by T. I. Lowe
“Pick up your plate,” I say and begin wiping the surface. “This room is never used, so I apologize for the dust.” Once the table is clean, I toss the cloth on top of the buffet table and sit down with my plate.
“No worries. My family is big on gathering around the table to share a meal. You don’t mind sitting in here do you?”
“I’ll live through it,” I mumble before slicing into the tender fillet and finding it to be a perfect medium rare. “Mmm. This is delicious,” I comment around a mouthful.
Beck nods his agreement while chewing. “Here. You gotta try this potato.” He reaches his fork with the deep-orange vegetable perched on the end toward my lips, but I shake my head.
“I veer away from carbs.”
“That’s a good rule of thumb for processed carbs, but your body needs natural carbs. It’s all about balance.” He keeps the fork close to my lips.
“No thanks.” As soon as thanks is out of my mouth the potato goes in. “You’re so bossy!” I garble out around the bite. Dang, that’s sweet and delicious and pairs well with the savory steak. My stomach moans in appreciation for receiving its first real meal in quite a while.
“It’s a birthright. I’m the oldest. Can’t help it.” His lips curl into a smug smile before he takes another bite.
Realizing I’ve not offered him anything to drink, I hop up and hurry to the fridge for two water bottles and place one by Beck’s plate and one by mine. “Sorry, water is all I have.” And that’s a lie, but I don’t think bourbon is a proper dinner choice. I really suck at this hostess crap.
“This is fine.”
Remembering his birthright comment, I ask, “How many siblings do you have?”
“Four. One brother and three sisters.” He pops a green bean into his mouth and begins chewing. And why is that so mesmerizing to me?
“Wow. That’s… a lot.”
He chuckles low and thoughtful. “Yep. Never a dull, quiet moment in the McCaffery house.”
“I bet not.” I huff and keep staring. I absently move the food around my plate while watching him. It’s surreal to have a man in my house, sharing a meal and conversation with me. Sure, Jack pops in every once and a while, but this is beyond different.
“Why aren’t you eating?” His authoritative tone is back. He pushes the plate closer to me like I’m a flipping two-year-old.
“I’m a grown woman. I’ll eat if I want to.” I push it away like a rebellious toddler.
“You endured a rigorous workout this morning and you’re clearly not getting enough rest. Your body needs fuel.” He thrusts the plate back to me. “Eat.”
“You’re infuriating.” I grumble a few more sentiments under my breath before shoving another bite in. “Stop looking at me.”
His eyes remain locked on me. “Why, so you can hide food in your napkin like a defiant child?”
“No.” I shake my head and push the food around my plate again with my fork, lining the green beans to form a barrier around the steak.
“Harper?” Beck asks, somehow knowing there’s more to my answer.
“I can’t stand when people watch me eat, like I look like a hog at a trough. Makes me feel disgusting.” The last part falls from my lips in a muttered confession as my throat thickens. All of my insecurities flare up, churning the food in my gut in a wrenching pain.
His gaze grows hot as he says, “The way you sucked that last green bean into your feisty mouth was the farthest thing from disgusting I’ve ever witnessed. Downright sinful if you ask me.”
Beck swipes his fork through the sweet potato and offers it to me. When I refuse the bite, he slowly paints the sweet treat along my bottom lip. My tongue instinctively darts out to lick away the mess before it ends up on the front of my shirt. He mimics me, slowly running his tongue over his lip, sending my thoughts into a lustful direction.
“Nice,” he whispers, ending with a husky groan.
The rest of the meal proceeds with Beck scooting his chair right next to mine and feeding me every last bite on my plate. Never have I thought a man feeding me could be such a sensual experience. The heated meal ends with the ever-present tension the two of us seem to be building on, and I’m not sure how much more I can endure.
After both plates are clean and I’m close to popping at the seams, I load them in the dishwasher while Beck roams around the house. With the much needed reprieve from his presence, the realization hits me what he just did. The manipulative man combatted my insecurities and distracted me by using my lust for him to ensure I actually ate.
