Beautiful

by Christina Lauren

  What a prince.

  “The thing is,” I said, pushing up onto an elbow, “freshly cut wood really is such a treat. The smell, the crackling . . .”

  He tilted his head, studying me before sliding his eyes to where Hanna was giggling behind her book.

  “ ‘Freshly cut’?” he asked.

  “I believe I saw an ax behind the woodshed,” I added helpfully. “A big, heavy ax. And there are some larger logs inside . . .”

  Jensen stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning casually against the frame. “Pippa.”

  I looked up at him and grinned. “What?”

  He simply gazed at me.

  I winced sympathetically. “Unless you don’t know how to wield an ax? Or one quite so large.”

  I heard Niall’s laugh carry in from the dining room.

  “I can wield an ax just fine,” Will said, pulling back a bit. “Swinging an ax sounds like a walk in the park.”

  “No,” I said, placating him, “you’re such city boys. I don’t want you to get hurt. I shouldn’t have suggested it. I’m sorry.”

  Ruby murmured an amused “Ohhhh shit” from the couch.

  Niall stepped behind Jensen and smiled at me. “Pippa, you’re terrible.”

  “But the question is, are you?” I asked. “Terrible at chopping wood?”

  Jensen and Will exchanged a look and then Jensen reached for the hem of his sweater, tugging it up and over his head so that he stood in a T-shirt and jeans. “Looks like we’ve been challenged.”

  We all but leapt up, following the men-on-a-mission out into the backyard.

  Indeed, there was a chopping block to the side of the shed, and only a few feet away, leaning against the structure, was a pretty impressive ax.

  An incredibly impressive ax. I’d only been trying to antagonize them, but it looked . . . heavy.

  I had my first moment of hesitation.

  “Lads, maybe—”

  Will picked it up in one hand, swinging it over his shoulder. Beside me, Hanna let out a shaky exhale.

  “What’s that, Pippa?” Will asked, mock-serious expression pulling his brows together.

  “Erm, nothing.”

  Niall emerged from the shed with a log that, I swear to this day, was bigger than he was, and laid it on the ground for Will to chop into smaller pieces before they could easily split it on the chopping block.

  But instead of taking a swing at it himself, Will handed the ax to Jensen and then looked up at me, giving me a sly grin that somehow said both You’re welcome and This’ll shut her up.

  Without even sparing a glance in my direction—truly, he was an obliviously sexy man on a mission—Jensen hefted the ax over his right shoulder and came down hard, cracking into the trunk. The sound echoed around us, sending a flock of birds out of their comfort in a nearby tree.

  “Holy shit, I feel like a man,” he growled in surprise, laughing as he worked the blade free before taking another swing.

  His T-shirt was white, and beneath it I could see the muscles of his back straining as he sent the ax into the fresh wood. Hanna bounced beside me, chanting for her brother, but my attention was focused entirely on Jensen. And his back.

  The same back that had felt the bite of my fingernails as he fucked me against the trunk of a tree yesterday.

  The same back I had soaped into a bubbly lather last night in the bath.

  The same back that had grown sweaty beneath my palms as he worked his body over mine in bed this morning.

  “Holy Mary, mother of God,” I murmured. I was a genius.

  “I fear for Pippa’s health,” Niall said through a laugh. “Does anyone know CPR?”

  Jensen pulled back at this, his brow damp with sweat as he looked over his shoulder. His eyes turned up a little at the corners in his predatory smile when he saw my expression.

  It was precisely the look he’d worn two nights ago when he’d literally thrown me down on the bed and prowled toward me.

  “Your turn!” Ruby sang at her husband, and Jensen, flushed and disheveled, handed Niall the ax.

  Will picked up a two-foot length of the trunk that Jensen had cleaved and propped it on the chopping block for Niall, his eyes bright with excitement and envy.

  Jensen came to stand by me—suspiciously close. And then I got a whiff of the clean sweat smell of him, mingled with his aftershave. He was such a little shithead. I had, after all, told him only a few days ago on a hike how much I loved the way he smelled when he got sweaty.

