Tease

by Stevens, Camilla

  “No,” I insist. “That’s not what I meant by that.”

  I’d have to be a perfect asshole to suggest such a thing now.

  All the more since I’m not even sure I want—

  “Nonsense,” Honey says. “There’s no reason you should be deprived of your true love just because I’ve lost mine. If anything, I’m even more encouraged to help you out. At least someone should be hopeful this holiday. Who knows, maybe it will be enough to help me get over my own broken heart.”

  I take a long sip of moonshine as I stare at Honey, wondering what it must be like to have a woman like her long for you, even after acting like such a shithead. I feel my blood boil, wanting to punch the man despite knowing nothing about him…and having no vested interest in Honey.

  Or so I tell myself.

  “You deserve better than him, Honey,” I say, surprising myself.

  I’m not the sensitive type, at least not in such a showy way. It must be the moonshine, or maybe the way she looks in that robe. They’ve conspired to lower my defenses.

  Normally, I get uncomfortable when people start getting personal.

  The last thing I feel now is uncomfortable.

  If anything, I feel a bit too relaxed in Honey’s company. It’s like she has this magical way of drawing something out of you, helping you get out of your own damn way.

  The sensible part of my brain knows she’s all wrong for me.

  So why does the illogical part seem to be winning the battle of wills?

  It’s Emily I should be focused on.

  Eyes on the prize—a motto that has served me well in life.

  Like most sensible options, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so strongly about Emily as I do about Honey right in this moment; which makes sense. Honey is the most glaring kind of distraction, everything Emily isn’t. Like a flashy sports car, tearing your attention away from the reliable sedan you know you should buy.

  Or more like a red cape in front of a bull, considering how violently I want her, and not just in a physical way.

  Being this close to her as she reveals more than a mere neighbor should be privy to, I just want…her.

  Staring at Honey with that sad look in those big brown eyes, the subtle frown on her full lips, I just want to…

  Chapter Sixteen

  Honey

  I sense the kiss before it happens.

  Jesse’s dark eyes, a fine moonshine glaze to them. The way his muscles visibly tense underneath that shirt of his. The twitch in his hard jaw as he swallows hard. The way he gradually leans in.

  I meet him halfway, finishing what he’s started before he can come to his senses, which he’s so dang prone to do.

  It’s glorious.

  The truth is, I never imagined what it might be like to kiss Jesse, even as I admired the look of him over the past year. Maybe because he always seemed so emotionally stunted and standoffish.

  What kind of lover could he possibly be?

  Well, he’s certainly not holding back now.

  His lips move with the grace of a professional dancer, and an urgency that could set off nuclear alerts just from the sheer force of it. My free hand rests against his jaw, his stubble scratching my fingertips as he works it.

  He draws in closer, enough for me to realize he’s definitely in control. Without missing a beat, he blindly sets his glass down on the coffee table. He grabs mine and does the same.

  The moonshine has certainly served its purpose.

  Note to self: thank Uncle Dickey next time I’m in Georgia.

  I’m pressed against the back of the couch. Jesse’s hand comes up to my cheek, sliding down and around to the nape of my neck, his palm cupping it possessively. His other arm circles me, sliding in between where my back is pressed against the couch so he can draw me in closer.

  If the visual evidence of how hard he works his body wasn’t obvious through the fitted t-shirt, I certainly feel it now as my breasts are pressed into his firm chest. I can even feel the ripples of his abs against my stomach. All the while, he doesn’t let up, his lips possessing mine with a passion I haven’t experienced in a long time.

  Now this is what I call a kiss.

  I unintelligibly mutter his name against his lips in a moan.

  If I ever had any doubt that Jesse was even remotely interested in me, I certainly don’t now. Which is why I’m so utterly surprised when he abruptly pulls away, a look of intensity on his face as he stares down at me.

  “Jesse,” I gasp again, this time in frustration as I finally come up for air.

