by Sophie Moss
She stole a glance back up at his profile, wanting to hear the sound of his voice again. “Tell me something else about your day.”
He looked down at her. “What do you want to know?”
“You said you wished you’d gone to Walter Reed sooner. Why?”
He told her about his day at the hospital, about how it had affected him. He told her about Vince, and how he and Colin and a bunch of other vets were training for a run to raise money for an injured Marine so he could go home.
Crossing the street, they climbed the steps to the café. Moonlight illuminated the silver chimes swaying in the wind. “I wish I could be there,” he said, turning to face her. “I wish I could see those twenty-five guys cross the finish line. I wish I could see Vince present his friend with that check.”
“Could you come back for it?” Annie asked.
Will was quiet for a long time as he gazed down at her. “I don’t think I’ll be stateside in January.”
Of course, Annie thought. She knew that. She’d just thought maybe…
“Annie,” he said softly. “I wish I could tell you I was coming back, but I can’t.”
“I know.” She looked down at their joined hands. He’d made it clear this was all he had to offer. He’d been straightforward and honest from the very beginning. All he wanted was a night to wash away his pain.
She could still back out. She could still tell him she’d changed her mind. But when she looked back up at him, all she wanted was to wrap her arms around him and help him forget. Even if it was just for one night, she wanted to see the light come back into his eyes.
Taking a step toward him, she pressed her keys into his hand.
“Will,” she whispered, drawing his mouth down to hers. “Take me to bed.”
Will’s mouth never left hers as he fit the key into the lock. Pushing the door open, he guided her into the café. The scent of coffee and pie crusts clung to the air, mingling with the sultry spice of her perfume.
Every touch of her fingers had his muscles tightening, had a flood of warmth building inside him. Her lips tasted of sherry, her skin like spun sugar. He dropped the keys on a table, shoving the door closed with his foot.
He had waited so long for this, so long for her.
A soft sigh escaped from somewhere deep in her throat when he pulled her to him, fitting her body to his. His hands roamed over her curves, imprinting every inch of them into his memory. She shuddered when his palm closed over her breast, when his thumb skimmed over the sensitive tip through her dress.
Had he ever wanted—needed—anything as much as this woman?
Outside, the leaves shivered. The branches tapped against the windows. The restless chant of the chimes drifted over the wind.
She kept her hips locked to his as he backed her slowly, step by step, to the stairs. He fought the urge to lift her up in one fluid motion, to hook her legs around his waist and take her hard and fast against the wall.
Instead, he edged her away from him, backing her up the steps until they were eye-to-eye. When she reached for him, he took both her hands, placing one on the banister, the other on the opposite wall.
She watched him uncertainly at first, but when his fingers curled around the back of her knee, coaxing it to bend, desire swam into her eyes. He unzipped one boot, then the other, letting them drop to the tiles until she was barefoot.
“Will,” she breathed, pulling him up to where she stood.
She kissed him hungrily, desperately, as if she needed him as much as he needed her. He followed her up the stairs to the apartment. A single lamp burned in the corner, illuminating the streaks of gold in her hair.
He ached to see her, to watch that warm glow slide over her bare skin.
He reached for her, peeling her dress off, letting it fall to the floor.
She stood before him in ivory lace, her full breasts rising over the thin fabric that barely held them in place.
“Annie,” he breathed, dipping his mouth back to hers.
Heat raced like fire through his veins as he eased the straps down her shoulders, as he unhooked the clasp holding the delicate fabric together.
Her breasts spilled into his hands, and the need to bury himself inside her grew painful. But if he only had one night with her, he wanted to savor it. He wanted to remember every moment.
He lowered his mouth to her breasts, one after the other, taking his time. Annie’s head fell back, her fingers curling around his shoulders as his hands moved down to her hips, his thumbs dancing under the scrap of ivory-colored lace.
Her skin sparked, heating under his touch. He heard a soft sound, like the hiss of wet wood burning, right before she came apart.
Annie didn’t know what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. The few men she’d been with in the past had all been in such a rush. They’d seldom cared about pleasing her; they’d only been concerned with the satisfaction of their own release.
Her heart fluttered when Will scooped her up, carrying her into the bedroom. She lowered her mouth to his neck, loving the taste of him, the feel of his salty skin on her lips. She wanted to make him feel the way he’d made her feel—weightless, like a leaf spinning away in the wind.
When he laid her down on the mattress, she reached for his shirt, dragging it over his head. A restless ache built inside her as she traced the hard ridges of his chest, the broad planes of his shoulders, the long lean muscles of his upper arms.
How had she lived for so long without this, without him?
Moonlight spilled through the window as he lifted her mouth back to his for another searing kiss. His hands skimmed down her hips, over her thighs, up the inside of each of them until she shuddered, arching up to meet him, desperate for his touch.
When his fingers slid over her, into her again, his name escaped from somewhere deep in her throat, a desperate, pleading voice she didn’t recognize as her own.
Will.
