Lost in You (4 page)

‘You betcha,’ she said and rattled the number off to me. ‘But I’m writing it down in case we lose power and have to call on an old-fashioned phone. Or, as old folks like me call it, a regular phone.’

I finally hung up and pulled my hair back, twisting it tight. I had no rubber band to hold it so the moment I let it go it sprang back, a mass of wild curls prompted by the rain.

‘Busy?’

I shrugged. ‘Aren’t you busy? You’re always in the papers.’ I toed the seam between the dark-red floor tiles.

‘I do a lot of charity work. To make good on my wild youth and …’ His eyes went back out to the storm. Always watching. Always aware. He was more than met the eye. ‘I do a lot of it to humour my mom since my dad passed.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I read about that.’

Dorian nodded once, a sharp gesture. ‘Thank you. I was a constant disappointment to my dad. I think I’m trying to make up for it now.’

‘I don’t know how – I mean, I can’t see you as disappointing.’ I looked away. ‘Not that it’s my place to say,’ I tailed off.

‘You’re a person, Clover. You don’t have a
place
. You can say whatever you like.’

I took a deep breath. ‘How about some shoes for me?’ I felt awkward saying it but I wanted to change the subject.

He nodded and reached out for my hand before catching himself. Then he shook his head and smiled, letting the hand drop to his side. ‘Sure thing. I bet you’d look stunning in some knee-high brown leather boots.’

‘I really don’t nee–’

‘Clover?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m a very busy man
trapped
here with you.’ He grinned at me on the word ‘trapped’. ‘Let me get you some boots. It will amuse me. Keep me occupied.’

This time, I was the one to stick out my hand. My heart pounded when I did it. He looked surprised at the gesture but quickly recovered and took my hand in his.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘But only to keep you occupied.’

‘That didn’t take long,’ Dorian said with a laugh.

I gazed in the mirror at the tall, brown riding boots. ‘No. It didn’t. I adore boots. I have a bit of a …’ I let my words peter out, coughed to clear my throat.

‘A bit of a what?’ I could sense him smiling though I wasn’t looking at him.

‘A bit of a fetish,’ I said in a rush. ‘Not that I have to wear boots to have sex –’ I bit my tongue, cutting myself off before I could groan with embarrassment. ‘I mean … my God, why did I say that aloud?’

‘To make my day?’ He leaned against the wall and his eyes did another sweep of me. Head to toe, hovering right where one would expect a man’s gaze to hover. I was getting used to being assessed by Dorian Martin. Not only was I getting used to it, I was starting to appreciate it. The flex and tremble in my belly and the sudden need to shift my stance and squeeze my thighs together were clues.

‘I’m glad I can amuse you,’ I said.

‘Not just amuse. You intrigue me too. You care for your grandmother and run a tight ship and seem to take responsibility very seriously. Not to mention you seem uncomfortable being the centre of attention.’

I nodded, feeling quite uncomfortable just then. ‘True, true, true. Though taking care of my grandmother is no biggie because she watches out for me too. Since my mom –’ I shook my head at the mention of my gran and my mom. Tears were building in my eyes and I blinked hard to keep them down. The bizarre day was doing strange things to my emotions.

I rushed on, ‘As for taking my job and responsibility seriously, how could you not? I mean, who wouldn’t?’

He raised his hand. ‘Me for one. Why do you think I’m trying to redeem myself now?’

‘Oh – I’m –’

‘No need to be sorry. It’s a true story. I was a – what do they call it? – an incorrigible minor and now I’m not. Now I’m trying to be … a man.’ He waved a hand at me. He plucked a pair of buttery leather boots from a perch and idly turned them over. ‘What size do you wear?’

‘Eight and a half,’ I said, my tongue suddenly sticking to the roof of my mouth.

‘Will you try these on for me?’ He held them out.

‘I will, but you can’t buy them for me,’ I said. I had no idea why I said it.

He barked out a laugh and shook his head. ‘Not impressed by money. It’s my favourite thing about you. You wouldn’t let me buy them for you?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘I barely know you and you don’t owe me anything.’

