By the time he came back out, I had another theory about him, but I wanted to clarify something.
“You said visitors. With an s. There’s been more than one harasser?”
“Over the years. Even when I was a teenager, I could tell that girls liked me for my looks. I used to play outside with other kids and at one point, things changed.”
I let that percolate. What kind of upbringing did this man have? I couldn’t imagine it.
“And you didn’t like it?”
“I didn’t like the girls who liked me.”
I mulled that over. I’d told him I liked him and he hadn’t replied.
“So, the dilapidated thing is also a cover, though, right? You like going unnoticed.”
I was sure he’d deny it, but he didn’t. No reply felt like acquiescence. I didn’t push it.
After a couple sips, I asked, “Are you registered to vote?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He smiled. “You’ll win.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
“It feels like cheating, though.”
His head swiveled so he faced me. It put us close, so close our breaths mingled.
“What does?”
“You getting all those students to help.”
“You think your opponent doesn’t have plenty of help?”
“But I didn’t recruit them! I didn’t design those flyers or think of those tag lines or any of the things you did for my—”
Zach’s hand on my arm stopped me. I couldn’t take my eyes off his skin touching mine. And, good God, it was better than I’d imagined. Or worse. Ten times worse—a hundred. The shock of that connection was electric. I could barely breathe.
He leaned in farther. “You don’t have to do all the things, Veronica. It’s a campaign. It doesn’t have to be just one person, running herself ragged for the sake of the people. Now you’ve got a team. Things are more even.”
I heard him—the words, at least—but the meaning never quite made it to my brain. It stayed suspended there between us as my body, and my brain, focused on his warm touch and his warm breath and the smell of him so near—beer and detergent with a hint of sweat.
He went on. “All I’ve done is volunteer my time—”
I woke up to what he was saying. “Those signs and flyers cost money, too!”
“—and made a small, in-kind donation to a cause that I deem worthwhile. That’s all.”
It made sense, but I still didn’t quite understand the why of it.
He gave my arm a final squeeze and let go. I told myself it was a relief not to have that contact anymore and covered up its loss with a big, long swig.
“Thank you,” I finally said.
“You’re welcome.” He smiled and held out his beer. “Here’s to winning.”
“Here’s to winning.” I tapped my bottle against his. After a sip, I turned to the yard. “Sun’s going down.”
“I can tell.”
“You can tell it’s darker?”
“No. It’s always bright for me. All the time. But I feel the warmth ebbing. Also, the birds. They change at this time of day.”
I cocked my head, closed my eyes, relaxed my shoulders, and listened. It took about ten seconds for the world to change. Kids squealed a few doors over, someone mowed their lawn, a car or two drove by and doors slammed. Closer, a breeze danced through the trees, while birds chirped. If you could even call it chirps. There were so many sounds, like separate, individual voices, as different as songs on the radio.
“You listening?” He sounded a little breathless, as if my answer mattered.
“Yes.”
“Your eyes closed?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t explain this, ’cause I just met you and, honestly, this has never happened before, but…” I heard him swallow, and in a voice filled with what might have been awe, he said, “I want to kiss you.”
All the blood in my body rushed to my skin. If he could see me, he’d know that I was bright red.
I told him. “I’m blushing.”
“Is it a good blush or a bad blush?” He asked and I wanted to, I don’t know. Squeeze him? Jump him? Press my face to his chest and laugh.
“It’s a good blush,” I finally managed to whisper, just as a stronger gust of wind came through. It sounded like rain in the trees and felt like a solid touch. Goose bumps popped up across my body, my nipples hardened, and I couldn’t last another second without tasting him. Ignoring every one of my parents’ warnings and all the things that my grandmother taught me, I said, “Do it. Kiss me.”
I imagined—God, I don’t know—hesitation? Shyness? Whatever I’d thought I’d get from him was all wrong. My eyes were still closed when he reached out and cradled my head with one big, rough hand. It was a light touch, but confident.
I turned and, before considering what I meant to do, I kissed the inner curve of his palm.
“This is weird,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
I puffed out a half laugh against his skin. “Yeah.”
“Has this ever happened to you before?”
“You mean the part where I knock on a stranger’s door and suddenly I’m kissing him in his backyard?” I said the words into the cradle of his callused hand. “No. What about you?”
“Can’t say that it has.” His other hand came to frame my face. “Is this okay?”
“It’s good.”
“Will you…will you tell me if I’m doing it wrong?” he asked.
My eyes popped open.
CHAPTER 4
I was running for city council in less than a month—that was a big enough deal on its own. But now, oh my God, the heartbreakingly hot, blind finance/coder/inventor guru I’d developed a massive crush on was a virgin?
I must have heard wrong. Or misunderstood.
I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t have to.
“I shouldn’t have done that, should I?” Zach asked.
“Um, what?” Maybe if I acted like I didn’t follow and we didn’t delve too deep, we could pretend he’d never said anything.
“Told you that. At this point.”
