Hurt the One You Love Read online

  "Such a gentleman."

  He laughed and withdrew. "Wait. I'll get the door."

  Elliott really was a gentleman, Simone thought as she waited, giddy, for him to help her out of the car. She took his arm to help her keep her balance on the uneven sidewalk, not because she really needed the help but because he offered it, and she wanted to touch him. Oh, did she want to touch him.

  Serrano's was narrow and old, a wooden bar along one side taking up so much space there was room only for one row of tables along the wall until you went to the back of the restaurant. Brick walls and tin ceilings that were typical of a lot of places in old-city Philly. They were seated at one of the small tables along the wall with a nice view of the street outside.

  "I've never been here," Simone said as Elliott pulled out her chair for her.

  "No?"

  She shook her head, looking around. "Nope. Do you come here a lot?"

  "No," Elliott said after a minute. "But when you buy tickets for the concerts upstairs, you're encouraged to make dinner reservations because you get reserved seating upstairs. It seemed like a great place. But if you don't like it . . ."

  She laughed and covered his hand with hers. "I like it. What's not to like?"

  "It's old," he said, looking around.

  "Relax, Mr. Worry. I like it," Simone told him, and they shared a smile.

  It would've been unrealistic of her to expect him to change overnight, but whatever had prompted Elliott to decide he wanted to make this relationship something more than just sex had definitely changed things. He'd called her every day for the entire two weeks before this official date, sometimes just to say good night, though they'd ended up talking for at least an hour every time before he'd begged off in order to get some sleep.

  He'd been surprisingly easy to talk to, once he got started. And funny! The man was a laugh riot, with a dry sense of humor that nevertheless hit her in all the right places. There'd been times he'd had her giggling so hard she couldn't talk, and that was a rare accomplishment.

  They'd covered topics from favorite flavors of ice cream to musical tastes, even hitting the forbidden ones like politics and religion. They voted for different parties but were on board with most of the major issues. Simone was Jewish but not observant, and Elliott was a confirmed agnostic who'd been raised with no church background. He'd gone to Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, and Simone had gone to Millersville, but both of them had gone with academic scholarships.

  "Elliott," Simone said quietly after the waiter had taken their drink orders and gone. "This is nice."

  "I'm glad you like it."

  She could have guessed he'd be a good date. A man who made a habit of dating women only a couple times would probably be good at the ritual of it. The pomp and circumstance of first dates, Simone thought, but thinking that took away some of the pleasure she was getting from all the effort he was so clearly making.

  "What changed your mind?" The words popped out, blunt and unbidden, and she cursed herself for not being able to simply sit back and enjoy what was promising to be a very nice evening.

  Elliott sat back in his chair and looked serious. "About . . .?"

  "This. About dating."

  "You did," he said.

  That answer should have been enough, but Simone had never been a woman to settle for half measures. She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, then toyed with the basket of cheese crackers neither of them had yet touched. She took one and put it on her small plate, but didn't eat it.

  "What about me?"

  "Everything," Elliott said, and then the waiter returned with their drinks and the moment to pursue that conversation was lost.

  It was just as well. They'd only started the night. There was no sense in ruining it with icky emotions, she told herself as they toasted, clinking their glasses together. She should just enjoy the night for what it was, not waste her time worrying about what it might be.

  They talked so much their food got cold and they had to pass on dessert in order to make the show in time. Simone, giggly and warm from several of Serrano's signature cocktails, clung to Elliott's arm as they climbed the steep and narrow stairs to the Tin Angel. The concert space was a black box with a small stage to the front, a bar to the rear, and small tables crammed into the space in between.

  "Can I get you a drink?" Elliott murmured in her ear when they'd been seated close to the stage.

  Simone shivered at the touch of his breath along her ear and neck. The room was heavily air-conditioned, but that wasn't why her nipples had gone so suddenly hard. She leaned into him.

  "I've had two already."

  "Do you have a limit?" Elliott's lips brushed her neck as he spoke.

  Her clit pulsed, her pussy throbbing. She crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs together. "Everyone has a limit, Elliott. Some people just have higher limits than others."

  He pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. "And you know your limits."

  "Yes." She smiled and nuzzled briefly at his cheek. "And I haven't reached them yet."

  His hand pressed her knee for a moment, slipping beneath her dress to caress her bare flesh but not moving any higher. "I'll get you another drink. Same as from downstairs, if they have it?"

  "That would be . . . delightful." Simone could hold her liquor, but she wasn't a heavy drinker and two cocktails made the world seem that much brighter.

  Or it might be Elliott, she thought as she watched him wend his way through the maze of tables toward the bar. Elliott making her stomach flutter and heat spread all through her. Making her feel like she loved everything around her.

  Oh, shit.

  Don't, Simone, she told herself as she put both her hands flat on the table to keep them from shaking. Don't let yourself get carried away. This is one date, with a man who has admitted he doesn't do this. And yes, the sex is phenomenal, it's fantastic, it blew your fucking mind, but you can get sex from any guy.

  But not any guy could give her everything the way she liked it.

  Shit, she thought again as Elliott headed back toward her with two drinks held high to keep them from spilling. He saw her looking and smiled from all the way across the room, and everything inside her went as tightly knotted as a fist.

  He turned her inside out with just a smile. Oh, she was in so much trouble. Yet there was no way to keep herself from returning that smile when he got back to the table or from letting him kiss and nuzzle her cheek when he set it down. No way not to let him hold her hand all through the concert, their fingers linked and his thumb passing back and forth over her palm until she thought she might start levitating from the sexual tension every single stroke sent between her thighs. She didn't need another cocktail to be drunk, not when being with him had so intoxicated her.

  She'd never heard of the performer onstage, a young guy with a beard who played the acoustic guitar and sang like a dream. She liked his music, songs of falling in and out of love. She could totally relate. But it was hard to concentrate on the singer when every single touch from Elliott had her imagining all the ways he was going to touch her when they got back to her place.

  Which was why, when he walked her to her front door and she fumbled with her keys, Simone opened her door but did not go through it. She stood on the small front stoop while Elliott stayed on the sidewalk, and that few inches, along with her heels, made her taller than him. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his face.

  "I had a great time tonight," she told him.

  Elliott smiled. "Me, too."

  They stared at each other.

  Everything inside her strained toward him. She'd already had this man naked and fucking her. Making her come. Making her hurt, which was even better. And now, all she could do was lean forward to kiss the corner of his mouth, light as a butterfly kiss.

  "Good night," Simone whispered against his mouth.

  She waited for him to ask to come inside, and wondered if she’d let him, when he did. The kiss lingered witho