Текст книги "Crave"
Автор книги: B.J. Harvey
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
I’m behind the wheel of my SUV, driving north to visit my parents.
A week has passed since I left Lucia’s apartment after sleeping with her. It was inexcusable but necessary, her effect on me too potent to be ignored.
Now, with at least an hour’s drive ahead of me and a week where I’ve purposefully buried myself in work to distract me from Lucia, I have time to reflect on the situation I find myself in.
Since I was a teenager, I’ve buried my desires deep. Initially naïve to their true meaning, what started off as a stirring grew into intrigue, and the more research I did, the more I became obsessed with the idea of it. The seed of my craving was planted, and the more time I spent trying to quell my thoughts, to stifle my yearning, the stronger the draw became.
One innocent afternoon, we had a seemingly interesting idea—a group of six teenagers hanging around the high school grounds with nothing better to do. An off-the-cuff suggestion that started innocently enough soon shifted into a darker challenge. One that has stayed with me, buried in my darkest depths, my body and mind unwilling to let it surface.
And until now, I’ve been successful in pushing back the hunger to take that next step.
What has been missing and holding me back has been the need for a deep-seated bond of trust, something I haven’t been willing to seek out, or allow myself to have.
Honestly, I haven’t trusted myself to take that step with someone, to let myself go. Perhaps that is why I loathe myself for even entertaining the idea, for fathoming the fantasies I have.
Then last week, being with Lucia, I felt unbalanced, off kilter in a good but unsettling way. For the first time since my formative years, there was a level of trust between me and another person that I had never felt before.
Since the moment I laid eyes on her, Lucia has elicited a basal response of the likes I have never felt before. Not just in my body—because let’s be honest, that happens frequently enough as it is. No, my reaction to Lucia was both physically and mentally unprecedented, which is perplexing enough as it is.
That is precisely why, just hours after having her, I was lying in my own bed, on my own cold, unscented sheets, when any other man would’ve been tangled up in and surrounded by everything Lucia.
But not me. I followed my typical MO and left as soon as I was done.
I’d felt my tightly held grip slipping when I was with her. With our naked bodies pressed together, the opportunity to do more was within my reach. The chance to give myself that highly sought after taste of my longest-held, darkest sexual fantasy.
I don’t condemn others who wish to partake in consensual relations of that kind. Grant has more than once told me there is nothing wrong with a man having fantasies, desires that are not necessarily realistic or indeed right, and that ultimately, it is always my choice whether to act on them or not.
A successful, well-educated, highly regarded businessman like myself should not want to do unthinkable things to a woman he’s attracted to. I have everything a man could dream of—why has my subconscious been fixated on this one thing for most of my adult life?
Being the man that I am, the man that I was raised to be, the man that I strive to be in the future, I cannot fathom what it would take to drive me to take that step.
To trust a woman enough to take that last leap with me.
So I haven’t and I won’t.
That means putting space between the woman who threatens every ounce of my restraint and me.
Hours later, Father Duncan wraps up another thoughtful and insightful service, offering his traditional final few words to the congregation. “Go in peace. My peace I give you.”
A loud ‘Amen’ echoes around the long-standing stone walls of my childhood parish.
It was in this church where I gave my first confession, where I took my First Holy Communion, and where I confirmed my faith in the Catholic church in which I had been born and raised.
As the congregation thins, I move down the aisle and walk outside. Moving to the side, it’s only a few moments before I find myself enveloped in the warm embrace of the woman who I love more than life itself. I wrap my arms around her and relish the familiarity that has always calmed me.
“Callum, it’s been too long,” Mom says, leaning up on her toes and kissing my cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t seen you. I’ve been so busy with everything.”
She lovingly rubs her hands up and down my arms, her eyes scanning my face as she takes every nuance of my expression into consideration. Her look quickly turns to one of concern—it’s as if she can read through my façade and see everything I’m trying to hide from her. The stress and pressure of work, the frustration of being the San Fran gossip column’s poster boy.
“Is everything okay, Cal?”
I school my features, trying to put forward a content front. “Of course. I just needed to see everyone, and have some of your famous lasagna. Nothing makes me feel more at home than your cooking—you know that.” I give Mom a gentle squeeze before plastering a smile on my face and stepping back. It’s both a blessing and a curse that I’ve always been transparent to her. “Where’s Dad?”
She looks up at me and briefly narrows her eyes before she thankfully gives me a pass on the impending inquisition she would normally commence. “He’s inside with Father Duncan. He wanted to make sure everything was organized for the spaghetti dinner next weekend. We’re fundraising for the Carters. They lost their mother to a heart attack last week, bless her soul. Three children under ten years old. Such a sad story.” Her eyes glisten with tears, and I pull her back into my arms, running my hand up and down her back to help console her.
