by Nina Lane
“You’re going to pay for that.” Her sleep-husky voice draws my attention.
She’s watching me, her arms around a pillow.
“I’ll share.” I push to my feet.
“You’d better.”
After crossing the room in three strides, I sink onto the bed beside her and lower my mouth to hers. Though I had every intention of talking to her first, her kiss fires me with heat. The tension in my chest loosens. I brush her silky hair back from her face and slide my hand over her cheek. Breathe in her strawberry smell.
She flicks her tongue into my mouth and over the cherry candy. After passing it to her, I lower her back onto the bed. Already my dick is getting hard. I cup her breasts and rub my thumbs over her nipples, urging them to tighten. Josie sighs and shifts, hooking her legs around my thighs and wiggling her hips against me.
“You need to stop wearing jeans when you’re here.” She pushes me away and rises up to unbutton my jeans and shove them off. “Makes it hard for this spontaneous sex thing we’ve got going on.”
“I’m always hard for this spontaneous sex thing.” I shed my clothes before climbing on top of her again. Nuzzling my nose into her neck, I lick the hot hollow of her throat. I fucking love that tender little spot where her pulse beats so fast.
I inch my hand under her shirt, pulling it up far enough to expose her breasts, her pink nipples sticking straight up. The sight of her naked body jerks my cock into full hardness. Josie breathes out a moan and grasps my dick.
“God, Cole.” She shifts, urging me closer and parting her cherry-red lips. “Put it in my mouth.”
“Not this time.” With effort, I detach her hand from me and bend to kiss her breasts, drawing her nipple into my mouth. Her groan of satisfaction fires my lust hotter. I slide my hand between her thighs and into her pussy. Ah, fuck, my girl is already wet and primed, like she’s been waiting for me.
As I move lower on the bed, I push her thighs open. She rises to her elbows, her eyes widening. “Cole...”
When we first got together, it had taken her a long time to let me go down on her. No matter how aroused she was or how careful I was, she’d tense up and get self-conscious about being so exposed. But we’d both persisted, and I’d started with gentle licks of my tongue that soon had her panting and pumping her hips. And when she came…more than once, I’d been unable to hold back and ended up shooting my load all over the bedsheets.
That’s not happening this time.
I pause, stroking her bare thighs. “You okay?”
A flush rises to her cheeks. She covers her face with her hands.
“Hey.” Wary, I lean forward to grab her wrist. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”
“It’s not that.” She peeks at me from under her spread fingers. “It’s just that…um, no one’s done that to me in a very long time.”
A strange feeling fills me. “How long?”
“Since…well, since you.” She clamps her hands over her face again. “This is so embarrassing.”
“You’re serious?” I sink back on to my heels. Tender affection weakens every part of me. Much as I hate thinking of another guy getting anywhere near Josie, I haven’t been stupid enough to think she hasn’t had boyfriends over the past decade.
“I never wanted another guy to do that to me.” She finally peels her hands away from her face and meets my gaze, her green eyes so totally guileless that my chest aches with love.
“I haven’t..” She pauses and swallows. “I haven’t had a ton of boyfriends, but the ones who…well, I didn’t let them do that. I guess I kind of felt like you were still the only one who sort of…deserved it?”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Ah, honey. Deserving it is my greatest honor.”
She smiles, her face still flushed. I rub my palms slowly over her soft thighs.
“So may I have the honor?” I ask.
She nods, her gaze fixed on mine. Despite the concession, her body is tense. I keep stroking her thighs. She shifts her hips as her muscles begin to relax and her legs part. My dick surges, impatient to slide into all her tight heat.
Not yet.
Lowering myself again, I spread her cleft with my fingers. The musky scent of her fills my head. She’s trembling. Her breath increases in pace.
Forcing myself to go slow, I lick her folds, up one side and down the other. Josie gasps and grips my hair. I settle my hands on her inner thighs, keeping her spread open as I tongue her clit and pull it gently between my lips.
