Shattered and Shaken (11 page)

His eyes follow my hands, and they pop out in surprise. “Damn, Babe, we're coming back. You know that, right?” Why is everyone overreacting to three suitcases? I'm a woman, dammit! I need things men don't; well, at least I hope they wouldn't need them.

“Blake?” I reach up and place my hand on his cheek, turning his face towards me. “You think I'm beautiful?” I nod, knowing the answer to my question.

He leans down and places his lips to my forehead. “Without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on,” he replies. He straightens back up and I make eye contact with him.

“Well, all of this,” I take my hands and motion up and down my body, “especially this,” I say, pointing to my hair, “takes that.” I point to the largest case by the door. “The rest is clothes and shoes,” I explain.

He leans down, getting closer to the side of my face. “Al, I'd love you without that,” he says, pointing to the luggage. “All of it. Without make-up, hair shit, and especially without clothes,” he whispers, his breath grazing my cheek.

He begins to walk forward, forcing me backwards. I push my hand into his chest harder. “Whoa...no sir,” I say, pushing him back towards the door. At least, I tell myself I'm pushing him back, but he isn't budging. His shoulders begin to rise and fall rapidly as he laughs at me.

“Chill, baby, we've got an hour before we have to check in for our flight. All you're doing is making me spill coffee,” he looks down to the floor and back up again, proving his point.

I recoil my hand and exaggerate a sigh. I step aside and let him into the living room. He walks over to the couch, stopping to give me a feather-like kiss on his way. He sets the coffee on the table in front of him before leaning back and patting his lap, indicating where he wants me to sit. I go over and gently place myself into his lap, sideways. I wrap my arms around his neck and clasp my fingers together; I snuggle myself into him and rest my forehead against his. I take in a deep breath through my nose and take in his scent, he smells of mint and coffee.

“I've missed you,” I say, kissing him swiftly. I unclasp my hands, taking them up his neck and run my fingers through his hair. “I've missed your smell.”
Kiss.
“I've missed your touch.”
Kiss.
I angle my body so that I straddle him, and I move my lips down to his neck
.
“I've missed the sound of your voice, and the way you affect me. The way I'm affecting you at this very moment,” I say, placing a kiss to his carotid, right where his pulse is throbbing. I run my hand softly down the side of his neck, down his chest, and stop when I feel his hardness. “And, I most definitely missed this guy,” I say, stroking him over his jeans.

A growl escapes him, and before I know it, we're in reversed positions; he's hovering over me. My legs instinctively wrap around him. He takes his hand and
rubs the distal part of my thigh. “As much as I want to take you right here, right now, I can't.” He shakes his head and squeezes my thigh. “I'm not a wham-bam thank-ya-ma'am kinda man, baby, but you already know that,” he says, kissing along my clavicle.

Yeah, but a girl can hope, right?

I just want to feel him. I don't care if it's a second, a minute, or an hour; I'll commit it to memory and make it last until my next fix. I place my hands to the back of his head and pull him to me, placing my lips to his. “Can't blame a girl for tryin’,” I say, thrusting my hips upwards to glide against him.

He sucks in a breath then releases it slowly. He releases his grip from my thigh and brings his hand up, slipping it behind my head and tangles his fingers into my hair. “Please, don't make me test my theory, babe; we'll miss our flight.”

I roll my eyes dramatically and sigh, “Okay, but only because I've already packed for Nashville; let’s go.” I shove his shoulders playfully.

He stands to stretch, and as his hands go high above his head, his shirt rises, exposing that delicious V he rocks. It takes all my will power not to stick my tongue out and lick him. “Like what you see?” Blake's voice snaps me away from my dirty thoughts.

I tear my eyes from his ridiculously sexy abdomen and drag my eyes to meet his. “Maybe.” I shrug my shoulders as if his muscles don't affect me. He takes his tongue and sucks his teeth, trying to prevent his smile. He extends his hand to help me from the couch, and we make our way to the door. As Blake loads my luggage, I go to Sophie's room to let her know that I'm leaving, and I promise to call as soon as I settle in. She refuses my offer and demands I call as soon as we land.

