“Death metal. You’re a metal head.”
He laughed, threw back his head and laughed.
I can’t deny, just seeing it had me falling just a little bit harder for him.
I knew this was precious, a rare showing for Heath, and all I wanted to do was devote my time and energy into bringing this out of him, to cultivating his softer side.
I was a chronic fixer. Hopeless, really.
“No,” he said finally. “Not even a little. That sort of music gets on my nerves. Too loud and disorderly.”
“Rock?”
“No.”
“Rap.”
Another laugh, and I fell a little deeper, damn him.
“No.”
“Country?”
“No.”
“Um . . . pop?” I was running out of options.
He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. “Not likely.”
“Okay, I give up.”
“Classical music is the only stuff I listen to by choice. It’s . . . peaceful. The rest is just chaos to me.”
I never would have guessed.
He was so complicated, and God was I a sucker for a complicated man.
I had kind of assumed (and hoped) that we’d mess around before getting ready to go out, but no such luck. Heath left me at my front door with an obligatory goodbye and a warning that he’d be back in an hour.
Eek, I thought. I wanted more than an hour. I was pretty sure I needed more.
This was, after all, our very first date.
I’d never even gotten a chance to dress up for him. He’d seen me sans makeup/sans clothes more than anything else.
I hopped in the shower in a rush, washing my hair, though I knew it took nearly an hour just to get the thick masses dry.
I had my wet hair wrapped in a towel as I perused my closet. Dinner and a movie was the strangest kind of date to dress for, but this was Vegas. Just a few days ago, I’d seen someone in a full out ball gown at the grocery store. Anything went here. It was one of my favorite things about this town.
I loved clothes. Shopping was an enduring obsession of mine, but I was dressing for a man who I knew would not appreciate anything about the latest trends.
So I went for sexy and flirty with my favorite little black dress. I hadn’t worn the thing in ages, but nothing flattered my figure more. It showed off my legs and just enough cleavage to turn some heads. The stretchy jersey material hugged my chest and waist, dipping in to accentuate my curves, then flowed out in a short, A-line skirt.
I left my hair wavy, which saved time, but went all out with the makeup, going for a smoky eye and red lips, so I was still pushing it to the very last minute.
I slipped into my favorite black Lady Peep Louboutins. They were sky high, but Heath was tall enough that I could get away with it.
I grabbed a light jacket since I always got cold at the show.
I was ready almost to the second, which was a good thing, because Heath was at my door exactly on time.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
His reaction to my efforts was gratifying. His eyes were indecent as they took me in head to toe.
He was wearing a dark polo and dark wash jeans, and he looked good enough to eat in tiny, savoring bites.
“You sure you want to go anywhere tonight?” he asked.
In answer, I shut and locked my door.
He cursed under his breath.
He led me to his car, a Jaguar F-type that I knew had to cost upwards of a hundred grand.
“Is this your car?” I asked him as I slid into the passenger’s seat. I was back to wondering again if he was a criminal.
“I’m borrowing it,” he said after he got behind the wheel. And of course he didn’t elaborate.
I picked a gourmet burger place for dinner. I didn’t imagine Heath would appreciate gourmet French cuisine the way I did, so I settled on my second favorite—a perfect burger.
“So if they leave out the e, it makes it gourmet?” Heath asked as we approached the restaurant Burgr.
I sent him a sideways smile. He did have a sense of humor, I was finding out. It was just very dry. “Do you like burgers?”
“Yeah. I have to say, I was worried you’d pick someplace with frog legs or something.”
“I found a compromise.”
The restaurant was crowded, and I wasn’t imagining it, people were definitely staring at me, then him, then back at me as we were shown to our table.
“People are staring at us,” I said quietly.
Heath glanced around and stared at some people until they looked away. “So?”
“They’re staring at us because I’m sixteen years older than you.”
He leaned in close, his eyes all over me. “You’re right that people are staring. But not at us. At you. But this I guarantee, no one is staring at you because of that.”
I felt instantly better. He really did have a sweet side.
I ordered a martini, and he ordered a water.
“You don’t drink alcohol?” I asked him when the waiter had left.
“I do, occasionally, but most of the time I like to keep my senses sharp.”
I gave him my best imploring smile. “This is a date. You don’t need to stay sharp. This is when you relax.”
After staring me down for a brief moment, he called the waiter back and ordered a beer.
“Anything look good to you?” I asked him after he’d perused the menu for a bit.
He just shrugged.
“I can tell you what’s good.”
He shrugged again. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”
“Do you mind having an egg on your burger?”
“Sounds fine.”
I ordered the truffle fries and two farm burgers. It was simple, but the best burger: duck breast bacon, English sharp cheddar, and a fried egg. Perfection.
“So good, right?” I asked him after the first bite. I was one and a half martinis deep, and he’d downed nearly his entire pint of beer. I was feeling great and it might have been my imagination, but I thought he was starting to relax.
