“Hara! I can’t wait…”
She accommodated him, meeting each thrust. Her world had shrunk to this one location, this one act, this one moment. She needed nothing but him, wanted nothing but this. They twisted and moaned and sucked and plunged until both of them shattered into a million little pieces.
Hara broke and came apart multiple times over the next few hours, each moment its own while they were together.
CHAPTER 15
The loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable;… one false step involves her in endless ruin;… her reputation is no less brittle than it is beautiful …
—Pride and Prejudice
Derek was full, satiated … joyful. It had been a long time.
Light from the hallway fell across Hara’s narrow back, a darkly golden trail for him to trace with a fingertip, from between her shoulder blades down to that slight incline just before it turned into the tight mound of buttock. The luscious young woman slept on her stomach, her head tucked into the crook of her petite elbow, her long black hair twisted into a loose rope. Her back rose and fell at a comforting pace.
The Wrong Mr. Darcy Page 17
