One Reckless Summer

by Toni Blake

  He turned beneath the sheets then until they lay looking at each other, their faces close. His voice came out surprisingly soft. “Were you…with your mom when she died?”

  Jenny drew in her breath and thought back over the years. “No. I knew it was almost the end, though, when my dad took me in to see her and she had a long talk with me—the kind you’d expect, about wanting me to be strong, and happy, and about how she was going to be watching me from heaven. Then they sent me to Sue Ann’s for a while. It was strange. Part of me knew she was here dying the whole time, but another part of me was willing to be distracted by Sue Ann’s mom taking us to see a movie at the Ambassador in town, playing in their swimming pool, and staying up late doing each other’s hair.”

  “Do you still miss her?” he asked, faces still close.

  She bit her lip, tried to compose an answer. “Yes. No. Sometimes.” She let out a sigh. “The first years were hard—I was at an age when I really needed a mom. But after I moved away, life felt more normal—it was sort of like Mom and Dad were just somewhere I wasn’t.”

  He cast a small, sympathetic sort of smile. “I’m not sure you really answered my question, pussycat. Do you still miss her? All these years later?”

  She cast a similar smile in return. “Yes,” she said again. “No,” she added. “Sometimes.” Then she reached up to touch the stubble on his cheek. “You’re afraid you’ll miss Wayne.”

  He didn’t deny it, just looked kind of sad. “It’s strange, ’cause he hasn’t been around, you know? But I’ll just miss knowing he’s somewhere. He’s the only family I have.”

  “How did your mom and dad die?”

  “Heart attacks,” he said. “Both of them. A few years apart. They were only in their fifties, but they were both heavy smokers.”

  “Sorry,” she said.

  Yet Mick shook his head. “They weren’t good parents. They treated us like…things that were in the way, things that cost them money. He drank a lot, and I think now that she was probably bi-polar or schizophrenic or something. I don’t miss them. I only…miss what they could have been sometimes, miss what I wished they were.”

  Jenny kissed his mouth softly, leaned her forehead against his. “Why didn’t you sell the land when you left?” She’d sort of wondered that ever since the night she’d found him there.

  “Tried,” he said. “It was on the market for about a year. I thought maybe a developer would buy it, put some houses around that side of the lake. But turns out the only thing my parents left me was land too steep and rocky and hard-to-get-to for anyone to want to live on it,” he concluded with a cynical laugh.

  “I’m sorry, Mick.”

  “For what?”

  “I just…wish you’d had a happier life.” She’d always felt sorry for herself for losing her mother so young, but she couldn’t have imagined then what kind of life those two boys across the lake were enduring.

  “Let’s not talk anymore, pussycat,” Mick said quietly. “Just kiss me.”

  An hour later, they’d made love again and Mick had gone, and Jenny stood naked, looking out the front window, able to make out the dark shadow of a rowboat moving slowly away from her across the lake. She felt like her heart was leaving with him.

  But this isn’t love, I don’t love him. I can’t. I just can’t. Despite what she’d told Sue Ann at the fireworks, she’d decided she was wrong, that it couldn’t be true. She’d just been overly emotional that night, after everything that had happened.

  Why can’t you love him? It was almost as if the question had come from somewhere other than her mind.

  And she raised her gaze from the lake to the star-sprinkled sky above and wondered if she was under so much pressure here that she really was starting to lose it, because she could have sworn she’d just heard her mother’s voice.

  And that was crazy, but given how strange things suddenly felt between her and her dad, she found herself trying to imagine what her mother would think of her now—her actions, her feelings, her secret-keeping. She remembered so clearly those words her mother had imparted during that last big talk: Be strong when I’m gone, and be brave enough to do what makes you happy, even when it’s hard.

  But loving Mick Brody wouldn’t make her happy.

  He was so different than her, than anything she’d known. And even if thinking about Mick had done a lot to clear Terrence from her mind, Terrence had been her first love, her first sex, her husband, for heaven’s sake. Distractions were nice, but it took awhile to get over that kind of loss, and didn’t she need to give herself the time and space to do that?

