Time sped again, and he found her in his arms. Fragrant. Hot. He buried his face in the valley between her breasts and pressed his lips together to keep words from rushing out.
You. Me. Past. Present. Anything. Everything.
“Bailey.” He mouthed it against her hot skin, feeling the fast tattoo of her heart against his lips. “Bailey.”
Her hands stroked his hair and he lifted his face, needing her mouth, needing her taste to distract from all the emotions that threatened to overtake him. Sometimes he drank, sometimes he drove too fast, but this time he had Bailey to make him forget.
He bent his knees and curved one arm around the back of her thighs, the other around her shoulders, and lifted her against his chest. Bed. Yeah.
But the shortest route took him past the couch in the living area. A vision flashed in his brain. Bailey in her black lingerie. Bailey in her black lingerie and on that slick black leather of his couch.
There was a distraction sure to make him forget an entire lifetime of unrequited emotion and what-might-have-beens.
She sucked in a breath when he set her on the cool, slick surface. But he was there to warm her up, his knees on the floor and pushing her thighs apart to move between them. All the better to take her mouth again.
It turned him on even higher, heat shooting up his spine, his cock going harder, that she was near-naked and he was fully clothed, her body sandwiched between his and that firm, motorcycle-black leather. Bracing his palms on either side of her head, he shifted his mouth to make the fit of the kiss their fit, falling naturally into the familiar angle that fused their lips. Like old times.
No. His hand drifted down to trace the edge of her stocking.
New times.
He sat back on his heels and lifted one of her ankles to tip off her shoe. Then the other. His hand slid high so his fingers could curl under the elastic lace at the top of her leg. He glanced up at her face. Then froze.
Her big blue eyes were watching him.
She never watched. She always closed him out when it came to undressing, just as she always swallowed the sounds of her passion.
New times.
His heart shuddered, and without looking away from her intent gaze, he rolled down each of her stockings. Then his hands traveled back up bare skin.
“Finn,” she whispered, as his thumbs met over the triangle of her black panties.
“Hmm?” He broke their gaze as he stroked over the lace, compelled to watch his fingers move. He heard her gasp as he tucked his thumbs under the stretchy fabric and found other petals, already opening, already wet. He rode their slickness, down, then up, opening her more and finding their hard little center. He leaned in to kiss the place, still covered by the panties. His tongue stroked the damp lace. Such a sweet flower.
“Finn.”
He glanced up. His breath caught.
She was still watching him. An odd spike of embarrassment jolted through him. Had she ever known how much he worshipped her body? How much power that gave her over him? Could she tell now?
“Like that,” Bailey whispered. “Please. There. More.”
His heart jerked. Bailey. Watching. Asking. Without breaking their gazes, he continued playing beneath her panties, playing with her, sliding, circling, drenching his fingers in her arousal, until they were slick with the feel of her and he was intoxicated with need.
Her fingers flexed into black leather, her eyes long since having turned from blue to dark. “Finn,” she said again. Then she leaned forward and twined her fingers in his hair. “Sex.”
Desire spiked. He caught her panties in one hand and yanked them down her legs, scooting back to pull them free. His jacket, tie, and shirt flew across the room. Then he fumbled with his belt, his zipper, freed himself so that his cock was heading straight for heaven. Kneeling between her legs again, he flipped open the front clasp of her bra and filled his palms with her creamy breasts. He fingered the stiff crests, then couldn’t resist tasting them, which meant tasting her too, as he licked and sucked the lingering dampness he’d transferred there from his hands.
She stroked his hair and it was so good. So good.
He leaned closer, his cock kissing her wet heat. They both groaned. He gripped her waist and pulled her nearer to the edge of the seat cushion, then he lifted his head to look into her eyes as his hips flexed, starting to push—
“Condom,” they said together.
Finn’s muscles locked up. He commanded himself to move back. He didn’t want to move back.
“I’m—” They spoke together again.
“—on the pill.”
“—clean, hospital says so.”
