by Leylah Attar
“Yes. We were supposed to go out for dinner. I’m so sorry, Jeremy. Jack just showed up out of the blue.”
“Is this a regular thing?” Jack’s stance was one of studied relaxation, but his tone had an edge to it. “Are you two dating?”
“No. Nuh-uh.” Jeremy let out a nervous laugh. “It’s the first time she said yes. But if I’d known you er . . .” He gestured to Jack. “Yeah, no.”
“So where were you planning on taking my girl?”
“Well . . . there’s this nice steak house by the river. It’s very . . .” He glanced from Jack to me and coughed. “It’s very romantic.”
“You made reservations?”
“Uh . . . yes. Yes, I did.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“Pardon me?”
“Here’s the thing, dear chap . . .” Jack tilted his head toward Jeremy and lowered his voice. “Rodel agreed to have dinner with you. And you, being the gentleman you are, decided to take her to a nice restaurant. And I, being the gentleman I am, realize that I showed up unannounced and ruined your plans. Now, I don’t expect the lady to switch things around at the drop of a hat for me. At the same time, I’m not about to let her out of my sight. I’m also very, very hungry. Airplane food does not do it for me. So, I’m suggesting dinner. On me.”
Jeremy blinked. Then he smiled. “Hell, yes. There’s just one thing.” He pointed to his Mini Cooper and looked at me. “You think he’ll fit in there?”
I FELL IN love with Rodel Emerson somewhere between a tea party in the cradle of Africa and a nameless, roadside food stall with plastic chairs and plastic tables. Maybe it was when she asked me to lock her passport in my safe, and I read her name on it.
I was in love with a girl whose middle name was Harris.
My God, I was irrevocably, irreparably in love with her.
Her charm stole insensibly upon me—slowly at first, and then like a ton of bricks. I can’t remember when I started thinking that her eyes were like the smooth river rocks I used to collect as a kid—dark and smoky, with a bright sheen that held me arrested when she laughed, or cried, or got riled up about having an old woman spit on her head. They were always different, always changing, sometimes the color of winter trees at twilight, other times like sunlight shining through Cognac. Her eyelashes were all girl, black and long. They made me believe how the flutter of butterfly’s wings could cause a tsunami.
She had the kind of beauty that came from being disarmingly unaware of how pretty she was. Sometimes, I’d turn around and there she was, on her tiptoes, peering out the window at something beyond the horizon. The lines of her body fell into splendid poses, and once you looked at her, you couldn’t look away. It wasn’t because she was arrestingly beautiful. Wait. I take that back. She was. Hell, the night she came down the stairs, all dressed up, everyone at The Grand Tulip froze. But beyond that, she had an inner simplicity, an artlessness to her speech, her gestures, her smile. People relaxed around her. She saw you. She made you feel like you were someone too.
The first time I knew she was special was when I was heading inside from the fields. I heard her laughter spilling out from the kitchen window and I couldn’t help but smile, even though it was just on the inside. Lily had done that to me. Her joy, her laughter, her giggles, used to make me stop and take notice. No one else had the right to make me feel that way again.
I resented Rodel Emerson that day. I resented her for poking holes in my armor, for making me feel anything but the pain that was running like a drug through my veins. I needed that pain, pure and unadulterated, to keep myself going each day. Without it, my knees would buckle and I’d give in to the darkness that was licking at the edges of my soul. I couldn’t wait to get rid of the pretty girl with the pretty laughter and the pretty ideas about the world.
But Rodel Emerson didn’t leave. And when she did leave, she was still always there—in the wind that ruffled the clothes on the laundry line, in the light that touched the soaring clouds, in the rain, in the moon, in the creak of the empty swing at night. And when I woke up, there she was again, in the dew of mist-kissed blades of grass.
I couldn’t take a single step without colliding into the ghost of her.
