Waiting for April

by Jaime Loren

  “Your hands tingle when you’re anxious. I can always tell when you’re uncomfortable, because you rub them together.” I brushed her cheek with my fingers. “So I know you’re not uncomfortable with me doing this.”

  “That doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” she whispered.

  I leaned in closer, our lips only an inch apart, reveling in her scent of strawberry with a hint of lavender. “I don’t scare you?”

  “No. Not anymore,” she said as she placed her hand on my chest. My heart thumped against her palm. “I regret a lot of things I’ve said these past few days.”

  “Like calling me an old man?”

  She smirked. “No. I don’t regret that. You’re totally old.”

  I winced as if wounded. “And they say words will never hurt you.”

  She trailed her fingertips across my chest. “They also say sticks and stones will break your bones … so I guess that makes you all backwards.”

  “Damn! She strikes again.” I looked away and shifted on my feet, my jeans tightening more with each second she touched me. She returned her hand to my heart. When I glanced up again, her expression had grown serious.

  “Your heart has been beating for so long,” she said.

  “So has yours.”

  Sadness filled her eyes. “You must get sick of trying to save me.”

  “I would die for you,” I said with conviction, then bit my tongue. Was there such a thing as coming on too strong after everything we’d dealt with these past few days? The last thing I wanted to do was push her away. It seemed things between us were pretty close to perfect right now.

  “Then I’ll try really hard to avoid danger this time.” She fixed her sights on my mouth again and bit her lip.

  “You always used to bite your lip when you wanted me to kiss you,” I said.

  “What makes you think that has changed?”

  She’d barely finished her sentence when I sought her mouth, our tongues immediately locking.

  The kitchen door rolled open and Henry shuffled into the room. April and I broke apart, and I sighed with frustration. Her mouth curled up, but she looked away before breaking into a full grin. I rolled my head toward Henry and set a “what the hell are you doing?” look on my face, waiting for him to discover it. He was on his way past when he looked up and jumped, then grinned deviously.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” he said, walking over to the fridge.

  “That’s okay, Henry. I was just going to bed,” April replied, popping my hopes like a balloon. Without warning she slid off the bench. I didn’t have time to step back before the hard evidence of my arousal brushed between her thighs. A short, soft whimper fell from her lips, and to my more-than-pleasant surprise, she didn’t push me away. In fact, for a moment, she tried to maintain contact by pressing against me.

  Blood pooled in her cheeks as she looked up. “Can I take a rain check on that mousse?”

  I nodded, lost in her eyes. “Of course.”

  “Thank you for a lovely day.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She seemed hesitant to leave. “Maybe we can go for a swim tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Maybe I’ll even construct sentences that have more than two words in them tomorrow.

  “Well … goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, April.”

  She stepped around me, letting her fingertips trail across my stomach on her way past. The problem in my jeans became considerably worse. I closed my eyes, savoring the moment, and when I opened them, she was gone.

  “If I’d known you were in here, I wouldn’t have come in,” Henry said.

  “That’s okay. Probably best to take things slow, anyway.”

  He nodded. “Well, once I take these pills, I’ll be out like a light.” He smirked as he poured his glass of water and headed for the door. “Probably be out for hours.”

  I suppressed a grin. “Okay, old man. Let’s get you upstairs.”

  “Nah. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” He stopped and looked up at me. “Did I tell you my hearing is getting worse?”

  I raised my brow. “Is that right?”

  “You could do anything up there and I wouldn’t hear a goddamn thing.”

  I laughed and ushered him from the room.

  *****

  Henry wasn’t lying. Ten minutes after taking his pills, he was snoring on the couch. I sat in the recliner to the left, thumbing through a novel I’d read at least a dozen times. I turned the pages back and forth, trying to … Who was I kidding? The fact I was spending the night with my elderly, snoring friend—instead of April—was driving me insane. She’d only been up there for fifteen minutes. It was possible she wasn’t asleep yet.

