Sisters of Summer’s End

by Lori Foster

  No, she couldn’t say that. She’d never been overly outspoken and here, now, didn’t feel like the right time to start.

  But in her head, she could almost hear Maris telling her to speak up. Unfortunately, she wasn’t Maris, not by a long shot. Maris wouldn’t need someone prodding her to take a stand.

  In honor of her new friendship, Joy decided the least she could do was give it a try.

  “So... I’m not hungry.” Oh great. That was miles away from bold. She quickly added, “I mean, are you actually hungry?”

  Rather than answer, he said, “You can admit you’re upset, honey. I’ll understand.”

  Joy blinked at him. He would understand.

  Okay, sure, that was nice of him. But nice wasn’t what she wanted right now.

  She wanted him. As a man.

  Why had she assumed this would be easy? Actually, she knew why. She thought Royce would jump at the chance to get physical, that he’d somehow take charge of the situation and all she’d have to do was go along.

  It wasn’t working out that way, so apparently she had to steer things in the right direction. “I appreciate the concern. I really do. But the situation with my mother isn’t new and I’d rather not dwell on it.”

  He shot her an appraising look. “Are you sure?”

  Frustration sharpened her tongue and she asked, “Should I remind you what this—” Joy gestured back and forth between them “—is about?”

  He was silent a moment as he drove, and then he nodded. “Yeah. Why don’t you?”

  Huh. Joy hadn’t expected that. “Well...” She screwed up her nerve, tamped down her modesty and stated, “Today, it’s about sex.”

  “What?” He shot another look, this one almost comical because he looked so surprised. Oh, he kept driving, but he didn’t blink; he even took a few seconds to inhale. “You said sex?”

  Did he have to sound so unsure? “Us. Today. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.” Embarrassment put her tongue on the fast track, and she started rambling. “I realize things went off the rails a little bit today. I was surprised that my mother dropped in so unexpectedly.” Mild definition of her reaction. “I’ll have plenty of time to think about it later, I promise, but right now we have a limited opportunity. Who knows how many times Maris and Daron will work together to make this happen?”

  “Wait.” He lifted a hand. “You’re saying...?”

  “Sex.” She repeated again, and it was easier this time. “Us. Today.”

  “Right. Believe me, I’m with you on that part. But did you say that Maris and Daron know that’s what you have on the agenda?”

  After Joy explained, Royce gave a short, gruff laugh. “It makes sense now, the way Daron offered to watch the dog, how insistent he was about it.” Pulling up to a stop sign, Royce turned toward her. His gaze had warmed, and his mouth curled in the slightest smile. “So you made these arrangements, huh?”

  Do not blush. Do not blush. “Yes.” She’d even bought condoms, though she was hoping he had his own. She’d taken extra care with her appearance, too. “So what do you think? Could we skip food for now?” If they delayed, she had the awful feeling they’d miss the opportunity.

  Royce glanced in the rearview mirror, drove forward and made a U-turn. “I’m thirty.”

  Unsure what that meant, but relieved that he’d turned around, Joy said, “We’re the same age, then.”

  “I had a bitch of a year before coming here. Actually, more than a year, though the last year was the worst. It wore on me, to the point I feel fifty most of the time.”

  Again, she didn’t know why he mentioned it, but she also felt older than thirty, mostly because she’d been in permanent mom-mode with her sexuality on ice. “I understand.” She just hoped this wasn’t his way of edging out of a sexual relationship.

  “The thing is, around you, I feel like a horny high school kid.”

  A big grin of relief made her “Oh good” sound silly. She laughed, only a little embarrassed. “I mean, because I feel the same.”

  “Good to know.”

  Briefly, she wondered what had happened in his life to make the past so difficult. Because he’d been clear about those damned boundaries, she didn’t ask.

  Royce reached for her hand and held it on his thigh. “Don’t ever think I’m disinterested, okay? If it ever seems that way, check me on it.”

