by Lissa Del
“Actually, I don’t,” I say, holding his gaze levelly. “What exactly are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything.”
“Get out.”
“Sarah…”
“Out!”
He hesitates, and for an awful moment I think he’s going to refuse. Then he stalks across the threshold and I heave a sigh of relief.
I lie awake in bed long after he is gone, tossing and turning. As tired as I am, sleep evades me. It’s still early but I feel exhausted and yet my mind will not shut off and, deep within me, a fire grows, an ugly black heat that beats its chest at the injustice of it all. I want to kick something, to release the emotion that is clawing through my chest. I should’ve slammed the damn door in his face.
When I hear the knock at my door it occurs to me that I might get the chance to do just that. I grit my teeth, determined to tell him off and let him know exactly what I think of his dirty tactics. I swing the door wide, my mouth already forming the words, but it is not Noah lounging casually against the door frame.
“Leo!” I gasp, clamping my arms to my chest as the night’s chill reminds me poignantly that Snoopy is a sorry excuse for modesty. “What are you doing here?”
Leo pointedly raises his eyes as the crooked grin tugs at his lower lip. He stares at me for a long moment, his head cocked slightly to the side. “Leo?” I ask again, the hairs on my arms standing on end, whether from the cold or his presence I can’t be certain.
“I like you, Sarah,” he announces, as coolly as if he were telling me the time. “And I think you like me.” My only reaction is an involuntary widening of my eyes. “You find me attractive, yes?” he prompts and, despite myself, I smile, then nod my head.
“I thought so.” Oddly, he doesn’t sound altogether pleased with this revelation. Lifting his hand from the door frame he plunges it into his coppery hair. “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” he groans, without any further explanation.
“Why?” I ask. Such a small insignificant word, but so monumentally unfitting when my mind is screaming ‘why not?’
“It’s complicated.” A cryptic answer, but all I’m aware of is that his gaze has found my mouth and is lingering there.
“It occurred to me that I didn’t kiss you goodbye last night.” At this casual observation, my stomach flip-flops, and there is no blaming the weather for the way my skin prickles in anticipation.
“You didn’t,” I agree, “which was really rather rude of you after I plied you with all that expensive cheese.” The tension building between us is delicious and so very inviting.
“Jessica supplied the cheese, if I’m not mistaken,” he says, taking a step forward and towering above me, “perhaps I should be knocking on her door?”
“No, you have the right door.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs. He stands still, assessing me for a long moment.
“I should go.” He says it as though he’s willing me to contradict him.
“Why?” I challenge, my arms still crossed over my chest.
“Because I want you.” It’s a bold statement.
Locking my eyes on his, I lift my chin.
“Then going is the last thing you should be doing.”
The words are barely out of my mouth when he lowers his burnished head and the involuntary gasp of breath I take is sucked from my mouth as his lips crash down on mine. Of their own accord, my arms unravel, my hands running up his hard chest and over his shoulders to bury themselves in his unruly hair, which is just as thick and as soft as I imagined.
Leo’s kiss is gentle at first, his tongue exploring my mouth as though it might dissolve under his touch, but my own reaction is anything but gentle. I feel faint with desire and my patience wears thin quickly. I snatch a handful of his hair, pulling him down toward me and his shoulders jerk with the pain. His hands trap my waist, yanking me toward him and crushing my body up against his. I rise up on my toes, trying to make contact with every glorious inch of him, and, sensing my need, his arms encircle my waist, lifting me clear off the floor so that the evidence of his own desire is clear.
When I wrap my legs around his waist, Leo kicks the door closed and, for a heart-stopping moment I think he is going to carry me to the bedroom, or at the very least, to the sofa. I want nothing more than to get horizontal with this man, but instead, he leans back against the door, his mouth searing a blazing trail down my neck. There is an infinitesimal pause and I hear a low chuckle, his breath blowing hot on my throat. He lifts his right hand, holding my weight easily with only his left, and runs his index finger deliberately from the hollow of my throat down between my breasts and rests it on the faded black of Snoopy’s nose.
“That’s adorable.”
I glance down, and, of course, my nipples are practically piercing the thin fabric of my nightshirt in their desperate attempt to get attention.
I’m not quite ready for the kissing to be done so Leo actually has to physically remove me. His hands are warm on my waist as he gently pushes me away from him, his eyes twinkling.
“I’d like to take you out,” he announces suddenly.
“Out?” I sound breathless and groggy, the way I imagine the female lead would sound in all those bodice-ripper books my mom devours.
“Yes, out. To dinner. Tomorrow.”
“Is that an invitation or an instruction?”
“Whichever has the higher chance of success.”
“Okay,” I nod, “Dinner.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Leo looks gratified as he opens the door. He’s leaving? I’m too stunned to argue, but as he steps out into the hall he turns to me, the crooked smile fading slightly. It’s as if the last few minutes never happened as we stand facing each other once more on my threshold.
“I really shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
“So you keep saying.” I give him an arch look but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he kisses me chastely on the cheek.
“Goodnight, Sarah,” he whispers.