  I was right. A creak at the top of the stairs pulled my attention.

  She stood still, biting her lip. I pushed myself off the couch and took the stairs without breaking eye contact with her. When I was close enough to hear the short, shallow breaths falling from her lips, I grasped her waist and pulled her against me. Her hot palms flattened on my chest, sliding over the muscle beneath my shirt to send ripples of pleasure through every inch of me. I nudged her nose gently with mine, but she tilted her head back, teasing me with a sly grin. Then her hands fisted in my shirt, and she pulled, urging me to take the final step. I moved quickly, lifting her before she could get further than arm’s-length away. Giggling softly, she wrapped her legs around my waist as I carried her toward the bedroom, my heart pounding.

  After closing the door behind us, I trailed the back of my fingers along her jaw and down her neck, marveling at her smooth, porcelain skin in the moonlight. When she tipped her head back, I kissed the hollow of her throat before pressing my tongue to her skin. She made a soft, helpless sound and tightened her legs around me.

  It was a good sign. A very good sign. I carried her to the bed and lowered her down. I squeezed my eyes closed, fighting off the insatiable need to ravage her. To my pleasant surprise she reversed our positions, rolling me onto my back so she could climb on top of me.

  My mouth was suddenly dry. “What are we doing, exactly?”

  Without answering, she unbuttoned my shirt. My skin prickled with goose bumps as she trailed her fingers over my chest, leaving hot, white flames in their wake.

  My breathing faltered, then stopped altogether when she shuffled back and gasped softly at the feel of me between her thighs. Last night she’d been embarrassed at her unexpected reaction. Tonight, she welcomed it.

  I more than welcomed it.

  She bent down and closed her mouth over my nipple, while I slid my hand through her hair and swallowed hard as she planted hot, wet kisses across my chest.

  “You’re sure no one can see through these windows?” she asked, breathlessly.

  Somehow I managed to croak out, “Positive.”

  With that, she slipped away. For a moment the only sound in the room was the beating of my heart. I sat up, and was about to ask where she’d gone, when the light came on. The sight of her made me ache: her hair falling to her waist, her cheeks glowing, her eyes filled with desire.

  She chewed her lip as she approached and gently straddled my lap. My heart lurched. The crotch of my jeans tightened even more. My trembling hands went to her thighs; my eyes locked with hers. Then she cupped my face, leaned in, and kissed me so delicately that if kisses were words, I would have become mortal again.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered when our lips parted.

  “I’m yours.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I pulled back to examine her.

  “Say something,” she whispered.

  I blinked. “I think … I might be dreaming this.”

  She gave me a crooked smile. “You don’t sleep, remember?”

  “Yeah, that sounds vaguely familiar.” I tucked her hair behind her ear.

  With her hands still on my face, she sank deeper into my lap and planted a long, sweet kiss on my lips. “Scott,” she said, her voice shaking. In fact, her whol
e body quivered against mine.

  My head was spinning so fast I thought I might pass out.

  The words I heard next seemed to come from some distance away—so far away I thought for a moment I’d imagined them. They floated in my head, twisting and turning until they made sense, and even then, I didn’t believe her.

  But when she said them again, they began to sink down, taking root in my core. The tension I’d carried for over eighty years began to melt away like chunks of ice from a glacier, exposing me for what I truly was.

  Human. Man. Vulnerable.

  And I’d never felt so alive.

  Holding her tight, I rolled, bringing myself down on top of her so fast, she squealed with laughter. “Say it again,” I demanded.

  Grinning, she raised her knees and wrapped her legs around me to lock me between her thighs—as if I wanted to be anywhere else. “I love you, Scott William Parker. I’ve always loved you. I will love you forever. I love you. Love, love, love—”

  I moaned and kissed her again, slowly, passionately, stealing her words and swallowing them whole as I pressed her into the bed.

