Love With Me (With Me In Seattle Book 11)

by Kristen Proby

  Nancy nudges my leg, wanting a scratch behind the ear, so I squat beside her and oblige.

  “Hey there, good girl. Were you helping Grandpa in the yard?”

  “She’s an excellent helper,” Dad says, and I scoff.

  “Sure, she’s excellent at napping in the grass.”

  “Well, that’s her job,” he says in her defense, and it softens my heart toward my father even more.

  Larry Thompson might very well be the kindest, gentlest man ever born. The heartache he’s been through over the last few years is just plain unfair.

  When the table is set, we sit down for dinner. Nancy has abandoned my leg for Dad’s, resting her chin on his thigh, waiting for a handout.

  I love that she enjoys my father. Maybe I’ll take Noel’s advice and leave her with Dad once in a while if he’s open to keeping her.

  Dad slips Nancy a piece of chicken and rubs behind her ear before returning to his own meal.

  Yeah, I don’t think I’ll have to talk him into it.

  “Oh, girls, I have something for you,” Dad says and jumps up from the table. He hurries into his bedroom and returns with two small boxes. “I know your mother would want you to have these.”

  Dad hasn’t given us anything from our mom since she passed, so this is a big deal. I hope it means that he’s come to terms with losing her.

  Inside my box is the heart-shaped locket that I bought for her the Christmas before she passed. Noel’s is a charm bracelet.

  We glance at each other, both surprised.

  “Thanks, Dad,” Noel says, setting the box next to her plate. “I know it’s not easy for you to part with Mom’s things.”

  “Well, I suppose I can’t keep them forever,” he says with a sigh, and again, Noel and I look at each other in surprise.

  “If you’d like,” I begin, “we would be happy to come over and help go through some of her stuff. We could donate her clothes to the women’s shelter, and—”

  “No.” Dad’s voice is hard, and his eyes have gone cold. My happy, jovial, good-natured father has been replaced by the grief-stricken one. “You will do no such thing.”

  “Dad,” Noel says softly, “you just said yourself that you can’t keep everything forever.”

  “You will not come in and take her out of here,” he says adamantly. His hands have balled into fists on the table. “There’s no need for that.”

  “Can we just tidy up?” I ask in desperation. “I mean, the dust rag she used is still on the mantle, ironically covered in dust.”

  “No,” he says again and shakes his head. He won’t look at either of us. He’s gone pale. “No.”

  “Okay,” Jace says and covers my hand with his. “It’s okay, Larry. Now you know, that when you’re ready, the girls will help. I’ll help, too, if you’d like. I noticed you planted carrots out back. I don’t remember seeing them last week.”

  And just like that, Dad takes a deep breath, rubs Nancy’s head, and talks about his vegetable garden with Jace while Noel and I push our food around on our plates, half-listening.

  When dinner is over, Noel and I clean up the dishes, and she makes a hasty escape. I can see the grief in her eyes as she waves goodbye and leaves out the front door.

  Coming to Dad’s house is never easy for either of us.

  “I guess I should go, too,” I say.

  “Come to my place,” Jace says. “I’d like to show you the progress in the bathroom.”

  “I have Nancy.”

  “She can stay here tonight,” Dad says with a smile. Nancy is sitting next to his feet as if that’s exactly where she belongs. “We’ll watch some TV and make an early night of it.”

  “I’ll come get her in the morning,” I reply and give Dad a big hug. “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I know. I love you, too, baby girl.”

  “You have to talk to me,” Jace says when we pull up to his house. I left my car at Dad’s, and yes, I know what that means. That I’ll be staying with Jace tonight. But it felt natural to just slip into his car and come home with him.

  I just haven’t said much because I’m way too inside my own head about my dad and Noel and Jace and all of the craziness going on in my life right now.

  He throws the car into park, cuts the engine, and we walk inside the house. He left a few lights on in the hallway and kitchen, and I walk directly to the wall of windows that frames the city and the Sound beyond it.

