Dream House

by Jean Brashear

The silence thrummed with the seductive bass notes of promise.

  “One night, not as strangers this time but as friends. Two people who have no future as anything else.”

  He stared at her, clearly torn.

  “Let’s shove away the darkness together. I won’t ask for more, I swear it.” She was tired of caution and planning and being strong and responsible. Even if she was pregnant, she expected nothing from him. She spread her arms. “Make me hot, Micah. Burn with me. Let’s both go a little haywire tonight. Tomorrow we’ll be sensible again.” And she discovered a smile that was genuine. “Let’s play. When’s the last time you just fooled around?”

  She could see the temptation in him and found her way to more certain footing. He’d been responsible for an invalid since he was little more than a child himself, then he’d suffered a terrible loss and had been grieving ever since. She could give him this, and grant herself the boon, as well.

  She could do so because she was strong enough to deal with the fallout all on her own. It sure wouldn’t be the first time.

  And she had come to care about this man. She wouldn’t walk away unscathed when it was time for him to go, no, but life, she’d discovered long ago, was as much about scars as pretty sunsets and flowers. The trick was in honoring both.

  He still didn’t move.

  The balloon of her daring deflated. “You’re not interested.” Humiliation crawled up her throat. “No problem. I’ll just—” She let her arms drop. “I’m going inside. Drive safely.” She made her way toward the door.

  Two steps later, he captured her. Swung her around, pupils so dark they swallowed the blue. Suppressed hunger vibrated in his frame, and her own body flared to answering heat.

  “I want you, but—” His jaw snapped shut. He began again. “I’m not sure if I can be tender. Not at first. You make me crazy, Jezebel.”

  Her eyes closed in mingled thanksgiving and nerves. Then she opened them. “Who says I’ll be gentle with you?”

  Blue flame leaped. Suddenly, she was in his arms, and his fingers tangled in her hair. His mouth raced over her throat, while his free hand caressed one breast with touches so feather-light that she had the urge to clamp her own over his and beg. She wrapped one leg around his thighs and undulated against him.

  He groaned and nipped at her collarbone. She swallowed a moan. She craved to crawl up his body, to shred the control he was struggling to maintain. To drive him out of his mind and lose her own with him.

  He beat her to it. Gripped her hips in his hands and lifted her to the truck’s hood. Clasped her thighs and parted them. Moved inside.

  Jezebel reclined on her elbows, her limbs loose and languid. Micah’s fingers grazed under her gauzy blouse and bared skin as he traveled. His tongue swirled around her navel, and her body arched on a gasp.

  He chuckled and skimmed a damp trail beneath her waistband even as his fingers busied themselves with her zipper, a slow, torturous slide made agonizing as he blew tendrils of breath over damp skin. She shivered.

  Then he stopped. “Your hair,” he said hoarsely. “I want it loose.” He worked at her braid, swiftly untangling it, then unbuttoned her blouse and popped the front catch of her bra. He draped her hair over her shoulders until it covered her breasts, leaving her disheveled and half-naked in the spill of moonlight.

  His gaze painted over her, as physical as a caress.

  “You are the most stunning creature I have ever laid my eyes on.” His grin was quick and lethal. “I can’t figure out where to taste first.”

  “Then it’s my turn.” She levered herself to sitting, grasped the hem of his T-shirt and raked her hands up his chest, carrying the fabric with her. She bent to nip at his abs, swirl her own tongue around the length of one rib.

  He jumped and…giggled. That was the only word for it.

  Jezebel smiled. “Ticklish.” She slicked up his side, and he jerked away so fast she nearly fell.

  “Stop that.”

  She had his shirt in her hand and paused to relish the picture he made, a barbarian cast in shadows and starlight. “Make me.”

  That set the tone.

  They would play. Have fun.

  His eyes narrowed. He scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. Her hair swept the ground. He twirled them both until she was dizzy. Paused, and the ground spun.