“I see you’re a Roselyn Scott fan, too,” he calls out.
His manipulative tactics are forgotten as a cringe tightens my body. I pad out of the kitchen and find him studying the bookshelf by the fireplace where my bestsellers sit proudly.
“Not really,” I mutter out loud, but not meaning to.
“So why all the books?” Beck’s brow hitches up in confusion as he points to the shelf.
“Got them as a consolation prize.” I shrug. “What do you think of Scott?”
“She’s a great suspense author. I’ve enjoyed all of her novels.” He turns from the shelf and faces me.
Wow. The man who’s become my crush just confessed he is one of my fans. My skin becomes clammy and my fingertips begin to tingle with the uncomfortableness of it all. I fake a big yawn and eye the front door, hoping the man knows how to take a hint.
He picks up on my brushoff like a boss and hitches his thumb toward the door. “I’m gonna head out. Thanks for supper.”
I follow behind him. “I owed it to you.”
Beck stops abruptly and swivels around, causing me to collide right into his sturdy embrace. His arms circle around my waist before I can step back, keeping me tucked close to his body. The clammy jitters just did a full-on jig. Gone is any sign of a chill, replaced by a heated comfort. I’m feeling so cozy in his arms that I swear I’m close to begging him to rock me to sleep.
“You owed me nothing.” There’s a war of apprehension in his eyes. “I’d hoped you had shared the meal with me tonight because you like my company… I certainly enjoy yours.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I whisper, “I’m just a sassing nuisance. Why would you enjoy that?”
He offers a sad smile. “You don’t enjoy being around me?” Clearly, that’s the only thing he picked up on with what I just said, and it’s not sitting well with him.
A confession wants to be offered, and causes my gaze to drop from his and settle on the dog tags resting on his tight white T-shirt. My fingers trace the metal chain around his neck and on down to the rectangle tags. They are actually warmed from his body temperature. “Beck, you’re the only bright moment I’ve had this week. I… I only went to class this morning so I could see you.”
His fingers softly grasp underneath my chin, raising it until there’s no choice but to look at him. “I like seeing you there, too. Now… I’d like even more to kiss you, please.”
All of the coziness just went to full-blown scorching. My reactions to this man are so bipolar, and I’m beginning to wonder if they make a pill for it.
Beck gently brings his hands to my cheeks and tilts my face toward his. There’s a pause before he presses a kiss to my frozen lips. For Beck to be such a rugged man his lips are tender and soft and warm and my body trembles from the perfection of them. I can do nothing but stand here and accept each caress he offers, not knowing exactly how to participate. He begins at the corner of my mouth and languidly works to the other side, lavishing caress after caress along the way.
“Kiss me back, Harper.” His words are but a breath, but I hear them.
“I… I don’t… I don’t know how,” I confess and try to move away.
Beck responds by holding me firmer against him while leaning in and licking the length of my tongue with his. His moves are graceful and with confidence as with everything else he does. “Taste me like that,” he murmurs against my lips before demonstrating another lush l
ick.
My tongue tentatively obeys, rolling along the side of his. Oh my word, the taste of him makes my mouth water. We both groan into each other’s mouths as our tongues curl together.
Everything—the humiliation from my lack of experience, the newness of this situation, my trepidation—fades away except for this man’s delectable mouth. Suddenly, I’m starved for him and a frenzy builds within my body. I should probably be ashamed of myself, but I am too far gone to care at the moment. My hands fist in his hair, another experience I’ve been fantasizing about in the last few weeks. The locks are thick and beyond soft. Too many overwhelming sensations have my mouth moving with his in a dance of wild abandon.
Beck growls in a deep roar, snapping me out of my lust-filled haze.
Panting, I ease back and ask, “What?”
“You bit me,” he says on a low rumble, “but I swear if I didn’t like it.” The gleam in his eyes mingles with his words, and helps to settle the awkwardness trying to overtake me.
