Then we are surrounded… and all I see are bare limbs, deep cleavages, and tanned skin.
It takes me a moment to orient myself, but I soon realize Aaron is being swarmed by a group of what appears to be six or seven women. They’re all crowding in close to him, some at his back and sides while one woman leans her hip on the edge of the picnic table, completely blocking my view of him.
To say I’m stunned is an understatement.
So far in the few times we’ve been out, I’ve not witnessed Aaron’s celebrity status being acknowledged, but now I realize it’s because he hasn’t truly put himself out in the public. The one date we had at the small Italian restaurant was very private without a lot of people around. No one approached us at all. The two weddings were private affairs as well.
Granted, I’ve noticed people recognizing Aaron. The times he spent at my bookstore last week, a few customers seemed to know who he was. Most just stared and whispered, but a few asked for pictures and autographs. It was all very low key and respectful with Aaron being very gracious at the attention.
But this… I don’t even know what to think.
The women all start asking for pictures and autographs, a few gushing about how he’s their favorite player. I have no clue if they are attending the art exhibit, but, if they are, it’s hard to tell. Instead, it appears as if they’re dressed to go out clubbing for the evening.
But then the woman perched on the edge of the table scoots back a bit, her curvy ass hitting my margarita and sending it tumbling over. The liquid hits the wooden top, then cascades in a wave right toward me.
Luckily, I’m spry, managing to jump out of my seat before I end up with a lap full of the sticky drink.
And that’s when Aaron explodes.
I hadn’t even been able to get a good look at him until now with the swarming women blocking my view. But he surges upward from his seat, his face a mask of anger.
“Jesus Christ,” he curses viciously, hurrying in a wide arc around the gaggle of females and coming to my side. Taking my wrist in his large hand, he pulls it away from my body and critically studies my clothing. “Did any get on you?”
“I’m fine,” I murmur, a tad frightened by his anger, although I understand it’s not directed at me.
Aaron turns to glare at the women, who don’t even have the grace nor the smarts to appear contrite. Instead, they regard him expectantly, cameras at the ready to pose for pictures with him.
“What is wrong with you?” he demands of the entire group. “I know it was obvious I was enjoying a private moment. Yet, you still swarmed me, pushing your way into our conversation and ruining our meal.”
Some of the smiles begin to slide off their perfect, made-up faces. Feeling a tiny bit bad for them, I pull my wrist away from Aaron’s grasp, which gets his attention. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” he grits out.
“I don’t mind,” I assure him. I gesture at the women, who, for the first time, actually seem to see me. A few look downright apologetic. “Why don’t you take a few pictures with your fans?”
Aaron stubbornly turns his back on the women, stepping in close and dipping his face to see mine. “I’m really sorry about this.”
For the first time since he came into my life, I actually make the first move and touch him. Frowning, I let my hand cup his cheek. “It’s fine. Not your fault.”
He returns a wry smile. “I know, but it’s a blatant reminder of the fame you so desperately hate, which, in turn, is going to make you hate me.”
Vigorously, I shake my head. “I don’t hate anything about you, Aaron. I’d never feel that way about you. And I don’t hate your fame, either. I understand it’s something you have to live with—a part of your everyday reality. It just caught me by surprise, but I’m fine now. I promise.”
“It’s not usually like that,” he assures me. “I think those girls are probably drunk, and they just weren’t thinking—”
“It’s fine,” I say again, meaning it. “And I don’t want to piss off your fans, so go take a few pictures, okay?”
“Only if you’ll kiss me,” he replies, his voice low and rumbling. There’s clear yearning in his demand, which, when added to that delicious tone, shoots heat right in between my legs.
“If you insist,” I whisper.
Sliding my arms around his neck, I rise on my tiptoes to bring my mouth to his. Tilting my head, I manage to fit against him—my lips touching his and then parting. I let my tongue slip into his mouth, nearly losing all the strength in my legs when he growls in appreciation. His arms band around my waist, hauling me tighter against his hard body, and then Aaron takes over the kiss.
When he finally lets me up for air, I realize he could ask me to do anything right now and I’d say yes.
Regrettably, he only smooths a thumb along my jaw before taking a step back. With a sigh, he starts to turn to the group of women. Willing to do his duty as a celebrity, he pastes on a welcoming smile.
I lean to the side to peek around him, only to realize the women disappeared. I have no clue when they left, but we are blessedly alone once again.
Aaron grins as he returns his attention my way. “How about another margarita and maybe some dessert?”
“Sounds awesome,” I reply, thinking this has turned out to be one of the best dates I’ve ever been on.
♦
A few hours later, Aaron walks me to my front door, officially bringing the best date I’ve ever had to an end. Despite having connected with him on a much deeper level after the earlier fan fiasco, I’m suddenly feeling awkward and unsure of myself.
I fumble in my purse for my keys as we hit my porch, wondering if I should invite him in. Before this date, I did shave, so that barrier has been removed.
Instead, I turn to him and mutter, “I had a great time tonight. Thank you.”
Aaron’s smile seems sly and a little predatory, which makes my blood start to race. He crowds into my personal space, curling one hand around the nape of my neck while bending to deliver a scorching kiss that wordlessly tells me he had a great time, too, with the additional message that we could have an even better time not so subtly hinted at.
But he pulls his mouth away from mine, moving his lips to my ear to murmur, “I had a great time, too. Call you tomorrow,” with absolutely no pressure for more in his tone.
I’m stunned when he starts to turn away from me. Hating my opportunity has passed, I shift toward my door, key in hand.
Then I whip back around. “Would you…”
Aaron pauses, twisting to see me over his shoulder.
“Um… never mind,” I whisper. He smiles—his expression conveying understanding, slight amusement, and patience. He gets halfway down the steps before I finally make up my mind and blurt out, “Wait… would you like to come in for a bit?”
Aaron pivots to face me, his head tilted up slightly.
“You know,” I prattle on. “We could, um… talk. Or even play Scrabble.”
His eyes lock on me, filling with a purpose I don’t understand but which causes my tummy to flutter, as Aaron saunters back my way. He takes the porch steps two at a time. Not stopping, he walks right into me. I take a step backward, the door bringing me up short, and Aaron presses in against me, his legs tangling with mine as my breasts mash into his broad chest.