Chapter Four
“But since of diff'rent dishes we should taste;
Upon an ancient work my hands I've placed;
Where full a hundred narratives are told,
And various characters we may behold…”
Jean de La Fontaine
The Servant Girl Justified
Isadora waited five days to call Parker.
She’d wanted to call him sooner, but she needed time to calm down after her fight with Sawyer. She couldn’t get over him inviting her to his house like that. He’d never made her feel like a whore until that moment and his doing so disjointed parts of her heart, damaging them like pieces of a worn out puzzle she couldn’t solve.
What they shared was perhaps the most precious thing she’d ever owned, but his recent behavior summed up their time together as a cheap and tawdry affair. How dare he taint her beautiful life and all she valued, summarizing years of affection with the shabby necessity of lust?
He had no right, and she’d likely be angry with him for a long time, longer than she wanted to spare. Putting her hurt feelings aside, she covered her pain with little distractions, buying baby clothes for the next Patras, weeding out her gardens, and making the executive decision to dismiss everyone else’s opinions of Parker and give him a chance to show her the man he actually was.
She’d let the probability of her family’s objections dictate the last decade of her love life. No more. They all knew about Parker and whether they approved or not, she needed to see how things went for herself.
Mind made up, she’d picked up the phone and called him. For once doing what she felt was right for her and not worrying about how it might upset or disappoint others.
Parker was gracious and sweet when she spoke to him. “Can I take you out?”
Her life, up to that moment, seemed so commonplace, so tepid and uneventful, she tried to think of the last time someone had asked her on a date.
Tyrian had taken her out to movies and dinners. Looking back, the whole ritual of serenading a woman with food and meaningless traditions seemed pathetic. But what else did people do?
“Sure,” she agreed, thinking the same redundant prelude would be the conclusion to nothing spectacular.
She’d become so jaded.
“What day do you have free this week?”
All of them. “How about Friday?”
“Friday’s perfect. Why don’t I pick you up around eleven and we’ll go from there?”
A lunch date? That seemed even less romantic than dinner. “Okay.”
“Oh, and dress warm.”
“O—okay.”
Friday morning, unsure where they were going, she opted for a pair of jeans and a cream blouse. Recalling his suggestion that she dress warm, she switched out her pumps for a pair of boots and grabbed a cable knit cardigan. Maybe they were going to the theater, which could get drafty sometimes.
Parker’s Jaguar arrived at precisely eleven o’clock. He climbed out and she met him halfway, liking the sight of him in worn jeans, a dark gingham button down nearly hidden by a thick sweater and duffle coat. His hair looked windblown and his jaw wore a thicker layer of scruff than it had the night they met.
He smiled as he held open the passenger door. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”
She slid onto the sleek leather upholstery, finding the interior of the car pleasantly warm. Once he was seated behind the wheel, he expertly backed out of her driveway.
“I meant to thank you for the book. I love it.”
He smiled, his gaze focused on the road. “I debated between that and Lord of the Flies. Seuss seemed more appropriate.”
She was glad he chose the children’s book. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise. You’re free for the rest of the day, right?”
She didn’t have plans, but the idea of spending that much time with someone she hardly knew was daunting. “Yes, but…”
He glanced at her, those sharp eyes taking a quick assessment. “If you have to be back by a certain time, that’s fine. I just want to know what time frame we’re dealing with. The place I’m taking you is an hour away.”
That was a long time in a car with a semi-stranger. “I don’t have any other plans.”
He nodded. “How was your week?”
Her week had been… It was hard to say.
She’d kicked it off with a fight, but once she cooled down she hadn’t cried or anything. She simply pushed the Sawyer stuff to the back of her mind and moved on. She’d ordered some new perennials for the garden and made a list of things that needed to be done in preparation for spring.
“My week was typical.” Sort of. There seemed a difference she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“What did you do?”
He sure was curious. “I picked up a few gardening books.”
“Do you like gardening?”
“Yes.”
“What do you grow?”
“Mostly flowers. I have a small herb garden, but I’m terrible with larger vegetables.”
He smiled. They were heading east toward the coast. “Do you like English gardens or more of a colonial revival garden?”
Impressed that his question revealed a bit of knowledge on the subject, she relaxed, comfortable with the topic. “I prefer Spanish gardens, actually. I love climbing plants and water.”
“Do you have a pergola?”
She grinned. “I do. It’s my favorite place to read. In the summer the wisteria takes over. I know a lot of people find it to be a bully of a vine, but if you take care of the buds and train the shoots, it can be really beautiful. I’ve tamed mine into a lush awning. It makes a beautiful canopy.”
“Sometimes, when things take a little work, the reward’s that much sweeter.”
“Yes.”
He turned onto the highway and she tried to imagine where they could possibly be going. There wasn’t much out this way, a small naval base, a few hotels, and the coast, but nothing would be open this early in the year.