“I’m not experienced…”
“We can remedy that,” he promises, before leaning down and reclaiming my lips.
This isn’t a kiss, but an expression of something beyond our physical contact. His lips are touching mine, but the caress somehow seeps into my skin and penetrates my soul, altering my very essence. I get lost in it and hope to never be found.
We stumble over to the couch and do nothing but kiss for the next hour, and it’s by far the most electrifying hour of my life. By the time Beck leaves, my lips feel raw and swollen, leaving the undeniable evidence that I was not only kissed for the very first time, but thoroughly at that!
Chapter Five
Life likes to play mind games on me, giving me a taste of the goods it can offer before allowing it all to go sideways. I’m living it at this very moment.
“What were you thinking?” Jack’s voice echoes his disappointment through the phone.
I move it to the other ear and answer, “I just thought if Maxine could read one of my other stories, she’d see the potential of branding them under a new name… My name.”
“Darlin’, she’s not looking at this from the same angle as you. She’s only looking at it from hers. And it says the way she’s doing things ain’t broke, so don’t go monkeying with it.”
Maxine’s response to the query I sent was a contract for the book to be published under Roselyn Scott, claiming it would help the diva’s recent book junket blunders.
“I only sent a few chapters and I’m refusing the contract, so stop yelling at me. I just needed a friend’s ear, not a lecture.”
Jack sighs long and mournful. “I know. Sorry. I’m just worried about you, darlin’.”
The line beeps an incoming call. I pull the phone back and am actually shocked to see Maxine’s name across the screen. “Speaking of the devil. I’ll call you back.” Not waiting for a reply, because truthfully Jack’s on the list at the moment, I click over to Maxine. “Yes?”
“Lovely, I’m waiting on you to send the contract back. Time is money.”
“About that. I’m declining the contract.” There. I stood up for myself.
“That is plain idiotic. How else do you propose you’ll get this book published?”
“You’re not the only agent in the world. There are millions of you.” My voice rises, so I take a long inhale to calm down.
“Yes, and look at how lucky you were to ever get noticed by one of us in the first place. Doubtful that lightning gift will strike you twice.”
“I’m willing to take that risk.” I take another long breath before pushing it out forcefully. “Your God complex is redundant. I’m sick of being strung along with you only answering a phone when it’s in your favor. And I’m sick of you belittling me. I’m done with it.” I hit the end button on the phone and toss it on the nightstand before marching to the cabinet for the bottle of bourbon. It accompanies me to the office where I pull up a new page and get lost in the world of fiction.
The skies darken as I figure out how to whittle a happy ending out for my heroine by the end. As it is right now, the poor woman doesn’t stand any better of a chance at one than I do.
By two in the morning, the bourbon has disappeared right along with my heroine’s inhibitions. The woman has gone pure wild by running away from her life, helping rob a bank with a filthy-talking guy she met in college, and sleeping with a stranger who may or may not be a soviet spy.
My bleary eyes blink at the muddled chapter on the computer screen in confusion. “Who in the heck wrote that awful crap?” I look around the room for the guilty party, only to find the empty bottle. “It’s you.” My finger stabs at it as I glare it down. “You better step back, punk.” I stand up from the chair a little too forceful, sending it skating across the room, and stumble out into the kitchen where the clock scolds me.
Three hours and I get to see Beck for the first time since he showed me how to kiss. And I’m white-girl wasted.
“This is not good.” I groan while scrubbing my hands over my numb face. Maybe some coffee can help rectify some of my wrong, so I fumble with getting a pot to brewing. That gets me to thinking if there’s any evidence to this coffee thing or is it just an urban legend, so I stagger back to the office, delete the jumbled mess of a story, and google it. By the time the coffeepot beeps its completion, I’ve found a considerable amount of evidence to bust the myth.
Only time can sober a person. The liver has to metabolize the alcohol.
