Jo turned to me and asked, “Bly?”
“His name is Blythe,” I supplied, blowing smoke through my nostrils. Mom went inside without responding further, annoyed at Jo within the first fifteen minutes of her being here. Well, that was expected. I was dreading the moment when Mom would start to trot out the whole ‘why you should still be with your husband’ argument. As the screen door clacked shut, I couldn’t resist teasing my sister, saying, “And she’s wrong, he is dangerous.”
Jo glared at me but I just smiled around the filter in my lips. I heard the girls chattering with excitement and followed after Mom, informing over my shoulder, “The girls are meeting him right now.”
Jo hotfooted it after me. I heard Ellen saying, “Girls, this is Rich’s grandson,” as I popped around the arch into the bar. Blythe’s eyes flashed immediately to me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. I would have bet his hands were sweating. He realized it was me and I could almost hear his thoughts: No, that’s not who I was waiting for. And then Jo came around the corner, her cheeks flushed, and I continued to watch Bly, who looked for a moment as though someone had just punched him in the gut, hard. Jo stopped as though she’d just come up against a glass wall. I sighed internally as I watched several things pass over her features before she looked away, fast, her cheeks flaming even brighter. Camille, Tish and Ruthie were still chattering, vying for Blythe’s attention, and Mom was telling him something, so he looked back at our mother, a smile playing over his mouth. I hoped that no one else noticed the flush that had crept into his cheeks too. Fuck, that was fast. But what had I expected?
Aunt Ellen took charge, saying, “Honey, this is Rich’s grandson, Blythe Tilson. Bly, dear, meet my niece, Joelle Gordon. She’s just in from Chicago.”
Blythe’s eyes were drawn back to Jo’s face like a magnet to its mate. He said, “Hi,” and reached to shake her hand. I had the impression he would have shoved everyone out of the way to get to her, though he was playing it cool.
“Hi,” my sister responded, her voice low and throaty. She added, “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said, sounding so polite and yet I could hear the notes of wonder in his tone. He seemed to gather himself together and said, still looking at Jo, “Well, Joan, Ellen, I better head home, let you have some family time.”
Joelle stared after him wordlessly as everyone else trailed him to the door. When she turned back to me, where I had perched on a barstool, she blinked and then sank to the seat beside mine as Bly called back to us, “Have a good night, ladies. Good to meet you, Joelle.”
I inched my own seat closer to her and said, totally resigned, “Told you so.”
***
By the time I went to bed that night, in the smallest of the wee hours, I wanted Justin so much I could hardly even bear the thought of lying in my bed alone. From his room, Clint was snoring like a lumberjack; I knew if I were to peek in on him, he’d be positioned on his back, right arm flung up over his head, exactly like Chris used to sleep. And just like his father, all I had to do to quiet the snores was lower that arm, but I didn’t bother my son. Instead I went to my tiny kitchen and poured myself a vodka and lemonade, then sat at the table and proceeded to caress my cell phone and debate calling Justin.
Damn him. He was stubborn as hell, doing this to me, keeping away in a long-distance equivalent of the silent treatment. But then again, I could take the bull by the horns and tell him how I felt. I imagined for a moment, in the darkness of my apartment, lit only by the dim green glow of the microwave clock, driving over to his house and telling him so. I played out what would happen next, from his stunned face to his own words of love, and then he’d pull me into his arms and I’d tear off every stitch of clothing he was wearing, which probably wasn’t much since I doubted he slept in anything but boxers in this weather…oh my God, I wanted to rip those from his body with my teeth…and then we’d make love on every horizontal surface in his house.
I gulped from my drink and then pressed the back of my knuckles against my lips. My heart was thundering and my belly pulsing, low and intently, at just the thought of him that way. His eyes, so dark and knowing and sexy, his lips that knew exactly what mine needed, his cock that had been…so…fucking…hard.
Jillian, I reprimanded myself sternly and bit down on my knuckle.
