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“I’d only meant to give you a quick kiss, but your mouth is hot as hell, Victoria,” I could tell my words pleased her, so I bent to her ear, touching the tip of my tongue to the sensitive spot briefly, before saying, “I’ll be thinking about those garters all night.”
I pulled back to see the smug smile flash across her face before she hid it.
“Ready?” I asked. I could tell that Victoria was new to the kind of passion that we brought out in each other, and I needed to progress slowly or I’d scare her off. I had to get us the hell out of her condo if I had any hope of doing so.
“Yes,” Victoria said, her voice rough with desire.
Fuck.
“Let’s go,” I replied, practically pulling her out the door.
Chapter 6 – Victoria
I willed myself to keep my eyes on the road as Brock drove us to the restaurant. What I really wanted to do was look at him, at his lips, because they were all I could think about. When he’d kissed me back at my condo, it was like I’d temporarily lost my mind. His hand had been up my skirt for God’s sake … And I’d liked it. In fact, I’d been disappointed when he stopped.
What was wrong with me? Why did I react to him so strongly? I just didn’t understand it. Control had always come so easily to me. My mother had fallen apart when my father left, so much so that I was embarrassed for her, and a little disgusted that she was so … weak. When my dad had come back for me and asked me to live with him, I’d jumped at the chance, even though it meant living with him and Felicia, and adhering to their standards. Anything was better than watching my mother spiral down into the depths of despair.
I realized that this didn’t make me a very nice or compassionate person, and a pretty awful daughter, but even at eight years old I’d known that I never wanted to be so dependent on a man that I couldn’t function without him. I vowed to follow Felicia’s example, to be the perfect wife on the outside, while closely guarding my heart.
And I’d been successful. I dated men who wanted the trophy, and didn’t care that I was meticulous about how I presented myself and kept my home. They knew that I would do the same as a wife one day. That I would keep a perfect home, raise well-mannered children, and never embarrass them. If I was a little standoffish, they looked past it … until they couldn’t any longer.
But with Brock, all of my well-thought-out plans didn’t seem to apply. He wasn’t looking for a wife. He didn’t expect me to be perfect. When I was standoffish, or let’s face it, bitchy, he seemed to like it.
I couldn’t figure him out, and that terrified me. What if I agreed to have a little fun, and I gave him too much? Brock not only made me feel a passion that I’d only read about in books, he was thoughtful and funny. As I stole a glance at him from beneath my lashes, I took in his caramel complexion, well-trimmed beard, and overwhelming size, and I knew in my gut that if I wasn’t careful, he would have the ability to ruin me.
When we pulled into the full lot of a small, worn-down building with bright paint and a blinking sign, I turned to him, confused. “What are you doing?”
Brock looked pointedly at the building as he parked. “Taking you out to eat.”
I looked back at the building, then at him, and asked somewhat shrilly, “Here?”
As I took in his amused look, I realized that my snob was showing in full force, but I didn’t care. I’d assumed he was taking me to a nice restaurant, since he had asked me on a date. I thought he’d want to impress me. And, so far, I was not impressed.
“You don’t like Mexican?” he asked with a grin.
I narrowed my eyes at him and spat, “Mexican?”
“Yeah, you know, the food?” Brock said with a chuckle, causing my back to straighten. “Just give it a shot, babe, what have you got to lose?”
I watched as he got out of the truck and walked around. My arms were crossed, and I have to admit, I was in the middle of a full-on pout by the time he got to my side of the truck and opened my door. He held his hand out to me, and looked so cute I decided not to punch him, letting him help me out of the cab instead. He led me to the restaurant, and I tried to reason with myself. Just because this was not what I was used to, didn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy myself. This was part of lightening up and giving Brock a chance. It looked like I was going to have to forget about everything I’d expected from dates up to this point.
I took a deep breath as he opened the door, and when I inhaled again, a delicious aroma greeted me and my stomach began to grumble.
“Cómo estás?” the hostess greeted us as we entered the restaurant.
“Muy bien y tú?” Brock replied, and I stopped to stare at him as he had a conversation with the hostess. I was still coming to terms with the fact that Brock was speaking another language, when I realized that he’d led me to a booth in the corner and was waiting for me to take my seat. I smiled my thanks at the hostess and took my seat.
I accepted the menu, then turned to Brock once we were alone. “What was that?” I asked.
“What?” he asked absently as he perused his menu.
“You speak Spanish?” I asked sharply, thinking it was obvious that this was what I was inquiring about, and he was being obtuse.
When he looked up at me, a surprised expression on his face, I realized he wasn’t messing with me. “I thought you knew I was Mexican.”
He was?
“No, why would I?” I looked at him with fresh eyes. I guess that explained his dark complexion, but I hadn’t realized that Mexicans could have light-green eyes like his; I thought they were typically brown-eyed. I flushed as the thought ran through my mind, and I realized how ignorant that sounded, even in my own mind. Sometimes I was truly grateful that people could not read minds.
