I take a deep breath and look to the ceiling. “I know him, Raven. I know your dad—”
“He’s not my dad.” Her harsh glare locks on mine before her expression softens. “I mean he’s my biological father, but he’s not my dad. I don’t have a dad.”
I pull her to me, and she nestles into my chest, her arms wrap around my waist.
“Well, whatever he is to you, he’s no good. I don’t want you around him.”
She laughs humorlessly. “You don’t have to worry about that. He hasn’t wanted anything to do with me in twenty years. I doubt he ever will. I’m pretty sure whatever happened between him and my mom was a mistake . . . you know, me.” Her final words are barely audible as her voice is muffled in my chest.
Anger pushes its way through my concern for her. I place my hand under chin and force her eyes to mine. “I can’t see your life ever being considered a mistake.”
Her sad smile rips through me.
“My parents never had a relationship that I know of. I’m not close to my mom, so she’s never told me, but it’s pretty obvious they have nothing beyond, um, a professional relationship.”
Her bright eyes look away for a second as she blows a piece of long hair from her face. “Anyway, can we talk about something else now?”
Her full lips lift into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I’m left with a million questions tumbling in my head, but I don’t want to ruin the night by bringing up painful memories of her past.
“Yes, we can.” I stare at her lips, hungry to taste them again. But there’s one thing I need to say before I can put this subject to bed. “Promise me you’ll stay away from Dominick Morretti.”
“That, I can promise.” Her eyes move down my face and settle on my mouth.
I shove both hands into her hair and bring her lips to mine. She eagerly complies, wrapping her hands behind my neck and holding me close to her. She tilts her head and our tongues slide together. Her body shifts on my lap and I moan my approval. Just days ago I thought I could walk away from her. And now, I don’t want to spend one night without her.
Raven
The marble flooring is cool under my bare feet as I stand, looking at myself in Jonah’s bathroom mirror. Something’s different. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but I know I’ve never been able to see my molars before when I smile. I have a serious case of the perma-grins.
I look down at the cotton t-shirt and sweat pants lying folded in my hands. It hits me again, with no less intensity than before, that I’m spending the night with Jonah Slade. Now my cheeks actually hurt.
Checking out his dark brown, granite counter top with double sinks and mahogany cabinetry, curiosity pushes at me. I question whether or not to snoop in his medicine cabinet. I chew on my lip, staring at the mysterious mirrored door. Just one peek won’t hurt.
I cautiously pull open the door as if something might jump out at me: deodorant, shaving cream, razor, all the typical man stuff. Grabbing his cologne, I press it to my nose and take a deep breath. My eyes almost roll back in my head at the woodsy smell that his skin has hinted at before. He never smells coated in fragrance, more like an underlying flavor that runs beneath his natural scent.
Snooping complete, I move to close the door when a gray box catches my eye. I squint and lean forward to read the label: condoms. Wow, extra-large, lubricated, jumbo pack. I slam the door shut and stare at my reflection.
“Well, what did you think you would find?” I hiss to myself. “You know his reputation.” I stand back and shrug. “You need to tell him.”
Hey Jonah, guess what? Now that you know my mom’s a hooker and my dad’s a pimp, I have one more bomb to drop on you. The V-bomb. Surely if he can look past the first two bombs that last one should be no big deal. It’s not as if I’m not open to eliminating the issue. Candy’s words come flooding back. Stupid little girl.
I push the feelings of unworthiness to the back of my brain and head for the shower. Stripping down, I hear my inner fourteen-year-old fan-girl screaming, You’re nak*d in Jonah Slade’s bathroom! Squee! She’s not wrong, I think while covering my mouth to stifle my laughter.
Stepping under the water, I close my eyes to enjoy the calming spray. After a minute or two, I grab Jonah’s body wash and take a deep breath. It smells like citrus and spice and man all mixed together. I wash up slowly, taking the time to enjoy being covered in his smell and nothing else. While rinsing my hair, I notice just how different our realities are. He has a rain shower head and marble tile, and all my shower boasts is mildew stains and a slow-moving drain.
After towel drying, I finger comb my hair and slide on a fresh pair of panties from my backpack. I pull Jonah’s t-shirt over my head. It’s huge and hits me just above the knees. I pull on the worn sweat pants, and they slide back down my legs. Frowning, I pull them back up and roll the top in an attempt to tighten them. Still too big. The shirt covers enough, so I ditch the pants.
Slipping out from the bathroom into Jonah’s room, I’m met with a vision that has me locked in place. He’s shirtless with his back against the headboard. His navy blue pajama pant-covered legs are crossed at the ankles, and the remote is in his hand. He exudes casual confidence.
My eyes consume his body from his colorful arms to his bulging chest and settle on his face. He’s staring at me with a hunger that charges the air between us.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” His eyes narrow on my bare legs.
