Lost in You
Sommer Marsden

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Part One: The Storm

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Part Two: Real Life

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Part Three: Away from the Magic

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Part Four: Happily Ever After …?

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

More from Mischief

Copyright

About the Publisher

Part One: The Storm

Chapter One

One glance at the stained-glass dome told me the sky had greyed further. There was no way to judge actual sunlight or the weather itself, but I could definitely tell it had darkened.

‘Hey, pretty lady! You sending us home early? What’s the occasion?’

I was already grinning when I turned and started towards Mario. One of the few overseers of labour I trusted to take care of business. ‘The glass man –’ I twirled my fingers at the overhead dome and smiled ‘– he likes to work in private.’

I shrugged to show him I understood how silly it seemed.

‘He’s sensitive?’ Mario cocked his head and winked at me.

A laugh burst free and I nodded, hoping against hope that Marcel Voorhees had yet to arrive.

Wind whipped outside making the large automatic doors creak. All entrances to the Rotunda were sealed tight but for this one. The place was deserted for renovations. Renovations I was in charge of – a fact that made me reel from surprise daily.

It was a big job. A big deal.

‘Better for you to get home early,’ I said, getting closer to Mario and his men. Don was a short, dark man with a thin moustache and dark, dark eyes. Mitchell was a college boy, tall and broad – the term ‘corn-fed’ fit him to a T. They all grinned at me and I grinned back. ‘This weather is supposed to get nasty very fast.’

‘What about you? You’ll be OK?’ The good humour faded from Mario’s eyes and genuine concern showed.

‘I will. I’ll stay safe.’ It felt like a lie. More wind made those doors creak and my stomach filled with a twisting nervousness. I worried about my little house, my drive home … most of all my grandmother.

‘You do that,’ Mario said. ‘If you need anything –’ He patted his cellphone to finish the thought.

‘Got it.’ I smiled at him and made a shooing motion at them all. ‘Now go. Go home early. Or go to a bar and have a beer.’ I levelled a finger at them. ‘A bar close to home. That way you can walk if this thing hits us full-on.’

The weatherman had predicted a storm of the century. A monster of a storm that could ‘bring the state to its knees’. I was doing my best not to dissect the morning news or the nervous energy it had triggered in me.

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Mario gave me another worried glance. Then his face became jovial and he pointed a finger at me. ‘How come you don’t marry me, chica?’

A blush crept up my cheeks. I felt it blaze a heated trail. ‘Oh, that might have something to do with that lovely wife of yours who brings you lunch a few times a week. And the cutie-patootie kids that are in tow when she does.’

Mario smacked his head, making Don laugh and shake his head at his boss. ‘Oh, yeah. Them. Still, you need a good –’

I waved my hand again. ‘Yes, yes, a good man. I’ll let you know when that magical man appears.’

Mario’s face turned serious again. ‘You’re a good person, Clover. He’s coming for you.’

They all waved and went off into the severely overcast day. I watched the automatic doors bump and grind in a silly little dance number. More wind, more creaking, but hey, if you were going to be caught somewhere in weather like this, a place like the Rotunda was the place to be.

I glanced up at the brickwork, the high ceilings, the fancy stores darkened during remodelling. It wasn’t hopping with business the way it had been during my childhood. At the moment, in fact, it was as quiet as a tomb. But it was sturdy as hell and I’d be fine. Just me and the demanding stained-glass expert.

‘He’d better be good,’ I muttered. ‘I lost a half day’s work from everyone else to suit his loner needs.’

With that, as if on cue, my cellphone rang.

I moved around near the shuttered stores to try and pick up better reception. The cell service in the Rotunda was spotty at best on the average day. Something that was on the list to figure out but hadn’t been a priority.

‘I’m sorry … Hello?’ I practically yelled.

The voice came in a bit better by the automatic doors so I took up residence there, feeling the late October wind lick at my stocking-clad legs as it bled through the cracks. I shivered and tried again.

‘Hello? This is Clover Brite. Can you speak up, please?’

The voice cracked and cut off repeatedly and I managed to make out ‘Voorhees … wind … work in … conditions.’

‘Mr Voorhees?’ I shouted.

Jaggedly an answer made its way through the cellphone.

‘Yes … Ms … to know!’

Frustration made my muscles tight. I literally ached from it. I could not hear him. I had no idea what he was saying. I practically put my cellphone in my mouth – as if that would help – and shouted. ‘Mr Voorhees! I am going to call you on a landline. Right now! Please hang up!’

Then I took a breath to get my blood pressure down and stomped my way over to the courtesy desk. When the Rotunda was fully staffed and open during operational hours, it was manned by several hospitality experts to direct patrons and help them find the stores they were looking for. At the moment it was draped in plastic and as quiet as a ghost town.

I shoved huge swathes of plastic aside and finally found the phone I knew to be there. Scrolling through the incoming calls section of my cell, I found his number and dialled it.

It rang long enough to make me fear he hadn’t heard me and was currently trying to have a conversation with my now disconnected cell. Then my pulse kicked once, hard, as he answered.

‘Ms Brite?’

‘Mr Voorhees, I’m glad I got you. When will you be here? I’m –’

He cut me off with a ‘tsk’. He was a small, narrow, prissy man who had gotten under my skin from the get-go. But he was also the most well-known and respected stained-glass expert in several states. I ground my teeth and tried to remember to breathe. I turned my back to the desk and leaned against it, hearing the automatic doors groan from what I assumed was the wind.

‘I cannot come out in this atrocious weather to inspect,’ he said with his unidentifiable accent.

Personally, I think the accent was fake. He did it to seem exotic. I found myself grasping the phone receiver in a kung-fu grip and forced my hand to relax. ‘Why is that?’

‘I cannot work in these conditions. They’re calling this the monster storm.’

But you’re only looking at it to give an opinion …

I bit my tongue to keep from saying what was in my head. ‘Mr Voorhees, I assure you that it is safe here now. The wind is a bit high and –’ As I pleaded with him, Mother Nature made a liar out of me by dumping what appeared to be a solid sheet of rain against the skylights over my head.

Fabulous.

‘Ms Brite,’ he said, enunciating each word. He was talking to me as if I were mentally compromised. Which made me want to reach through the ancient landline phone and choke his skinny little neck. ‘I cannot come today. I am sorry. I will be happy to come on a day when my life will not be at stake simply driving down the street.’

‘But I –’ I was sputtering, my voice pleading, and it infuriated me. My body grew tenser and my heart started to pound. I had sent everyone home. I was here alone waiting … waiting!

‘Ms Brite,’ he said again. ‘This is not up for discussion. Call me when this thing passes and we’ll discuss my consultation.’

‘I –’

He’d already hung up.

‘Well!’ I huffed at the silent phone. ‘Thank you, Voorhees. Thank you for fucking up my whole day! For making me send my wonderful crew home because you are so special … and, and … so fragile that you need to work utterly alone even in a place the size of the Baltimore zoo! You … you … asshole.’ I hissed the last word. I took after my mother: you did not need to worry if I yelled. You needed to worry if my voice got softer. The angrier I became, the softer was my voice, until it was almost just a hiss.

‘You told him,’ said a voice.

I jumped and let out some kind of bizarre war whoop and promptly threw my dormant cellphone at the stranger. I turned to run, my flight response having fully kicked in while facing a man who should not be here. A man I did not know.

I had made three skittering steps across the damp, dark tiled floor when he laughed. ‘I’ve never had an employee greet me quite that way before. Good to meet you, Clover. I’m Dorian Martin.’

I turned then, forcing myself to be calm. I took him in. Tall, broad, dark-dark hair worn just a touch too long and eyes as green as pine trees in summer.

Shit.

‘Oh, God, I …’ I what? Had lost my ever-loving mind? I reached for him, both hands raised as if to smooth his rugged, manly fisherman’s sweater. Really? He had to wear that? He couldn’t have gone for a suit or a button-down shirt? Damn near anything but the one piece of clothing I found irresistible on a man?

I put my hands down. I had already thrown my phone at my boss. I was certainly not going to touch him uninvited.

Something in the way he smiled at me made me wonder if maybe, eventually, I would be invited to touch him. I shook it off. Clearly my nerves and the weather had gotten the better of me.

I stuck out my hand like a lunatic and grinned. ‘Clover Brite, and I am so very, very sorry I just threw my phone at you, Mr Martin.’ I cleared my throat as he studied me, feeling suddenly deflated.

Then he took my hand in his bigger, warmer one and shook it. That deflated feeling fled, pushed out by an entirely new feeling. One that had me uncomfortable but, oddly, enjoying the sensation.

‘I know,’ he said. He shook once more and squeezed my hand and, as he pulled away, his finger trailed briefly across my palm. My stomach tumbled in on itself as heat flooded my body. My face, my chest and lower. Much lower. ‘We’ve never met but I came looking for you.’

I remembered the sound of the automatic doors that I’d chalked up to the wind. That had been him entering. And listening to me have my little rant at Voorhees. Ugh. No one had told me Dorian Martin, my big boss man, the man who now owned the Rotunda, was coming today. Of course today. Why not? Nothing like an unheard-of freak super-storm to set the tone.

‘You did?’ I whispered it. I had no idea why. It seemed to amuse him, though, because he smiled at me and went from handsome to devastating.

I bit my tongue to keep my focus. My focus being at that moment hoping Dorian Martin could not see me biting my own tongue.

‘I was. You were hired by my assistant Bradley, but I wanted us to meet. Since you’ve been doing such a nice job.’ As he spoke his eyes tracked over me. It didn’t feel dirty to me, though part of me sort of wanted it to be. What it felt like was how a man like this judged the person he was talking to. He was studying me to see if what he’d heard matched up with what he saw.

