She advanced on him, her dark eyes all hot desire, her breasts pressing against the front of her blouse, her movements determined and undeniably sexy. She stopped in front of him, put her purse down next to the saw, then reached up and pulled off his goggles and started kissing him.
Good Lord, what this woman did to him. He was standing there drenched in sweat, his muscles aching, his stomach empty from not having eaten since the day before, and Leah made him forget all of that with one hungry kiss.
“Hello to you, too,” he murmured, cupping her shoulders and pulling her slightly away.
He glanced toward the road a hundred feet away to find one of the neighbors passing in a truck.
“Aren’t you worried about being spotted?” he asked.
“The car’s a loaner.”
J.T. suspicions of her motivations amplified. He’d much rather she’d have said she didn’t care who saw her. That she wanted him and that was the beginning and the end.
She grabbed his hand and started leading him into the house.
J.T. watched her curvy little bottom in the neat slacks, wondering what kind of underwear she had on today. He decided she had to be wearing one of those thongs again because he couldn’t detect any panty lines.
Leah stopped just inside the door and looked around. He’d rolled up his sleeping bag in the corner to keep it free of sawdust and out of the way. She instantly headed in that direction.
J.T. held fast. “Can a guy catch a shower first?”
She turned toward him while still holding his hand and backing toward the sleeping bag. “But I want you to be dirty, Josh.” Her expression made it clear what she meant.
She’d used his name again. J.T. swallowed hard, staring at her passion-filled face; the way her eyes were so dark with her pupils dilated; the plump, moist stretch of her bottom lip; the flush of color on her pale cheeks. Her blond hair was shiny and neat and combed, her makeup applied just so. And he knew an overpowering desire to mess it all up.
He reached out and tangled his fingers in the strands over her right ear, piling it up until it sat on top of her head, then he did the same with the other side until her hair was a tangled, unruly mass.
Then he leaned in to do what he could about the blasted makeup.
When he kissed her, Leah made a whimpering sound that set his blood to simmering, making him forget about the work that needed to be done, that it was the middle of the day and that she’d very obviously come out just for sex. He found the top of her blouse with his fingers and gave a tug, taking some satisfaction in hearing a couple of buttons pop off and scatter across the unfinished wood floor. She followed suit by ripping at his T-shirt.
They both tugged and pulled and opened until they were naked in the curtainless room, and trying to open the sleeping bag while still kissing.
Damn, but she tasted good. Too good. Like toothpaste and sunshine and desire, clean and bright and sexy as all hell. As soon as the bag was ready, he spread her across it, watching as her hair spilled over the navy blue fabric, her slender thighs spread, baring all to his hungry gaze. J.T. groaned and spread her even farther, fastening his mouth directly to her clit, drinking from her honey depths like she was the fountain of life. He felt her hands clutching his hair, heard her deep moans, but could focus on little more than laving her, running his tongue through her shallow, swollen folds of flesh, lapping up her sweet juices and suckling the bit of soft flesh at the apex. He drew it deep into his mouth and swirled his tongue around and around until her grip on his hair increased and she cried out, her delectable body dissolving into a seemingly never-ending wave of spasms.
She shivered as he licked her one last time. He took in her fevered appearance. Her trembling lips. Her wide, drowsy eyes. The deep flush of color on her creamy skin. He sheathed himself with a condom, then abruptly turned her over and drew her to her knees until her plump backside pointed up toward him, her breasts swaying underneath. Leah gasped. A gasp that turned into a low, even moan as he fit himself against her dripping portal then slammed in to the hilt.
Last night he had been eager but gentle. Today he was filled with a strange agitation, a frustration that had little to do with sex and more to do with the woman whose only interest in him appeared to have to do with sex. He withdrew and slammed into her again, drawing out another long moan and watching as her flesh shuddered against his onslaught. He gripped her lush hips, watching as his dark, dirty fingers indented her clean, pale flesh. Then he slammed into her again…and again, his movements manic and domineering, his intent almost to hurt her rather than to bring her pleasure. And aware that by doing so, he was bringing her even more pleasure.
But he wouldn’t allow himself to hurt her. It took all he had to rein his wild aggression. He collapsed on top of her, out of breath, his body drained and drenched in sweat. Realizing she was having trouble breathing, he rolled off to lie flat on his back, draping an arm across his brow to shield his eyes as he stared at the ceiling.
He watched as she straddled him, holding herself high and proud, the peaks of her breasts hard and knotted. He’d succeeded in messing up her makeup and hair, but she emerged even more beautiful, unbearably so, almost untouchable. J.T. reached out to cup her cheek. She turned her face into his palm and sank her teeth into the skin there even as she lowered her sweet body over his straining erection.
He gritted his teeth and stretched his neck, so close to climax. Through a slit in his eyelids, he watched Leah’s pink, swollen flesh move up and down over his glistening shaft, her breasts jiggling, her arms braced against his shoulders, her face a portrait of needy passion. He shifted her arms from his shoulders, forcing her to reach behind and brace herself against his thighs. The new position slowed her strokes and allowed him an even better view of their bodies melding then parting then melding together again. Outside the sun began its afternoon move toward the horizon and shafts of light slanted in through the windows, bathing Leah in a golden, surreal light. Her eyes were closed, her mouth bowed as she moaned and moved slowly up and down his thick erection.
