by Allen, Jenna
At home taking a walk would always clear my head, but that was usually because I’d find a new restaurant or food cart that I could rant or rave about in the paper. Which only served to remind me that when we moved, I’d have no job.
It had taken me three years to earn a byline as a restaurant critic in the Post. No foodie in their right mind walked away from a gig like that. But then, no one walked away from a three bedroom on the second floor, or babysitting available on call.
I couldn’t quite put my finger on what grated me most about the move; giving up the job I loved, changing the kids schools, moving away from my parents who were my sanity whenever Scott traveled, finding a new home, or leaving my friends. Everything swirled together like the dingy muck flowing down the Portland storm drains. I liked my life in New York, and I wasn’t sure that I would here.
A town with half-sized city blocks and coffee shops on every single corner. These people were serious about their caffeine. I recognized the national chains, but some of the places seemed foreign. When I crossed one with ‘family owned and operated since 1900’ in the window, I decided to take a break from sulking in the rain.
A bell on the door jingled when I pulled it open and stepped inside, the smell of coffee hitting me like a warm wind. Perhaps all I needed was a mainline of caffeine and a heated place to sit to raise my spirits.
Immediately my mind was running like I was working, taking in the orange drapes hanging from amazingly high ceilings, accentuating the sheer size of the place and the half walls separating a few of the tables from the main grouping for privacy. A nice touch, but the glass case at the counter impressed me the most. Not just the normal display of danishes and bagels; this had sandwiches and yogurt, fruit and salads, and an amazing array of chocolate truffles.
The urge to order a bit of everything came on strong, but I wasn’t reviewing the place and I didn’t have three friends in tow to let me have a taste and then kindly finish the rest. Add that to the list of things to do. I had to make new friends.
“Don’t get the bagels.” The deep, resonant voice made me look up from pining over the collection of chocolates.
The man standing behind me had an infectious smile and eyes as blue as jays wings. It didn’t hurt that he wore a t-shirt showcasing arm definition worthy of a gymnast.
I grinned back. “Are the bagels tainted with something horrible, like wheat? I know Oregon is supposed to be afraid of processed food.”
He laughed, low and throaty. “Honey, I’m from New York, and believe me, they process everything here. Don’t let the advertising fool you.”
“That’s all I have to go on. I only got here this morning. From New York.”
“Then do yourself a favor, and listen to me about the bagels. The house coffee is actually good here. You don’t have to pretend you know how to order.”
I knew how to order, but took his advice on the house coffee and settled into a table by the window to people watch. He was right. It was fabulous.
“Mind if I join you?” He was back.
“Go ahead.” I motioned to the chair opposite me with my left hand. My wedding ring wasn’t huge, but it sparkled like crazy. I was on the market for new friends; I might as well be friendly.
He nodded at my truffles. “Afternoon sugar rush?”
“I’m trying to find reasons to move here. Chocolate is a big motivator.”
He flashed me a bone melting smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I could give you a few reasons.”
I’d just bet. Warmth radiated down my spine. A scene of one of the reasons he probably wanted to give me played in my mind. Usually when men flirted I thought it was fun. Given my current state of mind, it seemed a bit dangerous.
The room seemed to have jumped ten degrees, so I shimmied out of my coat, hoping that would make it seem cooler. But in only the shirtdress that Scott had so quickly removed last night, I felt naked. It had to be my coat making me hot. I cleared my throat against it being anything else.
“Here’s hoping chocolate is enough incentive.” I bit into a dark chocolate truffle. It wasn’t enough.
“Two blocks north of here is a chocolate café. They have a chili truffle that will make you weep.”
“I’m not big on crying, but thank you.” My soft chuckle might be flirting. But it was harmless. “How long have you been in Portland?”
“Three years. I promise, once you get used to the slower pace, you will like it.”
I sighed and cast a glance outside. “Don’t you find the rain depressing?”
“It doesn’t rain half as much as you’d think. Besides, it hardly ever snows. Unless you head up to the mountain.”
“The mountain?”
“Mt Hood. Skiing is within an hour of downtown, and so is the Oregon coast. You get the best of both worlds living here.” His long fingers slid along the table, closer to mine.
“Yes, but there is no Central Park.” I hurriedly wrapped both hands around my coffee.
“Even better, Forest Park. It’s like five times the size.” His clear blue eyes appraised me, blinking slowly like a cat. A predator. “My favorite is that they keep parking tickets under twenty bucks. I can go six months on the cost of a single parking ticket in New York.”
My cheeks tightened in a grin. Best not to tell Scott that tidbit. He’d add it to his arsenal. “That may be true, but I’m already missing the restaurants.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You just don’t know where to look. After all, the James Beard House may be in New York, but James Beard lived here.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
His foot slid against mine, but he looked right at me as if nothing had happened. “I had lots of reservations before we moved, and as an actor, my chances in New York were much higher.”
Of course he was an actor. Most people with his features would want to make something off their genetic good luck. “And still you moved.”
He shrugged. “The theater scene isn’t that bad, and they film more movies here every year. Besides, my wife just keeps getting promoted. She’s busier, but happier.”
