by Sienna Parks
No matter how hard I try to focus, he is all I can think about - the tingling sensation that coursed through my body at his innocent touch. I have never experienced such intense attraction before; such raw lust towards anyone in my life - not even an ex-boyfriend. It’s a foreign and unwanted development. I liked my high school sweetheart. He was my first love, but we never took that last step together. It’s not that I wasn’t interested in sex; I guess I just wasn’t ready when we were dating. I couldn’t get past what happened that night, then I left for college, and we went our separate ways amicably. I’ve been on dates in college, but no one has ever made me really feel anything sexual in the core of my being. In all honesty, I’m in love with literature, and have been striving to do the best I can here at Columbia, and there hasn’t been anyone that I felt warranted being a distraction. How pathetic am I? Married to my books is what Addi says. She’s always teasing that I won’t be the crazy old cat lady - I’ll be the crazy old book lady, surrounded by thousands and thousands of books. Doesn’t sound too bad to me!
I decide to call her and meet up earlier than we’d arranged - I’m clearly not going to make any progress in the library. When I rummage around in my bag, I realize my phone is missing. I know I had it when I left the apartment this morning, and then it hits me - I must have dropped it outside in South Field when I knocked into Mr. Opinionated. I grab all my crap and head out to see if I can find my lifeline! I spend a good thirty minutes checking the grounds, but with no luck. Of course! Why do I think this day will cut me some slack? I know where Addi will be at this time of day, so I’ll just go to the student bar in search of her. It doesn’t take me long to track her down.
“Oh my God! It’s the first sign of the apocalypse. Lil is out in daylight. Has the library burned to the ground?”
“Very funny. Just what I need; your smart-ass remarks. Like my day hasn’t sucked enough already.” I sit down next to her and the latest victim of her charms. I honestly don’t know where she keeps finding new guys to crush on. I don't think I’ve ever seen her with the same guy twice.
“Aww, poor baby. Tell me what’s up and I’ll turn that frown upside down, even if I have to get Jeff here to hold you up by your ankles!” That gets a hint of a smile on my face. I know she’ll give me no end of grief about my morning mishap, but I need to tell someone, just to get it off my chest - and maybe stop myself from obsessing about him.
“Okay, okay, here goes nothing” I relay the whole story, from my lack of awareness, to the painfully embarrassing outburst of “you’re perfect,” ending with me running away like a twelve-year-old after shouting at him for making an observation. Her face contorts trying to stifle the inevitable laughter… until I describe the way his touch affected me. Her face drops, her jaw slack, all hint of amusement gone.
“Oh my God, Lil. It really is the end of the freaking world! Not only are you out during the day interacting with other humans, but you met a guy who makes your panties tingle.” She snorts, clearly proud of her snide remarks. Why am I friends with this girl? “What’s this guy’s name?”
“Did you not hear the story? I didn’t wait around to find out.” I’m subjected to a ten-minute lecture on how moronic I am for not getting a tattoo of his name and number, and something about thinking less with my giant brain, and more with ‘little Lil.’
She does a pretty shitty job of taking my mind off of the beautiful stranger that has taken residence in my head, teasing and berating me all afternoon, and throughout dinner at our local diner. Little did I know, he would infiltrate my dreams that night, and every night since: Stunning, ice-blue eyes staring down at me, lush dark hair and lips made for sin, tending to my every desire.
I wake with a start, tangled in my sheets, a warm tingling sensation all over my body. I’m damp between my thighs, my cheeks flushing with the realization that I’ve just had a sex dream about a total stranger. A run in Central Park is the only answer right now. I pull on my yoga pants an old top, grab my sneakers and I’m off. I’ll figure out a new phone later, and catch up on the work I didn’t get done yesterday.
The park really is the most beautiful place. You move from the crazy hustle and bustle of Manhattan, straight into an idyllic oasis where you can lose yourself for hours, and just slow your mind. It’s a slice of heaven, and it does the trick for me today.
