A Change Of View (Northern Lights Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  “Why don’t you put your wife’s mind at ease, I’m pretty sure she has rooms for you, let me just check which ones.”

  “I’ll be outside then,” he says, smiling as he pulls the door open. “Oh and, Doyle? You may want to do something about your shirt—it’s inside out.”

  I shake my head as the old man steps out, cackling as he lets the door fall shut behind him.

  “Leelo?” I call up from the bottom of the stairs. I can still hear the shower going so I run up, two steps at a time. “Leelo?” I try again, knocking on the bathroom door.

  I hear a wet thump, a muffled “Fucking hell,” and then the sound of the shower curtain being moved aside.

  “What?” There’s a rattling I imagine being the towel bar and some shuffling. “Yes?” This time her voice is much closer to the door. Finally the door opens a crack, a single, clear blue eye staring at me through the opening.

  “You’ve got guests,” I announce, biting my lip so I don’t laugh when that blue eye widens dramatically, and I refocus over her shoulder.

  “Oh, oh, give me a minute,” she sputters, her fingers clasping the edge of the door. “I’ll be right there.”

  “Just tell me if I can put them in seven and eight. It’s an older couple with their grandkids. I know them. They’re good people. You can take care of the paperwork after, I’ll vouch for them.”

  “Sure. Okay, that’s fine,” she says, a little more of her face visible now as she smiles. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.

  During that entire exchange—and until she clicks the door shut—my gaze never once leaves the reflection I catch in the strip of mirror visible over her shoulder.

  FIFTEEN

  A careful touch has the power to wipe the battle from her eyes.

  Leelo

  I’m doing what I do whenever I have excess nervous energy. I bake.

  I tell myself it’s because there are guests, and I’m supposed to be offering them breakfast in the morning. However, that’s not the real reason I’m kneading dough for fresh buns in the morning, when my arms feel like they’ll fall off after the kind of exercise they received today.

  No.

  I’m jittery. Restless.

  Ever since Roar left, Ace in tow, right after he checked in my new guests.

  He cited the need to check in on the lodge and feed the dog. I couldn’t fault him for that. After all, he’d spent all day working here. The lodge is booked up for the week, and despite the fact the cabins are mostly self-sustaining, as he explained, it would probably not be a bad idea to show his face.

  I’d been hiding out in my bedroom when he came knocking the second time, to let me know he had to go. I wasn’t exactly ready to face him. Not after that scene in the bathroom, when I clicked the door shut, twisted my head around and realized my ass had been on full display in the mirror.

  There had definitely been something brewing before that. The whole day seemed to build up to something, and then apparently one glance at my pale, cellulite riddled expanse was too much for the man.

  So I’m left with a build up of energy, and a head full of thoughts I don’t want to explore. About to jump out of my skin. So I bake.

  There’s something therapeutic about massaging the slightly warm dough, squishing between my fingers, only to pound it into submission a moment later. When I have the texture where I want it, I take my sharpest knife and cut the dough in sixteen equal pieces, placing them on a greased baking sheet with the edges tucked under. I lightly grease the tops and cover the whole tray with plastic wrap, and a towel, before sliding it in the bottom of the large fridge where it will slowly rise overnight.

  By the time the sun starts going down, I have the kitchen clean again, but I’m still restless.

  I love the way the dock moves under my feet as I walk to the very end, half a bottle of wine tucked under my arm. Who needs a glass? I sit down on the edge and let my toes play in the chilly water, while I bless the introduction of screw tops on wine bottles as I take a healthy swig.

  It’s a beautiful evening. The water is still, and the sounds of the night slowly come to life as I watch the last streaks of remaining sunlight disappear behind the trees.

  Ouch.

  I slap my thigh where a mosquito just bit me. I wipe at another one that lands on my arm, and pretty soon the buzzing is loud around my head, and I’m frantically waving my hand around my face. A blood-sucking army is out tonight, and I scramble to my feet, snatch up the now empty bottle, and hustle toward the sanctuary of my house.

