Breathless (129 page)

“Who said anything about winning? I didn’t know this was a competition.” I laughed and placed my hand on his hard, muscular shoulder. “I’m just kidding. So how do you know about the Iowa State Fair?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, to be honest,” he began between chuckles, “when Shawn Johnson was at the summer Olympics several years ago for gymnastics, I remember that she was from Iowa and they made a life-size butter sculpture of her at the state fair.”

“Oh. Wow, great memory. So you follow gymnastics?” Something about Damian watching gymnastics didn’t seem to make sense to me.

“I used to watch the Olympics pretty religiously when it was that time of the year. I watched it with my parents. They watched it together a lot when I was growing up. ”

His answer stunned me. It was the first personal thing he had told me about him, and it was also not the type of answer I’d ever imagine a guy like him would say.

He must have seen the surprised expression on my face, because he added, “Well, I mean, yeah, I used to, when I had free time. I don’t anymore.

“So are you close with your parents?” I asked.

There was a long pause while I watched him redirecting his attention on the half-eaten crab dish in front of him. “Nah. I’m not.” His voice was sterile and flat as he ate his meal.

Then to my surprise, he laughed.

“What?” I knew there was something more to this story.

“Come to think of it, I wasn’t that into Olympics actually. I’m not sure why I said that. The only reason I remembered the butter sculpture thing was because I had a thing for Shawn Johnson.”

“But she was like sixteen then!” I said incredulously.
What is he not telling me?
I had a nagging feeling that he was trying to divert the conversation away from his parents.

He shook his head in agreement and laughed. “I know. But hey, I thought she was a cutie, and she was flexible. What can I say?”

I slapped him playfully on his shoulders and rolled my eyes.

“Typical.”

“Well, I can’t resist a pretty face.” His voice was soft and different, and when our eyes met, I knew he was talking about me.

My cheeks grew hot in response to his words, and I kicked myself for being so easily affected by him.

“You’re such a flirt.”

“True story.”

I studied him and wondered if there was something more to this man than the way he made me feel.

“What are you thinking?” He looked at me quizzically.

“You really want to know?”

He looked intrigued. “Hell yeah. Tell me. I can take your feistiness.”

“Well… I think you’re more than all that you let on.”

“Oookay?” He dragged the word out slowly, and the expression on his face revealed that my comment was the last thing he had expected.

“I just mean that you always seem to default back to this cocky guy who’s all about flirting with hot girls and thinking about sex. But I think that’s just an exterior you, like a front you put up so people don’t see the real you.” The words had just come out and I hadn’t planned on being so forward with him—not on the first date.

“Fair enough.” He had a pained expression on his face, but it quickly disappeared and was replaced with a blank look. There was a long pause and I watched him take a swig of his beer.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that. Sometimes I’m too blunt for my own good.” I looked at him apologetically.

“It’s cool. No skin off my back,” he said coolly. Then he cleared his throat and looked at me. “So are you ready to go?”

“Go?” I felt a pang of guilt and disappointment that he was going to end the date already. Even though we were both done with our food, I had enjoyed our conversation—well, up until a few minutes ago—and wanted to spend more time with him.

“Yeah.” To my surprise, he flashed me a warm smile. “It looks like we’re both done with our meals, and there’s a long line of people waiting for our seats to free up.”

“Oh.” I looked over at the half dozen people standing at the front door.
Did he not hear what I said earlier? Or is he just choosing to ignore it?
My head was spinning at his odd behavior, wondering if I should have listened to the many red flags to stay away from him.

“Come on. Let’s get going.” He got up and paid for our meal.

We walked out of the Swan Oyster Depo in silence, and I watched him intently as he seemed to be deep in thought. When we were outside, he took off his black leather jacket, wrapped it around my shoulder, and pulled me in toward his chest. I looked up at him anxiously. But I saw the warmth in his rich blue eyes and felt myself relax into his embrace.

We stood there in silence as he held me in his arms. I closed my eyes, trying to savor everything about this moment before it was gone—the comforting warmth of being in his protective arms, the soft beating of his heart against his chest, and the intoxicating smell of his cologne.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he finally whispered.

