by Mara Leigh
“You okay?” He put a hand lightly on my hip, barely touching. “Can I walk you over?”
“I’m okay. I just rose too quickly.” I stepped out and he gave way, moving back just enough to give me room, but close enough that he could catch me if I fell.
Mac was such a gentleman, except that I was no longer sure I wanted him to be a gentleman. What if he didn’t even kiss me at the end of the night? Would I then go my whole life without ever being kissed?
“You sure you’re okay to walk? Those mai tais were strong.” He helped me to the two steps that separated our area of the dining room from the rest, then stepped down and held out his hand to guide me.
I looked into his kind green eyes, now closer to level with mine, hoping he’d see what I wanted. That I wanted him to kiss me. I’d asked him to ask me out. Maybe I should ask him to kiss me?
“Ready to tackle the stairs?” He took my hand lightly.
Cheeks flaming, I nodded, and then he helped me down the stairs. He was still standing at the base of the stairs, his gaze on me, when I turned into the short hallway.
Walking drunk was easier than I’d expected, and I felt like I was floating, my whole body buzzing and warm from the mai tais, or the company, or both.
After using the facilities, I stared at my face in the mirror and touched my lips. I barely recognized myself. The pale pink lipstick Sister Henry had insisted I wear was long gone, but my lips seemed cherry red against the pale skin around them and matched the flushed skin higher on my cheeks. My eyelashes were a million times more visible than normal, dark black instead of their normal blond, and it made my eyes seem even bluer. Or maybe that was the dress. The mascara had smeared a bit under my lower lashes, but I didn’t attempt to fix it. I liked how it looked. It made me look wild.
And speaking of wild, it was so unusual to see my hair—down and loose. The only time my hair was ever down was when I brushed it. I didn’t even sleep with it down. Mother said that was the road to tangles. With Mother, most things were on the road to something bad, but she was right about the tangles.
I ran my fingers over my hair, and it was like I was feeling it for the very first time. So soft.
I used to long for curls, or at least waves, but envy is a sin, and at that moment I realized that my straight, fine hair had its virtues. But… admiring my hair was a sin, too.
Smiling at my reflection, I shook my head and wagged my finger. Tonight was not the night to count up my sins. I’d deal with confessions and atonements tomorrow. Tonight was about having fun.
Feeling wicked, I made my way back to the table. Mac jumped up and helped me up the stairs, holding my hand lightly in his, and then he pulled out my chair.
My coconut was gone. Even though it had been empty, I missed it. Was it rude to ask for another?
“Would you like dessert?” Mac asked. “They do a great rum cake.”
“I’m so full.” I pressed my hand to my stomach. “But… does a mai tai have rum?”
He chuckled. “As a matter of fact, it does, but how about we dance before getting another drink?”
“Oh, I don’t know how to dance.” I glanced over my shoulder to the dance floor, where couples had been gyrating and moving in ways I couldn’t even imagine my body performing.
He stood and crossed to my chair. “I’m no dancer, either, but it’s a slow song, and I think dancing is a mandatory part of a standard date. Let’s muddle through it together?”
I smiled up at him, marveling at how comfortable he made me feel in situations where I should feel uncomfortable. He pulled out my chair, and then with his hand softly on my back, he shepherded me to the dance floor.
Once we arrived, he guided my hands to his shoulders and then set his lightly at my waist. “This okay?” he asked, looking down at me, and I nodded.
Not sure where to look, I glanced at the other couples. Even the elderly ones were in tighter embraces than Mac and me. And then there were the younger ones… The young couple to our left pressed their midsections together, arching into each other, and I now understand why Mother said dancing was a sin. I could see how it might lead to—to other things. Things I was feeling very curious about at the moment.
The positions of the couple was so indecent, bodies touching, rubbing together, that I had to look away, focusing instead on Mac’s throat where the top two buttons of his pale gray shirt sat open.
My whole body was flushed, and a stab of lust tightened the place between my legs.
“Having fun?”
I looked up into Mac’s eyes and saw something new there. Something darker and demanding that conjured my lust stab again. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine, our noses nearly touching, and he smiled softly as his body swayed, setting an example for how mine should move.
His hands felt so warm and secure on my waist, and with my hands resting on his shoulders, I felt like I was guiding his body, like this powerful man was moving under my control, responding to my fingers’ every twitch.
We swayed together, our heads so close I could feel his breath on my lips, like there was an unseen force holding us together, drawing us closer. It was so much—yet I wanted more. For just one night, I wanted to have every experience I’d imagined. I wanted to feel it all.
I looked into his eyes, and his expression stole my breath.
It was now or never.
I rose to my toes and kissed him, puckering my lips and pressing them against his mouth. His lips were firm but soft and, as they made contact, something fluttered down in my belly.
But it was over quickly, and when my eyes found their focus, I saw a hint of shock on Mac’s face.
He smiled. “That was nice.”
“It was.” I’d kissed Mac, and no thunderbolt had struck me down. It hadn’t even felt that wicked. Not nearly as wicked as I’d imagined. “That wasn’t such a big deal.”
