Her text made me happy. Lunch in the sun with Avery. A picnic. That usually involved a blanket. Avery lying down on a blanket in the sun. Me beside her. Close.
Yeah, that was a great idea.
I quickly texted her back confirmation.
Caitlin called my name, and I hit send, then headed out front to see what was going on. After helping her with the supply delivery, I returned to my office, surprised to find no reply to my text.
Scrolling up, I almost choked. My text of I love your idea of a picnic had been cut off. All the text said was:
I love you
I sent Avery a text telling her I loved her a day after we met. A low curse came out of my mouth as I stared at the screen.
What must she think of me?
And why did the thought of saying I love you to her not bother me more?
I dropped my head into my hands. From the lack of reply, she no doubt thought I was some sort of loser who went around declaring his love to women he had only met the previous day.
Which I wasn’t. Until Avery.
Caitlin walked in my office. “Daniel, what do you want . . . ?” Her voice trailed off as she took in my distraught face. “What’s wrong?”
Wordlessly, I handed her my phone. For a moment, there was silence.
“You sent this to Avery?”
“Yes.”
“Did you mean to? Or is this the work of your subconscious?”
“What? No! I meant to say I love your idea! You called for me and I hit send too quickly!”
She chuckled. “And she hasn’t responded?”
“No. She’s undoubtedly too busy changing her number and booking a moving van to run away from my overeager, needy ass.”
“Stop being such a drama queen. Call her and explain. I’m sure she’ll laugh it off.”
Caitlin was right. Mistakes happen all the time with texting. I was sure Avery knew that fact.
It was only a mistake. I didn’t mean it.
I was sure I didn’t.
“Get out, sister of mine.”
Still laughing, she left with a wave over her shoulder.
Hesitantly, I called Avery’s number. She answered in a quiet voice.
“Hey, Sprite. I, um, yeah, sometimes I’m an idiot, okay?”
“Oh?”
“I was texting you earlier and I hit send in a hurry. I wanted to tell you ‘I love your idea.’” I stressed the words. “Not you. But Caitlin called me to help her—I was rushing, so I didn’t look before I hit send. So, you got that message, which no doubt made you wonder about me, and . . . yeah. Like I said—idiot.”
“Oh. So you didn’t mean it?”
I pulled the phone away from my ear. She wanted me to mean it?
“Um.”
“That’s okay, Daniel. I’m sure I can get the deposit back.”
“Deposit?”
“On the church. Luckily, I hadn’t picked the menu yet for the reception. The money would have been a bugger to get back.”
Silence. There was utter silence on the phone. It was as if my voice had disappeared. I cleared my throat.
“Um, Avery?”
“Yes?”
“You’re . . . pulling my leg, right?”
Her endearing giggles filled my ear.
I slumped forward in relief. “Nice. And you call me a tease.”
“Sorry.”
“I don’t think you are.” I lowered my voice. “I think maybe I need to make you pay for that little stunt.”
“What’re you going to do about it?”
I grinned into the phone. “Brace yourself.”
“You started it.”
“And I’ll finish it. Tonight. Six forty-one.”
I hung up to her laughter.
I was early, and she was ready.
Dressed in another pretty skirt, with her hair down, I wanted to jump her as soon as she opened the door.
So I did.
Her mouth was perfect moving with mine. Pressed against the closest wall, her curves molded to my body as she wrapped herself around me. Muffled groans and whimpers mixed with muttered hellos and low gasps as my hands explored, her body arching in to my touch. My dick ached to bury itself into the warmth that was so close—the heat of her burning through the thin material separating us. Finally, panting, and regretful, I pulled away, dropping my head to her shoulder.
“Fuck . . . what you do to me,” I moaned against her skin, swirling my tongue on her neck. “You drive me crazy.” I pulled her lobe in to my mouth, tugging with my teeth as she whimpered. “I want you.”
Her fingers pulled on my hair, drawing my face back to hers. “Me, too,” she whispered, our gazes locked. “So much it scares me.”
Those few words stopped me. I stepped back, gently setting her feet on the floor. Cupping her face, I kissed her with as much adoration as I could. “I don’t want you scared. I’m coming on too strong, aren’t I?” I murmured against her lips.
“No,” she insisted. “You don’t scare me. I’m afraid of how much I feel for you.” She inhaled a long breath. “I’m afraid of how much I liked it when I saw your message earlier. Even though I assumed it was sent in error, I still liked it.”
I slipped my fingers under her thick hair, caressing the back of her neck. “Caitlin informed me she thought I sent it subconsciously. Because I wanted you to know.”
“Kn-know what?”
“That I’m feeling . . . something. Something I’ve never felt for anyone. I’m not ready to use the word love yet, but it’s strong. It’s real.”
“It’s not . . .”
“What?”
“Just, um, lust?”
I had to laugh. “Well, there is, without a doubt, lust involved. But it’s more than that.” My mouth brushed hers. “When you’re ready we’ll explore it all—together. Until then, I’m happy to get to know you on every level.”
“You won’t stop the kissing though, right?”
