Summer's Desire (29 page)

"Time for breakfast." He
frowns. "Only, we're in trouble. I still didn't get a chance to buy food
yesterday, and the fridge and cupboards are all empty. Literally."

Hmm... "There should still be some
milk, though." I remember from yesterday's inspection of the contents of
his fridge. "We can have some cereal."

He shakes his head, amused. "Sorry,
Sunny. I know you're a big fan of that awful soggy stuff—obviously some things
never change—but I'm not. There aren't any cereals in this apartment."

"No cereals at all?" I ask in
mock-horror.

"Not even the least trace of
one," he confirms with a smirk. "We'll fix that today, okay?"

"We'd better, if you want to have
me here in the morning ever again!" I threaten dramatically. "But
what do we do
now
?"

He smiles at my pout, lowers his head
for a swift kiss, and nips at my lower lip before releasing it. "Now we
get dressed and drive to Vernon's Bakery downtown to buy you pastries. After
that, we drive on to Grand Rapids. We said we'd go there today so you can shop
for everything you need, right?"

I instantly focus on the most crucial
piece of information he's imparted.

"Pastries?" I'm sure that my
eyes and my entire face have lit up like a lantern. And yes, pastries do trump
shopping for clothes any day of the week, in my book.

Seth regards me with an amused smile. He
knows what a terrible sweet tooth I have and used to love feeding it—though
always with a good dose of teasing added to the mix. I don't tell him that,
after I left Rockford five years ago, I completely lost my yen for sugar; when
you're moving through life like a sleep-deprived zombie, the last thing you
care about is sweets. Now that I'm well-rested and happy, however, my sugar
cravings have resurfaced and are clamoring for attention.

So I smile widely at Seth, joyfully
anticipating the feeding of my addiction.

* * *

We're in Seth's car en route for Grand
Rapids, and I'm munching contentedly on pastries.

"You do know that you'll really get
it if you spread any of that sugary powder stuff in my car?" He says this
with absolutely no bite, barely hiding a grin when he sees me licking my
fingers.

"That's not a very effective
threat, Seth. You'd do much better specifying
what
it is that I'll get. Otherwise
I'll just be merrily contemplating assorted punishments that I wouldn't mind at
all." My mind is already going wild with visions of him "punishing"
me with naughty, wicked, delicious kisses—without stopping until I beg for
mercy (As if I'd be stupid enough to do that!).

"Yes, Sunny, but don't you see?
That's exactly the beauty of it! By leaving the punishment unspecified, it
means that it can, at a later time, be chosen and applied in a completely
arbitrary manner by the enforcer. Which is me," he points out slyly.

"Ooh, that sounds kinky!" I
smile craftily. "Are you sure you don't want a bit of my pastry?" I
lick my lips and slowly, suggestively take a bite out of a cream puff.

He aims a scorching sidelong glance at
my mouth. "It's not pastries I hunger for just now." Then, with a
groan: "You have cream on your lips."

"Really?" My tone is, of
course, innocence itself. Again I dart the tip of my tongue out and lick my
lips oh-so-slowly. I hear another groan and give Seth a naughty grin. His lips
twitch in answer.

He reaches for his coffee-to-go and
takes a sip. "How come you don't drink coffee?"

"I tried it once and didn't like
the taste." I shrug. "If I kept drinking it, maybe I would start
liking it, but to what purpose? I don't want a caffeine addiction on top of the
one I seem to have for sweets." I swallow the last of my cream puff.
"The pastries were really awesome, Seth! Thank you for buying them for
me." I beam at him.

"You're very welcome, Sunny. I
appreciated the show." His eyes gleam.

Now that my hands are free, he covers my
left hand with his right, intertwining our finger, and drives one-handed. When
he has to shift gears, he does it with our joined hands, using my palm. Holy smoke,
that is so sexy! I like his easy confidence at the wheel and I've definitely come
to appreciate the butterflies his touch always sets to buzzing in my stomach.

I try to distract myself from my lustful
thoughts. "Seth?"

"Hmm?"

"Why have you always called me
Sunny?" Now that I think about it, it seems incredible that I've never
actually asked him before why he chose this nickname for me. When I was a child,
I just assumed that it was a shortening of my name,
Summer
—only slightly
altered, using the
n
-consonant instead of
m
for a chummier sound
or whatever. But now I wonder.

He laughs. "I never told you this, did
I?" A long pause follows, and his expression seems slightly conflicted. At
length, he tells me softly, "The first time I saw you—when you were five
years old and you appeared from that taxi in your white sundress, all blonde
hair and creamy skin—I felt like the real sun had come out of the clouds."
He squeezes my left hand which is still wrapped in his. "From the very
first, you were the sun in my life. So you've always been Sunny to me."

The sweetness of his words pierces my
heart. I always thought that
Sunny
was simply his childish nickname for
me, and I liked it because it had been chosen by him. Yet I never imagined the true
wealth of meaning behind the word, the significance it held for him.

Though maybe I should have. Even as a
seven-year-old, Seth hadn't been one for childish gestures; he had already seen
and lived through too much. He was tough even then and yet with me, from the
very beginning, he tempered his harshness. He always protected my innocence even
though he had lost his own long ago. I blink back tears of gratitude and
adoration.

I think of Seth as he was when we were
younger, and I look at him as he is now. In all his guises, he's always given
me his all, and in all his guises, I've loved him. Even during our separation
he was the unbeatable standard against which I measured all other boys—and
found them lacking.

With sudden insight, I realize this was
the real reason why I never had a crush on another boy, why none of them ever
tempted me to get involved. It has always been Seth for me. Looking at his flawless
profile, I'm overcome with a rush of pure, intense feeling.
I'm in love with
this boy.
I don't just love him; I'm also truly, deeply, head-over-heels
in
love
with him.

