Find Her, Keep Her (11 page)

“I remember she used to go to Vegas every weekend. She said she was seeing someone there. Was it you?”

“Hell no!” He lets out a long sigh. “Are we done talking about her? If I could take it back, I would. Especially if I knew I would meet you one day.”

“Did you enjoy it–being with her?” I ask squeamishly.

“Nope.”
 

“You’re just saying that,” I mutter.

“Daisy…” He glances at me. “I’ll tell you the truth. If I had liked fucking her even a little, I would say so. I can give you the reasons why I didn’t.” He says that like he’s waiting for a response.

I’m too curious to pass on the offer. “Sure, I want to hear it.”
 

“You’re tight; she’s not. Chicks like her have this bone right here”—he pushes down on my pelvis—“that sticks you like a needle.”

“All right.” I throw up my hands. “I know I asked for it. I got it. No need to explain any further.” I guess that was too much information.

“Are you sure?” He grins. “Because I have a lot more reasons.”

“I’m sure you do.”

We laugh.

 
He’s still staring straight ahead. There’s something satisfying about the conversation we just had; it makes me feel a lot better.

 
Belmont reaches over to stroke my thigh, and that’s where he leaves his hand.

Oak Bluffs has an “Old Town” feel to it. It’s quaint and cute but built for amusement. It hits us by surprise. One moment we’re driving up Sea View Avenue, flanked by a pond on one side and a pristine ocean on the other, and then suddenly our attention is captured by a wide landscape of plush green grass. All the pathways cutting through Ocean Park lead to a white, wood gazebo.
 

Today, a wedding is taking place on the lawn. The guests are focused on the bride and groom, who are saying their “I do’s” under the shade of the gazebo. The wind lifts the hem of her dress. She doesn’t look too comfortable as she holds her floral headpiece in place with one hand. I bet she never predicted the uptick in the wind. That’s the thing about the east coast; the weather can change like that. In L.A., ninety-nine percent of the time, the weather you wake up with is the same weather you go to bed with.

Belmont drives past the Oak Bluffs police station and stops at a sign. The general location looks familiar. I saw this all in my research on Martha’s Vineyard. I identify the Flying Horses—which houses the oldest carousel in America—on Oak Bluffs Avenue and the tip of Circuit Avenue. The Campsite is not too far from here.

Belmont honks and the passing Jeep returns the beep. Instead of taking his hand off my lap, he lifts the one off the steering wheel to wave at the man in the white pickup. Soon he turns left into a famous community of gingerbread houses.
 

“Is this where we’re going?” I ask, intrigued by the colors.
 

“Yep,” he replies as he parallel parks, using one hand to navigate between two small cars without breaking a sweat.
 

“Impressive,” I remark, grinning at him.

He leans across the seat, and I let him kiss me. Every time his tongue touches mine, my heart rate increases. His kisses are never casual; they’re laced with passion and desire. My back straightens, and my chest puffs up as he pulls me toward him. He sucks on my chin and jawbone until he slides his warm, wet tongue down my neck. A moan escapes me. He’s made me ready for whatever he wants to do to me next.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he whispers thickly.
 

Each gingerbread house is painted in a different color. Pink, blue, green, orange, red—you name it and it’s probably splashed on one of those cottages. I feel as if we’re traipsing through a neighborhood in a Brothers Grimm tale. Many have flowerbeds of tulips planted in front of the wraparound porches or sitting in flowerboxes on the rails. And then there are the domed bay windows that open to quaint balconies built into the gables. Frankly, I’m charmed by the entire spectacle.
 

Belmont takes my hand. He leads me up the dusty road and to a mint green cottage. He unlocks the door with one of his many keys.
 

“We’re going in here?” I ask, surprised.

“Yep.”
 

My awe is quelled as soon as we’re inside. The entire ground floor is vacant. “There’s nothing here,” I say.

“We’re going upstairs,” he replies.

 
Belmont takes my hand and leads me up the stairs to a room with a bed, two big armchairs in front of a dome-topped bay door with a square table between them, and a ceiling that’s so low Belmont can reach up to touch it.
 

