I almost laughed seeing the shock on his face as my eight year-old daughter clung to him like a baby koala. He definitely wasn’t a man who’d been around children much, but he rallied at the last moment, cautiously patting her on the head the same way I’d seen him pet Stan.
I smiled encouragingly and he seemed to relax a little more.
Katie hopped on one foot as she kicked off her sandals then shimmied out of her shorts and t-shirt, her pink bathing suit almost neon.
I turned to say something to Alex, but my words dried on my tongue as I saw him pull off his own t-shirt and step towards the lake.
He was perfect. I mean his body was perfect. Better than I’d remembered. Smooth, tan skin; sculpted muscles and long, loose limbs. The smattering of chest hair that I’d seen before was almost golden in the sunlight, and where most men stowed their beer belly, Alex had a real six-pack, a ridge of defined abdominals. And then he held out his hand to Katie, and my remaining defenses crumbled.
They walked into the water together, hand-in-hand, Katie tiptoeing as the cool ripples lapped against her knees.
Her father had missed all her firsts: her first word, her first step, her first day at school. He didn’t read to her at night, and to my knowledge, he’d never once taken her swimming during those once-a-month visits. And those were cancelled or postponed more often than not with short notice.
I smiled as Katie splashed water at Alex, braver than her mother, and her laughter rang out over the still lake.
He chuckled, wiping the water from his eyes, and waded deeper until it was up to his muscled thighs. He dived into the lake, leaving barely a ripple, and appeared several yards later, shaking the water from his hair. I watched, mesmerized, as his arms and chest glistened, droplets clinging to him; but it was his smile, a huge, happy smile that shot an arrow straight to my heart.
And I knew, right then, with the lake glinting in the sunlight, the scent of wood smoke drifting in the air, that I’d forever associate these things with Alex. The look in his eyes that said what his lips couldn’t.
He was happy.
My throat contracted sharply and then I smiled back, a swell of joy filling me.
The rest of the day was just as perfect. After they’d swum and played in the water for nearly an hour, I watched Alex build up our small campfire again, snapping twigs with his strong hands to make more kindling, adding logs to the flames. It was the simple pleasure of seeing an attractive man doing physical work. The play of his muscles in the sunshine, the dappled sunlight across his back, his small frown of concentration, the color rising in his cheeks as his body warmed in the summer sun. The healthy glow, a strong, masculine man.
We talked about everything and nothing, and he barely stuttered, just occasionally tripping over his words in his eagerness to share something about his cottage in the woods, the animals he’d befriended, the fox cubs who visited nightly, or about Stan.
Katie was completely at ease with him, curling into his side and laying her head on his shoulder. Oh, and getting him to wear a mudpack on his face that she promised would make him handsome. And when the mud dried and cracked and Alex washed off the rest, Katie told him it had worked. Alex laughed. A real laugh, full of contentment and peace.
But as soon as he turned away, my smile slipped. How could I protect my own heart when Katie obviously adored him already? My daughter was the reason I guarded my emotions so carefully, but she was also the weak point in my armor. And a man who’d won my child’s affections was close to winning mine.
I was dozing off, well fed and contented, with Katie taking a nap next to Stan, when I cracked an eye to see Alex walking back along the track from the cottage.
“I didn’t hear you leave,” I said, yawning.
“Had something to do,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
I sat up, more awake now.
“Hmm, that sounds suspicious! What have you been up to?”
“Don’t be mad . . .” he began.
“Um, okay, but why would I be mad?”
He winced slightly.
“I . . . I b-b-b-bought new tires for your c-car.”
My eyes opened wide.
“Alex, I can’t possibly accept . . .”
“P-please! I need you and Katie to be safe.”
“I . . . but . . . thank you, but . . . tires are expensive. I can’t let you . . .”
“Please. Anyway, I’ve already put them on.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for me. But I didn’t feel comfortable accepting such an expensive gift.
“That’s really nice of you, Alex. But I’d feel better if you’d let me pay for them.”
