And Then There Was You (Serenity House Book 2)

by Molly O'Keefe

  “They’ll leave you alone once you stop giving them something to photograph. You settle down with a woman like—”

  Ian laughed, waving his hands. “There will be no settling down. Not with Jennifer, not with anyone.” Settling down was what his parents had done—and he wanted nothing to do with what his parents had.

  “This is so hard?” Andille asked, holding his arms up indicating the bowling alley and Spencer and the junk food.

  Ian was giving Jennifer a break. He was giving Spence too much pop. It wasn’t real. Or normal. Not in the trenches, day-in-day-out normal stuff. And what Jennifer felt for him, it wasn’t what she felt for Doug. Not at all. It was sexual. She was alone and lonely. She was, in a word, horny. That’s all. It wasn’t real, either.

  “This isn’t real life, Dille,” he said. No more junk food, he thought, it was making him sick to his stomach.

  “It’s more real than what we’ve been living,” Andille said.

  At four in the afternoon Jennifer hit Send on the e-mail to Waldo and sat back. Hot-cold waves of relief and excitement rolled down her spine, from the top of her head to her feet, making her giddy.

  This is it, she thought. She felt nothing but pride about the story. It was good, she knew it in her gut, and she could not wait to tell Ian.

  She wanted to celebrate the return of her career, the return of Ian’s life to himself. And she wanted to celebrate with Ian.

  “Deb!” she cried, rising from the office chair. She stumbled slightly because her feet were numb.

  Deb didn’t answer right away so she went to the classrooms, where she found Deb at the round table in the back of the classroom she used the most, going through paperwork.

  Gospel music poured out of the radio at her elbow and Deb was humming along. Deb’s whole vibe was different, lighter. Before, it was as if she wore what had happened to her like an invisible coat. Always there. A shield against the whole rest of the world getting too close.

  The coat was gone and it was just Deb sitting there. Radiant.

  “You about done?” Jennifer asked.

  “Sure, I just—” Deb’s eyes narrowed and she turned off the music. “You look like you swallowed a lightbulb. What’s with you?”

  “Finished the story,” Jennifer said, stretching in the door-frame, feeling every muscle grow and pull. She wished she was the dancing kind—like in the movies, when good things happened to women and they pranced around their apartments, singing into hairbrushes and dancing with their cats.

  “Congrats, Jennifer. You must feel great.”

  “I do.” She tried clapping her hands and striking a little pose, but it felt so stupid she immediately stopped. She’d have to find another outlet for all this joy bouncing around inside her. “Let’s go meet the boys in town and celebrate.”

  Deb blinked at her, the papers still in her fingers. Something terribly sad crossed her face and she looked away, setting down the paper carefully on a stack. “The boys,” she murmured. “They’ve been here a week and it feels like they’ve always been here, doesn’t it?”

  Dread crept along the edges of Jennifer’s celebratory mood. “Deb?” she asked, coming to stand beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  Deb’s lips curled cruelly. “What do you think?”

  “Andille? This morning you seemed happy about him—”

  “I’m happy, I’m sad. I’m angry.” Deb sat back and blew a dreadlock off her forehead. “I’m sick about the man and I barely know him. He took my son today, for the whole day so I could work, and he acted like it was no big deal.”

  “I don’t think it was to him.”

  “Of course it wasn’t, because he’s a good man. One of the best I’ve ever known and he’s going to walk out those doors one of these days and never look back.”

  “Ah,” Jennifer sat down heavily. No more desire to dance, she felt like lead had been poured in her shoes. “I get it.”

  “Do you?” Deb asked. “Really? Because I don’t even get it. I barely know the man and I’m trusting him with my boy. With my body. My heart. My—” She shook her head. “I’m just going to get hurt.”

  Me, too, Jennifer thought but didn’t say. And the lead crept up her legs to surround her heart. When Ian walked out that door with Andille, part of her would leave with him and it made her terribly sad. And anxious. Anxious to have him for as long as she could. Anxious to break herself open on him, unlock the parts of herself that had been locked away for a long time.

