She’d seen that happen, women so well loved they shone like pearls.
Her internal voice was smart and she wondered if God wasn’t here, leading her after all.
Daisy’s big snout broke through the willow branches, busting into their cocoon. And where the dog went, Spence was sure to follow.
Shonny leaped to his feet, church and cars forgotten.
“Hi, Deb,” Spence said, stepping into her sanctuary, looking glum.
“What’s wrong, hon?” she asked, sweeping Shonny’s cars into the backpack.
“Mom’s talking to Ian. She’s been talking to him all morning and I’m bored.”
“Me, too,” Shonny cried, when he wasn’t the slightest.
“I was thinking of taking care of the garden,” Spence said, scratching at a doozy of bug bite on his knee.
“That’s a good idea,” she said.
“I’ll come, too!” Shonny cried, jumping. Daisy barked as if agreeing and Spence smiled.
“All right,” he said, ducking back under the willow branches, letting in bright sunlight and fresh air and taking her son with him.
“Spence?” she cried.
He ducked his head back in. “Yeah?”
“Keep an eye on Shonny, will you?” she asked, wondering if the heat in her cheeks was visible to the boy. “For like an hour?”
“Sure,” he said with a shrug, since he was probably going to do that anyway. Spence was a good kid.
The willow branches swayed and danced behind him, glittery light playing with the shadows.
Deb sat in the closed quiet of her church and really thought about what she was going to do. If Spence was with Shonny and Ian was with Jennifer…Andille was alone.
Sometimes, she thought, standing up and brushing off her black capris with the glitter butterflies all along the sides, God doesn’t come straight out and answer prayers.
Sometimes He just gives you the opportunity to do it for yourself.
Courage and fear in hand, she went to find Andille.
He wasn’t hard to find. Her whole body was a dousing rod tuned to the man. Deb simply listened to the vibrations that filled her whenever he was around. And she followed those trembles, up the stairs to Sam’s old apartment.
He stood at the kitchen window, looking over the backyard, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He wore those khaki shorts, low on his hips. So low it seemed like his round butt was the only thing keeping them on his body. She watched, breathless as he hitched his shorts up with his free hand.
On top, he just had on a white undershirt.
He was barefoot.
Her body was flooded by him, bombarded. There was simply no way to look at him and hold onto rational thought. So she let it go, just like she’d let go of her fear.
Spying on him, watching him not only with her eyes, but also her whole body. All of her skin. All of her muscles absorbed the perfect reality of him. The way the sunlight made his skin look like polished black stone. How his muscles bunched and layered in his shoulders and back, turned his body into something so earthy, so voluptuous and almost indecent. She blushed just seeing him.
Either she made a noise or he felt her staring at him, because he turned, swiveling at the waist, and saw her there, sick with lust, in his doorstep.
“I have to go,” he said into his cell phone and immediately closed it. “Deb?”
Something foreign was in charge of her body. Something hot and willful and reckless. Unaware she’d crossed the room until she felt his heat like a radiator all along the front of her, she leaned forward and kissed him.
Oh. It was awkward. Her lips weren’t actually on his. But pressed to the corner of his mouth, where the smooth skin tasted like sugar and coffee. And her nose dug into his cheek. And she wasn’t touching him, not enough. But he wasn’t really touching her. Or kissing her back.
She pulled away, burning with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, stepping back. “I’m so sorry.”
Turning away, she could not get clear of that room fast enough. And to think she’d probably have to see him again. Maybe she should go home for a few days. Put her head under her pillow and try not to die of shame.
His palm touched her shoulder, slid down over her skin to her elbow, and he stopped her. She didn’t look at him. Oh, no, she wouldn’t ever do that again. But she did stop and she felt the heat and heft of his touch in her womb, where it curled and quivered.
“Deb?”
Oh, lord, his voice was in her ear and she felt it more than heard it. The deep bass sparked up nerve endings all along her shoulder, up into her hair, across her scalp, like a brush fire.
“Why are you leaving?” he asked and her eyelids could barely stay open. His fingers were making little circles in the crook of her elbow. Little circles that were making her crazed.
“You’re on the phone,” she whispered.
“Not anymore.”
The laughter in his voice obliterated her weak-kneed desire and she turned around, pulling her arm free. This was one of the hardest things she’d ever done, coming up here. And if he was going to laugh at her, then he could take his muscles and his voice and beautiful skin and go torment some other woman.
She opened her mouth to let him have it, but he slid his hands across her face, up into her hair, and suddenly her head was so heavy. All the bones in her body gone.
His gaze danced over her face, touching her lips, her chin, the scar above her eye.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he whispered without a trace of laughter. “I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”
He leaned in and she waited for his kiss, the press of his lips to hers like a starving man waits for food. Instead the tip of his tongue touched the corner of her mouth. His breath fanned her cheek.
He licked her. Just a little. Just enough.
Her body spasmed. And suddenly this desire was painful. Shocking. She stiffened in his arms and he gentled her with small brushes of his lips against her skin, her neck and face. His thumb pressed the tight muscles of her neck as he calmed her.
