Trust Me (10 page)

“If
only we had more time,” he whispered, an unspoken promise hung between them as he pressed his lips against hers. The touch was gentle and soft and he slowly traced her bottom lip with his tongue before thrusting it between her teeth, teasing and tasting her acceptance.

Sandra
felt braver today than she had last night and quickly joined in the kiss, her tongue caressing his, battling in a wordless tournament of desire and want. Several long moments passed by and Sandra could feel his desire grow against her thigh, straining through the restraints of his pants. With a deep moan of regret, he pulled away from her, leaving her panting as he nuzzled her neck with his warm, moist lips.

“We
can’t do this,” he said in a horse whisper so soft she wasn’t sure if he had actually spoken, barely able to hear him over the thrumming of her heart in her ears. “This isn’t the right time, but it is getting very hard to resist you.” He looked down at her, his eyes burning with desire, a silent promise echoed in the curve of his lips.

“We
need to get out of here before it’s too late,” he told her, a little louder than she expected and she suddenly realized she was very disappointed in his reaction. She didn’t want to leave; she wanted to stay there, and she wanted him to continue kissing her.

“The
day is young,” he said as he slipped her hand in his again, stepping backward out of her arms. “We have plenty of time. Right now, we need to get something to eat before we miss our reservation.” He began to walk toward the door, escorting her by his side.

“Where
are we going?” she snapped, irritated by his rejection. She didn’t feel very agreeable and knew she sounded like a sulking child, but she didn’t care; there was a heat warming areas of her body she didn’t know even had a thermostat. He stopped by the door frowning as he looked down at her and then smiled again.

“Do
you open your presents before Christmas?” he asked with amusement.

“Yes
I do,” she lied, hoping he would answer her question, but instead he laughed cheerfully; the sound reverberated around the quiet room and he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles softly.

“Good
thing this isn’t Christmas then, eh?” He opened the door and held it for her, waiting as she retrieved the key card and slipped it into her shoulder bag along with her cell phone, bikini, camera, wallet and passport. She was feeling slightly less angry then a few moments ago, but she was still irritated.

Sandra
looked at the carefree expression on his face, the heart melting smile and twinkle in his dark blue eyes and couldn’t help but smile. If this man wasn’t so damned handsome, it would be easy to accept him as a friend, as is she would rather accept him as much, much more.

Lunch
was light and quite frankly, delicious, as they ate at a small sidewalk café on the boarder of Nice. The sun was warm and the breeze soft, barely more than a whisper as it caressed their cheeks and necks. Sandra placed her fork down on the plate, pushing the remains of her
Salade Nicoise
, while Creighton slid his empty plate of
Steak Fritas
toward the vacant seat next to him and reached for his espresso.

The
café was nearly deserted, so they chose to sit beneath the warm sun, but their solitude was quickly interrupted by a small group of teenagers. The restaurant was really quite nice, very modern in design, but there was little spoken between them as the five teenagers sat nearby laughing, talking and listening to music on their cellphones. Sandra reached for her diet soda and took a reluctant sip; she felt really full and wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. It was difficult to consider how much to eat when she still didn’t know where they were going.

“Why
did you choose France as a holiday spot?” Creighton asked a few minutes later after the table of young people finished their meals and finally left, taking their noise with them. They were now alone on the patio and able to speak without shouting at each other in order to be heard.

“I
have always wanted to see the French Riviera,” she answered him, taking another sip of her soda. “My parents honeymooned here and I loved listening to my mother talk about the clear water and the friendly people. It became a dream of mine when I was younger and after my parents died, I promised myself I would someday come here. I guess I just wanted to find something in common with them.”

“How
did your parents die?” His tone was soft as he leaned back in his chair, looking across at her. She took a deep breath; she hadn’t thought about their deaths for so long and it seemed odd to discuss it over a casual meal with a near perfect stranger, like reviewing a movie or a new book release.

“A
tornado,” she answered simply, lowering her eyes from his intent gaze.

“If
you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push you?” She sighed; she didn’t mind talking about her parents and to speak of them with him somehow felt…comfortable.

“It
was during my junior year of High School; I was barely sixteen. I ran track in school and had a meet in Kansas City, but my mother was sick with the flu. She couldn’t go with me, and my father didn’t want to leave her alone. It was the first time they ever missed one of my track meets.” Memories begin to filter through her mind and she closed her eyes for a moment, controlling the onslaught of visions.

“My
older sister, Cathy, went with me instead,” she continued a few moments later. “We left on Friday and were going to return on Sunday, but Saturday morning a tornado hit the town and canceled the meet. My parents weren’t able to get to the cellar in time. They were found together on the stairs. My father was lying partially across my mother, as though he was trying to protect her when the ceiling fell in.”

“I’m
so sorry,” he said softly. She shrugged her shoulders; she just didn’t have any emotion leftover it.

“I
was a long time ago. My maternal grandparents took us in and finished raising us, so it wasn’t like we were alone.”

“How
old was your sister?”

“She’s
eighteen months older than I am, so she was eighteen when they died, a senior in High School. She was old enough to start her own life, but it was our parents’ desire that we both go to college, so she went to Barton Community and graduated with her business degree.”

“Did
you go to college?”

“Yes,
I went to Barton as well. I majored in English Literature. I love books.”