“What do you mean?” I tried to play the ignorance card.

He chuckled lightly. “I know you know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry if I came off a little rude. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know…” He paused. “I just have a complicated relationship with my parents, and I don’t like talking about it.”

“Oh.” I was taken aback by his forthright explanation. I knew he was deeper than he let on. I wrapped my arms around his warm toned body and buried my face into his chest. “I’m sorry to hear that. I totally understand how hard it can be to talk about family when painful memories are involved,” I whispered as I thought back to the death of my parents. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to tell me anything about them. When you are, I’ll be here.”

He held me tighter in his arms and kissed my hair as I heard him inhale deeply. I raised my head up to look at him. He looked down at me with smoldering eyes that caused me to draw in a sharp intake of breath. I didn’t know why but as he gazed into me, I felt paralyzed by his presence, unable to move or look away. His warm, rough hands brushed through my hair and I let out a soft sigh. He slowly lowered his face toward me and I felt the heat of his breath against my face before his lips met mine. They were warm and inviting as they gently grazed my lips. A whimper escaped me as his mouth began to explore deeper, his tongue expertly seducing me as it moved purposefully in and out of my mouth. His lips were rough and tender against mine, and I could feel the hunger and need he had for me with his movements. As his rough hands moved down my back and then up under my shirt, I moaned as my whole body came alive at his touch. He let a soft, primal groan as he deepened the kiss, sending a shower of shivers through my body.

When our lips finally separated, my lips tinged at the memory of our kiss and my chest heaved in anticipation of what else this man could to do me. There was something about Damian that left me yearning for him, and the intense desire was almost painful. I was hungry, and I knew wanted more. He nuzzled his face against my neck, the hot rasps of his breath against my skin sending another wave of shivers to cascade down my body.

Suddenly, I knew with absolute certainty that I was in too deep, that I had fallen for this man in front of me before I even knew it had happened—before I could have even prevented it.

CHAPTER TEN

Damian

AS I HELD HER IN MY ARMS and felt her soft breath against my neck, I knew I was in too deep. Somehow this girl had gotten to me like no other girl had before. I never talked about my personal life with girls, especially when it had to do with my parents. That was a door I wanted to keep shut. But when I responded like I normally did when a girl mentioned my parents, I had seen the disappointment and sadness in Alexis’s face, and I’d felt a strong pang of guilt for being the cause of that grief. I knew that I needed to explain my actions, even if I didn’t tell her everything.

I kissed her hair and pulled her closer to me. This felt right, natural. And yet, it was a completely new territory that I had vowed never to explore. But here I was, freezing in the cold San Francisco evening air while my leather jacket was wrapped tightly around this girl. This amazing girl. And to my surprise, sex was not the thing I wanted the most right now. Instead, what I wanted the most right now was for this date to not end.

“Hey, let’s do something else,” I suggested.

“Sure,” she agreed. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, now that I’ve taken you to one of my favorite places in the city, why don’t you take me to one of yours?”

“One of my favorite places?”

“Yeah. I want to see you in your element.”
Did I just say that? What the fuck is wrong with me?

I watched her think for a moment and saw her eyes light up when an idea came to her. “How are you with clay?”

“Like a wet mud party?” I teased as an image of Alexis naked and covered in mud crossed my mind. “Shit, you’d look hot in wet mud.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, not mud. Clay. As in the pottery studio I teach at on Saturdays.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Yes, there’s a difference,” she laughed as she gave me an evil eye.

“Seriously, I didn’t know,” I chuckled. “Okay, clay it is. You’d look hot in wet
clay
. Happy?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she giggled and rolled her eyes again. “And no one looks hot in wet clay.”

I leaned over and kissed her softly. I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I just wanted to kiss her. When I pulled away, I looked at her like she was crazy. “But you’re wrong. You’d look very hot in wet clay,” I insisted.

She shook her head but decided to play along. “And how do you know this?”

