by Toni Blake
And if that person was Sadie-well, she'd make up something else.
She just couldn't stand to be around him right now, couldn't take a chance on seeing him. She remained angry with him for expecting her not to say no, embarrassed that she'd let things go so far ... and worst of all, she still wanted him. She still longed for him with every breath she took. There was no denying it now-just running from it. It seemed as good a defense as any.
Stopping in the kitchen just long enough to freshen Izzy's food and water, she piled her work into the car and took off, thankfully without seeing Nick.
Nick lowered himself into the easy chair in her office, the red book in one hand. Guilt remained a stinging factor--the utter wrongness of it pumped through his veins-but after last night, this seemed the only way to find out how to make himself worthy of her, to fix what he'd botched between them at the beach. Part of him couldn't believe he'd let himself come back yet again, but today, the need to redeem himself in her eyes drove him past shame.
Opening the book at random, his eyes fell on an entry written in red ink. He settled back in the chair, prepared to sink a little deeper into the princess's world.
I lie naked on white satin sheets in a brass bed in the center of an otherwise empty room. Tall, narrow windows line the walls on both sides. The windows are open, admitting a cool breeze that washes over my skin like a caress, making the sheer white curtains whip about.' Although I can see only blue sky outside, I smell the sea nearby.
As the breeze lulls me, my eyes fall shut, but as I am drifting off, I feel a tiny, almost imperceptible tickle on my stomach, like a kiss. Opening my eyes, I see one solitary rose petal, the palest shade of pink, resting there. I look up to find a muscular man standing over me, naked, tan, and magnificently erect. He holds the rose between his fingers, its color the mere hint of a blush.
Starting at my ankle, he delicately glides the whisper soft rose up my leg. Barely grazing the skin of my inner thighs, he drags it gently over the sensitive spot between them. I tremble with pleasure, and the rose continues, sweeping like a lover's breath over my navel, stomach, breasts, making my nipples tingle when it touches them.
Sitting up, I boldly pluck the rose from his hand and poise its profusion of petals at the base of his penis. Slowly, I skim it up the hard shaft to the tip, pleased when a shudder passes through him, as well.
Snatching the rose back from me, he straddles me in the bed, pinning my legs. He says, "Close your eyes:" and I obey. I think he's going to make love to me, but instead I feel more feather-soft sensations like the first, droplets as light as kisses drifting over my body.
I drink in the light touches, my skin growing more sensitive with each. I open my eyes to see his hand above me, sprinkling the rose petals across my breasts, my shoulders, my stomach, and below.
He still holds the same rose in his hand, but it never empties of petals-more and more waft down to scatter over me until I am nearly covered. Finally, the petals stop falling, and I close my eyes once more. The rose grazes my lips.
When he enters me, everything around us is smooth and soft-the satin beneath me, the silky pale petals on my flesh. With each stroke, the satin and silk move with me, surround me, caressing every inch of me.
I fear I'II soon go mad ... but then I see the blossom still in his grasp. Raising off me slightly, he continues to make love to me while stroking me there with the rose's tender petals.
When finally I reach a slow, shattering climax, it vibrates through every pore of my body; my skin seems to breathe in and out with each wave of pleasure. After my lover reaches ecstasy as well, he pulls me close, still holding our rose, letting it curve gracefully across my breast as we fall into cool, sweet slumber.
Nick closed the book with a heavy rush of breath. The wrongness he'd felt upon his arrival in the room saturated him completely now. In one sense, dipping into her secret thoughts was indeed beginning to feel like an addiction, something he couldn't resist. But each time left him permeated with the sense of invasion he committed and now made him shut the book, reminding himself that it belonged to her, that it should remain hers alone.
Rather than let himself dwell on guilt, however, or on the tempting image of Lauren Ash's naked flesh covered with rose petals, he thought about the way the fantasy ended. The way they always ended-with she and her imaginary lover snuggled up together, warm and content.