I threw my shoulders back to try and steel myself and that made him smile again. His smile was dangerous – at least to the likes of me. I’d heard of instant attraction, but in twenty-three years I’d never encountered it. I was too busy, too sceptical, too … jaded?

‘I am?’ I cocked my head, caught myself. My job was to exude confidence. To my workers, to Voorhees, that traitorous glass man, and yes, even to the main man himself. ‘I mean, thank you. But this day has not turned out well.’

‘I overheard your conversation.’ He reached out his hand again and I blinked at him, momentarily bewildered, then I noticed he was offering me my phone. Or, in the case of our meeting, the projectile I’d hurled at him.

‘I’m really sorry. This day is very much a bust. Even though the weather would have nothing to do with that … man,’ I hissed, my anger returning, ‘coming here to look at the dome. I mean, it’s not as if we were asking him to scale outdoor scaffolding. All he had to do was look and maybe walk his way up the spiral ramp to the upper level but the weather –’

‘Is terribly nasty,’ Dorian said. His voice was soft and his eyes kind.

Now I felt like a heel.

‘I guess I sound pretty callous, then?’ Wind rocked the automatic doors, making them groan. I jumped and he put a hand on my arm. Heat flooded the skin around that hand. It coursed up into my shoulders and my face and I did my best to ignore it.

‘No. Just like a woman who likes to get stuff done. And seeing as you’re handling one of my projects, I very much appreciate that.’

Whew.

‘Thank you, Mr –’

‘Dorian,’ he said. His eyes really were the wildest colour green.

I looked at my feet as if that could distract me. ‘Dorian, right. I really think if no one’s coming we should go ahead and leave. I’d hate for you to get stuck here. It’s not even close to being done.’

A rush of sirens outside caused us both to glance up. ‘I think you’re right, Clover. Can I walk you out?’

‘I need to walk through first,’ I said. ‘Make sure everything’s off. Shut. Locked.’

‘I’ll walk with you.’

‘I can’t ask you to do that,’ I said, turning to head down the main corridor.

‘You didn’t ask me to. Let’s call it boss man’s prerogative,’ he said. Then he chuckled.

‘What’s so funny?’ I wanted to really bite my tongue then. What had caused me to be so cavalier with him? It was none of my business why he was laughing. He had a reputation of being a reformed bad boy, an all-round good guy and a down-to-earth rich kid, but my words had been entirely too familiar.

‘I hate being called the boss man and here I use it as a ruse to take a walk in the dark with a pretty girl.’

‘Oh,’ I said. It was more a puff of air than a spoken word. As we walked, I noticed I felt more than a little lightheaded and, every time he strayed near to me, I had the bizarre urge to reach out and take his hand.

Chapter Two

‘Why are you here?’ I asked, unable to squash my curiosity. Surely it wasn’t really to do with me. We passed the two longest sections of mall that branched off from the main entrance. They were dark and partly sheathed in plastic and often, when I was alone, brought to mind those horrible slasher movies. I shook the thought off, but caught him looking at me.

‘I had heard from Bradley that all was going really well. That you were running a tight ship and the workers liked you and that you were even getting around to the stained-glass dome. That you’d called in an expert.’

‘Oh, he’s an expert,’ I sighed. ‘And he acts like one. A bit of a prima donna, if you ask me. But he did the Beltway.’

‘I heard.’

Another Baltimore landmark that sported some serious stained glass. It had started to leak over the years and Voorhees had been called in to repair it. It was how I’d heard of him and seen his handiwork.

‘Anyway, he’s sort of … delicate.’ My foot slipped on a stray tail of plastic sheeting and I slid, almost losing my balance. Almost – but for a strong hand that suddenly appeared at my elbow, and another at the small of my back, to steady me.

My heart gave a crazy little fish flop in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was from the fear of falling or from his hands on me. I nodded my thanks and just kept walking, ignoring the burn of blood in my cheeks.

‘Well, you handled him well, from what I heard.’

I smiled. ‘I yelled into the phone and then got pissed.’

Watch your mouth, Clover. Be a lady …

‘That was pissed? I get way more pissed than that.’ He smiled at me in the low light. I felt that smile in my stomach.

‘This way,’ I said. My voice was tight and high. I was nervous. Any fool could hear that. And yet Dorian Martin had done nothing at all to make me nervous. Other than be so … close to me. ‘Some of the men take their smoke breaks down here. I like to make sure it’s not just locked but chained when the day is done.’ I took a small penlight from my pocket and aimed it at the push bars on the double doors. The way the chains were tangled it was unclear. ‘Can’t tell,’ I muttered.

He followed me, silently, down to the darkest end of the hall and let me push the bars to assure myself that all was not just secure but chained. ‘Good,’ I said.

‘You’re very conscientious,’ he said.

‘Is that a bad thing?’ I asked. It was a serious question. I was often told I worried too much. A habit I seemed unable to break.

‘Not for me,’ he said, giving me a soft touch on the back of my arm as we turned in the gloom. Nothing more than a gentlemanly steer with his hand, but it did strange things to me. Made me feel something I couldn’t recall feeling before.

A brief and vivid image of him kissing me right there, pressing me to the cool, beautifully tiled wall of the corridor filled my head and, when I coughed to focus myself, it burst and flitted away like a rainbow-hued soap bubble.

And then: ‘It means you’re looking out for me.’

‘I didn’t even know you,’ I said. I felt stupid for having pointed that out.

We walked back towards the light and he said, ‘You knew of me.’

‘True. Just one more stop and then we can go. But Mr –’

‘Dorian,’ he corrected, looking slightly stern.

‘Right. Dorian, you can go. I really am fine by myself. I’m here all the time. I mean, it’s like I practically live here.’ I laughed. We passed a stretch of tiny eateries. A bistro, a bakery, a gourmet preserves store. I wished they were open – I was starved.

Wind licked at the building so fiercely we heard the huge old structure creak. ‘Let’s finish this so we don’t end up living here,’ he said.

‘Right.’

Just a few more minutes together. We checked the dome to see that all the industrial work lights were off and then looked at the last exit door to make sure it was bolted and secure.

‘Done!’ I said. His eyes were darker in this light, the green less noticeable, his expression unreadable as he studied me again. Had I done something?

‘Good. I’ll walk you back. Make sure you get on the road safely.’

Safe. How long since anyone besides my grandmother had fretted over my safety? To be honest – brutally so – with myself, I couldn’t remember the last time a man had bothered himself with my safety. Of course, in their defence, it had been years since I’d done anything but casual dating. And you cannot expect a man whom you see once every six weeks or so to fret over your safety.

‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ My voice did a new and interesting weird thing at the end. I sounded almost like I was about to cry.

Dorian Martin caught it, gave me a quick second glance but then covered with a smile.

Great, not just handsome and kind, but intuitive too. I’d have to remember to keep my big fat mouth shut until I was in my car. Then I could freak out.

* * *

‘I think –’ Outside, the wind ripped my voice away. My skirt was lifted by a stiff blast of wind and the rain suddenly changed direction, dousing me in an instant.

White blouse.

But Dorian didn’t seem to notice because a decorative bench was slowly being blown across the brickwork of the patio. ‘We might have waited too long,’ he yelled.

Another blast of wind and rain and I screamed when more cold water smacked me. I felt like a fool but couldn’t help it.

I had to be positive. This was just a storm. No big deal. Surely the weather people were exaggerating. They had to talk about something, right? ‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll be fi –’

With that, the second biggest oak on the property gave a mighty groan. We’d had rain all week already and the ground was soaked. The wind and added rain had taxed the poor thing to its limits. With another gust and another fierce moan it seemed to surrender and down it went, as if in slow motion.

‘I think we won’t, Clover,’ he shouted, taking my hand.

I’d imagined him doing it, but the reality of his big warm hand curling around mine was extraordinary. Even given the bizarre and frightening circumstances, something in me woke up when he touched me.

And then: ‘Come on, Clover. We need to get inside. Fast.’

I hurried in after him, sliding the last foot or so on the wet tile, my carefully chosen outfit now stuck to me. I dressed to say, ‘I’m in charge,’ I dressed to say, ‘Responsible.’ Now my ensemble just said, ‘Drowned rat.’

The automatic doors slid closed and to add insult to injury the lights flickered and failed. For a few heartbeats there was nothing but total silence.

Then my teeth started to chatter.

Chapter Three

He didn’t have a coat to offer me. He seemed the kind of guy who would if he had one to give. When he gripped the hem of his fisherman’s knit sweater and pulled it up, suddenly exposing a flat, taut belly, I found myself holding my breath. Then he got the sweater up further and I saw a blue T-shirt beneath it.

‘Here, let’s get this on you. A bit damp but not nearly as damp as you are.’ He tugged the cream-coloured sweater over his head and I let myself ogle him for the instant that his head was totally covered.

His body was lean and firm. He obviously worked out or kept in shape somehow, but wasn’t obsessive about it. I had a fleeting vision of him unbuttoning his well-worn jeans and shut my eyes tight like I was wishing away a monster in the dark. Not appropriate. Not by a long shot. A rich, handsome, nice guy like this obviously would have a female following of epic proportions. He probably had a girlfriend designated for every night of the week. A few for weekends just to keep things interesting.

He handed me the sweater and I stared at it like a dolt. Outside something struck the mall doors and I jumped. My grandmother was alone. Aunt Brani lived next door. She really wasn’t my aunt, she’d just been my grandmother’s friend for over three decades. Surely if I was stuck here she would check in on grandma. She would –

‘… so wet. I can turn my back.’