  But she couldn’t.

  “It sucks,” Jennifer groused and Deb laughed.

  “Truer words have never been spoken.” After a minute Deb sighed and stood. “Let’s have some fun while we can,” she said. “I’ll call Andille and tell him to meet us with the kids at Eastside’s.”

  “Excellent idea,” Jennifer said. Because nothing said celebration like a big cheeseburger and onion rings eaten on a picnic table. And maybe she’d get that beer she’d been craving. “I’ll go get the Rolaids.”

  Dinner had been a rousing success. She’d had her beer and her son confessed to massive sugar consumption. Ian and Andille had kept them all in stitches with stories of boarding school hijinks. Andille, it turns out, had been quite the devious kid.

  They finally decided to leave when the sun set and Shonny curled up on Andille’s shoulder like he’d been doing it all his life.

  Jennifer had reached under the table and squeezed Deb’s knee, knowing the sight must have delighted and wounded her in ways she’d never even considered.

  Deb, Andille and Shonny left in her car and now Spence was passed out in the back of Ian’s car. The sugar had finally worn off.

  “I really don’t think he’ll throw up,” she said, trying to convince Ian that his leather was safe. “He’s not much of a puker.”

  “That’s a relief,” Ian said, smiling tightly at her.

  Something was wrong with the guy and she didn’t think it had anything to do with the double cheeseburger he ate. He’d been odd since they’d gotten in the car.

  “Thank you,” Jennifer said, touching his shoulder and he flinched slightly. Guilt settled hard in her stomach. “For taking Spence today. I wouldn’t have—”

  Ian sighed. “For about the hundredth time, it was no big deal. Really.” His eyes pierced the darkness that filled and surrounded the car. There was nothing darker than night in the rural South. The darkness felt tactile, thick, like something she could pull over them and they could hide underneath. “We had a lot of fun.”

  “Deb was very relieved to have a day to catch up on work, too.”

  “Andille’s a saint,” Ian said, sarcasm rolling off the words.

  “You don’t approve of them?” she asked.

  “Approve?” Ian asked. “I’m hardly in a position to approve of anything. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.” He unrolled his window slightly, the scent of the low country—marsh and mystery—filling the car.

  Her stomach squeezed low in her belly.

  “Deb’s a big girl,” Jennifer said. And so am I. We’re all adults.

  “Maybe it’s not Deb I’m worried about,” Ian murmured.

  “Andille?” she asked, nearly laughing. “He’s the one who is going to leave. If he wanted to stay with Deb, he should stay.”

  “Sadly, it’s not that simple.” Ian sat forward, craning his neck to see out the windshield. “Wow, that’s a lot of stars.”

  “Why doesn’t Andille stay if he wants to?” she asked, refusing to talk about stars. “Why does he have to leave with you?”

  “Because he thinks he owes me.”

  She waited for him to elaborate but when he didn’t she nearly rolled her eyes. “What does he owe you?” she asked as if he were a simpleton.

  Annoyed, his eyes flicked to her then back to the road. “I asked my father to get his mother and sisters out of Africa while there was a violent coup in their country. He thinks his sisters are alive because of me.”

  Jennifer slumped in her
seat, astonished once again by this man and his many secrets. Just when she felt like she had things under control, or at least labeled correctly, he went and messed up everything.

  “It’s not a big deal,” he said. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” she whispered.

  “Like I’m something I’m not,” he yelled, then swore, glancing in the rearview mirror at Spence, who slept on, oblivious. The kid slept through hurricanes. A little yelling wasn’t going to faze him.

  I don’t think you know what you are, she thought, but didn’t say. I don’t think you have the slightest clue.

  The silence between them was tense, had been since they climbed into the car together and she, at first, attributed it to having spent the day with an eleven-year-old. But now she wasn’t sure what was wrong with Ian.

