Love Gone Wild: A Contemporary Romantic Comedy (5 page)

Marissa wasn't sure what to do. She didn't understand Dane at all. Men were much more complicated creatures than she'd been led to believe. Daddy
always
gave in to Mommy's demands. Her father and mother finished each other's sentences. They did silly things like intentionally misquoting Shakespeare to suit their romantic moments and wearing those ghastly matching Hawaiian shirts when they went golfing. They loved each other, and they loved her, but their protectiveness had turned into control. It was almost as if they believed she would be fourteen-years-old forever; somehow, they had convinced themselves that time would stop for their little girl. But time didn't stop. Eight years had passed and she had grown up.

For the millionth time, she wondered what her life would be like if Gillian hadn't died. Shaking off her thoughts, she turned to Brent. "So, what do you do?'

"In what circumstances?"

She almost said, "This one," but thought better of it considering Dane's grumpy mood. Brent was nice-looking, sure, but so far, Dane was the only man she'd met that produced in her a peculiar heart-pounding, breath-catching response—just by thinking about him.
Hmmm.
She needed to analyze these feelings and figure out how they were reproduced.

"I meant what do you do for a living?"

"When I'm not working at the TeenCenter as a counselor, I'm a pilot."

"Private or commercial?"

"Instructor. I teach people how to fly." He grinned at her. "What do you do?"

The question startled Marissa. She chewed her lower lip as she thought about it. She'd never considered a career. Her life was one of luxury. She could have just about anything she wanted, except her freedom, by asking for it. The idea of a job—of doing something productive with her time—interested her. "I don't really do anything. How does one go about finding out what to do with one's life?"

Brent blinked. "Huh?"

"Don't go there," said Dane. "You've got enough to do on your current list without adding anything else. In fact, you should probably pare down the list. Get rid of a few items."
Like the one-night stand? Not likely.
"I'm not giving up a single thing." She sized up Brent. Handsome with a to-die-for body, he was a prime specimen for a sexual encounter. She resisted the urge to squeeze his biceps, only because she didn't want him to feel like a choice bit of meat. Dane had made it clear he would not ask Brent to engage in a one-night stand with her.

If Dane wouldn't ask, she would. "Brent, I know we just met, but since you're a good friend of Dane's, I feel comfortable asking if you would consider—"

"We're here," interrupted Dane. "Just stop the truck by the building. You don't have to park and come in."

"Wouldn't dream of it," said Brent.

Dane opened the passenger-side door and grasped Marissa's arm. "C'mon, princess."

"But what about—"

"Later."

She scooted to the edge of the bench seat, attempting to resist his grip. "Can I just ask if—"

"No." Dane grabbed her purse from the floorboard, slung it over his shoulder, then grabbed her by the waist and slung
her
over his other shoulder. Her T-shirt threatened to ride up and expose her lacy panties.

"What are you doing?" she said, feeling rather alarmed.

"Saving you from yourself."

"That's ridiculous." She huffed out a breath. "I'm feeling a bit light-headed." She looked down and saw the view. "Oh, my. You do have a wonderful butt."

She heard Brent's choking laughter, then the slam of the truck's door. "Thanks for the ride, Brent."

"Sure you don't need any help there, buddy?"

"Get outta here. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Marissa heard the clank of the gearshift and the truck motored off.

"Honestly, Dane, I'm perfectly capable of walking."

"You're perfectly capable of getting into trouble." He put her down in front of a staircase. "My apartment is up there. Number seventy-one."

His eyebrows nearly touched his hairline and "don't mess with me" glittered in his eyes. Marissa realized Dane wasn't in a negotiating kind of mood, so she tucked away her questions about sexual relations with his friend and jogged up the stairs. His low groan stopped her movements. She turned around. "Are you—"

Dane crashed into her. She stumbled back, gasping when his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close. Pressed against his naked, muscled chest, she felt a delicious chill skitter up her spine. She grasped his arms, holding on tight since her legs felt wobbly. Her nipples pebbled. The thin T-shirt nightgown didn't provide much of a barrier and she heard Dane's teeth click as his clamped his mouth shut.
"Princess..."

Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh. He looked so dangerous, so kissable. Dane was such a beautiful specimen. She wanted to explore the planes of his face, trace the firm full lips, stroke the strong cords of his neck... "Is-is it warm to you?"

"It's like living in hell."

She swallowed. Dane's gaze had dropped to her mouth and her lips tingled. "I suppose you should let me go—unless you'd like to kiss me."

A door opened and closed. Marissa glanced up and saw two young boys carrying a basketball lean on the railing. "Hey mister, dontcha know it's illegal to have sex in public?"
"We're not having sex." Dane's glower didn't faze the freckled-face kid with shaggy blonde hair. His companion was just as freckled and just as shaggy, except his hair was dark brown. The imp grinned. "Whatcha doin' outside in your underwear then?"