Sophie doesn't know how to take no for an answer, so I agree to call as soon as I'm allowed phone privileges. I give her a tight hug and exit her apartment, locking up behind me. I take the steps two at a time and meet Blake at the passenger side of his truck. He helps me in and we're off to the airport.

Chapter Ten

WE LAND IN NASHVILLE
three-and-a-half hours later, I should be exhausted due to lack of sleep, but I'm jittery from the six cups of coffee I had earlier. As we walk through the airport, I grab a hold to the back of Blake's shirt; I grip it as if my life depends on it. Jacksonville's airport is busy, but it's nowhere near as busy as Nashville's. While Blake gathers our luggage, I look around me and think polygamy must be on the rise. The United States is overpopulated, and they should put a limit on how many humans you're allowed to produce.

Blake sets my luggage to the floor and tosses his duffle bag over his shoulder. “I hate to ask for your assistance in carrying this, but I don't have enough hands. If we leave it here and then come back for it, it might not be here when we return,” he shrugs, waiting for my response. I hope he's not insinuating that I'm weak and can't carry a suitcase. I just prefer not to.

“I can get one,” I say. I go to lift the largest one just to prove a point, but as soon as I grab the handle, Blake reaches out and grabs my wrist.

“Um, no. Take this one; it has wheels.”

I take a step back, place my hands on my hips, and scrunch my brows at him before asking, “What, you think I'm weak?”

He looks at me bewildered. “Wait, what? No, Allie, I know you aren't weak, baby,” he replies. He steps around the luggage and bends slightly at the knees so he can look me in the eye. “It's just… it's just that I don't want anyone pulling my man card, you know, seeing my lady carrying her suitcase through the airport. It's a man's job, but since you decided to pack your entire closet; I don't have enough hands.” He speaks to me softly, just as a father approaches his child that's throwing a tantrum, anticipating my next action. Puckering my lips, I pull them to the side and give him my best “yeah right” look. He stands up straight and uses his thumb to caress my chin. “Come on, Al, you know you can't be upset with me, look at this face.” He places an index finger under his chin and points to his face, flashing me a crooked smile. He's right, he's pretty darn irresistible.

We're in a cab driving through Nashville, and let me just say that the traffic absolutely sucks; people here cannot drive. I'm not sure which highway we're on, but we've been at a standstill for at least an hour. We finally begin to creep along the interstate, and twenty minutes later, we take a slight right to exit the interstate. As we ride through the city, I'm amazed. There are restaurants, malls, and shopping centers crammed together; it's the complete opposite of Jacksonville. Where we live, there's not much around. If we want to have some fun or go shopping, we have to drive about an hour away into the next city.

We drive through a neighborhood filled with large historic homes before I see a sign welcoming us to Green Hills. “I thought we were staying in Nashville,” I say, looking out the window, taking in the beautiful homes with professional landscaping.

Blake lets out a chuckle. Reaching over, he takes my hand into his. “We are,” he says.

I look back and point towards the welcome sign “But-”

He squeezes my hand. “Technically, we're still in Nashville. You can wipe that disappointed look off your face, baby. My goal in life is to please you, not disappoint you. Plus, that look doesn't suit you very well." He leans to me and kisses my temple. Once his lips leave my head, I realize how tense my muscles are, because I immediately relax from the contact his lips make with my body.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I don't really know why I have so much tension or why I held my breath. I couldn’t care less which city we're staying in; it must be the anxiety I have about meeting his parents. We drive past something that looks like a mall, take a few turns, and five minutes later, we pull into a rock-paved drive. It circles around a large two-story brick home. The yard is very well kept; the landscaping is gorgeous with shrubs shaped as squares and perfectly round circles. As the driver makes his way up the drive, my eye catches on a unique fountain; it's something you would only see in Nashville, or Texas. There's a cowboy hat sitting upon a wooden log with water dripping from it into a pair of staked cowboy boots.

The cab comes to a halt in front of a beautiful, rustic arched front door. “Ready?” Blake asks, reaching for the door handle. I take in a deep cleansing breath and slowly let it escape from my lungs before nodding. I'm not ready, really. I'm a mad woman who cusses worse than a sailor; I was born without a brain-to-mouth filter.

