by Kim Amos
Burk placed his mouth on hers and tried to slow down. He tugged on her lips with his teeth, pulling gently, and she sighed against him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered his name. “Burk.”
Tenderness flooded him. He squeezed his eyes against it, trying to shut it out. This wasn’t what he’d signed up for. He hadn’t anticipated feeling so goddamn much with her. Not meeting her eyes, he spread her legs wider and settled between them. Her neck arched as the tip of his penis pressed against her warm, wet entrance.
Oh, God. He wanted this. He wanted to spend hours here, coaxing out passion in waves that would overtake them both.
Except that her vulnerability, her misplaced bashfulness—it was unraveling him. He didn’t like it. Burk Olmstead did not get unraveled.
So instead he plunged inside her depths, and she cried out when his thickness filled her up so suddenly. She gasped, her face flushing with equal parts pain and pleasure.
Burk could only grunt at the softness all around him. She was so perfect, and he desperately wanted to savor the moment, the sensation of being inside her, their bodies joined once again after all this time. It was once so sweet and innocent—and this time it could be sweet and sensual, if he’d let it.
Willa placed the palms of her hands against his skin. The gentleness was too much. He wouldn’t look at her. He was racing against his own heartbeat, trying to finish what they’d started so he didn’t have to think about her anymore. Specifically, how much he found himself caring for her.
He tensed, wishing all this feeling for Willa would go away. That all this raw emotion would just vanish. He hadn’t signed up for this.
“Burk,” Willa breathed. At the sound of her voice, he found himself relaxing, melting into her in spite of all his misgivings. His whole body shuddered at her impossible tightness, the perfect wetness between her legs. It reminded him of their first time together, and he wondered how long it had been since she’d been with someone.
He ground his teeth and closed his eyes, telling himself he didn’t care about her past. Who she’d been, who she was. He wanted her right here, right now. And that would be it.
Wouldn’t it?
He grasped her buttocks and pulled her toward him, as deep as he could go. She cried out, her voice reverberating through him. Desperate to fill her, to bring her to climax, he pulsed against her flesh. Willa’s fingers ground into his skin, and he savored the bite of it. He focused on the pain to keep from spilling himself too early. Better to think about that than the fact that she’d been back for weeks now, and he’d never even asked her what life in New York had been like. He’d never even asked what happened.
The brass headboard slammed against the wall with the sound of a repeating gunshot. Underneath him, Willa was a nymph, shifting and coaxing, giving and getting. He wanted to be unmoved, but Burk was undone at the breathtaking sight of her tumbling hair and her flushed skin. She was radiant with pleasure, and he could feel the same sensation wracking his own body. Christ, if being together as teenagers had been good, this was the edge of heaven itself.
And then Willa was crying out his name on her incredible lips once more. The sound of it constricted his heart so much that he put his lips over hers. She pulled him closer still, whimpering as she climaxed. Locked together, the power of her orgasm overtook them both. “Willa,” he whispered involuntarily. She clutched him harder as her center massaged and contracted all around him.
He kissed her again, just as a molten-hot burst of pleasure seared his nerves. She writhed underneath him, pulling every ounce of sensation from his body. Bold colors exploded behind his eyelids. For a few moments, he lost himself inside her.
And then he wondered what in the world he was doing.
Pulling back, he took in Willa’s flushed face, her sated eyes, her lips twisted into just the tiniest smile.
“My God, I needed that,” she purred.
Burk tore his gaze away, fearful she’d glimpse the river of emotion coursing through him. Tenderness. Affection. Compassion.
Except that wouldn’t do. Burk wasn’t about to let himself feel anything for Willa. At least nothing beyond the acknowledgment that she’d given him a good lay.
Rolling off her, he tried to convince himself everything was fine. They’d had sex. They’d put something between them besides the past—and that was what Willa had wanted. He’d accepted her offer and that was that.
“Thanks,” he said, working to keep his voice flat and even.
