The Last Boyfriend tibt-2

by Нора Робертс

  “A common theme.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing. Is something up?”

  “A couple things.” He shuffled into the room, glanced behind him. “I thought I should tell you—you and your brothers—that Justine . . . She asked if I’d . . .” He trailed off again, looking around the room. “Here. Tonight. Stay here. You know.”

  “Oh.” Well shit, Owen thought. He should’ve seen it coming. “Well,” he said and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “I understand you might feel a little . . . I feel a little . . . but. Well.”

  “Yeah. Should I ask if you—if this is—if you’ve got plans? Or something?”

  “She means a lot to me, your ma. I loved your daddy.”

  “I know. I know you did.”

  “I know he’d want me to look out for her some, and I did. And . . . She’s a hell of a woman, your ma. I got pure respect for her. I’d never do anything to hurt her. Cut off my hand first.”

  “Okay, Willy B.”

  “Okay.” Some of the flush receded from his face. “I’ll talk to Ryder and Beckett.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Or it’ll take another hour and a half of fumbling.

  “If you think.” Willy B nodded, cleared his throat. “Um, you and Avery are . . . My Avery.”

  Same boat, Owen thought, different oars. “Everything you just said about my mother? Insert Avery. She’s important to me. She’s always been important to me.”

  “I know that’s the truth. She’s always had a sweet-on for you.”

  “Oh, well.” Jesus, he’d be blushing and shuffling himself in a minute. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you don’t, but I do. Just like I know she’s still got hurt inside over her mother, how she walked away. I want you to be careful with her, Owen. She’s had other boyfriends, but you’re different. You’ve got history and connections, and she’s had that sweet-on going. She’s tough, my girl, but she’s got places that bruise easy. It’s easy to forget that, so . . . don’t. I guess that’s it.”

  On a long, long relieved breath, Willy B looked around. “This place sure is the cat’s ass. You did yourselves proud here. Tommy’s up there busting his buttons over Justine and his boys. Busting buttons. I’d better get on.”

  Alone, Owen sat on the side of the bed. It was a lot, he decided. A big pile of a lot. His mother and Willy B. And here, right here— The right here had him shooting up to his feet again with an uncomfortable glance at the bed.

  Probably better, all around, not to think about that.

  The door to the porch eased open.

  “Now that you mention it, I could use some air.”

  He walked out, hissed a little at the cold. Wished he had a beer.

  It looked fine, he thought. Main Street. He’d known it all his life. It changed, of course—a new business, new paint, new neighbors, kids growing up as he had himself. But it remained a constant for him.

  So was Avery. A constant. A kind of touchstone.

  She’d changed. They’d changed together, he supposed. Growing up, becoming, expanding their reach.

  He studied Vesta, the lights, people moving behind the glass.

  She’d built that. They’d provided the shell—the stone, the wood—but she’d built it into what it was. And now she’d do so again.

  Yeah, she was tough and smart and willing to work hard. She’d dug in when her mother had walked out. Kept her head up, though he knew damn well some kids ragged on her about it.

  He’d had a few short words with a couple of assholes over it, he recalled. He didn’t think she knew, just as he didn’t think she knew that once, not long after Traci MacTavish ran off, he’d walked into the kitchen back home to see Avery crying in his mother’s arms.

  He’d backed out again, and the next time he’d seen Avery, she’d been dry-eyed and steady.

  She was rarely otherwise.

  But Willy B was right. There had to be places that bruised easily, and he should be careful.

  Other boyfriends. Other, which made him—by Willy B’s gauge—her new boyfriend. Or current. Or . . .

  He hadn’t really thought about it. To joke, sure—about being her first. Now the one-two punch of Franny, then Willy B made him consider the big picture.

  He’d never taken her out on a date. To the movies, a concert, to dinner.

  He’d never bought her flowers.

  Okay, he bought her a present, so he got some points there. If he was keeping score, which, of course, he wasn’t. Exactly.

