by A. O. Peart
“Did you see the quote boards by the bathrooms?” I ask Colin while climbing onto my barstool.
“Yeah, this place is famous for it. Some people take it seriously. They search the internet and libraries for the best quotes to write there.” That sexy little smile is back.
“Listen, about our first encounter…” I start, tucking a loose stray of my hair behind my ear and biting my lower lip.
Colin purses his lips, trying to suppress a bigger smile. He waits for me to continue.
I roll my eyes. “Go ahead, laugh,” I say in disdainful exasperation.
And so he does, throwing his head back. I can’t help but grin. He not only puts me at ease, but he also looks sexy as heck. I smack him on the arm.
“Okay, sorry.” He still chortles. “You have to admit, it was the best first encounter ever.”
“Not for me it wasn’t. It was humiliating.”
Colin tilts his head and looks at me from under half-closed lids. “You are gorgeous. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. But I get it—running into a stranger and only partially dressed in your office probably wasn’t making you feel great.”
“You’ve got that right.” I press my lips together. “Anyway…”
“Anyway, I dreamed about that bra you wore and what’s in it. More than once.” He chuckles.
My mouth drops open, and I can’t quite remember how to close it. When I finally figure out how to work my jaw muscles, he grins at me and puts the appletini glass in my hand. He raises his beer glass and says, “Come on, Natalie. You must have a better sense of humor than that.”
“If this was a sitcom, I would have dumped that drink into your lap.” I take a small sip.
“I bet you would, you devilishly-tempered woman.”
“Is that even a word?”
“Sure it is.” He shrugs. “You know… I have a feeling that you think I’m one of those scums that only want to get in your pants, and then walk away.”
“You don’t want to get in my pants?” I pretend to be astounded.
He looks at me for a very long silent moment, his lips gently curling up. He takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles. He kisses my knuckles! “I want to get to know you, Natalie Davenport, before I allow myself to propose anything as deliciously inappropriate.”
Hell on wheels! My heart goes boing-boing between my stomach and my throat. Ohmigod, I am so freakin’ stunned, that I momentarily forget about any of my men-related apprehensions.
And just like that I start to relax. Not completely, mind you, but enough to enjoy the evening. I really hope he isn’t a charming liar though. I resolve to be cautious and see where things are going before they go too far too fast. After all, he might not be a true bad boy, but an almost bad boy. And that can be potentially as dangerous.
Colin puts my hand down on the counter and covers it with his. Still looking in my eyes and smiling he says, “So what do you like to do in your spare time, besides exposing your half-dressed self to strangers?”
I glare at him and smack his arm again. “You will rub it in forever, won’t you?”
“Forever is a very long time. You looked scrumptious enough that day to make me need a splash of cold water over my face.”
“You could have taken a cold shower. We have one in our office.” I scowl.
“There wasn’t time before the meeting. And I didn’t see any bath towels.” He leans closer and pushes a chunk of my hair behind my ear. His fingers brush sensitive skin by my ear, and my stomach clenches in that delicious way that sends shivers down under my skirt.
My brain immediately joins in the fool’s parade and produces visions of naked Colin covering my equally naked body in bed, his knee pushing my legs open, his hands lifting my thighs up until my bent knees rest over his shoulders. Okay, Natalie, get your thoughts out of the gutter. I suppress a shiver and take a casual sip from my water glass. I have no idea why his touch affects me like this, but I will be damned to let him know.
“So you want to know what I like to do? Well, I work out almost everyday at the gym, run on the weekends, read, spend a lot of time with my girlfriends, stuff like that. And I knit too.”
“Like socks?” He looks baffled.
“No. Like sweaters. And pretty scarves. Well, I knitted a Christmas sock once, so sure—socks. How about you?”
“I don’t knit, but I’m willing to learn.” He sooo pretends to be serious about this. I have to admit, that’s good acting.
I learn that he plays guitar and piano and likes football. What guy doesn’t like football? He also knows how to dance, and that’s a really good prospect for a date. If there is to be another date.