“It’s good,” he agreed, then proceeded to finish the burger off in under two minutes.
I was about a third of the way through mine. “Should we order you another one?” I teased him.
His answer was to finish off the fries. Then my fries. Then his beer. He ordered another and I almost cheered. I wanted him to have a good time tonight, wanted him to unwind and open up, and alcohol seemed like a great way to make that happen.
“Do you like to gamble?” he asked me.
The restaurant was located inside of a casino, as most of the good ones were in this town.
“Very rarely. How about you?”
“Never, if I can help it.”
“I don’t mind losing the random twenty dollars on a few rounds of blackjack,” I shared, just to keep the conversation going.
His brows went up like I’d said something fascinating. “My . . . friend is obsessed with blackjack. She counts cards. Makes a fortune whenever she needs it.”
“Really? Isn’t that illegal?”
“It’s actually not. The casino will blacklist you if they catch you, but she sticks to the smaller establishments, wins little bits at a time, then moves on.”
“Wow. She must be smart.”
“She’s brilliant.”
I wondered who this brilliant friend was. She was important to him, I could tell with just a few sentences. And the hesitation before he said the word friend bothered me a bit.
Also, he quickly changed the subject, like he hadn’t meant to bring her up at all.
Other than that, though, dinner went well.
The movie, well, that was another story.
Intense was the best word to describe that part.
He was bored as hell walking in the door. This was not his thing. He was humoring me. Proving a point? Or just trying to be nice? I couldn’t say.
Once the ac
tual movie started, though, things changed a bit.
I had a loud laugh. I knew this. It’s also the kind of laugh I just couldn’t hold back.
I loved me some romantic comedy, and this was a good one.
I laughed hard.
Once I started laughing, he stopped being bored. He didn’t watch the movie so much as study me for most of it, putting his arm around me and leaning close when I started laughing like he was taking it in, inhaling it. Soaking it up.
I reached over and touched his knuckles lightly. He grasped my hand instantly and firmly, interweaving our fingers, watching himself do it like he couldn’t quite believe it was happening, like he’d surprised himself with the action.
We both just stared at our hands for a while, and the whole time I was thinking about how horrible I was at casual sex. An utter failure at the casual part of it.
And then I went back to laughing, and he went back to watching me.
He didn’t even smile much, but something about the way he was staring at me, his eyes losing some of their usual shutter, had me feeling things I hadn’t thought I’d ever feel again.
When he looked at me like that, it’s hard to even describe, but I’d never felt more beautiful, never felt more desirable, never more joyful, or hopeful.
How could the way someone looked at you change the way you saw your life?
And how was I just now finding this?
And—what was it?
But I knew. It was different from the first time, I was different, but, regardless of how fast it was happening, I knew what it was.
That first sweet blushing bloom of the L word.
I was embarrassed to even think it, but we did have a moment in there, where something occurred. Both of us softened toward the other just that little bit more, that profound distance between intense interest and true affection, between adoration and endearment, and suddenly the future looked very bright and exciting.
This new, familiar, alien feeling was as scary as it was utterly addictive.
“So that was a date,” he stated.
We were driving back to my house.
“Yes, it was,” I agreed, tone wry.
“Was it a good one?”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “You tell me,” I urged him.
“Depends. Do I get to fuck you soon?” He sounded surly.
I tensed. Just when I thought things were going so well that I was giddy with it, he had to open his big mouth.
“It seems likely,” I told him slowly. “Though the more you talk, the less likely it is.”
“Noted. Shutting my mouth until you’re ready to fuck.”
I tried not to grit my teeth. He could be such an asshole. The only redeeming part of that was that I didn’t think he had any idea how to be any different. For whatever reason, he’d never developed that kind of a filter.
“Do you enjoy spending time with me, doing anything besides fucking?” I asked.
He sighed. “I hated that movie.”
My mouth twisted. He hadn’t had to tell me. I’d known that.
“Fuckin’ hated it. But I’d sit through it again. I’d put that thing on repeat just to watch you watching it. To see you laugh like that.”
And just like that, he turned it all around. Sneaky man.
“I love it when you say sweet things to me,” I told him, voice breathless.
“I’m not good at sweet.”
“You have your moments. Tell me another sweet thing. Let’s see if you can do it again.”
He didn’t even miss a beat, like it had already been on the tip of his tongue. “You’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”
Wow. That shocked me into silence. And made me feel good, really good, because I believed him. I didn’t think he’d lie about something like that, didn’t think he’d waste the energy or the breath.
“You too,” I finally managed to respond.
“Good,” he growled, his hand going to my knee.
And just that easy, from that one simple touch, hot life flooded inside of me.
I realized that he hadn’t had me since this morning. Nearly a full day and it felt like ages.
I felt deprived. Needy. Desperate for him.
I leaned toward him, hand going to his chest, touching softly because I knew the area was sensitive. “Drive faster,” I breathed into his ear.
He floored it.