My shoulders relaxed. He was married. I had to be imagining that he was flirting. Being upset about the move was causing me to look at everything with a jaundiced eye. “And you? Are you happy here?”
His fingers strummed on the table. “Happiness is what you make of it. I admire that Portlanders will start a petition to change things while New Yorkers prefer to kvetch. And I like that the train works on the honor system. Not like New York where the subway has turnstiles and all other kinds of monitoring. People here believe what you tell them.”
“Like me?” I gave a pert smile and took a sip of my coffee. Either my mind was working overtime, or he’d just insinuated something without saying anything untoward. Clever. Too clever.
“Like my wife when I tell her I sat alone at the coffee shop.” His magnetic eyes looked hungrily at me as he rose from the table, reaching a hand into the back pocket of his snug jeans. He pulled out a crimson business card, setting it on the table in front of me. “You should try it.”
I picked up the card. Ted Durham. Acting coach. “I should try acting?”
“Telling people what they want to hear, and doing what you want to do. You’ll enjoy Portland a lot more. I promise.” With a slow, all-knowing wink, he made his way out the door, leaving me holding his card.
Chapter 4
“O h good, you’re in the shower.”
I pulled aside the curtain, peeking out to find Scott fully dressed in the bathroom. “If it is good, then why are your clothes on?”
“We have reservations in an hour. Since you’re in the shower now, you’ll be ready by then.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the steam-filled room.
“Unbelievable.” I closed the shower curtain and leaned back under the spray. A summons to dinner after ignoring me all day. He couldn’t do that in New York, mainly because going out required arranging for a babysitter, bu
t still.
I took a deep breath, trying to find some enthusiasm about going out. I loved restaurants. Food was my passion. And yet I knew it would be some stuffy, mass produced place. Scott didn’t see the adventure in finding a rare gem with perfect tiramisu.
Why was it everything he did rubbed me the wrong way? I laughed at the thought. Not everything .
“That is not good for a man’s ego.”
I blinked away the water to find Scott climbing into the shower with me. I turned to the side so he could move closer, stepping into the spray. “Trying to hurry me along?”
“Not exactly.” His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him.
“What exactly?” I blinked up at him, giving my best coquettish grin. He licked his lips and my stomach flipped. Perhaps he’d have me for dinner instead of whatever pretentious restaurant he thought suitable.
“I thought you might need some help washing those hard to reach places.”
I laughed as his hands skimmed over my sides, around to my back. “Won’t that make us late for your reservations?”
“We have small children. We’re very efficient.”
I laughed harder at his serious tone. “What is this, some kind of working second honeymoon?”
Scott leaned closer, kissing my neck while his hands traveled lower. “That sounds good.”
“Not the working part. I don’t get a hello, and already your hands are on my ass?”
“You never were an easy piece, Jess.” He rested his forehead against mine, water dripping off his hair. His hands worked up to my hips, his body pressing against mine until my back pressed against the tile wall.
“Would you want me to be?” Never going to happen. I was having a hard enough time dealing with moving; becoming a Stepford wasn’t on the agenda.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He pressed me against the tiled wall with his body, his hands coming up to frame my face. “What do you want me to be, Jess?”
“Besides a man who lives in New York?” My cheeks tightened at the tease.
He licked his lips. “One track mind. I like that. But I’m just as stubborn, just as determined to get you to like it here.” At his last word, he pressed his cock against my belly.
“You think dinner will do that?” A luscious tingle worked its way down my spine.
“Absolutely not. That’s why I thought I’d butter you up now.”
“Oh, so this is for me, not you?” I let my smile free, glad to feel like I had the upper hand for once.
His hands slipped down my neck and across my shoulders. “Why don’t you decide. After.”
He dipped his head, his mouth even hotter than the spray hitting our sides as he kissed the tops of my breasts, lifting them into his hands. Watching as he worked my tight nipples with his fingers gave me almost the same thrill as the physical sensation.
He rose up, lifting my leg and wrapping it around his hips. “We don’t have much time.”
“Are you saying that you started something you can’t finish?”
“No, just promising to make it up to you later.” He tilted his head and captured my mouth, sending his tongue deep within. As one of his hands slid down the center of my body, barely grazing the sides of my breasts, my tongue joined in the playful chase and elude for control.
Ideas for later rushed through my mind, snarled up with the thoughts of Ted that had haunted my afternoon. Both disappeared when his fingers spread my pussy lips. The thick head of his cock pushed between my folds, promising pleasure to come.
He lifted his head, breaking the kiss. A wicked grin split his face as he slowly slid into me. His features sharpened from pure desire to blazing passion as he filled me.
Want overcame me, obliterated my desire to play a game with him. I needed release to the point where I couldn’t think, didn’t care who won this round. My entire body became a tangle of frantic nerves begging to be soothed.
