Freedom (8 page)

Then she opens her legs and I push myself between them. I use one hand to grab her ass and pull her towards me, and she wraps her legs around me. That’s when I really begin to come undone. Any part of my body I thought I was controlling is succumbing to her. I hold her waist and move my hands slowly up her rib cage and cup the sides of her breasts before my mouth takes over her neck and works its way down to that hollow dip in her collarbone. She moans softly. This is too good. I don’t want to stop touching her, feeling her heightened passion each time my hand or mouth moves across her skin, tasting and smelling with basic animal instinct.

“Dylan.” Her voice is soft but insistent.

I stop kissing her and bury my face in her neck. “Damn.”

Her legs drop their hold on my waist, and I remove my hands from her. We languish in that awkward moment when you both know you have crossed a line.

“That was…” she begins, trailing off.

“Sorry, I’ll never do that again,” I say hoarsely.

“I was going to say that was great.” She looks at me with disappointment. “Seriously, I know a great kiss when I get one and that was a great kiss.”

“Hell, don’t say things like that.” I put another foot of space between us. “Don’t encourage me to lead you on. I don’t want to be a prick. Not to you.”

She gives another one of her light-hearted laughs and covers her mouth. “You’re actually sweet and funny. Don’t worry about me. No one can hurt me unless I let them, and I’m not that kind of woman.”

“What about Rocky, your Italian stud? You cried over him.”

“I didn’t cry because we broke up. I wanted the break up. I cried because the thought of having to deal with Robert again is too much for me to handle.”

“Then it’s good we’re not going to let this go any further. I’m not worse than Rocky, but I’ve got a shitload of baggage that no one deserves to get stuck holding.”

“His name is Robert, and I think you
are
better than him.”

“I’m damaged goods, Emma.”

She groans and gives an exaggerated eye roll. Her perfect eyebrows scrunch up for a second before she shakes her head then grabs my wrists, gripping them tightly to maneuver me closer to her.

“I hate when people use that corny line.”

“It’s true. There’s no other way to describe me.”

“Dylan, why do people who think they are damaged goods believe they are protecting others by shutting them out?”

“It’s the way we’re wired—poorly—or maybe we’re just different. I can’t change that.”

“If we were all wired the same way, life would be very boring.”

“Except, sometimes my mind is stuck in high gear. It’s fucked up. My brain doesn’t always let me downshift to a lower gear. Sometimes, it’s like a never-ending race, and I don’t know where the finish line is. This may be impossible for me to explain to you.”

“Well, that does sound difficult,” she says softly. “But I’m no angel, either. I’ve certainly made my mistakes. Doesn’t youth allow a certain degree of bad behavior before we grow up and evolve into full-fledged, tax-paying adults who put real tables in their formal dining rooms instead of old pool tables?” She smiles and then laughs.

Her witty quip tugs a stubborn grin out of me. It doesn’t last long, though. I have to give her a dose of my reality. “I can’t be involved with anyone, Emma.”

“Oh, you mean it doesn’t work?” she says, pointing to my groin.

“It works fine, thank you.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Your special someone made an appearance when I kissed you.”

“I would hope so. It’s been a long time.”

Why do I keep giving her personal information like that?

“So what do you want to do now?” she asks. “Watch TV? Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets? Do you want to kiss again?”

She’s definitely flirting with me, and I like it.

“No to all of the above. I get up early to go running, so I need to get some sleep.”

“It’s barely ten o’clock. Isn’t there a fun local bar we can go to?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Oh, come on. You’re going to bed this early on a Friday night?”

“You’re welcome to watch TV, but I have to sleep.”

“Boy, all that exercise and pumping weights makes you a tired grump. I guess I’ll read a book or visit some chat rooms with perverts. That’ll be entertaining for a few hours, I suppose.”

“Goodnight, Emma.” As I head out of the kitchen, she’s on my heels again.

“You sure don’t know how to throw a sleepover. Maybe I’ll go through the Mercer file. I’ll call you if I need help,” she says as she walks up the stairs behind me.

Fortunately, my room is the first one at the top of the staircase.

