. . .
Patrons in small groups engaged in conversations around tall tables dot the misty bar. Seeing no familiar faces, and no Sebastian in sight, I decide to wait at the bar till dinner. I’m about to ask for one of the fruity cocktails on the menu when my eyes fall on the row of wine bottles on display on the wooden surface. Noticing the labels exhibiting Sebastian’s family winery, I ask the graying bartender with the crisp apron for the Riesling.
A gentleman next to me tips his head in greeting. Eyeing me, he lets the bartender know he’ll be taking care of my bill. I thank him and he asks for my name.
“Jario.” He introduces himself, taking a taste of his dark drink. He tells me that he is from Madrid, and that he came to the event to choose new wines for his restaurant that specializes in traditional paella dishes. His smile grows when I share with him my great love for the Spanish cuisine.
“So, how about you reserve time for me for an evening walk after dinner?” he asks next, moving his hand to rest next to mine.
A light brush of warm fingers tickles my exposed back; my skin rises to the delicate flutter and to the presence of the man who’s now leaving a soft kiss on my shoulder. I thank Jario for the drink, and kindly refuse the offer for the walk, explaining that my evening belongs to Sebastian.
“I hope that much more than just your evening belongs to me.” Sebastian twirls me to face him.
“Depends what you’re offering.” I smile into my wine glass.
Sebastian shakes his head with a faint smile of his own and holds his heart as if I just shot him right through.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“No, and you should rectify it immediately.”
Sebastian’s dimple makes an appearance.
“You look stunning. Join me for dinner?” He offers me his hand. I take it and follow him with a butterfly, or two, dancing around in my belly.
After a short introduction to our dinner companions, a couple of wine aficionados, and a cork manufacturer from Portugal and his wife, Sebastian pulls my chair back and waits till I take my seat.
He bows to leave a kiss on my cheek and whispers next to my ear, “You look so delicious, I wish I could skip this damn dinner and eat you.”
I try to conceal the lick of desire now burning within me with the simple act of placing the dinner napkin on my thighs.
Savoring the entrées, an assortment of lightly grilled seafood seasoned with a hint of salt, I admire Sebastian who’s attentive and patient to the wine enthusiasts that bombard him with questions about new lines, vintages, and whatnot concerning his business. He’d changed into a dark fitted suit paired with a white button-down, top buttons undone. His hair is tamed in a slick back style, his hard jaw and strong cheeks neatly shaven, his eyes twinkling with that special glee they take on when he talks about his passion. I find it hard to unglue my stare from him when the guy to my right engages me in a conversation. We don’t interact much with each other throughout the evening; nevertheless, the loaded connection between us is ever-present. With “accidental” brushes, the constant buzz looping between us, covert smiles, the intent chance glances while conversing with others.
A delicious main course and dessert later, I let Sebastian do his thing and head to the balcony with a cup of Cortado. I’m in need of a breather after having just enough of everything wine, too much dinner party hum, and frequent, unpleasant glances from a certain Mrs. Balle, aka the mother of my lover. Bracing my elbows on the wrought iron railings, I enjoy the lovely night enhanced by the moonlight’s soft halo and sporadic twinkling dots. The heavy patter of footsteps coming from behind prompts me to resurface from my private moment and turn back to Miquel, who’s approaching me in a tailored navy suit.
“Good evening,” he says and sends his hand to the cigar nestled in his ivory pocket square.
“Good evening to you, too.” I turn to face him fully, taking a sip of my coffee.
“How are you enjoying the event so far?” He tilts his head toward a butane lighter, cigar wedged between his lips. I watch him as he inhales in short puffs till the end turns an evenly illuminated cherry-red.
“Leisurely.” A thin smile raises my lips.
“Sebastian asked me to step in tomorrow so he could spend more time with you,” he says, positioning himself next to me, leaning his back on the railing.
With a warm cloud in my stomach, I grin into the night.
“Doesn’t happen too often,” he adds.
