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Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 01

By: August_Bouvier



—My heartfelt thanks to the phenomenally talented EvansLily and TangledinYou for their advice, wit and generosity.—

*

Another kiss. Another mistake. But Sascha ignored the warnings again as she sought out the taste that lingered behind the whiskey and clove cigarettes. The flavor she'd known for six years. Alex's eyes were black when he raised his head. She wanted to take away the vacant look of sadness she read in his sweet face and hold him and keep him safe. Maybe this time he'd let her.

"I missed you, so much," he murmured while he brushed his thumb across her lower lip. That handful of words spoken in quiet amazement was all it took to chase away the hurt that had followed her day and night for weeks. 

"So much," he repeated while his eyes roamed her face. He reached inside, held her heart and made it beat again. That's how it felt when Alex looked at her that way. 

"I missed you too." She admitted it as though she'd said the three words that made her drive over here full of hope despite everything. A look crossed Alex's face, like the one he wore when he had something to say but wasn't sure he should. 

His mouth found hers again before old frustrations tainted the moment. The kiss turned desperate as though he too didn't want to fall back into the past. He palmed her breast and rolled the nipple between his fingers until it hardened beneath the layers of bra and blouse. She gasped into his mouth when his other hand drifted up her thigh to push aside her panties. Maybe it was a trick of time but his touch felt familiar and foreign at once; a bit perfunctory. The thought persisted as he shoved up her skirt and settled between her thighs. 

"We probably shouldn't do this." 

Her fingers twined around his black, shaggy waves. How she'd missed its soft weight. "I know." 

"Do you want to stop?" 

Despite knowing the right answer to say, Sascha shook her head and spread her legs wider for him. His zipper rustled. The hair on his thighs scratched her skin as his weight bore down on her. 

"Me neither." He brushed his knuckles across her cheek and lowered his head. "Nobody since you." Any resolve she had left dissolved.

Another kiss. Another mistake. 

The sandalwood on his skin teased her nose. "Eu quero você," he whispered against her jaw. I want you. Portuguese. A double blow to her Achilles heel. It didn't matter that something other than love drifted into his tormented words. Not when she had him in her arms again. 

Alex entered her. 

It was too soon, he moved too fast. It was an end to the loneliness he'd left her with forty-two days ago. 

"Sorry." 

"I'm okay," she told him because the discomfort had faded before he raised his head. When he remained still, she canted her hips to prove her point. The muscle in his jaw twitched, so she did it again.

His breath fanned her temple. "I won't last if you keep doing that." 

He resumed movement; his low sounds of pleasure carried to her soul as his pace became urgent again. Quick wasn't uncommon for them but tonight she welcomed it wholeheartedly because it had been so long, because every frantic thrust proved how much he wanted her, how much she mattered. Because after all this time, she was the one Alex trusted to help him fight his demons. "Need to be closer..." 

"Yes." 

Her hands rushed under his shirt, seeking the warmth of his skin and more of a connection even as she held him inside her but his back and forth momentum frustrated her attempts to drag the shirt up his back. He stopped to help her peel it off. The Saint Christopher pendant swung above her chest, taking her back to the day she gave it to him, before his first trip back to Brazil since the accident. 

Saint Christopher was the patron of travelers, she explained when she first fastened the chain around his neck. "I'll never take it off," he promised. They made love for the first time that afternoon; her first time. 

She brailed the silver chain's delicate links. Did he wear it out of habit now? She searched his eyes for an answer. One moment merged into the next while the TV's pewter light flickered across his face. She expected him to pull down the invisible mask that had become permanent over the past eight months but Alex's gaze stayed on hers. Six years passed in one look and there it was—the bond that defied heartbreak and logic. The reason she rushed here after work even as one word followed her to his door. Mistake. In this moment they were Sascha and Alex again, the way it should be. This couldn't be a mistake.

He shut his eyes and moved again. She waited for his tenderness but there was no battle for restraint. It was as if he were chasing something or trying to escape inside her. His tongue traced her lower lip, distracting her from the dull ache that followed every hard lunge. Sascha clung to him even as her eyes watered. The more Alex needed the more she had to give; being wanted like this had brought her back to life. 

He slid his hands under her shoulders, bracing her as he pressed her deeper into the couch. With an anguished groan, he called out her name; his accent curled around it, drew it out. A wave of regret washed over her when she recognized the note in his voice. This would be over soon. She wrapped her arms around his back and savored the feeling of being close to him again. 

"Yes—yes," he grunted over and over while the couch squeaked in time with his frenzied pumping. It was as if he couldn't burrow deep enough within her. His mouth covered hers just as his next thrust caused her to flinch. The one after that made her retreat into the couch. 

"Slo-slow down," she told him in a hesitant voice that wavered between the belief he would and the fear he wouldn't. "Alex?" She pushed at his shoulder, gently at first to grab his attention, then panic set in. 

***

The fight raging inside Sascha finally receded. It stirred like the sea after a storm, calmer now, forcing broken fragments of shock and betrayal to the surface. She clung to the relief that the ugliness was just a moment, a moment gone. He hadn't meant it; it had to be his drinking. Her mind rejected the image in front of her—seeing and not seeing—Alex disoriented and kneeling between her legs, his shaft aimed downward. She closed her eyes from it.

Breathe. 

She jerked when light, liquid taps across her thigh burst through her temporary refuge. If only she could fold in on herself until she didn't inhabit this skin or this moment. A heavy quiet filled the room even as the TV played on. It was as if each one of them was waiting on the other for cues on what to do next. He turned away the instant their eyes met again.

The familiar gesture hit her as if she was seeing it for the first time. Here she sat in the same room with the person she loved most, unable to stop the distance from growing between them. This space—the not together but not fully apart—was torture. 

She trained her gaze down to her body, trying to quell the unease before it engulfed her. Her white blouse and navy skirt remained undisturbed for the most part. Only the pale cream on her right thigh betrayed the fact that they'd had sex—if that's what it could've been called. The marks on his arms reddened in condemnation.

"Are you—are you alright?"

His question took a moment to register and even then she didn't know how to answer him. Before tonight she believed Alex would never intentionally try to hurt her but now...? 

She didn't know what to make of this unsettled feeling inside her and the questions it stirred, so she waited for him to reach for her the way he always had before he retreated to that space where he deserved no happiness, no peace. She waited while he pulled up his shorts, waited as emotion wedged inside her throat while he used his shirt to wipe her leg with the same efficiency he'd use to wipe crumbs off a countertop. She was still waiting when he left the couch. 

"Sascha?" 

Voices on the TV faded in and out. She wanted out of here. Fast. But the leather stuck to her skin like a Band-Aid as she fidgeted with her skirt. He called her name again. 

"What?" She couldn't look at him. She'd never felt like this with Alex—fucked, used like a thing.

"I'm sorry I... I don't want you to think—"

"Don't worry, I know what the deal is. You thought a quick screw would make you feel better and I was handy. That's the real reason why you called me here, right?" The words tasted vile but knowing how course language irked Alex made the utterance worthwhile. His face lost its tan for a moment, making the scar near his hairline less perceptible. Her barb had hit its mark so why didn't she feel better? 

"That's not true and you know it, so don't make it sound like that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You wanted it too." 

She wanted him and to be close again but never like this. Sascha realized two things: he'd made no ardent denials and he was right. She let this happen. That was the worst part of tonight... and the fact that he made what happened her fault. Anger turned to acid in her stomach. She grabbed her bag and rushed to the door. 

Alex wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back into his chest before she twisted the doorknob. When she resisted his hold he said, "Sascha, stop."

"I'm sorry...please forgive me," he whispered above her ear while he rocked her. She blinked away the heat behind her eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you like that, you know that right? I'm so sorry, querida. So sorry." 

His remorse was so palpable it made her pain worse, made it impossible to struggle as he held her close and kissed her temple. Minutes and hours could have flown by while Alex soothed her with his words, his touch. "You don't have to leave." 

But he hadn't asked her to stay either. 

He turned her to face him. "What's wrong?" 

The gentleness in his voice was cruel. She kept her eyes on the tile and willed herself not to cry. If only she could learn to hate him... a little. Her head fell forward in sadness; for whom she didn't know. "This back and forth we keep doing, it's killing me. You want to act like things are the same but they're not. No—" she said, stepping out of his reach. Another mistake. She had to resist the urge to smooth away the hurt look her little rejection caused. 

It wasn't her job anymore to make everything okay. But damn, it was hard when he watched at her with those haunted brown eyes and knowing she'd given him pain he didn't need. Not today of all days. She reached for his hand despite herself. 

"I know. It's just today...I really needed my best friend." He squeezed her hand and tested a smile on her. "You still are, you know. Don't think I take for granted how good you've been to me." 

That's she had to get out of here; she liked hearing him say that too much. When Alex spoke like that and looked at her that way, he made her hope. He made her want to fight for them. But what was the point if he wouldn't meet her halfway? There was one thing she had to do before she left. 

Alex watched in exasperation as she grabbed the bottle off the coffee table. "Come on, this is stupid," he said when he realized what she was about to do.

"No, this is called being a friend," Sascha stated as she poured the whiskey down the kitchen sink. She opened the cabinets above. "Where's the rest?" He didn't bother to answer while she searched the corner cabinet next to stove; she'd found the secret stash. She uncapped the virgin bottle. "Jaime wouldn't want this for you. Do you think wrecking your life honors his?" 

"Stop being so dramatic." His reasons for drinking had nothing to do with honor. He just wanted to forget what today meant. Even for a little while. 

But the first shot of whiskey didn't make him forget that he couldn't take Jaime out for his first legal drink. The second shot didn't help him forget the conversation he'd had with his mother or that his father wouldn't come to the phone. Each swig promised to be the one that would drive away the images in his head. The irony of it all hit him when he put the bottle to his mouth. He was drinking the poison that had taken his baby brother. Desperation made him call the one person who could make this day better. 

And he'd used her just like the alcohol she poured down the sink. 

He turned his back, unable to look at her, unable to have her watch him. The couch confronted him with its fresh memories. He'd looked away but Sascha's face, the things in her eyes she couldn't hide, remained stamped on his brain.

Whiskey and guilt had sent him spiraling into a black hole, one he tried to pull himself out of by chasing the momentary peace he always found within her. Tonight it stayed just beyond his reach—until her faint cry floated to his ear. The sound reminded him he wasn't alone and unleashed something primal, making him drive into her again and again, desperate to hear her. Instead of salvation he found shame. He'd failed her. Again. He was tired of saying sorry, tired of being sorry. And worst of all, he done this; he'd given her something else to hold over him. 

But there she was in his kitchen, doing her best to protect him when she should be protecting herself. After everything, she still operated as though he had something better to offer her and he resented how it added to the guilt he'd been trying to escape all day, all week. These feelings baffled him. She baffled him. But when was the last time when his life made sense?

He didn't understand why he was drawn to hurt her, knowing that she'd still take more—for him, and no one else. A person had to be cruel, weak and disturbed to revel in that kind of power, even for a moment—and there'd been too many of those. These perverse highs scared him and they came with a price. Like the moment when she wouldn't look him in the eye after... 

Why did she come back? Why did she still care? Sometimes he wondered if there was something wrong with her. Over the last months he'd said and done things just to see how far she'd go, what it would take for her to break and turn her love into hate. He needed Sascha to relieve him of the burden of being the one who ended things and broke her heart. But she kept seeing something good in him, in them. God, sometimes he wanted it to be true. 

Walking away from six years had to be crazy. Yet why wasn't he happy when she had everything he could want in a woman? He dreaded the day when someone else would take his place in her life. People were always drawn to her laughter and light; she wouldn't be alone for long. 

"You don't need this," she said and threw the bottles in the garbage. No, just you. 

She was once his light. But now his light didn't smile the way she used to. But then he didn't know her the way he used to. A yellow undertone stained her complexion, telling him that she'd been sick again and not sleeping enough. He'd put that on her and he couldn't bear to be around her because of it. Sascha deserved better than this. It hurt him to push her away. He hurt her when he pulled her back. Hurt. The word made him sound so soft. He didn't know what was worse; feeling this way or having her witness it. Damn Cortazar pride.

"Alex—" Her voice wobbled. "You take care of yourself, okay?" 

Her brown eyes begged him to love her again, begged him to make things right. She reached out her hand then stopped. The gesture gutted him. There was a time she wouldn't have hesitated to touch him. She reached out again and touched his arm as if she wasn't sure but couldn't help it. Being the center of her world, knowing she adored him, was part heaven, part hell. 

This back and forth is killing me. She needed to let go...for both their sakes.

"Sascha..." They had one last chance before she walked out the door. 

She waited. One breath turned into two then three. Say something, please. Don't let what happened tonight be for nothing. 

"You too," he said quietly before he grabbed a disc off the kitchen counter. "And don't forget this." 

Still dumbfounded over the CD, she fumbled with the doorknob after they said goodbye and hurried outside. Alex had always walked her to her car when she left this late. It was the first time in six years he didn't bother to ask. He just stood inside the doorframe and watched her go.

He'd casually broken heart all over again. 

* * *

The parking spot was the reminder that made her tears fall. It was reserved for the owners of unit 406. Owner. 

406 was going to be their way of saying they were committed to making it work. The fact that it was Alex's idea had been enough to make her cast aside the lack of enthusiasm her friends showed when she'd shared her plans. When her parents baulked at the idea of Alex and her committing themselves to each other in a bank instead of in a church, she defended the idea as if it were hers. Worse, she'd chosen to believe in Alex despite the uneasiness she'd carried throughout their house hunt. 

Never mind that everyone else's doubts mirrored her own or that their anemic sex life had gone on life support, Sascha dismissed the fact that Alex kept forgetting to give up his lease. She forged ahead and it worked until three weekends before closing day and after months of dancing around the truth, Alex finally decided to be candid. The day so many first-time home buyers looked forward to cemented the end of the future she'd hoped for. And needing her parents' help to close the deal piled shame atop her heartbreak. 

She tapped her head on the steering wheel. God, she wished this were a dream because at least she could look in the mirror and not question why she did the very things she'd advise a stranger not to: like letting her ex reduce her to a booty-call and looking for something to cling to afterwards. 

Her stupidity poured down her cheeks until the back of her eyes felt as bruised as her body. The emptiness inside her weighed heavier than when she'd driven out of this garage this morning. Just when she'd convinced herself she'd made some decent progress, she undermined it all by going over to his place. It was as though he sensed it when he called her. Mantuition.

The storm of tears passed quicker this time. The one good thing about the drawn out breakup was that she'd met her cry quota by the time it was officially over. But unofficially...? That's what kept her in the car rocking and hugging herself. Would she always be like this, numb and waiting for what? Was there a vaccine for this type of lonely?

Her phone's message alert chimed. Alex's timing was perfectly sadistic. Prick. If only she felt this way about him for more than a minute.

She read his text over and over like the fool that she was, flattered he cared enough to see if she'd made it home safe and frustrated that it still mattered to her this much. She studied the screen and forced herself to remember the fight that started the end of them forty-two days ago.

"I can't do this." He paced her living room while she remained silent, waiting for him to finally tell what was wrong. "I can't pretend it's okay you took their side."

"There is no right or wrong side to take—this isn't about me and you know it."

"Don't tell me how I feel; I hate it when you do that."

She'd all but stomped her feet in frustration. "I've been asking you for months, Alex! Maybe if you opened up to me, I wouldn't have to guess what's going on in your head—like you punishing me for having an opinion you don't agree with."

But Alex held onto the black and white image he'd painted, refusing to admit he'd been unfair. Instead of going off on him, Sascha reached for patience.

"If that's the way you feel then we shouldn't live together. And if you're going to keep shutting me out instead of us working through this, then what's the point of us being together?" She'd said it to shake him up. Only her plan had a fatal flaw: she expected Alex to want a future with her. 


Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 01



In the end, it took but a few words and a few minutes to dismantle a relationship that spanned six years of love, laughter, sorrow and friendship and everything in between. Dreams of a white wedding and the children they'd have, crumbled. After months of living with uncertainty, despite Alex's assurances that everything was fine, the fight provided a bizarre relief. But it didn't blunt the pain of having her heart shattered and it didn't stop her from feeling like she was now living with the fragments shoved in her chest. 

She looked beyond the windshield to the trees shivering in the February cold outside the garage. The little moments, the silences over the past year told the real story: They'd broken up in degrees and she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when everything had slipped away. 

Now here she sat all alone with an Aqualung CD on the passenger seat. He'd gotten rid of the last thing in his apartment that belonged to her. The realization of what it symbolized snuck in and gently delivered its truth. 

An eerie calm took over as she tossed the disc along with the last of her hope, in her handbag. Time to end old Sascha and Alex traditions: like calling him whenever she got home from leaving his place. Time to move on, that was reality. She tried to convince herself it was the only reason she wouldn't return his text until tomorrow. 

But the perverse thrill she got out of the idea that Alex was waiting for her call and worrying lay closer to the truth. You're so pathetic it's scary. Whatever. At least it lifted her spirits. Better that than bawling in her car.

She checked the garage before she got out of her car and took the four flights of stairs. There was no way she'd risk being caught in the lobby or elevator looking like this. Her uneven breaths made her pause halfway across the corridor. Home free. A door slammed shut. Her heart almost burst with fright, making her falter. Great. Just great. The noise had come from Noah Jameson's condo. 

She slowed her steps to miss his posse of post-grad frat boys. Their voices and laughter were so obnoxiously happy, they mocked her mood. Noah lagged behind them with his cowboy swagger and what appeared to be his latest good time under his arm. The times she'd seen him with a woman, he'd been with the same brunette. There was no way to avoid passing him without it being obvious. Just her luck, she lived next to an oddity in this building: someone who always said hello. If she sped up it would be over quick. 

"Hey, how's it going?" Noah asked her.

Sascha kept her gaze on the courtyard below and replied with a tight "hi" as she flew past the couple.

"What a stuck up little bitch."

Maybe it was the need to lash out at a safe target, maybe it was her Irish-Caribbean DNA that made Sascha stop and turn around. Blotchy face and vanity be damned. If this size zero snot had something to say, she better say it to her face before she slinked off to the clubs tonight. 

"Excuse me? Is there something you'd like to say to my face?" she demanded with calm menace.

The blonde and Noah shared a glance, before she looked over her shoulder, her carefree expression now gone. His bright green eyes warned Sascha off after he tucked her target behind his back. Screw him. She adjusted her stance until she locked onto that Nordic face again.

"What. Nothing?" The fountain gurgled below, blending with the voices down the hall as she folded her arms and waited for a reply. "I didn't think so."

The Nordic milkmaid couldn't even look her in the eye. Good. She didn't care if it was because she looked like a wreck or if the girl was embarrassed. Someone had gotten a taste of her Friday night. Whatever Noah intended to say got stuck while he studied her face. She tagged him with a hard glare to let him know what she thought of his "friend". Then she dismissed them both with a quick turn and headed to the shower where she washed off a night of mistakes.

* * *

Four months later.

It wasn't the nightmare that woke her this time. But a mixture of habit and instinct made Sascha touch her neck anyway. The throb in her ears matched the pulse lower down. The alarm-radio read 2:32. And then she heard a groan. Excitement bloomed, heating her from the inside out. Her sleepy mind deciphered what her body instinctively understood and responded to. It was a man—Noah Jameson, deep in pleasure. 

Sascha pulled up her shirt and slid her right hand under the elastic waistband below her navel. She found the swollen nub that ached to be touched, nestled within her warm, moist flesh. Her middle finger started working in the tried and true pattern. She called up a fantasy to project onto the blank screen behind her eyes, one that would hurtle her to orgasm. She needed to come. Oh, how she needed to come.

