Kristen Ashley - Raid

“Sorry?” I asked.

He crossed his arms on his chest, making the muscles in his biceps bulge and the veins in his forearms pop. I was concentrating on taking in all this fabulousness so I might have missed the full orgasm, but I was relatively certain I had a mini one.

Then he smiled.

There it was.

The full orgasm.

It was a wonder I didn’t moan.

“Honey, you look straight out of a chick flick,” he remarked.

Again, I blinked.

Then, again, I asked, “Sorry?”

“Cute outfit. Glass of wine. Sexy, messy hair. Cute house that looks out of a magazine. Not a lick of makeup and you look prettier than any woman I’ve seen for over a year. Gabbin’ on the phone like you look this good, in a place that looks this good every day when that shit’s impossible.” He paused before he concluded, “Chick flick.”

Did he say sexy, messy hair?

And that I looked prettier than any woman he’d seen for over a year?

“Sorry?” I repeated yet again.

“Say that again, I’ll kiss you.”

Oh my God!

Did he say say that again, I’ll kiss you?

Kiss me?

I stared.

Then I swallowed.

What I did not do was speak.

Raiden was silent. So was I.

When this went on an uncomfortable while, I broke it.

“Can I ask at this juncture what you’re doing here?”

His lips twitched and he answered, “Yeah, baby, at this juncture, you can ask that.”

He said no more.

But he called me baby.

I didn’t look to confirm, and I was glad he didn’t either, seeing as I was relatively certain my nipples were now hard.

Cripes!

When he remained silent, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“You doin’ anything for your grandmother tomorrow night?” he asked back.

“Uh… no,” I answered.

“You hangin’ with that pothead and his pothead girlfriend?”

My head jerked at the way he referred to Bodhi and Heather, not to mention his knowledge of them and me spending time with them, but I replied, “No.”

“Then you’re free to go out to dinner with me.”

My chest compressed like Spot was lying on it and my lips parted.

Raiden’s eyes dropped to my mouth and his lips muttered, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Uh…” I mumbled, then stopped mumbling.

“I’ll take that as a yes, too,” he declared.

“I—” I started to say something. I had no clue what, but got no more out.

“I’ll be here tomorrow, six thirty. Not fuckin’ around with all the cute that’s you, we’re goin’ to a steak place, so you’ll wanna dress nice.”

All the cute that was me?

“I would request that white blouse you crawled around the pet store in,” he went on, and I felt my face start to heat at the reminder of my idiocy, which, clearly, Raiden didn’t recall as idiotic. “But everything I’ve seen you in since then is far from disappointing,” his eyes swept my chest and legs before coming back to my face, “so I’m lookin’ forward to the surprise.”

Was I asleep?

Was I dreaming?

How was this happening?

I said nothing because I feared, if I did I’d wake up, and I most certainly did not want to wake up.

His head cocked to the side. “You gonna be ready for me at six thirty?”

That required a response so I tested the waters.

“Yes.”

His eyes got lazy, my heart did a somersault and he murmured a rumbling, “Good.”

Then he turned, sauntered down my porch, my steps and to his Jeep.

He swung in, reversed at an angle and drove away.

I stared into the trees where I last saw him for minutes that seemed to last for hours.

Then I lifted the phone still in my hand, hit redial and put it to my ear.

Five minutes later, KC shrieked, “Seriously?”

I burst out laughing.

Giddy laughing.

Excited laughing.

Freaked laughing.

And even laughing, thank God, I didn’t wake up.

The next evening…

The doorbell rang.

I was in my bathroom upstairs, staring at myself in the mirror, but I’d been ready for twenty minutes.

Now I was hyperventilating.

I drew in deep breaths, turned toward the door and hit the light. I forced my mind to go over my appearance, which at that point I had memorized.

KC and I had gone into Denver so I could get a new outfit. A blue jersey dress that was great with my eyes, showed just enough but not too much cleavage and clung at all the right places. It was a miracle dress that gave me a miracle body, and as such cost a miraculous price that I charged.

I also bought a pair of strappy, high spike-heeled sandals that were to die for. They were made up of blue snakeskin straps interspersed with green snakeskin straps and they made my feet—and my brand new pedicure (with a design on my big toenails that included a little crystal; this was Raiden Ulysses Miller, I was going for the gusto)—look fabulous.

They also cost a mint.

I charged them, too, and I didn’t care.

It all had to be right. Perfect.

And it was.

KC convinced me to wear my hair down, and I did my face with an edge toward drama. But not too much, because I didn’t want to go over the top and overshadow the dress and shoes, both of which packed a punch.

So after a busy day of shopping, pedicure and manicure then nervously getting ready, the time had come.

It was six thirty-three.

Raiden was here.

I turned out the light by my bed. I grabbed my clutch and walked out of the room, down the stairs and to the door. I pulled in another deep breath then opened the door.

Raiden stood there in all his glory. It was more glorious seeing as he wasn’t wearing cargo pants and a skintight tee (which were always awesome), but a nice, dark pair of jeans, a deep green shirt with a subtle pattern in it that looked good with his skin, hair and eyes, and a black belt and black boots (which were awesomer).

Delicious.

“Hey,” I greeted and it came out breathy.

He didn’t reply.

