by Shirley Jump
“It’s beautiful,” Katie said, her voice so soft the word was almost a breath. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“When I was a kid, I’d come here after school, and just sit on the porch and do my homework and watch the lake. The birds diving for their lunch, the fish splashing away, the fishermen whiling away an afternoon. It was peaceful and quiet. I used to imagine that when I grew up, I’d buy this house and live here with a dozen kids of my own.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “Wendy wanted the subdivision life. She wanted the neighbors and the block parties and the sidewalks. So we lived in a neighborhood. But this house...it was always the one I wanted my kids to live in, so they could run in the yard and fish in the lake and swing on a rope swing.”
Katie spun in a slow circle, taking in the rest of the lake view, the woods to the left, the long empty field to the right. “Who owns it now?”
“An overwhelmed commercial Realtor with two mortgages and two kids.”
She turned back to him, her jaw agape. “You bought it, after all?”
He still remembered the day he’d passed papers on this old home, thinking he’d finally have his dream. He’d been so excited to hand his wife the keys, to start taking the first steps toward their new future together. “I thought I’d surprise Wendy on our fifth anniversary. Libby was four, and I thought it was a great time to move out of the subdivision and into a great old house like this one. We rarely fought, but boy, did we fight that day. I finally agreed to sell this house, but in the end, I just couldn’t do it. The mortgage isn’t much, because the house isn’t worth much, so I kept on paying for it, and we kept on arguing about it.”
“I think it’s a fabulous place.” Katie walked down the back porch stairs, ignoring the creak of the old, faded wood. She spun in a circle again, drinking in the expansive view, the carved columns, the wide plank floors, illuminated by Sam’s flashlight. “I lived in the city all my life. Cramped little apartments in concrete prisons. I would have loved to have grown up somewhere like this. Heck, I’d love to live somewhere like this even now, as an adult.”
That made a little part of Sam happy. He had hoped Katie would have that reaction, but wasn’t sure she would love this run-down old house like he did. He’d been toying with the idea of hiring Colton’s sister-in-law-to-be, Savannah, who was engaged to Mac Barlow, to look at restoring the house. He’d seen some of Savannah’s restoration work—including the Stone Gap Inn—and been very impressed. “Do you want to see the rest of the place?”
“I’d love to.”
He put out his hand as they walked into the house, and when she slid hers into his palm, the touch felt right. Perfect. With the flashlight illuminating the way, they walked hand in hand through the rooms, and Sam told her the plans he had for the place. All these years of thinking about how he would restore the old house had filled his mind with dozens of ideas, and he rattled them off like a locomotive racing down the tracks.
They moved from the parlor to the dining room. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the fabulous view out back. The previous owner had started to renovate the house more than twenty years ago, and stopped after the demolition stage, which left gaping holes in several places, and more than a few walls stripped back to the frame. But Sam could still see his vision, could imagine the house with all the changes he wanted to make. “I want to put a coved ceiling in the dining room and a chandelier in the center. There’s a space there for a built-in hutch, and I think it would look awesome if I had one with a glass front, and opened the back to the kitchen on the other side. The wainscoting is still in great shape, and I think it all can be salvaged. If not, I know Savannah has a whole garage filled with pieces she’s scavenged over the years.”
“These wide plank floors are incredible,” Katie said, toeing the hardwood beneath her feet. “Are you going to save them?”
“As best I can. There’s some water damage in the kitchen, and one of the upstairs bedrooms had a roof leak that pretty much destroyed all the flooring and walls. I did a temporary patch on the roof, but it really needs to be redone.”
She let out a low whistle. “That all sounds pretty expensive.”
“It is. But if I can wrap up this mall occupancy project that I’m working on, the commission from that should be enough to get the changes started here.” He ran a hand through his hair and wrestled with the same internal debate he’d been having for a year and a half. Was the smartest plan starting over here? He’d always imagined his kids playing in the big yard, running through the water, hanging pictures on the long wall in the kitchen. He’d imagined notching their heights in the wooden molding around the doors, setting a Christmas tree in the foyer by the bay window...
“I just don’t know if I want to uproot the kids and move them someplace else,” he said. “All their memories of their mother are in that other house.”
“No, they’re not, Sam. They’re here.” Katie placed a hand on his chest, right above his heart. Her palm spread warmth through the layer of his shirt. “They’re in Tuesday night ice cream dinners and the same bedtime story every night and even George the bear. If you talk to the kids, I think you’ll find that they remember a lot about their mother. A lot of things that they want to talk about, too.”
Libby had barely talked about her mother since she died. Henry hadn’t talked at all. The last thing Sam wanted to do was make any of this harder on them. “I guess I thought if I brought up old memories, it would make them upset. Losing her was so hard on them, and the last thing I wanted to do was bring that pain to life again.”
Katie left her hand on his heart, a delicate, comforting touch. “They want to share those memories, and I think they need to. And I think as long as you do that, it won’t matter what house you live in.”
He covered her hand with his own and smiled down at her. This woman seemed to know exactly what to say, and exactly when to say it. With a few sentences, she’d eased his doubts and fears. “How did you get so wise?”
