by Donna Fasano
Heather glanced up the expanse of the boardwalk but didn’t see another person in sight. The pole lights made illuminated soft blue white circles on the planks.
Daniel’s fingers were gentle when he captured her chin and guided her gaze to his. He must have removed his glove at some point because his bare skin was warm against her face.
He searched her gaze, studied her features for a long moment.
“I shared my experience with Cila,” he said, “hoping I might smooth the way for you. Make you feel more comfortable about opening up. But if you’d rather not—”
“Why? So you can put me in one of your books?”
He shook his head, lowered his hand from her jaw. Then he shrugged one shoulder. “Because I’m curious? Because you’ve taken such good care of me for all these weeks? Because I’d like to get to know you? Because you’re a beautiful woman and I’m—”
“Okay.” She lifted her hand and swiped it through the small space between them. “You can stop now. The boloney bin is full.”
His mouth compressed. “What did I say that was so unbelievable? I am curious. You have taken good care of me. I really would like to—” He stopped short. “Damn it, Heather. You don’t think you’re beautiful.”
She looked out into the darkness because his expression was just too intense for her to bear.
“Look, I realize I’m not hideous or anything, okay?” She darted a glance at his face, then focused on her lap. “Babies don’t cry when I walk into a room. Children don’t run screaming into the night.” She offered a light laugh, but it had a hollow ring. “But let’s not fool ourselves here, Daniel. Beautiful is not a word that describes me. What I mean is, I’m no supermodel.” Then she muttered, “Not unless we’re using a completely different definition of the word super.”
The creases in his forehead deepened. “You don’t mean that.”
Just when she was about to assure him that she did, he slid his hand along her jaw line until his fingertips curled lightly around the back of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat; his fingers nestled between scarf and skin, melting every vestige of argument in her. His searching gaze roved from her eyes, to her hair, to her cheeks and nose, finally landing on her mouth.
The winter night enveloped them like chilled silk. Waves crashed against the shore in the distance, and their breath met, mingled, condensing for a moment into thin, silvery lace before rising and disappearing.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
He leaned toward her as he whispered the words, rounding out each one, filling it with mesmerizing significance. She became lost in his voice, lost in the moment, lost in his dark eyes.
“I’ve been thinking about those New Year’s Eve kisses,” he admitted, moving even closer. “I’ve been wondering about the taste of your lips, the scent of your skin.”
His fingers slid a bit deeper and with slightest pressure, he pulled her toward him.
He intended to kiss her. That much was unmistakable. And in that instant, she wanted nothing more.
Chapter Five
He placed a kiss, light and sweet, on the corner of her mouth. Her eyelids fluttered closed as anticipation churned in the pit of her belly like an eddying tide, but the moment was over almost before it began. She immediately sensed he leaned away from her, and when she looked at him, she saw him staring at her, his heavy-lidded gaze filled with…
Warning bells went off in her head, nerve-jarringly loud; however, she blocked them out, shoved them as far to the back of her brain as she could in order to snuff them out like a just-lit match.
It had been so long since she’d felt desired. So long since she’d felt wanted. Savoring this rare sensation, if only for a few fleeting minutes, became the most important thing in her existence.
His mouth slanted down across hers, hot and moist. Her heart pounded and her breath quickened. Something akin to electricity skittered throughout her body, sparking to life from somewhere near her diaphragm and emanating outward, coursing down her arms and legs, setting fire to her nerve endings.
The cold, salty air mingled with the warm-leather scent of his skin, a contrast that would surely leave its mark on her memory for the rest of her life. His lips were soft yet firm, a paradoxical combination that swept every thought from her head; all she knew was that she didn’t want this experience to end. Ever.
Daniel deepened the kiss, and she parted her lips for him. She savored the faint sweetness of caramel and earthy hops from the beer he’d enjoyed with dinner. The urge to lean into him was strong, and far off, she heard a soft, sexy susurrus, a sound somewhere between a mew and a purr, that clearly expressed pleasure. Through the fog of her thoughts, she realized the noises were coming from her, and the desire pulsing inside her burgeoned.
His kiss sparked a flame in her belly, way down deep and visceral, and the light friction of his fingertips gliding over her jaw and down her neck fueled the fire. It was heightened further by the feathery bristle of his five o’clock shadow against her chin. Her breathing turned shallow and rapid; his sounded labored, as well. Every touch, every taste, every sound magnified the greedy hunger that rumbled and growled its way to life.
“Your cheeks are ice cold,” he whispered the words against her mouth.
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t sure if she’d actually voiced the words or merely thought them.
How could her skin feel cold to him when she felt sure she was burning up inside?
“We should get back before you freeze.”
No. This time, she knew her reaction was only a thought. She didn’t want the kiss to end. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin, his lips on hers.
But she felt hazy, drugged, as if she’d consumed straight shots of tequila earlier rather than a small glass of wine. Daniel’s kiss was inebriating, and a soft, vague smile settled on her lips as she reveled in the fuzzy feeling he’d caused.
He pulled her to her feet, tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. Laying her head against his shoulder seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do as they made their way toward The Lonely Loon.