His eyes were moving down and they were taking their time. After they hit my shoes, they stayed there awhile. Then, just as slowly, they came back up.

They hit mine and the look in them made my heart, already beating like a jackhammer, go into overdrive.

“Hey,” he rumbled.

I’d practiced this while doing my makeup (and hair) so I was able to take a slight step back, motion inside with my hand and ask, “Do we have time for you to come in for a drink?”

“You don’t want me comin’ in for a drink,” was his reply, and I felt my brows draw together.

“I don’t?”

“You, that dress, those shoes, that hair, beverages and furniture you can get horizontal on would not be a good combination.”

“Oh,” I whispered, and with his words it hit me like a shot that he was into me.

The date kind of said that, but his words stated clearly he wasn’t just into me.

Raiden Ulysses Miller was into me.

I felt that warmth settle in, digging deep, as he kept talking.

“Not to mention, we got a reservation and I’m hungry.” He leaned in and grabbed my hand. “Let’s go.”

He drew me out onto the porch, and I had just enough presence of mind to grab the door handle and pull it to as he did. I started across the porch, but stopped when his hand tightened in mine.

I turned back.

“You gonna lock it?” he asked.

I stared at him, moved my stare to the door then brought it back to him.

“Sorry?”

He shifted closer and my breath went faster. “You gonna lock the door?”

“Um… I never lock the door.”

It was Raiden’s turn to stare at me.

Then his hand gave mine a squeeze and he ordered, “Get your keys.”

“My keys?”

“Your keys,” he stated firmly.

He was hungry, and I had a feeling this discussion could go all night (with me losing), so I nodded, hustled to the door, went through and scurried to the kitchen. Since I never locked up (seeing as I didn’t have to; neither did Mom and Dad, we lived in the boonies for goodness sakes—unless they knew we were out there, no one came around) it took some doing, but I found a set of house keys and hurried back, walked through the door, closed and locked it.

I turned to him. “Ready.”

“While you were in there, you lock the back?” he asked.

I blinked.

He grinned.

I blinked again.

He leaned into me, tugged the keys from of my fingers and unlocked the door. He opened it, sauntered through and disappeared, then came back, locked the door, pocketed the keys and grabbed my hand.

“Let’s go,” he murmured.

We went, Raiden holding my hand as we walked across the porch and down the steps. Then he let me go, but only to swing his arm around my shoulders and pull me into his side as we moved to his Jeep.

Nice.

Nicer still, he walked me to the passenger side and opened the door for me.

Three boyfriends; not one opened any door for me.

Already phenomenal, Raiden Miller just kept getting better.

His hand cupped my elbow as I climbed in then he closed the door.

Definitely kept getting better.

I was buckled up when he swung in the other side. He started up, reversed at an angle and we took off.

“Talk to your grandmother today?” he asked, and I turned to him.

Holy Moses.

I was sitting next to Raiden in his Jeep.

I couldn’t believe it.

Beautiful. Him. The moment. Everything.

I didn’t have time to let that settle as deep as I wanted. I had to respond or he’d think I was a freak, staring at him silently but reverently.

“Yeah, I talk to her every day,” I answered.

“How’s she doin’?” he asked.

“Busy, seeing as she’s been calling everyone in town and half of her family in Louisiana to tell them she has a new yard boy.”

I watched him smile.

Yes.

Beautiful.

“Took half a year for her to open the door when I rang yesterday, another half followin’ her as she walked from the front to the back, slow as molasses. But the woman’s fingers work just fine,” Raiden said. “Had four people stop me today to say they thought it was cool I was seein’ to Miss Mildred’s yard.”

“She’s generous,” I shared. “Something exciting happens, she passes that love around.”

I watched his smile get bigger. Being there with him in his Jeep, going to dinner, knowing he thought I was cute and he was into me, living a dream I never thought I’d have, my nerves smoothed out and I looked forward.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Chilton’s,” Raiden answered.

My nerves came back.

Even though Chilton’s opened a town over ten years ago, I’d only been there once, the year before when my brother came from San Diego for a visit and brought his new fiancée with him.

The menu was a la carte. The cheapest steak was fifty dollars.

I didn’t know what Raiden did for a living, but I did know that even with twenty new boutiques I was shipping my afghans to, Chilton’s once every ten years was about as much as many people could afford. Including me.

So I wondered what he did for a living, and therefore wondered if he could afford Chilton’s. I also wondered what I should order since there was no way I was ordering a la carte, building on the foundation of a fifty dollar steak if I didn’t know how deep that would cut into his wallet.

“Mood in the Jeep suddenly veered south,” he remarked.

I looked at him. “Sorry?”

“You don’t seem fired up about Chilton’s,” he noted.

“Um, I am, of course. I’ve been there once before. It’s really nice but it’s…” What did I say? “Not exactly cheap.”

“You bought me a sexy dress, least I can do.”

I stared, my mouth dropping open.

Then I snapped it shut to ask, “How did you know this is a new dress?”

He glanced at me, back at the road, then his lips turned up. “Didn’t. Guessed. Now I do.”

I was totally an idiot.

I proved this more when I looked forward again, mumbling stupidly (but he probably figured it out already), “I also bought new shoes.”

My entire body went hot when he briefly touched the skin below my skirt at my knee and rumbled, “Appreciated, honey.”