I pulled her to my chest. “Never.” Lifting her hand to my mouth, I kissed her knuckles, and examined the fingers I had trodden on the day before. “How do they feel?”
She waggled them with a grin. “Much better. I keep icing them.”
“Good. I still feel bad for hurting you.”
She shrugged. “It was an accident. You’ve more than made up for it.”
I pressed another kiss to her skin. “Good. I’ll keep doing so.”
“Are we crazy? I mean forty-eight hours ago I was worried about kissing a stranger, and now . . .”
“Now we’re not strangers anymore.” Smiling, I rubbed the end of my nose against hers affectionately. “Does it make us crazy?” I shrugged. “Maybe. But I like it.”
“Me, too.”
“Good.” I pressed closer again, my mouth hovering over hers. “Now, about that kissing—”
Daniel
“C’mon, Sprite. You’re perfectly safe.”
She shook her head, holding tight to the top of the fence. “You don’t have a saddle, Daniel. That’s just a blanket.”
I laughed quietly, patting Zen’s neck. “He is used to me riding bareback. It’s the best way to . . . ride.” I winked and extended my hand. “Hold on and I’ll swing you up. It’s this or I saddle you your own horse.”
That did it. As I suspected, she was too nervous around the large animals to sit on one by herself. With a look of determination, she raised her arms, and I easily lifted and situated her in front of me. Zen’s ears twitched, but otherwise he stood still, patiently waiting for my direction. Avery let out a shaky sigh and I leaned forward, running my lips up and down her neck, my tongue darting out to taste her. Sweet, slightly salty, and simply Avery.
“Do you really think I’d let anything happen to you? Zen is a gentle giant.” I nibbled on her lobe, smiling at her shiver. “Just like me.” I grabbed the picnic basket that she had packed off the top of the fence. “Now, are you ready? We’ll start off slow.”
She drew in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “Y
es.”
With gentle pressure of my heels, we were off. Her little squeaks of excitement, mixed with terror were amusing. I nestled her tight to me as we broke into a trot, her hands covering mine holding the reins. “I’ve got you.”
She tilted her head, grinning up at me. I kissed her as we broke into a faster gait. Another squeal escaped her lips and she pressed herself back into me.
So far, I liked the bareback riding lesson.
Very much.
The sun was warm on my face as I lay on the blanket, munching on an apple; the delicious picnic Avery brought with her, now devoured. The leaves overhead were bursting into life, the long grasses and wildflowers bloomed everywhere. It had rained in the night, and the air was fresh and fragrant.
I watched Avery wander around, picking up leaves and stones, examining them closely. A happy smile would break out on her face when she found something she liked and the odd stone would disappear into her pocket. I loved seeing her delight in the simplest of things around her, and I looked forward to spoiling her and making her feel that way, as often as possible. I had the feeling she’d never been spoiled much, and I was going to enjoy doing it a great deal.
The sun reflected on her hair, turning the light color a white-silver around her face. She had discarded her plaid shirt, her arms bare and pale in the sunlight.
I had laughed when she got out of the car; we had matching attire: jeans, white tanks and plaid shirts. She was much sexier in hers, though. Somehow, the sight of her in jeans and a simple tank top was even more appealing than her pretty skirts. The way the jeans hugged her hips, and I could see the small sliver of skin on her back over her waistband every time she bent over. Yeah, I liked the jeans more and more. I wanted to run my fingers over that small expanse of skin. Then follow it up with my tongue. I wanted to taste her—everywhere.
The most amazing part of all was the fact she had no idea how sexy she was. It was an artless, unaffected sexiness, which drove me crazy. I knew she compared herself to Beth and her tall, overall voluptuousness, but to me there was no comparison. Avery’s soft curves and tiny stature appealed to me in a way Beth’s could never touch—or any other woman. She was my idea of perfection. Her body flawlessly fit against mine when I held her in my arms. Her hand fit snugly in the cradle of mine. Her sweet lips were shaped for my mouth only. She was meant to belong to me.
I stifled a laugh as she warily approached Zen, offering him the last of her apple, her tiny hand outstretched and shaking. My favorite horse, ever gentle, nuzzled her palm before taking the proffered treat. Stretching up on her tiptoes, Avery stroked his nose, giggling at his contented snort.
Another male who liked her attention, which was hardly a shock to me; although, I knew she would be surprised.
She was amazing. Dinner, and the entire evening last night, had been too short. Time flew by as we talked and ate, our hands rarely apart. The corner booth was private and secluded; our waitress smiled in understanding when we sat on the same side of the booth so we could stay in contact. Everything with Avery was so natural: exchanging bites of our dinner, sharing dessert, sipping wine, and laughing. It all felt as though we’d been doing it for years, not hours.
“Give me three.” I grinned at her.
“What is it with you and three?”
I bit into my dinner roll, chewing as I thought about it. “When I was younger, and I’d get upset over a project or something, my dad would tell me to stop thinking about the whole picture. To break it down the way they did in football practice. So I found that if I broke it into smaller pieces, things didn’t overwhelm me as much.”
“And three worked for you?”
“Yeah. I’d pick the three things I needed to concentrate on and work with them. Then the next three and so on. I also use it in my practice, as well. People come in and they’re upset or have too much information, so I ask them for the three most important things they need to tell me, and we go from there.”