I'm so nervous about meeting his parents, the muscles in my neck begin to spasm, causing me to have a slight twitch. Great. Not only am I having to bite my tongue to keep from dropping F-bombs left and right, I'm also going to have to convince his parents that my twitch isn't drug induced. I'm not a profanity dropping drug whore.

Placing my hands to the back of my neck, I roll my neck from side-to-side trying to relax my muscles. Blake comes around to my side of the cab and opens my door. He extends his hand to me and ducks under the roof of the car. “C'mon ,Allie, it'll be fine; they're going to love you,” he assures me.

I place my hand in his and he assists me out of the cab. “How can you be so sure?”

He pulls me into him and throws his head back as if it's a ridiculous question. “How can I be sure? Babe, you're totally loveable. Now get your damn game face on and take your sexy ass up those steps,” he says, nodding to his front door.

Turning to make my way to the castle-like home, he smacks my backside. “Hey! Don't start something you can't finish, big boy. I'll have no other choice but to ride you on your momma's couch. Don't test me,” I say over my shoulder, making my way up the steps and twisting my hips a little more than necessary.

He scurries up the steps behind me, drops the luggage, and wraps his arms around my waist. “Oh, baby, baby, baby, I'm not a quitter. I finish what I start, believe that,” he says, placing a line of warm kisses up my neck line. The heat from his tongue make my insides boil, but I can't surrender to him right now; if I do, my theory of me not being a profanity-droppin’ drug whore is shit.

When Blake and I collide, I turn into a dirty
dirty girl; profanity is a must, and my body jerks are involuntary. It's fucking mind blowing. As Blake's teasing my neck, the front door swings open. Before us stands a petite blonde woman. She looks to be in her late forties. She's wearing slick black slacks, a ruffled white dress top, and black and white heels. Her hair's pulled up into a neat bun with a few loose strands dangling around her face.

“Blake!” she squeals, covering her mouth with her hands. Blake grabs my hand and drags me up the steps behind him. Once our feet are firmly planted on the cement platform, he releases my hand and embraces his mother. She jumps into his arms and wraps her arms tightly around his neck, and Blake lifts her from the ground and spins her around twice before placing her back on the cement. He leans over his mother's petite shoulder and whispers something into her ear; it's inaudible to me.

Awkwardly, I stand with my hands clasped in front of me, resting them in front of my thighs. I don't want to seem too nosey, so I lift my eyes to the sky and cloud gaze. My eyes begin to burn from the sun, and as I lower my gaze from the sky, I make eye contact with beautiful hazel eyes surrounded by long, thick, upturned lashes. Her eyes gloss over and there's a genuine smile spread across her face. I open my mouth ready to introduce myself, but before I can make a sound, she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes me tightly. Surprisingly, her embrace is warm, accepting, not what I expected. She places her hands on top of my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length. “Allie, it's so nice to finally meet you. You're all I've heard about over the last two years.” Huh, weird since Blake and I've only been exclusive for a couple months.

Shit! My neck begins to twitch again, but I believe it's barely noticeable, at least I hope. “It's nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Andrews. I hope what you've heard about me has been nothing but good things,” I say politely.

She lets out a sigh. “Oh please, call me Clair,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Or Mom,” she continues.

I force out a fake giggle. “Clair it is...” I refuse to call her Mom. See, she already thinks we're going to get married. Damn, I knew this was a bad idea.

Blake turns to retrieve our bags and I assist him in gathering my luggage. Just as I bend down to grab hold of the handle on one of my cases, strong fingers encircle my wrist. “Let me get that, dear.” I look up and see a man who I assume is Blake's father. He has on black square-framed glasses that hang toward the tip of his nose. His dark hair is highlighted with grey. He's dressed in khaki shorts and a hunter green short sleeve polo.

“Yes sir,” I say, releasing the handle.

We stand in unison, but he doesn't release my hand. Instead, he slides his fingers down my wrist and under my palm. Pulling my hand to his lips, he places a kiss to the back of my hand. “Allie, I assume,” he says with a smile.

“The one and only,” I curtsy, causing him to chuckle. Making eye contact with him, I'm speechless. His eyes are unique; they're like nothing I've seen before. His right eye's hazel with brown specks throughout his iris, and his left eye is a blue-grey color. They're vibrant and the warmth of his soul shows through. He gathers two of my suitcases and makes his way into his home. I follow behind him. He sets my belongings to the side of the foyer.