“The pants were too big.” I tug at the hem of the shirt.
Silence.
“So, I decided the shirt would be long enough.”
Still silence.
“I thought it covered as much as a dress would, so—”
“You look amazing in my shirt.” I shift uncomfortably at the gravely sound in his voice. “You’re safe with me.”
I let his words wash over me as my shoulders relax and I take a deep breath.
“You want to watch some TV?” He gives me a one-dimpled smile that sucks the breath from my lungs.
Forcing my gaze to his enormous television that hangs on the wall, I step closer to see what he’s watching. “Sure. What—” I gasp and race toward it, stopping only a foot away from the screen.
“Raven—”
“That’s Chip Foose!” I point at the screen while looking back at Jonah who is smiling huge. “I’ve read about this show in Car and Driver Magazine. It’s called Overhaulin’. They take old cars from people . . .” The sound of Chip Foose’s voice calls my attention back to the show. “’57 Chevy, Bel Air, two door, hardtop,” I mumble to myself, captivated by automotive brilliance.
A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. “Come back and sit on the bed, baby. You can watch it from there.” A hint of humor laces his words.
Flaming embarrassment. Here I get the chance to be in bed with Jonah, and I’m stuck to a television screen, watching a reality show about cars. How very sexy and feminine of me.
He pulls me a few steps backward to the bed. I don’t take my eyes off the screen as he hauls me to the headboard, tucking me into his side. My head against to his chest, I slide my hand over his bare abs and bite my tongue to keep from Oooing. His hand moves up my arm and stops to toy with my hair. I sigh in contentment, but quickly remember the heavy weight I need to get off my chest.
“Jonah?”
“Hmm?”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
He lifts the remote, pressing a button that freezes the screen.
“I know your, um, reputation.” His body tightens beneath my cheek and his hand stills in my hair. “Nikki told me that you’ve never had a girl over. Is that true? It’s just, you’ve obviously had your fair share of, um, female companions, so I assumed—”
“Yes. It’s true. You’re the first girl I’ve had in my bed.”
I take a deep breath and try not to chicken out. “Um . . . well, there’s something you should know about me.”
He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t see his face, but his chest has stopped moving.
I squeeze my eyes shut and shove the words out. “I’m a virgin.”
Holding my breath, I bite my lip and await his reaction.
I’m not a total prude. I dated Billy Dryer, and he was the most popular kid in school. We made out a few times until he broke up with me. Guess his parents told him who my mom was, so he thought I’d be easy. I’ll never forget him trying to pull my pants down. When I refused, he said he knew I was a lesbian. A girl working on cars all day had to be gay. He stormed off and left me there under the bleachers alone. I decided I’d rather be a virgin lesbian than the slut daughter of a prostitute.
I’m tossed from my thoughts by the shaking of Jonah’s silent laughter, and my eyes pop open in surprise.
“Are you laughing?”
His reaction turns into uncontrollable hilarity, not the response I was expecting.
I push myself up and take a minute to enjoy his dimples, wide smile, and shining eyes. “What’s so funny?”
“Raven,” he says between chuckles. “You said yourself I’ve never had a girl over to my house before. Yet, here you are, in my bed, wearing my shirt, cuddled up in my arms.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “You don’t get it, do you?”
My confused face confirms that I, in fact, do not get it.
“You, Raven Morretti, are mine. Doesn’t matter if you’re a virgin or an alien. What you’ve told me changes nothing. Not. One. Thing.”
Stunned into paralysis, I let his words take root.
“How’s that possible? Were you not listening when I told you my mom’s a hooker and my dad’s a pimp?” I’m processing his reaction aloud and can’t seem to stop. “Candy was right. I’m a grease monkey, and, considering what my parents do for a living, I’m trash. I’m inexperienced, young, and a virgin.”
Good job, Raven. Talk him out of liking you. Why don’t you go ahead and make him a list of all your unlovable qualities.
It happened so fast I barely registered the movement. Jonah hauled me up the length of his body and sat me face to face with him, straddling his hips. My face dwarfed by his big hands, he holds me until I meet his eyes.
“Don’t ever speak about yourself like that again.” His deep, firm command makes me drop my eyes. “Look at me, Raven.” I do as I’m told. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever known. You’re kind, smart, funny, gracious . . . hell, you even laugh at Blake’s jokes. I want you. And that includes everything that makes you who you are.”
He wants me. This amazing, powerful, beautiful man wants me. Have I ever felt wanted before? A lone tear rolls down my cheek. His words are a warm blanket wrapped around my heart. Leaning forward, he brushes his lips across the corners of my eyes.
Will he ever understand how much his words mean to me? I’ve never felt important enough to anyone or good enough to deserve this kind of affection. Just days ago, I felt a fissure in the wall I had erected around my heart. With those simple words, he busted it down.