Kiss in the Dark (19 page)
Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Contemporary
“Your big brother will have your head on a platter for dinner if he finds out,” Dempsey whispered.
Danielle giggled and whispered, “Not if he can keep a straight face and ends up in the pantry with her.”
“Okay then,” Dempsey said, dumping the shoe box filled with folded, numbered papers into the shoe box Danielle was holding.
“Here,” she said, taking a sandwich bag filled with folded papers out of her pocket. “Put these in.”
Dempsey shook his head. “If he finds out—”
“He won’t.”
Setting the box aside, Danielle held the bowl as Dempsey dumped the bogus papers into it.
“So they all have Boston’s number on them?” he asked.
“Exactly,” Danielle whispered with delighted anticipation. “Good ol’ lucky number seven.”
Dempsey laughed. It was a great little prank. He had to give the woman he was secretly in love with credit for her wit and effort.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dempsey announced as he entered the room holding the bowl of secretly tampered-with numbers. “It’s time for the pièce de résistance: I Love You, Baby—Smile! Tonight, the grand kissing challenge—the winner of which will, if the lady wins, take home a lovely, crisp one hundred dollar bill, thanks to everybody putting a five spot in the bowl earlier. However, if one of my brothers in kissing games here tonight wins, then, ladies, he’ll see you in my kitchen pantry for exactly eleven minutes of making out!”
“Oh, no!” Boston breathed.
“Hey, wait!” Vance said. “I know this one. I’m great at it!”
“Me too…but you never know,” Boston muttered.
The pretense of the game was simply this: again the men were given letters and the women numbers. Dempsey would call out a letter, and the guy owning it would then draw a number out of the bowl. Then the fun—or horror, depending on how one looked at it and with whom one was paired—began. The girl would have two minutes to try and flirt, toy, and coax the guy into smiling by using her feminine wiles and only the words
I love you, baby—smile
. If the girl could make the guy crack—get him to smile in the very least—she won and received the hundred dollars. But if she couldn’t manage to get the guy to smile, he won eleven minutes of kissing in the pantry. Either way, it was a crapshoot. Boston had only been chosen to play the game once and won. But the year before, Max had drawn Kara’s name out of the bowl. Kara had lost, and Max had cashed in on some pretty serious kissing. That was all well and good for Kara; after all, the outcome had been too divinely romantic. Yet as Boston glanced around the room, she silently begged that her number—the number seven, assigned to her at the beginning of Kissing Rugby—was at the way bottom of the bowl. Even if it were Vance whose letter Dempsey randomly called—what if she lost? What if he didn’t smile and she ended up locked in the pantry for eleven minutes with him? In truth, the idea thrilled her. But there were nine other men in the room, eight without Max. What if one of the other guys’ letters were called? She wanted to chicken out, to turncoat and tell Dempsey she was sitting out.
“I call…wait…wait…it’s coming to me…it’s coming to me,” Dempsey said, closing his eyes and pretending to be telepathic. “I see the letter R!” he said. “Who’s letter R?”
“Me,” Vance said. He raised his hand, and an audible sigh emanated from the women in the room.
“Vance, my man!” Dempsey said. “Are you worried?”
“Nope. Nobody’s ever cracked me yet,” Vance said.
“Ooo! Strong words from our boy Vance here,” Dempsey said. “And now…if my lovely assistant will draw a number from the bowl. Hold your breath, ladies. Wouldn’t you each love to spend eleven minutes in this guy’s arms?” The girls all giggled with elated eagerness as Vance plunged his hand into the bowl. “And the winner…or loser…is…lucky number seven!”
Boston was both relieved and totally freaked out. She was relieved that some other girl in the room wouldn’t have the chance to make out with Vance in the pantry—freaked out at the thought that if she couldn’t get him to crack a smile,
she
would be making out with him!
“I think that’s Boston!” Halle squealed. “Boston! Girl, you rally for us. Don’t you let that boy have his way with you!”
“Let him! Let him!” three of the other girls called out.
“Boston? Really? All right!” Dempsey laughed. “Get going, girl! Your two minutes starts when Vance says he’s ready.”