  She usually ended up cooking for him. Sure, she liked to cook, but that wasn’t right, was it?

  If he wanted this to be a real relationship, and he did, he had to start putting more effort into it.

  “I haven’t put any effort into it,” he admitted. “Major fail.”

  Fresh start, he decided, and turned to go in.

  He spotted the bottle of Heineken on the table between the doors.

  “How the hell did you do that?” Though a chill ran up his spine, he picked up the bottle, took a drink. “I don’t know whether it’s spooky or handy. But thanks.”

  He took another drink. “Now I’m standing here, freezing to death, drinking a beer served by a ghost and talking to myself.”

  Shaking his head, he went back in, secured the door. He took his beer, headed downstairs to find Avery.

  He should’ve known she’d be doing something useful. He found her in The Lounge, passing champagne to guests.

  “Where’s yours?” he demanded.

  “There you are. My what?”

  “Champagne.”

  “Oh, I had some. I think I set it down in the kitchen when I was switching trays.”

  “You’re not here to work.” He took the bottle, then her hand, and drew her toward the empty flutes. “You’re here to enjoy yourself.” And he poured her a glass of champagne.

  “I’m enjoying. Your hands are freezing.”

  “I was outside for a while. Let’s find a place to sit. You should get off your feet.”

  “You need to mingle.”

  “I’ve been mingling. Now I want to sit down with you, spend some time with you.” Leaning down, he laid his lips on hers.

  She blinked up at him. It wasn’t as if they were having a clandestine affair, but it was the first time he’d kissed her—like that—in a public setting.

  New Year’s, she recalled, but people traditionally kissed at midnight, so it didn’t really count.

  She could actually feel speculative eyes on them.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m great.” He draped an arm over her shoulders to steer her out, then toward the stairs. “How are you?”

  “I’m absolutely fine. I just wanted to check on the—”

  “Avery, you don’t have to check on anything. There’s plenty of everything, and people are enjoying themselves. You get to relax.”

  “I don’t relax at parties unless I’m doing something. My hands start itching.”

  “Scratch them,” he suggested.

  “Hey, Owen.”

  Charlie Reeder, old friend and town cop, crossed their path. “Could use a hand a minute.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Your cousin, Spence? He’s getting ready to go. He was pounding them back pretty good tonight. He won’t give up the car keys. I tried talking to him, but he got belligerent. I don’t want to have to arrest him. Maybe you can talk him down before it comes to that.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll be back.”

  It took him twenty minutes, much of which he spent with his cousin draped around him in drunken sentiment, or hee-hawing as he tried to walk a straight line to prove his competency.

  When he fell on his ass a third time, Spence finally gave up his keys.

  “I’ll drive him home, Owen,” Charlie told him. “We’ve got to get going anyway. Kids are with a sitter. Charlene’ll follow me, and we’ll pour him through his front door.”

  “Appre
ciate it, Charlie.”

  “All in a day’s work.” He paused a moment, hands on his skinny hips as he looked over The Courtyard, up to the porches. “She’s a beauty. I booked a night for our anniversary next May. A surprise for Charlene.”

  “Which room?”

  “She seems to favor the one with the drapes on the bed and the ginormous tub.”

  “Titania and Oberon. Good choice.”

  “Hope talked me into the package that comes with a bottle of champagne, and dinner for two and whatnot. It’ll be ten years, so we ought to do something special.”

  “Hope will make sure it is.”

  “Well, I’ll help you get Spence into the car.”

  “I’ve got it. Go ahead and get Charlene. Thanks for the assist.”

  “Not a problem.”

  By the time he got back inside, the crowd had thinned out. His fresh hunt for Avery was hampered by other guests preparing to leave, stopping him with thanks for the evening, compliments on the inn, and good-luck wishes.

  He appreciated it, he really did, but it occurred to him they’d just had their second party as a couple where he’d spent more time without Avery than with her.