“Give me a second.” He gets on his hands and knees to dig under the bed. He says I’m sexy, but he’s the sexy one. No one has ever made tan slacks and a light blue V-neck T-shirt look so appealing. And he’s wearing a pair of white, blue and orange tri-colored designer sneakers on his feet. He’s so well put-together, and it’s a turn on.
 

“Got it!” he says victoriously and pulls out the game of checkers.
 

I’m still mesmerized by his sexy physique when he stands and takes the box to the table. He sits in one of the chairs and arranges the pieces on the board.
 

“You’re red. I’m black,” he says.
 

“Is that because red’s for girls?” I ask, grinning.

“Exactly.” He smiles back. “How did you know?”

“I have a brother.”

“Oh, one of your father’s sons? I thought you weren’t close?”
 

“No, I’m talking about my older brother.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Where does he live?”

This is the hard part. My legs grow weak, and I sit down in front of the red pieces.
 

“He doesn’t
live
anywhere. He’s dead.” I keep my eyes pinned to the board.
 

I feel Belmont’s reaction in his pause. “I’m sorry. I can see how hard it is for you to talk about it.”

I nod as my eyes water and sinuses constrict. I clear my throat to keep my voice from cracking in case he asks me another question about Daniel.
 

“This isn’t going to work,” Belmont claims.
 

The next thing I know, he takes my hands and lifts me to my feet. We shuffle around the table and he yanks my body against his. His tongue is deep in my mouth. Every part of him is rock hard: his thighs, his chest, his hands, and his rod. Belmont has a way of being forceful yet gentle. The way he shoves a hand under my skirt and squeezes is a perfect example.
 

“Do you have sex often?” He asks as the tips of his fingers slide in and out of my vagina.

“No,” I gasp. “Why would you ask me that?”
 

“Because you’re waxed.”

“Oh,” I sigh. “I like it. It feels cleaner.” I let out another loud gasp when his fingers curl inside of me, and he pushes them against something. I have no idea what he’s touching, but it creates the most pleasurable feeling.
 

“I know I’m taking a gamble and I’m asking a lot,” he whispers. “But I want to see this guy, your ex.”

“Huh?” I cry out as his palm shifts against my pubic bone and works in unison with his fingers. I’m on the verge of climaxing. I grab his shirt, clinging to him as he walks me to the foot of the bed and lays me down.
 

Belmont certainly has the magic touch. He knows how to take me from zero to screaming out of my head in less than ten seconds. That’s exactly what I do until he wraps his tongue around mine. He snatches off my panties. As soon as he unbuttons and unzips his pants, his rock-hard erection springs forward. Instinctively, I spread my legs as he kneels between my thighs, staring into my eyes. I wonder what he’s thinking. His lips are parted, and he’s breathing heavily.
 

He touches me there and lifts his fingers to his nose. “I love the way you smell”—he puts the fingers in his mouth—“and taste.”

There’s nothing but fiery lust in his eyes. He peels me out of my dress and unhooks the clips at the front of my bra. He watches my breasts fall out of the cups.

“Daisy, he’s not going to leave until he sees you. The faster he’s gone, the better,” Belmont says out of the blue.

At first I’m confused, but then it computes. “Adrian?”

“Yeah, your ex.”

“Do you think we should talk about this right now?” I ask, panting from desire.

“I want him to see that you’ve moved on.” He pauses to get a good eyeful of my naked body. “Hell, I don’t know where to start first.”

“Belmont,” I say, way more sober than he is. I lift myself up on my elbows.
 

“Yeah?”
 

“Belmont,” I call louder, hoping to rattle him out of his stupor.
 

He blinks hard. “Yeah?”
 

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it. I’ll see what he has to say.”

“Will it be hard for you to see him?”
 

“I don’t know,” I admit.
 

“Do you love him?”

“No, I don’t.”
 

“Do you love me?” he asks.

My mouth is caught open.
Yes!
my heart shouts. But then it tells me to beware. I usually lose what I love. Love has never been my best friend or made me any promises of happiness. For all general purposes, love has become my enemy.

Without receiving an answer, Belmont impales me with his thickness. Slowly, carefully, he thrusts. Our hearts beat near each other and our lips press hard against each other.

