The Sound of Consequence (Puget Sound ~ Alive With Love Book 1) (14 page)

Turning away, the click of Owen’s door stopped her momentum. That crazy tingle raced down her neck and she turned back to find Owen gawking, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Hi,” she said, biting her lip as her gaze traveled down his body. He wore black basketball shorts that sat low on his hips, his perfectly sculpted stomach and chest bare. The temperature in the hall suddenly went up fifty thousand degrees.

“Hi.” Owen said, his voice cold and distant, somewhat annoyed.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked, hoping maybe that was what had him sounding as if he wasn’t happy to see her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

“I couldn’t sleep either. I came to see if you wanted to go dancing.” She hadn’t intended to ask that. Sex was the only thing on her mind. Dancing was what came out her mouth.

“Dancing?” he asked. “At a club?” OK, so he was confused, not annoyed. Things were looking up.

“Where else would we go dancing?”

Owen looked her up and down, not once, but twice. If it’d been anyone else, Stacie might’ve slapped him. When Owen looked at her like that, it ignited the desire that had burned since the moment she’d first seen him. With the fire burning low in her belly, she wanted to tear those basketball shorts off him and get down to business.

“Baby, there’s no way in hell I would take you to a club in that dress.”

“You don’t like it?” Stacie asked, brushing her palms over the dress. The way he looked at her, she thought he liked it. But then, trusting her instincts was something she’d never been good at.

“I love that dress. So would any man with a pulse. I’d have to spend the whole night beating guys up for looking at you. We wouldn’t get to do any dancing.”

Stacie blushed as a wave of heat rushed through her body. Yes, the dress was on this side of sexy. She hadn’t realized how far on this side until Owen looked at her with such a fierce hunger.

“Last time I saw you out dancing, you weren’t wearing a dress that sparks more fantasies than I can even count. So, tell me why you’re really here.”

Owen looked directly into her eyes, searching for the truth. Stacie paused, wondering if she should tell him the whole truth or the half-truth.

“My roommate kicked me out.” The half-truth.

Owen raised his brow. “Your roommate kicked you out?”

“Umm, yeah,” Stacie took an unsteady step forward, unprepared for an interrogation and hoping the subject could be averted.

Owen’s eyes shifted to the small purse that hung from Stacie’s shoulder. “You’re packing light.”

“Just for tonight,” Stacie said.

“Why would your roommate kick you out for one night?”

“Well, umm, she’s a marketing manager and she’s trying to meet a deadline. I guess I was distracting her.”

“Is she a lesbian?” Owen asked, raising one eyebrow.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Well, you in that dress is distracting me. I just figured…”

Stacie laughed, but Owen didn’t seem amused.

“So what were you doing to distract her?” he finally asked.

“Well, I, umm, was trying to paint. And it wasn’t really going well.” Her grasp of the English language failed her, as did her resolve to keep the truth from him. “And well, I, umm, I missed you.” Damn, the truth.

Owen took her hand and pulled her to him. “I missed you too, baby.”

His mouth covered hers and Stacie felt like she was floating, the heavy burden of all those unwanted emotions lifting from her shoulders as the warmth of his body spread across her skin. The moment ended too soon.

“Was it really so difficult to tell me that?” he asked playfully as he finally let her into his condo and closed the door.

Screw it, Stacie thought. “Can I be honest with you?”

“I wish you would.”

“I told you I’m not interested in anything serious. And I’m really not. Sex, Owen. That’s it. That’s why I wore this dress. I just want to have sex with you.” Oh, her mother would be so proud.

Owen smiled that sexy smile that made her want to rip her clothes off and let him do anything he wanted. Or better yet, let her do anything she wanted.

“Is that why you ran off today? Things getting a little too personal for you?”

“Just sex, Owen. Nothing serious. That’s why I’m here and if that doesn’t work for you, then I can leave.” Oh Great Gatsby, she so did not want to leave. If only it were the roaring twenties and she’d come equipped with gin. There was no way a man of that era would turn her away. Would Owen now?

“Baby,” he drawled and just stood there, as if pondering whether or not to let her stay. His caress was soothing on her cheek, a complete contrast to the seriousness that furrowed his brow. “What are you so afraid of, Stacie?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she lied. “This is just how I want things to be.”

He stood there, contemplating for another minute. “OK,” he finally said.

“OK?” Stacie didn’t really think he would turn her away, but she thought he’d put up more of a fight, demand more information from her, or promises that she didn’t want to make.

“OK,” he said again. There was something in his smile. Something knowing. Stacie wasn’t sure she liked it.

“For the record,” he started. Oh, of course, there was always a big old
but
, even if the word wasn’t spoken. “We can do more than just have sex and it doesn’t have to get serious. Obviously, we can’t slow the sex down. Everything else, though, we can. So let’s just play it by ear. Spend time together with our clothes on if the occasion calls for it. Like eating. Are you hungry? I just cut up some cheddar.”

Yep, she was in trouble. Owen had just agreed that their relationship would be purely sexual, except for the dating they were going to do. Stacie should walk away. The door was close, it would be a quick retreat. Only she couldn’t. Or didn’t want to.

“That’d be great,” Stacie said in harmony with the rumbling of her stomach. She was so busy not painting all day that she’d forgotten to eat.

Owen motioned to the living room as he went into the kitchen, getting to work on a close-to-midnight snack for the two of them. Stacie sat down next to a book, probably Owen’s entertainment for the evening. She turned it over, not at all surprised by the title, but annoyed at the way her heart beat a little faster. Holy Dickens, it was just a book. It didn’t mean anything about the man.