Bailey inhaled a shuddering breath. Her palms caressed his hair. “Come to me.”
He sank into her slick heat. Tingles shot up his spine as his nerve endings registered the sensation. Tight like a fist. Wet. So soft. No condom. Tight, wet, soft. Heat.
Finn and Bailey.
Bare and bare.
Her muscles fluttered around him but he resisted the urge to move. Instead he trailed his knuckles over her cheek. “Okay?”
Her top teeth biting into the pillow of her bottom lip, she nodded.
But, damn it, now silence wasn’t going to work. “Talk to me, baby.”
She smiled, a gentle finger tracing the strap of his eyepatch. “More, Finn. More sex.”
Permission granted, his body sank deeper. His chest touched hers, her nipples scraping against his sensitive skin. Tingles shot up his spine again, but he didn’t let them take over as he pulled out, then dropped back into her body, finding a rhythm that was matching the insistent beat of his heart.
Bailey widened her thighs to make more room for his hips and he crowded closer to her. He licked his thumb and forefinger and once again found the center of that pretty, hot little flower she was sharing with him. Her hips jerked up, arching toward him as he rolled and rubbed.
His body pumped harder as he watched a flush move up her belly and fan outward over her naked breasts.
He’d never felt anything this good.
He’d never seen anything so beautiful.
Heat wrapped around his balls, yanked them upward, as more heat invaded his belly, his chest, his throat.
It felt so tight, he could hardly breathe.
Bailey’s back arched and her breasts kissed his chest. She was almost there. He was about to take off.
Another wave of that strange heat rose inside him again, from belly, to chest, to throat.
The heat jumped higher, stinging his one eye.
He came forward in a deep plunge, his thumb strumming over her clitoris. She cried out, her inner muscles squeezing squeezing squeezing, and his body spasmed in a matching fierce release, over and over and over.
As tremors twitched through both their bodies, he leaned against her, fighting to reclaim his breath. Trying not to think too much about it, he quickly wiped away the moisture on his cheek. Then he half lifted to ensure she was all right. Their bodies still joined, he brushed her hair off her face with his hand.
He’d wanted to usher out the old, and he’d done it, by God. He’d surely brought in the new.
New times.
Bailey on black leather.
Her eyes open, her body open to him, naked to him in every way, and he felt that strange heat rise inside him again, from belly, to chest, to throat, to—
Say something, he told himself hastily. Thank her, compliment her, something. Then something—God, the wrong thing—spilled out.
Grasping her hips in his palms, he heard himself demand an answer to a decade-old question: “Why the fuck did you leave me?”
Bailey lurched back against the couch, but there was nowhere for her to go, not with Finn still inside her, around her, staring at her with such dark intent. Her fingers bit into the cool leather on either side of her. “I…Now? No…”
He pulled out of her, standing up to stalk away, but he was back before she regained her wits. He threw a bathr
obe at her, then stepped into a pair of worn jeans, the fabric split over both knees. “Now, yes,” he said, staring down at her, his arms crossed over his bare chest.
Behind him was a wide picture window, and through it, a spectacular view of the cityscape. Pretending a fascination with the glittering lights, she shifted her gaze away from him and scrambled into the huge terry-cloth robe, trying to buy herself some time. The soft fabric smelled like Finn, but that wasn’t any comfort as she belted it around her waist and then sat down again to draw her knees up under the fabric.
How could she explain in terms he’d understand and accept? She was going to have to make it clear—
Suddenly he let out a harsh laugh. “What a stupid question.” he said. “I’d been a screw-off for years. No wonder you dumped me.”
Her head jerked toward him. “It wasn’t about you. Not exactly, anyway.”
“So it was about you. Your feelings changed. I get it.” He turned his back, and went about the room retrieving his tossed clothes.
“It wasn’t exactly like that either!” Frustration caused her voice to rise. This wasn’t fair. Finn was fifteen steps ahead of her. She was still reeling from her rash decision to give herself an early Christmas gift and get naked with him, still bowled over by how good it had been between them…again, and he was already over it and ready to delve into their past. No—take that back. Now it seemed as if he was finished with that too.