  A hard look comes to his face, and I wonder if I’ve offended him. “My real name is Giuseppe. Giuseppe Castiglione.”

  I stare at him in wonder, letting that name dance around in my head. What a fantastically original name. And he chooses to be called something as banal as Jesse instead?

  “That’s lovely. Why on earth would you go by Jesse when you could go by Giuseppe. It’s so unique and—”

  The rest is cut off as he presses his lips against mine again, somehow even more urgently than before.

  It only heightens my own desire.

  Frankly, Jesse—Giuseppe is more man than I’ve had in a long time.

  Enough to have me not just getting over Francis, but completely forgetting he was ever a part of my life.

  Jesse pulls back again and falls back onto the couch with a sigh.

  Good grief!

  The man could make a faucet lose its mind for how hot and cold he runs.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He turns to face me, his expression filled with consternation.

  “I should probably confess that, yes, I did come here tonight to invite you to an event that my firm hosts every year. A gala.”

  “Really?” I say perking up at the sound of that.

  His brow just furrows for some reason. “In order to take you up on your offer of making Emily jealous.”

  “Oh,” I say, my spirit deflating just a bit.

  “Oh,” he echoes, surprisingly sounding more upset than I do.

  “I’m happy to go, Giuseppe,” I say, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I love galas,” I add, a cherry note in my voice. “If it helps you win her back.”

  He breathes out a sarcastic laugh.

  What in the world is going on in that head of yours?

  For once his stoicism isn’t endearing, it’s frustrating.

  “Are you feeling guilty about the kiss?” I ask, my breath catching.

  “What?” he asks, turning to me in surprise. “No, I mean, yes…in a way. I just don’t want to take advantage of you. Not while you’re in this state.”

  I laugh, which causes that brow of his to lower even more.

  “Who says you’re the one taking advantage of me?”

  His expression holds a moment before easing into something approaching amusement.

  I smile and reach out to grab his glass of moonshine. “Here, finish drinking up.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I might go further than a kiss next time.”

  “Don’t tempt me with a good time, Giuseppe.”

  He laughs but accepts the glass.

  “Don’t worry, I promise to behave,” I say, offering him a wink as I pick up my own glass. “You’re a gentleman. That’s sweet.”

  He opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. Instead he takes a sip.

  I smile behind my glass as I also sip. I know damn well the thoughts going through his head are anything but gentlemanly. Not after the way he felt against my body just a moment ago.

  My flesh is still trembling in remembrance.

  “Since you were so honest with me, I’ll be honest with you. Honey Dewberry isn’t my real name.”

  Giuseppe coughs out a laugh. “Pardon my French, but…no shit.”

  I find that hilarious and laugh. “I see that mouth of yours isn’t just good for kissing.”

  He considers me with a genuine smile. “If you’d seen me wher
e I grew up, you’d find out just how filthy this mouth can get.”

  That one sends a perfect tsunami of pleasure through me, though I’m sure that’s not at all what he intended.

  The hint of an accent my ear caught only makes it more powerful.

  I reach out for the flask and wiggle it in my hand. “I think we might as well finish this off. Uncle Dickey has plenty more where this came from.”

  “Uncle Dickey?”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Uncle. A male body part. The south. The incest jokes write themselves.”

  Giuseppe laughs. “I wasn’t going there with that. But I feel you. New Jersey gets its own share of shit when it comes to being the butt of jokes.”

  “So that’s the accent,” I remark, reaching for his glass. I pour half of what’s left in his and the rest into mine.

  “You caught it?” he asks, his brow wrinkling.

  “I caught it. Like me, you’re good at hiding it. Unlike me, you never bring it out to play when needed I suspect.”

  “No,” he says, swirling the drink around in his hands as he stares ahead. “No, I don’t.”

  “Well then,” I say, reaching out to take hold of his chin and turn it so he’s facing me. “Let’s play.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Giuseppe

  “Come on,” Honey urges. “Talk to me, Giuseppe. It’s obvious you want to drop the Clark Kent act. Show me your Superman.”