I study his face lightened by the supple moon glimmer. Getting an image of how Sebastian might look in his sixties. Same strong jaw, beautiful dark eyes, creases and silver, full hair that enhance the gracefully aging appearance. A very promising foretell.
“It’s been a while since he got seriously involved with someone.” He exhales a long cloud of white smoke. “After what happened with Lola and all. But I’m sure you already knew about that.”
A feeling that weighs heavily on my stomach prevents me from telling him that I actually don’t already know anything about what happened with Lola and his son, and that only the sound of it makes my mood drastically deflate.
“Sebastian says you’re into financial consulting. Are you practicing that here as well?”
Talk about a change of subject. Still reeling from his last statement, I mumble a short, “Um, no. I’m here to purely enjoy your beautiful country.”
“I see. If you change your mind, we could always use another set of eyes on this business opportunity we’re currently examining.”
“Oh, even though I’m not officially on duty, I’d be more than glad to assist, if I can.”
“Whatever he is offering, say no.” Sebastian’s voice reaches us from across the balcony. We both regard him with a friendly grin.
“Oh, sorry sir, no can do. What he is offering is far too tempting to refuse.” I wink at Miquel who seems pleased with me poking at his son.
“And once again, they end up falling for you, Papá.” Sebastian enfolds his arm around my waist, drawing me closer to him. “I’m here to save you,” he says in a feigned whisper. He releases his hold on me next, only to shrug off his jacket and wrap it around my shoulders.
His father gives my swooned expression a peep and says, “Enjoy your night,” before leaving us to ourselves.
Sebastian embraces me, his arms surrounding me by my waist. His eyes tell me how happy he is to see me just before his lips do the same. “Let’s go enjoy our night,” he says, breaking our kiss.
. . .
By the time I take the jacket and heels off, Sebastian has already changed to black training pants. I inwardly high five myself at the sight of him sauntering into the living space with nothing but those sporty pants that hang low on his hips, exposing delicious, tanned, taut skin, ornamented by a no less enticing dark trail.
Still in my dress, with Miquel’s earlier comment still hounding my mood every now and then with perturbing little jabs, I tuck my legs below me, nestling on the sitting area’s plush rug, leaning my back to the beige loveseat. I follow Sebastian with my stare as he crouches next to the minibar, absorbedly studying the rich content.
“Hola, Don Julio,” he beams at the bronze liquid’s surf in the clear bottle. “So glad this day is over,” he comments as he settles on the rug by my side. He sets the bottle on the table and reaches for my legs, helping them over his bent ones. He leans closer for his lips to cover mine for a long taste. Easing back, he turns to uncork the bottle of tequila. “I’ve arranged it so that we’ll be able to spend most of tomorrow together.”
“You didn’t have to do that for me. You’re here for work, after all.”
“Didn’t have to . . .” He presses a light kiss on my bare shoulder, bottle still in hand. “Wanted to.”
I snatch the bottle from him, and in a much un-ladylike manner, I take a generous swig that ends with my insides literally catching fire. “I’ll drink to that,” I croak via the body-wide shock my poor intestines go throug
h, recuperating from this toxin disguised as booze. “Can’t wait to spend the day with you,” I say, looking at him from under my lashes, not sure if the heatwave tinting my skin is a product of my admission or the lethal alcohol.
He reclaims possession of the bottle and brings it to his lips. “I’ll drink to that.” He cringes, swallowing. He strokes my legs ever so slowly, thigh to knee. “I think my dad has a crush on you,” he beams and turns my way, radiating his soft expression to me.
I smile to the bottle’s mouth as I bring it toward my lips. “I’ll drink to that.” This time, wisely enough, I make it a wee sip. “Your mom doesn’t seem like my greatest fan, though.”
He shakes his head. “I need a drink for that.” We both grin. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t want to have to give up on you.”
His words pull at my heart. “I’ll drink to that,” I whisper and take another light sip. “I’m here, for everything being here represents.”
“I’ll drink to that.” This time his voice is the one saturated with gentleness. Throwing back another drink, he dips and coaxes my mouth to join the taste. I tilt my head and flutter my eyes closed, dissolving into the feel of our tongues dancing slowly through the burning liquid.