As I enter the home, I'm awe struck by its beauty. The architectural features in this home are indescribable. Above me are barrel-vault ceilings, and just above my head hangs an upside-down crystal chandelier. It's absolutely stunning. Blinking several times, I take a few steps forward and take in the rest of the home. The walls are painted a shade of gray and they're outlined with thick white crown molding. The cherry hardwoods shine as if they've recently been waxed. I can see my reflection in them. To my right is a spiral staircase with a white banister topped with a cherry wood-like railing, and I'm left wondering what it looks like upstairs.

As if Blake could read my mind, he takes my hand and leads me toward the staircase. “Allie and I are gonna go up and get settled,” he says, leading us up the steps.

“Do you think I'm letting you two sleep in the same room?” Clair questions, raising one of her perfectly arched brows. Blake doesn't stop to answer her; he just continues leading up to the room, one step at a time.

“Answer her Blake,” I say so only he can hear. I stop following him and tug his hand back, causing him to still.

He leans over the banister, our hands still entwined. “Yes ma'am. We share a place back home, why not here?” He pushes off the banister and pulls me forward.

“Blake, no. There will be no baby
makin' under this roof,” she yells up the stairs.

Blake pays his mother no attention. I yank my hand from his. “Blake, we can't be disrespectful. Show me to my own room... please,” I plead, clutching my hands to my chest, batting my lashes, and pouting my lip.

He tilts his head back and lifts his eyes to the ceiling as if he's considering it. “Um, that's cute and all, but no.” He turns on his heels and makes his way up the steps. That's it? No explanation, nothing? I stand still and cross my arms over my chest, refusing to move until he caves. When he realizes I'm not following behind him, he turns around and gives me a questionable look. “You coming?” he asks, slowly making his way back down to me.

I shrug my shoulders and roll my eyes. “No. Not unless you let me have my own room. It's Clair's home and I don’t want to be disrespectful,” I reply.

He tucks his hands into the front pocket of his jeans and steps off each step with a bounce. He has his head cocked slightly to the side and he’s biting his bottom lip. He pauses on the step in front of me. “Oh yeah?” he asks, eyeing me seductively.

“Yeah,” I reply, placing my hands on my hips.

“Huh,” he bends down, picks me up, and throws me over his shoulder; a squeal escapes me. Bringing my hands to my mouth, I try to silence myself, but I can't contain the laughter that escapes me. He carries me up the rest of the steps, down to the end of the hall, and into a dark room. He kicks the door shut behind us. He walks us over to a bed and lays me down, turning back to lock the door. I scoot up the bed until my back's against the headboard. “Where you goin' baby,” he asks, holding his hands out to the side.

I pull my knees up to my chest and lock my arms around them, dropping my head into my knees. “I hear no evil, I see no evil,” I chant, but he just shakes his head and smiles. In my mind, I'm committed to not having sex with him under his parents’ roof. I hope it's a commitment I can follow.

A short while later, Blake drags our bags upstairs, and despite his efforts to persuade me to share his room, I'm sleeping solo. As he removes his belongings from his duffle bag, I make my way across the hall to the guest room, rolling a suitcase behind me. When I open the door, the mango aroma overtakes my senses. I enter the room and look around; it's immaculate. The walls are a pastel mint green, trimmed with the same crown molding as downstairs, and over in the North West corner of the room, there's a fireplace embedded in river stones.

I roll my case over to the bed and see that there's an archway leading into a bathroom. I can't see much, all I can see is a marble top double vanity and window. I set my case aside and curiously make my way towards the bathroom, and holy shit, I must be in the wrong room. There is no way the rest of the house looks this way; this has to be Mr. And Mrs. Andrews' room. To the left of me I see an oval-shaped sunken tub with a stone fountain attached to the side of it, and there's a television at the edge of the tub - right where your feet relax. I turn on my heels and abruptly exit the room, making my way to Blake. He's in his closet hanging up his clothes when I rush through his door. “Um, I think you told me the wrong room,” I say in a panic. Don't ask me why I'm panicking, because I don't have a clue. All I know is that for some reason, my pulse is racing, and my throat's constricting.