She pressed her palms to her eyes. “Listen, I know we had made plans—”
“You were starting college in New Hampshire in September, but we were supposed to have the whole summer together.” He bent to grab his slacks. “The beach, trips into Mexico. You made a list.”
On the last day of his Christmas vacation at his grandmother’s. She’d sat in the circle of his arms, swallowing back the tears she always hid from him when he was leaving, as she itemized their upcoming summer adventures.
“But then right after high school graduation I was given the chance to attend an inter-session for incoming business majors,” she said. And she’d leaped at it.
“You didn’t write. You didn’t call. There was no good-bye.”
She jumped to her feet. Could he ever understand? “But don’t you see—”
“I see that we didn’t mean the same thing to you as we did to me,” he said, snagging his tie off a lampshade.
Bailey wrapped her arms around herself. “It could only have ended badly, Finn.”
He turned to stare at her. “What do you call how it did end?”
“Smart. Sensible. Okay, maybe immature in some respects, but I’d make the same choice today.” His look of disgust caused her stomach to churn. “You don’t get it.”
“Try me.”
With a sigh, she dropped back onto the couch. “It was going to blow up in our faces. If not in June or July or August, then in September. Or the next September. Sometime. I wanted to make a quick, clean break. Get out…get out before it got ugly.”
He made a quick gesture with his hand. “You couldn’t share this with me?”
“Wouldn’t you have tried to talk me out of the feeling…the knowledge? We thought it was magic, Finn. But there’s no such thing.”
He studied her for a moment, then, shaking his head, he started to laugh. “God, it’s rich.”
“What? What’s rich?”
“You always were smarter than me.”
Her scalp prickled. “What do you mean?”
“Ten years ago, I would have argued that very point with you. What else could it be but magic that brought together the bad ass and the golden girl next door?”
“Finn—”
“But I’m a believer now. A believer in your theory, thanks to the very fact that you walked out on me without a word.” Laughing again, he dropped his clothes to the floor and sprawled on the couch beside her, resting his dark hair against the leather.
He rolled his head to look at her, then groped for her hand, found it. Squeezed. “GND, I should be thanking you. And as a matter of fact, I do.”
His reaction curdled in her belly. “Finn…”
From somewhere in the bundle of clothes at his feet, a phone rang. The smile on his face died. His big body froze. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Something’s happened to Gram.”
“What? Your grandmother?”
He pawed for his cell. Flipped it open, brought it to his ear. “Jacobson.” As he listened, his tight expression eased. His chest rose, then fell as he blew out a breath. “No kidding. Terrific. Sure, I’ll go wake her up. You’re right. She’ll want to know.”
He was smiling again when he hung up. Grinning, actually, in such a carefree fashion that it seemed as if he’d forgotten they’d had sex. That they’d delved into ancient history. Or maybe it was that her answer to the Big Question had put their past to rest, just as Bailey had wanted it to.
“Well, what do you know?” he murmured, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Let’s get moving, GND. It’s a happy day.”
So why did she feel so lousy?
* * *
Bailey Sullivan’s Vintage Christmas
Facts & Fun Calendar
December 14
At Christmas, Greek children walk the street singing songs and playing instruments for treats or money. There are no Christmas trees, but gift giving occurs on St. Basil’s Day (January 1).
* * *
Chapter 14
Tracy clutched an armful of glossy papers to her chest as she hurried toward the recycle bin beside the hibiscus hedge. She wanted them out of her house and off her mind. She wished the same thing for the man who had put them on the porch. Dan had left her, so now he should leave her alone!
She reached out to lift the plastic top, then froze as she caught sight of her neighbor, Alice Jacobson, on the other side of the hedge. Her heart gave a painful squeeze. Finn’s grandmother looked two sizes smaller than she had a month ago and she was walking with short, cautious steps. The elderly woman had a stack of newspapers under her arm and was heading for her own matching blue can.