  But as the minutes passed in a whir of disbelief, bliss, and elation, my energy diminished at a rapid rate. It was a side effect I’d forgotten about—or at least thought my memory had exaggerated. Yet, as April’s tongue moved with mine, and her hands wandered my body, my muscles relaxed to the point of immobility.

  “Scott?”

  I tried to lift my head, and was vaguely aware of how grateful I was that she was currently on top of me, and I wasn’t crushing her. “Mm?”

  There was a pause, or perhaps I’d lost consciousness and could no longer measure time. But I swore I felt her lips against my cheek, and her breath in my ear. “Sweet dreams.”

  Chapter 22

  (April)

  One lifetime with Scott Parker would never be enough. Even if we lived until we were one hundred, I’d want more.

  I watched him as he slept, marveling at the smaller details of his face I hadn’t allowed myself to notice before, in case he caught me staring. But now I knew he was mine. I was lying in his arms. He wanted me in his arms. Not Stella. Not any one of the dozens of girls who’d slipped him their number over the years we’d been friends.

  He wanted me, and now I could stare all I liked.

  There was a tiny scar just below his left eye. I traced it with my finger. Along his jaw, his stubble rasped against my thumb, and I wondered if he would shave now that he could. Would he cut his hair, too? Would he have to start working out to keep in shape? Because, God knows, the guy was in shape. Licking my lower lip, I slid my hand across his chest, wondering how it would feel to press my bare chest against his muscled body.

  I dragged my fingers through the soft, curly, dark blond hair that trailed in a line from his navel to his jeans, eliciting a soft moan even while he slept. It made me smile, and the sound of him created a pull deep within—a yearning that could only be satiated by his touch.

  If I’d known my confession would send him into a comatose state, I would’ve waited until after he’d touched me deeply. But I couldn’t ignore the intense joy I felt at witnessing him sleep. He hadn’t done that in over eighty years. It was no wonder he was tired. Folding the quilt over him, I snuggled into the crook of his shoulder. My heart fluttered when he pulled me closer and kissed my forehead as he rolled onto his side to face me. Enveloped in Scott’s arms, I closed my eyes and nuzzled my nose into his chest, allowing sleep to carry me away, too.

  *****

  I was first to wake up the next morning when the sunlight filtered through the windows. Scott’s arms were still wrapped around me as he snored softly. I had to hold my breath to keep from laughing—or from whacking him after he’d teased me about my snoring.

  A slight smile was etched onto his face. I wondered if it was because of a dream, or because he knew I was lying in his arms. Either way, he was happy, and that knowledge warmed me. He deserved this break from reality.

  I lowered my head to his chest and listened to the drum beat of his heart. We were both mortal now. He was aging with every second, like me. But the happiness that came with returning him to normal was quickly overshadowed with the brutal reality I hadn’t given much thought to until now.

  He could die, now.

  I held him tighter, trying to push those thoughts from my mind. The possibility of losing him was enough to spark fear in every inch of my body. Would I be immortal if he died? Did it work both ways? Or would he be ripped from me forever, leaving me to grow old and die alone, crying for him?

  I didn’t want to know the answer. I didn’t want to think about my fate either way. We were here now, and he knew I loved him. That was all that mattered.

  *****

  It was another three hours before he stirred. He glanced around the ceiling before lowering his eyes to me. They widened, and he lifted his head, only to let it fall back to the pillow as he planted his palm on his forehead.

  “Oh no,” he groaned.

  My heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t believe I passed out on you.”

  I exhaled, relieved. “Oh. That.”

  “That? That was only the best night I’d had in over eighty years, and I fell asleep before it even got started.”

  I grinned. “And you snored.”

  “Nooooooo!” he said, his chest bouncing with laughter. “I loved watching you sleep,” I admitted.

  He lifted his hand from his forehead and raised his brow. “Is that right?”

  “You looked so peaceful. And your mouth curled up in the corner whenever I told you I loved you.”

