A Brand New Ending (Stay Book 2)

by Jennifer Probst

  The teasing game suddenly became much more. She fought with the rising unease, realizing he was right. Since he’d returned, he’d been the one to chase her. Tell her what he wanted. Ask her for a second chance. But now, he was forcing her to choose—and to become a full partner in this relationship.

  If she wanted him, she was going to have to tell him.

  Ophelia straightened to full height and slowly walked toward him. Each step was a deliberate choice—every pace affected her on a deeper level. She stopped an inch from him.

  His body heat pulled her in and tantalized her, his masculine scent of musk and coffee and spice drifting to her nostrils. His jaw clenched with tension.

  She trembled, but gave him the words. “I didn’t like it because you belong to me.”

  He devoured her with his gaze, pushing for more. “Truth or dare, Ophelia?”

  Her entire body throbbed with delicious, agonizing tension. She dragged her tongue over her bottom lip. “Dare.”

  His head bent down. His warm breath rushed against her mouth. “Come and take what you want,” he growled. “Take what’s yours.”

  The words crashed through her. With a low moan, she fisted his shirt and yanked him close, going on her tiptoes until her lips collided with his.

  She kissed him with a ravenous hunger that had no bounds. Her tongue slid between his lips; she was instantly half-drunk on the sexy, spicy taste of him. She hooked a thigh around his hips to get closer, reaching up to tug at his hair and force him to give more, give her what she needed, give her what she craved right now . . .

  He lifted her up and slammed her back onto the mattress, never breaking the kiss. She writhed beneath him, and he tugged off their clothes with the fumbling, desperate motions of the young—it was as if he’d die if he didn’t get to her naked skin.

  The shocking heat of his flesh seared through her. His hard muscles cradled her curves, and she ripped her mouth away, forcing him to roll over.

  She dipped her head and tasted him, her hands roving freely over his hard body, her nails curling into his flesh and her tongue licking.

  He groaned her name and pulled the pins out of her topknot, tugging his fingers through the damp waves that spilled over his chest.

  She was a madwoman. She needed to touch and taste every inch of him, from his flat, hard nipples through the golden whorls of hair over his chest to the lean angle of his hipbone. She dragged her teeth over his flat stomach, blowing her breath over his hardened shaft until he jerked with need.

  She closed her hands around his erection, squeezed, sent her tongue darting out to taste his essence, then opened her mouth wide and took him in.

  He cried out, fisted his fingers in her hair, and arched his hips. A thrill coursed through her at her feminine power, at the vulnerable need in every jerk and cry and pull of her hair. She pleasured him, sucking deep, swirling her tongue around the tip, using her hands to add more pressure and fist him, until finally he let out a roar and flew upward. He lifted her high above him and slammed her down onto his cock.

  Her thighs tightened, and she threw her head back with pleasure. He filled every aching inch of her, driving away her very breath, and she tightened her inner muscles to clutch him even deeper, rocking her hips to take him to the hilt.

  He rubbed her tight nipples, flicking them with his thumbs. His green eyes misted with a ferocious hunger that sent a thrill through her.

  “Ride me,” he demanded. “Take it all. I belong to you.”

  A primitive thrill shot through her. Slowly, she lifted herself up, dragging his erection over her swollen clit, then rocking herself back down in perfect, deliberate strokes. She rode him and claimed him at once, and when the orgasm finally exploded through her body, she bowed back and screamed his name without restraint.

  He let out a hoarse shout, grabbing her hips and forcing her to ride him through her climax, drawing out her pleasure for endless, mind-blowing moments. Then he was coming, twisting his body and dragging her down so he could kiss her, his tongue thrusting as desperately as his cock, exploding inside her.

  She collapsed onto his chest, her skin damp with sweat. Moving her head, she slid over to entangle her thigh with his, boneless.

  His hand shot out in panic. “Holy shit. I didn’t use a condom!”

  She almost jumped up in her own panic, but then relaxed back against him. “It’s okay, I’m clean and have been on the pill for my period awhile.”