I blinked at him, the panic that had gripped me letting up just a tiny bit as I saw the concern in his eyes.

‘What?’

‘I said, it probably won’t help to put it on over clothes that are already so wet. I can turn my back.’ He nodded to indicate the sweater I still held dumbly.

‘Oh! Right. Thank you. You really don’t have to.’ I tried to hand it back. He laughed at me.

‘Clover, I hate to break the news to you but your teeth are chattering so hard and loud they’re rivalling a marching band.’

I glanced down at my drenched white blouse. The dove-grey silk camisole beneath it was pretty much visible now, it was so wet. And nipples. Dear Lord, they were so hard and pointed they tented my blouse in a very unprofessional way. As if I could do anything about them. It was something my mother had always said: nature is what she is. No changing her. In the rules of nature, it was cold so my nipples were hard.

I laughed somewhat hysterically at my mental tangent and looked up to find him watching me as I studied my own traitorous chest.

‘Will you?’ I said. My voice sounded shy and awkward. Yet another thing to be mortified about.

He smiled once more and said, ‘Of course.’ Then he turned his back to me and I turned mine to him.

My fingers didn’t want to work the tiny white buttons of my blouse. Cold and wet from our foray outside, brief though it was, they stumbled over the small plastic discs. After only two, I gave up and yanked the blouse over my head. I shivered as the cold seeped into my bones. Something else banged and I let out a little cry. Embarrassing as it was, the sudden intensity of the storm frightened me. Having had a childhood that involved a particularly rattling event, I was on edge in any situation where I felt I was not in control. Loud noises made it worse. All those memories and sensations tried to swell up in me and I quickly tamped them down.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him turn and glance at me, obviously concerned about the noise I’d made, then he caught himself – probably upon seeing me in nothing but a soaking wet camisole. ‘Jesus, sorry,’ he said. ‘I just –’

‘It’s OK,’ I said, biting my tongue to try and keep my teeth from rattling. ‘It’s OK,’ I repeated and yanked the sopping wet cami off over my head. My hair probably looked like the Bride of Frankenstein but now was not the time for vanity.

My nipples pebbled harder and my breasts followed suit by rushing with goose bumps. Another deep shiver worked through me and finally I managed to tug his huge warm sweater down over my damp skin. I let out an audible sigh.

‘I’m done,’ I said. ‘Thank you. You can turn around.’

When I turned to look at him he was staring at the small pile of my wet clothes, the cami conspicuously on top. He ran a hand through his hair and chuckled. ‘Yeah. Let’s get you some clothes, Clover,’ he said.

‘I have … you gave me this,’ I finished weakly as another series of shivers racked my body.

‘But your skirt is wet …’ He swallowed, looking as if he was almost as uncomfortable as me. ‘And your stockings.’

When he said stockings I felt myself blush. At least the involuntary reaction left me warmer.

‘I’ll be fine. Plus, how the heck would we get anything? Everything is shut up tight.’

He grinned at me, the sudden change in expression making him look like a mischievous boy. ‘Oh, the perks of being the boss.’ He extracted a well-worn leather wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper and shook it at me. ‘The security code for every store in the place. Bradley insisted I have it. “Just in case.” God bless his OCD-riddled little heart. You need some jeans. Socks. Maybe boots. On me. It’s the least I can do.’

‘So, we’re trapped here for a super-storm and you’re going to take me shopping?’

‘We have to do something to pass the time.’ When he said that, his eyes went back to the small pile of my wet clothes. His gaze on my unmentionables had me suddenly and inexplicably wishing he would touch me. I thought of the furniture store another hallway over. Right now on display was a magnificent queen-sized bed done up in so-simple-it-had-to-cost-a-fortune white bedding.

‘Right,’ I said. I cleared my throat. ‘Where to?’

‘First jeans, so that would be …’ He waited, watching me.

‘I guess the women’s store near the entrance. What’s it called?’ I snapped my fingers.

‘Her, I think.’ He winked. ‘Extremely clever.’

‘I think what’s in right now is so starkly plain they can charge a fortune for it. So if a store is named Her, all the hers will go there?’ I shrugged.

He brushed a stray hair out of my face and I froze.

‘I think you’re probably right, Clover.’ His gaze never wavered. He just watched me as I floundered inside, trying to remain calm and not do anything stupid. Like step back wildly. Or that insane laugh I tended to bark out when I was nervous. ‘You’re very clever.’

‘I’m glad someone thinks so.’

He frowned briefly at my self-deprecating humour and then took my hand and tugged me along. But only for a moment. Then he dropped it as if remembering his manners. I missed the touch when it was gone. But this wasn’t high school and we weren’t going steady. This was a super-storm and he was my boss. I’d do well to remember that.

* * *

He punched the code in at Her and then bent to roll up the slatted door. Inside to the left was the light switch and he flicked it. The store lit up, looking strangely apocalyptic with all the brightly coloured folded clothes, and fancy mannequins in ensembles and glitzy costume jewellery, but backlit with a dark mall and the sound of an end-of-days kind of wind outside.

‘It’s like the end of the world,’ I whispered.

Dorian nodded, dropping into an overstuffed black chair obviously there for waiting boyfriends and spouses. ‘I know. It’s all a little unnerving. Maybe it will blow over fast and we can go.’

Another bang outside made me jump and then, when I held my breath and listened, there was a riot of sirens out there. ‘How long is it supposed to last? Not to sound like an idiot, but to be honest, I haven’t really been paying attention.’ I swallowed hard around a sudden rush of fear. ‘I thought they were hyping it up. I didn’t expect … this.’

‘Me neither. I wonder if it’ll really last for two days.’

Two days? I said nothing.

‘Now, why don’t you find some jeans and socks, because your knees are knocking.’

I looked down to see he was right. ‘Sure. I’ll be fast.’

‘Take your time, Clover. Pick out what you want. It’s not like we have anywhere to be.’

My emotions were split when he said that. Part of me seriously concerned about being trapped here. Part of me oddly excited about being trapped here with Dorian.

‘At least the power only flickered briefly,’ I said.

‘So far,’ he said. I must have made a face because after glancing at me he said, ‘Sorry. Look, Clover, I’m sure it will be fine. I promise you we will be fine. We’re in this together.’

Had a man ever said that to me? Oh, I remembered – no. Never.

Chapter Four

‘Not those?’ he asked from that overstuffed chair.

I eyed the jeans in the three-way mirror and sighed. ‘Noooo, not these. How can it be so hard to find a pair of jeans in this place?’

But it was. These were way too low. My hipbones and the small swell of my belly popped over the top. The zipper was only an inch long. What the hell were women thinking with these things? Why wear pants at all? I snorted and quickly covered my face.

‘You OK?’

‘I am.’ I unbuttoned them and pushed the denim down to pull off. Not only were they way too low cut and way too tight, they were so snug around the calves I feared falling over and braining myself on the changing-room door.

Then Dorian would have to come in and get me. As I lay there, unconscious and unattractive, tangled in stolen jeans while the super-storm raged on. I whimpered before I could catch myself.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ He sounded both amused and concerned.

‘Yes. Just trying not to trip over since I’m stuck in these things. I will go with the next pair, I swear. I mean, beggars can’t be choosers, right?’

‘I can help you if you like,’ he said. Was his voice closer? It sounded closer.

The skin along my spine rose up and tingled. I was covered in goose bumps and my pulse jackhammered in my head as I kicked the jeans free.

‘I’m fine,’ I said. I had never sounded more unconvincing.

‘Kidding … kidding.’ He chuckled. Then: ‘Mostly.’

The surge of lust in my body was undeniable. What if I peeked over the door and said yes. Please come help me, Dorian. I’m stuck in my pants.

I smiled at myself. Shook my head. Pulled on a different pair of faded overpriced jeans.

Or what if I just said yes. What if I said, I haven’t had sex in a million years and the last time wasn’t that good and I know you’re rich and I’m not rich, I am in fact just a worker bee for you, but you seem so nice and down-to-earth and God, you are so damn handsome and …

I sighed audibly as I zipped up the jeans and they were perfect. Not too tight. Not too loose. Not too stiff or too constricting. Just right.

‘Was that a happy sigh?’

‘I think I found my jeans.’

‘Let’s see then.’

My internal ramblings about luring him into my arms reared up to taunt me and I found my face was so hot that when I touched my skin it felt like I had a fever. I pushed the door open and froze when the lights seemed to dim, then flickered in earnest, even went out for a second before coming back on.

‘Jeeeeesus,’ I said.

‘It’s OK. Most of the place is fitted with backup lights. They’ll pop on if we lose power.’

‘I need to call home soon,’ I said, suddenly remembering that this was not just fun in the mall with a hot guy. I had to check on my grandmother and I had to … what? That was it. I had to check on my grandmother.

‘Clover?’

My head snapped up, I was rubbing the leg of the brand-new jeans the way I did when I got anxious. I forced myself to take a deep breath and focus on his pleasant voice. And his intent eyes as they took me in.

Instead of feeling self-conscious in that moment, I felt so … sexy.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s OK. I think the main objective was to get you into dry clothes so you didn’t get sick. Now that you’re … dressed, we can do whatever it is you need to do.’

‘Surely you have to call home too.’

He chuckled. ‘Not really. My mother is in Mexico. My siblings are God knows where. There’s no one for me to call home to. Unless you count Kimmie and Tyler.’

‘Kimmie and Tyler?’

‘The house staff. They are like family,’ he said, smiling. ‘So probably later I will call and check on them. But I have a feeling they’re OK.’