“Oh, shit, Cole…” She starts panting, fisting her hand harder into my hair. “God, I forgot how good this feels. How good you feel.”
I never forgot how good she tastes. I could lie here for hours, devouring her. The hot, sweet-salty taste of her fills my mouth. My cock pulses against the bed.
Josie writhes, opening her legs wider. She’s tensing up again, but in a good way this time. I feel her urgency climbing higher and higher.
“Come on, honey.” I lift my head only long enough to speak. “Come in my mouth.”
“Oh, God…”
She has a sweet spot right under her clit, and one flick of my tongue followed by a sharp arch of her hips tells me it’s just as sensitive now as it was ten years ago. Putting my hands on her belly, I lick down to her opening. Back up to her clit, a hard pull with my mouth and—
“Cole, I…ah…ah!” With a cry, she bucks halfway off the bed.
A surge of wetness floods my tongue, and my dick jerks and pulses so hard that I force myself to count to ten to regain a small semblance of control. My heart hammers.
Only when Josie starts to calm do I pull myself away from her and sit up. She’s flushed and sweaty, her hair sticking damply to her forehead and her chest heaving. Her dazed eyes meet mine.
“You are so fucking good at that,” she whispers.
I crawl over her body and crush her mouth with mine. Her moan floods me with lust.
“God, Cole. Fuck me.”
Not needing another invitation, I position myself at her slit and thrust inside. She’s so ready, so wet, that I slide into her with no resistance at all. Pleasure fires my nerves.
Our gazes meet. Heat and something else—something dark and almost desperate—passes between us. I grip her wrists and pin her hands to the bed before I start to thrust.
Mindless urgency takes over. My whole body drives into the need to take her, claim her. She clutches my arms, sinking her teeth into my shoulder, her breath hot. It’s fucking heaven, this obliteration of everything else, pushing so deep inside her that I never want to come back out.
Some part of my brain thinks I should be gentle, but with her throaty little cries filling my head, her body tightening around mine…any self-control I have disappears like smoke.
“Now,” she gasps. “Again…oh, God, yes.”
I can’t wait any longer. The sensation of her convulsing around my cock blinds me with need. I come, shooting inside her. A heavy groan tears from my chest. Our bodies heave, and the air fills with the sound of our combined breath.
The world slowly comes back into focus. Aware that I’m crushing her, I roll to the side. She exhales and sprawls her body half on top of mine, skimming her hand over my sweaty chest.
I close my eyes. Imagine this, only the two of us, as the future. All I have to do is take her away. A new start.
“Hey.” Opening my eyes, I twist a strand of her hair around my finger. “How about we get away from here for a while?”
“Like where?” She props her chin on her fist and studies me. “Boston?”
“No, I mean away. I’ve got a property down in the Bahamas and a couple of…”
I stop. Her eyes cloud over. Shit.
“I didn’t mean that to brag.” I push to my elbow, willing her to believe me. “I just want to get out of here. Be alone with you somewhere else.”
She bites down on her lower lip. “You mean you want to go right now?”
“Yeah. I can have a plane ready…I mea
n, we can leave tonight, if you want to. We’ll go for a couple of weeks, even a month. Anywhere you want.”
“Cole, that’s an incredible offer, but—”
“But nothing.” My heart thumps against my ribs. “You don’t even have to think about it. All you have to do is say yes.”
“I can’t go away with you right now.” She slides her hand to the back of my neck and presses her forehead to mine. “I mean, it’s a wonderful idea and I’d love to go away with you one day, but I’m on a deadline with the mural, and I can’t leave Vanessa. Thank you so much for the offer. Can I take a raincheck?”
“Yeah.” I swallow past a sudden tightness in my throat. “Sure.”
“Good.” She smiles and kisses me. “Maybe we can take a look at your wall map before we decide where to go.”