Trying to pass the time, she admitted, “I’m thinking about making a labyrinth garden. I started sketching one out, but I’m still looking into which hedges are best for that sort of thing. I order a lot of my plants online, because the colors are usually listed.”
His brow lifted. “Like a big labyrinth? The kind someone could get lost in?”
The idea came to her when she’d been thinking of a little Patras running around. How darling would it be to have a permanent maze for little ones to play? She wanted to hide flowers and secret gardens inside.
Her smile trembled. She wanted to chase her own children through something like that, could almost hear the echoes of unborn laughter. She shook off the fantasy.
“Yes, a large one. We have several acres that aren’t being used.”
“Something like that would take years to cultivate.”
What else did she have to do? “I know.”
“I think that sounds like a great idea. Really interesting and fun to plan. Things like that last for generations.”
“If I ever actually plant it.”
“You will. So what do you like to do when you’re not gardening?”
She was adjusting to his attention, unable to recall the last time someone took such personal interest in her. “I like to read. I attend social functions for the family business from time to time. I take night classes and this summer I’ll have my masters. I volunteer at St. Christopher’s and The Women’s House. That’s a place for—”
“Women escaping domestic abuse.”
“Yes. Do you know it?”
“For the past year I’ve volunteered there once a month.”
She rarely saw men at the facility. “You have? Doing what?”
“They have a program that prepares women to enter the workforce. Some of them never worked before. I walk them through mock interviews and help them with their resumes. The job placements are slow, and sometimes they need more skills, but eventually, they find something.”
Maybe she should have him look at her resume. “How is it you know how to do that?”
According to everything she’d heard, he’d just started his career. Though going by his car, his clothing, and his attendance at the opera house fundraisers, he’d clearly found immediate success.
He shrugged. “You only have to know the right question to ask. When women are forbidden to work they sometimes struggle to identify what they’re passionate about. There are countless jobs out there. Sometimes it’s just a matter of admitting what they want to do with their life, realizing they have the right to choose. Choice is a powerful thing.”
Yes, it was. Asserting her autonomy had been a lifelong struggle. At thirty-six she was still trying to find her calling—and her voice.
Though she’d managed a house, raised two children, and mingled with the visionaries of tomorrow, she often felt guilty when it came to deciding what was best for her. Her life was a constant loop of reassuring herself that she was entitled to decide her future, but she never managed to get very far from where she started.
“And what about you, Parker Hughes? What do you do?”
A dimple appeared in his cheek as he smiled. “I like helping others. Charity can be more rewarding than any paycheck, but there has to be some sort of income. I invest and try to keep a secure cushion, but the idea of wasting away behind a desk is terrifying to me. I think I’ll always be a little more comfortable in a community center than an executive office.”
She frowned. “But you’re one of them.”
Parker not only worked at Leningrad but also climbed quickly to the top. He had an unnatural gift when it came to the stock market, according to what she found out from Evelyn.
He laughed. “I’m accepted as one, but only because they don’t know how to read me. They see money and that’s what they want. I’m just a tool that adds to their wealth. I play the market because I’m good at it. It’s a hobby.”
“How good?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Good enough to guess if you put fifty thousand on Sidewize Inc. today, you could have a million dollars by the end of the week.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s not a science. I have the instinct, but that doesn’t mean I abuse it. I earn enough to buy my freedom, but I’ll never be indebted to my own greed.”
“You’re saying you didn’t buy that stock, even though you believe it’ll turn that much?”
“Nah. I avoid it when I can. It’s an addicting rush.”
She reached into her purse. “Let’s see if you’re right.”
He glanced at her as she texted her brother. “What are you doing?”
“Lucian controls my shares. I’m telling him to buy a thousand dollars worth.”
His brow creased. “What if you lose?”
She laughed. “Now you’re unsure? You just sounded so certain.”
“There’s no such thing as certainty in the stock market. That’s the one valuable lesson I learned from my father.”
“Well, it’s money I earned from whatever Lucian does with the shares I inherited. I never touch it. I just let him move it around however he sees fit. If you’re wrong, I lose a thousand dollars. If you’re right, I make a pretty penny for my savings. I’ll take my risks.”
He continued to frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he answered, mouth tight. “I just … didn’t expect you to trust my word.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because of my past, my father’s record, and the bad blood between your brother and me.”
“That’s between you and Lucian. You’ve never done anything wrong to me.” He still looked concerned. “Plus, I spoke to Evelyn and she assures me you’re a good man.”
“She said that?”
“Yes.” She’d said other things too, but Isadora didn’t want to divulge too much.
She was happy he didn’t ask for more details since she preferred to be the most interesting female during a date and would have felt slighted if he asked more about the woman he once—maybe still—loved.
“So where are we going?”
He chuckled. “We’re almost there. If you look in the back there are some clues.”
Glancing to the backseat, she saw a folded tartan wool blanket, and a shovel. “Are you planning on burying me alive?”
He laughed. “No, I’ll need your help, so we’ll have to keep you above ground.”