  My heart lodges in my throat when I see a figure detach itself from the shadows of the porch.

  “Was wondering how long it would fucking take before you came running.”

  I bend over, gasping to get air in my lungs, when I hear the voice.

  “I swear, Riordan Doyle...one day you’ll be the death of me.”

  “Not what I had in mind,” he chuckles easily, as he grabs my arm, drags me inside, and out of the way of the charging mosquitoes.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, as he takes the bottle from my hand, sets it on the counter, and pulls me into my living room. There he drops down on the threadbare couch and tugs me down beside him. “I thought you went home?”

  “I did,” he confirms, throwing his arm over my shoulder and tugging me to his chest. “And I was just putting my feet up on the coffee table when I realized I didn’t want to be there.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he repeats. “Couldn’t relax. Started thinking about this...thing...between us. And you know what? Waiting for the right time is for the fucking birds.”

  “It is?”

  “It absolutely fucking is,” he says with conviction, curving his free hand along my jaw and turning my face toward him.

  His hazel eyes are almost black in the scarce light of my living room, his heavy-lidded gaze roaming my features before settling on my lips.

  “I’m thinking right now sounds like the right time.”

  I can feel the deep rumble of his voice down to my toes, and my own drops a few octaves lower as well.

  “You do?” I mutter breathlessly as his head bends down.

  It’s clear from my distinctly unimaginative responses that my brain cells have signed off for the day. I’m starting to sound like a goddamn parrot, but Roar doesn’t give me time to linger on that thought. His mouth is already on mine and his tongue is demanding entry.

  One moment I’m tucked beside him on the couch, and the next I’m on my back, Roar’s heavy frame covering me, his lips still firmly fused to mine. Good God the man can kiss.

  My arms wind around his neck and my fingers look for purchase in his hair, finding only short stubble. The one semi-coherent thought I have, before I let myself be drawn under, is that I wish he still had those long tresses for me to hold onto.

  My brain doesn’t know what to focus on, as he thoroughly explores my mouth with hungry lashes of his tongue, and his restless hand skims every inch of my body he can reach.

  “Bed,” he mumbles against my lips, and I groan in protest when he rolls off me, pulling me up with him.

  I try to stay in the moment, I do.

  I want this, my body clearly wants this, but my mind can be a real shit disturber. The moment we reach my bedroom, reality hits, and the blissful cloud of lust I was drifting on dissipates.

  “What is it?” he asks when I freeze just inside the door.

  “I’m...I’m just not sure this is a good idea,” I blurt out, bracing for the anger I expect to be unleashed at me. Instead, he gently tugs me close enough to wrap his arms around the small of my back.

  “Why?” His voice is gentle, without any trace of the irritation I anticipated, at the very least.

  His hold on me is comfortable, comforting even, but still my thoughts are hard to voice.

  “Because I don’t want to be a disappointment. I’ve been one for too long already.”

  When I see him get ready to respond, I press my fin
gers to his mouth.

  “Let me finish,” I plead, earning me a nod. “It took a lot for me, moving here, making a new start at this point in my life, but I did it anyway. I lost so much already in my quest to find myself. My family, my friends—those who stuck with me after my divorce—they all thought I was crazy coming here.” I pause, taking in a deep shaky breath. Roar uses the moment to guide me to the bed and encourages me to sit down. Then he crouches down in front of me with his hands on my knees, and quietly waits for me to continue. “I like it here. I like working with my hands and seeing the results every day. I’m proud of the person I’m becoming, and I like that I am building friendships with people—with you— willing to see me that way.” My voice wavers a little, and I swallow hard, determined not to start bawling. “But I’m afraid that if I open myself up, if I let you in, that you’ll see the person I tried to leave behind.”

  His fingers flex on my knees, and I see a muscle in his jaw hard at work, but I don’t stop him from talking this time.

  “And who would I see?”