  And she’d spent more time serving than being served.

  He found her in The Dining Room, bussing tables.

  “Don’t you know how to be a guest?”

  “Not really. And I promised Hope and Carolee I’d help them clean up after. It’s pretty much after. It was great, Owen. Everyone had a good time, and really loved seeing the inn. Racked up some bookings, too.”

  “So I hear.” He took the plates from her. “Where’s your champagne?”

  “I set it down somewhere, but I drank most of it this time. I just scooted your mom up to The Library. We’re going to bring up a fruit and cheese tray, some crackers. Most of you didn’t get much food.” Insistent, she took the plates back from him. “Go on up. I’ll be up there soon. I’ll finish up with Hope, then I have to get my bag out of her apartment.”

  “I’ll get it. Where is it?”

  “Just inside the door, but her apartment’s locked.”

  “I’ll get the key.”

  He got her bag, put a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, added two flutes, and pocketed the key to Nick and Nora. After setting the ice bucket in his room for the night, he found his family, including Clare’s parents, sprawled in The Library and already diving into food trays.

  “I didn’t think I was hungry till right now.” Justine grabbed some crackers. “There’s my missing son.”

  “Spence,” he said. “Car keys. It took some persuading.”

  “You should’ve found me,” Justine told him. “Spence listens to me.”

  “It’s all good.” He realized he hadn’t had much to eat, just as Avery had suggested, and took a handful of olives before sitting on the floor. “They came, they saw, we conquered.”

  “And then some,” Beckett agreed, snuggled with Clare on the sofa they shared with his mother and Willy B.

  “It’s really done.” Justine sighed. “When I think of the past two years . . .”

  “Would you do it again?” Clare’s mom, Rosie, asked her.

  “Don’t give her any ideas.” Ryder cast his eyes to the ceiling.

  “I wouldn’t, not this. This was a once-in-a-lifetime.”

  “Thank you, God.”

  But she laughed as she booted Ryder’s foot. “I have other ideas. For later. For tonight?” She lifted her glass. “Here’s to my boys. Ryder, Owen, and Beckett. You made my dream come true.”

  Ryder reached over, laid a hand on hers.

  “You dream good,” he said after a moment. “Just do me a favor and sleep quiet for a while.”

  From the gleam in her eye as she sipped her champagne, Owen suspected she already had another dream going.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Good nights came late and lazily. Avery calculated Justine and her father had some sort of signal to make the sleeping arrangements a bit less awkward for their children.

  Or at least the male children, she thought, as she didn’t feel awkward at all.

  Her father lumbered out while Justine remained. A few minutes later, Justine wished them all sweet dreams.

  By tacit agreement no one mentioned the fact Justine and Willy B were spending the night together just down the hall.

  Maybe, if she thought about it, the fact she and Owen would be spending the night together at the other end of that same hall, awkwardness—or more likely amusement in her case—would ensue.

  So she didn’t think about it.

  Instead, inside the Deco flair of Nick and Nora, Avery stretched her arms high. Everything felt good, she decided. Everything felt just exactly right.

  To please herself, she turned in a circle to take in the room, and saw the champagne on ice.

  “You copped a bottle!”

  “Hey, I prefer the term liberated.” On her grin, he walked over to pop the cork.

  “This is like dreamscape—or some beautifully produced play, and I get a starring role. A beautiful and downright snazzy room after a lovely, happy party, with champagne provided by a sexy guy. I’d check my list if I had one, but I think I currently have it all.”

  He offered her a glass. “Now you do.”

  “To having it all then.” She tapped her glass to his, sipped as she wandered.

  “It really went well, didn’t it?” she said to Owen. “Lots of happy faces, lots of happy talk.”

  “All of that, and you had to see and hear most of it. You seemed to be everywhere at once.”

  “I can’t sit still at a party.” She set the shoes she carried beside the dresser. “Gotta keep moving or I might miss something. You disappeared for a while.”