They drove for another twenty minutes and the roads turned to open paths that wove through scrubby marshlands. The salt of the air had her cracking a window and breathing deeply, recalling a time when they were young and visited the coast for the summer months.
Her mother had been healthy then, and she would walk them down to the beach, lather them up with sunblock, and let them play until the sun set. That was before Toni was born. Isadora couldn’t quite recall her father’s presence in those days either.
As he drove over a bridge they were deposited into a small shore town. Kite shops and Victorian style houses stood like still life. No one seemed to be present this time of year, but cars were parked randomly here and there.
Parker turned away from the bay in the direction of the ocean and pulled into a vacant lot where parking meters stood like pickets. “We’re here.”
“The beach?”
“It’s the best time of year. Warm enough to play in the sand, cold enough to have it all to yourself. Shall we?”
She wasn’t quite sure what they were doing there. He left the car and came around to open her door.
“You’ll want your sweater. It’s windy.”
Standing, she stretched her legs and donned her cardigan. The blustery breeze was briny and warm, the gusts cutting through her blouse and chilling her skin. Her hair whipped about and she gave up any thoughts of having good date hair.
Parker retrieved the shovel and blanket from the backseat and then popped the trunk. “Can you carry the blanket? I’ll get the rest of our supplies.”
A large duffle bag sat in the trunk, zipped shut so she couldn’t see what it held inside. “Why do we need supplies?” And what sort of supplies?
They walked to the cement barricade coated in a cracked layer of tar. He helped her step onto the path cutting through the dunes.
“We’re building a sand castle.”
She laughed. Of all the things she expected to do today, playing in the sand had never crossed her mind. “For what?”
He glanced over his shoulder and winked. “For the fun of it.”
Her boots trudged through the fine, loose sand making it difficult to walk. Parker slung the duffle over his right shoulder and grasped her free hand.
As their fingers entwined a steady pulse built in her veins. The sun was high above them, countering the breeze coming off the ocean, but her insides were warmer than she’d expect for a day reaching only the high sixties.
“This looks like a good spot.” He stopped midway between the ocean and the dunes. The sand was packed tight where he dropped the supplies.
There were no signs of life for miles, aside from the few gulls she spotted in the distance. Only their footprints marred the pristine surface of the shore.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a beach so empty.”
“It’s nice,” he said, unzipping the bag. “Quiet, with just the rushing waves and an endless view.”
He removed various tools, setting them out on the beach. They weren’t typical sand toys. He had a funnel, a putty knife, a paintbrush, and various cylindrical containers.
“Why don’t you spread out the blanket and we’ll have lunch first?”
Unfolding the blanket, she flattened out the wrinkles as he proceeded to produce more odd items she’d never think to bring to a beach. He had a melon baller, an ice cream scooper, and two spades. Last, he withdrew a large paper bag.
They sat on the blanket and he paused. Staring at her face, he chuckled. “You look nervous.”
“I haven’t played in the sand in thirty years.”
“Does it bring back bad memories?”
“No, I used to love the shore. I just… Sandcastles are child’s play.”
He quirked a brow, his hand buried in the brown bag, eyes studying her. “We’ll see. Adults forget that they can play, too. And I don’t think a child could make what we’re going to build today.” He withdrew a bottle of wine. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I went with the basics—wine, cheese, fruit, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
She grinned at his choices—another surprise. “How romantic.” Although, she did love all of those things.
He smirked and uncorked the bottle with a pop. “I try.”
Once he poured wine into the plastic cups, they unwrapped their sandwiches. The grapes and cheese sat between them in absolutely basic Tupperware.
He seemed to have thought of everything for a perfect picnic, but didn’t waste time on the superficial frills. It didn’t strike her as a lack of effort. On the contrary, he raised the actual date experience to a higher standard, no cheating with distracting bells and whistles.
He kept her on her toes and took away the sense that she needed to make a certain impression. She couldn’t explain why she felt so comfortable around him, no pressure at all to be anything other than present. Their lunch date was already overshadowing the fancier dinner dates she had in the past.
“So what exactly are we building?” she asked, nibbling the corner of her sandwich.
“That depends. Every sandcastle’s different. It really comes down to how well we work together.”
She wondered if this was some sort of test to see if they would make a good team. “Do you do this a lot?”
“No. I always liked the beach and for years I couldn’t get here. Let’s call it making up for lost time. It’s no fun building a sandcastle by yourself. No one’s around to appreciate it. Today I have you.”
Today I have you…
She liked the way he put that, as if having her company meant more than castles in the sand. Her lips twitched, as she realized how often he filled her with the urge to smile.
She sliced off a piece of brie and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly and chasing the sharp flavor down with a swallow of wine. Parker untied his shoes—simple, broken-in Chucks—and kicked them off, stuffing his socks inside.
As he rolled the cuffs of his jeans his feet fascinated her. They were manly feet, ordinary, she supposed. But there was something about seeing them on a first date. Something basic and forthcoming that told her he really was comfortable in his own skin.