It confirmed things for him. Everything she'd said on the beach was true-she wasn't like Carolyn; she did hold sex special. But she also wanted it a lot-made apparent by her red diary and also by the way she usually looked at him-and she'd wanted it with him last night. She'd wanted it with him right before she'd called him "nobody. "
At first, wanting to seduce her had been about mutual attraction and heat-nothing more, nothing less. And when they'd reached the beach, seduction had been about all that and, admittedly, the strange jealousy that stirred in him when he thought of her with another man. After that, it had expanded still more-he'd wanted all of her heat but also her innocence and sweetness; he'd wanted all of her.
Despite how she'd pushed him away, despite her pleas to forget it all. he didn't think things were over between them. And each time he sank to letting himself into her office, he discovered another of her secrets-secrets that would make him part of her world.
When Elaine had suggested they make another trip to the store for some hamburgers to grill, Davy was happy to go, even though they'd shopped for groceries only the day before. But when they'd walked past the floral department and Daisy Maria Ramirez hadn't been there, his heart had dropped. He'd wanted to watch her sticking flowers into foam again.
Now he was bored because he'd been standing in front of the meat counter listening to Paul the Meat Cutter talking to Elaine about pork chops for a very long time. And they weren't even buying pork chops. He watched Paul's eyebrows while he spoke-they were thick like caterpillars and moved up and down a lot, especially when he laughed.
He shifted from one foot to the other, then tapped Elaine on the shoulder. "I'm gonna go look at magazines."
"All right I won't be long," she told him, but the way things were going, he doubted that. He looked for other Albertson's workers he knew as he walked up the soup aisle and circled to the front of the store, but didn't see any. Reaching the magazine rack. he cast a quick glance to the garden-and his heart nearly stopped.
Daisy Maria Ramirez sat at her table working with the flowers again.
Not wanting to stare, or at least not wanting to be caught at it, he snatched up a magazine-something with a big pickup truck on front-and peeked over the top. His breath went thready.
She wore a bright pink blouse that looked pretty against her dark skin. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, so he could see her face better than before. Her features were delicate, like a pixie's, he thought, or a fairy's.
His eyes dropped to her hands, her dainty pixie fingers. Watching her spin and twist the foam, one way and another, sticking a flower first here and then there yellow roses and statice and carnations today-was like watching someone play a piano, or watching Edward Scissorhands cut a tree into a shape. He loved Edward Scissorhands because Edward knew about being different -but at least Edward had his art. And that's what Daisy Maria Ramirez had, too. Art that came from her hands, and also her eyes, he supposed, since they never left her flowers.
He wished he knew her like he knew Paul the Meat Cutter or Mr. Pfister. Wished he could just walk up arid say hello and have it seem normal. But his stomach hurt too much-he knew it wouldn't seem thatá way. He wished he were more like Nick;
Nick knew how to talk to girls. Of course, Davy had only seen it a time or two Nick was private about that stuff-but he figured Nick had lots of girlfriends. On occasion, they'd be out somewhere and a girl would call his name or come up to him, and though Davy never heard Nick say anything that seemed especially brilliant, he could tell Nick knew what to do, and that it was working.
He wondered
what Nick would say to Daisy and tried to recall greetings he'd heard Nick use in such instances. Hey.
How's it goin'? Lookin' good, as usual.
Yet he couldn't quite hear himself pulling the lines off, since Nick always said them with a certain twinkle in his eye, as if he were really saying something more.
He sighed and watched Daisy's hands, moving almost rhythmically. Then he tried out some different lines in his head, things he thought of on his own.
I like watching you work.
The flowers are pretty, but you make them even prettier.
You fit here, in the garden, because you're the prettiest flower of all.
Taking a deep breath, be closed the truck magazine and set it back on the rack, then practiced the lines in his head again. He settled on the first because it was simple and so very true.
Then he turned and strode boldly toward her only to see that he was too late; she was already wheeling away.
Nine o'clock and the sun sank fast over the tree line.