The bed shifted as he sat up and began pulling his clothes on wordlessly. The late-morning shadows deepened, darkening both the room and his mood further.
“What, you’re leaving? Right now?”
Burk could hear the subtext of the query: Don’t you want to stay and do that again?
The temptation was nearly unbearable. Burk stood. He couldn’t look at Willa. He knew if he did, his heart would be shredded by the vulnerability and beauty he’d see there. He cleared his throat, telling himself it was time to go. Their bargain was fulfilled. She’d wanted it. And she got it.
He should be patting himself on the back, really.
“See you,” he grunted, striding toward the door.
There was only silence as he pulled it shut with a click.
* * *
Willa sat on the cold bedspread, half dressed and trembling with hurt and anger. Burk had taken her with every ounce of passion she’d hoped for, giving her the most glorious release she’d had in years—and then he’d sprinted away.
Not to put too fine a point on it: He’d fucked her and left.
Willa smoothed her tousled hair, too shocked even to throw a fit. Part of her understood that was the deal: She and Burk would have sex without strings attached. Fine. But she’d never anticipated that being with him again would be so…abrupt. Glorious and spine tingling to be sure. But did he have to race out the door like he couldn’t wait to get away from her?
Cripes. What a dick.
Willa shook her head. What a dick indeed. His penis had been thick and hard and so much bigger than she’d ever remembered. It was exquisite, and had filled her up so completely. She’d felt fused to him when he was inside her, if that was possible. For a moment, she’d found herself thinking that this was more than just a physical release, that they were genuinely connecting to each other. But apparently she’d been deluded to think he was doing much except getting laid and walking away.
She groaned in frustration, rolling off the bed. She pulled on the rest of her clothes and then sat back down for a moment. Her skin still felt tingly and her muscles were relaxed in a way they hadn’t been for months. Maybe years, if she was being honest with herself.
At least she had an afterglow, even if Burk hadn’t stuck around to enjoy it with her.
She took a deep breath, letting herself savor the moment. But savor wasn’t what happened. Instead, her body reheated with something like hurt. It clawed at her insides and turned her face red. Over and over she asked herself why Burk hadn’t stayed. Was it the weight gain? Had she done something wrong? Worst of all, what if she’d enjoyed it but he hadn’t?
His corded muscles and the way he’d whispered her name—well, it spoke to enjoyment. But what did she know? It wasn’t like her recent experiences with Lance were a good playbook to work from.
It all led to one infuriating conclusion: She had wanted Burk to stay, she had wanted him to want more, and when he didn’t—well, it stung.
The sharp hurt had her reeling. It shouldn’t have mattered really. Willa almost couldn’t understand it. They both got what they wanted. They were both satisfied, at least physically. But somewhere, deep down, she’d clearly wanted more.
Willa squeezed her eyes shut, knowing there was nothing she could do about it. So instead, she allowed herself a few more minutes wallowing on the edge of the bed, then told herself it was time for whatever was next.
Even if she wasn’t sure what that was.
Burk would probably just go ba
ck to work, no doubt accepting the jeers and high-fives of his crew, who had surely heard the headboard slamming against the wall. While Willa…what? Waited up here until they went home?
No, she thought, sitting up straighter, that wouldn’t do. Why should Burk get to go back down to his crew like a hero, while she waited in her room like some seventeenth-century maiden?
Screw that. She stood and tugged on the faded bedspread, ignoring the faint smell of Burk that lingered there. She didn’t even have the chance to get his scent on her sheets, she realized. There’d been no time to dive under the covers and revel in each other.
Disappointment wanted to rear its head again, but Willa pushed it aside. Instead she made her way to the bathroom to shower and think about her next steps. Underneath the spray of lukewarm water, she decided she’d head to the Rolling Pin and grab a cruller. Then she’d swing by the bank, get her loan, and meet Audrey down at the track in time for practice. Coaching the girls today, she could work off any residual frustration. It was wrong, she knew, to want Burk for more than he’d given her. Oh, but she felt like she could go eight—ten! a hundred!—more rounds with him and still not be satisfied. She watched the water drip down her body, wondering if she’d opened the door to a deluge of desire she had no idea how to control.