When he parked at the curb in front of my house, I pretty much shot out of the car and ran to the front door, fumbling to unlock it fast enough. But I needn’t have rushed. He was still at his car fishing a big duffle bag out of his trunk, by the time I got the door open.
I stopped what I was doing to stare at him.
“I’d like to stay a few days, if you don’t mind,” he said as he approached and saw that my gaze was transfixed on the bag.
“Not at all,” I said, voice faux casual and went inside.
“There’s not much extra room in my closet,” I told him. Which was a huge understatement. Due to my lifelong love of shopping, the thing was stuffed. “But there are other closets, and feel free to put whatever in my bathroom. Just make yourself at home.”
I cringed inside. Did I sound too needy? I didn’t know. I’d never done anything like this. Sleepovers were out of my realm, one of the many quirks of marrying young and staying married for too damn long.
This relationship, for lack of a better word, was unprecedented for me.
He didn’t seem interested in unpacking. The second we got into my bedroom, he tossed the duffle in the middle of the floor and started rummaging through it.
I saw why a few seconds later as he straightened, grinning at me, a pair of padded handcuffs hooked on one of his fingers.
Oh yeah. That.
I’d almost forgotten about our little agreement.
“Undress,” he told me gruffly.
I did it leisurely, slipping the shoulders off my dress and dragging it sensuously down my body.
I stood straight when I was left in just my bra, panties, and stilettos.
“All of it. Except the shoes. Keep the shoes on.”
I smiled at him as I shimmied out of my lacy underthings.
“Get on the bed,” he enunciated slowly.
I took a deep breath and obeyed, climbing onto the bed in my platforms, doing it seductively, gazing at him over my shoulder to give him a sultry smile and take in his reaction, which made me feel as beautiful as I knew it would.
“On your back. Arms above your head.”
I lay down on my back, throwing my arms up above my head, a willing lamb to the slaughter. An eager one.
I’d never done kink, though I knew a lot about it, thanks to having made some very kinky friends in recent years.
I’d never done it, but I wasn’t against it. I thought it was hot, in a vague, probably not my thing sort of way.
But right then, I was thinking, maybe it’s just my kind of thing. Or at least, the part that Heath seemed interested in.
“Just handcuffs, right?” I asked to be sure.
Handcuffs I was pretty comfortable with. The idea of him having me helpless the first few times we were together had been too much for me, but I felt like I knew him well enough now. I mean, if he wanted to hurt me, if he was even capable of it, I’d have gotten some sense of it by now.
And I trusted him, in a way. In a few important ways, actually.
“Yes. Just handcuffs. Now spread your legs,” he ordered.
I spread them wide, flexing and angling my body to its best advantage.
It seemed to do the trick.
He fell on me, shoving his tongue down my throat as he cuffed me to the bed. He did it so fast, like he’d trained for it, and hell, maybe he had.
His big hands grasped at me, fondling my breasts, then twisting and pinching roughly at my nipples.
He reared back abruptly, grabbing my ass in both hands and pounding into me with a guttural moan.
He didn’t take me slow or
gentle.
He took me like he had a point to prove, a point that could only be found by hammering so hard into me that he reached the other side.
It was heaven.
I screamed. And came. The most explosive orgasm of my life.
“Are you okay?” he asked a few beats later.
I couldn’t really blame him for asking. I’d let out a racket for a good minute back there.
“Yes,” I panted back.
“Good,” he grunted and seemed to take it as permission for the next round.
He freed my hands, turning me onto my stomach while I was still catching my breath. He forced me up onto my knees, and I felt him at my entrance again, his stiff, thick length pushing at me already, while I still twitched from the last invasion.
He fucked me again, jolting into me roughly from behind, both of us on all fours.
It was a long time later, when we were capable of getting out full sentences again, that he spoke. “I do like spending time with you out of bed. But for the record, if it’d been up to me, we’d never have left your bed today.”
“Oh.” I paused. The day had been nice, very nice, but . . . “I wouldn’t have minded that one bit.” Vast understatement.
“I didn’t want to be an asshole, so I thought it was safest for you to decide how we spent the day.”
“Well, you were a good sport, so how about you pick what we do tomorrow?”
“Okay. I have one errand I have to run sometime in the morning, but after that, you’re all mine.”
I swear I fell asleep still smiling.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
The next morning did not turn out quite how I had expected.
Not even close, actually. It was both better and worse.
I awoke to hearing noises in my house that I couldn’t figure out. They just didn’t compute in my sleep-dazed mind.
I walked out of my bedroom, wearing nothing but a thin silk robe that hit at mid-thigh, to find Heath, shirtless and just in his boxers, in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand, chatting with my oldest son, Raf.
I might have had a small heart attack.
Thank God it was Raf. My youngest would have taken a swing at a shirtless man in my kitchen, whereas Raf seemed to be chatting him up. He was not one to swing first and ask questions later. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t every bit as protective of me as his brother. He was just more levelheaded.