Wallbanger (42 page)

After Simon had driven me to the brink with his kissing on the terrace, he’d literally driven me to the brink. We were now at a restaurant overlooking the water, which was easy to do in a coastal town. But where the little hole-in-the-wall places we’d been frequenting this week had their cozy charm, this was a romantic restaurant with an emphasis on romance. Romance was served on a platter here. It was in the wine, the pictures on the walls, the floor beneath our feet, and in case you missed the romance, it was also being piped in through the air. If I squinted, I could see the word romance floating through the air on the sea breeze…I had to really squint, but it was there, I tell you.

Floor-to-ceiling window panels had been rolled back to let in the briny coastal air, and hundreds of tiny tealights sparkled in hurricane glasses. Each table was dressed in white, with low tumblers spilling over with dahlia blooms in rich shades of crimson, pomegranate, and lusty fuchsia. Tiny white Christmas lights twisted into the wooden beams overhead cast a magical sepia tone over the entire scene. In this restaurant, there were no children, no tables of four or six. No, this restaurant was filled with lovers, old and new.

Now we sat, pressed closely together at an epic mahogany bar, slowly sipping wine and awaiting our own tiny table. Simon’s hand settled against the small of my back, claiming me quietly and succinctly.

The bartender placed a tray of oysters on the bar in front of us. Twisted and craggy, they glistened, with slices of lemon nestled here and there. Simon raised an eyebrow, and I nodded as he squeezed the lemon, his strong and elegant fingers making short, erotic work of the oysters. He pried one from its home and brought it to my mouth on a tiny fork.

“Open up, Nightie Girl,” he instructed, and I surely did as I was told.

Cold, crisp, like a burst of seawater in my mouth, I moaned around the fork as he slipped the tines back out. He grasped his own oyster and tossed it back like a man, licking his lips as I watched this little bit of food pornography play out. He winked at me as I looked away, trying not to let on how desperately turned on I was. The entire day had been like one giant, controlled ball of sexual tension, a slow burn that was now igniting into a wildfire. He slurped two more in quick succession, and as I watched his tongue dart out to lick his lips, I felt the sudden urge to help him. With no shame or sense of social propriety, I closed the distance between us and kissed him, hard.

He grinned in surprise, but kissed me back with equal intensity. The sweetness and tenderness that had been marinating between us all week now quickly deteriorated into full-on touch-me-touch-me-now, and I was all for it. My entire body turned toward him, my legs nestling in between his as his fingers found my skin—the skin just above the hem of my dress. We were kissing, kissing all-out Hollywood style. Slow, sloppy, wet, and wonderful. My head tilted so I could kiss him more deeply, my tongue sliding against his, leading and then letting him lead. He tasted like sweet and salt and lemons, and it was all I could do not to grab him by his pretty linen shirt and have my way with him on top of the bar—but in a very ladylike way, mind you.

I heard someone clearing their throat, and I opened my eyes to see my sexy sapphires, then an embarrassed host.

“Excuse me,
señor
, your table is ready?” he asked, carefully averting his eyes from our display in his very romantic, but still very public, restaurant.

I might have moaned a little as Simon removed his hands from my legs and turned my chair so I could stand. Taking my hands and pulling me, he smirked as I wobbled on my feet a bit. He grinned at the bartender.

“Oysters, man, oysters.” Simon laughed a little as we shuffled off to our table. I was ready to let out an indignant huff until I saw him discreetly adjust himself. I was not the only one feeling the slow burn…

I stuffed my huff and smiled serenely, lowering my eyes just enough so he knew I knew. As we arrived at our table, Simon pulled out my chair for me. As he scooted me in, I let my hand drift back just enough to accidentally-on-purpose graze him, feeling how worked up he was. I heard him hiss, and I smiled inwardly. Just as I went in for graze number two, he grasped my hand tightly in his own, pressing himself against me. My breath caught in my throat as I felt him harden further under our hands.

“Do I need to change your name to
Naughty
Girl?” he murmured, low and thick in my ear. I closed my eyes and tried to get control as he sat across from me, grinning in a devilish way. As our waiter busied himself around us, straightening the linens and presenting menus, I only had eyes for Simon, cocksure and beautiful, across the table from me. This meal was going to take forever.

The meal did take forever, but as much as I was aching to get Simon alone again, I also never wanted this night to end. We were served a beautiful paella, coastal style with chunks of prawns and spiny lobster, chorizo, and peas. Made in the traditional way, almost impossible to recreate, the simple shallow dish it had been cooked in allowed the saffron rice on the bottom to become crunchy and nutty—delicious in every sense of the word. We’d finished a lovely bottle of rosé and were now lazily sipping tiny glasses of Ponche Caballero, a Spanish brandy with hints of orange and cinnamon.

The liquor was spicy as I rolled it around in my mouth. I was pleasantly warm and more pleasantly tipsy. Not drunk, just heady enough that I was hyperaware of my surroundings and found anything and everything sensual: the way the smooth brandy slipped down my throat, the feel of Simon’s leg against my own under the table, the way my body had begun to hum. The entire population, it seemed, was out and about tonight and in a celebratory mood for the festival kicking off in the center of town. The energy was raw and a little wild. I sat back in my chair, teasing Simon with my big toe, a silly smile on my face as he stared at me hard.

“I ate your paella once,” he said suddenly.

“Pardon me?” I sputtered, catching the drop of brandy on my lip before it rolled off onto my dress.

“In Tahoe, remember? You made us all paella.”