  Before she could unscramble her brain, she felt her jeans slip down her legs and drop into the dust with a soft plop. “Micah—”

  His hands caressed her bottom, and skillful fingers slipped beneath her panties—

  Jezebel lost whatever she’d been about to say. Need roared over her, an insane tangle of urges she couldn’t sort out. “Micah, let me—”

  His tongue trailing the line of muscle in her thigh silenced her again. “Oh.”

  Next thing she knew, she was sliding down the front of him, her legs parting around his waist. “You’re strong,” she marveled. “That makes me unbelievably hot. Now, put me down.”

  A slash of white teeth. “Uh-uh. Hold on.”

  She scarcely managed to grasp his shoulders in time, as his arms descended to her hips, and her upper body fell backward.

  In the gap he’d created between them, he swooped in and clamped his mouth on one breast.

  “Dear, sweet—” Jezebel’s mouth dried up. All she could do was hang on for the ride.

  And a ride it was. Micah walked them back to the truck hood and laid her out like a banquet. He began to ease away, but her legs tightened around his hips. He hooked a finger in her bikini. One eyebrow arched.

  “Oh, yeah. I always wished someone would do that, too.”

  He ripped her panties from her with a smile that would light up the sky.

  Then he dove between her legs, and Jezebel saw stars.

  Micah lost himself in pleasuring her, finding a patience he hadn’t expected, even as his body twanged like a too-taut bowstring about to snap. Her skin was a feast, her curves a banquet, her hair a glory. Draped in abandon over the hood of a pickup, she was a Gypsy queen with raven tresses, a Siren calling men to dash themselves on rocks.

  Dear heaven, what a subject for a painting she would be.

  He couldn’t get enough of her.

  When her scream died off to a long, low moan and her arms flung outward in surrender, he pressed one more slow, wet kiss to the crease of her leg and rose.

  “I can’t move.” Her nipples were hard, her flesh was covered in goose pimples, and she was smiling.

  “Don’t try.” He could almost forget, in the magnificence of her, that his own body was aching.

  Then she pounced. In a blur, she was on him, dragging him close and tearing at his jeans. “Gotcha,” she crowed. “Your turn.” She dropped to her knees and put her mouth on him.

  His eyes rolled back in his head. He lingered in the stun-force spell until his body overheated into the red zone.

  Then he yanked her up. “Uh-uh.” As swiftly as he could manage with a brain fogged by lust, he hitched her back to the truck, covered himself and drove into her.

  She yelped, and he halted in alarm, hardly breathing.

  Then her head lolled back, and she made a guttural sound that was unmistakably pleasure.

  He fastened his teeth on her throat and thrust again.

  “Yes-s-s-s.”

  He began to chuckle, but her inner muscles tightened, and his laughter became a groan.

  She rose, clenched his hair and slanted her mouth on his.

  And everything went a little crazy just about then.

  Jezebel felt it when Micah let his guard fall. A glimpse of his face in the dappled moonlight opened up a place inside her that she knew would forever be unavailable to anyone else. The lines of pain dissolved, and the haunted hollows ebbed, however temporarily. He was all about hunger, but even so, tenderness coated each gesture, melting her insides like hot, sweet wax.

  He was a far better man than he allowed himself to believe.

  Heartache would come for
her somewhere not far down the road. He wouldn’t want her to care so much, she was certain.

  She couldn’t help it. Wouldn’t, if she could. She’d been kidding herself, of course, that tonight was only about fun. Some moments were too precious to be casual.

  Even if some hearts had no future together.

  Tonight he was here, and tomorrow would have to take care of tomorrow.

  For now…she would revel.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was hoping I’d imagined how good it was before.

  And this time was even better.

  Micah waited for the inevitable guilt to creep over him, for so long now his most constant companion.

  But Jezebel tossed her arms wide. “Wow.”

  And she began to laugh like a loon.