  “I don’t get it,” I mutter as Jace joins me. He holds my hand, tangling our fingers. “How can he do it? How can he keep that house exactly the way it was when she was living?”

  “He misses her,” he says.

  “Two years. She’s been gone for two years, Jace. I miss her, too, but Jesus, it’s been two years. There’s no need to leave her dust rag out, or her laundry in the hamper. Her makeup on the vanity. My God, her hairbrush, full of hair, is still on the bathroom sink.”

  “Two years isn’t that long when you’ve lost the woman you spent more than forty years with,” he points out, bringing tears to my eyes. “I know she was your mom, and you were close, but Joy, she was his wife. His partner in all things. He slept next to her every night.”

  “You’re right.” I blink rapidly against the tears that want to fall. “I can’t imagine it.”

  He squeezes my hand. “I know. I can’t either. Why do you think I go see him every week? Because I know he’s lonely, and I enjoy him. He’s one of the best people I know.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve been going to see him every week and I didn’t know.” I look up at him, then lean in and press a kiss to his arm. “You’re a good man, Jace Crawford.”

  “Don’t let it get out.”

  “Your secret is safe with me.”

  He smiles down at me, then tugs on my hand and leads me back to his guest bathroom. The trim is taped off, the floor and fixtures protected by a tarp, and the walls are covered in a bold blue.

  “We got the first coat on today,” he says. “Levi isn’t great with a paintbrush, but he’s an excellent taper.”

  “I love the color,” I reply. “It would look fantastic with a Moroccan tile.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” he says with a smile. “Wyatt sent me the name of a good tile guy. I’ll call him tomorrow.”

  I kick off my shoes into the hallway, pull my hair into a ponytail, and reach for a roller.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “I’m starting the second coat.” I smile over at him. “Might as well get this done.”

  “You don’t have to paint my bathroom,” he insists, but I’ve already poured the paint into the pan.

  “I like doing this, remember?”

  “Okay.” He shrugs and reaches for another roller. But first, he sets his phone on the countertop and starts a playlist. Rob Thomas and Santana come blaring out of his phone, and my hips immediately begin to move as I roll the paint onto the wall.

  “And it’s just like the ocean . . .”

  I shake my booty back to the pan to load my roller and find Jace watching me with a grin.

  “What?”

  “I like the way you move, Dr. Thomas.”

  I curtsey. “Thank you, Dr. Crawford.”

  I go back to my dancing and painting. After three more songs, Jace passes a glass of white wine under my nose, and I greedily take it from him, sipping it as I take in our handiwork.

  “We’re good at this,” I say.

  “You’re good at everything,” he replies, sipping his wine. Maroon 5’s Sugar comes on, and with a half-smile, Jace sets our glasses aside and pulls me into his arms to dance.

  “I love this song,” he says.

  Jace can do a lot of things well. He’s amazing at math. He’s the best surgeon on the West Coast, and maybe in the country.

  And that’s not just my bias talking.

  But when it comes to dancing, he could give Fred Astaire a run for his money. He’s light on his feet, his posture is perfect, and the wa
y his muscles move as he sways makes my mouth go dry.

  Jesus, he’s a sight to behold.

  I can’t help but think that he’d move this way in bed, too—with confidence and grace. His hands are sure and strong, one on my back and the other holding mine as he moves us across the floor, making me laugh when he dips me back and then steals a kiss as he pulls me back up.

  “You’re charming,” I murmur against his lips. “And this wine is going to my head.”

  “That was my evil plan,” he admits and nibbles on the corner of my mouth. “Get you good and drunk.”

  “Hey, no hanky-panky,” I inform him, jabbing my finger into his chest. “I’ll stay in the guest room.”

  “Over my cold, dead body,” he growls and buries his face in my neck as Adam Levine sings about girls like me. I have Jace wrapped around me and Adam in my ears, and it’s a heady combination.

  “Where will I sleep?”

  “My bed,” he replies immediately.

