Hell. Yes. And then maybe in the backseat of her car after.
For now, I tasted her on my arousal-soaked fingers, and it was nearly my undoing. I barely held back another growl as I fought with wanting to collapse onto my knees and devour her.
Why don’t I? I need to devour her so badly. Just one more taste.
I exhaled a short laugh, pushing these crazy thoughts and accompanying flashes of carnality from my mind even as baser desires began to bargain and plead, desperate to make use of her body. I was made foolish by the craving and promise of so much hedonistic gratification.
Needing to immediately silence the dissent, I asked myself sharply, What would Darrell Winston do?
Swallowing tightly, clenching my jaw and releasing a sobering breath, I had my answer.
Meanwhile, Shelly had stirred. And she was touching me. Trailing the pads of her fingers along my stomach, ribs, chest, and shoulders, as though on an expedition to learn every inch of me.
“Your mother named you well,” she said, her voice made hoarse from her earlier abandoned cries. “Every single part of you is beautiful.”
I placed a kiss against her temple, wishing I could hold her properly, in a bed, on a couch, in a big comfy chair. Anywhere soft enough to lay and be still.
She shifted, her palm covering my heart. “Do you . . .”
“What?”
“Do you think I’m beautiful?”
I huffed a stunned laugh, holding her by the shoulders and separating us enough for me to see her face. She lifted her chin, her eyes landing on mine, looking hard and bracing. Like she was struggling to erect that ice sheet between us. Like she regretted asking the question because she wasn’t certain how I would answer.
“Shelly.” I caressed her cheek, tenderly angling her jaw so I could press my lips to hers, and then whispered against her mouth, “You must know how beautiful people find you. Everyone thinks you are unequivocally stunning.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. I don’t care about people. I’m asking what you think, about me.” Her fingers curled into the skin of my chest, like she wanted to reach inside and take a piece of my heart. “Do you think I’m beautiful? Or that I could be?” She whispered this time.
I could have responded in so many ways, all of them painfully true.
You are so beautiful, when I look at you I hurt.
I dream of you every night.
You’re all I think about.
You give new and glorious meaning to the word exquisite.
I can’t wait to know every part of you by heart.
But instead, caution and a measure of good sense had me answering with the most tepid of responses.
“Yes.” I kissed her nose. “I think you are beautiful.” And I think beautiful is a gross understatement.
A hesitant smile tugged her mouth to one side.
“I’m trying, I’m really trying,” she said, like it was a confession, adding just before kissing me, “And you make it easier.”
18
“The pendulum of the mind oscillates between sense and nonsense, not between right and wrong.”
― C.G. Jung
* * *
*Beau*
I kept a close eye on Shelly for the rest of the day and the next. If our encounter in the supply closet had overwhelmed her, I saw no sign of it. She was as she’d always been—cool, focused, aloof.
Except when our eyes met.
She’d blush and I’d give her a small smile. Then she would look away, looking like she was fighting a smile of her own.
Nevertheless, throughout Tuesday, I was distracted and tense, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop, for the unexpected emergency, for something to get in our way and spoil our plans. Again.
Surprisingly, nothing did.
We left the shop at 7:00 PM and arrived at Daisy’s Nut House just after 7:15. Now that we’d finally made it, I relaxed.
Wanting her skin against mine, I reached for her hand as we walked into the restaurant. I’d been craving the feel of her, but hadn’t acted on the impulse during work hours. Our unexpected interlude inside the supply closet Monday morning notwithstanding, keeping a professional distance at work seemed like a good idea.
What if things didn’t work out between us? The thought was unsettling, but I couldn’t discount the possibility. Shelly feeling uncomfortable on my account at her place of employment was just plain unacceptable.
But now, away from work, now that I had her all to myself, I wanted to know everything about her. And I wanted to know she trusted me enough to tell me. That was my plan for tonight.
Next week, assuming things continued going well, I’d touch on the future, on
exclusivity and what I wanted.
But not tonight.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Beau. This is the just first date and she ain’t going anywhere.
“Do they serve pancakes here?”
I tugged her closer, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Yes. They have several kinds of pancakes.”
“I’m going to order pancakes.” She looked determined, like I might try to talk her out of ordering pancakes.
“You should.” Guiding her through the door, I paused for a second to search for Daisy.
Unsurprisingly, she was nowhere to be seen. Daisy Payton had been one of my momma’s best friends and Daisy’s daddy owned the mill where Billy worked. The last name of Payton carried so much clout in Tennessee, Daisy’s husband Trevor had taken it when they married.
But Daisy was an impressive businesswoman in her own right, having franchised Daisy’s Nut House some years ago.
Spotting Beverly, one of the staff servers, I pointed toward a booth at the back and she nodded her head in understanding. It was smaller than the other tables, meant for two, and isolated. Its placement would allow us to have conversations without being overheard or easily spotted.
Everyone in this town knew me and I was friendly with just about all of them. Though the crowd inside the diner was sparse, I guided Shelly to one side of the booth, releasing her hand, then took the seat facing away from the entrance and the rest of the restaurant for myself. I didn’t want our date to be interrupted by well-meaning neighbors.
I picked up the menu, scanning its contents, even though I knew it by heart. “I’m probably going to get the hamburger, but I can’t decide if I want French fries or tater tots.”
“Tater tots with a hamburger?”
“Yeah. Have you ever tried them?”
“Yes. I love them.”
Of course she does, because she’s awesome.
“Do you want to get some to share?”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure?”
“They don’t go with pancakes.”
“Says who?”
Shelly blinked once, and very slowly. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as a gas engine full of diesel.”
Her nose wrinkled, her eyes narrowed, and once again I was faced with an almost-smile. That was seven almost-smiles in one day. But who’s counting?
“Hey, what can I get you?”
Reluctantly, I glanced away from Shelly to our server. I had a small shock because instead of Beverly, it was Daisy’s daughter Simone.
“Simone?”