His lips turned down.
“They’re a g-gift,” he said quietly.
I swallowed my pride, not wanting to hurt his feelings any further.
“Thank you,” I said, smiling and shaking my head at the same time. “Thank you very much.”
He grinned at me and winked.
As the sun began to sink, Katie was dragging. We packed up the remains of the food and Alex promised he’d come back for the coolers later as Katie climbed onto his broad shoulders, riding back to the cottage in style.
I’d thought the outside of his house was beautiful, but the inside was astonishing. Antique hardwood floors gleamed in the muted light, and the furnishings were all new and top quality. It made my duplex seem small and shabby by comparison.
“Oh, Alex! It’s so beautiful! It looks amazing. Wow! I can hardly believe it. You did all this yourself? Oh my, you should do it professionally.”
I stopped and looked over at him.
“What do you do, for a job?”
He shrugged uncomfortably.
“Now, just this.”
“Hmm,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “And you went to school to study architecture and engineering?”
He looked away and didn’t reply.
By now, Katie was sound asleep on the wide sofa, the deep, drugging sleep of a child who has spent the day in fresh air and sunshine, the sleep of the innocent.
Carefully, quietly, Alex covered her with a blanket, tucking in the ends so her feet wouldn’t get cold. I imagined him lying there on that sofa, his large frame stretched out, Stan beside him as he watched TV or read one of the many books dotted around the living room. And I imagined lying there with him, cuddled together, the fire lit against the chill of winter.
Dreams are dangerous things—they tempt us with all the things we shouldn’t want.
I had a home, a mortgage I could afford and a job I loved. And I had Katie, the bright star in my life.
But now, I was dreaming of more—what the woman in me wanted, and not the mother.
I’d been dismissive of friends who said that they’d experienced a soul-deep, chest-squeezing urgency for another person. An unnamed yearning. The desire to be so ridiculously, inexplicably desperate for one particular person.
But now . . . now I began to understand.
I wanted Alex’s body, but I wanted his smile more. I wanted his laugh, his eyes dancing with happiness, because it was so rare, and once seen, never forgotten. I wanted the closeness, the intimacy of two adults sharing a life together. I wanted someone to reassure me in the small hours of the night, to remind me that Katie was doing okay, that I wasn’t a total disaster as a mother.
I was here, so close to having what I hadn’t known I’d wanted until this moment . . . it terrified me in new and creative ways. I wanted him. I shouldn’t. But I did.
I want, I want, I want.
Alex offered me coffee, and glad of the reprieve from the intensity of his expressive eyes, I followed him into his charming, rustic kitchen, lined with new cabinets and an unlit wood-burning stove.
He made two cups of rich, aromatic coffee, and carried them out to the deck at the back, where we sat in silence, enjoying the solitude as the sun sank beyond the lake.
He sat staring out into
the forest, allowing me to study his sharp profile, silhouetted against the rising moon.
Then he nudged my arm, pointing into the forest’s deep shadows. Three, no four pairs of eyes gazed back at me, glittering as the porch light reflected their nervous stares. I saw Alex smile at the fox cubs who darted out, heading for Stan’s food bowl.
“Oh, he won’t be pleased,” I whispered.
Alex smiled.
“He’s used to sharing. They’ve been coming here every night for a while now.”
“Forest foxes are usually shy.”
Alex shrugged. “I started feeding them after their mother was killed.”
His mood turned somber again as he watched the cubs inhale their meal and slink back to the thickening shadows.
“I had a really nice time today, Alex. We both did.”
He nodded slowly, seeming to ponder my words.
“Nice. Nice?”
“You don’t like that word?”
His reply wasn’t acerbic, if anything, he sounded thoughtful.
“I haven’t had a whole lot of nice.”
I wondered if I should take his words as an opportunity to dig deeper, but he seemed more closed off now and a little sad, and I didn’t want to spoil such a lovely day.
“Nice is good,” I agreed evenly, and was happy when he forced a small smile. “Thank you—for everything.”