  And Mick would leave soon, after all. He’d leave Destiny, and her life.

  And maybe the truth was that knowing Mick was temporary was…well, part of what had made it easier for Jenny to embrace the affair. Because she’d lost so much in her life, much of it just lately.

  She’d lost her mother, she’d lost her dad’s faith in her, she’d lost her marriage and her job and the life she’d built. Heck, after recent discussions, she wasn’t even sure she’d ever really gotten over losing Snowball as a teenager—and she’d never owned a pet since.

  So she’d lost a lot. And she might be woman-hear-her-roar, but that didn’t mean she wanted to keep losing things she cared about.

  And if she didn’t love Mick, she couldn’t lose him.

  So she didn’t love him. That simple. She just didn’t.

  * * *

  Captain, I do not believe you realize the gravity of your situation.

  Mr. Spock

  * * *

  Twelve

  Beads of sweat rolled down Mick’s chest, stomach, as he dipped the oars into the water, moving across the lake. The muscles in his arms were tired—he could feel the soreness with every stroke—but at least he’d finally finished digging.

  Which was good, he feared, for more reasons than one. Wayne was getting sicker, weaker. The pain patches weren’t lasting as long as they were supposed to anymore, and neither were the pills.

  So he’d started changing the patches sooner than the instructions said. Because he didn’t like seeing his brother in pain. Because he wasn’t sure what else to do. He didn’t exactly have a doctor or nurse handy to consult. He was winging it. And now he only hoped the medication lasted.

  He’d been forced, just last night, to ask Wayne, “What if we run out?” He hadn’t wanted to even think about that, but he’d counted the supply, and at the rate they were going, he’d be out of pain patches in a couple of weeks, out of oxycodone in three, tops.

  “I know a guy you could call,” Wayne had said, seeming not altogether coherent—but that’s how it was lately. So Wayne was saying he knew where Mick could buy some illegal drugs. Great. That’s just what he needed to do next to make his list of broken laws even longer.

  Just please don’t let us run out, please let them last.

  He wasn’t sure who he was even talking to, since he wasn’t exactly a God-fearing man. And hell, it was like wishing for his brother to die—a hard thought to swallow.

  Just quit thinking, dude, and row. He needed her tonight, bad. Too bad.

  And he didn’t care much anymore if it showed. He didn’t care much anymore if it seemed an awful damn lot like he was in too deep here. Being with Wayne, watching him deteriorate, was getting harder. He had to have something else to hold on to now or he’d lose his fucking mind. If he hadn’t met her, didn’t have her, he didn’t know how he’d be surviving this, what he’d do when he needed to get away for a little while. Go out into the woods and beat his fists on the ground like a caveman? Curl up in a ball like a little kid and cry? Thank God he didn’t have to find out. Thank God he had Jenny to take away the hurt for a little while.

  As he rowed the little boat up onto the shore next to her dock, his cock began to harden. He felt like one of Pavlov’s dogs—coming here, anticipating her, had him conditioned to get excited the closer he got to her house.

  He walked across the road in the d
ark, aware of lights on in other homes, but he’d noticed from the beginning that things were nearly as quiet on this side of the water at night as they were on his own—he’d yet to see a car pass during his comings and goings, or anyone even outside after dark. Even so, as he moved furtively up the driveway and around the back of the little yellow cottage, it still felt like he was doing something forbidden. The best damn forbidden thing he’d ever done.

  He could have long since started going to the front door, but he liked the back door for some reason. He liked all the little details of being Jenny Tolliver’s secret lover.

  When he stepped up on the stoop, the inside door was wide open and through the old screen door he saw her walking toward him in the light echoing from the living room. And—damn—she wore only a flimsy, see-through pink bra and some kind of stretchy, lacy underwear that looked like tiny little shorts. Her hair was stacked up on her head in a messy, sexy knot. “Did you see me coming?” he asked, voice low from the instant lust coursing through him.

