Lost in You (8 page)

I wanted to laugh. It was so dirty-movie. It was so romance-novel. It was so … cliché. And yet in that primal moment it was all I had to offer and it was sincere.

‘That’s what I want to hear,’ he said, kissing me. Then his grip on my wrists tightened a little and his body moved to its own desperate rhythm and, just after a booming gust of wind that seemed to shake the building, he came.

* * *

He smiled down at me. He’d curled against the back of the big old-fashioned sofa and pulled me to him. His sweater was draped over me because I’d started to shiver. ‘So how did you get the name Clover?’

I sighed. ‘Really?’

‘Really. I’ll start. My name is Dorian. My grandfather’s name was Dorian and my great-grandfather’s middle name was Dorian. Very boring story: family name. Now Clover … that’s not your run-of-the-mill stuffy family name.’

‘Winnie the Pooh,’ I said.

‘Is that the stuff that sad donkey was always eating?’ he asked. When he kissed the side of my head good feelings bled through me. Filling me from chest to toe.

This was a rich man. A man with a specific lifestyle. This was not reality: we were suspended in some kind of fantasy world. A movie where the characters are trapped in a strange location. But I could enjoy the fantasy while it lasted, right?

I snorted. ‘No. That’s thistles. Thank God she didn’t name me Thistle. She found the word clover in there when she was reading to me in the womb. I’ve always felt like my name was a bit of a joke.’

He shook his head. ‘Really? I love it. It’s very old-fashioned. It’s very … pure.’

‘Like me. I’m as pure as the driven snow.’ I giggled. ‘Oh, wait, no, I’m not.’

He squeezed me and almost in tune our stomachs growled. ‘It’s very clever and pristine. That’s how I feel about your name. And you’re pretty wonderful. Who said girls as pure as the driven snow are any fun?’

His stomach growled again.

‘I think we need to feed you.’

‘I think we need dinner and a movie,’ he said.

I glanced up. ‘For real?’

‘For real. You go raid the concession stand. I’m going to fiddle with this stuff. See what we can see.’

‘Dinner and a movie,’ I said softly.

It was perfect. I got dressed and hurried out. I knew it was too perfect, but fuck … I was going to relish this while I could. One day it would all be just memories. But they’d be good memories. Stories to tell when I was old and grey. Stories to hold close on cold nights.

‘That was the worst movie ever,’ Dorian said with a laugh. He held my hand as we walked back towards the main entrance.

‘What? Action movies full of bad dialogue, bad sex scenes and bad acting aren’t your cup of tea?’

‘That movie was no one’s cup of tea,’ Dorian said. ‘That made chick flicks look appealing.’ Then he squeezed my hand. ‘Sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ I stopped at the door to a fancy store that carried things like all-white kitchen accessories, proper picnic baskets and stadium blankets that cost more than my car and were spun from pure wool harvested from the happiest, most organic lambs, which most likely received massages and regular therapy. I snorted and quickly covered my mouth. He was watching me. ‘You assume I watch chick flicks?’

‘What was that little snicker?’ he asked, as he pulled out his magical list and punched a number into the keypad. The door started to rise.

‘It was a snort. Let’s call it what it was. And I was just thinking of the blankets they sell here.’

He pulled me in after him and found the light switch. ‘Oh, let’s get one. If you know about them then you’ve admired them before.’

I caught myself blushing. ‘I admire all kinds of things. It doesn’t mean you should run about getting them for me.’

His gaze was fast and serious. ‘Why not?’

I cleared my throat, ignoring the way my heart thumped once, really hard, like a rabbit kicking inside my chest. ‘As for chick flicks, I don’t like them. I find them poofy and syrupy and very unrealistic.’

He moved through the store looking at stuff like he owned the place. Technically speaking, he kind of did. ‘“Poofy and syrupy”. What a wonderful description. But who’s to say that the knight in shining armour couldn’t come along? The man of a girl’s dreams? The perfect key for her lock –’

‘Is that a sex joke?’

It was Dorian’s turn to snort. ‘No. As I was saying, the man who …’ He shrugged and held up two stadium blankets. ‘Blue or red?’

‘Blue,’ I said. ‘The man who what?’

His amused look vanished and he watched me intently. I prayed for him to speak or laugh or kiss me – hell, even to sneeze – because that moment felt weighted. Important. Serious.