"None of your business, kid. Why don't you go play basketball?"

"Cuz you an' her are blockin' the way."

Dane ushered Marissa up the stairs and toward a door with #71 painted in black above its peephole. "It's all yours, boys."
They pounded down the staircase, then the blonde-haired one stopped and looked up at Dane. "Your purse is really ugly, mister."

His friend laughed and they took off, running like Satan was poking their backsides with a pitchfork.

Marissa pinched her lips together to prevent the laughter bubbling up. Dane looked even grumpier as he silently handed her the purse. Luckily for Dane, his boxers had a back pocket and he extracted his wallet. Marissa wondered if all boxers came with pockets. It seemed on odd feature to put on underwear.

"You keep your keys in your wallet?"

"No. I keep two keys in it. One for the apartment and one for my car." He inserted the key into the lock, opened the door, and ushered her inside. "Always keep spares—you never know what might happen."

"I'll remember that."

Dane opened the door and gestured for Marissa to enter. She stepped into a small living room decorated in dark browns. Scents of vanilla and cinnamon tickled her nose. She expected a more sweat-and-cigar-smoke kind of smell from a bachelor's apartment. Sports memorabilia cluttered tables and shelves; posters and framed photos of various sporting events covered almost available inch of wall space. She rounded the corner of a leather easy chair and stumbled to a stop. "Oh, my heavens!"

Against the far wall, under a huge picture window, was a tan couch. On it, lay a teenaged girl sleeping.

She was dressed in a lacy red teddy.

"Are you hungry? I make a mean cheese ome—" Dane stopped; his gaze followed Marissa's.

At that moment, the girl awoke. She stretched becomingly, her pert breasts straining against the revealing lingerie. She aimed a sleepy smile at Dane. "Hi lover. Where've you been?"

"
J
ANEY
!"

Dane's annoyed tone startled Marissa. Emotions swirled through her. A cold, hard knot formed in her stomach as she watched Dane stomp across the living room, grab an afghan, and throw it around the girl's shoulders.

Surely this girl isn't his lover.

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Dane in a pissed-off voice.

The girl's gaze assessed Marissa. Her eyes narrowed. "Who's she? Why is she half-naked?"

"Why is
she
half-naked? Why are
you
half-naked?" Dane stood about a foot from the girl, his arms crossed, his expression thunderous. He'd apparently forgotten he was in his boxers. "How did you get in here?"

"Don't pretend, lover," purred the girl. "You can tell her about us."

"There
is
no us. You're just a kid, for God's sake."

"I am not!" The girl flung off the afghan and stood. "I'm a woman. Look at me!"

"I see a little girl playing dress up."

"I'm fifteen." She sauntered to him and pressed against his folded arms; her fingers trailed his biceps. He jumped back like she'd dropped acid on him. "I'm old enough, damn it." Her gaze skittered toward Marissa. "How old is she?"

"I'm twenty-two."

Dane sent her a shut-up look.

"I-I'll be twenty-three in a couple of months," she added lamely.

"Get dressed, Janey."

The girl's lips formed a mutinous pout. "I did everything right. Candles. Dinner. Lingerie."

The girl plopped on the couch, pulled up her knees, and put her arms around her legs. It was a position that suggested vulnerability and a need for protection. Janey was a girl wanting badly to be a woman. Marissa felt a tug of sympathy. She knew well how Janey felt.

On the table next to the couch were several candles of varying heights and colors—all half-melted. They explained the sweet scents filtering through the apartment. She also noticed two table trays. Dinner for two had been arranged carefully. Each tray had a dinner plate, dessert plate, utensils, and champagne flutes. The girl had attempted to create a romantic atmosphere.

Janey obviously had a huge crush on Dane.

If the frowning, confused expression on Dane's face was any indication, the big galoot was clueless.

Tears formed in the girl's eyes. "I want you to like me."

"I do like you." Dane's harsh features softened. "You're the best softball pitcher at the Center."

"That's all you ever see. How good I am at sports." Her head dipped as if she didn't want Dane to see her cry. A shuddering sob shook her shoulders and she tightened into a ball.

Sympathy flowered into a need to act. Marissa stepped forward. "He thinks you're beautiful."

Janey looked up. "He does?"

Marissa dared a glance at Dane. His mouth was opening and closing like freshly-caught fish. She sent him a just-go-with-it look. His answering look said I-will-kill-you-later.

"He was just telling me how beautiful you are. How your blonde hair shines in the sunlight when you're pitching."

"Really?" She sniffled. "He said that?"

"Yes. And how nice you look in your uniform." Marissa's smile faltered. "But, alas, he knows that you can never be his."

"I-I can't?"