We both have to work the next day, so I declare the fun-quitting time around 10 p.m. Colin doesn’t object, only smiles and nods in agreement. He calls a taxi, and when it arrives, he opens the pub door for me and holds it until I step outside. Wow, a gentleman. I like that. I actually like all those little things that many women frown upon. Maybe they feel robbed off their feminism-driven personas. But I don’t have that issue. I actually like when a man opens the door for me; or helps me put my coat on; or holds the car door open; stuff like that. Maybe it is old school, but that’s just the way I am—a helpless romantic. Which doesn’t mean that if a guy does something absolutely nasty to me I wouldn’t have the nerve to punch him in the face. Twice.
Right before the taxi stops at my apartment building, I turn to Colin and say, “It was really nice. Thank you. I had a good time.”
He takes my hand in his, turns it so my palm faces up, and kisses it. Long. God, it is a long kiss, and my insides turn to mush. My vagina sings Hallelujah!, and my lungs temporarily forget what their major function is, until I turn red in the face and realize I’m holding my breath.
Still bent over my hand, Colin looks up at me. One corner of his mouth lifts very slightly. Ohmigod, he looks like some freakin’ god of lust. Eros, Himeros, Pothos, Peitho—how the hell do I even remember all those naughty Greek gods’ names right now?
“Can I call you sometime?” he whispers.
Can you? Yes. Yes! Do you really need to ask? “Sure.” I smile sweetly. “You’ve got my number.”
When the taxi stops at my destination, Colin still holds my hand. I squeeze it, and he lets go. He jumps out of the vehicle, runs around the back, and yanks the door open for me. No way! He really does. My mouth usually has a mind of its own, so it opens now but doesn’t say anything. I clamp it shut, scolding my brain for not controlling the situation as it’s outlined in its job description.
Colin hugs me lightly, and my pulse reaches the red zone. Hell on wheels, either my hormones are out of whack, or that man is irresistible to me. I don’t recall ever being drawn in such primal way to anyone else before.
“Sleep well,” he whispers in my hair. He smells faintly of something sensual—sweet and smoky cologne with leather-like undertones. The fragrance is amazing, and I think it is just like Colin—complex and mysterious.
“You too.” I step out of his embrace, trying to look anywhere but at him. Because if I do, I won’t be able to stop myself from kissing him. And my brand new rule says: not until date number four. Well, that’s about sex, but I suspect if we kiss, we will end up naked in bed right away.
I walk to the apartment building door, enter the code on a small keypad on the wall, and get inside. The hallway is dimly lit, and I welcome the lack of brightness. My eyes feel tired, and I decide to go to bed right away. I climb two flights of stairs as always, since I never bother with the elevator.
Soon after I slide under the covers. I sigh loudly when my cheek rests on the cool fabric of my pillow. I turn the side lamp off and close my eyes. And then my cell phone rings.
“Gaaaah!” I growl. “What now?” I consider not answering. Whoever it is, could wait till morning. It was a stupid idea to leave the phone on—and on my bedside table.
But I reach out and pick the damn thing up. I don’t recognize the number displayed on th
e screen. “Hallo?” I croak.
“Natalie.” It’s Colin!
I’m fully awake in a split second.
“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he asks, apologetically.
“No,” I stifle a yawn. “It’s okay.”
“Just wanted to wish you a goodnight.” There it is—that velvety-soft voice with a bit of gruff edges.
“That’s sweet. Thank you.” I manage to keep my own voice steady. It wants to quiver, matching my pounding heart.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight, beautiful Natalie.”
“Goodnight,” I choke out. I can’t remember any guy calling me beautiful. Hot, cute, sexy, but not beautiful. Ever. Holy smoke!
SEVEN
The person who is searching for his own happiness should pull out the dart that he has stuck in himself, the arrow-head of grieving, of desiring, of despair.
Pali Tripitaka
Two days after drinks at The Motto Bar and Grill, which technically was our first date, we are at the Seattle Art Museum to see a brand new photography exhibition. The black-and-white images of the ‘everyday people’ fascinate me. There is something familiar and natural in the way many of them are captured. Colin and I only take photos with our cell phones, but I’m itching to buy a real camera and take a class or two.
