by Caitlyn Blue
“You are delicious,” he murmurs. “So wet and sweet.”
White-hot with pleasure, encouraging sounds gather in my throat. I notice I’m holding my breath as I start to crest the wave. And then I’m letting go a moan of despair as he eases the pressure.
“No,” I protest, gripping his hair, trying to convey my need. “More.”
“Patience.”
Patience? Is he kidding?
“You taste so good. I want to take my time.” The tip of his tongue circles my clit, lapping me up. The feeling is incredible but my body is screaming for more of the heavenly pleasure washing over me. “Easy now.”
I focus on his deep voice, the sounds of his delight as he licks and sucks, consuming me. And then there’s the mind-blowing feel of his finger gliding inside me. A deep thrumming washes through me as he pulls out and then inserts two, fucking me with slow strokes. And then his mouth is back on me. The pressure against my clit is perfect as is the clever flick and slide of his tongue. I’d like to say that I start to come seconds later, but he brings me nearly to orgasm several times before he pushes me over the edge.
My awareness flips inside out and then goes dark as I’m shaken by a climax of epic proportions. His name is on my lips and he is the only thing in my universe as my body quakes and shudders and is finally calm.
I return to myself as he’s pulling a soft throw over the both of us. He gathers me in his arms, twining our legs. His steady breath puffs against my temple. He wasn’t kidding about how hard I would come and in the aftermath I’m struggling for what words to say.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead.
He’s thanking me? “For what?”
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”
I burrow my nose in his neck and breathe in the scent of his cologne mingling with the musky odor of my arousal. My inner muscles contract again with remembered pleasure and the pressure between my thighs begins to build once more.
“Are we going to…?” I can barely move. It’s so incredibly wonderful to be held by him. Just a few seconds more and I’ll be ready to go again.
“Not tonight.”
I lift my head and gaze into his eyes. “That’s not fair. You didn’t get to come.”
“I told you, I’m willing to take my time with you.” He kisses my nose and tightens his grip on me. “Tonight, you in my arms like this, is everything I could want or need.”
16
Emma
It’s Thursday morning and Mom’s day off. I’m at the register, tagging some cool costume jewelry from the fifties and daydreaming about Zach. It’s been six days since that night in his condo when he rocked my world. True to his word and despite his raging hard-on, he didn’t make any further moves on me and I’m not sure whether to feel respected or undesired.
The tinkle of the front doorbell warns me that Pewter and I have a customer. I look up and spy Julie heading my way. Pewter gets up from his cat bed and stretches luxuriously, preparing to do his thing and greet her.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” I ask.
“I had a dental appointment and thought I’d swing by to talk to Mom before heading back to the office.”
“She’s not here.”
“Oh, that’s right. It’s Thursday.” Her gaze roams around the store, but I don’t sense there’s anything in particular she’s looking for.
“So what’s up?”
“Are you happy doing this?”
Well, that’s incredibly random. “It’s all I thought about doing since I was a kid,” I say. “Why?”
I’m assuming this is about her, not me. As much as I love my sister, when it comes to topics of conversation, she’s way more likely to pick something that affects her.
“I was just wondering if you’d ever thought about doing something else.”
“Not really.”
I love antiques. Each item has a history. I can pick up a delicate china cup and picture a woman from the 1940s sipping tea with her friends. She’s wearing a fitted suit with a cinched waist. A darling little hat is perched on her head and she’s carrying white gloves.
“But what if you did think about doing something else. What would it be?”
“I don’t know.” Only I do know. I’d created a business plan for a store specializing in antique furniture and architectural pieces repurposed to infuse a homey touch into homes with modern styling, like renovated warehouses turned into condos. I’d shared my vision of Vintage Vignette with Zach. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“I heard at the dentist’s office that Tony Holmes sold the building and the new owner is going to tear it down and build condos with high-end retail on the ground floor.”
The news stuns me for several seconds. “But we’ve been here for fifty years.” Where would we go?
Dread gathers in my chest as I glance around. We won’t be able to pay the rent the new owner will want and the idea of packing up the store is more than a little daunting. We have five thousand square feet of floor space and every inch is utilized.
“That why I asked if you wanted to do anything else,” Julie says, looking concerned. “I know the store isn’t doing all that great.”
“Who told you that?”
“Dad has mentioned it several times. He’s been trying to convince Mom to close ever since Great Aunt Lucy died.”
Why haven’t I heard any of this? Maybe sales have been lagging lately, but as soon as my rooms downstairs are complete, we should start to see our profits rise. We just need a little more time to turn things around. But it doesn’t look like we’re going to get the chance.
It would be one thing if we ran it into the ground through mismanagement. Having the building sold out from under us is something we couldn’t predict.
“I wonder if Mom knows about the sale.”
“Probably not. From what I overheard, this is all a pretty recent development.”
“We’ll just find someplace else to go.” My mind begins to race. We could downsize into a smaller store with a less expensive lease.
