by Drea Stein
“Really?”
“I helped build the place.”
“With your own hands?”
“Not quite. Let’s just say I had a lot of input into the design.”
“And the absentee owner?”
“It used to be my grandmother’s. She needed to downsize so I bought it from her. At first, I was renting it out, but about a year ago the tenants moved and I decided it was time to remodel a bit.
“I can’t quite see a grandmother living here,” Lynn said.
“Exactly. Don’t get me wrong, I love my grandmother. But the place was stuck in a seventies time warp. I added an addition, finished out the basement, and of course, transformed the space into something a little more modern. I always loved the view, sitting out on the deck.”
“Not many people would be able to have the vision to take something like what you’re describing and transform it into this.”
“Do you like it?” Jackson asked.
“Like it?” Lynn said. “I love it.” And she realized she just might have found her style. Everything called to her, from the muted earth tones of the furniture to the darker shades of the wood. Even the exposed steel rafters, painted a dark gray, blended together. The space was not so much sparsely as carefully furnished, with just enough of everything and no extra clutter. It felt restful, simple.
“It’s not too modern? My mom took one look and I swear she was ready to give me her glass figurine collection to make it homier.”
“Well,” Lynn said, looking around, considering. “It definitely looks a bit like a single guy lives here. I mean your TV takes up one whole wall. And while you do have a few books around, they all seem to be on serious subjects.”
“I read mostly on my e-reader,” Jackson defended himself.
“And there’s nothing living here. Not even flowers, which technically aren’t living. What about a plant? Shouldn’t you have a fern or something?”
He laughed. “I’m a guy. Plants seem awfully girly. And you have to remember to water them.”
“Yeah, I’m not much good at keeping things alive—well, except for people,” she amended.
“Good thing then,” he said giving her a look that had shivers spiraling down her back.
“What about your apartment at the marina?”
He laughed. “I was just there temporarily while they finished some work in here. Chase keeps one for family and friends. I don’t really like staying in the actual hotel, so he let me use it.”
“That’s why it seemed like you haven’t been there for a while,” Lynn said, thinking that explained the unusual quietness she had noticed.
“Not this week. I’ve been staying here.”
“Did you plan all of this, as a way to get me into your bachelor pad?”
“I can’t control the weather, you know. Like I said, I thought the storm was going to come in much later. I figured that we’d have a nice trip around the harbor, maybe anchor, enjoy something to eat, and then I would casually suggest we check out a property I was working on.”
“So you did plan for us to wind up here?” Lynn said.
He smiled at her, leaning closer to her. “I told you I had a plan.”
His face was just inches from hers. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent of soap, fresh air, and rain. He smelled good and she could feel heat rolling off of him, surrounding her. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted to wrap herself in him. The weather was cold and dark, and in here it was warm and cozy. Logically she knew Queensbay was only a few miles away, but it felt as if they were in a separate place.
“You shivered,” he said, concern in his voice. “Come,” he took her hand and pulled her to him. His lips brushed the top of her hair, and he led her back to the couch and the warmth of the fire.
“I’m not fragile, you know.”
“I know,” he said, his face hovering in front of hers for an instant, so close she could almost feel their lips touch.
“Why are you afraid of hurting me?”
“Who says it’s not the other way around,” he said, and it took a moment to realize what he was saying.
“Me, hurt you? What are you talking about?”
His blue eyes held hers, dark in the gray light. She could hear that slash of the rain against the windows and saw that the storm had moved further in toward them, sheathing the house in a gray cocoon.
He looked out the window and a rueful smile broke over his face. “Let’s just say I think too much about you already.”
She felt her stomach jump and flip-flop as she felt the need to be near him. She wasn’t sure what she wanted beyond this, the ability to lose herself for a few hours. Anything else could wait.
“Can’t we just enjoy the now? Unless of course, you don’t find me attractive in that way,” she said, easing herself closer to him and looking him in the eye.
Her hand rested on his shoulder and she trailed it with the faintest of touches down the strong length of his arm.
“Lynn,” he all but growled.
“What?” she asked, all the innocence she could summon in her voice.
“Don’t do that if you don’t mean it.”
“I mean it,” she said, turning so she faced him. She reached first, pulling him closer to her, closing her eyes, bringing her lips to his. There was the barest moment of wavering before his mouth clamped over hers, hot and full of need. His arms came around her, pulling her in close, so she was all but trapped.
The electricity, the crinkle of attraction sparked between them and she found herself melting into him, reaching up to find the soft, silky feel of his hair, pulling him closer to her. He broke the kiss for a moment, his eyes searching hers. She could see the need, the want in them, and she shifted her weight so she was pressed into him, giving him the invitation he needed.
His head came down again, but he scraped his lips over her neck, up her jawline before going to take her mouth again. She moaned and moved her arms down the length of his back, feeling the play of the muscles there.
He leaned over her and she surrendered, leaning herself back onto the couch, allowing her hips to press up to meet him, feeling his own need there.