“It’s okay, Deb,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”
“I don’t—” She didn’t have words for this. Nothing about this man or what she felt was in the realm of her experience. Her hands, immobilized by the casts, were in fists at her side.
He leaned back and waited. Instead of putting words in her mouth and pretending he understood what truth was being pulled from her, he gave her the time to find it herself.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” she said. “With this.”
“We don’t have to do anything,” he said and she laughed, exasperated.
“Well, that’s not really why I came up here.”
“Why did you?”
“I want to…” She licked her lips and looked away from his eyes, the intimacy suddenly too much. Have sex. Make love. To you. With you. I want you to put out this fire. Show me what I’m missing, what it seems more and more like I need. “Feel more of what you make me feel.”
Andille sucked in a deep breath and his hand, when he touched her face, shook a little. And knowledge, like sliding into a warm bath, embraced her.
He feels it, too.
Emboldened, she unclenched her fists and put one hand on his waist. Because of the cast, just her fingertips felt the thin cotton of his shirt and beneath that the hot, glorious living flesh of Andille.
Her other hand she placed over his heart.
“Deb.” He sighed, his heart pounding under her hand, she could feel it through her cast. “I can’t be the man who loves you. Not like you deserve. I can’t stay.”
But I’d let you, she thought. And even though she’d never thought it before, never even dreamed of having this man in her life for real, she knew it was true. If Andille gave up what he owed Ian Greer, she’d welcome him right on into her heart.
She smiled, knowing somehow that his obligations to Ian were what was eating him. “Honey,
I know that,” she said, stroking the smooth skin of his face. He’d shaved this morning and his skin was satin. “And I don’t need you to stay. I just need you.”
He searched her eyes then—oh, sweet heaven—he kissed her.
She expected his mouth to open. She expected that licking flame of his tongue, the gentle bite of his teeth. She expected to be overwhelmed, swallowed up, caught up in his tide.
But it didn’t happen.
His mouth brushed her lips. Her nose. Her eyebrows. He took off her glasses and kissed her eyes shut, licking the corners, tasting tears that his poignancy commanded.
“You’re so strong,” he whispered against her neck. “You are like rock. Like the ocean. Or a mountain. I can see it. Here.” His hands settled on her shoulders, his fingers finding soft spots in the muscles, places that he touched and it felt like he touched inside of her. Her belly and womb. Her breasts and heart. “And here.” He kissed her chin. “And here.” He licked her lips. “And here.” He returned to her eyes. “I look at you and I want you so much I can’t stand it. I can’t stand it that someone has hurt you. I can’t stand that I am not the man to make you smile. To make you cry out and laugh for the rest of your life.”
“Andille—”
“So, I will do it now,” he whispered into her ear. “Right now I will love you enough for the rest of my life.”
And there it was, his tide, reaching out for her. Sweeping her up. Washing away her words and thoughts. Until she was simply Deb. A creature of instinct and need, reaching out for Andille.
His touch was warm. Gentle. A breeze through an open window. In its wake she had flames and goose bumps and the combination made her feel at odds. Conflicted.
“Shhh,” he whispered when she tensed and she realized he was pulling her, carefully, slowly toward the bedroom. The bedroom was flushed with light, it seemed almost to glow over his shoulder.
Suddenly she recognized this precipice that she stood on.
I have no control here, she thought. Sure, she’d read those articles that said a woman was in charge of her own sexual pleasure. She’d read them hoping for some play-by-play help. A map even. But the articles might have been written in Greek for all she could understand.
“Don’t disappoint me,” she said, staring right in his eyes, which flared at her words.
“Oh, woman,” he said, leaning down slightly to pick her up under her hips, pressing himself full-tilt to her. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
15
It was Friday. D-day. Waldo would expect copy e-mailed to her before the end of the day.
Which was why Jennifer was up at dawn and already on her third cup of coffee by 8:00 a.m. She chose to work in the kitchen, hoping some sunshine would keep her awake and on task, but there was no luck today.
It was one gloomy, gray day out there. Thunder cracked in the distance and it was only a matter of time before a storm crashed down on Serenity.
Which threw further monkey wrenches into her plans. With bad weather Spence was going to go stir-crazy and she had so much work to do without a whiney, bored eleven-year-old at her elbow informing her that there was nothing to do.
“Hey.” Ian’s quiet voice behind her made her snap around.
“Hi,” she said. It had been odd between them throughout yesterday when she’d interviewed him. At dinner she’d felt him seething slightly. He was a pot set at simmer.
And he stood in the doorway, braced against the wall like he’d been there a while, watching her.
I am going to make love to you.
His words hummed in time with her heartbeat, unavoidable and unforgettable.
Her heart pinged, her body sang at the sight of him and she wished desperately she didn’t care about Ian Greer, as a person, an unlikely friend…and a man. She wished he was just a story.
She sat at that table, her hair in a messy knot, circles under her wary eyes, and he had to clench the doorframe to prevent himself from reaching for her.
He realized he shouldn’t have told her he planned to make love to her. Not because it wasn’t true—he hoped to God it was—but because it made everything between them, every moment, every word, so damn hot.