A song from an old Prince CD wafted softly across the backyard from the outdoor speakers as Lauren floated naked on her back beneath the dusky sky, pool lights illuminating the water beneath her to a dark turquoise. She indulged this whim on occasional evenings, for the sense of freedom it gave her and because the large privacy wall around the yard made it so safe. Like her sex journal, it was a cautious way to set a little of her sensuality free.
Of course, she hadn't even thought about swimming naked in her pool since Nick Armstrong had entered her life. But when she'd come home late this afternoon to find Nick's van gone, the house quiet but for a mewing cat, she'd been so thankful she'd wanted to somehow luxuriate in the privacy. Now she could look forward to a peaceful weekend ahead, as well. Although she'd hoped relaxing in the water might clear her head of him, he remained there, like a stain she couldn't wash out. Unfortunately, getting away hadn't solved that problem. So maybe it would be more constructive if she swam a few slow laps; perhaps a little exercise would help work out her frustrations. She eased into a slow backstroke, studying the way the darkness edged rapidly across the sky.
Where it had once been easy to tell herself Nick was just another arrogant, studmuffin loser and that she could resist him, it was no longer that simple now. On the beach, resistance had been next to impossible. She could only hope he'd do what she'd said-forget it-and quit giving her those dark sexy looks, quit expecting her to be some purely sexual creature she wasn't. As she turned at the end of the pool, she commended herself for being smart enough to leave the house today.
Of course, working at the office had hardly been pleasant. Phil had questioned her early departure from the party, and she'd found herself muttering some excuse about a headache and too much smoke in the room. Then her father had insisted on taking her to lunch when she'd have really rather eaten alone, considering her mood.
He, too, had brought up last night. "You didn't seem yourself when I saw you outside at Phil's. Were you feeling ill? Who did you say you were with on that motorcycle?"
"I just ... had a tiff with a guy I'm seeing. No biggie."
For some reason, excuses about headaches and not feeling well had started sounding trite, even to her.
''The guy on the motorcycle?" her dad asked. "Who was that? Anyone I know?"
She'd shoved a bite of salad in her mouth to help stall for a second. "No, Dad, just one of the subs. A painter." Her father had tilted his head. "Since when did you start dating the subs?"
She laughed lightly. "Only one, not all of them. And since I happened to meet one, that's all. It's no big deal."
Thankfully, that had quieted him on the subject. Their relationship was generally open enough that he assumed she'd tell him if anything was really wrong, and she probably would have, if it didn't have to do with her sex life, one area she just didn't want to get into with him.
Sadie had questioned her, too-not about the party, but about her decision to work at the office. Tired of fudging her way around the truth by then, she'd been honest. "Something happened with Nick Armstrong last night, so I wanted to get away from the house today while he's there."
Sadie's eyes had widened, and she'd even reached out to touch Lauren's "arm. "Are you okay, sweetie? Is everything all right?"
She'd bit her lip and nodded, and then she'd felt guilty, afraid it sounded like he'd done something forceful to her, which couldn't have been further from the truth. "It was my fault, Sadie, not his. But I just wanted a change of scenery, you know?" Sadie's concerned look didn't fade as she said. "Sure, of course. Just remember I'm here if you ever want to talk or anything, okay?"
Lauren had smiled and thanked her, and maybe even wished she could talk to Sadie about Nick, but the whole thing was just too personal. She'd attempted to discuss it with Carolyn yesterday on the phone, but she'd quickly figured out that someone who didn't have the same feelings about sex as she did would never understand or be able to help. Where Carolyn was at one end of the spectrum, she suspected Sadie resided much closer to the other. She was on her own with this one. Flipping at the deep end of the pool and resuming her backstroke, Lauren saw the stars coming out, the full dark of the night adding to her sense of solitude. Her body moved with even precision through the water. Think of something else, something that doesn't have to do with Nick Armstrong. Easier said than done, of course, especially with Prince crooning one sexual innuendo after another.
And Monet. The concept of his knowing the works of Monet kept coming back to her, as if whispering that there was more to this man than she saw.