Boston looked to Vance. He settled himself comfortably on the sofa. He held a hand out to her and said, “Come on, baby. Come to Vance Romance.”
Everyone laughed, and even Boston smiled. Surely he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face for two minutes—surely. Still, as his smile faded—as his expression went totally stoic—she wondered.
“Ready,” Vance said. Dempsey produced a stopwatch from his pocket and said, “Okay, Boston…go!”
Boston went to Vance. Reaching out, she wove her fingers through his soft, dark hair. The sensation of his hair between her fingers and beneath her palms caused goose bumps to prickle her arms. She was glad she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt.
“Vance,” Boston began, taking a seat on Vance’s lap. “You’ll smile for me…won’t you?”
“Maybe later,” he said. There was no hint of a smile on his face. Not even a hint he might smile.
“No talking! Except for the line,” Dempsey ordered.
Boston swallowed the lump of nervous energy in her throat. Part of her wanted to lose—wanted Vance to somehow keep from smiling so that he’d win and she could be locked in the pantry with him and know the sense and taste of his kiss again. Yet, the other part of her—the logical, reasonable part—knew she had to win, had to get him to smile! She didn’t even care about the hundred bucks; she just wasn’t sure she could endure the bliss of kissing him again. She’d, no doubt, come out of the pantry red-faced, and then everyone would tease them. Even worse, everyone might see how she felt about him.
Boston drew a deep breath. She reached up, slowly running her fingers through Vance’s hair again—through his soft, sable hair. She willed her arms to keep more goose bumps at bay, but it was impossible.
“I love you, baby,” she said, drawing out the words with a vulnerable yet seductive tone. “Smile?”
Vance Nathaniel gritted his teeth—hard. He didn’t smile, even though he figured having Boston Rhodes sitting on his lap and running her fingers through his hair was just about the most affecting experience he could be having. But he wouldn’t smile—he couldn’t—not if he wanted to find himself locked in the dark pantry with her. Oh, he didn’t care one ounce about winning for the sake of competition, but he’d sure like to kiss Boston Rhodes again—even though he knew he shouldn’t.
He frowned as she whispered in his ear, “I love you, baby…smile?” The warmth of her breath on his neck sent goose bumps rippling over his legs. He clinched his jaw tighter—still didn’t smile. Everyone laughed and teased Boston, telling her she might as well give it up and head straight for the pantry.
How did he find himself in this mess anyway? Vance should’ve known better. Dempsey and his mischief—his asinine kissing games. As Boston breathed the now familiar words in his ear, Vance feared it might be the end of his reputation of having an impenetrable resolve where the game was concerned.
He made the mistake of looking into Boston’s eyes—found himself momentarily mesmerized by the jade and diamond twinkle in them. Their gemmy sparkle caused his heart to leap, and he felt the corners of his mouth threaten to curl. Purposefully, he frowned and strengthened his resolve to find himself locked in the pantry with Boston, and he did not smile, even when she took his face between her small, soft hands, caressing the whiskers over his upper lip with her thumbs.
There couldn’t be much time left. Surely he could resist giving in to her charms for just a few more seconds. Still, as she smiled at him—as her pretty pink lips curved invitingly—Vance wondered if his strength might well abandon him.
“I love you, baby…smile,” she whispered. Her breath was sweet where it caressed his cheek. He wished he could taste it. He had to hold out! A few more seconds, and he would taste her breath—taste her!
Boston could sense the delighted yet nervous trembling bubbling inside her. She couldn’t believe she was sitting on Vance Nathaniel’s lap! She couldn’t believe she was running her fingers through his hair, caressing his face. It was entirely surreal! She loved the way his prickly, two- or three-days’ beard growth felt against her palms, loved the faint scent about him—of some sports-scented deodorant and Juicy Fruit gum.
“Boston Rhodes…you lose!” Dempsey called.
“I win?” Vance asked, nodding to Dempsey as Boston removed herself from his lap and stood in desperately nervous anticipation.
“Yes, you do, Vance my man,” Dempsey chuckled.
Boston’s mouth gaped open a little in astonishment as she saw a dazzling, triumphant smile spread across Vance’s handsome face. He chuckled as he stood, taking hold of her arm and pulling her toward the kitchen—toward the pantry.
