Fearsome (12 page)

My escape to the kitchen is short-lived. I am leaning against the counter, munching on a croissant and bacon together, when Imogene and Lauren thank me for the hospitality and head off to the diner for their day shift. Then Carson appears again and my chest constricts as perspiration beads across my forehead.

“So all of our equipment is out of here, but I still have to come back and tick minor things off Gin’s list. I have to measure for some new appliances in here and Gin wanted me to strip the face of the cupboards and paint them.”

I nod and wipe croissant crumbs from my mouth. I would like to avoid looking at him because being near him makes me fumble, verbally and physically, however, he’s not getting the hint.

“Can I ask you what you do at 5 Alpha exactly? Gin, told me you work in software, but she didn’t have specifics.”

I’m flattered he wants to know more about me, although he is the type of person who pays attention to details. They seem to matter to him greatly, whereas Dylan is more about enjoying the moment.

“I have a few different project teams. One of them does the engineering designs to make integrated circuits. The other team designs software for analyzing resistivity.” I decide not to provide a more detailed explanation because this is usually the point where people nod along and then nod off—I sound that boring—but Carson looks genuinely interested.

“I know what you’re talking about. Those two guys said you are a hotshot at the firm. I believe it.”

“Ken and Matthew are being generous. 5 Alpha hires hotshots. I’m nothing special there.”

“Liar. They set up a special office for you here because they don’t want to lose you. I’m going to Google you.” Oh boy, he flashes me a wide grin.

I know I’m blushing. Fair-skinned redheads turn a rosy pink rather easily.

“Too bad you don’t have your big hat to cover up that lie,” Carson says and I smile.
For him
, I think to myself.

“So, you still think I’m a lousy influence on your brother?”

“I never said that.”

“But you think I’m wrong for him.”

“I never said that, either. I doubt you’re wrong for anyone.” That floors me. “But I’m not sure Dylan can handle anyone. There’s a difference.”

“Care to explain?”

“I’m not sure it’s my place.” His demeanor instantly becomes more subdued again. What is it with these up and down moods of his?

“Why not? You seem very good at butting into other people’s lives.”

“Yeah, I probably deserve that, but with Dylan it’s different.”

“So, you’re being overly protective of him, but you won’t really tell me why and I’m having dinner with him, which you may or may not find objectionable. Thanks for making things clearer for me,” I snap.

“I’ll say this. Dylan is a good person and he means well. I have my reasons to be concerned about him, but I’m not going to get into that right now.”

“That was nice and cryptic. I could be going out to dinner with a serial killer and you’re not telling me.”

Carson doesn’t look amused at all. I’m pushing all the wrong buttons now.

“He really likes you,” Carson says as though it pains him to admit it. “So are you going to start working today?”

“Are you trying to change the subject? No, I can’t work, oh wait. Did Lauren mention that I have Internet now?”

“Yes. The cable guy was here this morning, too. Gin already had the wiring, the cable guy only needed to install the box. I had him put it in the pantry behind the door so it’s easy to get to.”

“Then I guess I am working today,” I say, relieved I can keep collecting a paycheck.

Carson walks to the front door while Bert and I trail right behind him. He’s like a wall of muscle in front of me. Thoughts of him coming back to work in the house override the plans of my upcoming date with Dylan. I’m still daydreaming when he stops abruptly to pick up his toolbox and I bash right into his back. Perfect. Didn’t I already do this with Dylan?

Carson drops the box and turns around to catch me. “I’m sorry, did I do that?”

“No, it was me.” I rub my nose.

He’s holding me by the waist, pulling me into him, but it’s not a déjà vu of Dylan. Carson is something else—something I like very much—and I suspect that being torn between two men in my own imaginary, lovelorn world is a sign of my immaturity. At least, that would be the first thing my mother would say before she asks what they do for a living. My hands are wedged between us, resting against his hard abdomen.

Carson doesn’t let go, as if he’s thinking of something to say or thinking of pulling one of those fast Blackard kisses. “This could be awkward,” he says and releases his grip on me while his hands remain hovering by me.

