by Liz Crowe
“You deeded it…”
“To you,” she said. She was standing over him now. He could tell without looking. She took his hand and pulled him forward. Unable to stop himself, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his face into her belly. She stroked his hair as he held on, riding wave after wave of emotion.
It was Gayle being Gayle, showing off and tossing her money around. The whole thing with Hettinger must have been a decoy, a way to get him mentally re-engaged while she’d gone and purchased it. And now, his family’s company was his. The twelve acres and their decrepit buildings, the rusty equipment, the overgrown greenhouses.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
He shoved her away. “How in the name of God do you think I can do this? I barely have two nickels to rub together and you know that. I can’t afford to put it right, to get it going again. What in the hell am I supposed to do—”
She put her fingers to his lips. “It’s all right. Trent’s gotten some investors together on your behalf. I wasn’t even involved in that part. As long as you, Noah Stokes, are in charge of the business again, there will be money to put it right. And not my money either.” She smiled and cupped his cheek.
He was twanging and edgy, so he got up to pace, his mind wrapping around this new reality. “Investors,” he said, dragging his fingers through his hair. “So I have to provide them with…”
“Profit, which no one doubts you will, once you have time and money to get things going again.”
He froze in place, stunned by the enormity of this thing she’d done. “I…I need some air.” He headed for the elevator, turning at the last minute to stare at her. “I love you, Gayle. I think I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you. But I don’t know…I don’t know about this.”
“I love you too, Noah. And whether we stay together or not, Stokes Landscaping is yours again. Yes, I did it. But I did it for you.”
He hit the button and stumbled into the lift, not meeting her eyes until the doors shut. He drove back out to the country and parked his truck in front of the doors of the old retail store. Guts churning, he got out and stared at it for what felt like hours.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Gayle?”
“What? Oh, sorry, Susan. I was drifting.”
Her assistant smiled and pointed to her tablet.
“Right. Got it. So, tell me who I have to yell at today.”
Gayle listened with half an ear, the rest of her checked out, as always, focused on what was missing from her life. Once her Friday afternoon debriefing was over, she shut the door behind Susan and flopped into her desk chair, furious with herself over her new-found inability to pay attention to anything but the fact Noah wouldn’t return her calls or text messages or emails.
It had been three weeks since the weekend she’d presented him with her surprise. And while, if faced with the same opportunity again, she’d make the same decision about how to spend that particular amount of money, part of her wondered if buying the damn business back and deeding it over to him had been worst mistake of her life. She sighed and stretched, sensing the neglect and angst roiling through her, suffusing her nerve endings.
When a text made her phone buzz its way off the edge of her desk to the floor, she figured it was something else related to the fires she’d been putting out this week and ignored it. It wasn’t until she made it all the way home and was sitting on her balcony, admiring how beautiful the flower beds had gotten by now, that she recalled it. She opened a beer on her way to her purse and took both phone and brew back outside with her to enjoy the waning moments of the Friday evening. A crispness edged the air, a sure sign of fall in Michigan.
She sipped and powered up her screen, staring down at the message until her eyes burned.
I’m in a dancing mood tonight. Meet me at Nexus at ten thirty. The usual table.
She bolted up, spilling half her beer down her front and dropping the phone onto the concrete. “Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered, fumbling for the thing. It was already seven-thirty, and she’d need a shower, a bath, something. Her heart pounded in her ears when she tapped out a reply.
I’ll be there.
She waited for a few minutes but didn’t get a response. Praying she wasn’t too late, she ducked into the shower, her skin tingling with anticipation. After the shower, she tried to close her eyes and relax, but could only accomplish it after rubbing out a quick orgasm. As she lay gasping and staring at the ceiling, she could only think of one thing, one name, one man.
Noah. He wanted to see her. Thank God.
