“Too heavy?” he asked, breaking the kiss so they could breathe.
“Too bossy,” she said, squirming some more, making him realize she was pressing her clit against his cock in rhythmic pulses.
“Yeah, I’m going to show you who’s in charge now,” he said, and inched down to latch on one of her nipples. Her heels dug into the mattress as her body bowed and he sucked harder as he reached to caress her other breast with a gentle touch.
He heard her panting breaths and felt the tremor of need that ran through her. Then he changed the caress to a pinch and tug and her mouth opened on a silent scream. He slid to the side, maneuvered her to face him, and drew up one of his knees between her legs, finding the damp heat of her. As he played with her breasts, she rubbed against the hard bone of his knee, taking herself higher.
“Yeah, baby,” he said, leaning over to take her other breast in his mouth and then toying with the one he’d been sucking. “You can get yourself all the way there if you need to.”
Her fingers fisted in his hair, yanked up, bringing their mouths in alignment again. Her kiss was heated, fervent, demanding.
“I need…I need…” she said against his lips.
“I know what you need,” he said, and slid his hand down her belly and beneath her panties. As they kissed again, wild, almost frenzied, his fingers found her swollen pussy and then he found her clit, stiff and eager.
He lifted his head to watch her face as he stroked there. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he said, seeing the orgasm overtake her. Her neck arched, her eyes closed and lovely color spread between her breasts and up her neck. As she began to quake, he slid two fingers inside her. Over the material of her panties, her hand clamped onto his, holding him to her as she rode out the waves.
As she calmed, he gazed down at her with satisfaction. “Yeah,” he said, smug as hell. “You’re the sweetest, hottest piece I’ve ever held in my arms.”
Her eyes popped open. “How about the sweetest, hottest piece you’ve ever let ride you, big man?”
And before he could process the question, she’d rolled him over and climbed aboard, her little red panties pulled aside at the crotch so his pulsing cock could find home. His hands gripped her hips, preventing impalement.
“Baby,” he groaned. “Condom.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She bit her lip, looking like she wanted to cry.
He spanked her ass. “In the bathroom, baby. In my shaving kit.”
Like the kitten he called her, she scampered away and in a moment was back. Then he was sheathed. “Replay,” he said, and she gave him a sultry glance from beneath her eyelashes.
As if there’d never been an interruption, his sweet, hot piece pulled aside her panties again and began to take in his cock, her tight pussy making his eyes roll back in his head. She took the inches slowly, he knew it wasn’t easy for her, but she breathed through it, her eyes going dreamy. He cupped her breasts, distracting her from any discomfort by brushing her nipples with his thumbs.
Then her ass met his groin and they both groaned. “I don’t know if I can move,” she whispered.
“Take your time.” He drew one hand to her sleek haunch. “But I’m so fucking close, baby, I don’t need much.”
She bent over him to kiss him again and the wildness calmed to something quieter as her tongue touched his. Then she was moving, tiny hitches of her hips and he caressed her skin as she found her rhythm.
His heart was pounding again, his cock throbbing in the tight channel of Jojo, but the urgency continued to fade as she rocked against him, this woman taking him to heaven without hurry.
His wife.
His wife.
As the word echoed in his head, he suddenly tightened everywhere, and the climax rolled up from his toes, roiled in his balls, and then shot up his shaft, pleasure streaking everywhere like starlight and sunlight and every bright thing in the whole damn world.
Lying beneath her, trying to recover his breath, he remembered how the day had started. He’d wanted to fight for her, but in the end, she had slain him.
His wife.
Chapter 12
Jojo came awake slowly, awareness of place and time still far off when she had the distinct feeling someone was watching her. She opened her eyes to find Con studying her face.
Con. And this was Con’s bed and last night she’d romped with Con in it until they’d ordered room service then returned to the sheets for more romping. Except the way he was looking at her now, she wondered if those hours had been less playful than she had considered them at the time.