He couldn’t breathe for the tension rolling off the woman, ribbons of this frustrated longing wrapping around him, circling him only to weave back to her—binding them.
He wanted to stand her up, run his hands down that lithe body, find and claim her secrets, even those things she hid from herself. He wanted all of her. All of her wrapped around him, crying his name, begging him.
Fantasies of power struggles in bed usually left him cold, but not with this woman. Not with her forthright eyes and her mantle of stern respectability.
Stripping that from her, finding her naked and panting and needing him, seemed like such a good idea.
Even this early in the morning.
“You’re up early? Or didn’t you sleep?” he asked.
“Up early. Today is my deadline.”
Ignoring the end-of-the-story countdown pounding in his crotch, he whistled. “How is it going?”
“Well, it’s not pretty, but my editor will understand.”
“When do we tape?” he asked, pouring himself some much needed coffee.
“My producer has to approve the story and send down a camera crew.”
“What if she doesn’t approve it?”
“She will,” she said with assurance. “She’d be a fool not to. What are you doing up?”
“Andille and I are setting up a trust for Serenity, so Sam won’t have to call every time she wants to buy a computer.” He sloshed coffee into a cup and took a sip without sugar or milk or waiting for it to cool. It hurt and he winced. “We should have done it years ago, but turnover at these shelters can be pretty significant and it’s hard to know who to trust.”
Story of my life, he thought.
“I’m sure Sam will appreciate it,” she said.
He took another long drink from his mug then refilled it.
“Long night?” she asked and he knew it wasn’t a leading a question. That wasn’t her style. But the rough edge of her voice sent lightning through his bloodstream.
He was bold. Bolder than any man she’d ever met, he knew that about her. He knew he was bolder than her husband, and he loved that. Wanted that. So, he watched her, memorizing the mess of her hair, the elegant line of her throat where it arched into her chin. He wanted to spend a half hour on her collarbone, learning her. Studying her.
Her eyes clashed with his and he invited her right into his dirty little mind.
Her entire face went red, her lips parted on a deep breath and she tore her gaze from him, before the whole kitchen went up in flames.
Turning away so she wouldn’t see him smirk, he added sugar to the tar she called coffee.
When it happened between them, and it would, it was going to be so good.
Behind him, she coughed, discomfited, and he felt a prickle of guilt. The woman wanted to be his friend. She’d said it and he believed her. She was too honest to lie about something like that for the sake of an interview.
But he didn’t know how to be her friend.
“Were you able to use anything from yesterday?” he asked, referring to their three-hour conversation.
“It was perfect,” she said. “Once we do tape, you’ll see how it all works out.”
“It was harder than I thought it would be,” he said, the words coming from some unknown place, but once out there he realized how true they were. He spent the night working so he wouldn’t have to think of all the things they’d talked about, the way she’d carefully led him through his childhood, reminding him of things he’d forgotten. “All along I’ve had these memories, but when you started putting dates on things and attaching the abuse to events…” He trailed off, wishing he could shut up. “Made it real again,” he finally said and drank more coffee, burning his lips on purpose.
Was this friendship? Talking about thing
s he never ever spoke about? Was that what it took to be her friend? He’d much rather peel that T-shirt off her back and spread her out on the table. That was his kind of friendship.
“We’re spilling all your family secrets, Ian,” she said. “That would make it hard for anyone to sleep at night.”
He laughed, despite the pain in his lips and the heat in his pants. “Actually, that spilling I’m excited about. Thrilled about it. Can’t happen too soon,” he said.
“Well,” she said turning back to her laptop, “it won’t be much longer.”
Spence came into the room, rubbing his eyes and yawning. What was it with kids when they woke up? Ian wondered. They looked so little. So lost. Something pinged and rattled in his throat. When Jennifer had asked him if he wanted kids he didn’t have an answer because he’d never ever considered the question.
When was he supposed to meet a woman who’d make a good mother and have some kids with her? He was too busy going to parties and clubs, pretending to have fun.
“Hi,” Spence said to Ian, watching him with guarded eyes and, honest to God, Ian started to blush. The things he was fantasizing about that kid’s mother were filthy, and when the boy looked at him like that, it was like Spence knew Ian was up to no good.
“Hi yourself,” he said, playing it cool. But still the kid watched him.
“What are you doing up so soon?” Jennifer asked her son, clearly panicked. She was up early probably hoping to get a few hours of work in before Spence woke.
Spence shrugged, blissfully unaware of deadlines and family secrets. “I just woke up. What’s for breakfast?”
“Cereal,” she said, saving her file and standing to get a bowl and the cereal for him.
Ian sat next to Spence and took a deep breath, wondering how one went about arranging fun with the side benefit of Jennifer getting the story done. Andille seemed to do it pretty easily. How hard could it be?
“What do you say we play some soccer today?” he asked.
“You’re not too busy?” Spence asked.
“Not busy at all.” Ian shook his head, crossing his ankle over his knee. “Your mom is going to be stuck inside all day, but I can play soccer. It will be…fun.” The word bubbled up from someplace neglected and sad. Someplace ignored and forgotten for the past twenty years.
And Then There Was You (Serenity House Book 2) Page 16
