The Thing About Love

by Kim Karr

All of the anticipation of the night snapped like a band that had been stretched too wide, and it collided with the need that had so tightly spun up in me. And this kiss, this hot, damp, electric kiss was just a glimpse of what was to come.

  Frenzied.

  Filled with need.

  Bordering on desperate.

  As our tongues met and slid sensuously over one another, the need to join was suddenly all that mattered.

  The covers were piled in a heap all around us. Unwilling to break our kiss, I shoved them out of the way with one arm while the other supported her back as I laid her down.

  When Jules looked up at me with the most innocent eyes I had ever seen, I felt something crack inside me.

  A shield.

  My armor.

  My reserve.

  Who the hell knew?

  I grasped her perfect face between firm hands, my hold just as commanding as my mouth.

  She moaned, and I knew she liked it.

  Bewitched by her, I pressed the length of my body against hers, blanketing her as my forearms fell to the mattress to support my weight.

  I wanted to possess her.

  Take her.

  Fuck.

  I wanted all of her.

  With our mouths no longer moving roughly, but soft and slow, the mood had seemed to change.

  Jules threaded her hands in my hair and murmured something in between our desperate bid to bring the other closer. The beating of my heart was so loud in my ears that her words got lost in translation. “What did you say?” I panted.

  “Nothing,” she moaned, tugging hard on the wet strands of my hair.

  Growling, I pulled back slightly, but I still kept her close. Spreading my fingers out over the back of her head as my thumb rushed along her delicate jaw, I looked at her.

  Just took the moment to catch my breath.

  We were face-to-face, nose-to-nose, and it was impossible to differentiate between the harsh gasps of air I drew into my lungs from those she drew into her own.

  Unbidden, words scraped from my throat. “You don’t have to worry about anyone else. I only want you.”

  Those big, doe-like eyes darkened, and as they did, she hinted of her fears. “And I only want you, but that doesn’t change anything. You’re still leaving Atlanta.”

  My heart skidded, and the frenzy that had wracked my body stilled as I nodded my head in agreement. That was true. I was leaving. I had to. And I was a selfish bastard for even saying what I had. Saying anything more about us, about how I was feeling, would be ruthless.

  Trying to ease the sting of our reality, I ran my thumb along her collarbone and smiled softly at the girl who had captured my attention. “We have some time, and we should use it wisely.”

  Her eyes searched, possibly begged for more. And even though my chest squeezed in response, I couldn’t give her anything else.

  I just couldn’t.

  “Juliette,” I whispered before I brushed my lips across hers and repeated, “Let’s use our time wisely.”

  Her fingers gently fluttered across my face. “You’re right,” she whispered. I smoothed the back of my hand down her cheek and her mouth dropped open as she leaned into my touch.

  Gone was all the banter. The playfulness. And somehow what had emerged in the morning sunlight was deafening and blinding and way too much to handle.

  An odd feeling teased down my spine, quivered, but then it disappeared. Unsure as to what it was, I was ready to move past all this emotion.

  I shifted to my hands and knees. Bending my elbows, I dropped my shoulders down to capture her mouth and kiss her softly, slowly, sweetly.

  With my lips on hers, I closed my eyes and tried to block out the white noise in my head that was screaming danger. Proceed with caution. Roadblock ahead.

  But then Juliette cupped my face, lightly scratching her nails through the stubble coating my jaw, and her warm touch erased any bit of reluctance I should have had about moving forward.

  Lust spread through my veins as gentle hands roamed over my shoulders, down my back, to my sides. Her movements mimicked our kiss—unfrenzied, unhurried, and so unlike us. Or the us we had been only minutes before.

  I sucked in a ragged breath when she ran both of her hands down to my hips. Flames scorched my already heated skin. God, she set me on fire. Sweet, kind, sassy, funny, and the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

  “Jules, what are you doing to me?” It wasn’t meant to be a question. Then again it wasn’t meant to be spoken aloud.

