The Origin (6 page)

He waited all of ten seconds before saying, “And?”

“I can’t tell you that. I have to honor the doctor/patient confidentiality,” she said, flashing him a toothy smile. “But I did tell her I think you’re complicated.”

Daniel readily accepted the invitation to come up to her apartment, almost as if he’d been anticipating it, which came as a relief to Olivia. And maybe this time, he would stay and kiss her.

“Here,” she said, handing him a remote control as he settled on the suede couch. “If you’d rather watch a movie, they’re all in that apothecary cabinet. I’ll just be ten minutes.”

“You know, you don’t smell like you need a shower,” Daniel said, stretching his arms out on the back of the sofa.

Olivia smiled, wishing she didn’t have to worry about trivial things like personal hygiene at all. Oh, to smell fresh and clean all the time! “I’ve been sweating for most of the day. Even if body odor doesn’t bother you, it sure bothers me.”

“I’d rather not think of you with body odor at all,” Daniel called as she made her way to the bathroom. As she stood under the warm spray of water, she imagined Daniel losing all sense of propriety and stealing into the shower with her. He could lather her up and run his soapy palms over her breasts, down her stomach and around to the ticklish curve of her back, and she, of course, could return the favor with much enthusiasm. But she had a feeling that she’d come across as a bit of a lady, and Daniel, ever the gentleman, would never take advantage of one.

But one can dream.

Several minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom wearing an oversized sweater and black leggings, her damp hair loose down her back.

“That was quick,” Daniel said, his eyes following her around the room. “I’m not an expert or anything, but aren’t women supposed to take a long time to get ready?”

“You’re right,” she said, handing him a beer from the kitchen. “You’re no expert.” She sat beside him with a bottle of water, and took careful note of what he had worn to their unsuccessful date. Clearly he had made an effort, ditching the hobo couture and instead was wearing a gray sweater that molded to his muscled body and allowed a little chest hair to peek through the v-shaped collar. And he had actually put on cologne – a cool scent that brought about images of an ocean storm – which made her want to nestle into the crook of his neck, close her eyes, and just breathe.

She wondered if she would have the same reaction had he been any other Joe
Schmoe
on the street instead of the object of her teen obsession. He was certainly handsome enough to catch her attention on any given day – with his expressive grey eyes, square jaw, those lips that were always set in a grim line, and that hint of a cleft on his chin – but was it enough to give her erotic dreams for the past three nights? What power did he possess that made her skin tingle every time he came near?

Daniel felt the tension as soon as Olivia took a seat beside him on the couch. She extended her long legs onto the coffee table, her toes pointed, and bent over in a stretch. The sight of her leaning down, hugging her slender legs to her chest, made his crotch stir unexpectedly. The fact that he had desired her since the first moment he’d laid eyes upon her shapely behind did not help matters much either. He might have superhuman powers, but his body still responded to this tantalizing form of stimulus like a normal red-blooded male.

Silently, he thanked the inventor of throw pillows as he placed one on his lap, concealing the explicit direction that his thoughts had veered toward.

As she sat back and relaxed to watch the movie, he found himself leaning closer, and closer still, until he had no other choice but to wrap his arm around her; denying that urge would have been an exercise in futility.

The moment their bodies connected, Olivia let out an almost imperceptible sigh and it was all he could do not to rip her clothes off.

He whispered against her ear, “Are you comfortable?”

She smiled up at him and bit her lip. The electricity arced as soon as their eyes met and, as they leaned closer into each other, a voice cried out from the recesses of his brain to stop before it was too late, a voice he so badly wanted to ignore…

 
It took all of his will power to turn away from her lips and say, “I’d better go.”

“Again?”

He stared at the disappointment on her face, torn between desire and duty. It had been a while since anyone had looked at him in that manner. “I can’t. I’m already…”

With a swiftness that took him by surprise, she swung her legs over and straddled his lap, holding his face between her hands. “Do I turn you off, Daniel?” she said, her eyes glinting with spirit.

He shook his head and gulped, his entire body a stick of dynamite whose wick was burning dangerously close to the end.

“Are you afraid of me?”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

“Is that why you keep leaving when we’re about to kiss? Because you’re afraid of little
ol
’ me?” She batted her dark eyelashes and smiled in a show of innocence.

“Olivia, I can’t get close to anyone right now,” he said between his teeth, keenly aware of the heat of her crotch pressing into his. He could feel himself getting aroused further and, from the wicked smile on her face, clearly she felt it too.

“Can I get this close at least?” she said, her face moving closer to his.

He held his breath as he drove the back of his head into the couch.

She edged even closer, their faces a mere hair’s breadth apart. “How about this close?”

“If you don’t stop that I’ll have to – ”

She smiled mischievously. “You’ll have to what?” Without warning, her tongue darted out and licked the length of his top lip.

The dynamite went off.

With the need of a deprived man, he took her lips, plunging his tongue into her eager mouth, relenting to his body’s basic impulses. He groaned, unable to remember why he’d avoided physical contact with a woman for so long when it was clearly what his body had been designed to do. He needed her. Now.

She moaned into his mouth and ground herself into him. Her hands were clutching his face while his own were roaming all over her back, pulling her closer. He could feel his control evaporating; if he didn’t stop now, he would end up screwing her and, inevitably, screw himself over in the process.