She turned her attention to the expansive ocean, the tide ebbing and flowing with subdued strength. Her gaze lifted to the sky. White clouds swathed patches of blue in fleecy smears.
“It turned out to be a nice day,” she commented, as a few gulls squawked in the distance. One dove to the surface of the water and caught something in its beak. “Did you see that?”
“Probably caught a crab.” His eyes squinted against the sun as he carelessly brushed his hair back with his palm. “Look.” He pointed. “Something’s out there.”
A sleek creature leaped from the waves, diving smoothly back underwater. She gasped. “Was that a dolphin?”
“Looked like it. There will probably be more. Watch.”
Her smile widened as two more jumped, and then a third, chasing along the horizon in a swift glide of agility and grace.
“Amazing. I’ve never seen them so close to the shore.”
“There’s no one here to bother them.”
They watched the horizon silently for several minutes and when she finished her sandwich she tossed the foil into the paper bag. “So how exactly do we do this?”
“You might want to take off your boots. We’ve got a lot of digging to do.”
She unzipped her boots and placed them on the corner of the blanket with her socks. She was due for a pedicure, but that didn’t bother her like it usually would.
Parker stood and retrieved the shovel, walking several paces away. He carved a large circle where the ocean had receded.
As she stood, the cool earth soothed the soles of her feet. She grabbed a bucket and met him at the circle.
“We need to dig out a moat and make a large pile in the center. I’ll start down here and you can use the bucket to carve out the moat.”
He proceeded to dig, the scrape of the shovel cutting into the packed sand familiar and comforting. Dropping to her knees, she lodged the bucket into the ground and dumped the sand into the circle.
There was no music, only the sound of their tools working, mingled with the gentle sloshing of the ocean and birds cawing in the distance. They did this for several minutes, the beating of the waves against the shore and the splicing cut of their tools plowing through the earth playing in concert.
“Let’s pack the bottom layer with wet sand so we start with a firm foundation.”
He removed his jacket. Rolling up the sleeves of his sweater, he reached his arms into the bucket of cold water and pulled out two handfuls of muddy sand and packed it into the ground.
She sat back and watched as he used one of the smaller cups to trim the edges.
“Where did you learn how to do this?”
He shrugged. “Practice, I guess. I don’t have any siblings, so when I was young I’d nag my parents to come in the water. They only went up to their knees, so I pretty much stuck to the sand. It’s relaxing to build something out of nothing for the sheer pleasure of creativity, even if it might be gone tomorrow.”
She’d never thought to do something like that, for the simple pleasure of the experience, knowing nothing lasting would come from her efforts. Perhaps that was her problem in life.Even with Sawyer, she’d always assumed—despite the constant reminders to the contrary—that they’d eventually be a couple, a real couple who could outwardly display affection on holidays and plan a future together. She often got disappointed in things that wouldn’t last.
Using her hands, she shaped the sand, finding it cool in the shadows of the moat and enjoying the way the little granules stuck to the beds of her fingernails.
They worked in silence, only talking here and there, but there came a way of communicating that didn’t require words. Before she could reach for a certain tool, he was there, handing it to her, as if he anticipated her need.
As the minutes passed, the bond they shared seemed to grow, their mutual interest in this silly castle the only thing occupying their minds.
Once they had a pile of sand roughly two feet high and five feet wide, she sat back to admire their work, taking a moment to sip her wine.
Parker joined her for a moment, brushing the sand off his jeans and stealing a grape. “Now comes the fun part.”
She shaped a parapet walk while he used the funnel to set the corner towers. With the spade and paintbrush, she dredged a smooth bailey out of the center.
The sun warmed her back through her clothes as she paid great attention to the finer details. She was so engrossed in their sculpture she hardly noticed when wet sand seeped through her blouse.
Parker used his palms to thin out a rampart wall and she went in search of a shell for the perfect drawbridge. They smiled proudly as each detail came together.
Grit dusted her hairline, but she didn’t care. Brushing off her palms, she stood, her legs tired in a satisfying way. She took in their work of art and smiled.
“I think that’s the nicest sand castle I’ve ever seen.”
“Now we wait.” He rinsed his palms in a bucket of clean ocean water and dropped to the blanket, easing back in a relaxed pose.
“Wait?”
“For the tide to come in.”
“Oh.” Her smile faltered. “I don’t think I can bear to watch all our work get washed away.”
“It won’t. We’ve built a strong fortress. The water will fill the moat long before the tide gets high enough to wash her away. She’s beautiful but tough.”
She rinsed her hands and joined him on the blanket, watching the waves creep closer with each lap at the shore. She stared at the sky, marking the distance the sun had traveled. “What time is it?”
“Just after four,” he said, not looking at a watch.
She arched a brow. “How do you know that?”
“I can tell by where the sun is in comparison to the horizon.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it so she could see. The screen read 4:11.
“You cheated.” She laughed.
“I swear to God I didn’t.” He pocketed his phone and lounged back, folding his arms behind his head.
