Plum Girl (Romance) (13 page)

Now it was a matter of smoothing things over after the way she'd ditched him on Saturday. When she thought about it, he hadn't played any games with her so far. She was the one who'd been inconsistent with him, and she hoped it wasn't too late to start over. She'd just have to remember to take it slow, though, and not to get in over her head the way she had with Jake.

When the elevator let Lonnie off on twenty, her palms started to sweat. Suddenly, she had a memory of Dominick's face when he'd been aroused and grinding against her. His eyes had been heavy lidded and his lips parted, and his body had felt so powerful when it'd moved against hers.
Yum.
There was no one at the receptionist desk, so Lonnie circled the floor until she found a door with Dominick's name on it DOMINICK CARTER DIRECTOR OF WEB SITE DEVELOPMENT.

The door was slightly ajar, and she knocked. "Come in."
He's there!
Why hadn't she planned more, again? She gently pushed open the door and stepped into his office. The room was fairly big, but overcluttered with computer equipment and stacks of papers everywhere. He looked up, his face revealing definite surprise, and she noticed he was wearing glasses. She'd never seen him wearing glasses before, and they looked sexy as hell on him, but they didn't quite fit with the gash on his forehead, which had scabbed over and was now surrounded with purple and pink bruising.

"Hi there," she said a little cautiously. She didn't want to act overconfident and bubbly like nothing had happened, but she wasn't going to act like she was Satan, either.

"Hi," he said crisply. Okay, he was still mad. She closed the door and walked closer to his desk.

Dominick glanced over to the door she'd just shut, and then back to her. His expression was impassive and his tone flat. "Is there something you need? I'm sort of busy at the moment." Make that very mad. Words lodged in her throat, and she was doubting the logic of coming downstairs after all. Finally she spoke.

"A lot of work?"
Great question.
Not only was it a lame attempt at filling the silence, but it practically guaranteed a one-word answer.

"Yeah." Uh-huh. He didn't look up for another moment or two, but just kept writing. Then he eyed her again, waiting for her to say her piece. His eyes were dark as night, and piercing, making her so nervous that she blurted: "Dominick, what's going on between us?"

He narrowed those potent eyes, leaned back in his chair, and tossed his pen down on the desk. "You're asking
me
that?" He shook his head and sat forward again. "Look, Lonnie, I don't have time for this—"

"Then make time."
Did I actually say that?
Now his eyes widened behind his glasses, and impassivity gave way to frustration.

"What?"
He stood up, and now he was the one looking down on her, rather than the other way around. "Lonnie, I'm
working.
I've got a
staff
out there. I'm backed up against a wall with four different deadlines, and you—" He shook his head again. "What is it with you, anyway?" He held out his hands in an angry gimme gimme gesture.

"Is it some sort of feminist torture thing?" he went on. "Mess with a guy's head, then, what, go laugh with your friends?" He knew he was making no sense, but he couldn't stop himself from trying to spew the knotted emotions she'd been stirring in him for a while now. He finished, "You know what? Don't even answer that; I don't have the time."

Lonnie looked at him dead-on, and said simply, "I'll leave you alone, then." She'd be damned if she was going to grovel!

She turned to go, and Dominick moved fast. He bolted out from behind his desk and caught her arm just as she was turning the doorknob. "Oh, wait!" he shouted.

When she turned to face him, her expression was unreadable. He looked into those beautiful green-honey eyes and wanted to forget everything else. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off like that. I just—ah hell." He released her arm, plowed his hand through his hair, and sighed. "Lonnie, let's just forget everything and start over, okay?"
Yes, yes, yes!
"Friends?"
No, no, no, NO!
He was trying to be nice, to wipe the slate clean of all the misfired signals and awkwardness. She should be glad. She should be basking in how wonderfully progressive he was.

Screw it.
In one motion, Lonnie leaned her body closer to his and brought both her hands up into his hair. She pulled his head down, and vaguely heard him say in a low voice, "Lonnie?" Ignoring him, she lifted her mouth to his. Before she could kiss him, though, he yanked his head back an inch and said huskily, "Probably a bad idea."

