From His Lips (4 page)

“Hey, Troy.” I heard Bob calling. “Troy!” He
motioned me over. “I want you to meet Jayne’s friend, Shayda. Also
my brilliant protégée. She started off as my assistant and is now
one of my top realtors.”

She was sitting facing the other way, with
her back to me. But she got up and greeted me with a smile.

Shayda Friggin’ Hijazi.

I hope I handled it as well as she did—the
shock of seeing each other again.

“Dad, they’ve already met,” said Ryan.
“Canada Day fireworks. Remember, Troy?”

It was ironic that we were being officially
introduced twelve years later. No-one had thought to do it then.
Just as well, I thought. We were different people then. We are
different people now.

“Yes, I remember.” I shook hands with
her.

It was no different. Same amped up crackling,
rattling current, same jolt of electricity. Not the kind that sent
me into overdrive, but the kind that zapped me into super-still
awareness, where everything was heightened—sight, sound, touch,
taste.

She looked brighter, shinier. Or perhaps it
just felt that way—like putting a ‘before’ pic next to an ‘after’
pic. There were details I’d forgotten. Like the tiny scar that
split her lower lip, and the way she averted her eyes if you looked
at her too long. Her hair was up in a snug bun that would have
looked severe, except for the way it highlighted the graceful curve
where her ear met her jaw.

“They’re here everyone!” said Lizzie, as
Jayne and Matt made their entrance.

My hand settled on Shayda’s back, nudging her
forward so my frame wasn’t blocking her view. It was an unconscious
move, but I felt her entire body tense.

“There you are.” Heather showed up by my
side. “Did you forget about me?”

“Heather.” A woman who didn’t react to my
touch like it was poison ivy. “Where’s Felicia?”

“Right here, darling.” Felicia gave me a
kiss.

Apparently, they were done pouting.

We took our seats once the bride and groom
were seated at the head table. Our place cards were right across
from Shayda, Bob, Lizzie and Ryan. I had two of the most beautiful
women in the room on either side of me, and I was struggling to
keep from looking at Shayda. Each time my eyes rested on her, I had
to willfully deflect them onto something else. It was like trudging
through a marsh with lead weights on my feet.

What was she doing here alone? Where the hell
was her husband? Did he even exist, or was he just a taunting
specter, a shadow that had slipped on that golden ring, staked his
claim, and then disappeared?

I took another swig of my drink.

“Slow down, babe.” Heather ran her hand down
my thigh.

“We’re almost done with the speeches,” said
Felicia.

They thought my restlessness was catching up
to me. I got up and headed to the bar for a refill.

When dessert was done and the music started,
I let Felicia and Heather drag me to the dance floor. They were fun
and free and exactly who I should be dancing with. Helicia.

“I wish you were flying back to New York with
us,” said Heather.

Felicia swayed provocatively against me.
“We’re going to miss you.” Her hands slid under my jacket.

“Let’s take it off.” Heather slid it off my
shoulders and nipped my ear. “So much yum.”

“Let’s keep it PG, girls,” I said, leading
them back to the table. “For now.”

They sank into their seats, with no
intentions of behaving.

“And why isn’t the mother of the bride
kicking up her heels?” I asked Lizzie. She was the only other
person seated at the table.

“Food over frivolity,” she replied, finishing
the last of her dinner. “I’m a slow eater.”

“With great timing.” I held out my hand. “May
I have the pleasure?”

“Why, yes. You may, sir.” She smiled.

“It’s so good to see you, Troy,” she said as
we weaved between other couples on the dance floor. “How are Grace
and Henry?”

“Mum and Dad are doing great. I’m glad you
guys stay in touch.”

“We’re empty nesters. That’s what we do—get
together and reminisce about our kids.”

“Please. You’re too young to reminisce,
Lizzie.”

“And
you
are too old to keep cavorting
with those...” She gestured towards Helicia.

“Who’re you calling old? Thirty-three is
prime time, woman!” I spun her into a series of dizzy turns.

She laughed and shrieked and held on to me
when it was done.

“I think we’re making Bob jealous,” I
said.

“I don’t see him.” She looked around.

