Chapter Three – Better Judgment
Taylor had tried her best to leave just after dancing with Ettore, but her friends insisted it was too early. They normally stayed until closing, which was why she took a two or three hour nap before she hit the club Friday and Saturday nights. Instead of leaving, they had a couple more drinks and several more dances. Ettore seemed to be enjoying himself, which bothered her all the more.
Her friends had accepted him without question, especially Melanie and Tammy-Lynn. That was not all that surprising, considering the majority of the women there had propositioned him at one time or another during the evening. It had surprised her when he merely thanked them, but otherwise shrugged them off to stay with her. She found it more than disturbing. Not his behavior so much as her reaction to it. She had to admit she felt way out of her league with Ettore. Ettore Sansone. Ettore Sansone. Ettore Sansone. Damn it! Somehow, his refusal of the other women's advances had left her feeling…special. She didn't like it. It was a feeling she enjoyed and one that could wind up causing her more pain than she was willing to deal with when he turned out to be as unsubstantial as all of the other salesmen she had known.
"Okay, okay…I'm leaving now," she insisted as she slid off the barstool. "Dave! Can you toss me my purse, please?"
The bartender nodded and handed the purse to her. "See ya tomorrow, Taylor?"
"Of course, Dave!"
"Do you need a ride, Taylor?" Devon asked concernedly. She had more to drink than she normally did and he wasn't sure she could make it home on her own.
"Nope," she replied cheerfully. "Gonna walk home; I need the air." She didn't wait for any long goodbyes or protests to her actions. She was feeling rather happy and didn't feel like dealing with anything that would drag her down. With a flamboyant wave, she made her way to the exit on somewhat unsteady legs.
Donovan watched her for a split second before issuing his own goodbye and following her out the door. When he caught up to her, she had barely made it to the other side of the street. He found her sitting on a park bench on the darkened sidewalk. "Taylor? Let me take you home."
Taylor looked up at the sound of his voice. Tammy-Lynn's voice saying 'to die for' immediately popped into her mind when she took in his handsome features. "Don't say his name," she told herself out loud.
"What's wrong with my name?" he asked curiously as he sat down beside her.
"It keeps repeating in my head. You know?" She laughed when he shook his head. "Like one of those songs that gets trapped in your mind and repeats over and over. Your name does that to me."
"I'm sorry," he apologized, chuckling. She was very endearing when she was drinking; however, he was sure she would disagree with him.
"Not your fault," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "It's a nice name…too sexy. Won't go away," she explained as she tapped the side of her head. "I was going home," she commented absently.
Donovan couldn't help but laugh. "You should know when to stop drinking," he commented as he put a steadying hand under her elbow. "Let me take you home," he offered again.
"Yes, I said I was going home." She took a step forward colliding into him. "You're very tall."
"Thank you. You're very drunk."
"Really? Naw," she assured him. "Am I taking you home?"
"I think you are," he answered and chuckled again. "Come on." Placing his arm around her waist, he helped her to his car. "Where do you live?" he asked, although he knew perfectly well the location. On the off chance she would remember any details that evening, he didn't want to slip up on something so fundamental.
He started the car's engine after she mumbled her address. He had barely pulled out of the parking lot before she shifted in her seat and slumped against him. He shook his head as he draped an arm around her, holding her snugly in place. She was going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning.
It took less than ten minutes to drive her home. While he helped her from the vehicle, he noticed the lone figure sitting on the bench not quite two blocks away. He knew it was Bubo. Most likely he set up vigil until she made it home each night. It was a unique relationship the two shared. He lifted Taylor into his arms and turned toward her house. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Bubo stand and move off in the opposite direction. Donovan had half expected the man to head his way and demand to know what he was doing with Taylor. He shrugged and headed to the door.
"Taylor, give me your keys." His request was met with a mumble. He set her on her feet and held her with one arm while he fumbled through her purse until he finally found her keys. He unlocked the door and helped her inside. He patted the wall beside the doorframe until he found the light switch. After flicking it on, he took a brief look around the area downstairs that was visible from the foyer. The living room was off to the left and the kitchen was at the end of the large hallway. Directly in front of him was a small staircase, which he assumed would take him to her bedroom.
He helped her upstairs and to her bed. He laid her down gently and turned to leave when her hand wrapped around his.
"Ettore?" She sat up slowly as she tugged him down to the mattress.
"Si?" He sat on the edge of the bed and waited as her eyes slowly focused on his face. In the light he could finally see their color. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of green, and they were beautiful.
She reached for the top button on his shirt and slowly unfastened it. "You're very handsome," she admitted, moving closer to him. She lifted a hand to his cheek for a moment before lightly running her thumb over his lips. "Kiss me."
He couldn't tear his eyes from hers as she touched his face and lips. Nor could he stop himself from leaning toward her and doing as she requested. Tentative at first, his lips caressed hers lightly, but when her fingers drifted into his hair, just as his plunged into hers, the kiss deepened and intensified. Their tongues met again and again, seeking and exploring, until he thought he might go insane with wanting more. He pulled away, his breathing heavy as he gazed down at her.