She tightened her fists in his hair and just whispered, "Please," before she gently bit his lower lip. She felt some of the tense resistance in his body ease, and he didn't move his head away. Instead, he let her kiss him softly, and he kissed her back in spite of his desire to remain stubborn. He sighed as she moved her mouth across his cheek, and over to his ear.

"Lonnie," he whispered gruffly, "what are you doing to me?"

She licked up the outer shell of his ear and then back down again. He shuddered and gripped her butt, hauled her against him, and moved them both back against the closed door. She was sucking on his earlobe when he whispered, "Don't mess with me."

"I'm not," she whispered back, and rested her forehead in the crook of his neck. She hadn't planned this, and she had no idea what would happen next.

"Lonnie?" Dominick pulled back from her, his eyes heavy lidded just as she'd remembered earlier. "What's going on here?" he asked, and his voice was both soft and gravelly at the same time. He put his hands at her waist tentatively and waited for her response.

Placing one hand affectionately on his cheek, she looked straight into his coal-black eyes. "I'm sorry about the other day," she said quietly. "And I'm sorry if I've given you mixed signals. For some reason, I'm always screwing up where you're concerned. But, I..." She tried to think of how to say she was crazy about him and desperate to find out firsthand if he snored. "Well, I'd like us to spend more time together. I mean, if... you know... that sounds good to you, too."

Say something, please.

Dominick's face creased into his sexy-as-sin grin, and Lonnie suddenly knew that she couldn't bear whatever his response was going to be. She moved her hand from his cheek to his mouth. "Don't say anything. Just blink twice if you agree." He blinked three times, and she cocked her head to the side, moved her hand away from his mouth, and said, "Okay, smartie, what's three blinks supposed to mean?"

He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, hauled her up against his chest, and whispered into her ear hotly, "It means I want us to spend more time together. Naked."

She let out a laugh before pulling back a few inches and turning more serious. "Let's take it slow, though, okay?"

"Slow," he repeated, and sucked in a deep breath. "Fine time to tell me," he teased, and pressed his hips against hers. She almost collapsed against him in surrender. Then he kissed her on the cheek. "No problem. Slow," he murmured, and kissed her again.

Well, this had gone better than she'd expected. She should probably leave now before she mucked it up somehow. Anyway, Dominick obviously had a lot of work to do, and Lonnie had promised to meet Peach at home in a little while to get ready for the party.

The party.
"Hey, what are you doing later?" Lonnie asked.

"Just working. Why?" He trailed hot, suctioning kisses down her throat while she told him about Twit & Bell's holiday party. He started rubbing her breasts, and when he felt hard, swollen nipples through her dress, he lost a little of his concentration and had to ask her to back up and repeat some of what she'd said. She repeated it a little breathlessly, and he agreed to work straight through the early evening so he could meet her in the lobby of the Easton Hotel, where the party was being held, at eight o'clock.

When Lonnie finally opened the door to go, she looked over her shoulder at Dominick. He looked tousled and dazed and delicious. "By the way," she said, smiling coyly, "when I'm done with you, I think you'll have a whole new appreciation for 'feminist torture.'" She slicked her tongue over her plum lips, and Dominick had to remind himself to breathe.

Chapter 10

Lonnie might as well have floated through the door to her apartment. This time she tossed her keys so carelessly they missed the sunshine-yellow table altogether, but she didn't even notice. Letting out a contented sigh, she slipped off her ice-blue coat, dropping it onto the shaggy cream rug, not sparing it a backward glance. She wasn't sure if she could really still taste Dominick on her or if it was a false memory, but either way, she couldn't help running her tongue over her bottom lip and remembering what had happened in his office earlier. She was vaguely aware of a stupid grin on her face, but she couldn't care less.

Then she noticed Peach's ornate red-gold-and-black patchwork coat hanging on the partition screen. "Peach? You home?"

"In here!" her sister called from the bathroom. "Hold on a second."

The bathroom door opened and Peach emerged, wearing her terry-cloth robe. She was followed by a slightly roly-poly woman with short dark blond hair, a bashful expression, and a plum silk robe on that looked oddly familiar.

