Out of the Past (Heritage Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1 PG-13 All Iowa Edition) Page 6
***
It was such a mix of emotions that assailed me at the end of my last day of working with Dave on the house before going on my trip. He and I were sitting out on the front porch, each enjoying a cold bottle of beer at the end of the long day, celebrating our having finally wrestled the antique oven hood into place which had taken us nearly five hours and cost Dave a broken drill bit and a nasty little cut across the back of his right hand near three of the metacarpal knuckles.
Without a thought about it, I took his hand in mine now and pulled it onto my knee, turning it gently, this way and that as I inspected it.
“It’s not as bad as I thought,” I said examining the injury which had stopped bleeding and was now a clean dark line of clotted blood.
He’d bled like a stuck pig when it had happened but after rinsing it and applying some pressure with a paper towel until the bleeding had stopped, he’d been able to continue working but not without his unleashing a colorful string of expletives every so often when it would scrape against the ceiling or the wall as he worked to install the oven hood in the tight quarters above the kitchen range. I was, by turns, cringing in empathy for the pain I knew he was feeling and bursting out in fits of snorting laughter while being entertained by his most colorful use of the English language.
“I think I’ll live,” he assured me, looking on now as I prodded the swollen flesh near the cut.
“This time maybe, but I won’t be around to play nurse for you come tomorrow,” I reminded him with a laugh. “You’ll have to fend for yourself,” I teased.
“I’m afraid so,” he said and the honest desolation in his voice caused me to look up into his eyes and I found that he was already looking down at me with a warmth that spoke of more than could be attributed to the late afternoon sun shining upon his face and sparking light across his amazing eyes. They were alight with such a brilliant blue that it was impossible for me to look away.
He held my gaze for a long, long moment until there wasn’t enough air in the entire outdoors for me to catch my breath and I released his hand feeling giddy by the strength of emotion reflected in those eyes. He didn’t look away though but continued to hold my eyes captive and opened his mouth to say something more but seemed to think better of it and closed it again. I was fighting my own emotions and to break the tension that was like a red hot wire strung tight between us, I spoke up.
“What will you do without me,” I said jokingly but my heart was in my throat and it was almost painful to get the words out around the lump.
“I guess we shall see,” he replied philosophically and gave me a smile of such surpassing sweetness that it simply melted my heart. I wanted nothing more than to stay home and to continue this daily journey with him, day by day. I felt like I was leaving my best friend behind and god I didn’t want to go.
***
I returned from my book tour on May 16th and had only one day at home to do laundry and clean house before I drove to Des Moines to stay with Derek for the weekend and schmooze with some of his clients for dinner and drinks both Friday and Saturday night.
So on Saturday night, I found myself sitting in downtown Des Moines at the lovely Cosmopolitan Lounge, stirring my very apropos Cosmo drink and nodding on cue to the stylish, dripping-with-expensive jewelry, and very young wife of Derek’s client, who I referred to privately as, Mr. Middle-Aged Moneybags. I listened to her describe how she had lived enough to fill ten novels with her exploits into the fast-paced world of the rich and famous.
“You should do it. You should write a novel,” I urged her with as much sincerity as I could muster.
“Oh, I just couldn’t!” she hooted followed by a ringing high-pitched cackle of a laugh that sounded a bit like a deranged hyena. Derek glanced over briefly, likely as surprised as I was that a sound like that could come out of a human being, but he went back to his conversation without missing a beat. My companion placed a hand over her mouth briefly with a self-conscious flush coming up in her cheeks, floored by the notion.
“Oh no, not me but if you ever run out of ideas, I would be more than happy to share,” she offered magnanimously.
“I’ll definitely keep that in mind—can’t have too many good ideas,” I said distractedly as I reached for my black clutch that was vibrating on the oversized-leather chair beside me. I pulled out my cell phone and opened the face to read a text message. It was from Dave.
“Wow, that little black dress is killer!”
