Tell Me a Story (The Story Series Book 1) (4 page)

I breathed a giggle and stepped closer. “Caleb?”

“Yes, Emma?”

“What’s your last name? I don’t usually go to a man’s home unless I know his last name.”

“King. Yours?”

“Price. It’s also here.” I tapped the back of his hand that was holding my business card. He held the card up, then slipped it in his back pocket.

“One more question.”

“Yes, Emma?” When he said my name, it was like slipping into a bed of velvet—sumptuous and tactile.

“Are you going to kiss me goodnight?”

He tilted his head and the corners of his mouth turned up. When he leaned into my ear, I fought the urge to lick him. His bottom lip brushed my lobe, and I’d never felt such arousal before. What the hell was happening here?

“No. It’s about to rain hard and you need to get home before it turns into a monsoon. So you’re going to have to wait,” he whispered. “I’m not going to kiss you. Not now, not here in a parking lot, under a streetlight in the rain.”

“Wh-why?” Jesus. I needed to pull myself together.

His lips found my cheek, and he pressed them against my skin as his hand cupped the other side of my face. He stroked my cheek twice with his thumb, and I allowed my eyes to flutter shut so I could enjoy the intense, tactile sensation. His mouth was hot, but not as hot as my face. Not as hot as I was between my legs. I held my breath as my limbs turned to jelly, and suddenly I didn’t care about the Florida rain.

“Because you deserve to be kissed properly, in a perfect place. Like my bed.” He moved away from me and smiled.

Oh
.

My eyebrows lifted. Now I was even more intrigued and turned on. “You like to tease and be teased, don’t you, Mr. King?”

“Very good, Ms. Price. You’ve picked up on that.”

I grinned and stepped back. The game was on. “See you tomorrow night.”

“
E
mma
,” Mark groaned, “I don’t see how we’re going to fight city hall on this deal.”

I tapped my foot, barely able to contain my anxious, restless energy. This meeting needed to wrap up soon because I still had to shower and primp for my date with Caleb. Instead, I was still at the bookstore with a handful of other business owners from the building. They’d come to my place to discuss the recent sale. We’d been going around and around for two hours, discussing our plan of attack. Mark was the owner of the record store next door, and he was tattooed, tall, and wore heavy, black-rimmed glasses.

“There’s got to be some way to fight this. Some zoning restriction, some historic preservation angle…” My voice trailed off, and I rubbed my forehead as several people spoke at once. Sarah tried to shush everyone.

This was getting us nowhere. We needed to present a united front. We also had to do more research, since we didn’t even know who had bought the building. We’d only received the sketchiest details from the old owner, who had told us the deal had gone through. The latest newspaper article said that the building had been purchased using a blind trust and that the eventual developer hadn’t been disclosed yet in public records. But plans had been filed in some city or county office to build a new, forty-story tower on our site. I didn’t understand real estate law or zoning and hadn’t the faintest idea where to begin.

“Guys, we need a lawyer,” Mark said.

Our building had six floors, and all but the ground level was empty. Had been for years, and one Halloween, all of the business owners had snuck upstairs with flashlights to take a peek. It was beyond spooky, the empty, dusty corridors. Like that hotel in
The Shining
, but not as nice. While it gave me the shivers to think about the upstairs, I still loved the old building. It could be beautiful again.

“I could understand if they wanted to renovate the upstairs, but to knock the entire building down to build something ugly—that’s a fucking tragedy,” I said.

A half-hour later, we couldn’t settle on which lawyer to hire, how much to spend, and if we even had grounds to fight this whole damned project that threatened the entire character of our historic downtown Orlando block.

I needed to speed things up. “Look, I’ve got a little savings cushion. I’ll pay for the lawyer. It’s worth it for me to spend the money to save all the businesses here because we all help each other. Y’all can pay me back when you can.”

“Emma, no, that’s too much. If we all have to move, you’re going to need that money to open somewhere else,” protested Julia, a café owner.

I sighed. She was right. My savings wasn’t big and might not be enough to mount a serious legal defense—or relocate my bookstore.