“What
kinds of books?” he asked, his eyes locked with hers.

“Oh,
all sorts I suppose. Jane Austen, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Charles Dickens, Emily Dickinson. You know the classics.”

“Ah,
light reading,” he teased causing her to chuckle.

“I
like other things too, romance, mysteries, sci-fi.”

“You
have a very eclectic taste. So what about your family? Are your grandparents still alive?”

“Yes
and very spirited,” she answered with a smile. “Besides the farm, my grandfather bowls every Tuesday with a league, plays poker on Friday and pool on Saturday. My grandmother organizes quilting bees and calls bingo at the senior center and makes award winning jams and jellies.”

“What
about your sister, where is she now?”

“She’s
still in Hoisington. Cathy works as the Mayor’s personal assistant, but she’s more into research and politics and has been talking about running for mayor herself next term. She’ll probably win; she's very popular and everyone really likes her.”

“What
about you? Are you popular back home?” Sandra blushed and shook her head.

“I’m
popular with the local children. I spend my days at the library reading stories and stocking shelves. At night, I go home and help my grandparents with the chores and retire to my room with a book and a glass of wine, dreaming of adventures and romance. I have a pretty exciting lifestyle.” She watched the man’s smile cross his very kissable lips and knew she was blushing again.

“I’ll
bet you’re far more interesting then you want to admit,” he said, leaning forward and picking up her hand from the table where it had been sitting next to her soda. “I find you fascinating.”

“Naw,”
she said shyly. “My sister is the interesting one, the pretty one, the outgoing one.” Her heart began to thrum in her ears as he stroked the back of her knuckles with his long fingers. “I’ve never been much for crowds or social activities.”

“I
can’t imagine her being prettier than you.” He said with a wink. “So I take it, I’m not treading on anyone’s territory by dating you? No boyfriend or would-be lover?” he asked with a seductive smile. She blushed again – damn he was so good at making her turn colors. She shook her head softly. “Well, I’m very happy about that, but I’d still be willing to fight for you. It would be worth it.”

“What
about you?” she asked, hoping to distract him from embarrassing her further. “I assume you’re from England; I mean the accent and all.” He asked lifting her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers, one at a time.

“I
am from England,” he nodded, setting her hand back on the table and tipping his chair on its back legs. “In fact, I’m from a small farming community just outside Yorkshire.”

“What?
A farm?”

“Yep;
cows, pigs, sheep, crops, the whole works.” She smiled at the pride that echoed in his tone.

“You
don’t strike me as a farm boy,” she said with a chuckle, watching his cheeks turn slightly pink. Well, this was a change!

“I
am a country boy at heart; I love the simple life, knowing your neighbors, the fresh air. I like the idea of going out to the garden or hen house and collecting what you need to make a meal. You know where the food came from; no chemicals, no pesticides and no preservatives.”

“What
about your family?”

“My
parents live in Yorkshire with my two younger sisters and still work on the family land. My father’s father died when he was a young man, so he dropped out of school to take care of the farm and helped raise his sister and brother. My Nana Ashford died when I was three. My mother’s father died when I was in grammar school and my Gram Armstrong died two years ago.”

“How
many siblings do you have?”

“Four
in all; two elder brothers and two younger sisters, I’m in the middle.”

“How
did your parents meet?”

“So
curious for information,” he said chuckling, as she smiled back at him. “My mother’s father was a horse breeder, very successful in fact. My father met her when he was in need of a horse for the farm. They fell instantly in love and were married a month later. Exactly nine months after that, my brother, Derek, was born.”

“So
romantic,” she said softly. Creighton looked at her with a steady stare and she blushed yet again.

“What
do you want out of life, Sandra?” he asked softly and she frowned. That was a question she had never been asked before.

“I’ve
never thought about it,” she answered honestly. “I just move through life one day at a time.”

“Isn’t
there anything that you’d like to do with your life besides reading children their storybooks?” She frowned again.

“I
don’t really think of the future much,” she said honestly. She looked at the handsome man across from her who seemed to be waiting patiently for a deeper answer. “If you really want to know, I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure,” she admitted at last. “I read books and fantasize about being the main character, living on another planet, hunting safari in the darkest Africa, sailing the winds of the Atlantic. I’ve always been that way I guess. Whenever I had a bad day, I would think about it before I’d close my eyes at night and imagine a different outcome, a new ending.”

“Sounds
like you’re tired of the type of life a small-town offers," he said. “Ever try to do anything different?” She shook her head sadly.

“My
grandparents aren’t getting any younger and they need help around the farm. Besides, Cathy is the one who goes on adventures. I just read about them.”

“You’re
too young to be sitting at home growing old.” He had an underlying amusement etching his tone, but she couldn’t help but frown. He was right of course, though she couldn’t change who or what she was just for a weekend of spontaneity.

“How
about you?” she asked, turning the conversation to another path. “Do you have a serious girlfriend…or perhaps a boyfriend?” He laughed at the later of her comment as the waiter joined them, bringing the check and a refill on their drinks. Creighton glanced at the piece of paper, handed several bills to the man and said something in French. The waiter thanked him and walked away with their empty plates.

“I’m
not into the mirror-mirror thing,” he told her and she frowned.