Levi's Blue: A Sexy Southern Romance (14 page)

CHAPTER 12

LEVI

I PULL up to the closest curb outside Evie’s building. She and her roommate live in a very nice gated development.  They probably pay a substantial rent, but since it’s a collection of smaller buildings, with only four homes per unit, it’s undoubtedly easier for Evie to come and go.  I’m sure that’s one of the biggest reasons they chose this one.

I glance around as I step up onto the sidewalk. I take a whiff of the cool early morning air, trying to pick apart everything around me like she would.  Like I’m sure she
will
as soon as she comes out.

I reach for the buzzer at the gate, but before I touch it, I hear a door close, followed by the
tap tap, tap tap
of a cane’s tip moving over concrete.

“Good morning,” I offer quietly when she gets a little closer.

Her smile is instant, wide and genuine.  “Good morning.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“I was watching out the window, of course,” she replies, mischief all over her trying-not-to-smile mouth.

“Damn, you’re good,” I tell her, holding the gate when she opens it and taking her rolling suitcase from her fingers.  “Cherelyn?”

“Yeah, Cherelyn.”

I’m already smiling, too, and it’s closer to dawn than it is to noon. That must be some sort of record.  I’m not exactly a morning person.

“I’ve been preparing for you,” I tell her.

“Preparing?”

“For your questions.”

“What questions?”

I take the fingers of her free hand, pressing my palm to hers and start toward the car, pulling her suitcase along behind us.

“The questions you’ll ask about the morning.”

She pauses, grinning up at me. Her eyes are concealed behind sunglasses. I don’t know why she’s wearing them now, when the sun hasn’t even risen yet. 

We could’ve waited to leave later today since I don’t have to be in New Orleans until tomorrow, but she agreed to an early start so we could make the most out of today.  I gunned for this option, of course, because it meant spending more time with her. 

“You know me that well, huh?”

I shrug, even though she can’t see it. “I’m getting there.”

We resume our short walk and she asks, “So, what questions do you think I’m going to ask?”

“What color my car is, what my travel clothes look like.”

She laughs. “Am I that superficial? I don’t remember caring what you’ve worn before.”

“No, but you should. These jeans make my ass look fantastic.”

She laughs again, a huskier, sexier sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. 

How the hell am I supposed to spend days and evenings with this woman and keep my hands to myself?  Because I’m pretty sure it’s bad form to seduce a blind woman.

But that just means I’ll have to talk
her
into seducing
me
and making her think it was her idea
.

“You’re so humble. It’s one of the things I like best about you.”

“It is?  Hmmm, I need to rectify that.  There are several other things I’d
much
rather you like about me.”

“Such as?”

I stop Evie, set her case to the side so she doesn’t trip on it, and put my hands on her hips, pressing her back against the passenger door of my car.  “The way I kiss,” I say, barely brushing my lips over hers.  “The way my voice sounds in your ear,” I whisper the words to her, my mouth so close that it skims the shell of her ear.  “The way I make your insides feel like they’re dancing in the rain and on fire at the same time.” 

I ease my hands up to the curve of her waist and then down to lightly squeeze her ass.  She’s wearing a snug skirt, and all I can think about is whether she’s got panties on underneath it and what it will feel like when she wraps those long, curvy legs around me.

“How do you know what my insides feel like?” she asks, her voice all breathy and soft, sexy as hell. 

“I don’t. Yet. But I hope to find out soon.”

My dick twitches at the thought of picking her up, right here at my car, in the cool, dark morning, and plunging all the way up into her. 
Feeling
firsthand what her insides feel like.

Christ Almighty!

“Levi.”  It’s a word. A name. 
My
name. But on her lips, right now, it’s a plea.

She raises her left hand and grips my bicep.  She tries to act unaffected, but her fingers are trembling.

“Your hands are shaking,” I tell her.

I slide my tongue over the pulse that’s beating erratically at the base of her throat.  She’s warm and soft in my arms, and there’s nothing but darkness and quiet on every side. We might as well be alone in the world, and that solitude is an aphrodisiac.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Michaelson?”

“No, I’m trying to get
you
to seduce
me
.”  I probably shouldn’t have told her that. I probably shouldn’t be doing or saying a lot of the things I’ve been doing and saying to her.  But damn, if I can help myself. 

Her laugh is wispy this time. A shallow pant.  “That’s an interesting approach.”

I ease my head up, for a moment forgetting that I can’t meet her eyes. She’s wearing her glasses.  “Is it working?”