But oh my God. His body seemed made for mine. I still couldn’t believe I was having these thoughts, realizing these things. I knew in my heart that I wasn’t betraying Chris. He was gone, and Justin was here, had always been here. Trouble was, he was still farther away than ever.
***
The next few weeks passed and I saw nothing of Justin until the night Jo and I drove the golf cart over to Eddie’s for a beer, the first I’d managed to get my sister off of Shore Leave property. Despite my deep desire to, I hadn’t confessed anything about what I’d done with Justin, or what I was feeling for him, to my sister. I was having trouble restraining myself, but I was determined to wait until I had a chance to confront him first. And it was getting ridiculous. If he thought I was going to let him go, give up on him that easily, he had another thing coming. But it hurt, I had to admit, it hurt me deeply that he hadn’t even tried to talk to me. He was being such a chicken.
The nights that had passed since we’d made love only served to increase my longing for him. Unfortunately both my nerves and my resolve to let him make the first move were growing thin too. And then, as I’d pulled the golf cart into the parking lot that Monday night, I noticed that Dodge, Ellen, Tish, Clint…and Justin were all sitting around the fire pit, gazing into the leaping orange flames. Tish and Clinty were roasting marshmallows, everyone besides Justin chattering. He sat meditatively; no one had noticed Jo and me on the golf cart, since I drove it back around behind the garage and it wasn’t audible over the radio, anchored to an outlet by a long extension cord, which was blasting the local country station.
My heart was clattering like pebbles in a tin can; I felt about as rattled, too, but forced my voice to sound normal as I asked my sister, “You want to join them?”
Jo shook her head at once. She herself was too rattled over talking to Bly at Eddie’s just a half hour earlier. Her cheeks were still pink, her eyes starry and her hands on a slight tremble. God, their mutual attraction was going to eat them alive. I wondered just how long she’d be able to resist him; judging by her expression, not long. Shit, I had tried. I had told her about my dream, I had warned her. I caught her around the waist for a quick hug and then she headed over the grass to bed. I sat on the bench seat of our ancient golf cart, watching Jo walk away, listening to the music and everyone chattering, trying to ratchet up enough nerve to join them around the fire.
What was he doing here? What did it mean? Justin hadn’t dared to show up since the evening we’d taken a walk around Flicker Trail. Just the sight of him from a distance had made me feel shredded apart, aroused and agitated to the extreme. I was still staring after my sister, who’d just disappeared into the darkness near the house, when he said, “Jill,” and I made a sound that was half-shriek, half-gulp.
I spun towards the voice that had been haunting my thoughts and prowling into my dreams. Justin was standing on the far side of the golf cart, gripping the wide-set roll bars, one in each hand; he was closer to me than he’d been in weeks. My heart tried to leap out of my chest in joy. He was stone-faced but his eyes burned into mine, hotter than the bonfire that was backlighting him in a demonic red glow.
“Hey,” I managed to breathe. My entire body was galloping. I tried to draw enough of a breath to calm myself.
“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” he said, blunt and direct, as was his fashion. He looked good, so damn good, that I curled my fingers into my palms to keep from reaching for him. He was standing totally still, bending at the waist so that he could meet my gaze beneath the top cover of the cart. His long, lean legs were clad in faded jeans, like always, his t-shirt fitting snuggly over his powerful to
rso. I imagined all the dark hair on his chest, his legs, his forearms, where I’d been pressed so close. I swallowed and could do nothing but continue to stare at him. He said, and his voice was husky and low, “God, you’re beautiful.”
No one could see us, hidden from sight by the edge of the garage. But even if they’d all been staring, I didn’t think I’d have been able to stop myself from sliding across the seat and gripping his shirt in both fists. My hands were shaking but determined as hell as I pulled him roughly to me. He released his grip on the bars and was crushing my shoulders in his hands in the next instant, pinning me to him as we kissed with all of the pent-up desire that had been raging since we’d made love on the dock. I gasped against his lips, tipping my head back as he kissed my jaw, my neck, his teeth closing over my earlobe as shivers rippled over my skin. I felt feverish and dangerous, still clutching his shirt in my hands. I released it and got my arms around his neck. His hands were all over me, hot and intense, gliding over my hips and thighs, catching me behind the knees and fitting my spread legs around his hips.
