It took only a second before his arms slid around my waist, pressing my chest to his. He kissed me back with a fervor that rivaled my own. The anxiety in my veins was overpowered by the instantaneous lust that rippled through every part of my body. I thought by kissing him, I’d calm the ache I felt whenever I was around him. Instead, I felt like I was drowning in him, desperate for buoyancy in the sea of my need for him.
I let my hands tangle in the hair behind his ears, dragging my nails across his scalp. Julian’s hands moved to the back of my head as he pushed me back against the car with little force. One hand moved into my hair and he twisted his fingers into my curls, tugging on them just enough to tilt my head back.
His lips left mine to travel along my jawline, slowly, kissing just behind my earlobe, before making their way back to my mouth, brushing his facial hair against my skin along the way. All the breath rushed out of my lungs and I gasped for air as his lips crushed against mine. One of my hands moved down to cup his jawline and I drew indefinite shapes into the hair that grew there with my thumbnail. He nipped at my upper lip and then my lower lip before sucking my piercing into his mouth. My knees grew weak and I gripped the back of his neck with more force than before. Something warm and heavy settled deep in my chest, depriving my lungs of the little remaining breathing room.
Julian pulled away and rested his cheek against mine, each of us trying to catch our breath. We were still tightly pressed together, his heartbeat rapidly echoing off of mine. My chest heaved as I gulped air and tried to calm the storm raging within me. His arms had slid over my shoulders, hands braced on the roof of the convertible. His upper arms rested gently on top of my shoulders in this position, sort of like a loose hug, and I ran my hands down his biceps, holding him in place, steadying myself. His weight on me was comforting, as if I was in need of comfort in some way.
I was completely oblivious to our surroundings, and suddenly thankful this road was not a busy one. I felt Julian’s warm breath tickle my ear as our breathing leveled out.
“Thanks,” I whispered right into his ear. I felt his returning smile against my cheek before he pulled back and looked at me face to face, his hands sliding to my shoulders. “I’ve wanted to do that since yesterday. And I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to get it over with,” I said, smiling softly.
Julian’s eyes closed briefly before he let out a laugh. Opening his eyes, he said, “Get it over with? Well, I can tell you that this-”he gestured between us “-is far from over. Especially after that kiss.” He shook his head in amused disbelief.
His words should have scared me, but instead the warmth in my chest bloomed, surprising me. I rubbed my hands up and down Julian’s suit sleeves, a gesture that was meant to calm myself more than him. He leaned forward and touched his forehead to mine. We were nose to nose, eyeing each other with a quiet hunger. His eyelids closed and I admired his long, inky black lashes, resting against the top of his cheekbones.
He took a deep breath and released it, warming my lips. My lips ached for the warmth of his mouth and I closed my eyes, gripping his forearms through the material. We breathed the same air for a moment longer before he pulled back with a sigh, slowly moving his hands from my shoulders, down over the bare skin of my arm. When his hands reached mine, he brought them both to his lips and kissed my knuckles softly, gazing at me. “Let’s go eat,” he whispered. He eased me towards him and released one of my hands, opening my door behind me. The end of “Killer Queen” poured out of the speakers.
He held my other hand as he helped me in the car, closing the door once I was safely in my seat. I expelled a deep breath and let my head rest against the headrest. As soon as Julian entered the car, the next track started playing. “Somebody to Love.” Before I could change to the next track, Julian beat me to the stereo, changing to the next song and smiling ruefully at me, before pulling off the side of the road, towards our destination.
I flipped the visor down to fix my smeared lip gloss. My reflection showed lips red and swollen, and the skin along my jawline was pink. I touched my fingertips to the inflamed skin, running my fingers up to my ear and smiled, remembering the feel of his scruff on my skin. I peeked at Julian’s profile and saw the smile curving on his lip gloss-stained lips.