One of the things about being taller than
average is that I got to see more—including the things I was trying
to ignore. Like Shayda Hijazi, dancing with Bob, at the edge of the
dance floor. I kept catching myself drift off towards that spot,
and I kept steering away.

Fuck it. I’d had enough.

“Mind if I cut it?” I said to Bob, very much
aware of the how quickly the smile on Shayda’s face disappeared
when she saw me.

Too bad, Shayda. I’m done avoiding you.

“Thank you for saving me a dance, Lizzie,” I
said.

“Oh no. Thank
you
.” She smiled as we
switched partners.

The moment I pulled Shayda into my arms (yes,
I had to pull, because she left so much room between us that we
could have fit a whole watermelon)—the moment she slipped into the
circle of my arms, I fell silent. All the words left me—the clever
quips, the sexy teasing, the charming banter. I had nothing. And
neither did she. And so we just danced, pure and simple, to a slow,
smooth ballad. I remember the song, but not the words. Because I
couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe for having her
near.

She wore a soft coral dress with lace at the
hem. It swirled around her knees as we moved across the floor. She
kept her eyes fixed on my collar the whole time.

“So,” I said after we'd circled the room.
“Here we are, Mrs. Hijazi.”

“You remember...” She seemed surprised.

It’s strange how someone can walk into your
life, shatter the windows, break down your doors, empty the rooms,
scatter your belongings, and then walk away without having the
slightest inkling of the storm they’d brought.

Oh. You remember?

“Of course.”
Of-fucking-course, I
remember.

I thought of the last time I’d seen her, the
girl who’d said goodbye to me at the elevator, and I wondered if
she still looked at the world with the longing that broke my
heart.

“Was it a girl, with sunset red in her hair,
like her mother?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “But she looks more like
her father.”

I tried to imagine his face, the man who got
to touch her skin, make love to her, fall asleep with her in his
arms. Maybe that’s what I needed—his face in my head every time I
looked at her.

“Are you happy, Shayda?” I asked.

She was supposed to say yes.

And I was supposed to thank her for the
dance, escort her back to the table and leave—free, clear and
cured. With Helicia in tow.

She said nothing.

And I inhaled her all over again.

“Roses,” I said. “I smell roses.”

“I’m not wearing any perfume.”

“I know.”

She had no idea what she smelled like. Maybe
it wasn’t even real, the way she smelled to me. Maybe it was just
me, digging for secret gardens in barren boneyards.

“Your dates are waiting for you,” she
said.

“Let them wait.”
You were supposed to say
yes.

“What?” she asked, when she felt my eyes on
her.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I
replied. “What. What is it about you, Shayda Hijazi? There’s
nothing remarkable about the shape of your eyes or your nose or
your face. And yet, when you put it all together, something
extra-ordinary happens. Everything clashes. That cool rosebud mouth
sets off whatever is percolating in your turkish-coffee eyes. Your
eyebrows. Such a proud arch to them. Completely at odds with this
demure nose. And when you look away, it’s as if some soot is going
to fall off your lashes and smudge those chaste cheeks. You’re a
mass of contradictions, Shayda. All these delicious curves, wrapped
around a rod of steel.”

“It’s called a backbone, Troy. And you don’t
seem to have one. Or do you just have a thing for married
women?”

“I have a thing for women all right.” I
chuckled. “Delicious creatures, every one of you. Married? Maybe
one...”

“Just Jayne then?”

So. She’d seen it. The kiss Jayne and I had
exchanged earlier.

Would she be as quick to judge if she knew
the truth? I didn’t think so, but a gentleman never tells. And I
rather enjoyed the fact that it had crawled under her skin, bugging
her, laying wormy little eggs that were making her squirm.

“You saw that, did you?” I smiled at her
indignation. “Did it offend your sensibilities, Shayda?”

“You think it’s funny?” Her eyes flashed the
way they had on the stairs that night, the night of the fireworks.
“I wonder what Ryan or Bob would say if they knew.”

“I wouldn’t mention it to anyone if I were
you,” I warned.

“I’d like to sit down now,” she said through
clenched teeth.

Fuck her. Fuck her for judging me. For being
the one impossible thing in my life.