So, I got on a plane. And I got into a Mini Cooper. And I got the most outrageously extravagant bottle on the wine list, as I watched her laugh at whatever her dinner date was saying. This was not a Coca-Cola moment. And she knew it. She knew I was taking in long, slow sips of her—all the parts I had missed and kissed and was going to claim when we got home. It didn’t bother me that she’d said yes to this Jeremy fellow, or that he was sitting at the table. I was just relieved that she hadn’t moved on. Hell, even Jeremy could feel the sparks zinging between Rodel and me. That’s just the way it was, the way it would always be with us.
“Thanks for dinner,” said Jeremy as I un-stuffed myself out of his car. “Have a good summer, Rodel.”
“I see what you did there.” She laughed. “You just blocked me out of your entire summer.”
“Yeah. Well, this guy doesn’t leave much room for anyone else, does he? But anytime you guys want to take me out for a steak dinner—”
“Never.” I thumped the roof of his Mini Cooper. “I’m never getting into this sardine can on wheels again.”
“Hey. Take it easy, mate.” His voice rose a few octaves before he drove off.
“Sorry,” I said, as Rodel linked her arm through mine and we walked into the house. “I didn’t mean to leave a dent. Everything is so small around here. The homes, the streets, the cars. I’m used to wide open spaces, not bumping into dainty little things every time I turn around. I feel like a lion in a cag—”
“How could you?” She grabbed my collar and yanked me closer. “You show up unannounced, crash my date, and sit there, eating steak, while a million questions are swirling in my head.”
Her lips were so close, I had to focus really, really hard on what she was saying.
“Rodel.” My eyes swept over the delicately carved bones of her face. “I’ve thought about you every day for the last ten months. You think I didn’t want to shut the world out the moment you opened the door? I was getting out of the taxi when some guy walked up to your place. I’d considered a lot of scenarios. I got on that plane knowing that things might have changed for you. It didn’t stop me though. I had to see for myself. I had to know. But I wasn’t prepared for it. When I saw that guy knocking on your door, I lost it. He could have been anyone. He could have been a stranger, a neighbor, a salesman. But in my head, he was holding you, kissing you, living the part I wanted to live.
“I wanted to punch him, Rodel. I wanted to pound the shit out of him. Then he left. And I still wanted to punch him, for blocking you out of my sight. I took a few minutes to steady myself. I had no right to be jealous. Whatever happened when I saw you—if you had someone in your life, if you didn’t—it didn’t matter. What we had was real. And I wasn’t going back without saying the things I wanted to say to you.
“The second you opened the door, I knew—I knew you were still mine. So when that other guy showed up, I saw no point in ruining your plans. It’s like when you open a bottle of fine wine. You don’t just gulp it down. You take a moment to let it breathe. That’s what dinner was about, Rodel. Letting us breathe. Because seeing you again went straight to my head. And right now, all I want to do is this . . .” My mouth swooped down and captured hers.
The taste of her was an anomaly I’d yearned for—sweet and wicked and gut-twistingly sexy, all rolled up in one. God, I’d missed her soft little mouth. I gathered her closer and deepened the kiss. How was it possible for anyone to feel like this? Like heaven in your arms?
“Remember what I told you?” Her hands snaked around my back.
“Baby, I can’t even remember my name right now.” I nuzzled her neck, losing myself in the scent of her hair.
“I said—” she grabbed a fistful of my hair and tugged my head back, “—if you’re ever in Engla
nd, I’m claiming this.” She squeezed my ass, hard enough that she caught me off guard. “And this.” She ran her tongue over my lips. “And this.” She went where she absolutely should not have gone. All of my restraint left me.
“It’s like that, huh?” I growled, scooping her up into my arms. “In that case, let’s get you somewhere you can stake your claim properly.”
My intention was to carry her upstairs, but there was no way we were getting up there like that. Not on those stairs. I hit my head on the slanted ceiling and ended up shifting her in my arms, which ended up scraping her knee against the wall.
“Fucking small spaces.” I let her down slowly, relishing the feel of her curves against me. “Are you okay?” I rubbed my head while she grinned.
“Come on.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me behind her.
Oh God, that ass.
Her room was exactly like I’d imagined. Cozy and comfortable. Books, pictures, muted walls, wild lavender in a vase on her dresser.