CHAPTER 10
“A date?” Jess frowns, as though the very concept is alien to her. It’s lunch time and the cafeteria around us is teeming with students trying to grab a quick bite to eat before classes resume.
“Yes, Jess, a date. I really can’t fathom why this is so hard for you to understand.”
“It’s not the date,” Tom says, through a mouth crammed with pie. Oblivious of the flecks of pastry projectiling onto Jess’s salad, he continues. “It’s the fact that he came to your apartment and stuck his tongue down your throat but he didn’t stick anything else anywhere else.” He grabs the bagel off my plate to emphasise his point with a wildly inappropriate gesture and I snatch it back.
“You are so disgusting,” I grumble. “And I wanted that!” I toss the bagel aside.
“Tom makes a good point,” Jess nods sagely. “He was in your apartment and you were enjoying this orgasm-inducing snog, then he just ups and leaves? It’s not right.” She says this in a tone that implies Leo might actually need therapy.
“He did seem to be holding back. He said he shouldn’t be doing this before he kissed me and again when he left.”
“Why?” Tom asks.
“It’s probably because he’s a first year and Sarah’s the Institute’s golden child.”
“I’m not the golden child, Jess.”
She ignores me.
“Well, look on the bright side, his superhuman restraint kept you chaste.”
“What makes you two think I would’ve slept with him anyway? Give me some credit – I mean I don’t even know the guy.”
There’s a moment of silence in which their eyes lock, a caramel-chocolate stare-down and then they burst into simultaneous hysterics.
“Right,” Jess manages to choke out between guffaws, “I’m sure you wouldn’t have done anything I wouldn’t have done.”
“And seei
ng as there’s absolutely nothing she wouldn’t do…” Tom waggles his perfectly arched brows.
“Hey!” Jess throws my discarded bagel at him.
“Truth hurts, Jess baby,” Tom replies wickedly. “In fact, I consider myself lucky I escaped your bed unscathed.”
“We said we weren’t going to talk about that. I still have nightmares about it. And anyway, this isn’t about me, or what I would and wouldn’t do. It’s about Sarah.”
“I’m perfectly okay with the way this conversation is going,” I point out.
Jess fixes me in a beady stare. “Face it, Sarah, you want him. You want him to do unspeakable things to you.”
“For what it’s worth, it’s nothing to be ashamed about,” Tom adds. “Hell, I want him and he’s as straight as those Godawful jeans Jess insists on wearing.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my jeans!”
“Yeah, except they went out of fashion with tie-dye and the banana clip. Nobody wears straight jeans anymore.” He gestures at his own skinny Levis to prove his point.
I drain my water bottle and toss it into a nearby trash-can.
“I’ve got to hit the library; I’ve got a mountain of drawing to do. Any last minute tips for my date tonight?”
“Try to make it to second base, at least,” Jess grins.
“And wear skinny jeans!” Tom yells at my departing back.
Six hours later it looks as though Hurricane Sandy had come and gone within the vortex of my bedroom. Although, technically it’s called Hurricane Jess, because it is my pint-sized friend who is streaking around my room, hauling item after item from my closet and discarding them in a frenzied fashion across every available surface.
“Easy there, Flash,” I say as she hurtles past me and yanks open my underwear drawer. A flurry of red satin, white cotton and black lace flies over her shoulder until, with a triumphant ‘aha’ she turns to face me holding a hot pink twin-set.
“You think?” I eye the pants dubiously. They’re practically non-existent, just a scrap of silk with high hopes and big plans.
“Definitely! And they’re brand new – look they even have the tag on!” It’s not hard to miss, given that the tag is bigger than the actual pants.
“That’s because I’ve never worn them.” I lower my voice automatically as I admit, “They’re a bit too small.”
“Not tonight, they’re not!” Jess bites through the plastic tag with great gusto, tossing aside the price label.
I should know by now never to underestimate Jess. She always pulls through for me. She and Tom might like to tease, but, at the end of the day, she’s my best friend for a reason. She was waiting at my door when I got home, rapping her nails impatiently on the smooth wood. Tom had bowed out, nobly, claiming he had a date, but he refused to tell us who with. Which of course we interpret as code for him not wanting to be exposed to nude female flesh.
“Okay,” I announce, determined, and I haul on the bra and panties. The bra pushes my boobs up near my chin and the panties provide about as much cover as a button on a beach ball, but I grit my teeth and bear it, or, as it happens, bare it. “Now what am I wearing over this, or are you expecting me to go to dinner in my underwear?”
“Hang on, I’m still looking.” Jess’s muffled voice sounds from the bowels of my closet.
I glance at my watch. It’s almost half-past seven. Leo will be here in thirty minutes and I’m nowhere near ready.
“What about this?” Jess asks, holding up a fire-engine red top with a cowl neckline, scooped low in the front. It’s a bit outrageous but very flattering.
“My bra might show.”
“So?”
“The bra’s pink.” I point unnecessarily at my chest.
