“Yep.”
“Well, his loss.”
“How do you know that? I can be aloof and unfeeling. I’m not a good girlfriend. So whatever you’re trying to do here, you should really rethink it.”
“You haven’t been aloof and unfeeling in the last”—he looks at his expensive watch—“forty-five minutes.”
“That’s because you’re a stranger,” I mutter.
“Your name is Daisy, and you live in Santa Monica, California. You’re a writer who just lost her lover and friend. If you were a stranger, then I wouldn’t know any of that. If you were aloof, you wouldn’t have told me any of it.”
There. I saw that. The way his eyes fell to the material pulling across my breasts. He’s turned on by me. Therefore I can’t trust his assessment.
He turns the car down a long dirt road flanked by more dead trees with gray trunks and bare, wiry branches.
“I thought the trees would be greener.” I’m deliberately changing the subject.
“They were destroyed by caterpillars back in 2007. Hundreds of acres, gone.”
“So what’s being done about it?” the writer in me asks.
“Last I heard, they were waiting to see if the forest recovers on its own.”
“But it’s been five years.”
The car rolls to a stop. “You want to go for a walk through them?” he asks, which worries me. It probably shows in my eyes because he says, “I’m not a serial killer or anything. You don’t have to be afraid of me, Daisy. I’ll never hurt any part of you.” He pauses. “I like the way you do that.”
“Do what?” I squeak nervously.
“Part your lips.”
I become aware of what I’m doing and close my mouth. His eyes veer down to my chest, and I see what’s caught his attention. My nipples are betraying me by shoving against the fabric of my dress. I instinctively cross my arms. He chuckles and starts driving again. Eventually, he stops the car after circling a red brick paved motor court.
“I’ll be back,” he says, watching me intensely. “Don’t run off into the woods without me.” He’s grinning at his bad attempt at a joke.
“I won’t,” I reassure him. He’s still ogling me. “What?” I squirm under the magnetic power of his stare.
“You’re really beautiful. I’ve never been this close to someone as beautiful as you.”
I’m moved to laugh once and very cynically. “I doubt that.” I sniff. I mean, it’s just another corny attempt to flatter me.
“You don’t believe me?” he challenges me.
“No, I don’t,” I assert.
“It’s true.” He surprises me by taking my chin and putting a tender kiss on my parted lips. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”
My mouth is still open in surprise as he hurries out of the driver’s seat and trots up the steps to the front porch. He turns back to grin after he knocks on the door.
I’m still stunned by what just happened. That was the softest, warmest kiss I ever had, and I can still taste him in my mouth.
I’m more confused than ever. My mind works feverishly to remember Adrian’s face because all I can picture is the way Belmont stares at me. Those hazel eyes ignite a burning in my thighs. They could make my heart beat faster if I let them.
Maybe I’m subconsciously craving sexual intimacy. That could be it. I haven’t had sex in three months. Adrian was satisfactory in bed. He was never as good as the guys are in the movies. It’s rare that I watch films but when I do, I always notice how women moan and sigh and suck air between their teeth, writhing like they just can’t take anymore. I always wonder if that could be real. Jeez. I shake my head like a rattle.
Why am I even thinking this?
The driver’s door opens, and he’s back behind the wheel. I stare out the window at the front door of another colonial-style house covered with gray shingles.
“Got it,” he says.
“Good,” I reply, still too embarrassed to look at him.
“Hey, if I moved too fast with the kiss…”
“No, you didn’t,” I say, cutting him off.
“Ah.” He chuckles. “I see.”
I flick my face in his direction. My God, what sort of spell has he cast over me? I want to go into full make-out mode with this guy. “You see what?” I swallow the nervous energy that’s trapped in my throat.
“I shocked you.”
“Oh.” I face forward. I can’t stand to look at him any longer. Plus, he’s right; he did shock me.
I watch as he carefully puts a brown bag in the glove compartment. I’m not stupid. It’s apparent he was on a quest for marijuana. The car starts up.
“So, you’re coming to my party tonight?” he asks.
