Lost in You

‘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.’