“The problem is, that costs money and I’m not sure if Dad is willing to spend any more on a losing proposition.”
I grind my teeth at her assumption that the store loses money. While we’re not rolling in cash, both Mom and I take a salary and we always breakeven, sometimes a little more. Resentment builds as I consider the real drain on our parents’ finances. The twenty-five thousand dollars they’re spending on Julie’s wedding. That’s not exactly an investment in something tangible like the store. It’s nothing more than a huge party. A huge, expensive party. And at the end of the day, she’ll be married whether our parents spend the money or not.
Guilt pokes at me as soon as the thought enters my head. It’s always been like this between Julie and me. As firstborn, she gets everything first or new. Clothes, car, toys. Because I am younger, I had the smaller bedroom. Julie started dance lessons when she was four. It turns out she was pretty good, and two years later when it was my turn, it was pretty obvious that spending money on classes for me was a waste, so I played soccer instead.
Julie went to a four-year college that my parents paid for. I went to a technical college for a two-year degree because it was cheaper and I didn’t need a bachelor’s degree to work in the antique store.
I’m not saying my parents play favorites. Julie is always better about asking for things she wants and because of that, she gets them. In fact, I’m going to guess Zach cheating on her is probably one of the rare times she didn’t get what she wanted.
“But we could figure out a way to make it work,” I say. “I know we could.”
“Sure. But just in case you can’t, maybe you want to think about what you’re going to do.”
“Do.” I roll the word around in my mouth, not liking the taste. “I have no idea. The store is all I’ve ever seen myself doing.”
I had planned on running the antique store until it was time to pass it al
ong to my son or daughter. Never in a million years had I considered selling or closing the business.
“There are tons of jobs you could take,” Julie says, but her overly bright tone sounds flat. “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.” She glances at her watch. “I’d better be getting back to the office. Let me know what happens when you tell Mom.”
Tell her what? That the store that’s been in her family for half a century is going to have to close? That’s not the sort of news she’s going to take well.
“I’ll call you later,” I tell her, barely noticing when she leaves.
I pull out my phone, but my finger hovers over the list of favorites in my contacts. I know I need to call Mom. She and I can commiserate together. Instead, for reasons I don’t question, I find myself scrolling to the bottom of the alphabet before hitting dial.
17
Zach
When my cell lights up with Emma’s number, I’m near the end of a Skype session with a new client. As soon as I can, I wrap things up and then call my voicemail. I catch myself smiling as her message starts, but almost immediately concern darkens my delight at hearing from her. She sounds really bummed. Disconnecting from voicemail, I call her back.
“You sound upset,” I say. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s probably nothing.”
“From the tone of your voice, I’d say it’s something.”
“Julie just left. She stopped by the store to tell me the building got sold.”
“That’s not so bad. Surely the building has changed hands several times in the fifty years your store has been there.”
“Maybe once or twice. I’m pretty sure the same family has owned the property since the early 1990s. But the thing is, Julie said the new owner is going to tear down the building and put up condos with high-end retail on the first floor.”
“So you’ll have to move. That’s not so bad, right?”
“It’ll cost a lot to start over somewhere else and my dad has been talking early retirement. He wants to travel with my mom, but she has the store. He’s not going to be willing to shell out the money for us to move.” She pauses a heartbeat before adding, “Especially with the expense from Julie’s wedding hitting at the same time.”
“I see your point.” I want to say the right thing, but words aren’t enough in a situation like this. “What does your mom say?”
“I haven’t spoken to her yet. I’m so upset and needed someone to talk to.”
And she called me. Despite her dire circumstances, I’m on cloud nine.
“I’m here for you,” I say, and I mean it. “I don’t have anything going this afternoon.” My brain races through my calendar, rearranging meetings and pushing the rest of my work off until tomorrow. “Want me to come up there?”
“Could you?” She sounds small and lost.
“Give me an hour to finish up some stuff and I’ll be there.”
It takes me less than that. The trip up to Cedar Park feels twice as long as usual with the dejection in Emma’s voice ringing in my ears. And as soon as her arms wrap around my midsection in a fierce grip, I’m glad I came.
“Have you talked to your mom?” I ask, kissing the top of her head, inhaling her familiar scent of lavender and vanilla.
“I called her after I spoke to you. She’s as upset as I am. I’m heading over to my parents’ house for dinner after I lock up. We’re going to talk about the situation.” She leans back and gazes up at me hopefully. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing…” She bites her lip and gives me a tentative smile.
I realize where Emma is concerned I’m up for just about anything. “Willing to what?”
“Help me brainstorm some ideas this afternoon and then come with me to dinner. It would help to have someone with your expertise in my corner when I talk to my dad. He accepts that I know antiques and the store’s finances, but I think he’ll latch on to our flat sales as an excuse to let the store close instead of finding a new location.”
“Sure. Let’s start with brainstorming some ideas for how we can save the store.”