“It wasn’t?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” I shook my head, trying to find the right words to express what I meant. “It’s just that people make such a big deal out of kissing, and I thought it would be different, or that I’d feel different. I don’t know…”
He chuckled, his grip on my waist tightening slightly. “I think it’s because of the way you kissed me.”
“I did it wrong?”
“Not wrong, no. But you kissed me like I was your brother.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Okay. Then it was because I kissed you like you’re my sister.”
I frowned. “Like a sister, you mean. I’m not a nun, you know. Not yet.”
Several heads turned our way and he raised his fingers to his lips. I must have raised my voice.
Rising to my toes, I leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “I’m not a nun. Remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” His voice rumbled through me, and his body felt so solid under my hands. His fingers, so warm at my waist, slid slowly, waking parts of me I wasn’t sure should be awake.
As I lowered from my toes, our bodies brushed against each other.
He tilted away from me like I was on fire.
His body grew tense under my hands, like he was nervous or upset, so I rubbed his shoulder, lightly, wanting to get back to dancing like we had before, with our foreheads close together, with our bodies swaying as one. I’d ruined it all with that kiss.
“Please, Mac. Treat me like any other girl you took on a date.”
“I am.” He smiled stiffly.
“No, you’re not.” I shook my head. “You kissed me like I was your sister.”
Looking into my eyes, he moved his hands from my waist and then slowly and deliciously traced them up my arms. Simultaneous ripples of shivers and heat coursed through my body, like I was experiencing two temperatures at once. Who knew that was possible?
Who knew anything that had happened tonight was possible?
Mac was so handsome. Beautiful, really. So strong, yet his wavy dark hair shin
ing under the dance floor lights looked so soft. His eyes were as green as the leaves on an oak tree in spring.
“Do you really want that?” he asked softly, looking into my eyes. “For me to kiss you again? Kiss you like I want to?”
I could barely breathe. “How do you want to kiss me?”
His fingers trailed up and down up my arms and the small, almost chaste gesture made my nipples hurt. It made the place between my legs hurt. It made me feel like I was on fire and melting all over the dance floor.
“I want to kiss you in the way a man kisses a woman. How he kisses a woman he wants. Do you know what I mean by wants?”
“Yes.” My voice sounded breathy, not my own. “Can you pretend to want me like that?”
“Oh, darling,” he growled. “I don’t have to pretend.”
His hands drifted from my arms, one sliding to encircle my waist and the other gliding through my hair to cradle the back of my head. Then his face drifted too, moving closer toward mine, closer and closer, but not close enough.
I was so anxious to have his lips touch mine. I’d die if it didn’t happen. But it was like he was moving in slow motion, as if the past few seconds of movement had taken minutes, or hours. Maybe they had.
His hot breath warmed my lips, and it was like I was floating, his hands on my head and lower back the only things holding me aloft. But still, there’d been no lip-to-lip contact.
Just as I was beginning to think Mac was teasing me, that he didn’t plan to kiss me at all, his lips captured mine. Captured them in such an unexpectedly marvelous way.
The kiss was gentle—even gentler than when he’d kissed me like a sister—but the feeling was different. Instead of a soft direct press, his kiss was more like a series of nibbles, his lips taking toothless bites of my lips, the upper, the lower, one side, then the other, grazing as if each place on my mouth was a different flavor and he wanted to sample them all.
Then, as if to prove my tasting theory correct, his tongue darted forward, taking tiny licks to complement the nibbles.
I sighed, and as my mouth opened, he increased his lips’ pressure and his tasting turned more demanding. My lips responded, moving to the rhythm he set, our mouths fully open as if consuming each other. I was consumed by fire.
My lips scraped the whiskers of his top lip, then pulled on the flesh of the soft bottom one, exploring, learning the taste and feel of Mac. My mouth moved in ways I’d never imagined, but it was like it had always known what to do and was now making up for lost time.
His tongue continued its gentle licks, darting inside my mouth when I least expected it, and every nerve in my body was magically connected to my tongue, to my lips, and responding to what Mac was doing to both.
Both of his hands were now in my hair, engulfing my head and holding me captive to his plundering kiss. His tongue plunged and grazed along mine, and every part of my body felt it.
The skimpy underwear Sister Henry had picked out for me felt damp. It was probably ruined, and my breasts suddenly wanted to burst through the lacy bra. When she’d suggested these scandalous undergarments, I hadn’t seen the point—they’d stay covered, after all—but now I got it. When I moved, the raspy lace stimulated my nipples and the silky fabric of the panties slid lusciously against the velvet dress, against my own wetness…
I couldn’t breathe.
If Mac dropped his hold on my body, I felt sure I couldn’t stand.
His tongue continued to stroke and dip and, as if it had taken up a dare, my tongue slid along his too, gliding forward to taste his mouth, slightly sweet and bitter from the beer.
On one of my bold strokes, his lips closed around my tongue and he sucked, drawing me deeper. My legs melted. Mac kissed me like he was hungry and I was the food, like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted, like he needed me for survival.
And of its own accord, my mouth matched his fervor. I’d lived twenty-two years believing my tongue was only for tasting, for doing its part in forming words… Who knew a tongue could yield this kind of pleasure? So, so much pleasure.
