by Tawna Fenske
Reese smiled a little shyly. “Blue satin,” she said. “Not like the black lace the other night. The front clasp that wasn’t meant to be, but—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish whatever inane thing she’d been about to say. His mouth found hers again, and then there was no talking at all. Reese went up on tiptoe, wishing again she’d kept the boots on. He was so tall, so big. Her hands slid over his biceps, marveling at the size of him. She remembered something, drew back. In the dimness of her night-light, she peered at his skin.
“Your tattoo,” she whispered. “What does it say?”
“Not important,” he said, and kissed her again.
Reese forgot about the words—all words—as she felt herself dissolving into him, devouring him, touching him everywhere. He smelled like sawdust and sunshine, and Reese wondered if it was cologne or just Clay.
He was harder everywhere than last time—leaner, more solid. His hands made slow circles on her back, still tentative. There was a hesitance in him that hadn’t been there the last time.
The only time.
“You won’t break me,” she whispered against his chest.
“It’s not that. It’s just—”
“What?”
“I want you so much.”
The words made her dizzy all over. She caught him by the belt buckle again and pulled him toward the bed, glad she’d had the foresight to put on clean sheets that morning. Not that she’d been planning on doing anything illicit, and certainly not with Clay.
Clay, her brain murmured, and Reese waited for that to seem strange.
It didn’t.
Reese shoved her down comforter aside, then knelt on the bed and pulled him closer. He was standing in front of her now in the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the window. She slid her hands up his sides and felt him shiver beneath her palms.
“Cold?” she asked.
“No,” he said, his hands drifting down her shoulders and coming to rest against her collarbones, just above her breasts. He left them there, his fingertips warm on her flesh. “Not cold at all.”
He leaned forward and his lips found hers in the semidarkness. Then his hands slid down, finally cupping her breasts, testing their weight in his palms. Reese moaned aloud, trying to remember if it had felt this damn good the last time.
His thumbs stroked her nipples through the satin, and Reese arched her back, pressing herself into all that sensation. She slid her hands down his back and over his jeans, thrilling herself with the hardness there that she couldn’t quite touch.
Clay let go of her breasts, and Reese made a small whimper of protest. His hands moved around her back, tracing the wings of her shoulder blades before his fingers found the clasp of her bra.
“Oh,” she gasped as he unhooked it in one deft move, then reached up to slide the straps from her shoulders. Reese sighed as the bra fell free and his hands curved around once more to cup her. He bent forward and slid his tongue over one nipple, then the other, taking his time, making slow circles until Reese was sure she’d topple off the bed.
She trailed her hands down his chest and fumbled with his belt buckle. Clay sucked in a breath and drew back, moving his fingers over her shoulders to hold her away from him for just a moment. He looked at her, just looked at her.
Reese shivered, her hand frozen on his belt buckle.
“Reese,” he whispered, his lips forming a small smile. “Reese.”
“Yes?”
“I can’t believe this.”
He stopped, and Reese smiled back as she fumbled with his belt buckle. “Is this okay?”
He laughed then, the first time she hadn’t feared he was still considering fleeing the room.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Want help?”
She nodded and sat back on her heels to watch as he slowly unhooked the belt and tugged open the button fly on his jeans. She tried not to stare, but hell, wasn’t that the point? Admiring the evidence that she was able to arouse him like this, seeing the swell of him straining against his black boxer briefs.
He bent down to untie his boots, then toed them off before sliding off his jeans and underwear until he stood there naked in front of her.
Reese stared. “My God.”
He smiled and slid one finger from the edge of her chin down her collarbone and over the swell of her breast. “I can say the same for you.”
She smiled back, still drinking in the sight of him in all his naked glory. “Sobriety’s been good to you.”
Reese drew herself back up to her knees, eager to feel him against her bare breasts. She kissed him hard, felt him respond by reaching down to cup her ass. She should probably take off her panties, that last layer between them, but the teasing was ecstasy. So close, but not quite there. She ground against him, enjoying the slide of damp satin.
Clay drew back again, his breath coming hard. “I didn’t bring any—”
“Condoms,” Reese murmured. “Bedside drawer, right beside you. God, I hope they aren’t expired.”
She wondered if that was a dumb thing to say but decided it wasn’t. It was better than suggesting she regularly bedded strange men she brought home from the bar.
Which was exactly why this was okay. This was Clay—not some stranger. Clay.
He pulled out the foil packet and drew it toward his chest, fumbling.
“Want help?” Reese asked.
“I’ve got it.”
“I want to touch you,” she said, reaching for the condom, surprised by her own boldness.
She took it from him and tore open the wrapper, then slid the condom on slowly, enjoying the way he moaned as her hand traveled the length of him. Then she released him and reached down to peel off her panties. She knelt there for a second, panties in one hand, and reached for him again.
Clay shook his head—wonderment or dismay, Reese wasn’t certain, but she was pretty sure she knew. “Last chance to stop before things change forever,” he whispered.
Reese gave him a curious smile. “Forever? It’s sex. I’m not going to make you marry me in the morning.”