Her eyes were worried. “Am I overwhelming you, Daniel?”
I leaned over and brushed her mouth with mine. “Only in the best way. But I love getting little facts from you.”
She relaxed and picked up her wine. “I met Beth my first day at university. She was coming around the corner and ran smack into me. Then she stood up, berated me for not looking where I was going, and helped me up.”
“But she ran into you.”
“I know. I told her so, in a snarky voice I might add, and she started to laugh. Then she dragged me out for coffee to say sorry, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
“I met my best friend at university, too. Noah Cooke. Brilliant mind. He became huge in the marketing industry in Toronto.”
“Are you still close?”
I sighed. “We sort of drifted apart. He went through some difficult times, and I got back in touch. We are close again. He gave up marketing and runs his family’s business now. I’ll take you to meet him soon. They have an organic produce store in the Niagara region, and their own winery. You can buy stuff and cook for me.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Second.”
“I’m addicted to mints.”
“I already knew that. I’m not sure addiction is the right word. I’m not sure there is a word to describe the relationship you seem to have with mints.”
“My grandmother always had a pocket full of them. My dad bought them for her all the time. I think I’m carrying on the tradition. After she died, he started getting them for me.”
“And now you have pockets full of them?”
Her cheeks colored. “And my purse. I keep bowls of them on my desk and at my place, too,” she admitted. “They’re my weakness.”
I hesitated, then said what was on my mind. “You use them to cover your nervousness, as well. You can’t talk if your mouth is full of candy.”
She traced the edge of her plate, not meeting my eyes. “I suppose.”
“I’m not judging,” I assured her. “It’s just an observation. We all do things when we get nervous.”
“What do you do?”
“I pull on my hair and my hands sweat.” I winked. “If it’s really bad, I grab pretty girls with silvery-green eyes and kiss them senseless.”
She giggle-snorted, picking up her wineglass, taking a sip.
Needing to reassure her, I pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I guess since your dad is so far away, I’d better take over making sure to keep your supplies up.”
She looked pleased.
“One more.”
Her brow furrowed. “I hate clowns.”
I bit back my smile. “Any particular reason why?”
“I was never a big fan. I always found them scary. But my dad took me to the circus when I was young, and somehow I got lost.”
“Oh.”
“I wandered around, and I ended up in the clown tent.”
I could feel her tensing up, relating the story. I slipped my arm around her shoulders, rubbing circles on her silky skin. “What happened?”
“They were all in various stages of getting ready for the show. It was all a bit much for me. The makeup, the wigs, the costumes—some with their faces half-done.” She shuddered. “They were trying to be helpful, but a few of them were just too close and tried too hard. Laughing, teasing, making balloon animals, and pulling things from their pockets to try to keep me entertained. They were terrifying to a little girl,” she informed me, dead serious, adding, “and loud. Ugh. Scary, scary little buggers.”
I glanced away, trying not to laugh; even though I knew it was a painful memory for her. I cleared my throat.
“But they found your dad?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve never got over it.”
“No.” She shook her head, regarding me knowingly. “You can laugh. I know it’s funny.”
I let out a chuckle. “I’m sorry.”
“I was worried the day we met . . . about that.”
“About wh
at?”
“That maybe you were a closet clown or something.”
This time I couldn’t stop it. I began to laugh, my chest aching from suppressing the sound. I loved the way her mind worked.
She laughed with me, rolling her eyes at her own silliness.
I kissed her hard. “I guarantee you I am not, nor ever will be, a closet clown. I’m not overly fond of them myself, so you’re safe.”
“Good to know.”
“I promise to keep any wandering clowns away from you, Sprite, and I will never take you to the circus.” I lowered my head, meeting her gaze. “And for future reference, we won’t have any of the scary buggers at our kids’ birthday parties, okay?”
At my remark, her mouth formed an O in surprise, but it earned me another of her kisses.
The waitress appeared with our food, setting it down in front of us.
Avery thanked her warmly, smiling kindly when she asked for more water.
After the waitress left, I picked up my fork.
“You’re very polite.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, in general you are, but to wait staff, especially.”
She had chatted to the hostess, thanked the wine steward, was very friendly with all the staff in the restaurant. I found it endearing.
“My parents instilled manners and being polite into me from a young age. They felt everyone deserved a pleasant smile or a kind word. My grandmother used to tell me that you never know what another person is going through, and sometimes your smile might be something that makes a difference in their day.”
I stared at her, my respect for her growing even more. I fully agreed with her, and I admired her for that quality.
“I was a waitress at the local coffee shop when I was a teenager,” she added. “I know how tough a job it is, and people should respect them for their effort.”
“Did you like it?”
She scrunched up her nose. “Like would be a strong word. In the small town where I lived, there wasn’t an abundance of jobs. I babysat when I was younger, but I needed more money toward school, and I got the chance, so I tried it. During the school year, I worked weekends and in the summer, I got more shifts. It served its purpose, but it gave me a healthy respect for people who do it as a career.”
It Started With a Kiss Page 8