“Look at this one.” Colin grabs my hand and pulls me toward a wall with six photographs displayed in two rows. He points to one of them.
The picture depicts a little girl. She’s maybe eight; nine the most. Her eyes are huge; dark—as if her pupils took over the irises. Her round face is smudged with dirt, and her black hair hangs limp and loose around her narrow shoulders. She’s clad in what seems to be a dress, only that dress is more like a tattered scrap that hardly covers her small body. The girl is squatting down by a little boy, who’s curled around a dirty puppy. The boy’s grin is contagious, and despite the obvious poverty these children live in, he seems very happy. I smile at the scene in front of me, but something tugs at my heart.
“They are so little,” I hear my own voice coming out in just above the whisper. “And so sickly looking. They must be hungry and maybe even cold.”
In my peripheral vision I see Colin nod, his eyes on the photograph. I turn my head to look at him. His eyes are opened wide, and his lips are parted. He’s staring the little girl, and I wonder what’s going through his mind. He seems so far away.
I touch his arm, “Colin?”
He turns to me and smiles, and I swear, that smile is… desolate.
“What is it?”
“Hmm?” he murmurs absentmindedly.
“You seemed very absorbed, looking at that photograph,” I say quietly.
Colin puts his arm around me and exhales with force. He pulls me close to him. And then he whispers in my ear, “It is a sad photo, don’t you think?” He kisses my temple. I wish he kissed my lips.
I upturn my face to look in his eyes. Colin bents his head, and his mouth is on mine. He presses me to him and wraps his arms around me. The kiss is gentle and sweet. He pulls away and smiles at me.
“First kiss?” I chuckle.
He nods, his eyes twinkling. “Our first. But I hope this is just the beginning.”
“I hope so too.”
We walk around the museum, stopping often to examine various photographs and read the photographers’ names and countries of origin on the tags besides the images. They are from all over the world—the photographers and the subjects. It’s fascinating to see how visionary many of them are while capturing the essence of human nature.
After over an hour of perusing, we leave the exhibition and walk to the Harbor Steps. This is one of my most favorite places in Seattle. We hold hands, and I glance around at the passersby, the buildings, and the cars. At the top of the stairs Colin pulls me to him and wraps one arm around me. His other hand gently pushes loose strand of hair behind my ear, and then caresses my cheek and my jaw line. He cups my chin and leans closer to kiss me. I half-close my eyes and tilt my face toward his.
His lips touch mine, and my mouth parts. I feel his sculpted, hard body pressing onto me. I circle his neck with my arms and stand on tiptoes, wishing I wore high heels today. Colin’s tongue gently slides between my lips, and a shiver runs down my chest, continuing south, all the way to between my thighs. I welcome this sweet, sensual feeling he’s giving me. His fingers entwine in my hair at the back of my head, and his other hand slowly strokes between my shoulder blades.
Kissing Colin is like nothing I’ve ever experienced with anyone before. His kiss is gentle, but with underlying firmness that stirs hot desire inside me. It is a promise of what awaits me soon, and, honestly, I’m considering breaking my fourth-date rule. Right now, right here. Wow, where the heck did that come from, Natalie? Get ahold of yourself before you embarrass both of you.
I pull out of this amazingly sensual kiss and smile at Colin. He smiles back and whispers surreptitiously, “I want to take you somewhere tomorrow.”
“Oh?” I grin. “Where?”
“I will think of something fun.”
“Wait, you want to go somewhere tomorrow, but you don’t even have an idea where?” I laugh. What’s the urgency?
“Yep. I want to get through the third date, so we can move onto the forth one.” His grin is wicked. Totally wicked!
“Ah, that.” I smirk and roll my eyes. But at this moment I feel almost glad he’s trying to rush things forward.
“Yes. That. I can’t think of anything else but you,” he professes.
Wow, this confession is a bit of a shocker.
He grins, probably in response to my dumbfounded expression. “Is this so scandalous?”
