“Mr. Kalai?” asked Darby.
“Yes. He’s going to help me out when I’m ready. He says not yet, though.”
“Mr. Kalai is a powerful man.” Esme raised her glass. “Good benefactor to have. Right, Sam?” She winked at him, then downed her drink. “And what about you, Miss McLaughlin? If I’m going to be a famous singer and actress and Sam is going to own his own restaurant, what’s your big plan?” She stood up, swaying to an imaginary beat.
Esme already knew the answer and was trying to make Darby look ordinary, unambitious.
“Not everyone has to have a grand plan,” said Darby.
“That is so true. You could be more than a typist, though. Don’t you agree, Sam?”
Sam put his hands in his lap. “People should do whatever they want to do.”
The lateness of the hour made Darby bold. “My hotel is full of girls who want to be someone famous. Movie stars, models. And most of them are really struggling, from what I can tell. Not everyone who dreams of fame gets there.”
Esme’s lids fluttered open. “Sorry, I’m being awful. Come dance with me.”
She reached out and grabbed Darby’s hand and pulled her up.
“I don’t want to dance.” But Esme pulled her close and began swaying, and rather than fight it, Darby relaxed into her touch. She was exhausted and slightly tipsy and didn’t want to argue.
Eventually, their group disbanded, the musicians heading to the green room to collect their instruments.
“I’ve got to go. I have a test tomorrow.” Darby grabbed her purse from the floor.
“We’re all going out to Minton’s,” said Esme. “You have to come. Might as well stay out all night, right?”
“No more, I can’t take it. You go; you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I’ll put Darby in a cab,” offered Sam.
Esme trundled off, giggling and silly, while Sam signaled for Darby to stay put. “I have a surprise for you.”
He locked the front door behind the departing revelers, and Darby followed him back into the kitchen.
“I really have to get going. I was supposed to get up early and practice.”
“What’s the test on?”
“Business methods.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Is boring.”
“Well, this isn’t.”
He yanked open the icebox and pulled out a bin with the word vanilla on the outside.
She couldn’t help herself. “Isn’t vanilla ice cream the definition of boring?”
“It’s not ordinary ice cream.” He twisted off the top of a small jar and sprinkled a finely ground powder onto a plate, then rolled a scoop of ice cream in it. “Taste.”
She opened her mouth and let him feed her a spoonful. The texture was slightly crunchy, with hints of tart lemon. A groan escaped from the lowest part of her belly.
Sam broke into a huge smile. “That was the reaction I was hoping I’d get.”
“You’re amazing. What is it?”
“A blend of crystallized honey and some spices from the Middle East.”
She opened her mouth again and was rewarded with another spoonful.
Sam took his thumb and touched the corner of her mouth, then put it into his own. “Tastes even better that way.”
She opened her mouth again, the cold metal of the spoon against her tongue contrasting with the tang of the ice cream against her palate. This time, Sam rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip, and reflexively she opened her mouth to draw it inside. His gray eyes reminded her of the color of the East River on a cloudy day.
He slid his finger along the bottom row of her teeth and she darted her tongue out to touch it, a whirlwind of flavors swirled on that one patch of skin. Her breathing was ragged and she held herself perfectly still, afraid to move an inch and break the spell.
His other hand went to her hip, lower than what was decent if they’d been dancing together. An unwelcome image of Sam and Esme popped into her head. Had Esme stood in this spot, had Sam touched her lips? Esme was far, far prettier and more outgoing than Darby. Any man would be drawn to her.
She stepped back, exhausted and confused.
Sam placed the spoon in the bowl. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. Fine.”
“Can I kiss you?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, instead placed his hands on either side of her face and drew her to him. She lifted her head and he paused for a moment, gazing down at her. “You’re beautiful.”
“Not really.”
“No, you are. I mean, onstage, all dressed up and with makeup, you look like a movie star. But I like you like this.”
“Plain?”
He shook his head. “Plain? Why would you say plain?”
“I’m not fancy pretty. Or even pretty.”
“To be honest, most men don’t like fancy pretty. The hairdos are sticky, the makeup thick. I like you like this. When I touch your skin, I’m actually touching you.”
She’d never thought of it that way. In Defiance, all the women wore makeup and had their hair done once a week.
He ran his hands through her hair, and her scalp tingled. “A guy gets tired of all of the fakery and perfume. I want a girl who’s real, like you. And one who tastes like you.”
“What do I taste like?”
“Let me see.”
His lips were on hers, but they weren’t wet and messy like Walter’s. He didn’t dive into her mouth with his tongue but waited for her cue.
She parted her lips slightly and gasped when their tongues met. She still had the taste of the spiced ice cream in her mouth, and his lips retained the hint of the bourbon he’d been drinking.
The kisses grew deeper; she moaned ever so slightly and he echoed her sound. Dizzy with desire, she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him to her. He inched the shoulders of her dress lower and lower until it slid down around her waist, then undid her bra with a flick of his fingers. She looked down, embarrassed.
“You’re lovely.” He slid his hands down from her shoulders and cupped her breasts, which fit perfectly into his hands. He touched the nipples with his tongue and she shivered. “Do you like that?” he asked.
She had to close her eyes to process the mixture of pleasure and pain that coursed through her body as he pinched them slightly, followed by a gentle bite of his teeth. The hem of her skirt inched up, past her stockings, as his hands ran up along the side of her legs. When his fingers hit the patch of bare skin near the garter, she ached for them to move inward, parting her legs. She opened her eyes to find him crouched down, his lips following the glide of his fingertips closer and closer to where she ached most.
He stood suddenly, one hand cupped between her thighs while the other lightly grasped her neck and pulled her to him. She yielded to the pressure of his lips and while his tongue swirled around hers, his index finger circled the most sensitive part of her sex over the silky fabric.
A spasm shot through her, short and sharp. “We should stop,” she said.
“I want to please you.”
“I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
He turned her around so she was pressed against the countertop, her hands braced against the metal, fingers splayed. He was unrelenting with his touch, sliding his finger underneath the fabric and dipping it deep inside her, then returning back. His other hand pinched her nipple and the nerves collided against each other like a double lightning strike, meeting in her solar plexus until the sensation was unbearable. He had her trapped, and she loved the feeling that he was in control of her body completely. The electricity grew until she convulsed, her pelvis rocking back and forth with pleasure.
This was not at all what she’d expected from sex. She’d heard Mr. Saunders and Mother late at night, and Mother’s stifled crying afterward. The enormity of what she’d done with Sam hit her like a gunshot. Sobered by the release, she pulled up her dress to cover her bare breasts and yanked down the hem.
“I should go.”
“Wait, Darby. Don’t.”
“I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t know what to do, or how to do it.”