  His muscles released, and he let out a breath. “Thank God. I’m clean, too.”

  “You better be.”

  He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Thank you for saving me. And giving me inspiration.”

  She grinned and snuggled in his arms. “It was my pleasure.”

  “How’s your schedule this week?”

  “We’re half-full, but then we’ll be completely empty for a while. Reservations pick up again the first week of March, and they’re steady till spring.”

  “So, very soon, they’ll be no guests to bother us?”

  “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  He rolled over her with a masculine grin that sent delicious shivers down her spine. “To make you be very, very loud. To christen all the rooms in the house.”

  Her eyes widened. “We can’t do that. It will create tons of laundry.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “I don’t think—”

  He shut her up with his mouth on hers. Ophelia didn’t care about anything after that.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two weeks later, Kyle headed into the Market to grab some fresh fish for dinner that night. As usual, the owner, Fran, ran over and engaged in the normal small-town chatter that Gardiner was known for. Mia had taken over her PR campaign, and Ophelia was one of her best customers, so he enjoyed the pride that surged from her obvious affection for his family.

  Family.

  The word caused a warm rush of pleasure. Their Sunday dinners together had become like a treasure. He’d finally met Chloe, and loved watching her interact so closely with Ethan and Mia. They’d all ridden horses together, then curled up with the Disney movie Moana.

  Hei Hei had even begun to tolerate him.

  Chloe was the newest addition to the tight-knit crew. Once again, the inn and farm had made a difference to another person. This place was important, filled with a goodness and warmth he hadn’t found in a very long time.

  Ophelia had done that by opening her home to guests. His job might seem important because of all the attention, money, and fame, but hers was so much more so. Every time he looked at her, he fell in love with her a little bit more.

  He shook his head, then refocused on the conversation with Fran.

  “Take the haddock,” she insisted. “It’s on sale and so fresh, it probably swam over here.”

  He laughed. “Done. Can you throw in some crab cakes, too?”

  “Absolutely. I’m also sending over some of the new Cajun catfish that’s new. Tell me what you think of it.”

  “Thanks.” Kyle waited while Fran jumped behind the counter to help get him settled. He nodded at a man who walked over and stood next to him.

  “Can you grab me some haddock, too, my love?” the man asked.

  Fran’s giggle reminded him of a teenager’s.

  And holy crap—was she blushing?

  “Of course, Tony! Anything for you!” She stumbled behind the counter, and seemed to try to rush.

  Curious, Kyle studied the giant, stocky, dark-haired man Fran seemed to be crushing on. He sported a scraggly beard, glasses, and was dressed in old jeans and a gray hoodie that stated: DO YOUR STEPS.

  Suddenly, the man narrowed his gaze on Kyle. “Hi, I’m Tony. You look familiar.”

  “Hi. Kyle. Nice to meet you,” he said. They shook hands. “Sorry, not sure I’ve seen you around before.”

  “That’s okay, I just need a minute. My memory is kick-ass.”

  Kyle grinned, politely waiting ei
ther for the recognition or for Fran to get him his fish so he could leave.

  Tony suddenly snapped his fingers. “Got it. You’re Kyle Kimpton! Patrick’s son, right?”

  Ice trickled down his spine. He didn’t understand why this man seemed happy to see him, but he didn’t want to find out. “Yeah. Sorry, I don’t know any of my father’s friends.”

  “I’m his AA sponsor. Damn, what a pleasure to get to meet you. Patrick talks about you all the time.”

  Shock cut through him. “He does?”

  “Hell yeah. Told me how you took care of the farm and the animals when he was drunk off his ass. And all about your big success as a screenwriter. He fucking lights up when he talks about you, and Patrick isn’t the lighthearted type, you know?”

  Kyle’s head spun as he tried to figure out how to reply. “Yeah, he’s more like John Wayne. The strong, silent type.”

  “Definitely. So you in town from California?”