  “Same here.” Before meeting Royce, she might have thought about sex every now and then, in an abstract, peripheral way featuring blurry, imaginary men.

  With Royce, her thoughts were very specific, very direct and detailed. All about him.

  “We both have a lot going on right now, and honestly, I’m out of practice. But for the immediate future, consider me an automatic yes anytime there’s opportunity, okay?”

  That “immediate future” qualifier didn’t bother her in the least—because it went both ways. “Same from me.”

  “Yeah?” Grinning, he pulled into a deli. “How much time do we have?”

  Joy didn’t know what to think. “I told Maris I’d be back by eight.”

  “Perfect.” He parked and removed his seat belt. “Give me two minutes to grab some ready-made sandwiches—for later.” Leaning across the seat he took her mouth in a firm, warm kiss that held loads of sensual promise. “Be right back.”

  * * *

  Holding the bag of food in one arm, Royce unlocked the front door, then stepped back for Joy to enter.

  With her expression a mix of shyness and anticipation, she silently stepped over the threshold.

  Joy might be thirty years old, but this was new for her.

  Hell, it was new for him, too—because it was Joy, and he not only wanted her, he admired everything about her. It was a different combo for him.

  Prior to his mom’s illness, he’d enjoyed bachelorhood and the freedom from commitments. He’d set his own hours, leaving plenty of room for travel. His mother’s illness had altered his life drastically and there’d been no room to cultivate relationships with women. Never had he even been tempted to try.

  It had been easier and less complicated to just get through each day, to do what had to be done, focus on the necessary stuff and keep his mind free of anything else.

  Now here was Joy, and she drew him in in ways no one else had—before or after his move. If ever a woman deserved patience and finesse, she did, but the urge to rush her straight to the bedroom punched a wild beat in his heart. He wanted to touch and taste her everywhere.

  Hell, he’d been thinking about it since he met her.

  She was here in his house with him now because she wanted him, too, enough that she’d taken the initiative and arranged it with her friends.

  Knowing that created lust so powerful he had trouble breathing as he closed the door again behind them.

  “I’m amazed at everything you’ve accomplished.”

  Flipping on a few lights, Royce asked, “How’s that?”

  “All the remodeling at the drive-in, getting to know the community, and you’re even unpacked and organized here. When I moved in at the park with Jack, I lived out of boxes for a long time. I think he was a year old before I finally got everything set up the way I wanted.”

  “You were younger and had a baby to take care of.” He couldn’t imagine what that must have been like for her, especially after seeing her mother firsthand. “This place...” Royce glanced around at the very underwhelming interior of his home. “It’s orderly, but it’s not even close to what it’ll be after I put in some work. I have ideas—a ton of them—but they’ll have to happen later.”

  She stripped off her coat and put it with her purse on the sofa. “Jack and I have distracted you.”

  Royce gave a low laugh. “Jack’s entertaining. But you?” He let his gaze skim over her. Joy had a way of making a plain skirt and sweater ultrafemini
ne yet still professional. He’d love to see her in jeans.

  Naked would be even better. Soon. Very soon.

  “You are most definitely distracting,” he managed to say. “In all the best ways.”

  She smiled and smoothed her hands down her skirt. “Good.”

  Reminding himself that he couldn’t rush her, Royce said, “I’ll put this stuff away,” and headed for the kitchen.

  Joy followed, but paused in the wide doorway, still looking around at his house, specifically his bare walls. “Do you own any of your mother’s art?”

  He had everything his mother had completed after she became ill, as well as gifts she’d given him throughout the years. It added up to a sizable collection. “Some,” he said noncommittally. For now he kept the art in storage, where it would stay until he could emotionally tackle it.

  “You said she was...ill?” She wasn’t sure how to categorize dementia.

  Royce inhaled and held a breath. Right, they were both out of practice, but Joy couldn’t seriously expect him to talk about his deceased mother right now?

