Best Erotic Romance

by Kristina Wright (ed)

  All the way to the top.

  MEMORIES FOR SALE

  Andrea Dale

  Bella knew this was a bad idea.

  She’d known it when she’d turned her car off the highway and headed for the lake. She’d known it when she passed the “For Sale” sign at the end of wooded drive. She’d known it when she got out of the car and smelled the early autumn air, with its melancholy reminder that the seasons changed, that time moved on. That the past was lost.

  She’d known it when she twisted the key in the lock and opened the front door.

  The realtor hadn’t bothered with a lock box. The open house tomorrow would bring a slew of interested buyers, and there would be a bidding war for the vacation home.

  Bella had simply wanted to see the place one more time.

  No, not simply. There was nothing simple about divorce. She and Ethan had agreed to sell the cabin prior to the final paperwork and split the money. Neither of them wanted the other to have it.

  As far as Bella knew, Ethan didn’t want the place anyway. God knew she didn’t. Too many memories. Too many reminders of how happiness could drift away like autumn leaves falling from their trees, to be trampled underfoot and turned to dust.

  Inside, late afternoon light slanted off the lake and through the wall of windows and glass doors that led out onto the porch, filling the room with a warm glow and turning the wood to a gleaming deep honey. This had always been her favorite time of day here. She loved the play of the sunbeams on the water as the sun sank. She could sit on an Adirondack chair on the porch for hours, sipping a tart chardonnay, listening to the outboard motor hum of boats on the water and the occasional shout of an enthusiastic skier. Other than that, the rustle of the wind through the trees, the chatter of a squirrel or call of a bird was all that broke the peaceful silence.

  If the sliding glass door was open, she might also have heard Ethan banging pots and dishes in the kitchen as he made dinner. They tended to make simple meals when they came out here for the weekend: pasta aglio e olio with a salad of tomato and freshly shaved Parmesan. Omelets stuffed with feta and basil and garlic. Grilled chicken, the occasional steak. Fruit and cheese for dessert.

  Bella shook her head, trying to dislodge the remembrances. She shouldn’t have come.

  And yet she stepped inside, shut the door behind her.

  The cabin wasn’t tiny, but it was a comfortable size for a weekend getaway. The open plan meant that the view from the door was straight out the back to the lake. In the living room, simple Mission-style furniture gathered around a stone fireplace. Over the mantle was a painting of a proud buck (they had joked about hanging a deer’s head, but neither of them had really meant it), and boldly striped Indian-woven blankets were draped over the sofa and chairs.

  To the right was the doorway to the master bedroom and bath, and a wide wooden staircase that led upstairs to the loft, with bedrooms and a bathroom for guests.

  The kitchen was along the back as well, open to the living room, with windows looking out on the lake and the tangle of trees to the north: stately pines, poplars, birches. If she woke before Ethan, Bella had enjoyed the early morning solitude of brewing coffee and watching the shadows diminish; more often than not, however, she had been the night owl, watching the stars prick the sky and the moon leave a shimmering trail on the water as she nursed a brandy and put away the dishes.

  Bella set her purse on the small half-round table by the front door, hung her blazer on a wooden peg just above.

  Too familiar.

  Even with the realtor’s changes, the place felt like home. Oh, it felt bare—no magazines on the coffee table that they’d bring to read and never get around to (same as home), no stack of empty wine bottles to recycle, no towels draped over the porch railing to dry after a late-morning swim.

  Or a late-night swim.

  She sat down hard on the sofa, half-feeling like an intruder, half-feeling lost and very, very small.

  Remember when they would sneak down to the lake, under the full moon? They’d shuck what little clothes they had on—their wardrobe was so much simpler than when they were in the city—and dive into the water (chilly even in the height of summer), stifling their squeals, laughing breathlessly.

  Ethan would complain that he’d lost all feeling between his legs, but it wouldn’t be long before it became apparent that he was feeling very well indeed. His cock would rise, hot in the cool water.

