18. “That’s the Way Love Goes”
EIGHTEEN
“THAT’S THE WAY LOVE GOES”
(JANET JACKSON)
T hat evening, standing in Javi’s bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, I flicked at some of my bouncy curls before I leaned in and checked my shocking red lipstick.
Exceptional liner placement, flawless fill.
Okay.
Good.
I took one long last look and decided I was ready for my date with Javi.
I headed out, and halfway down the stairs, I turned to see my guy standing by his kitchen island, phone to his ear.
I almost tripped on my high-heeled gold sandals.
Javi was wearing a crisp, light-blue button-down and navy-blue trousers, and both looked cut to fit him personally. These with fantastic brown oxfords, though I could see that hot-guy sliver of skin between hem and shoe.
I didn’t know he could look more beautiful.
But dang, all cleaned up, he could look more beautiful.
It was then I almost tripped again when I saw the expression on his face as his eyes devoured me from across the space.
Total proof I’d done good with my dress.
Bright red. Spaghetti straps. Deep cut at the bodice with loose ruffles hanging from the V.
Another diagonal ruffle across the front of the short, flippy skirt and around the hem.
I did gold hoops, a gold bangle, and the gold heels with a gold bag, and that was it with accessories.
I was using the plethora of skin and cleavage as my zingers.
And those zingers hit their target if the expression of wanton hunger on Javi’s face was anything to go by.
This made my shoulders straighten, and the rest of my descent of the stairs was slow and sure, my journey to him across the room as he hastily ended whatever call he was on was confident and assured.
I felt something I’d never, ever felt before.
I felt beautiful.
I felt powerful.
And I felt both because Javi gave them to me.
For some reason, this didn’t do what it would normally do—make me cry.
No, that was how powerful I felt, how sure.
In that moment, I knew all my life I’d been trying too hard, like I was frantically attempting to mold myself into what I was supposed to be, at the same time desperately trying to convince myself who I was, was just fine.
But in that moment, I’d never felt more right.
No, more real .
Thus, when I made it to him, I simply put my hand on his chest.
He put his to my waist.
“Jesus, baby,” he whispered, his eyes aimed at my chest.
Oh yes.
I’d never felt beautiful or confident in my life.
I’d never felt present, there, me .
But I did right then.
Because Javi gave that to me.
I tipped my head to the side.
“Ready?” I asked.
His gaze came up to my face, and I sucked in a breath at the proud possession shining stark in his eyes.
“Fuck yeah,” he replied.
* * *
I floated through Javi’s door, going to one lamp to turn it on then tossing my bag on his couch.
He went to another lamp.
We were home from our date.
No, we were home from the best date I’d ever had.
He took me to Geordie’s at Wrigley Mansion, maybe the single most romantic restaurant in all of Phoenix.
They’d seated us at a two-top by a window.
We’d watched the sun set over the Valley as we ate delicious, expensive food, Javi teased, I flirted, we talked and laughed.
He told me how things were hilariously not going all that well between Shirleen (not only Roam and Cap’s mom, but also Nightingale Investigation & Security’s Operations Manager) and Marjorie (the Phoenix branch’s Office Manager and Mace’s PA) settling in at the office.
I told him about Jinx’s accountant.
He told me he was thirty-three, and that his grandfather had been deported when his mom was just a kid. Things were tough for a not-single-but-going-it-alone woman with a young daughter. On top of that, she missed her husband like crazy.
So Javi’s grandmother had followed him back to Nicaragua when she thought Javi’s mom was settled and could look out for herself. This being when Ximena, Javi’s mom, was twenty-two.
Since his mother’s illness didn’t start manifesting until after she had Javi, they didn’t know leaving her on her own would lead to such tragedy.
They couldn’t get back to help, and considering Ximena and Javi regularly dropped off the face of the earth, sometimes they went years not knowing what was happening with their girl and their grandson.
In fact, although Javi talked to them on the phone frequently, he’d never met them.
Taking us out of the heavy, he also told me, since he’d obviously never had a pet, but he’d always wanted one, he’d planned to get a dog when he got his townhome more together. But after meeting Henny, Jessie and Eric’s cat, he changed his plans because cats “got it going on.”
Back to the heavy, I told him a little about my mom, dad and brother, and how I fit in the family.
Seeing as this made Javi visibly angry, and we were in such a romantic place, I didn’t go on about that too much.
