Fantasized by You Read online

  She found me in my room putting the final touches on my outfit. I put in my David Yurman black onyx diamond earrings and turned to face her. “How do I look?”

  “Like somebody’s hoping to get some booty tonight!” she cheered, walking over to my full-length mirror.

  I rolled my eyes. First Bayler, now her. “I’m not sleeping with him tonight!”

  “I was just kidding,” she laughed. She gave me a once over and smiled. “Seriously, you look really good, like you always do. I don’t even know why you ask.”

  Looking good was important to me. I had on a white cardigan, skinny jeans, and black suede booties from my own collection. I topped it all off with a black scarf, my black leather jacket, and jewelry to match. My hair hung in soft, brunette waves. It was the perfect ensemble for a dinner date.

  “Are you ready to go?” Imani asked, knocking me out of fashion mode.

  “Yeah, let me grab my purse.” I switched the contents of my Hermes bag to my black Chanel handbag I wanted to take tonight and smiled at Imani. “Okay, I’m ready!”

  Once we were down in the parking garage, Imani slid into the driver’s seat of the black Escalade and I rattled off the address to Maverick’s place. “The weather’s supposed to get bad tonight,” she said. “That’s why I picked the truck.”

  I nodded and smiled back at her. “You don’t need to wait around all night. I’ll just message you when I’m ready to leave.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

  “Yeah,” I said, watching the snow fall from the night sky. “I’ll be fine. He’s a good guy.”

  *

  By the time we pulled up to Maverick’s building, it was already past six o’clock. Imani offered to walk me up to his place, but being around Maverick made me feel safe. I knew no harm would come from walking into his building without my bodyguard. I thanked her for the ride and told her to go have some fun of her own before I hopped out of the truck and sauntered into his building.

  His apartment was on the fifth floor, so I had time for one last check of my appearance in the mirrored elevator doors. On the fourth floor, a woman and her daughter stepped onto the elevator with me.

  “Who are you?” the little girl asked, swishing her skirt from side to side.

  Her mom grabbed her arm and smiled apologetically at me. “I’m so sorry. She has no filter.”

  “It’s okay,” I laughed and knelt down to the girl’s level. “My name’s Harper. What’s your name?”

  “Nola,” she said adorably.

  “That’s a really pretty name. It’s nice to meet you, Nola,” I said, holding my hand out to her. Her tiny hand shook mine and she smiled proudly up at her mom.

  I stood up and offered a smile to her mom.

  “Are you new to the building?” she asked curiously.

  “No, I’m just here visiting a friend,” I said, as the doors opened on the fifth floor. “And this is my stop. You girls have a good evening.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said.

  “Bye, Harper!” Nola shouted, waving at me.

  I waved at her and offered her mom another sincere smile, but as the doors closed and the elevator took them away, I found myself walking toward Maverick’s door with a heavy heart. I had a lot of things in my life, but I wanted what that woman had. I wanted an adorable little kid with no filter.

  When I came to a stop in front of Maverick’s door, I took a deep breath and brushed away all of my envy. In just a few moments, I would be having dinner with the most delectable man I’ve ever seen, and that was definitely not something to mope around about.

  I knocked on his door lightly, and when he opened it a few seconds later, he was standing in front of me looking better than ever in a fitted, long-sleeved muscle shirt and dark jeans.

  “Hey, come on in,” he said chivalrously. He helped me out of my jacket and his eyes ran up and down my body. “You look great.”

  “Thanks,” I said, scanning his apartment. “It smells amazing in here. What’s on the menu?”

  He laughed, and the deep, warm sound of it sent shivers down my spine. “Well, I hope you like Italian because I’m making chicken parmesan.”

  “I love Italian,” I said, following him into the kitchen. His apartment was masculine, but definitely not a bachelor pad. It was clean and organized, but it didn’t look like he’d cleaned just for tonight. It looked like he usually kept it tidy, which I really appreciated.

  “Do you like Moscato?” he asked, pouring us each a glass.