  Given her concerned gaze, she did.

  Aware of her tracking his every movement, Royce took his time storing the food in the fridge. “The dementia came with a lot of complications,” he said, in a way that didn’t invite more questions.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Nodding, Royce killed time by carefully arranging the sandwiches on the middle shelf, the colas on the bottom, the potato salad on top.

  But to what end? Not like he’d start wanting Joy less. Not like they had all night.

  “Did Chaos do this?”

  Closing the fridge, he looked at the bottom of the kitchen door frame where deep gouges in the white paint exposed the wood. “Yeah, first time I tried to leave him behind.” To keep his hands off her, Royce braced them behind him on the counter. “Poor dog went nuts. I think he felt abandoned all over again.”

  When he’d found Chaos loose in the house, two different shoes destroyed and a screen knocked out of a window, he’d been both exasperated and apologetic. The dog couldn’t help his fear, and Royce hadn’t meant to add to his anxiety.

  For the next hour he’d played with Chaos in the yard, hoping his attention would reassure the dog, and that the play would help to wind him down. He’d also vowed not to leave Chaos behind again—not if he could help it.

  Nodding at the scratched-up linoleum, Royce said, “He tried to dig his way out, I guess. Once I was here, he went crazy loving on me, then wouldn’t leave my side.”

  “Poor baby,” she said, full of sympathy.

  To lighten the mood, Royce grinned and asked, “Me or the dog?”

  Her smile matched his. “Both?”

  He accepted that with a laugh. “Even while I showered, Chaos kept his nose stuck in past the curtain. At least when I can see him, he’s not getting into trouble.”

  “I’m glad he has you.” Moving closer, her gaze on his chest, Joy said, “Someone else might have given up on him already, especially when he does so much damage.”

  “It’s not that bad. I think by the time I start remodeling here he’ll be more secure.” The house felt strangely quiet without Chaos racing around from one end to another, yapping at shadows and sliding across the hardwood floors, or sometimes just chasing his own tail. “It’d be great if Daron could teach him some commands before then.”

  Smiling, she turned those beautiful eyes up to him.

  And there went the last of his restraint. She was close enough now that he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Catching her shoulders, he drew her into his body. God, she was soft, and curved just right. With her height, she fit against him perfectly.

  His voice rasped as he said, “I don’t want to talk about the dog—” or my mother “—anymore.”

  Her palms settled against his chest. “Okay.”

  “Joy.” He looked from her eyes, now heavy with need, to her slightly parted lips. “I’m about to implode here.”

  Nodding, she inhaled a deep breath. “Me, too.”

  “Good.” Perfect, even. Sliding his hands down her back, he paused here and there to stroke, to absorb the shape of her—the dip of her waist, the rise of her hip. When his hands opened on her backside, she pressed her face into his neck.

  Patience, he told himself again...but he was already too far gone. “If I start this here, we won’t make it to the bedroom.”

  “Honestly, here works for me.”

  He choked on a laugh. His first time with her would not be up against a counter. “Let’s be a little more conventional this first time, okay?” Stepping her back, he caught her hand and headed down the hall to his bedroom.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t even come close to making his bed. Chaos had pulled one corner of the blanket off on the floor. Royce’s pillow still wore the indent of his head, and the other pillow...well, it was pretty obvious Chaos had slept curled up on it.

  Shit.

  “The dog fur—” he started to explain.

  “I don’t care.”

  He turned to see her stripping off her long cardigan and stepping out of her shoes. She didn’t wear nylons or tights, and her bare feet looked so cute that it stalled his brain for a second until it registered that she was undressing.

  His cock thickened. Soon, very soon, he’d have this woman and he didn’t quite know how he’d managed it. Beauty, brains, compassion—and she wanted him enough to make arrangements. Despite him being obtuse. Despite the obviously painful visit from her mother.

  All together, that said a lot. Joy claimed she wanted this and nothing more. Well, then, he’d make this as good as he could.

