Page 94 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
All I want is some food and a glass of wine while I watch the gray and black clouds cluttering the sky open up on the stormy seas. An uneventful evening after a long day.
Preoccupied with the thunder rumbling outside and wondering if Zander is back on the docks after his test run with the mechanic on the boat, I need a second to realize what I’m looking at in the refrigerator. All three shelves are piled high with crate after green plastic crate of dark red strawberries.
I can’t help but laugh at Zander’s display of strawberry love. And am instantly brought back to the afternoon before . . . to our flirtatious lunch and carefree afternoon. Leave it to Zander to think of something like this. To bring back that feeling that had been subdued and replaced with phone calls to lawyers and the formal filing of charges and restraining orders.
I reach out and touch a crate with a big smile. When I shut the fridge door, I have a strawberry in my hand, determined to try it one more time. For Zander.
The funny thing is, I seem to be trying all kinds of things because of him.
* * *
A hand brushing hair off my face startles me awake. I look up, eyes wide, heart racing, and meet Zander’s amused blue gaze.
“You’re safe.” I immediately feel stupid for blurting that out. But it was a lone thought nagging at me as I slowly drifted off to sleep with the howl of the wind and the pelt of the rain in my ears. “Of course you’re okay. You’re here.”
He laughs softly and shakes his head but never removes his hand from the curve of my neck. And normally I’d shove up to a seated position so I could face him where he’s sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of me, but I like the feel of his hand on me—the warmth of it—and don’t want him to move just yet.
“I got you something.” His eyes are mischievous, his smile sweet.
“I saw,” I laugh out. “Strawberries and strawberries and more strawberries.”
“Oh. You saw those, did you?” His smile widens, while his thumb rubs back and forth casually on my skin.
“Yes. And I even tried one just for you.” The face of disgust I make must be funny because he belts out a laugh.
“Well, I guess all that matters is you tried . . . but I’m still determined to make you like them. Maybe I’ll smother them in chocolate or something.”
I shake my head. “I’d just lick the chocolate off.”
“Mmm.” And there’s something about the way he responds, deep and guttural, that makes me think his mind has ventured way past licking chocolate off strawberries and on to licking it from somewhere else. When our eyes hold, mine must be telling him I know where his line of thinking has gone, because his lips quirk into a smile.
The silence holds. Tension builds. And I welcome it. The snap of desire between us. The welcome ache in my lower belly. It’s been a week since he’s looked at me this way. Or touched me other than pulling me against him at night to sleep, a sweet kiss pressed against the crown of my head.
The bruises on my arms, my back, my legs, were too much for him to bear. So I’ve allowed him to hold me at arm’s length, with kid gloves, when all I’ve wanted was to lose myself in him again. And to let him make me feel.
Maybe the space has been for the best. In order not to taint the bed we’ve made together with the marks Ethan made on my skin. Not to have Zander reminded of it when he touches me. Those bruises are almost gone, though—the ones that can be seen anyway—and thank God for that, because it’s torture sleeping beside a man you’re craving to have again.
And as if our thoughts are in perfect sync, Zander breaks me from mine by leaning ever so slowly and brushing his lips to mine in the sweetest way.
With one hand on my cheek and the thumb and forefinger of his other hand holding my chin still, he deepens the kiss. A soft seduction ensues, of tongues and sighs and tenderness that steals my breath and sends chills racing over my skin strong enough to rival the ache deep in my lower belly of irrefutable desire.
As the kiss continues, the intimacy of the action is rivaled only by the first time Zander and I had sex. But maybe this feels even more powerful, because so much more has happened since then. Or maybe just for me, since I’ve confessed to myself the feelings I have for him.
Because a man doesn’t kiss a woman like this if there isn’t something there.
And just as I start to believe my own propaganda, he breaks the kiss and leans back. “I bought you something.”
It takes me a minute to respond with my head feeling foggy from his intense kiss. “You didn’t have to buy me anything.” I shift on the couch and sit up, my mind flickering to the cigar box still in my room to give him.
“It’s nothing major really,” he says with a shrug as if he’s suddenly turning shy, “but I saw it and . . . I don’t know.”
“What is it?” I ask with total curiosity as to what has him blushing.
He reaches down on the floor in front of the couch to a little white box with a blue ribbon around it. “Here.” He hands it to me without meeting my eyes, so I make sure my fingertips graze over his hands during the exchange. A touch. A little something I can offer in return.
“Thank you.” Noticing the small card taped to the top sans envelope, I set the box on my knees and lift open the flap of the card.
Socks—