As I wander back to the apartment, drinking in the city as I walk off my run, I relax - ready to tackle some Shakespeare. But, that contented feeling doesn’t last long as the doors to the elevator open onto our floor. I notice a box sitting outside my apartment. It has ‘Miss Lily Tate’ written in elegant script on an envelope attached to the box. Before I read it, I sneak a peek inside, and I can’t believe my eyes - it’s my cell phone. I’m stunned that someone has gone to the trouble to return it to me. It’s such a thoughtful and kind thing to do. I was so sure I’d never see it again.
I scroll through the apps quickly to find everything intact, which is awesome. I then turn my attention to the envelope, anxious to find out the identity of my Good Samaritan. There’s a letter inside, and as I begin to read, all color drains from my face:
Dear Miss Tate,
I hope you haven’t been too lost without your phone. Again, I would like to apologize for causing this inconvenience when I walked into you yesterday in South Field. One thing I’m not sorry for - is getting a chance to meet you.
I found you quite… enchanting. I can’t tell you how many times I have replayed our encounter in my head. It is not the first time I have been called “perfect,” but it was by far my favorite.
With regard to my observation - I never meant to cause offense. I was merely taken aback that a woman so angelic would be studying a topic intended to entice sin.
You intrigue me, Miss Tate, and that doesn’t happen very often. I took the liberty of entering my number into your contacts, and expect to hear from you in the next 24 hours.
Until then,
Mr. P
Oh. Holy. Mother. Of. Pearl.
I could have imagined a hundred realistic scenarios after my brief encounter with this guy, but this was not one of them. The only conceivable explanation is that he’s a cruel bastard who wants to make fun of me - as if I can’t make an ass of myself without help. And where does he get off making demands, ‘I expect to hear from you in the next 24 hours,’ who says stuff like that? Not only is he a demanding egomaniac - he’s been snooping around my phone to save his number. Just to check if he’s telling the truth, I grab my phone and scroll through the contacts list.
Sure enough, under Mr. Perfect there’s a phone number. He hasn’t given me his real name. Why would I contact a stranger who won’t even tell me his name? He could be a crazy person for all I know. He might be planning to tie me up, and torture me - why do I feel turned on at the thought of him tying me up? There is something seriously wrong with me! I think Addi is right - I really need to get laid already.
I can never contact this guy. He’s turned me from an uninterested virgin, into a wanton sex pervert in the space of twenty-four hours and all he’s done is held me to stop me from falling. I definitely need to get out more. I quickly text Addi to let her know I’m back in the land of communication before I shower and head back to the library.
I’m not one to blow my own trumpet, but I kicked ass today. I finished my thesis! It wasn’t as easy as it would have been a week ago - my brain kept wandering off on me every five minutes, going to a place where a sexy as hell voice tells me the naughty things he’s going to teach me about sexuality that I could never learn from a book. I think it took me about three times as long to get finished and I had to press my thighs together more than a few times to get rid of the ache beginning to stir inside me, thinking about a man I’ll never see again. When you get worked up over A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Measure for Measure, you know you’re getting a bit lonely. I definitely need to go on a date, and quickly - distract myself from dreaming of an unascertainable dark haired, blu
e-eyed man. I console myself with the assurance that he’s an ass-hat, so a dream is way better than reality!
I go about the rest of my day and don’t give another thought to contacting Mr. P. That’s not to say I don’t think a lot of other things about him, but contacting him… NO!
Wednesday night, and Addi’s getting restless. She suggests going for a few drinks with friends from Columbia, and for once, I think it’s a great idea. A bit of time off for good behavior is exactly what I need. We head out to an awesome little bar/club called Retro. I love this place. It does what it says on the label… it’s retro, and dancing the night away to seventies music is one of my favorite pastimes, when I get the chance.
We’ve been strutting our stuff for at least an hour when we decide on some well-deserved cocktails. Our poison of choice – the French Martini! While Addi is ordering drinks at the bar, I grab a space for us with our friends. Then I do what we all do when we sit down for a millisecond - check my phone. A violent churning erupts in my pit of my stomach, and that’s when I almost blow chunks on our friend Melissa. There are four missed calls and one new message from Mr. Perfect.
