“Hope is a waking dream.”
-Aristotle
“When?” I try to sound casual and cool, but inside I am dying to know when he’s coming. Suddenly I’ve lost my appetite as my nerves roll themselves into a tight ball in my stomach.
“He tracked my car and phone I’m sure, and he left the office when we got here.”
She rolls her eyes in irritation that her father keeps such a tight hold on her. For a brief moment I feel immensely sad that no one will ever care where I am, and then I find myself feeling mad at Kyra for not appreciating what she has. She looks over at me and then does a double take. Shit, I really must work on not giving myself away. I twist my face into a forced smile, to show her its okay.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I am horribly insensitive.”
Double shit because now she’s feeling bad for me and I hate that.
“I can’t wait to meet your Dad,” I take another bite of sandwich and wonder how in the world I’ll be able to stomach swallowing it. I am so nervous.
She excuses herself briefly to call someone-I don’t ask because I know that at some point, she will fill me in. I sit at the bar, tracing the intricate gray patterns in the white marble, when I see a black SUV slip past the kitchen window.
My heart catches-he’s here.
And for a moment I remind myself the painful truth: Kyra’s dad could be an utter troll. He could be short and bald, jumbled yellow teeth and a horn nose. He could be horrendous to the eye with a soothing voice. Is it bad that I almost hope he’s hideous? But a moment later, the doorknob turns and time stands still as he pushes open the door and steps into the kitchen.
My worst fear has been realized.
Mr. Bolling.
Mr. Owen Bolling is completely and utterly gorgeous.
He looks mildly surprised as he eyes me sitting at the island. Nervously I hop to my feet and pace to him, my hand out. His eyes are dark, swirling with an energy I can’t yet read. His brow is slightly burrowed and his messy, dark hair falls in loose curls atop his head. Kyra’s hair flashes in my mind. I don’t see her in his face at all, but they do share the same unruly, curly hair. He is tall, towering above me by a few inches at least, and his shoulders seem to span a football field. He is wearing a black suit with the coat slung over his arm, a crisp white dress shirt adorning his fit torso. A sexy man in dress clothes. Lascivious thoughts fill my mind while my body throbs everywhere, my nipples hardening in my tank top.
Nervously I pull my long hair down over my breasts to hide my nipples.
Did he see? Do I want him to see? Oh shit.
“I’m Elizabeth,” I say, holding my hand out to him, hoping my palm isn’t clammy. His expression is hard to read, but he extends his hand to me and it encloses mine completely. The feel of his skin against mine stirs up the nerves in my belly and wetness blooms inside my panties. This is attraction, I know it now, but I don’t know how to claim it for my own. Though I have ideas, standing next to Mr. Bolling, looking up into his dark eyes.
“Elizabeth,” he repeats my name again, just like he did two years ago.
“I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you,” his voice is ribbed with depth, making my breasts ache and my legs go weak.
That British accent is something I could get used to.
He releases my hand and gives me the faintest, smallest of smiles. Blood courses through me, my ears have a drumming in them and I’m pretty sure my cheeks are crimson. Shit, I’m giving myself away. I must look like a school girl with a crush.
Well, I kind of am.
“Hey!” Kyra saves me from this incredibly uncomfortable moment and leaps into her father’s chest. He wraps his arms around her tightly and kisses her cheek. I can see that they have a tremendous relationship and I become plagued with guilt. Stop fantasizing about this man.
I settle back into the barstool in a haze, a bystander to their catching up. He glances to me occasionally while he talks to his daughter and I wonder what he thinks of me. He thinks you’re twenty and his daughters’ friend, quit being an idiot. Damn, there’s my inner voice, giving me the reality check I badly need but desperately do not want!
“Shall we have dinner tonight?” Owen speaks to us both, his arms on either side of the counter over the sink, his strong shoulders tight in the middle.
“Yes, we shall,” Kyra teases, mimicking his accent.
“Elizabeth, would you like to go out or stay in?” His address rouses me from my daydream.
“Don’t!” Kyra quips, “she always wants to stay in! Stay in, stay in, stay in. Let’s go out somewhere nice tonight!” she clasps her hands together in front of her face, silently begging her father for an elaborate dinner out. He briefly glances at her but returns his gaze to me. His chocolate eyes twinkle as he waits for me to respond. I don’t ever want to look away but I look to Kyra, whose bottom lip is stuck out in a last-ditch effort to get her way. I can’t deny her, she’s been too good to me.
