“You’ll love it, I promise.”
“No doubt in my mind.” And there wasn’t. He was like any other red-blooded American man that could be caught, hook, line, and sinker by a woman who could cook and would do so willingly with a smile on her face. God, he was a sexist bastard, but he wouldn’t deny the appeal of a woman who embraced not only independence but domestic desire. His mother had been one of the most independent women he knew in her thinking, in her jobs, in her social life, but she loved being a wife and a mother. She’d told him on more than one occasion how much she loved it, loved being there with cookies or some other snack when he and his brother and sister came home from school. She was always willing to help with homework or school projects. There was such warmth, such connection and togetherness in his family growing up.
But, for all their own reasons, neither he nor his siblings had settled down with anyone. His sister was so focused and fixated on her own career as a small business owner that she never gave thought to serious relationships. Their brother had taken to the military straight out of college, and everything was so secret, so “classified” that no one ever knew where his head was outside the Army.
They all inherited their mother’s independence and love of family, just not for creating families of their own. He’d tried to go down that road, thought he’d met the woman, but… And then there was Blue. Another woman he’d clicked and connected with in an instant. Then she too disappeared from his life.
“Cort? Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You kind of spaced out on me.”
“Still waking up I guess. A shower will help.”
“If you wait too much longer, you’ll be able to take one outside when the rain hits.”
“True. I’ll be right back in and out of the shower soon.”
“Sure. Want me to fix another cup of coffee for you?”
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
With that, he turned and walked out of the house. In the backseat of his extended cab, he kept a duffle bag with a change of clothes and some travel-size essentials. He didn’t go anywhere unprepared.
A warm breeze blew by bringing with it the unmistakable smell of rain, just as Blue had said. A black cloud edged with lighter shades of gray hung over the carriage house, the plantation house, the brick building that had at one time served as the kitchen. Land stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with pecan trees, beyond a brick fence behind the old kitchen and small vegetable garden.
The place really was beautiful, and he could well imagine people coming for weekends away, finding a certain peace and solitude that very few other locations would be able to provide. It was quiet, still. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been somewhere that had given him same feeling, the feeling that life didn’t have to go along at such a breakneck pace. A person could slow down, could take a few minutes to breathe, to rock in the rocking chair on the porch, go for a walk through the trees or along nature trails, talk face to face over a piece of homemade cake and not on the phone while they scarfed down some form of something that passed for food these days.
Yes, he could see the property being turned into a bed and breakfast, and he was just enough of a challenge junkie that he would take on the enormous work involved in bringing the place up to code.
A rumbled of thunder sounded in the distance, pulling him back to the task at hand. If he didn’t get his ass inside and in the shower… He grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder and walked back into the house. Blue was humming in the kitchen, and that “at home” feeling began to curl in his gut again. He kept on walking until he got to the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
He stared hard at himself in the mirror. The woman was driving him nuts, driving him to question the way he lived, the way he chose women, even the way he wanted a woman. He was going all soft. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d taken a vacation or thought of slowing down. Everything was work for him. When he went to visit his sister, he would fix things for her, and there was always some other job that he was there for. It was never just for a visit.
He hadn’t been home to his parents’ place in longer than he could remember. He didn’t know how to relax, how to just be there without his insides crawling with nervous energy and his heart aching for something he didn’t have, so, he just didn’t go.
What a fucking prick of a son and brother he was.
He turned away from the mirror and reached behind the shower curtain to turn on the water. Hopefully a shower would clear his head. Maybe if he took a cold one, his dick would leave him the hell alone too.
He shed his clothes from last night and stepped under the lukewarm spray. What he needed most was to get away from Blue for a while. He’d slept in her house, staying on the off chance she might need him. She’d made him coffee and was at the present moment making him breakfast. The sheer domesticity of it was not lost on him. If he didn’t make a break for it soon, he might just fall for her all over again.
Thing was, that’s exactly what he wanted to do…
Chapter Five
Blue slid the quiche into the oven, then set the timer. She gathered all the dirty bowls from the counter and put them in the sink and stood, staring outside the kitchen window. The rain had begun to fall. Large tear-drop shaped rain. Pretty soon, the size of the drops would diminish and start to fall in a steady downpour. With soapy hands, she popped the lock on the window and opened it just a bit. The sound and smell of rain was one of her favorite things. It made her think of warm soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, curling in a chair to read a book, and afternoon naps.
It also made her think of sex. Hot, sweaty, very naughty sex. And this particular rain storm was making her think of hot, sweaty, very naughty sex with the man taking a shower down the hall.
Blue ran the sponge around the inside of the mixing bowl, then turned on the water to rinse it before placing it in the dish drainer. She repeated this process until all the dishes were cleaned and ready to be dried. She didn’t have a dishwasher, and though she’d had the house remodeled a bit after her aunt died, she’d left the kitchen alone, save for new, state-of-the-art appliances, minus the dishwasher. There was something therapeutic about doing dishes by hand.
