Lost in You. Sommer Marsden
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calm down.
‘I think your grandmother is going to be fine. If she’s anything like you, she won’t let a storm get the better of her.’ His voice was low and soft. It seemed to vibrate in my chest, my belly, lower.
I nodded, but kept my eyes shut.
‘And you said she’s not alone.’
‘No. Not alone,’ I whispered as his fingers continued to stroke under my hair. Then he sifted through the long strands, smoothed them and started the whole process again.
‘Open your eyes, Clover,’ he said.
I opened them. We were so close I could see that the very centre of his irises held an amber ring. Mesmerising.
‘I’m going to kiss you now,’ he said. He cocked his head. ‘Is that OK?’
I could only manage a nod and then his lips were pressing against mine. Soft at first and then harder, his tongue stroking out and seeking entrance past my lips. I parted them and let him kiss me deeply, his hands still smoothing my hair, sliding further down my back and finally cupping my bottom. He pulled me into him with a touch of force, enough to make my breath catch and my skin tingle. I felt his arousal as surely as mine and let my body rest there, pressed against him, so I could feel that I was not alone in my attraction or my want.
It was startling and unexpected but wonderfully inebriating. I tilted my head back into his big hand and he cradled me that way as he kissed me. His free hand slid up over my sweater, just a glancing slide, enough to make my nipple grow hard under his palm. My skin sang with tingles and I went lax in his arms. When he pulled me against him once more, roughly, I gasped. The movement resembled a thrust. Dorian broke the connection, cleared his throat and said, ‘How about if I make you something to eat?’
It took a moment for me to get any words out and even then my voice was wobbly. ‘Yes, food.’
* * *
Soho’s Retreat was a small bistro in the shopping centre. I always walked past it as I was working and wished it could be open for me for lunch. It was mildly amusing and mildly annoying to have to leave the Rotunda to get lunch when normally it was a place where people flocked for nice cutting-edge lunches with names like Buddha’s Purse and Beggar’s Satchel.
‘This place? You’re going to … cook?’
Dorian punched the code into the keypad and the door clicked as the lock disengaged. Then he rolled the door up. ‘Sure. If by “cook” you mean heat up stuff.’
I laughed, touched my lips, still feeling the lingering sensation of his there. He caught me doing it, his eyes taking me in as succinctly as they had every other time his gaze had lingered on me. I was blushing and I hated it.
‘What happens with all these doors if we lose power?’
He stopped, ran a hand through his dark hair. ‘I guess I’m screwed. I don’t have the master key ring. Bradley has that … somewhere.’ He flicked the bistro lights on and said, ‘Grab us some sodas or whatever you want. I’ll be right back.’
‘But –’
He held up a finger. ‘Right. Back. I promise. Just get our beverages and study the menu. See what you want me to whip up for you. If it’s within my power, I’ll do it. Your wish is my command,’ he said and winked.
It should have been a cheesy gesture. I should have found it off-putting or offensive or something. Instead, I felt my body rev up as if he were touching me again. I wished those words were true. Being near him had me thinking a bit differently. A bit more relaxed, a bit more hopeful. A bit more … flirtatious and feminine? ‘I blame the barometric pressure,’ I said softly as he ran off through the halls.
I wandered around the small restaurant and tried not to stare at him. He’d returned from his jaunt very fast, just as promised. He’d been sporting a grin and a black pullover hoodie that said NANTUCKET WOOD across the front.
I had yet to ask where that had come from, but seeing it reminded me of the fact that I was wearing his sweater. I tugged the sleeves down a bit and tucked my fingers inside the warmth. I tried to be sneaky about dipping my head and breathing in the scent of him from the soft fabric. Between wearing his clothes and that kiss – God, that kiss would not leave my mind – I was surrounded by Dorian’s scent. And it was potent, bringing out feelings of contentment and safety. Things I rarely let myself enjoy.
I always seemed to be on guard, ready to fight my way through the world. To a degree, that had always been my personality, but it had become worse since my mother left. Borrowing problems, kicking ass and taking names, as my grandmother often joked.
Thinking of her sent a spike of bright uncomfortable fear through me. I glanced up to see him watching me, half smiling because I still had my nose tucked inside the neck of his sweater.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked, flipping the grilled sandwich he was making. It smelled heavenly. I’d had no idea how hungry I was until Dorian started cooking.
‘No. I mean, a little. It’s the …’ I shivered, shrugging my shoulders.
‘The dampness.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘Are you sure I can’t help?’
I’d already asked twice and been turned down both times, the answer a soft ‘Let someone do for you.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sure. Why not have a seat, have your drink. I bet if I dig around in the back, John and Nancy have a bottle of wine stashed somewhere. Or a box. They like their vino but they’re green. They like those boxes that hold about two big bottles of wine and there’s less waste. I never did get into wine much,’ he said, busying himself at the flat top.
‘Maybe later,’ I said, though part of me wanted to say yes right away. Yes, wine! Maybe it could distract me from how he seemed to be a magnet drawing me to him. I’d seen none of the cocky, entitled attitude I would have expected from someone like Dorian. And then I felt rather ashamed of my assumptions.
I walked the length of the restaurant studying the framed photos of what must be the couple who owned Soho’s Retreat. They were smiling and happy in every single shot. Often holding hands or draping arms around each other. In a more recent photo Nancy was toting a baby on her hip, and John gazing at his wife and child, looking very satisfied.
What was that like? That life? Being so connected to someone, enough to bring a life into the world.
‘You ever think about it?’
I jumped a little, but covered with a smile. Turning to Dorian, I steadied my voice before speaking. ‘Sure. I mean, I guess. Everyone thinks about it to a degree, right? I think we’re – especially girls, maybe – all pre-programmed to want that. Marriage and kids, right? What else is there?’ I threw my hands up and rolled my eyes.
I could hear that my voice was much more clipped and angry than I’d intended. I hadn’t meant to sound so … bitter.
He watched me without talking and stirred a big pot of canned soup. ‘I bet you’re right. Girls especially. But you sound like maybe …’ He stopped talking and slipped the grilled sandwiches on to two white dinner plates. Then very carefully, as if cooking was something he enjoyed – even if it was only heating
Suddenly I was exhausted. The whole day weighed down on me so I was almost sure my knees would buckle. I took a seat at one of the tables, right beneath the photo of the happy family.
When he joined me, I smiled. ‘Thank you. This looks awesome. I appreciate you making