The English teacher in her took over. She knew better than to think this book said nothing about Owen. Books not only told a story within their bindings, they also revealed a lot about the person reading them. Stacie had never personally read
All Quiet on the Western Front
. Audrey, however, had been a history teacher and the two of them often discussed historical fiction. So Stacie knew this book was a dramatization of the author’s personal experiences during World War I. Which meant Owen was not only interested in historical facts, he was also interested in the personal experiences and perspectives. That little tidbit made her like him even more.

Yep, she was in trouble.

Owen returned from the kitchen with a square wooden serving tray. Stacie was so distracted thinking about that book she hadn’t even heard him uncork the wine, but there the merlot sat on the tray with two glasses, some thinly sliced cheddar, crackers, and a bowl of fresh strawberries. He set the tray on the table and Stacie knew it was up to her to pour the wine.

She took the liberty of pouring his glass, too, because her mother hadn’t taught her any better. He took the glass and smiled, then held it up to hers.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said and tapped her glass.

Stacie pushed aside the apprehension and focused on his smile. He was so sweet, so sexy. The fact that he was intelligent just increased his appeal.

“I’m glad I’m here, too.”

Owen’s long fingers picked up a strawberry and brought it to her mouth. To get the whole luscious berry, she had to put her lips around his fingers. Desire flashed in his eyes like candlelight reflecting off the ripple of dark wine.

The patter of rain on the balcony drew her attention. “I love the rain,” she said and went outside, wine in hand.

Owen followed. The balcony above provided shelter from the rain, but the cool air tickled her skin, much the way Owen’s presence always tingled her nape.

“I thought it would rain more in Seattle,” Stacie said, stretching her free hand out to catch the raindrops. “It’s hardly rained since I’ve been here.”

Owen leaned on the railing at the edge of the balcony, that intense, penetrating gaze stripping her naked. “What is it about the rain that you love?”

Stacie smiled. “I love how it changes the air, cools it on a hot summer day. And the sound it makes when it hits the roof or the window or the ground. It’s so soothing. The harder it rains, the more soothing the sound is, like the rhythm of a rushing river.” She turned her arm under the drops. “And the way it feels on my skin. It’s refreshing, invigorating.” Stacie let the feeling ignite memories of her childhood.

“When I was a kid, I’d catch raindrops on my tongue. My mother used to get so mad when I played in the rain. I refused to come in knowing she wouldn’t step out, not even with an umbrella, to get me. Even as a teenager, I loved to be out in the rain. One time, my best friend and I walked to this little country store. She lived in the sticks and the store was two miles away. We walked there, bought candy bars, and walked back to her house. Her mother was mad as the Hatter when we got back. We were soaking wet and dripping everywhere. She got us towels and made us strip right in the front entry.”

Stacie laughed at the memory. It’d been years since she’d thought about that day. Even though she and Amy had gotten in trouble, it was a good memory, a happy time. Maybe that’s why she thought of it now. Life had changed for the better and there was room for those happy memories to surface. There was room for other things as well, like long-abandoned fantasies. She turned her gaze to Owen, hoping he could see the desire in her eyes. “I’ve dreamed of making love in the rain. I’ve always wanted to, I just never have.” She took a sip of wine, holding Owen’s gaze while he pondered her invitation.

His lips curved, but his eyes shifted up and Stacie knew what he was signaling. The balcony wasn’t the right setting to make the dream come true. She wanted to be out in the open, raindrops falling on her naked skin.

Before she got too lost in the fantasy that wasn’t going to play out tonight, Stacie told him of another time when she and her cousin had dangled their heads off their grandmother’s porch during a rain storm. Their hair had gotten soaking wet and their aunt, who lived in the apartment upstairs from their grandmother and had been watching them for the afternoon, was angry with them for getting so wet.

“She yelled at us and made us take a bath. Like taking a bath would wash the rain off. It was ridiculous. Then she told us we were going to catch pneumonia.” Stacie laughed again. “Adults always say that. Whenever you get a chill, you’re going to catch pneumonia. That used to drive me crazy. I’m never going to say that to my kids.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “Your kids? So you plan to have kids?”

Stacie cringed. Talk about too much information. Damn merlot. It obviously loosened her tongue. Based on Owen’s smile, there was no avoiding the subject, so she figured she’d stick to the basic facts. “I hope to have children, yes, someday.”

It was incredibly awkward to have this conversation after she’d insisted sex was her only priority.

Stacie looked into her wine glass, wishing it were some sort of magical ball that could wipe away this conversation without a trace. Or maybe a time machine to transport her back to minutes ago before she’d started rambling on about information that was much too personal to share.

“How many?” Owen asked, unaffected by her magical wine.

“I don’t know,” she replied on instinct.

Owen reached over and raised her chin. Stacie reluctantly lifted her eyes to meet his. “I don’t believe you. I think you do know.” His eyes grew darker, his voice deeper. “How many?”

“Two,” Stacie confessed.

“A boy and a girl?”

“No, it doesn’t matter. Two boys, two girls, one of each. It doesn’t matter.”

“Why two? Why not three or four?”

Stacie held up her hands. “Only have two hands. Kids need to hold their mother’s hand when crossing the street. Or walking in the park. Anywhere. And if you have more than two kids, then the kids have to hold each other’s hands to stay safe and that’s more responsibility than a child should have to bear. So two kids. One for each hand.”

“But theoretically speaking, there would be a father. So that’s two more hands.”

“Both parents can’t always be there. So two is a logical, responsible number.” Oh Dickens. The old Stacie made a grand showing in that statement, all logical and responsible. Stacie tried not to roll her eyes and made her best effort to change the subject.

“More cheese?” She stepped by him and back into the living room. This conversation was done. Stacie did not want to talk about having children with Owen. It was too personal, too involved. It stirred up too many feelings she’d been trying to ignore. It was ridiculous to think about having children