The Art of Persuasion: Book 4 of The Swashbuckling Romance Series

by Myers, Heather C.

  I don't know why I'm nervous. Honestly. I know Matt. I like him. I consider him a friend. Yet I feel like I going to my first high school dance and the cute senior is waiting in my living room to pick me up. It doesn't make any sense because - hello! - I've never felt this way before and I don't know what it means and -

  No. I can't bullshit myself. I know exactly what I'm feeling. I like Matt. And this feels like a date. And I'm nervous because I want him to like me but I can't force him to if he doesn't. No matter how pretty I look or feel won't make him like me. I can only hope that my wonderful personality will charm him into falling for me.

  Which brings up another point. Let's say Matt does like me. Some crazy twist of fate struck lightning and I'm hit and he's hit and we have feelings for each other, there's still the problem of me not belonging here. Of me going back home. I still haven't decided if I actually want to stay here, and besides Matt, there's really nothing pulling me to stay. And I know it sounds heartless and completely contradictory but I don't want Matt to be my only reason to stay. And I don't think he'd want that, either. I want to stay because I want to stay, not because I feel tied to a guy. I've seen even the most solid relationships unravel. I can't depend on love being enough. It'll help for sure, but that doesn't mean it should be everything. I'm still a person without Matt and what I want matters just as much. And I'm not sure I'm at the point of wanting to stay if I never saw Matt again. And if I have even the tiniest sliver of doubt, I know it's not right to lead Matt on. I wouldn't, even if Sarah hadn't threatened me. It wouldn't be right.

  And that's why I'm nervous, I suppose. Because I want him to like me but I don't because I don't know what I want at the same time.

  I head down the stairs and try to control the butterflies flying into each other in my stomach. My chin is tilted up, my shoulders are rolled back. I try to come off as graceful and sure but inside, I'm screaming. Inside, I'm clenching my muscles together because I'm so afraid I'll trip over myself and make myself look like a complete idiot or possibly injure myself in the process of walking downstairs. Luckily, I make it just fine without incident, and before I know it, I'm sitting at the empty bar, waiting for Matt to make his appearance.

  There's a small part of me that's worried he may not show up. Which is silly, because Matt has never given be a reason not to trust him at his word. It's just, I used to date this guy whose name was also Matt, ironically enough, and it was casual but I liked him and I think he liked me too, even though he really wasn't that type to care about the people he messed around with. Not that he was a dick, but before me, his longest "relationship" (and I put that in quotes because it was more of a let’s hang out and have sex relationship rather than a healthy, well-rounded relationship) was a few months. We hung out nine months and counting before we parted ways. Anyway, I cared about the guy but it was constant how often he would text me to cancel our plans hours before we were supposed to get together. I couldn't plan anything, which I hated because first and foremost, I'm a planner who likes to look forward to things. He took that away from me. I got so used to it, I now expect it to happen again with different people, and it frustrates me because twenty-first century Matt wasn't anyone special. And yet, he's conditioned me to expect the worst in others - and devalue myself while I'm at it - because that's how he treated me.

  Even though this Matt, this good Matt, is different. In so many positive ways.

  "And what is a lovely lady such as yourself doing here all by your lonesome?"

  I smile even though my heart has jumped in my throat. Matt has taken me by surprise but when I turn in my chair to face him, it's in my throat for a different reason entirely.

  The man is beautiful. He's not wearing anything special, but I like how his hair falls into his face and I like the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I like the curve of his lips and I love, I love his cheekbones. He's the epitome of perfect. I feel like I'm in a Taylor Swift song, to be honest, because the man is flawless and I'm in love.

  Holy shit.

  Maybe I'll think about that later but it's important to note that I came up with this theory stone-cold sober.

  Instead of sitting next to me, Matt walks around to the bar and grabs a generous sized bottle of liquor. "Sarah days we have complete access all night," he says, reaching below to bring up two glasses. "I say we take full advantage of that offer."

  I swallow because I'm nervous but I don't know why. I know I'm a fun drunk. I'm not dramatic and emotional; I'm not loud and obnoxious. I giggle a lot and I'm quiet. Observant, actually.

  "I've never had the liquor here," I tell him honestly. I don't know why I tell him. It's not like he needs to know at all. It's not like he doesn’t already know, what with the fact that I'm from the future and I've been with him the entire time that I've been here.

  His lips curve up at what I say - maybe it's my tone of voice because I sound so young and naive - but his eyes are focused on pouring the warm brown liquid that almost resembles whisky but the scent is different. At least, from what I smell over here at the bar smells different from the strong scent of whisky.

  He slides the glass at me and I catch it with my fingers. Matt then begins to pour himself a drink and when he finishes, he raises his glass in salute.

  "What is this?" I ask, taking the glass - it's a bit bigger than a shot glass but too small to fill a full eight ounces of alcohol.

  "Rum," he tells me, his dark eyes sparkling. "It's not for the faint of heart nor is it for the weak-willed. It burns, though, so my recommendation is to down it quick. It will leave a trail of fire along your throat."