  A pretty half smile lit her face. “No—it’s just that the A/C’s out, so I’m hot.”

  Stepping inside, he gave her a bold once-over, from the nipples he could see clearly through her bra down to her silky thighs. “You can say that again, pussycat,” he murmured.

  And she laughed, a soft, pretty trilling sound that moved all through him.

  He reacted instinctually, lifting one hand to the side of her breast, stroking his thumb across that prettily beaded peak as he leaned in to kiss her. The way she looked tonight wasn’t inspiring him to go slow. “Have you been walking around like this all day?” he couldn’t help asking with a soft grin. It seemed like a waste to have a woman looking this sexual without anyone enjoying it.

  She shook her head lightly, sighing from the kiss, the touch. “It just went out about an hour ago,” she said, her voice dreamy, sultry, as she peered up into his eyes. “I didn’t want to call my dad this late.”

  “Not that I want you to burn up, honey—but I’m kinda glad you didn’t. I’d have hated to show up and not be able to come in.”

  She bit her lip, her face flushing with pleasure as he used both thumbs to stroke both nipples now. “Me, too.”

  “I wouldn’t have been able to give you this,” he said, low, then stepped closer, pressing his erection to her.

  He kissed her again, this time lifting his hands to cup her face, and her palms rose to his chest. And then…some sort of weird practicality bit at him. He wasn’t the type to rescue damsels in distress, but something made him say, “I could look at the A/C if you want. I’m pretty good with that sort of thing—worked for a heating-and-cooling guy for about six months when I first moved away.

  “Thing is, though,” even more practical concerns forced him to add, “I can’t stay long tonight, so…afraid it’s either that…or this.” He backed her against a counter with his hips. “You choose.”

  She gave him a take-mercy-on-me smile. “So you either heat me up or cool me down?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She bit her lip, looking semi-orgasmic already, then said, “Who needs air-conditioning anyway? Kiss me.”

  Thank God. Sweet relief rushed through his veins as he sank his mouth back to hers and curled his hands over her round ass. She arched against him, letting him feel how bad she wanted it tonight, and that only made his zipper strain tighter, made him want to get to her faster. So instead of bothering with the bed or the couch, he lifted her up onto the kitchen counter and stepped between her parted legs.

  Damn, she looked good sweaty, and as he kissed her neck, her throat, her chest, he tasted the salt on her skin. When she yanked his T-shirt off and wrapped her legs around him, their flesh stuck together, and even with windows lifted wide at both sides of the galley-style kitchen, more than one kind of heat consumed him. “Wait a minute,” he said.

  “Huh?” she breathed, but he was already extracting himself from her shapely legs to turn around and open the doors on the fridge behind him, wide.

  Cool air blasted out, from both the refrigerator and the freezer, and Jenny and Mick both let out a long, “Ahhhh.” And while he was there, he reached in the ice bin and drew out a cube.

  Turning back to her, he held the ice cube to her throat, listened to her feminine gasp at the cold sensation, then watched her close her eyes in pleasure and relief. He moved it slowly down, over her chest, between her breasts—then he pushed it into one cup of that flimsy bra, moving it over and around her pointed nipple. She made a startled sound at first, but it eased into a low, sultry moan. Their gazes met, and she looked wild as she ran both hands back through his hair.

  Their eyes never parted as he withdrew the cube from the cup of her bra, then slipped it in the opposite side. She gasped again at the fresh sensation and he watched her nipple become harder and harder through the now-wet fabric. Her sexy sighs drove him to bend and suckle her other nipple through the damp bra, nibbling and biting, just a little—his need tonight less than gentle.

  The ice cube was melting rapidly, so Mick soon tossed the remains in the sink and reached back into the freezer for another, which he glided slowly down her bare stomach, both of them watching the wet trail it left on her skin.