She hadn’t gone to culinary school for nothing, she thought with a smile. Well, she’d gone because she hadn’t known what else she wanted to do. She had learned to love and appreciate food. She’d learned to appreciate amazing equipment.
And speaking of amazing equipment, her thoughts traveled back to Cort. He wanted her, wanted her body. She wondered what kind of woman he usually dated. She’d almost been just curious enough to ask, but in the end, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. She pretty much figured it wasn’t anyone like her, though. Given his anger at her, his distance from her despite his declaration in the woods last night, he probably stayed as far away from a woman like her as he could get.
No, she would guess he went after the tall, leggy blonde. Hell. What was she getting herself into? Of all the things she’d done in her life, doing whatever she had to to get him was the scariest. Taking her clothes off for the camera had never been a problem, had never bothered her. She loved her body and loved the exhibitionism, showing off the ink on her skin. If she had a kink, that would be it. She liked other kinks too, but she really loved the exhibitionism. She was a bit of a voyeur as well, but she’d rather be doing than watching.
That kind of thing didn’t seem to fit the man down the hall taking a shower, though. She could see him being the keep-it-quiet kind, the sex is for release not fun, the serious rather than the intense sexual partner she craved.
Then again, the one time she had been with him, he’d been intense when they were having sex. He’d made her laugh, talked with her, but talk never lasted long. They hadn’t left any surface untouched in his hotel room, even the table in front of the window. His hand had been planted against it, as had hers as he’d bent her over the edge a
nd taken her ass from behind.
Damn.
Just the thought had her clenching her thighs tight together. She wanted that again. With him. She wanted more than that too. With him. It seemed that perhaps she wasn’t what he wanted. He was stiff, buttoned up, and it would stand to reason that was the kind of woman he would desire too. Serious. Professional. Tailored.
Oh yeah, she could definitely see the him he projected now going for someone like that, not for someone like her.
However, he did make the proposal last night that they could act on their attraction. He thought by doing so it would get it out of his system. She was under the impression and belief it would only increase the want.
She was good with that.
Despite his rigidity and standoffishness, she knew he wouldn’t be able to fuck her once and never again. While the majority of her sexual partners were friends and lovers and everyone was happy with little to no commitment, deep down inside, Blue wanted more. On the surface, she was sexually free and open, safe for certain, but free and open with her sexuality. Below the surface, though, she wanted more, dreamed about more.
Seeing Cort again yesterday… The want and dreams had a direction.
He wouldn’t be the kind of man who liked to share with men or with women, at least not long-term and not regularly. He’d want his woman all to himself most of the time. Maybe even all the time. Blue had never been in a serious, monogamous relationship like that. Aside from Cort, she’d never wanted one.
She picked up the dishtowel and started drying the dishes, one by one. The repetitive process, the physical act of cleaning and putting away, of being neat and tidy, she loved it. She loved domesticity. She might live alone, have what some might consider pornographic pictures on her walls, be considered sexy and pretty, live with a sort of free mentality, but she also considered herself a Domestic Goddess.
She could sew, cook, and clean with the best of them. She could craft, create, and bake just like Martha Stewart, though with more personality and minus the jail time. She took pride in everything she did. Maybe that was part of Cort’s problem. Maybe he needed someone to just care for him, take care of him for a while.
And likely not leave him in the middle of the night while he snored softly.
She heard the shower turn off and sighed. The one man who spoke to that part of her was down the hall in her shower, or rather, getting out of her shower. Naked. He’d be wet, with water droplets sliding down his body. His skin would be moist and smell of soap, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost feel what it would be like to lick him from top to bottom. His lean, defined muscles would twitch under her tongue. His ass looking even tighter than it looked in his pants. He’d have a small sprinkling of hair on his chest and sensitive pointed nipples just begging for her attention. And his cock, oh damn… His cock would be hard, just about perfect for her fingers to wrap around, for her mouth to cover, for her throat to caress. He—
The loud crash of glass to the floor brought her back to reality. “Crap,” she muttered.
“You okay?” Cort called from down the hall.
Blue smiled at his concern and shook her head at her own day-dreamy clumsiness. “Yeah. I just dropped a glass.”
“Do you need some help? Are you cut? I’ll be out in just a second if—”
“No, I’m fine. No blood, just wasn’t paying attention.”
She carefully stepped backward after putting the dishtowel down on the counter. Through the doorway at the end of the room was the broom, and she grabbed it along with the long-handled dustpan.
She’d just started sweeping up the glass shards when Cort appeared in the doorway, pulling his shirt on over his head.
Oh. Hell.
She’d been dead on in her imaginings of his chest. Damn and double damn. She tried not to stare as he dropped the end of the shirt over his lean, well-defined abs but failed miserably. She could stare at him for days, weeks, months, even years and never tire of him. He was still as gorgeous today as he’d been that night in the bar. He had a physical job, but she bet, not for the first time, that the man would cut a dashing figure in a suit.