‘It wouldn’t be because I owe you. It would be because it would make me happy. I have a lot of money. Which means I want for nothing. Buying stuff for yourself gets boring after a while. Buying things for people who think of others first and themselves last is wonderful. You think of everyone, Clover. How about you let me think of you today? Just this pair and the ones you have on. And I promise, Scout’s honour –’ he held up one hand in the Boy Scout sign ‘– no more.’

I sighed. They were spectacular and probably two months’ pay and … I took them. I liked the feel of the leather under my fingers, but it was the words he’d given me along with the boots that warmed my heart. A man appreciating me for who I was fascinated me. That was what impressed me about him, not his bank account.

‘Those are spectacular,’ he said, when I slipped them on and tugged them high.

They were. The heels weren’t too high or too low. They felt as if they’d been made for me. The sudden rush of emotion at the gift surprised me, though.

‘Are you crying?’

‘No,’ I said, quickly turning from him. I wiped my eyes, wondering if there was any way I could get out of this without him knowing.

‘Do you feel overwhelmed?’

The question was startling and then the lights flickered and something crashed and I jumped, a scream ripping out of me despite my best efforts to contain it. That night, that noise, the fear of it all came rushing back fast and furious. It rarely happened but when it did I was no longer an adult in charge of her life, herself and often others. I was eight years old, home alone and terrified.

I felt the wild trembling start, the bone-deep helplessness that always seemed to arrive with that memory. Usually I dreamed of that night so I awoke alone and shaking, which was fine. No one there to see my fear or my embarrassment. It was ages in my past. I should be over it by now.

‘Hey, Clover, hey,’ he whispered, pulling me in. I marvelled at the heat of him again. The man was standing there in jeans and a tee and he was keeping me warm. ‘What is it? If it’s the boots, my God, fucking take them off and I’ll never make you take boots from me again.’

I started to laugh and felt his firm body relax. He’d been trying to defuse the situation and his body language said he felt relief. I let myself wrap my arms around him as he stroked my hair. His lips brushed my ear and he whispered. ‘It’s not the boots, is it?’

I shook my head and shut my eyes. He smelled like warm man and kindness.

‘Do you want to tell me what it is?’

I shook my head.

‘Is part of it your grandmother?’

I pulled back and nodded. ‘Yes. Part of it.’

‘But not all of it?’ His dark eyes studied me and I realised that at some point the lights had resumed their full brightness.

‘No, not all of it,’ I admitted. I held my breath, waiting for him to press or pry. He didn’t.

He just nodded and said, ‘OK.’ Then he slipped his hands into my hair and ran his fingers across my scalp until I felt my eyes drift shut and my body calm down.

‘I think your grandmother is going to be fine. If she’s anything like you, she won’t let a storm get the better of her.’ His voice was low and soft. It seemed to vibrate in my chest, my belly, lower.

I nodded, but kept my eyes shut.

‘And you said she’s not alone.’

‘No. Not alone,’ I whispered as his fingers continued to stroke under my hair. Then he sifted through the long strands, smoothed them and started the whole process again.

‘Open your eyes, Clover,’ he said.

I opened them. We were so close I could see that the very centre of his irises held an amber ring. Mesmerising.

‘I’m going to kiss you now,’ he said. He cocked his head. ‘Is that OK?’

I could only manage a nod and then his lips were pressing against mine. Soft at first and then harder, his tongue stroking out and seeking entrance past my lips. I parted them and let him kiss me deeply, his hands still smoothing my hair, sliding further down my back and finally cupping my bottom. He pulled me into him with a touch of force, enough to make my breath catch and my skin tingle. I felt his arousal as surely as mine and let my body rest there, pressed against him, so I could feel that I was not alone in my attraction or my want.

It was startling and unexpected but wonderfully inebriating. I tilted my head back into his big hand and he cradled me that way as he kissed me. His free hand slid up over my sweater, just a glancing slide, enough to make my nipple grow hard under his palm. My skin sang with tingles and I went lax in his arms. When he pulled me against him once more, roughly, I gasped. The movement resembled a thrust. Dorian broke the connection, cleared his throat and said, ‘How about if I make you something to eat?’

It took a moment for me to get any words out and even then my voice was wobbly. ‘Yes, food.’