‘My grandmother’s eighty-two,’ I said quickly. ‘Lives alone. I help … I help her,’ I finished feebly. It always seemed so insulting to my one and only beloved grandparent to say, ‘I help care for her.’ I did but, truth be told, she helped care for me too.

‘Why am I not surprised by that information? You seem to be a phenomenon at caring for people. Your grandmother, your workers … your boss.’

His smile was friendly but it was mixed with something else. Something I’d seen before but usually ignored. Interest.

I cleared my throat, stepped totally free of the dressing room and held his sweater up just enough that he could see the jeans. ‘See? Just right.’

He took way longer to look than I’d anticipated. His eyes worked slowly from the top of me to the bottom and I felt my body wanting to shift and move because it was like being touched. Every moment his gaze was on me felt like he was sliding his hands along my body. I clenched my thighs where I stood and immediately regretted it. It did nothing but send a rush of blood between my legs, and extra sensation there was the last thing I needed.

At least without a participating partner.

‘They are just right.’ His voice remained the same volume but something in it had changed. It was a palpable sensation, the shift in the mood between us.

‘I should get a sweater or something. And give yours back –’

Dorian held up a hand. ‘I like it on you. It suits you, Clover.’

‘Socks,’ I said softly.

‘Socks,’ he grinned. He waved a hand at a whole wall of froofy hosiery and then bins of socks. ‘I think you have a few choices.’

He’d think me silly. All this luscious hosiery to choose from and I was going to go right for the bins of tall striped socks. I had a bit of an obsession. When I wasn’t dressed for work I wore the tallest, wildest, most colourful socks imaginable. And if I was going to stumble around inside a shopping structure during a big storm, I was going to be comfortable. Even if Dorian Martin thought I was silly.

‘I want these,’ I said, softly, grabbing a pair of knee socks with purple and red rugby stripes.

‘And these and these and these …,’ he said slowly, pulling a pair of polka-dotted ones out of a bin and following swiftly with another striped pair, yellow and cobalt, and a final one, black and white hound’s-tooth. When I glanced at him curiously, he shrugged. ‘Hey, you’re walking around in just socks until we rob – I mean visit – the shoe store. Your feet could get wet.’

I turned the socks over in his palm, the slight brush of my hand over his freezing me for a second. ‘Fifty dollars,’ I said. I gasped, and he chuckled. ‘For socks! Mr – Dorian. I cannot take two hundred dollars’ worth of socks. I don’t even know what the jeans cost but I can’t – I mean I have no complaints about my salary, mind you.’ I was babbling and couldn’t make myself stop. ‘But that is too much. Too too much.’

‘It’s on me, Clover,’ he said. His eyes were serious. No room for argument. We were barely inches apart and I became very aware of the heat radiating off him. Even in just a T-shirt and jeans he was giving off enough to bake a cake.

Or maybe that was just my perception.

Outside something boomed and I jumped. The lights flickered and when they stabilised I found I’d moved closer to Dorian without realising it. He tucked a wayward curl behind my ear and leaned in so we were barely an inch apart.

I held my breath. Would he kiss me? Did I want him to? Yes, I found, yes, I did. Very much.

But he simply said, ‘Take the socks, Clover. Employee bonus. I promise you, every vendor we heist will receive compensation.’ Then he kissed my forehead and I thought I’d die.

Why not my lips?

* * *

‘How you doing, baby?’

‘I’m fine, Grandmaw, but how are you?’

She laughed and my heart soared. My grandmother never failed to make me happy. For someone with a laundry list of ailments she rarely complained, and usually saw the bright side in almost everything. A skill I wish I could master.

‘Brani and I are playing gin rummy. That’s after a good forty minutes of arguing about how to play.’

I could picture the scene very well and it made me smile. ‘So you agreed?’

‘Yes, we did, but I told her we should just pull out the penny jars and play blackjack. Sounds like it’s going to be a long, long night.’

I held my breath before releasing a big gust of air. It helped stabilise my runaway heart and the urgent feeling of anxiety. ‘I’m worried about you. Maybe you and Brani should go and –’

‘If you tell me to call that seniors’ babysitting service, I’m going to smack your behind.’

I snorted. I was about two feet taller than my grandmother. However, I believed her. ‘No, ma’am. I won’t. But you and Brani take care of each other.’

‘Oh, we will. We have our cards and lots of candles and flashlights. We even have a nice bottle of that Christmas wine I keep on hand.’

‘Don’t go getting drunk now,’ I teased.

Dorian laughed softly from where he leaned against the wall just beyond the automatic doors. Outside the storm raged on. A bubble of worry clogged my throat as I watched a flag on a pole go sailing past. At least my grandmother was in a development with a lot of other people. She wasn’t in a single house all by herself.

‘What else is there to do, Clover?’ I could sense her smiling and I could hear Aunt Brani laughing in the background. ‘What about you? We want to know if you’re safe. You’re not wandering around in that huge place all by yourself are you?

‘No … my boss is here.’

‘Oh, that one, what’s-his-name?’ She meant Bradley, Dorian’s assistant.

‘No, this is Dorian. Dorian Martin, the owner.’

The phone was suddenly transferred. I knew it, Brani had been listening in. She had big ears (to match her big heart) and she loved to gossip. ‘Dorian Martin the rich boy?’

I put my head down and tried not to laugh. ‘Yes, him.’

‘Oh, my goodness, Clover Brite! He is rich-rich-rich. And not too hard on the eyes if you ask me.’

‘I didn’t,’ I sighed.

Brani cackled into the phone so loudly I had to hold it away from my ear. Dorian glanced back at me, smiling. He raised an eyebrow and I rolled my eyes. I pulled the sleeves of his sweater down to cover my cold fingers. Brani sounded tinny through the landline phone but cell service had been non-existent.

She was rattling on and I finally managed to cut in. ‘I agree with all that, but he’s also a busy man trapped here with me. Super nice. Very accommodating and I have to go. Now give Gram a kiss for me, please, Brani. Kiss yourself too. Call this line if you need to. Is it showing up on the readout?’

‘You betcha,’ she said and rattled the number off to me. ‘But I’m writing it down in case we lose power and have to call on an old-fashioned phone. Or, as old folks like me call it, a regular phone.’

I finally hung up and pulled my hair back, twisting it tight. I had no rubber band to hold it so the moment I let it go it sprang back, a mass of wild curls prompted by the rain.

‘Busy?’

I shrugged. ‘Aren’t you busy? You’re always in the papers.’ I toed the seam between the dark-red floor tiles.

‘I do a lot of charity work. To make good on my wild youth and …’ His eyes went back out to the storm. Always watching. Always aware. He was more than met the eye. ‘I do a lot of it to humour my mom since my dad passed.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I read about that.’

Dorian nodded once, a sharp gesture. ‘Thank you. I was a constant disappointment to my dad. I think I’m trying to make up for it now.’

‘I don’t know how – I mean, I can’t see you as disappointing.’ I looked away. ‘Not that it’s my place to say,’ I tailed off.

‘You’re a person, Clover. You don’t have a place. You can say whatever you like.’

I took a deep breath. ‘How about some shoes for me?’ I felt awkward saying it but I wanted to change the subject.

He nodded and reached out for my hand before catching himself. Then he shook his head and smiled, letting the hand drop to his side. ‘Sure thing. I bet you’d look stunning in some knee-high brown leather boots.’

‘I really don’t nee–’

‘Clover?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m a very busy man trapped here with you.’ He grinned at me on the word ‘trapped’. ‘Let me get you some boots. It will amuse me. Keep me occupied.’

This time, I was the one to stick out my hand. My heart pounded when I did it. He looked surprised at the gesture but quickly recovered and took my hand in his.

‘OK,’ I said. ‘But only to keep you occupied.’

Chapter Five

‘That didn’t take long,’ Dorian said with a laugh.

I gazed in the mirror at the tall, brown riding boots. ‘No. It didn’t. I adore boots. I have a bit of a …’ I let my words peter out, coughed to clear my throat.

‘A bit of a what?’ I could sense him smiling though I wasn’t looking at him.

‘A bit of a fetish,’ I said in a rush. ‘Not that I have to wear boots to have sex –’ I bit my tongue, cutting myself off before I could groan with embarrassment. ‘I mean … my God, why did I say that aloud?’

‘To make my day?’ He leaned against the wall and his eyes did another sweep of me. Head to toe, hovering right where one would expect a man’s gaze to hover. I was getting used to being assessed by Dorian Martin. Not only was I getting used to it, I was starting to appreciate it. The flex and tremble in my belly and the sudden need to shift my stance and squeeze my thighs together were clues.

‘I’m glad I can amuse you,’ I said.

‘Not just amuse. You intrigue me too. You care for your grandmother and run a tight ship and seem to take responsibility very seriously. Not to mention you seem uncomfortable being the centre of attention.’

I nodded, feeling quite uncomfortable just then. ‘True, true, true. Though taking care of my grandmother is no biggie because she watches out for me too. Since my mom –’ I shook my head at the mention of my gran and my mom. Tears were building in my eyes and I blinked hard to keep them down. The bizarre day was doing strange things to my emotions.

I rushed on, ‘As for taking my job and responsibility seriously, how could you not? I mean, who wouldn’t?’

He raised his hand. ‘Me for one. Why do you think I’m trying to redeem myself now?’

‘Oh – I’m –’

‘No need to be sorry. It’s a true story. I was a – what do they call it? – an incorrigible minor and now I’m not. Now I’m trying to be … a man.’ He waved a hand at me. He plucked a pair of buttery leather boots from a perch and idly turned them over. ‘What size do you wear?’

