The Shy Dominant (4 page)

“Off?” Now he heard what he thought were kitchen sounds. He remembered her little apartment, colourful as a gypsy’s cart, a tangle of dyed silks and a mess of wool projects and paintings. So like his wife. He wondered if that meant she was happier going from man to man.

“Sometimes she looks like she’s holding something back, but when I ask her about it, she clams up. I get the impression I’m the last person she wants to talk to.”

“Hmmm.” He bet she was making coffee. He heard milk steaming and wished he was with her in her little kitchen. He wished he’d spent the night with her and now she was making him a latte. He’d love to be in her bed, be spoilt by her. “It could be something Stacy would only be comfortable confiding in a woman.”

“Oh shit.”

Dharma laughed at his ‘
I’m sunk
’ tone. “Don’t worry, I’m an expert at talking to people, remember? Why don’t you introduce her to me, maybe near the end of shift tomorrow? If it’s not a very deep issue, she may talk to me about it, or I might get a sense on where to point you.”

“You’re at the coffee house, right?” He knew her schedule perfectly. He was always disappointed if he went into Coffee Dreams
and she wasn’t working.

“Yep.”

“I’ll see you then. Five?” His heart was pounding. He was going to see her again. Fuck, he was a loser.

“Five sounds good.” He heard a smile in her voice. Could she actually be looking forward to this as much as he was?

* * * *

“I go to this place all the time,” Fred told Mattie and Stacy as he ushered them into Coffee Dreams after work. Stacy’s expression was closed off while Mattie walked with him to the counter to order something to go. Dharma was there, wearing some kind of necklace that was made up of yarn and rusty washers. It rang softly as she moved. When she pulled out fresh cups for them, Fred saw the back of her hands had an intricate pattern on them.

“What’s that?” Stacy asked.

“It’s a temporary henna tattoo.” Dharma held her hands up so they could get a closer look. “My friend runs a studio where she paints them. This is your basic paisley design.”

All Fred could think was he wanted those exotically painted hands on him. He sucked in a deep breath. “Stacy, Mattie—this is Dharma. She’s a friend.” Fred wished he wasn’t flushing as he introduced Dharma. Stacy gave him a sharp look.

“Hi!” Mattie grinned, exuberant as always. Stacy’s greeting was far more subdued, but it didn’t seem to trouble Dharma. She shook each girl’s hand politely then gave Fred a grin. “Coconut latte?”

“Damn, am I that predictable?”

“More like reliable.”

“Sounds boring.” Again doubt ate at him. Did she see him the way his wife had? The things he wanted to do to Dharma were not at all boring and predictable. He was a big man, so he’d learned to draw out his lovemaking with lots of foreplay. He wanted to taste Dharma, wanted to lick her until she was ready for him.

“I thought Dharma would come over this weekend, join us for dinner.” The words just left his mouth. Mattie smiled at him, but Stacy didn’t look thrilled.

“That sounds great!” Dharma said. “I’ll make dinner.”

“You will?” No one had cooked for him in ages, unless he went to a restaurant.

“Yeah, how about Indian food?”

“I want it,” Mattie said.

“Sounds weird,” was Stacy’s answer.

“Should I pick you up?” He didn’t know the etiquette. He had to remind himself this wasn’t a real date. Dharma was only doing this as a favour to help him with Stacy.

Dharma wrinkled her nose at him, which made her look very young with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I’ll drive myself, thanks.”

“Okay.” He put his hands in his pockets as the girls gathered the tray of drinks and biscotti and headed for the door. He didn’t want to leave her. “I’ll, uh, see you then.”

She looked right at him, her face a little sweaty, radiant with the slanting sun coming through the windows. “See you then.”

Chapter Three

Dharma was dressed up in what she called her ‘French cupcake’ outfit—a hot pink silk sweater that had fallen off one shoulder and a black leather skirt with high black leather boots—chocolate cake to go with her raspberry frosting. She slammed the rusty Toyota door closed with one hip, balancing a bag which was warm and damp and sending scent into the air like spicy incense.

“Damn, I’m good.” She was also nervous. It was ridiculous, but she was nervous as she was confronted with Fred’s large suburban home, so different from her cheap and cheerful apartment.

