His lips crush against hers. The kiss grows, hotter, deeper, and more intense every second their lips and tongues collide. Arianna gasps with pleasure, desperate, wanting. She grips his muscular shoulders tighter, digging her fingernails into his hard flesh. He’s a carnal assault on her senses. His lips, his tongue, his hard body, which press against her closer, closer until she’s pinned against the wall. His hand skims up her thigh, lifting the hem of her short dress until his fingers find her silk panties. Then they’re inside her panties, sliding across her sensitive skin until one finger finds her wet slit. A shiver of delight runs through her. She spreads her legs wider, greedy for his touch.
I see Luca’s face in front of my eyes as I write the scene. But now it’s me there, rather than Arianna mashed up against the wall about to be penetrated. Hungry desire burns in his eyes as he touches me, stimulating my bud while I thrash and moan. His tongue slides over his sensual lips and his gaze is riveted on my face as he sinks his finger inside my wet walls, thrusting in and out of me until the bursts of pleasure inside me intensify. I realize all at once that I’m grinding my pelvis against my chair, but I’m so lost in sensation that I’m on the edge of orgasm. My finger drifts down and slides inside my panties. I stimulate my sensitive bud until my pleasure explodes and I ride the wave of ecstasy to its blissful end. Afterward, my body feels limp and my mind pleasantly hazy. I turn in my chair to make sure I haven’t awakened Luca.
I wonder what would have happened if he had seen me touching myself. I can imagine the flare of hot desire in his eyes, how his dimples would deepen watching the erotic scene unfold. His features would probably display that same primal need if he lined up his cock with my entrance and slowly sank inside, possessing me. That intense sexual undercurrent between us makes it nearly impossible to wipe these erotic images from my mind. At least all my libidinous daydreams liven up my writing.
Once I finish my word count for the day, I put on my headphones and listen to some of Luca’s music on YouTube. I like every song I hear. His sensual, baritone voice seduced me the first time I heard it and excites me even more now that I know him. The accompanying instrumentals are a nice mix of jazz and pop. I download several songs to my iPad, including “Mi Amor,” the song that made me instantly crush on him during my drive down to Mexico.
My rumbling stomach reminds me it’s dinner time. I head to the kitchen, wash my hands and then start washing and chopping vegetables. The kitchen is adjacent to the living room, with just a countertop of Mexican-tile separating the two rooms. I decide to make extra food in case Luca stays for dinner. He should. He’s in no shape to fix anything himself tonight. Too bad I don’t have much in the fridge. Tomorrow’s my normal shopping day. I don’t even have a bottle of wine. At least I have some corn tortillas left. And a few Dos Equis. The food I usually fix is simple, healthy—the opposite of many Mexican-style foods that are fried and smothered with melted cheese and condiments. I do make good chili rellenos, though. Too bad I don’t have all the ingredients to make those.
Now I’m fixing sea bass, sautéed in olive oil with onions, zucchini and tomatoes over rice. It’s low in fat and high in nutrients and Omega 3s, which for me constitutes a perfect meal. Could be my healthy meal will be Luca’s idea of the worst meal he’s ever eaten in Mexico. Hopefully not.
“Something smells delicious.”
I turn around to see Luca sitting up on the couch. He rubs his eyes and checks his watch. His eyes widen when he sees the time. “How could I sleep so long? It’s nighttime already.”
I study him, still stirring the food. “You almost drowned. And I bet you didn’t sleep much last week either.”