Everyone laughed, whistled, and clapped—called out, egging Vance on.
“Hold up! Hold up!” Dempsey said. Vance paused, and Boston followed his gaze to Dempsey as their friend raced over to the controls of the sound system. As the sappy, breathy blast-from-the-past band Air Supply began crooning “Lost in Love” over Dempsey’s sound system, as the saying goes, the crowd went wild! Everyone began whistling, laughing, calling out encouragements, and egging them on.
“Come on, sugar lips,” Vance teased as he took her hand again and nearly dragged her into the kitchen.
Boston thought she might faint from the overwhelming and mixed sensations the situation afforded. There was nothing more she wanted in that moment than to have Vance Nathaniel take her in his arms and kiss her the way he’d kissed her in the dark the week before. Yet did he want to kiss her? He’d won the game, and she knew how guys were. They had to act all virile and manly in front of one another—take their woman by the hair and drag her into the cave sort of thing. Boston didn’t want Vance to kiss her simply because he had to prove his masculinity in front of the other guys. She wanted him to kiss her because it was what he wanted to do! Yet to kiss him—no matter the reason—the thought caused a thrilling quiver to travel through Boston’s body.
Dempsey ran ahead of them, opened the pantry door, and ushered them in. He reached inside and removed an old timer, winding it to exactly eleven minutes. Boston watched as Dempsey set the timer on a shelf and pulled the pantry door closed, shutting her and Vance inside.
A lightbulb hanging from an electrical wire overhead glowed bright, its pull-chain brushing over one of Vance’s broad shoulders.
“Well, baby,” Vance began, pushing the sleeves of his tight-fitting shirt up over his muscular forearms, “you ready?”
Boston smiled at him, attempting to appear unaffected by his proximity, his possibly legitimate preparation to kiss her.
“Vance,” she began, “you don’t have to pretend you want to—”
“Are you kidding me?” he interrupted, scowling and smiling at the same time. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to keep a straight face out there?”
“I’m sure I did look pretty ridiculous,” Boston admitted, smiling—though she felt more like bursting into tears of humiliation.
“I’m sure you did not,” he said. “I’m talking about me! Do you know what that kind of thing does to a man?” he asked, nodding toward the pantry door to indicate the room beyond. “Running your fingers through my hair…whispering in my ear…touching my face that way?” He shook his head as he continued to look at her. “Chicks have no idea the power they wield.”
“Chicks?” Boston teasingly scolded.
“Girls, then,” Vance said. “Girls have no idea the power they wield over guys.” He quickly studied her from head to toe and added, “You’re standing in here proving it right now.”
Boston shook her head. “You’re just trying to make me feel better…for making a fool of myself out there. Not to mention that I lost,” she said, playfully slugging him on one solid arm. “Admit it.”
He frowned, sarcastically pensive for a moment.
“Nope. That’s not it,” he said. “I just want to collect my winnings…what I deserve to collect for keeping a straight face while you were messing with me out there.”
Boston’s heart began to pound almost painfully within her chest as she felt Vance’s strong hands settle at her waist—as he pulled her body flush with his. She had to put her hands somewhere, so she lightly gripped his arms at his biceps, thinking he really did need a Band-Aid! She was rendered breathless as his head descended toward hers.
“Now
you’re
messing with
me
,” she giggled.
“Oh, I’m gonna mess with you all right.” He wrapped one arm around her, holding her firmly against his powerful body as he reached up and took hold of the pull-chain for the lightbulb. “But I know you’d rather kiss in the dark, so…”
Boston gasped slightly as she heard the click of the pull-chain—as darkness enveloped her.
“But…but I’m kind of…kind of dating somebody else…sort of,” she stammered. Oh, she was lying all right. She had no intention of ever accepting another date invitation from Logan West. Yet she felt desperate to hang on to her resolve—the reality that Vance was Danielle’s brother—out of reach.
“And how’s that going for you?” Vance mumbled, taking her chin in one hand. The scent of Juicy Fruit gum wafted over her, warm and sweet, causing her mouth to water a little.