I’m not sure if he’s having the same thought as me, that a kiss would be awkward since I’m going out with Dylan, or if it’s awkward because he sees me as some virginal geek and he’s never touched one in person before.
It’s awkward because I’m over-thinking the whole scenario!

Quickly, I step up on my tippy toes and kiss his cheek. “Thanks for the library. I know I’m a crab in the morning, but thanks for coming in early to fix it up for me.”

Carson doesn’t move. As the aroma of his freshly laundered T-shirt mixed with sweat pummels my brain, it hits me. Dylan is the light version of Carson. Dylan is a dream guy for any woman, even me, but if you want to amp it up and make it more interesting with a guy who’s complex and intellectually challenging, my bet is on Carson. Unfortunately, he’s difficult to read and I’m too inexperienced to pursue someone like him.

Dylan is more my speed, laid back and sweet, and I have agreed to go out with him. That little reminder makes me push back completely from Carson’s arms. Once out of his grasp we both look at one another. Is he considering the lost moment? What may have happened between us?
Therein lies my problem; I’m between them. I tell myself that I’m playing a dangerous game even if I think I’ve chosen the safer path with Dylan. I’m hardly an expert on this topic and the tight flutters in my chest tell me that I’m not fooling myself.

“I’m going to get to work now,” I say.

“Yeah, I have to get going, too. We’ll be back to work on the kitchen when the new appliances come in.” He lingers in the doorway, as though he wants to say something else, but I cut him off before he can consider it.

“Bye.”

“Goodbye, Jess.”

I close the door so I don’t get caught watching him walk to his truck. Then I jump up on the staircase and peek through the small, decorative window to admire his swagger, lugging his heavy toolbox. Damn that swagger.

Twelve

Dylan rings the doorbell at exactly six o’clock right as I finish tying the vintage halter top around my neck. I found it in Aunt Virginia’s closet along with an assortment of well-maintained retro pieces. The halter is black crepe with ruffles around the edges; very elegant and rather sexy, especially paired with my short black skirt. My legs are bare and have a nice, sun-kissed hue to them.

I traipse down the stairs, carrying a pair of black, sling-back sandals with a kitten heel. It’s the best I could do considering I expected to be here wearing mourning clothing and not dating attire. My red hair is down, voluminous and curled. I will regret it later when it’s wet and sticking to the back of my neck, yet right now, I’m going for maximum effect.

I fling open the door and get the reaction I expected from Dylan, who falls over himself to be generous with compliments.

“Wow, I thought you were stunning in that red bathing suit yesterday, but now, you look even more gorgeous, if that’s possible,” he says with a wide grin.

I’m glad I dressed up because Dylan is a vision of male beauty. He’s having another Ralph Lauren moment in his black dress pants paired with a fitted, white dress shirt. His shoes are polished and there’s no mud in sight. There’s not even a Jeep. Behind him, parked in the driveway, sits a shiny, black sports car.

“Thank you. You look nice yourself.” I slip on my shoes and grab my clutch off the stairs.

“You’re sure I don’t look like a waiter in this get-up?”

“Ha! Absolutely not.”

I lock the door and hold Dylan’s arm as we walk down the stairs to the path. He immediately shakes my hand off his arm and catches it in his hand. He holds it firmly and it’s thrilling, of course, to have his eager attention.

“Fifty-two million,” I whisper before I can silence myself.

“What?” Dylan asks as he opens the passenger door for me.

“Nothing.” I just want to forget about my whispering number habit.

“I love when you do that. It’s cute.”

“I didn’t know you noticed.”

“You’ve always done that.” He winks.

I sink back into the comfortable black leather seat as he buckles himself in.

“Is this your car?”

“No, it’s Carson’s. I wasn’t going to drive you in my dirty Jeep with the wind blowing you around.”

“This BMW doesn’t seem like Carson.”

“He uses it when he goes to the city for meetings or to see clients, but I call it his date car.” The thought of Carson on a date leaves me a little sad and jealous.

Dylan is a confident driver, relaxed and smooth. He maneuvers us quickly out of the bumpy driveway and hits the main road at a high speed.

“This isn’t the Indy 500. You don’t have to drive like a New York cabbie on my account,” I say as he turns on some music.

“Am I making you nervous?” He smiles.