  She nipped at my lip before she ran her fingers a little lower. “The same thing you’re doing to me.”

  I lowered my weight to my elbows and stared down at her. “You really are always a smartass, aren’t you?”

  She giggled lightly and shrugged, but everything about her was still soft. There was something so beautiful about her smile. It had me reeling. It sent me over the edge. And I kissed her again. It seemed I couldn’t stop kissing her. Soon, I took it a little further and pressed my bare chest against her breasts.

  My palms were busy wandering down her sides, and hers had been traveling lower down to my groin, but the whole time our faces were no more than a breath apart.

  This time she broke our kiss, searching for air, and taking mine.

  There was a bond between us that I didn’t want to acknowledge. She felt it, too. So, in the dim light I gazed down at her, not allowing myself to say anything else, and she stared up at me with her throat moving as she swallowed down whatever she wanted to say.

  Her shaky fingers reached out to caress my bottom lip before allowing her arms to fall in a relaxed motion behind her. “Jake, take me.”

  Without breaking eye contact, I went to my knees.

  Deep inside I knew all of this was fucking wrong. That ending things now would spare a lot of heartache. But with all the bad in my life, I just wanted a little good. And she was it.

  Tempting.

  Tasty.

  Delicious.

  She was licking her lips, her chest rising and falling in rapid measure, and her gaze intense. “Jake, it’s okay.”

  “I know,” I whispered. And I believed it was, or wanted to believe that, anyway.

  With her arms draped over her head in a way that her dirty blonde hair was fanned out, she bent her knees and planted her feet firmly on the mattress,

  It was a picture I knew I would remember forever.

  There was no doubt she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, but today something felt different.

  I didn’t like the feeling.

  Nudging her knees apart wider, I settled between her thighs and kissed her slowly. With hungry fingers and lips, I traced the slope of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips.

  She arched her back as if giving herself to me, and all the while my body screamed to hurry up and take her already. “Please,” she begged as she lifted her hips.

  With my arms caging her, I pushed inside her. “Ah, baby, you undo me.” My voice was little more than a ragged grunt.

  Her fingertips dug into the bunched muscles of my shoulders, and she quivered beneath me as she exhaled a shaky breath across my face. “I can feel you.”

  And fuck, how I could feel her, too. I pulled back before I thrust even deeper. In response, her legs trembled as she tightened them around my hips.

  My knees were shaking like it was my first time, and in a way it was. I’d never gone bare inside a woman before. Everything felt the same with her, just a thousand times more intense.

  She was so tight I could barely breathe as I pulled out and then thrust again. My elbows dug into the bed as my hands fisted in her hair. “Juliette.”

  A smile trembled at her mouth. “Jake.”

  My thighs shook as I moved above her slow and steady. The need to fuck completely gone and replaced by this, whatever this was. “Fuck, Jules, you feel so good.”

  In response, she rocked into me again and again as her fingers cut into my skin with the need
to hold on.

  Our bodies burned as we moved in an erotic, tantalizing, rhythm.

  Up.

  Down.

  In.

  Out.

  Gasping my name, her gaze was solidly fixed on me. “I’m going to come, Jake. Are you close?”

  “Yes, I’m right there with you, baby,” I groaned and pushed inside her one last time, holding myself at the deepest possible point.

  As pleasure knotted at the base of my spine and spread down the back of my thighs, I could feel the start of her orgasm. It rippled along the length of my cock and then squeezed me so tight that if I hadn’t already been on the brink, I would have been then.

  It was like being turned inside out. The rush nothing I’d ever experienced before as I throbbed and ecstasy hit. Spasms jerked through my body, and every single one of my nerves felt electrified.

  With my face buried in the crook of her neck, I cried out her name. As she cried out mine, I shuddered from head to toe.

  Her arms circled my shoulders, and her hands rubbed up and down my back, her nails biting into my flesh there as well.