‘Eight and a half,’ I said, my tongue suddenly sticking to the roof of my mouth.

‘Will you try these on for me?’ He held them out.

‘I will, but you can’t buy them for me,’ I said. I had no idea why I said it.

He barked out a laugh and shook his head. ‘Not impressed by money. It’s my favourite thing about you. You wouldn’t let me buy them for you?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘I barely know you and you don’t owe me anything.’

‘It wouldn’t be because I owe you. It would be because it would make me happy. I have a lot of money. Which means I want for nothing. Buying stuff for yourself gets boring after a while. Buying things for people who think of others first and themselves last is wonderful. You think of everyone, Clover. How about you let me think of you today? Just this pair and the ones you have on. And I promise, Scout’s honour –’ he held up one hand in the Boy Scout sign ‘– no more.’

I sighed. They were spectacular and probably two months’ pay and … I took them. I liked the feel of the leather under my fingers, but it was the words he’d given me along with the boots that warmed my heart. A man appreciating me for who I was fascinated me. That was what impressed me about him, not his bank account.

‘Those are spectacular,’ he said, when I slipped them on and tugged them high.

They were. The heels weren’t too high or too low. They felt as if they’d been made for me. The sudden rush of emotion at the gift surprised me, though.

‘Are you crying?’

‘No,’ I said, quickly turning from him. I wiped my eyes, wondering if there was any way I could get out of this without him knowing.

‘Do you feel overwhelmed?’

The question was startling and then the lights flickered and something crashed and I jumped, a scream ripping out of me despite my best efforts to contain it. That night, that noise, the fear of it all came rushing back fast and furious. It rarely happened but when it did I was no longer an adult in charge of her life, herself and often others. I was eight years old, home alone and terrified.

I felt the wild trembling start, the bone-deep helplessness that always seemed to arrive with that memory. Usually I dreamed of that night so I awoke alone and shaking, which was fine. No one there to see my fear or my embarrassment. It was ages in my past. I should be over it by now.

‘Hey, Clover, hey,’ he whispered, pulling me in. I marvelled at the heat of him again. The man was standing there in jeans and a tee and he was keeping me warm. ‘What is it? If it’s the boots, my God, fucking take them off and I’ll never make you take boots from me again.’

I started to laugh and felt his firm body relax. He’d been trying to defuse the situation and his body language said he felt relief. I let myself wrap my arms around him as he stroked my hair. His lips brushed my ear and he whispered. ‘It’s not the boots, is it?’

I shook my head and shut my eyes. He smelled like warm man and kindness.

‘Do you want to tell me what it is?’

I shook my head.

‘Is part of it your grandmother?’

I pulled back and nodded. ‘Yes. Part of it.’

‘But not all of it?’ His dark eyes studied me and I realised that at some point the lights had resumed their full brightness.

‘No, not all of it,’ I admitted. I held my breath, waiting for him to press or pry. He didn’t.

He just nodded and said, ‘OK.’ Then he slipped his hands into my hair and ran his fingers across my scalp until I felt my eyes drift shut and my body 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.

Chapter Six

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 – he cut them diagonally. Small soup bowls were placed on the plate and he ladled tomato soup into each. Finally he looked at me and finished his thought. ‘Maybe you don’t buy into that whole thing.’

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 me lunch. Dinner?’ I laughed. ‘What time is it anyway?’

‘Just about linner time.’

‘Linner time?’

‘That magical hour between lunch and dinner when you get hungry.’

‘Ah.’ I bit into a small pickle wedge he’d added to the plate along with some chips. ‘You thought of everything.’

He shrugged. ‘I never got to mess around in the kitchen as a kid. There were always people to do that for us. So, I never got to make the post-Thanksgiving disgusting leftover sandwich or incredibly messy but fun cookies. Now that no one can stop me, I like to mess around in the kitchen.’

I bit into my sandwich and groaned. The cured ham and cheese were in perfectly grilled bread with some kind of sauce. The bread had been frozen in one of the few freezer cabinets not switched off. The sandwich filling was gooey and fattening and wonderful. ‘Comfort food at its finest,’ I said. ‘You can mess around in my kitchen any time.’

I caught his glance, a hungry glance indeed that had zero to do with food. My stomach trembled with that free-fall feeling and I took a deep breath, averting my eyes before I did something like beg him to kiss me.

‘You know what I mean,’ I whispered, not looking at him.

Dorian chuckled and patted my hand. The touch, whether he knew it or not, was electric, sending a warmth over my skin. ‘I know what you mean. You can’t blame me for hoping you meant something else, though.’

I smiled. ‘I don’t blame you.’

‘So now, answer my question. You’re almost as good at being evasive as me. Ever thought about a family?’

‘No.’ I said it fast and blunt and immediately regretted it. I sipped some soup to give my stupid mouth something to do. ‘It doesn’t mean that one day I wouldn’t change my mind, but family doesn’t mean to me what it does to some.’

‘Neither does money, I see. I mean, the ham on here is Serrano. The cured ham is some damn pure-bred organic happy fucking ham that gets massages and beer and is twenty-two dollars a pound. The cheddar is forty dollars a pound. It’s all I could find. The perishables are long gone. I doubt you care?’

I laughed out loud when he mentioned the ham and said, ‘Really? Massages?’

He grinned. ‘No, not really. I mean, the price, yes. But not all that. It’s just organic and farm-raised and slaughtered cruelty-free and yada yada yada.’

‘Anyway, you’re right,’ I hurried on, trying to take a bite of my meal while I gathered my thoughts. ‘Money doesn’t do anything for me. Look, my dad had lots of money and when he slept with my mother he started a family. He didn’t plan it, but then …’ I studied the paisley-painted table top and chewed my bottom lip.

Dorian touched my hand again briefly but said nothing. Just a warm pressure on my hand that only lasted a few moments.

‘My mom didn’t plan it either,’ I said. ‘But, funny, she was around and he wasn’t. Not so much. He had money coming out his – he had money,’ I amended, taking a deep breath. ‘But he was gone with the wind and my mom ended up a single mom working two jobs anyway. So family, conventional family, isn’t a big draw to me. And neither is money. No one with money has ever been my saviour.’ I ate a big bite before I started to cry but quickly said around a mouthful of food, ‘And I’m sorry I’m being so angry. I just learned very early on there’s a class structure, is all.’

He sat back and rubbed his face. With a groan and a half smile he said, ‘I’m sorry I keep poking you to tell me stuff. It’s none of my business.’ He waved his hands around. ‘We’re stuck here and I find you pretty damn fascinating.’ He looked me dead in the eye. ‘And attractive, let’s not forget that.’

He paused, then: ‘Is that what you think of us? That there’s a class structure between you and me?’

‘Well, isn’t there?’ Why was my throat so thick with emotion? It was damn embarrassing and I wanted this to end. ‘It’s OK, though,’ I said, trying to blow it off. ‘That’s life, isn’t it? If everyone were the same how boring life would be. Or similar bullshit.’ I laughed a bit wildly and hoped he didn’t notice.

Dorian looked as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. His eyes were kind. I wondered if this stupid conversation would be easier if they weren’t.

The bite I was swallowing seemed to double in size in my throat. I watched his hand cover mine and squeeze. Then he traced each finger with the tip of his own so that I could suddenly, miraculously feel my pulse in my temple, my ears, between my legs.

‘I don’t really think that at all,’ he said softly. ‘But I seem to be provoking you and I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Tell you the truth, I’m more that kind of girl,’ I said, pointing to his liberated sweatshirt.

‘A furniture-store girl?’ He took a huge bite of his sandwich and waited for me to explain.

‘A beach-food person. You can keep your fancy turkeys and cheddars. I just like to be on the sand with a plate of something yummy and easy.’

‘Or lobster.’

‘Lobster’s good,’ I said and laughed.

‘Good to know,’ he said and we went back to eating.

I was pretty sure I’d scared him. I wouldn’t blame him if I had.

* * *

Dorian had managed to get the TV working and had found that box of wine. We sat with our feet propped on extra chairs, sipping good boxed vino and watching storm coverage.

The newswoman who was talking was usually the early-morning hostess, so she’d likely been on the air all day. The ticker tape at the bottom of the screen listed flooded areas, evacuation routes, shelters being opened for people who needed to leave their homes, reported fires. People were being advised to stay inside and off the roads to allow emergency personnel to get to their destinations with ease. Staying home could save many lives.

I gulped my wine and tried not to feel anxious, reminding myself that this was news, after all. And their job was not just to report but to get you to watch, so a small amount of sensationalism had to be factored in.

‘You holding up?’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Why?’

‘Your glass is starting to show stress fractures.’

I glanced, horrified, at one of the two short wine glasses he’d dug up. ‘I – it is not!’

Dorian laughed. ‘Yeah, but you are holding it a bit tight.’

‘I am not good at disasters. I tend to get agitated. I am a bit of a control freak, in case that escaped you.’

He shook his head. ‘Not at all.’

I snorted. ‘Anything that I have no control over such as a quote super-storm unquote makes me twitchy.’

‘There have been three deaths due to this super-storm,’ the newscaster said, and we both went silent. ‘The most recent being a woman in her eighties at the senior home on Mount –’

I stood up quickly and turned towards the doorway.

‘Clover! Wait, I’m coming with you.’

I walked outside the store and waited, regulating my breathing. I was embarrassed beyond belief at my reaction but couldn’t seem to help it. And then I got angry wondering what the fuck I was sorry for. Being scared?