As we slowly pull back, the space around me sways a little. I’m not sure if it’s the effect of the alcohol that I’ve been consuming without a care, or the intimacy we are sharing that makes me say, “I want to visit Barcelona with you.” Out of the “what the hell” blue. “And Paris. Wow, Paris and you . . . You and me in Paris . . .”
“Sure, drinking to that.” He grins. “I want to have you on our yacht in Barcelona and in Paris.” The sinister grin doubles.
My face must be some spectacle, a blazing, joyful one. “Shut your face, you own a yacht?” I blink, and he casually nods. A little smirk pops on his lips, undoubtedly a product of my graceful articulation. “I’ll drink to that.” I take another drink that feels like it might just kill me. The room becomes a blurry blend of soft lights and solid dark objects, which I think might be the furniture, or rocks, or dancing trees. With zero control over my thoughts or mouth, I blurt, “I kissed a girl in college.”
Sebastian’s wicked chuckle trickles through me just before he murmurs, “most deserved shot ever. I’ll drink to that.” And another mouthful is consumed. “I like this buzzed side of you. I want to hear about the full experience, in detail, when you’re actually in control of what is coming out of your mouth.”
“I like you.” I giggle. “Like, I like you. Like a whole lot of crazily like you!” I giggle again, patting his cheek twice.
Watching me heatedly, he swallows another taste.
Next my mouth is swallowed. And my neck. And my collarbone. And in record time, I find myself sprawled with my back to the carpet and with Sebastian between my parted legs. His hands and mouth are all over me. I close my eyes, indulging in his heated, eager attack. The indulging part, though, lasts for exactly two and a half seconds. Everything around me spins, everything inside me turns and everything the person on top of me is doing should stop right now.
“Sebastian, I’m going to be sick,” I manage a feeble whisper to Sebastian’s mouth. What happens next? I have no clue because I pass out cold.
Chapter 18
“Feel This”
Bethany Joy Lenz
I try to straighten my stiff back, but it hurts.
I try to swallow over my dry mouth, but it hurts.
I try to force my eyes open, but it hurts so damn much.
An involuntary groan scrapes from my mouth as I finally manage to carefully flicker one eye open. It takes a sluggish moment for my surroundings to register. I’m in the bathroom, “gracefully” slouched somewhere near the toilet. Feels like my bones have left my body. My eyes drop to run over myself and check for overall damage. Somehow, I’m in a fresh pair of panties and a large tee that ends in a pile of fabric around my hips. Around me, supporting me on either side are masculine legs, and my pillow, as it seems, is a warm body. I shift my head slowly, very slowly because it hurts like a son of a bitch trying to look at Sebastian. To my own shifting, his body behind me starts stretching in lazy motions.
“How do you feel?” he rasps.
“I want to die,” I whisper. His chest lightly shakes in harmony to a soft animated snort. My lips make an attempt at settling into a semblance of a smile. What a task.
Behind me, Sebastian inches some. “Hold on, let me get up,” he says in a low voice and my thudding head and I couldn’t be more grateful for the low decibel. Sebastian towers above me, studying me in assessment. With a ghost of a smile, he bends to hook one arm under my knees and the other under my arm and effortlessly lifts me up. He carries my lethargic body à la romance movie style toward the living area. The only difference is, in romance movies usually the hero doesn’t look like he could use a good night’s sleep and a shave and the heroine is not a total mess.
Carefully, Sebastian sets me onto the sofa, arranging a couple of pillows behind my back. He leaves an airy kiss on my forehead and turns toward the minibar.
I gape at him with utter puzzlement as he tears open a bag of gummy worms and piles a few in the palm of his hand, which in my current state, looks like a psychedelic pile of Jello. With his other, he flings open a small can of soda. Sebastian scoots close to me on the sofa and brings the colorful contents in his hand to my mouth. With a gentle arch of his lips and a motion of his eyebrow, he gestures for me to open my mouth to the mound of sugar.
“What’s that?”