“What’s this?” I picked up the paperback on her bed and opened it to the bookmark.
“Give me that.” She tried to snatch it from me, but I held it away from her as I scanned the page.
“This is some sexy shit, Rodel.” I started reading the scene out loud while she smacked me with her pillow. I held the book with one hand and fended her attacks with the other.
“Stop it!” She was breathing hard, both from the laughter and the flush of her one-sided fluffy combat. She was so beautiful, I stopped just so I could look at her.
“This is what passes for bedtime reading, huh?”
She tugged the book from my grasp and slid it under the bed. She was lying on top of me, her stomach moving in and out with the rise and fall of her lungs.
“I’ve missed you.” She traced the lines of my face, her hair falling like a curtain around me. “You’re like the broken chapter of my favorite story.”
Something fierce trembled inside of me as I tucked one side of her hair behind her ear. How could I explain to her the hunger, the craving, the obsession? The small, sharp memories of her, always at the edge of my brain? I couldn’t. So I kissed her. With all the words I couldn’t form. My arms locked around her and she melted into me like a sigh.
It was soft, butter-smooth love. Heat rising under our skin. Clothes undone. A string of kisses on her breast. Her legs sliding against mine. The rapture of re-learning her curves. The indescribable fullness of holding her, of watching her body respond to the sensations I was making her feel.
I was hungry for her and hungry to pleasure her. With my hands and my lips and my tongue. I loved the way she came—body arched, mouth open, warm flesh quivering under my touch. Each time she reached her peak, I burned a little more, until the desire to possess raged through my blood like an inferno. There was a brief tear of a foil wrapper, and then I sank into her—deeply, completely.
God. The feel of her body opening up to me, molding around me like a warm, wet glove. Her tongue in my mouth. The way her hands clutched me. The way her leg wrapped around my hip. I bit her shoulder as the animal in me rose. And then it was all primal passion, nothing but the sound of her soft moans. My release should have been quick, but I held on, not wanting it to end. Being inside of her was like a drug. Being inside of her was pure euphoria. I captured the gasp that escaped her as her body stiffened. She was coming again.
“Yes,” I growled as she writhed under me. “Fuck, yes.” And then I gave in to the explosion of fiery sensations that overtook me, rocking me to the core.
In the aftermath, she slipped her leg between mine and put her head on my chest. I could feel her eyelashes against my skin every time she blinked. It was the tiniest flutter—the softest sensation—but it soothed the hot, brimming ache her absence had left. A wave of completeness washed over me as slowly, gradually, she closed her eyes and fell asleep in my arms.
The light from outside slipped through the blinds and made patterns on the wall. The night was different, so different from the farm. The sound of a lone, passing car, the muted conversations of people walking by, leaves slapping on the windowpane. My toes were hanging off her tiny bed. My head was resting on a ruffled, floral-print pillow. Bobby pins lay scattered on the floor. Perfume and lotion and little jars sat on the dresser. I smiled and drew Rodel closer. She nuzzled into me with a sigh of pleasure.
I was miles from home, but I felt exactly like I belonged.
I WOKE UP early the next morning. For a few long, languid moments, I lay in bed enjoying the warmth of the woman sleeping beside me. My eyes roved over her brow, the small hairs that blended into her hairline, the pink, soft cushion of her lips. I placed the tip of my little finger in the groove between her nose and upper lip. The philtrum. I had looked it up. It was mine. It fit me perfectly. Just like the rest of her. Every part of me was made to fit every part of her.
My desire stirred, hot and heavy, under the covers. I wanted her with a craving that knew no depth. She was beautiful and devastating. Just like love should be. I could spend forever in the corners of her mind and never get bored. I could kiss her lips every morning and still not learn all the flavors of her soul. I was gone for this girl—so far gone that it terrified me.
I pulled the comforter over her and slipped out of bed, smiling as she snuggled deeper. We had woken up and gone at it again. And then again. I had exhausted her. In the best possible way.