I sink back against the pillow. Outside the window, boats dot the waters of the cove, several streaming back from the ocean after a day away.
Josie nestles up against my side. I wrap my arm around her, tugging her as close as I can. Ten years ago, I’d taken it for granted every time she tucked herself against me. We had a lifetime in front of us. There would never be a day when Josie didn’t curl up her gorgeous body beside mine.
What an ass I was not to treasure every goddamn time we could lie in bed together, loose-limbed with satisfaction, and just be. Not once did unease simmer through me. Not once did I feel like the ground was about to crack under our feet.
Not once was I scared of what if?
Not until now.
Chapter 5
Josie
* * *
A raincheck. To wherever I want to go in the world. I’m not sure whether the idea is more thrilling or nerve-wracking. Ten years ago, Cole and I had grand, youthful plans to travel the world together. We’d marked out destinations on his world map and planned our itineraries. Backpacking in Switzerland. Snorkeling in Australia. Sightseeing in Paris.
But that was before. And while I’m not so humble that I can’t anticipate the excitement of traveling with Tycoon Cole on his private jets or whatever, running away with him still doesn’t answer any questions. Or solve any mysteries.
Not that I’m trying to. Too much thinking will give me a headache.
Wiping my hands on a rag, I step back to study the mural. I’ve designed it to be read like a book, starting with the rocky cliffs and expansive land of Native Americans through the centuries—the construction of the lighthouse and town, industrialization, the World Wars, the twenty-first century, and concluding with the Lantern Square of today.
“No one’s painted the lighthouse yet,” a deep male voice remarks.
I turn to find a remarkably handsome man approaching, his black hair glinting in the afternoon sunlight and his gray eyes skimming over the mural.
“No one’s asked to.” I toss the rag down and follow his gaze. “I’ve found that people are interested in painting the things they connect with personally. A lot of teachers have stopped by to paint the different schoolhouses, and students like working on Ford’s College. A guy from the Parks Department stopped by yesterday to paint the woodlands, and anyone who owns one of the shops or art galleries has asked to paint their own building. Kids mostly want to paint the marine life or the other animals.”
“So everyone has a personal investment in it.” He glances at me with a smile. “That’s pretty cool. I’ve never been involved with art as a community effort.”
“Neither have I,” I admit. “Well, not until now. Does the lighthouse have a personal meaning for you?”
“You could say that.” He studies the white stone tower perched on the cliff, with the granite “secrets wall” lining the edge. “Though I like to think the lighthouse has a personal meaning for everyone in this town.”
“It does for me.” I’ll never forget the day Cole was waiting for me at the lighthouse with a bag of red candy, a plush raven, and a declaration of love that set us on a path we soon thought would be lifelong.
“You’re welcome to paint the lighthouse and the secrets wall, if you’d like.” I extend a brush and indicate the paint cans. “I have an appointment at the library in fifteen minutes, but just leave the supplies near the storage closet and I’ll take care of them later.”
His eyes light with the anticipation I’ve seen so often in the people who stop to contribute to the wall. Never before have I thought that creating art with others—an entire community—could be so rewarding.
I walk to the library archives, where Charlotte has set aside a few more historical city maps and a detailed drawing of a nineteenth-century library. The medieval historian Professor West is at his usual table, studying another antique-looking book.
He gives me a smile of greeting, standing to move his chair when Charlotte and I pass behind him. He seems ridiculously polite in an old-fashioned, gentlemanly way. Given his dapper good looks, it’s kind of cute.
I sit down and get to work examining the documents, comparing the images to the photos of the mural on my phone. I draw a few more sketches and double-check the historical changes in the street grids.
“I found another set of graphite drawings for the library that was destroyed in 1876.” Charlotte brings me another stack of papers.
“I got the number of pediments and windows wrong.” I show her the photo I took of my mural outline. “I think I got it mixed up with the old city hall.”
“The design changed several times, so that’s not surprising.” She studies the picture, her brow furrowed. “Is it easy to fix?”
