Unexpected Angel (6 page)

“It’s okay,” she
says, smiling. It is the first time I really see her smile and it astounds me. Her cornflower blue eyes sparkle in the moonlight and she has the slightest hint of dimples at the corners of her mouth. It does nothing to dispel the all-American girl image forming in my mind. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It’s just, I haven’t been out much, and you hear about things like this on the news all the time. I guess I let that and all the warnings I got tonight about being careful send my mind racing. Really, you’ve been—“

As cute as she
is, we need to do something about the rambling. “Tasha, it’s okay. Come on.” I hold out my hand to her and she willingly reaches for it. As we walk to the diner, I can see her limping slightly. “Why did you wear those boots if they’re that uncomfortable?”

Women’s footwear
is something I will never understand. Sure, her red leather boots are nearly fucking orgasmic, but they are totally impractical.

“
Holly said they looked better than the boots I was going to wear.” She shrugs as if that should explain everything. All it does is piss me off. As if I don’t already have plenty of reasons to dislike Holly, I am about ready to strangle her for making Tasha so uncomfortable in so many ways.

I place
my hands firmly on Tasha’s shoulders, turning her to me. “Do you do everything Holly tells you to do?” Having seen her “friend” around, I know she is into some crazy shit, the type of stuff I hope like hell Tasha is smart enough to stay away from.

She
avoids making eye contact with me again. That is something else we will have to discuss if we are still talking to one another come morning. “I guess, yeah. We’ve been friends forever and she’s never gotten me into trouble, so I listen to her. And let’s face it; I can’t even dress myself appropriately if left to my own devices. I mean, look at me…”

Her voice trails
off and I can tell she is deep in thought. That’s another thing women do that I’ll never understand. They feel the need to think about shit obsessively. “Precious, I’ve been looking at you all night, ever since you caught my eye while you were in line. Yes, you look fucking hot as hell, but you don’t look comfortable. Shit, you shouldn’t have even been there tonight. A girl like you doesn’t belong in a place like that.”

(Tasha)

Am
I so pathetic that there are clubs I should and shouldn’t be allowed to frequent? I may not have the life experiences my friends, and more than likely Dylan, have but that doesn’t mean I should be kept out of certain establishments. I wasn’t comfortable while I was there, but I will definitely remember this experience. And who is Dylan to say if I should have been there or not?

“What is that supposed
to mean?” I ask defensively.

I
don’t resist when he scoops me up in his arms and starts walking through the parking lot. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling the hard, sculpted muscles beneath his tight white t-shirt. In my still slightly tipsy haze, I want to reach up to feel his smooth head. When the image of running my tongue from the base of his neck up behind his ear pops into my head, I bury my face in his neck trying to hide the flush in my cheeks. That is a bad move; all it does is allow me to smell his unique blend of cologne and sweat. I scrunch my face when I realize I am actively sniffing him.

What in the world
is wrong with me?

“You okay,
Precious?” There is a trace of humor in his voice now.

“You smell good,” I admit, immediately hating myself. Where
is the filter between my brain and my mouth? I am never going to drink again when I go out. I like being in control of everything I say and think and that is gone after three drinks. Better to be the designated driver than cheap entertainment for everyone I am with. “I mean...oh heck, you probably think I’m pathetic, huh?”

“Quite the opposite, really.” I
feel his lips against the crown of my head. “It’s refreshing to spend time with a woman who doesn’t feel the need to play a part for me. You’re honest and I like that. Well, other than refusing to admit that your friend gave you bad advice about the boots.”

He set
s me down when we reach the front of the restaurant. I can see a group of people clustered in booths at one end of the building, all staring at us. Either those are his friends and they are trying to figure out who I am or they are incredibly rude and nosy. I hope for the former, as much as I don’t want to be on display.

I hid
e myself behind his body as we walk toward the group. After guiding me to the lone empty booth in their area, he reaches for my legs and starts unzipping my boots. “What are you doing?” I ask, swatting his hand away.

“Your feet are killing you. I’m taking off your boots so
they can have a break,” he states simply. Never mind the fact that my feet can’t smell great after being in leather for the past few hours, but we are in the middle of a restaurant. Apparently, ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ means nothing to this man.

“I can’t be barefoot in here,” I
say, trying to get him to stop. “That’s just gross.”

Dylan
laughs at me. “You’ll be fine. If you have to, curl your feet up under you and no one will know. I’m tempted to take those boots away from you so you’re not tempted to torture yourself again.”

He slid
es into the seat next to me, leaving the other side of the booth vacant. It feels intimate, sitting side by side this way. Nick and I never sat beside one another when we were out. I hate comparing him to Nick, but there is no one else I can use for comparison. He is the first and only person I dated. When we went out to eat, it wasn’t to spend time together; it was more of a way for neither of us to have to fix something for dinner. I’d probably said more to Dylan since we walked in than Nick and I said at most meals.