At ten-forty she walked into the club and headed upstairs for their table. He was already there, as usual, sipping a beer and looking edible, as usual. His smile was wide, his hair a little long, his face tan from being outdoors—the way he loved, she knew. Which had been the whole reason behind her action to get him back to what he loved doing.
Knees shaking, she sat and took the frosty glass of straight Russian vodka he poured for her. They sipped while the sea of partying humanity surged around them, cocooning them, isolating them. Deciding she had to make the first move, she moved to the seat between them and put her lips near his ear. Everything she’d come to associate with him, that was so quintessentially Noah to her, filled her senses—leather, grass, dirt, but also a clean soapiness barely covered the smell of his skin. She touched her tongue to his earlobe, making him shiver. “I missed you,” she said, before pulling away.
He rose, his incredible perfection filling her vision. He held out a hand. “Let’s dance.” She put her palm in his and let him pull her up. They stood, bodies pressed together, lips close but not quite touching. “I love you,” she said, unable to think of anything else.
He nodded, turned and led her down to the dance floor. When he faced her, his expression was neutral. They stood among the gyrating crush of humanity until the music settled into her soul and she started moving. They danced for an hour, drank some water then danced more. He seemed to be having such a good time, she didn’t ever want to stop. But after the second hour spent pretending to have sex, she wanted the real thing. She needed it. She wanted nothing more than to look into his eyes when he entered her body and tell him over and over again how much she loved him.
He pulled her close, his hand on her ass, his other one twined in hers. “Ready for the real thing, hot stuff?” His breath was hot on her ear. She nodded, on the ragged edge of orgasm already, with his thigh pressed against her clit. He dragged her back upstairs, grabbed the vodka bottle and they headed for the private rooms. Part of her didn’t want it this way. She wanted her bed, or his. Their space, not this teeming building, with people all around them, many probably watching. But her body urged her forward, his delectable rear view in tight jeans making her rev even higher.
When they found their preferred room, he yanked the curtain shut, opened the bottle and took a long drink. Shivering with need, she reached for it, downed a portion then set it on the floor. Before she rose all the way up, he had her scooped into his arms, pressed down on the daybed, his hand up her skirt, his lips all over her neck and shoulders. She came fast, as usual, then reached for his zipper. “Wait,” he insisted. “Just wait.”
“You want inside me as bad as I want you there, Noah.” His dark eyes blazed with lust. “Let’s make us both happy, okay? Isn’t that what all this is about?” Her chest was heaving but tears threatened even as she let him press her against the wall, lift one of her legs and thrust hard into her without preamble. “Oh. My. God. Yes!” She yelped with every thrust, gripping his shoulders and feeling him deep in her body, his pubic bone grinding against her clit.
“Gayle,” he whispered, pounding into her. “Gayle. Gayle…”
“Yes, baby. Do it. I’m gonna…oh shit…” Her third orgasm of the day got serious and rolled up her spine, bursting across her vision as her body held his. He groaned into her neck and came with her, their cries drowned out in all the various yells, laughter and other people having sex all
around them.
He pulled out of her fast and her feet hit the floor. When she nearly toppled over, he held her arm, but let go when she got her equilibrium back. He handed her tissues which she used between her legs, then tossed in the garbage. “Noah,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder while he zipped back up and tugged his sweaty shirt down. “Honey.”
He turned to her, eyes blazing with anger. “Don’t call me that. I’m not your goddamned honey. I’m your personal stripper, your gigolo, the boy you buy things for to keep him placated. Stop pretending it’s anything else.”
“What?” Her own anger rose, matching his. As if sensing it, he pressed her against the wall again, looming over her, his hand keeping her wrists pinned over her head. “Noah, you’re hurting me.”
“No, I’m not. I could. But I’m not.” He sighed and let go of her. When her arms were freed, she put them around his neck. “Don’t fuck with me, Gayle. I’m serious.”
“Noah, I love you. I don’t know how I can convince you that’s true.”
“You love Ethan. You only tolerate me.”