The lawn was freshly cut, green from the sprinkler. Palms ruffled in the breeze off the ocean. He probably had a landscaping service since she knew he worked very long hours. Fred had come from money, she’d known that before she’d spotted the Mercedes SUV parked in the driveway.

“Okay, so he’s rich. That’s okay. I’m rich in experience,” she coached herself as she walked over the paved stone path to the front door.

Fred’s calendar photo flashed through her memory. He’d been wearing a swim suit and T-shirt, but he was a big man, intimidating, with a brutally carved face and a military style haircut.

He was nothing like the men she usually dated.

“Just friends, just friends, just friends,” she muttered before hitting the bell.

The door opened and she was looking into Fred’s eyes in a thirteen-year-old girl’s face. Hostile eyes.

“Hey, Stacy,” she said.

“My dad’s not here.”

“Oh. Well, he might be running late. With his job—”

“I know that!”

Dharma didn’t let her bright expression falter. “We could start decorating. He’ll be in for a surprise when he gets home.”

“Decorating?” A gleam of curiosity briefly sparked in Stacy’s eyes. “I thought you were making him dinner.”

“I’m making all of us dinner,” Dharma corrected. “May I come in?”

“Okay.” It wasn’t the most welcoming of invitations, but the bag was heavy so she followed the girl into the entry way…which held a gold Federal style mirror and a gilt marble table. Polished hardwood was interrupted by tribal rugs. The house was like a jewel box, the outside was nice, but inside… “Wow.”

“Excuse me?” Stacy raised her brows and gave Dharma a snooty look. “You act like you’ve never been in a house before.”

Dharma laughed. “Not Fred’s house. You must love living here. He’s got great taste.”

“You think so?” Now there was a trace of something in Stacy’s voice. Dharma put her bag down and stepped into what looked like the living room. “Oh. My. Goddess!” She shot across the room to the tapestry, staring at a field of irises, vivid as any Van Gogh had painted. The bottom was trimmed with sparkling beads in the style of a 1920s handbag. She didn’t need to read the signature to guess who had created it. “You are so talented,” she told Stacy.

Stacy shrugged, but Dharma felt a slight crack in the ice. “How did you make this piece?” Dharma huffed out a breath in awe.

“It’s from a photograph I took in France. Dad took me and Mattie there last summer because she wanted to see Paris.”

And you didn’t want to see Paris, not at all,
Dharma thought with amusement.
Yeah, right.
“You went to Paris?” She sighed. “Do you hear that sound?”

Stacy was staring at her like she was very strange. “No.”

“It’s the sound of my heart breaking. Mannnnn! I’d
love
to go there. All those neat flea markets and pastries and art galleries and just…Paris!”

“You’ve never been?” The superior tone was back, but it wasn’t quite as sharp.

“Nope, I’m poor. Probably be years before I can make it over there.” Dharma turned her attention back to the tapestry, not bothering to resist reaching up and tracing the nub of the woven cloth.

“I, uh, did it on a knitter’s loom. I took lessons at the local community centre and then just wanted to try to make something of my own,” Stacy said, moving closer. “You really like it?”

“It’s amazing. You should think about selling on Etsy.”

Now Stacy smiled. “I’d like to, but Dad wants me to wait until I’m older.”

Dharma did a slow circle of the great room—and great it was. Pottery glazed in copper and teal greens was arranged attractively on Mission tables while comfortably beaten leather couches were grouped close together. Kelim and rag rugs were the perfect place for a young girl to spread her homework out or watch the big Plasma screen peeking out of a half-open red Chinese cabinet.

“Did you do all this, the decorating?”

Stacy nodded, flushing a deep rose. “After my mom…left, Dad said we needed a change and he’s
hopeless.
So I found things, like in local boutiques and stuff.”

“Boy, did you. I thought this place was a jewel box when I came inside.” Dharma stopped admiring and looked straight at Stacy. “You’ve got better taste than I do.”

Stacy blinked. “Yeah?”

“Totally. I have what’s called ‘artistic taste’ so sometimes I like to mix acid greens and tangerine and let them scream on the walls. The last time the plumber visited to fix a drip in my kitchen pipe, he asked where I go when I have a headache since there’s so much colour in my home.”

Stacy glanced back at Dharma’s bag in the hallway. “You said we’d be decorating for dinner?”

Dharma nodded. “After seeing this, it’ll seem a bit basic to you, but I’m doing a theme menu.”

