by Sue Lyndon
“How old are you, Melissa?” It wasn’t the most polite question, but the need to know her age trumped good manners.
“I’ll be twenty-two next month.”
The air was knocked from his chest. Good Lord. She was indeed a young thing at twenty-one. He opened his mouth to ask her another question when she surprised him with a bold question of her own.
“And how old are you, John?”
He didn’t want to tell her. Even worse, he wanted to lie about his age and make it closer to hers. And yet, their age difference served to remind him of her probable lack of experience, her profound innocence, and his groin tightened with desire. “I’m thirty-six.”
She sat back in her seat, an impish smile crossing her face. “My my. That’s quite old.” She paused and looked at the ceiling, her lips moving as she mouthed thirty-six in a whisper. Then she met his eyes with a smirk that was almost bratty. “Don’t folks your age typically go out for the early bird special?”
John Holden wasn’t often stunned speechless, but he couldn’t think of a reply as he stared at the young lady who’d just made a joke and called him old all in one breath. She’d been afraid of him at first, right after the accident when she feared he’d be angry over the fender bender. But now that she’d begun to trust him, her sense of humor was coming out. He liked it. He liked her. She was rich and likely very spoiled, but she wasn’t so snobby that she couldn’t enjoy a conversation and have dinner with a stranger born and raised in the hills of West Virginia.
Finally, a retort came to his mind.
“Aren’t all good little girls your age supposed to be tucked into bed at this hour?”
Chapter Two
Melissa had never flirted with a man so openly before, and an older man at that. Well, thirty-six wasn’t really that old, but she’d enjoyed his shocked expression when she’d joked about his age. Now he was joking around about her age, and when he called her little girl, a heated spasm rocked her core, making her squirm in her seat. She looked at him, her lips slightly parted, as she tried to formulate a suitable response.
She twirled her hair around one finger. “Well then, I guess that means I’m a very bad little girl,” she said, right as he took a sip of tea.
His face reddened and he started coughing. He covered his mouth and turned as he got the outburst under control. Once he managed a few deep breaths, he regarded her accusingly. “You waited to say that right when I was taking a drink on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.”
The waitress appeared and placed two steaming plates on the table. Melissa’s mouth watered as she looked at the gravy covered sandwich and fries. She pressed her lips together, hoping John hadn’t witnessed her drooling. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and that had been nothing more than a cup of coffee and a granola bar she’d grabbed at a convenience store.
“Can I get ya’ll anything else?”
“No thanks. We’re fine,” John said, winking at the older woman.
Melissa thought John had a smooth manner about him. His southern drawl and easy-going nature drew her in. When he smiled, a slight dimple on his left cheek appeared, and she found it charming. Yes, he was a stranger, but he was a nice stranger, the nicest person she’d met in a long time. There was no harm in being friendly and having a pleasant dinner with him before she continued south.
She forked a bit of the sandwich into her mouth and had to stifle a groan of pleasure.
“Are you in college, Melissa?”
“I just graduated from NYU.”
“Major?”
“Art History,” she answered, sadness panging in her chest. She’d wanted to go to an art institute, but her parents had been against it and insisted she attend NYU. “It’s not like you’re going to work anyway since you’ll be marrying Steven after graduation. But you’ll need a four year degree so no one thinks you’re a ninny,” her mother had said.
“Art History,” John repeated, looking thoughtful. “Are you planning to go into teaching? Or work in a museum?”
She kept her face neutral, or tried to at least, as she thought of a reply. Her handsome dinner date didn’t know it, but he was entering dangerous territory. She hadn’t even wanted to major in Art History, but she’d settled on it after her parents—and Steven—wore her down. The plan had always been for her to get a four year degree in something. The women in her family always did, just for the sake of getting a degree and looking smart, but upon graduation they became nothing more than ladies-who-lunch. She’d mentioned going back to school to Steven recently, and he hadn’t even listened to her. She loved creating things, mostly painting, and wanted to enroll in an art institute now that she was out from under her parents’ thumb, not get a Master’s Degree as he’d wrongly assumed.
“Hey, why so sad?” John asked, drawing her from her thoughts.
She flushed, upset she hadn’t succeeded in keeping the sadness from her face. She really didn’t want John’s pity. Poor little rich girl, he’d probably think. Everyone thought it the moment she complained about anything, especially the friends she’d made in college who didn’t come from money. “It’s nothing.” She forced a smile. “I haven’t found a job yet.”
“What kind of job are you looking for?” Interest lit in his gaze.
“Why do you ask so many questions?” she snapped.
He rose an eyebrow at her in a scolding manner, and his stern expression made her squirm and feel instantly repentant for her tone. “I-I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. My life is a little complicated right now. I’m sort of trying to figure out the next step.”
He leaned back, his face relaxing. A slight smile twisted his lips, and her attention was once again drawn to that damn gorgeous dimple on his left cheek. God, he was handsome. And rugged. Nothing like the men from Westchester. His worn jeans, boots, and button down blue shirt gave him a casual, country appearance that appealed to her greatly.