  “Yes, I do,” I said, taking the glass he offered. I took a sip and smiled back at him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He took a drink and then set his glass back down on the kitchen counter. “The food’s almost ready, just a little longer on the chicken.” He opened the oven and pulled out a pan of garlic bread.

  I leaned over his shoulder and looked at everything from the cooked spaghetti and sauce simmering on the stove to the bottle of wine sitting on the counter, it all looked perfect. I knew it was probably a pretty simple meal to make, but, in my world, nothing about cooking was simple. I was a terrible cook, and to see him put together a meal so masterfully tugged at my heartstrings a little more.

  “Seriously, Maverick, everything looks delicious.”

  “Thanks,” he said, leaning up against the counter. He crossed his feet at the ankles, and that’s when I noticed he was barefoot. God, he looked so sexy barefoot in jeans. “What have you been up to today?”

  “Well,” I started, leaning up against the island opposite from him, my wine glass in hand. “I Skyped with my sister, Bayler, and then sketched some designs for Elly’s bridesmaids’ dresses.”

  “How’s that coming?” he asked, seeming genuinely interested.

  “Good,” I replied, nodding my head. “Elly wants us all in different dresses, so it’s been fun designing four different dresses rather than just one.”

  “I see,” he said with a nod. “And are you doing Elly’s dress, too?”

  “Yeah, and my mom’s dress.”

  He nodded again and then pushed off of the edge of the counter and walked into his living room. He picked up a picture frame and brought it over to me. “Do you think you could design another dress? Elly asked my mom to be her personal attendant or something like that, and when Elly asked her if she wanted a dress made, she told her no. She said she’d find something to wear.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “She’s just so stubborn sometimes.”

  “Of course, I can design her a dress.” I took the frame from him and studied the photo of him and his mom. She had long black hair and the same dark brown eyes that she’d passed onto her son. She had her arm around his waist in a hug, and he was in his cap and gown from his college graduation. “I’ll talk to Elly about it and we can surprise her with it at the bridal shower. Tell me a little bit about her and I’ll sketch something while we wait for the chicken to finish up.”

  “Really?” he asked in disbelief. “You can draw up a dress just like that?”

  “It’s my job,” I said with a hint of laughter. I grabbed a pencil and my sketchbook from my purse. “Now, tell me a little bit about her so I can get a sense of her style.”

  He smiled and stirred the sauce on the stove. “Well, her name is Charlotte. She’s tall, but thin. She likes to keep things simple, but she’s beautiful, so she deserves a dress as pretty as her. That’s why I was kind of pissed when she told Elly she’d just find something to wear. She should have something nice for Elly’s wedding.”

  “I agree,” I said, completely awestruck by the way he’d described his mom. “And that’s what she’ll get.” I started doodling around in my book while Maverick prepared the dinner table. He’d walk by me and peek over my shoulder to look at my drawing, and I’d get a lovely whiff of the shower gel he used. His manly, clean scent made me want to curl up with him. I quickly put the final touches on Charlotte’s dress and slid the sketchbook over so he coul
d see it. “What do you think?”

  He studied the drawing and took a sip of his wine before reaching for my hand. He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Harper, it’s perfect. I know she’ll love it when she sees it. Thank you.”

  I sighed contently as he lowered my hand back to the table. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and kiss the living hell out of him because no man had ever kissed my hand before. I’d seen it done in the movies plenty of times, but that was nothing compared to the experience of having a sweet, beautiful man pick up my hand so gracefully and put it to his lips.

  “Let’s eat,” he said with a wink. He led me over to the dining table, pulled out my chair for me, and sat across the table from me, refilling our wine glasses.

  He raised his glass in the air, and I smiled playfully at him. “What are we toasting?”

  “How about,” he started, thinking about it for a moment. “New beginnings.”

  “I like that. To new beginnings.”