  “You talked to me while I was asleep?”

  I nodded.

  “I thought I’d dreamt that,” he said.

  “I would have undressed you to make you more comfortable, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t have been able to keep from taking advantage of you,” I said, running my fingertips over his bare chest.

  His eyes filled with desire as he pulled me closer and kissed me softly. “Well, I’m awake now, and completely defenseless.”

  His stomach grumbled, making me laugh. “And hungry, apparently,” I said.

  He chuckled. “Starving.”

  “You haven’t eaten much over these past few days.”

  “I didn’t need to eat. And I certainly wasn’t expecting you’d tell me you were in love with me.”

  “Yeah, um—about that,” I said, pulling away.

  He watched me with a wary eye.

  “Are you going to fall asleep every time I tell you that? Because I was kind of hoping we could …” I let my voice trail off as I straddled him and slid both hands over his chest.

  Scott knitted his hands behind his head, his eyes filled with curiosity. “I’m listening.”

  “Have a romantic evening? At least after Henry has gone to bed, and we have some time alone.” I lowered my head. “I mean, it’s not like you have to take me on a date or anything, seeing as we’ve done all of that in the past.”

  “April.” He lifted my chin. “Will you join me on a picnic this afternoon? I promise I won’t fall asleep on you again.”

  A smile broke across my face. “I would love to.”

  “Then it’s a date.”

  I leaned down and planted my lips on his.

  *****

  It was quite possible I was going to vibrate out of my skin with anticipation. If I didn’t stop running the razor over my legs, I was going to lose my flesh, too. But I wanted to be perfect for Scott—to be everything he’d dreamed about over the last 280 years, give or take a few. I planted my palm against the shower screen to steady myself.

  What if I was terrible in bed? Would he still be expecting an athletic nymph who could take him five or six times a day? Because I’d felt how aroused he was last night—a memory that flooded me with heat—and from the locker room talk I’d heard, apparently he was hung like—

  “Horses.”

  I jumped
, dropping my razor and almost slipping on the shower tiles. “What?!”

  His voice came from the other side of the door. “I said I’m going up to the barn to feed the horses. I won’t be long.”

  “Okay,” I called, trying to reclaim oxygen.

  The last thing I needed was to fall and break something—or worse. It would certainly be my luck: find out the man of my dreams had been in love with me for centuries, and die before I’d had the pleasure of his touch.

  I finished showering and dressed in the nicest things I could find. Considering I’d packed clothes for camping, my choices were slim. I settled for a knee-length white skirt and a dark blue blouse—an outfit I’d packed at the last minute on the off chance we might head into town for dinner one night.

  I’d just finished running a comb through my hair when there was a knock at the front door. My stomach flipped. The cabin was silent. Had Henry gone with Scott to the barn? Was I supposed to answer that?

  I leaned out into the passageway. “Scott?”

  No answer. Another knock made me nervous. Normally I’d have no problem opening the door to strangers, but that was before I’d discovered my keen sense of dying—sometimes at the hands of strangers. And then of course there was the other night, when we’d thought there was someone outside. Someone watching. Waiting. What if there had been? What if the beaver had just been a coincidence?

  Another knock.

  Damn it! My phone was in the living room. With my heart in my throat, I hesitantly made my way downstairs. Henry was sitting on the couch, reading, with a smirk on his face. I narrowed my eyes and went to answer the door.

  Scott stood before me, dressed in a white shirt, brown breeches, and a tan vest. He wore a white cravat neatly tied around his neck, and white knit socks that were raised to meet the breeches at his knees. With one hand behind his back, he bowed. “Milady.”

  For a moment I stood, dumbfounded.

  He straightened up. “My name is Scott Parker.”

  I stepped toward him, amazed at how someone could make an outfit like that look so incredibly sexy. Finding my voice, I said, “Oh? And what brings you to my door, Mr. Parker?”