  Maybe it’s the moonshine muddling my thoughts but I’m somehow confused by the analogy, even as it makes perfect sense.

  I hesitate before continuing. “Do you ever feel like the thing you thought you wanted most in life isn’t all it’s cut out to be?”

  “Oh most definitely,” she says with a small chuckle as she takes a sip from her glass. She tilts her head to the side in thought before continuing. “Sometimes you have to lose it to realize that though.”

  “Ah yes, Francis,” I say, feeling my hand squeeze the glass a little tighter.

  “Ah yes, Francis,” she echoes. “And then, of course, there’s your Emily.

  “My Emily,” I repeat in a low voice. “Emily Becksworth. Though she’s not mine. Honestly, I don’t think it’s even her that I want so much as—” I stop, realizing how callous I’m being, talking about another woman right after kissing Honey like that.

  I turn to find her meeting me with a wry smile. “Go on, you aren’t hurting my feelings. I don’t expect you to fall in love just because we both had a moment of…indulgence, let’s call it.”

  Indulgence. I suppose that’s as good a term as any. Though something about the way she dismisses it bothers me.

  “If it makes you feel better, I was saying that I’m not sure if it’s her I want or the idea of her.”

  I pause to consider my thoughts.

  The moonshine in front of me beckons and I lift it to take a sip. Strong but good.

  “This job, this lifestyle, even my apartment. It’s not what I came from. My dad is a mechanic. My mother was mostly a stay-at-home mom, taking occasional odd jobs to help out with Christmas and birthdays. My brothers and sisters? A few have gone to college but none of them make nearly as much as I do. I suppose my youngest sister, Carina, is most like me. She’s at Columbia now. She’ll do well, probably with less baggage than I carry.”

  I realize I’m rambling and take another, longer sip.

  “My point is, early on, I realized that I could do something big with my life. My parents only encouraged it, my teachers even more. I went to the kind of high school where most boys end up working alongside their dads at the local auto shop or hardware store or construction gig. A lot of cops and firemen. The idea of going to Columbia University, let alone Harvard Law? I might as well a considered becomin’ a astronaut or the president.”

  I can hear my Jersey accent coming through, eased along by the influence of moonshine and Honey.

  Normally, I’d be horrified at letting it slip. That was one of the first things I worked on in an attempt to transform myself.

  I can still remember how casually I was mocked freshman year of college by a handful of guys who were perfect clones of Todd, Vaughn, and Andrew.

  My home-brewed method of dealing with it via my fists like I did back in high school was no longer an acceptable solution.

  I knew I was in an alien environment where I had to struggle to find my footing, making me an easy target for attack, at least until I learned to use my words as a weapon. By then, the damage had been done.

  Old wounds cut the deepest, and take the longest to heal.

  Honey smiles, as though reading my thoughts. “You really are a Jersey boy, aren’t you? It makes you so much more interesting.” She leans in to pierce me with those Bambi brown eyes, so hypnotizing. “Let me guess, you felt you had to transform yourself into the new you; into Jesse.”

  “In a way, yeah.” New Jersey again. Right now, I don’t give a damn.

  It feels right.

  “I always knew there was something fascinating underneath all those business suits. Why do you think I call you Clark Kent? I did from the first day I met you.”

  My mouth crooks into a half-grin. “Really?”

  She laughs and nods. “Which is all the more fitting since he was Superman’s fake persona to disguise the real person underneath.”

  My smile slowly fades. “I doubt Superman would put all his talent into saving multi-billion-dollar corporations another nine figures.”

  I drown that thought with another sip of moonshine. It’s beginning to go down a lot more smoothly.

  Honey grabs my attention again. “You shouldn’t feel like a fraud, you know. What you’re doing isn’t so terrible. I’m the very personification of a remade image. My entire catalog of idols consists of women who have transformed themselves.”

