Chapter 5: Scott Makes His Case

When they got to the bar, Scott could still feel her warmth against the palm of his hand, even though he was no longer touching her, and he could see her flushed cheeks. He knew her head was in a spin, and he wanted to make her feel comfortable because for him she was the most fascinating woman around. He felt like a teenager with his first crush instead of a grown man pursuing a woman. He was thirty-eight years old, for goodness sake, yet here he was making what were definitely all the wrong moves, overstepping his bound, probably scaring the hell out of the woman he felt so drawn to or else amusing her no end.

He certainly didn't want to be the bad guy or to seem like a clown or a desperate schmuck, either. He didn't want her thinking he was a joke or someone who was playing her for a fool and using her to entertain his brain while he scoped out the women he was really after. He remembered watching her gather her control around her like a cloak out in the garden and he couldn't help the way his heart leaped both in fear and admiration.

Now, he watched her face while he ordered their drinks. He had felt the way she held herself stiffly when he touched her and knew she was tightly wound up, ready to spring away from him in a heartbeat. He found her a fascinating mix of heated sensuality and frosty rationality, and he liked that opposition in her. It drew him to her inexorably.

“Here you go.” The bartender placed two glasses of wine in front of Scott, who handed one to Lola.

“Thank you.” Her voice was like an unexpected brush of silk against his ears.

He remembered, as he handed her the drink, that the first story of hers that he had read had turned him on so much he had had to help himself relieve the unspeakable ache, exploding all over his bedsheets. But even when his cock had loosened its death grip on him, he had felt as if she were speaking to him, looking over his shoulder, seeing who and what he was, and stroking him into mindless release. The memory made his slacks tighten imperceptibly around his hips.

He had never had such a visceral response to anything like this before and he realized now, standing next to her at the bar, that there was something about this woman that called to him. He had visited "Erotical", the erotic writing site where he’d first found her story, many times before, and had read many other stories that had pushed him over the edge, but none had left him feeling a need to know the writers -- all of whom had been female -- until he read her story. He wasn’t a spiritual man, but he took that as a sign, when he couldn’t get her out of his head, that he was supposed to find her, that this event was an opportunity that he could not pass up.

And just these few minutes with her seemed to reinforce that feeling. She was feisty and aloof and he liked that about her. She wouldn’t take anything from anyone, least of all some strange man acting like a stalker. She would stand up for herself and he had no doubt she’d fight to the death if she were attacked. He had had no idea that she lived in Silver Lake but the need to meet her had been difficult to ignore. So this festival was a godsend.

Now, though, he felt a frisson of concern that this woman could complicate his life in ways he could never have anticipated when he registered for the event. He watched her sip delicately, watched her tongue slip out to catch the drop that clung to that sweetly curved upper lip. His groin tightened and he shifted his stance to ease the increasing constriction in his slacks. It was way too soon for that kind of reaction to her nearness, especially given how skittish she was in his company.

“Why do you use my real name?” Lola asked, surprising him after her prolonged silence. “Why isn’t my pen name enough for you?” She was watching him closely, as though to ferret out the lies she seemed sure he was going to tell her.

“I had the sense that you were more than the name you attach to your stories. I wanted to be sure. And now I am.” He told her the truth and hoped he would score some brownie points with her.

“So why did you come looking for me again after you spoke with me at the book signing? Why wasn’t that enough for you?” Her voice remained cautious, unconvinced that he was as harmless as he appeared to be.

He huffed. Why wasn't his excuse from earlier enough? “Am I the only fan of yours who’s approached you more than once today?” he asked, wanting to turn the tables on her, wanting to unsettle her just a bit.

“You’re the only fan who has asked me out to dinner!” she shot back sharply, putting her glass with the wine she had barely touched back on the counter.

Scott could see her getting ready to dump him and he figured he couldn’t blame her. Still, he wasn’t ready to be abandoned just yet. He wanted more time with her. She was like a fever in his blood, raising his heart rate, and he was determined to find out what his reactions to her were a symptom of before he let her escape. He wasn’t a doctor for nothing.

“Look, I know I came on a bit strong,” he began, but when he saw the way she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes at him, he conceded her unspoken point. “Okay, okay, I came on really strong, but you don’t seem to understand the pull your words have. I’ve been to "Erotical" many times, and read a lot of other lady writers’ work, but when I read that first story of yours, it was as though I recognized you. As though we had known each other in another time or place, but had lost touch. And I wanted to get back to you.”

He stopped talking and just watched her, his mind racing to think of other things to say to keep her from bolting. His explanation for why he had behaved as he did would not necessarily inspire confidence or trust in any woman in this day and age. He must seem like a pervert to her or at the very least like a weirdo. And he knew that she was planning to leave him hanging. He could see it in her posture, in the set of her shoulders, in the way she clutched her purse, in her ruffled expression.

He ignored the reckless urge to kiss that flustered look right off her face. It bothered him that he was struggling with the impulse, despite knowing that he should buck up and walk away. Instead, he made one last effort to plead his case.