‘The man who resonates with the heroine. Do you think that’s possible, Clover?’

I nodded once and tried to swallow around the giant lump that had somehow grown in my throat. ‘I do.’

‘Good.’ He handed me the blanket and gathered a picnic basket. ‘I say we go have a picnic by the main entrance. See what’s up with the weather. And then how would you feel about a shower?’

‘A shower?’

He winked at me. Usually when men wink at me I grit my teeth. I find it condescending and annoying. When Dorian winked at me I felt like we were sharing a secret joke. He winked at me to be inclusive, not dismissive.

Big difference, I realised.

‘Ed, the general manager? He has a nice office with a nice shower and a nice desk and a nice but narrow sofa.’

‘Oh, I could sleep on the fl–’

‘Do not even finish that sentence,’ he whispered.

I stopped.

‘I think we should bunk down in that very luxurious bed at
Classic Time
. It’ll be like sleeping for exhibitionists. We can pretend we’re on display. Maybe imagine what it’d be like if I pinned you down,’ he said, stepping close so that barely an inch separated us, ‘and had my way with you while people hurried past. Shopping, barking into cellphones, fretting and stressed and all so frenzied, while I fucked you. Right there. In that gorgeous bed in front of all the mad, mad world.’

My mouth was dry and a small puff of air escaped me. ‘I … I …’

‘Food,’ he said, pulling me along. ‘Food and shower and then we’ll figure out if that bed is as perfect as it looks or if it’s just a prop.’

I hurried after him, my feet floating above the ground. Not really, but that was the feeling. That the strong current of Dorian Martin and his magical life were carrying me along like a small newspaper boat on a rushing stream of storm water.

The lights dimmed for a heartbeat before flaring bright. ‘We need to cook before we lose power. I bet we do,’ he said. ‘Lose power, I mean. But don’t worry, I’ve got you, Clover.’

I knew he meant it.

* * *

The food was a distant memory. Some heat-up lasagne and veg and some more wine, of course. A quick phone call to my grandmother that didn’t go through. The emergency message informed me the lines were overwhelmed and told me to try my call again later. Anxiety slammed me and Dorian took my hand and led me off to Ed’s office. An office I’d never been in.

‘Everyone is fine. They’re together. They’re in an apartment complex. It will be fine.’ His hands on me soothed as much as his words. He pulled my sweater off again and then his fingers worked the button of my jeans. I caught his eye and gave him a smile. We froze, his fingers not pushing the button through the buttonhole just yet. He kissed me. His broad chest crushing my bare breasts. ‘I’m not sure I want this storm to end,’ he said.

‘Really? You have such a life,’ I said. ‘Such a life to get back to.’

He kissed me again, then licked a hot line along my lower lip before kissing along my jaw and nibbling my ear. A shiver skittered across my skin and I laughed.

‘But time standing still because I’m trapped with beautiful Clover isn’t part of that life. Being something I’m not is pretty much the bulk of that life.’

I realised that rich didn’t mean perfect. Or even happy. I didn’t know what to say. So I stroked his hip and then his waistband and then finally the place above his zipper. He was hard and I was grateful. Getting lost in him was just what I wanted. It would tamp down my worry and lift up my heart.

That was the last thought before he finally popped my button and pushed my jeans down. I tried to help him get undressed but realised my hands were shaking so I stopped and simply watched him unveil that body. One of the most beautiful bodies I’d ever seen.

Dorian pulled me against him, wrapped his arms around me and looked down at me. Before the moment fled, he grinned, picked me up and walked me towards the shower. I coiled my legs around his waist, effectively pressing my wetness to him.

‘We should have hot water. Please God, let there be hot water.’

There was hot water. He walked me back and into the spray. We both groaned in pleasure and then laughed at the combined sound.

‘There isn’t anything quite as good as hot water, is there?’ I licked water off his chest. It was simply an excuse to lick him. To taste his skin and be close to him.

‘Nothing better?’ The light in his eyes was wicked as he pressed me against cool tile. His cock slid between the V of my thighs and nudged my clit. He watched me, rocked back and forth so there was friction. Breathtaking friction. ‘Nothing at all?’ he asked again.

I blew out a long slow breath and said. ‘OK, so that might be a little better than hot water.’