He seemed matter of fact about what happened in his life, to his mom and his grandparents, and I understood that. I thought it was healthy. It happened and there was nothing he could do about it. Everyone was in a safe place now, so there was no longer anything to do.
But I was still in the thick of being the pariah of the O’Neill clan, I couldn’t hide it hurt me, and for a protective alpha, that wasn’t something he could easily abide.
Though I didn’t like that it made Javi mad, I couldn’t deny it felt really freaking good he got so mad on my behalf.
Mostly I talked about how I really enjoyed organizing Raye and Cap’s space, and I was thinking I wanted to consider finding more clients, give them a go and see if that would be a fun career change, to be my own boss and organize people’s lives.
Though, I told him, if it wasn’t fun, if the clients were jerks or whatever, I was out.
“The Surf Club is no stress, and I work every day with the part of my family I love, no-holds-barred. So whatever takes me from that has to be something awesome, not just something that makes me more money.”
When I said that, the tender approval written all over Javi’s amazing face told me what he thought about it.
And the depths it dug into my heart told me it meant a lot to me that Javi didn’t expect me to wring miracles in the career space, he just wanted me to be happy doing whatever I was happy doing.
We both avoided discussing Trevor or Kevin or what happened that day, and we did this without talking about the fact we were going to avoid it.
Without words, we agreed this night was about us.
Before we left for the restaurant, we’d begun, for sure.
But this was our official beginning, and we knew it.
I knew this from the moment Javi, with his big hand light on the small of my back, escorted me through the restaurant to our seats, to the moment he escorted me back out, because I didn’t ever think I’d felt so proud in my entire life.
Proud to be at the side, at the table, with this sweet, protective, handsome man who teased me, laughed with me, listened to me, looked at me like I walked on sunshine.
I wasn’t the underachiever when I was with Javi.
I was the woman who could catch the eye, the interest, the emotion of the remarkable man I was with. The woman who earned all of that. The woman who deserved it.
I was someone special when I was with Javi.
“Want another glass of wine?” Javi asked, moving to the kitchen and taking me out of my reverie.
I didn’t answer.
I also didn’t follow him to the kitchen.
I went to stand at the foot of the stairs.
I put my hand to the banister, and I let my eyes fall on him.
And I let my position tell him what I wanted.
He could accept, or decline. If he had other ideas on what would make it special between us when we finally connected in that way, I’d go with him.
But I wanted him to know where I was at.
He turned from grabbing the opened bottle of red on the counter to me, and his big body stilled.
“Lolita,” he said gently, the word like a soft caress that reached clear across the space.
“Your choice,” I replied. “But just know, I’m ready.”
I needed to say no more.
Javi put the wine down, and unhurried but not slow, he walked across his great room. With slowly escalating excitement, I marveled at his male grace as he came to me.
And when he got to me, he didn’t take my hand. He didn’t kiss me.
He bent and lifted me, like a groom carried his bride, and he started up the steps.
This move was so poignant, so exquisite, I rounded his neck with my arms and shoved my face in the side, breathing in his spicy cologne, breathing in Javi, grounding myself in him so I wouldn’t ruin the moment by bursting into tears.
We made his bedroom, and beside the bed, I felt him shift as he flicked off his shoes.
Then he hit his bed with a knee, placed me in it, his body landed on mine, but he reached out a long arm to turn on the light.
He looked down at me, smoothing my curls away from my face with both of his hands, and that proud, possessive look was again on his.
“You should know, that was the best date I ever had, Javier Montoya,” I whispered, running my hands up the material covering his back. “Thank you.”
Golden flames lit in his eyes right before he kissed me.
This kiss was not hungry or decadent.
It was soft and sweet, like he was sharing his gratitude in reply.
Oh man, if he didn’t stop being so… Javi , I wasn’t going to be able to do this without bawling.
Fortunately, he stopped being that brand of Javi and became the hot brand of Javi as the kissed changed, grew deeper, greedy.
I matched it, yanking his shirt from his trousers and diving in at the back.
He slid his lips down the line of my neck, down my chest, along the material at the bodice, which meant over the inside of the swell of my breast.
I pulled one of my hands out of his shirt so I could slide my fingers into his thick, soft hair to encourage him to keep going.
He didn’t.
He trailed his lips up my throat, over my chin, and back to mine.
We necked. We touched. It was leisurely. It was exploratory.