I yanked him forward, so that I was on my back on the seat, Justin bent over me. He kissed me with such force, so much passion, that again I felt an orgasm building from just his lips. He was so incredible. He bracketed the side of my neck in one hand, pressing the other against my belly, which jumped in response, my insides liquid and flowing like molten rock. The red haze was descending over me again. I ran my hands all over him like I’d been fantasizing, greedy for him, into his thick black hair, over his shoulders and then under his shirt, where his skin was so hard and warm. I moaned against his lips, his tongue in my mouth, joined with mine. He tasted so good. I slid my palm down his stomach and had almost reached his jeans when he groaned as though in pain and drew back, breath pelting my face.
My eyes flew open to see him staring down at me with so much intensity that I felt as though I’d just leaped from the high dive and into empty air. Through two layers of denim between us I could feel how hard he was and my belly jumped again, the insides of my thighs hot as coals.
“What?” I demanded breathlessly. Now, tell him now. Tell him that you’re in love with him.
But some instinct warned me that I’d only scare him more. He was so afraid of his feelings, of daring to love someone again, because once you loved someone you could be ripped apart. And anyone with an ounce of sense shied away from that kind of potential pain.
“Jilly,” he said, his voice sounding strangled. I squeezed my legs around his hips, curled my hands possessively into his hair. Justin, just say it, oh God, just tell me what’s in your heart.
“What?” I whispered again, almost pleading. His eyes above mine were so serious; he appeared to be in actual pain. And then, to my dismay, he disentangled himself from my grasp and stood up. Turning at once, he covered his face in both hands. I went up on my elbows, feeling as though a part of my own body had been torn away. My heartbeat flooded my ears.
He turned back to me and said, his voice shaking, “Goddammit, Jillian,” as though to blame me for his distress. Which was, technically, fair. His eyes were on fire and just as scorching.
I was so full of disappointment and anger and too many other things to acknowledge. I felt as though he’d hit me, or something equivalent, though Justin would never dream of doing such a thing. Though for a moment I wanted to hit him. My lips were swollen from his kisses, my nipples like spear points, and I was so aroused and wet I was almost afraid to stand up. All of these things contributed to me saying, cruelly, “You’re such a chicken!”
He moved for me instantly but I scrambled away, furious now, putting the golf cart between us. He practically growled, “You don’t understand.”
I glared at him, tears sparking into my eyes, even though I never cried. I snapped back, “No, I guess not! I’ve never been hurt before, right?”
It pained him that I said that, I could tell. The anger and tension seemed to flow from him as he said, his voice low, “You know I don’t mean that.”
But I was still angry and continued in that vein, demanding, “Then what do you mean?”
His full lips were compressed into a tight line, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes almost unbearable with what he was begging me to understand. And deep inside, I knew he loved me and was too afraid to tell me. It was a strange sensation, that heady knowledge swirled together with my current, utter frustration. I was determined that he would tell me first. He had to show me that he could muster up that courage. I waited, my chest rising and falling quickly, just barely able to restrain myself from rushing back into his arms. The air between us crackled.
His eyes never straying once from mine, he said, “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Dammit, Justin,” I said, my own voice shaking now, tears starting to roll down over my face.
“Aw, Jilly, don’t cry,” he said softly, moving swiftly around the golf cart that still separated us, but I wasn’t about to accept his pity right now. Instead I shoved his chest, stunned at the force of my anger. Heat leaped back into his eyes and he caught my upper arms in his hands. I tried to pull away while he clung; for a moment we were locked in a grapple, breathing hard. Then I kicked his shin, though it couldn’t have hurt much since I was wearing flip-flops. But I kicked him fiercely and he dropped his hands from me, his eyes flashing.