Amidst all his worries, the thought of losing his sense of decency and accidentally hurting her weighed heavy on his mind. The last time he had had sex was with a girl in college, when he’d discovered bruises on her wrists afterward. He was not an abusive guy, hated the very thought of anyone considering him violent, so he’d vowed to never risk it again.

With all of his remaining resolve, he managed to pull away and say, “No. Stop.” He gripped her hip and forced the grinding to a halt.

Olivia, to his surprise, dismounted his lap without further argument, apparently mollified by the passionate kiss. “I knew it,” she said, her face flushed pink as she breathed heavily.

“Knew what?” His voice was strained as his balls howled the pain of a thousand water balloons filled to bursting capacity. Only a shower worthy of hypothermia could help him now. Or maybe Rosy Palms and her sisters.

“I knew there was something more between us.” Olivia’s voice was soft and thoughtful, a far cry from her passionate moans a moment earlier.

Daniel nodded dumbly in agreement. He forced himself to think of unappealing things – of toilet scum, dragon breath, telemarketers – to get his mind off the sexy woman ready to jump his bones. But try as he might, he couldn’t avoid thinking of her lips on his, the wet heat of her tongue as it slid along his own…

“Olivia, I have to–”

“I know, you have to go,” she said in resignation, tucking her hair behind her ears.

He sat up and touched her chin, angling her head up to his. “I have to,
Liv
. I can’t sit here and pretend that I don’t want to be inside you.”

Her cheeks turned a deeper pink as she took a full, settling breath. “Fine. Go.”

He stood up, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, hoping he hadn’t embarrassed her. “I shouldn’t have said that, about, you know, me being inside you…” He scratched the back of his head. “And I’m sorry for saying it again.”

She laughed. “No, it’s fine. I’m no shrinking wallflower. And I like that you call me
Liv
. It makes me feel full of life.”

“You are,” he said and bent down to plant a lingering kiss on her forehead, struggling against the gravitational pull of her lips. “But I really should go.”

“Daniel?” she said before he reached the door.

“Yes?”

She raised one delicate eyebrow. “Please don’t make me be the one to call you again.”

John
Mathers
was a proud man of Maori warrior descent. Born
Hukarere
Matera, he had changed his name once he’d entered the business world in the big city. He had heard his name butchered enough times to finally resort to legally changing it to one that sounded more professional, Caucasian even, on paper. Once in person, he knew that he was enigmatic enough to convince even the crustiest CEO to give him a job. And a job he had acquired, at King Industries, working his way from a mailroom boy up to the cream of the crop, the account liaisons. It was a position that required much time and commitment, and a lot of schmoozing and negotiating with heads of companies, until deals of the multi-million dollar kind were struck.

The problem was John had been too good at his job. He had landed so many accounts that he had become cocksure of his position in the company – had even hoped of someday becoming Richard King’s successor – but that had all come crashing down around him when he’d been abruptly let go. Two weeks ago he had had a dynamic job, a huge commission on the way, and all the promise of a protégé. One short week later, he was but an unemployed minority, swindled out of what he’d justly achieved.

And Richard King himself, whom he’d idolized and emulated, was the very man who’d carried it all out.

He’d been accused of duplicity, of trying to lure away clients for Lockwood Inc., the only company standing in the way of Richard King’s complete domination in the pharmaceuticals business. The most bitter part was that John had never even entertained the idea of leaving King Industries as he had always felt a strong sense of allegiance to the company that helped forge him from the insecure youth he had been into the self-assured man he was today. King Industries was his home, as far as he was concerned. At least, it used to be.

John’s nose flared as he thought of his unjust dismissal as the needle pierced his skin repeatedly. The pain of the tattooing process magnified the sting of betrayal so that he flinched and hung his head, trying not to cry.

“How long will this take to finish?” he said to the artist who was wielding the vibrating needle.

The woman leaned back and surveyed the temporary blue print, the final section of his massive tribal tattoo that she was in the process of tracing over. “Hmm, it’s a pretty large design, so I’m guessing, um, three or four hours?”

John sighed. He stared at the framed pictures of celebrities that had visited the establishment, resigned to spending the rest of the night at the tattoo parlor. But then again, he had nowhere else to be in the morning now that he was without employment. The only other variable, his girlfriend Natasha, would not be back for a few more days as she attended a wedding in California. The night was his own, unfortunately, with only his thoughts and the pain to keep him company.

“This is an interesting design. Did you do it yourself?”

“No. Well, my twin brother and I came up with it. I’ve just never gotten around to having it finished,” he said, thinking of the times spent dreaming up the perfect Maori-inspired tattoo and drawing on each other with a Sharpie. One particular night, they had been looking through a library book when his brother had come up with the idea of designing an enormous tattoo that, when standing side by side, spanned both their chests and shoulders.

“It will be epic!”
Rapata
had said, starting to sketch on a piece of paper. “So when we’re together, it makes one design.”

Rapata
was the one born with vision and John with the drive. Together they were an unstoppable force, up until
Rapata’s
dying breath.

“
Taku
parata
,” John said under his breath, the tears pooling in his eyes. “
I
ngaro
tau
.”

The stinging on his skin momentarily stopped. “What was that?”

He wiped at his face with his free arm. “Nothing. I’m just looking forward to the final reveal.”

The stinging pain continued. “You’re going to look amazing once this is done,” she said, her voice a rasping monotone. “As long as you stay beefy, the tattoo will look awesome. You’ll totally look like a fearsome warrior.”

John sniffed appreciatively. “Thank you. I’m actually a descendant of the Maori warrior Hone
Heke
.”