  He clinked his wine glass against mine and we drank, never taking our eyes off one another. I set my glass down and the smell of Italian food wafting around us pushed me to dig right in. I felt Maverick’s eyes on me as I cut into my chicken and twirled spaghetti around my fork. I took my first bite with my eyes closed, and a tiny moan escaped my throat as the garlic and tomato sauce hit my taste buds. “Ohmigawd, this is amazing!”

  He cleared his throat, pulling me out of my food haze, and I saw him looking at me with an amused smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” I said, pointing to his untouched plate with my fork.

  “Yeah, but I was really enjoying watching you eat,” he said, picking up his fork. He took a bite and winked at me, and my cheeks flushed.

  “So, Harper, tell me something about yourself,” he said, sipping his wine.

  “What do you wanna know?” I asked coyly, in an attempt to flirt.

  He laughed and set his glass back down. “Everything. But how about we start with your age? When’s your birthday?”

  Dammit. Of course, he’d ask me this first.

  “Well,” I started, wiping my mouth with my napkin. “I’m twenty-nine, and my birthday is March first. So, I’m almost thirty.”

  “Oh, please don’t tell me that bothers you,” he teased, tilting his head to the side. “You still have your whole life ahead of you.”

  I laughed lightly, and even though it did bother me, he made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. “I know. But what about you? You’re legal, right? I’m not having dinner with some 16-year-old genius who looks like he’s in his late twenties and owns a gym, am I?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “There’s nothing minor about me, sweetheart.”

  “I’m sure there’s not,” I smirked, blushing at his sexual innuendo.

  “No, I’m twenty-eight,” he said, cutting off a piece of his chicken. “And my birthday is May sixteenth.”

  “Good to know,” I said, before taking a bite of my bread. The butter and garlic tasted so delicious, I couldn’t help but awe over it. I watched him fork another bite into his gorgeous mouth, and we ate in comfortable silence for a while. There was nothing awkward about the moment, just easy and comfortable. It was already way better than any other dinner date I’d ever been on. “So, where did you learn to cook?”

  “Elly’s mom taught me,” he answered, dipping his bread in his tomato sauce. “Our moms were best friends back in the day, so I hung out with three girls while our dads were at work.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet,” I said teasingly.

  “What about you, do you cook?” he asked, raising his brows at me.

  I shook my head and swallowed. “No, I grew up sewing, not cooking.”

  “So, how’d you get into sewing?”

  I wiped my mouth with my napkin and relaxed back in my chair. “My Grandma Ceci loves to sew and cook. So, whenever we visited her place, she always had me at the sewing machine and my sister, Bayler, in the kitchen. She taught me how to sew, and when I got older, I started designing and making my own clothes. And I guess I’ve never really stopped.”

  “I couldn’t even thread the needle in home ec,” he confessed.

  I laughed as he stood and cleared the table. I followed him into the kitchen, carrying our empty wine glasses.

  “Would you like some more wine?”

  “Sure.”

  He grabbed the bottle and led me into the living room with his hand on the small of my back. He had a matching dark gray couch, armchair, and ottoman furnishing the room, along with a rectangular coffee table placed in front the couch, and a large flat-screen TV mounted above the burning fireplace. I joined him on the couch and he filled our glasses and then placed the bottle on the coffee table. With his arm resting on the back of the couch, he turned toward me and smiled.

  “Did you enjoy dinner?”

  “I loved it,” I said, snaking my hand along the back of the couch toward his. He grabbed my hand and linked our fingers together, and my insides melted at the warmth of his touch. “Is it my turn?”

  “Your turn?”

  “To ask you a question.”

  He laughed and nodded. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Are you a dog person or a cat person?”

  “Definitely a dog person,” he answered firmly. “Do you have any pets?”

  “No,” I said precariously. “But I’ve been thinking about getting a puppy. Something that’ll grow up to be big, like a Great Dane or a Mastiff. I’m not a fan of small dogs; they’re too high maintenance. I want something big and cuddly.”

  He rubbed his thumb along the back of my hand. “I like the sound of that. If I ever got a dog, I’d get a large breed. They’re more fun.”

  “I agree.”

