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Prologue
Running into a wine bar, to hide from a hookup stalker, wasn’t my idea of a fun end to a good night out. Drenched from a sudden downpour that had looked relentless, I’d hurriedly shoved open the door and stepped inside. The smell of damp clothing and wine hit my nostrils.
Scanning the tables for a spare one, my eyes dropped on the only vacant chair left in the room, and I glanced at the beautiful petite woman who sat opposite it.
She, like me, was wet, but a little less so. The empty glass of wine and a second in her hand told me she’d arrived there a short while before. I sensed her discomfort at my sudden presence and figured she wasn’t used to sitting in a wine bar alone. I briefly considered whether she was waiting for someone.
I wasn’t prepared for how startled she’d looked and for the following few seconds that passed she had made me forget why I was there. Then, three adjectives sprang to mind when my eyes met her spectacular blue ones. Gorgeous—haunted—uncomfortable. Don’t ask me how, but the instant vibe I had told me something was wrong. Before I’d thought better of imposing, I dropped myself into the spare seat across from her.
In that few seconds I stared intensely before I pulled myself from my reverie, jumped up, and peered out of the unfrosted part of the window, to make sure my hookup had gone. I explained I was being stalked as I did so and when I felt sure I had lost her I flashed my table companion what I’d hoped was a reassuring smile.
The last thing I wanted to do was make her feel awkward, after all it had been me who had made the intrusion. When I smiled reassuringly, she nervously smiled back, and in that moment I felt a connection toward her.
"Stalking?" she repeated, her tone sweet, quiet— melodic. I shrugged, helplessly, because I knew it had sounded like a lame excuse and I felt a little self conscious to have said something as outlandish, but it was true. So there we were, stuck in a wine bar, thrown together by the rain. I introduced myself and fortunately she responded, and our conversation flowed naturally from there.
When she told me her name was Billie, I had thought it unusual and it suited her perfectly. She was classy, if a little on the reserved side. Although she looked a few years older than me I’d assessed from the way she quickly averted her gaze she was the shy, unassuming type of lady.
Taking a closer look at her while she spoke, I noted her mid length dark brown hair; almost black when wet, framed her flawless rain-washed skin. It had made her look pure, radiant even, and the olive glow she had enhanced her full red lips on her delicate features. She was lovely.
When I became aware of how fast she had drunk her wine my heart squeezed to think I’d contributed to her unease.
As time passed, little by little, I watched her guard drop and she seemed more relaxed, but that was hardly true either. I thought her slightly more liberal conversation may have been due to the two large glasses of wine she drank, mostly before I’d arrived, and I’d guessed the drink may have loosened her tongue.
The longer we spent together the more I wanted to know her, but my biggest mistake was when I forgot myself and flirted. Fortunately, although she blushed she took this in good part, and there was one point when I thought she’d flirted back. Surprisingly, I saw she felt flattered by my compliments, by the way heat rose to her cheeks and a soft smile curved her lips now and then. She’s fucking adorable.
When my initial attraction warmed to more, my eyes roamed curiously over her wet blouse, which had almost turned transparent from the droplets of rain that had dripped from her hair. This piqued my interest farther. With a buzz from the connection I felt we had, I naturally looked for a ring.
My heart sank when I noticed she wore one. Nodding toward it, I casually joked about what kind of husband would let his beautiful woman frequent bars on their own, and her reaction crushed me.
Her voice was flat when she told me he’d cheated, and I immediately made the connection with the way that she’d looked when I had first entered the bar. Her appearance had been an external reminder of how sad I had felt inside after being betrayed myself.
Hearing her husband was sitting only feet away at the time, and was most likely watching her, I immediately understood the humiliation she must have been feeling. After knowing this, it hadn’t mattered I’d only met her minutes before, the confession she’d made gave me an overwhelming urge to protect her.
When I empathized with her, she flashed me the saddest smile. It crushed me and I knew I had to do something to give Billie back some self-worth. Then and there I resolved not to leave the wine bar until after he’d gone or to leave the establishment with her.
But even that hadn’t been enough to settle my thoughts, so I reached out and touched her. Initially, it had been my intention to make her husband see what he’d lost.
Unfortunately, my plan never got far before I saw fresh pain flit through her eyes. Sadness radiated from her beautiful face, and this unexpectedly filled me with anger. She looked close to tears and when her gaze became intense and began to track movement over my shoulder, I Instinctively knew her husband was approaching us. Wanting her to seek retribution for what he’d done, I crossed the line, and although it was totally out of character for me, I asked her to dare me to kiss her.
I’d like to have said my desire to help her came only from a need to help her regain her respect, and for payback for what he had done. But in truth, I was eager to know how she tasted as well.
As I’d assessed her as being reserved, I knew there was only a slim chance she’d go for it, but with revenge burning in her eyes, it had given me cause to hope. I held my breath as I watched for some small sign as by then my need to kiss her was almost as strong as her obvious desperation to save face.
“Dare you,” she said, and a thrill of forbidden yearning mingled with the privilege of her trust to deliver a swift dose of justice to her cheating husband. The responsibility and the potential danger the circumstance could have provoked only made the act of kissing her in front of him infinitely more potent.
My intention had been to deliver a small tender kiss. A kiss without tongues, nothing more, and for the first few seconds we’d achieved that. At that point I had expected Billie to pull away but when she didn’t, I felt we had both needed more.
Taking her lead, I slid my tongue along the seam of her lips and I felt delighted and surprised when she let me in. For the following few seconds all thoughts of revenge and her soon to be ex, Logan vanished from my mind as I took what I’d wanted from her. From that moment the situation changed from me kissing her to us sharing something far more explosive and intimate.
A small “Oh,” she breathed. The breathy sound entered my mouth and sunk straight to my cock. She tasted of white wine and warmth, and desire flowed through my veins like warm honey as the sexual chemistry grew between us. Surprisingly for a shy woman, she never held back.
When she grabbed hold of my tie I immediately deepened the kiss. For another few seconds we were almost lost in each other. Remembering where we were, who she was and why I’d kissed her in the first place, I tore my lips away; even when I knew what we had done had felt different from any other kiss I’d experienced before.
From the breathless, stary-eyed way she looked at me I had figured she may have felt something similar, but I couldn’t be sure. The circumstances hadn’t allowed for time to reflect.
Afterward her husband had ranted; tried to belittle her even and I took over the conversation, because she was no match for his overbearing arrogance, to suggest the beautiful woman he’d left for another couldn’t attract someone like me. I should be so lucky.
Remembering everything she had told me and being a creative type, I spun him a line about how Billie and I had met. To say he was furious with her was an understatement, but I saw we’d made him think even if he hadn’t believed us.
After he’d gone, I apologized for all I had done, but all I saw in her eyes in return was forgiveness and a tinge of regret. My first thought had been to ask her to meet me again, but I knew I could never do that. Her estranged husband had only left the premises moments before. Hard as it was, given the circumstances, I knew I had to walk away.
As I made to leave, I remembered I had one final ray of hope left to salvage something of our meeting. It was a business card which had been made as a joke, and the wording was far from accurate, as to my profession, but the number displayed upon it was real. I knew it was a long shot that she’d ever call, but I gave it to her anyway. In that situation it was the only card I felt I had left to play.