"You're young. Beautiful. Out of reach. He's already made the decision that he must admire you from afar."

"But why?"

"Because he's old."

Janey and Marissa both looked at Dane. "See the lines around his eyes? The graying hair? Soon, his gut will start to sag. His muscles will turn to mush. He'll go bald."

"Eeeew."

Marissa thought the tiny blood vessel pulsing in Dane's forehead was going to explode, but she pressed on. He couldn't know the fragility of a young girl's self-esteem. Better that Janey walked away from him than face his rejection. "You'll be in the prime of your life. Do you really want to take care of a doddering old man?"

"No." Janey swiped her tear-streaked face. "He's so nice to me. He treats me with respect. He's good-lookin' right now."
Marissa silently agreed. "It's not really fair, though. How do you think he'll feel walking around with a gorgeous young woman? He'll be afraid that you'll leave him for another. He'll watch you grow more beautiful as he gets older, grayer...fatter."

"F-fatter?" Janey looked at Dane with alarm. "I-I wouldn't want to hurt him."

"It's up to you," said Marissa. "You can let him go now or be the source of his greatest sorrow in his golden years."

Janey examined Dane with a scrunched-up expression. The girl was obviously giving him a mental makeover. She must have imagined a really old, really gray, really fat Dane because she looked horrified. She stood, gathered the afghan around her shoulders, and walked to Dane. "I'm sorry, but I like you too much to hurt you." She offered her hand. "Can we just be friends?"

"Yes," said Dane, shaking Janey's hand. "I'll have to live with admiring you from afar."

"I'll call Tommy for a ride." She bit her lip. "He's the one who let me in. Said you gave him a key in case he needed a place to crash. I'm glad you trust him, Mr. S. It means a lot to him. Just so you know, he thought I was making you a surprise dinner. He'd be really mad if he found out—well, you know."

"It's our little secret," said Dane. "I suppose your mother thinks you're someplace else?"

Janey blushed. "That I'm staying over at a friend's. Are you going to rat me out, Mr. S?"

"No. But if you ever pull another stunt like this one, I'll rat you out—big time."

"The pain of your rejection is making him grumpy," interrupted Marissa. She wished he'd stop frowning and acting so imposing. At this point, a statue had more animation than Dane. He was going to ruin her pining-after-Janey scenario. "Why don't you call Tommy, then get dressed?"

Janey turned to face Marissa. "You know, you're not so bad. Maybe if you don't mind that Mr. S is gettin' old and all—well, you could be his girlfriend."

Marissa pretended to ponder the possibility. "I'll have to think about it."

Janey went into the bathroom to dress. Dane put on some jeans and offered a pair of soccer shorts to Marissa. She tucked her T-shirt inside them and knotted the drawstring a few times.

Tommy arrived fifteen minutes later. He looked at Janey with what Marissa had once heard referred to as googly eyes. Marissa found it achingly sweet to watch the two interact. Janey obviously felt something for him, too. Maybe now that she no longer considered Dane as a possible boyfriend, a relationship with the sixteen-year-old Tommy would develop. A no-sex relationship. It bothered her to realize that kids as young as Janey and Tommy might indulge in physical acts they weren't ready for emotionally or mentally.
Didn't kids have enough to worry about these days without the additional burdens of venereal disease and pregnancy?
What about her? Her desire to have sex...was it a naïve foray into an area she wasn't ready to explore?

After the kids left, Dane cornered Marissa in the living room.

"What in the hell are you doing to me?"

She blinked. His ferocious tone made her back up a step.

"What do you mean?"

He pushed a hand through his hair. "My life has turned upside down since I met you. Not one single
normal
thing has happened to me in the last twenty-four hours."

"I'm terribly sorry, Dane, if I've upset—"

"That's another thing. All this apologizing. Why do you have to admit you're wrong all the time?"

"I'm not wrong all the time. But there's no reason to—"

"You're reasonable all the time, too. Except when it comes to that damned list. And hiring thugs. And beating up assholes. And saving disgusting rat dogs. And convincing young girls that I'm old. Never mind. You're not reasonable at all." He advanced on her.

She backed up until her legs smacked into the couch. Her heart pounded, not in fear, but in answer to the primal need she saw in Dane's eyes. Somehow, she understood that he wanted her, but that he didn't
want
to want her.

"I don't know if I should throttle you or—or do this!" He grabbed her shoulders and planted a fierce kiss on her lips.
Her knees weakened and she fell back onto the couch. He landed on top of her and nearly crushed her ability to breathe—not that she could've drawn a steady breath. He'd taken away that vital function with the onslaught of his mouth.

She didn't think kissing could get any better until Dane teased open her lips and slipped his tongue inside. Marissa thought she was going to faint. Her head buzzed, her body tingled, her emotional thermometer went into the red zone. Her ideas about being too naïve to experience sex melted like candle wax exposed to a flame.

