Читать книгу Virtually Perfect - Samantha Hunter - Страница 11

RAINE WATCHED Gwen crease her forehead as she studied the tarot cards she’d laid out in front of her on the table. Gwen had arrived at the door to drag her out for lunch. Gwen’s hair was freshly colored with purple highlights and glitter eye shadow to match. Raine was just happy the Goth days were over; she preferred Gwen colorful and upbeat.

They sat in high-backed booth seats at a favorite diner overlooking Salem’s pedestrian mall, soup bowls and coffee cups pushed to the side while Gwen turned out cards. Raine looked out the partially fogged window, watching people scurrying in and out of shops, rushing to get their Christmas shopping done.

Everything was decorated and cheerful. The sun shone brightly off the snow, almost blinding her with the glare. She was meeting Rider tonight, and the brightness of the day seemed like a good omen.

Gwen insisted on doing tarot readings for her once a month. Raine never so much as read the astrology forecasts in the newspaper, but today she was grateful for the distraction. It was a day for new adventures, and Gwen had shown up with her cards, so now the two sat eating lunch and peering into Raine’s immediate future. Raine munched her tuna sandwich absently and looked on.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“First, the Chariot—that figures—he is traveling to see you, that’s kind of obvious. But the card is about being balanced, in control. It suggests a sense of purpose and direction. It’s a strong card. Maybe a very confident man who knows what he wants, or could be you trying to control the situation, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, just something to think about. And—” she pointed to the next card “—then you have the Ace of Wands—kind of a sexy card, eh?”

Raine peered at the card that showed a club, or tree branch—a very erotic-looking tree branch—standing straight up against a sky, surrounded by ivy and flowers, and nodded. Really, it did look like an erection. Or maybe she just had penises on the brain. She shook her head.

“That one’s usually about new beginnings, creativity and sexuality. Good sign for getting laid.” Gwen grinned and pointed to the next card, which depicted a castle-type building with flames flying out of it, and people being tossed out of the windows into the crashing seas below.

“Hmm, this one might be a problem.”

“Looks ominous.” Raine wiggled her eyebrows dramatically.

“Can be, but it’s more about life shaking us up, throwing us on our asses when we need it. There could be something really unexpected that will happen tonight. Could be good, or not so good. You had better just keep your radar sharp.”

“For what? A sexy guy with a big stick and a nice car who is going to surprise me somehow?” Raine smiled naughtily, and Gwen gave a hearty laugh.

“Good one. Let’s hope so. Now it gets interesting. This chick here—” she pointed to a picture of a woman standing blindfolded in the middle of a circle of swords “—the Eight of Swords, she is imprisoned by something—see how the swords do not circle her tightly? There are ways she could free herself if she wanted to. The blindfold suggests she may not be seeing things clearly.”

“Or maybe it means he is going to blindfold me.”

“I never looked at it that way. Hmm…and tie you up…”

“I was kidding, Gwen.”

“Hey, I’m not judging—everyone is into their own thing.” She ducked as Raine took a playful swat at her, and went on.

“But seriously, the cards can mean different things to different people—it’s obvious what’s on your mind.” She grinned cheekily. “Okay, then you have these last three. The Devil is what challenges you—not the devil like hellfire and brimstone, but this card can be a lot of things—obsession, darkness, or being hounded or harassed in some way. The Two of Cups follows, a card signifying what you should strive for, a meeting of the minds, coming together, emotional healing. Finally, the Four of Wands is your destination card—where you could end up—a very nice, a happy, successful card, celebrations and accomplishments. Maybe marriage. Kids, you know, the whole ten yards.”

“Bite me, Gwen.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” She grinned, summing up. “So, the Tower and the Devil are still giving it all a pretty interesting slant, kind of intense—will be interesting to see what that is about, though sometimes it is nothing. I draw the Tower every month when I am PMSing.” She pursed her lips and looked up at Raine.

“As for the rest, looks like maybe you have some bumps in the road, a few explosions along the way—hey! I wonder if the Tower could be about orgasms? You know, lightning striking? Like getting thrown from the heights and into the waves of passion? I never thought about that—I like it! That would kinda mesh with what you see in the eight.”

