One Reckless Summer

by Toni Blake

  She felt much stronger by the time she went back downstairs. The only way to deal with the things happening to her right now, she’d suddenly realized, was to take control. She’d taken control when Terrence had cheated on her. Yet, somehow, coming here had made her weak. But no more. She couldn’t afford to be weak. Not with her dad. And not with Mick, either. She’d had enough of being “good Jenny” lately.

  Later, she sat on the couch with the radio on, looking through her coffee table book of photos from the Hubble telescope when a knock came on the back door. Mick. She knew it.

  Setting the book down, she didn’t hesitate to go answer, pulling the door open wide.

  And still the sight of him caught her off guard. Because he looked so sweaty good in a dark tee and blue jeans, a lock of hair dipping down onto his forehead. “Hey,” he said, but his eyes said more. Things like I want you. And Can I trust you?

  She bit her lip, mainly wrapped up in the I want you part. “Hey.”

  “You forgot this again.” He held up the waterproof bag holding her telescope case.

  “Not exactly forgot,” she pointed out, taking it from him and lowering it to the kitchen table. “More like figured you’d kill me if I went back up the hill for it.”

  “Good,” he said gruffly, but then his tone—and expression—changed, softened. “So, pussycat, are we still cool? About what you know?”

  “Yes,” she said, but she was going to be totally honest about it, come what may. “Although it’s hard for me not to tell my father. In fact, it’s sort of feeling like…the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

  He tilted his head, his eyes looking unusually blue, and lowered his chin. “Maybe it’s the best thing you’ve ever done.”

  “Yeah,” she answered quietly. “I’m a little confused on that point. But the reason I haven’t told him is because to do that would feel even more wrong than keeping the secret. So you can relax. I don’t have any intention of spilling the beans.”

  She could almost see the relief move through his body.

  And she couldn’t help asking, in her new, stronger mode, “Why do you seem so calm about this? Normally, you’d be yelling at me anyway, telling me I’d better not tell him. And last night you were all ‘Don’t turn me in’ and everything.”

  Standing in front of her, he simply sighed. “The truth? Maybe I’m just tired. Too tired to try to scare you. Or maybe I just figured out that if you really wanted to tell, there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”

  There were things he could do to stop her, of course. She remembered her earlier words to Sue Ann: It’s still not too late for a Brody to shoot me. But apparently Mick wasn’t willing to go so far as bodily harm to keep her quiet—which made him a lot less scary. Maybe if Sue Ann could see Mick’s eyes, she’d understand that he wasn’t as bad as he sounded. Maybe she’d understand why Jenny couldn’t seem to tell him no—to anything.

  “Tea?” he asked, using the back of his arm to mop the sweat off his forehead. “Damn, it’s hot.”

  “Sorry, no tea—I’ve been too busy to make any. How about a Coke? I’ve got regular or Diet.”

  “That’ll do fine. Regular.”

  She pulled a can from the fridge and watched as he pressed it to his forehead, then his neck. He was the only man she’d ever known who she didn’t mind being a little sweaty.

  “Do something special today?” he asked, glancing down her body. “You’re all dressed up.” She wore a yellow print cotton skirt and coordinating top.

  “Actually, I had an HIV test. I’m clean, by the way.”

  His eyes narrowed in confusion. “You got dressed up to take an HIV test?”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “No, this is just what I wore. This is…how women in Destiny dress. We still think it’s the 1950s or something, I suppose.”

  “Well, you look pretty,” he said, popping the top on his Coke, then asked, “Did you still dress like that when you moved away?”

  She’d never much thought about it before, but said, “Yeah, a lot of the time. It’s appropriate ‘teacher wear,’ and I guess I’m just a Destinyite to the core.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up just slightly. “I coulda told ya that, pussycat.”

  Without talking about it, both walked through the wide doorway to the living room. “Whoa,” he said, his eyes gravitating immediately to the big blank spot on the wall. “You took the picture down.”

  “Just a little while ago, actually.”