“Hangover remedy.”
To my frown, his dimple appears.
“I don’t think so. I’ll throw up.”
Amused expression intact, his eyes caress my disheveled appearance. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I don’t think there’s anything left in you.”
I got to give it to him, at least he has the decency to try and subordinate his smirk by biting on it.
I bury my face in my hands, a motion that calls for a new wave of thudding to strike at my temples. Hands still covering my cheeks, my eyes trail up to Sebastian’s as I ask, “How bad was it, err, last night?”
“Let’s just say, I’ve never had anyone barf on me after I’ve kissed her. It was, ah . . . unique.” He lightly chuckles.
“God, now I really want to die.”
Another soft chuckle.
“I should pack now,” I murmur. “Our thing will forever be haunted by my barfing – God, this is so embarrassing. You’ll never want to attempt to kiss me again, let alone… I killed our thing.” I stop, shaking my head at what a mess I made of the evening.
“You haven’t killed anything. Anyway, our thing covers so much more than just sex.”
The severity of his statement and the way it comes out takes me aback a little. “Now, open up,” he orders. I open my mouth to about half a dozen gummy worms. “Don’t chew them yet.” And he brings the small Coke can next to my mouth. “Take a generous sip and just let it soak for a while.”
We share a prolonged gaze, him with a need for a shave that just adds an extra roughness to everything that’s already handsomely rough. And me, I must look just lovely. I can’t even imagine the disaster on my face given the make-up I haven’t removed from last night and well, the shenanigans that followed.
In an attempt to make some sort of amends with my appearance, I bring my hand to my hair. In a reflexive, innate motion, I run my palm over the side of my face to brush my hair back and stop short. I lightly pat my head next in several places and my brows furrow. In one hard gulp, I swallow the sickeningly sweet contents of my mouth and my eyes fly to Sebastian. To my confounded stare, he cocks his head. It takes me another whole beat to intellectualize my findings.
“You braided my hair?” I whisper in a voice that brims with emotion.
“Yeah.” It’s his turn to appear perplexed. “After I washed you and helped you into fresh clothes. I didn’t want it to get dirty again . . . you know, get it out of the line of fire.”
He ends his explanation with the sweetest of boyish smiles and a dimple. The hangover has nothing on the effect our short exchange has on me. I tilt forward; cradling his prickled cheeks in my hands and bring my lips to his. It’s a chaste kiss. A chaste kiss full of something new, something that has his name all over it. Overtaken by the iron grip on my heart, needing to make sense of it, I excuse myself to freshen up.
“Hey, do you mind being in a room that’s less illuminated and has a bed?” I ask, returning from a get a grip and a quick face and mouth wash break.
Sebastian beams at me. “The magic potion didn’t help?”
“Oddly enough, it did tone it down a little, but I guess a horizontal position and dimness will help even more.”
We lie facing each other on the bed, our cheeks resting on our palms over a pillow. I made sure the curtains and the door are shielding us from the outside world, leaving the bedroom dimly illuminated.
“You mentioned my mom again yesterday, a few times, actually. Don’t worry about her, okay?” he says, his eyes owning mine.
I sigh. “Well, I guess I’m just not a mom person. Even mine doesn’t think I’m all that.”
Irritation seeps into the stare he has trained on me. “Why would you say something like this?”
My lips curve in disdain. I leave my pillow and shift to rest my head on Sebastian’s abs, fixating my stare at the ceiling. “I mean, my relationship with my mom has always been, um, complicated.” I halt for a moment. His fingers comb through my hair, caressing in light strokes. Something about him, something about how he makes me feel lifts a dam I’ve managed to keep securely locked for a very long time. “So complicated. I’ve always been empathetic toward her; she’s my mom, after all. But, I never could diminish the distance I felt toward her. It’s hard given she’s always unsatisfied with everything I do. I feel like the greatest failure of her life, and it’s not the easiest cross to bear. Frankly, it’s the hardest subject of my life. I guess some of the distance I needed from home was essentially from her.”
Leaving Me Behind Page 17