  “You are dangerous,” I whispered.

  “Me?” he asked innocently, not even looking over. “You’re the one who manipulated this entire group into coming out here and chopping wood.”

  I folded my arms across my chest, pleased. “I am smart.”

  “The phrase ‘evil genius’ did come to mind.”

  “You’ve got quite the stock of wood—”

  He turned, clapping a hand over my mouth with a laugh. Leaning close, he whispered, “You are so filthy.”

  “You like it,” I mumbled against his palm.

  He couldn’t argue with this, and instead kissed my forehead before giving me a playful warning look and removing his hand.

  Niall hefted the ax as we all watched, and in my peripheral vision I could see the exact same reaction I’d had to Jensen ripple through Ruby as she witnessed her husband slice the log perfectly in half.

  “There’s definitely some instinct to this,” Will said, nodding in approval. “After this we should go wrestle something or hunt some . . .” He trailed off and looked down at Hanna, who was laughing up at him, her arms wrapped around his waist. “Yeah, never mind, I already bought salmon for tonight.”

  Will took a few turns, and couldn’t stop proclaiming that chopping wood must be in his blood and he never wanted to stop.

  “This was a brilliant use of our afternoon. I feel like we should dedicate our firstborn to Pippa,” Hanna said, mildly breathless.

  Dropping the ax, Will turned to look at her. “Wanna go get started on that now?”

  She let out a delighted shriek as he threw her over his shoulder, carrying her inside.

  Niall and Ruby’s exit was more subtle. He simply took her hand, gave me a small smile and a quiet “If you’ll excuse us . . .” and guided her inside.

  Turning to me, Jensen gave me a smiling slow clap. “Your evil plan worked.”

  “Evil?” I repeated, looking around us meaningfully. “Not only do we have chopped wood for the fireplace, everyone is getting afternoon sex!”

  “Everyone?” he asked, walking closer. The sweat on his chest made his shirt cling to his skin, and I lifted a hand, resting it there.

  “Well . . . maybe not everyone.”

  He bent, barely touching his lips to mine. And if Jensen’s quiet, dry wit didn’t make me adore him, these tender, reassuring moments did. “Your room or mine?”

  I laughed at this. “We’ve been here for three days. Why bother using a second bed now?”

  There were four bedrooms in the house: two masters and two spare rooms with queen beds. Jensen had dropped his suitcase off in a smaller one down the hall, but otherwise the bedroom went largely unused. And I don’t know how to explain it—how it felt like we just eased into this routine of lovers among his closest friends and my dearest Ruby—but we did. It wasn’t as if we were playing at being married anymore, or even that we’d somehow tricked ourselves into thinking we could somehow continue this after we left, but we weren’t treating it like casual rutting in the dark corners of a corridor, either. It’s true we’d been coupled off by default, but it no longer really felt contrived.

  He would kiss me in front of his sister and nobody blinked.

  He would hold my hand on hikes as if we’d been doing it for years.

  And even without a Becky around or any other reason we’d have to pretend, he made it plain that we were sleeping in the same bed all week long. It was just how things were: no questions, no explanations.

 
; It was on our last night in the cabin that it happened. Jensen pulled me down onto his lap in the big leather chair in the living room, and I started to feel a dull, thrumming ache in my chest at the thought of packing up and returning to Boston for the final week of my holiday. We sat like that, me curled in his lap, the fire crackling not ten feet away, and he read while I stared out the window.

  “You’re so quiet,” he said, interrupting the silence. Putting his book down on the table beside us, he picked up his tumbler of whiskey for a sip.

  I stretched up once he’d swallowed it, kissing the taste from his lips. “Just thinking.”

  “What are you thinking about?” He returned the glass to the table and met my eyes.

  Leaning into his shoulder, I felt him reach beneath my legs, pulling me up so that I was more tightly curled against him. I wanted to say that I’d been thinking about him, and me, and how good it was and how much I hated the idea of going home. But it wasn’t exactly that.