  “Yeah, I’m working on a new project. Be here for about another six weeks.”

  Tony nodded. “That’s great. Have you seen Patrick yet?”

  He stiffened, glancing away. His voice came out cold when he finally spoke. “No.”

  The man regarded him with a shrewd gaze. “Yeah, I get it. No judgment here, dude. Your dad was really fucked up and did a lot of bad stuff. If you see him, it may be hard trying to reconcile the man he is now with the asshole you used to live with.”

  Kyle’s eyes widened. “Umm, are you supposed to say stuff like that? If he’s trying to recover and all, doesn’t hearing about your screw-ups make things worse?”

  Tony grinned. “Nope. It’s about the truth, and Patrick knows it. Admits it. Every day, he let alcohol strip away his humanity and choices. Now, every day, he rebuilds. Remembering who he was is a part of that. It’s about balancing the guilt with the intention of making amends.”

  Kyle stared at the gray hoodie’s message in a different light. DO YOUR STEPS. Recognition dawned as he linked it to the organization that had helped so many addicts.

  Tony caught his gaze and leaned in, as if his next words were critically important.

  “But you know what AA is really about? The crux of it is one simple lesson: we all deserve to give ourselves a second chance. It doesn’t negate the pain we put others through, and it’s not a get-out-of-jail-free card. Reparations still need to be made. But without second chances, we’d be stuck in the gutter for life.”

  Kyle stared at him, unable to form words.

  Second chances. The same thing he’d been begging for from Ophelia. How ironic to meet a stranger who knew intimate things about him and his father, and preached the same thing Kyle needed from the woman he loved.

  Tony continued. “Listen, your dad’s one-year sobriety anniversary is April thirtieth. If you can be there, it may be something you want to attend. He’ll tell his story, and children of alcoholics sometimes find some healing in listening to parents recall the truth.”

  The ground shifted beneath his feet, but Tony stared at him with a raw honesty he respected. He hated the lump in his throat and swallowed past it. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back in California for a while by then.”

  “Got it. Well, if you’re able to stop by and see him before you leave, I know it’d make a big difference. But I also understand if you can’t.” He drew out a card from his pocket and pressed it into his palm. “Call me if you ever want to talk, or have questions about your dad, or anything.”

  Fran appeared before them and handed Kyle the wrapped packages. “Here you go. Tell Ophelia I said hello.” Her gaze snagged on Tony.

  It was obvious she wanted Kyle to leave, and he tamped down a chuckle.

  “Thanks, Fran. I will.” He turned to Tony and hesitated. His gut churned. “Bye, Tony.”

  Tony gave him a grin that lit up his whole face. Kyle noticed his front tooth was crooked and a bit yellow, but Fran didn’t seem to mind. She looked pretty smitten.

  “It truly was an honor to meet you, Kyle.”

  He left the store, his mind whirling. His father had talked about him to his sponsor. Told him intimate secrets about their relationship and termed himself an asshole. Was it possible? Could a man get sober and really change? Or was it just another illusion that would suck Kyle in and hurt him all over again?

  He pushed the thought out of his mind and drove back to the inn.

  Ophelia turned to him and whispered the words in humbled reverence.

  “They’re gone.”

  He pulled on his earlobe and cocked his head. Silence greeted him. “All of them?”

  She gave a squeal of glee and jumped into his arms. He caught her with ease, laughing as he spun her around. “The place is all ours for an entire week. Seven perfect days filled with nothing but laziness.”

  “Excellent. Let’s start our vacation right now.”

  He began carrying her down the hall toward her bedroom with one obvious purpose, and she didn’t intend to stop him. He’d just bent his head, ready to kiss her, when the doorbell rang.

  “There’s no room at the inn,” he growled in warning, glaring at the door. “Let’s ignore it.”

  “No, I have to answer it—just in case.” He placed her down, and she peeked through the curtain, frowning when she recognized Albert Townsend, the owner of Crystal’s. She opened the door with a big smile. “Hi, Albert. Is everything okay?”