Mr. P: Miss Tate, you should know something about me. I’m not a patient man. I was hoping to hear from you by now. Stop ignoring me. Call me.
What the hell is wrong with him? No ‘how are you,’ or ‘do you remember me?’ Having already had some liquid courage tonight, I decide text him back.
Me: I wasn’t ignoring you. I’m out with friends and I wasn’t certain I would contact you. Thank you for returning my phone. I appreciate it more than you know.
Almost immediately my phone buzzes:
Mr. P: Why wouldn’t you want to contact me? I apologized for what I said the other day.
Me: I know that, but there is no reason for us to be in contact with each other.
Mr. P: I beg to differ, sweetheart, I think there is EVERY reason for us to be in close contact.
Me: And that is?
Mr. P: Don’t be so coy, Miss Tate. I know you felt it, when I held you in my arms.
Me: Wow, you really are full of yourself, aren’t you?
Mr. P: I am when I know what I’m talking about. I know what I want, and I always get what I want.
Me: And what is that?
Mr. P: YOU
I drop my phone on the floor as if it’s on fire, and quickly drop to my hands and knees under the table looking for it… when I notice someone standing in front of me. I take in the visibly expensive shoes, tailored pants; my eyes traveling higher and higher until I see Mr. P standing right here in front of me.
The grin he flashes me can only be described as a perfect, textbook, panty-dropping smile. FUCK! He. Is. Gorgeous. I quickly avert my eyes and search the floor for my phone. The moment the shockproof case brushes against my fingers, I clutch it to my chest, preparing myself to steal another glance at him. He really is… wow! He leans down to my ear, a look of pure sin dancing across his flawless features.
“You look good on your knees at my feet, Miss Tate.” He holds out his hand and helps me up; my body vibrating at his touch. “Sadly, I have to go just now, but we’ll see each other again.” He gives me one last scorching look, before turning on his heels and heading for the exit.
I can’t decide whether to run after him to see what his game is, or text him, but I don’t get the chance to do either. Before I can even blink, Addi is in my face.
“Who the hell was that?”
“The guy I was telling you about from the other day!”
“Holy shit, Lil. Your description did not do that fine specimen of a man justice. I think I just came a little! How weird that you bumped into him here.” I show her the texts I received right before he arrived. She’s giddy. “You have to call him back! He is smoking hot, and he totally wants you. Time to give up the goodies, my friend. I can say, without a doubt, that you will never find a man as fine as him. He is perfect for your introduction to the dark side.”
I’m dumbstruck. Her encouragement ignites a fire I’ve been trying to quash since I laid eyes on him.
“You can’t be serious, Addi. He could be a stalker, or mentally unstable. How did he even know where I was tonight, and how did he know where to send my phone?”
“WHO CARES? I’m not saying marry the guy, I’m saying you deserve to have some fun, and he could definitely provide that. Wink, wink.”
“We’re not talking about this. I don’t feel like dancing now; I’m just going to go home. You stay and have fun.” She tries to argue, but in the end I convince her to stay with our friends.
If I was using the intelligence I was born with, I’d have waited a few minutes before leaving, but alas, my brain didn’t engage and I walk outside to hail a cab. Within seconds, a black SUV pulls up. I have the good sense to step back, but I freeze when one of the tinted window rolls down and a familiar voice tells me to get in. My brain is screaming at me to walk away, but my hand is reaching for the door handle. Oh. Shit. Step away. Just walk away.
I open the door and the most amazing scent ensnares me. It’s a mixture of clean laundry, cologne, and something I can’t quite place - I’m just going to call it his unique man smell. Whatever it is, it’s amazing, and it makes me feel… safe. I might faint on the sidewalk just breathing him in. There are no words - well there are plenty of words, but apparently I have lost the power of speech and cognitive thought.
“Nice to see you again, Miss Tate. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”
“I wasn’t in the mood to dance.”