  He shifted his gaze to her. “Does it feel better that way?”

  And she nodded without hesitation. Already, the room felt more like a normal living room, where people lived, laughed, relaxed.

  “Wall looks pretty shitty,” he said on a chuckle, “but if it makes you feel better, that’s good.”

  He took a long drink of his Coke but kept watching her, and again, she felt it, his look—this time it held lust, and if she wasn’t mistaken, actual…concern for her well-being.

  They’d come a long way since that first night in the woods, but…taking control of the house was a first step to taking control of her life, and that meant taking control of her relationship with Mick, too.

  And that meant she couldn’t have sex with him anymore. She just couldn’t.

  Because every time, she could feel it pulling her in a little deeper, into his web of mystery that wasn’t so much of a mystery anymore. She could keep his horrible secret, but she couldn’t risk having…feelings for him. And—okay—she knew she’d already had feelings for him, related to their sex, but she couldn’t risk more of them. She was freshly divorced, just starting to get past the shock and pain of it all. And he was…well, he was trouble. Even if it was trouble not of his own making.

  They stood a few feet apart, looking at each other, which made her glance down and start fidgeting with the hem of her top. John Cougar sang, “Ain’t Even Done With the Night” low on the radio—on a retro station from Crestview, the only signal that reached Destiny.

  “You want me to go, don’t you?” Mick asked.

  How could he tell? Well, didn’t matter—it made this easier. She looked back down, but then forced her gaze up to his. Keep being strong—get your life back in order here. “Yeah,” she said softly. Then shook her head. “I can’t…keep sleeping with you.”

  “It’s not sleeping, pussycat. It’s sex. Really good, hot sex.”

  She drew in her breath, felt a familiar flutter in her panties, and resolved not to let it deter her. “No matter what you call it, I can’t keep doing it. Because you’re dangerous, Mick. Do you understand what I mean?” He’d felt dangerous before, because she didn’t know his secret. Now that she knew it, danger was a certainty. Even if a part of her wished it wasn’t that way. Even if sex with him had been the most amazing thing to happen to her in a long time.

  Slowly, Mick nodded. “Yeah, honey, I understand.” It was killing him inside, wrenching his guts into a knot, but he understood. She wasn’t the sort of girl who fooled around with criminals. And he wanted to argue the point, remind her how damn good they were together. He wanted to be selfish as hell, because her touches and kisses had become a balm to him over the last few weeks, and they were—more than anything—what had drawn him here tonight.

  But Jenny Tolliver had been so…untouchable for his whole life that he was just amazed she’d ever let him touch her at all. And she had morals. And people to please. He’d gotten a few morals as life had gone on—but he’d never had anyone to please, anyone who expected something of him. Maybe if he had, things would’ve been different.

  So, sure, he wanted to argue, tell her she was crazy to give up what had been the best damn sex of his life, and probably of hers, too—but maybe the time had come to start showing his pussycat some respect.

  He was still mad as hell at her for sneaking up to the cabin—if she hadn’t, they’d both have a whole lot less weighing on them. But that aside, if she wanted him to go, he would go.

  “Before I leave,
though…”

  Her eyes widened prettily. “Yeah?”

  He tried to find the words he was seeking, then finally realized they were simple. “Thank you, pussycat, for keeping my secret. And for not hating me.” Then, setting his soda can aside on the nearest table, he stepped toward her, lifted his hands gently to her face, and lowered a kiss to her forehead.

  And he meant to step back then, he really did—but God, it felt good to be this close to her, so he stayed that way, smelling her hair, touching her soft cheeks, feeling frozen in time and just wanting to stay this way for a while. If he couldn’t have any more of her, this was better than nothing.

  It was then that he realized she’d begun to tremble. Same as he had with her the other night.

  Still touching her face with his fingertips, he drew back slightly to peer into her eyes, to try to understand what was happening.

  She looked anguished. “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he assured her. “I get it, honey. It’s okay.”

  “Only it’s not.”

  Hell, he was confused. “Huh?”