He made an attempt at conversation, completely one-sided, complimenting the quaintness of Ocean City, and commenting on how large the town felt, empty of tourists. He talked of other tourist destinations he’d visited during the off-season.
Heather remained silent, listening to the low, entrancing sound of his rumbling voice, happily snuggled in the cozy bubble enveloping her. But all too soon they reached home. They climbed the steps to the front porch and she unlocked the front door.
After shucking off his coat, he helped her out of hers, hanging them both on the ornate wooden hooks on the wall of the foyer. He turned around unexpectedly and wrapped his arms around her.
“Thank you, Heather.” He kissed her forehead. “Tonight was just what I needed to clear my mind.” He heaved a sigh. “You forced me to focus on something else for a while. I’m grateful.”
“The book is giving you problems?”
“The book.” His sexy mouth leveled for a brief moment, then he added, “And other things.”
The despair that suddenly tinged his tone concerned her. He must be pining for his little girl. But before she could ask him anything more, he pulled her tight against his chest.
Being this close to another human being—a man—felt alien to her; it had been that long since she’d been hugged, kissed, touched. She wanted to slip her arms around his neck, rove her hands across his broad back. She imagined his muscles, hard and corded, beneath her fingertips. But she didn’t move. Couldn’t act.
“Can I kiss you goodnight?” he asked.
However, the shyness that made her hesitant wasn’t strong enough to keep her from murmuring, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
He kissed her then, intensely, thoroughly, and that drunken feeling made her deliciously dizzy. It was as if the muscles in her legs slowly slid down her bones, and when he pulled away from her, she
feared her wobbly knees wouldn’t hold her weight.
“So you never answered my question.” He smoothed his palms over her shoulders, settling his hands lightly on her upper arms. “Who broke your heart, Heather? Who made you start thinking of yourself as less than the gorgeous woman you are?”
She didn’t immediately reply because she needed time to sort out her thoughts. Her knee-jerk reaction was to dismiss his compliment and leave it at that. No one in their right mind would think she was gorgeous, and his use of the word was purely to make her feel good, she was sure. But making any type of fuss about it would only give him evidence to bend and twist to prove his point.
Their impromptu dinner date had been wonderful. He’d made her feel interesting, pretty even. The kisses they’d shared had been intimate, sweet, and excruciatingly enjoyable. His close proximity, the warm scent of him, the manner in which he focused solely on her, the memory of his lips lingering on hers, his whispered compliments, the desire that had glittered in his gaze, all continued to intoxicate her.
The fact that she had instinctively mistaken his dinner invitation as something completely different than what it had been was a startling revelation for her, and his curiosity about it was understandable. But revealing what happened to her in the past, her experience with rejection, hurt, and anger, would only spoil all the good things they’d shared tonight. She refused to mar what was sure to become a perfect memory for her by revealing her ugly story.
“I hate to disappoint you,” she told him, “but my life’s been fairly normal. A balance of happiness and heartache.” She smiled. “Just like everyone else.”
What she’d told him wasn’t a lie.
She splayed the flat of her palm on his chest, relishing the heat of his skin beneath the soft cotton. It wasn’t like her to be so bold, but the kisses they’d shared made her surprisingly fearless.
“Although I never knew my biological father,” she continued, “I had lots of father-figures. Friends of my mom’s who loved me like a daughter. I still keep in contact with many of them. We exchange Christmas cards, birthday cards, that kind of thing.”
Her smile went a tad crooked. “And if you’d had the opportunity to meet my mother, you’d understand there wasn’t a jealous bone in her body. Every single one of her bones was made of pure, unadulterated confidence.” Heather chuckled. “She used to brag about having been proposed to over a dozen times, by a dozen different men. She’d have never struggled with growing old. She’d have partied her way through it.” Heather pursed her lips, and then she added, “Mom didn’t get the chance, though. She passed away years ago.”
Daniel’s handsome face contorted with sympathy and he murmured condolences. She slid her hand a few inches up his pectoral muscles in response. Her fingertips nestled against his collarbone.
Vaguely, she was aware of a citrusy scent that mingled with the warm leather she’d already taken note of. She would have loved nothing more than leaning into him, pressing her nose to his neck, closing her eyes, and inhaling. Gently pushing the errant thought from her mind, she said, “And although I was in a serious relationship in the past, my spirit is anything but crushed.”
She placed her other hand on his chest, and gazed up at him through lowered lashes. “So that leaves us with no daddy issues. No mommy issues. And plenty of sassy attitude.”
To prove her point, she lifted herself up onto her toes and kissed him squarely on the mouth.
“Thank you for the lovely evening.”
He kissed her back, clearly communicating his ravenous yearning, and Heather’s heart fluttered like moth’s wings. But wanting desperately to end their “date” on a high note, she stepped away from him and turned toward the stairs.
She’d climbed four steps when she heard him say, “I’m sorry my assumptions were so far off the mark.”
Heather paused, holding the banister, and twisting her upper body just enough that she could look into his face. “No harm done. You can’t get it right every time.”
Then she returned to her saunter, knowing his eyes were glued to her rear.
* * *
She’d barely closed her bedroom door before she was reaching for her phone and creating a group text.