“This isn’t
The Fast and The Furious Part 25.
I wouldn’t mind a nice, leisurely drive through the country at a safe speed,” I say loudly over the heavy metal music blasting through the speaker system.

Dylan laughs. “Okay, whatever you want.” He turns down the music, taking quick glances at me.

I look away and study the scenic farms outside my window. “Being here makes you want to slow down and enjoy life instead of running at top speed, chasing after things that only seem important,” I say.

“Good. Another reason for you to stay.”

We pull up to the restaurant and I chuckle.

“What’s so funny?”

“Lauren predicted you’d take me to Cucina.”

“It’s my favorite place and it’s not like we have a lot of restaurants to choose from, but this one is good.” He leans over and kisses me with one large palm holding my face. I kiss him back as the image of Carson pops in my head and doesn’t leave until the kiss ends. Damn.

“I’m not a bad cook, but I’ll take you to any restaurant anywhere, anytime as long as you kiss me like that,” he says with his forehead against mine.

“I’m hungry,” I divert him from our eager libidos and my anxious nerves that don’t know what to do with a guy like Dylan.

Dinner is excellent and Dylan is charming. He frequently picks up my unoccupied hand and holds it like he’s about to propose. Then he kisses it and says, “It was just sitting there doing nothing.”

I catch the wait staff watching us, I suspect because Dylan is strikingly handsome and takes over a room when he’s in it. The pull of a beautiful creature like Dylan is powerful; his magnetism has an orbit all its own and it sucks you in. Unfortunately, that lovely thought about Dylan reminds me of his womanizing past, and makes me wonder about other women he may have brought here.

“People can’t stop looking at the beautiful redhead with the most exotic eyes I have ever seen,” he says and, with the way his eyes never leave me, I don’t think he’s really noticed the other people in the room. Either that, or he’s a very good actor.

We end up back at my house and kick our shoes off in the living room. I offer to make coffee or open a bottle of wine, but Dylan has other things on his mind. He pulls me onto the couch and pushes his weight on top of me. His groin is hard against my thigh and despite previously considering his brother, Dylan turns me on.

My interests are fully focused on his body. His mouth is all over me—my lips and my neck—while his hands grope my thighs and move up under my halter. He fondles my breast. The halter loosens and moves to the side. I moan as his warm mouth reaches my nipple and then squirm under him, excited and nervous. He responds by kissing me more fervently and palming both of my breasts, his hand rough against my hard nipples. I reach down and stroke his hard bulge and he hisses loudly.

“God, I want to take you to bed,” he says into my ear. “I can’t stop thinking of you in bed with me.”

I know this is the perfect time to finally have the sex I’ve been waiting for because Dylan is the perfect guy to do the deed, however, there’s a nagging voice in my head that tells me I’m going too fast. I’ve known Dylan three days and this goes against all the practical advice I’ve given myself and the rational choices I have made in life. For Dylan, there’s no reason to analyze lust, you act on it and feel good. I’m not wired that way. I always believe there are consequences to every action.

As his fingers slide under my panties and begin a rhythmic rubbing, my defenses weaken. It’s either stop this now or go all the way. Every part of my body, my senses, is reacting to him. They want him. I’m having a heated internal debate with myself.

“Stop. Dylan, we have to stop.” I move his hand away.

“Really?” he asks, panting.

“We barely know each other, and I’m not a one-night-stand girl.”

“I don’t want you for one night,” he says, fighting for control of his body back. “I want you for every night.”

“I like you, I’m enjoying this, but I can’t jump into bed with you.” I sit up and smooth out my skirt and tie my halter back behind my neck.

Dylan sighs and lies back on the couch with an arm behind his head as the other reaches out, takes a hunk of my curls and wraps them around his finger. “We can slow down,” he says. His hand drops my hair and then cups my breast before resting on my leg. “I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

That’s a loaded question. He knows I’ve made the decision to stay in town at least for a while, but beyond the summer, I haven’t committed to anything. He’s supposed to be older and wiser than me, how can he be asking me to make final plans after only three days into this new life? It could be a temporary life, yet the hopefulness in his face makes me want to tell him whatever he wants to hear, even if it’s a lie.