Stacy helped Dharma unload the hunks of quartz crystal and seashells, arranging them on the large coffee table.

“We’re really eating here, not the dining room?”

“Do you eat there a lot?”

“Nah. Mostly we eat in front of the TV. Some nights Dad’s so tired he falls asleep on the couch.”

“It’s a lot on him, his job is so demanding and then he wants to spend time with you and Mattie.”

“I guess.”

“He talks about you all the time.”

Stacy fiddled with a small amethyst geode. “Are you his girlfriend?”

“Nope. But I’m going to be straight with you—I wish I was.”

She stiffened. “He’s never been with anyone but my mom—”

“Yeah. It’s complicated, Stacy.” She held Stacy’s gaze, woman to woman.

Stacy frowned. “I really want to dislike you.”

“That would certainly be the easy path. Do you think that would make you happy?”

Stacy studied her, fiddling with a hunk of smoky quartz. “It would be satisfying.”

“I can’t argue with that. It’s always easier to have a target when life sucks.”

Stacy put down the crystal. Dharma could feel the girl’s indecision. “Should we put out the food?”

Dharma heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the driveway. Fred. He was home. And her heart was pounding.

She licked her lips. “Yes, let’s start with the chickpea curry.”

Fred was going to be soooo happy.

* * * *

Fred was so tired. And confused.

Even from the driveway he could smell something exotic and appetising wafting through the open windows of his house. Had the girls given up on him and ordered in? Neither of them were great shakes in the kitchen, but then neither was he.

The door flung open and there was Dharma, wearing a party hat and a tiny skirt and boots that seemed to make her long legs stretch even further. She was laughing. “Oh!” she said when she saw him. “I was just going out to get something in my car.”

Then he noticed her little rattletrap parked on the kerb. Man, he’d been so exhausted he hadn’t even seen it. “You were coming over today.”

She closed the door then frowned. “Yes.”

He shoved a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

“You forgot.” She arched a brow but looked more amused than pissed off.

“Yeah, I did.”

“You guys had a call just as I was leaving for the grocery store.”

He nodded. “Don’t want to talk about it.” He needed to shake off the despair of two seniors losing their home and a lifetime of memories. At least the couple had escaped the fire safely.

“Okay.” She reached out and touched his cheek and brought him up short with just that touch. He felt it to his toes, as if she’d shot life back into him. Painful, yearning life.

“Oh, Jesus.” He needed, very badly, to be close to her. He needed to just be a man.

As if she read his sudden yearning in his eyes she shook her head. “The girls are waiting. I’m not sure Stacy is ready for you to have a girlfriend.”

“Are you my girlfriend?” He couldn’t believe the words had come out. But damn, he wanted her to be his girlfriend. His young, pretty, vibrant girlfriend. He wanted to be able to go over to her place and trace her naked body with his tongue. He wanted to bend her over her cheap kitchen table and fuck her from behind.

His body tightened painfully with eagerness, and he cursed himself for feeling this way. His daughters were waiting for him and he was hard and randy and desperate for Dharma.

“Yes, I want to be yours,” she said very softly.

He closed his eyes, sucking in deep, cooling gulps of air. Hadn’t he been worn out a few seconds ago? Now he was burning for this beautiful girl—even though he knew his life was a mess and she was far too young and untamed for him.

When he didn’t say anything more, she flushed, as if she was embarrassed by how much she’d given away to him. He hated seeing it. He wanted to claim her and have nothing stand between them.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should go inside. Is that great smell anything to do with you?”

She forced a smile which didn’t reach her solemn eyes. “I did a theme dinner and the girls helped. They’re really excited to show it off to you.”

Warmth touched him. “You did that for them.”

She shrugged, opening her squeaky car door and pulling out a small baking tray. “Nanaimo bars,” she said when he eyed it.

“My favourite!”

“I know.” Now her smile was a little easier. “You’ve been known to eat three at a time at the coffee house, though how you can eat like that and stay in such shape—” Her gaze ran over his T-shirt which was clinging to him in the sweaty heat. He wanted to peel it off and invite her to touch him.

Her gaze fixed on his, as if she read his silent invitation. For a moment the muffled street and neighbourhood sounds seemed to shut off so they were totally alone, a man wanting his woman.