  “I never said I would sleep with you.”

  “Sleep,” he says. “Don’t think for a minute that you’re getting me naked.”

  I snort, making him grin.

  “I mean, you must think very highly of yourself if you think I’ll just take my clothes off and let you have your way with me.”

  He’s barely moving now, just snuggled up against me, his mouth gliding over my skin as he talks, sending delicious chills over my body.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” My voice is weak, and I feel him smile against me.

  “There’s no way I’d want to kiss you.” He presses those lips against the pulse in my neck. “Bite you.” He bares his teeth and nibbles me there. “Lick you.”

  He leaves a wet trail down to my collarbone, and I can’t even remember what we were talking about now.

  “Do you work tomorrow?” he asks, bringing me out of the sexy fog.

  “No.”

  “Good.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “You can sleep in tomorrow morning.”

  We spend the next thirty minutes cleaning up our painting mess, then gather our empty wine glasses and wander through the house to his master suite.

  The room is massive with simple furniture and neutral-colored linens. More windows line the west window, showing off the city and the water beyond.

  “I need a shower,” I murmur, reaching high above my head in a stretch. Without a word, Jace marches into his bathroom, and then I hear the shower come to life.

  “It’s ready for you,” he calls out. I walk to the doorway and lean one shoulder on the doorjamb, watching as he peels off his shirt, tosses it into his hamper, and disappears into the attached closet. Two minutes later, he returns wearing nothing but pajama pants and a smile. “Do your thing, babe.”

  He kisses my forehead and leaves me alone in the bathroom. He doesn’t assume he can join me in the shower, and he doesn’t ask. He just gives me space, and I’m grateful.

  Because even though we’ve known each other for years, and have been through a lot together, he’s never seen me naked, or vice versa.

  And I’m a woman. I don’t want the first time he sees me naked to be in the shower. The shower is sexy and fun, but it’s not romantic.

  I roll my eyes at myself, strip out of my clothes, and then get in the steamy spray, sighing when the hot water slides down my body.

  I can’t believe I’m here, in Jace’s house, ready to be intimate with him. Because let’s be honest, I’m ready.

  I would have let him do me against the wet tile in the bathroom if he’d had the inclination.

  “Didn’t want to startle you,” he calls out as he comes into the room. He can’t see me through the foggy, glass shower door. “I’m just getting you some clean clothes.”

  “Um, thanks.”

  “They’re on the counter for you.”

  And then he’s gone again. That’s Jace, thoughtful and kind, through and through.

  I’d better watch myself because it would be incredibly easy to fall in love with him.

  I pause with the soap in my hand and stare at the tile. Aren’t I already in love with him?

  No. I shake my head and rinse off. This is lust. He’s hot, and I love him as a friend. We’re attracted to each other, and we’re just seeing where this goes.

  I step out of the shower and reach for the towel to dry off, calling myself sixteen kinds of fool.

  I’m lying to myself.

  I reach for the clothes Jace left for me and smile. A Stanford T-shirt, our alma mater, and a pair of boxer shorts that are about five sizes too big. I roll them and pray they stay in place when I walk across the room.

  It wouldn’t be super sexy to have them fall around my ankles and trip me as I try to make it to the bedroom.

  But I discover it won’t matter in the least because when I return to the bedroom, Jace is sitting up in bed, his legs under the covers and just the sidelight on, but he’s out cold, sleeping silently.

  So, I slide into bed next to him and turn off the light. He eases down next to me, pulls me close, and then falls back to sleep.

  ~Joy~

  Something slides up my leg. I blink my eyes open and frown in the darkness. I’m not in my bed. Am I in a sleeping bag?

  Jesus, is it a fucking snake?

  A strong hand slips up the back of my calf, and everything comes flooding back to me. Not a snake.

  “Jace.”

  “Mm,” he murmurs, kissing his way up the inside of my leg. “Your skin is so fucking soft.”

