Fat Girl (35 page)

Dee mulls it over, gnawing her plump bottom lip, before she finally agrees. “Fine. It’s the most practical option under the circumstances.”

Her voice has taken that cool business tone, but the wariness in her eyes tells the real story. She’s still nervous about the prospect of being alone with me. And as my gaze drifts over the hard tips of her breasts straining against the wet, clinging fabric, I know once we clear my front door it’s going to take every bit of my willpower not to push Dee up against the wall and take her like a desperate man.

God knows I want to. But if I make love to her tonight, rather than afterglow there’ll be recrimination. Dee will hate herself for throwing away the vestiges of her self-control and condemn me for being an opportunist. So as much as I want her, I’m going to keep my paws to myself: s
hort-term pain for long-term gain
.

During the quick elevator ride and the walk to my penthouse, I can feel anxiety radiating off her. “You’re not entering the lion’s lair,” I say when I unlock the door.

“I know that.”

“Then stop looking at me as though you’re the sacrificial lamb. We can talk or watch TV, whatever you want. And when you’re ready to sleep, you’ll go to one bedroom and I’ll go to the other. So there’s no reason to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” she says.

“You’re shaking,” I point out.

“I’m cold.”

If pretending to be in control of her emotions makes Dee feel better, I’m not going to argue. I push open the door and move back to let her inside. The motion sensor bathes the suite in blue ambient light. While I disengage the alarm, I watch the scan of her eyes taking it all in. Compared with her place, my apartment must seem enormous. The living room is a vast expanse; at the opposite end, floor-to-ceiling windows lead to the terrace, which overlooks the city.

We toe off our wet shoes in the foyer, making a small puddle where we stand.

“Do you have a towel to wipe this up?” she asks.

None of the women I occasionally hook up with would ever ask me that. They’d either not notice or expect a servant to be on hand. “Sure. Let me get one.” I’m back in a moment with a towel, but I insist on being the one to mop up the water.

Dee inches forward in her stocking feet, curling her toes from the cold. I try to picture my place through her eyes. The decor’s modern and masculine. Mostly blacks, tans, and browns. Recessed lighting everywhere.
Bells and Mama T have been itching for two years to add “a pop of color.” But I’ve never consented to letting them mess around with my space. Now, if Dee wanted to, she could. I’d change the whole damn thing to hot pink if it would get her to stay for more than just the night.

“Let’s get you something to wear. Bedrooms are this way,” I say, leading her down the hall and providing the whirlwind tour as we go. “Powder room’s on the left, laundry room to the right, office over here, this is the workout room, and the master suite is just ahead. You can take that and I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

“I’d prefer the guest room.”

“Sure,” I say, disappointed. I like the idea of Dee being in my apartment, but even more I like the idea of her sleeping in my bed. Her warm, scented body curled up on my sheets, her tumble of curls fanning across my pillow.

I show her to the room across the hall from mine, where Dwayde sleeps when he stays over. There’s a queen-sized bed and a dresser, and through the French glass doors is an art table topped with art supplies. “The cleaning staff came by yesterday, so there are fresh sheets on the bed and clean towels in the bathroom. I’ll be right back with some clothes.”

When I return several minutes later, after calling to ensure the Torres clan are safe and sound, I find Dee moving around the room, studying each of the framed sketches.

“Are these Dwayde’s?” she asks.

“Yep.”

“Wow,” she murmurs and stops at the charcoal drawing of me making a three-point shot. My feet lifted off the ground; my shooting arm extended in the air; the ball sinking into the net. My expression victorious.

“When Isabelle said Dwayde was gifted, I wasn’t expecting this. From what I know of graffiti, I thought it would be more cartoonish, not in a bad way. But these…they’re amazing, so lifelike, down to the minute details. The muscles in your legs and arms. The tension in your jaw. The glimmer of victory in your eyes.”

“Kid’s got talent,” I say proudly. “I have a couple of pieces of his graffiti-style art in my living room. I’ll show you later.”

“These are all exceptional, but this one of you leaves me in awe.”

“Dwayde sketched it during one of my games. I promised I’d make a three-point basket for him, and I did better than that. It was the winning shot.”

“I can feel how special the drawing is to him. How proud you look and the joy he felt watching you.”

“It was one of the few times that I loved playing. The game meant something having Dwayde there.”

She turns to me, her smile warm and reflective, her face breathtakingly beautiful. It’s in these moments when Dee’s guard is down that she is hardest to resist. But before I forget the vow I’d made less than ten minutes ago, I hand her the clothes.

Sweatpants and a limited-edition sweatshirt with Chicago Bulls printed on the front and my name and player number on the back. If I can’t have Dee sleeping in my bed, I’ll at least have her wearing something of mine that bears my name.

“Thanks,” she says lowering her gaze to the folded sweats and the white gym socks sitting on top.

“I noticed you curling your toes.”

Her gaze lifts back to mine, and our eyes lock in a moment of heated remembrance. I haven’t forgotten that Dee’s feet always felt the cold first. Or the many times I rubbed them warm to catch up with the rest of her body. It’s going to kill me to step out of this room when I can see the longing in her eyes and feel my desire pushing like a caged animal behind my zipper. But I force my feet to the door. And only then, with space between us, do I pause on the other side and say over my shoulder, “Make sure you grab a shower to warm up. There’s soap in the cabinet.”

“Mick.”

I attempt to wipe all need off my face before I turn around.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier,” she says, clutching my clothes to her chest as if to shield her heart. “I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

I could be gracious and accept her apology without question, but I don’t have it in me. Dee ran before without giving me an explanation. This time, I need one. “Why did you?” I ask, leaning against the doorjamb, crossing my arms over my chest.