I leaned across to kiss him on the cheek, surprised by my own boldness. His eyes widened and he sucked in a quick breath.
Was the world still spinning or had time frozen as we sat there, creatures in the dark our only witnesses?
Is love a disease? An affliction? Or is it something catching? Can you catch love, can you hold it in your hands, can it be communicated like a plague? Or is it like an infectious laugh that makes your eyes water and your stomach hurt, even though the joke isn’t funny?
I’d begun to believe I was immune to love—the kind that exists between a man and a woman. Instead, I’d been gifted an ocean of love for my daughter. I thought perhaps that had filled me full, leaving no room for other love. Other loves.
My lips tingled from the roughness of his day-old stubble.
And is it love when you want someone’s smile as much as you want their body? When their laughter softens your words to a prayer?
My heart began to race.
Or is it sheer animal lust, a torrent of hormones assaulting your blood, heating you from the inside out?
He reached out to touch me, questions in his shadowed eyes as he cupped my cheek. I sighed and leaned into him, eyelids fluttering.
My mother always says it’s the softness of men that she loves most, because it’s at the center of them. Their outsides are hard with muscle; their bodies large, larger than hers—or mine—heavier, stronger. So when a man’s touch is soft, when his fingers drift across your skin like sunbeams, then you’re seeing into his soul.
I never understood. I never believed her.
Until now.
So gently, so very gently, he pressed his dry lips against mine, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, kissing him back.
He tasted of coffee, and he smelled like sunshine and pine forest.
Gentleness turned to want, and want turned to need, and I thought my mother was wrong. I wanted to feel the strength of his body surrounding me, on top of me. I wanted to feel his hardness against me, inside me. I was wearied by supporting the weight of my family alone. I wanted someone to carry me. For just a little while. A single moment.
The wooden arm of the chair pressed into my ribs as I leaned across, and I tried to ignore it. But Alex lifted me onto his lap, shocking a gasp out of me that ended with a soft laugh, because maybe he’d read my mind, because maybe he wanted the same things I did. And then we were kissing again. Again and again for the longest time, hesitance turning to urgency, and long languid kisses to heated mouths and hot sighs.
My fingers fumbled to find the hem of his shirt as I floundered my way down his chest, sliding my palms across warm skin that left shivers in their wake. I started pushing the material upward, and Alex leaned forward and dragged the shirt off, tossing it to the ground impatiently.
All day, I’d longed to touch, yearned to taste, feared to want. I was tired of caution, weary of wading through life alone. If this was just one night, I’d celebrate it forever, and if it was more . . . well, that was a bridge still to be crossed, a land waiting for discovery.
My hands swept down his back, reading his skin with my fingers as if sight didn’t exist, while we continued to kiss, tongues tasting, learning and teaching. I gripped his biceps, my fingers digging into the ridge of muscle, shuddering with pleasure as he cupped my breast with one hand, the other anchored behind my back to stop me from falling.
Too late.
I’d already fallen for Alex Winters, man of mystery, animal lover, gentle soul, wounded warrior in the battle of life. Or maybe that’s just life. We’re all survivors, one way or another.
My fingers drifted down to the waistband of his shorts, and his stomach contracted as his eyes closed, his groan guttural.
It was a sensual game of chess: my move, his move, mine, his, each working toward the moment of checkmate, and I’d be hoping for defeat.
His lips whispered wordlessly down my neck, kissing my throat, lower, lower, running his tongue along the scooped edge of my t-shirt.
But I was still me, and my daughter was sleeping on his sofa, just a few feet away. And what I wanted wasn’t the most important thing.
I pushed lightly on his chest.
“Alex, wait.”
It took a long moment for him to catch the meaning and tone of my words. His reluctance to pull away won my approval, and when he let me go without question, he won my heart.
“Katie can’t see us like this.”
He nodded, his face solemn in the shadows. As he stood, I slid against his body, and he held me for a second as my toes touched the wooden deck.