  "Sounds awesome," I mutter to myself and stare at the liquid. This is a bad idea. I know how much stronger alcohol is in the past than it ever was back home. I don't want to overdose on alcohol. "You won't let me drink too much, right?" My voice sounds quiet, maybe even meek. I'm actually embarrassed by it. I don't want him to think I'm a poor sport or a party pooper but I'm not used to being here. I don't have many people I trust to be drunk with, to let down my guard and be vulnerable with. Matt is the only person who I do feel that way about and vocalizing my worry at least reassures me that I'm not being a total idiot about this. I am standing up for myself no matter how meek I may sound.

  "Do you trust me?" he asks and I swallow at the depth of his eyes, the tenor of his voice. It's low but articulate and his eyes pin me to my spot, penetrates me in paralysis.

  I nod because I don't trust myself to speak. I keep my eyes firmly in his and my mouth goes dry and my stomach feels like when you step in an elevator and you're not prepared for the drop so it jumps. I'm not prepared for this, for him.

  It's not long before I've shared three glasses of rum with Matt. He's downed the majority of them, and judging by the way he moves, he's getting tipsy. Once we finished the first glass, my head turned fuzzy and my body turned light. By the end of the third glass, I'm giggling at jokes no one has said out loud and I'm staring at Matt with half-hooded eyes and I'm not even ashamed of it. Like, why wouldn't I stare at this beautiful creature that's in front of me?

  "You," Matt says, his eyes narrowing in my direction. His body may be swaying, but somehow, he appears perfectly sober. He's not shifting from side to side. His eyes are heavy but they're much more focused than mine. I wonder of his body is as warm as mine is. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes upon."

  "Took you a few drinks to tell me that?" I say, raising a skeptical brow. I decide I've had enough alcohol for the evening and when Matt offers me a fourth glass, I shake my head. He doesn't pressure me, and instead, sets the untouched glass filled to the brim with rum on the bar.

  He shakes his head, his dark hair falling in his face. "No," he says. "I don't need a few drinks to tell you that. It speaks for itself."

  I feel myself blushing. "Stop it," I tell him. I don't know if it's from the alcohol or if it's because of him. It's probably both.

  "Never," he says. He walks over to me slowly. I'm not sure if he's doi
ng it for dramatic effect or if the booze has finally gotten to him, but I feel my heart start to beat against my chest in anticipation. Every step he takes is a beat against my chest. I can hear it ringing in my ear.

  When he reaches me, he leans in close, so close I can feel his electricity mesh with mine. "I," he says. Then, his brown eyes get tender and he curls an errant strand of hair behind my ear. His finger drops to my cheekbone and then it traces downward to my chin. I'm holding my breath. "I'm going to kiss you right now," he says.

  I can't speak. I can't breathe. It's not that I'm holding my breath, it's that breathing is rather difficult for me, which isn't a good thing if Matt is going to kiss me. And he is, I know he is, because he's leaning towards me and I can feel him, oh my God, we're not even touching and I can feel him, and then his lips touch mine and I'm lost.

  I am lost, like Alice down the rabbit hole, through the looking glass or wherever she decides to travel to. And like Alice, I don't want to be found. Not now, not ever.

  His lips are soft and gentle – at first. They’re tentative, coaxing more from mine because I think mine are frozen. I think mine are stunned, too paralyzed to respond. Until he moves them for me and I suddenly realize that Matt Scott is kissing me, really, truly kissing me, and my eyes flutter closed gently, my eyelashes meeting their appropriate pair, and I purse my lips in order to press pressure back to Matt.

  He inhales sharply and his hand reaches up to my hair, cupping the back of my head and tilting it back so he has greater access to my mouth. Not that he needs to do that. I would have given him all the access he wants. But I like the feel of his fingers tugging my hair, I like the feel of his other hand tight on my waist.

  We’re in an awkward position, so he stands us up and moves me backward. I have no idea where we’re going, simply because my eyes are closed and my lips are locked with his, and I just don’t care. It’s only when my back hits a wall – roughly, I’m not going to lie – do I realize we’ve gone somewhere else in the room.

  But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters because I’m kissing Matt and I like kissing Matt and I would like kissing Matt if I were sober. I’d like kissing Matt no matter what.

  We kiss and kiss and kiss. I’m not even tired of standing. I would stand for forever if it means I get to kiss Matt. His hands roam everywhere on my body, and it’s the first time I’ve ever wished I’m not wearing this corset so I could actually feel what it’s like when he touches me.

  The moments we have to break for air, he tells me things like, “My God, you’re beautiful” or “You make me feel things I didn’t think were real.” I’m not sure if he even knows what he’s saying, but it doesn’t matter because they’re perfect for the moment, and through my light, muddled mind, I store them away so I can remember them later.

  “Let’s,” I gasp out, once I feel him push into me, once I feel the desire he has for me that mirrors my own, “let’s go to my room.”

  “I.” He stops. Pulls away. His eyes are clouded too, but he looks at me, trying to read my eyes. “Are you sure?”

  I nod my head and open my mouth, ready to tell him that of course I’m sure, of course I want him, but my eyes roll to the back of my head and all I see is blackness.