“Sleep well,” I say. “When I come back from my run, I’ll make breakfast.”

She shakes her head and walks down to her room at the end of the hall, muttering, “Sounds like an exciting Saturday.”

I close my door and do a face plant on the bed. How am I going to sleep with her down the hall? I hear her grumbling in the bathroom before singing some twangy country song. I wait until I hear her walk back down the hall to her bedroom and close the door, then I dash to the bathroom and take the coldest shower of my life.

Eight

Emma

It’s ten thirty-two and I am still awake, lying in the dark. Back in Jersey, my friends and I would be out drinking and dancing on a Friday night. It is one thing to live alone and spend some quiet weeknights knitting and watching TV, however it seems pretty pathetic to go to bed this early when I have a new, hot buddy down the hall who would rather sleep than talk to me. The laws of attraction are not working in my favor.

I take my phone off the nightstand and check the time again. Ten forty. This is going to be a very long night. I might as well call Lauren and Imogene to see what they are up to and live vicariously through them.

As I scroll through the phone list for Lauren’s number, I come across Dylan’s name. I forgot he added his phone number to my contact list on my first day at Blackard Designs so I can reach him when we are at work because the sound of machinery drowns out the PA system.

Okay, hot stuff.

I start texting.
r u awake?

My action hero is probably sound asleep. Building muscles and running endless miles to nowhere makes even the mightiest very tired.

The phone in my hand pings.

Go to sleep.

I can’t help smiling, knowing he’s having trouble sleeping, too.

I respond.
I’m bored.

That’s because you’re supposed to be sleeping.

I laugh out loud and respond.
Sigh.

Stop.

Still bored.

There’s no response, however I hear heavy footsteps pounding down the hallway, coming my way. Dylan throws open my door and has a knee on the bed, one foot on the floor, and his hands on either side of my head before I notice he is only wearing boxer briefs. In the dark, his face is unreadable above me as I clutch my phone to my chest.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says in a raspy voice as he holds his face a couple of inches from mine.

“Okay,” I whisper.

When Dylan’s lips greet mine with a tender stroke, my heart begins racing from their slow assault on my mouth. His tongue darts in and out, touching my lips with soft flicks. Unlike our furious, hungry kiss in the kitchen, this one creates a burning need inside of me as his mouth tastes me, slowly at first and then deeper.

He lingers on my mouth and all I can think about is how Dylan makes kissing a work of art. Then his lips graze my cheeks and circle around my temple, down to my chin, taking his time to cover every part with sweet kisses. When the stubble on his chin strokes my cheek, shivers run down my body from my hard nipples to my center. I am going to soak my panties.

I drop the phone at my side and kiss his mouth again at the same time that I run my hands up his hard chest, feeling every punishing muscle he has created. He moans as I touch him, and our kiss deepens before coming to a lingering end.

His mouth is slightly parted while short breaths escape as he looks at me. In the moonlight, his blue eyes glow whiter with a distinct intensity. I slide my hands back down his flexed arms to his hands, covering them with my own before I clasp his wrists. He has a hungry yet indecisive look about him.

As much as I am attracted to him and beginning to like him a lot, I am just as confused as he is about what we’re doing. My job and being self-supporting is important to me, and getting mixed up with Dylan may cause conflicts I have not thought through as of yet. How can I think about being practical when I have this hunk hanging over me? We’re both frozen in time, deliberating what we should or can do next.

“I’m going back to my room, and you need to go to sleep,” he says finally. His tone sounds regretful, and I am thankful for that. I’d hate to think this is easy for him, that I am just another prospective notch on his bedpost.

“Are you sure? You can stay here for a while; we can just talk,” I whisper, wondering what I am opening myself up to.

“I can’t do that.” He sits on the edge of the bed with one leg on the floor, but he doesn’t pull his hands away from my grasp.

“You can’t talk?” I’m completely taken by his hulking physique coupled with his forlorn expression cast in the shadowed light.

“Emma, I can’t talk to you while you’re in that little nighty and… not want to do other things.” He actually reaches across me and grabs a pillow and then rests it on his lap to cover his bulging erection.

I would laugh, yet I don’t want him to leave.

