To Catch a Falling Star (20 page)

“Okay,” I say, gasping.

“Okay, kiss me, or okay…?” He regards me anxiously.

“I um… oh, Tarry.” All my bravado to keep a distance is replaced by an intoxicating and crushing need for him.

Hesitantly, I raise my hand to caress his face. His blond stubble is soft against my fingers. A wave of wanton desire sways me. My insides tighten. He’s so daunting and attractive.

His hand cups my face and a low growl rises from his throat. His mouth captures mine. I surrender to the overpowering touch of his lips, relishing in the erotic movement of his tongue against mine.

Sweeping his arms around my waist, he drags me closer to his hardened body. Unconsciously, my hands circles his neck. I deepen the kiss, molding myself along his warmth.

Tarry reacts with fervor to my yielding. His grip on me is so tight I fear he’s going to break me. His mouth devours me. Tarry’s hands cup my ass and he grinds me against his erection.

I want to prolong the kiss. And I want to pull away. My crazy lust wins. I continue to ravage his lips. Lost in the pool of pleasure, my lips kiss him, my hands slide under his shirt, eagerly touching his feverish skin.

He growls and trails kisses along my neck biting and suckling as he goes. My breathing is ragged. In a swift movement, I strip his shirt. My teeth scrape along his chest. My fingers grip around his biceps. Dang, his arms are bulking up beautifully.

“Mel,” he cries.

The sound of his voice brings me to my senses. Seized by unexpected awareness, I push him away and stagger back. I try to steady my breathing.

I risk a glance up, and instantly regret it. His eyes are dark and unsearchable, his pupils dilated. I curl my fingers and bring my hands to my chest.

“Mel.” Tarry steps toward me. Raising one hand, I take a step back.

“I need you to leave, Tarry.” I close my eyes and inhale deeply. “Now,” I add in a whisper. I then open my eyes.

He rakes his hands through his hair. “We need to talk about what’s happening between the two of us.”

“There is no us, or anything to talk about, Tarry. I’m not inclined to be seduced by you. Nor am I disposable. And, Tarry, I want you to stay the hell away from me.”

Silence hangs heavy between us.

“Please leave, now,” I say quietly. Water is pooling in my eyes.

Relief sweeps over me when Tarry obliges to my request. He lets out a frustrated breath, and turns and leaves me. My body is shaking. I wrap my arms around my chest to stop my trembling.

DAYS COME AND go. A mixture of relief and disappointment fills me. Well, that’s been the confusion and turmoil of my feelings and thoughts anyway. I wonder what can possibly possess me, turning me into this unstable person. I barely recognize myself. From steamy dreams to daydreams, I catch myself constantly thinking of Tarry.

Seeing him only makes it worse. He has that swagger, which makes my knees weak. Jeez, I’m a ticking hormonal bomb ready to explode. My solution is simple. I return to my initial idea of avoidance. For a full week, I’ve been successful. Well, that and the fact that Tarry is not pushing.

The only day we have seen each other is Sunday. I confess that I used Ella’s guitar lesson as an excuse to watch him. Oh, those deftly long fingers. Okay, let’s not go down that line of thought. Though he did glance at me with those gorgeous and sad gray eyes, he did not attempt to hurdle me, like he has done in the past.

Part of my plan is in full mode. If I can make it on time, that is. I curse my car. “Not now, baby.” I turn the key again and the stupid engine sputters to life. Oh, I could weep with gratitude. I step on the gas and though it complains, it obliges and speeds into the road.

I’m so late, I did not anticipate being caught up writing reports. Even though it seems to be the story of my life. Why did I agree to work on the Saturday I have a date? Oh, yeah. I need the money more than I need to go out with a guy. Perhaps, not. I do need to get some sort of social life, even if it includes a date. I shiver.

At least I’m not too nervous. Well, maybe a tad. I’ve known Steve for my entire life. So, I’m at ease near him. Actually, we are too comfortable and friendly to go on a date. But that’s was the whole point, right?

Regret swells in me as I speed home. I consider calling Steve to cancel dinner. But I don’t have the heart.

What I really want is to stop at a grocery store, buy junk food, rent a Red Box movie, and curl up on the couch with Ella. Yeah, a fairy’s movie would be a perfect way to spend the evening.

I pull into the driveway, not bothering to park in the garage. Well, I never park in the garage anyway. Tim and I used to park there and make love before going inside the house. The garage haunts me with memories of those days. So, yes, I avoid parking there. I sigh. My life is a pathetic spiral of memories. And, yeah, though I’m caught up in the midst of it all, I do try to avoid it. I do. But it always gets the best of me. I am always in between this internal struggle. It suffocates me.

I gather the gorgeous dress and the stilettos that Portia gave me, my lingerie, and I head to the bathroom. I hang the dress on the bathroom door. My stomach flips. The small black dress actually makes my body look halfway decent. Probably, it costs more than I make in a week. Thank God for small favors. Portia gives me more clothes than I’m able to wear. She claims designers send her the clothes. Magically, they come in my size. Go figure. She thinks she fools me. I also have more purses, perfumes, and cosmetics than I could afford in my entire year’s salary. All courtesy of Portia.