  They’d be lucky if they made it to the raft before the groping started in earnest. Sometimes they’d just head back to the shore, lie on the soft grass above the beach. Moonlight would shimmer in Ethan’s dark hair, and she wouldn’t be able to see his expression, but she’d hear his voice, rough with passion. He’d tell her how beautiful she was, how sexy, and he’d follow the droplets of water on her pale flesh with his tongue.

  Down from her neck, to the hollow where it met her shoulder. Laving away the moisture, teasing her sensitive flesh there. He’d spent more time there than was strictly necessary to catch all the drops, knowing how it made her press up against him, nails digging into his back, whispering harsh and incoherent into his ear.

  Only then would he move down, along her collarbone, to everywhere but the center of her breasts until she moaned in unfulfilled need.

  He’d capture one of her taut nipples—puckered and dark from the cold swim—between his lips. God yes. Her back would arch; she’d be arching her hips from the moment he started suckling and grazing with his teeth. She’d get so wet, so hot and slick, but he’d linger there, entranced by how hard her nipples would get, how ripe and juicy (he would murmur against her flesh, as if he were drunk, drunk on the lust of her).

  A teasing tongue in her navel, flicking out the water there, and then he’d move farther down. A quick nip on her hip bone, a nuzzle against her inner thigh. Her fingers would take the place of his mouth—seeing her pleasure herself always drove him a little mad—and then he’d find the true source of moisture, like Galahad succeeding in his quest for the Grail. He’d taste her, with a low groan that sent more shivers through her, before parting her folds and taking mercy on her.

  Strokes of his tongue against her clit, so knowing and true. He knew just how to touch her, urging her higher and higher, keeping her on edge until…

  Overhead the stars would wheel and blur as she surrendered to the sensations. She whirled through space on the spasms of her climax, tethered to the earth only by Ethan’s hands and mouth and touch on her.

  Lying on the sofa (where, yes, they’d also made love—there wasn’t a spot in the cabin where they hadn’t succumbed to heady, freeing passion), Bella slid her hand under her skirt and found her slick lips, her engorged clit. Riding on the memories, she brought herself to orgasm.

  Moisture stained her fingers even as tears stained her face.

  She hadn’t known, the last time they’d made love here, that it would be the last time.

  And now the cabin was for sale.

  Memories for sale: cheap.

  Bella hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the sofa, clutching a pillow and dampening another with her tears.

  But then, she probably hadn’t meant half of what she’d said (or even more than that) in the crimson heat of anger in their last days together. The bitter, nasty arguments in which they’d both used the intimate knowledge they had of each other to wound and cut. The vicious arguments, which had preceded the period of bone-chilling silence, which had preceded the taut, death-knell conversation ending their marriage.

  “I suppose we’d be better off apart.”

  “I suppose we would.”

  Bella couldn’t remember who’d said which sentence. It no longer mattered, anyway.

  She woke when she heard a noise. Disoriented, she blinked in the almost-darkness of twilight, unsure where she was, what she heard. The pillow clutched against her chest was damp. She fumbled for a lamp and clicked it on to remember the cabin, the memories.

  The door opened, and adrenal
in surged. She stood, abruptly, to face the danger.

  Her heart twisted, betraying her.

  Ethan.

  “Oh.” He stood in the doorway, backlit by the porch light. Still, she knew him from his outline, from the way he carried himself. “I didn’t expect…”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

  They trailed off together. They’d long since run out of things to say; why would now be any different?

  Bella broke the silence first.

  “I just stopped by to see the cabin one more time. I’ll get out of your way now.”

  He shifted the grocery bag he held to his other hip. “No, there’s no rush. I’m sorry I interrupted you. I didn’t think you’d be here.”

  She shrugged, helplessly. “I didn’t think you would, either.”