Two more slow laps and she felt a bit calmer, more at peace. He still lingered in her head, but she continued to remind herself that the evening was hers alone. The idea of going inside, slipping into a robe, and curling up with a good book and Isadora-if the cat was willing sounded like a little slice of heaven.
Nearing the shallow end of the pool, she lowered her feet to the bottom and stood, using both hands to smooth her hair back over her head. Water rolled off her arms, breasts, stomach, as she walked smoothly toward the steps. It was then that she noticed the large shadow near the back door.
Nick.
Somehow, amazingly, she didn't even flinch.
He wore another dark T-shirt and faded blue jeans. He held the thick white towel she'd brought out in one hand and a rose in the other as he watched her. Had been watching her, for God knew how long.
Inside, she felt panicky, but summoned an instant determination not to let him know. For once, she wouldn't let him see the effect he had on her, not even when he intruded upon the private sanctity of a nude swim.
She concentrated on breathing evenly as she kept walking, fluidly, soon climbing the steps, more water sluicing off her skin while his eyes absorbed her body's every secret. But she couldn't think about that, couldn't let anything get the best of her right now. She wanted' him to see how unaffected she was, how strong.
But then-oh God! The rose he held. Even in the dim patio lighting, she saw that the rose was pale pink, the mere hint of a blush.
How could he know? What could it mean?
Breathe in. Out. In. Out. Keep walking. Calm, stay calm .
Still, the sight of the rose nearly undid her, overriding her shock and embarrassment completely. It was beginning to feel as if her fantasies weren't entirely her own anymore, as if they were a shared thing, even though she'd never shared any of them with another living soul. She could barely piece together coherent thoughts as she neared him. her focus tightening on the pale rose. The word kismet came to mind. Could this be something strange and magical and cosmic that went beyond her understanding? In that moment, she didn't even think it sounded crazy anymore.
Stopping in front of him, she shifted her eyes to his no other choice; his gaze was a magnet. He wordlessly handed her the towel and she smoothly wrapped it around herself, holding it together with one fist above her breasts. Covering her body made his eyes no less penetrating, though-and she realized she'd bee
n heading toward him, and the towel. with the mistaken impression it would. But his gaze always affected her this way, and nudity had nothing to do with it. He offered her the rose, and she gingerly took it, careful to avoid the thorns. The mere hint of a blush.
"Why did you bring this?"
''To make up for last night." His voice remained as dark and seductive as it had been on the beach.
"No. Why did you bring this, in particular? Why did you choose this rose?"
He tilted his head and peered deep into her eyes. Even as unnerving as she found his gaze, it also made her feel like the most beautiful, captivating woman in the world. "It made me think of you."
Kismet. Her glance dropped again to the blooming flower, its petals full and open. It couldn't have mirrored her fantasy more. Keep breathing, Lauren. Just keep breathing.
"Don't you know it's dangerous to swim like that? That anyone could walk up?"
She flinched her eyes back to his. "Most people knock on the front door."
"I did."
"Then most people give up and go away when they don't get an answer."
"I'm not most people."
"I'm becoming well aware of that." "And I don't give up easily."
"I'm becoming aware of that, too." "About last night .. ." he began.
She simply gaped at him. She had so hoped last night was behind her, but it was not meant to be. The rose be tween her fingertips reminded her once more that nothing was simple with this man; in fact, everything seem, to be growing more complicated by the minute.
"You said to forget it," he told her, "but that's not gonna happen."
She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. "Why?' His voice came low, determined. "Because I want you so fucking bad I can hardly breathe."
The night air stilled around them as his words traveled through her like a shock wave. She wished she could tear her gaze from his, but she couldn't-she wanted him, too. It was pure torment, and it had been, pure torment since the moment she'd met him. He was exactly the last man she needed, and she knew that .. but was she beginning to see a soul inside him? And now he'd brought her a rose-the rose. Her mind still boggled over how this could be, but perhaps the question: were beginning not to matter so much as the answers already in her possession.