She admired the play of muscles in his exposed forearms.
“Come lie with me. We have some time before the tide reaches the moat.”
With the sun no longer directly overhead, she reached for her sweater and drew it over her shoulders, hesitating a moment before leaning back beside him. They hardly knew each other, yet she wanted nothing more than to lie beside him as if they were a timeworn couple.
She searched her mind, debating if she was somehow building him up to overshadow other parts of her life, but she honestly didn’t believe that was the case. There was just something special about him that had nothing to do with anyone else, and she liked that very much.
She eased her body onto the blanket and scooted close to his side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her alongside his chest so her face rested in the crook of his arm.
Her body tingled with uncertainty. Was it normal to be so comfortable with someone on the first date? She already thought of him as a friend, but there was something more going on here.
She breathed him in, his scent mixing with the briny air. The soft material of his sweater smelled like baked-in sunshine.
She smiled. He smelled like playing outside, like childhood and happiness, and things she hadn’t thought about in years. For a moment she lost herself in that incredible fragrance, finding it calming and as addicting as it was nostalgic. She shut her eyes, fighting the urge to burrow closer.
His fingers flexed over her shoulder. “You’re fidgety,” he teased.
Her heartbeat thrummed in her chest, tight and rhythmic, making her all the more aware of the things she wanted. She relaxed, pushing those urges aside.
This was nice. She shouldn’t rush anything. His hold on her shoulder remained firm and secure, but casual.
Her belly tightened as her legs became restless. It was an effort to remain still with him so close. He turned his nose toward her and she held her breath as he pressed his face to the top of her head and drew in a long breath.
“I like the way your hair smells.”
A fleet of butterflies fluttered through her belly and her breasts suddenly felt heavy. That little comment seemed the greatest thing she’d heard in a long time.
Her body sagged into the wool blanket as her desire to feel more of him crept through her like a fever that wouldn’t wane.
She glanced up at him, noting the way his jaw relaxed and his lashes rested against his cheeks. Slowly, his gaze lifted and he peeked at her with those fascinating eyes.
“What color are your eyes?” she whispered.
“Green.”
Had she never seen green eyes that close before? They were so exotic, flecked and speckled. There was a depth to them she didn’t usually see in other eyes. Blue eyes were somewhat striped, and brown eyes appeared rather flat, but green… She loved looking into his eyes.
“They’re really pretty.”
“Thanks.” He held her stare for a moment, the fever inside of her growing hotter.
Her breath caught, as she willed him to move, inwardly begging that he kiss her. Seconds ticked by and he simply stared until finally, he eased closer, turning to his side, still looking into her eyes.
“Staring contest?” he whispered.
Her mouth twitched into a smile, as he drew even closer.
Her lips parted, her anticipation running wild, but he didn’t close the distance. “Parker…”
She wanted to ask if he felt everything she was feeling. She wanted to tell him she was scared, but in the best way.
She said nothing, just waited to see what he’d do.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered and her face heated, her heart pounding faster.
Finally! “Yes.”
His full lips pulled to one side, a dimple forming in his cheek as he smiled.
“The thing with first kisses,” he said softly. “Is that they’re the prelude to every other first. They set the stage, lead to certain expectations. So they have to be perfect.”
Her lips parted, her mind now determined to see what a first kiss from Parker might feel like. She angled her face closer and he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes teasing.
“Let it build,” he whispered, tipping his face as if their mouths were touching, but holding the distance and keeping his eyes on hers.
She’d never wanted someone to kiss her so much in her life, but the unexpected intimacy of waiting as each slow second ticked by had her body tightening more than any kiss could. The anticipation climbed and climbed.
She could just lean forward, close the distance and steal a kiss, but she waited for him, waited for that perfect moment when a first kiss became a permanent memory, distinct enough to carry forever.
Her heart pounded as if she were at the start of a race—a blink and it sped up as if she were already at the end. She was out of breath and he hadn’t even touched her. At any moment she might burst with anticipation.
“Not yet,” he rasped, his warm breath teasing her lips. “Let it build a little more until it absolutely has to happen.”
Dear God, she’d never been more excited to be kissed in her life. It was intoxicating.
She could play this game too. “Almost,” she whispered and his eyes creased with smile lines.
“Scared?”
Her heart thundered wildly, her body starting to slightly tremble with eagerness. “A little.” Not as much as she was a minute ago.
“I won’t hurt you, Isadora.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“I know. You’re gonna have to trust me.”
She believed he wouldn’t hurt her on purpose, but what if she hurt herself?
Sawyer seemed the only part of her life that worked, yet they were so broken. What if the same pain she felt when she slept with Tyrian came back?
Parker might not want to hurt her, but some things hurt anyway, simply because they broke the mold and took her outside of her comfort zone.
“Still scared?”
Her fear ebbed and flowed, always changing, never completely receding. “I don’t know how to do this with someone else,” she softly confessed.
“It’ll be different. But that’s how you’ll know it’s me.”