“Sure. You can always paint over mistakes in art.”
She smiles ruefully. “Too bad it’s not that easy to fix mistakes in life.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“I like the birds.” She indicates the row of pigeons I painted on the balustrade of the library. “They still hang out on the balcony of the new library, so it’s very authentic.”
“Birds are my favorite animal. When I was a kid, I used to run around the woods looking for injured animals that needed rescuing, and I kept a particular eye out for birds.”
“Did you ever find any?”
“Once I found a finch with a broken wing, and a few times I found baby birds that had fallen out of their nests.” Another time I found a sullen eleven-year-old boy who tried to convince me he wasn’t lost.
“My sister and I were talking the other day about collective nouns for birds,” I tell Charlotte. “Like a kit of pigeons and a murder of crows. Do you have any resources that explain where those terms came from?”
“I can check. I’m sure there’s some etymological dictionary that traces the origins.”
“The Book of St. Albans,” Professor West says.
We both glance at him. He smiles wryly.
“Couldn’t help overhearing.” He gets to his feet and approaches us. “The Book of St. Albans is a fifteenth-century manuscript with a section on hawking and falconry. It has a list of collective nouns for animals, including birds. Also called terms of venery.”
“Really.” I lift my eyebrows, impressed. “Does it list an unkindness of ravens?”
He nods. “And a few terms for people too. A gaggle of women, a multiplying of husbands, and an impatience of wives.”
Charlotte and I exchange amused grins, both over the terms and the fact that this hunky professor is also a bit of an intellectual nerd. Or more than “a bit.”
“How do you know all that?” I ask.
He slips his hands into his trouser pockets and shrugs. “I wrote a paper on medieval falconry recently and used the book as a reference. A guy who doesn’t live far from here actually has one of the original texts.”
“Do you need any other resources, Josie?” Charlotte steps forward to collect the drawings, her tone suddenly brisk. “City maps? Library blueprints?”
“I’ll double check the mural one more time and let you know.” I write the title Bk of St. Albans in my notebook as a reminder to tell Vanessa about it. “And if eith
er of you would like to paint something, please stop by. Everyone is welcome.”
I say goodbye to Professor West and slip my notebook into my backpack. As Charlotte walks me to the door, I try and think of another way to befriend her without freaking her out too much. I have to approach her with quiet and caution, not unlike the way I used to creep up on wounded birds.
“How’s the amulet working?” she asks.
“No curses yet.” A shiver runs down my spine. I force a smile. “Hey, if you want to come and paint the mural tomorrow morning, maybe we could grab a coffee afterward. A lot of people are painting things that mean something to them personally, so if there’s a building or site that you’re drawn to, it’s a way to make your mark.”
“I’m not one for making a mark.” She tugs her sweater sleeves down over her wrists and gives me another rueful smile. “But I’ll stop by the mural on my way to work. I haven’t seen it yet, and I’ve heard great things.”
“Awesome. I’m usually there by nine.”
Heartened by the small bit of progress, I head upstairs and return to the garden wall. The guy who painted the lighthouse did an exquisitely precise job, even shadowing the white stone with gradations of gray and black and illuminating the front with sunlight.
“Josie.”
I turn at the urgent sound of Cole’s voice. He’s striding from the Snapdragon Inn, his expression tense.
“What?” I hurry toward him. “What’s wrong?”
“Where were you?” He pushes back his cuff to glance at his watch. “You’ve been gone for two hours.”
“I was at the library.” Pressing a hand to my heart, I take a breath. “Did something happen?”
“No, but I texted you twice.” The stiffness in his shoulders eases a little. “You didn’t reply.”
“There’s no cell signal in the basement archives.” I crinkle my forehead, baffled by his agitation. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “Just…uh…yeah.”
Stepping closer, I straighten his lapels. “Hey, do you want to paint something on the mural? There’s plenty left.”