There he goes with the party talk again. “Who’s going to be there?”
“You don’t plan on coming, do you?”
I shrug. “It depends.”
“You’re coming to the party, Daisy. If you don’t show up by eight, I’ll come get you.” He lifts his eyebrows flirtatiously.
“You’re pretty bossy for someone I just met an hour ago.”
Belmont studies me as if he’s mesmerized. “I just don’t want to stop getting to know you, Daisy, that’s all.”
I drop my face bashfully. Could this really be happening?
I learn a little more about Belmont Lord as he drives me to the house on Water Street in Edgartown. He’s lived in Telluride, Colorado; Las Vegas, Nevada; Dallas, Texas; and even Venice, California. He’s traveled all over the world. We were comparing destinations when he pulled into the driveway of my rented house.
“It’s cliché, but Paris is my favorite place in the world,” I reveal.
“I can see it.” He’s watching me while wearing that naughty grin.
“You can? Why is that?” I’m eager to hear his answer.
“I can always spot the lonesome American girls walking down L’Avenue des Champs Elysées. They’re wide-eyed, bushy-tailed, beautiful—and brave.”
“Wow,” I mutter with a catch in my throat. I love what he just said.
My skin runs hot. I need air. I push the car door open as fast as I can. I hear his door open, but I’m out and standing before he can reach me. Now we’re facing each other. My heart thumps. He’s at least six inches taller than I am. I feel dwarfed by him.
“I’ll help you with the water,” he whispers hoarsely.
I think I’m having the same effect on him that he’s having on me, and he’s the one making all the moves. Belmont Lord is a bold man who goes for what he wants, and I wish it didn’t turn me on so much.
“Okay,” I croak.
He stares at my chest, and my nipples betray me again. He catches a breath before hitting a button on the car remote to open the trunk. He’s the first to step away. We unload the water and the rest of my groceries, setting them on the island in the middle of the gourmet kitchen.
“This house is pretty decent, but you’ll like mine better,” Belmont says as he looks around the kitchen. “I know who owns this place. How much are you paying for it?”
“Three thousand a week, I think. My travel agent found it for me,” I reply, even if that was sort of an inappropriate question.
“Your travel agent? What’s her name?”
I pause. “Leslie.” I wonder why he wants to know.
“Leslie…?” He’s waiting for me to say her last name.
“Birch.”
“Leslie Birch found you a bad deal, Daisy. It’s off season. You should’ve only paid half that price, but I can fix that for you if you like.”
“No, it’s too late.” I sigh, thinking about the money I could recover if I say yes. I never had a guy offer to do something like that for me, not even my father.
He nods as he thinks. “The party’s in Chilmark,” he says abruptly. “That’s where we just left. Do I have to come pick you up tonight, or are you coming on your own?”
There he goes again. “I told you I rented a car.”
“And you’re going to use that car to drive to my party.” He grins. He’s beating this subject until it bleeds.
“Yes,” I answer truthfully.
“Now that’s what I want to hear.”
Before I can blink, he’s kissing me again. He pulls me into his body, and we’re kissing so deeply that moans escape my throat.
“May I?” he whispers.
I open my eyes. “May I?”
“May I touch you?” he asks.
“Touch me? Where?”
His hand slides up my waist to squeeze one of my breasts, and he pinches the nipple between two fingers. “Here,” he sighs.
I suck in a sharp breath of air between my teeth. The sensation makes my thighs tingle. “Oh, there.”
After a moment, Belmont comes to himself and takes a step back. “Hell, I should go. I’m sorry, Daisy. I don’t know what the hell you’re doing to me. This is not my usual M.O.”
“It’s okay,” I say, still breathless. “This isn’t mine either.”
I’m still a little flustered after he writes his address on a notepad and informs me that any GPS should take me straight to his house. He also reminds me that if I don’t show up by eight o’clock, then he’s coming to get me.
One thing’s for sure: he has balls. I wonder if Adrian would’ve gotten everything he wanted from me if he had been just as persistent.