Her chest tightened and words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Fuck you!” The stridency of her voice surprised her. He blinked in the face of it. “No, really. Fuck you and the self-righteous horse you rode in on. I did love him. But I love you now, god damn it. Get out of my way.” She tried to push him, but he was a wall of muscle and sinew. She sighed and let her hands drop to her sides. “I do love you, Noah. And I never, ever, ever thought I’d say that again.”
He lifted her chin. The look in his eyes was the one she’d shied away from weeks ago but now welcomed and would cherish forever. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I…don’t want you to cry anymore,” he said, swiping at face with both thumbs. “Please, Gayle. Stop crying.”
She pressed her face into his chest, sucking in deep breaths of him, her mind saying Ethan, I love you. But I’m going now.
He held her tight, the party going on around them. Finally, she pulled away and took his face between her hands. “I can’t promise never to cry, but I do promise you that I love you, Noah Stokes.”
He took her hands, kissed her knuckles then kissed her until her head swam and her body was tense with need. He gasped when he stopped but held her so she didn’t slip to the floor, boneless with relief, lust, and happiness. “Can we go home?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, running his thumb over her lips. “We can go home.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
One year later
“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a beer. Noah? Gayle?” Austin pointed to them. He had his baby son strapped to his chest which was, Evelyn claimed, the only way the kid made it through the evenings without turning into a screaming hellion.
“Yeah, thanks. IPAs all around,” Noah said, his fingers linked in hers. It had taken her a bit of time to get used to being half of a couple again. And not because of their age difference, which wasn’t as great as the one between her and Ethan but, reversed, had a different cultural dynamic. She’d come to accept all her friends saw Noah as her equal, the way she did, so she could relax in social settings, like this one—the annual Fitzgerald Brewing Labor Day picnic. They always invited the TriCities staff to their massive house every year for it, where the food and beer flowed all afternoon and evening and into the night.
No one drove home from this event. She and Evelyn had arranged for a phalanx of car shares and taxis to be at the ready, and anyone who attempted to get behind the wheel drunk would have their keys snatched by a bunch of sober guys who’d been paid to patrol for that very thing.
She sat by the pool chatting with Ross and Elle Hoffman, the two brewers who’d met while working at Fitzgerald and now ran a trendy, successful restaurant in Detroit. Trent lounged nearby with his wife, Melody. His teenaged daughter from an earlier marriage sat holding her new sibling, giving her parents a break from baby duty. Noah must have gotten waylaid at the bar, likely talking about growing seasons, dirt, water—whatever. She smiled to herself at the thought of him, of them, of their life together, even though she worried almost constantly about being so ecstatic, figuring it would only get snatched away from her, like it had before.
“Here you go.” Noah handed her a clear plastic cup full of Fitzgerald’s finest IPA, interrupting her mild panic attack. He sat next to her, his arm draped over her shoulder, while people kept coming up to him to ask about the landscaping company and its new-found success. He’d hired a marketing and PR person who’d ramped things into high gear using social media and a ‘Flower Man Blog’, something Gayle was pretty proud of herself for initiating. It didn’t hurt that the new owner of the old Stokes Landscaping Company was model-hot and not at all camera-shy. She put a hand on his leg, still shaky from their quickie in the shower before they’d come over. It had been a bit of a make-up encounter, after a long argument the night before.
She was getting obsessed about kids again—but not over wanting one. She knew it was unlikely, given how hard it had been the first time and the difficult labor that had produced her son. Every doctor had said she’d be unlikely to conceive again so after their first, unprotected hook-up they’d had all the tests for all the nasties and had compared healthy results over a hundred-dollar bottle of wine in their earliest, sex-drenched months and had declared themselves condom-free.
No, now her obsession was over the fact that Noah was saddling himself with a woman who simply didn’t want, or more likely couldn’t have, his child, even after he’d made it crystal clear he was sick of hearing about it. He’d never wanted kids. His passel of nieces of nephews had cured him of anything resembling baby lust, especially since some of them were approaching their teenaged years with a vengeance, driving his sisters crazy with their antics.