“I can tell you’ve been crying, darlin’. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
She shook her head. “No. Nothing like that.” She stared into his eyes, wondering if she could trust him, wondering if it mattered if she spilled her troubles at his feet, just to get them off her chest. Maybe then some of the worry darkening her mood would lift. “Promise you won’t judge me?”
“I promise.”
She sighed. What the hell. “I was engaged to be married in about six months. Two nights ago I caught my husband-to-be with three prostitutes. We’ve been engaged for years, since shortly after high school, and the plan was that we’d always get married and have a big fancy wedding after I finished college. We’d just bought a house together, and I caught him in our bedroom with all three of those girls. So I packed a suitcase, hit him in the balls, and left.”
“You kicked him in the balls?”
“He pissed me off, and he was standing in my way. Technically I didn’t kick him in the balls, I swung my suitcase into his crotch. Knocked him on the floor too,” she said with pride as she recalled the pain twisting Steven’s face before she walked off.
“Remind me to never piss you off.”
She laughed and took a sip of tea. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and even though she hadn’t revealed much to John, she still felt a thousand times better for talking about it. Her habit of bottling up her troubles often left her stomach in knots and her head pounding, but a simple conversation with him left her feeling lighter, even happier, if she could claim any happiness at all right now.
“Does your family know where you are?”
“I called my parents. I told them what happened and said I needed to get out of New York for a while. Steven has already been by their house several times looking for me. He’s harassing my friends too, but none of them know where I’m headed.”
“Where are you headed?”
She shrugged. “Florida, I guess. My parents have a house on Rosemary Beach. I thought I’d stay there for a while. If I’m going
to avoid my problems, I might as well do it with sand between my toes.” A thrill jolted through her as he continued to maintain her gaze, not once blinking, his intense stare holding her captive. She forced in several deep, slow breaths and decided to redirect the conversation. “It’s your turn now. Tell me about you. Where do you practice medicine?”
“I own and operate a nonprofit called House Call Hope. Sometimes other doctors, including two of my cousins, come to volunteer, but most of the time it’s just me here in the hills. A lot of the people around here, especially those who live outside of town, don’t have any transportation. So I spend Mondays through Thursdays making house calls, and on Fridays I see patients in a small office I keep here in town.”
She listened in awe as he went on to describe his nonprofit and the type of people he usually helped. As he described the difficult winter months and putting chains on his truck tires to visit patients high up in the mountains, her respect for him deepened. He explained that he’d grown up outside of town in the same house he lived in today. His father was also a doctor and had worked at the nearest hospital located an hour away, but he’d eventually set up a small practice in town to help the locals, the very office that John saw patients in today. While anyone could show up at the hospital for treatment, even if they didn’t have insurance, finding the transportation for the hour long trip was often too great a hindrance.
“Does your father still live around here and practice medicine?”
Sadness flickered in John’s dark brown eyes. “No, he’s not in good health. He lives in an assisted living community with my mother outside of Charleston.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” She didn’t know what else to say, so she reached across the table and squeezed his hand briefly, not meeting his eyes as she did so.
“What do your parents do?”
Again, the intensity of his stare startled her when she met his gaze. No one had ever focused on her like that before, as if nothing else in the world mattered. His demeanor made her nervous and filled her with warmth at the same time. “You might have heard of my family. My grandfather founded Bennington Technologies, and my father is the CEO of the company now. My mother has never worked a day in her life, although she does run several charity organizations.”
“I’ve heard of your father’s company. It’s in the news now and then. Any siblings?”
Melissa almost groaned at his question. “Um, yes, one older sister. You might have heard of her too. She had a reality TV show a few years back.” She grimaced, not wanting to tell him the name of the show but knowing he’d ask. Everyone did. “It was called Single, White, Rich Girl.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was, but yeah, that was my sister. She’s been trying to land another reality show ever since hers was cancelled, and my parents are forever trying to get her into therapy. As you can imagine, they weren’t pleased with the subject matter of the show.” Melissa had been in primary school during the show’s run, and her parents’ attempt to shield her from the fanfare had proved impossible. She’d watched a few episodes at a friend’s house, enough to realize her sister was spiraling out of control, her life revolving around partying and dating sleazy guys that were only interested in her money and her looks. The popularity of the show persisted in reruns, and the tabloids still ran the occasional story about their family, including Steven once news of their engagement broke.
“I remember that show. I confess I never watched it, but I remember the commercials. So, you don’t want to be a reality TV show star?” he asked teasingly.
“Absolutely not. I love painting and sculpting. They’re my two favorite things to do, and I’d originally wanted to go to an art institute for formal training, but my parents insisted I get a regular, four year degree. They begged, pleaded, and threatened until I relented. If my sister wasn’t such a dark splotch on their reputation, I think they wouldn’t have minded so much. Anyway, I always thought I could go back to school for what I wanted, after I married Steven.”
“But? I’m sensing Steven wasn’t very supportive of your dreams.”