His hands found the V of skin where her sweater dipped down. She shivered at the dynamic thrill that came over her. His hands worked their way down, finding her nipple through the thin wool of her sweater, the slight pressure working it to attention, sending a flash of desire straight through to her groin.
Slowly, his hands moved further down, to the strip of exposed flesh between the waist of her jeans and the hem of her top. He put his palm there, the full force of the heat of his hand like a brand on her skin. She gasped and he moved it up, under the sweater, along her bare skin until he reached her breast again, this time his fingers slipping under the fabric of her bra, finding her bare nipple, which he rubbed until she could feel it puckered with desire.
Casually, as he kissed her, she could feel his other hand dip into the waist of her jeans, skim along the flat surface of her stomach and then press against her mound. She moaned, feeling lost with lust and desire.
She needed to be in contact with him, she thought, reaching up and pulling his fleece off. He had on a shirt underneath, the stiff, starched cotton molding over him like a second skin. Her fingers fumbled for the buttons, her fingers clumsy in her hurry.
She looked up, saw the laughter and desire in his eyes. Not shy anymore, she lifted herself up, then in a smooth, fluid movement, took off her sweater. He breathed in sharply, his eyes on hers, as he finished off the buttons of his shirt for her. The shirt discarded, they sat there, looking at each other, drinking it in.
Her eyes roved over the broad sweep of his shoulders, to his smooth chest, down to the flat, defined abs of his stomach. She reached out and trailed her fingers down them, ignoring his sharp intake of breath.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
She leaned up, pulling him down. “I’m sure,” she said as she wrapped herself around him.
/> Taking that as all the permission he needed, she felt him undo the buttons of her jeans and felt them being slowly pulled off. She shivered as his warm hands replaced them.
She was only in her bra and panties, and his smile was wolfish as he kissed his way up from her ankles, his hands trailing along behind. She felt as if all her neurons were alive, her body filled with a current of desire.
His hand brushed against the silky cloth of her panties. She flexed her hips, but he bent his head down, his teeth scraping against the fabric of her bra. His hands came up and smoothly he flicked open the clasp and she sprang free.
The pad of his thumb circled her nipple, tight with desire, and then she felt his hand slip down, teasing again as he found her panties. He slipped his hand in, slowly, tantalizing, until he found her spot, already wet. He stroked and she felt her need rise up, hot and fast.
She threw her head back and surrendered to the feelings flowing through her. He kissed her neck, his breath warm and hot on her skin. Her hips rose in an involuntary response and her whole body tensed and hummed, drawing tight as her body gathered itself. She grasped him, feeling the hard muscles of his back, her mind emptying of anything but the sensations running through her.
She felt the wave crest over her, felt her body draw tight as a bow as he pushed her towards her climax, her whole body quivering. It came, pushing her over the edge, the waves of satisfaction rolling off her. And then she wanted more. Her hands found the fly of his jeans, and she fumbled, pushing, rolling them down.
As if sensing her impatience, he used a free hand and together, she felt the jeans roll off, until he was left in his boxers, his need for her obvious though the fabric.
“Are you sure?” he asked again.
“Yes,” she practically sobbed. She wanted him. There was a moment while he fumbled in the pocket of his discarded jeans and he drew out the square foil wrapped package.
She took it from him and surprised, he leaned back. But she opened it and took her hands to pull down the fabric of his boxers. He was more than ready for her, she thought, as she rolled the condom down the shaft, taking her time.
She glanced up and saw that he had his eyes closed, his jaw clenched.
“Is everything ok?”
He looked down at her. “If you keep that up, I might not make it much longer.”
Laughing, she held her hands up. Taking that as her surrender, he grabbed them and pulled them up over her head. Immobile, she looked at him. He released her, his hands trailing down her body until he reached her hips. She angled them up and he entered her, slowly at first and then as the heat and the feeling grew between them, faster, with more assured thrusts.
She felt her blood tingling, her body quaking as her need rose again, her body ready to meet his desire with her own. She grabbed his hips, guiding them in and out and they found a steady rhythm. She watched his face, saw the climax building in him until she felt it tear through him into her and she allowed herself to follow, both of them reaching the edge and tumbling over it together.
He sank down onto her, a delicious, heavy weight, as she felt her hammering heart start to slow back down.
The silence weighed upon them and she wasn’t sure what she should say. Tell the truth, that it had been the most incredible sex of her life, or play it cool and act like toe-curling sex happened to her all the time.
“Wow,” he breathed. And then, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen on the couch.” He rolled off of her, but the seat cushion was wide enough so that he was able to pull her close to him. The throw found its way onto them and she snuggled into him, feeling content, the warmth of his body sealing her happiness.
“I don’t think where mattered, just why it took so long,” she said, then realized she had forgotten to play it cool. At least she hadn’t begged to do it again.
“Good things come to those that wait,” he said, and she could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice.
“Then you can just keep those things coming,” she said, her fingers tracing lazy circles along the muscled ridge of his arm.
“I am sure that can be arranged,” he said, and she felt his lips touch her hair, his hand slide down to leave a streak of heat down her back.