Her eyes fell shut and her phantom lover appeared. 

She didn't see him as much as she felt him. She imagined him above her, his weight bearing down on her, her arms around his back, her legs brushing his. Her finger moved in a frenzied pace to match his conjured thrusting. His lips pressed against her neck, his hushed moans just like the ones behind her. She came quietly in the dark, the coiled energy burst into dots of hot sensation. The climax was fleeting, efficient but enough.

Sascha opened her eyes again. The red numbers on the clock had advanced to 2:58. She always looked at the time after she came, always calculated the difference. And it never took less than twenty minutes. Why that mattered, what was the reason behind this habit, she didn't know. 

She heard the mumbling of voices, Noah's and a woman's, followed by silence. She heard the woman's laughter and felt her delight despite the layers of drywall separating them. Her she was, a lonely voyeur; intruding. A familiar hollowness rose up to snuff out the fading embers of pleasure. Even during the best times, she couldn't recall laughing like that after sex. She shuffled to the bathroom and washed her face and hands. Was she capable of it though? The question replayed as she crawled back under the sheets. 

After six years with Alex she doubted she'd ever get to experience something like what was happening on the other side of that wall. People experience sex differently. Besides, she'd choose a caring companion over porn star sex any day. She wanted someone she could laugh with and be close to, someone to hold her late at night when words didn't matter. 

Female laughter broke the silence. Sascha wished it were her.

Soon.

Such a random thought, who knew what inspired it but it shined the light on her loneliness, on what was missing. When would life be more than waking up and going to work? There was no answer, just more laughter. 

The sound was another wound to a heart desperate to mend. She curled in a tight ball as tears followed—a frequent weekend visitor. She got by during the day but the nights... There were no people, no distractions at night, just time to think. The weekends were way worse because she used to live for the whirlwind of activity. Now she lay crying in the dark on a Saturday night, wondering if she'd ever be free of this ache. 

Soon.

She fell asleep vowing she'd find joy again.



Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 02



—To the comeback kid in all of us.—

*

Hair blow-dried into submission. Check. Gold, smoky eyes; baby pink lips. Check. 

Sascha stared at the two piles of clothes on the bed. The first one was too casual for a dinner with the boss and co-workers; the second, too professional for the night of dancing to follow. She had to hurry; Liya would be here soon. The white belted jacket could work with dark jeans. She rushed into the back of the closet and pulled the pair with the trouser cut. They did something they hadn't done since she'd Ben & Jerried her way through the months before and after the breakup: They fit! 

"You look good," she told her reflection, loosening her curling-iron curls into a bombshell waves. Better yet, she felt it. Mama's advice on dressing your best when you felt your worst worked yet again; the rigors of her fifty-hour workweek lightened. Her cell phone belted out Alex's ring tone as if he'd sensed her mandate to have fun tonight. She muted the volume and threw her makeup back into the cosmetics bag. The home phone rang as she cleared the bed. She buzzed Liya in and hurried to get her bedroom back in order. 

Liya's dark eyes lit up when she opened the door. "Hi—oh, look at you!" Sascha beamed. A compliment from a woman as gorgeous as Liya Bekele was a huge ego boost. "I think someone in F and B is going to approve." Her British accent made the statement sound like a royal decree. Despite vowing to play down her interest, she warmed at the veiled reference to Stavros Dimitriou. Liya was the only one at the office who suspected she had a tiny crush on him.

"Thanks—come in, come in!"

Liya presented a small Godiva bag. "A little token of appreciation." 

With Sascha's place within walking distance of the hotel, changing there had spared her a drive across town. Tonight she could fully enjoy herself at the club since Sascha would cover tomorrow's wedding.

Sascha eyed the bag with longing. "Oh, you're evil." 

"There isn't enough in there to do any damage, I promise." 

"Your place is fab, by the way," Liya said, amazed. Maybe because the space had a bohemian kitsch in contrast to the professional she knew Sascha to be. Her home was a mix of beiges, hits of daffodil yellow and deliberately mismatched patterns.

"My best-friend Ana is a designer and she helped me decorate," she said as she gave her a tour. 

The eight-hundred square foot apartment was her fresh start—albeit different from the one she planned. Thankfully, the ghost of Sascha and Alex didn't haunt this space; even the bed was new. Her best memories were of the weekends with Ana and their almost nightly pajama parties during the short time she stayed here before moving to California. 

Liya was still fidgeting with the bow on her tangerine dress when they rushed out the door forty minutes later. 

"I bet the Ogre would love it if we showed up late just to have something else to complain about."

"Balty's not that bad. You'll see that tonight," Sascha reassured her.

Since their hotel manager Gavin Balthazar only tolerated excellence, criticism was always a daily staff meeting away. But every quarter he'd apologize for his reign of terror and acknowledge the very achievements everyone thought he overlooked. Liya hadn't seen that side of him during her seven weeks as the meeting services' wedding coordinator so while everyone called him Balty, Liya had invented a nickname of her own. 

"No, he has it in for me."

"Corporate's been busting his butt about the sales figures is what it is plus he gets held to a higher standard because of his father." 

The slow, heavy thud of boots grew louder as she spoke. Sascha recognized their pitch and cadence as if they belonged on her personal soundtrack and tapped the already lit-up down button. She'd heard those boots stomp pass her doorway many a Saturday night while she lay in bed reading. On the nights he didn't come in alone, she kept still while her ears strained to catch an encore of the sound show she'd heard months back. 

Like most people, Sascha harbored her own dirty secrets behind her ordinary-neighbor façade —two actually. One had started innocently when even as a little girl, she'd been drawn to the naughtiness of seeing and hearing things deemed off limits.

"You girls heading out for a night on the town?" His voice had a boom to it, like distant thunder yet every word was crisp, his American accent vague. 

"We have to get through an office party first," Liya answered.

Sascha dropped her keys into her red hand-sized clutch and turned to look straight up into Noah Jameson's unusual green eyes. He always watched her as though he knew she couldn't control her awareness of him. She fidgeted with the strands of hair on her shoulder to remind herself that she hadn't transformed into the bleary-eyed mess he'd seen months ago. 

It took her a moment to say hello because she was processing the fact that his blond-brown waves were gone—buzzed off. Not that it changed him much. He was still unfairly good-looking. His new beard made him appear rugged instead of regular. Only the front panels of his red plaid shirt were tucked into his faded jeans. That he never seemed preoccupied with his looks added to the injustice of it all and robbed her of a valid reason to remain indifferent about him. 

He grinned as his gaze skipped from Liya to Sascha. Its conspiratorial nature should have made the smile she offered him more authentic. "Kind of an oxymoron, isn't it?"

"Precisely!" said Liya as if they'd become part of a friendly circle. He extended his hand to make it official, introducing himself with an unexpected chivalry Sascha noticed since the weekend she moved in. 

She'd stepped off the elevator, balancing two boxes stacked high in her arms when an offer of help came. "An angel must've sent you," she'd told the stranger from behind her cardboard wall when he lifted the top box. Then she saw his face and realized her words hadn't been that far off target, leaving her, well, self-conscious if only for a second. And that was saying something because back then nothing roused any sort of opinion, interest nor emotion in her. Nothing except Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and Chunky Monkey...and Alex.

The elevator chimed and they all shuffled in while chatting about which clubs had the best music and which crowds were overly pretentious. Sascha's gaze paused several times on Noah's face. She'd gotten so used to seeing him with waves of unfussy hair near his collar that the buzz-cut's visual impact remained strong. That, and the fact it made his features more obvious. The straight lines of his light brown brows set off the downward slant of his deep set eyes. Eyes that were preoccupied with the six-foot plus Ethiopian stunner between them. Who could blame him? 

He would have noticed Liya due to her choice in shoes: stilettos. They were a bold selection given her height, and that kind of confidence held an allure far more seductive than physical beauty. But the combo made for an incredible package.

He asked questions and listened while Liya told him about London's nightlife. Her classic looks and chic accent made Sascha feel ordinary while Noah's interest rendered her invisible. Suddenly, she reverted back to the lanky teen who'd watched her mom's gorgeous-and-curvy gene skip her in favor of her kid sister, Sage. Back then being the 'cute one' seemed like a poor consolation prize until she realized that cute girls didn't have to deal with beauty envy the way women like Liya had to. But every once in a while she longed to trade her second-place sash for the actual crown. 

The elevator door flew open but she reacted a second too slow, still caught up in her thoughts. Noah's eyes whispered "gotcha". Whenever they crossed paths, he made her wish she could tack on an additional four to six weeks between sightings. Things might have been different if the weight of her residual embarrassment didn't press down on her every time. Knowing the sounds he made when he came didn't help matters.

"After you." Her ears caught the smug undercurrent in his tone. God, he was sly in a sneaky manner difficult to point out to other people. It was as if they shared a private language, only she wasn't sure if it was all in her head.

"You girls have fun tonight—nice meeting you, Liya," he said before he headed to towards the front entrance where a car waited.

"You too!"

"Thanks, you too." Sascha replied at the same time.

"Are all the guys in your building that hot?"

"No and you have a hot boyfriend, remember?"

"It never hurts to look. I'd be doing more than that if I were you."

"Nah, guys like that never go for girls like me." 

* * *

"So what's the deal with you and Stav?" The music in Mimosa Twenty-Seven was so loud, Helena had to yell.

"What do you mean?" Why is it your business? 

Sascha did her best to be discreet as she scanned the sea of undulating bodies swaying beneath the lightshow downstairs. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Liya kissing her look-alike, buff but much shorter boyfriend, Ben. 

Helena cast her a "girl, please" look. "The two of you've been hanging out all night."

She always had an agenda so Sascha considered her response, knowing the odds of it being tossed around the office like a baseball then embellished at each handoff, were high. Helena was deceptively nondescript with her demure clothes and pixie haircut. But she relished being the center of attention too much to be a girl's girl. She probably saw this as a chance to get some dirt on her boss. "I don't know him that well but he seems like a nice guy." 

It was true. Despite the flirting before and after staff meetings she'd never spent quality one-on-one time with Stav. He only attended the morning line-up when the Food and Beverage manager couldn't. The fact that Balty frowned upon employee fraternization made Sascha tentative about encouraging more contact. Still, the idea of running into her office crush perked up her mornings. 

"I saw him chatting up some slutty-looking blonde down at the bar so I wondered what was up with you guys." 

She had the nerve to call someone else slutty? Sascha covered her mouth and resisted the urge to mirror Helena's "girl, please" simper. She took a sip of her drink instead of taking the bait. 

"Just be careful, he's not the sweetheart you think he is." Helena nudged her. "Here he comes."

"Why are my ears burning?" Stav shouted as he leaned against the balcony railing, his Bambi eyes full of mischief. He had the face of a poet and gave off a fun-loving vibe, nothing like the brooding intensity Sascha usually associated with Mediterranean looks.

"Because you've got a huge ego?" she told him.

Stav hooked his arm around her neck and tugged. "How do you put up with her?" he asked Helena, whose laugh failed to reach her eyes. That all changed the instant a preppy Latin guy came up to her. Stav sent Sascha a loaded gaze after Helena slipped into that special zone where her friends and fiancé didn't exist.

He took a swig of his beer and grabbed her hand. "C'mon, let's dance."

Sascha got lost in the pulsing rhythms as one song blended into the other. The music took her to a carefree, sensual place. Stav drew her into his body when the beat slowed. His arms circled her waist and they moved together as one. A slow grind began with just the brush of thigh against thigh. The bodies floating around them made her claustrophobic. He pressed closer, rubbed harder, making her stifle an unexpected jolt of unease. A frenzied slideshow of facial expressions flashed by. The excitement and revelry on the dance floor was spinning on a different axis. Suddenly the music became noise, jangling her nerves. Stav's lips were on her neck and she didn't know what to make of her reaction. 

"I'm going to the ladies room," she said under his ear while she pushed at his forearms.

He pointed left. "I'll be at the bar!"

She swerved around the crowd and made her way to the ladies' room. The line inside the door provided a welcome delay while she regrouped. She rubbed her arms, trying to soothe herself. The Stavros who existed in her daydreams, the one she looked forward to seeing at staff meetings didn't leave her this...weirded out. 

One of the bathroom stalls flew open and released a giddy brunette who was tugging on the hem of her black sheath dress. Her yellow wristband tagged her as under twenty-one.

"Guess what Aaron and I just did?" she asked her friend, another dark-haired coed, while she washed her hands.

The friend's eyes and mouth went wide, the tube of lip gloss in her hand forgotten and their exchange got muted when the door opened, letting music filter in. But a hand gesture ended the mystery. 

"No way—where?"

"Under the stairs," came the reply, full of pride. 

"No way! No freakin' way." 

After several "no freakin' ways" the entire line of waiting women got treated to the details of how it—well, how she—went down. Some rolled their eyes in derision while others grinned in camaraderie. Dark admiration taunted Sascha, made her feel old. She'd always found a cavalier attitude towards sex to be the opposite of female empowerment and didn't appreciate it in men either, yet a part of her longed to be like that girl: fierce and unapologetically sexual. She longed to know the kind of abandon that overruled logic and propriety. She went back out into the crowd with a new attitude.

She scanned the bar, looking for Stav's curly head. By the time she got a few feet away, it was too late to turn back. She plastered on her best carefree expression as she approached him and his new friend. His platinum blonde, midriff-baring friend—maybe not so new after all. 

"This is Mila—Mila this is Sascha." 

"Nice to meet you," Sascha said and flagged down one of the bartenders. She had to do something, anything, to appear cool while she felt like she had a billboard above her. One with bright, flickering lights and an alternating message that read: Third Wheel. Dummy. Third Wheel. Dummy. 

"We work together," Stav explained, tilting his beer towards Sascha. Oh, they were suddenly co-workers again after he'd turned into an octopus on the dance floor? "They just shuffle paper in her department, we do the real work."

She shook her head and focused on Mila. "What a team player."

"She loves me."

Sascha grinned and rolled her eyes. "Ri-ight." 

Mila's scarlet lips moved into an unsure smile.

Stav drew Mila back into the conversation by asking her opinions on music, places to visit in Moscow and her astrological sign. He stood between them and maintained a pattern of playfully criticizing one while agreeing with the other, stoking a competitive undercurrent between Mila and her. By the time he purported that Capricrons were uptight and only boring, fat girls liked Maroon 5, Sascha had stopped caring whether she may or may not be the beneficiary of his weak attempt at player-style seduction. 

She'd always considered herself a good sport; didn't mind a good-natured ribbing, but damn... Is this what the dating game had become during her six-year absence? Trying to gain someone's approval after they'd treated you to several rounds of backhanded insults? Was the club scene was nothing more than an adult sandbox?

Stav tipped his head towards Sascha while he focused on Mila. "She looks a lot like Gwen Stefani, doesn't she?"

"No," Sascha replied, causing Mila's face to close up while Stav watched, all self-satisfied now. 

She paused a moment to give Mila a quick once over. Her bustier's shell colored lining matched her skin, making her appear nude beneath the black lace and delicate beading. A band of pale skin separated the top from her low riding black trousers. The style was a mix of modern day meets retro-glam. 

"I can see why someone would say that because your hair and eyes are sort of similar," she explained, speaking with her hands, "but you remind me of a Hitchcock blonde." 

Mila's cat-lined eyes lit up. Touchdown. "My dad loves him!" she shouted in her thick eastern European accent. "Me and my sister, we watch Rear Window together with him many times." 

That started a lively exchange about Kim Novak in Vertigo while Stav clutched his beer as if it were the only familiar object in a foreign land. The rivalry shifted from the women from that point, just as Sascha intended. Unfortunately, Stav hailed from the love-to-dish-it-out, but-can't-take-it tribe. 

When Sascha met his subtle attacks on her appearance and her being too professional with unflappable cool and humor, he froze her out; entertaining Mila with stories about the famous guests who stayed at the hotel. Sascha got relegated to sidekick status as she verified each tale. By then his veiled hostility had butchered the flirtatious mood and judging by Mila's wandering gaze, there was no celebrity sighting grand enough to save it. Sascha swirled her drink and suppressed the urge to throw it in his face. Helena had been right about him. Now that was a scary thought. 

"I'm going upstairs."

Stav quirked a brow and pretended to care... for all of five seconds. "Catch you later."

She found Ben and Liya huddled together in the middle of the booth that had become the group's rendezvous point. Natalie, her office mate, sat in Seth's lap at one end. Sascha and kissably-cute Seth had started out in guest services together and they'd become close over the years. Even though he now headed up Concierge Services they made it a point to run into each other at the cafeteria. 

He was the first person at work she had told about the breakup. He'd been supportive while telling her the hard truths she'd needed to hear from an objective male. And he'd been the first person to make her laugh about the whole ordeal, saying he'd planned to wait the appropriate three months before he made a move and risked his job. She invited him to join the group after the sales staff dinner so they could catch up. He looked like he was having a very good time. And it was great to see Natalie laughing and flirting again after the mess with her husband. The odd-man-out was Ben's co-worker, Ty Crawford. 

Natalie asked, "Where's Stav?"

"Downstairs." 

Ty patted the space next to him. The designer crest on his crisp white shirt and his neat low fade haircut whispered: metrosexual. She sat down and kept her back erect when he dropped his arm on the backrest behind her. 

"Looks like the kid dropped the ball," he whispered at her ear. His Roman nose and toffee-and-cream skin suggested that like her, he had a mixed heritage.

"What about you? You had your hands full all night—or did you drop the ball?" 

"Nah, I'm picky." A guy with his fresh-faced good looks could afford to be. His onyx brown eyes were slow and deliberate as they traveled her face. "Or maybe something else caught my attention."

Player. He had the smile and confidence to match. 

"You're admitting to having a wandering eye? Way to score points, Ty."

"Discerning is more like it. We can save the score card for later—when the game really begins. Do you like games?" The question sounded deliciously naughty. That kid downstairs could use a few lessons from this one.

She shook her head while returning his sexy smile. "Someone always has to come out the loser."

Ty's eyes sparkled with humor. "See, I was thinking about the kind of game where we play as a team and work together to make sure everybody's satisfied."

"You have a line for everything, don't you." Sascha relaxed into the seat, liking him more and more, despite her resolve not to. The moment would've been better if the vibrant, woodsy scent on Ty's skin didn't remind her of another man.

"There's only one way for you to find out for sure."

She studied the ceiling. "I wonder what that could be?"




Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 02



"Go out with me and find out."

"All in the name of research, right?"

"Something like that. You could be my lab partner..." He ran the backs of his fingers along her nape. "I bet you were a good student," he purred.

"How'd you guess?"

Her curiosity burned as Ty studied her. "Your eyes..." He took a sip of his drink. She resisted the urge to roll them at the tired line men abused in clubs across the nation. "Even when you're having fun, you're studying everything that's going on around you." 

She lifted her glass in salute. "You got me." 

"Not yet, sweetness." 

Sascha shook her head at his delightfully absurd cockiness. She wasn't sure if he took himself seriously and not knowing the answer made talking to him fun. 

Ty pulled out his cell phone from his shirt pocket and handed it to her. "I'm heading out soon, put your number in for me."

"It's still early." She hoped she didn't sound too disappointed.

"Long ass shift." He turned to Ben. "I'm out."

She stood to let him exit the booth. He patted his pocket. "We'll talk soon."

"Goodnight."

Liya and Natalie looked at her like a pair of doting aunts. Aunt Natalie spoke first. "I think he's gonna call. He definitely likes you."

She did her best to contain her optimism and failed. "We'll see."

"He's a good guy," said Ben.

With a surge of energy and alcohol in her veins, she motioned to her friends. "Let's dance!"