His hand brushes
my thigh and I feel that rush of endorphins coursing through my body again. How can such a simple, and probably unintentional, gesture turn me on?

I
take some time to observe Dylan with his friends. They are obviously close, although for the life of me I can’t figure out how their connection to one another. There is a hippie artist, a clean cut soldier home on leave, a few who have so many piercings and tattoos they could give Holly and her other friends a run for their money and they appear to range in age from barely legal to nearly sixty. It is just…odd.

The empty bench
is a revolving door of sorts. People come up, wait for Dylan to invite them to have a seat, and then talk for a few minutes before getting up and moving on. We sit there for nearly four hours, drinking coffee and talking. By the time we leave, I feel more comfortable than I have in years. I don’t understand how or why, but I feel like I belong with this eclectic group.

(Dylan)

I’m not
ready for the night to end, but like all good things I know it must. I am far too old to pull all-nighters. Thirty-four isn’t old by any means, but it’s old enough to know that my body will punish me for days if I try to go without sleep. And Tasha doesn’t look like she is in much better shape than I am.

“Come on,
Precious. Let’s get you home.” I pull out my wallet to settle our tab and she reaches for her boots. “Don’t worry about those. Grab them and I’ll help you out.”

“You
do know I can walk, right?” Even dead tired, she is feisty.

I laugh as she jumps
on my back. She might put up a fight, but she’s still letting me take care of her. “Yes, you made that abundantly clear earlier.” I hand her the boots and head to my car. I can’t resist spinning around in the parking lot, making her squeal and laugh as she grips my neck tighter. When she slides lower on my hips, it gives me the perfect excuse to cup the taut globes of her ass. It’s like they were made for my hands and I want to feel more. I wish there wasn’t a denim barrier between my palms and her skin.

She
gives me directions to her house and I drive across town. At every stoplight, I glance to my right, watching her smile softly as she drifts in and out of sleep. She lives in a modest home in a middle class neighborhood. It is the type of home that begs for a family, complete with kids and a dog. She’s even closer to the All-American girl than I thought.

It’s
a good thing she gave me directions before we pulled out of the parking lot because she is sound asleep by the time I pull into her driveway. If it’s possible, she is even more adorable when she’s sleeping. “Hey, you’re home. Grab your keys and let’s get you inside.”

She stirs in the seat
, but makes no move to wake up. Against my better judgment, I decide to find her keys and carry her inside. She is obviously exhausted and I don’t want to wake her. I quickly realize we potentially have a big problem. Her jeans are tight enough I know she doesn’t have anything in her pockets other than her phone and I can’t find her purse anywhere.

“Tasha, you need to wake up.” I
shake her gently and she scoots closer to me, resting her head on my chest. When her hand glides softly along my thigh, I realize this girl is going to be my undoing. I need to get her in the house before I do something we’ll both regret in a few hours. “Precious, where’s your purse?”

“
Holly,” she mumbles.

“What about
Holly?” I ask, wondering if she is answering my question or if she is dreaming. I put my arm around her and start running my hand from her wrist to her shoulder. I’m about ready to cut off the engine and fall asleep right here just so we can stay like this. Her soft body feels amazing against mine.

“
Holly has my purse,” she whispers. “I need to call her.”

I stop her as she reaches
for her phone. “You can stay at my place tonight. There’s no point in calling her this late, she’s probably already passed out.”

Tasha
shakes her head. “Can’t stay with you. We barely know each other.”

“I promise
that I won’t touch you without your permission.” I can’t believe I am going to have this precious angel in my bed and I am promising to keep my hands off.

She sighs
, nestling deeper against my side. “That’s the problem. I
want
you to touch me. If I go home with you, I’ll do something I shouldn’t.”

This
is bad. Very, very bad. I know she is still sleeping, but she’s telling me what I want to hear. I know in my heart, and other parts of my body, that she is telling me the truth. She isn’t censoring herself to say what she thinks is right. But she’s sleeping. I can’t accept her words as permission to touch her. Lucid and sober, those are two of my hard requirements.

“Fine,
Precious…even if I have your permission, I’m not going to touch you tonight.”

If Zeke
finds out about this, I will never hear the end of it. What kind of man turns down a willing, sober, and beautiful woman?
It’s a first for me, that’s for damn sure.

“Okay,” she sighs, still not moving. I shift
her body slightly so her head rests high on my thigh. If I make it through tonight, I deserve a medal or something.

(Tasha)

I
rub my eyes as the car lurches to a stop. Seconds later, it’s quiet. I open my eyes, expecting to see my house in front of the car, but there is nothing but a concrete wall. “Where are we now?” I ask.

The sleepless nights
I’ve been experiencing since Nick moved out are catching up with me. Even though we rarely touched as we slept for the last seven months of our marriage, I’ve had a hard time getting used to the other half of the bed being cold and empty. Although I wasn’t asleep long, I feel more rested than I have in a long time.