  I knew Jensen and I had been living in a bubble, and it wouldn’t be like that back in our daily lives. Couldn’t be, really. It was that I wished our lives didn’t have to be so firmly planted in career and achievements. I wished for things that weren’t realistic, like a Jensen who wasn’t work-obsessed, and who was happy to run away with me to a cabin in the woods six months of the year, reentering the real world only when we were well and truly tired of berry-swathed hotcakes and unlimited sex. I wished for a Pippa who could afford to run away for six months of the year at all.

  “I’m dreaming of impossible things,” I said.

  He stiffened slightly.

  “Will’s pancakes forever,” I added, clarifying. “And the giant maple out back—I’m sure it gives the best shade in the summer. I’m wishing we could stay in this cabin.”

  Jensen adjusted his grip around me, shifting so that I was straddling his lap. “Me too.”

  He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the soft leather. “I dread facing my inbox.” Looking at me, nearly helpless, he seemed to grow mildly panicked. His phone had been sitting, ignored, on the chair in the bedroom for the past week. I’m not even sure he’d glanced at it, let alone picked it up to check for service.

  I put my hand to his chest, shaking my head. “Don’t. You can’t do anything about it now, not if you want the last day here to be as good as the other eight have been. I have eighteen hours left of this place, and I intend to make the most of them.”

  He nodded and dropped a kiss on the center of my palm. I stared down at his big hands cupped around my smaller one. My skin looked so fair next to his. My arms were free of bracelets, my nails free of polish. I hadn’t worn makeup in more than a week. Hell, some days I hadn’t bothered to put on a bra.

  “What a weird two weeks it’s been,” I murmured.

  He nodded.

  “Ex-wives and pretend marriages,” I said. “Drinking across the East Coast and macho-man ax hurling.”

  “Morning yoga and terrible singing,” he added. “I liked the terrible singing.”

  “My favorite part.”

  “Your favorite part?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

  “All right, there may have been a moment or two I enjoyed more.”

  “I’ve enjoyed every moment, actually,” he said, and then paused to reconsider. “Almost every moment.” Referring to Becky, I suspected.

  Looking up, I waited until I caught his gaze. “Will I ever see you again?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Will you miss this?” I asked quietly.

  His eyes grew tight. “Is that a serious question?”

  I wasn’t quite sure how to answer this. “Well . . . yes? I am, after all, just a holiday girl.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he blinked to the side, thinking. Finally, after nearly a minute of torment for me, he turned back, inhaling deeply. “I’ll miss this.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant me or the sex, the cabin or just being away from it all, but my “Good” burst out of me, slightly breathless.

  “I’m sure my first night back in my bed will be a lonely one,” he added, and I felt my brain frowning, working to comprehend that. “It’s just that we can’t really expect it to go anywhere.”

  “I don’t expect it,” I said, pulling back a little in insult. “I’m simply saying, I like you.”

  Sliding his hand beneath my knees again, he stood, effortlessly lifting me. The wooden stairs seemed to roll under his confident steps; the bedroom door opened with a simple bump of his shoulder.

  And then he was over me, my back to the mattress, his green eyes intently studying my face. “I like you, too.”

  I wanted to burn the rest of the night into my permanent memory: the way he undressed me so lazily, knowing what was underneath. The way he stood and took the time to drape his sweater over the back of the easy chair in the corner and then return to me, eyes intent even as he crawled toward me on the bed.

  Was this what it was like to make love?

  Staring up at Jensen over me, his attention on the way his hands slid down across my bare breasts, I suddenly felt completely naïve. I’d thought I’d made love with Mark, at the very least, if not some other bloke I was particularly fond of. I’d told Mark I loved him, and assumed that I had. But sex with him, even from the beginning, was drunk and sloppy, or a quick bend over the bed. I had assumed that sort of impatient passion meant love.

  But watching Jensen here, as he worked his way down my body, eyes open, hands honest and hungry, I felt like I’d never really been touched by a man before. Boys, plenty. Never a man who cared to take his time and explore. And what made it different wasn’t only the way he touched me, but the way I felt when he did: like he could take anything, and I would give it to him without question; like when we were alone like this, I had no reason to hide a single inch of my skin.