  “I can’t, but I just…”

  Oh. He got it now, from the look in her pretty green eyes—and warmth flowed through him. “But you want to.”

  “And I can’t, unless you…”

  “Unless I what, pussycat?” he breathed.

  “Convince me,” she said.

  * * *

  The reason why the universe is eternal is that it does not live for itself; it gives life to others as it transforms.

  Lao Tzu

  * * *

  Nine

  Jenny stood before him, horrified by her own words. It was like that first night in the woods. She wanted him like crazy, her skin tingled for him, her body ached for him, and she felt that if he walked out that door right now, she’d die.

  But she couldn’t let herself have him. She couldn’t convince herself it was okay. “Good Jenny” strikes again. “Good Jenny,” who can’t be with a guy like Mick Brody. Yes, it was just like before—except the stakes felt much higher now.

  His eyes were filled with as much lust as her body. She felt her heartbeat between her thighs. “What’ll it take,” he whispered warm, his voice heavy, “to convince you, Jenny? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”

  “I…don’t know.” Don’t break any laws. Don’t have your brother hidden away across the lake. Be the kind of guy who fits in my life. All of them were impossible right now, and the irony was, if they were true, she’d have never met him again anyway.

  He peered down on her, his eyes going darker as he said, “How’s this?” and lowered his mouth to hers.

  The kiss was soft yet firm. She felt all the power he possessed shrouded in tenderness. She sighed in response and melted against him. And mmm, he was hard for her. Beautifully, wonderfully hard. She yearned for more.

  But she also yearned for old Jenny, the Jenny who wouldn’t give a dangerous guy the time of day when he flirted with her from the end of her dock. That Jenny stayed safe. That Jenny lived in a prettier world than this one did at the moment.

  When he kissed her again, deeper this time, it consumed her. His lush mouth moved over hers, his tongue pushed its way between her lips, and she couldn’t resist meeting it with her own. Kissing him right now felt like kissing the devil, like taking an apple from the serpent. This was her chance to say no, to convince them both that this had to stop, even if she’d practically begged him to seduce her.

  So tell him no, say you can’t.

  You’ll sleep better tonight, feel stronger—once and for all.

  But, oh God, she couldn’t. Because she wanted to be with him. And God help her, maybe Sue Ann was right—maybe it was about more than sex, and more than right and wrong. There was no casual sex—at least not for her. She’d tried to make it that way. But how do you take a man inside you without feeling something afterward? How do you become that intimate, let him see the wildest parts of you, without feeling connected to him?

  And despite herself, she wanted to be connected again. Deeply.

  So when he took her hands and led her to the couch, she let him. When he lay back and pulled her down on top of him, she didn’t protest. When he reached up to cup the outer sides of her breasts and stroke his thumbs across her nipples, she didn’t ask him to stop. Instead, she kissed him madly. And considered herself fully convinced.

  He pushed her top up over her bra—a yellow lace one, because she’d felt like wearing nice lingerie lately—and groaned at the sight. “So damn pretty,” he growled, then drew her down for another kiss.

  She quickly got lost in them, those kisses, barely aware that they were undressing each other as they made out. They stopped just long enough for him to pull her top over her head, then stopped again to get rid of his T-shirt. She ran her palms down his chest, the muscles of his stomach, as he massaged her rear, then reached underneath to pull her panties down.

  “Unzip me, pussycat,” he told her.

  She hadn’t done that before. The unzipping part. But she wanted to. So she worked at the buckle of his brown leather belt, then undid his jeans. It was impossible to lower the zipper without feeling the hard bulge there, and wanting it. She’d been trembling before and now she trembled again. He made her crazy with desire, crazier than she knew a guy could make her.

  A moment later she took him in her hand and they both gasped. She looked in his eyes and he held her face in his hands. “That feels so good, baby,” he told her, and she squeezed lightly and listened to him moan. Then bit her lip, realizing that she did still retain some control here. Control over his pleasure. And she wanted more.