She loved how he told her things even when they weren’t necessarily easy to hear. And yet, those difficult truths always seemed to work in his favor, because he seemed like such an open book. Honest.
His gaze burned into hers. “Are you ready?”
She swallowed, her eyes pleading as she stared at him. So close. “I think so.”
The first brush of his mouth had her toes curling into the blanket as her knees drew up and her hand settled onto his side. Chills chased over her arms as every slight caress of his mouth and hands carried the intensity of making love. She moaned softly as he deepened the kiss, teasing and slowly stroking his tongue past her lips.
The fever climbed like brush fire, sweeping through her with impassioned need. Her fingers tightened in his sweater, pulling him more on top of her.
His hands cupped her face, the tips of his fingers sliding into her tangled hair. It was the perfect pace, the perfect pressure, the perfect first kiss. And as far as preludes went, if he took his time with everything the way he was taking his time with this, she’d have no choice but to lose herself in each moment.
He slowly pulled back and smiled. “I wanted to do that since the minute I met you.”
She laughed quietly, her face warming. “That was a great first kiss.”
“Wait. I wanna do it again.”
His lips slid over hers and her hips reflexively lifted into his. Her other hand swept through his hair, pulling, as her mouth greedily took what he offered. The slightest caress fed her craving for more.
“Hey, easy,” he whispered, drawing back.
Startled by how strongly her body reacted to him, she loosened her hold of his clothes and blushed. She was practically panting beneath him, her body tight and needy.
Embarrassed she’d come at him so desperately, she turned her face away and blinked at the fading horizon.
“Isadora, it’s okay. I just don’t want to rush anything,” he whispered.
She shut her eyes and swallowed, not used to acting aggressive. “Sorry. It’s been a while.”
“How long?” His voice was gentle.
“Close to a year.” God, why was she telling him that? “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. It’s been a while for me, too. I just don’t want to rush things.”
She nodded, doing her best to quell the pent up need raging inside of her.
His fingers gently cupped her jaw, angling her face so she faced him again. Slowly, he bent and brushed his lips against hers, cautiously, as if he didn’t want to get swept away.
Her body shook as she struggled to slow her impulses, not expecting this level of attraction. His hand dragged from her sleeve to her wrist and his fingers loosely entwined with hers.
He eased over her, raising her arm and pressing it into the blanket. Her breasts lifted, the tips hardening beneath her clothing, shamelessly begging for attention.
“Slow,” he whispered, dragging his lips over hers.
He kissed her jaw, her throat, her mouth, never letting his pace turn greedy, but rather, savoring her, learning her quiet responses. She became a quivering mess of anticipation but tried her best to let him set the pace.
The press of his warm palm burned through the material of her blouse as his fingers curled around her ribs where her cardigan had shifted away. She arched as he kissed down the side of her throat, her legs tangling with his.
The moment he lowered his weight fully over her she moaned, pressing her breasts into his firm chest and gripping his side.
He chuckled, moving that curious hand to rest with the other one above her head on the blanket. “Easy,” he said again. “Slow.”
She blinked at him, unable to recall a time when she’d been the antagonist. His nose teased the hair tangled by her ear until it fell behind her shoulder. He nudged her jaw with his chin, softly scraping her skin with stubble, as his lips traveled to her collarbone.
Her legs twisted, finding their way outside of his only to have him trap them between his knees again. He pressed into her, the bulge of his arousal abrading the central point where her thighs clamped tight.
Her breath quickened as she realized he had her completely pinned. She was at his mercy and knowing that made her want him all the more.
“Please, Parker…”
His mouth curved against her collarbone where her blouse had loosened. He dragged his body over hers, a slow implication of what he wanted. “Please, what?”
Never in her life had she asked a man to lay his hands on her. Yet something inside of her demanded she beg him.
“Touch me.”
Easing back, he stared at her, dragging a knuckle over her shirt, down the shallow valley of her breasts to her belly. She sucked in and angled her hips toward the earth, lifting her chest.
His fingers slowly tugged the tie of her blouse and humid air met her heated skin. Her nipples pebbled beneath the lace of her bra.
Straddling her hips, he brushed a tender finger down her cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” He stared at her body, lines of tension forming around his eyes. “We should wait, Isadora. We don’t have to rush anything.”
She shook her head. “You’re not rushing me.”
His touch never left her body. It trailed over her shoulder, straying closer and closer to the slope of her breasts and the scalloped lace of her bra. The back of his fingernails tripped over the material, and she sighed with need as he teased her skin.
“I want to put my mouth on every inch of you.” He dragged his thumb over the tip of her nipple.
Please do…
She was utterly spellbound. Every look, caress, and breath made her want him more than she had only seconds ago.
Sliding lower, he bent and slowly licked along the edging of her bra and she gasped. He spread little kisses on her warm flesh, and his lips closed over her taut, lace-covered nipple, pulling softly.
She couldn’t take anymore.