In shock, I looked up and around the room, finally finding him seated at the bar halfway between me and the stage at the far end. He was relaxed, seated on a bar stool, drink in hand. He raised his glass to me in salute and grinned.
Oh, I thought seeing his smiling face, I had missed Mr. Cameron. I hadn’t had a chance to see him in Fremont before I’d left to come to Des Moines for the weekend and having not seen him for over two weeks, it felt as if it had been ages.
“Would you please excuse me?” I said absently to the table in general, and then I scooted my chair out and on my little black stiletto heels, made my way across the room.
Dave watched me approach with a friendly enough smile on his lips but those eyes of his; they roamed over every inch of my body, from the tips of my high heeled shoes to the very top of my head and back down again, ending with a ‘have mercy’ roll to them as if to swoon, as I arrived.
“Would you mind going back and doing that one more time? I want to be sure to commit that strut to memory for my future use,” he requested dreamily.
I shook my head and rolled my own eyes at his rather bawdy remark.
“How’s the hand?” I asked to change the subject.
He immediately lifted it for my inspection and I held it in my two hands, smoothing an index finger over the back of his hand and along what was now no more than a thin pink line marring the golden brown of his tanned skin.
“Looks good,” I said approvingly. “Glad to see that you’re still in possession of all five of your fingers,” I observed and released his hand from my grasp.
I crossed my arms over my waist and gave him a look up and down not unlike he had just given me, from the top of his head to the tips of his very expensive looking black dress shoes.
“No missing extremities,” I observed. “All body parts appear to be present and accounted for. I’m very happy the see that you survived my absence unscathed.”
“Very funny,” he said dryly.
“So now my next question must be what on earth are you doing in Des Moines? And how is it you just happen to be in the same bar as me?” I asked flabbergasted. “Taken up stalking me, have you?”
“I’m not saying that wouldn’t likely be an extremely entertaining endeavor, all things considered but—no,” he said playfully. “I knew Max Eubank was playing here tonight, and my date lives downtown at the Plaza, within walking distance so...”
“Your date?” I interrupted, goggling at him open-mouthed. I don’t know why that should surprise me so much but it did.
“She’s in the restroom just now,” he said easily with a grin, obviously amused by my reaction. He reached out an index finger and lightly touched my chin.
I promptly closed my open mouth.
“Hmmm,” I murmured as I tried to digest this new development.
I was a little shocked by the incalculable coincidence of seeing him in this place and seeing this other side to Dave Cameron that I’d never really considered. He was meticulously groomed and dressed in a great looking dark-blue dress shirt and tie with some nice gray trousers, and those dress shoes—something other than the work boots that were his usual daily wear, at least in my experience. Not that I didn’t appreciate the way he looked on a day to day basis. I could honestly say that I’d never seen him looking anything but perfect to my discerning eye but this—he looked amazing. I couldn’t even think of any eloquent adjectives fitting enough to describe his sexy hotness, and I’m a freakin’ writer!
“Hey, you clean up nice, buddy,” I finally manage
d to say nonplussed.
He sat up a little taller in his seat, lifting his chin which showcased a knife sharp jawline and with a wry twist of a half-smile, straightened his tie and gave me his famous one-liner.
“I have my moments.”
Just then, a very beautiful and very young woman, blonde and stylishly dressed in an expensive designer outfit that flattered her numerous curvaceous attributes, arrived and stood next to me and I belatedly got the hint and moved to provide her access to what was apparently her seat next to my employee.
Dave rose from his bar stool and kept standing briefly until she had seated herself with, I noted, effortless grace and fluidity. She swiveled on her stool toward me and I couldn’t help but notice her reach out to lay a familiar hand on Dave’s upper thigh to steady herself while she crossed her impossibly shapely legs and joined our conversation.
