The Sound of Consequence (Puget Sound ~ Alive With Love Book 1) (7 page)

“You had time to notice the boxes before you did your amazing disappearing act?”

“I was looking for my bra,” she said through a playful smile.

“I’m pretty sure you must have found it near the door. I didn’t waste any time getting you out of that sexy little number. It was like unwrapping a present. I just couldn’t wait to see what was inside.”

“We could head back to your place so you could see what’s inside again,” Stacie suggested.

He subtly brushed the back of his hand over her breast. “Are you going to disappear again?”

His hand felt good, the heat of his touch penetrating the layers of fabric. She wanted to leave now, go back to his place, get naked, and have multiple mind-blowing orgasms. She wouldn’t spend the whole night. When they were finished and he fell asleep, she’d leave.

“I have to go home at some point.”

“Maybe we could go back to your place.”

Stacie shook her head. There was no way they were going to her place. It wasn’t a good idea for him to know where she lived. The convenience factor of living across the hall was great for her. Perhaps too convenient. But she didn’t want to be stalked.

“I have a roommate. She works a lot and I wouldn’t want to keep her up.”

His hand moved back to hers, the heat of his touch lingering. The longing she felt wasn’t going to be satisfied in this pub.

“What does your roommate do?”

“She’s in marketing.”

“What about you? Are you in marketing too? Is that what brought you to Seattle?” He took the last sip of his wine and motioned to their server for another round.

Stacie decided not to acknowledge the order of more drinks. Her wine was going down very easy. Too easy. She was only accustomed to having one glass of wine with Sunday dinner. She hadn’t had more than that since college, so didn’t know how much of a tolerance she had. The effects of the first glass were already working some magic, the muscles in her body softening, her mind relaxing. She even suspected the residual symptoms of the vertigo had stopped.

Getting drunk wasn’t a good idea, but this man, Owen, was intoxicating without the alcohol. Besides, it was the old Stacie who wouldn’t have more than one drink. The new Stacie could have as many as she wanted. She did need to keep enough of her faculties to get herself home tonight. She was not going to spend the entire night with him again. There would be no sleeping in his bed.

“I came for the chai Frappuccinos,” she said, avoiding the subject of her life. “I just can’t get enough of them.”

“Seattle isn’t the only city with chai Frappuccinos. Why’d you really come here?”

Stacie had been lying for years to a man who only paid attention when she said or did something he didn’t approve of. She wasn’t sure how good her lying skills actually were when someone was paying attention. She could make up some fabulous story about why she came here, to make her seem more interesting. Or she could take a chance and tell the truth. One lie would probably be easy, but then she’d have to stay on top of it and that would take a lot of focus that she didn’t really have.

“Well, my story isn’t nearly as interesting as yours. I’m just a starving artist who needed new scenery to find a little inspiration.” She picked up her glass and took a long, slow sip.

“A painter?” he asked, obviously remembering their conversation from that morning.

Jenny had coached her to talk in the present. She didn’t want to write children’s stories, she was writing them. Jenny said the technique would encourage her to not just pursue it, but achieve success. “I write and illustrate children’s stories.”

“Are you published?” he asked, his expression one of sincere interest.

“No. Well, not yet. Actually, I met with an editor today. She’s pitching my stories to the acquisition team. My best friend Jenny works there and she thinks I’ll get a contract. The editor seemed pretty confident too.”

“What are your stories about?” he asked.

Stacie felt herself getting excited. This was something she could talk about. It was more exciting than anything she had left behind, so she was happy to ramble on about her dream. Greg didn’t care about her writing. No one in Maine did, except Audrey, and she was gone. Jenny was the only one left who showed interest. Now she had this incredibly sexy man moving closer to take in every word she was saying about her work, her passion.

“I’m writing a series called
Villages in the Pine
. The stories are fantasy, with magical creatures like fairies and dragons, and witches, and elves. They all live in these huge pine trees on an island. They have wonderful adventures together, and conflicts that they work through. The stories are targeted at kids five to eight years old…ish. I think kids a little younger could enjoy them as well. I wasn’t getting the inspiration I needed in the Pine Tree state, so I decided to try out the Evergreen state and the Emerald City.” No need to add that she’d left behind a controlling fiancé, ex-fiance, and parents who would be extremely disappointed in her rash decision.

Stacie paused and took a sip of wine. A fresh glass sat in front of her. Funny, she hadn’t even noticed the server coming over. She was a little embarrassed to be so wrapped up in herself. She could tell that she was beaming. These stories, this dream, excited her. And Owen smiled. It was a different smile, not the sexy, seductive smile she was used to seeing on him. This was a welcoming, thoughtful smile. It told her that he was sincerely interested in what she had to say.

“What made you want to write children’s stories?”

“I’ve always been a writer. I used to write poetry in high school and college. I always wanted to write a mystery novel, but that’s a pretty big commitment. Then one day I was watching the butterflies dance around and it occurred to me that by writing children’s stories, I could combine my love for writing with my love for painting. It just seemed to fit.”

When they finished their wine, Owen reached for his wallet. “Let’s walk,” he said, pulling a couple of crisp bills out and laying them on the table. “It’s a clear night, kind of rare in Seattle. Let’s get some fresh air and look at the stars.”

Stacie slid off the chair. Owen’s suggestion to walk and look at the stars was incredibly romantic. She wondered if he was always so romantic or if it was just his way of luring her back into his bed. Not that he had to lure her. She was completely willing, if not anxious, to relive their magical night together.

