I chuckle. I know just what she means. My grandmother had a carnival glass lampshade in her dining room. God help anyone who even stomped through that room and made the shade even twitch.
“So Gran taught me to knit, probably to keep her doll collection in one piece,” Elise says before I can interrupt. “Every night after dinner, we’d sit on the porch and listen to the cicadas buzz, and we’d knit. That first summer, I made my first scarf. I was so damn proud of that ugly thing that I wore it to school every day, no matter the weather.”
I’m trying to picture a miniature Elise, blonde hair sticking up every which way and wearing a scarf with shorts and a tank top. It’s cute and makes me smile a little. “What color?”
She tilts her head at the question. “It was yellow, like the sunflowers in Gran’s yard.” She smiles too, but I can see she’s not really here with me. Instead, her mind’s far away, long ago in this moment.
Blinking, she continues. “So I kept at it, making stuff all through school and eventually nobody even wanted the things I made any more, so I started shipping them off to charities. That’s one side, that I honor this gift of a skill my Gran gave me by helping as much as I can, anonymously of course. And the other side of the story? Why the big secret?” Elise grins saucily. “Well, I have an image to maintain. Part of my work is going to clubs, the whole party scene . . . seeing who’s there and what’s happening and reporting on it. I’m spontaneous, a fly by the seat of my pants kinda girl most of the time and that’s what everyone expects of me. But knitting is my time to recharge, just me in the silence of my apartment.”
I can see that she’s telling the truth. Never would’ve seen that coming, and maybe that’s the point. “Okay, so you knit. I promise not to tell.” I make a zipper motion across my lips and she grins. My eyes focus in on that smile, her lush lips pulled wide and I want to devour her. She must feel the pull she has on me because her smile falters, her lips parting slightly to invite me in. I meet her gaze, knowing my lust must be written all over my face, but I’m surprised to see the need so plainly on hers too. It’s all I can do to stop from moving closer, but I restrain myself by sheer will. My voice is gravel as I try to force lightness into the heavy moment.
“I think I’d like to see that. Think you could model some for me?”
She giggles a feather-soft baby’s breath of a laugh, which suddenly becomes vibrant and bubbly as she plants her palms on my chest and pushes me. I’m aware of her touch on an animal level, wanting to push her back, down on the couch, pinned underneath me as I ravish those lips and neck along the way to tying up her wrists with her old yellow scarf.
She keeps laughing, shaking her head. “Asshole, just for that, I might actually do it! I’ll expect pictures of you in it to go along with the story in return though.”
She thinks I’m kidding, but in this moment, I’d probably do that . . . for her.
Chapter 7
Elise
Settling into my desk at the office, I’m already sipping on a huge coffee knowing I’m going to need the caffeine hit today. I’ve barely even turned my laptop on when Maggie stops by, perching daintily on the corner of my desk, her feet swinging.
“So, what’s he like?” she asks, almost vibrating. “Tell me everything!”
Her excitement is infectious, especially since she’s truly excited for me, not just pumping me for info to steal my story. Well, maybe a little jealous too. She is the office’s self-proclaimed biggest country fan.
I grin, teasing her with a long, dramatic pause. “Why, Maggie,” I finally say after taking a long sip of my coffee and setting the mug down, “you’re an eager little beaver, aren’t you?”
Maggie laughs, tugging at a lock of her hair. “Of course! This is like the assignment of the year, and we’re all curious about what you’re going to write up on the elusive Mr. Perkins.”
We? Yeah, right. I know quite a few people who don’t really care, but for Maggie, Keith Perkins is right up her alley. I look up, trying to collect my thoughts, both for the first article in the series and to explain our encounters, knowing that I can’t possibly explain how he makes me feel . . . how his powerful presence makes me want to climb him like a tree or maybe kneel at his feet.