“I’m okay with going out,” I say gently, looking through my eyelashes timidly at him to gauge his reaction. He breathes in and his chest fills, and I can’t help but watch his body as he exhales and tucks his hands into his pockets. Yum.
“Is this why Kyra loves you so much? Because she will bend you to her will with her bottom lip?” he teases.
He tells us he will make arrangements and to be ready by seven o’clock. He nods to me kindly before disappearing down one of the hallways.
“Is it a nice restaurant we’re going to?” I whisper to Kyra without realizing it. Her eyes narrow at me briefly, I can see she is wondering why I’m whispering but suddenly her eyes relax.
“You can wear anything from my closet,” she reassures me.
How does she know exactly what I’m worried about seemingly all the time? Her uncanny ability to read my mind sends a surge of fear through me -I hope she can’t see that I’m attracted to her father.
Oh shit, I’ve just admitted it to myself. I’m very attracted to Owen.
I DRAG my fingers across the clothes hanging sadly in Kyra’s closet-these are all the items she deemed not good enough to bring to school. So many clothes. Most of it still has the tags on, too.
“Anything,” she murmurs, fixing her make up in the mirror that sits atop her vanity. I rummage through the clothes, pulling a few items out and holding them to my body pensively, as if I’m truly wondering what would look good on me. But all I can think of is what will Owen like me in? I settle on a brand-new dress-one he hasn’t seen his daughter wearing-and I promise to Kyra that I will pay her for it. She, of course, refuses, but I still promise.
The dress I’ve chosen is a classic black dress. Nothing about it is insane-there’s no elaborate beading, no dipping neckline or dramatic open back. It is fitted to me, rests comfortable a few inches above my knee and has a fitted bodice with a normal neckline. A classic black dress. But I’ve never owned one and as I hold it to my body, I begin to feel the magic of the dress. Owning something new and classic-it makes me feel powerful.
“I will pay you for this,” I promise again, for the umpteenth time, as Kyra leads me back down past a handful of doors before finally stopping at one.
“This is your room, I had Marie bring your laundry in and hang it up. If there’s anything in this room you don’t like, tell my Dad and he’ll have it set up the way you like it.”
She smiles and runs her fingers down the black dress draped over my arm.
“You’re going to look so good in this. Let’s drop it in your room and I’ll show you the rest of the place.”
Pushing open the door, I see my old bag sits in the bottom of an open, walk-in closet and the handful of clothing items that I do own are hanging sadly from the dowel. The room is spacious and painted gray, like his room, with the same ivory curtains and a Queen size bed right in the middle. There’s a hearth tucked into the corner of the room with two overstuffed leather chairs perched in front of it. I don’t see a TV but I don’t care, I’ve brought my books and eReader with me. Just then they catch my eye-my collection of classics lining an otherwise empty bookshelf near the door.
“It’s perfect,” my voice is low, unexpectedly, as I am in awe of this room. Kyra turns on her heel, prepared to head back to her room to get ready but I stop her.
“Umm,” I feel sheepish to be asking her for yet another favor. “Can I borrow a pair of shoes to go with this dress? Nude flats perhaps?” She grins, a devilish look in her bright eyes.
“I’ll leave a pair by the door.”
I GLANCE AT MY WATCH. It’s 6:25. Kyra and I spent the afternoon touring the grounds. I have a friend that has a home so big that she refers to it as the grounds. Who am I?
She showed me the pool, the spa, their home gym, the laundry house, Marie’s quarters-yes, a live-in maid and cook! She took me through their garden and into the garage where I noticed that Owen drives an electric car, as well. I recognize it as the black SUV that passed by the window earlier in the afternoon. There is a third, all black electric car tucked into the garage next to Kyra’s.
“Who’s is that?” I asked with curiosity.
“It’s Marie’s. My Dad bought it for her. He wanted her to have reliable transportation. She has a son close to our age. He’s in trade school, wants to be a motorcycle mechanic. My Dad bought him a car like mine, too.”
“That’s so nice of him,” my voice sounded tiny when it came out of me; Kyra nodded in agreeance.
“Yes, very nice. He has never been stingy. But damn if he won’t let me live a little!” I wondered what Kyra was longing to do that her father had said no to, but I was feeling tired from the whirlwind of a day we’d had and asked her to show me to my room.