  “Okay, my turn,” he said with a smirk. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “Are we talking dessert flavors or sex?”

  He laughed. “Both!”

  I sighed. “Well, I’m definitely a chocolate dessert lover, but my sex life would be described as vanilla. Is there even such a thing as chocolate sex?”

  “Sure there is,” he said, running his fingers up my wrist, igniting a throbbing sensation between my legs. “Licking melted chocolate off of one another. That’s what I call chocolate sex.”

  “I’ve never had chocolate sex before,” I confessed, looking away from him. He didn’t need to know how pathetic my sex life was. I’d already told him it was vanilla, and it wasn’t even really vanilla; it was, like, imitation vanilla.

  “Well, you should put that on your list of things to do before you turn thirty,” he teased.

  “Yeah, I’ll do that,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “Your turn.”

  “What’s the tattoo on your back say?”

  “Been checking me out, huh?” he accused.

  “Maybe,” I said, with a casual shrug.

  He set his glass on the coffee table and turned around and lifted the back of his shirt. The heat radiating off of him was palpable, so I scooted closer to admire not only his tattoo, but also the beautifully taut muscles of his back straining against his skin. “Train your mind first and enslave your body to it.”

  “Yep, just a little something I got back when I first started training people.” He slid his shirt back down and turned to face me. He put his arm around my shoulders and we relaxed back into the couch.

  “I like it. Do you have any more tattoos besides your sleeves?”

  “Yeah, Elly and I got these around Christmas time.” He rested his left leg on his knee and pulled up his jeans so I could see the tattoo on the inside of his ankle. It looked like an infinity tattoo from a distance, but when I looked closer, I saw what it actually was. “It’s two breast cancer ribbons on their sides, overlapping each other. Her mom was like a second mom to me, so we got these in her memory.”

  “It’s so beautiful,” I said, tracing the pink tattoo with my fingers. “
I love that it’s pink, too.”

  He fixed his pant leg and lowered his foot to the floor. “My turn?”

  “Yep, ask me anything.” I took a drink of my wine, and when I glanced up at him, he had a serious look in his eyes and a soft smile on his face. His day-old scruff looked even sexier up close and personal.

  He brushed a piece of hair out of my face and cupped my cheek. “I’m having a really great time with you.”

  “Me too,” I whispered, leaning into his palm. “But that wasn’t a question.”

  He smirked and linked our fingers together again. “Can I ask you something serious?”

  “I’ve been taking this whole night very seriously,” I teased. “Haven’t you?”

  His smile widened and he nodded. “I have, but this is just a little more personal, I guess.”

  “And my nonexistent chocolate sex life wasn’t personal enough for you?”

  “Nope,” he answered with a smirk. “I wanna know everything.”

  “Okay, fine, on with your questioning,” I said, waving my hand in the air.

  He tightened his grip on my hand and then brought it up to his mouth for a kiss. His expression turned more serious and nerves fluttered in my belly in anticipation of his next question.

  He swallowed hard and then asked, “What triggered your bulimia?”

  I looked away from him and stared down at my lap. I wasn’t expecting him to ask me about my past so soon. It was one thing to talk about my sex life, but this was big. If I was going to mentor the patients at his clinic, I knew I had to talk about my bulimia. And if he was going to be the guy for me, he had to know everything about me.

  “A lot of things triggered it,” I answered softly, setting my wine glass on the table.

  His hand skated across my chin and he lifted my face so I’d look at him. “I’m not going to judge you, Harper. I swear. I just wanna know.”

  I nodded and continued. “It started when I first moved to New York. My parents didn’t want me to move. They wanted me to stay in Texas and become part of the Jennings Oil business, and I didn’t. So, when I moved to New York to pursue my dream of becoming a fashion designer, they constantly checked up on me. They’d call to make sure I wasn’t ruining their name, that I was being the perfect child they raised me to be. It just got to the point where I felt so much pressure to be the best and succeed that I’d make myself sick just to feel better. And when I finally made a name for myself, the pressure only got worse.