Dane stilled then scooted away from her. "Shit." He rubbed his face as if he'd just wakened from a dream and he was trying to brush away the last of sleep. "I'm sorry, Marissa. I asked you not to touch me then I almost..."

"Ravished me?" She licked her lips. "Ravish me some more, please."

"I can't. I meant it about the one-night stand. I don't think two people should just have sex just because they're attracted to each other. There should be more and I don't have more to give you. Understand?"

"No." She looked at him, resisting the urge to yank him down on top of her and beg him to get on with the ravishing. "I've never asked for more."

"That's just it. You should ask for more. You should want the whole thing."

"What whole thing?"

Dane got off the couch and paced. "Love. A relationship. Marriage."

"Why do I need to want those things in order to have sex?" Marissa swung her legs over the side of the couch as she sat up. "I've studied the subject in depth and there have never been any indications that one must be in love with a partner in order to achieve an orgasm."

Dane looked at her as if she'd spoken ancient Greek. "Making love is a lot better when you care about the person."
"Responses are increased when emotions are involved...that makes sense. Yes, of course, there must be several benefits to making love when partners care about each other." She looked at Dane. "I will give the matter some more thought."

"Good."

"Could you hand me my purse? I need to find the list."

Dane took the purse from the chair she'd dropped it into and gave it to her. "You're not going to add anything to it, are you?"

"I'm going to mark something off." She dug out the pink paper and a pen.

"The one-night stand?"

"Close." She looked up at him and grinned. "The toe-curling kiss."

"
S
O LET
ME get this straight. You want to pay me a thousand bucks to follow you around and take notes." Tuesday shook his head. "Why?"

The café, nearly filled to capacity, buzzed with activity. The waitresses' tennis shoes squeaked on the linoleum as they continually passed by the booth. One waitress with long blonde hair and fading make-up stopped to fill their coffee mugs.

"Why are you here, Tuesday?" asked Marissa.

"My hair appointment isn't until nine o'clock and I had some time to kill."

"Are you honorable?"

Marissa saw Dane's grimace. Frowns were making regular appearances on his face. He looked so much nicer when he smiled. His eyes crinkled up a bit and his lips had this wonderful, kissable curve...oh, dear. She sipped her coffee. She really should stop acting googly-eyed over the man.

"I stole your purse and you're asking if I'm honorable? I'm just a..."

Marissa saw the movement of his throat as he swallowed the words.

He slouched at the table and looked at her. "You're nice and all. But this isn't my thing, you know what I'm sayin'? You want me to walk around like some, I don't know,
secretary."

"Would you like to create your own title? What about assistant?"

"Assistant? Hah. Like a valet? A limo driver? A butler? You want me to join my brothers in servitude?"

"I don't understand. Your siblings are servants?"

Tuesday leaned forward, an incredulous expression on his handsome face. "Do you know I'm black?"

"What does skin color have to do with anything?"

"Black isn't just a skin color. It's a lifestyle. An attitude."

"Really?" Marissa was instantly fascinated. "I've studied sociology—it's one of my favorite subjects, but I'm afraid I've never had any experience with America's sub-cultures. You could teach me. Take me places, explain things."

"What?"

Dane's bark of laughter drew their attention. "She wants a field trip into the black community."

Tuesday crossed his arms. "You crazy."

"Maybe I am." She sighed. She'd botched this whole situation. Wanting to help and actually helping were not the same things at all. Tuesday was a nice boy who deserved a chance, but only he could decide to take it. She reached inside her purse and pulled out the thousand dollars she'd paper-clipped together. "Here. Take this as payment for your time."

"Put that away!" said Tuesday and Dane at the same time. They looked at each other, then at Marissa.

She shoved it back into her purse. "Honestly. What's wrong with you two?"

"You can't show off that kind of cash," said Tuesday in a low voice. "Don't you believe in banks?"

"I can't afford paper trails."

"Paper trails? What are you—on the run?"

Marissa glanced at Dane. Yep. There was the insidious frown. She zipped up her purse and put it on her lap. "Sorta."

"Sorta
how?"
asked Dane.

"It's a long story and I don't feel like telling it right now. Be assured I didn't break out of jail or a psychiatric ward."

Tuesday's grin was conspiratorial. "Say, Miss M, I'll need a couple of legal pads—and one of those fancy pens, you know the kind that never run out of ink?"

Excitement rushed through her. "Oh, Tuesday! Does that mean you'll be my assistant?"

"It means I'll take a few notes. But I'm not driving cars or bringing out drinks to guests or caddying at the golf course."

"I wouldn't dream of asking you to do such things."

"Then you got a note-taker." Tuesday grasped her hand as she reached for the purse. "I don't get paid until the job is done."