She sat back on the lounge and propped her feet on Noah’s lap while he chatted and mildly flirted with a few of the bolder women who approached. She didn’t care. Hell, she admired any woman who’d come right up and do her mating dance while he had his hand on her bare calves. She wasn’t jealous in the slightest. He was hers. She was his. They were allowed to talk, even lightly flirt, with other people, as the situation required.
But she had her doubts about his loud protests regarding kids. Sighing, she looked around and motioned for Evelyn to come sit next to her. The place was getting busy, but her friend looked hollow-eyed and exhausted. “Hey, honey, will you get my friend a drink?” She poked Noah’s firm thigh with her toe. “Pretty please?” She batted her eyelashes at him. He winked at her, which came damn close to having the power to make her climax lately.
“Things going well?” Evelyn asked, watching Noah make his way through the crowd.
“Perfectly, thanks.” Gayle kept her gaze on his retreating ass, unable to stop staring at it.
“You guys gonna make it official sometime?”
“I don’t know,” she said, putting her empty cup on the table between them. “Maybe.” She stretched, loving how sated and perfect she felt even as her body yearned for his proximity. She glanced up at Evelyn’s house, wondering where she might corner him for a quickie later.
Evelyn smiled in a way that put Gayle immediately on edge. “What are you hiding from me?” she demanded, smacking her friend’s arm.
“What? Nothing. Oh, thanks, Noah.” Evelyn took her beer and winked at them before heading back into the crowd to play hostess with the most-est.
Gayle sighed and watched her friend go, gnawing on her bottom lip as the newly familiar baby-less worry hit her brain. Noah sat in Evelyn’s abandoned chaise longue and stared at her.
“You’re doing it again,” he said, before downing his beer and pulling her into his lap.
“Doing what?”
He pressed his lips to her bare shoulder, making her shiver with happiness. Ever since she’d told Ethan she was ‘going’, the memories of him and her boy had begun to fade, not in an alarming way but in a completely appropriate one.
>
“You’re making the Gayle face and that can only mean one thing.”
She pulled away from and stared into his eyes. “Gayle face, huh?” She put her hand alongside his newly grown beard. “This is sexy, did I ever tell you?”
“Yeah, you did about an hour ago. Stop changing the subject.”
“No, I’m serious.” She rubbed her cheek along his, loving the rasp of the facial hair and recalling it between her thighs the night before. “I really like it.”
“Gayle, cut it out.” He thumbed her chin and met her gaze. “I told you a million times already, I don’t want kids. Hell, it’s like we’re a perfectly matched couple that way, you know?”
She nodded.
“Stop it.” He touched her chapped lip that she’d begun to worry with her teeth again. “I like this one too much for you to keep chewing on it.” He kissed her softly, which did its usual number on her nerve endings. When he broke away, the noise of the party seemed to fade. “Stand up, woman. I need to do this the right way.” She rose, her ears ringing. He pulled something from his pocket.
“Oh,” she whispered when he opened a ring box, went down on one knee, and presented her with a lovely, vintage-looking diamond. “It was my great-grandmother’s ring. I would be honored if you would wear it and marry me, Gayle.”
She put a hand over her mouth. The infernal, ever-present tears rolled down her face. When she glanced over Noah’s shoulder, she saw a crowd gathering, fronted by Evelyn, Austin, Melody, Trent, Ross, Elle, her mother and Helen, from the yoga studio. They were all smiling. When she realized she could see Ethan and Liam as clear as day, as if they were also standing in the happy, gathered group, she nodded to them.
“Go on, don’t be a pussy,” she could swear she heard her dead husband’s bossy, profane voice demand. “It’s not like you. My Gayle goes for what she wants. Grab on and don’t let go. Be happy, my darling. I love you.”