As soon as Julian pulled into the parking lot of the notoriously expensive restaurant, I decided to have a little fun with him. He didn’t know me well enough to know that I’d be happy with the McDonalds just down the road. Cloth napkins didn’t impress me. Muted lighting and the din of hushed conversations didn’t do it for me.
Julian knew the Andra who grew weak at the knees with his kissing prowess, but he didn’t know the Andra who did not fit in at fancy establishments. The Andra who would prefer sweatshirts to slinky dresses, rubber boots to high heels. The Andra who spent more time outside than in, who reveled in the quiet the woods offered. There were reasons why I preferred the company of the animals and insects that lived in the dark to the company of the humans who walked on two feet.
After the kiss we’d shared¸ I wanted to lighten up the tension that still radiated off of us. I wasn’t used to being this absorbed by one kiss. Julian was about to meet the Andra who could hold her own. The Andra I truly was.
As soon as we were seated at our table, I asked for an order of French fries with mayo and ketchup. The waiter looked at me confused before looking at Julian, as if seeking permission. My eyes narrowed a bit in annoyance but Julian looked amused at the exchange and said, “Fries to start and a bottle of the recommended wine.” Julian looked to me with a question in his eyes.
“I’ll take a beer, please.” I smiled up at the waiter with my most charming smile.
“Then just one glass of the wine, please,” Julian added. The waiter looked at me, trying to hide his displeasure at my order, but walked stiffly away, just as Julian reached into his interior suit pocket and frowned at his phone. “My agent is calling me. I’ll just be a couple minutes. Sorry for this.” He gestured to the phone in his hand. I waved him away, all too happy to have a moment to relax.
The waiter returned with our drinks and my fries a few minutes later. I mixed my mayo and ketchup together and dipped a fry into it, closing my eyes and groaning in pleasure when my lips closed around the first bite.
“That’s a lovely sound.” I didn’t notice Julian had returned to his seat across from mine. He was looking at me with one eyebrow raised. “I see you received your French fries,” he smiled, nodding his head towards the artfully arranged fries.
“My beer too.” I smiled, taking a big sip. Julian’s eyes danced in the candlelight at our table, most likely in amusement at my less than dignified behavior.
“Do you always order fries as soon as you sit at a restaurant?” He asked, sipping his wine.
“Actually, I was starving. I saw the golden M up the road and needed to eat something delicious as soon as possible. Fries are delicious.” I motioned to the fry in my hand, my face comically serious. “Here’s the way I figure it,” I started, in between dipping the fry into my mayonnaise and ketchup mixture. I looked up at him, and popped a fry into my mouth before continuing. “Restaurants have a cover charge, but their currency is calories. So every time I walk into a restaurant, I budget for that cover charge. French fries are a preferable way for me to indulge than-” I looked at the menu “-organically-grown Burgundian snails.” My nose scrunched up in disgust. “So if I am treated to a very fancy dinner, I order what I love. In this case, these are truffle fries, and are about as delicious as any French fry. So if I’m going to pay a cover charge in calories, I want those calories to come from really delicious fries.” I swung a French fry around, gesturing at the very nice restaurant he had driven us to, knowing full well I was not a picture of grace. “And this swanky place is probably hovering around a 500 calorie cover – not including the drinks, appetizer, and dessert, which I will most definitely partake in.”
He was sitting back in his chair, arms across his chest, full-on
grinning at me. “Which part?”
With a mouthful of French fry, and surely a look of confusion on my face, I asked, “Huh?”
He smiled even wider at me and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You said ‘drinks, appetizer, and dessert.’ Which part will you partake in?”
Snorting, I replied, “all of them, of course.” And naturally, I shoved another French fry into my mouth. He took a sip from his wine glass, looking right at me the whole time, clearly amused by my ramblings.
I could hear the loud whispers from the tables around us, and realized we had drawn an audience.
“I’m serious, I’m no cheap date. I’m not going to take tiny bites of some kind of rabbit food while you gorge yourself on steak. For one, tiny bites are not happening – I have a huge mouth, in case you haven’t noticed, and-”
“Oh, I noticed,” he interrupted, smiling seductively at me. Damn him. He was not supposed to listen to me tease him and appreciate it.