  The phone on the console between them buzzed and Ian glanced down at the readout and swore before turning it off. The oppressive atmosphere getting worse by the moment.

  “Who—” she said then stopped. It wasn’t her business. It felt more and more like nothing about him was her business.

  “My father,” he said through clenched teeth. “My father keeps calling. My father won’t leave me alone.”

  Oh. She turned to stare out the window. When it finally felt like her head was going to pop from the pressure inside his fancy car, she broke down and asked him. “What’s wrong? I mean, I get your dad. But all night you’ve been acting…different.”

  Muscles along his jaw and neck flexed and pulsed and she suddenly wanted to suck back her question.

  Suddenly, Ian jerked the wheel and they veered over to the shoulder, the wheels spitting gravel against the car.

  She braced herself against the door and looked back at her son, who slept on. Still oblivious.

  “What’s wrong—”

  His lips crushed hers, his hands gripped her face like she was about to run from him. His lips, his tongue, his teeth. The heat of his breath, the taste of mint, all of it tidal-waved over her and she could only brace herself against him. Her body, of its own volition, opened itself up, every nerve ending, every blood cell, every single inch of her skin stretched wide to get as much of Ian Greer as she could.

  Her hands cupped the muscles of his shoulders, feeling the sweat under his shirt, the pounding of his heart. Her fingers bit into his flesh as if he might run away, pull back and leave her.

  “Tell me,” he said. He nipped at her, sucked at her, like she was something delicious. “How am I supposed to act?”

  She had no answer, no words. If she opened her mouth she’d simply groan. He pushed her away, his lips bright and wet and lush in the light from the dashboard.

  Again, her body yelled. More, her sex screamed.

  His eyes were flinty and hard and after staring at her, staring at her as if he could strip her with just his gaze, as if he could suck and bite and penetrate her with his eyes, he turned away and drove them back on the road.

  Headlights sliced through the night toward home.

  17

  Ian waited for her. In the shadows. In agony. He stood in the corner of the kitchen, his eyes trained on the hallway where Jennifer had disappeared with her son.

  If she comes back out, it’s on, he thought. She knows. She’s not stupid. If she doesn’t want me, she’ll stay in her room.

  God, please let her come out.

  He thought he’d be so much more in control here. Those fantasies of breaking down her common sense and barriers, of revealing the panting woman beneath all that logic and reason, were frayed. False.

  Instead he was the one panting. Running out of control.

  Please, please walk out that door.

  He fully understood why this was a bad idea. He simply didn’t care anymore. There were bigger, harder, more pressing demands right now.

  The time for doing what was right was gone. He felt, desperately, as if he needed Jennifer. Needed her. And he didn’t need anyone. Not anymore.

  Suddenly she was there, in the doorway, her lithe silhouette a long shadow across the kitchen floor, and up his legs.

  His fingers pulsed, twitched with the need to touch her.

  Her eyes met his and he saw that she was as caught up in this painful desire as he was. He could see it in her face, the curl of her lips. But he could also see that she was going to be sensible. She was going to tell him all the reasons they couldn’t be together.

  And he couldn’t let her do that.

  He crossed the room before she could talk.

  “Ian,” she breathed, putting up her hand, and he stepped right up to it, grabbed her palm and put it over his heart. His thundering, pounding heart. He saw her defenses get pierced, her rationale wavering. “Ian, we can’t—”

  No talking, he decided, and he pushed his hands into the silk ribbons of her hair, tangled his fingers in the long blond strands until he was sure she couldn’t pull away.

  Then he kissed her. Softly. Slowly. A seduction. He teased the resistance from her, the stiffness from her lips, her chin, the curve of her back. He breathed across her face, stroked the pulse points in her neck.

  Gentling her. Making her his.

  He swallowed her gasps, her logic and reason, and gave her fire instead.