“Well, it would be nice if you’re right about the orgasms.” Raine laughed and slid off the seat, thinking about her experience with Rider two nights before. She hadn’t told Gwen about that. “But I need to think about what to wear. Come help me, okay?”

Grabbing the check, she went to the counter to pay. Gwen left the tip on the table and followed her out the door into the brisk, bright air. “Okay, what to wear? Exactly how crazy do you want to make him on the first date?”

RAINE SAT on a stool at the bar feeling jittery and unsure. She swirled the little plastic stick around in her Manhattan, her hands cold even though heat from the whiskey had worked its way through her bloodstream and softly smudged her eyes and cheeks.

It was a little after six—this wasn’t a good sign. Maybe he had changed his mind, maybe he had arrived, seen her, and just left without a word—he might have considered fantasy a better deal than the reality. She made a point of turning her back to the door. She didn’t want to know when. If.

She looked down at her boots, swinging her foot. The soft black leather caressed her calf. The gray wool skirt had seemed sensible and still sexy, warm enough for the weather, exposing just a little leg between midthigh where the top of the boot met her knee. The deep green cashmere sweater was nice but not revealing, at least not in the obvious sense, though it clung to curves in all the right places and had attracted more than one admiring look when she had slipped off her jacket at the door. Gwen said the color emphasized her eyes, making them look like crystal-clear jade.

Raine took Gwen seriously, which not everyone did, at least at first. But Gwen was smart, and she had style. The two women had a deep respect for each other and that had been the basis of their friendship almost from the start. Gwen was really the first close friend Raine had ever had, and Raine thought of her almost like a sister, though she never told Gwen that. She wasn’t one for gushing her emotions all over the place. When it came to her own life, she was never quite sure where the lines were between people, what was allowed and what wasn’t. So she tried to err on the safe side.

Raising her fingers to the small pink rosebud that was clipped into her hair, she tried not to look at her watch yet again. Her nerves settled, her hopes started to fade, and she felt a little like a fool. Ten more minutes, and she would go home and forget about this for good.

JACK CURSED the weather. The drive had been much nastier than he had anticipated. The winter storm that passed by the night before had cleared out to sea, but it had left the roads slick and dangerous. Everyone was trying to get somewhere for the weekend, and he was caught in one traffic jam after another.

His feet were freezing, and as much as he was looking forward to meeting Nilla—to put it mildly—he was very focused on getting warm. If getting warm with Nilla was in the cards, even better. But for the moment, he was so cold even thinking about that didn’t warm him enough. A few miles back, a college student—driving too fast and too confidently for the conditions—had spun off the road into a snowbank, directly in front of him.

The kid was not hurt, but was not getting out of his predicament alone, so Jack climbed into snow up to his thighs to help dig the car out. He lost his beloved Red Sox cap in the wind, watching it whirl away into darkness. Jack sent the kid off again with a growling warning about driving more slowly before he killed someone else or himself.

Though he had managed to brush off most of the snow, his pants were still a little damp. He was tired, hungry, and he seriously needed a drink.

He spotted the restaurant and pulled into the first available parking space. The place was hopping, even at this early hour. He glanced at his watch. He was only fifteen minutes late, not too bad, all things considered. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, glad to shut the engine off and concentrate on why he was here.

Reaching for the flowers he had brought with him, he shook off the agitation of the drive. His jacket was covered with salt and sludge, so he left it in the back seat and grabbed a fleece he had lying there.

The night was clear and cold, and his heart was thudding deeply in his chest as he approached the restaurant. This was it. In another minute he would be looking at, handing these flowers to—touching—the woman who had been the focus of his dreams, waking and sleeping, for the last month. He steadied his breathing and walked through the restaurant door.

He spotted her immediately, from the back. Seated at the bar, she was turned about three-quarters away from him, blond hair flowing down her back, a pink rosebud tucked sweetly behind her ear. Not white for purity, not red for passion, but something in between.

Jack watched quietly as she leaned forward and laughed quietly with the bartender, who was pouring her another drink. The soft line of her jaw entranced him, and he stared, losing all sense of time or place. He frowned for a moment, feeling a prick of recognition, but ignored it.