  They would be scars that would always remind me of her.

  Still inside her, I lowered my body on top of hers and gasped for air. She took my breath away, in so many ways.

  This had been birthed from a silly conversation about sex. A game of would you or won’t you. I’d simply asked, “Would you ever consider having sex without a condom?”

  Her response had been as sassy as ever. “Since I don’t wear condoms, I guess I would.”

  And I took the lead from there. Discussing the pros and cons of having sex without protection and the precautions that needed to be taken first.

  Who knew the result would be anything but a game.

  That it would be so fucking real, it hurt.

  Best Of Both Worlds

  JULES

  SUMMERS IN THE SOUTH WERE always a bitch.

  It meant dealing with blaring heat and pouring rain. Cursing the fact that I’d chosen to run a few errands at lunch without taking my umbrella along, I shook off what I could of the remaining drops of water and glanced at myself in the office window.

  My hair hung sodden against my forehead and cheeks. My clothes clung damp and heavy and were now chilled in the frigid air conditioning Finn had taken control of.

  Closing my door, I stripped off my carefully selected dress and grabbed the jeans and tank I’d thrown in the back of my car last week when I’d spent the night at Jake’s midtown apartment.

  After pulling my hair back into a messy bun, I wiped under my eyes and reapplied my mascara.

  Ouch!

  I’d stabbed myself in the eyeball, and in the process, my contact came tumbling out. Crap. On my hand and knees, I searched for it, but to no avail.

  Scrunching the other one out, I tossed it the trash and opened my desk drawer, where I kept a spare pair of glasses.

  They were cute enough. Made me look smart instead of geeky, but still, I hated wearing my glasses.

  Glaring at my reflection this time, I sighed. I looked . . . unprofessional. Yes. That was the right word. Unprofessional. Unprofessional when I should be looking like one top dog wedding planner.

  It was ironic that I looked the way I did since the cliché money is no object was about to take on new meaning with this wedding. The two million dollar budget meant an astonishing display of opulence had yet to be planned. And the riveting guest list would have every news outlet in town itching to not only catch a snap of the bride and groom but the venue as well.

  Slipping my kitten heels back on, I opened the closet door in the corner that kept props for display. In there I found one of my uncle’s suit coats hanging on a hook. I put it on and rolled up the sleeves.

  Not bad.

  Then I opened a few of the boxes and found a strand of pearls and some pieces of lace.

  Perfect.

  I wrapped the pearls around my neck and slid the lace in the suit pocket.

  So I was rocking the Madonna look.

  It was coming back in style. I’d read about it while checking out at the supermarket a few weeks ago.

  With my outfit crisis put at ease, I had a lot of important choices ahead of me to make. And Jake would be here soon to start the selection process.

  The thought of spending time with him working on the wedding details during the daylight hours of the next few days, and then going out to dinner and maybe even the movies at night had me positively giddy.

  My breath hiccupped as I reached for the list of things we had to accomplish in the next three hours. Jake, of course, had needed to get some sleep after working all night, and I had to come to work. It was the whole passing in the night routine that had become our norm. But it was about to change. And even as I looked at the perfect dress I had selected in a heap on the floor, I was still smiling.

  Shrugging it off, I sat down and scattered the photos I had Finn print off the Internet over the table. They were from the garden party scene of The Great Gatsby and were my inspiration for Rory and Remy’s wedding.

  Closing my eyes, I could practically see it.

  The explosion of lavish hothouse orchids, stems of cymbidium, blankets of dendrobium. There would be a mix of cut blossoms, ferns, and potted orchids on the tables.

  All in shades of white.

  This would create a cream and soft green color palette. I could add crystals for sparkle and silver for shine. A dash of blush for the whimsy romantic effect. The cake. The cake would be blush in color. In the end, the garden would become a fairytale wonderland perfect for wooing true love.

  It was going to be amazing.

