Love Nouveau (10 page)

While no one was married, I certainly played the role of home wrecker back in the day. And knowing what he went through with his dad’s infidelities, I highly doubt he has any tolerance for anyone who openly admits they slept with someone who was spoken for.

“I’ve just made it clear from very early on that I could not be controlled. My sister lived to make them happy and everyone saw me as a thorn in their side. They never once cared about what made me happy, but rather that the Norman Rockwell illusion of family and perfection remained in place. But I am anything but Rockwell. I’m more of a Seurat.”

Phoenix nods as if he understands what I’m saying. “From afar, it looks like you have it all together, but when you examine it up close … it’s nothing but a blur of colorful dots and beautiful chaos.”

He must read the surprise on my face. “What?” he asks, masking his smile. “I know what Pointillism is. Art History was a requirement for my degree.”

He gets me.

He
actually
gets me.

He may be the only guy in existence who does.

Anxiously, I bite my lip. I desperately want to lean over and kiss him, but the moment isn’t right. Since when do I care about waiting for the right moment?

I look out to some boat lights floating in the distance along the horizon.

“Just so you know, I’m not judging you for who you were or what you did.”

I press my lips in a tight, appreciative smile. He may be one of the few people in this world who doesn’t judge me for that. “So yeah, when I get home tomorrow I am re-entering my own personal hell. My sister is getting married, so naturally everyone is going to be keeping close tabs on me, making sure I don’t sleep with the groom.” I can’t help but roll my eyes. “How taboo would that be? The maid of honor screwing the groom. My family would have a field day burning me at the stake.”

Phoenix mouths the word “wow” and looks out to the water, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why do you even bother? You could have just said no to your sister.”

Oh, if only it were that easy. Turning her down would only make things infinitely worse for me in the long haul. As much as I don’t want to be tied to my family, I need to rely on them just until I can get up and running on my own two feet. If I don’t comply, there are consequences, and those consequences could ruin everything I have going for me.

“I can’t. The only reason I have any kind of relationship with my sister is because I’m guilted into it. It’s why I’m her maid of honor. Not because we’re close, or because we’re friends, but because she’s my sister. It’s out of obligation.”

He nods, seeming to understand my predicament.

“But from what I’ve gathered, this guy seems like an ass.” And I kind of hope he is. Maybe then Genevieve will finally get what’s coming to her for making my life hell the past few years.

“Seems? Wait a minute … you’ve never actually met him?”

“Nope,” I say, popping the p for dramatic effect. I can only assume I was never introduced for fear of what I would do to ruin their relationship.

“That seems a bit judgmental, even for you, Little Miss I Don’t Give A Fuck.”

“Usually I don’t judge, but from what I’ve pieced together he’s a piece of work. He’s been mercurial for years with this on again off again relationship. My sister has suspected him of cheating multiple times, but she doesn’t have the balls to leave him. She fears having a failed relationship. Gen would rather be married and miserable than single and happy. Plus, I'm fairly certain he just wants to marry into my family for the money.”

I divert my eyes and bite my tongue. I’ve said too much. I certainly don’t want him to think I have money. My parents may be loaded, but I’d love for nothing more than to disassociate myself from their wealth. While I was in Italy, I came to the realization that you aren’t rich until you have something that money can’t buy.

“Well, that’s a good thing I suppose.”

“What? That he wants in on the inheritance?” I’m taken aback by his forthright comment.

“No.” He cracks a grin. “That she doesn’t have balls.”

I laugh under my breath and try to shake the thoughts of my family. I don’t want Genevieve to be a part of our evening any longer.

Silence passes between us and he nudges my elbow with his. Reaching out for my hand again, he delicately traces the inside of my palm where he kissed it yesterday with his fingertip. Goosebumps rise and my body hums with anticipation. I turn to look him in the eye again and he has a charming, yet shy, look on his face.

For the love of all that is holy…lean over and kiss me, already!

“You know … if you’re wondering whether or not I want to,” he pauses for a quick breath and stares at my lips before continuing. “I want to. Or rather, I want
you
to.”

I can hardly control myself and double over in laughter.

“What?” Phoenix asks, his eyebrows knit together.

“I cannot believe you just said that! You just turned one of my most favorite songs into a cheesy pickup line!”

He chuckles softly and tries to pull me back toward him. “Yeah, you got me. At least now I have confirmation that you have good taste in music.”

Pfft.
As if there were ever any doubt. I’m becoming increasingly more aware of how he works. Clearly he has issues making the first move, but once the door is open, the shy guy dissolves.

We stare at each other in silence … staring
through
each other … his hazel eyes pleading for what we both want to say … for what we both want to do.

For something that has been so easy to do so many times before, I’m surprised by my nervousness.

Then, as if on cue, the world starts moving in slow motion. I watch Phoenix close his eyes and lean toward me, and I swear … I
swear
I see his lips quiver.

“Ivy…” he whispers. My name tastes of chocolate and caramel from the cupcakes we shared and my heart sighs at the sound of my name rolling off of his tongue.

I lean forward and close the gap between us, running my fingertips down his face and committing his stubble to memory as I slowly part his lips with mine.

I fall into this kiss…

Fall into him…

Fall for him.

This kiss.
God
, this kiss is deliciously slow like honey. Instantly I can feel it everywhere in my body, blazing in my palm … my chest … my toes. He takes his time, his hands outlining my neck to my shoulders and down to my arms.

I kiss him like I’m starving and I only now realize that I have been hungry for the past twenty-two years, savoring every last bite, committing it to memory for both the present and the afterlife. I take my time memorizing his mouth with my tongue.