Clay smiled. “Okay.”
She kissed him again. Then she twined her fingers around his neck and pulled him down to her, letting herself fall back on the bed. He moved with her, coming to rest with his hands on either side of her head, his weight braced on his arms. Reese arched up, wanting to feel more of him.
A lot more.
She reached down between them. “Remember that joke you used to tell? What’s the definition of a nice girl?”
Clay grimaced. “God, what a jerk.”
She laughed and wrapped her fingers around him, guiding him toward her. She waited for him to add the punch line to the joke, but he only made a soft strangled sound in the back of his throat.
“A nice girl,” she whispered. “One who puts it in for you.”
Then she did.
They both gasped at the same moment, she from the sudden shock of penetration, he—well, probably from the same thing. Just a different sensation, Reese thought as she began to move with him.
He stroked deep inside her and she moaned, feeling her legs come up off the bed to wrap around him. He was still holding himself up with his arms, trying to keep his weight off her chest. Afraid to crush her, probably, but God, she wanted to feel him against her.
“Come down here,” she whispered. “Come closer.”
Clay slid deeper and Reese cried out. He smiled. “I don’t think it’s possible to get much closer.”
“Your arms,” she gasped, dizzy with the next thrust. “I want to feel your chest against—oh God!”
Clay quickened his pace and Reese forgot for a moment how much she wanted to feel the weight of him pressing her down into the mattress. The heat was building inside her, too soon—way too soon—but God, it had been s
o long.
Reese arched her back and gripped a pillow with one hand, the other hand coming up to clutch the side of his waist. He stroked into her again, and Reese felt something snap inside her.
“Oh, Jesus,” she shrieked, then remembered Larissa and fought to stifle her screams as stars burst behind her eyes and everything inside her exploded with pleasure.
She was still gasping for breath when she opened her eyes to see Clay smiling down at her. “You okay?”
Reese nodded, not sure she could speak.
“I was worried about crushing you,” he murmured.
Reese smiled and reached up to grab his shoulders. She pulled him down to her, forcing his weight on top of her.
“Stop being so damn polite,” she said.
Clay laughed and Reese felt the vibration of it deep in her chest. “That might be the strangest thing anyone’s ever said to me in bed.”
He was still hard inside her, still ready for his turn. Reese grinned.
“I’m honored,” she said, and flipped him on his back.
Clay lay there in silence after Reese drifted off to sleep. His head was swimming, even though his body was so saturated with pleasure that his nerve endings ached.
What the hell did you just do?
Not that he regretted it. Not exactly. Hell, it had been amazing. Reese was amazing. He couldn’t regret that, but still.
Your best friend’s ex.
One of the only friendships you have left.
Clay eased away from her reluctantly, trying not to wake her. He pulled the covers up around her, feeling his heart twist as she smiled in her sleep and made a soft whimpering sound.
God, she’s perfect.
He stood there watching her sleep for a few breaths, not quite ready to go. But hell, he had to. Larissa was sleeping in the same house, and the last thing he needed was to have her wake up and discover them twined around each other. The whole family would hear about it, and Reese would never live it down.
Still, he hesitated. He didn’t want to just leave without a word. That would be rude, something the old Clay might’ve done. Maybe if he slept on the couch?
No, still too close. Even worse, her family would see his truck there in the morning, would know he’d spent the night.
Okay, so he’d go.
The thought of driving back to his cold hotel room wasn’t appealing, either, but it was his only option. He looked at Reese again, her hair spread out on the pillow and her hand curled against one cheek.
So beautiful.
He shook his head, thinking this is what perverts did. Stand there naked watching a woman sleep. He dressed in silence, figuring he could shower when he got back to the hotel.
He opened the bedroom door and crept into the living room. There, he looked around for some paper and something to write with. He found a notepad on the kitchen counter with a pen tucked into the spiral and sat down to write her a note.
What the hell should he say?
The old Clay wouldn’t have left a note at all, or maybe he would have. Something gauche—thanks for the great lay or an asinine thing like that. Clay looked down at the blank paper, not wanting to blow it.
Reese, he wrote. I had a great time.
He stopped, stared at the words on the page. Stupid. It sounded like bathroom graffiti. For a good time, call Reese.
He tore off the page and tried again.
Reese, I wish I could stay, but—
But what?
“Dammit,” he muttered, and tore off the page again.
“Whatcha writing?”
Clay jumped. He looked up to see Larissa padding barefoot into the kitchen. Her hair was rumpled, but she’d changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt that must’ve belonged to Reese. Or maybe she kept a stash of her own clothes here for occasions just like this. Her still-smeared eye makeup made her look like a hungover raccoon.
“Nothing,” he said.
She rolled her eyes and reached up to grab a water glass out of the cupboard. Her shorts stretched tight over her butt, and Clay was surprised to realize he wasn’t at all interested in staring. Not the way he’d done an hour ago when Reese had stretched and reached the same way.