He forgot that he was cold, hungry and tired as he took in the graceful curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder and the way her hair tumbled down over the womanly shape of her back. He flexed his fingers, imagining wrapping his fingers into it, getting tangled in all those silken strands.

His mouth went dry as he followed the length of her body. She sat saucily on the stool, legs crossed at her very beautiful knees, the black leather boots offering only a hint of leg, making him lick his lips. Thank you, heaven.

The bartender walked away, leaving her with her drink, and he saw her look at her watch, and observed how her shoulders lifted and fell slightly in what must have been a sigh. Taking a deep breath for courage, he stepped forward, quickly covering the space between them.

He stopped and caught his breath when she suddenly spun around and slipped down off the stool, face-to-face with him. He stood stock-still, disbelieving, his brain and body frozen in shock. It was only a matter of seconds, but it seemed like seasons passed. She looked at him squarely.

“Oh. Jack. Hi.”

She didn’t appear shocked to see him, though she was less than thrilled, obviously. He realized she had no idea that he was there to see her. He didn’t—couldn’t—say anything. He watched her lean over, grab her purse, then her jacket. She looked miserable. She thought she’d been stood up.

Conflict raged as he realized his out—he could let her think that her date was not coming, and just walk away. But when he saw the disappointment in her face, he couldn’t do it. Not that the alternative was going to get a much better response.

“Um…yeah…” He had never been so truly lost for what to say. It was a cruel trick of the universe that the woman he had been dreaming about, sharing such intimacies with—hell, getting off on the phone with—was her.

His brain still refused to process this new situation, but as she walked past him toward the door, he spontaneously reached out and grabbed her arm. She turned and looked at him, confused, and maybe a little peeved.

“Excuse me?”

There was only one way to deal with this, he figured. Jump right in. “I’m sorry I’m late.” His slightly strangled voice did not sound like his own. He tried to smile, but it didn’t quite work.

She looked at him as if he had lost his mind and removed his hand from her sleeve.

“Jack, I have no idea what you are talking about, but it looks like you have a date.” She tilted her head at the flowers. “If you’re late, you’d better get moving. Good night.” She turned toward the door again.

He sighed, and took the leap. “You’re right. I do have a date. With you. Nilla.”

She stopped and turned slowly to face him. He watched disbelief, and then shock, cross her features. She had such an expressive face. Not saying anything, she just stared at him, her cheeks reddening. She dropped her purse, and looked as if she wanted to slap him.

“You! Is this some kind of joke?”

“No. No joke. I’m Rider, and you, apparently, are Nilla.”

She just stared, and Jack took her elbow, steering her to the bar again, to sit.

“Let go of me!”

“Fine. This is not exactly what I expected, either, believe me.”

She was still too horrified to really hear him or process what he was saying to her—this was the man she’d had been sharing her intimate fantasies with? Jack, the guy from her office, was the mystery man she had phone sex with?

Her heart sank into a pit of humiliation. She had helped him have an orgasm over the phone the same day they had exchanged swipes just a few hours earlier in her office! How could this be? He must have known. He must have set her up somehow; this must be an office prank. Her fingers tightened painfully on the edge of the bar.

“Can I get you another drink? I could sure use one.” His voice was resigned.

“I don’t think so.”

“Have it your way.”

He signaled the bartender and ordered a brandy, and they both sat there silently, looking dumbfounded. When she spoke, her voice was accusing.

“Why aren’t you wearing the clothes you said you would? The Red Sox hat, leather jacket? Were you trying to trick me?”

“Hardly. I had some trouble on the road, lost my hat and ruined my jacket. What do you take me for, anyway?”

“I don’t know what to think about this. I mean you…we…”

He watched the emotions play over her face, and felt like a cad, even though he had not done anything wrong. He sipped his brandy, trying to think of what to do next.

“We have reservations. What do you say we make peace, laugh it off, and go have dinner? We could at least talk about it. You have to admit, this is one hell of a coincidence.”

“I’m going home.” She got up, walked toward the door then outside. How could she stay? How could she let him see how devastated she was? She would not—not—let a single tear escape, though it seemed as if several thousand of them were threatening.