  That meant he had to lay some groundwork to ensure her pleasure. If she got her clothes off first, he was a goner.

  “Slow,” he murmured, hauling her close and taking her mouth in a deep, thorough kiss. Her lips immediately opened, an invitation to his tongue. No finesse, but she didn’t seem to mind, not with the way she pushed closer, how she clutched at him and sucked on his tongue.

  God, there was so much he wanted, needed, to do with her, but he felt her hands on the hem of his sweatshirt and knew he couldn’t wait. “Let me.” He moved back far enough to jerk it off over his head.

  Joy inhaled, her gaze stroking every inch of his upper body. The way she whispered, “Wow,” so breathlessly made him even harder.

  Wearing an expression of fascination, she reached out to touch him, molding her palm across the front of his shoulder, then trailing her fingertips down to his pec, over his left nipple, down to his waist—and the snap of his jeans.

  She really was in a hurry, and much as he wanted to accommodate her, he knew she needed to catch up.

  Lifting her hand away, Royce kissed her fingers. “Your turn.” He finished easing her cardigan down her arms and tossed it toward a chair. With both hands, he brushed her long hair behind her shoulders—and then had to linger on it a moment. Thick, silky, golden brown, her hair had factored into his fantasies a lot lately.

  None of those fantasies were as stirring as the reality of having her here, in his bedroom, hearing the quickness of her breath and seeing the thrust of her nipples through her shirt and bra.

  He skimmed his hands down her narrow waist and hips, then up again. She held herself so still he thought conversation might help and asked, “Do you always wear skirts?”

  She swallowed, nodded. “Usually.”

  Slowly, he pulled up the shirt, revealing first the smooth skin of her midriff, then the lacy edging on her bra, and finally the fullness of her breasts.

  Right there, with the shirt held under her chin, the material bunched in his hands, Royce paused to soak up the sight of her. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized that she’d be so lushly built. Her white bra was both sturdy and pretty, supporting breasts that would fill his large hands.

&
nbsp; Joy didn’t play up her figure in any way. Hell, she probably played it down in an effort to shore up that persona of a mother, only a mother.

  Before he took her home, she’d have no doubts about being a woman.

  “Royce,” she whispered, her hands fluttering at her sides.

  His gaze sought hers. The flush in her cheeks and the trembling of her lips showed equal parts embarrassment and urgency. “You’re incredible.”

  She gave a slight shake of her head. “I’m just...me.”

  Pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, he said, “There’s no ‘just’ to it.” Slowly, he eased the shirt up and over her head, while reminding himself that she hadn’t undressed in front of a man in a very long time. Much as he wanted to visually devour her, he’d have to save that for later.

  As he tackled the side zipper of her long tan skirt, he kissed her, along the column of her neck, the sensitive spot where it joined her shoulder, up to her jaw and ear.

  The skirt dropped to her feet. Before he could steal a look at her, she stepped out of it and against him, her hands on his chest again, her mouth on his.

  Now when he held her bottom, only silky material separated his hands from her warm, pliable flesh. He didn’t mean to rush. In fact, he was telling himself not to do that when he pressed one hand inside her panties, the other into her bra. She sure as hell wasn’t complaining—and so he stopped thinking.

  Just stopped.

  Instead, he gave in to instinct, touching and tasting, licking and fondling. Like a man starved, and maybe he was, he greedily explored every inch of her available to him.

  The softness of her combined with the scents of her hair, her sex, her excitement, made him hard enough to hurt.

  He loved the way she lightly dragged the tips of her nails over his back with just enough pressure for him to feel it, to know she was turned on. He didn’t think she was aware of it, that she did it deliberately to turn him on. No, she was wrapped up in her own innate response, soft, mewling moans escaping her. When he opened her bra to free both breasts and bent to draw one stiffened nipple into his mouth, she speared her fingers into his hair and held him close.