pressing her as close as she could get, the rest of the world faded away. She was reduced to nothing but the sensation of being held against his body and how he made her feel-which was alive, vibrantly, wonderfully alive. When he finally pulled back, he smiled. “It’s time.”
She was still breathless. “Time?”
“I believe there was a question of servicing.”
Oh, God. Now that they’d actually been together, she knew exactly what he meant, and how good he was at it. Her thighs trembled. Between them she went damp, at just his voice, his words. She was worse than Pavlov’s dog! “I don’t think so. I have to prepare for the flight back.”
He laughed softly. “We’re not going back tonight. You know that. No one is flying in this.” As if to solidify this statement, lightning cracked. Thunder boomed. Rain and wind slashed at the plane.
“Hotel room,” he said. “Shower. Dinner. And then…”
Her voice was not steady, not even close and yet she couldn’t help but ask. “Then?”
His smile looked like sin personified, wicked and naughty to the nth degree. “Then…Let the servicing begin.”
Chapter 20
After Mel’s charter left Dimi found herself craving chocolate. It was all Bo’s fault, she decided, as she inhaled a Hershey’s bar from Mel’s hidden stash. Bo’s and…damn it, Mel’s.
Yeah, that’s right. She really wanted to blame Mel for not fixing this the way she’d fixed everything else over the years, even as Dimi hated herself for the thought. It drove her to go for yet another chocolate bar, after which she felt like crap and was filled with self-loathing, a sense of worthlessness, and a fear for the future she couldn’t eat away.
“Damn it.” She reached for the phone and called Brian, the tall, dark, and hunky guy she’d drooled over at the gym the other night while watching him go through his weight-lifting routine.
He’d worked out shirtless, wearing only shorts, looking amazing at every single station. When he was done, his body taut and quivering and damp with sweat, he’d swiped his face with a towel and locked gazes with her.
She’d felt that familiar thrill, that age-old “gotta have him” lurch deep inside, and she’d smiled.
His eyes had bloomed with heat and a good amount of trouble as he’d smiled back, and her engine had revved.
When she’d gotten to her car after her own workout, he’d left his card on her windshield. Brian Desota, attorney at law.
Yum.
Even better, he answered his phone, he was available, and thirty minutes later, he picked her up at North Beach, looking hot in all black as he drove her to a new restaurant in town.
It started out good, with lots of potential, so it shocked Dimi when he insulted the waiter. He’d also, she remembered, been rude to the valet. And no matter how many drinks Dimi ordered, he still got uglier and uglier.
She sure could pick ’em.
Finally the meal was over and they stood outside his car. She didn’t want to get into the passenger seat and let him take her home, despite the fact that it was fifteen miles from North Beach, it was raining cats and dogs, and she was more than a little tipsy. But in truth, she’d rather risk life and limb, and walk every single one of those miles barefoot than spend another moment with him.
“Get in,” he said, adding a little nudge to the small of her back.
Another problem: having met her drink for drink, he wasn’t feeling any pain, either. Always, that had seemed like a turn-on for Dimi, a man who could drink right alongside her.
But suddenly, it felt old. She wanted to get to know someone and remember what they had to say. She wanted to wake up without a headache, wanted to get through the afternoon without yearning for a glass of wine.
She wanted to look in the mirror and not see a woman who looked harder and colder every single day.
“Get in,” he said again, raising his voice over a boom of thunder.
No. The word was no, but as everyone in the entire universe knew, she had a little problem saying it. “Actually,” she began, and sent him a smile she hoped looked halfway genuine, “I-”
“You’re not changing your mind about coming to my house,” he said. “Not after that expensive dinner.”
Her brows knitted. “I never said I’d go to your house.”
“Sweetheart, it was implied.” His hand, low on her spine, became firm as he tried to get her inside his car.
“No.” She lifted her chin, and with rain coming down into her face, looked into his now cooling eyes. “No.” She backed out of his grip and stood beneath the restaurant awning next to the valet. “Thank you for dinner, but good night.”
His jaw went tight, and suddenly not a single bit of that earlier hunkiness she’d seen in him showed.
What was it with her? Did she have a “looking for an asshole” sign on her forehead?
“I won’t call you again,” he warned.
She nearly laughed, but it would have come out half-hysterical so she bit it back. “I know. I don’t want you to.”
Now temper filled his eyes along with the annoyance, and she just sighed as he sped off, screeching out of the parking lot. Yeah, she sure could pick them. She opened her cell again and dialed Mel. It took her two tries, which told her she was either a bit more tipsy than she’d thought, or thoroughly shaken. Maybe some combination of both.
“Anderson Air,” came Mel’s voice, sounding extremely out of breath, and extremely distracted.
Dimi frowned. “You’re on your way back from the Bay?”
“No.”
“Okay, good.” Dimi reached out and gripped the back of the bench beneath the awning for balance, a little unnerved to find herself weaving. “I need a ride from-”
“I’m still in San Francisco. Grounded by the storm.”
“Oh.” Dimi looked out into the dark night and felt…alone. Extremely, frighteningly alone. “Are you stuck in the airport?”
“Uh, no.” Mel hesitated. “I’m getting a room, we’re nearly at the hotel now.”
“We?” Dimi staggered back a step. “You, and…Bo?” She realized she’d only been mildly upset by her date, at least compared to this. “Mel. You can’t-”
“Look, tell it to Mother Nature, okay? I’m sorry I can’t pick you up. I thought you were on a date.”
“Were being the operative word.”
“Oh, God.” Mel’s voice softened. “What happened? Are you okay? Was he a jerk? Goddamn this weather-”
“I have a feeling I’m better off than you are.” Dimi’s throat went thick at all the worry and love in Mel’s voice. “Hey, listen, I’m okay. But you…You be careful.”
“Right back atcha,” Mel said.
Dimi nodded even though she knew Mel couldn’t see her, and closed her phone. The chilly rain brought goose bumps out on her arms, and she hugged herself.
“Ma’am?” The valet stood in front of her with an umbrella. “Do you need me to call you a cab?”
Cabs were few and far between in the city, where most everyone drove themselves. The thought of waiting around seemed to bring her down even further. “No, thanks.” She opened her cell again, accessed her saved numbers and tried Kellan. No answer. She hit the next number, which would be Ritchie, and waited.
“’Lo,” came the sleepy voice.
Dimi blinked. “Ritchie?”
“Danny.”
She stared at her phone. She’d hit the wrong number. Oh, God. Anyone but him, the one guy she’d rather not have see her this way. Not again. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Dimi.” He sounded wide awake now. “What’s the matter?”
Just the sound of his voice tightened her throat. Pathetic. She was pathetic being on the verge of a breakdown