“You know what I’d like to do?” I yanked her
closer. “I’d like to loosen this tight little up-do of yours and
let your curls fall free. I’d like to see what you’d be like if you
weren’t so ruthless with yourself, Shayda.”

“Stay away from me, Troy. And stay away from
Jayne,” she said, tearing away from me and heading for the
table.

I followed with angry foosteps, a raging
tempest brewing inside of me.

It pretty much went downhill from there. I
downed the dark, stormy clouds she’d stirred up in a succession of
cocktail glasses. I stalked her with my eyes, openly,
unapologetically. And if that made her uncomfortable and red-faced,
good
. I was back, I was shit-faced and I was done hiding
behind some window across the street. I wasn’t going to let her
hide anymore either, not from me, and not from whatever she had
clammed up inside her.

I stood outside, by the stairs to the
entrance, and watched her drive away that night. Then I put out my
cigarette and took a deep breath. A hint of roses still lingered in
the air.

That was The Summer I Seduced Shayda
Hijazi.

And now here she was.

Four years later.

“Quit fucking with me, Beetroot,” I said.

“I’m not. If you still...”

And there it was again, the thing that drove
me mad. The fact that she remained clueless.

If you still...

Like it was some personal interest course I’d
enrolled in, part time. Landscapes for the Avid Painter, 101.

“I don’t know, Shayda. I’d have to check my
schedule.”

Let her stew. Let her burn. For thinking I
would just let her pick up where we’d left off. Under the sheets,
me learning the shape of her toes, her trailing her nails down my
back.

I walked over to my desk and buzzed Tina.

“I think I’ll just get going.” Her bottom lip
quivered as she headed for the door.

“Tina,” I said. “Clear my schedule for the
day.”

She whipped around so fast, it made me
smile.

I liked her face like that. Toppled over with
delight because she couldn’t hold it straight.

She gave me an impish grin and held up three
fingers.

“Hold on,” I said.

‘Three days?’ I mouthed, with my hand over
the receiver. “Tina, clear my calendar for the next three
days.”

“But you have meetings...,” she reminded
me.

“I know. Reschedule them.”

Nothing was going to come between me and the
woman standing before me. That soft-toned watercolor dress she was
wearing didn’t stand a chance either.

“And Tina?” I continued. “Take the rest of
the day off.”

I hung up and contemplated Shayda. Maybe if I
looked closely enough I might unearth the root of our gnarled
connection. We knew better, we knew to stay away, and still we
crashed into this glass window, again and again, trying to get to
the other side, like a pair of lost, disoriented birds.

“What?” she asked, squirming under my
scrutiny.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Barge into my life and expect me to drop
everything for you.”

“Don’t send anonymous packages to my office
then, and pretend like you didn’t mean to summon me.”

She was right. I told myself I had sent her
the umbrella simply to replace the one she’d lost when I’d hauled
her over my shoulder, kicking and screaming, out of the storm and
into my car last night. That’s what I said to myself. Then again, I
told myself all kinds of lies when it came to her.

“Touché.” I smiled. “You grew a pair. I like
that. Now come here so I can kiss you like I’ve been dying to since
the moment you walked in.”

She stood over my chair and brushed a lock of
hair away from my face. I wanted to feel her fingers on my scalp,
tugging my hair, like she did those few seconds before she came. I
wanted to slide her dress up and taste how much she’d missed me.
But I let her sit on my lap, keeping my hands to myself, letting
her steer us along.

Her kiss was soft satin—smooth, flowing,
gliding—gone before I could grab my fill, like the first notes of a
tentative melody. I knew that song well, that buzzing, humming
thing she did to my whole body. Desire flared through me as I
claimed her lips in a searing kiss. I wanted to violate her with my
tongue and my breath and my teeth, to brand her with all of my
pent-up agony until she couldn’t walk or talk or think
straight.

Her arms went around my body, pressing me
closer, caressing the length of my back. I felt that old, familiar
pleasure, pure and explosive, coursing through my veins, settling
in the aching, throbbing heaviness of my cock. Fuck. I hadn’t
compounded this feeling in my imagination. It
really
was
this good with her. And it began from somewhere inside, a place I
couldn’t see or find or barricade myself against. A place only she
knew how to get to.