Lost in You

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.’