His blue eyes didn’t contain a hint of laughter or even a smile.
Her belly fluttered and she grabbed the edge of the sheet, pulling it beneath her throat. Meager protection, but she had a sudden need for it.
He reached out, drew the knuckle of his forefinger along her nose. “Hey.”
She tried for cool. “Hey back.”
“Should we order some breakfast?”
“Coffee at least,” she said. Without caffeine she wouldn’t be able to get out of this bed and get on with her life.
As she knew she must.
Nonchalant as you please, he rose from the bed naked, then padded to the bathroom. He came back wearing one terry robe and dropped another beside her. As he called into room service, she slipped the voluminous garment on.
It hung heavy, like her mood.
Last night had been a fabulous, exciting, satisfying interlude. But reality came in with the dawn.
Soon enough, coffee and food were delivered. They sat near a window overlooking the lush green grounds of the resort, saying little to each other, each processing their own thoughts, it seemed. Sneaking a glance at Con, she wondered what was on his mind.
“We missed the appointment with the divorce attorney yesterday,” he said, tone noncommittal.
A chill swamped her and she tugged at the robe’s lapels, bringing them closer together. She directed her gaze out the window, staring at the deep blue of the sky, the color of Con’s eyes.
“Jojo?”
“Hmm?”
“Should we…”
It made her stomach hurt, thinking of ways to complete that sentence for him. Should we reschedule? Should we forget about it altogether? Should we go our separate ways for a time and address our options after our emotions have cooled and our memories of the hot sex have faded?
So she took the conversation in a new direction. “Can you drive me up to Aunt June’s B & B this morning? I need to collect my car.”
Con let her have that. He didn’t bring up the attorney again or anything else related to them and their marriage as they finished eating. Afterward, he dressed, then he drove her home so she could dress, both of them casual in jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers.
During the winding drive into the mountains, she unrolled her window and breathed in the scent of warm grasses, clean dirt, and thriving oak. They’d taken this route dozens of times in childhood and memories of dusty hikes, splashing in shallow streams, and picking wildflowers bubbled up, making her smile.
“Pull over,” she suddenly said, spotting a familiar split-rail fence. “There’s a small parking area just ahead.”
Con sent her a quick glance, but followed her directions without comment, driving them past a plain sign that read “Oak Hollow Park.” Once he braked the car, he looked over. “Well?”
“It’s a place we used to visit. Nothing particularly special—no playground equipment or anything like that—but there are hiking trails and burbling creeks. You want to see?”
His lips twitched. “Burbling creeks?” he echoed.
“It’ll be fun,” she said, ignoring the teasing light in his eyes. “We can walk around for a while. Stretch our legs.” Once they reached the B & B, they’d have to talk about the elephant still between them. Devise plans to make it disappear.
Con climbed from his SUV and she followed suit, feeling a hundred pounds lighter than when she’d woken up. “Which way, kitten?�
�� he asked.
She turned in a circle. Beyond the small parking area—completely deserted—was a couple of paths leading into the trees and shrubs. “I don’t really know if it matters. It’s not exactly as I remember. What do you say we just explore?” Hopeful that he wouldn’t shoot her down, her gaze sought his.
“You look happier,” he said, smiling and strolling near.
“I am. This is a cool place.”
“Let’s explore then,” he said, and took her hand.
It felt so natural. His hold so steady, his shoulder brushing hers on occasion. He helped her over a boulder and across a creek, “Burbling” he murmured, and she knew he was laughing at her a little.
She didn’t care. Not with him by her side, holding back stray branches and waving off a curious flying insect or two. At a fork in the path, she let him choose their direction. It wasn’t one she remembered, leading uphill to a grassy knoll. As they headed over it and down, they came upon a plot of land surrounded by a dilapidated fence covered with fading paint.
They paused a moment, then Con tugged her forward. Inside the perimeter they could see crude headstones—some merely listing crosses of unfinished wood now silvered, others stone with weathered lettering. A bronze plaque bolted to a nearby tree trunk explained it was a historical burying place for some early settlers of the area.