Pulling her hands from the space above her head, she sifted her fingers through his hair and held him there. His fingers tugged at the strap of her bra, pulling it with her blouse to her elbows, exposing her bare breasts.
He captured the tip of her nipple in his hot mouth and sucked hard. Her toes pointed as her hips rocked into the blanket, his body grinding heavily against hers. He released her breast and moved to the other—hard, almost greedily groping her tender flesh—sliding his arm beneath her back and lifting her closer to his mouth.
Her fingers gathered the bulk of his sweater, pulling until she felt the burn of his skin beneath her fingertips. Her nails scraped up his back and he groaned, releasing her nipple and taking her mouth in a deep kiss.
His tongue dueled with hers as they rolled to their sides. Her legs now free, she hooked her knee over his hip and pressed her body to his. His strong hand cupped her backside as he pressed against her, holding her to him.
The fingers of his other hand teased the waist of her jeans until the button came undone. Wedging his hand behind the silk of her panties, his fingers traced her wet folds, sending shivers up her spine as he grazed her slit.
He released his hold on her backside, rolling her to the blanket so she was once again beneath him. He tugged at her fitted jeans, his mouth falling onto her breasts as his fingers found their way past the seam of her sex.
She could barely part her thighs with the denim bunched around her knees. He seemed content to simply pet her there, hardly penetrating.
There was something considerably erotic about his gentle touch, the steady brush of his masculine fingers over feminine softness. The longer he teased her, the more she wanted to feel him inside of her.
The broad tip of his finger grazed her clit and she moaned with need. Frantic with wanting, she slid her hand into the back of his pants and gripped his hip. He groaned and finally slid his finger deep inside of her.
She gasped, arching, as he slowly pumped. Her hand withdrew from the back of his jeans and searched anxiously for his zipper, finding the button already undone as his arousal pressed hard against the constricting waist of his pants.
She fed her hand into the cramped space and closed her fingers around his thick flesh and he froze.
His finger remained buried deep inside of her, hers wrapped tightly around his arousal. He blinked, his pupils larger than usual. They seemed to be on the verge of something significant.
“We should stop,” he rasped.
“What if I don’t want to?” Would he become another man deciding for her?
“I wouldn’t be upset if you wanted to stop, Isa. It would suck, but if we slowed down I’d understand. It’s up to you.”
He’d never know how much she appreciated hearing him say it was her choice. But at the same time, she suffered such uncertainty she had no clue how to decide for them.
This was their first date. She’d waited for something like twenty dates with Tyrian. Maybe they should stop. But she didn’t want to stop. Everything they were doing felt incredible and she wanted more.
Recklessly, she whispered, “Do you have a condom?”
His lips tightened for a moment. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“What do you mean?”
His gaze shifted away. “I want to be with you, but not because we have everything we need. I’d rather it be because it’s something we both want. Don’t rest your decision on the availability of a condom.”
Here she was trying to have sex and he was being all logical about everything—and ridiculously sweet. “The closest store’s only about ten minutes from here. It’s probably open.”
He laughed. “You’re a determined little thing.”
She smiled. “I’m not usually like this. It must be you.”
His nostrils flared, his eyes—back on her—darkened and he kissed her hard. His finger pumped and she moaned into his mouth, her hand stroking purposefully.
Sliding another finger deep, he stretched her, more than she was used to, but she liked it, didn’t want him to stop.
It had been so long since anyone touched her. Her body seemed ultra-sensitive. The strum of his thumb over her clit had her gasping, rolling toward a fast finish with little effort.
He scooted lower, freeing her hold on him as he kissed her hip and pushed her jeans to her ankles. She kicked them away and he opened her thighs, his mouth lowering. Using both hands he parted her folds, spreading her wide as his tongue speared into her.
“Ah, yes!”
He kissed and licked her tender flesh, pressing a finger deep with forceful thrusts, as his mouth closed over her clit. Her knees lifted as she moaned, her cries lost in the wind racing over the vacant beach.
Her feet pressed into the blanket, lifting her body to him. Her hands burrowed in his soft hair as she greedily took the pleasure he expertly gave.
Faster, his fingers pumped, the damp slide of his touch an erotic tempo that egged her on. His mouth tightened as he doubled his efforts, crooked his fingers, and then—bliss.
Her hearing buffeted, deafened by the beat of her heart, the crash of the ocean, and her sobs of pleasure. Her vision winked against the hazy sky as her entire body quaked in a release so strong it shook her to the core.
Tiny aftershocks trembled through her as she caught her breath. Parker’s soft hair teased her belly as he pressed his cheek to her stomach and panted.
“Isadora,” he whispered after a few minutes of recovering.
“Hmm?” Her voice was hoarse and her throat dry. Granules of sand clung to her damp skin.
“I have a condom, but I think we should wait. I don’t want to spoil whatever this is.”
Now that the burning fever had somewhat broken, she was thinking a little clearer. Perhaps sleeping together on their first date wasn’t the wisest choice. They should know each other better.
