He laughs. “What makes you think I bought pot?”
“I’m sexually naïve, not generally naïve,” I sniff.
“You’re not sexually naïve. You’re sexually neglected,” he states. “And what? Do you think I deal drugs?”
I shrug. “Do you?”
He laughs harder this time. I seem to be delighting him somehow. “No, I’m not a weed peddler,” he states for the record.
“Do you smoke it?” I ask slyly.
“Occasionally. Do you?”
“No.”
“Never?
“Never. I don’t ever want to try it. My body is my temple,” I say with a smile.
He elbows me playfully and says, “You mean it’s
my
temple.”
I smack my lips and shake my head. “You just don’t stop, do you?”
“It’s true, Daisy. I’m going to enter you and worship you every day for the rest of our lives.”
“You sound crazy.”
“Crazy for you.”
I burst out into laughter because that was not only corny but cliché. Even the dispenser of such tripe has to chuckle at that one.
“I wasn’t buying weed,” he says after our laughter simmers. “I bought an exotic tulip bulb. I hired a horticulturist to plant it for me. I put it in the glove compartment because I had to protect it from sunlight until it’s ready to be planted, which is why I had to drive to Nancy’s house to pick it up. She couldn’t store it at the nursery.”
“Really, what kind of tulip?”
“It’s a mossy blood red bulb.”
“Oh…” I’m embarrassed that I got it all wrong.
“So, Daisy,” he asks in a completely different voice, “when are you going to make a move? I want to kiss you, but I can’t because I’m a man of my word.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “When the time is right.”
“And this is not the right time?”
I narrow one eye to think. I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
He laughs. “I see…”
“What do you see?” I’m grinning, so enjoying whatever game we’re playing.
“You’re playing hard to get. I’ve got to tell you, it’s working.”
“I’m not playing hard to get. You’re just hornier than I am.”
That gets another loud laugh out of him. “Only for you, babe, only for you.”
“If every girl got a dollar for every time she’s heard that…” I mutter cynically.
“You don’t believe me?” He lifts an eyebrow.
I’m impressed; not many people can do the one-eyebrow-up trick. It makes him look even more scrumptious. “No, I don’t.”
“Fair enough,” he says. “My actions will speak louder than my words.”
I study his expression, searching for signs of inauthenticity. He is smiling as usual, but he doesn’t look deceitful.
“You’re going to kiss me now?” he asks.
I shake my head while still studying him. “You’re right. I’m playing hard to get.”
He runs a finger from my cheek to my chin and then steps back. “You sure are.”
I face the main road. I haven’t had much experience with men outside of Adrian, but I’ve been in ancillary relationships with my many girlfriends. I’ve watched them all make the same mistakes and listened to them complain and bellyache over the same incidences. My main takeaway was sex clouds judgment, especially for a woman. Something about being penetrated makes the act so much more than just a casual one for the average, emotionally stable woman.
I’ve certainly had doubts about my love for Adrian. I used to ask myself if I even liked him. He was dull. Gosh, he’s dull. I hated the way he name dropped as if he’s best friends with all the Hollywood A-listers. It was way more tragic and sad when he tried to convince me—the woman who knew him best—that he was part of the in-crowd. He was annoying most of the time, but after we had sex, I felt as though I loved him more than any man on God’s green Earth. The cycle of emotional deprecation will start all over again until I’m horizontal and he’s on top of me.
That is why I will not make the first move. So far, I like everything about Belmont’s personality, but I don’t want the mind-blowing orgasms to make me miss something, especially in this early stage of whatever kind of relationship we’re building.
“It’s taking the cab forever to get here,” I whisper, trying to suppress my lust.
“Where do you want the cab to take us anyway?” he asks.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to ask the driver.”
“Ask the driver? What will you ask?”
“Maybe where’s the most beautiful beach on the island?”
“Why couldn’t you just ask me?”
“Because you’re not a cab driver.”