‘I should have realised they’d be reporting –’

‘It’s fine. I just needed to get up and move. Where’s the wine?’

He raised an eyebrow at me and I nearly leaned in to recreate that kiss.

‘On the table. Want me to get it?’

‘That and some of the soda cups. Let’s go for a walk.’

‘Booze and cruise?’

‘Exactly. A little stroll, a little wine. Anything but sitting there listening to doom and disaster.’

‘Stay right here. We’ll be good to go in a second.’

I heard the TV go off and then him behind the counter. Within a moment he was back, a box of wine by his side. I held a cup under the spigot and poured. Then I handed it to him and poured myself one.

‘Ready?’ I asked. I was ready. Ready to slough off the panic that had settled over me while watching the updates.

‘I am. This is the best date ever,’ he said, laughing and toasting me with a plastic cup.

I didn’t react to the word date. I’d die first. I knew he didn’t mean it, it was just a figure of speech.

Chapter Seven

‘Where are we off to?’

I was feeling the wine. A warm easiness despite the horrible weather and the steady undercurrent of fear.

‘Down to my favourite spot,’ I told him. ‘It’s kind of …’ I giggled. ‘Embarrassing. But it’s pretty when the lights are on and, who knows, they might not be for very much longer.’

‘I’m eager to see this spot.’

Our shoes clacked on the fancy tiled hallways. I couldn’t help myself. ‘I’ve seen my fair share of newspaper articles about you,’ I said. ‘I find it hard to believe that my favourite place in what’s really a glorified shopping mall is exciting to you!’

He smiled at me. Something in the smile was slightly sad, though. ‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’

‘What was the most recent one I read …?’ I touched my chin and tilted my head, pretending to think. I was teasing him a little. Yes, I was definitely feeling the wine. ‘Oh, was it a trip to Africa to build a schoolhouse for orphan children?’

Dorian nodded. ‘Indeed it was.’

‘That seems much more exciting than the hallway outside the movie theatres with small globe lights.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I guess it depends on why that’s your favourite spot,’ he said.

I darted down the hall that led to the movie theatres and realised I was moving fast enough to be considered running. I heard him pick up speed. What was wrong with me that I was taunting my rich boss? Almost making him chase me?

The wind kicked up and I heard parts of the building groan. The lights flickered and the world lost its brightness. Then they flared back to life again. I stood still, though, already spooked.

He caught my elbow and set the box of wine on the floor. We both still clutched our cups. ‘That trip to Africa?’

I waited, breathing hard. Most of my nerve endings had focused on my elbow where he touched me. ‘Yes? What about it?’

‘I did that, like most things, to humour my mother. She’s sad and rich and likes to see her only son in the newspaper.’

‘Oh … I thought maybe you did it for –’

‘The orphans?’

‘Yes.’ A small part of me felt deflated by his news.

‘Oh, I did. But I’m more low-key. Build it and maybe fly up and secretly pop in to see the fruits of my dead father’s money. See what other people have accomplished brilliantly in my name.’

‘Oh’ was the only thing I could manage. Because now, after being around him for a while, that did seem more his speed. A low-key, humble act.

‘But my mother … she likes to see her baby in the news. She likes people to know our family is still doing great things even after my flashy father’s passing.’

‘Flashy?’

‘He liked to be in the newspaper,’ he said, winking at me. ‘Every day if humanly possible.’

‘Oh,’ I said again. And again I saw that flash of something like sadness cross his handsome face. It made my heart hurt. He’d been nothing but nice to me. Nothing but kind.

I grabbed his hand. ‘Come on. The lights flickered again. Let’s go and see my spot before they go out for good.’

‘What happens when they go out for good?’ he asked, going with me when I pulled him along.

‘You’ll have to coax me out of the corner and make me stop sucking my thumb,’ I said, trying to be funny. But the memories from my past were lurking in the dark shadows of my mind, threatening to make my stupid joke a sad reality.

When we rounded the corner I sat immediately on one of the red leatherette benches under the Rotunda’s marquee. ‘Here we go.’

‘Wow. I’d forgotten about this,’ he said, dropping down next to me.

I let my head fall back against the brick wall. ‘I used to sit here when I was a kid and just stare at all those little globes. Then I’d break free from my grandma and run up the ramps to the very highest level to look at them. I used to imagine …’ I shook my head, cutting off my silly thoughts. I wasn’t very surprised that tears had pricked my eyes.

‘Oh, come on, Clover,’ he groaned good-naturedly. ‘You have to stop leaving me hanging like that! Finish that sentence, woman.’

Then he did something unexpected. He ruffled my hair and then patted my head. It should have seemed an annoying gesture, almost like someone playing with a dog. But it had an undertone to it that was nearly sexual. The familiar nature of it stole my breath. And the way his big hands felt cradling the top of my head sustained that feeling.

‘OK, OK,’ I said, batting his hand away playfully. ‘I used to watch them and imagine that I saw dancing.’

‘Dancing?’

‘People in them dancing.’

His intense green eyes were studying me. I felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. ‘What people?’

‘Me.’ I chewed my lower lip. Was I really going to tell him the truth? Was I really going to admit this stupid thing aloud?

‘You dancing?

‘Me and someone else.’ I slipped my finger back and forth over my expensive, expertly faded jeans.

‘Who?’

‘My dad,’ I blurted. ‘You know, I was a kid and …’ I sighed. ‘The father–daughter dance at school was the first time I had this little crazy fantasy. All the girls came and brought their dads. I came with my grandpa. He was still alive then. And he was wonderful,’ I said, feeling suddenly guilty. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I loved him very much but –’

‘There is no replacement for dad,’ he said. ‘Trust me, I get it.’

‘Anyway, I guess I saw one too many Disney movies because I used to imagine seeing us dancing up there in those globes. I fantasised that one day it would come true. That my father would come back and dance with me. Somewhere. Sometime.’

But my mother and I were not my father’s cup of tea, it seemed. There were flights to be had to exotic places, deals to be made, a life to be lived. He went off and continued to live his and my mother raised me right.

‘Did you ever meet him?’ Dorian asked, breaking up my internal pity party.

I forced myself to look right at him but I cheated and stared at the bridge of his nose instead. ‘No. I’ve never met him. And at this point I really don’t want to.’

He nodded briskly and stood, set his wine down near the bench and held out his hand. ‘Clover Brite?’

I swallowed hard. ‘Um … what?’

‘May I have this dance?’

He started humming even as I took his hand. I felt silly and chaotic inside. It was wonderful. Dancing with a man who looked like Dorian would be memorable. I could only pray I didn’t trip over my own feet before we could actually dance.

He pulled me to him, his hand chivalrously against my lower back. He held my right hand, not stiffly and formally but close to his chest, and pressed his cheek to mine. We danced.

I shut my eyes and simply let myself be. I didn’t want to analyse this situation, I wanted to cherish it.

He hummed softly and we rocked. It wasn’t a big shiny dance number, it was subtle. It wasn’t that flashy movie moment, it was two people holding each other and moving just a bit as a storm raged outside.

‘What are you humming?’ I whispered. It felt right to whisper.

‘You don’t recognise it?’

I inhaled deeply and the scent of Dorian Martin filled my head. It was magical. It made me feel unhinged in the most wonderful way.

‘I do but I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

‘My mother used to play it endlessly when I was growing up. On an album, no less.’

That made me laugh. ‘You really are ancient, right?’

He chuckled. I felt him kiss my hair and desire, sudden and startling, hit me. I tried to remember wanting a man the way I found myself wanting this one. I couldn’t recall a single instance.

‘I know. Old as dirt.’ Then he turned me slowly and I could see the empty marquee over his shoulder. He hummed a bit more and then, softly, ‘Strangers in the Night …’

I smiled. ‘Only it’s not night.’

‘Sounds better than strangers in the rainy afternoon.’

‘Strangers in a monsoon?’ I teased.

‘It’s actually a super-storm. Like a sci-fi movie.’

‘When does the octosharkogator arrive?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. Up close his eyes were a true evergreen. He watched me intently. I’d never felt more naked. Especially while utterly clothed and upright.

‘Oh.’ I’d run out of pithy responses.

‘But I know I’d better do this before it gets here.’

We didn’t stop moving. We kept rocking gently, more of a cooperative sway than a dance, as he pushed his hands into my hair and held my head. His mouth was warm and soft and tasted of sweet red wine.

When he kissed me, I felt something in me crumble. Some part that I had fought to hold tight to, calm and stiff against all worry and loneliness. I had my grandmother, sure, but that was all I had. I treasured her but it was no substitute for some kind of romantic attachment in my life. I didn’t need a knight in shining armour, but a person to share things with wouldn’t hurt. It was a fact I rarely let myself examine. A craving I rarely let myself surrender to.

I kissed him back and the hunger in that kiss scared me. It was terrifying, in that moment, how my hands roamed over him and my heart beat just for him. How the sound I made was a very simple broadcast of desire. Normally I’d have been mortified, horrified, embarrassed.

I wasn’t. I was happy right there, right then, in his arms as the weather raged on.

Chapter Eight

‘Come on,’ I said. I took his hand and led him up the ramps. As he followed I could feel him studying me.

‘Clover. I don’t want you to think that you have –’

I turned quickly. ‘You’re not going to imply that I think if I don’t kiss you – indulge you – whatever you want to call it … That if I don’t do that my job would be in trouble … are you?’

He looked at his feet, a small smile curling his lips. ‘I just want you to understand that I kissed you because I wanted to. But I don’t expect … you don’t have to …’ He shook his head. ‘Damn. I’m usually pretty suave with those crazy things called words.’

