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Chapter THREE
Jared
I'm not that guy. The one that's always slathering after nubile women barely out of their teens to make himself feel young again. I may be coming up on crisis years way too soon, but still, I date women from the same decade as me. Women who've lived a little, who know what they want, who know how to partner a real man.
But when I saw her small pale hand trailing across the fuzzy knits, all I could think of was having those sensuous fingertips outlining each and every one of my muscles. Exploring the carving with the same wonder she was gazing at me with, from across a crowded department store.
She's like some little doll.
Skin like porcelain, so make that a china doll. Round dewy eyes. That glossy rope of Gilda red hair twisting down her back, begging to be fisted and used as a leash to rein her in.
Gently of course. Very, very gently. A girl like that, you want to keep her cosseted. A precious jewel in a satin padded case. Guarded and watched over constantly.
I force myself to keep my eyes on her mother and not get dragged back to the girl with the sinful body. The fact that she has it all covered up in gym clothes is hotter than if she'd been standing there in a mini skirt. I have a vivid imagination once it's turned on and fuck, was it turned on by that girl.
That rush of sensations for a woman has me freaked, I'll admit it.
Not merely because it's been way too fucking long since I've met a woman that inspired anything more than a desire to release some pent-up tension. So long, I'm beginning to think that I’ve become jaded by the whole dating scene.
Then this young woman with the near-translucent skin and the luscious small body appears out of my miasma of boredom and lights a fucking fuse. She's completely different from any woman I've ever known.
I've never been slammed with such a mixed cocktail of desire. The insane need to part her thighs and slide all the way inside her. Feeling her tightness unfold and welcome me. Holding her down under me and watching her skin bloom with a rosy tone of blush from the pleasure of my cock inside her.
The second time her eyes flick across to me, that pink glow rising to her cheek makes me want to howl like a wild animal. All the colors of the multitude of garments piled on tables and shelving, hanging from long stretched of chrome pole, it all swims up before me in a vivid rainbow of lust. I have never wanted to fuck someone so hard and so bad.
If this is the onset of some kind of mid-life madness, it's going to send me into a man cave. I can't stand the thought of running into women that get me this feral with animalistic desire in public places. But somehow I don't think it's got much to do with my boredom. It's all about the girl. Her particular brand of innocent desire is what's pulling me under. The sort of woman that men start wars for, that give up everything just for a glimpse of.
I have to tear my eyes off her provocative gaze, reeling me in and get away before I totally lose my mind.
And then her mother calls my name.
Jesus fuck.
Melissa, Melanie, what the fuck? The old college alum is part of a distant mash-up of faces from my past that I surely can't be expected to recall. It was decades ago. Not when it's impossible to remember what day of the week it is, with the angel standing at her side, ripping me in two with her fascinated round gaze.
The urge to throw her over my shoulder and carry her off is unbearable. I'm becoming a fucking caveman in the middle of a downtown shopping mall. I just want to keep her with me. Keep those eyes fixed to me until they fill with the kind of adoration I have no doubt she's capable of.
What am I thinking? There's no possibility here. Not of anything. She's almost half my age. My mind reaches for the calculation. We all left college twenty, or was it twenty one years ago now? Christ. That makes her younger than that.
And her father is another face out of my past, which makes it double triple impossible.
As much as I want to stay close to her, I have to get away. Her presence, standing there not ten feet away from me far too intoxicating. The rush of desire to pull her to me, wrap her into my arms and hold her there forever is nothing short of lunatic. The sort of madness you read about in books but never actually experience.
Of all the women I've ever known, a not insignificant number, not one has ever had that effect on me. Losing it in public was not a pleasant idea. Much less in front of the girl's mother who just happens to be an old college mate.
“You must come to dinner while you're in town,” she opines. The usual invite people feel obliged to serve on running into someone from their past. She's married to Todd Wallis. Now there's a name I do remember. One on which we shared little to zero friendship. If I'm not mistaken, he and I were always up in each others grills with barely disguised hostile competition, despite being on the same team. I agree to the dinner because I can be sure it's never going to happen.
I have to make a quick exit. My dick is shifting in my pants uncomfortably with the illicit thoughts rushing through my mind. If I don't get away I could turn into a blabbering fool. Or worse, the mother, Mellie, is going to pick up on the electric energy firing between her daughter and her old college buddy.
I move fast through the store, eager to get out of the stifling space into the winter chill. I'm trying to remember what the problem was between Todd Wallis and I back in the day. What was it that had us at loggerheads aside from the usual jock competitiveness? I don't remember a thing.
Mellie was right when she told her daughter college age dudes are self-absorbed. Complete fucking douchebags, that much I do remember. And I was one of the worst. Not for dicking around on girls I dated, just with being unable to commit. So not has much changed there. Every woman has complained to me that if I just got past my commitment-phobia we could be so happy together. I've never felt the urge to chance the effort.
Once out in the street, I can breathe again despite the crowds of shoppers.
I didn't pick up the wrap for my mother, in my need to get out of there. And now I regret not only that, but even more that the pleasure of flirting across the store with the girl is over.
I get back to the hotel and go online to order the garment gift-wrapped. Then I stretch out on the bed and think of the china doll girl.