J.T. grasped her thighs, parting her farther, then pressed both thumbs against the sensitive flesh he uncovered. Almost instantly Leah cried out, her body freezing as she gave herself over to her second orgasm.
But J.T. didn’t allow himself the release. Instead he gritted his teeth to ward off his climax, content to watch her. Or not so much content as preoccupied. He loved claiming her sweet body. Loved giving her orgasm after orgasm.
But it was her heart he was after.
And he was afraid he’d never reach it.
AN HOUR LATER LEAH LAY on her stomach on the sleeping bag, her head turned away from J.T., completely boneless, a blink away from dozing off. The sun through the window felt warm against her damp back, her sex throbbed and pulsed, filled with blood and swollen almost to the point of pain.
One minute she’d been facing an afternoon filled with house chores and homework, the next J.T. was between her thighs giving her an exquisite pleasure no other man had ever given her before.
She nudged her watch around her wrist and glanced idly at the time.
J.T. moved beside her. She glanced to find him getting up.
“Josh?” she said quietly.
He glanced at her as he gathered up her things and tossed them onto the sleeping bag, then plucked up his jeans from the floor. His face was drawn into hard lines, his eyes dark and unreadable.
“Where are you going?”
“The bathroom.”
He turned and walked toward a room down the hall. She winced as the door closed and locked behind him.
Leah rolled over to stare at the ceiling, vaguely aware that her stomach was growling. She, the perfect hostess, the mother hen, the one who always made sure no one left her house with an empty stomach, hadn’t even thought about making a couple of sandwiches, or picking up fried chicken on her way out. Sex had been all that was on her mind. And sex is what J.T. had given her. And then some. She swallowed
hard, wondering if she was going to be able to walk properly when it was time to go.
She pushed herself up into a sitting position and idly put her panties back on, followed by her pants and her bra. She was just shrugging into her blouse when the bathroom door opened and J.T. reappeared, his hair wet, his dark, shirtless skin glistening with droplets of water, his jeans fastened. He stopped near her, but rather than touching her as she’d hoped he’d been about to do, he reached beyond her to collect his work boots. He put them on without socks and grabbed a black T-shirt from a duffel bag in the corner then headed outside without saying a word.
Leah blinked after him. Her intention had been to go to the bathroom and fix herself up. Instead she stalked outside after J.T. Only what she saw made her steps falter. J.T. was standing near his workbench, but it wasn’t his work he was concentrating on but rather the state highway patrol car passing on the road a quarter of a mile away.
She knew a moment of fear.
J.T. wore the same stony, wary expression she’d seen last week when the police car had passed through the parking lot of the bar. If there were any shadows around, she was sure he would have stepped into them. As it was, he appeared ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.
“What kind of trouble are you in?” she whispered.
He appeared surprised by her presence, staring at her through the plastic safety goggles much as he had stared at the highway patrolmen who had slowly moved on down the road. He didn’t answer her question and she realized she hadn’t expected him to. But that didn’t mean she was giving up, either.
“What’s going on that you’re not telling me?” she asked, reaching up to push the goggles from his eyes.
J.T. snatched them completely off, his eyes glittering dangerously under the midday sun. “I should be asking that question of you, Leah. You got what you came for. Don’t you have your life to get back to now?”
Leah winced, feeling like she’d just been slapped across the face. “I don’t deserve that.”
“Don’t you?” he asked with a cocked brow. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for the past week, but conversation is never on your agenda. The only thing you seem interested in is screwing.”
She winced again, looking back at the empty road.
“What? Don’t you like that word, Leah? Well, you’d better get used to it because what we did in there, and what we did last night, was screw. Pure and simple.”
“Maybe to you,” she whispered, backing away from him.
“Oh? Then tell me what you think it is when a woman comes after you, no words, no conversation, and seduces you into sleeping with her.” He stepped closer, erasing the distance she was putting between them. “Do you call it making love?”
She swallowed through the thickness in her throat, the sensation of being suffocated rolling over her. “That’s not fair.”
“Yeah, well, join the club. Because I’m not finding much about what’s going on between us fair, either.”
He looked beyond her to the road. Through the cloud of pain he’d just inflicted on her, her suspicion grew that J.T. was in some kind of trouble. “Are you on the run, J.T.? Is that why you don’t want me to call you by your real name? Is that why you left here like a ghost, leaving no forwarding address? Without even saying goodbye?”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead he put his goggles back on and readied his saw.
“I think you’d better go now, Leah.”
She nodded. Yes. She probably should. There was so much about standing there in front of him, listening to him question her reasons for coming to see him, wondering about his safety, that made her feel sick inside.
Besides, Sami would be home from school.
She realized she was caught between two irreconcilable worlds and as she stared at J.T.’s handsome face, the ache in her chest sharpened to a knifepoint.