He rises from the couch, yawns, and stretches his arms in the air. He turns on the light on the side table. “No, I didn’t.” I’m still holding a spatula. My hand halts its stirring motions in the pan as I take him in. He looks way too good for the day he’s endured. I’m happy to see some color has returned to his face. His curly hair is sticking out in random directions. Completely adorable. He’s removed the Mexican blanket I covered him with and now he’s standing in my living room shirtless. Damn. He’s got the best set of pecs, delts, and abs I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure. And a five o’clock shadow on male magazine cover models doesn’t usually make me salivate. But on Luca, the unkempt look is sheer hotness. He looks like what he’d look like…afterward. Oh, God, I shouldn’t be thinking about that. Again. Like I was constantly today when writing my new novel. Luca isn’t some random guy I met at the beach. He’s a star. Unobtainable. But the view. It’s so hot. My gaze drifts toward the dark vee of hair that disappears into his swimsuit. My imagination starts undressing him. I tell myself, no, no, no. I can’t go there. For the third time in the last hour.
I wonder how long I’ve been silent. Has he noticed how I’ve been staring? I clear my throat and stir the veggies vigorously. “Would you like a beer?”
“Oh, no, I really should be going.”
“Why don’t you stay awhile? You need to eat, and I’ve almost got dinner ready.”
He walks into the kitchen bringing his hot body, sleep-swollen eyes and messy hair along with him. Damn, the man’s distracting. His nearness sets all my nerve endings on fire. A thrill races up my spine. “Are you sure you want me to stay? I have been too much trouble for you already.”
I turn toward him. “You’re no trouble at all. Now how about that beer?”
He flashes his smile to great affect. His teeth are so straight and white, he could star in toothpaste commercials on the side. “Okay, I’ll stay. You are very persuasive.”
He’s so close. Too close for me to be able to think straight. I struggle to remember what I just offered him. Oh, right, a beer. I pour a bottle of Dos Equis into a chilled glass from the freezer. “Here you go.”
“Aren’t you going to have one?”
“In a minute.” I step back to the stove to stir the fish and vegetables.
“Here. You’re busy. Let me get one for you.” He pours beer into a second chilled glass and hands it to me.
“Thank you, Luca.”
“My pleasure.” He takes a big swallow of beer. Foam bubbles outline his upper lip. “I feel much more like myself now. Thank you for taking care of me.”
He looks cute with those beer bubbles on his lips. I glance at his mouth, already imagining kissing those lips and tasting the beer froth and feeling the pressure of his mouth on mine. I take a long swallow of beer. “I’m glad I was able to help. That was a scary situation. It was lucky things turned out okay.”
“You’re being too nice. You mention scary, but what you don’t say is what an idiot I was. I was swimming for almost an hour. I had this grand plan to show off my new and improved swimming skills for you. And my plan did not work out very well.”
“You were out there for an hour?” I burst out laughing and instantly regret it. I press my lips together and shoot him a guilty look. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. It’s not really funny. But because you’re okay, I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Men do such crazy things. I will never get it.”
Luca frowns, then shakes his head. “You’re right. Swimming so long in that heat was crazy. I was swimming after you because I knew you were upset, but I didn’t see you and ended up further down the beach than I’d planned. And by the time I got back, I realized I was completely exhausted. Then I saw that guy touching you. When I started to sink, I kept thinking how wrong he was for you and how I wanted to be the one with your attention.”
“Oh, Luca, I can’t believe you thought I was interested in Justin. What a creep. He stood there laughing while you were out there fighting to stay afloat.”
His lips curve up in a smile. His eyes flash a bright shade of green. “At least I got your attention.”
I glance at him briefly and look away. His smooth talking and cute looks make it hard to stay upset with him. But they don’t change the fact that he lied to me. I am not quite ready to let it go. “Yes, L
uca, you did.” Satisfied that the food’s done, I turn off the burner and set down the spatula. Then I open the cupboard and get two plates and place them on the countertop. I take two sets of silverware into the dining room and put them on the table.
Luca steps up beside me with a mischievous grin on his face. “At least I’m alive. And we’re talking to each other. If I hadn’t almost drowned, you might still be mad at me.”
I plant my hands on my hips and stare at him. “How do you know I’m not still mad?”
“You kissed me down on the beach.”
I frown and let out a long sigh. I flash back to that moment he was unconscious in the sand. The thought of him being hurt or worse struck the worst kind of fear in me. I kissed him because I was so happy to see he was okay. “Yes, I did. And you’re right. I’m not mad anymore. But I do feel a bit overwhelmed.”