"Don't stop there," she whispered as she nuzzled his neck. Her fingers once again found the buttons of his shirt and slowly undid them until she reached the waistband of his jeans. "Oh God," she moaned, touching the smooth skin of his chest.
He swallowed hard when she reached up and began sliding the strap to her dress over shoulder. If he didn't stop her soon, he would not be able to stop himself. As inch by inch of creamy white skin was exposed, his resolve grew weaker. He could easily have her. He could satisfy the need that had been building within him all evening, and she was in no position to refuse him. As it stood, she was practically begging him to take her. The ache in his loins told him to go for it, but his better judgment won out.
"No," he
growled softly as he reached out and stayed her hand. "Taylor…"
She gaped at him when he stood suddenly and moved away from the bed. "No," she questioned, watching in disbelief as he buttoned his shirt. What was his game? Had he only been pretending to be attracted to her and now faced with actually following through with things, she repulsed him? "You…bastard."
He quickly moved back to her side and sat down again. He trapped her hands within his, afraid that if she touched him just once more, he would completely come unglued. "Taylor, you're not yourself. If we go through with this, you'd hate…"
"Myself in the morning?" she snapped. Was he for real? Did they teach these clichés to boys in school?
He shook his head briefly. "No. More likely you would hate me in the morning. And I would deserve that hatred if I took advantage of you," he explained. "When you can think with a clear head, we can discuss this further."
"I'm not that drunk, Ettore. I know what I'm doing," she assured him. "But it doesn't matter anymore. You had your chance," she snarled, ripping her hands from his grasp. "Get out."
He nodded and stood quickly. "I hope things will be clearer in the morning."
"Get out," she repeated, sinking down onto the mattress.
He backed out of the room, switching out the light before he closed the door. He couldn't explain why, but he felt the need to stay. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning and he was exhausted. He had also been drinking and realistically should not have even driven Taylor home. He didn't feel as though he was incapacitated in any way, but that wouldn't wash if he were to get into an accident or pulled over by the police.
He made his way to the living room and settled down on the couch. He hoped that Taylor's mood would improve by morning, or that she would completely forget the entire scene that played out in her bedroom. Either way, he was sure he would have some explaining to do. After removing his shoes and shirt, he stretched out his long frame and pulled down the afghan that was draped over the back of the couch. He wasn't sure he was looking forward to morning's arrival.
Taylor lay sprawled out on her bed still fully clothed. She was too tired to change and wasn't sure her stomach could handle the activity if she tried. Her brain was in a tequila funk and as much as the errant thought that Ettore was still in her house tried to push past that cloud, it was not given the chance. His name began to echo in her head again. It danced to a beat all its own as it grew louder to match the thumping in her brain. She covered her face with a pillow and silently begged it to go away. Ettore Sansone. Ettore Sansone. The bastard rejected her. He set her up just to watch her make a fool of herself. She could just hear the gossip that would be floating around the dealership.
"Si, she begged me to take her to bed. Ha. The Ice Queen actually thought, I, Ettore Sansone, would be interested in her? That is laughable."
His voice and imagined words mocked her as she drifted off to sleep with his name still echoing in her mind.
"Oh God," Taylor groaned hours later when her throbbing headache awakened her. She silently cursed herself for drinking so much. She sat up slowly and tried to focus her eyes on the bedside clock. Even that small activity was painful. She needed aspirin and coffee; that would help. At this point, there was one thing she could be thankful for; she wasn't nauseous. She hadn't had many hangovers in her lifetime, and she was more than grateful that tequila didn't make her sick. It's six o'clock, she thought when her eyes finally focused. It was far too early to be up after a night like last night.
She stood and walked slowly to the bathroom with a hand pressed to her forehead the entire way. If she didn't hold it there, she felt sure her head would explode. As she took care of her personal needs, she realized she still wore the clothing she had on the prior evening. I must have really been out of it. Most of the evening was a blur and her mind was too clouded to focus. As quickly as she could manage, she removed her clothing and donned her robe. She had cottonmouth worse than she could ever remember and determined that a bushel or two could probably be harvested from her tongue alone. With that amusing thought echoing in her brain, she brushed her teeth and then slowly made her way down to the kitchen for her salvation – coffee and aspirin.
Donovan heard the rustling in the kitchen and glanced at his watch. He had to check in with the team and had not meant to sleep so late. He could duck out the front while she was in the kitchen, but if she heard him, and he knew she would, then he would only make a bad situation worse. He tossed the afghan off him and sat up slowly. Scrubbing his hands over his face to brush away the last remnants of sleep, he stood with the intention of going to Taylor to explain his behavior last evening. He donned his shirt and shoes and moved toward the doorway.
With the coffee brewing, Taylor started toward the front of the house to retrieve the morning paper. As she drew nearer to the door and the sun's light turned brighter, she changed her mind. Too much light while her head felt like a nuclear bomb waiting to go off was not a good thing. She turned just outside the living room doorway and released a scream so loud she was sure she would never recover from the pain she inflicted upon herself. Only after she took a few calming breaths did she manage to ask the man whom she had just collided with, "What are you doing in my house?!"
…to be continued…