One club anthem crashed into another. The sea of swaying bodies swelled then changed while the music shimmered down her spine and led her movements. Cheers erupted as the DJ took the crowd on a musical odyssey through time, starting with a remix of Tone Loc's Wild Thing. 

The notorious guitar riff took possession of her body and she attracted a dance partner whose choreographed moves matched her natural verve. The only hiccup? It wasn't that Brian with the Jersey accent was a college sophomore. No, it was his neon yellow, I'm-too-young-for-you wristband. Her suddenly not-so-doting aunts had a blast with it.

Natalie danced closer by. "Way to go Mrs. Robinson." 

Sascha rolled her eyes but she couldn't contain her smile. "Ha-ha, you're so funny."

Liya said, "Maybe we should call her Demi."

"Hey! Remember I'm covering for you tomorrow. Be nice." 

Brian reached for her hand and they danced until Sascha's feet burned. She hadn't had this much fun in a year.

Natalie tapped Seth's arm after the group left the floor. "I can't fucking believe it—twelve o'clock at the bar, look!" 

All heads turned in various directions but Liya hit the mark first. Her jaw dropped. 

"That's just wrong on so many levels," Natalie said to her.

"What?" Sascha prompted then followed the line of Liya's finger to land on Stav...making out with a pint sized...Helena? Liya's sympathetic expression confirmed it. She looked again. Ugh. They were really, really going at it.

While the group speculated about what would happen between the two and whether this was the first time, Sascha ordered her third amaretto sour. By the time she drained the glass of half its contents, she didn't care that Stav and Helena had disappeared. Well, not that much anyway. Besides what was she supposed to do? Confront a subordinate over a guy she'd never been alone with? When everyone decided to call it a night, she couldn't have been more relieved. 

"We should get together sometime soon." Brian said to her with eager bravado as the group gathered outside to say their goodbyes. "What's your number?" 

Oh, Lord. He was nice and cute, really cute with those bright blue eyes but not cute enough to make their seven year age-gap disappear. She felt all twitchy inside. Rejecting someone always sucked and doing it while his friends stood mere feet away made it worse. There was only one option.

"It's...8675...309." She didn't know which was more unbelievable that she'd managed a semi-straight face or that the numbers didn't register for Brian. Yeah, she'd been spot on about the age thing.

Ben lost it. Sascha sent him a stern look that would have melted the hair on his head if he'd had any.

Liya burst out in laughter the second Brian left with his college friends. "You're so ba-ad!" 

Seth put up his best hurt face but his smile ruined the effect. "That's just plain cold, Jenny."

Stav strolled up and went on about how he'd been looking for everyone when he got the text to meet up outside. Too much story, too little truth. Helena appeared a few moments later.

"See you guys Monday. Have a good weekend," she said to everyone before she turned to Sascha with faked empathy. "Good luck with the wedding."

"Thanks," she replied. Politeness was so overrated in times like these. 

"Wait, I'll walk you to your car," Stav offered Helena with an Oscar worthy show of chivalry, happily unaware of the telling glances around him.

"Isn't he a sweetheart, protecting your virtue and all?" Sascha offered with saccharine sweetness. Helena's expression turned sheepish. Must've been a momentary lapse.

A chorus of muffled snorts and chuckles played in the background of street noise.

Natalie touched Stav's wrist. "Make sure you wrap it up." 

The look on Helena's face as laughter erupted was priceless. 

* * *

"You okay?"

"Oh, God!" The artificial orchid on the coffee table was talking to her. Someone had spiked her drink.

"Hey. Over here."

Sascha rolled onto her back and found Noah Jameson staring down at her. She frowned and searched her brain for answers as she sat up and swung her legs off the couch. Bad idea.

"Are you okay?" His voice sounded miles away to ears used to a world of club beats and thumping bass lines. When he repeated the question, his impatience cleared the cob webs in her brain. She nodded. Bad, bad idea. 

"Oh." The lobby furniture tilted. She winced and dug her fingers into the cushions as the couch turned into a roller coaster.

"Take it easy," he said, sounding more annoyed than concerned. If talking to her was such an inconvenience then why didn't he just leave her alone? "Are you waiting on someone?"

"My keys," she croaked. A bucket of water and a straw would be perfect right now even though her bladder promised to detonate sometime within the next ten minutes. Thank goodness it was dark out and very late. Peeing in the bushes. Oh, what a perfect way to cap off the night. 

"Your keys..." Noah's eyes were expectant and soft and...beautiful. Sascha swallowed. 

"I, uh...I left them in my friend's car...you met her...in the backseat." She played back the sentence in her head and frowned. What the hell did I just say?

"So you're waiting on her to drop them off."

"Yeah." She reached for her cell phone on the coffee table—very slowly. "She hasn't called me back and it's been an hour," she said with a pang of despair. 

Noah cursed himself the instant those she went all glassy eyed on him. He should've minded his own business and gone straight to his apartment. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a weepy female and this one was headed in that direction any second now. 

"You can wait at my place if you want." He regretted the words even as they slipped off his tongue. 

"Really?" 

Like he was going to say no now? She looked at him with those distressed cognac-brown eyes of hers and he knew he'd done the right thing. Though he wasn't eager to play host to an unexpected guest, she shouldn't be down here alone.

"Okay." She didn't sound too enthusiastic as she rose from the couch. He caught her when she staggered. The last time he'd touched her was when she'd offered him her hand to introduce herself. "Sorry." 

The first thing he'd noticed about Sascha Davis all those months ago was the angles. Her squared off jaw line and high cheek bones kept her face from being round. A second look revealed delicate features. Like thick, arched brows that called attention to her eyes and a cute nose that wasn't cut sharp enough to be perfect. But her mouth... Her mouth was the stuff of fantasies. A pity she didn't smile more. But the way she looked tonight, made the whole smile debate a non-issue.

"Someone had a few too many, huh?"

"Only three. Technically two-and-a half." 

"Looks like that was two too many." Noah tried not to laugh when she scowled at him.

"You're not nice, you know that?" 

She pulled away and bumped her knee against the couch. 

"Never said I was." 

He put his arm around her waist and walked her to the elevator. She felt slight against him even though the top of her head passed his shoulder.

"So you admit it."

"No...you're the one putting words in my mouth and I'm just humoring a drunk." 

He tightened his hold on her, expecting her to get all huffy and try to walk off. She giggled instead and pressed closer. He wasn't big on perfumes but he liked what she wore. Her scent wasn't overly sweet or spicy. He inhaled again. The fragrance was familiar and exotic at once.

"Not drunk. Maybe a wee bit," she whispered as if no one should know. "It's more like a buzz." 

"It'll be our little secret."

"Good 'cause the retirees in here would throw a fu-freakin' fit if they knew someone was having a good time after nine o' clock." Noah all but doubled over in laughter. He didn't think this serious princess ever cursed and hearing her come close was hilarious.

"You're a fun drunk." 

Sascha giggled again. He liked that sound coming from her.

"Not drunk—tipsy. There's a difference." 

"C'mon, plant whisperer," he said as the elevator door slid back. 

She eased out of his hold as if to show him she could make it on her own, proving he'd chosen the right moniker for her. He remembered the times he saw her come home from work. She would march down the hallway like a wind-up toy, her face devoid of emotion. Her hellos always sounded as manufactured as her expression. He'd written her off as one of those suited-up types with little fire or personality until that Friday night a few months back. 

His mother had worn a similar look throughout his junior high years. He'd seen the tears she worked hard to hide, the ones Hailey missed when she made her snarky comment. But Sascha Davis didn't scurry off like a wounded bird. No, she came out like a tiger ready to attack and he respected her for it.

"My name's Sascha."

"Really?"

She poked his rib. "Are you teasing me?"

"Maybe a wee wee bit." 

"Please don't say wee-wee right now." Then with a bashful grin she warned, "And don't make me laugh. Don't you dare," she added he started smiling. He couldn't help it. 

"After you," Noah said after he opened his door. 

His neighbor had cute little body and an amazing ass—something he shouldn't be noticing as she walked ahead of him. She lives next door. His other brain heard static. Two a.m. Saturday plus a woman in his apartment usually meant one thing. And if she wasn't his neighbor he might have made a move. 

The way her eyes darted around his apartment like a trapped animal noting the exits, slammed the lid on his libido. Someone had a very high opinion of herself. 

"Bathroom's that way, if you need it."

"Thanks." She gave him a tentative smile. "May I have some water?" 

"Sure." The task provided a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He dropped two Tylenol in her hand before he handed her the glass. "I think you're going to need these."

"You're an old pro at this, huh?" she teased but her eyes betrayed her wariness.

"Something like that." It was easier to let her believe he'd learned to deal with hangovers as a veteran of the party scene.

"Thank you." 

She set down the glass on the kitchen counter and went down the hall. His hair must've grown an inch by the time she made it to the door. Not that he minded. He wondered what little Miss Muffet would have done if she'd caught him checking her out. Don't pee in your own pool, man.

Sascha leaned against the bathroom door and willed herself into sobriety before she dialed Liya again. She straddled the line between lowered inhibitions and awareness of her neighbor, a combination that couldn't be trusted. Voicemail again. Liya was probably too tangled up in Ben right now to care about a phone call. Since camping out in Noah's guest bathroom wasn't an option, she freshened up at the sink then marched down the hall with renewed vigor.

Vintage Police played in the background while she scanned his apartment. Under the stacks of papers and files divided between the coffee and dining tables was essentially a tidy apartment. Though he had the requisite big flat screen TV, his place wasn't the dark man-cave she expected. It was a deliberate, grown-up version of simple with mid-century furniture in a monochromatic scheme ranging from off-white to charcoal grey. Masculine without being heavy. 

And just like in the bathroom, the walls had an array of black and white photographs. Each one told a story—a farmer's market, children soaked in water from a broken fire hydrant. Unfortunately, the Nordic milkmaid was up there too. Oh, and he had plants. That had to be a good sign. 

But it didn't mean she wanted to sit next to him on the sofa, which is what the glass of water on the coffee table suggested she should do. His plaid shirt now lay draped across the gym bag on the chair leaving him with a black crew neck. She sat down and unbuckled her espadrilles, explaining how her feet hurt from dancing. 

"I haven't heard this song in ages," she said as the rushed saxophone notes met up with laid back bass. "Doesn't compare to seeing them live." There was nothing sexier than the moment Dave Matthews first uttered "crazy" in his confessing, brushed nickel voice. 

Well, there was one other sound.

"I know."

He did? Sascha's eyes went wide. 

She recovered fast enough to seize the obvious icebreaker and started talking about the band. She rolled her eyes playfully when Noah revealed he'd gotten front row seats to the same DMB concert she attended. She'd been so excited to see them play that the Mount Everest level seats and Alex's complaints that they'd been ripped off, didn't matter. That night would've been perfect if she'd brought a roll of duct tape. 

"What?" She caught him staring at her wiggling toes and when he looked up at her, she felt as though he was sizing her up. She wondered how he rated her in his mind.

"Nothing—I was going to ask you if you had a good time tonight."

It was a lie, they both knew it, so she let her smirk speak for her. "It was great," she told him, exaggerating a tad. "It's been a while since I hit the town with friends." 

Yes, she'd dodged a missile with Stav. Plus a hot firefighter and a college cutie had asked her out. But a flicker of disappointment lingered. She was Cinderella minus the glass slipper and the persistent prince. 

He didn't believe a word and his eyes let her know it. Sascha shrugged and reached for the glass. "Life's the same as it was yesterday. A night on the town isn't going to change it."

"Depends on the rules you play by." 

The answer poked at something she didn't like so she swerved around it. They talked the polite, superficial talk people engaged in to pass the time while they were forced to share the same space. She found out Noah was working on a Masters in physical therapy while he trained a clientele of mainly pro athletes. 

Thank goodness she'd ended her fling with Ben & Jerry's and walked to work most days, otherwise she would have felt like a calf when he offered that tidbit about himself. He had been under the impression that she was a lawyer, which was funny until she realized it wasn't a compliment. 

Her phone interrupted their information exchange. A text. Just not the one she hoped for. Nice meeting u 2 nite. Call me if u want 2 get 2gether. 

"Your friend with the keys?"

"No, a guy letting know me it's okay to ask him out on a date. Can I ask you something?"

The corner of his mouth lifted. "You just did." 

His tawny beard framed the undulating line of his upper lip, highlighting its sensuality along with the lower one's fullness. What would it be like to kiss a mouth closer to the size of hers? His green eyes glittered as though he knew the answer.

"Cute." His smile broadened. "Another question then. Promise you'll give me a hundred percent honest answer."

"Depends on the question and if you promise to answer one of mine."

The notion that Noah Jameson wanted to ask her anything at all intrigued her. "Deal. What I wanted to ask was...do you think men and women always play games with each other?"

"It's inevitable." Sascha folded her arms at his lack of hesitation. "The balance is tipped in the woman's favor from the beginning."

"What?"

His eyes were incredulous. "Come on. Women control sex. You all know ahead of time whether a man has even the smallest chance. Most of the time us guys think we're changing your minds—when all we're really doing is making it okay for you to do what you wanted to all along."

"So according to you there's no such thing as romance." 

Noah rested his arm along the backrest and looked at her as if she'd landed from another planet. Her eyes followed his catlike movements as he stretched his legs; she'd never met a man who exuded such raw sexuality. Dark-haired men were supposed to have the monopoly that market. Blonds were too vanilla to pull off an aura of mystery—or so she once thought. 

The tiny break in his nobleman's nose added roughness and a hint of danger to his appeal. Its precise angle pointed to his mouth as though they conspired together. His mouth had a touch of the devil, she always noticed this. The bizarre observation often made her look to see if it remained true, if it was just her imagination. It wasn't and being around him this long didn't temper her fascination with the way his mouth moved. 

"That's code for spending money and giving gifts to persuade a woman you like her. Romance is nothing more than marketing." 

"What about taking the time to get to know each other first? That's part of the fun."

"Which is the point I was trying to make. All that 'time'," his fingers mimicked quotation marks, "is where the game gets played."

Sascha pursed her lips.

"Come on, if some guy you just met said: 'I want you, I know you want me. I can chase you for however long it takes for you decide you're okay with the idea and when it happens we'll wonder why we didn't get together sooner. Or we can dive in right now.' You'd be cool with that?"

Yes.

"It depends on the situation. Sometimes you want to take it slow and let those feelings develop over time because you want to be sure it's real. And other times, two people meet and it's more of ah—a physical thing."

"Every man wants a physical thing," he said with playful smile that stirred her imagination. What kind of things did Noah enjoy?

"But that's not all they want."

Noah scoffed.

"What about friendship and acceptance?" 

"They're nice extras." The teasing glint in his green eyes made her wonder if he'd been serious at all or putting up a front.

"You can't be that cynical."

"You can't be that naïve." 

Sascha raised a brow. "Oh. You've never been in love."

It sounded like an indictment to Noah. 

"Yes, I have." And it had been good— just not everything.

"Really," she said in a tone not neutral enough to disguise her skepticism while she watched him. 

It was as if she saw right through him and knew he'd fantasized about what it would be like to find the woman he could spend forever with. He used to daydream about her, imagined her voice, her face, the things they'd do together. Sometimes he thought he caught glimpses of her in the women he'd dated and lusted after, two of whom had left their mark. 

His rogue idealist streak put too much emphasis on what was missing at the expense of enjoying what it was, so he kept it in check. Now here sat Sascha Davis with her know-it-all grin and her my-love-was-bigger-than-yours mien. He should've left her ass downstairs.




Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 02



"And you have, right?"

"Yes," she said, her voice flat.

"Is that why you were crying that night?" Her smug expression disappeared. For a second he almost felt like an ass, but the need to know something meaningful about her overruled. 

"No, that was me feeling like crap because it's hard to stop caring for someone after six years. I guess love doesn't go away just because the 'in love' part didn't work out. And I think that's much better than walking around with a lot of hate and bitterness." She paused and searched his face for judgement. "You think that's naïve too, right?"

"No, not at all." He'd been thinking about something entirely different. Six years. If he tallied his longest relationships together, he'd still fall short of that milestone. 

She took another sip of water and stared into the glass, effectively letting him know the subject was closed. "I sort of turned Dirty Harry on your girlfriend." A secret smile played across her mouth as she looked up at Hailey's picture. "She had it coming though." Her impish delivery made him laugh and he decided right then that Sascha Davis was alright.

"She's not my girlfriend and yes, she did feel bad about it after." When he corrected her assumption, her reaction—the little one she tried to bury beneath deliberate nonchalance—didn't go unnoticed. There were possibilities here.

The sound of Noah's laughter, the way his face lit up reminded Sascha how much she enjoyed being the source of a man's delight. 

Familiar, sweet guitar notes and a smoky voice surrounded the moment. The mood had the potential to turn sensuous and romantic, but this particular songstress had been banned from Sascha's airspace because of her ability to break a heart in one song. Tonight the toxic hymn provided an opportunity to poke fun. 

"I never would've pegged you for a Sade fan," she said while she served him her best "gotcha" expression. How great it felt to be on the other side of it. "Or is she part of your marketing strategy?" she teased as her fingers drew quotes in the air. 

His entire music selection had a sexy, let's-enjoy-the-evening feel, now that she thought of it. She made sure to hold her smirk a few extra seconds when no answer came. "I'll take that as a yes."

Noah ducked his head and averted his eyes. 

Until that moment she thought rugged and sexy had summed up Noah Jameson's emotional range. But boyish and cute? That did it. She set her glass on the table. 

"I don't think Liya's going to call me back soon. I better just get a room at the hotel."

"How are you going to get there?"

"Someone at the front desk can send over the shuttle van." 

She stood and smoothed her jacket, hoping to soothe away this unsettled feeling. The CD player clicked over and Coldplay replaced the moment of silence. Sascha shoved her feet into her shoes—fast. The song, an old favorite, reclaimed its romantic meaning for the first time in months. 

"Thanks for helping me out, I'm really sorry I kept you up this late."

Noah stood. "Is that why you're leaving?" 

"Yeah?" she drawled and realized too late how defensive her sarcasm sounded. "You've been great but I don't want to impose."

His slow smile mocked her. "Then you better stop doing that or I'll think it's the real reason you're in such a hurry to leave."

"Doing what?" 

"Staring at my mouth. You've been doing it the whole time you've been here."

"No, I haven't!" The enthusiastic lie added more heat to her embarrassment. 

His derisive snort was the height of conceit as he pointed at her. "Is that your nose growing?" 

"Whatever." You really told him, girl.

"Is that the best you can do?"

"I don't have to do anything—it's not my business if you're on some crazy ego trip."

She grabbed her phone off the table and found him staring down at her with the expression she resented. Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha.  

Their eyes clashed. It was all the time she needed to put distance between them. But the back of her heel stubbed the table leg, causing her to stumble into the very arms she tried to escape. His hand reached the back of her head before she had a chance to blink. 

"If that's the case, you'll stop me."

He wouldn't really do it, would he? The voice in her head recycled the question even as his wolfish smile aimed for her mouth. His breath caressed her nose when he whispered, "Didn't think so." 

She watched him angle his head. The tip of his nose grazed hers. His beard brushed her skin. He came closer one breath at a time. She didn't know which was more intoxicating: his slow advance or the moment his mouth parted on her upper lip. It had to be curiosity, not desire, that kept her rooted in place, that made her close her eyes to savor his soft lips moving over hers. The newness, the difference overwhelmed every molecule within her being while his restraint snuck past her defenses. Just one kiss. 

Noah reigned himself in and kept the kiss light, giving Sascha time to retreat or respond. When she did neither, he backed off and forced himself to embrace the disappointment. He no longer had to wonder about the vibe he'd felt between them since that first day when he met her in the elevator carrying boxes. She was just another pretty face in a city full of pretty faces. It was just as well that she had to stay off limits. 