Slowly, like the cat that ate the canary, her lips curve into a lush, devious smile.  “Maybe.”

I growl, pressing my mouth to hers before pulling away to hurriedly stuff her into the car.  It’s that or commit a felony on the sidewalk.

When I slide in behind the wheel, she asks, “What’s the hurry?”

“I’d hate to embarrass myself in public.”

“Is that what you were doing?”

“That’s what I probably
would’ve
done if we stood there for another minute.”

I glance right to find her grinning with complete satisfaction in my general direction.  She knows
exactly
what she does to me, damn her. 

“So,” she begins, clasping her hands demurely in her lap, “what about these other questions?”

Focus, Levi. Focus.

I start the engine and take a moment to clear my head before I put the car in drive. I leave my foot on the brake so we don’t move.  “I thought you might ask me about the morning, so I wanted to be ready to tell you how beautiful it is.”

Her smile falters the tiniest bit.  “You did?”

I nod.

Damn!  I’ve got to quit doing that.

I make my response audible.  “I did.”

“And?”

Now I feel self-conscious, trying to describe something to someone who uses color and light and description like exquisite weapons. Evie can wield her words as effectively as she uses her brushes to paint a picture.  “The sky is still mostly dark, a deep plum color mixed with charcoal.  There are a few stars out, and they look like diamonds that a jeweler flung out into the night.  But down at the bottom, along the edge of the horizon, there’s a hint of gold.  A soft, bleeding glow. Like the promise of the sun rather than the light itself.  The trees and buildings are like black statues set against it, all still and tall and perfect. It’s actually quite beautiful. I wish you could see it.”

There is absolute silence for a few seconds, and I wonder what Evie is thinking and why the hell I would make such an ass of myself.  I’ve never
thought
this much about a woman before—what she wants, what she thinks, what she cares about—much less looked at dawn in such a way.  But with Evie, I can’t seem to
stop
thinking about her,
stop
considering her.
Stop
wanting to give her more
.  Stop
looking at every day as she might see it.

I find myself anxious to be her eyes, excited to show her the world, remind her of its beauty, even though it is
she
who is continually reminding
me. 
I find myself wanting to feed her smile, fuel her laughter, set fire to the passion that seems to burn just for me.

Christ,
when I think about the way she responds… It’s like blistering heat flares to life between us every time we get close. I know she feels it, too. She can’t hide it.  I know what her insides feel like— like they’re dancing in the rain and on fire at the same time—because my insides feel that way, too.

When she speaks, there’s a waver to her voice and a tremble to her lip.  It’s a reaction that makes me immediately glad that I risked making an ass of myself for her. 

“Thanks to you, I
can
see it. I can see it all perfectly.  That was…stunning.”

Her voice is hushed, reverent almost, and something builds between us, swells like a wave that can’t be seen with the naked eye. I have to make myself look away from her as I start off down the street. I drive toward the brightening sky, toward the rising sun, carrying with me a deeper appreciation for the little things like the predawn sky and the quivering lower lip of the woman at my side.

CHAPTER 13

EVIE

I’M SO awestruck at first, we ride for several miles before I can even think of something to say.

It’s obvious that Levi is attracted to me. He’s made his interest clear.  It’s no secret that he’d like a sexual relationship, and he’s determined to make a good showing during our four dates to get it.

But that…what he just said…paying special attention to the early morning sky just so he could describe it to me…
that’s
something more.

Sending me flowers that have a heavenly scent, something I can smell since I can’t see,
that’s
something more.

Sending me an audio message through my class, something I can hear since I can’t see,
that’s
something more.

He doesn’t know it, but he has already shown me more kindness and consideration than any other date I’ve had in the last thirteen years. He’s already gone above and beyond that which any other man has ever done for me. 

He doesn’t know it, but he’s already found a place in my heart.  As inadvisable as it is, as unlikely as it should be, I can see me falling for this man.

Hard.

And fast.

And unless something drastic happens, I don’t think there’s anything I can do to stop it, save moving to another country. And even that might not work. It might already be too late.

When I finally recover my wits and trust that my voice won’t quaver, I strike up conversation. 

“It occurs to me that we’re going to be stuck in a car together for the next four plus hours.”

“Annnnnd?”

“Well, I know virtually nothing about you, despite the fact that you know an alarming amount about me.”

“Annnnnd?”

“This is the perfect opportunity for me to grill you.”

He hits the brakes. “I just remembered I have a root canal today. Sorry. Gotta go back.” 

I can tell that he’s teasing, and he gives the car gas again.