Larissa said nothing as she filled her glass at the sink and downed it in a few quick gulps. She refilled it and did the same thing again. Then she set the glass on the counter and looked at him.
“Here’s what you say in your note,” she told him. “Reese. You are amazing. Period. That’s it.”
Clay stared at her, not sure how to respond. “We didn’t—”
“Of course you did. I know you’re a gentleman these days, but there’s no protecting Reese’s virtue when she moans that loud. Nice job, by the way.”
Larissa turned and filled her glass again. Clay swallowed and looked down at the notepad. “I don’t want to blow this.”
“Funny, I said that to Derek earlier.”
Clay laughed in spite of himself. “I’m serious. I’ve screwed up with her before. A lot.”
Larissa shook her head. “You’ll do fine. You’re a different guy now, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So prove it. Write your damn note and get out of here before Grandpa Axl shows up and starts giving you sex tips.”
Clay winced and looked back down at the page. Finally, he scrawled a few words. Not what Larissa had suggested, exactly, but the sentiment felt right.
“Want me to give it to her?” Larissa asked.
“No, I don’t want you to give it to her. I want you to go back to bed and pretend you have no idea anything happened here tonight, got it?”
Larissa grinned. “So this is a secret love affair?”
“I don’t know what it is. But I do know your family thinks of Reese’s love life as public domain, and it really shouldn’t be anyone else’s business. I’m asking you to keep this one quiet for now, okay?”
Larissa sipped her water and shrugged. “Is that because you care about her or because you’re worried what Eric will think?”
“Does it matter?”
“To me or to Reese?”
Clay looked down at the page, then back up at Larissa. “Either, I guess.”
“Yes. On both counts.”
“Okay, then. I’m asking you, as a friend, to keep this quiet. I care about her a lot. A whole lot.”
Larissa studied him for a moment, so intently Clay was tempted to look away. She took a few small sips of her water, then shrugged. “Thank you for bailing me out earlier.”
“Not a problem.”
“I don’t know what I saw in him.”
“Beer goggles,” Clay said. “Happens to the best of us.”
Larissa snorted. “Guess so.”
“Be careful, okay?”
“With boys or with beer?”
“Yes.”
Larissa nodded. “Thank you. For caring, I mean. And for rescuing me.”
Clay nodded and stood up. “I’m sticking this on her nightstand now. Please don’t sneak in there and read it, okay?”
“You take away all my fun.”
“I doubt that.”
Clay crept back into Reese’s room, glad to see she hadn’t stirred. He stood there for a few seconds, watching her chest rise and fall. One edge of the sheet had slipped beneath her left breast, and he reached down to pull it up for her. His fingers grazed her warm flesh and he nearly lost his mind as she stirred and smiled in sleep.
It was all he could do not to bend down and kiss her. He knew this was better, that they needed to protect whatever was happening between them until they had time to sit down with their clothes on and talk things through. He set the note on her nightstand and backed out of the room, still reluctant to take his eyes off her.
At last, he closed the bedroo
m door behind him. Larissa had gone back to bed or to the bathroom or something, so Clay didn’t have anyone to say goodbye to as he opened the front door and stepped out into the damp night air. The frogs and crickets conducted a noisy symphony in the darkness, and somewhere Clay heard a train whistle. He breathed in the scent of wet earth and fermented fruit and the grassy scent of Reese still clinging to his skin.
He pulled the front door shut behind him, and crept quietly across the gravel driveway to his truck. He opened the door, wincing a little at the squeak, and climbed in, pulling it closed as softly as he could. Reese’s window was only a few feet away, not to mention her parents’ house just across the vineyard. Sound carried out here.
He eyed the slope of the driveway and decided to coast to the flat spot before cranking the engine. He stuck the key in the ignition and flicked the lights, releasing the emergency brake. The truck began a slow roll down the driveway, gravel popping under the tires.
Clay was so focused on making a silent exit that he almost didn’t see it. He wasn’t sure what caught his eye exactly—a moving shape? A person? A car?
Or just the thick plume of gray smoke curling slowly up from the side of the winery barn.
“Oh, shit,” he said, and slammed on the brakes.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Reese was still mostly asleep when she patted the mattress beside her and found it empty. She frowned. The sheets were damp, and the room still smelled like sex, but the space next to her was cold.
She opened her eyes, blinked in the darkness, then closed her eyes again.
She hadn’t expected Clay to still be there, but still. Even in her sleep-addled state, it was tough not to be a little disappointed.
Weren’t you the one who left before he woke up fifteen years ago?
Reese thought about that for a moment, trying to remember the details. They’d only known each other a few weeks at that point, and she’d felt daring and grownup having her first tipsy fling. She’d crept out while he was sleeping, that was true. And they’d really never talked about it after that. She and Eric had started dating seriously within a few weeks, and the engagement and marriage just sort of snowballed from there.
Eric’s a safe choice, she’d assured herself back then. A good friend and a dependable husband. Not the kind of guy who’d get wasted and walk into chemistry class holding a banana like a gun while pretending to be a Stormtrooper.