Staring into my eyes, he rocked his hips. The friction against my clit sent waves of pleasure through me so intense it grew hard to keep my eyes open. My back slid against the tile, with tiny jumps as he thrust into me. I held onto his shoulders, every muscle in my body tensing in preparation. My hands moved over the hard curves of his arms, enjoying the way they flexed with the strain of holding my body open for him. His pace quickened, pushing me past the point of control. My orgasm hit in a spasm of flashing lights and shuddering limbs. Coming so hard felt like dropping off a cliff. I nearly slipped when Scott pulled out, shooting streams of his come against my stomach. I blinked, trying to recover enough to ask what that was about.
He leaned closer, nipping at my earlobe as he whispered, “I want to taste you later, and I don’t want you to taste like me.”
I released him, flattening my palms against the tile behind me as I stood on my own two feet, staring and wondering just what could be so bad about this dinner that he felt the need to coax me with sex before, and tempt me with the promise of more later.
“What’s this?” Scott held the blood red card between his fingers.
My pulse raced as I walked into the bedroom, struggling to finish threading a diamond drop earring through my ear. I hadn’t done anything wrong, yet my hands were shaking as if I’d been caught with my panties down. I glanced at the king sized bed, the white coverlet scattered with the contents of my purse.
“What are you doing?” I stepped to the bed and grabbed my purse. He’d completely emptied it, from my cell phone to lip gloss. Even the tiny first aid kit I had stashed for trips to the park with the kids wasn’t safe. “Why are you going through my things?”
“I was looking for your ID so you wouldn’t have to carry that thing.” He smoothed his tie, the same ice blue as his shirt. “It’s huge. I don’t know why you lug it around.”
The satchel wasn’t small, but it was fashionable and practical – I could hide snacks, toys, and an emergency pair of pants for Kyle. But the bag wasn’t the issue here.
“Don’t go through my purse. Especially when you’re going to dump everything out. You need to have more respect for my personal property.”
“Okay.” Scott drew the word out, lacing it with sarcasm. “What is this about?”
“This is about you thinking you own me, as if whatever I have is yours to do with as you see fit.”
“What’s mine is yours, Jess. What is it about this card that has you so riled up?” He narrowed his eyes. The brown gaze I usually found comforting unnerved me.
“What gives you the right to toss my stuff around like it’s junk? I’m aware you think the sun rises and sets with what you want, but I deserve some modicum of privacy.”
He had the nerve to roll his eyes. “To take acting lessons? Or is this about Janelle, because we agreed that was just a phase –”
“He didn’t want to teach me to act. Trust me.” Except that was exactly what Ted had wanted. Wanted me to act like the perfect professional’s wife and have the hidden affair.
Scott and I stared at one another, his breaths becoming shorter and shorter. Let him realize I had options. None I had any plan on exercising, but there were some hard limits on what I’d allow him to dictate for me. It seemed he could tell me where to live, but he wasn’t going to tell me how to live.
“Why did you take his card?” Each word dropped like a lead weight.
“It was on the table with the –” My gaze darted around the room, suddenly realizing what was missing. I stomped towards the wastebasket beneath the desk and pulled out the two free weekly newspapers I’d spent the afternoon analyzing. I grabbed them in my fist and turned around, shaking them at him.
“Why would you throw away something of mine? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking my wife carries a lot of junk in her purse. I was thinking her evening might go better if she didn’t have to tote it around.”
“Don’t throw away things that don’t belong to you. Because of your decision to sell my home and move here, I have to find a new job, maybe
writing for one of these papers.” I refolded the papers, setting them atop the desk. I looked up at the mirror hanging there, amazed to see just how much make-up could cover. Every emotion was churning within me, yet I looked cool as a shaken martini.
“You don’t have to work, Jessie.”
“I love being a restaurant reviewer.” I snagged the knee high boots I’d set out before my shower and sat in the wingback chair to zip them up. “If I thought you’d be around to watch the kids, I’d fly back to New York twice a month and keep my job at the Post.”
Scott shifted his weight, his forehead furrowing. “I’ll be around.”
“You are never around.” I stood, looking down at the outfit. The dress revealed more leg than I remembered, making me wish I’d packed tights. I didn’t want his work friends first impression of me to be MILF. “You’re gone more days than you’re home, and half of your trips are last minute. I can’t count on you to be there for the kids, and unlike you, I’m not disrupting their schedules so I can keep my job.”
“You’re changing the subject.” He still held the damned card.
“No, I’m not. You aren’t treating me like a person. The kids and I are a possession to you, something to put in the moving van and tote across the country. You don’t even value me enough to respect my privacy.”
“What’s this new need for privacy? Do you have something to hide, Jessie?”
“You seem awfully focused on what a stupid business card might mean. You feeling guilty about anything, Scott?”
He blinked, opening his eyes wide. “You have got to be kidding me. I’m not the one hiding business cards.”
“I wasn’t hiding a thing.” I smoothed my hands against the black wool dress I’d thought was sexy a moment ago. Now the plunging neckline seemed too much. It all just seemed a bit too much.
“Then why are you upset that I found it?”
“I’m upset that you threw away the papers I was reading. I’m upset that you went through my things as if you had a right to.”