  Chapter 13

  I hate drinking. This is why I don’t drink. The evening before is fuzzy though I do remember all of it. It just comes back in broken pieces rather than all together, like a movie. It’s not even dawn. I was conked out for a few hours, but for whatever reason, I’m congested now and my head hurts and I’m more awake than I want to be. The problem is, the pain prevents me from sleeping and I’m exhausted. All I want to do is fall asleep. Instead, I’m staring up at the ceiling, blinking away the pain, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

  I shouldn’t have drunk as much as I did. But Matt is an excellent drinking buddy and an even better kisser.

  My cheeks turn red, like an apple you’d give to a teacher, and I look away, out the window. The curtains are blocking my view because I don’t want people to see into my room – even if it is on the third floor – and try and get to the woman who sleeps alone. But the curtains are this beautiful blue color and even through the darkness, it’s a nice thing to focus on.

  I’m not sure if I regret last night – this morning? – or not. It’s hard for me to say. The way I feel when Matt and I kiss… My insides throb just thinking about it. His mouth on mine, that sizzle I’ve never felt before. I’m never nervous when I kiss, but Matt makes me nervous. Actually, he has this strange way of making me feel both comfortable and nervous at the same time. I’m on edge around him, but also relaxed. It doesn’t make any sense.

  We kissed. We kissed and I know we were both drunk and I’m glad he stopped it from going too far. Actually, I’m not. But I’m glad his intentions were genuine. He didn’t want to take advantage of me. That’s commendable. That’s nice. That’s what a good guy does and I don’t know very many good guys. I don’t regret the kiss because it’s what I’ve wanted to do for practically my entire time here. I don’t regret it. I just wish…

  I guess I just wish it were under different circumstances. I was we weren’t drunk. I wish we were both cognizant and thinking clearly and we still chose to take that risk. The question remains, though: would we have kissed if we were sober? I don’t know. The alcohol gave us the necessary push we needed to actually do something about what we were feeling on the inside.

  Well, I can’t speak for Matt. But it gave me the courage to do something with my feelings. I wasn’t afraid when he looked at me with those brown eyes, the way he kissed me, the way his hands fit on the small of my back, the way his fingers tugged at my hair. Now I feel silly for worrying about my hair in the first place.

  It still hasn't given me any clarity on this whole tug of war about whether I choose to stay or go. But Matt reminds me of chocolate. I can't just have one bite. I want more. And I want more badly.

  Just thinking about him... I shiver, even with my headache.

  I may not know a lot about love and monogamy, healthy relationships with mutual respect. I don't mind admitting my ignorance. But I do know sex.

  I know how to please a man thanks to practice and tips from Cosmo. I'm comfortable with my sexuality and have no problem being naked in front of guys. I love my body - mostly. When Matt was kissing me last night, I knew he wanted to take it further. I wanted to take it further. I still do. I feel like Matt would make an excellent lover. He would take care of me, bestow pleasure on my body, and worship me like I was a holy place.

  I know if I go to him now and I crawl into his lap and wrap my arms around his shoulders, if I tilt his head back and kiss him slow and deep, I know I could get him to connect with me in that way. And I know he'd enjoy it to the point where I’d be one of the few girls he'd want to be with on multiple occasions. I'm not saying I'm a maneater or God's gift, but I'm good at what I do. I like sex. It's fun so I'm not nervous and I'm not shy. I like to experiment. I like to try new things. And that enthusiasm trumps any skill, I've found. So maybe I'm cocky (haha), but I'm good at what I do.

  Here's my dilemma. If Matt was just another guy, we could have sex, no problem. But he's not just another guy. He's Matt and he means more to me than just sex. He's worth letting my guard down for and being vulnerable with and trusting him enough to know I'm not perfect. I don't use trust him with my body or my mind, I trust him with my very soul. He makes me feel things I've never felt before, like I'm flying and falling at the same time, but no matter what, he's right there with me, either ready to catch me or right next to me. I can't just go have sex with him because the sex will mean more than sex normally means for me. Those endorphins we get from physical activity will bond me to Matt and make me think I love him. Maybe I do. Maybe I do love him and having sex will only strengthen those feelings because it will be a physical manifestation of my feelings for him and whatever it is he feels for me. I don't know if he loves me, but I worry if we do have sex, that would be a f
orm of leading him on. Maybe I'm putting too much thought in this. Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit. Regardless, I know I like him more than I like anyone and I know I want to have sex with him. Badly. But I still don't know if I'm going to stay. And until I figure it out, I can't pursue anything deeper.

  I decide to try and nap my hangover away because I got no sleep last night and I think that may be why my headache is so prevalent. Once I get my sleep, I'll go to the bar for water because I know I'm dehydrated but the bed feels so comfortable and the thought of getting out of the bed and putting something in my mouth - much less my stomach - makes my entire body shudder in response.

  Instead, I curl up in the fetal position and wrap the blankets tightly around me. Sleep comes easy, which is a surprise, but hey, I'm not complaining.

  --

  Something tickles my neck. Then, it disappears. Fingers drag along the curve of my bare hips and the tickling commences, now on my shoulder. Their lips. It's a kiss.

  "Wake up, my darling," a familiar voice drawls.