  He looked wan, she thought. Had he lost weight? His blond hair was neat, but she wondered if it had receded at the temples. He’d been sensitive about the idea. It was the one thing she’d never used against him, even in the cruellest of moments. She never knew why she’d held back. Maybe it was because, even though she knew how the problem gnawed at him, she’d never cared. He’d always looked handsome to her.

  Even now.

  This silence was awkward. How could you feel awkward with someone you’d loved, someone you’d been intimate with, someone with whom you’d shared everything with for nine years?

  “I should go,” he said finally.

  “No,” she said as he turned away. “This is still your cabin as much as it is mine.”

  The stilted, overly polite interactions they’d had since the decision. All emotion had drained away. They were left with court-document, lawyer-speak, cool pleasantries.

  How had it come to this?

  He regarded her for a moment, as if gauging the honesty of her statement, before he nodded. “Fine, then. Thanks.”

  She watched in silence as he carried the bag across the room into the kitchen, then back to pick up a sleeping bag he’d left on the porch.

  “I should go,” she said, realizing only after the words had left her mouth that she’d echoed his.

  He pursed his lips, in the way he did when he was considering something. She’d forgotten that until just now.

  “Really, it’s okay,” he said finally. “This is still just as much your place as mine. Let’s not make it worse. Would you…like a glass of wine?”

  She did, very much. More than she wanted to admit.

  “A little would be nice, yes. What did you bring?”

  It was something from South Africa, a heady merlot. Her mouth watered at the memory of it. “One glass, then.”

  “Steak. I confess I was going for man comfort food,” he said as he poured. “Women go for chocolate, men go for cow. I’ve got potatoes, salad fixings. There’s more than enough for two.”

  She swirled the wine in the glass, noticing how it didn’t cling. That seemed like a lesson she should learn.

  She’d never been one for lessons or following directions or orders. She supposed it was her downfall, that stubbornness.

  “So why did you come back?” she asked.

  He dashed salt and pepper over the thick steak, not looking at her. “Nostalgia, I suppose. One last night in the cabin. You?”

  “Same thing, although I just wanted to stop by.” She leaned against the counter, shook her head. “I guess I didn’t really comprehend that it was for sale, that it wouldn’t be ours any longer, until I saw the sign.”

  “Same here.” He ran water over the vegetables in the colander. “Look, Bella, I…”

  “I know,” she said. “Me, too.” She looked down at the wine, but it didn’t give her any easy answers. There probably weren’t any. She looked back up. “I’d like to stay for dinner. What can I do?”

  She rinsed off two baking potatoes—he’d grabbed a bag of them at the store—and pricked them with a fork, smelling the earthy scent of them. She was, she realized, famished.

  Astonishing, really, how easy it was to fall into the old routines. The two of them in the kitchen, she being sous chef to his head cook. But at the same time, it was also awkward; they’d lost the automatic way they’d had of moving around each other, not bumping into each other (unless they really wanted to, sharing a laughing kiss before turning back to the task at hand).

  Somewhere along the line, they’d lost that.

  It had been a gradual transition. Bella couldn’t look back and find one instant, one moment when everything turned. It came down to a series of missteps, and before they noticed the stumbles, it was too late to catch up and right themselves, and the marriage.

  Ethan’s business had gone under, and although she still had a good job, he stressed about money. He pulled away from her, confided in another woman. It had been a purely emotional relationship, not physical in the least, but for Bella that had cut deeper than if he’d had an affair.

  It had been her mistake to fall into bed with someone else. She and Ethan had argued (again), she’d stayed late at work and then gone out for a drink that had turned into several, followed by a tumble with an acquaintance. She didn’t forgive herself by the fact that she’d been tipsy, because it had happened a few more times, until her lover had gone back to his own wife.

  It had been a mistake, and it had been the final nail in the coffin.

  After that, she and Ethan tried and failed (finally) to reconcile, to come to some middle ground. They were so far apart that they couldn’t see the middle. Certainly they couldn’t see each other.