“Blue? Are you sure you’re okay?”
She blinked and smiled and started sweeping. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just call me ‘Butterfingers’ today.”
“We all have accidents.”
“Yes. Yes, we do.”
He stepped into the kitchen with her, taking slow, measured steps and looking at the ground. When he reached her side, he gently took the broom. “Here, let me help.”
For once, Blue was speechless. She wasn’t quite sure why because the nice thing to do was for him to help, and it’s not that she hadn’t expected the offer, just that, when it came, it surprised her.
She let go of the broom handle, and her gaze followed the movement of the bristles on the floor as Cort swept all the slivers and pieces into a center pile. He moved all the glass into the dustpan as she held it steady and slowly inched backward until the last particles were gone from the wood floor.
Blue stood, again with Cort’s help, this time his hand was holding her arm steady as she rose. He was being kind, and while she hadn’t thought him unkind at all, this was a side of him she wasn’t sure how to handle. Sexy and irresistible, she could handle. Fucking her five ways to Sunday, she could handle. Helping her in the kitchen to clean up a mess she’d made, that was out of her element of how to handle.
She quickly dumped the trash in the can and started to take the broom from him. “Thanks,” she mumbled, her eyes downcast, her bottom lip between her teeth. Somehow his gentle, caring side unnerved her and made her want him all the more.
“Welcome. I think we got it all.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Where’s the broom go? I’ll put it up.”
The man just kept doing that, surprising her, throwing her off balance just when she thought she’d regained it. “I…I can do it.”
“I know you can, but I can too.”
She pointed in the direction of the mudroom. “There’s a hook on the wall to the right for it.”
Cort took the dustpan from her, and instead of watching him walk across the kitchen like she wanted to do, she turned away to busy herself getting plates from the cabinet. The quiche would be done, and they could eat.
“What else can I do?”
Her brows furrowed as she contemplated his question. He wasn’t right behind her, but he was close. Her past lovers weren’t what she’d define as inconsiderate, but they didn’t offer to help her clean up something she’d spilled or set the table.
“Blue?”
She turned and faced him before she could think about it further. “Why are you being so nice?”
“You didn’t think me nice before?”
The small smile trying to work its way across his face made her laugh. This Cort was different than the one from earlier in the living room and the one from yesterday. This Cort was similar to the man she’d met in Savannah. Maybe that’s why she’d run from him while he was sleeping. “Yes, of course I thought you were nice before, it’s just… You’re being extra nice and helpful, not as wary and scared of me as you were yesterday and last night and a little while ago before you took a shower. I was wondering why.”
“It’s the way I was raised.”
She quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the edge of the counter. “You were raised to be wary and scared around women?”
When he laughed at her comment, she became all warm and gooey inside. She liked it.
“If you’d seen my mother a few times when me or my brother or sister did something we weren’t supposed to do, you’d know the answer to that question is a resounding yes. However, that’s not what I was referring to when I said it’s how I was raised.”
“Ah.”
He took one step, then two, then two more until he was so close she had to tilt her head up to look into his face. He smelled of soap, clean an
d fresh. There was stubble on his cheeks and chin, and the blue of his eyes reflected some of the blue/blackness of his hair. She could see faint gray at his temples, and she wanted to touch the strands, slide her fingers through the thickness, test the weight, the softness. Instead, she kept her arms firmly folded across her chest.
“My mother raised us to be considerate, kind, and helpful to others.”
“Good woman.”
Cort nodded and leaned closer, lowering his head in her direction. “And if I’d simply stood in the doorway as you cleaned up the glass rather than offering to help, well, trust me, I’d have felt the flat of her hand upside the back of my head as sure as if she were standing behind me.”
Blue giggled, and he grinned. “Point taken.”
She stopped giggling when he kissed the tip of her nose. His grin fell as well, and they simply stared at one another. His gaze roamed her face; hers did the same. “And for the record, scared is not what I am when it comes to you.” She thought to say something, to refute his words, but she had no idea what words of her own to utter. She thought about kissing him, to see if he really meant what he’d said about not being scared of her, but didn’t want to send him back into the skittish, rigid cloak he’d worn around her earlier. Though this version of Cort mystified her, she liked it and wanted to keep it at the forefront.
Lucky for both of them, the timer on the oven beeped and broke the awkwardly intense moment. Cort stepped back as she moved to the side and grabbed the oven mitt. “If you still want to help,” she said over her shoulder, “the silverware is in the drawer to your left.”
“Got it.”
He sounded almost relieved to have something to do, and Blue smirked to herself as she pulled the oven door open. She reached in for the quiche out, moving to set it on a trivet to cool. Next, she needed to hunt down the pie server and a knife.
Blue turned and took a step, then stopped.
Forever in Blue Jeans Page 7