“At least let me pay for a consultation with a lawyer. Let’s see if we even have a case. If I have to move, I’ll deal with that when the time comes. I’m not sure where I’d go, anyway. All the locations that might be good for bookstores are expensive, and all the places that are cheaper won’t draw foot traffic like this one does. I could be screwed, so I might as well do everything I can to save the building.”

A glum silence settled over the group.

“Have a scone.” Julia pushed a box of vanilla-frosted treats toward me. I shook my head. Sarah grabbed one and took a huge bite.

“We’ve gotta figure this out,” I said. “A lawyer is probably our last hope.”

The idea of packing up and closing the store made my chest ache. I’d worked hard to open this place five years ago with the help of a city redevelopment incentive and some loans. Then I’d bought my little bungalow home, living a comfortable life surrounded by books and pretty dresses and funky décor. The fact that all my friends either owned cafés, catering companies, or clothing stores—or worked at the theme parks—meant that my food, entertainment, and fashion came at a deep discount.

If the store closed, I had no idea what I’d do or how I’d pay the bills. As it was, the bookstore did only that—paid my bills and allowed for a little leftover on most months. I was still maxed out on loans and credit cards and operating on a razor-thin profit margin. If I closed, well, the threat of having to return to my dad’s dreary trailer in a small town thirty miles away loomed in my mind.

I glanced at my phone. Six o’clock. Dammit. “Hey, I don’t mean to cut this short, but I need to leave. All y’all can stay and chat, since Sarah’s here till nine.”

“Someone’s got a daaaate,” Sarah said in a sing-song. I’d asked her to stay late.

The business owners, all tattooed and pierced and alternative-looking, perked up. I grinned and squeaked out a laugh.

“Oh my God, did you hear that giggle?” Mark loved to tease me. “You never giggle. What the hell’s going on? Spill.”

I rolled my eyes. I
had
been giggling a lot. Because of Caleb. Which was stupid, because this was going to be a one-off, a single-night stand with the patina of a respectable evening. Sex for the sake of good sex was just fine with me.

“Is it the guy from the tattoo parlor near Universal Studios?” asked Julia.

I shook my head. “One date with him was enough. He insisted on going to a buffet, then asked me to pay the bill. You know I’m cool with paying half and fine with cheap meals, but this place was nasty and I got food poisoning. It was on the Channel Six
Dirty Dining
segment soon after. Plus he chewed with his mouth open and tried to kiss me after eating a stack of crab legs.”

There was a collective
ewwwww
.

“So who’s the lucky dude tonight?” Julia probed.

I hesitated and shrugged. “His name is Caleb. I met him at Story Brothel. He lives in that big condo a couple of blocks away. The one with the stupid name.”

Julia smirked. “Blu?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Blu—yes, without the E—was everything my friends and I collectively hated about new Orlando. It was a sleek, blue-glass skyscraper plunked down amidst parking lots, squat old warehouses, and a few historic structures like our building. We hadn’t bothered protesting Blu before it went up, thinking that all the horrendous new construction would be corralled to the slightly more blighted area on the city’s perimeter.

But now the redevelopment—
progress
, the mayor called it—was gunning for us. I took a deep breath. What kind of a guy was Caleb if he lived at such a soulless place? Now that I was with my tribe, my little pack of alternative misfits, I wondered if having dinner with him was a good idea. We were so obviously different.

Different social circles. Different aesthetics. Different planets, even.

I grabbed my purse. “Later!” I called out, not wanting to linger and field more questions about Caleb. Questions that would raise more doubts in my mind.

I drove home, analyzing my hesitation. It was silly, I decided. Not only was I being judgmental of poor Caleb, but I was pinning a lot on him. I had no idea of his background or his preferences. And what did it matter, anyway? I was attracted to him, he was attracted to me, and we were going to enjoy each other’s bodies all night. This was only a romp.

I shoved my doubts aside, preferring to primp. Sometimes getting ready, showering, putting on makeup, and getting dressed was the best part of an evening. It was all about the anticipation. The tease, as Caleb so accurately pointed out.

Standing naked at my closet, I hesitated. I could go casual and put on a cute pair of skinny jeans and a blouse. But why not glam up a bit and show Caleb my real style—especially since I might be spending part of the evening reading more stories to him? Reading about sex meant that I needed to feel confident. I needed to play the part.