As we start to look at the financials, I can see why they’re going to have trouble convincing her dad to invest. They do pretty well, paying both Emma and her mother a decent salary, but their rent is not at market levels for the area. Moving to a comparable retail space would be more expensive. There’s no way they are going to be able to afford a space as large as this one in such a prime location. That means less inventory. But less inventory means fewer sales.
“I’m going to guess this store hasn’t changed much in the last several decades,” I say, glancing around, still unable to see past the narrow aisles and crowded shelves to the treasure Emma and her mother love.
“Not really,” Emma agrees.
“You have an overwhelming amount of stuff.”
“Too much. It’s worse since my great aunt died. Her garage was full of stuff, and a lot of it was really great. We had to condense everything to make all of it fit. It’s made sections of the store hard to shop. In some ways, having to move is a good thing. It’ll force us to go through everything.”
“Here are a couple sheets of paper. Brainstorm a list of what you can do with the excess inventory if your dad can’t get on board with the shop. Also, create a list of your bestsellers so we can figure out a more profitable solution for the store.”
While she makes her lists, I dig deeper into the shop’s financials. “How’s it going?” I ask.
She’s filled both sides of one sheet with the bestsellers and is busy completing the second side of the second sheet with her favorite inventory.
“I’ve never really analyzed the shop this way before. It’s kind of eye-opening.” She puts down the pen and flexes her fingers a couple times as if ridding herself of a cramp. “Is this the sort of thing you do in your business?”
“Sort of. I help people look for opportunities, narrow down the best ones, and then figure out a way to make money off of them.”
“I’m not feeling quite so panicky now.”
“Good, then the exercise is working.” I glance at her list of ideas for dispersing the inventory, seeing everything from selling the whole thing to another storeowner to attending flea markets to spreading select pieces at local antique malls. “You have lots of great ideas here.” I gather a breath and let it out. “Have you considered opening Vintage Vignette?”
She shakes her head. “That was a dream. A project for my class in writing a business plan. It’s not realistic.”
“What if you started a store based on what you’ve been developing downstairs. It’s obviously where your heart is. Why not give it a try?”
“Because I can’t afford to.”
“Not even if you sold all the inventory here?”
Her expression shows how little hope she feels. “That’s not going to happen, and my dad isn’t going to go for helping me fund a new store. Besides, there’s Julie’s—”
“Wedding.” It’s always been obvious to me that Martin Callahan favors Julie over Emma and I can’t stand the inequity. “But, if you could figure out a way to afford it?”
She turns the pen over and over in her fingers. “I’m scared to even wish for it.”
“Because you just might get it?” I ask with a mocking grin.
“Because I won’t get it.” Her answering smile is a wicked one. “That certainly turned out to be the case with you.”
“You wished for me?” I’m shocked and utterly charmed.
“Before you started dating my sister.”
I get the sense that Julie is still an obstacle between us, but I’m not sure whether it’s because of the cheating thing or because Emma is afraid how her sister will react to us seeing each other.
“What about this time around?”
“I don’t wish anymore. That way I don’t get disappointed.”
And that’s the moment I promise to do whatever I can to make her happy.
18
Emma
/> After spending a couple hours with Zach sorting through the various options for the store, I’m feeling much more confident about the future as Zach follows me to my parents’ house. He’s proving to be a surprising ally in this venture. When I called to tell him about the building being sold, I never expected him to drop what he was doing and drive all the way up here to help. Almost like something a boyfriend would do.
Stop that.
I can’t go down that path. We’re just having fun. The second I start thinking there’s something happening between us, my expectations will rise and he’ll do something that will disappoint me. Not that this presumption is any fairer. Better to just not think about it at all. Or if I do have to label what’s going on between us, I can just put it down to friends with benefits.
Fantastic benefits. Wonderful, stupendous, mind-blowing benefits. Okay, so we haven’t yet slept together, but I know we’re going to. Just like I’m confident he’s great in bed. But it’s more than that. What’s great about being with Zach is that he not only has great technique, but we seem to have the sort of chemistry that makes people fall in love.
Don’t think that way.
I’m not going to fall in love. Zach isn’t going to fall in love. We’re just going to have fun for as long as it lasts. Which will probably be until the wedding is over because once our duties as maid of honor and best man are finished, we probably won’t see much of each other. We’ll just go back to being two people who lead very separate lives and have great memories of our time together.
We meet on the sidewalk. He reaches out and takes my hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s gonna be okay,” he says.
As I gaze into his eyes, my heart gives a strange little flip. Before I know what I’m doing, my free hand cups the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
All my problems fade away as I lose myself in the press and release of Zach’s lips against mine. These aren’t the hot kisses we’ve shared before, but the romantic and sweet kind that make my chest ache. His fingers drift over my face, leaving tingles in their wake. My throat tightens as I ease away and kiss his cheek. I need a moment to recover my wits.