  My eyes drop to the pink robe, then survey the room around her.

  Honey laughs as though I’ve hit BINGO.

  “Coco Chanel was sent to an orphanage by her father and purposely shed her humble beginnings to create a new identity. Beyoncé started off singing in church, now she’s a superstar; Sasha Fierce was absolutely an alter ego. Josephine Baker, my personal idol, was a poor girl from St. Louis who got her start dancing on street corners. She became the crème de la crème of France, or rather the chocolat du chocolat.” That forces a smile to my lips, matching the one on Honey’s face. “She’s probably the one I relate to most. But of course the queen of them all can’t be denied.”

  She pauses and it takes me a moment to realize she’s being dramatic. I must admit, she has drawn my curiosity. “Who?”

  “Dolly Parton.”

  I wouldn’t have expected that one.

  “She’s a southern gal like me, from a big family. She’s passionate about reading which I can obviously get behind.” Honey nods toward her bookcase. “But what really shot her to the top of my list was the story of how she transformed herself.” Honey leans in conspiratorially smiling. “I saw it in an interview. She mirrored herself after the town trollop.”

  I blink twice.

  Honey laughs at my reaction, obviously finding it hilarious. “Oh, the look on your face. But it’s true, and she’s certainly used it to her advantage. Most people, men especially, I have to say, are suckers for an overly dolled-up gal with a southern accent. Why do you think I called myself Honey? It rolls off the tongue so perfectly, especially when it’s wrapped in pure Georgia sugah.”

  I chuckle. She’s right, it does have a stimulating effect on the ears. Wit and charm. “Yous definitely got it, sweetheart.”

  She tilts her head to consider me. “You know, I’m likin’ the Jersey boy schtick, Giuseppe. It serves you well.”

  I lift my glass and give her a wry grin. “Only when in the company of an overly dolled-up southern gal.”

  Honey laughs again, and lifts her glass in salute.

  Good grief, are we actually bantering?

  I must really be drunk.

  I take another sip.
r />   “So then what is ya real name, Miss Dewberry?” I ask.

  “Albertha Dixon,” she says with a wrinkle of disapproval in her brow.

  I nod, judiciously keeping my mouth shut. It’s not the worst name in the world.

  Honey laughs and slaps my shoulder. “Oh stop, we both know it’s terrible. I love my parents to death, but what were they thinking?”

  I grin and wisely sip my drink rather than say anything. I can certainly relate.

  “So, back to this Emily Becksworth of yours. I’m curious as to why she isn’t actually yours.”

  I feel my mood noticeably drop. For some reason the last thing I want to talk about is Emily.

  The story spills from my lips all the same. If my head was clear, I’d say it’s because I want Honey to know that I am capable of a relationship.

  Then again, if my head was clear, I would die before admitting such a thing, even to myself.

  “She was mine once. Back in law school. We probably would have gotten married by now if she had landed a job in New York like me.”

  “So…you two broke up because she couldn’t get a job here?”

  I nod. “Long-distance relationships don’t work.”

  “How sad.”

  I turn to look at her in surprise, a bit of sobriety slipping through the moonshine fog.

  She gives me an embarrassed smile. “I guess I’m naïve. I think if you love someone any obstacle can be overcome.”

  “In all fairness, it was her idea. But I didn’t fight her on it.”

  “And now she’s back.”

  I nod somberly. “And she’s taken.”

  “Hmm,” Honey says, in understanding. “But you want her back.”

  Do I?

  “It’s more…” I look ahead again. “I want what I thought she represented. This firm I work at, I’m sure she’ll settle into it as perfectly as a hand in a glove. I still can’t get one of the senior partners to even say my last name, let alone pronounce it right. Even if I do make partner, I still don’t have the connections to automatically bring in business from day one. I know I’ve had to put in more hours, work twice as hard, be even more on my toes. The smallest slip-up could knock me right down a few pegs. On top of that there’s this stupid gala.”