Читать книгу Lost in You - Sommer Marsden - Страница 11

‘Where are we off to?’

I was feeling the wine. A warm easiness despite the horrible weather and the steady undercurrent of fear.

‘Down to my favourite spot,’ I told him. ‘It’s kind of …’ I giggled. ‘Embarrassing. But it’s pretty when the lights are on and, who knows, they might not be for very much longer.’

‘I’m eager to see this spot.’

Our shoes clacked on the fancy tiled hallways. I couldn’t help myself. ‘I’ve seen my fair share of newspaper articles about you,’ I said. ‘I find it hard to believe that my favourite place in what’s really a glorified shopping mall is exciting to you!’

He smiled at me. Something in the smile was slightly sad, though. ‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’

‘What was the most recent one I read …?’ I touched my chin and tilted my head, pretending to think. I was teasing him a little. Yes, I was definitely feeling the wine. ‘Oh, was it a trip to Africa to build a schoolhouse for orphan children?’

Dorian nodded. ‘Indeed it was.’

‘That seems much more exciting than the hallway outside the movie theatres with small globe lights.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I guess it depends on why that’s your favourite spot,’ he said.

I darted down the hall that led to the movie theatres and realised I was moving fast enough to be considered running. I heard him pick up speed. What was wrong with me that I was taunting my rich boss? Almost making him chase me?

The wind kicked up and I heard parts of the building groan. The lights flickered and the world lost its brightness. Then they flared back to life again. I stood still, though, already spooked.

He caught my elbow and set the box of wine on the floor. We both still clutched our cups. ‘That trip to Africa?’

I waited, breathing hard. Most of my nerve endings had focused on my elbow where he touched me. ‘Yes? What about it?’

‘I did that, like most things, to humour my mother. She’s sad and rich and likes to see her only son in the newspaper.’

‘Oh … I thought maybe you did it for –’

‘The orphans?’

‘Yes.’ A small part of me felt deflated by his news.

‘Oh, I did. But I’m more low-key. Build it and maybe fly up and secretly pop in to see the fruits of my dead father’s money. See what other people have accomplished brilliantly in my name.’

‘Oh’ was the only thing I could manage. Because now, after being around him for a while, that did seem more his speed. A low-key, humble act.

‘But my mother … she likes to see her baby in the news. She likes people to know our family is still doing great things even after my flashy father’s passing.’

‘Flashy?’

‘He liked to be in the newspaper,’ he said, winking at me. ‘Every day if humanly possible.’

‘Oh,’ I said again. And again I saw that flash of something like sadness cross his handsome face. It made my heart hurt. He’d been nothing but nice to me. Nothing but kind.

I grabbed his hand. ‘Come on. The lights flickered again. Let’s go and see my spot before they go out for good.’

‘What happens when they go out for good?’ he asked, going with me when I pulled him along.

‘You’ll have to coax me out of the corner and make me stop sucking my thumb,’ I said, trying to be funny. But the memories from my past were lurking in the dark shadows of my mind, threatening to make my stupid joke a sad reality.

When we rounded the corner I sat immediately on one of the red leatherette benches under the Rotunda’s marquee. ‘Here we go.’

‘Wow. I’d forgotten about this,’ he said, dropping down next to me.

I let my head fall back against the brick wall. ‘I used to sit here when I was a kid and just stare at all those little globes. Then I’d break free from my grandma and run up the ramps to the very highest level to look at them. I used to imagine …’ I shook my head, cutting off my silly thoughts. I wasn’t very surprised that tears had pricked my eyes.

‘Oh, come on, Clover,’ he groaned good-naturedly. ‘You have to stop leaving me hanging like that! Finish that sentence, woman.’

Then he did something unexpected. He ruffled my hair and then patted my head. It should have seemed an annoying gesture, almost like someone playing with a dog. But it had an undertone to it that was nearly sexual. The familiar nature of it stole my breath. And the way his big hands felt cradling the top of my head sustained that feeling.

‘OK, OK,’ I said, batting his hand away playfully. ‘I used to watch them and imagine that I saw dancing.’

‘Dancing?’

‘People in them dancing.’

His intense green eyes were studying me. I felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. ‘What people?’