I could stand there and feel awkward or I could move. I grabbed his hand again, letting my giddiness sweep me along, and said, ‘I kissed you back because I wanted to. Now let me show you this. There are perks to nosing around a giant empty shopping structure. Not that I’m nosy.’ I coughed. But then I giggled. ‘It was all in the name of keeping your property safe.’

‘Of course,’ he said. I glanced at him and found him smiling at me.

I really liked his smile.

‘Oh, hush. So once in a while I like to run around here like the little girl I once was.’ As soon as I said it, I stopped short.

Dorian stopped abruptly too. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘That doesn’t make you …’ I sighed. Why did I talk out loud? Why had I told him all that just now?

‘What?’

‘Does that make you trust me less? With this job?’

He looked confused and then amused. ‘Good God, no. I am the nosiest person on earth. And Clover, I’d expect you to know your job. Inside and out. All the nooks and crannies.’ He touched my hand.

‘OK. Because I take this job seriously. I take it all seriously. It means the world to me.’

That didn’t sound sad and lonely or anything.

‘I know that. And I trust you. More than just about anyone in my employ.’ He glanced up at the small green projection-room door on the very top ramp. It was marked ‘Private’ but I knew for a fact it wasn’t locked. ‘Now show me! The suspense is killing me!’

I grinned and hurried on with Dorian Martin, rich boy extraordinaire, at my heels.

At the top I stood still, trying to steady my heart. I wanted to kiss him again but forced the urge down and ignored it. I threw the door wide and said, ‘Tada!’

He chuckled, flipped the lights on. ‘Wow.’

‘Yes, wow! Isn’t it amazing? What do you think the projectionist did up here during movies? Do you think he dressed up?’

‘A cross-dresser?’ He waggled his eyebrows at me.

‘Maybe!’ The old costumes dazzled, still hung on a long costuming rack. They had a layer of dust on them. When I visited I had fantasies about bringing a leaf-blower with me to blow the thick layer of dust off the gorgeous fabrics. Maybe a good shot of air would save the fabric, restore the costumes to their original glamour.

‘Why costumes?’

‘Originally, when they aired silent movies here and even when they had talkies, they’d have intermission and dancing girls. Girls who sold popcorn and cigarettes and candy. It’s all … it’s like a time capsule,’ I squealed.

Dorian grabbed my forearms and kissed me.

‘What was that for?’

‘You’re so happy,’ he whispered. ‘It’s contagious.’

I nodded and let myself just stare at him. His strong jaw and bright eyes and very, very kissable mouth. He gave me a boyish half grin and I swore I could feel my lungs deflating from the impact of that smile.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I … you –’ I shook my head and grabbed his face and kissed him. Hard.

Every stroke of his tongue over mine made me warmer despite the invading damp from the storm. Every time he sucked gently on my tongue I felt a spike of heat fill my pussy. Every inch closer he moved as he kissed me greedily had me on the verge of just begging him to take me. Right then. Right there.

I couldn’t do that, of course. He was still my boss, after all. Despite rabid attraction. Despite warm fuzzy feelings he somehow inspired.

Finally I managed to pull back.

He touched my hair. Wrapped two long strands around his fingers and tugged gently. ‘I like kissing you, Clover.’

‘I like that you like kissing me, Mr – Dorian.’

‘Reverting to mister after a kiss like that?’ He chuckled.

I moved away from him fast. Better to get control of myself. ‘So what do you think? Isn’t it amazing?’

‘It is,’ Dorian said. He ran his fingers over old movie posters.

I’d been in here many times during renovations. Often I slipped inside just to sit on the old velveteen couch and think in peace for a minute or two.

‘This movie was out in the Forties.’ He whistled and flipped past the poster to see what was next. ‘Fifties, Sixties. There’s some valuable stuff in here. Whoever’s been storing it could probably make a killing on eBay.’

‘Chuck has been running this projector for forty years, I think.’

I walked to the small projector window and looked down into the theatre. Big well-padded seats that had been reupholstered to stay true to the original movie house. It was easy to look down and see men and women in period dress smoking cigarettes as the film played on. The original piano for the silent films was on the stage.

Dorian moved up close behind me. I could feel his energy close to mine despite the fact that he wasn’t touching me. Not yet.

He couldn’t see my face so he couldn’t see when I shut my eyes and willed him to touch me. I saw in the small reflection that he was moving to do just that. Reaching towards me. Then a boom sounded through the whole Rotunda, seeming to rattle the very floor beneath our feet. The lights went out and another boom echoed around us.

Adrenalin flooded my body and I lunged towards him. Not thinking, just reacting. I grabbed him and he put his arms around me, smoothing my hair as the lights began a crazy flicker-on-flicker-off pattern.

‘It’s OK, Clover. Hey … it’s OK.’

This was not the way I wanted to end up in his arms.

After about three minutes of non-stop flickering, the lights stabilised. I looked up at him, waiting to feel sheepish or foolish. Neither came. It was too much work. All I could focus on was getting my heart-rate down to a non-lethal rhythm.

Dorian walked me to the sofa and helped me sit. By the projector, under the makeshift desk that I was pretty sure was made of a salvaged door, was a dorm-room-sized fridge. Dorian opened it and brought me a cold soda.

‘Drink,’ he said. ‘A little bit of sugar will help. You’re as white as a sheet.’

‘My sheets are blue,’ I said, attempting a joke. He tried to smile but the concern on his face won over any other expression.

He sat next to me, took my hand and turned it palm up. He began to rub my wrist softly but firmly, right at my pulse point. ‘My mother used to do this when I didn’t feel well. I have absolutely no idea if it actually works … or what it works for, but right now it’s making me feel useful. So I hope you don’t mind.’

‘No. I’m sorry. I feel really, really stupid. It was just a shock,’ I said. I sipped the cold cola and sighed as the sweetness burst across my tongue. I felt a little stronger. A little less transparent.

His eyes were serious. I realised he’d been in a jovial mood since we’d met, because the seriousness I now found in his gaze changed his entire face. ‘What happened to you?’

I looked away, suddenly fascinated with the walls, the costumes, the analogue clock ticking time away on the wall. It was nearing dinner time. We’d been wandering for that long? ‘Nothing,’ I lied.

He pressed his lips together, looking unsure. Knowing what I knew about him, he was probably deciding whether he should let that pass or press me. His fingers continued to sweep back and forth along my pulse point. Even though it had slowed it was still somewhat erratic. I was pretty sure the erratic part was due to him touching me that way.

‘That was quite a reaction to noise. I’ve seen people react that way before,’ he said. He dropped my hand and took the soda from me. Then he placed the cold can in the hand he’d just released and claimed my other hand. There he was, once again sweeping his thumb back and forth across my pulse point. I felt that touch far beyond my wrist. I felt it in my belly and like a bright ball of fire in my chest. I felt it like a thundering heartbeat between my legs.

I bit my lip and tried to focus on what he was saying.

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ In the dim light of the office I could see his eyes had darkened but that’s all they appeared to be. Dark eyes. The green was completely hidden by the gloom. A whistle of wind could be heard and I had a bright, vivid image of the whole domed roof of the Rotunda lifting up and off the building. The worst-case scenario. A scene straight out of a tainted version of Oz.

I refused to ask where he’d seen reactions like that. Something told me it would make a sticky situation stickier.

‘A few friends who’ve served overseas. One who was in a robbery when she was young. I believe the appropriate term is PTSD, nowadays.’

I shook my head. ‘Oh, no. Nothing as horrible as that,’ I whispered.

But I was lying. That was exactly what one shrink had called it. Though, not long after, I quickly decided therapy was not for me.

‘So what is it? If it’s not horrible, surely you can share.’ He smiled and it was nearly a sad smile.

‘I … when I was young I …’ My throat grew tight and my heart pounded. A tremor had started in my body and since he had my hand in his grip there was no hiding it from him. I pressed my legs together as if that could steady me. ‘It hardly ever bothers me!’ I blurted. ‘It was just the storm frightened me, is all. I’m really sorry.’

I was panicking.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. He let my hand go and placed his at the small of my back. Small circles. That was what I felt. Small soothing circles.

Small soothing circles for the crazy woman …

‘What was it?’

‘I was …’ I blinked furiously. I did not want to cry. I did not want to cry at all. I’d do anything to keep the tears crowding my eyes from tumbling down. ‘I was left alone. One night. When I was very young. And it was bad. That’s all. Just a misunderstanding. It was something that couldn’t be avoided. And I just –’

‘Clover –’

‘Please,’ I whispered. ‘Please don’t make me.’

He looked surprised. It had never occurred to him, I don’t think, that by pressing the issue he was forcing me to do something against my will.

‘Christ,’ he muttered and pulled me against him. He simply held me there as the last of the tremors worked through me. His arm around my lower back. His heartbeat steady and calming beneath my ear. He smelled so good. Like strong man, and some kind of cologne, and sanity.

The last part made me laugh.

‘I’m sorry, Clover,’ he said tugging the end of a lock of hair.

I looked up, hesitant to break the connection with him. I didn’t know how long it would take to get another excuse to be close to him. And being close to him was something I was swiftly realising I liked.

‘It’s fine. I’m fine,’ I assured him. I sat up straight, feeling like an impostor. I was calm now. I couldn’t just lie there in his arms like some swooning heroine.

Dorian stroked my hair. ‘Good. I’m glad. I’m sorry I pressed you on something that is simply none of my damn business.’

‘It’s fine. Thank you for caring.’

I felt my face grow hot. That had simply slipped out. I’d had no idea I was going to say it.