“You have such a kind heart, Mom.”
Nodding against my chest, she stays with me for a few more minutes before stepping back. “Did you see Heather?”
“She saw me at the back of the church as she was taking Grayson outside. By the look on her face, I’d say she was going to change his diaper.”
Mom giggles and shakes her head. “My grandson is all boy when it comes to that department.”
“He’s like a weed; he won’t stop growing. He’s gotten so big, and I only saw him a month ago.”
“If you came home more often, you’d see for yourself that he is in fact a human garbage disposal,” my father muses from beside me. “Good to see you, son.” He claps me on the back and wraps an arm around my shoulder. He’s the only person in my family who can do that, given that I’m six foot two and he’s an inch taller, thus explaining the growth rate of my nephew.
“Dad.”
He steps toward Mom, pulling her into his side. “You staying for lunch?”
“Like I’d miss Mom’s lasagna. My surname is Alexander, is it not?”
Dad chuckles while Mom just smiles up at both of us.
“Oh, I’d also like to make a contribution for the Carter family. Mom was just telling me about their loss.”
There is no mistaking the pride in my father’s expression. “You’re a good man, Cal.”
I fish out my wallet and hand over a couple of hundred dollar bills to him. “If you give me a bank account number, I’ll make the rest of my donation when I get back home.”
“Cal . . .” My mom breathes, and starts to tear up.
I’ve always made it my goal to give back wherever possible. I’m a self-made man who was fortunate enough to have loving parents who made sure that their three children were raised with good morals, a strong faith, and were afforded opportunities that many do not get.
My brother, Jeremy, owns his own construction company and my sister, Heather, was a successful event planner before she went on maternity leave to have my nephew, Grayson. Last I heard, when she returns to work in a few months’ time, my mom will be looking after him.
Our family is close-knit; there aren’t any nasty skeletons in the closet or hidden family scandals.
That makes what I crave, the closeted fantasies I’ve hidden for so long, so dangerous. I can’t allow myself to contemplate ever playing them out. The consequences, if it were to be exposed, would be far-reaching and devastating.
Half an hour later, the entire family—Mom, Dad, Heather, her husband Glen, Jeremy and his wife, Julia, are around the large wooden dining table at my parents’ house for lunch.
“Cal, where did you go? I said your name twice, and it was like you were someplace else.” My mom’s voice cuts through my scattered thoughts.
“Sorry, I was somewhere else. What did you ask?” I turn my head toward her, giving her my full attention.
“I was asking if you wanted to stay for dinner as well?”
“Sounds great, Mom.” I reach over and grab her hand, squeezing once before letting go. “I don’t have anything pressing to attend to this evening, so I’d love to.”
“So proper,” my sister remarks wryly. “Anyone would think you were famous or something.” She sniggers and my lips twitch, unable to hold back a grin.
“Or something,” I add, spooning a second helping of lasagna onto my plate.
“How is that project going? The new one?” Jeremy asks, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair.
“There is an issue with our design, but we’re being kept in the dark until a special board meeting next week. Grant’s been scouring over the blueprints, making sure there isn’t anything we’ve overlooked or missed out, making sure we’ve adhered to the design principles and aims for the project.” I frown and shake my head. “To be honest, we’re at a loss as to what they might say at the meeting on Wednesday.” I’m still frustrated at the lack of information we’ve gotten about this so called ‘meeting.’ Never one to be unprepared, I feel as if we’re going in blind, and that is not the way I’ve ever done business.
Jeremy’s expression matches my frown. “And this came out of nowhere?”
“As far as we knew, the tender being accepted was the final hurdle. Our design is robust and will withstand any scrutiny. We’re confident it will all blow over.”
“If you need me to check over anything, you just have to ask, Cal.” I can see he has his big brother hat on. It’s always been that way between us.
“Yeah, Jer. I might do that.”
“So, Maree,” Julia begins, “did you hear about the lovely, Lu-ci-a?” She slowly enunciates Lucia’s name, dragging it out for maximum effect.
My mom’s head snaps sharply in my direction, quirking an eyebrow and narrowing her eyes in the same breath. I stare at Julia, wondering how she knows Lucia’s name. “You’ve met a woman?”
“No . . . not exactly.” I’m suddenly uncomfortable with the direction our lunch conversation is headed in. My intimate relations with women are strictly casual, never longer than a date or two at best, something Julia and Heather know, because they’re both nosy women who frequently try to play matchmaker. Thankfully, they’ve never asked me why—probably just chalking it up to the widely held misconception that I’m a ladies’ man living the bachelor lifestyle.
“How does your sister-in-law know about a woman in your life and your own mother does not?”
“Maree, leave him be. He’s a grown man.” My dad rolls his eyes, but goes notably quiet.
