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Chapter Two
Blair
When his lips find mine, it hits me like a bolt of lightning throughout all my senses. I smell him all around me as he leans in to devour my mouth. I hear his hunger for me in his growl. I feel his need as his tongue sweeps against mine, and I revel in his taste. Every nerve-ending lighting up at his attention.
This man I’ve known for a handful of hours has completely swept me off my feet. His kiss makes me so high I think I might float away if I wasn’t holding a ten-pound bowling ball. Out here in front of a dozen strangers, he kisses me deep and possessive, and I don’t even know his name. He must see the question in my eyes because he pulls back says, “It’s gonna sound weird, but after that altercation in the alley, it’s safer not to give you my name.” He closes his eyes for a long breath as if anticipating my rejection. “Is that cool?”
“Ok, then.” Meeting him felt right. Deep in my soul, something was telling me he was special, and I wasn't ready to let that go so easily. “I’ll just call you Clark Kent. You have this sexy superman thing going for you.”
We agreed there was some kind of magic between us right there on the sidewalk, a block away from the losers that were pushing him around. Then he decided he was taking me out on a date. I said we should go to the police or tell someone, and he was strongly against that suggestion. The mountain of a man towered over me, making me feel small for the first time in my adult life. I’m a big girl at 5’10, with curves for days, and he’s making me feel like a Polly pocket he wants to pick up and toss around.
Superman here is more like a God chiseled out of muscle with glasses to fool people into thinking he was a mere mortal. He doesn’t fool me, though.
It took him less than five minutes to talk me into bowling, and after goofing off and bowling the worst game ever played by adults, he’s kissing me. Like ground shaking, nerve-tingling, fireworks spraying into the sky, kissing me. I’ve obviously been attracted to men before, but this chemistry we have is on another level. Like if I could just slip my hands under his polo and feel his skin, I might actually combust on contact.
Leaning back, he looks into my eyes. His swirl with spots of gold and a dozen different questions he seemed to be thinking about all at once. The nagging voice in the back of my head pops up with the reminder that this is a fleeting moment. A balloon that’s going to pop at any minute, whether or not we want it to.
“Tonight has been the best night of my life,” he says, his eyes bouncing back and forth from each of mine like he’s trying to read me, but I don’t know what answer he’s looking for.
“Best night of mine, too. I’ve never bowled such an epic game before,” I tease, but the truth isn’t that this night is special because of bowling. It's special because he’s here. We’ve risked danger, sped away from responsibility, and laughed. Our chemistry is undeniable, and I may not know what the future holds, but I know I want this man more than a stupid strike. More than I even know how to put into words.
He laughs, and the moment successfully lightens. He kisses me quickly and backs up, biting his plump bottom lip. I giggle and turn to take my shot. I take two intentional steps, focusing on the small triangles out front, then throw the ball down the glossy lane. To my utter shock, it doesn’t go straight to the gutter like almost all the ones before it; instead, it rolls straight into all twelve pins and knocks them all down. Strike. I win. I turn and jump up and down, clapping, unable to conceal my excitement. My mysterious prince charming rushes me, lifting me into the air, and spinning me around, and we fill the bowling alley with loud laughter.
“My God, woman, you were not kidding about making this an epic game,” he says against my neck, his face buried in my hair and his large arms grasping my thick thighs.
Never in my life have I ever felt more feminine and desired. He sets me down slowly and takes my hand in his.
“Let’s go somewhere. Somewhere we can be alone.” He rubs his nose against mine, saying the exact words I wanted to say out loud.
This has got to be the best night of my life. I don’t know if it’s just the danger spiking my adrenaline or if this could possibly be fate stepping in and giving me the greatest Christmas gift.
“I don’t live too far away. We can go to my house.” Part of me is surprised at my reckless behavior with a man I don’t know, but the danger and chemistry are doing weird things to my better judgment…I don’t think it’s working.
“Let’s go,” he turns and takes my hand in his. We grab our jackets on the way to the front door.
As soon as we walk outside onto the busy sidewalk, we’re rushed by dozens of men in navy windbreakers. They physically pull us apart despite our protests. I’m pushed into a waiting van, and when the door closes, he is the last thing I see.
Chapter Three
One Year Later
Blair
Flats were definitely the better choice; I think to myself, making my way home from the corner grocery store. One of the many reasons I love living at Fitzpatrick Place here in Bourbon, Texas, is that it’s perfectly located in the best part of the city. We’re right by the park, and most of the surrounding buildings are ancient. This is the Historic District, and our luxury condominium is no different in age but completely unique in esthetics.
Fitzpatrick Place, much like its owner, is bright and vibrant in the sea of dull. Vintage it might be, but it holds all the new-age luxury you could dream of and more, including a huge year-round pool under a state-of-the-art glass roof.
With my cloth grocery bag around my arm and my purse slung over my shoulder, I push through the coffee shop doors. I’m greeted by the best smell in the world, fresh ground coffee beans. I take a deep breath as the warmth from Sylvia’s little slice of coffee heaven engulfs me, and “Jingle Bells” playing on the shop’s speakers fills me with the holiday spirit.
“Hello, love.”
“Good afternoon, sweets,” I greet my sweet British bombshell barista.
“Here is a delicious peppermint mocha latte for my badass author bestie.”
“You’re a saint, Sylvia. As for the badass author part, I might fail you.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