Throwing a French fry at him, I continued. “Perv. And two, rabbit food is not proper date food. You should eat what you love on the first date. If you have any hopes for a date number two, or three, or wedding bells, you might as well display your eating habits straight out the gate.”
“Whoa, you see us getting married, Andra? Good to know.”
“Stop winking, jackass. I’m speaking in general, here. For the girls who go on first dates hoping to get those things from the poor schmuck they’ve charmed. Not for me. I’d eat steak every day if that didn’t mean I’d have to buy wider jeans. I like rabbit food too, but I’m not going to go to some five-star joint that is well-known for its filet mignon and order some lettuce and a fucking tomato and call it good.”
His head fell back as he laughed. I tried to suppress the small smile that was fighting its way to my lips. I didn’t expect him to enjoy my diatribe, but then again, nothing about him was expected. “For the record,” he said when his laughing had subsided, “I like your mouth, big and outspoken as it is. I like that you’ll eat in front of me, especially steak.”
He paused a second before deliberately leaning closer across the table. I tried not to notice the way the candle light lit up his features, making this meal and this conversation more intimate than I’d like. Speaking slowly, he continued. “There’s something very satisfying about seeing a woman eat with pleasure. Seeing her eyes close and hearing that small moan uncurl from the back of her throat. Watching her hands clench involuntarily. Seeing her lips pucker as she savors the taste.” His eyes were focused on my face, alternating between my eyes and my mouth. He wasn’t smiling anymore. I could feel the pull from his words and couldn’t stop from leaning closer to him across the table. “Knowing that I am treating you to such a sensual moment is a very gratifying experience for me. So please,” he said and stood up, walking around to where I sat at the table. I could feel my face get warmer as he leaned down, arm on the back of my chair, just slightly brushing his lips against the shell of my ear as he whispered, “Partake.” Warmth tickled my ear and I shivered. He straightened.
As he took strong, purposeful strides away, I slumped against my chair and let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I grabbed for my glass of water, gulped, and fanned myself. My sleeveless arms were covered in goose bumps.
What the hell was that? I didn’t have to wait too long to contemplate what was happening between Julian and I, because he returned just a moment later. I searched his face for any kind of emotion, but was annoyed that he seemed to be unaffected by the pull I was currently feeling. That or he had some serious self-control.
Unbuttoning his dinner jacket, he sat and looked at me across the table with his ever-present mask of quiet amusement. “Did they take your order yet?”
I shook my head and gulped down some of my beer. “No, they were probably waiting for the person who looks like he actually belongs here to return to the table. Not the woman who looks like she already smuggled a set of silverware in her knock-off handbag.”
“Just one set?” he asked cocking his head. “You’ll need more than one fork if you ever plan on having me over for dinner.”
“Oh, look who’s presumptuous now! In that case, yes, just one set of silverware is all I’ll need,” I replied, raising my eyebrows and drinking more beer. I needed to gain my footing back after nearly being seduced by his words earlier.
“Well, if you only have one set of silverware, I guess I’ll have to use my hands. I’ve been told that I am very good with my hands.” He made a move like he was going to take my hand in his before he changed his mind and pulled back. My hand itched. Damn.
The waiter came by at just that moment, ruining my chance for a witty comeback. After taking our orders and removing my now-empty fry plate, Julian turned his attention on me and asked “so, are we done with the verbal sparring now? Can I ask questions about you without being mauled by French fries or seeing the threat of death in your beautiful eyes?”
I looked at him dubiously. “You really want to know how old I was when I learned how to ride my bike, what my favorite color, song, food, and movie is?”
“Of course I do. What is the point of dating if I’m not privy to the details?”
“Oh,” I said, twirling my first two fingers around the rim of my water glass before meeting his eyes, “Dating? Presumptuous again.” I deliberately bit the side of my lip where my lip ring was and looked at him as innocently as possible before continuing. “I thought this was just a prelude to sex.”