“So, aside from being a terrible driver, what can you tell me about yourself?”

“I’m not a terrible driver!”

“Isn’t that what
all
terrible drivers say?”

“If you think you could do better, come on over here.”

“Blind girl jokes. Nice.”

“I have to pull out the big guns when you attack my driving. That’s
tantamount
to questioning my manhood.” 

I giggle and I can tell by his voice that he’s smiling.  I love our rapport.  It’s so easy.

Just like
we
seem to be.

Easy like Sunday mornings. Like sunsets and waterfalls and napping in hammocks. 

Effortless.

I’ve never had that before. Not with a man, at least. Just with Cherelyn. 

Until now.

Until Levi.

“Duly noted.  Okay, so aside from your driving…difficulties, what do you suck at?”

“Straws, orange slices, lollipops. The usual.”  He pauses and I can almost
feel
the change in him,
feel
the change in the direction of his thoughts.  It’s as subtle as a light summer breeze and kisses my cheeks in the same way. I feel it seconds before his raspy tone vibrates through me.  “I could name a few other things I’d
love
to suck at, depending on how personal you want to get.”

I clear my throat, my low belly throbbing at the sensual silk of his voice.  “I think I get the drift.”

“If you decide you’d like a demonstration
at any time
during this trip, you just say the word. I’m here to please.”

“Oh, I just bet you are,” I reply dryly.

To this, he laughs outright.

“I don’t suppose I need to ask what you’re really
good at
then.”

“You can if you want.”

I grin. “I think I’ll pass.  What about your childhood? Where did you grow up?”

“New York, but not the city.”

I sit up a little straighter.  “Really?  I went to school there.  Columbia, class of 2006.”

“I did, too. Graduated in 2001.”

So that makes him somewhere around thirty-five or thirty-six.

“We just barely missed each other.”

“Just barely.”

“And your father is a senator, right?”

“Yep.”

Although it’s only a single syllable, Levi’s tone is noticeably cooler.  “No love lost there, I take it?”

“None.”

Another monosyllabic answer that speaks volumes. 

I abandon that line of questioning.  “So girlfriends. That seems like a subject that you’d warm to.”

“Not necessarily.”

“How about girlfriends
excluding
Julianne?”

“That would certainly be
better.
”

I laugh. “Okay, first girlfriend?”

“Tasha Hayes, third grade.”

“The
third grade
?  God, you were an early bloomer!”

“What about you?”

“Josh Turner, sixth grade.”

“First kiss?”

“Dane Olson, eighth grade.”

“First love?”

“Trevor Parks, eleventh grade. Hey!” I turn in my seat to face his direction. “I thought
I
was supposed to be the one asking questions here!”

“I plead ignorance.  You need to explain the rules to me
before
you start the game.”

“Does that go both ways?  Were
you
supposed to explain the rules to
me
before we started this game?”

“Is that what you think this is? A game?”

His question is quiet, sincere. Almost wounded.

“You’re a man. You have a penis.  Doesn’t that go without saying?”

“For me, no. It does not.”

I fall silent. I feel like I insulted him, but I was just kidding.

Sort of.

“Do you
want
this to be a game?” he asks after a couple miles have passed.

I answer honestly.  “No. I don’t.  Games don’t work well for me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that this is no game to me?”

I don’t hesitate. “Yes, I would.  I don’t think you’re a liar.”

“Just a womanizer.”

“I didn’t say that. And that’s not what I meant either.”

“Good.  I don’t want you thinking that way.”

“Okay.”

I can’t help smiling.  I just hate that he notices and asks, “What’s so funny?”

I shrug. “I was just thinking that it
does
make me happy that you don’t see me as some sort of rare conquest, like an albino bear or something.”

“An albino bear?”  The words are dripping with humor.  “Did you just equate yourself to an
albino bear
?”

“Shut up! Back to the questions,” I reply sternly, although I’m trying hard not to laugh.  “
Your
first kiss?”

“Tasha Hayes, third grade.”

“Your first love?”

“Tasha Hayes, third grade.”

“Oh, come on!  She can’t be your first
everything
!”

“She wasn’t, you pervert! We were in the
third grade
! Sicko,” he mutters and I chuckle.

“You know what I mean. I
know
your first love did
not
happen in the third grade.  So, who was it? Tell me.”  When he makes no move to respond, I prompt, “Spill it!”

His answer is so soft, even
I
have to strain to hear it.  “Rachel Kenner, junior year in college.”