* * *
The bank had the same smell Willa could remember as a child: a mix of leather, paper, and polished wood. It was a scent that would cling to her dad’s clothing when he came home at night. Willa’s heart ached with missing him as she sat in one of the wing-backed chairs near the entrance, waiting to see a loan officer.
Beyond the velvet ropes, a woman with long coppery hair talked with the teller on duty. A few employees walked here and there, their heels muted on the plush carpets covering the hardwood floors. The sleepy space was a far cry from the marble and high ceilings of Willa’s New York bank, which always seemed to be crowded with people. Their voices, cell phone ringtones, and loud transactions were forever echoing off the cold, stony floor, reverberating in sharp notes. Her bank had been one of the few things about New York that Willa had disliked. She much preferred the homey, comfortable feeling of the White Pine Bank and Trust.
“Willa Masterson?” a woman with stylish horn-rimmed glasses and bright red lips asked her. Willa nodded and stood.
“Right this way,” the woman said, leading her down a short hallway to an office with a huge oak desk and a south-facing window. She gestured for Willa to have a seat, then placed herself at the computer behind her steamship of a desk.
“My dad’s office was at the far end of this hallway,” Willa said, straightening the pearls around her neck. “Harold Masterson? He was president here for a long time.”
The woman smiled. “Of course. There’s a lovely oil painting of him in the conference room.” She pulled out a business card and passed it to Willa.
“I’m Chelsea Aldermann. I was hired long after your dad’s tenure here ended, but I have been in this business for over fifteen years. I’ll be glad to help you if I can.”
“Thank you,” Willa said, accepting the card. She wondered if she should ask after some of the employees she once knew here—Lois Maylock, who used to give her peppermints, or Cal Hoopstra, who was the security guard for a time. Then again, Willa didn’t want to seem like she was desperate for Chelsea to realize exactly who she was. How important her dad had been.
“So what can I help you with?” Chelsea asked, peering over the tops of her glasses.
“I need a small loan for a bed-and-breakfast I’m starting on Oak Street. It used to be my family home, but it’s just me in it now. I’ve got the renovations under way, but I need twenty thousand more to finish a few projects up, do some advertising, and to make one hire. A cleaning person.”
Chelsea nodded. “I see. And when do you anticipate you’ll be open?”
“As soon as possible. Midwinter at the latest.”
“Good. And do you have a proposal for the space?”
“A proposal?”
“A document with, say, your room rates and your P and L?”
Willa blinked. “P and L?”
“Profit and loss. A statement that outlines all your costs—your employees, your advertising, your utilities, your food—as well as how many people have to stay in the hotel each week for you to make money.”
Willa pulled at the cuffs of her navy suit. She decidedly did not have a P and L statement. She didn’t have anything except a half-finished house and a table she’d painted blue. She sat up straighter in her chair. “I can, of course, draw all that up for you, but I’m confident this B and B will be profitable quickly. And if not, then I’ll just work extra hard to make it so. There’s no need to worry about me as a financial risk.”
Chelsea folded her hands on top of the desk’s smooth wood. “Tell me, how much did you think you’d charge each night for your rooms?”
On the East Coast, she wouldn’t hesitate paying three hundred dollars or more to stay at a nice B and B. That was per night. White Pine might not have exactly the same clientele, but Willa knew that she’d need to charge a premium for her establishment, same as the other B and B’s.
“I was thinking two hundred dollars,” she replied. “That would be the average.”
Chelsea studied Willa over the tops of her glasses. “There are certainly wealthy people in White Pine as well as tourists, but do you think the market as a whole can sustain that?”