“He’s just going to tell you what I can already tell you.”
“Oh, Belmont,” I groan, “you didn’t call a cab, did you?”
He shows me his impish smirk.
“Belmont,” I whine and slump my shoulders, pouting. “This is my article. Come on…”
“Daisy, the beach you’re looking for is about a half mile up the road. And I read your articles. Maybe you should write a different kind of story. I don’t see the cab-driver angle working on the Vineyard.”
“You read my articles?” I’m stunned by that revelation. “When?”
“Yesterday after I dropped you off. I had a librarian friend send me some of your stuff. I read the ones on Antigua, Jamaica, Fiji, Aruba, Barbados, Provence and the French Countryside—”
“That’s a lot!” I exclaim.
“What can I say? I’m a fan.”
I roll my eyes. There he goes again, only this time I’m cheesing like a Cheshire cat. Adrian never read one of my articles. He always said that he didn’t like to read about a destination before he got there, but once I caught him skimming a travelogue before his trip to Bermuda. A travelogue that wasn’t written by me.
“All right, I’ll do it. I’ll forgo the cab and follow you,” I say, swayed by the fact that he took the time to read my work before screwing me. That’s certainly impressive.
“Really?” He seems surprised that I’ve given in so easily.
I bop my head, grinning. “Yes, and if I kiss you or something, then what does that mean? Do you get to make all the moves you want on me from then on?”
“That’s exactly what it means.” He smirks.
“Okay.” I dig my heels into the gravelly drive and keep my arms at my side, determined not to submit to my own desires. “Then lead on.”
He steps forward to stand nose to nose with me. He moves his face from one side of mine to the other. I forget to breathe, and when I remember, I release a long breath.
“I rarely like games, Daisy,” he whispers, “but I like this one. I see that it’s coming from an honest place.” His lips are close to mine. “I want you to know”—his breaths beat upon my parted lips—“I’m not going to hurt you. You’ll hurt me before I hurt you.”
I gulp. “How do you know I’m afraid that you’ll hurt me?”
“Because I pay attention.” He steps back and takes a deep, calming breath. “Let’s go before I declare myself the loser.”
I can’t speak; I can only nod.
On that note, he does an about-face. I sigh in relief one more time before following.
Chapter 6
The First Day of Ten Years
A quarter mile up the main road, we turn onto a trail. Dwarfed by the spiky forest of barely alive conifers and oak trees, Belmont curls an arm around my waist. The thistles crunch beneath my sandals and thick grains of dirt settle between my toes.
“The best part of the Vineyard are the beaches,” he says like a good tour guide. “The hard part is getting to them. The public beaches are nice, but the best ones are hogged by property owners.”
“You mean private ones?” I ask.
“Exactly.”
“But I can’t tell my readers to trespass. Are we trespassing?”
“Not if you’re with me.”
I glance up at him, amused, and his dancing eyes are already watching me. “So what do I write? Meet a local boy and he’ll teach you how to trespass?”
“It’s not hard to do. Especially if they look like you.”
I drop my face and blush. “You’re such a charmer.”
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” He sounds serious.
“I’m uncomfortable with that kind of stuff,” I admit easily and shrug. I’ve never said that to anyone.
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m not?” I ask, a little annoyed.
“Those are some very in-depth articles you wrote. Do you really think those cab drivers would’ve carried you around if you weren’t so damn hot? What did you wear? The kind of dress you have on now? Or the red one from yesterday?” He bites his bottom lip as his mind wanders.
“You’re just saying that because
you
are attracted to me. That’s how it works. Attraction is subjective.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?”
“That’s what I believe,” I say.
“That’s what you choose to believe. Why is that?” There’s nothing condescending or malicious in his tone, which makes it easier to answer his question.
I look up at him. He looks eager to hear my reply. “Who cares what I or anyone else looks like? In the end, it’s the heart, spirit, and soul of a person that we’re ultimately attracted to.” I wait for his response, but all I hear are our footsteps and birds making peculiar noises around us.