  He took off the tie he’d already loosened. “I toured some people through, then had to close the doors in E&D.”

  “Elizabeth was all over tonight, too. I caught her scent several times.”

  “I ran into your father up there. He wanted to let me know he’d be staying there—he and Mom. In E&D. Together.”

  “Hmm.” She leaned back on the dresser, eyeing him as she drank champagne. “I suspected as much. And how did that go?”

  “He fumbled around a lot, like he does, and still managed to say all the right things. Meanwhile I fought a desperate battle to keep any and all imagery out of my brain. We both did okay.”

  “That’s good. I think—”

  “Then he pinned me about you.”

  “He . . . What?”

  No amused smirk now, Owen noted. “No fumbling there. He’s a lot more on-point when it comes to his little girl.”

  “Well, for God’s sake,” she began, then tilted her head. “On second thought, it’s kind of sweet. And funny. How’d that go for you?”

  He pulled off his shoes, set them beside hers. “It was a little strange, a little illuminating.”

  “Really?” Enjoying the idea of it, she sipped more champagne. “What did he say?”

  “That’s between us men.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “You’re his Avery,” Owen said as he crossed to her. “The most important thing in his life. I’d say the center of his life. You’re important to me, too.”

  She smiled. “It’s nice to be important.”

  “You are.” He set his glass down, laid his hands on her shoulders, ran them down to her elbows and back. “Maybe I haven’t told you, or shown you.”

  He looked so serious, those blue eyes more intense than quiet, she found herself just a little off balance. “We go back. We know we’re important to each other.”

  “We go back,” he agreed, and laid his lips softly, very softly on hers. “But this is now, and this is different.”

  She tipped her head back a bit more. “There is that.”

  Not just that, he thought as he slowly deepened the kiss. He wasn’t sure what, wasn’t sure of the all, but it was more than heat generated and needs met.

  He felt he
r slide into it, little by little, and knew—at that moment—he wanted exactly that. A long, slow slide.

  He took the glass from her hand, set it beside his.

  It always surprised him how soft she was. Lips, skin. Everything about her was so bright, so vivid, yet the soft played its part.

  And her heart—a softness there, too. He’d known it, always known it, but . . . He needed to pay more attention to those soft places.

  “I love how you feel,” he murmured. “Your skin, your mouth. And how what you feel inside shows in your eyes.”

  She braced the heels of her hands on the dresser at her back. “Right now, I’m feeling dazzled.”

  “Good. Then I’m not alone.”

  He framed her face and kept the kiss soft as her skin, tender as her heart. And lifted her into his arms.

  The breath caught in her throat. She’d expected fun, maybe even foolish. Instead he swept her away, made her feel weak and trembly, and a little unsure.

  “Owen.”

  “Your hands are so small.” He laid her on the bed, then lifted one of her hands to press the palm to his. “They look delicate, but they’re tireless. That’s the surprise of you. Then there’s your shoulders.” He nudged a strap aside. “The skin’s so smooth and pale, but they’re strong. They’ll hold a lot.”

  Lowering his head, he glided his lips over her shoulder, down the line of her throat.

  The glitter of the room, the fragrance of flowers, and his hands on her, featherlight. Everything in her surrendered, to him, to the moment, to this new gift as unexpected as the sparkling key around her neck.

  He gave her the slow, the quiet, the achingly tender. No one had ever touched her, not quite like this, or made her feel . . . precious.

  He eased the dress down, gliding his lips over newly exposed flesh, making it quiver. Making her sigh. He watched the way the light played in her eyes before she closed them, the way her body moved under his hands and mouth. And felt the way her heart beat under them, thickly.

  Then faster when he guided her up, as he urged her higher. She clutched at him, riding that crest. Until the wave broke, and her hands slid away to lie limp.

  Like that, he thought as he undressed. Like that, open, exposed, drenched in pleasure.