It was still raining out, the storm in full force, the house now fully enveloped by a wall of gray clouds. The music played on the hidden speakers and the fire had burned low. Their glasses of champagne sat forgotten on the coffee table...Lynn felt like she wanted to take this moment and hold it in time. She felt like something had shifted, that everything had changed.
She felt the lassitude slip from her as Jackson’s hands became more insistent, felt the curl of desire flare up in her stomach, realized what she wanted as she tilted her head up to meet his, felt and met the heat of his kiss. Yes, she was going to enjoy the moment.
#
Her stomach rumbled, and he found her one of his button-down shirts to put on, and she wore that, her panties, and nothing else as he made something to eat. She hadn’t checked the time, didn’t know, with the gray clouds, whether it was lunch or dinner; but it didn’t matter. She knew neither one of them had any intention of going anyplace.
“You’re not a bad cook,” she said, tasting the pasta he had cooked with simple efficiency.
“Pasta’s not that hard,” he said.
“You should meet my mother: the woman can do wonders with pasta.” It was out of Lynn’s mouth before she could stop herself. She felt a flush of embarrassment, knowing that she had broken the first rule of casual relationships. Never mention the family, especially when they had agreed up front that this wasn’t serious.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean you don’t have to meet my mother. In fact, it’s probably better that you don’t, you know, because who knows what she’d think? Or worse yet, what she’d say to you.”
Lynn realized she was babbling, so she took a deep breath and pretended to be very interested in the linguine and vegetables that she had wrapped around her fork.
She felt his gaze on her and looked up, relieved to see that his expression was more amused than angry.
“Meeting your mother…”
“Look, I didn’t mean it that way. Or that she would say anything bad. Or who knows, maybe she would. All I meant is she’s a good cook. Usually no one can resist that. But it’s probably better that we keep this on the down low, if you know what I mean.”
She almost missed the sudden tightening of his expression, but then it was replaced with his usual unreadable look.
“The down low?”
“You know, quiet. It’s that, well, I mean, some people might think, you…”
“Of course,” he said, taking her hand and pulling it to his mouth, and brushing his lips against it. “I understand perfectly. Better not to have too many people intruding into our relationship, right?”
“Exactly,” she said, not sure why she felt deflated he had agreed so quickly.
They ate a bit more in silence, then Jackson looked out the window. “It seems that the rain has stopped,” he said.
She looked up and saw that the sky had lightened up, flashes of blue showing through ragged tears in the gray clouds. Drawn, she got up and walked to the bank of windows. The whole world looked wet and a breeze had kicked up, frothing the water of the harbor with whitecaps. The sky out to the west showed rays of sun breaking over the horizon. It was late in the afternoon, almost evening.
He came behind and wrapped his arms around her, and she sunk into his warmth, savoring the smell of soap and spice that had come to mean him to her.
“We don’t have to go. Tomorrow the weather will be much better and we can take the boat back.”
She turned, running her hand up his arm and up to his cheek. “Are you asking me to stay the night?”
“Well, considering I haven’t even given you a tour of the whole house, I thought it might be nice.”
“Are you just trying to get me into your bedroom?” she asked.
She turned, linking her arms around him. “I can’t think of a better way to spend a weekend.”
Chapter 41
She stayed through the weekend. They did little but watch old movies, play ping-pong on the table he had in the basement, and make love. They snatched bits of sleep and he cooked their meals from his well-stocked pantry. She ignored all of her text messages from Tory and her mom, only saying she was ok but busy. The weather for the most part stayed cloudy and gray and she felt safely tucked away in their private little aerie.
Monday morning came all too soon and he drove her down to the village. It wasn’t a long drive by any means, but suddenly she was nervous, as if their weekend was ending and with it something more. They would say goodbye of course, but she wondered if it meant goodbye, it was fun, now it’s time to move on; or did it mean goodbye until we can do this again? No strings attached had been the agreement but she didn’t know how far that extended.
Her stomach felt strangely nervous, jumpy as they rode down from the heights overlooking the Sound and into Queensbay proper.
It was early in the morning. A fine gray mist clung to the trees, even though the sun promised to break through. A hint of colder weather was in the air but she didn’t want to think about it. Children were standing in clusters, waiting for their school busses, moms in various states of dress watching over them, most of them clutching coffee cups that sent up clouds of steam into the air.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
She gave herself a start. She hadn’t realized she’d been looking out the window, drifting away. She looked over at him. He seemed relaxed, comfortable, sitting there in a dark pair of suit pants. He had on a crisp white shirt and jacket but hadn’t bothered with a tie.
“Nothing, really. Just watching the kids.”
“Remembering what it was like?” he asked.
She nodded. “I always liked school. But we moved a lot when I was young, or it seemed like it, since my dad finished up his training and then served in the army. Fall was exciting but it was sort of like a rollercoaster. Not the excitement of new beginnings, or the change of the seasons, but something more akin to, oh my god, will I fit in, will the kids be nice to me? You know, your standard kid stuff.”