Luca turns me toward him and places his hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Jade. I never meant to cause you so much distress.”
His touch is comforting, but if I don’t keep my emotions in check, I’ll fall in his arms and cry. I step slowly away. “I know. Dinner is ready now, Luca. Plates are here so you can serve yourself what you want. Hopefully, you can bear my American cooking.”
“Your cooking woke me from a sound sleep, Jade. I’m sure it will be delicious.” He picks up a plate and serves himself a generous amount of food. I wait until he finishes and then serve myself and follow him into the dining room. We sit directly across from each other.
His mouth closes over a forkful of fish. He chews the bite and when he finishes, he smiles and says, “This is delicious.”
I can’t help smiling. He eats quickly, which suggests he likes the food, but his manners indicate his mom taught him well. His napkin is neatly folded in his lap and he holds his fork the proper way, with his index finger resting on its back. He only puts small bites into his mouth, his jaw muscles working as he chews quietly and deliberately.
Within minutes he’s cleaned his plate and is serving himself seconds. Either he’s really starving and would eat cardboard if he had to, or he actually likes this meal. Hopefully, it’s the latter. I wouldn’t want to have to fix heavy meals for someone all the time. I don’t like food with tons of grease and starch. I reprimand myself for the thought. I’ve only made Luca this one dinner. And only because he was too worn out to go back to his condo and cook his own meal. I don’t even know if he’ll ever ask me out again.
“You seem distracted,” says Luca. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing important. I was just thinking this meal might not be what you’re used to, that’s all.”
“Yes, and that’s a very good thing. This meal is much better than the fast food meals we eat on tour. I’ve never been much for the American concept of food on the go. I only do eat fast food if I have to. Why rush through a meal or eat in the car when you can savor the food and enjoy long conversations with people you care about?
I nod and give him a smile. Relaxed meals are one of many things I love about Mexico. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ve always liked real food. Fast food tastes nasty and isn’t healthy for you anyway. And good food with good company is what I like the best.” When I say that, I think how much I want there to be more nights when I fix meals for Luca and I’m sitting across from him at this table.
“This food is light and nutritious and full of flavor.”
“Thank you, Luca. I’m glad you like it.”
He pauses for a moment and clears his throat. “After today, I’d understand it if you said no.” His jaw clenches for just a moment before his facial features relax. Just when I think he’s going to finish, there’s a long hesitation. Or maybe it just seems like forever because I’m desperate to hear what he’s about to say.
He’s going to ask me out again. At least I hope. I want to burst out, yes, I want to go out with you again, but I don’t want to look desperate. Or ridiculous. For all I know he’s about to ask to borrow some eggs to make breakfast tomorrow. I rub my palms together under the table while I wait for him to continue.
“I wondered if you’d like to take a dinner cruise with me. I know someone here who owns a yacht. We could eat on the deck and watch the sunset. It could be nice.”
“That sounds like a blast. I would love to go.” I practically bounce out of my chair with excitement. So much for keeping my cool.
“Let me call my friend to see what nights are available. I’ll let you know once I find out.”
“Anytime this week is good for me.”
He pushes his chair back. “I really should be going.”
“Wait, before you go. I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
He gives me a curious smile. “And what’s that?”
“I want to know what inspired you to become a singer. While you were sleeping, I looked you up online and listened to some of your YouTube videos.”
His head lowers just enough that I notice. I think I see a flicker of sadness in his eyes. “Wait, I need for you to understand what I’m saying. I researched you online because I wanted to know more about you.”
A faint smile raises the corner of his lips. “And what did you find out?”