"Hey," Peach said, smiling brightly. "Lon, this is Cheryl, Iris's daughter. Oh, hope you don't mind. I let her borrow your robe while we did mud facial treatments."

"Oh, no, no," Lonnie said, trying not to notice the brown splatters all along the robe's collar. "How come you're home?" she asked Peach. "I didn't think you'd get home from work for another hour or so."

"Iris left for Vermont this morning, and I only had a few things to take care of anyway," Peach said. "Cheryl's gonna help me pick out what I'm wearing to the party tonight." Cheryl quirked her mouth into a self-deprecating grimace, as if to say that her input was going to be worthless.

"So, you and Iris aren't spending Christmas together?" Lonnie asked.

"Lonnie,"
Peach scolded. She rolled her eyes and exchanged horrified looks with the ceiling. Lonnie immediately backpedaled.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to pry—"

"It's okay," Cheryl said. Her voice sounded soft and unused, and her face was as round, guileless, and cushy as a Kewpie doll. "Mom went skiing with some women from the Horticultural Society. I could've gone but... I didn't feel like dealing!" She sighed the last part—as if to say
phew!
—and Lonnie found her charming in an unintentional sort of way. "I really like your apartment," she added politely.

"Oh, thanks, but I think Peach's mural takes most of the credit," Lonnie said.

Peach snickered, "Yeah, right.
That
thing?" She motioned to
BosYork
with her thumb. "It's horrible! I hate it; its my worst painting yet." This reaction was typical for Peach, who, like most artists, was supercritical of her own work, even though it looked masterfully like something no one else could hope to create.

"No, its gorgeous!" Cheryl exclaimed. Her eyes surveyed the wall adoringly.

"Okay, enough about that subpar mess over there," Peach said, drawing their attention away from the mural. "I want to pick something out for tonight that'll get Matt's attention."

"I think you've already got it," Lonnie commented, and flopped onto the sofa.

"True, but still..." Peach kidded. "Cheryl, what did you think about the pale blue dress I showed you before? Do you think I should wear that with the silver heels? Or should I wear the fuchsia cat suit with the floor-length black cardigan?"

"Um..." She hesitated, appearing eager to help, but at the same time reluctant to give fashion advice. Or possibly, just reluctant to offer her opinion, period.

"Hey, Cheryl," Lonnie interjected because she thought it was a little rude to talk about a social event with someone who wasn't included, "did you want to come to the party tonight? I'm sure I can sneak in another guest." She wasn't sure, but what the hell?

It was irrelevant anyway, because Cheryl didn't appear interested in going. At the mere suggestion, her eyebrows shot up and her face contorted painfully, revealing utter terror. She swallowed hard, started trembling, and Lonnie couldn't help noticing that this was a less than normal reaction. The bashful, Kewpie-doll thing had a certain charm, but Lonnie could see that this shyness was too severe for a thirty-five-year-old woman. She just hoped her sister knew what she was doing.

"No, no," Cheryl said finally.
Very
finally.

Peach said, "Fine, you don't have to come tonight, but don't forget after the holidays we're going out for a night on the town. We're gonna get dressed up and go out somewhere fun—I know! How 'bout the Cactus Club?"

Cheryl suddenly looked queasy, and did an abrupt about-face to stare at
BosYork.
Nope, this was definitely not normal.

"Cheryl," Peach said coaxingly, "now, don't get all weird." She walked over and put her hand on her friend's silky mud-splattered shoulder. "Face it, you have Social Anxiety Disorder. We've talked about this. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Lonnie rolled her eyes and hit her forehead with her palm.
Is this what six months of psych training had wrought?

Cheryl only stared more intently at the mural, and her body quivered. Never one for awkward tension or silence, Peach spoke again. Her tone was breezy, but affectionate. "Like I've said before, there's absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. We all have issues. I mean, take Lonnie—"

"Hey—"

"We're talking
classic
fear of intimacy."

That got Cheryl to turn away from the mural... and to look curiously at Lonnie. Great, now she thought they were equally maladjusted and shared some sort of soul connection. Peach went on casually. "Well, in my sister's case, the fear of intimacy provides an excuse to indulge in her other, bigger issue: fear of abandonment."