“I read a lot of romance novels.” She grinned.
“And in those novels, is the hero always rescuing the heroine?”
“Sometimes it’s the opposite.” She smiled wider, and her gaze dropped to their joined hands. Neither of them spoke for a moment.
The tension in the air began to thicken, shifting from comfort to something different. Something warmer. He wanted to act on it, wanted to kiss her, wanted more. But still he hesitated. This date/not-date they were on was still in an undefined limbo.
Holding tight to her hand, he lowered their clasped palms to his side. “Come on, I want to show you the kitchen.”
He led her down a short hall and into the kitchen. It was a big room, fourteen by eighteen, with a hearth at one end and a long island at the other. The upper cabinets were missing, but the sink was still there, and he’d brought over two bar stools to set on either side of the island.
In the center were two candles and a vase of fresh flowers. He had bought sandwiches and one of those ready-made dessert plates from the grocery store filled with little bites of brownies, chocolate-covered strawberries and a few cookies. And a bottle of wine, flanked by two glasses, was chilling in a bucket of ice. He leaned over, lit the candles, and stepped back.
“Oh, Sam, when did you do all this?” Her hand squeezed his a little tighter, and Sam’s heart lifted.
“On my way over to pick up you. I didn’t know what kind of wine you liked, so I went with a chardonnay. I hope that’s okay. I bought ham-and-cheese and turkey-and-cheese sandwiches, so you could choose.” God, he sounded nervous.
“It all looks amazing. Thank you.”
He pulled out one of the bar stools and made a sweeping gesture. “Best seat in the house, mademoiselle.”
She laughed and slid onto the bar stool, then laid a napkin across her lap. He took the seat acr
oss from her, then divvied up the sandwiches and poured them each a glass of wine. The sexual tension was still there between them, playing like background music to the food and conversation. “So what made you get into real estate?” she asked, then took a bite of her sandwich.
“I was always fascinated with buildings when I was a kid,” he said. “I thought about becoming an architect or a contractor, but then I met Wendy, and her uncle was a Realtor. He let me go along with him a few times and see how it worked. I loved the challenge of marketing a property, finding the right buyer, or discovering that one forgotten piece of real estate that’s just perfect for a client. I still do love that part.” He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “So why did you become an accountant?”
“Well, not because I loved it.” She let out a little laugh. “I was good at math in school. I liked the order of it, how everything would align just right. My guidance counselor suggested I look at accounting schools, and the first one I applied to offered me a scholarship, so I took it. I just...wanted to get out of there. Colton was working at the fire station, and I didn’t want to live at home anymore. So I took the scholarship, and ended up as a CPA.”
“Order in chaos.” He nodded. “I can understand that. You did the same with the kids, you know. Things were kind of a mess before you came along.”
She ran a finger along the rim of her wineglass and watched the shimmer of the white wine in the dim candlelight. “I think it’s because I could relate to them,” she said. “Colton and I bonded together, because our mother was absent. And I think after they lost their mom, Henry and Libby bonded, too.”
“They did. I was working, and grieving myself, and I wasn’t there as much as I should have been.” He sighed. “I wish I could do all those months over again.”
“You’re doing it right now, Sam. That’s what’s important.”
“With your help.” He covered her hand with his own. “You have made everything better, Katie. I can’t thank you enough.”
She shook her head and glanced downward. “Just doing my job.”
“Is that all it is? A job?”
She lifted her gaze to his. A moment passed, another. The thread between them tightened again, shifting like the winds. “No. It’s more than that.”
The words made him happy. Made him forget all the reasons this wasn’t supposed to be a date. Made him think again how beautiful she looked, how alone they were, and how very much he wanted to kiss her. Hell, he’d wanted to kiss her from the minute he met her, and now that he had, he knew how sweet and wonderful it would be.
He got to his feet and took the empty paper plates from their sandwiches to toss in the trash. “Which dessert would you like? There’s cheesecake, brownies, chocolate-covered strawberries. I didn’t know what you liked, so I bought them all.”
She looked up at him and smiled, a wide, breathtaking smile that hit him hard. She held his gaze for a heartbeat, and the tension between them coiled even tighter. She shifted her weight in his direction and entwined her fingers with his. “I like pretty much all wine, and as for dessert, I love anything that has chocolate on it.”
“Anything?”
The smile on her face eased into one that held flirtation. The desire that Sam had managed to keep on low all day flared up a few notches. “Anything,” she whispered.
He leaned over and scooped a dollop of chocolate onto his index finger, then placed it against her lips. They parted, and her tongue darted out and tasted the sweet icing, then ate the bite. Her gaze never left his, and he had to resist the urge to groan. He moved his hand away and kissed her, this time hard and fast, tasting the chocolate on her tongue.
She pressed against him, fitting perfectly in his arms. His hands roamed down her back, over her buttocks, up her sides. She clutched at his shirt, drawing him closer, hungry for him, as hungry as he was for her. He wanted to hitch up her dress and have her right here, right now, on the kitchen counter, but instead he scooped her into his arms and headed out of the kitchen.