Owen grasped her hand and led her out of the pub. They walked slowly, talking about the stars and other parts of nature that they loved. Stacie went on about how she loved the rain and sleeping with the windows open, even on cold nights, so that she could listen to the pitter-patter of the falling rain. She didn’t share that Greg had rarely let her do that. Having the windows opened bothered his allergies.

Stacie had never been out of New England until now, and she’d never heard of Lafayette, the town in Louisiana where Owen had grown up. She wondered what it had been like for him to grow up with three sisters, but she didn’t want to seem too interested. She wasn’t sure if that was to deceive him or to trick herself. When he mentioned that his dad died when he was a teenager, his voice sounded gruff, as though it might be a bad memory. Stacie chose not to inquire about that too. Before she had to worry about avoiding too much more conversation, they were in front of their building. Except Owen didn’t know that it was also where she lived.

The building was pretty modern. The eight stories housed four condo units on all but the first floor. That floor held a large community room, mailboxes, and offices for the building manager and maintenance superintendent. Beneath the structure was a small parking garage that held one space for each unit in the building. It was a short walk from the residential building to Safeco and CenturyLink fields, as well as to downtown Seattle and the waterfront. They stood in front of the glass doors while Owen reached into his pocket for the key.

“Will you come upstairs?” He lightly stroked her cheek, then caressed his thumb across her lips, “or should I drive you home?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll come upstairs.” Besides, it’d be a really short drive.

The ride up the elevator was agonizingly quiet. Last time they were in this elevator together, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Stacie was sure that was partly due to the alcohol, but in all honesty, she was showing remarkable restraint now. She wanted him, and even though she was living in the moment, she didn’t want to seem too desperate. Keeping her distance, Stacie hoped that Owen would make the next move.

The way her hands trembled and stomach fluttered didn’t make any sense since they’d already been together, but tonight was so different. There was conversation and hand-holding, that whole getting to know you thing. This may be a sexy fling, but Owen wasn’t so much a stranger now. He had sisters he adored and an ex-wife who had betrayed him and a career he seemed to enjoy. She knew him, at least a little, and that stirred her nerves.

“Would you like another glass of wine?” he asked as he unlocked the door to his condo.

“That’d be great.” Stacie threw a quick peek over her shoulder at her door as she stepped through his. Was Jenny peering through the peephole? Not likely.

The boxes that had been stacked in the living room were gone and framed prints decorated the once-empty walls. Owen had a tasteful mix of modern and abstract art, very masculine, but still revealing a lot of emotion.

“Make yourself at home,” he said.

Stacie made her way to the sofa, marveling at the painting that hung over the gas fireplace. It was an abstract painting of an island, filled with colorful leaves on low hanging branches. There was one large pine tree that rose above all the others.

Owen took a seat beside her and uncorked a bottle of wine. “You’ll have to pour,” he said, sliding a glass to her.

“Why is that?”

“My mother taught me never to pour wine for a woman.”

That was incredibly sweet and irresistibly charming. In her experience, the man always poured the wine, but it had always been either Greg or her dad. Stacie could see where a gentleman on a date wouldn’t want to give the impression that he was trying to get his date drunk. Not that this was a date.

She poured his glass, then hers. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass to hers.

“Cheers.” Stacei took a slow sip before turning her attention back to the beautiful artwork.

“Owen, this painting,” she wasn’t able to finish the sentence, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu or something. The painting was too abstract for what she wanted to do for her books, but the theme of the painting was eerie. It was as though she had seen it in a dream and it had inspired the concept for her stories

“I know, it’s strange, isn’t it,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, awestruck.  “I’m not normally drawn to abstract paintings. This one, though, it has a whimsical, almost childish quality to it. I’ve never seen it before, but I feel like it was extracted from my mind, just painted by somebody else’s hand. Who’s the artist?”

Owen took a deep breath and held it. She waited an eternity for him to answer. Instead, he just sat next to her, not breathing. Worried that he might pass out, she turned to him. His lips were rolled into his mouth and he squinted. Stacie wasn’t sure if he was examining the painting or contemplating the question. When he expelled the breath, he simply said. “I’m not sure.” His response wasn’t very convincing. Before she could ask again, Owen turned and smiled. “It was a gift. So do you do other kinds of art too, or just painting?”

“I love to draw. I prefer colored pencils but I’ve been making do with a good ole number two.”

She was still studying the painting when he took her wine and set it on the table. She was about to ask if she could look at the back of the painting for the artist’s name when his lips pressed into hers and caught her breath. His tongue brushed her lips, warm and teasing, painting a completely different picture that Stacie welcomed. This was why she was here after all. It wasn’t about conversation or his taste in art. It was about how he tasted, how his body felt against hers.

His lips moved slowly down her neck, his tongue lightly teasing as he moved from one pulse point to the other. Then he whispered in her ear, that Cajun drawl just as sexy on his heavy breath as it was with his full voice.

The whisper trailed off as he took her lobe between his teeth and gently nipped at her.

A shiver raced down her spine and all the way to her toes. Stacie had never known how arousing such a simple touch could be, but lightning struck everywhere Owen touched her.

When he pulled back, those incredible forest green eyes drew her in.

“The other night was amazing. Tonight I want to slow things down.”

Oh please don’t let him be slamming on the brakes. Surely he couldn’t be, not when he was kissing her like that. He must have seen the panic in her eyes because his lips turned up at the corners, that sexy smile reassuring her that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

“I couldn’t get inside you fast enough that night. Because of that, I missed out on getting to know every curve of your beautiful body. Tonight I don’t want to miss even a millimeter. Will you let me do that? Explore every millimeter of your body. Will you surrender to me, Stacie?”