NOW, just thirty minutes before dinner, I sit on the edge of the bed, trying to center myself. This attraction to Owen is ridiculous and more than anything, I need to relax. I’m going to be staying here for the entire summer and I can’t be flushed with burning thighs the whole time. If I keep it up, Kyra will catch on and she’ll think I’m completely gross- a creepy deviant.
I make a plan to coolly ignore my body’s response’s to Mr. Bolling and move forward. Good plan.
The black dress fits me… like a glove. I hate to say it, but it does. It hugs my full breasts and ample backside, making me feel beautiful. It could be the first time in my life that I’ve ever felt beautiful. I crack the bedroom door and peer out into the hallway to see what shoes Kyra has left for me. She has a pair of patent leather nude flats that I’m imagining but no, they aren’t there. Instead there is a pair of black peep-toe pumps, the bottoms blazing red.
“Oh no,” I mutter, grabbing the heels and closing the door behind me. These are so nice and so very fancy and I will most likely knock my teeth out trying to walk in them. I slide my feet into them one by one and oh my. These caress my soles with cushion, their soft Italian leather cradling my feet so gently that I can’t believe they’re this comfortable. My hair has dried with its natural wave and I pull it behind me into a low pony tail. I apply a few swipes of mascara and put on some clear lip gloss. That’s the extent of me getting ready. I text Kyra asking her if she’s downstairs and she turns up at my bedroom door, knocking before swinging the door open.
“Hey, you’re-” her mouth falls open and I can see it is genuine. “You look so amazing, Elizabeth,” her eyes travel the length of my body a few times before she shakes her head. “That dress looks way better on you, anyway!”
I smile. She is too kind.
I follow her down the winding stairs-hey, these are different stairs than the ones we went up?-and we end up in a den, which leads up through a hall to a kitchen. Jesus this house is big! I listen to us clickclick clickclick clickclick our way through the kitchen to the familiar barstools and we sit down. Kyra is wearing a red dress; it is fitted to her body and the curves of her hips are on full display. I suddenly feel self-conscious that perhaps my dress is too tight and I begin to tug at the hemline.
“Stop fidgeting, you look fantastic,” Kyra gives me look of annoyance as she digs her lipstick from her bag and begins applying it without a mirror. What a pro! She only gets a few swipes on before Owen appears in the doorway of the den and kitchen.
He’s just showered, his dark curls are damp and messy and I can smell the soap I used earlier. It smells different on him; intoxicating. And instantly, at the sight of him, I am thrown into a tailspin. My heart quite literally feels like it’s done a backflip inside my chest, my stomach lurches with intensity and my blood has become an electrical current throughout my body. Oh it’s too much. My reaction to him is too much. I squeeze my legs together to keep the wetness that is blooming between my thighs from soaking my panties. My nipples come alive for him and I can feel that familiar heat creep through me and settle in my cheeks. Am I breathing? No, no, my breath has stopped, trapped inside me somewhere. Breathe. I exhale as quietly as possible and tuck my bottom lip under my top teeth to stifle my own internal moans from escaping.
This man.
He’s wearing black dress slacks and a crisp white dress shirt, untucked. The cuffs are rolled back a few times, exposing his forearms slightly. Dark hair climbs up the tops of his arms, masculine and sexy, and his thick fingers grip the doorframe. I watch the color drain from his knuckles as he grips it and I imagine my hair woven between those deliciously strong fingers, pushing me down into his lap. Mmm. My breath hitches again.
“You ladies look lovely,” he says, voice low, before smiling at Kyra. Then turning to me and smiling, he gives me a gentle nod. And then, for the tiniest of moments, I think I see something in his eyes. A faint spec of… lust, swirling in those chocolate eyes like the electricity that swirls through me, and I feel hope in my veins.
“Ready?” he asks, releasing himself from the doorway and stuffing his wallet in his back pocket.
“Yup!” Kyra calls out, hopping off of the barstool, tucking her phone into her bag. She is for once oblivious to my inner turmoil and thank God she is. I walk behind her and he pulls the backdoor open for us both, ushering me through. Knowing he is walking behind me, feeling his energy as I pass him near the door… my body shudders. My body aches to be touched. What is this? This is more than arousal-my whole body is crying out for him to… take me.
Shit, this is going to be a long summer.