The fresh taste of his lips …

The way his arms envelop me, delicate but firm …

The tender moan that rises from the back of his throat …

I’ve come undone.

Pulling back, I watch him bring his fingertips to his lips in wonder. When his lips struck mine, tiny sparks jumped. Heat flashed. Instant combustion.

With that one kiss, an ember hidden deep inside my soul awakened a sleeping shadow. A kindling in my hollows started a slow burn. The ember becomes light, a twin flame illuminating my heart.

It’s strange to think that something as innocent as pressing one’s lips to another’s can so drastically alter the course of your entire life. But with that single kiss, I know that he is important.

That single kiss has changed everything.

Everything.

This single kiss has ruined all future kisses for me.

We look at each other deeply and a smile hints at my lips as he wraps his strong arms around me. “Delilah was right,” he whispers.

I give him a knowing nod with a shy smile. This place is absolutely perfect.

He leans in and kisses me again for a few minutes, maybe a few hours. Who knows, really? I am only aware of being completely lost in his lips and arms. It’s a foreign feeling and it excites and scares the hell out of me.

I wish more than anything that we could stay here kissing all night long, but when I hear his cell phone ring, I’m abruptly reminded that he has places to be.

“Sorry,” he mutters, taking his cellphone from his pocket and silencing it instantly. “I’ll call them back in a bit.”

“It’s okay. I know we’re on borrowed time right now.” I stand and he follows suit, adjusting his pants before reaching for my hand. I stifle a giggle knowing the effect that I have on him.

I find myself thankful for the little time we have shared, though my head is telling me to guard my emotions. As we head back to his car, my head and my heart wage war against each other. I so badly want to wrap myself in this … whatever
this
is, but it’s pointless. He’s headed to St. Louis, I’m hopefully headed to New York City, and that’s just too great a distance to overcome for having just met.

On the drive back to my apartment, I convince myself that it’s a good thing we live hundreds of miles apart because he makes it exceptionally easy to see myself falling for him, and this would only end with one, or both, of us getting hurt.

When we pull up to my apartment, I want to beg him to blow the guys off the rest of the night. I want to invite him in and show him just where that amazing kiss can go. Perhaps one night is all I’d need to get him out of my system. And as difficult as it would be to say goodbye in the morning, I’m confident he’d oblige.

Phoenix reaches out and wraps his pinky around mine, walking me to the door. It’s a gesture so sweet and so innocent, taking me back to the days of schoolgirl crushes and making my heart flutter at the speed of a million hummingbird wings.

When we reach the threshold, I bite back thoughts of inviting him inside. I know I need to cut him loose.

Right here.

Right now.

Before I’m in too deep.

He turns to face me and takes both of my hands in his, running circles in my palms with his thumbs. Silence wraps its warm embrace around the pair of us and he looks intently in my eyes as if he’s reading a novel.

And in a way, he is.

“I’m not going to say goodbye to you,” he whispers.

My heart clenches. I don’t want to say good-bye to him either, but I don’t know if I can turn around and watch him walk down the hallway and out of my life because when he does, I know he’s taking a piece of my heart with him.

Instead, he leans in and feathers a tender kiss upon my lips, the kind so impossibly delicate it wouldn’t stir a sleeping baby. It’s passionate, but not feverish. Controlled, but feral. I reel in my hormones or else this evening could have an entirely different outcome. Pulling back, his eyes burn to my core. He feels it too.

“I’ll see you soon, Cubby Bear.” He gives my hands a tight squeeze.

This is not good. There is no way in hell I’m going to be capable of cutting him loose. This man is going to wreck me.

Turning on his heel, he walks down the hall leaving me speechless, breathless. Before making the final turn to walk out of my life, he looks over his shoulder and winks, lifting his hand in a faint wave.

I let myself into the apartment and press my back against the inside of the door, eyes shut tight.

Shit.

THE MOVE BACK TO CHICAGO was uneventful. Rachel and I drove mostly in silence, save for the top forty radio station blasting between us. I wish she’d turn this crap off and allow me to give her an education in alternative rock.

When I finally tune out the whining vocals of the latest pop hit, I replay last night over and over and over in my mind. I can still feel Phoenix’s soft lips against mine and the chivalrous touch of his hand pressed against the small of my back.

It’s a shame that he lives so far away. There could have been something great between us.

I try not to dwell on the disappointment and instead, focus my mind toward my interview in New York. When I get back to Chicago, I have calls to make and travel arrangements to coordinate.

Just past Rockford, Rachel turns the radio off and gives me a stern look.

“Spill it, Ivy.”

I’ve managed to evade her inquisition all morning. And now that we’re trapped in a confined space for a few hours, she’s going to badger it out of me.

“What?” I feign ignorance.

“You’re hopeless, you know that?”

There is so much truth in that statement, I can hardly count the ways.

I smile to myself and look out the passenger window at the fields of northern Illinois, wondering if Phoenix is looking out the window of his airplane and seeing the same thing I am.

“Oh my God, has the unthinkable finally happened?” Rachel gives me a wide-eyed smile. “You actually like this one! You
do
have feelings inside that icy heart of yours.”

I unsuccessfully fight a smile. She’s right. I do. I like this one a lot.

As we barrel down the highway, I recount the evening for her—the picnic, the stars, the walk …
the kiss
. The palm of my hand is still burning at the memory of his touch. Describing everything to her in detail makes me feel like I’m sitting on a bench in a museum, gazing upon my night inside of a picture frame. I can see the details and the brush strokes, but it’s what I feel when I look at it that breathes life into the canvas. It’s that indescribable feeling that moves me, that makes me want to throw away everything I’ve worked for and take a dare on my instincts.