In the bathroom, I find my favorite playlist, the King. Glancing at my feet, I wiggle my French-pedicured toes with glee, and put my iPhone in the dock. I like to splurge on one thing, well, two things, actually. I love a pedicure and I love pretty undergarments. Since I rarely spend money on my wardrobe, I regularly treat myself to the two.

With Elvis crooning one of my all-time favorites, I step under the stream of hot water. I could almost feel the excitement of going on a date. Unbidden thoughts of Tarry being the one I’m going out with, flood my mind. I push the images away and focus on hurrying up.

I HANG UP the phone. Damn Nola. I wish she would not call me anymore.

Running my hands over my very long and damp hair, I study myself on the mirror. I need to shave and I need a haircut, badly. Not happening today.

A ghost of a smile dances on my lips. It’s only been a few weeks that I’ve been training with Lucas, but progress is showing. My chest and arms are beginning to fill in and my face is no longer sunken as before.

Unconsciously, I wonder what Mel would think of it. Fuck, who am I kidding? Chances of me scoring Mel are one in a million, that girl is just too closed off to the rest of the world. I want her. I need her. The incandescent lust I see in her is not enough to coax her to ignite an affair with me. To aggravate things, Nola keeps calling me. I need to talk to Portia.

I let out a deep breath. I don a crumpled T-shirt and a faded pair of jeans.

After pulling on a hoody, I light up a cigarette and amble over to Portia’s house. The autumn air feels chilly on my cheeks. I really enjoy the sound of the silence in this place. I can almost hear the sound of the leaves as they drop from the trees. New England has exquisite foliage.

My mind reels back to my Melody. Damn, I miss her so badly. I have to be patient and go slow with Mel, but the need to see her is consuming me. Maybe I’ll visit her after dinner. I wonder how she would react to me just dropping by. Hell, she pretty much ignored me at her parents’ on Sunday. She only looked at me during the brief guitar lesson I gave Ella.

There is my perfect excuse. Guitar lessons.

I toss the cigarette and stamp it out before opening Portia’s back door. I enter the kitchen and the heady aroma of food tempts my hunger.

“Hi, peaches.” I plant a kiss on Portia’s cheek and smile. She has turned out to be an awesome cook.

“Hey, handsome. Just in time to help me. Cut these onions, will you? My stomach is churning with the smell of them. I don’t want to hurl again.” She steps to the stove.

“Where is Will?” I ask, clumsily cutting the onions. My eyes begin to burn. Shit, it will make me teary. I hate cutting onions.

“He is painting with the kids. Ella spent the day over.” She stirs a pot of white rice.

“Is Mel here?” I ask with hope.

“No, she worked all day.”

“Oh, is she coming over for dinner?” I hand her the board with a heap of diced onions and wipe a fucking tear from my eye.

“No.” She dumps the onions into hot oil and I hear the sizzling. “Mel has a date tonight. Ella’s sleeping over.”

Red darts blind me. I curl my fingers into a tight ball. How can she do this? Fuck. I’m giving her time and she’s going on a fucking date with someone else. Fucking unbelievable. I inhale deeply and do my damn best to hold back my anger.

“Hey, peaches. I forgot to take my meds. Got to go back home,” I say and turn on my heels.

“Don’t be long. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Okay,” I yell before closing the door.

With long, angry steps, I reach the Jeep. Mel has some explaining to do. Hell, she is going on a date when she won’t even kiss me.

Without respecting traffic laws, I arrive at her house. Her car is in the driveway, so I park across the street.

My heart is thumping inside my chest. With a shaking hand, I turn the knob of her kitchen door. It’s unlocked.

“Mel?” I scan the living room and kitchen. Nothing. I hear music coming from upstairs. Climbing two steps at a time, I head up. From the hallway, I identify the soulful voice of Elvis Presley as he sings “Suspicious Minds.” Mel has good taste for music. This is one of my favorite songs. Yeah, I’m a fan of him.

The bathroom door is open. I come to a halt at the door. The sight of Mel makes my heart catapults. Fuck. My mouth goes dry.

Oblivious to my presence, Mel stands by the sink singing. Dressed in black lacy undergarments, she has one foot over the sink as she hastily shaves her leg. Damn, she is insanely hot. It tops any fantasy I have had of her being naked. And I’ve had thousands of those.

I lean on the doorframe and drink in the sight of her. Her curls fall untamed over her shoulders. They’re still damp from the shower. The steamy air is sultry. She tilts to reach her calf, and I see a tattoo on her right hip. It reads
Psalms 91.
I wonder what it means. I’ll have to Google it later.

The sight of her is intoxicating. I feel like a junkie, debating if I should give in to the craving. I need to calm the hell down.

Desire boils in my veins. I let out a long breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. The sound of my ragged breath alerts Mel to my presence. She startles and nicks her leg. She glances my way.

“Shit,” she mutters, noticing the blood on her leg. With one long stride, I close the gap separating us inside the small bathroom.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, examining the cut.

Mel sucks in a deep breath. My lips turn into a cocky smile. She can sense the electricity humming on the humid room. And from the frightened way she stares at me, she matches my desire for her.