Heather: You. Will. Not. Believe. This.
Sara: You okay?
Cathy: What trouble did you get into now?
Heather: I went on a date.
Cathy: WHAT?
Cathy: When? Tonight?
Cathy: With who?
Sara: Shouldn’t that be with whom?
Cathy: Bite me, Sara. With who, Heather? Who? Who?
Sara: Slow down, Miz Owl. Your thumbs are going to explode.
Cathy: I need answers
Cathy: !!!!!
Heather typed out a reply to Cathy’s first question only because she’d already begun thumbing in the response about when.
Heather: Yes, tonight. Unplanned, of course. But very fun.
Cathy: Who?
Sara: Who?
Cathy: WHO?
The only reason she hesitated was because she knew Cathy didn’t think much of Daniel. What Heather saw as the quirks of an introverted, creative personality, Cathy claimed were anti-social, standoffish, and even self-centered traits.
Cathy: Heather needs to type faster.
Sara: lol Now that’s something I can agree with.
Cathy: Heather on a date? *swoon, thud*
Heather: Not surprised by your reaction. I nearly fainted myself.
Cathy: Do you think she passed out?
Cathy: Is she ever going to tell us who?
Cathy: Heather! Don’t make me come over there.
Heather bit her lip, straightened her spine, and thumbed in the letters.
Heather: Daniel
For ten long seconds, the screen of her phone showed no new texts. She let out a soft, dismal groan.
“Heather, you idiot,” she whispered to the empty room. “They think you’ve made a huge mistake.”
Heather: It started out as a distraction.
Heather: For him.
Heather: To get away from his work.
Heather: Probably wasn’t really a date at all.
With each entry, her shoulders rounded a little more. She deeply respected the opinions of her friends. And although it was rare that they disapproved of something she said or did, if they expressed the least amount of criticism, Heather was always quick to rethink her words and actions.
Finally, a message popped up.
Sara: Did you have a good time?
Heather: So SO good.
Cathy: So-so?
Heather: No dash. SO GOOD!
Sara: Woot!
Heather smiled, reading Sara’s exclamation. If worse came to worst, a fifty percent approval rating would be good enough for her. She chuckled out loud and realized she was relieved. The thoughts and feelings of these two women really mattered. A lot.
Cathy: He’s leaving soon.
Sara: Don’t be a party pooper, Cath.
Cathy: Just sayin’.
Heather: Point taken. It was only a kiss. Well…
Remembering the way Daniel’s lips nearly devoured hers, she grinned wickedly, and her heart skipped behind her ribs.
Sara: Well, what?
Heather: Several kisses, actually. Several HOT kisses.
Cathy: Calm down a second. He’s moody. He’s guarded. He’s
Cathy: Sorry. Typing too fast. He’s not very approachable. I don’t see him as your type.
Heather threw her head back and laughed.
Heather: I’ve got a type?
Sara: Let’s not pick the man apart. It’s a holiday fling.
Back when the girls were in their teens, they’d enjoyed their fair share of holiday romances, a weekend or a week, sometimes two, of dating boys whose families were vacationing at the beach. These meaningless relationships were called by several risqué names—summer romances, seven-day rendezvous, weekend affairs—not because anything lewd
ever happened, of course, but more because the suggestive monikers made the girls feel more mature. More adult than they actually were. The summer flings were always innocent, at least where Heather was concerned anyway. She had slept with one man and one man only in her whole life, and he had stomped on her heart like it was a detestable stink bug.
Although, she couldn’t really blame Steve for what had happened between them. She’d done what she’d done and there had been no turning back.
Cathy: Ah. Okay. I get it. A romp in the salt marsh. Might be just what you need.
Heather: No romping. Just a bit of kissing. And flirting.
Cathy: And what do you think kissing and flirting lead to?
Sara: Heather, hon, maybe it’s time to open your heart.
Cathy: What she needs to do is open her knees.
The mere thought of making love with Daniel conjured the wildest array of reactions in her. Her body flushed with heat, but an icy anxiety trickled through her veins as well. To want something but not want it felt crazy. Peculiar. Odder than odd.
Cathy: Don’t mind me. Feeling a bit off kilter.
Sara: Horny, more like.
Heather: lol
Cathy: Bradley canceled our date again tonight. Second cancellation since he returned home from visiting his parents.
Sara: So what’s going on?
Cathy: No clue. He’s acting weird. Aloof. Strange word, but it fits.
Cathy: Sorry for whining.
Heather: Think he’s met someone?
Heather’s thumbs hovered over the keypad, but she didn’t type out “again.”
If someone were to write a book about Cathy and Bradley’s relationship an apt title would be On Again, Off Again, or The Bed Buddy Battle.
Cathy: Sorry for being a downer.
Cathy: Heather, have some fun with Daniel.
Cathy: Just don’t get serious. I don’t trust the man.
Heather: Don’t worry. As fun as it was, it was a one-time thing, I’m sure.
But even as she typed out the words, Heather hoped she was wrong. She’d enjoyed Daniel’s kisses way too much not to experience a few more before he left Ocean City for good.