“Yes, he is. But he’s also thirty-four years old and without a wife, without a strong woman by his side.” Mom’s eyes return to mine and they soften in that way that only a mother’s can. “You need someone, Callum. You’re always focused on work. It seems like there is no one to take care of you.”
“I have you for that, Mom.” I give her my biggest, cheesiest grin that she can always see through but never calls me on. “And besides, if there was a special woman in my life, I’m sure the gossip twins over there . . .” I tilt my head toward Julia and Heather, earning a giggle from the women and a chuckle from my father and Jeremy, “ . . . would be on the phone to you within minutes.”
Mom has the grace to nod, but her eyes tell me she’s still very much concerned, something I already know to be true. It’s the same thing every time I come home.
You need a wife, Callum.
When are you going to start a family?
You need to focus on building a life for yourself outside of work.
All different ways of saying the same thing.
“So tell me about this Lucia, son. Is she the one I saw you with in the Tribune the other day? The pretty brown-haired girl?” Mom asks.
“Yes, that’s her, and she’s hardly a girl. She’s twenty-nine.” This just makes her smile grow wider.
Oh damn. She got me good.
“And there is nothing going on between us. She accompanied me to the charity event. That’s all.”
“Oh but that is so not all, Cal. You see, Mom, my friend Tracey was an organizer for the hospital’s charity baseball game last Saturday, and she says that my very single brother, one of the key guests on the list, turned up with a stunning and unknown brunette on his arm and got everyone talking. Even the Tribune couldn’t find out her name. But the same little birdie told me that there was a kiss involving Callum and a Ms. Lucia Harding on a balcony at said event.”
I cough uncomfortably, not sure why my sister has chosen to impart this information at the table after a family lunch, other than to divert attention away from her. Just as I’m about to enquire further, I’m interrupted.
“Enough, Heather. Let your brother have a private life. Hell, it’s not like the press give him a chance half the time as it is.” My father’s voice is stern, his speech abrupt. He may be down to earth and easygoing, but when he lays down the law, you don’t question it.
I know the females in my family mean well and they only have my best interests at heart, but as a male in his mid-thirties, the constant talk about my personal life is just added pressure to a life already full of stress. When you have married siblings who are busy buying houses with backyards and double garages, and are having children or starting to think about it, the expectations start to fall on the last single member of the family—that being me.
Right now, I’m relieved that Dad stepped in when he did.
If I’m struggling with the thought of letting Lucia in to my life, how the hell can I explain it to the people who matter most to me?
While I drive home, there is only one thing—one person—on my mind.
So it’s no surprise that I now find myself parked in my Range Rover opposite Santorino’s watching the same woman who’s been plaguing my thoughts for over a week now. She confidently works her way around the restaurant—stopping at tables, and smiling at the patrons scattered throughout the establishment. She looks happy and relaxed, definitely not affected by a certain architect leaving her apartment in the middle of the night after our mind-bending sexual encounter eight days prior.
I watch her body, the way her fitted burgundy shirt clings to her breasts, the fabric hugging to her curves as it tapers off just below her hips, covering the top of her mid-thigh length black skirt. Everything about her calls to me.
I can’t understand why this woman turns me inside out more than I ever thought possible.
I’ve never followed a girl. Never chased a girl—never had to. In fact, during the last six months, I’ve barely needed to do anything more than raise an eyebrow and book a hotel room. It’s served a purpose, sating my basic physical needs but having to stay in control all the time leaves me exhausted.
But with my reputation, the firm, my family—everything I’ve worked so hard and pushed myself for—I can’t afford to do anything but retain the strong-armed grip I have on my life.
Lucia Harding—her soft, dark hair, crystal green eyes, her killer smile, and her ability to heat my body and challenge my mind in the blink of an eye. She’s a handful in all the right ways and the fact that she’s not chasing me, not contacting me, has me unsettled. It’s left me off balance enough to have me doing something uncharacteristic like park outside her restaurant.
I pull out my phone, determining that the only way to get this woman out of my system and off of my mind is to see her one more time.
Filled with nerves, I type, then delete, retype and delete again, contemplating what to say without giving her false hope of something that I could never allow to happen but seem powerless to stop. After five minutes of deliberation, I type out a short message and push send before I can second-guess myself.
C: Hi.
I look toward the restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling front window, watching her as she makes her way behind the bar and pulls out her phone. She bites her lip, and her brows furrow briefly before she schools her features when a man walks up to her, black apron wrapped around his waist, with the same dark colored hair as Lucia. She talks to him briefly, her spare hand flailing about as they have an obviously animated conversation, ending with her poking her tongue out at him. Shaking his head at her, he turns and walks away, leaving my object of desire to return her attention back to her phone. I take the chance to watch her face. Even from this far away I see every expressive nuance she lets slip. With a wry smile, her fingers stop moving and she puts her phone up onto the wooden bar in front of her before turning her back toward me.