If I’d thought I’d shocked him, I was sorely disappointed. He merely smiled, winking his stupid, beautiful dimples at me and said “well sure, but while we’re waiting for our food, let’s get the basics down.”
This man was good. Real good. Finally someone who was at my level of humor and wit. “Basics, huh?” I asked, giving him a decadent smile. “I’m pretty good with the basics.” I saw his jaw tick, recalling our conversation as I showed him to his cabin the day before. I took a sip of my beer and then crossed my arms across my chest, knowing I was giving him a great view, and leaned on the table. “I learned to ride a bike when I was four – no training wheels; it was quite the accomplishment for someone as clumsy as me. I love the color red.”
“Why red?”
I took another sip of my beer. “Red is passion, warmth, love, lust. Red is also the color of rage, blood, power, irritation. Red is the rainbow’s compulsory bipolar color.” Realizing I just gave him a generous view of my world, I quickly continued. “Favorite song is probably ‘Killer Queen’ by Queen-” that earned an appreciative nod from Julian. “-and my favorite food is cliché – chocolate. I would happily insert a feeding tube just for chocolate but then I worry about having to buy bigger pants and I haven’t worked out the logistics of a 24/7 chocolate-supplying feeding tube. Would it have to go in my nose? Because if so, that changes everything.”
I could tell I was engaging Julian, even if I was rambling incessantly. He was making me nervous, true, but his smile and demeanor were so open that it was making it easier for me to spill my emotional guts. His attention on me was unwavering. It was almost terrifying, knowing he was absorbing my every word just as rapidly as my brain was registering the alcohol in my system. I took a large sip of water and looked at him expectantly.
“You forgot to tell me your favorite movie,” he said softly.
“Oh! Probably The Princess Bride or The Goonies,” I chirped.
“What?”
“You don’t know those movies?” I exclaimed. I was pretty sure I heard the clatter of silverware dropping at the table directly behind me.
He shook his head and looked down at his wine, frowning. “Something tells me I should?”
I lifted my hands up in preparation of slamming them on the table in alarm, but stopped myself just before impact. Instead, I whisper-yelled, “You HAVE to see those movies! You just have to!”
“Alright, Andra, looks like you just wrangled me for another date.” He smirked his lips and sipped
his wine, eyes twinkling over his glass.
I shook my head and narrowed my eyes at him. “Hold up buddy, you’re the one who wanted this date, so I don’t think saying I wrangled you for another date qualifies. Also, who said anything about another date? Is your middle name Presumptuous?”
He smiled confidently. “Well,” he started, watching his fingertips making circles on the tablecloth, “I think you’ve deduced that it’s more likely Pretentious.” He looked up at me, and I saw behind the polished veneer for just a moment. Mr. Presumptuous was doubting himself. Or at least his choice of venue for our first date?
Just then, the waiter delivered a plate of beautifully arranged antipasto. I scrunched my eyebrows together, puzzled, and looked up at Julian, who was obviously watching for my reaction. “Did you order this?” I asked, gesturing towards the plate of meats, cheeses, and – be still my heart – olives.
Julian shrugged and said, “Well you asked for French fries as soon as we sat down, but I don’t count those as an appetizer. I figured you’d appreciate some meat before your entrée of meat, so when I left the table a minute ago, I asked the waiter for this.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out that he was unsure if he made the right move or not.
I plucked one plump black olive from the plate and put it in my mouth immediately before saying, “Well, I feel bad for you, then.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I love antipasto.”
“I guess I don’t understand why that’s a problem.”
“Because,” I emphasized, cutting into a piece of salmon. “I don’t like to share.” I quickly slipped the smoked meat in my mouth before winking at him.
His smile finally met his eyes again. “Good to know, because I’m not the sharing kind of guy either.” He winked back at me, but it was so blatantly comical that I couldn’t help the laugh that flew out of my mouth.
He Found Me Page 6