“Steven never even paid attention enough to know what my dreams were. He always referred to my paintings as my little drawings, and he got angry when I sculpted in the house because he doesn’t like the smell of clay.”
“I’m glad you left him, Melissa. You strike me as a very strong woman that can do anything you set your mind to.”
His compliment made her heart dance and sent heated pulses throughout her body. She lowered her head, unable to prevent a blush from spreading up her neck and across her face. “Thanks, John. You’re sweet.”
*
Sweet. She’d just called him sweet. If she had any notion of the depraved thoughts currently running through his head, she wouldn’t have called him sweet, or even nice. He wanted to take her home and peel that blue dress off her slender, smooth body. He wanted to spank her little bottom while she squirmed over his lap and begged for mercy.
After he’d leveled a stern look on her for snapping at him, her reaction to his subtle dominance hadn’t gone unnoticed. Her eyes had grown wide, she’d flushed, and she’d lowered her head and apologized. During that exchange, his cock had been rock hard and pressing painfully against his pants. Maybe his initial impression of her was wrong. Maybe she was exactly the type of girl for him, her age and inexperience be damned.
Amy Lou cleared their plates and hurried back with a big slice of chocolate cream pie.
“Oh my. That’s huge. Do you normally eat one of these all by yourself?” Melissa stared down at the dessert and picked up a fork.
“I do. But I’d much rather share a slice with a pretty girl.” He reached across the table and his hand caressed the back of hers for a moment, then he gently pried the fork from her and scooped up a bit of the chocolate cream. “Here.” He held the fork in front of her lips. “Taste it.”
When her lips parted, she sucked in a shaky breath before leaning forward to accept the bite of pie, her tongue flicking out before her lips closed over the end of the fork. Her head tilted to the side and she sat back, her eyes fluttering shut as she gave a pleasurable moan that sent a vibration straight to his cock.
Though he wanted to hand feed her the whole pie, he passed the fork back to her, lest he scare her off. He had to remind himself they’d met less than an hour ago. It was too bad she’d continue on her way after dinner. Glancing at the dark circles rimming her eyes, he worried she wasn’t fit to drive much farther tonight. The nearest hotel was over an hour away, and given that her GPS had lost signal several times on the way here, there was no telling if she’d actually make it back to civilization. He could give her directions, but he hoped it didn’t come to that. When she covered a yawn and blinked sleepily, his concern for her deepened.
He ate his share of the pie, his gaze riveted on her the whole time. By the time she took the last bite, she’d yawned over a dozen times and seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes open.
“You’re too tired to drive, Melissa.”
“I’m fine. Really. I’ll ask the waitress for a coffee to go.”
Stubborn girl. He didn’t want to come off as a creep trying to lure her into a trap, but he couldn’t in good conscience let her drive off into the night. As tired as she was, even a large cup of dark roast wouldn’t get her very far.
“Look, Melissa, I know we just met, but I promise you can trust me. I’m worried for your safety and I don’t like the idea of you driving off and looking for a hotel when you’re this tired. You are more than welcome to stay the night at my house, get a good night’s sleep, and then be on your way tomorrow.” After he said it, his chest constricted at the thought of her leaving tomorrow. “I always have several guest rooms prepared just in case another doctor arrives to volunteer their time.”
She put a hand up and shook her head quickly, her wavy hair gliding over her shoulders with her movements. “Thank you, but I must be on my way.” The regret in her
eyes told him she wanted to say yes, but her pride and possibly her fear of him kept her from accepting his hospitality.
“I promise I don’t bite.” He winked at her, pulled out his wallet, and extracted his drivers’ license. He slid it across the table to her. “That’s me. My full name and address. Call or text a friend of yours right now and let them know where you’ll be tonight. I want you to feel safe with me, Melissa.”
She peered up at him, her eyebrows bunching together. “I don’t know, John.” She yawned again and an angry look stole across her face, as if she were mad at herself for being so exhausted. She sighed deeply and fished her phone out of her purse. “Do you promise you’re not an ax murderer?”
“I promise.” He watched her type in a text message. “Who are you contacting?”
“My friend Francine from college.” She finished sending the text and stuck her phone back in her purse. “There. All set.”
When Amy Lou brought the check, Melissa snatched it off the table before he could reach it. After she paid, he guided her outside, the gravel crunching under their feet as they approached their cars. The locusts and crickets competed in the night, their chorus blaring for the stars sparkling above. The air was humid, and thunder rumbled in the distance. They paused at the door of Melissa’s car, and the urge to cup her pretty face in his hands and kiss her soundly overcame him. But damn. If he kissed her now, she’d probably peel out of the parking lot and drive all the way to Westchester before she stayed with him.
“Next time, I’m buying you dinner,” he said, opening her door. She might be on her way to Florida tomorrow, but damn if he wouldn’t try to tempt her into staying longer. The air seemed to crackle with tension when she was around, and he wanted to get to know her better. “I’m a short mile outside of town. Just follow me.” He shut her door after she nodded.