  So she massaged and caressed him as he reached up to push her bra straps from her shoulders, letting her breasts tumble free. She watched him hiss in his breath as she worked harder, then leaned forward, urging him to take one beaded pink nipple in his mouth.

  He licked gently, firmly, making her surge with moisture beneath her skirt—then he pulled deeply on her breast, making her cry out.

  She pushed down his jeans and lifted her skirt and pressed her softest flesh against his hardest and they moved together that way, slowly, while the rough, dark unshaven stubble on his chin abraded the sensitive flesh of her breast.

  She needed him inside her. And she wanted to show him, so she used her hand to position him, then thrust down.

  Sounds of deep pleasure erupted from them both. “So big,” she whispered. “So perfect and big.”

  “All for you, pussycat,” he murmured. “Every inch.”

  She bit her lip as her body spasmed with fresh sensation, then moved on him rhythmically, like an instinctive dance, one a woman is born knowing. He held her hips, watched her move, and she felt freer than the last time they’d been here, in this room, on this couch, freer to seek her pleasure, freer to let him watch her every sway and undulation.

  The orgasm came quickly, furiously, accompanied with high-pitched whimpers she didn’t try to hold in. She felt them echo off the walls around her, felt the raw, stark intimacy wrapping around them both—the same as what they’d shared before…but different somehow.

  “You’re so damn beautiful when you come,” he growled up at her, and she breathed in the rawness of it, of him, took it into her lungs and let it settle there.

  And then he began to pump up into her harder, rougher. Her breasts bounced with the movements; he penetrated her more deeply. They looked in each other’s eyes as she met each hard stroke. More rawness. More starkness. It made her wild inside.

  So she moved harder against him, too, and she cried out at each plunging upward drive. He held her ass; she clawed at his chest with her fingernails. She reached a point where she felt almost overwhelmed and wondered how much more she could take, felt tears of intensity gather behind her eyes but held them back—and considering that she was on top, she’d never felt more taken by a man, not even in the woods. She grunted with each thrust; she bit her lip and leaned her head back, closi
ng her eyes—and finally he said, “Aw, God, Jenny—I’m coming in you!” and the last few strokes nearly lifted her off the couch.

  Afterward, they lay that way, him still inside her, her head nestled against his chest. She felt her bra still half-falling around her, felt her skirt gathered between them, felt the disarray.

  Damn it. She’d truly meant not to do this, truly meant to say no. Now that the insanity of full-on lust had passed, she remembered why. Danger. It hung all around him. And she couldn’t live that way. Could she?

  “Oh God, why do I keep doing this?” she murmured into his chest. Then shut her eyes—she hadn’t meant to utter the words out loud.

  His voice came soft, calm, tired. “Relax, pussycat. It’s just chemistry. We have it. A lot of it. Nothing wrong with feeling good.”

  Unless the guy who makes you feel good is the opposite of everything you ever thought you wanted. Unless he confuses the hell out of you about what’s right and what’s wrong.

  And despite the truth in it, the word chemistry stung. She’d told him sex meant something to her, but maybe he hadn’t heard that part. And if this kept on…oh God, Mick Brody could not mean something to her, something serious. She had to stop this!

  Except that, clearly, he already did mean something to her. She kept trying to tell herself he didn’t. But she’d kept his deep dark secret from her father, who she loved and cherished and respected. And she craved his body. And she wanted to know what went on in his mind.

  Oh hell, she cared for him. Mr. Danger. Mr. Scary Lover in the Woods. She cared for him! Like a woman cared for a man. This was bad.

  She didn’t need a man in her life at all right now, let alone a dangerous one. You. Must. Stop. This. Once and for all.

  She lay there against him, berating herself for her feelings even as he remained inside her, until he gently used his hand to lift her face, to make her look at him. “Listen to me, pretty pussycat,” he said. “I might be all kinds of trouble for you in every other way—but me and you, like this…it’s good, honey. Real good. And there’s just nothing wrong with good, hot, wild sex.”