Willa nodded. “I certainly think it’s in the range.”
“All right, let’s say that’s ballpark,” Chelsea said after a moment. “I’m willing to entertain it, but you need to show me evidence.”
“Excuse me?” Willa asked, wondering if she should remind Chelsea that this was a bank, not a courtroom.
“Willa, I know from the bit of paperwork you filled out here that you haven’t lived in White Pine for some time. So you may not realize that this is largely a working-class community. The majority of people—not all, but a majority—might not have two hundred dollars to spend on a hotel room for a night. If tourists or other clientele will supplement the hotel’s profitability, then show me that.”
“It’s not a hotel. It’s a bed-and-br—”
“Here me out,” Chelsea said, holding up a hand. “My point is that a bed-and-breakfast here could work, but you still need to assess the market. Do some research. What do people want? What would they pay for? Show me in data, don’t just make a guess. I have stayed at the Great Lakes Inn, I have put relatives up there when they’ve come to town, and God knows I would love an alternative to that dump. But at two hundred per night? You’d better show me why and how that price point is going to work.”
Willa felt the blood drain from her face. “So are you saying you need this information before you’ll give me money?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“So I won’t be getting a loan today?”
Chelsea shook her head. “I’m sorry. Not now. Not with your current business model. Or lack thereof.”
“But I’m telling you, this is going to work.”
“You can’t tell me. You need to show me. On paper.”
Willa’s anger kindled. “My dad—he owned this bank for years. He practically built it. You wouldn’t even have a job if it weren’t for him.”
“Is he cosigning on your loan?”
“No, he’s dead.”
“Then I’m sorry, but it’s not relevant.”
Willa sat back in her chair, the air gone from her lungs. They were turning her down for a loan. They were saying no. She didn’t know whether to cry or throw a fit, or both.
Across the desk, Chelsea offered her a compassionate look. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. But there’s more. I’m being extra picky about all this because you technically are a risk. On paper anyway. You have no savings. You have no job. The only asset you have is the house, which is currently in a half-finished state of remodeling. I’m sorry, but this just doesn’t
look very good.”
Willa swallowed the knot of emotions in her throat. I had money, she wanted to say, but it was stolen from me. And I had assets, but I had to sell them. She wanted to argue for days, but what good would it do? Unless she changed her B and B plans drastically—and figured out how to write a P and L statement—she wasn’t going to get a dime from this bank.
She stood, and reached out a hand. “Thank you for your time.”
Chelsea gave her a firm shake. “I’ll reconsider this situation if you bring me a viable proposal. Until then, I’m sorry we couldn’t do business.”
Willa lifted her chin. Her proposal was just fine. She wasn’t going to alter it just because some number cruncher behind a fancy desk told her to. “Have a good day,” she said, and strode out the door with as confident a swagger as she could muster.
It wasn’t until she got to her car that she let her face fall. She put her forehead against the steering wheel and let the tears plunk onto her navy skirt. They’d turned her down. Never in a million years did she think that would have been possible. Harold Masterson’s daughter denied a loan at the White Pine Bank and Trust.
“Oh God,” she groaned, her emotions raw from all the disappointment of the day. First Burk’s hasty departure; now this.
She wasn’t going to change the past. And she wasn’t going to carve out a future. Which left her with exactly nowhere to go from here.
“Except track practice,” she grumbled, starting the engine. Not even a grueling workout could make this day any worse.
* * *
Willa and Audrey turned their backs to the biting autumn wind that whipped over the Birch River and onto the field where the track team was practicing.
“Man, it got cold!” Audrey said, jogging in place a little. “That’s Minnesota for you. One minute it’s sixty and sunny, the next minute it’s snowing.”
For her part, Willa was plenty warm, thanks to the mile she’d jogged with the track team, and the back-and-forth coaching she’d done. Plus, frustration at how her day had gone—from Burk to the bank—had her insides flaming with irritation.