“So?” Jess asks again. “That looks amazing, by the way,” she adds, running an expert eye over my underwear. Jess should know – she earned more tips than most of the other waitresses combined during her Hooters stint.
“Let’s try it.” I nod.
Twenty minutes later I usher her out of the apartment. She beams at me in pride, admiring her handiwork. I’m wearing the red top with a black pencil skirt which falls to just below my knees. Considering the low scoop of the cowl neck, I figure anything shorter and I may as well hang a For Sale sign around my neck. My stiletto-heeled boots earn me at least an extra two inches, and, considering Leo’s colossal height, this will definitely work in my favour. My eyes are ringed dark and smoky, but not too overdone and Jess very carefully painted my lips the same fire-engine red as my top. It’s a daring look, one I would never attempt myself because I’d end up looking like a two-dollar whore. Thanks to Jess’s prowess with her make-up brushes, however, the combination is vibrant and feminine. For someone who usually wears only mascara and lip gloss, I feel wildly desirable.
I tell myself that I won’t be having sex with Leo tonight, but I still perform an emergency clean-up of my room. I sling most of the discarded wardrobe items over the back of a chair and leave the cosmetic paraphernalia strewn across my dresser, but I do stuff all of my underwear back into the drawer. Hearing a knock at the door, I spritz on a liberal spray of Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue, and, snatching up my purse, I hasten down the hall.
“Wow! You look amazing.” Leo brushes a kiss across my cheek and the faint tang of his aftershave assaults my senses. “These are for you.” He hands me a tight cluster of tulips.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s our first date, remember? It’s customary to bring flowers, or so my sisters always told me.” I take them from him and quickly set them in a vase of water in the kitchen. Leo waits patiently in the hall and I try not to dwell on the ‘first date’ comment, which would imply there will be a second. Best not to get my hopes up too early.
When we emerge onto the street I hesitate a moment. The only car parked outside my building is a sleek, shiny SUV with a panoramic sunroof that glints under the light of the street lamp. Leo, a few steps below me, notices my reticence and offers me his hand.
“Shall we?” he asks lightly.
“This is your car?” I ask as he moves deliberately towards the charcoal SUV. As we get closer I notice the small crest on the hood, the rearing stallion impossible to mistake. “You drive a Porsche?”
“It’s a bit flashy, I know.” He opens the passenger door for me and helps me in. I sink into the leather seat which is warm despite the cool interior of the car. Leo curls himself into the driver’s seat and, with an almighty growl, the engine comes to life.
“You drive a Porsche?” I repeat. “What are you, a trust-fund baby?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he replies. “Why, you don’t like the brand?”
“I wouldn’t actually know,” I admit, “I’ve never been in one. I just wouldn’t have pegged you as a Porsche kind of guy.”
“Oh, really? What kind of guy would you have pegged me for, then?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” I pause, considering the question. “Maybe a truck?”
Leo laughs at that. “I’m assuming, by your tone, that you’re thinking of a used model, probably with a few chips in the paintwork and a missing tail-light?”
I blush, grateful for the dark interior so he can’t see it. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… well, this is a very expensive car and you’re a student.”
“Yes, it is, and I am,” he replies enigmatically.
The restaurant is gorgeous, an out-of-the-way bistro with rickety tables spread haphazardly across an outdoor patio. Dinner will be served al fresco and I can’t help but wonder what they do when it rains. The patio overlooks a picturesque garden. A fountain gurgles just below us and fairy lights cast a magical glow over the nude statues strategically placed around it. It’s the type of place that feigns modesty while charging a small fortune for delectable food that I can barely pronounce. Leo beats the waiter to pull out my chair and I shoot him an apologetic smile.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks quickly,
regaining his composure.
“Sarah?” Leo asks.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I say, gazing up at the limitless sky. “The view is stunning,” I tell Leo when the waiter leaves to fetch us a bottle of wine.
“I would have to agree,” he says, but his eyes never leave my face.
I give him an arch look and he chuckles.
“I’m sorry, that was a pathetic attempt to charm you.”
“It was,” I agree.
“I can do better, I promise. You just make me a little nervous.”
I’m delighted by his admission which makes me feel a bit better about the butterfly farm carousing around in my stomach.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Last night, before we kissed… you said you shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I did,” he replies lightly, but I can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s a little uncomfortable.
“Why?”
His lean fingers drum the table as he regards me thoughtfully. Then he leans forward, perfectly at ease once more.
“I don’t know. I’ve just started at Holmes and I guess I was worried about having such a beautiful distraction.” The smile he gives me is one of dazzling charm.
“You were right, you definitely can do better,” I admit.
“How are you enjoying your Holmes experience so far?” I ask, guiding the conversation into neutral territory.
“It’s good. A lot more work than I expected.”
“You thought it would be easy?”
He shrugs. “Easier than it is.”
“Why architecture?” It’s something I genuinely want to know. Being so passionate about it myself, I’m always curious as to why others are drawn to the field.
“Honestly?”
“Yeah,” I laugh, “honestly.”
“I like the idea of making something strong. Something that can’t be broken.” He stops as the waiter returns.