I lean in toward him and rest one arm on the table, meeting his gaze. I tell him how I heard one of his songs on the radio during my drive to Mexico and how it grabbed me right away. “It moved me so much, it made me wish I understood enough Spanish to figure out the title. Only when I did the search a little while ago did I realize you were the singer. And then I couldn’t wait to listen to all your songs. And I wasn’t disappointed. Every one of them is full of meaning and depth. I cried, I laughed, I felt connected to the lyrics and the emotions I saw on your face when you performed.”
He reaches for my hand and takes it gently in his. He gives it a squeeze before our hands land gently on the table. “Jade, you’re such a wonderful surprise.”
I laugh. “Why is that?”
“You teach swimming. You swim with dolphins. You’re creative. Your gifts as a writer help you both appreciate and understand my music. You fascinate me.”
I’m so unaccustomed to receiving compliments, I’m not sure how to respond. “That’s good, I guess.”
“It means a lot to me that you took the time to look me up and listen to my music. And hearing that it has meaning to you—that’s what every artist wants to hear. I’m sure you like hearing that about your writing.”
“Oh, definitely. I want my writing to touch people, to make a difference in their lives.”
“Yes. That’s what I want whenever I perform. Oh—and I can’t wait to read one of your books.”
“You don’t have to. You probably wouldn’t like them anyway. They’re written for women.” Heat rushes to my face as I imagine him reading the scene I wrote earlier.
“That doesn’t matter. I want to read your work, Jade. You now know how I express my deepest feelings through my music—feelings that are universal and that many people connect to. I want to experience the art you’ve shared with the world.”
“I’m flattered. But I’m no big-name author. I don’t sell all that many books.”
“Maybe you would if more people knew about them. It takes luck and being in the right place at the right time for an artist to succeed today. I’ll read some of your books. And if you want, I’ll help you make some connections.”
“Luca, that’s very thoughtful. But you don’t have to do that. Being with you is what I want. I don’t need you to do anything for me.”
“Jade, I want to do things for you. You’ve taught me to swim, you saved my life, and you listened to my music. Oh, and served me that amazing meal. Please let me have a turn.”
He speaks to me like an equal. A friend. Or maybe even a boyfriend. Which is hard to me to grasp because I’m still kind of intimidated by who he is. I keep asking myself the question, why me? “Okay. I’ll let you try to help me.”
“Good. Please tell me more about what you write.”
“I write romance novels and do freelance content writing and editing.”
“Romance novels? How interesting.” His voice has a sensual edge to it. Our gazes lock and his stare heats my skin.
No man’s ever excited me like this before. And he’s not even touching me!
“How did you choose to write about love?”
“I got hooked on historical romances when I was a teen. I started writing romances and mysteries when I was in high school, but never finished any of them. My parents went ballistic when they found out I was writing so much. They said I’d end up homeless and begging on a street corner.”
Luca’s jaw clenches and his skin darkens. His voice rings with protective anger. “That’s ridiculous. I hope you didn’t listen to that nonsense.”
It moves me to see how upset he is at hearing how my parents tried to stop me from doing what made me happy. “My father said he wouldn’t pay for me to go to college unless I studied something he thought made sense. I majored in structural engineering at the University of Arizona.”
“Engineering is so rigid. I can’t picture you working in that field.”
“The coursework was total drudgery. The only good thing was that I managed to squeeze a few creative writing electives in. After I graduated, an engineering firm in Tucson hired me. I worked there for seven years.”
“When did you start writing full-time?”
“I wrote on the side from the beginning, then quit my job last year when my writing work started paying enough for me to get by.”
He must have heard the ring of sadness in my voice because he reaches out and brushes his hand over my arm. “Wait. There’s more to this story that you’re not telling me. I can see by your expression.” His voice sounds so compassionate and kind, I nearly burst into tears.
It’s validating to have my dream understood. When I made the choice that gave me so much joy, I wanted to jump and shout, but I didn’t hear a word of congratulations from Kelsi or Brandon, only harsh words and reprimands. “I made the right choice. I’ve been much happier working as a writer. But the news didn’t sit well with my boyfriend. Or my sister.”
Jade's Song (South of the Border Book 2) Page 11