‘But it’s close,’ he asked. There was that grin again. It almost distracted me – almost – as his fingers dragged beads of water along my hip, my belly. Then he was touching me, pressing and swirling his fingers where I needed them most. When I made a small sound he licked it off my lips, chuckled softly, plunged a finger into me. A few lazy thrusts of his hand and I was coming, holding onto him and pressing my back to the slick blue tiles to keep from falling.

‘I never ever come like that,’ I blurted. My cheeks were hot and my blood pounded along with the water.

‘I think I just proved you wrong.’ He lifted my leg and ground against me again. Small flickering spasms of pleasure still worked through me and when he pressed the head of his cock to me, I bit my lip. I wanted to beg him to enter me but in the same moment didn’t want to rush this. I wanted it to last. All of it. The day, the sex, the night … the storm.

He teased me with his mouth and his cock. Dropping small, soft kisses on my face and neck and chest. He stroked the tip of himself along my opening but never entered me. Finally, I clutched at him and gave a strangled cry of frustration. ‘Dorian, please …’

The magic words.
Dorian. Please.

He slipped into me with ease, my own moisture aiding him. He watched me, eyes on my eyes, as he pinned me there. Spread open to him from the one leg he still held high. He rocked into me forcefully and every thrust caused his pelvic bone to brush my clit in the most amazing way. Now I clutched at him for a different reason. My legs felt fit to buckle, my body on the verge of surrender.

I came and without thinking I bit him, my teeth scraping and then sinking into the thick muscle of his shoulder. I cried out but it was muffled by his skin. He hissed like I’d burned him and drove into me once more before shaking in my arms and coming with a rough cry.

‘I’m sorry, I bit –’

‘I came when you bit me, Clover. So why on earth are you apologising?’

He was watching me again with those eyes. Intent and mysterious. And kind.

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘No more apologies. Right?’

He kissed me again and I nodded. ‘Yes, right,’ I mumbled, letting his tongue slip into my mouth, slide over mine. I felt a fresh surge of lust.

But the water had turned tepid and we both grumbled and scrambled to get clean before all we had was a cold shower.

‘Nothing sexy about cold showers,’ he said as the water went even cooler.

I let out a shriek. Didn’t mean to, but the water became downright frigid. He chuckled, soaping himself quickly. I loved the sound of his laugh. In the span of a single day he’d gone from a stranger to one of my favourite people in the world.

‘See, I told you. Actual, real bed.’ Dorian pulled back the duvet and the lovely white high-thread-count sheets. He pressed the mattress with his hand, grinning. ‘And it’s a virgin bed.’

I snorted before quickly covering my face. ‘Then I certainly can’t sleep in it.’

‘If that’s what I meant, Clover, the act of me climbing into it would cause it to burst into flames.’ He winked at me and again I had that feeling as if we shared some secret joke.

‘Touché.’ I sighed. I knew he heard the frustration in that small sound by the way he looked up.

‘You still upset because you can’t get through?’

We’d gone back to the main entrance courtesy desk and tried my grandmother again. No answer. Just the monotonous, nerve-wracking sound of overloaded phone lines. A lot of cells were down, most likely due to the storm, and people were falling back on landlines.

‘Yes. And standing there in the entrance watching what seems like the world blow by didn’t help my nerves.’ The deluge had been phenomenal. Rain so dense it just looked like a solid sheet of gunmetal grey perpetually falling from the sky. My chest had gone tight with worry as I watched. And then a wrought-iron bench from around the outdoor fountain had scooted by, drifting across the pavement as if it weighed no more than a paper bag.

‘I know. But I assure you, your grandmother is fine.’ He held a hand out to me and I took it. We stood there like that, clasping hands across the big, beautiful empty bed for a moment. Then I blushed and dropped his hand to step back.

‘Thank you. For bearing with me,’ I said.

I pulled off my jeans but left on my socks and his sweater. Not Dorian. He shucked all his clothes but for his boxer briefs.

‘I get warm when I sleep,’ he said by way of answer.

I tried to stifle a yawn and failed. ‘It’s been an eventful day,’ I said, watching him crawl into the luxurious bed. It was very surreal. A beautiful, rich man climbing into a beautiful, rich bed and gazing up, smiling, waiting for …
me
.

‘Is that your way of saying crazy?’