  His hands slid from her neck to her back then down to her hips. Sliding one leg between hers, he pressed her high and hard against him and she cried out into his mouth, her fingernails raking the skin of his neck. He wanted to grin with delight.

  He had her. Oh, he had her.

  “Ian.” She pulled away, pushing against him.

  No. No. Not when he was so close. When they were so close. He couldn’t even put into words why this was so important, but it was. She was different. With her, he was different. He liked who he was and he wanted to keep that version of himself for as long as he could.

  “Please, Jennifer,” he breathed, stunned and embarrassed the words had come out of him. He tried to look away, but she wouldn’t let him. She cupped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes then she stopped. As if someone had hit Pause on her, everything about her was held in suspended animation and he waited, not wanting to push any more than he had.

  Miraculously, she smiled. And his whole body rejoiced.

  “We can’t do this here,” she said, her fingers like cat’s claws, digging and releasing into his shirt, his skin. Her hips arched slightly against his leg and her eyes dilated.

  She bit her lip and it was so damn hot, it blew out the last of his control. So hard he hurt, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing against her hip, and she groaned. Her hand slid down from his chest to his pants, her heel pressing against his erection.

  “Get us out of here,” she whispered.

  He bent, picking her up beneath her hips, holding her tight, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, staring into his eyes for a moment before she kissed him. And everything got blown to hell.

  “Where?” he asked, heading outside.

  “Office,” she said into his mouth.

  He turned, bumping into the door frame but finally getting the door shut behind him. He hated that he was going to make love to her here. They should be someplace fancy. As elegant as she was. As refined and clean. She should have the best sheets, soft lights. Flowers. At the very least, some place not filled with storage boxes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, leaning her against the wall, pressing wet kisses to that supple, elegant neck he loved so much. “You deserve better than this.”

  “Than what?” she asked, twisting against him until she slid down his body, her hand back to the front of his pants, pressing and squeezing against him.

  “Than up against a wall in an office,” he muttered and she pushed him away slightly. Her grin was pure Eve and he groaned, straining against her devilish hand. Seriously, he wasn’t going to be able to take much more of this.

  He slipped a hand under her shirt, cupping her breast. His fingers found the hard crest of her nipple and, to let her feel a slice o
f what he was feeling, he pinched her, just hard enough.

  She laughed and groaned, her back swaying off the wall in invitation and he bent, pressing his mouth over her shirt and bra to her other nipple. He sucked. Hard. Her fingers abandoned the front of his jeans to find his belt buckle.

  “I love it,” she said. “I love that you can’t wait. That I want you this much. I feel like a kid. And I have never, ever felt this way.”

  Some new emotion surged alongside the lust in his bloodstream, but he didn’t have time to analyze, because she got his pants open and was kissing her way down his chest, her knees bending.

  Oh, dear—

  “Sweetheart,” he said. “You don’t—”

  She looked up at him, her eyes glittering, her mouth a wet, warm oasis. “Yes,” she murmured with a smile, “I do.”

  She slid him into her mouth, her hands cupping him, teasing him. Bracing his hands against the wall he tilted his head to watch her, the most erotic thing he’d ever seen in his life, and he wondered if he was going to survive making love with Jennifer.

  Power surged through her. The more he groaned and arched, the more lush and alive she felt. His shaking hands touched her chin and she leaned back, letting him slip from her lips.

  Oh, his face. Ian was a man barely in control and she’d brought him here. Heat and damp throbbed between her legs and if she didn’t get some relief soon, she thought she just might die of wanting Ian Greer.

  It was wrong in a million ways, but oh, boy, right now, did it ever feel right.

  She leaned against the wall and lifted her shirt with the damp spot over the breast over her head and he fell on her like a starving man.

  Her bra was gone, her breasts pushed high and together as he tongued the nipples.

  “You’re killing me,” he groaned.

  “You feel pretty alive,” she said and he stopped, for just a moment. But before she could say something he had his hand between her legs, pressing the seam of her shorts against her.