He was Scott free until her fingers touched the side of his face.

Her lips swept over his, each pass a gentle demand: Let me in. His answer was inevitable. He'd regret it if he passed this up. Adrenaline surged through him. Now he'd find out just what she was like. Finally. The last thing he expected came at the first touch of her tongue inside his mouth. Temptation. Need. Noah surrendered to it. Sascha delivered.

She set the pace, teasing him, dragging the tip of her tongue along his lower lip before another thrust inside. Fast. Slow. Advancing. Retreating. Each change in rhythm better than the one before. He followed her lead, eager for another taste of her...then another and another. They stumbled back onto the couch with Sascha straddling him, her arms around his neck.

"You're...a really good kisser," she whispered after they came up for air. Any bit of sense he had left went out the window when she licked her mouth. If she did it again, he'd embarrass himself.

"You're not so bad yourself." 

He angled his head and nipped her lower lip. His mouth shaped hers and he sought out the secrets inside. Whatever she'd been drinking had enhanced her flavor. No woman could taste this erotic on her own. The cell phone she held in her hand pattered onto the couch. She rocked against him, making him moan at how well they fit together. His hands roamed over her back, learning her slight curves. He had to touch her, had to know more so he reached for the zipper on her jacket and pulled. The kiss ended when he slid the tab between her breasts, revealing the dainty bow on her bra. 

The white of her jacket was the perfect contrast to her skin. It wasn't a warm honey, nor brown nor creamy yet it was all of those things. He ran the backs of his fingers from her neck to the valley between her breasts. She swallowed as she looked down to where his hand lay. The contrast between his skin and hers fascinated him as much as her softness. 

"Hi." 

"Hi." Her pretty mouth formed a shy smile. "You're staring."

He ogled her breasts so there'd be no doubt. "We'll call it even. Come here." 

She squirmed while he nuzzled her neck and pressed kisses there. He caught a hint of vanilla, warm oriental notes and something sweet he couldn't name. Her scent was an invisible line reeling him in.

"Your beard tickles," she said through laughter as she offered him her neck. Her happy sounds made him want to discover all the ways to please her. 

"It's not my fault..." More kisses. "...you smell so good."

"It's cherry blossom," she told him while she caressed the back of his head. 

Pin pricks of sensation zig-zagged down his spine. Noah shivered when she did it again; must've been the crew cut that rendered his scalp more sensitive. He leaned back into her touch but there were so many places in front of him he wanted to kiss and taste. Sascha cupped his face and took his sexy dilemma out of his hands. She caught his lower lip between her teeth then soothed it with the slow sweep of her tongue. He let out a low sound of approval and tilted his head for more. 

Her mouth, sweet as it was, wasn't enough. His fingers curled around her hair and tugged. He explored the line of her jaw and made his way to her ear. Her soft gasps made him smile inside. He drew down the zip until it stopped at her belt. Screw all the reasons he shouldn't be doing this. He just had to. 

She ducked her head and pulled the jacket panels together after they fell open. He caught her hands in his. "I want to see you." 

He didn't wait for an answer, just went to work on her belt and opened her jacket. He dropped his hands to her waist and drank her in. Sascha was soft, delicately made with just enough curves and hips to keep her from having a boyish figure. He let the tips of his fingers wander along the side of her left breast. Small, but not too small. Unable to resist, he cupped her bra and felt her nipple rise up to his touch. She arched her back as his fingers played over the soft cotton and the hard bud underneath. This image of her would stay in his memory forever. 

Another song, another voice rolled in, this one a bluesy prayer of temporary sexual devotion from a restless spirit. The singer's wise, evocative voice had been waiting for this moment to go from background noise to visceral experience. Sascha's subtle moves matched the song's sexy cadence. The lyrics conjured up an image of her crawling across his bed, inviting him to take and taste while he had her there. And he would. Her knees pressed into his thighs, making him hungry for the moment when he'd see and feel all of her. 

Sascha grabbed the back of the couch to stop her hands from stopping him. Nervous excitement roared in her ears as he pushed her jacket down her arms. Being sensible and good was no match for feeling this feminine and alive...in a plain cotton bra, no less. He traced the edge of her bra strap and followed the line cupping her right breast. To her relief, he liked what he saw. It was in his eyes, in his smile. His eyes locked on hers. Up close they were stunning. Peridot green with golden flecks. The indigo blue bands around his irises made the green more vivid.

"What?"

Sascha rubbed the back of his head, enthralled with its velvet texture. She thought she felt him shiver so she did it again. He pressed his head into her palm and his thick black lashes swept down. Mercy. Five minutes in this man's lap was doing wonders for her ego. 

"What?" he asked again.

The standard eyes line certainly applied here. She opened and closed her mouth as she considered the compliment on the tip of her tongue. Too corny. And he must have heard it all the time. "I-I want to see you too," she offered instead then realized the words were true.

The corners of his mouth lifted as his eyes turned an intense green. The devil had come out to play. "Go for it." 

His shirt flew to the carpet in seconds. 

Sascha didn't know which part of his sun-kissed skin to zoom in first: the silver hoop that pierced his right nipple or the line of characters stamped along his left side. Everything about him was beautiful. He had a swimmer's build, toned, strong and slightly lean rather than the swollen, chunks of muscle one expected of a man who made fitness his trade. His skin had a touch of sun and a dusting of light brown hair that narrowed in a trail down the length of his stomach. 

"Does it have a meaning?" she asked of the ancient scroll, trying to keep her imagination from following the line of hair that disappeared below his waistband.

"It's 'peace of mind' in Sanskrit." Of all the phrases she would've inked on his skin, peace of mind wasn't one of them. 

"Searching for it?"

"Aren't we all?"

"That's not what I asked." His eyes told her she was close to losing access. She tilted the hoop with a tentative finger. "Did it hurt a lot when you got this?" 

He rubbed her back then palmed her backside. "Like hell. But you're doing a good job of making up for it."

Sascha dropped her hand as if she'd touched fire. She expected him to laugh at her but he didn't. His voice dropped an octave, calling her to walk on the wild side as he reached for her face and said, "Do it again—with your tongue this time." 

Her mouth watered in anticipation even before her tongue swirled around the flat brown nipple. The taste of metal and clean skin drifted into her senses as she drew him into her mouth. She breathed him in. No cologne, just Noah and the faint scent of soap. The way he arched into her mouth when her teeth raked across the piercing, emboldened her. He writhed under her hands as they tested the solidness beneath his shoulders then skated over the lines of muscle crisscrossing his stomach. 

"You're such a tease," Noah murmured while his fingers twisted in her hair, pressing her closer. He rolled his hips beneath her to let her know how much he liked what she was doing to him. Her body's reaction was immediate. 

One sharp tug at the back of her head brought her up for another round of kisses. He was unlike any man she'd attracted or been attracted to. He wasn't coy; there was no guessing game in the way his tongue curled around hers, in the way he held her face in his hands. Kiss after kiss hit her like a drug until he loosened her jeans. The wet smack of her lips leaving his hit her ears like a dose of reality. His fingers were already... She let out a whoosh of air and tensed. How could one kiss get this far? 

"Noah—" Her protest blended with a sigh of satisfaction as he fit his palm to her mound. It had been so long since she'd received pleasure from hands besides her own, that giving in felt alien. The heat of his hand brought every nerve she had to life, made her crave a more intimate caress. But good girls didn't allow this. She felt like an electrical cable overloaded with conflicting currents.

She remembered Stav and Helena, the girls in the ladies' room. Her mind homed in on the one thing that overrode the voice of caution: For once, she wouldn't have to watch from the sidelines. 

"Don't stop." She closed her eyes and willed the last of her resistance to fade.

Noah pushed back a wave of her hair to catch the expressions flickering across her face. Something about the way she arched her neck, the way her almond-shaped eyes fluttered made him want the moment to last. He stroked her again, paying attention to the sounds she made, how her body moved as he marveled at the textures beneath his fingertips. 

Her wetness turned him on, that was a given. But her soft, wiry curls called out primal urges in him. He'd gotten so used to shaved and manicured pussy he'd forgotten how this felt. Wild. Taboo. Real. 

"You're so sexy," he whispered while he petted her.

She clutched his shoulders, her mouth opened wide but she made no sound. Her look of awe spoke volumes. One song faded into the start of another while he learned the kind of touch Sascha liked best. She licked and bit her lower lip, failing to trap her breathy moans inside her mouth. Watching her sway between being a lady and a sex kitten was the hottest thing he'd seen in ages. He had the center of her universe in the palm of his hand and he intended to turn it upside down. 

"Oh—oh!" she crooned as he touched her inside. Her voice thinned until her mouth parted in soundless ohs and her eyes went heavy lidded. So responsive, so pretty.

He learned her flesh with every come hither pass, noted her heat, her readiness for him. Damn. The rumor about small women being tighter was true. He wanted out of these jeans, eager to get to her, eager to compare the slick flesh clamped around his fingers against his cock. But he wanted her so hot for him she'd beg.

"Look at me." Sascha obeyed and it did her in. 

In over a decade of masturbation, she had never touched herself like this or gotten the first spark of pleasure to ignite so quickly. It burned bright then raced along the sensitive pathways inside her body. Another spark followed then another and another. Each one hotter, brighter, faster than the one before. She swirled her hips in time with his fingers, instinctively seeking more pleasure and finding it. 

When he spoke, his voice sounded dark and thick with lust. "That's it, make yourself come. Make yourself come. " 

He whispered words that lead her to a place she'd never known. Somewhere decadent and thrilling and dangerous. And his touch...his touch made her sob into his shoulder and grind over his erection. His lips closed over the pulse beating at her neck. The small gesture triggered something carnal, something kept in check for far too long. Everything converged within her, ready to collapse on itself and pull her down with it. 

He'd hooked her orgasm onto his curling fingers and reeled it in, hard and fast. She squeezed her eyes shut as tremors rolled through her. There was moment of calm within the darkness behind her eyelids. Then white hot sensation broke through. 

"There it is," he growled, his tone triumphant. "Come for me. Open your eyes...let me see you." 

She flew and crashed and flew again, heard him say things she didn't comprehend as his lips roamed her face. Her body vaulted past its physical limits and transformed into pure energy, shimmering and infinite. He held her, was strong for her and softened her fall back to earth.

The hum of pleasure that left her sweetly exhausted dimmed with every shaky breath she took. "So good," she whispered into the crook of his neck.

"Yeah?"

She nodded against his skin, smiling at the ridiculousness of his question.

Her cheek never left his shoulder as he rose up from the couch with her in his arms. She folded her legs around his waist and zoomed in on the tattoo on his shoulder blade. A series of arcs formed a circle but it wasn't until they got to his bedroom that the sinuous black lines to morph from an abstract tribal pattern to a pair of coiled dragons forming yin and yang. She forgot to ask him about it when he kissed her again and promised her more. 

* * *

Somewhere between dreams and sleep Sascha realized she wasn't alone. She wiggled her hips to get closer to the warmth along her back and heard a rumbling, "Mmm". Something soft grazed her shoulder. An arm hugged her middle and pulled her into heaven. 

An arm?

"Alex?" How'd he get here? A sleepy haze pulled her under its sweet spell before the answer came. 

The second time Sascha woke up, she wished she hadn't. She turned her back to the sunlight and dragged a pillow over her head to drown out the noise. She tried to shift but her body protested. Why was the blender running? And who was using it? She craved more sleep but there was someone in her apartment. Someone's in the apartment! Her head snapped up a full inch before she dropped it again. Jeez, it felt heavy and clogged up. Her skin felt feverish. She tossed the pillow aside and rolled over to find her bed lower to the floor. What?

The sisal rug had vanished. 

This wasn't her bedroom. 

This wasn't her apartment. 

This was... 

Oh God—oh God—oh God!

But there was no divine intervention to pluck her from this spot and set her down in her familiar haven behind the wall. What she got was the answer to how she came to be here, one lurid clip at a time. Noah laying her down on the bed. Rolling across the sheets. The delicious friction of denim on denim. Kisses. Lying atop him, watching him watch her come. Noah cradling her face afterwards, his green eyes soft, just like his voice. 




Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 03



—Evanslily, thank you.—

*

"C'mon! Give me that—oh, damn." 

Noah always loved a vocal woman but tonight Jillian's barrage of instructions distracted instead of aroused. He'd been fucking her long enough—and well—to do without a GPS readout.

"Yeah-yeah-yeah!" she chanted in one breath then sagged onto her elbows, groaning while she fisted the sheets. He spanked her reddened cheek to silence her incessant yammering; that it excited her was the added bonus. He watched his handprint bloom across her pale flesh, a sight that should have hurtled him right to the edge except he found himself imagining his hands on darker skin. 

"Don't stop!" 

Startled back into the present, he picked up the tempo and worked her harder to compensate for the moments he compared her to another woman. He grabbed a fistful of coppery-brown hair while his other hand teased her swollen nub in a way guaranteed to set her off. 

"Right there, right there, right—there! Just like that," she wailed and shook her head. "God, baby yes. Just like that." 

"Enough talking." The smack of his palm and Jillian's startled yip drowned out the rumble of thunder above. "Show me how nasty you are." 

Jillian didn't disappoint. She pushed her hips back to meet each long, inward drive. The front of his thighs burned as they slapped the backs of hers, faster and harder. He planted his left foot on the bed to give himself more leverage while he filled every bit of her. Jillian hissed and bit her lips when he leaned down and nipped her ear. 

"You love being fucked like a little whore, don't you?" 

"Uhn."

"I didn't hear you," he whispered as he tugged on her hair then slowed his thrusts, keeping her suspended on the precipice between tension and release. He kept pushing her, teasing her; the friction relentless with every prolonged motion.

"Noah, please...ah, fff-uck!" 

"Say it."

"Love it..." her voice cracked from enthusiastic use, "...love being your whore." 

"That's what I thought," he told her as he resumed the maddening pace she craved. His fingers launched a twin attack on her nipple and clit that made her come harder for him. 

"Don't stop! Don't. Fucking. Stop." 

Jillian collapsed facedown onto the bed, tremors wracking her body inside and out as his hips pummeled her ass. Within seconds he had her twisted onto her side, intent on finishing her off in her favorite position. Her brown glare turned wild yet her body remained spent and compliant when he planted his hands on either side of her head. He rocked inside her in a rhythm steady enough to entice and slow enough to let her recover. But Jillian hadn't called him over for a sweet, gentle loving. She never did. That was his favorite thing about her.

She dared him with her eyes. "Do it." 

The needling pain when she dug her nails into the back of his thigh unleashed the animal in him. He reared up onto his knees and straddled her bottom leg. 

"Like this?" he demanded over the punishing stroke her body invited. He pushed her thigh closer to her chest and pinned her knee to the mattress. Her hand latched onto his wrist, a silent welcome for more. "Is this...how you like it?" 

He had her alternating between clawing the sheets and palming her full breasts, her face contorted in sweet agony as he withdrew and plunged into her again. Her voice dropped to a breathy whisper; a "yes" that touched the hidden corners of his mind in a way her high pitched antics hadn't. Goosebumps raced along his arms and transformed into energy rushing over his skin, crackling, too good to bear. He closed his eyes and let the memories pull him into the undertow. 

"Oh...damn." Her plaintive sighs spun inside his head until they matched the ones that haunted him for weeks, until the deepest part of his mind heard one voice. 

"Noah..."

Noah.

"I'm...coming."

Feels good.

"You feel so good." 

That was the trigger. 

He climaxed in the next breath; pleasure fizzled the instant his eyes met Jillian's. Deep brown eyes, but no hint of amber. He flopped onto his back while the last of his release drained into the condom. The blissful state of nothingness that came after sex flitted away before he could enjoy it.

He squashed the images that sprang up—images that had gotten him off better than Jillian just had. He stared up at the ceiling and forced his rebellious mind to go still. 

They lay side by side on their backs while the distant boom of thunder invaded their relaxed silence. Noah exhaled. Jillian inhaled. It struck him how out of sync they were. For some reason the observation soured his mood. 

She turned her head and offered him a lazy smile. "I think you just killed me." 

He ran a finger along her chin and said, "Welcome to hell." Her entire body shook with laughter. 

"I don't know what I like more, your wacked-out sense of humor..." Her scarlet nails raked his chest. "Or..." 

"Just who are you trying to kid here?"

This time when she laughed, Noah joined her. Tonight wasn't a total waste after all. The thought held true as she fit her body against his side. This was what he missed about having a woman in his life, this feeling of being surrounded by softness and warmth; the freedom of it. But he never fully relaxed into it with Jillian, which was just as well. 

Somewhere between following her words and absently stroking her back, the sweet tang of strawberries and citrus assaulted his nose. The fragrance wasn't bad, just tediously candy-like for a woman past twenty. And it definitely couldn't compete with the delicate, warm scent that had lingered on his sheets after... He squeezed his forehead. This shit had become a twisted ritual. At the rate he was going he'd soon become a perfume Goldilocks. He needed to move.

Jillian slipped on an oversized football jersey and filled him in on the details of her settlement while he dressed. Her ex had gotten the townhouse along with the Benz and cash. In exchange, she now had full ownership of the day spa he'd helped her start and less guilt over the marriage she'd sought to end. 

"I can't believe it's really over." 

Another man would've wondered if he'd heard a tinge of sadness in her voice. But he wasn't the rebound man, competing with history and building hope on a false attachment. He was here for uncomplicated fun, nothing was expected of him and that suited him fine for now. Still, he stayed and listened because in some odd way, they'd become friends.

They ended up on her back porch, passing a glass of Riesling back and forth. The June air was a mix of clean, warm and damp—a typical Florida summer night. The remnants of the thunderstorm lit up the night sky on its way the next zip code. Jillian's body curled into a tight ball as she sat with her legs drawn to her chest. Her knees formed a mountain beneath the faded jersey stretched over them. A sealed pack of cigarettes balanced on the summit. 

"What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing." 

Her restless fingers fiddled with the box, an unconscious gesture until he cast a quizzical gaze towards her hands. Her expression turned sheepish and she set the cigarettes on the small table between them. 

"I thought I'd feel different—more excited or at least relieved, and I don't. Weird, huh?" 

Noah didn't know what to add to that so he waited for her to continue.

"It's kinda sad when you think about it. You spend nine years building a life with someone and then it all boils down to paperwork and legal fees. "

"Regrets?"

She made a dry "hmm" sound. "A ton. From beginning, middle to end. You know how people say: 'you just know it when you've found the one'? Take it from me, you know when you haven't."

"You knew this even before you got married?" 

She pursed her lips. 

"My whole family, everybody, got so wrapped in all the wedding hype—the planning, the caterers...it was total chaos. All I kept hearing was that pre-wedding jitters were normal, even my mom said it. But deep down, I knew something wasn't right. And the closer we got to the date, the worse I felt about calling the whole thing off. I remember I literally felt like I was on a runaway train and I couldn't stop it." She tilted her head towards him. "You know, you're the first person I've ever admitted this to?"

"Eric never suspected the whole time you were together?" From what he understood, when Jillian's ex had suggested couples counseling, she'd seen it as a chance to get someone else to break the divorce news.

"I never told him and he never asked. But I think you know when someone isn't one-hundred percent with you." She paused and rubbed her legs. "We've been battling it out for, what—almost two years? And now that I've finally got my freedom, I don't have a clue what comes next. This whole moving-forward-and-starting-a-new-chapter thing is scary."

"Hate to break it to you kid, but you've doing that already, one day at a time."

She rolled her hair into the black scrunchie she had on her wrist and studied him. "How did you get to be so wise?"

"Must be one of my hidden talents."