  For a split second, he felt grief beckon him, demanding his attention, scraping over his nerves like nettles—

  But Jezebel lifted her head just then, eyes sparkling in the moonlight, her face wreathed in smiles and fun and—

  She’s so sturdy, he marveled. He’d practically ravished her like some pirate, and she’d taken everything he could dish out—

  And done some dishing of her own.

  Her enthusiasm, her sheer joy in living was a shimmering pool of water amid barren sands.

  Just as her grin began to slip, he met it with one of his own, surprised that his was genuine.

  “Yeah. Double wow.”

  Hers flared once more, and he was caught yet again by her innate sweetness. Life had done a number on her every bit as much as it had on him, yet she’d chosen to meet it head-on, to scrap her way toward a better future without losing her cheer in the process.

  “I can’t believe you giggled when I tickled you.”

  “Guys don’t giggle.”

  She rose, one eyebrow arched, fingers flexing in implied threat. “Oh, yes indeed. Like a little bitty girl.” One hand darted toward his side, and Micah leaped backward so fast he stumbled.

  Jezebel threw back her head and laughed, belly-deep.

  And Micah could only stop and stare. She was magnificent. An Amazon queen, naked and glistening, strong and indomitable and so damn beautiful she could halt the breath in your chest.

  A fleeting wisp of thought, comparing her with his gentle, timid Charlotte, he ruthlessly rejected.

  “Keep your distance,” he commanded.

  “What? You’re scared of me now?” She descended from the hood and advanced on him with long, confident strides. “That’s probably healthy. You do seem to have an impressive number of sensitive spots on you.” Her expression was pure mischief.

  “I’ll show you sensitive,” he growled. He scooped her up and fastened his teeth to her throat.

  A swift gasp was his reward as he strode to her front door and quickly crossed to her bedroom, abandoning their clothes all over the ground outside.

  The idea made him smile.

  And then there were no more thoughts. Only sighs and murmurs, moans and whispers as body brushed body, heat melded to heat, and Micah lost himself in Jezebel’s sweetness.

  The following hours were the most carefree he could remember in years.

  He left Jezebel’s bed reluctantly in the morning, aware that others were still pulling too much of his load. He gathered their clothes from outside, shook out as much dirt as he could and donned his own. Set hers inside and yielded to temptation long enough to nuzzle her half-awake.

  She rolled from where she’d sprawled on her stomach next to him and blinked a drowsy smile. Her eyes lighting at the sight of him was a gift he would take with him. “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Early. Go on back to sleep. You didn’t get much.”

  “Yeah.” The smile slipped into smugness. Then her gaze cleared a little. “You didn’t, either.”

  “Yeah.” As much a sigh as a statement. He shook his head. “But the nursery beckons.” He hesitated, uncertain about what happened next.

  “I might need to buy some flowers later,” she said.

  Gratitude that she would make it easy raced over him. “I have an idea where you could get some.” He traced one of the wild tresses spread over her shoulder and barely resisted the urge to continue the path over her skin.

  Her breath hitched, and her eyes were an answering gratitude.

  But neither of them seemed to know what to say, the joy of the last several hours caught in a nexus of uncertain future and uneasy past.

  He cleared his throat. “I was thinking that I could help you some with the—” He shrugged. “The cleanup at the—” He didn’t want to bring the cottage and its attendant memories front and center just yet, but he was aware of a drive to spend time with her out of bed.

  Her gaze sparked. “So you’ll still—” She pressed her lips together. The same reluctance appeared to exist within her.

  He swallowed hard. The path out of his dark place was enveloped in brambles. He wasn’t sure he had what it would take to emerge.

  But he had to start somewhere.

  “Yes.” He focused on her like a lodestar.

  Her expression relaxed some. “I’ll be there all afternoon, then.” She rose to sitting and grasped the covers. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “No.” He pushed gently on her shoulder until she lay back again. He heard the huskiness in his voice. “Let me remember you like this.” He dropped a light kiss on her lips, and tore himself away before he wound up right back in there with her.