  I pause, because this isn’t just a question—and he’s not looking for a simple answer—he’s asking me to take a leap of faith. To show him exactly what it is I’m afraid he’ll see in me. He’s asking for full exposure.

  With the slight burn of my new ink a reminder to let go, I take a deep breath and jump in, with both feet.

  “A flawed person,” I start. “Someone who still has a hard time looking at herself in the mirror, because she can see every single one of her shortcomings reflected. An overweight, middle-aged housewife, who allowed herself to be belittled for years before she was cast aside, and who so completely lost it after that, she managed to alienate her children in the process. A woman who battles a constant fight to love and accept herself the way she is, but can’t bring herself to believe others ever will.”

  There’s no holding back the tears now. Resigned, I just let them roll out from under my closed eyelids.

  Roar

  She’s killing me.

  Not that all of what she said is a complete surprise to me, but the harsh clarity she paints herself with is as telling as the words themselves.

  I asked for this, but I’m not sure I know what to do with the outcome.

  “Hey.” I wipe at her wet cheeks with my thumbs, encouraging her to open her eyes. “Lie down with me,” I suggest, and that seems to do the trick, as her eyelids shoot open. I have a hard time keeping my grin in check at her disbelieving glare. “Come on,” I prod carefully. “Give an old guy a break; any more time on my knees and I may never get up again.”

  The corner of her mouth tugs slightly at my lame joke, but it’s enough to have me flip on my back across her bed, and hold out my hands in invitation. After just a moment’s hesitation, she plants a knee in the bed and crawls in my arms. With her hand on my chest and her head tucked in my neck, the words come.

  “Want to know what I see?” I smile when I feel her nod, her hair snagging in my beard. “A real person, someone undervalued and then duped by an asshole, who didn’t take the time or effort to appreciate the beautiful creature sharing his bed. A mother working hard to show her kids that you’re not weak for falling, but strong for getting up again.” I hear her sniffle and tighten my arms around her, before sliding one hand down to palm the curve of her ass. “Earlier, I saw a woman in the mirror; warm, soft, resilient, and utterly tempting. So much so, that the image of that glorious ass had me pull on my boots, hop in my truck, and show back up on her doorstep, not two hours later.”

  “Shit,” she mutters in my shoulder before I hear her snicker. “You saw me.”

  I plant an elbow in the mattress and easily roll her over.

  “Bet that fine ass of yours I saw you.” I smile down in her flushed face. “And it’s not nearly enough.”

  She blinks a few times but doesn’t move when I raise her arms and stretch them over her head. Not even when I pull her shirt up and off over her head.

  “Stay still,” I whisper, receiving the slightest of nods

  I run my hand from her neck, down to her soft belly, before slipping it behind her back to undo the utilitarian bra she’s wearing.

  For all her pretty ink, it’s clear Leelo prefers comfort.

  She doesn’t resist when I pull the straps down from her shoulders, and kiss the newly exposed skin, while slowly uncovering her breasts. Her shallow breaths flutter against the tip of my tongue as I lazily lick her distended nipple. Lifting up on my knees, I make quick work of her shorts and panties, sliding them down and off. I watch her struggle not to squirm when I run my hands slowly from her ankles up her legs, spreading them open as I go.

  Fucking phenomenal.

  Her pale, ripe body, open and vulnerable, stirs a raw need in me. A basic urge to claim and conquer.

  “I don’t think...” she whispers, trying to close her legs against my hands.

  “Shhh. Stay still,” I remind her, before sliding off the mattress, kicking off my boots and stripping myself naked as fast as I can.

  Her eyes follow every movement, finally coming to rest on my engorged cock, already an angry purple, jutting out from my hips. With her focus on me, and not on herself, I palm my erection and pump a few times, easily drawing a bead of precum I rub around the head with my thumb.

  I don’t miss the tip of Leelo’s little pink tongue brushing a quick lick of her bottom lip, or the slight press of her ass into the mattress, looking for friction.