I shake my head at my obtuseness. How
could I not see this sooner? This emotion for Seth feels like it's been part of
me forever, embedded in the very fabric of my being along with my need and my
possessiveness of him. I guess it's true that there is no worse blind than the one
who doesn't want to see. I didn't believe I could have Seth in any way beyond
the platonic, so I buried all my other feelings deep.

But it's all in the open now, and I'm
all in. I've leaped from a very high place indeed... I only hope that I can
live through the inevitable crash.

* * *

"I don't like those jeans,"
Seth informs me with a ferocious scowl.

We're at the mall, in the casual wear
section of a trendy women's store that offers good quality at a reasonable
price tag. I'm choosing clothes and trying them on, and this time I've gone for
stuff in my own size. It was time, I decided, to stop hiding behind my habitual
"uniform". Whatever time I would be given with Seth, I didn't want it
shadowed by any of my old fears and insecurities.

Seth, on the other hand, seems to have
gained a new appreciation for my old dressing style. Watching me as I try on my
selections, he's been frowning a lot.

Before entering the store, I had offered
him the chance to go and do something else while I bought clothes. Though I
didn't really want to be left by myself, neither did I want him to get bored.
However, he told me matter-of-factly that we were here together, he had no
intention of separating from me, and besides, it was crazy of me to think he
could ever get bored in my company no matter what we were doing. Thus, we
stayed together.

And for the past hour, I've been
modeling clothes for Seth, my personal enraptured audience of one.

"Why don't you like these
jeans?" I ask him now, grinning widely.

"They make your legs look too
long." He sounds completely serious—and completely put out.

"Well, that's a good thing since
I'm not very tall."

"Your height is perfect!" He
scowls again. "But these jeans are too tight."

"How can they be too tight? They're
skinny jeans. They're supposed to fit snugly." This is so much fun!

"But the way they mold your ass..."
he protests gruffly.

Since I came out of the changing cabin,
he's been staring as if my jean-clad butt were his favorite
délicatesse
and he were a starving man.

I raise my eyebrow. "Yes?"

"It's too damn sexy!" he
erupts, eyes blazing with lust and frustration. I burst out laughing.

He glowers at me some more, then closes
his eyes for a moment, shakes his head. His lips twitch. "The jeans look
hot on you. You're hot. Buy the damn jeans!"

"But you don't like them," I
tease.

"I like them too damn much. But
that's not the problem; the problem's all the assholes who'll also like them
too much on you. I'll have to fight them off with a stick to keep them away
from my girlfriend."

I grin hugely at him. "Your
girlfriend, huh? What a lucky girl!"

He comes to me, wraps his arms around
me, and lowers his head into the crook of my neck. His warm breath, falling on
the sensitive skin below my nape, electrifies me like a live wire.

"I'm the one who's lucky," he murmurs,
placing upward kisses on my neck. I go weak in the knees; it's a good thing
he's holding me upright, or else I might embarrass myself by falling down like
a freaking wet noodle at his feet. He traces the delicate shell of my ear with
parted lips. "I liked your old pants better," he says. His raspy
tone, the gossamer feel of his mouth, make me feel all fluttery.

"I noticed," I manage to
croak.

"But if you want to wear sexy
jeans,"—he nips at the corner of my ear and raises his head to meet my
passion-glazed eyes—"I'll learn to live with it." He releases me and
gives me a gentle push in the direction of the cabin. "Now go see what
else you need because I'm starting to get real hungry." He makes the word
hungry
sound positively wicked.

I quickly make the rest of my
selections. After all the stress I've been under recently (and in particular,
thanks to my enforced
Jessica-"Devil's Spawn"-Anderson
Diet)
I'm a couple of pounds lighter than usual. Still, it's only been two weeks'
worth of damage, and now that I'm in a better (
read:
ecstatically happy)
frame of mind, I'll return to my normal weight soon enough; with all the
pastries I've gulped down this morning, I'm definitely on the right track. As
it is, I choose clothes in my normal size, and they fit mostly fine apart from
being a little loose around the waist.

After we take the bags with my purchases
to the car, we head for the food court, holding hands. Seth skipped breakfast
this morning (coffee doesn't count) and the pastries I ate didn't exactly tide
me over for long.

We walk by a display where I notice a
beautiful double-breasted gray coat with belt, and I stop to admire it. Seeing
my interest, Seth drags me into the shop and makes me try the coat on. It fits
me perfectly, but I think the price is a bit too high.

Seth disagrees. "It makes you look
sophisticated, but still young. It looks really good on you, and you still need
a light coat. So take this one."

"Seth, there's not much money left
from what Greg gave me," I admit regretfully while stroking the coat's fabric.
It's so sleek and soft! "I think I went a bit overboard with all those
clothes I chose earlier. And I still have to buy, you know,
underthings
."

"Sunny, you didn't go overboard
with the clothes. Jessica destroyed all your things, so you needed everything
you bought. And money isn't a problem. I'll buy the coat for you."

"You can't buy the coat for me!"
I protest, all wound up. "It's not right! Plus, you aren't some indolent
rich kid with too much money; why would you spend what you have on me?"
For crying out loud, I know his situation, and I've seen his place! He isn't
exactly drowning in luxury.

He appears exasperated. "Sunny, I
have enough damn money to buy my girl a damn coat. And lingerie too, for that
matter," he adds with a crooked grin.

I give him a horrified look. "I'm
not letting you pay for my undies!"

His grin turns smug. "Then you had
better let me pay for the coat."

I stare at him for long moments. At
length, I give in with a muttered "Okay"
.
When he gets this
obstinate, there's no changing his mind. "Thank you," I add
graciously.