Chapter 2 – Vale
THE NEIGHBOR
VALE
Gramps and I are setting up the grill when a classic convertible speeds down the driveway with an obnoxious roar.
It’s a silver flash of round yellow headlights, moving faster than anybody should over those new, brown, faux cobblestones in the driveway.
Gramps goes inside to get his hat, always the gentleman.
He’s old-fashioned, always putting on a hat when others are around, unless he’s eating a meal of course.
“Excuse me,” I hear a deep voice from behind me. I turn toward the driveway as a man steps over the flagstones that join the two properties. I wave him over while I light the gas grill.
I hear his soft footsteps as he makes his way onto the partially covered wooden deck. “One second,” I yell out as I close the lid to heat the grates.
One moment, I’m old Vale, a young woman who’d never been moved by the sight of another human being, never felt attraction to a person fueled by hormones, then the next, I’m new Vale, who’s barely able to breathe at the sight of the man who’s standing in front of me.
My teenage hormones aren’t ready for the sight of him.
Fuck me sideways! He’s gorgeous. I suck in air as I study him, my brain needing more oxygen than normal just to function, to process what I’m seeing.
I focus on his fine leather shoes. Then up to his black slacks, up to his thick, muscular thighs, to the junction between his legs, where the outline of his .
. . oh no. I force my eyes not to linger as they make their way up to his tailored white dress shirt with bronze buttons stretching over broad shoulders.
He looks like some sort of gentleman spy from a movie.
How is he real?
I look up to his pale pink lips. The bottom lip is thicker than the top with a perfectly sculpted Cupid’s bow.
His lips look so kissably soft and purely sexual.
Those lips could convince you to sin with only a whisper.
I swallow hard and force the air out of my lungs as my heart races.
His face is youthful, unlined by age, yet there’s a world weariness in the deep set of his eyes, a haunting look as he stares at me. He can’t be more than thirty years old.
Those eyes flash and glow a unique, mossy-green even through the gloom. His eyelashes are long and dark like the thick hair which falls over his forehead in silky waves. Some of the hair is tucked haphazardly behind one ear, the rest is pulled back behind his head at the base of his strong neck.
“Are you okay?” he asks as I memorize each shadow on his face. Then there’s the dimple that begins to form as he smirks at me, seeming to know all too well what I’m feeling.
I don’t like how he’s looking at me with a predator’s gaze, so laser focused on my every move, as if at any moment he’ll rip me apart. It feels like he can see right through me, into my thoughts, my desires, and I don’t like it one bit. I don’t like being seen.
I’m ill-prepared for the man before me. I don’t know how to act around an attractive man because I’ve never seen one. That’s not an exaggeration. I’ve never been interested enough in a man to pay attention, but I’m paying attention now. I don’t know if I’m capable of looking away.
I shake my head trying to regain control and focus my brain.
It doesn’t get the memo. Shadows start to slither around him, and I question whether I’m having some kind of stroke, maybe a complete mental collapse.
Am I hallucinating? I shake my head again.
He’s not supposed to look like this, a virile, young man, in the prime of his life.
I’d wrongly assumed that the new neighbor would be an old man like Gramps.
“I’m sorry. I just . . . just assumed you were an old man, dude. Not . . . shit. I’m sorry. I’m Vale. My Gramps has your key. Hold on just a second,” I tell him as my body chooses flight instead of the fight response. I try to escape, but he steps in front of me, blocking my way.
“I’m Oliver Byron, your new neighbor,” he says, then takes my hand, even though I didn’t offer it. I’m unable to breathe when he covers my hand with his. His touch is like electricity, sizzling through my nerve endings. It takes all my strength to stand there and let him look at me.
I search for an answer that’ll make this entire situation make sense in my head, but I can’t find it.
I feel his gaze and the touch of his hands, warm over mine.
My body jolts to life, as if waking up from a long, deep sleep.
My heart pounds in my ears and my breathing becomes even more erratic.
He studies me with an intensity that’s so raw and overwhelmingly real.
Why is he looking at me like that?
I stare wide-eyed at his seductive mouth when he smiles.
I want to touch his lips, feel them against my skin.
This is insane. I thought this kind of shit only happened in romance novels.
But it’s real. It really happens to people, love at first sight.