Nothing can speed that up, and that really sucks for me. Even though the internet shoots down the coffee, I give it a go anyway.
Four finds me still as drunk as I was when I started in on the pot of coffee, but now I’ve got a bad case of the jitters on top of it. A wrestling match breaks out with me and my spandex shorts before they admit defeat and get into place. A tank top, sneakers, and a pair of sunshades complete my workout ensemble. I gaze longingly at the tiny golf cart key, but know it’s not wise to drink and drive anything. The bicycle sounds like a better plan until I fall off the dang thing twice within a few yards from the house. I abandon it by a sand dune and walk a zigzag line to the beach park.
Class has already begun, so I shuffle up beside Nadine and try my darnedest to do the high knees warmup. Falling over a third time, I decide to phone that junk in and manage to just sway in place.
I somehow succeed in keeping out of Beck’s sight until halfway through the session. He’s bent down and yelling in Nadine’s ear, “Get your butt down. It’s a plank. Not a downward facing dog!”
“Won’t you lay off her for once, you nincompoop,” I slur before releasing the plank and plopping down on the sand.
“Watch it,” Beck snarls out, but I ignore him and put my head down. “Get up, Blume!” he yells against my ear, his breath searing down my neck.
“Don’t feel like it,” I mumble without moving. That goes over as well as a fox in a henhouse. Hotshot yanks me up by my armpits, sending the beach into a spin.
“Are you drunk?” He asks, leaning in to sniff for evidence.
I lean in and sniff him right back. Yum! “Maybe a little. Been a loonnnggg night. Say, what brand of soap do you use?”
He releases my arms, looks at me with disgust, and storms to the front of the class. He blows that silver whistle and everyone breaks the plank they were painfully holding. “Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Blume has disrespected the entire group by showing up intoxicated and disrupting this session. She’s wasted my time this morning and your money. For that I apologize.”
My cheeks are set ablaze and my eyes instantly sting from being called out like this in front of everyone. Thankfully, my sunshades mask it. I feel them all glaring in my direction, but refuse to lift my head to meet any of their condemnation.
“Now. For those sober and willing, let’s finish with a run.” Beck blows the whistle again and everyone starts chasing him down the beach.
Everyone, that is, but me. I turn tail and wander back the other way until I s
tumble into my house.
Once I’m showered and settled into the quietness of my home, the bourbon sloshing in my veins has settled down.
Slightly sober and beyond ashamed, I go hide.
*****
Darkness… It’s seeped in during an untimely storm that has kicked up just off the coast. The stormy clouds have slung several rain squalls against the shore, shrouding my home in darkness. Hiding behind the couch, the shadows wrap around me like a vise grip. The only reprieve from them is when the lightning flickers through the house, but even that is short-lived. Another prelude of darkness whispers a reminder of my fears.
You’re all alone.
No one really wants you.
You’ll never be good enough.
The prelude continues until it eases into the postlude of my lowest. The rain pelts against the windows as my eyes stare blankly over the angry waves just outside. I shift on the floor to ease the cramp in my back and cross my legs. The strength of the couch’s back is the only thing holding me up. Slouching against it, my fingers absently work the cap of the bourbon bottle in a rhythm of lefty loosy and then righty tighty. The threads clinking against the glass soothe me enough to know the amber liquid is there, but no desire presents itself to take a drink. There’s no desire to do anything.
Pounding on the front door entwines with the cadence of the storm. It draws my attention, but not enough to do anything about it. I stay firmly rooted to the hardwood floor, wishing it would soften enough to allow me to sink underneath.
More pounding. “Harper! Open up!”
My gaze holds firm to the temperamental ocean, watching the lightning flicker against the raging waves in staccato glimpses, reminiscent of a strobe light. One vivid flash and then dark and then another flash, but this time the scene causes me to flinch when it presents a monster in front of the glass barrier.
“Open this door!” Beck demands while giving the doorknobs a hasty testing, finding them locked.