“Would you like a ride back to your apartment?”
“Sure.” I have so many questions, but get the distinct impression that anything to come out of my mouth right now would be incredibly bitchy. Silence is golden… as they say – whoever ‘they’ are.
“David, take us to Miss Tate’s apartment, please.”
“Right away, sir.” I know he has my address - he sent my phone to the apartment. But I’m surprised by how nonchalant he is about invading my privacy.
“How did you find out where I live?”
“I have my sources, Miss Tate. I had to get your phone back to you.”
“Well, quit it. It makes you look creepy and stalkerish.” He throws his head back and laughs, a proper belly laugh. The sound is divine, but annoys me at the same time. “What’s so funny? I’m a young woman in the car with a stranger who knows where I live. Not smart on my part. I don’t even know your name.”
“All in good time, Miss Tate.” This guy is infuriating. Just tell me your damn name! And what’s with the ‘Miss’ all the time?
“Where do you get off calling me ‘Miss?’ It’s the 21st century - it’s polite to say ‘Ms.,’ and for all you know I’m married.” He gives me a knowing smile.
“Now, now, Miss Tate. Do you think I would go to the trouble of finding out your address and not do my due diligence on your relationship status? Besides, I like the way it sounds and feels, caressing my tongue. I imagine you will feel just as good on my tongue… Miss Tate.”
Holy Shit. I want to jump a complete stranger. Silence is safer for the remainder of this short journey.
When we pull up to my building, I reach for the door, but I’m stopped by a firm hand on my arm. “When will I see you again?” His voice is softer, almost nervous. But that can’t be it - this guy has more confidence than anyone I’ve ever met.
“How about never, Mr. I-won’t-tell-you-my-name.” Again with the laughing, really! He urges me to stay put while he jumps out of the car to open my door.
I barely have room to step out of the car, and when I do, I’m pressed tight against his chest. He’s definitely built under his dress shirt - lean and toned and mouth-watering. Staring at me, his brow furrows, his full lips set in a firm line. “Why won’t you give me a chance, Lily?”
“What’s your name?” My voice barely a whisper.
He leans in, his breath on my face - minty with a hint of alcohol. “It’s Xander. Alexander Rhodes.�
�
Oh God. Even his name is sexy. I am so royally screwed.
“Why won’t you give me a chance?”
“A chance for what?” My breath betrays me. I can’t get it under control - my voice soft and vulnerable.
“To make you mine.” My lungs constrict, leaving me gasping for air.
“Breathe, Lily. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. But you will want me to.” Holy. Shit.
He takes my hand in his, leading me to the door of my building. My heart hammers in my chest, my hand shaking. His is large, warm, rough, and so perfect entangled with mine. When we reach the door, he hesitates for a moment before letting go, and the lack of contact is palpable in the air that surrounds us. There are a million dancing butterflies going all kinds of crazy in my stomach. I don’t move as he leans in – I can’t. The scruff on his jaw brushes my cheek. A ghost of a kiss and a whisper in my ear, “Until tomorrow,” and he’s gone.
I can’t process his words. I’m glued to the spot, studying him as he walks back to his car. His movement is almost fluid, and sexy as hell. I’ve gone from believing he’s an ass-hat, to a nauseating disappointment that he’s leaving. I am beyond confused. I stand in a daze, infiltrated only by a sultry voice calling from the idling car at the curb.
“Go inside. I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.” Stifling a goofy grin, I make my way inside, the scent of him lingering on my cheek.
I awake to the sound of voices. Addi’s talking to the doorman, signing for what I assume is a delivery for her. I never order anything. I pad down the hallway to get some coffee when she closes the door, holding the most beautiful bouquet. Long stem red roses, my favorite - dozens of them. She holds them at arms length.
“For you.”
What? There’s been a mistake. Addi is the one that has guys chasing after her all the time. The shock on my face must be comedic. Wow, they’re heavy, already in a stunning glass vase with intricate pearls weaving throughout the foliage. There’s a card nestled in the middle of the bouquet.