“I have an idea.” I jump off the bed, grab my robe off the door hook and wrap myself in the oversized, thick terrycloth that covers all exposed parts of my body in a very unflattering way. Then I grab the giant, decorative bed pillows from the floor and line them up down the center of the bed. “There,” I say. “You get on that side of the bed, and I’ll stay over here.”

“That doesn’t work for me. I know what you have on under that robe, and I’ve already kissed you, so a few pillows are not going to deter the temptation.” His voice is deep and rather somber.

“Dylan.” I almost sound like I am pleading, which is not my intention.

“Get some sleep,” he says, standing up. He tosses the pillow on the other side of the bed and strides quickly out of the room.

Oh, damn. Damn him. Damn Robert. Damn everything.

Why couldn’t this job come with a fat, balding, funny guy instead of Dylan? On top of my uncertain feelings for him, I have to figure out what to do about Robert. I have to call my parents and discuss this new wrinkle in our plan of me starting over somewhere new and their focus on selling their business and moving to Florida. I don’t want to deal with Robert anymore, though. I want to spend more time with Dylan and figure out why he is giving me pretty butterflies in my stomach while Robert started giving me sickening goose bumps, the kind that make you realize you can’t be with someone anymore.

***

I am showered and dressed, drinking coffee from the pot Dylan has left for me, when he arrives back from his run. He is wearing what looks like biker shorts and he is taking his t-shirt off as he comes through the back kitchen door. Egads. I get to watch him half-naked again. He doesn’t notice that I am sitting at the little two-chair, kitchen dinette set, working on my laptop—observing him.

“Oh, hey,” he says when he finally realizes I am across the room.

“Morning. Thanks for the coffee.”

“We offer more than coffee at Chez Leo. I’m going to take a quick shower and then I’ll make you breakfast.”

He tosses his shirt over his shoulder and walks towards me. He has no choice since it’s the only way out of the kitchen. It’s a struggle to drag my bulging eyes back to my computer screen.

“You could run your own little bed and breakfast here,” I joke. “People sure would get a
lot
of sleep.” I click my tongue.

He stops at my wobbly little table.

“I barely slept at all last night.” His tone is firm. “Besides, I like having one guest.”

I glance up at him and his mouth curves slightly before he leaves me alone with those confusing innuendos to ponder.

I’ll over-think this until my head implodes. It’s just as well. I still don’t know how my new boss will react to this situation, and I also have to worry about Robert. Was he just stopping by to say hello and be on his way? Yes, rich, handsome lawyers always drive their luxury cars out to the dusty boondocks to give a friendly howdy to ex-girlfriends.

Dylan returns in loose fitting jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt, looking happy. Maybe he just jerked himself off in the shower. I have no idea what’s come over Mr. Split Personality this morning. In the last twelve hours, he’s kissed me like he wanted more, then he begged off, and now here he is all sunshiny again. Regardless, I sure love looking at him.

I am glad I put myself together this morning. Even if it did take a lot of effort to blow out my hair with the low-wattage hair dryer I found under the bathroom sink. I am assuming it is one of Lauren’s old cast-offs. I wanted that salon look and my arm started to ache holding the ancient hair dryer that only blew semi-warm air. I had no choice with wardrobe since the only other outfit I brought to Dylan’s house is a pair of low-rise jeans and a dressy, green t-shirt that has a ruffled, scoop neckline, showing a little bit of cleavage. I’ve been told the green looks nice against my dark features. I hope that’s what has put Dylan in his good mood.

“What are you working on?” he asks. “Picking up more assholes and perverts online?”

You would think he’d crack a smile at his own joke. He doesn’t, though.

“No. I don’t need to pick anyone up. They come to me.” Oh, great, here comes my stupid banter I usually reserve for when I am drinking at a bar.

“Oh, do they now?” He raises an eyebrow and puts a hand on the back of my chair and the other on the table to lean down to see my computer.

“I’m looking at the sales revenues of a few competitors and comparing where their peaks are geographically.” I try to sound very serious even though his cheek is a couple inches from mine, and he has just activated the marshmallow fluff machine churning inside of me.