They wandered inside, parting to inspect different markers.
“Here’s one for Punkin Healy,” Con called. “Lived to be eighty.”
Jojo stopped before another, a thick wooden slab with lettering carved inexpertly if deeply onto its surface. “Oh, this is cute. It says “John’s dog Curly. Best boy ever.”
Con walked over and inspected the dates. “Curly had fourteen good years.”
“In canine time, he was almost as old as Punkin.”
Smiling down at her, Con caught her hand again, and they walked together to the next legible headstone.
The name on it punched her in the solar plexus. Five letters, carved in stone. The smaller last name below didn’t register. She could only stare at the first line.
SIMON.
“Shit,” Con muttered, and began hustling her away. “Let’s get out of here.”
“It’s all right,” Jojo lied, digging in her heels. “I’m totally fine. This is an interesting historical graveyard. That’s…that’s…” Her mouth dried and her tongue felt like sandpaper as she pointed at the headstone. “He’s not…”
Jojo crossed her arms over her waist, hugging herself. “Our Simon’s not buried,” her voice sounded unnaturally high. “We scattered his ashes in the ocean.”
Letting out an indecipherable sound, Con came close and drew her against his chest.
Nose stinging, she didn’t lean into him like she wanted, because she was going to keep it together, damn it. The little sister kept it together. She bounced back. “He loved the ocean,” she said. “Never wanted to live…never wanted to live…”
Her throat closed down. Damn it. Her emotions were too close to the surface, thanks to…everything—divorce, marriage, the intimacy of sex with Con. Pressing the back of her hand to her nose, she attempted to hold back the stupid tears.
And then they burst from her, five years’ worth of unquenchable grief. Con’s arms tightened around her and she buried her face against his shirt, her hands clutching at him. As she continued to cry she heard him murmuring to her, unhurried, soothing words and sounds that didn’t staunch the rush of anguish.
Hours later, days later, her sobs turned into hiccups and her hiccups turned into unsteady breaths. He continued to rub her back and when she finally quieted, he kissed the top of her head.
“Feel better?” he asked.
“I feel embarrassed,” she admitted, staring at the mess she’d made of his shirt.
“Embarrassed that you’ve been holding all that in?”
Jojo sighed. “There didn’t seem to be a time and place for my…my heartache or anyone to truly share it with. Mom went into her dark place and that was enough for Dad and Alec to deal with. So I…”
“Carried on, you said.”
“Yeah.” She attempted to shuffle away from him, but he held her tight. “Con…”
“I’m your time and place, Jojo. I’m your person to share things with, sad and happy and all that’s in between. I’m willing to be, anyway. I want to be.”
She sucked in a breath, still focused on his shirtfront. Her throat was trying to close tight again.
“This is how it could be for us,” Con said, and tucked a knuckle under her chin so their gazes met. “You see? Like this.”
“Me ruining your shirts with tears and snot?” she tried to joke, but he didn’t crack a smile.
She thumped her forehead against his breastbone. “Take me to Aunt June,” she whispered, suddenly terrified to be alone with him any longer.
On a sigh, Con complied.
But Aunt June wasn’t at the B & B. She’d gone to the farmer’s market in the valley, according to Regina, driven there by a friend of hers. So Jojo collected her car keys but told Con she’d wait for her relative to return and leave Santa Ynez later.
“Um, thanks for everything,” she said to him, feeling awkward and on the edge of panic. They stood outside his SUV, the sun picking up gold strands in his hair.
“What’s going to happen now, Jojo?”
The elephant. It was trumpeting, demanding to be noticed. Addressed. Dealt with once and for all. Their quickie wedding.
Her skin turned icy and misery filled her belly. “I made a stupid, impulsive choice once before,” she whispered, directing her gaze to the toes of her shoes. “Five years ago.”