  “Mouth or cock?” I ask her, letting go of my dick and her eyes shoot up to mine. Her mouth slightly opened, it’s all I can do not to climb over her and feed her my length, but this is not about me.

  At least not all.

  “Tell me what you want,” I push her. “I’m starved either way.”

  “Cock.”

  I would’ve missed the soft whisper had I not been looking at her closely.

  “Cock it is,” I confirm, as I deliberately climb up between her legs.

  Unable to resist a quick taste, I slide my thumb through the wetness clinging to her curls, probing for the small bundle of nerves I know is hiding there. When I feel the hard smooth surface, I add my other thumb to spread her open for my mouth.

  The hot, spicy, distinctly nuanced taste of her is a surprise. A really fucking good one.

  I don’t often volunteer going down on a woman, let alone crave it. Only if I know it’s something that will help get off the woman I’m with, and even then the list has been a dramatically short one. I know guys who get off on it, but I’ve never been one of those.

  Until now.

  I’m really fucking happy I gave into my curiosity, when Leelo’s hands find the back of my head, breaking the pose I’d ordered her to keep. Her hips buck off the mattress and the scratch of her nails over my scalp only add to my indulgence.

  “Holy shit,” she breathes, when I drag myself away from her warm heat. “I didn’t ask for that, but I’m glad you didn’t listen. I doubt your cock can make me feel all that.”

  I lift up on my arms and grin at her from between her legs. It’s the most she’s said since we got naked, any self-consciousness clearly forgotten.

  “Now there’s a challenge I can’t walk away from,” I growl, climbing up her body. She snickers as I lower my hips in the cradle of her thighs, but the grin disappears when I slick the crown of my dick along her slit and carefully probe her opening.

  “Yesss,” she hisses as I test her tight fit around me.

  I spread and pull up my knees, lift her ass with one hand, and ignoring the aches and pains of a hard day’s work at my age, I set about the task of proving her wrong.

  SIXTEEN

  She’s the place where fantasy and reality meet.

  Leelo

  “What do you mean, the dock is gone?”

  Roar’s voice, which had been distracted when he first answered, snaps with sudden focus.

  “Gone—just gone. As in, it’s no longer attached and I can’t see it anywhere. So can I
borrow a boat? I need to go look for it.”

  “I chained that sucker down, Leelo. No way it could’ve just floated off. Are the chains still there?” he asks, completely ignoring my request.

  “How else would it’ve disappeared? Not like someone could’ve hauled it out and carried it off without me noticing,” I bite off, already irritated and not just about the missing dock. “I wouldn’t have bothered you if I didn’t need to borrow one of your boats. I could—”

  “Do you even know how to drive a boat?” he cuts me off, leaving me with my mouth gaping open.

  Talk about insult to injury.

  I woke up this morning; still a little sore after the vigorous paces Roar put me through last night, in an empty bed. Sometime during the night, or early morning, while I was still sleeping off the evidence that his cock indeed could make me feel all that—and more—he disappeared on me. No goodbye, no note, no nothing.

  Now I’m not asking for a goddamn lifelong commitment, for Pete’s sake, but a note might’ve been nice.

  It was after I put on breakfast for my new guests, the Walters, that I went out with my favourite travel mug to enjoy my morning coffee on my new dock, to find it gone. And given that he snuck out sometime during the night, I didn’t particularly want to, but couldn’t think of anyone else to call.

  “Look,” Roar says in a calmer tone that does nothing to soothe my ruffled feathers. “Just sit tight. I’ve got a bit of a situation here, but I’ll head out to look as soon as I can.”

  I exhale sharply when I hear the click on the other end. Not quite the morning after I had imagined, and most certainly not the same man who had slain me with his words, and then his body, last night.

  This one just pisses me off.

  With a head full of steam, and restless energy to burn, I figure now is as good a time as any to find that insurance policy Henry Kline, of Kline, Kline & McTavish, was supposed to have transferred to my name.