She turned and he grasped her wrist in his strong hand. “Tell me, Leah. Have you even once considered a place for me in your future?”
She stared at him unblinkingly. She might have once. A year and a half ago.
But then he’d left, destroying whatever secret hopes she may have nursed.
The memory of that pain swirled with today’s confusion and prompted her to lie. “No,” she whispered.
He released her wrist and she hurried toward her loaner car, her heart beating so quickly she half wondered if she might go into cardiac arrest. She had to try twice to open the door then finally she was inside and backing out onto the road, leaving J.T. standing right where he was when she’d first pulled up.
10
LEAH CUT CARROTS AND ONIONS at the island counter in her bright and cheery kitchen that neither cheered nor brightened her at all, her movements automatic, staccato, much as she’d conducted all activities since leaving J.T. standing staring after her the day before last. Over forty-eight hours had passed since then, but it might as well have been five minutes. His words still stung. Her body still ached both from his attention and for his attentions.
And her life hadn’t improved one iota since.
Sami stomped through the kitchen, all evidence of her good nature three nights ago when her father was there having evaporated, apparently stowed away until the next time Dan was present.
“I don’t know why Dad couldn’t come to dinner,” Sami said, dropping a small basket of dirty clothes she’d brought from her room at Leah’s request on the floor then crossing her thin arms over her T-shirt–covered chest. “I mean, it’s not like we don’t have enough food. You fix enough to feed my entire fifth-grade class.”
Leah kept her attention on the vegetables lest she lop off a finger and accidentally toss it into the mix. “We’ve already talked about this, Sami.” Again and again and again. “Your relationship with your father is outside my relationship with him. If your plans involve the house, then they involve me. And since you didn’t consult me before inviting him over…”
“You get to say no,” Sami finished. She threw her hands up into the air then let them drop back to her sides with a loud slap. “But this is his house, too. He bought it.”
Leah was forced to put the knife aside, not so much because of the risk it presented to her, but of the risk it was increasingly presenting to her obnoxious daughter. She spread her hands flat against the counter and counted backward from ten. “Sami,” she said in warning.
As it turned out, she and Dan had jointly bought the house. She’d put down the hefty down payment using trust fund monies and cash gifts her parents and her family had given her on their wedding day. And Dan’s payments since then and until just prior to their divorce about equaled that amount. She’d been keeping up the mortgage payments since with a little help from proceeds from her mother’s life insurance policy and quarterly returns from an investment she’d made in a small local business five years ago. All child support payments she put into the trust fund she’d set up for Sami when she was born. She and Dan had agreed that until Sami turned eighteen—barring any mutual understanding between them prior to that date—the house would remain in Leah’s possession. When it was sold, a court arbitrator would decide on equitable distribution of the proceeds.
Try explaining all that to her eleven-year-old daughter.
Especially considering that no one, including her sister, Rachel, knew about her investment in the Women Only store just this side of the Michigan border near Raceway Park. She played silent partner in the lingerie shop, and the managing partner was trying to get her to franchise on the opposite side of town.
“Do your laundry, Sami.”
Her daughter kicked the basket, sending the clothes tumbling out over the floor. “You do the stupid laundry. That’s your job. Dad says it is.” She glared at her, as if daring her to deny it. “You don’t do anything all day anyway.”
In that moment it was difficult to remember that Sami had once been a happy, cheery little girl always smiling, always laughing, bringing sunshine wherever she went. The b
aby who had rarely cried. The toddler who had learned to walk fast and to talk even faster and who loved to be read to. The five-year-old who used to run home from school to show Mommy the new picture she had drawn so they could use magnets to put it on the refrigerator. The eight-year-old who had cried in her arms the first time a boy had called her a word she didn’t understand.
Then, overnight it sometimes seemed, Sami had changed. It was normal, the child psychologist she had consulted with after her and Dan’s separation had told her. All she needed to do was keep reassuring Sami that she wasn’t to blame for her and her father’s breakup.
Unfortunately it seemed that by telling her daughter that so often, Sami had come to understand that Leah was to blame. And took an evil kind of pleasure in reminding her that she’d never forgive her for it.
“Pick up your clothes, Sami, and put them in the washer.”
So much hostility. She watched the eleven-year-old angrily shove her clothes back into the basket, piece by piece, make a loud sound of frustration, then disappear into the hall leading to the laundry room.
Leah honestly couldn’t say where her daughter had picked up the behavior. She and Dan had never argued or raised their voices to each other, either in or away from their daughter’s presence. Their separation had been amicable if frosty, as had been their divorce, no bitter recriminations, no unreasonable demands made by either party. Quite simply, Leah had told her husband she was in love with another man and he had reluctantly accepted it.
J.T.’s image, as large as the Swiss Alps and twice as breathtaking, emerged in her mind and her palms grew damp.
She’d forgotten she’d told Dan about J.T. No, she hadn’t used his name. Dan had never even asked who he was. When she’d come home late one night, he’d asked where she’d been and she’d told her husband about a man in her life and that she wanted a divorce. He had moved his things into the downstairs study and agreed to give her one.
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