  There was a knock on the door, and I practically leaped out of my seat. “Come in,” I called in excitement.

  Jake was here.

  As the door to the office opened, giddy nerves danced down my spine, and then . . . Jaxson walked in.

  My smile remained, although not as brightly, and I took my seat again. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy to see him. He just wasn’t the man I had been expecting.

  Jaxson, dark hair tousled from the wind and rain, raincoat open over faded jeans, and as handsome as ever, walked into my office.

  His tranquil green eyes were downcast, and he was glancing at a handful of his own photos. “Good afternoon, beautiful. Lose a contact again?”

  Jaxson oozed charm. It was in his nature. He was a natural born flirt, even with his ex-fiancé. “Hi handsome, this is a surprise, and as a matter of fact, I did.”

  He kissed me on the cheek, and his casual smile warmed me like sunlight. “Yeah, well, that’s nothing new. I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important, but I wanted to get your opinion on these.” He waggled the eight by ten glossy photos in his hands

  Embarrassed, I pushed the pile of inkjet-printed photos in front of me aside in a rush. “Sure. What are you looking at?”

  He looked me up and down, and then made an inquisitive face when he saw my wet dress on the floor. “Don’t ask,” I told him. He gave me a nod.

  He knew me too well.

  Perching himself on the edge of the table, he looked at me with the most serious expression I think I had ever seen him wear, and then he scratched his head. “Remember a few months back when I sent you that text with the link about Sports Illustrated restructuring?”

  I relaxed back in my chair. “I have a vague recollection of it.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t as eye-opening as the one you sent me.”

  I shoved him. “Jaxson, you promised to never bring that up again.”

  His smirk was wicked. “Yes, I did. What was I thinking at the time? It’s way too good not to have in my pocket.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Get to the point before I kick you out.”

  “Right. Right. The point. That article discussed the Digital Department’s reorganization. Now the print department is doing the same. They cut staff photographers by almost thirty percent and removed the chief photographer
from his role. This created a huge hole for SI, and they did pictures. Good pictures. So they are holding a photo contest for professional photographers, and I’m entering it. The winner gets the chief photography position for a three-month trial.”

  I clamped my hand over my mouth. “Are you serious?”

  This time his smile was genuine. “I sure am.”

  “What about your business?”

  “Well, there is a sick amount of photographers entering so who knows if I’ll win.”

  “You will,” I assured him. “You’re so talented.”

  He shrugged. “Says the girl who thinks inkjet-printed photos are acceptable to look at.”

  I scrunched my nose. “You caught me, again.”

  He shook his head. “Oh yeah, like that was getting past me. Anyway, putting your bad habits aside, if I don’t win, I think it’s time for a change.”

  I couldn’t stop my frown.

  “But, Jules,” he beamed, “if I do win this gig, it could open a shit ton of doors for me either at SI in one of their regular segments or at some other magazine in the Time family.”

  I pointed to the stack of photos in his hand. “Are those the ones you’re using to enter the contest?”

  He bit his lip in reluctance. “I can only submit one, but these are the ones I have to choose from.”

  Excitement of a different kind than I was used to from the past few days brought a smile to my face. “Let me see,” I said anxiously.

  Leaning toward me, he carefully set the pictures down on the table one at a time. When he did, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The photo shoot he had done at The Bride Box wasn’t of brides wearing wedding dresses. It was of brides with no dresses on! They were in veils, or sexy lingerie, or wearing jewelry and nothing more. Each pictured a soccer ball or a football or a baseball somewhere in the photo, but the focus was on them sitting on the counter, or in a chair, or standing near the sink eating cake.

  I glanced up at him. At the guy that had been such a huge part of my life for so long. How had I never seen his sensuality? It was written all over these pictures. In the way he posed the models. The angle of the picture. The faces the women were making, for him. “Montgomery mentioned you had done a shoot in the showroom, but conveniently left out the part about the brides being naked.”