  The older man smiled at her, his short gray beard and still-thick hair cutting an impressive figure. With this charming demeanor, handsome suits, and financial success, he was consistently chased by all the single women in town—both young and old. But he still mourned his wife, even after all these years. He chose to spend most of his time at the restaurant. “Everything’s fine. I decided I’d make a house call rather than use the telephone.”

  “Of course. Come in. I’ll get you a cup of coffee or tea.”

  “Thank you.” She led him past the crackling fire toward the kitchen, where Kyle was already pouring a mug of coffee. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”

  “Albert, this is Kyle Kimpton. We actually grew up together, but he moved out to California years ago. He’s here working on a script till spring.”

  They shook hands. “Patrick’s son, correct?”

  Kyle winced, but kept his smile. “That’s right. We dined at your place last month, and it was amazing. Some of the best steak I ever had.”

  Albert beamed. “Thank you. I take pride in the menu and quality. My late wife loved food and beautiful things, so when the Victorian farmhouse it’s in suffered a fire five years ago, I decided to rebuild it in her honor and open up a distinctive dining place.” Albert turned toward Ophelia. “Which is another reason I’ve come to see you today.”

  “Mysterious,” she teased. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Coffee. Black, please.”

  Kyle poured it for her and passed it over, shifting on his feet as if unsure whether he should stay. Ophelia motioned for him to take a seat beside them, not wanting to exclude him from the conversation.

  Albert took a sip and folded his hands neatly on the table. His light-blue eyes peered over a pair of smart-looking spectacles. “I’m not sure if you know this, but you’ve caused quite the stir in our town, Ophelia.”

  She frowned, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “I had no idea you were a singer.”

  Realization struck, and she shifted in her chair. Dammit, she should’ve known the gossip a small town wouldn’t be able to resist. Most of the locals knew she’d left to pursue a singing career, but when she returned home, no one ever spoke of it again. She rarely sang anymore, so that karaoke stunt must have sparked gossip.

  “I’m not. I love to sing, but it’s just a hobby. I was having some fun, that’s all.”

  He frowned, tapping one finger steadily. “Hmm, I heard your voice. It was quite extraordinary.”

  “How did you hear it?”

  “YouTube. One of the patro
ns at the Depot recorded you. Haven’t you seen it? It’s gotten a ton of views, and the number keeps growing.”

  Horror washed through her. She’d forgotten that social media rarely cared what you wanted to share. The idea of her singing performance being available for the world to watch sent shivers through her. In a way, her singing had become deeply personal—a gift she kept as a secret, when once she’d longed to share it.

  As if he sensed her distress, Kyle slid his hand across the table and squeezed her fingers.

  “I didn’t know it had been recorded,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t know that would make you uncomfortable.” A worried expression flickered across his face. “I guess this makes the favor I was going to ask you a bit awkward.”

  “What favor?”

  “I’m in desperate need of a singer for Crystal’s. Someone classy, with a pure voice who can offer the patrons something new. I’m completely open on the schedule, since I know the inn is your main career. I was hoping I’d convince you to sing for a few hours, once a week, on a night of your choosing. Of course I’d pay you, and you would be in control of song choices.”

  A mix of emotions hit her like a sucker punch. A thrill coursed through her at the idea of being able to sing for a small, appreciative audience; to be able to let her voice go free and wild after so many years locked in a cage.

  Yes, it was a small, local restaurant. Yes, her schedule and choices would be under her strict control. But she’d already seen how things could blow up. With social media, what if she was inviting chaos back into her life?

  “I can’t thank you enough for the offer, Albert,” she said with a smile, “but I have my hands full running the inn. I’m sure there’s plenty of local talent available who would love such an opportunity.”

  “What if Ethan or Mia helped out at the inn?” Kyle interrupted. “I’m sure they’d be supportive. It’s only one night a week, and Albert would probably be understanding if one week didn’t work out here and there.”