His pulse leaped at the chance at sexual gratification when her gaze flew to his crotch. "I have a few of my own, how 'bout we compare?" she asked as she took the goblet from him.

Noah shook his head in amazement. "A mind reader too." He grabbed the hem of her shirt when Jillian rose from her chair. "Uh-uh. Right here."

"My neighbors..."

He tugged on her shirt until she stood between his legs. 

"Don't tell me you're too chicken."

She looked to the line of trees along the garden and back.

"You're on."

* * *

While Ty walked to the passenger door, Sascha debated asking the question that had ping-ponged in her mind last night and all day today. This should be a no-brainer. He was attractive. Their bratty, sibling banter made her laugh. Yet they weren't as close as they should be. Always a niggling 'but'.

The thick summer air clung to her skin as she exited the car. 

Ty tipped her chin up. "Goodbye, sweetness." His goodbye sounded so formal, its finality amplified by the night calm. No 'goodnight'. No 'I'll call you'. No plans for another date; just a sinking feeling as his mouth descended on hers. 

His kiss was slow and charming, like curling up in front of a fireplace under a favorite blanket. She recognized the slow build up of desire from her early days with Alex and the similarity should've encouraged her to forge ahead but for one problem: Noah Jameson. Clarification. How it felt to be near him. There'd been nothing safe and neat about him; she had no familiar MO to draw upon and it thrilled her in a way she didn't understand but didn't want to like. Unfortunately for Ty, the comparison gave her ambivalence something to hang its hat on. 

Why Noah of all people? The randomness of that night had to be a fluke.

She grabbed the back of Ty's neck and put every bit of heat she could muster into kissing him back. If this was to be the last time they saw each other, then she'd give him something good to remember. 

Ty made a low sound of pleasure. He pressed against her until she stood pinned between the hard lines of his body and the car's hard, cool metal. She swallowed an uneasiness that skittered along a tightrope between tension and arousal.

"Do you want to come up?" It was a spontaneous outburst, one she regretted when the muscle above his jaw twitched. 

"Yeah, that's why I'm gonna head home." 

Ty was such a wonderful surprise yet sometimes she didn't know if he was being suave or sincere. The mystery of it intrigued her even as it put her on guard. Still, according to current conventions, they should've had sex three or four dates ago. Despite his recent subtle and not so subtle hints, he remained a gentleman about waiting. That had to be a testament to how much he liked her, that he wasn't a player. 

"Come up."

"Only if you're sure." 

"I'm sure," she lied and wrapped her fingers around his wrists in the hopes she'd absorb the heat he radiated since she posed her question. Of one thing she was certain: a man like this wouldn't hang around for dates that ended in the parking lot. 

She didn't know he'd been holding his breath until a whoosh of air fanned her cheek. His full mouth curled into a smile, transforming this half-Italian man into every woman's type. Why were they standing around in the parking lot again? 

"Girl, I've wanted you for so long, you better be worth the wait."

She forced a laugh. "Sweetness, if that's your idea of charming a girl, then your game needs some serious work."

He cupped her face and his warm gaze held hers as though he wanted her to really see him. "You won't regret it, I promise," he whispered, seeming to know how desperately she needed to hear those words. Car lights passed over them, chasing away the fragile connection they made. 

"Let's go," she said gently, relieved to find her words more aligned with her feelings this time. 

She took his hand in hers and led him through the resident parking garage to the lobby. The prospect of being intimate with another man had been playing in her head for weeks. But not because of the man hugging her from behind as they waited on the elevator. No, old curiosities had resurfaced and new ones had been born since she'd gotten a taste of her neighbor. 

Until tonight her dates had ended with chaste kisses in public places. But behind closed doors she wantonly mimicked Noah's touch with such dazzling results, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, the woman she once imagined herself to be wasn't a fantasy ideal. She'd been used to shooing away the question with mental lists of all the ways Alex had made her happy and the contentment that their sex life wasn't bad at all—regardless of what Cosmo said. Now thanks to her recent sexual odyssey, she learned the nuances of touch that led her to sweeter pleasure. She'd get to try out all her discoveries with Ty—and soon, judging by the way he pressed against the small of her back. 

The elevator opened and they began their ascent.

Beep.

Sex with Ty. Excitement fluttered in her stomach. 

Beep.

Would he be slow and sweet like his kisses? 

Beep.

You better be worth the wait. 

New insecurities contaminated what little air circulated the cab. She was so lost in her maze of thoughts she jumped when Ty ran his fingers up her arm. He chuckled. 

"You're all wound up, baby girl. Nervous?" 

"A bit, yeah," she croaked, which sent a heat of embarrassment up her face. God, she could be such a ninny at times. 

Ping.

He reached for her hand, his smile patient and warm like his voice when he promised, "You're in good hands, you'll see." 

"I know. It's a good kind of nervous."

His fingers wrapped around hers. "You know, you're not the only one who's nervous." He didn't show it, but real or not, his vulnerability made her brave as she led him to her door. 

They started kissing the instant the door slammed behind them. She reached for the light switch but he caught her hand and put it around his waist. Every instinct demanded she slow him down but she talked herself out of it. Sleeping with another man was the final act in ending Alex's reign, nerves were natural. She curled her fingers into the "v" of his shirt. This was nice. She liked him. Maybe this was what they needed to break down the invisible wall between them.

"You smell so good," he whispered as he nuzzled her neck. 

Of all the things to say. 

For a second, Sascha wondered if she imagined it. She traced the line of his jaw then tilted his face up to hers to banish the memory of another man's beard tickling her fingertips. It didn't work. The play of shadows dissolved his features into phantom shapes, making the moment surreal. She kissed him before their chance slipped away. 

Slow, heavy footfalls passed her door on their way to a life where she didn't exist. She arched her body into Ty's hands, silently imploring him to make her feel that she mattered. This had to be more than what happened next when two people had gone out on more than three dates. 

She waited and waited for conviction to take root and rise up. She couldn't find it in the endless black around them, not while her ears strained to hear her neighbor's door open and shut. The hard thud dragged her back to the reality of Ty's mouth traveling down her neck to the skin her dress exposed. If she could desire a stranger, then surely she'd feel more with Ty. He was far more worthy. 

She reached for the switch again, needing to see his face, needing reassurance. Lightning flashed quick, quick and gone. She saw pieces of furniture, Ty then darkness. He pinned both of her wrists above her head with one hand while the weight of his body anchored her against the door. 

"Where do you think you're going?" The practiced silk in his voice was replaced with a roughness she never expected. His sudden dominance awoke a dark curiosity but memories pressed to the surface; fleeting impressions of feeling trapped and unable to breathe. The zipper on the side of her dress slowly came undone. Part of her wanted to shrink away, part of her wanted to push him back. Instead, she commanded herself to stay still and succumb to the feeling of being wanted. 

What he was doing felt nice. Maybe in a few moments his hands would feel like they belonged on her skin. Maybe after tonight she'd emerge on the other side of the breakup tunnel. 

This could feel right...if she just gave Ty a chance. 

* * *

Noah stood with his hands planted on wet tiles while warm water pelted the knot between his shoulders. His post-sex mellowness had gone straight to shit the second he pulled into the garage and saw Sascha strolling hand in hand with another man. There she was all sunshine and smiles in her yellow summer dress—a total one-eighty from the last time he'd seen her. 

He dried off and pulled a pair of cargo shorts and a white tee from the dresser. He dressed, not giving a damn about what was happening on the other side of his bedroom wall. 

He flopped onto the couch, propped his feet on the coffee table and reached for the text book and highlighter. Frankie lay balled up on her favorite blanket at the opposite end of the couch. The dog's contented state was the opposite of his. And all because of one woman. He would've sworn she'd fallen off the planet if it weren't for the times her parking spot lay vacant and the night he'd woken up because of a loud crash coming from her apartment. 

He would've forgotten that night and the following morning long ago—and he would forget, of that he was sure—because there wasn't anything special about her. Well, except for the fact that they were neighbors. 

Those first days after he let stupidity rule, he'd opted out of taking the stairs in favor of the elevator just to prove that walking past 406 meant nothing, that seeing her again was no big deal. He'd gotten over it by week's end but the heightened alert in the seconds before he left his apartment or returned home persisted. They'd come face-to-face again; the where and when was the element of surprise he didn't care for. That part got to him more than he wanted to admit. 

All of this could've been avoided if he'd listened to the voice of reason that night. But no, he let his dick do the thinking. But then there'd been little time for rational thought that night. One minute she was writhing over him, breathless and coming. "I want more," she murmured against his neck then fell asleep within the next breath. While she lay snuggled against him he'd fantasized about all the things they'd do come sunrise. That was until she whispered another man's name.

He'd spent restless hours on the couch, frustrated with sexual need—haunted by the fact that what his body craved lay in his bed—and hating himself for it. To add insult to injury, she treated him like a sexual predator and couldn't bring herself to ask him if they'd had sex. She stood before him all impassive and regal as though stating the question herself or entertaining possibility it happened had been beneath her. 




Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 03



It had been a scene straight out of an after-school special with Sascha cast as the sainted martyr and he the nefarious punk who dared to put his hands inside her white panties. She probably wanted to rise out her mouth at the idea that she'd said "fuck". He'd have bought her act if she hadn't said the things she had. But she'd been fully aware of what she was doing when she invited his touch. The virginal neurosis was just a front for her disappointment over waking up in the wrong bed and that it had been so easy for her to get there. 

He gave up the pretense of doing research, dropped the highlighter in the book and grabbed the TV remote off the table. There wasn't much on at this hour but anything was better than remembering the brittle sound of Sascha's voice before she'd left his bedroom.

Somehow, her polite words landed harder than any obscenity could. Maybe because she'd robbed him of the chance to take a parting shot without looking like the ass he'd made of himself. There he stood with his blood pressure rising while she walked out like a cool breeze. She didn't even slam the door on her way out. 

Of course she'd done it on purpose; women were the ultimate warriors when it came to mental combat. What irked him most about that Saturday morning was how he let his anger slash the tethers off his self-control. He made it easy for her to best him, when she'd been the one in the wrong. 

Proximity and his bruised ego had extended the expiration date on a memory that would've faded by now. That's all this was. 

He focused on the eleven o' clock news, which doled out its nightly parade of negativity and disaster. Dozens of camera lights ricocheted off a mangled black Aston Martin sitting atop a flatbed truck. Robin Montgomery's accident. The iconic image not only captured the crash's obvious violence but more so the callous manner reporters and photographers had swooped in like vultures to pick over suffering and death for the sake of ratings. The camera cut to Luciana Cortazar.

The woman's South American accent added fire to her determination as she revisited her son's memory. "These people have never once reached out to any of the victims or their families to apologize. They act like it's nothing, like we will forget. It's not right. We have no choice but to ask the court to make them accept responsibility."

A montage retold the story as the reporter narrated the latest installment in the media's favorite tragedy. Another crushed car, relatives and friends crying and clutching each other as the verdict came, Robin Montgomery with her head bowed down.

"...The emergency responders who reported to the scene will be among the first to testify. Attorney's for the Montgomery family have requested a closed court hearing due to the graphic nature of the injuries sustained by Jaime Cortazar and Courtney Benson."

Noah switched the channel. Same story, different storyteller.

"The trial is slated to go on for several weeks due to the number of witnesses, including the occupants of the two other cars that narrowly avoided a collision with Robin Montgomery that night."

He aimed the remote towards the screen again. 

"—avis, whose emotional testimony at the criminal trial moved several jurors to tears, is expected to testify."

He turned off the TV, refusing to get sucked into the obsession with all things Montgomery. Frankie's head popped up. The sudden hush in the room felt tight. He needed to move and his guest needed a walk.

* * *

It had to be a cosmic joke. The woman had been a ghost for what, a month now? But there she stood holding that guy's hands to her heart. Was he the one whose name she had whispered? Their intimate body language made Noah decide to head for the pond. 

Frankie's nose, on the other hand, found an intriguing patch of grass that warranted thorough investigation. He tugged on her leash and used his best baby talk but she refused to budge; just like a canine version of Aunt Lilly-Beth. 

The moment he looked up was the moment Sascha noticed him. He knew it, felt it, despite the distance, trees and shadows between them. She dropped the guy's hands and turned her head so fast it was telling. Maybe not so intimate. 

Suddenly he found his patience with his canine charge had been restored. He didn't bother to glance over to the guest parking lot again. He found the calm he sought well before he crossed the street and walked into the night air, content to let Frankie dictate the pace.

* * *

Sascha walked into the deserted lobby, wondering if she'd made a mistake. In the end, it was Ty who called a halt to their evening. But then making out with an iceberg didn't exactly spark romance. He'd been polite enough to stoke her guilt about misleading him and reserved enough to make it obvious she'd screwed up. When she suggested they get together for lunch, he replied with a vague, "I'll call you and let you know how my week looks." 

Yeah, she wasn't optimistic that they'd bounce back from this. But shouldn't she have been more excited about sex itself instead of hung up on it being a sign of progress? At least you won't have to listen to him calling you sweetness" if it doesn't work out.

A haggard Annette Alijevic, who lived on the south end of Sascha's floor, walked into the lobby just as she was grinning to herself. 

"Jeremy, slow down!" Annette cried in an exasperated mom's tone as her six-year-old son raced ahead leaving her to drag their suitcases behind her. She gave Sascha an embarrassed, please-bear-with-me look then blew out enough air to make her bangs flutter about. 

"Long day?"

"That's an understatement," Annette grumped as they filed into the elevator. "We were stuck on the runway for almost two hours in Denver." She smoothed Jeremy's hair, adding, "To him, it felt like four."

"No, ten!"

"Hold the elevator!" a familiar voice called out as the door slid shut.

The night just kept getting better. 

Of all the people she would've paid not to see right now, Noah Jameson owned the number one spot outright. 

In the last month she learned that once he left his apartment, it took two minutes for his Jeep Wrangler to emerge from the garage. He went to work before she had breakfast, jogged on Tuesday nights and must've slept in on Wednesdays. Granted, staring out the peephole and peeking through windows to keep tabs on a neighbor was a bit...unorthodox. But stalkerish? Nah. 

Stalkers didn't use the intel they gathered to actively avoid their target. And she'd done a fine job of it until Annette pressed the door open button. Sascha looked over and silently cursed the woman. At least she had a few seconds to prepare, unlike earlier when she all but jumped out of her skin when she noticed him standing in the shadows. And they weren't alone. Sascha retracted all the un-neighborly thoughts she'd hurled at Annette.

A fluffy, beige dog appeared. Then came a line of red leash. Sascha braced herself. More leash and finally the man who'd taken her masturbation fantasies from gauzy black and white to vivid Technicolor. A slight jerk of his head was the only clue that seeing her came as a surprise. Their eyes collided for a split second; long enough to make her remember those green eyes on her face while he touched her, the way they hazed when she touched him back. Thank goodness for Annette and Jeremy.

"Thanks," he said to Annette who now stood taller. Her face brightened and her body language softened in the subtle way women employed to attract attention. 

Annette pressed the button. "I think you're going to four, right?" Man, it must be nice to flash a smile and have the female population fawn all over you.

His mischievous gaze jumped from Annette to Sascha. "Looks like we've got a little reunion going." How crafty of him. Some things never change.

"Is that your dog?" Jeremy asked, his little voice and big blue eyes full of longing. 

"No, she belongs to my aunt. I just got roped into babysitting her for the weekend." 

The size disparity between human and canine made the lapdog appear dainty at his feet. The image was impossibly cute and Sascha couldn't stop smiling.

Jeremy bent down with his usual high octane speed, his little hands reaching for the dog who ducked behind Noah's leg. Her tail thumped the floor.

"Jeremy!" Annette chided. "Did you ask if it was okay to pet her?"

He looked up at Noah. "Is it okay?" He started to lunge once he got the approval but Annette caught his shoulder. 

"Be gentle when you approach her or she'll get scared. Put out your hand and let her come to you. See?" 

"She likes you," Sascha remarked as Jeremy knelt down. 

Jeremy looked up again. "What's her name?"

"Frankie."

"She's so cute," Sascha said, unable to help herself as the dog rolled over for a belly rub. She chanced a glance to her right and got caught. Nothing new there. Noah's lips curled up as though he relished seeing her unsettled. Yeah, some things never changed. 

Annette asked, "Is she a Lhasa?"

"She looks like a terrier," Sascha said just as Noah answered, "She's part terrier and a lot of mutt." 

Their eyes met again and she offered him a half smile, testing the waters. When didn't scowl or tense like a snake ready to spew venom the way he had that morning, she took it as an encouraging sign. She'd talk to him—that was the mature thing to do rather than skulking around as if she were avoiding a Jehovah's Witness.

Sascha's determination grew as Noah allowed her and Annette to exit the elevator first. Annette was too preoccupied with getting Jeremy home to notice Sascha's deliberately slow pace which allowed Noah catch up with her before she reached her apartment. Nervousness bubbled up her throat as his earlier friendliness turned into chilly reserve.

"Noah." She hadn't spoken his name aloud since she told Ana about 'that night'. The sound of it made her self-conscious, as if she'd taken a liberty when she had no right to. "Do you have a minute?"

"What's up?" he asked in a tone so relaxed, it mocked her efforts to elude him these past weeks. Of course he'd shrugged off their unfortunate night. He didn't seem like the type who'd pine over a PG-13 encounter. Well, not exactly PG-13...

"I...uh...wanted to talk to you about what happened with us."

They stopped in front of her door. Her brain hurried to find a good script to lead off with.

"Okay, talk." 

"About that night...I mean the morning after we..." His gaze cooled. Oh, yeah, he hadn't forgotten. "I wanted to apologize. I said some things that came out wrong. Waking up in a strange place, well it freaked me out. And then when I couldn't remember what had happened right away..." She winced inside as she recalled her immediate conclusion. "I wish I'd handled it better."

His eyes drifted down as if he were contemplating her words but when he looked at her, his expression gave nothing away. "No hard feelings." 

"Really?" She tilted her head as she searched for hidden messages to decode, a habit she picked up with Alex when they'd had to go several rounds before he admitted to being upset. 

Noah quirked a brow, as if to say, "duh" and nodded. "It happened, it's in the past. Let's leave it there." His tone all but held a nonchalant shrug and though she felt relieved, it bugged her too. Was she that forgettable? 

"I'm glad you see it that way," she said, trying to mimic his breezy demeanor meanwhile resenting it. 

"Someone's overdue on her treats." Frankie's furry head popped up the instant she heard "treats", causing him to smile. "You have a good weekend." 

He turned—dismissing their night together, the weeks of hiding like a criminal and an apology she'd fretted over—and proved just how forgettable she was with his simple salutation. 

"So that's it? You're not going to apologize?" Even with his back to her, Sascha knew she'd shocked him. Good. 

What the...? Noah couldn't believe she'd taken that do-the-right-thing tone with him, similar to the one Aunt Lilly-Beth still employed from time to time. Little Miss Priss was the last person he expected to remind him of the ballsy flower child who'd raised him longer than his own mother had.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't break out the champagne after you accused me of forcing myself on you."

She shelved the school teacher attitude right away. 

"I never said that. Okay," she amended ruefully when he sent her a sarcastic look. "It might have come out that way and I'm sorry. But..." She paused as though debating whether to continue then shook her head. "You said some ugly things too and you were already pissed off before I even said a word." She wouldn't have said that if she remembered everything. He found himself suddenly very grateful for her fuzzy memory. 

Her elfin chin came up as if daring him to deny her claim. She seemed to enjoy goading him, yet she retreated and crossed her arms when he took a step towards her. The reaction bothered him.

He recalled his loss of control that morning from her perspective and realized she expected him to attack. Regret for the way he'd handled the situation now came with fierce disappointment in himself. Whether or not his anger had been justified, seeing her shrink away reminded him why he vowed he'd never be like Hugh. That alone, was reason enough to apologize. 