“Sharon Johnson, I’d like you to meet, Torie Mills. Torie this is Sharon,” Dave gestured between us, making the introductions and Sharon and I shook hands and made small talk about how nice it was to meet each other, how much we were both looking forward to hearing the singer tonight, blah, blah, blah—while Dave sat placidly sipping at his drink and looking on with his head tilted to one side and a slight smile upon his lips, seeming to be enjoying this little tête-à-tête immensely.
“Well,” I finally said extricating myself when our conversation had quickly stumbled to an awkward pause. “It was very nice to meet you, Sharon.”
“Nice to meet you, Torie,” she reciprocated with another shake of my hand.
I moved my attention back to Dave, finding his eyes were on me and a soft smile upon his lips.
“Dave,” I said. “I need to get back to Derek, but I’ll be able to help with the house part of next week.”
“I’ll be there, bright and early,” he assured me, nodding and took my hand in his for a cordial shake and said softly. “Really great to see you.”
It was just then that the lights dimmed, bringing any further conversation to an end as Max Eubank took his place on stage to a round of enthusiastic applause and began strumming the intro to “I Won’t Make You Feel Romantic.”
Sharon wiggled her manicured fingers toward me in a final friendly farewell and swiveled her chair around to face the stage while I quickly retreated to my table at the back of the room but I couldn’t help my eyes drifting again and again, across the room to watch Dave and his date as they sat cozily together, enjoying the music and quiet conversation with each other. Dave had his arm along the back of her chair, leaning in to whisper over her shoulder and she was leaning back against his chest, tilting her head so that he could speak directly into her ear and doubtless his lips were lightly touching there, his breath probably tickling and warm against her neck. I had to admit to myself that they appeared to be sharing a very romantic and intimate connection with each other as they listened to the singer and his acoustic guitar.
Me? Oh, I was treated to listening to Derek drone on and on about market conditions and equity index funds while at the same time shamelessly stroking his client’s already inflated ego like a two-bit car salesman and expecting me to do the same for the guy’s gold-digging trophy wife.
***
I felt Derek’s hand reach down between us to ensure that the condom stayed secure. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and bounced out of bed, heading to the bathroom while I lay staring blankly up at the ceiling until, with a heavy sigh; I rolled out of bed and picked up my dress from the floor.
I strolled unhurriedly across the room and placed it on its hanger that was dangling from a hook on the inside of the open closet door and then entered the large walk-in closet that was filled to overflowing with Derek’s designer suits, shirts, ties, and more pairs of expensive high-end shoes than even the most ardent female fashionista owns. Even his workout clothes were designer chic and I wondered briefly just how he had managed to amass such an impressive collection?
I grabbed a very expensive and decadently plush white terry robe from a nearby hook, slipping it on and grudgingly enjoying the feeling if it against my naked skin. It cost more than I would ever think to pay for such an item and was a spare that was designated as mine for when I visit.
I lifted the lid of my suitcase, resting on a low stand, and removed my night clothes, then padding across the plush beige carpeting, I dropped my night things onto the bed before I bent down to pick up my black bra, G-string, and heels and returned to add them to my overnight bag. As I placed the heels into a shoe sleeve inside the lid, I smiled, remembering Dave’s remark tonight about my strut. I had been a little surprised that he would have noticed such a thing about me because we don’t have that kind of a relationship but then again, I’d noticed every detail about him tonight as well.
I had a thought strike me and walked back out of the closet and found my clutch in an overstuffed accent chair near the windows where Derek had tossed it before he had quickly stripped me naked upon our arrival at his elite residence in the gated community of Copper Creek in West Des Moines. I sat down in the chair and reached into my clutch to find my phone and opened my message screen to recent texts.
“Wow, that little black dress is killer!”
I smiled as I read it again and thought about when I had looked up to see Dave’s eyes on me from across the room. His gaze had felt like a long awaited homecoming; warm and welcoming.
The bathroom door opened, and I quickly turned off my phone and placed it back into my purse, setting my purse aside as if I’d been caught doing something to feel guilty about.