“You might have made a similar choice then,” Con said, his tone calm. “But you’re not the same person now. This—what we have—is not the same thing as what that was.”
It wasn’t, he was right about that. Five years ago she’d wanted Timothée to unearth passion and feeling inside her. While with Con, she was already passion and feeling, right there on her surface, waiting for him to stoke and touch and take.
But the risk of another failure…she wouldn’t be strong enough to watch another marriage disintegrate. It would kill her if Con walked away from her five years on.
It was going to be bad enough when she sent him away in five more minutes.
She heard him sigh again, curse, jingle the change in his pocket. Chancing a glance upward, she saw his set expression and the fierceness in his eyes. The absolute beauty of his masculine features.
Yes, she’d be hurt enough when it ended today.
“Look.” Con sucked in a long breath. “Give us a chance, Jojo. You like me—”
“I already told you I like you!” she shouted, suddenly losing it.
He stared at her, appearing alarmed. “Hey, now, calm down.”
Temper and panic erupted, a lava-like feeling rising within her. “Don’t you understand?” she yelled. “I like you, I like you, I like you.”
“Then what’s the problem?” he asked, his voice low.
“The problem.” And her voice rose again, louder than ever before. “The problem is I don’t ever want to love you!”
Con left following that final outburst. She didn’t stay to see his taillights or the spray of gravel as he exited the Blue Jay’s parking area. Instead, she ran into the house where she closed her eyes and tried calming herself. No waiting for Aunt June, she decided.
The time to leave was now. Because here was too close to her final goodbye to the man who’d upended her life. The man she was too afraid to risk caring for.
Maybe she’d drive to Dragonfly Beach and tell her cousins that the Heartbreak Hotel legend was a total crock of ca-ca. Hadn’t she met Con there?
She’d inform Jessie there wasn’t a chance in hell that the poor widower, Shaw Morgan, would find a cure for his broken heart during his visit.
From the refrigerator, Jojo withdrew a pitcher of cold lemonade and chugged down a glass. Feeling margin
ally more human, she pulled her keys from her pocket and headed for her car. Then she started off, ready to get away, retreat somewhere new, even as a voice deep-down inside her whispered that the person she was really trying to escape was herself.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening either.
Her foot was heavy on the accelerator, she knew that. But her small car maneuvered the narrow, twisting roads handily and she didn’t expect to meet any oncoming traffic, isolated as this area was. She edged up her speed, taking the next tight turn with just a squiggle of her back wheels. The next curve was maneuvered with a second squiggle.
And then came the unthinkable.
Just as she steered around yet another tight corner, a vehicle filled her vision. Slower than hers, but at a businesslike clip and heading straight for her. There was no room for the two vehicles to pass.
Her mind leaped back five years. This is what Simon must have seen in his last moments, Jojo thought. A car in his path. No way out. He’d have known what was about to happen—a cataclysmic collision.
All that blood.
Automatically Jojo’s foot pressed on the brake, her brother at the forefront of her mind. His foot would have done the same, even as regrets, perhaps, welled, knowing he was facing the last seconds of his life.
His sole hard on the brake pedal, his fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel, he would have fought against death, thinking he’d give everything he had for another moment of life, another moment with loved ones, another opportunity to reach for love and find it in someone else’s arms.
Then, a miracle. Her car rocked to a halt in a cloud of dust, as did the oncoming one. Through her windshield she saw how narrowly she’d missed plowing into the other vehicle. Her bumper nearly kissed that of the big SUV.
Con’s SUV.
With trembling hands, she slowly pushed open her door. He already stood outside it, and immediately yanked her into his arms. She could feel him shaking too. “You little fool,” he whispered against her ear. “Driving too fast. You scared the hell out of me.”
Yes, yes, such a fool for trying to avoid what her heart was telling her. She pressed her cheek to his and felt its fast, steady thud. Con, alive. Con, her husband.
My Quickie Wedding (Heartbreak Hotel Book 3) Page 8
