Sommer Marsden - Lost in You

‘You OK?’

‘I am.’ I unbuttoned them and pushed the denim down to pull off. Not only were they way too low cut and way too tight, they were so snug around the calves I feared falling over and braining myself on the changing-room door.

Then Dorian would have to come in and get me. As I lay there, unconscious and unattractive, tangled in stolen jeans while the super-storm raged on. I whimpered before I could catch myself.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ He sounded both amused and concerned.

‘Yes. Just trying not to trip over since I’m stuck in these things. I will go with the next pair, I swear. I mean, beggars can’t be choosers, right?’

‘I can help you if you like,’ he said. Was his voice closer? It sounded closer.

The skin along my spine rose up and tingled. I was covered in goose bumps and my pulse jackhammered in my head as I kicked the jeans free.

‘I’m fine,’ I said. I had never sounded more unconvincing.

‘Kidding … kidding.’ He chuckled. Then: ‘Mostly.’

The surge of lust in my body was undeniable. What if I peeked over the door and said yes. Please come help me, Dorian. I’m stuck in my pants.

I smiled at myself. Shook my head. Pulled on a different pair of faded overpriced jeans.

Or what if I just said yes. What if I said, I haven’t had sex in a million years and the last time wasn’t that good and I know you’re rich and I’m not rich, I am in fact just a worker bee for you, but you seem so nice and down-to-earth and God, you are so damn handsome and …

I sighed audibly as I zipped up the jeans and they were perfect. Not too tight. Not too loose. Not too stiff or too constricting. Just right.

‘Was that a happy sigh?’

‘I think I found my jeans.’

‘Let’s see then.’

My internal ramblings about luring him into my arms reared up to taunt me and I found my face was so hot that when I touched my skin it felt like I had a fever. I pushed the door open and froze when the lights seemed to dim, then flickered in earnest, even went out for a second before coming back on.

‘Jeeeeesus,’ I said.

‘It’s OK. Most of the place is fitted with backup lights. They’ll pop on if we lose power.’

‘I need to call home soon,’ I said, suddenly remembering that this was not just fun in the mall with a hot guy. I had to check on my grandmother and I had to … what? That was it. I had to check on my grandmother.

‘Clover?’

My head snapped up, I was rubbing the leg of the brand-new jeans the way I did when I got anxious. I forced myself to take a deep breath and focus on his pleasant voice. And his intent eyes as they took me in.

Instead of feeling self-conscious in that moment, I felt so … sexy.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s OK. I think the main objective was to get you into dry clothes so you didn’t get sick. Now that you’re … dressed, we can do whatever it is you need to do.’

‘Surely you have to call home too.’

He chuckled. ‘Not really. My mother is in Mexico. My siblings are God knows where. There’s no one for me to call home to. Unless you count Kimmie and Tyler.’

‘Kimmie and Tyler?’

‘The house staff. They are like family,’ he said, smiling. ‘So probably later I will call and check on them. But I have a feeling they’re OK.’

‘My grandmother’s eighty-two,’ I said quickly. ‘Lives alone. I help … I help her,’ I finished feebly. It always seemed so insulting to my one and only beloved grandparent to say, ‘I help care for her.’ I did but, truth be told, she helped care for me too.

‘Why am I not surprised by that information? You seem to be a phenomenon at caring for people. Your grandmother, your workers … your boss.’

His smile was friendly but it was mixed with something else. Something I’d seen before but usually ignored. Interest.

I cleared my throat, stepped totally free of the dressing room and held his sweater up just enough that he could see the jeans. ‘See? Just right.’

He took way longer to look than I’d anticipated. His eyes worked slowly from the top of me to the bottom and I felt my body wanting to shift and move because it was like being touched. Every moment his gaze was on me felt like he was sliding his hands along my body. I clenched my thighs where I stood and immediately regretted it. It did nothing but send a rush of blood between my legs, and extra sensation there was the last thing I needed.

At least without a participating partner.

‘They are just right.’ His voice remained the same volume but something in it had changed. It was a palpable sensation, the shift in the mood between us.

‘I should get a sweater or something. And give yours back –’

Dorian held up a hand. ‘I like it on you. It suits you, Clover.’

‘Socks,’ I said softly.

‘Socks,’ he grinned. He waved a hand at a whole wall of froofy hosiery and then bins of socks. ‘I think you have a few choices.’

He’d think me silly. All this luscious hosiery to choose from and I was going to go right for the bins of tall striped socks. I had a bit of an obsession. When I wasn’t dressed for work I wore the tallest, wildest, most colourful socks imaginable. And if I was going to stumble around inside a shopping structure during a big storm, I was going to be comfortable. Even if Dorian Martin thought I was silly.

‘I want these,’ I said, softly, grabbing a pair of knee socks with purple and red rugby stripes.

‘And these and these and these …,’ he said slowly, pulling a pair of polka-dotted ones out of a bin and following swiftly with another striped pair, yellow and cobalt, and a final one, black and white hound’s-tooth. When I glanced at him curiously, he shrugged. ‘Hey, you’re walking around in just socks until we rob – I mean visit – the shoe store. Your feet could get wet.’

I turned the socks over in his palm, the slight brush of my hand over his freezing me for a second. ‘Fifty dollars,’ I said. I gasped, and he chuckled. ‘For socks! Mr – Dorian. I cannot take two hundred dollars’ worth of socks. I don’t even know what the jeans cost but I can’t – I mean I have no complaints about my salary, mind you.’ I was babbling and couldn’t make myself stop. ‘But that is too much. Too too much.’

‘It’s on me, Clover,’ he said. His eyes were serious. No room for argument. We were barely inches apart and I became very aware of the heat radiating off him. Even in just a T-shirt and jeans he was giving off enough to bake a cake.

Or maybe that was just my perception.

Outside something boomed and I jumped. The lights flickered and when they stabilised I found I’d moved closer to Dorian without realising it. He tucked a wayward curl behind my ear and leaned in so we were barely an inch apart.

I held my breath. Would he kiss me? Did I want him to? Yes, I found, yes, I did. Very much.

But he simply said, ‘Take the socks, Clover. Employee bonus. I promise you, every vendor we heist will receive compensation.’ Then he kissed my forehead and I thought I’d die.

Why not my lips?

* * *

‘How you doing, baby?’

‘I’m fine, Grandmaw, but how are you?’

She laughed and my heart soared. My grandmother never failed to make me happy. For someone with a laundry list of ailments she rarely complained, and usually saw the bright side in almost everything. A skill I wish I could master.

‘Brani and I are playing gin rummy. That’s after a good forty minutes of arguing about how to play.’

I could picture the scene very well and it made me smile. ‘So you agreed?’

‘Yes, we did, but I told her we should just pull out the penny jars and play blackjack. Sounds like it’s going to be a long, long night.’