CHAPTER 14 #3
Mmhmm. I’d probably have my jacket over our heads because I forgot the umbrella in the car.
We’d be pretty close, and I’d push back a strand of chocolate-brown hair that was stuck to your cheek, then our eyes would meet, and my hand would still.
I’d lean down a fraction or so, and your breath would catch.
You’d expect me to kiss you. You would want me to, but a crack of thunder would spook us, and the spell would be broken.
Scarlett’s mouth opened slightly. She felt fervently jealous of the made-up scenario.
No.
No?
No. You’d think that the moment had passed. You’d probably want to go back to the car, but I’d put my hand on your chest, and it would drift up to the side of your neck until my palm touched your jaw. I’d be nervous and hesitate.
I would wait. Probably not breathing in anticipation.
And I would lean forward and kiss you.
Scarlett felt her heart pounding in her ears as those three little dots flashed, waiting for his response. How could describing a made-up date cause such a reaction? She left like she had drunk five cups of coffee back to back, that was how jittery she felt.
I wouldn’t be able to react at first. Every bit of me would be homed in on this moment, on you, and I’d be completely at your disposal. But then your kiss would deepen, and I’d react. My arms would go around you, and I’d press you up against the tree. You’d taste like French toast, I imagine.
Scarlett let out a strangled giggle as her free hand touched her cheek. She was sure she was blushing, considering how hot her skin was, and her hand drifted down to her neck, then her chest.
You’d taste like black currants, then.
Probably.
What would you do next?
I’d have you pinned against the tree with one hand, leaving my other one free to explore you. I’d touch your breasts, your arms, your stomach. I’d grip the edge of her skirt and drag it up, letting my fingertips graze your thigh.
She gulped as she bent her leg, dropping her hand to the outside of her thigh, imagining it was him touching her.
A skirt? In the rain? I’d never be that impractical.
You wanted to dress up, and besides, in this fantasy, you’re wearing a skirt.
And is this a fantasy you’ve had before?
Yes. Often.
How often?
Nightly.
She exhaled slowly.
What happens next, then?
My hand drifts to the inside of her leg, and you shift to accommodate me, and I touch you as gently as possible, right at the center of you, and you moan into my mouth.
You’re desperate for it, panting almost, but I love seeing you like this.
Begging, wanting. I kiss you, roughly, but you meet my tempo, and your free hand begins to explore me.
Scarlett let out a ragged breath, her fingers following his words, almost as if they were instructions. The picture was painted so vividly in her head, and she wanted to close her eyes to fully immerse herself, but he was feeding her the story text by text.
Yes, more, was all she could text back.
You like that?
Yes.
Are you touching yourself, Airport Hen?
His nickname for her was ridiculous, yet it touched her on such a deep level. It was who she was to him, how he knew her, and as silly as it might sound to an outsider, she reveled in any pet name he gave her.
Yes.
God, what I would give to see you right now—to hear you say my name.
In a moment of insanity, she considered FaceTiming him, but the more she let herself fall into the fantasy of being pressed up against a tree in the rain, the closer she came to orgasming.
She wanted to be there with him, in the middle of some wet forest, with his body against hers, breathing him in.
She wanted to say his name, to taste him, and so much more.
Please.
She wasn’t sure what she was asking or why, but it seemed necessary. She wanted him to tell her it was okay to tell her—no, demand of her—to find her release.
Come for me. Right now.
Scarlett shut her eyes tightly, and she was surrounded by those woods.
She was kissing him, and he was touching her, playing her exactly how she liked it, as a wave of electric pleasure crashed over her.
Her muscles contracted, her back arched, and she was inundated with unwelcoming images of Theo, holding her, kissing her, and making love to her.
But that, she would take to her grave.
After her orgasm dissipated, she lay heavier in bed than before. Her erratic pulse steadied, and she felt herself come back together again. Lifting her phone, she read back the last few lines and bit her lip. Then three little dots appeared.
I’ve never done that before.
Scarlett bit her lip.
Did you…
Yes. You?
Yes.
I wish I was next to you right now.
Scarlett sighed.
Me too.
There was a pause in their conversation, long enough that Scarlett wondered if he had decided to drop his phone and do something else, but then a message came in.
I know you said no before, but maybe we could go out on a date. You said you weren’t looking to start something, but if you were up to it, we could go to Lyme Hall for real.
Scarlett’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly added,
This, obviously, wouldn’t happen. We would probably talk. Have a picnic.
She grinned.
I think I would like that.
Really?
Yeah. When would you want to get together?
How about next Saturday? I could pick you up.
Scarlett wanted to, she really did, but she was nervous. What if he wasn’t as wonderful as she had built him up to be? Besides, as much as she enjoyed their back-and-forth, he was still technically a stranger, and she wasn’t comfortable driving an hour and half with him into the country.
How about I meet you there instead? Say, eleven a.m.? I have a late night at work the day before.
Perfect. I can’t wait to see you.
Me too. Good night.
Good night.
And while she was scared, she meant it. After placing her phone on the charger and rolling onto her side, she thought about what Maxie had said downstairs.
About how great it would be if all three of the men she had been talking to were rolled into one.
It certainly would make her feel better about using Theo’s image as a stand-in for Mr. Wrong Number, and as she drifted off to sleep, a part of her wished that Mr. Wrong Number did resemble Theo. Just a little bit.