And then he held my hand as we tiptoed into his living room.
Katie was sprawled on the sofa, snoring softly, one hand tangled in the blanket, the other resting on Stan’s thick fur.
His wise old eyes watched us as we crossed the floor, but he didn’t move.
I’m on duty, he seemed to say. Her dreams are safe with me.
Katie was sound asleep, lost to the world, awake only to her imagination. And so I had a choice. My mommy-senses were satisfied: my daughter was well, warm and happy.
But the woman in me . . .
Alex sensed my hesitation and squeezed my hand, his eyebrows rising in silent query.
“She’s fine,” I whispered. “I just needed to see.”
He smiled, his eyes resting on my daughter and then on Stan, before commanding my gaze again.
“I . . . I w-want . . . t-to make love. To you.”
His voice wavered, but his eyes were burning with intense desire.
“Yes, I . . .”
Those were the only words I had time to speak, slayed by the smile of joy that lit him from within.
He kissed me deeply, big hungry kisses, his arms gathering me against his warm body. And I held my breath as he led me toward the stairs, then up, up, up.
To his bedroom.
I want. I want. I want.
Cool, white sheets touched the backs of my legs as Alex walked me to his bed, the door locked behind him.
I reached for him, pulling him closer. As I flicked my tongue at the base of his throat, he growled a quiet rumble of appreciation.
Then I moved lower, greedy for his perfect body, touching his stomach with my lips. His eyes closed and fists clenched at his sides.
As I continued to kiss all the flesh I could reach, his hands lifted my hair, reverently stroking his fingers down to the blunt ends that clung to my cheeks. Tucking the unruly strands behind my ears, he kissed my jaw, his tongue lapping against my racing pulse, then sucking not so gently.
I squirmed, and he immediately slid lowe
r to the juncture between neck and shoulder, nipping the skin, making me jump. He laughed softly, his nose nestled in my t-shirt. Abruptly, he stood upright, and lifted me further up the bed as easily as if he was lifting a child, not 130 pounds of full-grown woman.
His dominance surprised me. Oh yes, and definitely aroused me. I hadn’t expected this. Another layer to the mysterious man who was slowly peeling my clothes from my body.
He lifted my breasts to his mouth, kissing all around, plucking the nipples with his teeth, pain close to the pleasure.
I reached for the straining material of his shorts and he batted my hands away, but not before I’d felt the hot core pulsing against the thin fabric.
“But I want to . . .”
Undeterred, he kissed under my breasts, across my ribs, my hipbones, then pushed my thighs wide apart and pressed his face against my mound, his tongue, so stubborn in its consuming silence, now consuming me. His tanned hands against the pale flesh of my hips, the scrape of his stubble on my inner thighs.
Weeks of wondering, months of wanting, years of waiting. My body ignited, erupted, a volcano, a wildfire burning and crackling, racing across an arid landscape. I mashed my lips together, willing back sounds in the towering silence, as he whipped my pleasure higher.
All the tension inside me broke. Hotter than a comet, bright lights burst behind my eyes and my body flooded with heat, trembling from my outstretched toes to the tips of my fingers. I shuddered, my back arching as blind pleasure swept through me.
I stole a breath, and then another, as fluid and limp as seaweed after a storm.
I could smell my own arousal, and the thought sent another jet of heat blasting my blood. I opened one eye.
Alex was standing over me, his gaze serious, as if he was waiting for a verdict.
Suddenly I understood the look in his eyes: longing, desire, want. Maybe need. And the intensity of his scrutiny burned a path across my body.
I didn’t have the words, so I reached for him, tugging at the waistband of his shorts. His erection had leaked, leaving a darker patch, reminding me of an essential point.
“You have protection?”
His eyebrows shot up and he spun on his heel, large hands fumbling through a drawer in his dresser. And then, triumphant, he returned, a small package in his hand and oh my God, he was smiling so brightly, his white teeth glinting.
One Careful Owner: Love Me, Love My Dog Page 11