“You didn’t tell me anything.”
“I sort of did.” He pulled back.
And now, he was going to force me to acknowledge it. We maybe could have ignored it, before, acted like he was just checking in, making sure I was happy, but bringing it out into the light put it irrevocably there.
I gave up. “You’ve never done this before.”
“No.”
“So, you mean, um, sex.” I was breathing hard now, full of nerves. “Or other things?”
“All of it.”
“Kissing?” The word came out a little high and whiny. Like, please just give me this one thing.
“Never.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Oh.” I’d never dated anyone younger than me. Was this even dating? Oh, God, what was I even doing here?
He must have gone on one date in life? Or hired a prostitute at the very least? Why hadn’t he just done that?
“You want to do this with me?”
“Only if it’s what you want.”
Was it? Good God, was I ready to introduce a man to…to…the pleasures of the flesh or whatever you wanted to call it? I’d only just met him.
“Why me?” I asked, wondering, for all the world, what he saw, or, rather, didn’t see in me.
“I don’t know. I can’t explain it, but there’s something, right? I mean, I’m not saying I haven’t been attracted to people before. I have. I just haven’t followed through on it.”
“But now you want to?”
“Do you let every man you’re attracted to kiss you?”
“No,” I conceded after a moment.
“Why would you have let me do it?”
He was talking about it in the past now, like the opportunity was gone and I almost couldn’t co
ncentrate on what he was saying because I didn’t not want to do it. I wanted to!
“What is it about me or this or us that made you decide you’d be okay with it after so little time?” he went on. “I can’t be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.”
That was debatable, but I let it pass.
“But there’s another thing here, right? Like chemistry or whatever. And I can’t—”
I wanted to hear the rest. I did, but I also wanted to make sure I got that kiss. He called it chemistry, but it felt like magic, and I wasn’t sure I’d get another chance. I leaned in and stopped him with my mouth.
His was open when I got there, which made everything immediately close and intimate. I swiped my lips across his, and he stilled. I felt him waiting and closed my eyes. Another swipe caused his breath to catch, which I loved. That tiny jolt of power was addictive and I wanted it again.
When I pursed my lips for a real kiss, he was ready, waiting, still, but breathing hard. Oh God, he was smelling me, I thought. I did the same, breathed him in. His man smell, that little touch of beer, something like soap behind it. I inhaled again and made a needy little noise, because he was right. Only pure chemistry could smell this good.
The biggest surprise might have been how good he was at this. How did he know that I’d like that little nibble of my lip or how right it felt when he slipped one of his hands into my hair to hold me still like that? His nose caressed the side of mine up and then down the other way before his mouth met mine in what was the most perfect, proper kiss I’d ever had.
Lips melding so smoothly, it felt rehearsed, breaths in sync, tongues—God, his tongue was so soft, against mine. The contrast to the ridiculously muscular shoulders beneath my hands made me crazy.
I didn’t even remember moving or putting my hands there. I didn’t know how we’d scooted close in our chairs, but suddenly, it wasn’t close enough—his “Come here” let me know that—so I stood, never releasing his shoulders or his mouth, and slid right onto his lap. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His grunt turned into a long, low moan as his hands tightened on me—waist first, then down to palm my bottom, shifting me until I felt him, right there, his desire explicit beneath me.
I opened my eyes and pulled far enough away to hover above him, our noses almost touching.
“You like kissing?” I asked.
He made an asthmatic sound, which morphed into a laugh. “Jesus, woman. I had no idea.”
Slowly, as I let my forehead fall just enough to lean on his, the outside world returned on a wave of honeysuckle-scented air. It was dark out, which surprised me. How long had we sat here doing this?
“I didn’t either,” I managed, out of breath. “I didn’t know kissing could be like this.”
“Really?” Was that pride in his voice? It should be.
“It was the most sensual kiss I’ve ever experienced. Like, I don’t know, like jumping into a vat of you instead of just touching faces.”
His body shook with laughter and I leaned into it like I’d wanted to do earlier—before we’d touched. I wrapped my arms around his sturdy middle and soaked in his happy sounds, keenly aware of how different this was from every other sexual encounter I’d ever had. It was closer, deeper, more meaningful—at least for me.
That thought had me pulling back, with the sudden, urgent need to define this.
“What…” I shifted farther away and his hands landed on my hips, steadying me in a way that I wanted more of. Although I shouldn’t. I’d had almost no time with this man. This was pure madness. “What are…” I puffed out a frustrated breath and got off him entirely, immediately missing the warmth and solidity of his body around mine. “We should…go on a date.”
“Go out, you mean?” He sounded horrified.
“It doesn’t have to be a big deal. And it would be on me, since I asked, it’s just—”
“I can’t do that.”
I didn’t immediately notice that he was breathing hard.
“Okay.”
“Maybe we could work up to it,” he conceded.
I laughed outright and plunked into my chair. “We’re gonna do it backwards, then? Is that the plan? Start with kissing and, after we get past those parts, we’ll get to know each other?”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t go out. That’s all.”