I think I’m in love. My thoughts are racing a million miles a second and it’s hard to grab one and roll with it.
I’ve never had a crush on a boy. The few guys I met in Silver Springs were hardly engaging, most of them flat-out annoying. They never looked like this, like him. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way.
He lifts one hand from mine and tilts my chin up with his thumb so I’m forced to meet his gaze.
This man won’t let me hide in my crazy thoughts.
“It’s nice to meet you, Vale.” My name said from his lips is my true demise.
It sounds like a prayer, calling to something long buried inside me. I don’t know what to do.
“Did I hear Byron?” Gramps asks from the kitchen and it’s enough to snap me out of my reverie. I pull away quickly, trying to shake off the lust I knew better than to feel.
It hurts to sever the connection between us. My chest aches and burns as I’m torn away from the warmth of this god, torn from the heat of the sun. The cold of darkness envelops me, and tears prick at my eyes. I’m ashamed of the way I’ve been acting.
His whole demeanor changes as he stands up straight, pulling his shoulders back; I hadn’t realized he’d stooped to get closer to me.
As Gramps approaches, he turns toward the back door, the look on his face changing unbelievably fast. No longer are his eyes that of a dangerous predator, now they reflect nothing but effortless confidence and ease. I’d never seen anything like it.
“Nicholas Dalton,” Gramps introduces himself and holds out his hand while he looks at Oliver.
Oliver grabs his hand and shakes it with a smile. “I’m Oliver Byron, your new neighbor. It’s nice to meet you. The solicitor left a note that you would have my key,” he says in strangely accented English.
Gramps deflects the inquiry about the key with a question. “Any relation to George Gordon?” His question makes Oliver chuckle, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m not sure actually, but my mother’s a huge fan. She named me Oliver George Gordon Byron. I’m fluent in Lord Byron because of her. A true education should be filled equally with that of the pious and the libertines.”
Gramps just met his soul mate. They begin talking about books and it turns out Oliver’s a fan of the classics.
Of course he is, he’s perfect. They sit down next to each other, continuing their conversation.
I watch, fascinated by the ease in which they befriend one another.
How did my grandpa learn to be so confident and well-spoken with others?
I’m at best awkward around most people, preferring to fade into the background.
I’m quiet and reserved because I’ve had to be.
I step over and nudge Gramps on the shoulder. I don’t want to be rude. “I’m going to cook,” I say, my voice like a whisper so not to disturb their conversation too much.
“I’m sorry, Vale. Oliver, this is my granddaughter, Vale Granger. Would you like to join us for dinner?”
Oliver looks up to me and nods in agreement, a smirk on his lips quickly gone by the time Gramps turns back to him.
A tingle shoots down my spine, making me more nervous.
I rush away to the kitchen to grab the three steaks that’ve been covered with coarse salt for hours.
I’m back at the grill a few minutes later while Gramps rummages around in his office for a good scotch to share with our guest. Oliver lounges on one of the old iron patio chairs, one leg bent at the knee, the other kicked out straight and long while he thumbs through his phone.
“Mr. Byron, how do you like your steak cooked?” I ask, turning away from his long legs and gorgeous face. I need to pay attention to what I’m doing.
“Call me Oliver, and I like it very rare,” he says as I jump away from him in fright, not expecting him to be so close when I turn around. My body goes stiff at his nearness. How on earth had he moved so fast, so silently?
“The bloodier the better.”
Oliver gets so close I can smell the scent of his skin.
It’s a heady musk with warm notes of amber, sandalwood, and a subtle sweetness of vanilla.
His scent alone makes me feel high. He leans closer near my neck.
He’s overwhelming all my senses, and I worry I’ll faint if he doesn’t move away from me.
I’m powerless when I hear his audible inhale.
We aren’t touching, but as he breathes in it’s like he’s stealing a part of me.
I let out a sigh the moment he stands up straight, then steps away, but I’m not relieved, not in the slightest. My body’s on fire and an ache has formed down low. It’s a new ache, one that thumps like a heartbeat between my legs, the intensity almost frightening.
“I can hear your heart hammering away in your chest. It’s so loud,” he whispers so softly I question whether I imagined it or not. He walks away before Gramps returns. I turn back, pretending to focus on what I’m doing.