“Right, right, I did. Not like we had tonight, but it was pretty good.” I smiled, thinking of that night. “As I recall, we polished off quite a bit of wine as well.”

“Yes, we ate paella and drank wine, got the others together, and then you kissed me.”

“We did, and yes, I did.” I blushed.

“And then I acted like an ass,” he replied, his blush present now as well.

“You did,” I agreed with a smile.

“You know why, right? I mean, you have to know that I, well, that I wanted you. You do know that, right?”

“It was pressed against my leg, Simon. I was aware.” I laughed, trying to play it off, but still thinking of how I’d felt when I ran away from him in that hot tub.

“Caroline, come on now,” he chided, his eyes serious.

“Come on now, yourself. It really was pressed against my leg.” I laughed again, a little weaker this time.

“That night? Jesus, it would have been so easy, you know? At that moment even I wasn’t totally sure why I stopped us. I think I just knew that…”

“You knew that?” I prompted.

“I knew with you, it would be an all or nothing kind of thing.”

“All?” I squeaked.

“All, Caroline. I need all of you. That night? Would have been great, but too soon.” He leaned across the table and took my hand. “Now, we’re here,” he said, raising my hand to his mouth. He laid kisses across the back then opened my palm and pressed a wet kiss at its center. “Where I can take my time with you,” he said, kissing my hand once more as I stared back at him.

“Simon?”

“Yes?”

“I’m really glad we waited.”

“Me too.”

“But I really don’t think I can wait any longer.”

“Thank God.” He smiled and signaled the waiter.

We laughed like teenagers as we paid the bill and began our trek up the hill to the car. The festival was in full force now, and we passed through part of it on our way back. Lanterns lit up the sky overhead as a heavy drum beat pulsed, and we saw people dancing in the streets. That energy was back, that sense of abandon in the air, and the brandy and that very energy knocked Nerves back down, way down to my gut, where LC and Wang threatened to beat her within an inch of her life. LC and Wang, it sounded like a rap duo…

As we reached the car, I went to grab the door handle when I was whirled suddenly by a very intense Mr. Parker. His eyes burned into mine as he pressed me against the car, his hips strong and his hands frantic in my hair and on my skin. His hand slid down my leg, grasping my thigh and hitching it around his hip as I moaned and groaned at the strength I was about to let run wild across my body and soul.

But I slowed him down, my hands pulling at his hair, making him moan in turn. “Take me home, Simon,” I whispered, pressing one more kiss against his sweet lips. “And
please
drive fast.”

Even Heart seemed pleased, floating around above. She was still singing, but a song that was infinitely more dirty.

Chapter Nineteen

I L
OOKED
A
T
M
Y
R
EFLECTION
in the mirror, trying to look objectively. When I was a kid, especially in those charming early-teen years, I used to see myself very differently. I saw dishwater-blond hair and pale, uninteresting skin. I saw flat green eyes and knobby knees that bisected skinny, bird-like legs. I saw a slightly upturned nose and a bottom lip that looked like I might trip over it if I wasn’t too careful.

When I was fifteen, one afternoon my grandmother told me she thought the pink dress I was wearing looked nice against my skin. I scoffed and immediately disagreed with her. “Thanks, Grandma, but I got about three hours of sleep last night, and the last thing I look today is nice. Tired and pale, but not nice.”

I rolled my eyes in that way teenage girls do, and she reached for my hand.

“Always take a compliment, Caroline. Always take it for the way it was intended. You girls are always so quick to twist what others say. Simply say thank you and move on.” She smiled in that quiet and wise way she had.

“Thanks.” I smiled back, busying myself with the spaghetti sauce and turning my face so she couldn’t see my blush.

“It breaks my heart the way young girls pick themselves over, never thinking they’re good enough. You make sure you always remember, you’re exactly the way you’re supposed to be. Exactly. And anyone who says otherwise, well, poppycock.” She giggled, her voice lowering a bit at that last word, the closest she would ever come to swearing. Grandma had a list of bad words and really bad words, and
poppycock
came close to approaching the latter.

The next day at school I mentioned to a friend that I thought her hair looked great, and her answer was to run her hands through it with disgust.

“Are you kidding? I barely even had time to wash it today.”

Even though it did look fantastic.

Later on after gym class, I was changing in the locker room when I observed another friend touching up her lip gloss. “That’s pretty. What’s the name of that color?” I asked as she pursed her lips in the mirror.

“Apple Tartlet, but it looks terrible on me. God, I have no tan left over from summer!”

Grandma was right. Girls really
didn’t
take compliments well. Now, I’m not gonna lie and say after that day I magically had no more bad hair days or never picked the wrong lipstick again. But I
did
make a conscious effort to see the good before the bad and really look at myself in a more clear way. Objectively. Kindly. And as my body continued to change, I became more and more aware of features I could look at positively instead of negatively. I never thought of myself as lethally gorgeous, but I did clean up well.

And so now, as I stared into the mirror in the bathroom, knowing Simon was waiting for me, I took the time to take a little inventory.

The dishwater-blond hair? Not so much dishwater. It was shiny and golden, a little wavy and curly from the saltwater it had been cooking in all week. The pale skin? Nicely browned up and, dare I say, a little glowy? I winked at myself, holding back a maniacal giggle. My mouth had that slightly pouty lower lip, just full enough to trap me some Simon
and not let him go
. And the legs I saw peeking from below the lace just covering my thighs? Well, not so bird-like anymore. In fact, I think they were going to look pretty spectacular wrapping around Simon’s…whatever I felt like wrapping them around.