“Go home and be alone then,” I choked out, turning and walking quickly away, from both the bonfire and him, wiping violently at my tears. From the distance I could hear the song “I Can Love You Better” by the Dixie Chicks blaring from the radio, which fortified me. I heard him move and so I started to run. He darted after me at once, caught me around the waist, and I would have fallen to the ground if not for his arms around me. I struggled against him: flailing my arms and kicking at him while he tried to hold me still. One of my flip-flops went flying as I twisted around, and then I was clawing at his shirt as though to rip it from his body and he was kissing me, groaning deep in his throat as our mouths crashed together and our heads slanted one way and then the other, almost frantically, unable to get enough of each other.
I grabbed his hand and brought it to my belly, pressing fiercely against him. He groaned and nearly ripped my shorts as he slid his palm into my panties, where he cupped me and stroked heatedly. My knees were weak and I held myself up by clinging to his shoulders, moaning against him as he sucked my bottom lip into his mouth and closed his teeth over it. His strong, questing fingers were everywhere at once, and then deep inside me, where I needed so much to be touched. I bit the cords of muscle that played over his right shoulder as he made me come. Good with his hands, indeed. I dug my fingernails into the muscles of his back and bit the side of his neck to stop myself from making enough noise for everyone to come running.
He held me close, breathing roughly against my hair as I tried to pull myself together, my face buried against his chest. I was shaking and only wanted more, and then more, of him. But I was angrier than ever too, despite everything. The air around us had energized at the onset of an approaching thunderstorm, which seemed to echo the unrest in my heart. I tipped my chin against his chest and looked up at him. He held me tightly. His gorgeous, tortured dark eyes told me everything he couldn’t say.
“I do know what I’m asking,” I told him firmly, while staring into his dark eyes. “That’s why I’m asking it.”
I forced myself to move out of his arms, though at once I was cold and felt again as if something vital had been torn from me. But this time when I headed for my apartment, he let me go.
Chapter Eleven
It wasn’t until Trout Days, four days later, that I saw him again. I knew, via Dodge, that Justin had been out drinking pretty hard core in the past few nights, which only tripled my anger at him. He was anything but a coward when it came to everything but this. I’d sat on the dock for hours on every night since Monday, Joelle sometimes joining me for a beer. I knew she was wrapped up in her own problems, enough that she wasn’t payin
g attention to mine. Then again, she wasn’t as observant as me, had never been. And I sympathized with her, I truly did. Not only because she was my big sister and I loved her, but because Jackson had done her a rotten deal and she deserved to find happiness with someone else. And as much as I liked Bly, I was afraid he couldn’t deliver that for her, as much as Jo obviously longed for him. Crazy longed for him. But again I didn’t acknowledge that I knew how she felt. There were so many secrets swirling around in me. If I’d been a teenager, I would have been elated with the intrigue; now, it just exhausted me.
I managed to talk Joelle into going into town on Friday, after we’d worked lunch. Before I headed over to my apartment to get ready, I saw Justin’s trunk pull into the lot. I knew he was stopping out to drop off a canister of gasoline, among other things which Dodge had requested over the phone an hour ago. I watched from the safety of the window as he climbed from his truck, dirty and sweaty from his day at the filling station, looking so handsome and manly and utterly tempting. I had never longed so terribly for someone in my life.
“He’s a good-looking boy, ain’t he?” Gran acknowledged. Somehow she’d sidled up beside me without me hearing; I’d been too absorbed in studying Justin out the window.
I felt my face flush and Gran rubbed one hand, the one not clutching her cane, over my back. I sighed and then leaned to kiss her soft cheek. She moved back towards the coffeepot in the next moment, and I untied my apron and lifted my chin, banged out onto back porch. Justin looked up at me immediately and then went still, pausing in the middle of unlatching the tailgate of his truck. His gaze held mine and heat leaped between us. I walked slowly down the porch steps; his eyes never left me, but he didn’t move forward. I tossed my head and looked away from him with determination, thinking, Just you wait. I’ll make you so jealous you won’t be able to focus.
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