I slipped a little black dress off a hanger. Probably too formal for a dinner date, but I didn’t care. It was a rockabilly fifties style, sporting a halter-top, a black satin sash around the waist, and a full skirt with a black tulle hem. It hid my big ass and held me together pretty well up top. I considered not wearing a bra. Plucking a pair of white lace thong panties from my open bureau drawer, I paused.

No. Thongs were so obvious. I stuffed the panties back into the drawer and selected a pale rose strapless corset with lacing up the back and hooks in front, matching lace panties, and sheer, champagne-colored thigh-high stockings. I’d bought the whole ensemble recently, unable to resist because it was on sale and so delicately pretty—even though at the time I didn’t have anyone to wear it for. I wriggled into everything and sipped a small glass of wine, allowing the frustrations of the day to fade.

Four-inch black patent leather heels with pointy toes completed the look, and I spritzed on my favorite jasmine-tinged perfume, then sailed out the door of my bungalow. There was no problem that red lipstick and perfume couldn’t soothe.

I grabbed one other thing before I left: Caleb’s gleaming watch. He’d left it in the bookstore the previous night, and I’d texted him earlier to say I’d bring it over.

I didn’t live far from Caleb’s condo, only about a ten minutes’ drive. But my historic working-class neighborhood with its brick-lined streets was a far cry from the aqua-colored, glass-and-concrete high-rise next to a couple of other new condo buildings. The street was empty and a little eerie. Did anyone actually live here or were they all investors? Ghosts?

I parked on the street and walked up, pausing next to a gigantic palm tree stuck in a dirt mound next to the building. It seemed like a good time to fiddle with my phone and gather myself. It wasn’t that I had anyone to contact—I just wanted to make sure Caleb hadn’t had second thoughts and canceled at the last minute.

There were no messages.

I stood in the near-darkness and stared at the neat pattern of the tree’s trunk. Even the tree looked sterile. What was I doing here, really? I gulped in the moist night air and walked into the building.

Once in the lobby, my eyes lifted, taking in the soaring, high-ceilinged atrium lobby.

“Hi,” I said to the concierge. My voice sounded tiny in the vast space. “I’m here to see Caleb King.”

The atrium was airy and light—even though it was nighttime—and bathed in white décor. I was a curvy, fluffy black ball, bouncing around the pristine space. An attempt to will my heartbeat to slow failed, and I hoped I wasn’t perspiring too much.

God, I was overreacting. This wasn’t an engagement party. He’d be a hot hookup and nothing more. I didn’t want an awkward courtship, the eventual discussion about exes, and the painful goodbye texts.

I wanted sex. I was here to read about fucking, then fuck. Easy, right?

The concierge, an older gentleman, tapped a few numbers on the phone as he eyed my dress. Was that a hint of curious disapproval, or was I overly sensitive?

“And your name, miss?”

I told him and smiled politely. The man hung up the phone and pointed to an elevator with his index and middle fingers, like an air traffic controller.

“This way, miss.”

Stepping hesitantly toward the elevator, I stopped. “Uh, what floor?”

The man pressed the button on the wall and the doors opened. He indicated that I should step inside, then he followed, tapping a card next to a keypad. “This will take you to the penthouse. Have a good evening, Miss Price.” He exited the elevator, and the doors slid closed. The car whisked me up, up, up until my ears popped. There were thirty-five buttons on the panel and then the letter P, which was illuminated.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Caleb didn’t live in just any condo. He lived in the best condo in the newest, most expensive building in the city. I felt far out of my league and snaked my hand out, my fingers hovering over the buttons. There was a red-ringed one that said STOP, and I wondered if that’s what I should push.

A penthouse in a building named Blu wasn’t where quirky girls from rundown trailer parks belonged. I was raised on the sandy soil of orange groves, not the gilded streets of progress as Caleb clearly had been.

I imagined the elevator grinding to a halt on a lower floor. I’d tear down the fire escape stairs and back to my cozy house, where Higgins, my kitty, napped on my faded bed quilt. I’d make some tea. Forget about being a seductress.

STOP

I jerked my hand away before I pushed the button.

Then the elevator stopped and the doors slid open.