She needed to see him, to touch him, to make all his pain go away. She fumbled with the top button of his jeans. He helped her slide the denim down, stepping out of his jeans and covering himself with protection. She barely had time to glimpse that hard warrior’s body when the mattress shifted and he was on top of her again.
Her hand trembled as she lifted it, touching his face—the slightest brush of her fingers over his cheek. The force of the emotions in his eyes, the need in them, nearly stole her breath. She felt dizzy, like she was spinning out of control. “Will, I…”
He slid inside her.
A flash of colors—monarch wings, autumn leaves, marsh grasses at sunset—danced into her vision.
She gasped as he began to move, as the lines between what she wanted and what she could have began to blur. Her palms fanned out, over his chest, memorizing every angle, every edge, every scar he had taken in this war, both inside and out.
When his mouth found hers, she rose up to meet him, matching him beat for beat, breath for breath, stroke for stroke as he pushed them both toward the edge of pleasure.
The air grew thick, filled with fire-colored wings, like a thousand monarchs breaking free of their chrysalises, and realizing for the first time they could fly.
Will lay in Annie’s bed, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He could tell from the whisper of light along the horizon that it was nearly dawn. He listened to the sound of her slow steady breathing, the faint rustling of her curtains in the wind.
For the first time in months, he felt calm, rested, relaxed.
Maybe this was all he had needed, maybe she was all he had needed. He inhaled the sweet scent of her hair as it tickled his bare chest. His arm curled around the underside of her breasts, tucking her small body closer to his.
If she was anyone else, he would be gone by now. He would have come up with an excuse sometime in the middle of the night and left with a promise to call the next day.
A promise he probably wouldn’t have kept.
But this was Annie—a woman who already knew
more about him than most of his friends, a woman who decorated her daughter’s bedroom in dream catchers and brooms so she wouldn’t be afraid of the dark.
Gazing around her room while she slept, he took in the bare walls and stack of unpacked boxes beside the closet. With a stab of guilt, he realized that she hadn’t had time to unpack her own things.
If he hadn’t put off selling the inn, she might have been well into the renovations for her French bistro. She might have been interviewing potential staff instead of working as a waitress, barista, and manager at a café she’d thrown together in a matter of weeks.
If he hadn’t put off selling the inn, she wouldn’t have had to put everything else in her life on hold to get the café up and running just to keep the bank off her back.
She stirred, and he felt a strange tightening in his chest when her eyes fluttered open. She blinked, like she was surprised to find him there. His hand felt heavy as he lifted it, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.
From the moment he’d set foot on this island, he’d made her life complicated and difficult. And yet, somehow, despite that, she’d given herself completely to him last night. He’d never imagined how much more of her he would want afterwards.
He kissed her slowly, savoring the taste of her soft lips, the feel of her warm body pressed against his. When she reached for him under the covers, wrapping her legs around his waist, his body responded instantly.
A soft sigh escaped her lips as he slid inside her. He rose up over her, covering her body with his, moving slowly in and out of her. Would he ever be able to get enough of her?
Her fingers tangled in his hair. He felt the pressure build, the desperate need for release. She kissed him back urgently, as if he’d disappear if she let go. When her breath caught and her head fell back, her body arching like a bow, he buried himself all the way inside her.
They lay for a long time afterwards, tangled up in each other. He wanted to stay here all day, bringing them both back to that place where they could let the rest of the world fall away. But Taylor would be home soon.
He eased back, stroking a hand up and down her bare arm. “What are the chances Della left any sweet rolls downstairs?”
She opened one eye, looking him up and down. “You’re not going downstairs like that.”
“I’ll put pants on.”
“And a shirt.”
“And a shirt,” he conceded, smiling.
She closed her eyes, turning her face back into the pillow and muttering something incoherent.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Coffee,” she mumbled.
“How do you take it?”
“With sugar.”
“How much?”
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I should help you.”
He shook his head. “You’re not leaving this bed yet.”
“Why not?”
Because I don’t know when I’m going to get you alone again and I haven’t had enough of you yet. He rolled away from her, grabbing his jeans off the floor. “When do you think Taylor will be home?”
“She said she’d call when she woke up.”
“Good.” He stood, stepping into his jeans and pulling them up over his hips. He turned, bending down and dropping a light kiss on her lips. “I’ll be right back.”
When she leaned back, her red hair splayed over the pillow, her green eyes watching him curiously over the rumpled sheets, he felt his heart skip a beat.
Two weeks isn’t going to be enough.
He dragged his shirt over his head.
Shit. It had to be enough.
It was all he had to offer.
Three hours later, Annie was still floating. Sugarcoated butterflies had taken over her body, had nested in her hair. Everywhere she looked, there was a dusting of sugar. It coated her bare feet as she walked down the steps to the café, clung to the windows like snowflakes, gathered in the corners like sparkling snowdrifts. She ran her fingers over the gleaming silver countertop; they came back covered in sugar.
She would never think of sweet rolls the same way again.
Will had left a little while ago, giving her just enough time to tidy up the apartment and take a shower before Taylor got home. Spotting her brown boots behind the counter, she pulled them on over her stretchy jeans and glanced up at the sound of footsteps on her porch.