“Okay.”
“I could make you dinner, though.”
“Really?”
“Would that be close enough to a date for you?”
“I’d like that.” I thought of something. “Your fridge was pretty full for someone who doesn’t go out.”
“You have heard of the internet, right, Ms. Cruz?”
“Right.”
“You eat meat?”
I nodded before catching myself.
“I do.”
“You free tonight?”
“I should really head back out. I haven’t even been to Southwood yet.”
“It’s late. And Southwood’s on the other side of town.”
If I caught a bus right away, I could probably hit a few houses. Maybe.
“Let me cook you dinner.”
I really, really didn’t want to go anywhere right now.
I sucked in a long, shaky breath. “I guess I could do Southwood tomorrow.”
Yeah. I liked this guy. A lot. Like a lot a lot.
He made me a pork chop, and I drank another beer and forgot all about my responsibilities beyond the enclosed haven of his house. We talked late into the night, I complained about his lack of lamps, and he let me choose new ones right there, on his cell phone. I was a little shocked when he ordered them—they were expensive—but he pointed out that he didn’t have much to spend money on, so I didn’t worry.
“Tell me more about this Horde thing,” I said, late in the evening.
“It’s just a nickname.”
“Those people sounded awestruck by you.”
“I have no idea why.”
“Weird.”
He did a funny little laugh. “Yeah, weird.”
We kissed again at his door, just to prove that the first time wasn’t a fluke. It wasn’t.
I wanted to take the bus home, but he insisted on calling a car through an app on his special watch.
I’d been gone about four minutes when he texted.
You home yet?
No! I’m still on your block. You must miss me.
I do.
I giggled and blushed in the back of that Prius. Good God, what was happening to me?
I take it you don’t know about playing hard to get.
I could envision his face when I read the next text.
You said earlier we were doing this all wrong. Wrong seems to work for us, so why stop now?
I went to bed that night running the whole thing over and over in my head. Not just the way he’d touched me, but things I didn’t know about him, the little mysteries yet to uncover.
The next couple weeks went by in a blur. We texted and he invited me back for dinner. I spent more evenings there than not and every time had that same suspended magic. Reality stayed outside, left behind on his front porch. In his house and out on his oasis of a patio, we talked and laughed and learned each other’s little sounds by heart.
At least some of the sounds; the intimate sounds of want and semi-satisfaction, although not the ones of full-on relief.
I’d once dated a man for five months before having sex with him, but if Zach Hubler had broached the subject at all, I would have jumped him right then and there, no hesitation at all.
That’s probably why I bought condoms somewhere around our twelfth date. I also insisted on picking up pizza, which sounded generous, but fell more into the selfish category when I admitted to myself that I wanted less time in the kitchen and more on his living room sofa.
He answered the door smelling like he’d just gotten out of the shower and looking freshly shaved and handsome.
&nb
sp; His “Hey” was accompanied by a smile that I could have licked it was so lovely. In fact—
The condoms and pizza dropped to the floor with a plastic bag rustle and a thud, echoed by the door that I kicked shut behind me and I was in his arms. God, when had a man made me moan like this just with a kiss?
Never.
One big, warm hand cradled the back of my head and the other landed on my waist before migrating south to cup my bottom. My hands framed his face, pulling him toward me. I couldn’t get enough. I had to have more.
Apparently, I voiced that, because he spun us, leaned me up against the door and pressed his body into mine. Like two parts of a well-oiled machine, we moved together, like we’d been doing this for years. His mouth working in perfect concert with mine, his hands lifted me while my legs wrapped around his waist.
He was hard and ready and I wanted him. I wanted this, now.
“Is this good?”
“It’s good,” I said, out of breath and eager.
“What should I…”
His hips moved against mine with a rhythm that suited me perfectly and, if I just closed my eyes, I could picture how much better this could be.
“I want you in me.”
He stilled, his breath the only sound in the room. Possibly the entire world.
“I don’t…” Oh, God, he didn’t want to. He was a virgin and this was too much. Of course it was! I shouldn’t have pushed, I should have—
“I don’t know how to do this. I mean…” He leaned back, giving me a look at our bodies, entwined below the belt, above it, his biceps and shoulders were tense from holding me up.
“I guess this position isn’t too practical.” I let out a long, slow exhalation as he let my legs go and I slid to the floor. One of my feet rustled the pharmacy bag as it landed. “I bought condoms.”
“Yeah? Does that mean you really want to? It’s not just the heat of the moment talking?”
“No. I mean, no, it’s not the heat of the moment. Although, yes, I wouldn’t talk like that other times. I’m not that…” I shook my head and huffed out a self-deprecating sound, struggling for the right word.
“Brazen?” he supplied, and I laughed in earnest.
“Exactly. I usually skirt around the issue of sex. Until it just kind of happens.”
Rogue Desire: A Romance Anthology (The Rogue Series) Page 4