Besides, holding onto a grudge meant he cared and he didn't—not beyond the fact that they were neighbors and that he didn't want every time they ran into each other to turn into a tense ordeal. There was no other choice but damn, he hated how easily she'd brought him to heel. Man, just get it over with.

"You're right," he conceded after a calming breath. "I was out of line." Her brown eyes went wide when he offered his hand. "How about we call a truce?" 

She hesitated then reached out her hand to his. "Okay...I'd like that." The half smile she offered matched the tinge of skepticism in her voice. 

"Then we have a deal." 

He shook her hand and for some unknown reason held onto it a second longer than necessary before he let go. "Good neighbors from now on," he promised while he held her gaze. She seemed to be trying not the blush and that took a huge bite out of apologizing. 

"Sounds good," she said. "I'm glad we had this talk." 

"Me too." 

She bent down to scratch Frankie's a chin and presented him with a tempting view down her dress. He averted his eyes, determined to exercise the restraint he'd failed so royally to demonstrate the last time they were together. Truce or not, she'd better get up soon because a saint he wasn't. 

"Well, goodnight." Her practiced smile as she disappeared into her apartment was a carbon copy of the ones she'd offered many times before. 

In time he'd forget the way her face lit up when she smiled a genuine smile. If only she didn't live next door. 

***

Isabel Cortazar's unofficial bachelorette party began with a spa date that spanned an entire Saturday afternoon. They settled on the fourth of July weekend to accommodate her cousin and maid-of-honor, Rafaela Torres, whose baby was due a few weeks before the wedding. 

"I can barely keep up with non-pregnant people in a spa, can you picture me when I'm out to here?" she joked as her arms formed an oval the twins inside her tummy seemed intent on reaching. 

Since Rafi had become a familiar face over the course of several Christmases and birthday parties at the Cortazar home, Sascha took advantage of the time to get to know Isabel's college friends, Taryn Perrilloux and Sydney D'Alessio, better. In between manicures and outdoor massages, the party of five spent hours talking about current news, Hollywood gossip and inevitably, men. Choosing whether to put Lincoln Park After Dark or Ballet Slippers on their nails had been the biggest decision of the day. By the time they left the quaint bungalow to get ready for dinner, they'd been pampered from head to toe and happy to have been born women. 

The group reconvened at Saffron East, a trendy eatery Isabel had chosen because it offered a compromise for a celebration that included a mom-to-be: great food in a sexy nightclub setting—minus the need to shout over booming bass beats. Modern refinement and dramatic gestures were in the weathered, wide-planked floors and high-backed wing chairs that felt like mini sienna cocoons. Silk lanterns hung from the ceiling in various lengths, shapes and fiery shades. 

Their server, who could've been a beach-boy-next-door, returned to the table and surveyed the boisterous brunettes all dressed in red, except for Isabel, who wore ivory. "How is everything?" 

Sydney brought her napkin to her mouth and whispered to Sascha, "I swear, they must hire based on looks." 

"For real," Rafi agreed, her big black-brown eyes full of dismay. "I look like a heifer in an Abercrombie catalogue."

"No, you don't," Sydney said with an exasperated under-look as she surveyed Rafi, whose alabaster skin made her gamine features appear ethereal, "but you sure eat like one." 

Rafi wielded her fork like a sword. "Watch it, girl—I'm hormonal." 

Sydney slid the dessert plate they shared towards Rafi as a peace offering before addressing the waiter. "I'd like to see the manager."

Taryn and Isabel sent curious gazes from across the table while the curtain came down on his easy going friendliness. 

"Certainly. I'll have her come over right away. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Poor guy. The way he maintained his composure made Sascha want to put him out of his misery. From her own experience, she knew that hospitality workers didn't have it easy even on a good day. "Maybe you can answer a question," she said, her voice laced with laughter. "Some of us want to know if you're all hired based on looks," 

Hushed giggles flew around the table. Jason's face lit up even as he pretended to scowl at them. "Are you ladies trying to say I wasn't any good tonight?"

Rafi smirked. "Do you get that a lot?"

Taryn covered her nose and mouth with both hands while her lively hazel eyes widened with disbelief.

Sydney tipped her head to one side and pushed back a mass of sandy brown curls as big as her personality. "I find that hard to believe—" she made a point of reading his nametag—"Jason. I bet you're good—every night." 

All eyes locked on Sydney. A stunned quiet blanketed the table and gave way to a calypso of voices and clinking silverware. 

"Oh, no you didn't!" Taryn said in her lush, Savannah drawl, announcing the collective thought they all shared. 

Embarrassed chuckles erupted and the commotion drew inquiring eyes to their table.

Sascha said, "I guess you just figured out who's the bad one in the bunch."

"We can't take you anywhere," Rafi muttered with mock admonishment as she glanced over to Sydney.

Sydney leaned an elbow on the back of her chair and struck a confident, screen siren pose. "I like to make things interesting. You all had a good laugh," she pointed out then set her dark gaze on Jason's face. "And I saved you from having a typical night at work. A little 'thank you' would be nice." 

He winked at her. "Next time you come in, dessert's on me." 

"What an interesting proposition," Sascha added in a droll tone.

Sydney's head whipped around. Laughter rang out as she blinked, opened her mouth then closed it again, looking like a cartoon character. It was the funniest thing she'd done all day.

Jason eyed Sascha while he lifted Isabel's goblet and filled it with water. "Let me get this straight, she's the bad one?" He executed his task as though perfection would stop the color from rising to his cheeks. He failed adorably. 

"He likes you," Taryn gushed once he left their table. Sydney waved her off, saying that being flirtatious was just part of ensuring a good tip. But that didn't stop Rafi from daring her to leave her number on the bill.




Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 03



"What are you, my pimp?"

Sascha had a witty remark ready to go but the words died when she looked past Isabel's head. Noah Jameson was talking with the manager. She kept staring, partly out of the shock of seeing him here and mostly the shock of seeing him in a suit. He wore the navy ensemble as if he belonged in fine clothes. His lack of a tie hinted at his signature ruggedness. The beard had been gone for a while now and his hair had grown out. 

The conversation around her faded into a distant buzz when he dipped his head and mouthed, "Hello." Always polite. The observation made her smile back at him and with it came the familiar wisp of interest that stirred whenever he was near. 

In the last few weeks she'd begun to suspect and hope it wasn't all one sided. The rush of excitement she felt was so out of proportion with their exchange, it had to be silly. Oh, to find joy in small moments again. Silly is a sign of progress. 

The women were so engrossed in deciding Sydney's fate, Sascha's secret smile went unnoticed to them all—all except Isabel Cortazar.

* * *

"You know him?" It almost sounded like an accusation—one Sascha expected the instant Isabel's eyes skipped to Noah's table. Though friendly curiosity lit up her friend's angelic face, the flatness in her faint Brazilian accent rang loud in Sascha's mind. "What's the story?" 

She forced herself to maintain eye contact, aware that today's highlights would eventually reach Alex's ears. "He lives in my building," she replied, hoping her offhand delivery had deemed the information too trivial for further investigation. This had to be cosmic payback for the day at the bridal boutique when she'd let it "slip" that Ty had planned to take her to Universal Studios—something Alex had promised her but put off. 

Her vow to keep her friendship with Isabel separate from the breakup had been temporarily dwarfed by the urge to show Alex she could be okay without him. Over the weeks and months that passed she began to believe it for herself and the need to present a cheerful façade in front of Isabel, for his benefit, had faded. But the hollow feeling that she had just tampered with the truth was back, only there was no reason for it this time. 

Yet, she couldn't very well confess to her ex's sister that she'd hooked up with her neighbor, now could she? Her private life wasn't anybody's business and it wasn't as though she had cheated on Alex. 

So why did she feel...guilty? 

"He's good-looking." 

"Yes and you're getting married—eyes forward," Sascha said, not daring to look back as she tapped the crystal embellished headband Isabel wore as a tiara. Isabel wrinkled her nose in response. Alex used to do the same thing whenever he couldn't find an adequate rebuttal to something she'd said. 

"It doesn't hurt to look at the menu as long as I don't buy."

"Oh, I bet you'd just love it if Nate said that to you." 

The tilt of Isabel's head spoke volumes. "He knows better."

They caught up with Sydney, Taryn and Rafi then crossed the wooden bridge that separated the dining area from the lounge. Two massive Buddha heads sat in a shallow pool of water beneath it, flanking either side. The lounge itself was pure theatre. Chocolate-brown and pops of orange covered the low slung furniture made of leather and suede. Amber votives dotted the coffee tables like tiny sunsets while a well-dressed cast carried out various scenes. Conversation jumbled with laughter, buoyant and flirty, like the downtempo soundtrack playing in the background.

The bridal party settled on a pair of sofas along a wall of bamboo stalks. A round of martinis followed, with Taryn being first to raise her glass and say, "To love being better the second time around." 

They were all overcome by the moment as Isabel teared up and offered them a wobbly smile—or at least tried to. 

"I know it's your party and you can cry if you want to—but don't, okay? Hormones remember?" Rafi told Isabel, who wrinkled her nose and answered, "Okay, mama." 

"To the irony of drinking virgin when you aren't one," Rafi deadpanned while she dabbed the side of her nose. Laughter pealed out as their glasses clinked. 

Time drifted while they joked about Isabel's dramas and debated how to resolve them. The crowd had grown since a live band had taken the small stage near the dance floor. The music's jazzy dissonance had a folksy spirit mixed with enough pop to be infectious. Sascha's head and shoulders swayed with the piano-tinged drumbeat, pretending to be out there with the dancing couples until she sensed someone watching her. 

Noah. 

It seemed appropriate to wave and offer him an acknowledging smile, so she did. Per their truce, he responded in kind while he listened to the man next to him. She sipped her drink and returned her focus to the stage. 

Moments later, Sydney's deliberately knowing expression caught Sascha's attention. "Looks like we have company." 

***

A simple hello led to Isabel inviting Noah and his brother Rourke to join the group. While they all swapped stories about their night, the brothers explained they were there to support a friend, the band's lead singer. 

Noah reached across Sascha's lap to take Isabel's proudly offered left hand, a gesture that had become second nature. Only the Pope's ring had seen more action than that Asscher-cut diamond. He whistled as he inspected the ring, instantly charming Isabel. He cast Sascha a quick, roguish glance as if to let her know that had been his intention all along. 

"Does he realize he's going to have to keep this up?" 

He aimed Isabel's hand towards Rourke, granting Sascha a closer view of his watch. She frowned. From her days in Guest Services checking in business travelers and VIPs, she'd learned to spot the difference between a designer timepiece and one few people could afford. 

Rourke leaned in, his expression more kind than impressed. "He's set a high standard for himself." 

"I'm worth it," Isabel told him, with a diva-like tilt of her chin. 

The brothers shared a knowing look before Rourke grinned and said, "Those are the other three words that get a man into trouble every time."

While Noah seemed relaxed and open in getting to know her friends, his younger brother remained interested yet assessing. Still, Sascha sensed sweetness behind his reserve, a trait reminiscent of Ana. 

Unable to help it, she found herself cataloguing the vague differences between the siblings with hawkish green eyes. Dressed in a tan suit, Rourke—with his reddish-brown hair and taller, bigger build—didn't give off an air of mystery like Noah and had no break in his nose to give his face character. No, he was all about the strong jaw and perfect bone structure those Ralph Lauren ads touted. But the fact that he didn't automatically assume Taryn was flirting with him was what made him so attractive.

A few times when Sascha caught him watching her, he smiled his enigmatic smile, making her suspect that he knew she wasn't merely his brother's neighbor. Then she'd realize he was looking past her to the stage and wondered if she'd been projecting. 

Her suspicions rose again as he took special notice when Noah draped his arm on the backrest behind her. The mischief twinkling in his eyes made her want to hide her face before she sensed Noah's cut-it-out-man censure. Rourke countered it with an expression akin to an amused dare. 

She and Sage had owned that look throughout junior high when they'd shake down their older brother Leighton for chauffeur services in lieu of their silence about the times he and Deiah Guthrie did homework. In his bedroom...with the door closed. She had to turn away or risk a fit of giggles at how Noah was taking shit from his little brother.

Isabel leaned in conspiratorially. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she replied, unable to disguise her mirth, "just having a good time."

Rourke had focused on the stage again when Taryn said to him, "She's amazing, isn't she." 

Fallon Sharpe's bruised, quirky voice turned the piano melody into a moody lullaby, veering off to quiet places before it soared above the crowd, eliciting applause. Rourke's face softened with unabashed pride. "Yes, she really is." 

His gaze never faltered as if he couldn't miss a moment of Fallon's last song in the set. No wonder Taryn's attempts to ingratiate herself had failed; the man was lost for someone else. The open adoration on his face reminded Sascha of the months when everything she did and said had centered on seeing that look and feeling that love from Alex. Once in a while she believed she saw a flicker of something close, something that made her hang on and try harder. For what? She reigned in her thoughts, determined to savor every drop of goodness this night had to offer.

Once the band left the stage and club tunes took over, the men excused themselves from the group. 

Sydney elbowed Taryn before she cocked her head in Fallon and Rourke's direction. "Now that explains why you weren't getting anywhere."

Taryn pouted. "I think I liked it better when I thought he was gay." 

Sascha already knew what was coming when Sydney's sphinx-like eyes landed on her. "You and the other one had a lil something-something going."

Rafi's brows wiggled suggestively. "Maybe there'll be some Melrose Place action in Sascha's building."

If they only knew. 

The heat of embarrassment swept across Sascha's face and it got worse when Isabel bounced shoulders with her and said, "I don't think she'd mind."

Sascha raised her hands in surrender. "Are we going to sit here and rip on me or are we going to dance?"

Isabel, whose heritage included a love of music, revelry and friends, insisted they all take to the dance floor. And whatever Isabel wanted was law. That's how it would be from now until the wedding. 

Rafi gave a valiant effort but by the third song her energy wilted. Isabel took her home, insisting that the others stay and enjoy themselves. The remaining trio danced until the music slowed to a languid, couples' pace—their cue to head out. Sascha wove through the maze of paired-up bodies and got broadsided by a couple who must've thought they were on Dancing with the Stars. Too preoccupied with sending them a dirty look, she didn't see the next hit coming from behind. The forward momentum launched her to the edge of the dance floor where Noah stood mere few feet away.

She shrugged. Now that she'd escaped being turned into dance floor road-kill, the whole incident seemed funny. "It's kind of dangerous to be out here all alone," she joked as she neared him, intent on catching up with the girls.

He took her hand in his. "I'll be brave if you'll be brave. And I promise I'll try not to step on your feet."

Uncertain about what to do, she searched for Taryn and Sydney and found them shooing her on with sweeping hand motions as he led her back to dance floor.

"You're pretty good," she told him once they settled into an easy rhythm. He held her like a lady as they glided to the middle of the floor.

He drew back his head and his lips curled up. "Liar. I'm just smart enough to let you lead." 

He'd done the same thing that night in his apartment. She became more convinced of it each time she replayed it in her head.

"But that's not always your way."

"I try for balance. Taking control and letting go both feel good in their own way."

"It depends on who's letting go and who's taking control."

"Touché. It's a fine dance between responsibility and trust." His fingers pressed against her spine as if to emphasize his point. Was he asking her to trust him? The idea made her wary...because she wanted to believe.

"Like a game," she said flatly, wondering if that's what all this was.

His eyes shimmered with hot secrets as roamed her face. So intense. "You said you didn't like games." 

"But you didn't believe me."

"Maybe I want to." 

It must've been obvious that wasn't the answer she expected because his expression softened. He rested his cheek against her temple as if he wanted to soothe her, as if he needed it too.

His breath fanned her ear when he spoke again. "Do you remember what I told you?" God, he could make reading a postcard sound erotic.

This time it was Sascha who drew back her head. "You said a lot of things." And when they talked their trivial, neighborly talk she wondered if he'd meant them.

"Women have so much power," he said in a low tone as if the very idea turned him on. The pads of his fingers danced across the top of her hand; back and forth, back and forth, as if he'd concentrated his most fervent desires in the littlest touch. 

"A man can think about all the ways he wants to touch a woman. The way she'll look at him when he pleases her." His nose brushed hers yet he continued to hold her like a lady. "He can dream about kissing her and all the things he wants to do with her. But none of it can happen until she lets him." The dark anticipation in his voice set off an answering heat inside her.

His eyes were almost black in the half light. And he was waiting for her, just like he had before their first kiss. But where there was once cockiness, she now sensed doubt. His words hadn't been rehearsed; they were a confession and he seemed uncertain about her. 

For weeks she'd been left to wonder if that night had merely been the result of proximity and hormones. Did he think about her too? She felt brazen now that she had the answer to the last question. And when she touched her lips to his, his kiss told her everything. 

Noah made his decision the instant he heard Sascha's moan. Her laughter, her uninhibited joy as she danced with her friends, was that who she really was? And to think he'd once dismissed her as another part of his daily routine; someone he'd have to say hello to because she lived next door. 

But there was nothing routine in the way her tongue stroked his, the way she tugged his hair, deepening their kiss. Her taste rolled through him—just as good as he remembered. He wanted more of it, all of it. Yes, he was done pretending that watching her from afar would be enough, done pretending he didn't want to wake up to her scent on his sheets. Done pretending she didn't matter when he knew remaining indifferent shouldn't require so much effort.

The first word he heard when the kiss ended was his own name then, "We shouldn't do this." She sounded perfectly unconvinced as she licked his lower lip, the feather light touch made his body feel like stretched wire

"You're right. Not here." 

***

Her apartment was twenty feet closer but the condoms were over at his. Or so he hoped as he shut the door and backed Sascha against it. 

"Noah—" 

"Say it again," he mumbled against her neck. There'd be no confusion about who she was with tonight. He heard the smile in her voice when she whispered his name.

"I...mmm...before we go further, there's something I have to know."

"What?"

She sighed when he nuzzled her ear. "Are you...?" She pushed at his shoulders until they were face to face. "Are you seeing anyone?"

What?

"No," he answered truthfully. "I wouldn't have brought you here if I was." But her question had cracked the lid on old uncertainties. He had to know she if was with him all the way. "What about you?"

She turned all haughty princess on him, making him smile inside. Women.

"I wouldn't be here if I was." She drew his jacket closer around her shoulders and the corners of her mouth curved down. "Guess I just ruined the mood."

The disappointment in her voice pleased him yet her question spotlighted the absurdity of their situation: they were strangers—familiar strangers. Odd how she felt like neither and both at once. 

"It was a fair question."

He brought her hand to his lips and swept them across her knuckles. She reacted as though he hadn't done it countless times during their drive home. He remembered how she enjoyed being touched that first night; in fact she'd seemed starved for it. Tonight was no different. He made a mental note of it and tugged her closer.

"And no, you didn't ruin the mood."

She reached for his other hand. "Good, 'cause I think I'd kick myself if I had." Her unaffected candor was disarming and made him feel out of his depth. She wove her fingers around his and smiled as if she read him easily. "I think we zoomed past the point of being coy a while ago, don't you think?" 

He saw a hint of hesitation veiled beneath her humor. If he were any kind of gentleman, he would've asked her if she was sure about spending the night with him. He contemplated the words, he really did, but he just couldn't bring himself to say them. The twinge of self-reproach that came with it wasn't enough to turn him into a saint or a fool. 

"Where exactly was that?" He caught a whiff of the fragrance he remembered as he pressed a kiss on the inside of her wrist. "Here?"

His arm circled her waist when she shook her head.

Another kiss, this time inside her elbow. "No?"

"I think I better show you."