Take that, I said to the naughty paperback lying on the floor. Then I paused and flipped through it. Hmm. Maybe we can do this tonight. No. This. This is even hotter. Holy fuck.
When Rodel came downstairs, I was on the couch, feet propped up, eyeballs deep in a romance novel.
“Really?” She crawled on top of me and kissed me. “I don’t know which I find sexier. You reading this book or the morning stubble on your face.” Her fingers traced my jawline. “I’m still not used to seeing you without the beard.”
“Does it feel different when I do this?” I pulled her in and reclaimed her lips.
“Wait!” She rescued the book getting crushed between us. “Oh. My. God. Did you bend the corners of my book?” She sat back on her heels and flipped through it.
“Just the parts I think we should re-enact.”
“Jack.” She shook her head in woe. “You never, ever fold a corner over in a book.”
“You’re so hot when you go all book-nerd on me.” Her nightshirt was riding high on her thighs, her lips were pouty, and she was cradling the book as if it were a hurt child. “Do you know—” I flipped her over so she was on all fours, her nose lodged in the folds of the novel “—I have sex with you a lot. In my head. Just like this.” I squeezed her sweet ass and rubbed my throbbing shaft over her panties. “Read to me, Rodel. Read to me while I ride you.” I pushed the fabric of her panties aside and slipped my finger inside of her. She let out a muffled groan.
“Are you burying your face in that book? Rodel.” I tsked. “You never, ever manhandle a book like that. This sexy ass, yes.” I slapped her full, round cheek. “But the book . . .” I grabbed her hair and tugged so she was looking down at the pages before her. “Read it, Rodel. Unless you want me to stop?” I slid another finger inside her and nipped the back of her neck.
Her voice quivered as she started reading the passages aloud. She kept losing track. I kept reminding her. A little yank, a little spank, to keep her head in the game. Her body squirmed against mine, engulfing my senses, engorging my passion, until the air was thick with hot, heated need.
She opened her mouth to say something, but as I thrust into her, the book fell away and the only word that escaped her was: “Unghhh.” It was a throaty, unintelligible whisper that was mind-blowingly hotter than all the erotic words I’d made her read.
SUNDAY BRUNCH WITH Rodel, in her kitchen—one that I’d tried to envision many times over the long, lonely months without her. Her kitchen. Her bathroom. What she came home to. What kind of plates she used. What she saw outside her window. Piece by piece, m
y mind gathered all the little, missing bits like a scavenger on a treasure hunt.
We sat around the weathered island that doubled as her dining table. The paint had rubbed off around its corners and edges. Like everything else, it looked homey and lived-in. The overhead beams, the angled ceilings, the worn patina of the walls—they all took on a soft, bright hue as sunshine streamed in through the windows.
Rodel poured herself a cup of coffee and stirred two heaping teaspoons of sugar into it. She padded over to the refrigerator, stuck her head inside, and began moving things around.
God, did she have any idea what she looked like, bent over like that?
“No Coca-Cola.” She straightened and turned around. “Orange juice?”
I grinned. A part of me wanted to tell her to keep looking. “Orange juice is fine.” It made me ridiculously happy that she remembered what I liked to drink in the morning.
She took a sip of her coffee and waltzed over to the cabinet to get me a glass. She was pouring the juice when I took the carton from her and set it on the counter. I drew her to me so we were eye to eye, her standing between my legs, as I sat on the stool.
“Good morning, Miss Emerson.” I kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. I couldn’t get enough of her. I had lived far too many days and nights without the feel of her.
“It’s past noon now.” She laughed. “Good afternoon, Mr. Warden.”
Her warm, soft lips were intoxicating, but when she swirled her tongue inside, exploring the recesses of my mouth, desire stirred between my legs. But only for a moment, because something else hit me. I reared my head back and frowned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do that again. Kiss me.”
“Yes, sir.” She grinned and reclaimed my lips, her arms looping around my neck as she kissed me, slow and deep.
“That’s weird,” I said. “I’m not gagging.”
“I should hope not.” Her eyebrows arched up. “You’re surprised my kisses aren’t making you gag?”
