“I have to pitch it just right.” She crossed her arms against her chest, a determined gleam alighting in her eyes. “But I know we could do a cool show here. I just have to convince them.”
“Won’t be their typical type of show, though, will it?” I didn’t want to cloud over her hopes, but I had to admit, as much as I loved our little town of Watson, I didn’t see any pitch selling the Fame! Network on a cutesy homespun warm and fuzzy show featuring eccentric Vermont townsfolk and their fabulous brews, food and crafts. Violet might be in for a let down.
“No, it won’t but that’s what they want!” she insisted, undeterred. “They want something new and fresh! I just have to show them this is the right direction.”
“OK, I’ll let you sort that out.” It wasn’t up to me, anyway. The way I saw it, we had a win-win on our hands. If the network passed on her pitch, Watson would stay the same off-the-radar hidden gem it always had been and I’d hunt her down, anyway. This wasn’t over between us, not by a long shot. But if the network said yes, Watson’s business owners would get some PR and I’d just need to lay low for a few months. I was good at that. Plus, Violet would be back in town so laying low would be exactly what I wanted to do, for hours on end.
But there was something back in L.A. that I very much did consider my business. “I do want to know about this guy you’ve mentioned a couple of times. Victor, Vinny…?”
“Vincent.” She studied her tomato once again.
“You’re not seeing him anymore, right?” I didn’t know what had gone down between them in the past, and from what she’d said it hadn’t been serious. But whatever they’d had? That was over. Call me a Neanderthal, a brute, a caveman, it didn’t matter. I didn’t share.
“No, I’m not.” She shook her head, then looked up at me. “What we had was…nothing, really. I’m not even sure I need to break up with him.”
“Do it just in case.”
She laughed. “He’ll probably be like, ‘who’s this?’” I had a difficult time imagining any man not remembering Violet. The mere thought of someone else touching her had me wanting to rip his head off with my bare hands. “I’ll do it, Heath.” She reached her hand over and stroked my forearm. She must have seen how much I hated the idea of another man in her life.
She told me more to reassure me, about the hookup culture of L.A., about how no one took anything seriously. “Things like monogamy or intimacy, they’re totally uncool. What’s cool is hooking up and not remembering the person’s name the next morning.”
I took her hand in mine and looked straight into her eyes. “I’m not like that.”
She swallowed and flushed again. “It’s never made me happy,” she admitted, looking guilty at the revelation.
“Why would it? It sounds awful.” I knew those kinds of people, the ones who selfishly rampaged through life, treating everyone else like a potential acquisition. I hadn’t missed them at all in my solitary years.
She nodded in agreement, but still looked uncomfortable. In a quiet voice, looking at the floor she added, “I’ve never…I’ve never gotten serious with anyone before.” I grabbed her glass of wine, my beer and steered us over to the couch. The BLTs would wait. Putting our drinks within reach on a table, I wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled behind her ear.
“Tell me what’s on your mind.” Something was worrying her and I wanted to work it out.
She started talking and unloaded a whole lot, how she’d dated a bunch but always kept herself in reserve. “I guess my mom kind of scared me off guys,” she confessed, but instantly corrected herself. “I mean, it was a good message. Be independent, self-sufficient. But there was also that—don’t count on men because you can’t trust them.”
I nodded. My mother had definitely felt that way after finding out about my father’s infidelity. She’d remarried, but to a stodgy old lawyer so formal and stiff he might as well be a wooden post. The light had gone right out of her eyes at my father’s betrayal, and as far as I knew it had never come back.
“I know something about that,” I agreed, stroking her hair, so soft and smooth like silk.
“You do?”
I nodded. “Getting scared off of relationships by your parents’ mistakes.” I didn’t talk much—make that at all—about my family and background, but I wanted Violet to know I didn’t think she was some kind of emotional freak. And she made me feel so good, so relaxed and happy and trusting, I felt like I could talk to her about anything and everything.
“Have you every gotten serious with anyone?” she asked.
“No.” I shook my head. “I’ve dated. And I’ve slept with some women I probably shouldn’t have.”
“Bitches,” she hissed.
I laughed, enjoying her jealousy. “Only time I thought I felt serious before was in college. Until I overheard her making fun of me.”
“She what?” Violet pulled away, indignation lighting up her eyes, claws out and at the ready. I liked that look on her, too, the protective she-demon with a vendetta.
“It’s OK, baby.” I rubbed her shoulder and pulled her to me again. “I don’t care anymore.”
“What’d she say about you?” Violet relaxed a little, but still sounded pissed off.
“She called me a caveman.”
“A caveman?”
I shrugged. “At the time it mattered. Now I could care less.” I leaned down to kiss her. She reached her hand up to stroke my cheek as she kissed me back.
“You are kind of a caveman,” she teased.
“I do want to drag you into a dark cave,” I agreed, dipping lower to lick and suck on her throat. I could feel the vibrations when she moaned, how her desire welled up from deep inside of her. “I could keep you here and never let you go.”
She raked her nails down my bicep as she sighed, “I’d like that.”
“I wouldn’t go easy on you.” I toyed with her, my fingers circling around her pebbled nipples. Lightly, I brushed over the tips, enjoying the way she sucked in her breath, how she bit her lip and looked at me, so sultry and hungry all at once. “I might tie you down and see how far I could push you,” I murmured, teasing her aroused points. “How wet I could get you. How much I could make you beg.”
“Oh!” A moan of desire escaped her lips as I pinched down on her nipples, covered through the cotton T-shirt, yet still so sensitive. This woman got me going like no other.
But then, loud as a tiger’s roar, her stomach rumbled with hunger. Quick, embarrassed, she brought her arms to cover her stomach. “Whoops!” She laughed. “I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast!”
“I need to feed you!” I stood and helped her up, re-adjusting myself to ease the pressure in my crotch. Hammertime would have to wait until after dinner. Then I could get out my gold pants. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
She polished off her BLT like it was on fire sale.
“You all right there?” I asked, as she burped a little into her napkin.
She dissolved into giggles, a tear forming at the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to go back to juicing!” she declared, cracking herself up even more. “I want scones and bacon!”
“Just because you’re flying back to L.A. doesn’t mean you have to go back to juicing.”
“You don’t know what it’s like!” she declared in melodramatic angst, laughing again, then melting into a sigh. “Seriously, though, I’ve gained at least five pounds here in Vermont.”
“Don’t lose any of it. You look amazing.” Her breasts pushed plump and juicy against the soft cotton of my T-shirt. I could still feel her arousal on my fingertips. I itched to get in there again.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” she declared, grabbing a couple pieces of paper from the table that I hadn’t noticed before. “I need you to sign these. We want to use footage from the shop downtown. Just the artwork, not you. But we can’t use it without your permission.”
“Sounds good.” I grabbed a pen and signed. You know what was better than good? Violet coming on my tongue. I hadn’t had any dessert yet, but I knew exactly what I wanted.
Pushing the papers to the side, I stood up, looking down at her wolfishly.
“What?” she asked, fluttery and flushed.