She goes quiet for so long I doubt I’m going to get an answer until I hear her sigh of resignation.

“I’ve worked hard to build what I have and put the past behind me. When you showed up a week ago, you threw the order and control I require out of whack. You brought all the emotions and guilt I had tried to bury to the surface. I resented you for that. And then I resented you more when I realized my attraction to you was still…” She purses her lips and her eyes squint, as if she is searching for the right word. “Powerful,” she breathes with a sexy little catch in her throat. “But for reasons that are my own, I can’t afford to act on it again.”

“And those reasons are why you left Springvale?”

She nods. “The way I left was wrong. I offer no excuse. But I won’t discuss it.”

Hearing that sets me off. “I’m getting tired of you telling me what we can and can’t discuss. We can’t talk about anything personal. We can’t talk about why you can’t act on our mutual attraction. We can’t talk about why you left. That’s bullshit, Dee. You’re not over the past. And you’re never going to be unless you talk about it.”

I strip off my wet clothes and throw them forcefully across my bathroom into the laundry hamper. What happened to gentle persuasion?

Too keyed up to think straight, I take my frustration under the hot shower spray. Closing my eyes, I let the water pulsating from the wide showerhead work the kinks out of my shoulders and loosen my anger. But how’s a man supposed to calm the fuck down when the woman he wants is in the next room, probably peeling the slick material off her ripe, full body right now?

Feeling aggrieved by the hard-on I’ve had for Dee for the past week and all the roadblocks I keep hitting, my body claws for release. I lean my forehead against the marble tile as my mind flashes back to sliding the pepper between Dee’s soft pink lips.

I curl my hand around my rock-hard dick, telling myself this is
best behavior
insurance for the night ahead. My calloused palm doesn’t feel nearly as good as Dee’s mouth. But I let my memory do the work.

In the back seat of my Mustang, Dee lay on top of me, wearing some pretty, gauzy dress I hadn’t seen her in before. She smelled like sunshine and flowers. With light fairy kisses she tracked her mouth across my bare chest and down my torso to the waistband of my jeans. I shuddered beneath her touch; the anticipation of what she was about to do firing through my veins.

“Are you sure?” I grated out.

“Yes,” she whispered, looking up from her position between my legs and unzipping my jeans. She slid her warm hand inside my briefs to free my erection. “I want to kiss you here.”

With that, she dipped her head and licked across the tip. “Dee…” I groaned; the stroke of her tongue hitting me like a lightning bolt of ecstasy. And when she opened her mouth and took me inside all that soft, damp heat I knew I wouldn’t last long.

Watching her head bob up and down was sexy as hell. But sexier still was when I pulled her curls back to see her lips wrapped around me and her cheeks hollowing as she sucked as much of me as she could.

Your mouth is so sweet…so soft…so…yes…baby…ahh…Dee, I’m gonna come…

It was as much a warning as it was a benediction. But Dee didn’t pull away. And holding back would have been like trying to stop a launched rocket.

A ragged growl tears from my throat and the blistering shout of her name echoes off the bathroom tiles as I blow against my fingers.
Goddamn.
If a memory of Dee could almost bring me to my knees, there was no telling what having her again would do to me.

Gasping for air, I lean against the marble wall, recovering slowly under the spray. Once I catch my breath, I finish up my shower and get dressed.

My body is satiated for now, but my mind is far from satisfied. In fact, having taken the edge off, my thoughts are back and doing double duty.

I need some time to figure stuff out.

I can’t, Mick. I can’t do this with you. Not again.

You can’t fix this.

Are you to add kidnapping to your list of crimes?

What the hell was I missing? What had Dee needed to figure out three weeks after accepting my proposal? What can’t I fix? Had my walking away that night been the ultimate, unforgivable offense? Or was there something else?

Questions twist through my mind as my feet take me to the walk-in closet. I retrieve the portable safe from the top shelf and place it on the chest of drawers. After entering the security code, I pull on the handle and move aside the emergency cash, my passport, and other important documents. Buried underneath are my regrets.

I unfold the acceptance letter from NYU. It still bears the wrinkles from being balled into my fist fifteen years ago and hurled across my bedroom in a fit of drunken rage.

Congratulations! Your creative submission was well-written and polished, speaking to a talent and maturity beyond your years.…

Our summer program will offer you the opportunity to flesh out
Princess Dionna and the
Dark Shadow
. We hope to see you on campus in July for orientation.

They hadn’t.

Ruefully, I put the letter down to remove the blue velvet box—unopened since the night Dee left. With a less than steady hand, I flip up the lid. At the sight of the diamond heart centered in a gold band, my chest pinches with the onslaught of memories.

I remember the morning after my science exam, when I drove to Chicago because I couldn’t chance going to a jewelry store in Springvale, where everyone knew me. I browsed the glass cases of several stores, not sure exactly what I was looking for, until I saw
it
. I was immediately drawn to the simple, understated beauty, much as I’d been drawn to Dee.

I didn’t have much money then, only what I’d been saving up for NYU. The ring cost me a good portion of those savings—not that I cared. I believed Dee was my forever. The woman who would be my wife and the mother of my children, the one I’d grow old with. Take care of. Make happy.

And she’d wanted that too. I heard it in her voice when she’d thrown her arms around my neck and rained kisses all over my face. “Yes, Mick. To everything. I promise to always be there for you and to make you happy, too.”

My heart pounding against my rib cage, I take one last look at the ring before closing the box.

Dee was madly in love with me, and I let her down. I should have been stronger. I should have given her the reassurance she needed so that she could trust her heart to me.

Reassurance she still needs.

Fifteen years is a long time.

But I refuse to believe it’s too late.