  When he reached the v-shaped edge of her panties, just below her navel, he didn’t hesitate to keep going, to slide the ice into the stretchy fabric and straight down between her legs. Another pretty gasp escaped her, followed by a few slightly strangled-sounding moans that made him a little crazy. She was biting her lower lip, whimpering hotly, watching his hand move inside her underwear, and his whole body burned with raw lust from touching her around the ice cube, stroking his fingertips through the folds, even wetter than usual right now from the ice.

  She moved against him in jagged motions; she reached up overhead to grab on to the cabinets for balance. She looked more brazen and out-of-control than he’d ever seen her, and it only fueled him, turning his need more urgent.

  “Lift your ass,” he directed, voice low, but he had to help—because of her position on the counter—before he could pull down those sexy-as-sin panties and let them drop to the floor. Abandoning the ice again, he stepped between her legs and looked at her there and told her between hot, hungry breaths, “You’re so beautiful, baby.”

  Her breath came just as ragged as his while, together, they fought past his belt and zipper until his cock burst free—and he couldn’t wait another second before driving it into her moisture.

  But a low, soft moan left him as he entered, and once there, he had to close his eyes. And maybe it was the open freezer door behind him, but despite the heat, a chill tingled down his spine. “So tight,” he whispered to her. Warm. Safe. The best place he could imagine being in the whole damn world.

  He held her at the edge of the counter and plunged into her, deep, slow, hard. He gazed into her eyes and drowned in the heat there. He bent to tongue her nipple, still covered with that teasing, transparent fabric, then bit it lightly, making her sob, making her flesh contract around him. After which he yanked down the cups of the bra so he could really get to her, really feel the turgid flesh tighten further in his mouth.

  She arched into him, the agony of hot pleasure etched on her face—as he kissed both her breasts, as he gathered her body in his arms, as he thrust as deeply into her as he possibly could. And then the rhythm of her movements settled into something familiar—it was the way she moved when she was going to come.

  He nibbled her shoulders, held her close, let her grind, growled his own pleasure. He whispered, “I want you to come so hard, baby—so hard.”

  Her jaw went slack and her lips looked swollen, her cheeks still pink from heat or sex or a combination of both. Tiny moans echoed from her. Then, “Please, more, almost.”

  “I’ll give you all you want, pussycat,” he whispered in her ear. “Everything I’ve got.”

  And then her breath caught, once, twice, and her body jerked slightly, a low sob leaving her as she moved against
him, harder, harder—and he loved holding her while she came, loved feeling the orgasm vibrate through her body until it was all gone and they balanced there against the counter, embracing, bodies interlocked.

  He kissed her then, and picked her up, still inside her. He thought of laying her across the kitchen table, but it was too damn hot over there, so he finally reclined her across the linoleum floor in front of the fridge, the cool air still pouring out, making the night better.

  He knelt between her legs, pulling her torso up into his lap as she stretched naked but for the bra framing her breasts, and then he pounded into her. God, yes. That’s what he needed tonight, to give it to her hard, to spill himself inside her. She cried out at each deep stroke, and for a moment he felt like he was in a dream, because this couldn’t be little Jenny Tolliver, writhing on a kitchen floor, looking dirty and hot for him, taking his every rough thrust. But then she was saying his name—“Mick! Oh God, Mick!” her eyes shut, her arms stretched over her head in abandon, and sure enough, that was his sweet Jenny’s voice, and he used two fingertips, rubbing them above where he entered her, rubbing until her breath caught again, until she was sobbing and moaning and coming again, her body convulsing around him.

  “Aw…aw, God,” he groaned, because that was all it took—he was coming, too, bursting inside her, driving deep, using his hands to pull her body tighter to his, shutting his eyes, getting lost, lost in the release, the consuming pleasure. Jesus God, yes.

  And then they were quiet, still. He could hear crickets outside again, could feel the oppressive heat again battling the cool air at his back from the fridge. He could peer down on her again and see how amazing she looked lying there.