Seconds later, my phone pings with an incoming message.
L: Ah, it’s the great escape artist from Saturday night. With such a hasty departure I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again.
My mind kicks into gear and the words begin to flow.
C: With a night like that, how could you not hear from me again?
L: You left me worn out, and wanting more. It was disappointing to roll over to cold empty sheets where you should’ve been.
C: We could rectify that issue.
L: We could, except I’m working, and I’m contemplating playing hard to get. I didn’t exactly plan on letting you seduce me . . .
C: I didn’t exactly plan on seducing you either. Although, I don’t remember there being any arm twisting or heavy persuasion . . .
L: The look in your eyes and your tongue in my mouth was all the persuasion I needed.
L: As for twisting, I’m sure there are some twists and turns we can maneuver next time ;)
Hell. That has me hard as steel. My cock pressing against my slacks causes me to shift in the driver’s seat. I’m thankful for the invention of tinted windows as I palm myself to try and ease my discomfort.
C: Now my mind is full of possibilities involving twists and turns. Having your legs hooked over my shoulders while I devour you again is top of the list.
She picks up her phone, her eyes widening as she lifts her thumb to her mouth, resting the tip on her bottom lip. She types something quickly then stops, shaking her head at her phone before resuming her message.
The anticipation almost kills me. What is even more concerning is the fact that I’m having an ongoing text conversation with a woman without any pretense. There is no need for anything other than the real Callum.
I like it. A lot.
L: Now I have an hour left at the restaurant, and all I can think of is your mouth between my legs. Let’s just say that I hope you plan to make good on that promise.
My cock throbs in response, the image of Lucia’s naked body laid out on my bed, legs splayed over my shoulders as I bury my tongue deep inside of her, playing on repeat in my mind. Fuck!
I decide that it’s probably safer if I leave her to it. If this text conversation continues while I remain in close proximity to her, there is no saying what could happen. Laying her out on that wooden bar and having my way with her is quickly becoming an enticing prospect. I shake that thought out of my head as I turn the key and restart my car.
One more message. A promise. A threat. Something to leave her wanting more.
C: It’s more than a promise, Lucia. It’s a warning. Something for you to prepare yourself for. I will have you naked again. I will have you screaming my name again. And I will have the pleasure in stripping you of that tantalizing red shirt you’re wearing one day soon . . .
I watch with amusement as she reads the message and her head snaps up, her eyes scanning outside the restaurant when she realizes that I have seen her, or can still see her now. A sly smile caresses her lips.
L: Until next time my friendly neighborhood stalker.
C: Dinner, my house, Friday night. Come prepared.
L: I’m ready and willing now but for you, Mr. Alexander, I have a feeling the wait and anticipation will be more than worth it. Good night, Callum.
Putting my phone back in its cradle on the dashboard, I pull out of my parking spot, driving away from the restaurant before the tentative grip on my self-control wanes.
I drive my car into my garage and switch the motor off. My cock still demands release, thoughts of what I could be doing to Lucia right now plaguing me.
Lucia represents my biggest hope and my worst fear, all contained in a gorgeous, intelligent, smart-mouthed package whose enticement grows stronger and more irresistible with every new interaction.
Once inside, I drop my keys and wallet on the kitchen counter and pour myself a drink. Within minutes I’m seated on my balcony, Glenlivet in one hand and cell phone in the other, the view of the bay spread out before me.
This is my safe place—the place where I can just be myself.
I consider Lucia’s last text. She’s ready and willing. If only she knew what that could mean for her.
Willing to be with me.
Willing to do what?
Ready for what?
I send her a parting text, knowing that if I were ever going to let my guard down for her, it would mean ripping off the carefully manufactured armor I’ve had to construct over the years. My instincts tell me there is something different about Lucia. I need to decipher exactly what it is before I make the decision to let her in.
Always needing the last word, I send what I intend to be the last text between us for the night, serving as a tacit warning of sorts.
C: You might regret saying that after Friday night, Ms. Harding. A week is a long time.
L: I’m a big girl, Callum. Some would say a grown woman who knows what she wants and goes after it. I’m also tenacious. And having had the pleasure of the full Alexander experience, you’ve left me wanting more. What can I say? I’m an opportunist who isn’t going to let this chance pass by ;)
Well, I guess she just drew her line in the sand, or lack thereof.
C: From one opportunist to another, I bid you farewell. I have a hard, pressing matter to deal with.
L: If it’s the same pressing matter I’m experiencing, I recommend keeping your finger on the pulse. Seems to be working for me ;)
Somehow, I think the cards have just been turned.