“Rachel.  Beautiful name. What happened?”

“We, uh…”  He pauses and I’d give anything to see his face.  “She…”  I hear a rasping sound, and I wonder if Levi is running his fingers through his hair. Or maybe scrubbing a palm over his face.

A heavy sense of melancholy fills the luxurious cabin of the car, and I instantly feel guilty that I pushed him. This is obviously a very uncomfortable subject for him. Possibly even painful.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.  I—”

“No, don’t apologize.”  His sigh is audible.  “I just haven’t talked about her in a long time.  She…she got pregnant.  It wasn’t planned, of course.  She ended up…
we
ended up losing the baby.  Things were never quite the same after that.”

“Oh, God, Levi, I’m so sorry.”  I reach out, feeling for something to latch on to. A hand, an arm.  I touch his shoulder and slide my fingers down his arm until they meet his.  He turns his palm up and mine settles within it.  Neither of us speaks for a few minutes. 

I am curious what happened, of course, but I won’t press him. This isn’t silly high school drama. This is serious and profound, something he’ll have to tell me about when the time is right and not a moment before. 

That time is not now.

But hopefully we
will
get there.

“Well, I guess there’s only one question left then,” I say, my voice heavy with resignation as I try to lighten the mood. 

“What?”

“Who was your first
first
?”

“My ‘first first’?”  His tone is light again. I’m sure he’s as ready as I am to abandon any and all painful subjects.  “What does that mean?”

“Oh my God! You
know
what I mean!”

Now, he
is
teasing. “No, I don’t. You’re gonna have to spell it out.  Give me an exact, graphic definition of what you’re asking.”

“Sex!  S. E. X. Who did you
have sex with
the first time?”

“I didn’t have sex. I made love.”  Now he’s making fun.  “Ask me again.”

I make a scoffing sound in the back of my throat, but I comply. “Fine, who was the first person you made love to?”

“Say it again. ‘Make love’.”

“Make loooove,” I repeat in my best Barry White voice.

I’m gratified with Levi’s laugh, a deep belly laugh that makes
me
want to laugh, too.

“You’re so damn cool.”

I frown, but I have to admit to being flattered.  “Cool?  What, were you born in the fifties? Is there something you’re not telling me, like that your real name is Benjamin Buttons?”

“There’s a
lot
I’m not telling you, but some things you’re just gonna have to find out on your own.”

“Oh, do tell!”

“You really want me to give you a list, starting with whether or not I wear underwear?”

My cheeks turn bright red. I know because they feel like they’re on fire.  “No!” My answer is quick and kneejerk, but after a few seconds, I’m forced to reevaluate. He’s made me curious.  I lean forward slightly, cocking my head toward Levi.  “But do you?”

Rather than answer, Levi takes the hand he’s still holding and drags it slowly up his leg. I feel the thin ridge of boxer briefs where the band stretches around his deliciously muscular thigh.  “Yes, I do.  Disappointed?”

“Not in the least.”

“Can I ask about you then?”

“Yes, I wear underwear.”

My cheeks are burning again, and I wonder how in the real hell we ever got on this subject. 

“What kind? I need a visual.”

“I have no idea. I’m blind, remember?”

“Oh no! You’re not using that to get off the hook!  You know more about color and texture and shit than most
sighted
people.”

I snicker.  “‘Color and texture and shit’?”

“Yes. Color.  As well as texture.  As well as shit.  Now spill it,” he demands, throwing my own words back at me.

“I wear what’s comfortable.  What
feels
good. It’s the only sense that matters when it comes to panties. I can’t see them. No one else is going to see them. I just want them to be comfortable. Panties are panties.”

I hear his breath hiss through his teeth, prompting me to ask, “What is it?”

“God, I love it when you say panties.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head in exasperation, my face surely
engulfed
in flame by now.  But even so, I can’t help adding one more teasing, “Panties,” in my best, breathiest Marilyn Monroe voice.

“That’s it,” he announces, letting off the accelerator.  “I’m pulling over.”

I laugh, squeezing his leg where my hand still rests.  “Do we need to go back over the bad driver segment?”

He gives an exaggerated sigh before hitting the gas again. “No. If we’re not pulling over to do something dirty, I’d much rather talk about your lingerie.  Let’s see,” he begins, clearly warming to the subject.  “I’m picturing plain white cotton. Simple yet sexy.  Oh, so sexy!  High cut for those long, long legs of yours.  Just enough material in the back to cup that sweet, sweet ass. Oh, yeah. Definitely. That’ll do.”