At some point, my hands had drifted into his hair, and it was as soft as I’d imagined, the curls springy. I couldn’t get close enough to Mac, and I loved how solid and warm his body felt against mine, how my aching nipples sent pleasure racing through me as they brushed his jacket, how the stirring in my belly amplified each time I pressed my hips against his hard body.
His hands moved abruptly to my waist, and he lifted me back.
I gasped, barely able to draw breath, as the inches between us cooled my body and felt like a mile.
His eyes were wild. They were the same bright green, yet they seemed darker. His lips were damp and deeper in color, too. I raised fingers to my lips—damp and hot and swollen.
“Did I do something wrong?” I barely recognized my voice. I’d do anything to get him to kiss me again, to feel those feelings again.
“No.” He shook his head slowly. “Problem is, you did everything right.”
“Then why did you stop?” I tried to move closer, but his arms were keeping a horrible, insurmountable four-inch gap between us.
He blew a long breath through barely parted lips. “Faith, if we didn’t stop, I was worried we might get arrested.”
“Kissing is illegal?”
He chuckled and cupped my chin. “You are the most beautiful, surprising woman I have ever met.”
“I am?” Then why won’t you kiss me again? I felt wild, wanton, and more alive than I’d ever thought possible. Was he worried he’d go too far? Take me against my will?
He wouldn’t. Mac was a gentleman, kind and considerate, and I knew he respected me. He’d never take things too far.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said as he draped his arm over my shoulders. “Time for the next stop on our date.”
I pressed my head against his chest as he guided me back to our table, and it was hard to part from him when he pulled out my chair.
Once we were sitting, he gestured for the waiter. I took a long drink of water, feeling as if I hadn’t had any all day.
The waiter came quickly. “Anything else for you two?”
“Just the bill,” Mac answered.
“Very good, sir. Should I charge that to your room?”
“Sure. 905,” Mac said, and as the waiter walked away, the meaning of that short exchange sank in.
“You have a room here?” I fought to catch my breath. “In the hotel? For tonight?”
He squirmed on his chair. “I had to—”
“I thought you understood.” Tears rose at the back of my eyes, but I fought them down. “What did you think tonight was? Who did you think I was?”
“Faith…” He reached across the table.
I shot to my feet. “Thank you for the evening. I’ll see myself home. Good night.”
Mac
“Faith, wait.” I bounded out of my chair and grabbed her wrist. My raging boner hadn’t calmed down one bit from that dance floor make-out session, and I felt like everyone in the room could see the evidence. Except maybe her, which was a relief. If she noticed, things would get even worse.
“I’m not going to…” She shook her head violently. “I’m not going to fornicate with you!”
“I know,” I said softly, hoping it would encourage her to lower her voice. Her word choice had turned a few heads. “That’s not why I booked a room.”
She frowned, clearly not buying it.
“This place.” I gestured around the tiki bar. “It doesn’t take reservations unless you’re a hotel guest. I didn’t want to wait for a table or be disappointed. I wanted a reservation—for that table.” I pointed back to where the waiter was holding our bill, clearly ready to chase us down if I dined and dashed.
“Is that true?” Her voice was wispy, like her.
“Ask the waiter.”
She nodded, her chin bobbing one sharp time, then she twisted her wrist from my hand and walked back to our table, leaning against it as i
f she might otherwise fall.
Her ass looked so perfect under that pale blue velvet, the softest fabric sliding over a smoking-hot body that I’d never have another chance to touch. Never have a chance to explore.
“Do you take reservations?” Faith asked the waiter.
“Only for hotel guests, or large groups.” The waiter told her.
I tossed a few hundred dollar bills in the folder he’d set on our table, regretting I’d agreed to the room charge.
“Faith?” I held out my hand, praying she’d take it.
Her knuckles were white on the table and she was shaking. I was such an ass.
“Is that true?” she prodded the waiter. “Or did he pay you to say that?”
“It’s true.” The waiter looked confused. “Would you like me to get the manager? Or you could just Google it. It’s right on our website.”
“I’m sorry, Faith,” I said. “I didn’t—”
“I thought…” She shook her head, and her hands relaxed on the table. “I thought you were planning…” She laughed, and it released a ton of pressure from my chest. “I made an assumption that you’d made an assumption.”
“Faith, I’d never…”
“I know.” She stepped toward me. “It’s me who owes you an apology. Mother told me not to trust men and… Well, since I came to San Francisco, I’ve been duped a few times. Sister Henry says I’m too trusting.”
“You see the good in others. That’s amazing.” I immediately wanted to hurt whoever she’d trusted who hadn’t deserved it.
The waiter peeked into the folder. “I’ll get your change, sir.”
I shook my head. “Keep it.”
“But sir, it’s over…”
“It’s yours,” I told him.
I tentatively held my hand out to Faith, and my body filled with relief when she took it. “Let’s go.”
We walked out to the street, and as we waited for the limo, she was still holding my hand. It was hard to describe how happy that made me. It was about the trust the handholding implied, and the intimacy of it, too—intimacy greater than I’d felt with most women after sex.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