And did she ever. His whole body tensed as she cradled his face in her hands and brushed her mouth over his. She did it as though she had all the time in the world. Or maybe she too wanted to savor every little touch just in case. Unable to wait a second longer, Noah drew her closer, fitting her to him. "More," he rasped when the tip of her tongue flicked across the seam of his mouth. "Don't hold back."

Her kiss was a hot, wet, free fall into addiction. Every undulation of her hips matched the thrust of her tongue. He shuddered as his mind raced ahead to the moment they'd move together like this with him inside her. Her helpless whimpers when he squeezed her backside, made his cock ache. Still, he wasn't too far gone, he hadn't crossed the line.

When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes boring into hers. "Yeah, we're definitely past the point of being coy."

She licked her lips. "Show me."

His thoughts became murky; all centered around Sascha, all centered on having her at last. Bedroom. That's where they should go. His jacket fell onto the living room floor; the first buttons on her shirtdress came undone. Her nipples puckered under her bra as his thumbs stroked her. The longing would end soon. They would have the night they were supposed to have. Dress gone. Not enough light. He had to see her. He reached for the switch and froze. 

The line. 

There she stood in boyshorts and a bra—both red. No frills, no lace, just a rich red and lots of creamy almond skin. The tomboyish shorts and her slim curves were a sexy contradiction. He circled her, noting the faint striations along her torso, the length of her legs, the tempting swell of her ass. A dancer's body. This is what he'd missed out on the last time. Sascha turned as well, until they stalked each other like partners in a primal dance. She tensed briefly when he drew her back to his chest and pressed his erection against her.

"I can't decide whether I want to keep looking at you or if I want you naked," he admitted as his fingers contemplated the hooks on the back of her bra. 

As much as he fantasized about taking her from behind so he could watch his cock slide in and out of her, he had to see her face their first time. He would look in her eyes the instant he penetrated her and catch every expression as she submitted to him, knowing she was about to be fucked...by him. He had to see it. 

She pivoted in his arms, her brown eyes lusty and shy as they met his. "We should get rid of some of your clothes while you decide." 

He offered himself up gladly, eager to feel her hands on his skin and doubtful he could remain still as she tugged his shirt out of his pants. With her mouth to his neck, her teeth grazed his pulse again and again. His hand fisted her hair, guiding her down the line of his newly exposed skin. He groaned, getting harder for her when her warm mouth closed on his unpierced nipple. Imagine when she did it on the other side. The line.




Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 04



"Who hurt you?" Noah repeated as he handed her his shirt. He sat at the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on her. His body had taken on an eerie calm, as if he were bracing to absorb a blow or poised to unleash one. 

"It wasn't like that," Sascha rushed to explain, fumbling with buttons. "It's not what you're thinking." 

He relaxed but his expression remained stark. "Then what just happened?" The mix of judgment and concern in his voice was the reason why she'd never told a soul, not even Ana, every detail of what had happened the last time she visited Alex's apartment. 

How could she risk anyone defining their relationship by a drunken mistake that otherwise never would've happened—one she knew Alex regretted? As long as she kept that night a secret, one moment wouldn't stain the good years they'd had. But her protective silence wasn't an option anymore. She couldn't allow Noah to cast Alex as a monster and her the helpless little victim. 

"You've heard about the accident Robin Montgomery went to jail for, right?" 

He hesitated then said, "What does that have to do with—?" 

"I was in the car she hit. The boy that died..." With the words came flashes of Ana begging her not to look at Jaime. "He was my ex-boyfriend's brother." 

Noah sat upright.

She explained how the wrongful death suit had revived Alex's guilt and exposed the hidden resentment between him and his parents. Then she told him about the day that would've marked Jaime's twenty-first birthday. 

"It was one thing to suspect that his father blamed him all along but knowing for sure was different—it broke him." 

Her voice cracked under the strain of remembering Alex's grief but she didn't try to temper it. She needed for Noah to understand yet she knew he never truly could.

"I hadn't seen him like that since the night of the accident." The two police officers who tried to pry Alex from cradling Jaime gave up after their first half-hearted attempts. One turned away in tears while Alex kept the almost decapitated head in place. He'd gone hoarse screaming his brother's name as if it could bring him back. 

"People talk about closure but there's never closure," she said in a derisive tone. Finally, after being as discrete as she could about her last time with Alex, she ended with, "He'd never been rough with me, not once—the opposite actually. And it never would've happened if he weren't drinking."

Noah couldn't sit still any longer. "The point is it never should've happened at all," he said while he pulled on his trousers.

The vanilla descriptions intended to neutralize hostile acts, the adamant defense and back story weren't new. His mother had done the same thing whenever Hugh had flown into his tirades. She'd painted him as a troubled hero, often misunderstood and overburdened by his work as a vice detective. 

The ghost of sadness that haunted Sascha's face wouldn't affect him. He wouldn't imagine how it would feel to lose his brother on his watch, knowing he'd failed to do what older brothers were supposed to do: protect. He wouldn't let empathy reel him into the grey zone where what had been plainly wrong transformed into something unfortunate, a 'mistake' as she called it. That line of thinking let the Hugh Riavos of this world off the hook. It's what they preyed upon. 

"He didn't mean for it to happen," she insisted. 

Ah, the famous words. They hardened his resolve, reminding him that she'd dusted off the same old script and replaced the cop with the accident victim. It was all black and white from now on.

"What he meant doesn't matter."

Her chin came up. "It does to me!" Her misplaced loyalty infuriated him. 

"Right. And I bet he was all choked up and apologetic but that didn't stop you from freaking out just now, did it?" 

It struck him how small she was—no match for a man loaded on alcoholic aggression. How scared had she been that night?

"It was just...it's been a long time and you're the first..." Sascha buttoned her mouth. Too much information. And worse, Noah made her revisit things she didn't want to. Like the fact that while on an intellectual level she believed Alex would never willfully hurt her, her deeper instincts doubted him. As much as he'd expressed his regret afterwards, there'd been a moment when he'd needed for her to feel his pain. And if she hadn't been safe with the man she'd trusted then why surrender herself to a stranger? 

But the pull was there. And she often led with her heart. 

"I better go," she said as she got up and searched the floor for her clothes.

"You don't have to." He reached for her hand. "Stay." 

"Look, I don't want your pity."

"That's the last thing I feel right now." 

Sascha studied him. No, she didn't doubt that he'd relish the chance to punish Alex. After devoting the better part of last year to someone else's needs, a man now stood ready to defend her and she found she liked it. A lot. 

Any chance of dismissing him as the hot neighbor flew out the window. And to top it off, the way he was looking at her... The pull was there, stronger now. And her gypsy heart wanted more...more of everything with him.

"You mean you'd still want to?" 

He shook his head. "It's not a good idea—not tonight." 

"I understand." No she didn't but she had to focus on making a graceful exit.

Noah caught her hand and tugged her closer. She looked like a kid at Christmas doing her best to pretend it was alright she hadn't gotten her biggest wish—him. And he'd never been more flattered.

"Believe me, I want to," he admitted while he stroked her back. The hope he'd heard in her voice made him long to tumble back into bed and show her just how much, again and again. "But you've had enough drama for one night." 

She drew back, her pretty brown eyes full of disbelief. "You still want me to stay even though we're not going to do anything?"

"I didn't say that." 

Sascha quirked a brow.

He ran his thumb across her lower lip. "See, I might want to kiss you here." His fingers followed the path his eyes led down her neck. "And here," he murmured as he grazed the soft material to reach her breast. He smiled when she arched into his palm and he felt the rising proof she wasn't afraid of him. "And a few other places too." 

"I might want to kiss you ba—"

She sighed at the first velvet stroke of his tongue against hers. The light licks at her upper lip made her hot, the gentle nips at the lower one left her giddy. 

"Kiss me...harder." She didn't wait for his compliance, she couldn't. She rose on her tiptoes, eager to touch her mouth to his again. He remained still for one ragged breath before he kissed her slowly. The only sign of the effort it cost him to be gentle was the feel of his fingers grazing her nape while he fisted her hair. This beautiful man was doing his best to make her feel safe with him. His restraint emboldened her.

"Don't hold back," she whispered before she took his mouth. 

Their kiss turned more erotic with every swirl of his tongue around hers. They fell into a rhythm, teasing, tasting, playing. Her eyes drifted shut as his taste drifted through her senses. Thoughts spun away. Latent desire flared to life as his hands molded her to the hard lines of his body. She rocked against him, trying to soothe the steady pulse of arousal between her legs. As close as they were, it wasn't enough. He felt so good. She must've told him so when they broke apart because he said, "You too," as his mouth glanced down her neck to her collarbone. She clutched his shoulders when she realized his intent. He'd promised to kiss her in several places. Did he mean...?

She was caught between imagining what was to come and the wait. The hot, sweet waiting as his fingers undid a button, as his breath fanned her nipple. Then came the first flick of his tongue. 

"Please...harder."

He released the stiff peak and rubbed his face over her chest in that gentle-rough way she'd started to love. Her fingers sifted his hair, holding him to her as the soft scratch of stubble sent shivers over her skin. 

"Noah! Oh, my—" The gentle scrape of teeth on her nipple followed the warm tug of his mouth, took her words.

"You like that," he rumbled, sounding confident and pleased as his thumb dragged across its aching twin. "Tell me." 

"I-I like it. Do it again."

Soon they were stumbling over clothes, kicking them away, kissing skin, stumbling again, and laughing as they fell onto the bed. Sascha felt light and free and happy. If fate intended this night with him to be a fleeting gift, she'd take it.

"Noah?" The trace of hesitation in her voice made him pause as he worked on a button. When he looked down at her he sensed she was about to say something he wouldn't like. 

She rested her hand on his. "Is this a one-time deal?" He tensed. "It's okay if it is."

This could get complicated. Fast. It didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out she wasn't fuck-buddy material. And even if he did make time for her, the odds were stacked that she was rebounding. Plus she lived next door. This was an open and shut case.

But there was one problem. 

They weren't sitting at a table, or dancing at a club or outside his doorstep. No, she was in his bed, all soft and eager and dressed in his shirt. This was complicated.

"I hadn't thought that far ahead."

She laced her fingers through his. "But if you did?"

He surprised them both by admitting, "I don't know if one time would be enough." 

She brought his hand to her breast. "Maybe we could take it one step at a time and see? I'm not asking for any promises. Just that we be honest with each other." 

Complicated, complicated. Still, he wanted her above anything else, consequences be damned. So much for the voice of reason.

"One step at a time," he repeated as he cupped her. A perfect fit.

Anticipation roared in her veins as he undid the last button and opened the shirt. They'd been so caught up in each other before there'd been no time to feel shy. Now she lay bare beneath his deliberate gaze. She adjusted the shirt near her right hip as an inventory of flaws played in her head. If only the angels had gone for an even distribution of curves instead of consolidating everything in the back.

"It's going to be lots of fun finding out what you like," he said as his hand swept between her breasts and down the line of her stomach.

She touched his jaw. "I liked your beard." 

"Yeah?" She nodded and let her fingers fall over his skin down to his piercing. 

"And I'm going to find out what you like," she promised when he leaned into her hand. 

"Something tells me you'll be very good at it." 

His mouth touched hers just as his palm covered her sex. The dual assault began with light, inquisitive strokes that became bolder then deeper. Soon he had her, writhing, getting wetter, and edging closer. Their labored breaths replaced the soft, wet smack of the ended kiss while Noah strummed her with his clever fingers.

A wicked grin played over his mouth. "Not yet."

Sascha frowned. Alarm sliced through the sensual fog around her as she realized his intent. He'd already slid to the floor and was on his knees before she could stop him. She swallowed at the sight of him there. 

"Noah, wait—" She barely got the words out before he grasped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the bed. She stiffened when his thumb brushed over the raised, jagged scar on her right hip.

"It's from the accident," she explained, addressing the question she read on his face. There'd never been a need to talk about it before. The only people who'd seen her scar were the ER doctor who'd tended to her and Alex. She rarely studied it and hoped Noah would move on.

A dark look crossed his face. "Were you hurt badly?"

"No." Not on the outside. "It looks much worse than it was."

He traced the scar and he kissed it. "You're perfect." Her heart winced. His tender expression was too much to bear. "Hey." He waited for her to look at him again. "I mean it. This," he said while he smoothed her hip, "this shows you're a survivor." And just like that an invisible weight lightened.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." He caught hold of her knees and lifted them apart. "Now where were we?"

Anticipation skated over her skin at the thought of his mouth on her yet she forced herself to say, "You don't have to—"

"I know." Even his smile said so. "I want to."

Apprehension and excitement warred with each other as he draped her leg over his arm. "Please..."

His brows furrowed. "You don't like this?"

It was on the tip of her tongue to lie as she sat up on her elbows. Yes, she'd enjoyed this intimacy. But that was before she sensed Alex hadn't. She never asked him if it had been the act itself or something about her that turned him off. He was too kind to ever admit to either one. 

After her gentle refusals, Alex stopped his offers of oral pleasure. It was just as well since the idea he'd only done it out of obligation had robbed her of any enjoyment she'd have gotten. 

But just this once. 

What if Noah didn't like her taste? Was he one of those men who preferred his women completely bare? 

A rising sense of dread lodged in her throat before she spoke. "It's fine, you don't—"

He bent his head. Her eyes went wide. He'd misunderstood! She let out a frightened whimper as he kissed his way up her inner thigh but her mouth couldn't form the words to protest. 

He eased her leg over his shoulder. "Ssh. Only this, I promise."

She jerked when he nuzzled her curls then parted her slick flesh. This was really happening! Even as she watched him do it, his tongue's first butterfly touch stole her breath. Then his mouth settled in. 

Sascha sagged onto the bed and came apart. 

He held her steady, making sure he tasted every bit of her pleasure while she bucked and thrashed about. She was still coming down when he finally raised his head. He proudly surveyed the evidence of a job well done. Mascara smeared the inside corners of her eyes. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were stained cinnamon. Unable to resist, he blew air along her slit just to see her react. She shuddered, gasped then sighed. What a beautiful, beautiful mess. 

And he hadn't even started with her.

She watched with dazed eyes as he lifted her leg off his shoulder. "You're welcome." 

He expected her to hit him with a dose of sarcasm or maybe even blush. Instead she studied him with an inscrutable gaze as she drew her knees together. 

"Thank you." Her voice was low and scratchy with satisfaction and something else he couldn't name. He wasn't sure what was going on in that mind of hers but he'd have her attention—all of it and soon.

"My aunt started teaching a tantric sex workshop while I was in high school," he began and sure enough, she sat up, holding the shirt panels together with one hand. "I thought it was kooky stuff at first but senior year, my curiosity got the better of me and I borrowed some of her books."

"She let you do that?" Even today, Sascha could never imagine her parents offering a sex book and saying, "have at it", much less in high school.

He paused, his eyes full of mischief. "Maybe borrowed was too strong a word." She laughed and shook her head. Yes, she easily pictured him as a precocious hell-raiser. He probably had that bad-boy grin back then.

"Everything I read about the different kinds of orgasms a woman could have and refractory periods and how to push the pleasure threshold made it sound like you had to be an engineer in order to get a woman to come." He spoke as if they were longtime friends catching up at a coffee shop. And oddly enough, she felt...comfortable—sort of. 

"It took a while to figure it all out but the payoff was worth it," he said in a low, playful tone that didn't match his gaze. Those green eyes were all business. The hands that had smoothed her thighs in slow circles now nudged her knees apart.

"Open for me." His gruff command sent a rush of heat across her skin. When did bossiness become so sexy?

"It's too soon," she reasoned even as she parted her thighs. 

"Not for this." He dropped a kiss above her knee then grabbed her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed. 

"Or this." His teeth raked the shell of her ear, making her squirm and gasp with delight. "I love the sounds you make." The smile she heard in his voice sent her feminine pride soaring.

"You do?" 

He cradled her face. "Uh-hmm." She'd pleased him. And she had plans, big sexy plans for this man.

He was still nodding when he fit his mouth to hers. Startled by her own taste, Sascha let out a muffled gasp. Noah took full advantage, his hands holding her in place while he deepened the kiss. It was carnal and decadent and forbidden. Everything she'd longed for but never expected to have, was right here. She cupped his face and kissed him back, returning his ardor. Tonight she would go wherever this need led her.

"Lie down." 

He traced her clavicle with reverent fingers, his eyes following the movement as if he were mesmerized. His lips followed. She knew what was to come the instant he focused on her breasts and arched up when his fingertips neared her nipple. 

Eager for another taste of her, Noah lowered his head and took the little brown peak into his mouth. He cupped her other breast, testing its softness and weight before he circled it with his tongue. Her fingers tangled in his hair and pressed him closer as she writhed. He could easily become addicted to her body and the way she responded with those halting breaths and tight moans, letting him know exactly what she liked. He dropped a kiss above her heart before he caressed, kissed and licked his way south. 

Her head rolled from side to side as he circled her navel with light, teasing nips before his tongue dipped in. This time when he pushed her thighs apart, she gave herself over to him without hesitation. He stared at her and thought back to the countless times he fantasized about having her like this on his sheets. The reality put his best imaginings to shame.

He bent his head and drew in her earthy scent as he brushed over the top of her trim curls. Now he knew how she liked to be touched, he'd take his time and savor her.

"Do it."

His head snapped up. Her show of fire made his cock press against his pants. He'd always craved a woman who demanded he win his mastery of her.

"Do what?" he asked while his thumb danced along her slick seam.

"Kiss me," she whispered. Her impatience made her bold. 

"I've wanted to for a long time." 

"Yes... right there." His breath melted her as his fingers opened her for his kiss. Softness. Warmth. Suction. Bliss.

Sascha touched him wherever she could, his shoulders, his back, always returning to his hair. When he groaned against her clit the sound vibrated through her like waves. His fingers sought the pleasure inside her, making her buck and twist as she climbed up and up. Meanwhile his tongue licked her into a carnal frenzy. Praise fell from her lips in broken words and soft sounds. She reached for the hand sweeping across her stomach and held on. That's when she saw the image in the mirror above his dresser: Noah's blonde head between her thighs, his shoulder muscles flexing beneath his tattoo. 

She felt every twist of his head, every sway of his fingers while she watched him feast on her. She saw her back arch off the bed as pleasure lapped at her. It was the most erotic, decadent experience. And still she was climbing. Hot sensation gathered, coiling deep within her. He kept pushing her to a slow build that was picking up speed. She fisted the sheets as her climax drew in, pulsing, gaining intensity. Up and up she went.

She called out his name on a hushed plea, unsure if she needed him to stop or wanted him to continue. Her climax came in relentless waves, rippling through her in one aftershock after another. Yet he wouldn't relent. How much pleasure could a body take?  




Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 04



And then she found out.

She grabbed a pillow and poured every remaining sound she had into it.

Certain he'd wrung every drop of pleasure out of her, Noah withdrew his fingers from her snug sheath. Sascha was so far gone now, she'd let him do whatever he wanted. And he wanted nothing more than to feel her flesh clasp his cock the way she'd done with his fingers. He tugged the pillow from her but she held on. The gesture stirred something between amusement and tenderness inside him. 

"Are you going to hide under there forever?"

She peeked at him, mumbled, "Uh-hmm" and pulled the pillow over her head again. Too cute. But he had to see her face when he slid into her. 

He grabbed it from her and tossed it aside once he got up. Her eyes were heavy lidded as she slowly rose up on her elbows and scooted back to the middle of the bed, releasing him from his promise. She knew he was about to fuck her and she accepted it. He reached for the zipper but what he read on her face wasn't enough. 

He knew exactly what he wanted. That wouldn't change come daybreak. But was Sascha coasting along, caught up in the heat of their attraction just like the last time? Would she be wary of him tomorrow too? 