  He was nearly to the bedroom door when he paused. Gripped the jamb. “Thank you,” he said.

  And didn’t look back as he left.

  Thank you. The words echoed long after as Jezebel found herself unable to sleep, energized by the night. She leaped from the bed, noted the bright sunlight pouring through the two small front windows and absorbed the sight of her folded clothes from last night on a table by the door.

  And couldn’t resist a little happy-dance that had Rufus barking and Oscar hissing in annoyance.

  To feel this much joy over one simple night was absurd.

  Except it hadn’t been simple. It had been…amazing. Stunning. Rock-my-world hot.

  Ooh, how every last inch of her was replete with a staggering satiation, sinfully rich, gloriously…juicy. She was almost ready to come out of her skin at the mere notion of all they’d done together in the dark.

  Or the moonlight. She hugged herself and grinned.

  The hood of a pickup. That only happened in steamy novels.

  “Nope,” she told Rufus, holding his front paws as he stood and tried to dance with her, slobbering his adoration. “It happened right here in Three Pines, boy. To me—” She released his paws and jabbed a thumb toward her chest.

  And laughed deliriously while Rufus barked.

  She put water on to boil and headed for the bathroom, detouring long enough to soothe Oscar’s pout. She began the shower, then opened the medicine cabinet to grab toothpaste—

  And spotted the pregnancy test kit.

  Her spirits plummeted.

  She dropped her toothbrush in the sink and folded to the floor opposite.

  Today was the day, the first one she could expect an answer. She buried her head in her arms.

  She didn’t have to take the test; she could simply wait and see if her period started. She was fairly regular; it would only be two or three days before she’d have an inkling.

  The appeal of the reprieve was altogether too inviting. She would have more time to find out what might develop between her and Micah without the burden of such an immense—and emotional—complication.

  Coward.

  Her mouth quirked. She was every bit that, she admitted.

  But she was also worried about Micah. He had hazarded a crucial step across a very fragile bridge this morning. She’d felt the tension of grief pulling at him even as he dared to venture into a new future.

  If she was pregnant, that news would send him tumbling into
the treacherous ravine of his past.

  But she might not be, and then the way would be clear—

  For what? He’s leaving. And you told him you understood that. There’s no place in that life for you.

  She did understand. And she was fully prepared to cope with both his leaving and any legacy of that first night. She would even tell him about the baby—

  When he was ready.

  Right now, he was not. He’d laughed. Giggled, for Pete’s sake. How could she rob him of the chance to extend his venture into the light? That flame would be extinguished, maybe forever, if she even hinted at a suspicion of a pregnancy, and she understood herself well enough to be certain that she could never keep a secret of such magnitude for long.

  A few days wouldn’t hurt anyone, and she was too scared of forcing him back into that dark place if what she suspected was true.

  The best way to shield him was not to know herself.

  So Jezebel rose, grabbed the test kit and stashed it in the under-sink cabinet, and attempted to do the same with the seed in her mind.

  Micah Smith needed laughter and fun worse than anyone she’d ever met. She couldn’t have his love, and she might not have his presence long.

  But they could enjoy stolen days together, as many as fate allowed them.

  She pulled aside the shower curtain and made ready to grab whatever hours she could wrest from fate’s greedy fingers.

  Micah approached the cottage and his palms were slick with sweat, yes, but his chest didn’t feel quite so tight as before. He’d made a decision, and he would stick by it, even if there was still a ball of ice in his stomach.

  His rational mind told him it was time to move on. A part of him even yearned to be freed from the quicksand of remorse, but he’d lost faith that he deserved any joy.

  He still had no idea how to put behind him the way he and Charlotte had parted, but Jezebel had been right when she’d accused him of dishonoring what he and Charlotte had created by letting it slide into ruin.

  You may not be able to see the end of the road, but you can see the next step. When it’s all you’ve got, that’s what you do—take that next step, then another. How often had his mother said that?