* * *

Soho’s Retreat
was a small bistro in the shopping centre. I always walked past it as I was working and wished it could be open for me for lunch. It was mildly amusing and mildly annoying to have to leave the Rotunda to get lunch when normally it was a place where people flocked for nice cutting-edge lunches with names like
Buddha’s Purse
and
Beggar’s Satchel
.

‘This place? You’re going to … cook?’

Dorian punched the code into the keypad and the door clicked as the lock disengaged. Then he rolled the door up. ‘Sure. If by “cook” you mean heat up stuff.’

I laughed, touched my lips, still feeling the lingering sensation of his there. He caught me doing it, his eyes taking me in as succinctly as they had every other time his gaze had lingered on me. I was blushing and I hated it.

‘What happens with all these doors if we lose power?’

He stopped, ran a hand through his dark hair. ‘I guess I’m screwed. I don’t have the master key ring. Bradley has that … somewhere.’ He flicked the bistro lights on and said, ‘Grab us some sodas or whatever you want. I’ll be right back.’

‘But –’

He held up a finger. ‘Right. Back. I promise. Just get our beverages and study the menu. See what you want me to whip up for you. If it’s within my power, I’ll do it. Your wish is my command,’ he said and winked.

It should have been a cheesy gesture. I should have found it off-putting or offensive or something. Instead, I felt my body rev up as if he were touching me again. I wished those words were true. Being near him had me thinking a bit differently. A bit more relaxed, a bit more hopeful. A bit more … flirtatious and feminine? ‘I blame the barometric pressure,’ I said softly as he ran off through the halls.

I wandered around the small restaurant and tried not to stare at him. He’d returned from his jaunt very fast, just as promised. He’d been sporting a grin and a black pullover hoodie that said NANTUCKET WOOD across the front.

I had yet to ask where that had come from, but seeing it reminded me of the fact that I was wearing his sweater. I tugged the sleeves down a bit and tucked my fingers inside the warmth. I tried to be sneaky about dipping my head and breathing in the scent of him from the soft fabric. Between wearing his clothes and that kiss – God, that kiss would not leave my mind – I was surrounded by Dorian’s scent. And it was potent, bringing out feelings of contentment and safety. Things I rarely let myself enjoy.

I always seemed to be on guard, ready to fight my way through the world. To a degree, that had always been my personality, but it had become worse since my mother left. Borrowing problems, kicking ass and taking names, as my grandmother often joked.

Thinking of her sent a spike of bright uncomfortable fear through me. I glanced up to see him watching me, half smiling because I still had my nose tucked inside the neck of his sweater.

‘Are you cold?’ he asked, flipping the grilled sandwich he was making. It smelled heavenly. I’d had no idea how hungry I was until Dorian started cooking.

‘No. I mean, a little. It’s the …’ I shivered, shrugging my shoulders.

‘The dampness.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Are you sure I can’t help?’

I’d already asked twice and been turned down both times, the answer a soft ‘Let someone do for you.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m sure. Why not have a seat, have your drink. I bet if I dig around in the back, John and Nancy have a bottle of wine stashed somewhere. Or a box. They like their vino but they’re green. They like those boxes that hold about two big bottles of wine and there’s less waste. I never did get into wine much,’ he said, busying himself at the flat top.

‘Maybe later,’ I said, though part of me wanted to say yes right away. Yes, wine! Maybe it could distract me from how he seemed to be a magnet drawing me to him. I’d seen none of the cocky, entitled attitude I would have expected from someone like Dorian. And then I felt rather ashamed of my assumptions.

I walked the length of the restaurant studying the framed photos of what must be the couple who owned
Soho’s Retreat
. They were smiling and happy in every single shot. Often holding hands or draping arms around each other. In a more recent photo Nancy was toting a baby on her hip, and John gazing at his wife and child, looking very satisfied.

What was that like? That life? Being so connected to someone, enough to bring a life into the world.

‘You ever think about it?’

I jumped a little, but covered with a smile. Turning to Dorian, I steadied my voice before speaking. ‘Sure. I mean, I guess. Everyone thinks about it to a degree, right? I think we’re – especially girls, maybe – all pre-programmed to want that. Marriage and kids, right? What else is there?’ I threw my hands up and rolled my eyes.

I could hear that my voice was much more clipped and angry than I’d intended. I hadn’t meant to sound so … bitter.