I put my palms on his chiseled chest, feeling the scrumptious ridges under his shirt. And then his heartbeat adds to the mouthwatering sensation. God, I want to undo his buttons right here. Natalie! I scold myself and take a deep composing breath. Geez, this is all new to me. I don’t ever remember anyone turning me on with just the smallest detail.
“Scandalous? Why, Mr. Hampton. I hardly even know you.” I feign indignation.
He throws his head back and laughs. I can’t help it but laugh with him. When he looks back at me there is something so sexually charged in his gaze that my knees are about to give out. But he holds me tight so, thank heavens, I won’t make a fool of myself.
“Yes, Miss Davenport, you have a good point. I want to remedy that little obstacle and spend more time with you, so we feel comfortable with each other for our date number four.”
“Hmm. I see.” I nod, pretending to consider. “That sounds like a plan.”
“Glad you see it that way.” Colin inclines his head. One corner of his mouth lifts up just a notch. Oh-uoh, there it is—that little, sexy smile that makes me melt inside. How does he do that to me?
“Let’s find a good place to eat.” He takes my hand in his.
“Wild Ginger possibly?” I suggest.
“Not a bad choice,” he agrees.
We walk to the restaurant and get a table almost immediately. Lucky us. The place smells wonderful, as always, and I realize I’m ravenous. Too many items on the menu appeal to my taste today, so I quickly choose the curry seabass with mango salad and a glass of Pinot Noir. Colin decides on the cinnamon and spice anise duck with a sweet plum sauce and pairs it with a glass of a heavier Cabernet.
I start feeling anxious. Are we moving too fast? Am I making yet another mistake? The last thing I want is to get hurt again. I like Colin. I really do like him a lot, but I hope he doesn’t take my earlier joking with him about the third date as a “go ahead” to move things faster.
As if reading my mind he takes my hand in his and kisses my knuckles. He says, “I hope by now you know my somehow raw sense of humor. When I said I want to rush through the next date to get to the fourth one, it wasn’t because all I want from you is sex. I’m truly attracted to you. I want to get to know you, and I want you to feel comfortable and secure with me. I would never d
o anything to jeopardize that.”
I look at Colin. He’s so beautiful—not just handsome, but beautiful, with his blue eyes and long eye lashes, with his black-as-coal hair, carelessly tousled, with his wide shoulders and strong body. His lips are soft and sensual, and his cheekbones are high. And he wants to be mine; just mine! I know I want this. I want us to be together; to be happy. So why there is always something weird nagging at the corner of my mind? I realize that I am paranoid by all my past bad experiences with guys, but I can’t keep that wall around me. I need to let Colin in; I must take this chance.
I squeeze his hand and say, “I really like you too. I want to try… but I’m…” Argh. And there it is—that awful fear of getting hurt again. Stop that, Natalie! I inwardly chastise myself and continue, trying to keep my voice from trembling. I fail. I sound scared and so freakin’ unsure of myself when I tell him, “It’s not that I don’t want to get things going. And I understand you are just trying to make things fun and easy for me. I really like it. But just bear with me. Let me take small steps, so we do this right.”
He clutches both of my hands in his. Our elbows are on the table, and we are facing each other. I rest my forehead against our gripped hands. My fingers are cold, but his are warm against my skin. I welcome the soothing sensation of that warmth. It makes me feel wanted and cherished. His warm skin…
I lift my head and look at him. A tiny smile adorns his lips, and his eyes sparkle in the candlelight. He nods and lets my hands go. Momentarily I feel at loss, but he quickly reaches for me and pulls my face toward his.
When our foreheads touch, I hear him say very quietly, “I understand. And I will do exactly how you want me to do this. Take a lead, Natalie. I want you to trust me as much as I want to always trust you.”
I put my hands on both sides of his face and kiss him passionately. He inhales sharply and deepens the kiss. Everything inside me twists and spirals, and my heart start to hammer in my chest. I want this man so badly, but I must be cautious. I feel that I can trust him; that all he just said is true; but old habits die hard, so I cannot push myself too fast past my boundaries. We will do this my way, and I’m at ease that he understands and agrees.