Chapter 3
Kind Of Like A Party
First, I put my brand-new groceries in the refrigerator. The time I spent with Belmont has somehow energized me. I feel resilient enough to check my email. Could a few kisses and being felt up by a sexy man I met on an impulsive trip to a New England island make me forget the pain of a ten-year relationship gone awry? I didn’t think I was that fickle.
I go to the office at the back of the house. The room looks out over the Edgartown Bay. My laptop and notebooks are already sitting on the desk. I must’ve put them there when I arrived. The sad truth is I can’t remember doing it. I turn on the computer and find a significant number of emails from Maya, my former best friend. I hesitate before clicking the last one she sent.
I called your mom and told her what happened. She’s worried about you. She wants you to call her. Let’s talk, Daisy. It’s not what you think.
Mom? Worried? Right. I roll my eyes and read the message she sent three hours before that one.
Adrian wants to explain himself. Will you listen?
Two hours before that.
I don’t want to throw fifteen years of friendship down the drain. Adrian and I love each other, but I’ll tell him to go fuck himself if that’s what you want.
I sniff cynically. The heck she will. I decide to write her back so that she’ll stop emailing me.
Maya, I’m on assignment for a month. I’ll call you when I return. We’ll talk then.
I push send and then search for all the emails she’s ever sent—opened and unopened—and delete them. I do the same for all of my replies to her. I want her gone for good.
There are four messages from Adrian. After contemplating opening the last one he sent, I brave forward and click on it.
I told Maya to delete all the pictures and status updates off Facebook. Let’s talk. Call me because I can’t reach you. Love, Adrian.
I gasp, disgusted. “‘Love, Adrian!’”
Love
?
My headache returns with a vengeance.
I shut off the computer and stomp upstairs to take a bath. Hot water and a little steam are the fastest ways to reduce my anger
The tub is an old-fashioned claw foot one. I strip out of my dress and underwear, lift my hair into a high ponytail, and wait for the tub to fill. Suddenly, I’m reliving that kiss. Belmont’s lips are so soft. Should a man have such supple lips? I slide my thumb across my lower lip. Everything that happened today could not be real.
When, by chance, I glance at the water, I rush to turn it off. It almost overflowed.
I slowly and carefully enter the bubble bath until I’m submerged up to my neck.
“‘Love, Adrian,’” I whisper with my eyes closed. “‘Love, Adrian.’”
Could he be that self-centered? Why couldn’t he have signed, “I screwed your friend while we were still together because I hate and despise you-Adrian”?
On that note, I sink all the way into the tub and let the water bury me. One. Two. Three. Four. The seconds tick by.
You can do it.
I encourage myself to refuse to come up for air until I’m free of the anger, embarrassment, and pain.
“No, I can’t,” I wheeze as I break the surface.
Five hours, after my long bath, I stand in front of the mirror, contemplating whether or not I should go through the trouble of taking the car out of the garage, plugging the address in the GPS, and navigating in the dark. A week-long sleeping and crying binge has made my brown skin chalky. On a good note, my eyes aren’t red, and I credit the fresh New England air for that.
I brush on a little mascara and slide on some lip gloss. Too much makeup makes me look like a caricature. I have doe eyes, so it appears as if I have natural eyeliner and the apples of my cheeks naturally develop a red undertone, especially when I’m flustered or embarrassed or attracted or something. I bet a million dollars that tonight Belmont Lord will make me feel all three.
My clothes are still in the suitcase, so I take some time to neatly put them away, except for a stretchy, knee-kissing dress made of white fabric with pink and red silkscreen roses. I shimmy into it, put on a pair of red, flat strappy sandals, and fluff out my thick and wavy hair.
I fish the car keys out of a drawer near the back door in the kitchen and hit the road before I change my mind. I keep the top down on the Mini Cooper even though the night is cool. My stomach turns the closer I get to my destination. The forest on both sides of the road runs deep and dark. There’s still a lot of traffic. It’s not the 405 or 101 rush-hour type, but for the size of the roads and the lack of city amenities, it’s still a little too busy.
Make a right on Winter Road,
the navigator says.
I make that right.