  I can’t reply. I’ve lost all my words as his mouth and hands move back down to my feet. He plants a kiss on the arch of my foot, and then digs in with his thumb, giving me the best damn foot massage of my life.

  I knew he had good hands. I knew it. But holy hell, I really had no fucking idea how good.

  And every inch of the bottom of my foot is directly connected to my libido. Screw reflexology, this is vaginaology.

  He could make millions.

  I sigh in sleepy happiness as he continues massaging my foot, my ankle, and up to my calf, then he pays the other foot the same attention.

  “Middle of the night massages,” I whisper. “I approve.”

  “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you,” he says, disgust in his deep voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  “That fast?”

  I sigh as he kisses up to my inner thigh. “Uh, yeah. The foot massage was a nice touch.”

  “I didn’t know you liked foot rubs.” He nibbles my skin where his boxers meet my thigh. “Is it because you’re on your feet so often?”

  “Yeah, and because . . . foot rub.”

  I feel him smile against my skin. I love it when he does that. I love that I make him smile.

  “I’m going to take you out of these damn clothes,” he warns me.

  “I’ll help,” I offer, but he hurries to cover me with his big body, pinning me in place. He kisses my lips lightly, leaving me needy for more.

  “Before we get naked,” he begins, cradling my face in his hands. I can just make out his eyes in the darkness. “This is going to change everything.”

  “I know.” I drag my fingertips down his cheek. “I know it is.”

  “Are you sure you want this?”

  I swallow hard. “Are you?”

  He sighs and tips his forehead to mine. We’re silent for ten weighted seconds, and finally, he whispers, “I don’t think I’ve been more confident of a decision in my life, and you know that I overthink everything.”

  I grin because he’s right, I do know. It took him a good month just to decide on the duvet covering us now.

  Jace doesn’t make decisions lightly.

  And we’re exactly the same in that department. I’m not flighty or a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl.

  “As long as you promise that, no matter what happens, I won’t lose our friendship, I’m in. Maybe you’ll hate the sex.”

  “And maybe I’m the Dalai La
ma,” he quips, making me giggle. He nibbles the corner of my mouth, and shivers run down my arms. He drags his lips down my neck, and I sigh. “You’re so responsive.”

  “You’re good at this foreplay thing,” I reply and let my fingers brush through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He pushes the T-shirt up my torso, and I lift so he can pull it over my head. He tosses it onto the floor, and before I can fully register the cool air on my skin, his lips are locked over a nipple, gently sucking and immediately making my core tighten.

  My toes are suddenly hooked in the waistband of his pajama pants, impatiently pushing them over his muscular ass. I want to feel all of him.

  But rather than oblige me by getting naked, he turns his attention to my other nipple and glides his hand down my belly, under the waistband of the boxers I’m wearing, and doesn’t stop until his fingertips hit the jackpot of my already wet center.

  “Fuck,” he whispers against my skin. “I could just touch you all night long.”

  “You’d drive me to insanity,” I pant, suddenly finding it hard to catch my breath. “Let’s go a little faster.”

  “No way,” he says and kisses my belly with a smack. “You said you liked my foreplay ways.”

  “And I’m ready.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  He brushes the tip of his nose back and forth over my pubis and nudges his shoulders between my legs, opening me wide for him.

  Why am I suddenly shy? We’re in the dark, and I’ve known Jace forever.

  But we’ve never done this.

  “Don’t tense up now, sweetheart,” he says and presses a sweet kiss just left of my labia. “You’re stunning.”

  “I’m not tense,” I lie. Rather than respond, he drags his tongue from my anus to my clit, making me arch my back and cry out, all nervousness flying out the window. Because all I want right now is Jace. All of him. Every part of him.

  Right this minute.

  I fist my hands in the sheets and hold on for dear life as he licks and sucks, fast then slow, taking me on the ride of my life.

  My orgasm hovers over me. I can almost reach it, and then he pushes a finger inside me, and it’s all over. I fall apart, writhing on the sheets, calling out his name.