  Now, she chopped vegetables, crumbled bleu cheese, and tossed a salad, and then they went onto the porch with their wine to wait for the potatoes to bake. Ethan would throw the steaks on at the last minute.

  A loon called, low and haunting.

  “I hadn’t realized until now just how much I’d missed this,” she said, indicating with her glass the view of the lake. “It was always so peaceful up here.”

  “Except that time Jo and Kent brought their nephew with them,” Ethan said. “God, he was a terror.”

  “I don’t know how we got through the weekend without killing him,” Bella agreed, laughing. “He clogged the toilet, terrorized the chipmunks…”

  “…and refused to eat anything except Cocoa Puffs and Spaghetti-Os…”

  “…which Kent had to drive half an hour into the village to get…”

  “…while Jo cursed his name under her breath for abandoning her.”

  They were both laughing now, free and easy. Bella couldn’t remember the last time it had been so natural to laugh, as if a blockage had cleared in her chest.

  “At least we can laugh about it now,” she said.

  “It’s strange, isn’t it?” he asked. “How things that seem so awful at the time end up being pretty minor later, when you remember them.”

  “The blissful haze of memory,” she said.

  “Natural brain defense mechanism. You know, Bella, I—”

  The kitchen timer pinged.

  “I have to put the steaks on,” he said.

  She set the table, then abandoned the porch to walk barefoot in the cool grass to the wild area nearby where wildflowers clustered. When he brought the plates out, he nodded at the simple arrangement she’d made in an old jam jar. “Nice.”

  It was the clear lake air, she decided, that made her so hungry. The steak was perfect, the potatoes crisp on the outside and steaming soft inside, the salad a light counterpoint to the rest of the meal. It all went down nicely with the wine.

  Shadows grew, the sky turning a gorgeous shade of deep blue. Across the table, Bella watched Ethan, noting the circles beneath his eyes.

  Surprised, she found herself wanting to smooth them away with her fingers, ease him into a healing sleep.

  Now, where had that come from? The wine, probably.

  But the wine didn’t explain why she’d stayed for dinner, why she’d put flowers on the table.

  Nothing, it seemed, made sense anymore.

  The
y did the dishes together in silence—what once would have been an awkward or angry lack of discussion now felt companionable. He’d set the timer on the coffee pot before they’d eaten, and the fresh brew filled the cabin with aromatic steam.

  He handed her a mug as she sat on the sofa. He’d remembered how she liked it—light on the cream, two sugars. Before he joined her, he lit the fat new cranberry-red candle on the coffee table.

  “Jane’s not going to like that,” Bella said of the realtor.

  He blinked, as if he hadn’t considered that until now. Then he shrugged. “So I’ll buy another.”

  Typical Ethan. His ability to brush off the details that didn’t really matter had infuriated her at the end.

  But they hadn’t always, had they? At the beginning, hadn’t she loved his casual way of cutting through what wasn’t important, to find the core of what was?

  The melancholy that settled over her, she couldn’t entirely blame on the wine, either.

  “Ethan, I—”

  “Bella, I—”

  They spoke at the same time, stopped, laughed, this time with hesitance. The easy humor from supper was gone.

  “Ladies first,” he said.

  She fortified herself with a sip of hot coffee, then cradled the mug in her hands, forcing herself to look at Ethan rather than down.

  “I…I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” She hadn’t known exactly what she’d wanted to say until now, yet now it was very clear what she needed to say. “The affair. It was stupid. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t care about it. I just reacted badly to you confiding in someone other than me.”

  They weren’t sitting close, but when he shifted to face her more fully, his knee was an inch from her thigh. They both stared at the tiny gap for a moment.

  “I thought it was because I’d failed,” he said finally.

  “What?”

  “I thought you had the affair because I’d failed. I know you were making enough for us to get by, but I couldn’t handle not contributing.” He shook his head. “I’d lie awake at nights, stressing about money, wondering how you could stay with someone who wasn’t good enough to provide. So when you…”