She let out a giggle and tightened her grip on him. “Where...where are we going?”
“Not all the bedrooms were damaged by the rain.” His gaze met hers, half question, half invitation. Did she want this to go further as much as he did? Had she been feeling that same fire between them?
A sexy smile curved across her face. “I’m very glad to hear that.”
He kicked open one of the bedroom doors. Years ago, he’d put a bed in here, intending to have a place to rest when he was working on the house, or to spend the weekend if he took the family fishing at the lake, but he’d never really used it. Tonight, he was damned grateful to have that bed there.
He laid Katie on the queen mattress and stepped back to look at her. She was beautiful in the moonlight streaming through the windows, casting her features with a soft pale wash. He lay down beside her and traced a line from her neck to her belly, over the hills of her breasts, down the valley of her abdomen. “You are incredible,” he whispered.
“And you are biased.” But she smiled all the same.
She reached for his shirt, but he took her hand and stopped her. “I mean it. From the minute you arrived on my doorstep in those heels and that skirt, I have known you were different. Unique. Special.”
“I thought the same about you. The handsome widower trying so hard to get it right.”
He grinned. “You think I’m handsome?”
“Let me show you the answer to that question.” She untucked the tail of his button-down shirt and slid a hand against the smooth skin of his chest, then reached over with her other hand to unfasten the buttons.
Damn. He’d thought he wanted her before, but when she took the lead like that it sent his pulse into overdrive. Sam wrangled his arms out of his shirt and tossed it to the side, then reached for the hem of her dress. She arched up on the bed, and he slid the dress up and over her, then threw it to wherever his shirt had landed.
His gaze traveled over her, drinking her in. She had on white lace panties and a white lace bra that cupped her perfect breasts. Her belly was flat, toned, and he ran his palm over the taut expanse of skin, sliding one finger under the edge of her bra, toying with the edge of her breasts. Desire darkened her gaze and danced along her smile.
Sam traced the outline of her face. “From the minute you showed up on my doorstep, overdressed and overqualified, I started falling for you.”
She hesitated, stilling beneath him. “Falling for me? Sam, we’re not—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “Not talking about any of that right now. Let’s just be here, with each other.”
Her hand slipped between them and slid over his erection. “That sounds like a good plan.”
“Just remember I’m a little rusty.” He slid his palm beneath the lace cup of her bra and caressed her breast, letting his thumb trace a circle over her nipple.
She moaned and rose up into the touch. “I wouldn’t, uh, call you...rusty at all.”
He slid his hand into her panties and touched her sensitive center. That made her moan even more, and buck up against him, her body begging for more. She reached for the button on his shorts, but fumbled undoing the fastener. Her cheeks flushed, which he found adorable and sexy all at the same time. “Maybe I’m the rusty one,” she said.
“Then we can be rusty together.” He flicked open the button and slid down his zipper. Before he kicked his shorts to the side, he tugged a condom out of his wallet. Then he removed his boxers, slid the condom on and returned to Katie’s side.
He hesitated, braced over her, his eyes connecting with hers. “What is it?” Katie asked.
“It’s just...” He shook his head. “I haven’t been with anyone but my wife in a very long time.”
“Do you want to wait?”
There was concern in her eyes, and cari
ng. It touched him, and reminded Sam that Katie wasn’t the kind of woman who would look at tonight as a fling. That it would mean something to her, just as it did to him. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but he was tired of letting today slip by in a blur. “I think I’ve waited long enough.” He slid his hand beneath her panties again, and when she rose against him with a gasp, he nearly came undone. He slid off the lacy underwear, giving him full access to the hypersensitive nub. He stroked her there, slowly at first, then faster, until she was gasping and panting, and then, a moment later, an orgasm rippled through her body.
“Oh, God, Sam,” she said. “If that’s rusty, I can’t wait to see what more practice brings.”
He chuckled softly. “Me, too.” With his other hand, he slid the straps of her bra down, then peeled back the lacy cups. He lowered his mouth to her neck, then kissed down the valley of her throat, across to one breast, teasing the nipple with his tongue, before giving the other the same attention.
She put a hand on his chest, her eyes wide in the dark. “Sam...”
“I know.” He cupped her chin and kissed her, gently, slowly. “If we do this, it changes—”
“Everything.”
He nodded. “Is that okay?”
She ran a hand over his hair, then down along the side of his jaw. A light touch, but it seemed to whisper a dozen messages. Her gaze never wavered from his, and he knew, in that look in her eyes, in the touch of her hand, that she was feeling the same powerful wave as him. “Yes,” she said, the word caught on a breath.
He shifted until he was above her, then lowered himself, his elbows on either side of her head. He kissed her again, deep and slow, kissed her until she was writhing beneath him, her hands roving over his back, his legs, his buttocks. Kissed her until she was whispering his name with urgency.
He slid into her then, and she rose up to meet him, bringing her hips to his with every stroke. They fell into a perfect rhythm, matching each other move for move, building in intensity and pace, until she was gasping and calling his name and clutching at him. He sank into her, deeper this time, and his orgasm rushed over him like a tsunami.