“Do you love me?” he asks again.

“So soon?” I whisper.
 

“Doesn’t take long when it’s like this.” Suddenly he pushes deep inside of me, grunting and quivering. After a few moments, he becomes still. “See how fast that was?”

We both burst out in laughter.
 

“I already know how you feel about me,” he says after we simmer down. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t love me.”

“Is it love or lust?” I feel comfortable enough with him to ask hard questions.

“It’s both.”

“Or one.”

He turns silent and so do I.
 

“We could test it by not having sex, but I’ve got to have you. I’m in lust with you. Can’t deny it. But I love a lot of things about you too.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” I doubt he knows enough about me to love a lot about me.
 

“You’re gentle. I love the way your eyes light up when you’re captivated by something, like the beach or a red bird. You look at me like that sometimes, and it gets me right here.” He pats his chest. “And here.” He prods me with his brand-new erection. He sighs as he continues thrusting me. “And you’re smart. You’re not cheap; you’re expensive. I can’t believe I can afford you. We’re going to grow old and gray together. You watch.”

I can’t focus on all the reasons I feel the way I do about him because he withdraws his rod to trail kisses down my belly and latches onto my hot button.
 

An hour later, we lay together, loose limbed, on the bed. The checkerboard looms in the distance. Just seeing the perfectly placed pieces makes me chuckle at how easily we abandoned the plan. Belmont looks confused by my laughter.

“I thought we came here to play checkers.”
 

“We did, and we will,” he says optimistically. “One day. When
this
”—he waves a hand across our naked bodies—“calms down.”

“You think we’ll be together that long?” I ask before I can take it back.

Belmont lifts me on top of him. “Always doubting. Why is that?”

“What do you mean?”
 

He plants a quick yet meaningful kiss on my lips. “You just can’t give in to this. You want to, but you can’t. I think it’s about more than your ex-boyfriend. I thought it was him until you told me about your brother.”

“Huh?” I croak and scramble out of his embrace to sit on the side of the bed.
 

After a moment, he sits beside me. Our faces are very close.

“I’m not going anywhere, Daisy,” he declares in an intimate voice. “You have to trust someone. Why not me?”

I close my eyes. “I trust people,” I say unconvincingly.

“Is that so? Who might they be?” he challenges.

“My…” I start but stop. I want to say “parents,” but this thing with Belmont makes me more honest with myself. I close my eyes and shake my head.

“It’s okay, babe.” He gently kisses my mouth.

“My parents divorced about a month after my brother died,” I disclose.
 

He doesn’t drawback or move an inch. He stays close, so close I can feel his breath upon my lips.
 

“It was like once he was gone, there was no need to be a family anymore. They both remarried, had other children…” I don’t realize I’m crying until one of my tears drops onto my thigh.
 

Belmont’s lips go to work, kissing and licking the skin beneath my eyes. His tender act makes me able to give in to him fully. I accept his gesture, and my lips greedily seek his. Our arms and hands grasp for each other. Our legs twist and curl. I whimper as my mouth seeks refuge in his.

“Yes,” I finally say. “I do love you.”

Chapter 8

Unburied Secrets

Belmont and I leave the checkerboard alone. He says we’ll come back tomorrow and play a few rounds. I certainly hope not. Since I’ve admitted that I don’t think I matter to my parents, I’m contemplating confessing that I hate board games, especially checkers.
 

I glance at him as the colonial structures of his beachside estate come into view. It’s hard to believe I’m in a relationship with the person who owns that cluster of houses. It’s so permanent, so adult. And then there’s Belmont himself. He’s so perfect for me, and at first sight—or second and third sight—I would’ve never guessed it.
 

I didn’t call Maya and tell her we’re planning on meeting them at the restaurant. I hope that she and Adrian decided seeing me again was a lost cause and packed up and ferried out.
 

Belmont leaves me alone in an office to fire up my computer and work a little before we leave. Lo and behold, there’s an email from Dusty. He’s, checking up on my progress, requesting pictures and reiterating how excited he is about hosting an article for the taxicab series that I haven’t yet begun to write.