“Because I can see it now.” Then I purposely closed my eyes so that she’d know that I was imagining her in the wet clay. “Damn, you’d make a smokin’ hot nude model.” I licked my lips for added effect.

“Hey!” she screamed as she playfully slapped my chest. “Stop picturing me naked and covered in clay! You perv!”

“Okay, okay. You’re the boss,” I said as I kept my eyes closed. “Okay, done. Now you’re naked and not covered in clay.”

I laughed when she slapped me again.

“What?” I asked innocently and feigned a hurt expression.

“Don’t be smart with me. You knew exactly what I meant. Stop imaging me naked period,” she ordered. I could tell from the tone in her voice that she wasn’t really upset.

“I can’t make such promises,” I teased. “Plus, it’s too late. That image of you is permanently seared in my mind.”

And there was the eye roll again. “Which image? The one with me naked with or without the clay?” she asked sarcastically.

I cracked up. “Whichever one that will bring more feistiness out of you,” I taunted.

Before she had a chance to respond, I moved in for another kiss—this time, a long, deep kiss as I took my time to taste the honey-sweetness of her lips, my tongue moving rhythmically with hers as we moved in and out of each other’s mouths.

When I finally pulled away from her, I saw her eyes were still closed as she lingered in the moment of our kiss. I smiled, knowing that she must have also felt the electric tingle on her lips where our lips had met.

“Okay, let’s hail a cab. I’m down to have a private wet clay party with you.”

She nudged me playfully as she rolled her eyes yet again.

“You know, if you keep rolling your eyes so much, it may get stuck like that,” I began as I forced a straight face, “And well, I hate to be superficial and all, but…I’m not sure I can be seen with a girl with her eyes permanently looking up—even if she’s the hottest girl I know.”

Anticipating another slap from her, I jumped out of the way just in time to miss her hand. Then I pulled her into my arms again, kissed her gently on the forehead, and whispered, “Luckily for me—and you, for that matter—that hasn’t happened to you yet.”

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special, huh?” she teased back.

“Until now, I hadn’t found a need to make a girl feel special,” I said before realizing what I had just said. I saw the same surprise I felt inside reflected in her eyes. “Here’s a cab,” I said abruptly. I motioned to a cab that was slowing down next to us.

It was not until tonight that I realized how dangerous it was for me to hang out with Alexis. But now, I had fallen too deep into this unfamiliar rabbit hole. Because as much as I wanted to fight it, I knew whatever it was that I was feeling right now with her…I wanted more of it.

***

“This place is amazing,” I said as I looked around the brightly lit pottery studio. There were about a dozen potter’s wheels lined against the floor-to-ceiling glass wall facing the street. From the window, parts of the San Francisco skyline were visible to the right while the Bay Bridge lit up the San Francisco Bay toward the left.

There was an earthy smell with subtle scents of paint and clay permeating the room. I watched Alexis move around the studio with some comfort and ease. I could tell she loved it here. Like the bar was to me, this place was where she felt most at ease and in control. She was in her element.

“So show me some stuff. I’d love to learn.”

She looked at me skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, and to my surprise, I really was. “And didn’t you agree to teach me?”

“I did?” She looked at me blankly.

“You don’t remember anything when it comes to me, do you?” I teased. I knew I was walking in new territory. Most women hung on to my every word, but Alexis seemed to be different. She was giving me a run for my money.

“Okay, sure. Well right now, I only have porcelain clay in my stash, so we’ll have to use that. But normally, for someone who’s never thrown on a wheel, I’d use a different clay.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” I watched her intently as she pulled off two orange-size balls of clay from a long, rectangular plastic bag of off-white clay.

“Because porcelain is actually one of the more difficult clay bodies to work with,” she explained as she threw one of the clay balls onto the center of her potter’s wheel. “For beginners, I’d start them off learning on a sturdier clay body, like stoneware. It has some grit in the clay, which helps the clay hold its form better and is more forgiving to mistakes. Porcelain has minimal grit, so it’s like working with room-temperature butter. It can collapse on you with one minor mistake.”