She straightened and blinked. Once. Twice. “Della?”
“Hmm?”
Annie stared at the crowd gathering outside the café. “Della,” she hissed, ducking into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Della asked innocently.
“Did you do this?” Annie pointed to the growing group of islanders talking and laughing on her porch, waiting for the café to open. “Did you get all these people to show up?”
Della smiled, her eyes twinkling as she stirred a simmering pot of cream of crab soup. The mouthwatering aromas of melted butter, Old Bay seasoning and sherry floated into the air. “No, Annie, this time it was all you.”
“Me?” Annie twisted her damp hair into a knot, shoving a pen through it to hold it in place. “But I didn’t do anything. I mean, nothing’s changed since yesterday.” She adjusted the chunky brown belt she’d fastened around the waist of her cream-colored sweater earlier. “We haven’t changed the menu. We’re not offering any specials. It’s not even a weekend.”
Della added a pinch of cayenne pepper to the soup. “Nothing’s changed since yesterday?”
Annie’s hands stilled on her belt.
Della smiled and grasped the handle of the oven, the hinges squeaking as she inched it open to scrutinize a loaf of cheese bread.
Annie’s whole body filled with heat as the memory of Will licking icing off her fingers in bed that morning swam back. “But…that doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
Della laughed, closing the oven. “Honey, this is an island.” She added a dash of tarragon to the bowl of chicken salad sitting on the counter beside the stove. “What you do outside of work is going to get a lot more attention than putting an ad in the paper. Your personal life is the best marketing tool you have.”
Annie stole a glance back out at the islanders. A few of them had broken off from the crowd and were peering in the windows. “They’re all here because of what I did with Will?”
“Will hasn’t been back to the island in ten years, Annie.” Della tasted the chicken salad and nodded, satisfied. Covering the bowl with plastic wrap, she set it in the fridge. “He came back after all this time, and instead of selling his grandparents’ house and leaving right away, he stayed. Now, he’s involved with someone a woman who lives on the island, a woman who’s new here, and who very few people know.” Della nodded toward the porch. “Every single person out there wants to know who you are now.”
Annie’s palms started to sweat. She and Will weren’t involved. It was only one night. “Della—”
Della smiled and gave her a gentle nudge toward the door. “I think you better greet your customers.”
Annie’s breathing grew shallow as she made her way toward the door. What was she going to do? Will had made it perfectly clear again last night that he wasn’t interested in anything long-term. He was leaving in less than two weeks and she would probably never see him again.
But what was she supposed to tell the islanders? That there was nothing going on between them? That it was a meaningless fling?
She was a mother, for God’s sake. She didn’t make a habit of sleeping with men she’d only known for a few weeks.
But if she didn’t tell them the truth, they would draw their own conclusions and assume she and Will were together.
Her fingers grasped the cool metal handle of the door. This could be her only chance to make an impression on the locals who hadn’t bothered to set foot in the café yet.
She wasn’t going to blow it.
Pasting a smile on her face, she opened the door. The temperature had dropped severa
l degrees overnight and a gust of cold air swept into the room. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said brightly. “Della just whipped up a fresh batch of cream of crab soup and it smells amazing.”
“That sounds wonderful,” an elderly woman gushed, slipping inside.
“Cream of crab soup on a cold day sounds perfect,” another said, hanging her coat on the rack inside the door.
“I love your sweater,” a woman in her early-thirties said as she maneuvered an oversized baby stroller inside.
“Thank you,” Annie said, leading her and her two rambunctious twin boys to a corner table by the window.
“Did you get it around here?”
“I got it in D.C.”
“D.C.” The woman’s voice was wistful as she wrestled a toy out of her son’s mouth. “I can’t remember the last time I was in the city.”
Annie handed her a menu and offered to bring a box of crayons and construction paper over for the kids.
The woman sent her a grateful smile, and Annie turned, almost colliding with an elderly man strolling up to the counter.
He tipped his hat, leaning on a wooden cane. “I hear you make the best cup of hot chocolate on the island.”
She smiled and took his arm, helping him onto one of the stools. “Would you like whipped cream? It’s homemade.”
The man took his time unfolding his newspaper, laying it out on the counter. “Sure, why not? I’ll take a slice of apple pie, too.”
“Coming right up,” she said as several more islanders filed into the café.
She spotted Eddie Valiant, Heron Island’s Fire Chief, who always came in right when they opened.
“The usual?” she asked him.
He nodded, strolling up to the counter while she poured coffee into a to-go cup and wrapped up a sweet roll.
Normally, he went into the kitchen to visit with Della while Annie filled his order. Today, he stood by the register, grinning down at her. When she handed him his coffee and pastry, he passed her a crumpled bill and winked. “Keep the change.”
Annie’s head spun as she passed out menus, jotted down orders, refilled coffee cups, and dodged questions about her and Will for the next several hours. By the time the last customer left, she had a shooting pain in her right eye and a dull ache throbbing in each temple.