He smiled at me and touched my cheek. ‘You’re very easy to care about, you know.’

Those words set off a waterfall of emotions in me that no one had ever managed to unleash. No man I’d dated. Not even the ones who’d told me they loved me. It was as if Dorian was the man who held a key to my feelings. A key I hadn’t even known existed until he used it to unlock those emotions in me.

‘No.’ Another blurt. The heat of my blush was burning my cheeks. ‘I didn’t know that I was … I didn’t know.’

His lips came down on mine and I immediately opened my mouth to let his tongue slip inside. He stroked his tongue over mine and pulled me closer on the old velveteen couch. The smell of dust and history filled my nose and I kissed him back desperately. I wanted to climb into his lap, wrap myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted. It was an entirely new sensation to me, this surrender. And I adored it, though it scared me half to death.

I didn’t wrap myself around him, but I did let him lean me back and cover me with his body. When his big hands left my face, traversed my hair and then moved down my body to explore me, I arched up into them. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to feel his hands all over me and I refused to examine the urge, I simply gave into it.

‘Clover –’

I put my finger to his lips and shook my head. ‘Just kiss me,’ I said. And then, so he understood, ‘Yes.’

I knew he’d worry about taking advantage. About it being too soon after my stress reaction. Too soon to take me this way. But it wasn’t too soon. It was right on time. In fact, it had been a long time coming. Since before I’d even met Dorian Martin.

Chapter Nine

I kissed him frantically. His forehead, his cheeks, his lips. He worked my sweater up over my belly and leaned to kiss me there. The heat of his mouth on my somewhat chilled skin was electric. Dorian dropped small gentle kisses along my skin, travelling higher until tremors hit me again but for an entirely different reason. His mouth closed over my nipple and a lusty sigh slipped out of me. I was wet. That fast. Very wet, wetter than I remembered being from something as simple as strategically placed kisses.

‘Do you think I’m a heel?’ He dragged his tongue from my left breast to my right. His free hand was warm against my waist where he simply held me.

‘Do people even say “heel” any more?’

He chuckled. I forgot to laugh when his mouth closed possessively over my right nipple. Dorian sucked and I felt that drawing, tugging sensation all the way to the centre of me. He stroked the skin above my newly pilfered jeans and I had a moment when I simply prayed he’d slip his hand further down. Beneath the waistband. To find that wetness I’d become so aware of.

‘No, people don’t. I spent too much time listening to my mother and grandmother talk.’ He moved up to kiss me on the mouth again. Still touching me with strong, sure fingers as he thrust his tongue against mine once more.

‘You spend a lot of time around women.’ I touched his dark hair. I really touched it, sifted my fingers through it and stroked it as I kissed him back. I wanted to touch him everywhere now that this had started.

The lights flickered like an old movie stuttering. For the first time I didn’t care. If we lost power, I’d just keep kissing him. Just keep touching him.

‘Not like you. None of the women I’ve been around are even remotely like you.’ He moved to pull the sweater over my head and without even missing a beat, I raised my arms for him to do so. ‘You really trust me, don’t you?’

It was hard to read his gaze. I touched his jaw, nodded. ‘Yes. Does that bother you?’

‘No. It humbles me.’ The sweater came off and I was bare beneath. My poor sodden cami lay abandoned by the front door of the building. His grin went right to my belly, making me feel as if I were falling.

‘I’m going to shut up now,’ I said.

‘Me too.’ Dorian pulled his T-shirt over his head and looked down at me. ‘I feel like there’s a casting-couch joke in here somewhere.’

I touched his bottom lip and his tongue darted out to touch my skin. ‘I thought we weren’t talking.’

‘Sorry. I do tend to break rules.’ Another grin that felt like a flash-fire along my skin. How a simple smile could shut my brain down that way was new to me.

I ran my hand along the hard evidence of his arousal. My fingers curled round the ridge of his erection and he let his eyes drift shut and sighed. But then he snagged my wrist and pinned it down, pressing himself to me, kissing my throat so my nipples turned to hard knots of flesh. His chest was warm against my breasts and he moved his body over mine, pinning me there. Dorian rocked his hips back and forth against me, his cock riding the split of my sex. The pressure and friction were breathtaking.

If this was what the foreplay felt like, I wasn’t sure I’d survive the sex itself. But I was eager to find out.

‘I’m not allowed to touch you?’ I gasped. He moved a bit faster and I wondered, if he kept doing that like that, whether I would come without him even touching me. I was almost certain I would.

Wind howled outside, sounding like some restless beast eager to gain entry to our shelter. Somehow the danger and the bizarre situation made me feel even safer in his arms. Even more cared for.

He was a bit of a mind-fuck, Dorian Martin.

‘You are. Just not yet.’ He dragged his lips along my skin and though I watched and knew it was just his lips, the sensation was as if he were using his tongue. When his mouth reached my navel, his tongue darted out and he nudged me there. It spurred a clenching need deep inside.

I didn’t argue. I was too transfixed. He released my wrists to pop the button on my new jeans. I lifted my hips, caught up in the moment and eager, to allow him to tug them down. Beneath I wore no panties. They had been wet and I hadn’t wanted to take yet another thing from the store.

He growled. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

‘I don’t supposed anyone has ever told you how utterly spectacular you are?’ He looked up at me. His mouth mere inches from where I wanted him to be. I could feel the pulsing beat of my heart between my legs. My pussy clenched around nothing at all. The urge to be with him was relentless.

‘Actually …’ I pushed his dark hair out of his eyes. ‘No. No one has ever told me that before.’

‘So you’ve only dated blind men is what you’re telling me?’ He kissed the jut of my hipbone. His big hands held my hips and his body crushed my legs flat on the velveteen sofa.

‘No, just …’

He kissed the other hipbone and I secretly willed him to move his face to my mound. To part me and lick me and suck me until I did what I wanted more than anything in the world. Simply let go.

‘Just what?’ The heat of his breath washed over my mons. I arched up without thinking and realised what I was doing. Begging him with my body.

When he parted his lips and put his mouth on me, nudging me with his tongue, shooting a bolt of pure pleasure through me, I realised something else … I had no shame. I wanted him to know how much I wanted him. I wanted him to know what he did to me.

He only licked me for a minute. Tonguing my clit and then sucking it before driving his rigid tongue inside me. He continued to suck and lick and flick until I was grabbing great handfuls of ugly green velveteen and moving up to meet his mouth. I let my legs fall open and felt the pound of my heart in my temples, my pussy. I came with a loud cry just as a gust of wind howled and the lights failed. Darkness crushed in around us until they came back on with a sudden flare.

His fingers delved into me and his mouth returned. ‘I can’t – I’m too –’ I writhed under him, his big upper body pinning my legs and my hips as he put his mouth back on me, split me again with his tongue. I could hear the wet sounds of his ministrations and it was more of a turn-on than I expected. In the past that sound had embarrassed me but now – with him – it added to the sensation of him eating me.

‘I want you to come for me one more time. Just once more. You can do it. I’ll be gentle.’ Dorian pulled back to blow a soft breath across my skin. Goose bumps prickled along my arms and legs. Deep inside me a slow, lazy contraction started. I pushed my fingers into his hair and tugged gently, finding myself holding his head steady as I moved eagerly to meet his lips. He sucked hard on my clitoris and his fingers drove deep inside me again. He curled his fingers, played me like his own invented instrument. I was pretty sure he was magic. Some kind of sorcerer. He was pulling sensations out of me I’d never felt. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I was no virgin. I wasn’t even very shy in bed. But Dorian Martin inspired pleasure in me like I’d never known. An intoxicating rush of bliss that had my limbs heavy and my head light.

I came a second time with him lapping at me slowly. ‘You taste wonderful, Clover. Sweet and perfect. Just like your name. I like how you clutch at me when you come. But I’d like to hear you say my name.’

He moved up over me, the heat baking off him reminding me that it was cold and scary tonight. But I was here with him. So it all would be OK. I would be OK.

He shucked his trousers, his boxers. The socks went next. I watched it all in some kind of floating nirvana. When he returned to me, he studied me before moving over me. Despite his closeness, I had a sudden shattering moment of panic.

‘Is the door locked?’

‘No one else is here.’

‘Is it locked?’ I asked again, feeling the cold absence of sufficient air in my lungs.

He got up and moved to the door. It gave me enough time to study him in return. The hardness of his body, the lovely colour of his skin. His erection.

I bit my lower lip, waiting for the click of the thumb latch. When I heard it, air flooded my body and I could breathe again. ‘Thank you.’

‘One day you’ll have to explain,’ he said, surging up towards me from the bottom of the sofa like some predatory animal. It made me want to shriek in fear and laugh all at once. His presence and the way he handled himself cross-wired my natural instincts. I reached out to touch him. Brushing my fingertips over the ridges of his chest, down the flat of his belly. When I took him in hand we both froze. That moment stretched out like warm taffy.

‘I like the way you touch me.’ Again that half smile that brought to mind bad boys, rogues and pirates. It was perfect for Dorian Martin. It would have been an affectation on anyone else.

‘But it’s your natural state,’ I muttered without thinking about it.

‘Come again?’ He settled between my thighs and moved his hips side-to-side to truly seat himself at the centre of me. All that air I’d managed to locate fled again.

‘Sorry. Thinking aloud.’

‘Here’s the part where I ask you if you’re really truly sure,’ he said. He kissed my collarbone and then dragged his tongue over the place that he’d just kissed. When I moaned he licked one nipple before moving slowly, torturously, on to the next. I was panting by the time he was finished and I felt the resilient press of his cock to the wet split between my legs.

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