“My place,” Dylan
says as he pushes me off his leg. “Do you remember anything after you fell asleep?”

I
shake my head. I try to replay the trip home but don’t remember anything after we were about a mile from the diner. “Why are we here?”

Dylan looks
at me for a moment before speaking. The lines around his eyes accentuate the concern showing in their dark brown depths. “Wow, you really were sound asleep. Do you always talk when you’re sleeping?”

I
feel my face heat in embarrassment. My parents used to tell me the best way to get me to admit to doing anything wrong was to ask me while I was sleeping because I am an open book with the thoughts in my head when I’m out like a light. “Um, yeah. Did I say anything that I shouldn’t have?”

It
has been a night of revelations. As I head into this new stage of my life, where I hope that I meet someone I have a connection with, I need to be very careful. Dylan might be that guy, but between my insecure rambling earlier, my unspoken accusations, and whatever I might have said in my sleep, I am lucky he hasn’t run the other direction.

“That depends,” he laughs
. “What shouldn’t you have said?”

While it irritates
me that he is making this a game, I can’t help but laugh. It was either that or cry, and I don’t need him thinking I am any more messed up than he already does.

“That depends,” I
say, mimicking him. “Tell me what I said and I’ll tell you if I should have said it or not.”

“Come on, sleeping beauty. Let’s get you to bed. If you can behave
yourself, maybe I’ll tell you what you said.” I glare at him, not liking his conditions. If either of us is going to misbehave, I am sure it will be him.

The underground parking garage
gives me no clue as to where he lives. The only reason I know we are underground is the angle of the drive leading down from the closed garage door to where his car is parked. I follow him into the elevator and curl up against his chest as we ride to the top floor.

Everything about my night
is about as far from anything I thought I would ever do as possible. The scariest part is that I have also had more fun than I can remember having since before I got married.

And that
is all because of Dylan. He saw how uncomfortable I was at the club and got me out of there. He literally gave me the shirt off his back. He carried me when my feet hurt. In one night, he has shown me more kindness than my ex-husband did in the entire time we were together. Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but Nick had certainly never done so much in such a short period of time.

Dylan’s condo
is modern and sleek. Shades of gray and black with pops of purple and white fill the living room with color. The open floor plan allows me to see the professional-grade stainless steel appliances in the kitchen. I look to my left and the amazing view of the Capitol mesmerizes me. The beauty of downtown Madison is one of the many things I love about living in this area, but I have never seen a view like the one through Dylan’s floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s as if we’re so close that I could reach out and touch the illuminated dome.

“Nice place,”
I mutter as I try to hide the fact that I am in absolute awe. Earlier in the night, I imagined him living in an affordable, somewhat rundown apartment. I picture successful doctors and lawyers living in a place like this. Then again, for all I know he could be either of those. We haven’t exactly gotten to know one another all that well in the few hours since we met.

“Thanks
. Follow me.” We walk down the hall, decorated with black and white prints of area landmarks, and he opens the door directly in front of us, revealing a magnificent bedroom. The focal point in the room is an ebony four-poster bed, king-size of course. More windows reveal yet another stunning view of the Capitol dome.

“I’m no
t having sex with you,” I state bluntly.

What in the world
did I tell him while I was sleeping? Did I agree to have sex with him? Oh heck, this is not good.

Dylan laughs
, tossing me a fresh t-shirt out of his dresser.
University of Wisconsin marching band alumni. Interesting.

“Yes, we established that. Actually, I told you I wasn’t going to touch you tonight, no matter how much you begged.”

Holy crap, did I beg him to have sex with me?
“What did I say?” I plead, desperate for him to tell me. I don’t want to play his silly little game where he decides what to tell me and when.

He
turns down the sheets on the bed, turning his back to me while I change. The cardinal red t-shirt is soft, the way only a well-loved shirt could be. The shirt sagging off my shoulder and hanging almost to my knees once again emphasizes the size difference between us. Dylan is one of very few people I have met who has the ability to make me feel small. It’s a foreign but not unwelcome feeling.

“Don’t worry,
Precious,” he chuckles, obviously amused by the horrified look on my face. “It wasn’t that bad.” He walks over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I feel vulnerable standing in front of him wearing nothing but one of his shirts and my panties. I also find myself incredibly turned on. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you without your permission and you told me you wanted me to touch you. That’s all.”

Oh. My.
Gosh. I actually admitted that to him?
Sure, I’ve been thinking about having his hands on my bare skin since before we got to the diner. I want to feel his plump lips clamped onto my nipple as he sucks and bites on it. His strong hands traveling down my stomach until his fingers fill me. Okay, so I officially need to get laid. Maybe being here with him is a good thing. I can have sex, get it out of my system, and quit thinking like a horny teenager. But when I told him I wanted him to touch me,
then
he said he wouldn’t? Okay, that’s a bit of a blow to the ego. Most men would love to have a woman throwing herself at him.