‘Me.’ I chewed my lower lip. Was I really going to tell him the truth? Was I really going to admit this stupid thing aloud?

‘You dancing?

‘Me and someone else.’ I slipped my finger back and forth over my expensive, expertly faded jeans.

‘Who?’

‘My dad,’ I blurted. ‘You know, I was a kid and …’ I sighed. ‘The father–daughter dance at school was the first time I had this little crazy fantasy. All the girls came and brought their dads. I came with my grandpa. He was still alive then. And he was wonderful,’ I said, feeling suddenly guilty. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I loved him very much but –’

‘There is no replacement for dad,’ he said. ‘Trust me, I get it.’

‘Anyway, I guess I saw one too many Disney movies because I used to imagine seeing us dancing up there in those globes. I fantasised that one day it would come true. That my father would come back and dance with me. Somewhere. Sometime.’

But my mother and I were not my father’s cup of tea, it seemed. There were flights to be had to exotic places, deals to be made, a life to be lived. He went off and continued to live his and my mother raised me right.

‘Did you ever meet him?’ Dorian asked, breaking up my internal pity party.

I forced myself to look right at him but I cheated and stared at the bridge of his nose instead. ‘No. I’ve never met him. And at this point I really don’t want to.’

He nodded briskly and stood, set his wine down near the bench and held out his hand. ‘Clover Brite?’

I swallowed hard. ‘Um … what?’

‘May I have this dance?’

He started humming even as I took his hand. I felt silly and chaotic inside. It was wonderful. Dancing with a man who looked like Dorian would be memorable. I could only pray I didn’t trip over my own feet before we could actually dance.

He pulled me to him, his hand chivalrously against my lower back. He held my right hand, not stiffly and formally but close to his chest, and pressed his cheek to mine. We danced.

I shut my eyes and simply let myself be. I didn’t want to analyse this situation, I wanted to cherish it.

He hummed softly and we rocked. It wasn’t a big shiny dance number, it was subtle. It wasn’t that flashy movie moment, it was two people holding each other and moving just a bit as a storm raged outside.

‘What are you humming?’ I whispered. It felt right to whisper.

‘You don’t recognise it?’

I inhaled deeply and the scent of Dorian Martin filled my head. It was magical. It made me feel unhinged in the most wonderful way.

‘I do but I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

‘My mother used to play it endlessly when I was growing up. On an album, no less.’

That made me laugh. ‘You really are ancient, right?’

He chuckled. I felt him kiss my hair and desire, sudden and startling, hit me. I tried to remember wanting a man the way I found myself wanting this one. I couldn’t recall a single instance.

‘I know. Old as dirt.’ Then he turned me slowly and I could see the empty marquee over his shoulder. He hummed a bit more and then, softly, ‘Strangers in the Night …’

I smiled. ‘Only it’s not night.’

‘Sounds better than strangers in the rainy afternoon.’

‘Strangers in a monsoon?’ I teased.

‘It’s actually a super-storm. Like a sci-fi movie.’

‘When does the octosharkogator arrive?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. Up close his eyes were a true evergreen. He watched me intently. I’d never felt more naked. Especially while utterly clothed and upright.

‘Oh.’ I’d run out of pithy responses.

‘But I know I’d better do this before it gets here.’

We didn’t stop moving. We kept rocking gently, more of a cooperative sway than a dance, as he pushed his hands into my hair and held my head. His mouth was warm and soft and tasted of sweet red wine.

When he kissed me, I felt something in me crumble. Some part that I had fought to hold tight to, calm and stiff against all worry and loneliness. I had my grandmother, sure, but that was all I had. I treasured her but it was no substitute for some kind of romantic attachment in my life. I didn’t need a knight in shining armour, but a person to share things with wouldn’t hurt. It was a fact I rarely let myself examine. A craving I rarely let myself surrender to.

I kissed him back and the hunger in that kiss scared me. It was terrifying, in that moment, how my hands roamed over him and my heart beat just for him. How the sound I made was a very simple broadcast of desire. Normally I’d have been mortified, horrified, embarrassed.

I wasn’t. I was happy right there, right then, in his arms as the weather raged on.