  It was barely dark out yet, but even with the sounds of our friends getting dinner started, laughing through glasses of wine, upstairs Jensen and I took the time to touch, and taste, and play. He came in my mouth with a helpless groan. I came against his tongue with a cry muffled by the back of my own hand, and we kissed, and kissed, and kissed for another hour until I wanted him beneath me, overtly aroused, body slightly frantic with greed. I tied his hands to the headboard with my blouse and relished the look of excitement in his eyes, the tension in his muscles, tight from restraint as he watched me fuck him.

  He still wasn’t a talker. His noises seemed to be given up under duress—the quiet grunts and moans, the surprised “Fuck” that escaped when I came and he felt it, the panting breaths. I wanted to bottle his sounds and eat them later. I wanted to bottle his scent and roll in it.

  After untying him to let him play with my body the way I knew he liked, I slid my palms over the sweat on his skin: up his chest, along his neck. I was tired; he was close, and his hands lifted me, his hips fucking up hard and fast. The bed protested, groaning, tapping the wall. My thighs burned and the vein in Jensen’s forehead grew more prominent as he got closer, and closer, his teeth gritted in the drive toward pleasure, hands digging into the flesh of my hips.

  It was honest to God fucking, and it was, without a doubt, the best of my life.

  When he came, panting, gasping beneath me, I watched his face the entire time, etching it into my memory. He wasn’t thinking about his inbox, or his team, or whatever merger mishaps awaited him on Monday. He was thinking only of the slide of my body around his, about his need to come, in me.

  He fell flat against the bed, arms splayed out to the sides, chest heaving. “Holy hell.”

  Bending to kiss him, I licked up his neck, along his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin.

  “Holy hell,” he said again, quieter now. “That was intense. Come here.”

  He found my mouth with his, sucking sweetly at my bottom lip. I was sore between my legs, in my joints, and Jensen rolled me to the side, pulling me with his hand cupped on my ass so that I didn’t stray too far. He ki
ssed me slow and sweet, like a lover who has all the time in the world. A lover who has time to come down quietly, grow soft inside, and hard again.

  We missed dinner.

  A shame, really, because from the smell of it at the top of the stairs, it was a good one.

  “I hope you two had fun up there,” Ruby said later, grinning at us as we descended into the kitchen. “Because Will made paella, and I’m telling you . . . I may eat this and only this for the rest of my life.”

  “Is Will coming home with us?” Niall asked her from the kitchen.

  “It was an excruciatingly competitive game of chess we had going,” I said. “Neither of us was willing to give up until it was over.”

  Will’s smile was sneaky. “I see, chess? Because it sounded like you were hanging pictures.”

  Niall nodded. “Something was definitely getting nailed up there.”

  I laugh-coughed down at the floor.

  “Well, Pippa isn’t a very good sport. She lost, it turned violent,” Jensen joked, leaning over the stove and peeking at the wide pan still half full of paella. “Excellent. You saved some for us.”

  Will laughed. “I think this could have fed seventy people. We all ate until we were bursting.” He reached for the spoon while Niall grabbed two bowls from the dish rack, and soon Jensen and I were bent over the breakfast bar, shoveling food into our mouths like we hadn’t eaten in weeks.

  “You guys ready to head home?” Hanna asked the group, leaning against the counter near the sink.

  We all mumbled some form of refusal, no one wanting to give the end to the trip any oxygen on which to thrive. It felt a bit like we were leaving summer camp, all of us having made these quiet internal promises and external declarations to be best friends forever, to never fall out of touch, to do this together at least once every year for the rest of time . . . but the reality was that this was a tiny detour from real life. For Jensen most of all, who hadn’t taken a real holiday in years, this trip was an anomaly not soon to be repeated. He would leave here and return to the workaholic, structured man he was. And every bit of the outer shell he’d managed to chisel away, revealing the passionate, playful man beneath, would be gone.