She was grateful he had the honor to remind her several times that there was no rush and it was her choice. She wasn’t sure what was right and what was wrong when it came to healthy relationships, so she decided to wait—at least until their second date.
“That’s probably a good idea.”
He kissed her belly and drew the edges of her blouse together. Reaching for her jeans, he untangled them, separating the silk from the denim and slid her panties up her still unsteady legs.
His cheeks were flushed as he smiled at her, his hair windblown and wildly sexy. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss over the silk at her apex and stood.
“I’m going to walk down to the water for a minute to cool off.”
She glanced at him, feeling like the most selfish lover in the world. “Are you sure you’re fine with waiting?”
He bent and brushed a kiss to her lips then laughed. “The right choice is usually the most difficult. So, yeah, I’m sure. Just give me a couple minutes.”
She watched as he walked to the wet sand, pausing where the water rushed at his feet. The tide had risen and was nearing their moat.
She stood and brushed off the sand that had transferred from the blanket to her legs then stepped into her jeans. Righting her blouse and sweater, she watched him as he stared out at the fading horizon.
His unkempt brown hair and broad shoulders formed a perfect silhouette against the skyline. His jeans were worn and wrinkled and the hem of his shirt stuck out beneath his sweater. She definitely preferred this Parker to the one in a tuxedo.
More than the interesting conversations they shared or the fact that he’d planned a perfect date, there was something undeniably unique about him. Special. Every moment she spent with him seemed to prove that again and again.
With Tyrian, there had been an ease that didn’t come with Sawyer—the convenience of acceptability. He fit appropriately into her life, so much so that even when she no longer wanted him there she felt like the bad guy for breaking up with him. No one understood why she’d prefer to be alone than with a merely adequate partner.
Then there was Sawyer. Sawyer was everything taboo and hungry inside of her, all the things others never suspected she felt. But he was also her secret—just as she was his. And over the years that secret changed to a dirty one, tarnished and bent where it had once been beautifully flawless. They rarely went on dates and, on the few occasions they did venture out, it was always to some obscure place off the grid.
She felt herself frown. Her thoughts of Sawyer seemed altered, like a treasured keepsake suddenly tarnished beyond repair.
Since meeting Parker, the idea of Sawyer and her relationship with him seemed tainted. Was that because of Parker or simply timing?
Parker wasn’t like Tyrian or Sawyer. He wasn’t going to be easily accepted, but she didn’t care—neither did he.
He seemed genuinely interested in her as a person, like she was her own entity, already interesting enough. He had the ease and the hunger, all in one. But he was also clever and sweet, and somehow sturdier than what she was used to.
Last week, when her brother threatened him, he’d been about to back off, but then decided against it, implying she was worth pursuing, opposition be damned. And Lucian was no minor threat to brave.
The fleeting thought drifted through her head that this might all be to spite her brother, but she shoved it away, feeling ridiculous for even considering such a notion. Her brother was an obstacle, not a provocation.
Parker saw something in her worth going after, even if it meant confronting the indomitable Lucian Patras. And that was probably the first time a man ever made her feel truly worthwhile. In a way, it was sad he was the first to do it.
Parker slowly walked back to the blanket, inspecting how their castle was holding up along the way. He grinned when their gazes snagged. Wearing a pleasant smile, he strolled closer.
“Better?” she asked, sitting up on the blanket and finishing the last of the wine.
He looked so adorably casual, like a candid picture that perfectly captured his easy demeanor. “Better.”
“I had a really great day with you, Parker.”
“I had a great day with you. I’d like to take you out again. Soon.”
“Please do.”
He stole another grape and they bagged up the remainder of food. Strolling down to the bank, they rinsed all the sand tools and packed them away.
On their last trip back to the blanket, they stilled as a large wave smacked against the shore and rushed up the beach. She grinned widely as water funneled into their moat and traveled rapidly along the path they’d carved, filling the trench.
“We should take a picture before it washes away.”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. Finding the perfect angle, he snapped several shots, catching the fading sky in the backdrop.
“The pictures do it no justice.”
She crowded close as he thumbed through the images, showing her each one. “Will you send them to me?”
“Of course, but we need a selfie to go with them. A memento of our first date.”
“I hate pictures of myself.”
“Why? You’re gorgeous.”
Her cheeks heated. “That’s sweet, but I’m plain.”
“No, you’re not. Here.” He held out his phone and snapped a picture of her, but she wasn’t ready. “Look at you.” He turned the screen toward her so she could see.
She hadn’t had enough time to smile. Her eyes were cast upward and her lips were slightly parted. Her hair was a straggly, windblown mess and her nose and cheeks wore a splotch of new freckles from the sun.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, placing a kiss on her temple. “I’m keeping that one for myself.”
Her chest warmed again as he draped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her closer, this time standing beside her when the flash shuttered.
But she wasn’t looking at the camera that time either. No. She was staring up at the man who made her feel things she couldn’t recall ever feeling before.