She drew in her lower lip, the gesture brief and unconscious. Hell, she looked wary right now. Willing but wary. That wasn't good enough. Besides, he'd given her his word. She might not know it yet but that counted for something. As much as he ached to feel her under him, his pleasure wouldn't come at the expense of her trust. He was nothing like her ex. 

That's what he told himself as he tried to coax away the demands of his hard-on and the disappointment of not taking what he wanted. He imagined he'd be cursing himself tomorrow for passing this up. Ah, fuck. He already was. 

"Don't you want...what about you?" she asked as he fished out a pair of shorts from the dresser. No way could he chance sleeping naked with her. As if he'd sleep a wink. What had he been thinking when he invited her to spend the night?

Their eyes met in the mirror.

"Come here," she said, sounding bossy and shy at once. He met her at the side of the bed where she knelt.

"I promised you I wouldn't—" The feel of her hand stroking, the soft abrasion of his trousers against his cock banished all thought. Urges wracked his body but doubt met up with the last of his willpower. He caught her wrist. "You don't have to do this."  

"But you want me to." 

He couldn't deny it but he didn't want her doing this for the sake of a fair trade. "That's not—"

"And I want to. Isn't that the point?" she asked, her eyes full of mischief as she slowly unzipped him. His heart beat drummed louder with each parting of those metal teeth. She looked up at him with a vixen smile. "Relax. I promise I won't compromise your virtue."

"Just like high school, huh?"

"My high school years were very uneventful. My dad was the principal so none of the boys would dare look at me."

"Really? Getting into trouble with the principal's daughter sounds kind of hot." 

She chuckled. "I think the threat of expulsion took care of that."

"I have a feeling—" he inhaled when his trousers fell in a pool around his ankles, shackling him "—you were worth it." 

The principal's daughter proved him right as her hesitant fingers closed around his shaft.

"This would've definitely been worth getting expelled for."

***

There was no place like the Balthazar Luxe's Meeting Services offices on a Wednesday afternoon. Around two o'clock, with lunch over and deadlines looming, the energy always turned frenetic. A symphony of ringing phones rang and buzzing voices filled the air, questions and answers and footsteps crowded the hallways. Hands were never without paper. 

Sascha handed Helena a conference itinerary to fax out for a client's confirmation just as Liya stomped past them. 

She peeked in Liya's office in time to see her slam the file drawer with enough force that an inquisitive hush fell over the department. The frenzy resumed a heartbeat later. 

"What's up?"

"Oh, take a guess." Balty.

"Your friend Isabel and her fiancé came in for the tasting," Liya began, surprising Sascha with the information. Strange that Isabel hadn't called as she'd said. "Anyway we're in the middle of the walk-through before Gary gets there and she asks me about the possibility of switching back to ballroom two because there might be additions to the guest list." 

"Okay?"

"I had the schedule with me, so I knew right off that if we moved her to two, there'd only be an hour to turn the room over. So I explained to her that it might not be feasible because of the meeting booked in the same room. Before I could tell her I'd look into it and see what could be done, the Ogre walks in and pulls me outside."

"Sascha, he completely went off on me, saying how I was discouraging an up-sale, that I had no business sense and that I didn't know how to deal with clients." 

Sascha winced.

"Oh, that's not even the worst part," Liya said with a wave of her hand. "Gary came down just as this was happening and heard every word. I've never been more humiliated."

"I'm so sorry."

Liya paced behind her desk with her palm to her forehead. The weight of her frustration carried in her voice as she said, "I don't know how much longer I can take this. I work my ass off everyday—everyday! I might as well not bother at all."

"You're doing great, everybody sees it and I know next quarter he'll tell you so himself."

Liya's body language wilted in defeat as she folded her arms. "I don't think I'll be here that long. I'm tired of walking around all day with my stomach in knots." This wasn't the first time she'd talked about quitting, but she'd never sounded this resigned or resolute.

"C'mon, you can't mean that!"

A knock on the opened door startled them. The look on Liya's face announced their visitor well before Sascha turned and saw Gavin Balthazar in the doorway, tall and imposing, his dark eyes calculating.

"We need to talk." 

Every molecule in the small office changed after he said the dreaded words. 

"Is Isabel still here?" Sascha asked Liya before she turned to leave.

"She should be."

"Shut the door on the way out," Balty said without sparing a glance Sascha's way. He wouldn't have lasted a week in Guest Services with those people skills. She sent Liya a sympathetic look and pursed her lips at her boss' back before she headed downstairs.

Isabel and her fiancé Nate Walkenshaw were sampling a lobster dish when Sascha walked into the ballroom.

"How's everything going?" she asked after greeting them and Gary, who worked in catering. 

"Everything else about this wedding should be as easy as this," Nate told her. It was one of the rare occasions when he spoke about anything wedding related or that Isabel let him. 

"I would've come down sooner if I'd known you were here," she said in a casual tone that didn't jive with her sense that something was off.

"It's been such a crazy day," Isabel complained, her hands all aflutter but a chilliness remained. "It wasn't until after we got here that I remembered I didn't call you. I'm sorry thought Liya would tell you." Nate's cherubic face remained curiously neutral. 

After a few minutes of polite conversation, Sascha explained she had phone calls to make and excused herself. She'd neared the elevator when Isabel called after her.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about if you have time."

"Is something wrong?" Sascha asked as they walked to the alcove near the guest phones. Tabloid reports had surfaced about the details of Isabel's lavish wedding. With the trial date looming, the Montgomery PR machine had obviously gone on the offensive by cloaking the Cortazar name in greed. 

Isabel squeezed her nape as if the pressures of media criticism and orchestrating a fairytale wedding now resided beneath her ponytail. "No, ah...not really," she said, her throaty accent more pronounced. "I hope you're not bringing anyone to the wedding. You know it wouldn't be appropriate." 

Completely broadsided by the declaration, Sascha blinked then blinked again. So the frosty reception had been about the fact that she'd gone home with Noah. No doubt Sydney and Taryn would've filled in Isabel on the details of what had happened once she'd left with Rafi. That they all assumed she'd slept with a stranger, embarrassed Sascha. Sure she expected a little flak but never this kind of reaction, especially from Isabel. Not when she'd teased Sascha about him.

"If you're talking about a date, no I wasn't planning on bringing one," she replied in a clipped tone.

"I don't want things to be awkward for Alex, I hope you understand," Isabel backpedaled, sensing she'd crossed the line. "We already have so many problems already, I don't want to have to worry about the two of you on my wedding day." 

Sascha took a breath, resenting the guilt tactics and having to cow to the it's-my-wedding-day rule. "Alex and I broke up six months ago, okay? And it wasn't all my idea, so if I decide I want to bring a date to your wedding, that's my prerogative." 

Isabel opened her mouth. 

With a hand raised in warning, Sascha cut her off. "But I'm not going to because your wedding should be about you and Nate, and I respect that."

"I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean to offend you but Alex still loves you and I know he'll be thinking that it should be the two of you." Isabel touched her arm and added gently, "Don't tell me you won't be thinking the same thing." 

Sascha couldn't hear this right now, couldn't take Isabel exhuming old dreams. It hurt too much to picture the day she'd be standing across the aisle from Alex. Just not the way she'd envisioned.

"If he really wanted us to be together then we would be." The truth stung even after all these months.

"That doesn't mean he doesn't love you. He still does. Don't give up. Look at Nate and me."

She swallowed the coppery taste of loss and disappointment. "It doesn't work out that way for everybody. Believe me, we tried." No, I tried. That was the part that still needled at her. The wondering what the outcome would've been if Alex had met her halfway instead of giving up as though they weren't worth fighting for. As if she wasn't worth fighting for. "I'll always care about him but it's time to let go and move on," she said, hoping Isabel would take the hint and drop the topic. For good.

"Don't throw away a chance to get back together over a random hook-up. It's not worth it just because you're feeling lonely." 

Oh, no she didn't! Sascha prayed and counted, counted then prayed for an extra dose of patience but the patronizing snipe reverberated in her head. "I didn't throw away anything! And it wasn't a random hook-up. It wasn't the first time and it won't be the last."

Isabel's eyes went wide but Sascha's little victory fell short. Judging by Isabel's hard expression she'd just lost her good-girl halo. 

"I hope you know what you're doing." Did she?

"My boss knows I'm down here, I better go." 

Isabel turned, seeming just as eager to part ways. "Sascha?" She hesitated then said, "Be careful."

It took the rest of the afternoon to recover from the conversation. She did her best to keep the shifting storm of emotions at bay but her mind zeroed in on the fact that another Cortazar had cast her aside, judging her as if the years of friendship suddenly stood for nothing. And it stung. Why was she evil for not waiting for Alex to come around?

By the time she left the office, a feeling of injustice had given birth to a new resolve. If she was going to suffer the penalty she might as well commit the transgression. No more dancing within the lines of propriety and wondering if she'd ever taste the passion everybody else gorged on every day. No more hesitating about Noah.

He was just what she needed right now. Love and a new boyfriend would come... eventually. But what a relief to not have to unearth a magical ratio of smarts, sex appeal and humor to prove she was worthy of his attention. He'd made it clear he wanted her but wouldn't make a move until she invited him to. Tonight she would.

A spirit of adventure carried her home and propelled her to leave him a mysterious phone message, one that made him call back right away. She darted around with a six-pack of cleaning products, music on while she cleaned an already pristine apartment. She set out candles then removed them—he might find a candlelit bedroom too heavy handed. Then it hit her. She was taking a lover. The more she thought about it the more her excitement grew. Look out world. Sascha Davis was making her comeback!

***

This had to be the most amazing Aussie kiss ever. Slow and wet and lots of swirling tongue. "Ah, yes," Noah breathed while he fisted Sascha's hair and guided her head. "Take it deeper." His body arched into a bow, offering her more of his shaft. The pleasure was almost too good to bear. 

She released him from her mouth with a wet, naughty pop. "Did you bring condoms?" 

His cock lurched. 

Sascha kissed the tip and laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."

Before his feverish brain formed its next thought, she eased back to the middle of the bed and spread her legs in blatant invitation. He swallowed at the sight. No, their high school sex wouldn't be enough tonight. The need to be closer burned too hot. But he had to go slow with her. He was determined to stamp out every touch that came before his. 

The first time with someone always felt like a dive into the unknown—that was part of the excitement; the feeling of discovery, learning how to fit with and pleasure an unfamiliar body. But not since he'd fumbled around with his first girlfriend had Noah felt this nervous. He wanted to make this a night she'd long to have again. The look on her face told him she believed he would.

He felt her gaze on him while he fished a pair of condoms out of his pants pocket. He'd put them there, hoping her invitation would lead to this. Her brows knitted together when he tucked a packet under the pillow behind her. 

"Have to make sure you're ready," he said as he knelt between her legs. The words hit her like an aphrodisiac, making her hungry for the moment when he joined her at last.

"I am." She gasped when his palm covered her sex. His touch felt possessive. 

"Almost." One then two fingers slid inside her. She bit her lip. Her body was responding as if she hadn't climaxed on those very digits earlier. "See?" he rasped while his other fingers circled her clit. "You're getting wetter." 

Pleasure unfurled in long, lazy ribbons. She sagged onto her elbows then finally onto the pillow. Her knees fell open and she surrendered to the inevitable. 

"Now that I've got your attention, we should go over some ground rules." 

Sascha blinked, "You want to talk now?" To her surprise he nodded as his fingers curled back and forth within her. "Wha-what are ...the rules?" She'd agree to anything just to get more of that delicious friction.

"They're simple. One: If you like something, you let me know. If you don't like something, you let me know."

She squirmed against his hand. "Oh-kay," she said on a rushed breath as he gave her what she craved. "Two..." His green eyes bored into hers. "No faking. Ever." That one hit close to home. "Good sex is more than you coming with me inside you." Coming with me inside you. Her mind latched onto the images his words conjured. She felt restless and hot and tingly. She needed to feel his skin rubbing against hers, needed to feel him moving within her.

"Do we understand each other?" It sounded more like a command than a question.

"Yes. I have a rule too." She reached for the packet beneath the pillow and grinned. "Enough with the talking!"

He pressed his smile to hers, laughter rumbling in his throat before he declared, "Whatever the lady wants."

"The lady wants this," she said as she helped him roll the latex sheath over his shaft. 

"Does she now?" He had her on her back and was nestled between her thighs before she answered. She resorted to a quick nod as he settled over her, his elbows near her head. Remembering their last time, Sascha reached down and rubbed the tip of his cock near her entrance. 

She cried out his name and shuddered at the feel of his shaft sliding over her slick heat. Like pieces of a puzzle eager to join, they fell into alignment once, twice, three times. By the third time Noah anchored her hip to the mattress, keeping her in place. The head nudged forward then slipped inside her. At last. 

She took a sharp breath and waited for his first thrust. He rocked over her in small, steady motions instead. With every withdrawal, her fingers clutched his back, a silent plea for the return that would bring him a little deeper inside her.

"Breathe," he whispered as her body slowly yielded to his penetration. Until he said it, she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath. Her mind had succumbed to the sensory overload of being pressed into the mattress, his stomach brushing hers, and those green eyes holding hers. He pushed deep then deeper still, stretching her as they joined. The fit was so close she gasped. 

"Easy. Try to relax." 

He forced himself to stay calm as he settled within her. She jerked but didn't look away. Suddenly he understood. Sascha was working withhim. Sweat beaded his skin. He felt her writhing beneath him, trying to get all of him inside her. 

"Rock your hips up—yes!" 

He fisted the pillow and mentally recited the skeletal system as her softness slid along his shaft. She felt so good around him. Too good. 

Intent on giving her time to accept him, he turned his attention to her right breast. Truth was he needed the distraction while he adjusted to the feel her. The gentle rake of her nails across his scalp, neck and shoulders were a sweet torment.

His tongue flicked her nipple before he suckled her. He barely heard her call his name. "Hmm?"

"Do something!" 

He released the tempting little peak from his mouth and smiled down at her.

"I am doing something." He lowered his head to her left breast and drew her into his mouth. She took a sharp inhale and twisted under him.

"See?"

"I can't believe you're teasing me now." Seeing her flustered like this was sort of cute. And hot.

"Not teasing—pleasing." He kissed the valley between her breasts. "There's a difference."

"I need—"

"A little more friction?" She blushed.

"You're bad!"

His lips curled. "Oh, you have no idea." 

Sascha felt like captured prey. And no other woman craved her entrapment more. He swiveled his hips, setting off ripples of sensation as his cock stirred within her. "Does it feel like I'm teasing you?"

"Yes...no," she breathed as he moved in a series of quick, shallow strokes followed by a long drive. He seemed to follow a deliberate rhythm, with those deep thrusts gradually replacing the shorter ones. Her head thrashed about the pillow. Each little pump left her eager to have him deep again. Every relentless stroke sent him sliding across deliciously sensitive nerves. 

"Noah... good...so—oh!"

She was caught in a maelstrom of building sensation. Her eyes fluttered shut. 

"No, look at me." 

Sascha found him studying her as if he had to understand everything about her in one gaze. She'd been stripped bare and thrown in the path of a force much greater than she'd ever known. But if she held his gaze, somehow she could match it. 

The determination she read in his face was daunting. But something flickered beneath the surface, something that made her brave. Vulnerability. He wanted her to enjoy being with him, enjoy what they were doing together but he wasn't sure she would. Eager to reassure him, Sascha pressed her lips to his neck, tasted the salt on his jaw then kissed the corner of his mouth. He rose up on his arms. That was the moment she let herself fall into the fire.




Cherry Blossom Girl Ch. 04



***

The slow, sweet pace Noah intended turned desperate the instant they rolled across the bed and ended with Sascha straddling him. She rode him tentatively at first but her arcing movements grew faster and sharper as he praised her. The sight of swaying breasts and rolling hips mesmerized him. She planted one hand behind her on his leg while her other hand slid down her bronzed body. This was pure fantasy.

"Touch yourself," he rasped when he realized her intent.

Instead she brought his hand to where they were joined. 

"You do it. Again!" she cried while she writhed against his fingers. 

Feeling her glide down his length as she repeatedly impaled herself threatened to slash away the tethers on his self-control. He gripped her backside, encouraging the very rhythm that had him covered in sweat.

She slumped forward and fisted the sheet, her back arched like a cat as tremors wracked her body. Those tight, breathy sounds he had to strain to hear reached him in a way the cheerleader squeals of old hadn't. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pistoned into her with quick, measured strokes, doing everything he could to draw out her pleasure. Pride flooded his veins as her flesh spasmed around his shaft.

"I'm sorry," she whispered between whooshes of air then sagged onto his chest. Still, her hips pumped against his as if her body demanded every bit of pleasure he had to offer.

After a weak chuckle, he asked, "What for?" His fingers traveled down her spine while he waited for her to elaborate. 

"So tired." She raised her head and peered up at him with sleepy brown eyes. "And you didn't come yet."

Sascha let out a startled, "Wha—?" when he sat up, forcing her upright. By the time she figured out his plans, Noah had her on her back near the foot of the bed. His body blanketed hers. This was his turn.

He brushed back the hair that clung to the sides of her face and laid kisses there, while his pace sped up. Her virgin bed squeaked.

"Don't hold back." 

His jaw twitched. 

She folded her legs around his thighs and pulled him closer, urging him to take the satisfaction he denied himself. "Don't fight it."

Noah claimed her mouth before she repeated the words, before he gave into temptation. The kiss turned into a projection of the aggressive thrusts that would frighten her. The need for release kept building and he feared he'd be helpless against it, feared that despite his best efforts, he'd give in and take her the way he been craving for months. Hard and without mercy.

"Close," he grunted, warning her before the pressure barreling up his cock burst into pleasure. A moment of calm stretched out over every other thought, every other feeling he possessed. It vanished in the next breath.

Sascha watched as Noah's brows furrowed. He seemed to be striving for his climax yet fighting it at once. She held him closer and canted her hips, increasing the friction of his strokes. The hoop attached to his nipple flicked back and forth over hers, making her clench around his girth. His entire body went into a spasm. And still he resisted.

"Let go."

Noah swore. "You don't understand..."

"Let go."

Color bloomed across his cheeks and the veins in his neck flared out before he threw his head back. His hips pressed down against her in a relentless grind that triggered ripples of pleasure. Agony, relief and finally joy lit his face. She'd given him that. With a ragged cry of her name leaving his lips, she watched him plummet over the edge. 

After he collapsed against her, Sascha stroked his damp shoulders and back, soothing him while his breath came in quick bursts. His deep, rumbling groans filled her ears. She'd never felt wanted like this, had never heard her name called with such affection, such pleasure. But she'd wondered about it. The curiosity and longing she'd suppressed out of love and loyalty was now tainted with regret. All that time, all that self-reproach wasted. But he'd been worth every second of her wait.

A feeling of peace distorted Noah's sense of time and space. Simple thoughts trickled in one at a time. Taking the next breath. Soft hands drifting over his back. Sascha. The last thought made him kiss her hair. He had to see her sweet face. The instant he saw her shimmering eyes he froze. He'd done his best to be careful with her and failed.

"Sascha, I'm—" She cradled the side of his face and brushed her thumb along his mouth. 

"This was everything I wanted." The wonder in her voice hit like a drug, searing its way past skin and bone to create a permanent need—if he let it. A man could do all sorts of crazy things to have his woman watch him with such amazement. 

He pressed his mouth into her palm. It was the most natural thing to do. Something was starting here. Noah wasn't sure what it was or if he wanted it. But the peace he'd felt mere seconds before had vanished. 

*

*

*

Many thanks to Evanslily and the red pen that spouts lilac ink.