“Alice! How nice to see you,” Tracy said, hoping her smile hid her dismay. “How are you?”
The older woman’s answering smile was still bright. “I’m feeling all right. How are you this beautiful morning?”
Tracy glanced around, for the first time aware that the morning was lovely. There’d been fog during her first cup of coffee, but the sun had burned it away, leaving blue skies and twittering birds.
She inhaled a breath of the clean air. “I hear congratulations are in order. A great-grandson?”
“Ten pounds, three ounces.”
Tracy winced. “Mom’s okay?”
“Hale and hearty. So is Miguel Finn Jacobson-Vasquez.”
“Oh, named after his uncle Finn. Cute. A big baby like that needs a big name.” Tracy shook her head. “Harry was not quite nine pounds and I thought he was a monster.”
Alice lifted the top of her bin. “How is our Harry?”
“Taking to college like a duck to water. I’m so happy for him.” As with all her friends’ living-away children, the cell phone kept them in amusing and constant contact. He’d called twice the day before. Once to ask if he could bake chocolate chip cookies in a microwave oven. The second time had been to relate in detail the storyline of a Family Guy episode he was certain she’d like. She hadn’t understood a thing about the TV show, but she’d laughed anyway. And later awarded herself a virtual medal for not nagging him about studying instead of watching TV.
“How about happy for you?” Alice asked, dropping her papers and shutting the bin. She rested her hands on top of the heavy plastic.
“Happy?” Tracy echoed. “Me?” She’d been working so hard on not feeling anything.
“I remember my daughter-in-law had a tough time when her youngest, Janet, went away to school. She said the house was too quiet.”
Tracy’s gaze shifted to the older woman’s hands. How frail they looked, the skin papery and the
nails bluish. There were bruises on her forearms too. Tracy remembered how fragile her mother’s skin had become as she aged, the slightest bump causing a wound or discoloration.
She dropped the papers she carried on top of her bin to make a quick once-over of her own flesh. It was a little dry, maybe, but still unblemished. All the bruises were on the inside.
“It looks like you’re planning a trip.” Alice nodded at the colorful pamphlets spread out on the top of the bin. They covered the gamut from Las Vegas to Lichtenstein.
Tracy flushed and gathered them up again. “Dan picked them up at an agency.”
“Travel would be a lovely treat for you.” Alice beamed.
“I don’t think I’m much in the mood for a treat,” Tracy admitted. Then she thought of Bailey, whom she’d dragged back home as her second marriage deteriorated. And worse, whom she’d likely traumatized during the demise of her first. “And probably not deserving of one either.”
“Nonsense,” Alice said. “It’s time for you to celebrate Harry’s launch.”
Tracy shrugged. “Winter isn’t a good time to travel.” She didn’t want to admit that any trip she’d take, she’d be taking solo. Though it was probably all over town that Dan had dumped her, Alice was ill and maybe unaware of what was really going on next door.
“There are other seasons, Tracy.”
“Sure.” She tried to smile. “Spring, summer, fall.”
“Other seasons of your life. Maybe you’re grieving for the end of one, but soon you’ll walk out of that grief and into the next phase.”
“I’m not sad.” She wasn’t anything. She was carefully collecting all her hurt and sending it to that locked-away place she’d told Dan about. Safely hiding it behind secret doors. In her head she pictured herself writing in the center of a piece of paper “divorce,” “Dan,” “empty nest,” and then folding it into an origami figure—a protective lion, or maybe a bird that could fly it away. Better yet, an ant, the painful thoughts minimized to bug size.
“Then what are you, dear?” Alice asked.
Tracy whispered the first thing that popped into her head. “I’m not anything.” Her gaze jerked up to the older woman’s, expecting to have shocked her. Tracy was shocked herself that she’d spoken the words aloud. But it was the truth. And more shocking, perhaps, was that she was beginning to like the buffer of immunity that nothingness provided.
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