Chapter 7
Olivia
This is the strangest first date I’ve ever had. The way we met is surreal; bumping into him on the streets of Brooklyn. I rarely met guys there when I lived with my parents. What are the chances of meeting someone there, who lives in the next town over back in New Jersey?
A jittery energy flows through me every time Lucas comes near. And when he touches me! A primal heat spreads like fire through my body.
I feel his eyes on me, soaking me in. He wants me; I have no doubt about that. It’s what he wants me for that has me nervous.
The intense look in his eyes sends chills down my spine. Like his eyes have the power to peel the clothes off of my body. I hope we haven't just begun a much more dangerous game than golf.
I know nothing about him. Nothing more than there is an invisible force pulling me to toward this strange man. A man that could be anything. Even a rapist or serial killer. At least he armed me with golf clubs if I need to fight him off.
But what if he gets off on that?
I know he’s dangerous. I feel it. Dangerous to my body if I allow him to keep touching me. Dangerous to my heart if I allow myself to drop my guard.
He’s working his way under my skin. I’m trying hard to stop him because once there, it’s a short journey into my blood stream where full possession takes place.
In an attempt to clear my head, I turn my attention back to the ball. I lift the club intending to use some of the mounting tension I feel rising in my body to hit the ball with all my might. Instead of sending it screaming into the screen in front of me, I hit over the top and the ball moves forward two feet with little distance or power.
“Am I making you nervous?” Lucas asks, with a cocky grin on his face.
Smug bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “Not at all,” I lie.
I look down and steady the club next to the ball, with a deep breath, lining everything up the way he showed me. I continue trying to relax my nerves through my breathing.
I don't notice Lucas approach until he’s toe to toe with me. I look up as he brushes my cheek with his index finger. The touch is gentle and light. Chills run through my body.
“I hope you don't mind me staring. I can't keep my eyes off you.”
It hits me. Now I understand why he has this effect on me. Why he has me so off balance. And intrigued. He reminds me of someone I wish I could forget. The only man I ever loved.
“Does that line have a high success rate?” I ask, anger heavy in my voice. I’m angry at his assuredness. Angry at the memories and emotions he stirs in me. And angry at how my body responds to him.
"What? No." He looks surprised and upset by my question. The same question he asked me last night "That wasn’t . . . I wasn't using a line."
"Right and the moon is made of cream cheese."
His eyes drop. No doubt searching for a new and improved cliché. I can’t believe how I almost let myself be taken in by him. Once again he proves to be the same narcissistic jerk I met the night before. Rehearsed and insincere.
"I don't understand," Lucas says meeting my eyes once again, looking for the first time nervous and unsure of himself. “What just happened? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing." I sigh.
“Olivia?”
Shit. I overreacted. I know I did, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. I need to rein my emotions in. I can't judge the world based on my one bad experience.
"I’m just frustrated with this stupid ball.”
Lucas grins and steps back, off to the side once again. As I ready myself for the next shot, I feel his eyes crawl over my body. He does make me nervous. And uncomfortable. In an excited, I-have-butterflies-soaring-through-my-belly sort of way. I raise the club, swing with all my might, and completely miss the ball.
“Nice and easy," Lucas says, his voice soft and gooey, like melted caramel. "The key is being relaxed. It looks like you want to send the ball to the moon.”
Ooh is he annoying! I want to forget he’s here, so close to me. And that I want him closer. That I want his arms back around me and his hands in places I shouldn’t. I have no chance of doing that if he keeps drawing my attention back to him.
“Maybe I am. I’m using imagery. Pretending the ball is someone’s head.”
He snickers. “Is it my head?”
I mean to place the club head down on the ground, instead I bang it into the green. It’s his fault. All his fault.
“Has anyone told you what a pig headed jerk you are? You’re rude, egotistical and exacerbating!”
Lucas steps closer, reaches for my hand and pulls me against his chest. He takes hold of the golf club and lets it fall gently to the floor. With both his hands free he buries them behind my hair and caresses the base of my head. My heart soars.
"You want to tell me what set you off?"
Looking down, I shake my head.
“Why don't we take a break?”
I fight to keep my composure. I need to break free from his hold, from his tantalizing touch. I swallow hard, forcing down the lump in the back of my throat. I know the best thing for me is to get far away from him. But I don’t want to.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should just go home.”
“No,” Lucas’s eyes betray his disappointment at my suggestion. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t really want to leave do you?” He dips his head down to brush my lips with his own.
Every hair on my body stands at attention. My toes curl.
My resolve melts in his arms. His lips are soft, warm and delicious. And I want more. So much more.
I don’t push away. I don’t try to break free from his hold.
“What did you mean then?”
Again he places a quick kiss on my lips before pulling away. “Wait and see.”