“All yours, babe,” Derek smiled at me as he sat on the edge of his bed in his boxers and reached for the TV remote.
I closed the bathroom door behind me, hanging my robe up on a hook on the back of the door and listlessly slipped into my night clothes. I looked into the mirror as I removed my makeup and stared into my large eyes reflected in the vanity, considering critically my thirty-six-year-old visage; comparing and contrasting it with the lovely, flawless, unlined, youthful and fresh as a daisy face of Sharon Johnson; while having rather uncharitable thoughts about her niggle me as I considered what she and Dave Cameron were likely doing together at this very moment. I found that I could imagine it only too well and I didn’t like the idea of that image in my head one little bit.
“Damn it,” I muttered to myself softly as I blotted my face dry on a clean towel and with stubborn determination to clear all thoughts of those possible carnal proceedings from my head, I quickly moisturized, brushed my teeth, pulled off my scrunchie and hurried to join Derek in bed for some late-night TV.
Chapter 8
Dave Cameron walked along Walnut Street in downtown Des Moines holding the hand of Sharon Johnson who was his ideal woman ‘on paper’. She had even said that she would like living out in the country if it was with the right man. Oh he’d heard that before, he thought cynically. Laura had said the very same thing to him, once upon a time.
“When I finished school, I just ended up staying in Ames and eventually found a job down here in Des Moines with Markus, Hanson and Hayes and since their firm is located here in downtown, I bought the condo. It’s been about three years now.”
“You enjoy downtown living?” Dave asked, not really interested in what her answer might be. In truth, he was no longer interested at all in the woman whose hand he held, strolling casually back toward her condo on the twenty-third floor of The Plaza.
“I enjoy being in the center of it all. Of course, when I marry and definitely when I have kids, I want to be out in the burbs or somewhere.”
Dave simply nodded with a low grunt of acknowledgement.
“You seem kind of preoccupied now, Dave. What’s changed from earlier tonight?” she asked looking up into his eyes. She was so blown away by his good looks because she had never dreamed in a million years that he would have actually turned out to look like his profile pic. They’d met for one lunch earlier in the week, and this was their first official date, but she
’d already decided that this was going to be their first overnight as well.
“Oh, just a little tired, I think. It was a rough week at work,” he admitted, looking down into her dark eyes and appreciating how the glow of the street lanterns set her blonde highlights off attractively.
She is a very lovely young woman, he admitted to himself but her being only twenty-seven, made her a bit young for him and he couldn’t figure out what her interest in him could possibly be, a man eleven years her senior. They really didn’t have much life experience in common but when he had logged onto his computer and signed up for the free dating site, Sharon had been one of those who had matched him on several basic levels.
If he was being honest with himself though, it wasn’t her age or his that was the problem, he knew that, because he had been pleased with her when he had come to Des Moines to meet her for lunch a few days ago and he had been very hopeful earlier when they had started off, heading out into the warm spring night that had seemed to be brimming with possibilities. While walking the pleasant five blocks to the lounge, amid the imposing downtown buildings with the bustle of the city all around them—talking and laughing together as they had strolled, he had begun to believe that this night just might hold the promise of a romantic beginning—until he had seen Torie.
This entire thing with Sharon—he was kidding himself, he knew that now and it wasn’t anything that Sharon had done or hadn’t done, it had nothing to do with Sharon. This date and even his signing up for the dating site in the first place, had been all about Torie Mills. He had signed up the second evening after she had left for her book tour. That is, after he had worked alone on her remodel the day after she’d gone—without her for the first time in two months. Her being gone had left him feeling very lonely which was something that he hadn’t experienced for years now and he wasn’t sure which was worse, the numbness of feeling nothing or the pain of emotions and desires coming alive in him once more and absolutely nothing to do with them. He had spent the first evening after she had left town, sitting out on his back deck staring out into the soybean fields, missing her and berating himself for doing so.