“I agree,” he finally says. He takes my hand and lifts it in front of his face. “It doesn’t seem like we just met, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I want to kiss your hand, but that’ll be me making a move on you.”
“That’s true.” I take back my hand playfully.
He tugs at the skirt of my dress. “When are you going to do it?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Maybe on Friday.”
“You really think I can wait that long? Hell, could you wait that long?”
“I don’t know.” I stare down at my soiled feet. “Maybe.”
“I can’t wait that long. I probably won’t be able to wait five more minutes,” he whispers. He looks at the ground as if the thought is burdensome. In a more spritely tone, he asks, “Were you an English or philosophy major?”
“Both, actually. Why you ask?
“It’s what you said about subjective meaning.”
“How do you know about it?”
“I’m an oracle, baby. I know everything.” There he goes grinning again.
I shake my head, officially and once again charmed.
“All the hot girls were English majors, so I took a lot of classes I really didn’t need,” he confesses.
“Chasing girls in college, now that’s a novel idea,” I remark sarcastically.
“I bet you were being chased.”
“No,” I shake my head. “No, I was not chased. I’m sure of it. When I was in college, I looked like a twelve-year-old. I didn’t blossom, really, until I was thirty-two.”
“How old are you?”
“You’re not supposed to ask a lady her age.” I wink. “How old are you?”
“I’m thirty-five,” he says.
“Ha! We’re the same age.”
“See, I told you. You and I”—he shifts his finger back and forth between us—“soul mates.”
I gaze at the trail.
“Wait,” Belmont whispers as he comes to an abrupt stop. He guides me to stand in front of him. “Look.” He points out past a field of high grass that comes to a stop at the edge of a stagnant pond.
I narrow my eyes to see a little red ball perched on a broken tree stump.
“Is that a bird?” I ask.
“Shush,” he gently admonishes me.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, heeding the warning.
It’s a tiny bird about the size of my palm. Its skin is furry instead of feathery. I could literally pet it like a cat. As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what it looks like, a brand-new kitten, only it’s bright red and makes choppy, squeaking noises.
“Shoot,” I curse under my breath. “I don’t have my camera.”
“How about this?” Belmont slides a cell phone out of his pants pocket and takes a picture. As soon as the camera clicks, the tiny bird leaps off the tree stump and flies away.
“Did you get it?” I ask him excitedly.
He holds the device in front of my face. In perfect zoom, clear and sharp, is the little red bird.
“Do you know what kind it is?” I ask.
He squints at the photo. “It looks like a Scarlet Tanager.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, trying to control the urge to fall back into his hard chest and let him do with me what he wills.
“You’re welcome, but you’re driving me crazy.” He stands beside me and undresses me with his eyes.
“You can send that to me at my first name and last name, one word, at hotmail.com. Oh, and my last name is—”
“I know what your last name is,” he says as if telling him would offend him. “I also know your email address.”
I flinch, taken aback. “How?”
“Your online articles post your email address.”
“Not my personal email address.”
He lifts one eyebrow and smiles slightly. “You didn’t let me finish.” I’m enthralled by that sexy look on his face. “I wanted to read your article on the French Riviera, and I know the editor of
Road W.
”
“You know Hunter Klein?”
He nods. “He’s a good friend.”
“Wow. What a coincidence.”
His smile grows broader. “I know lot of people, babe! Which makes
me
an asset for
you
.”
I pat him on the chest. “Always the charmer.”
We gaze into each other’s eyes for a moment.
“Are you going to kiss me now?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“All right then,” he acquiesces. Belmont takes my hand and leads me on.
This part is all uphill, and we’re back in the dense part of the woods. The weather is mild, but even though I’m panty-less and wearing a thin dress, I’m working up a sweat.
Belmont steps in front of me, leans over, and prompts me to hop onto his back. “Get on.”