Second Chance At Two Love Lane

by Kieran Kramer

  “Okay,” he said, and started to panic. He didn’t have a great word. The best he could come up with was “stove.” La-di-da.

  He put it down, picked up five new wooden squares to put on his letter rack.

  “Stove,” she said.

  The clock on the mantel ticked loudly. He was determined to keep his poker face. Was that a twitch of her mouth he saw? Was she about to laugh at him?

  “Your turn,” he said, to take the heat off.

  “Okay.” She hunched over the board, her hands folded loosely and dangling between her legs. Her thinking pose.

  The clock ticked. And ticked.

  “Don’t you have anything?” he asked, putting the pressure on. She’d appreciate that. If there was anything Ella hated, it was someone letting her win. She wanted victory fair and square. And she liked her opponents to be challenging, or the win meant nothing to her.

  “I do have a word,” she said.

  “Bring it on.” He watched her fingers hover over the little shelf holding the tiles.

  She started with the S in “stove” and put an E underneath it. Then she looked up. “I’m going for a lot of points on this one.” The next blank on the board was for a triple-letter score. She laid down the letter X, and looked up at him. The X was worth eight points. Times three.

  What was that expression in her eyes? He couldn’t tell.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” he asked her.

  “Nope.” She paused, then added three more letters—T-E-T—to spell “sextet.” “Get your mind out of the gutter, Mr. Scorekeeper. That’s twenty-nine points. Write it down.”

  He shook his head. Wrote it down. Looked back up. Saw her smile. It was a wicked one. Mischievous as hell.

  “Sextet,” she said, “as in a set of six people or things.”

  “Hey,” he said. “Don’t mess with me, all right?”

  “We’re playing Scrabble,” she said.

  “We’d better be,” he said back. “You’ve had a rough night. Let’s keep it simple.”

  “I am,” she said. “Your turn.”

  If she was going to mess around with him, he’d mess around right back. He looked at the mix of letters he now had. Oh, she was going to regret that she’d ever started this!

  He picked up an O. Put it next to the first T in “sextet.” Added an N for “ton.” A really crappy word worth almost no points. He paused and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She had that little smirk going. So far, so good. He wanted her to think she was winning in more ways than one.

  “Well,” he said, and sat back up. Looked at her as if he was done.

  “That’s it? ‘Ton’?”

  “I didn’t say I was finished.” His tone was casual. He added a G.

  “‘Tong,’” she said. “That’s better. Although I always think of a pair of tongs with an S. I’ve never used it in the singular. But you could. You should have added it to the second T in ‘sextet’ so you could have gotten a double-letter score on G.”

  Such a smarty pants.

  “I’m not done,” he said, and took a sip of wine. He laid down a U. And then an E. “‘Tongue.’ Now I’m done. And by the way, by using the first T in ‘sextet’”—he emphasized the word—“I managed a double-word score. More points this way.”

  She shifted uneasily. “Right. I didn’t know you were going to spell … ‘tongue.’”

  “Now you do,” he said. “You’re still winning, but this game is far from over.” Let her think any double entendres she wanted.

  She looked at him over the rim of her wine glass. The air between them crackled with tension.

  “Fine,” she said, and started unbuttoning her shirt. “I agree. This game has only begun. Let’s get it really started. You and I both know it was headed this way, didn’t we?”

  “Ella,” he said, unable to take his eyes off her fumbling fingers. “What exactly are you doing?”

  “You see what I’m doing.”

  “You’ve had too much wine. And a big shock.”

  “Not to mention you’re my ex-boyfriend who dumped me when I thought you were about to give me a ring. I’d be an idiot to take off my clothes.” Her expression was serene. Sexy.

  She was the only woman in the world who could totally take him by surprise.

  He jetted a breath. “We can’t do this. You’re in no condition. And if that’s not enough to convince you, you never quit Scrabble before you win.”

  But she kept unbuttoning. “I haven’t had nearly as much wine as you think. And I’ll grant you that the shock of what happened to Mama is making me a little crazy, yes. But it’s also made me realize that life is short. Secrets suck. And the truth is, I’ve been lusting after you—against my better judgment—since I bumped into you when I was coming backward down the stairs with my suitcase. That kiss today didn’t help. I’m not going to hide it anymore.”

  He put his head in his hands and groaned. “I’m in an awkward position here.”

  “You might as well give up.”

  He looked up. Met her eyes. She stopped unbuttoning. Her shirt gaped wide and her gorgeous breasts, encased in a silky bra, were a sight to behold. But it was her eyes that got to him. She was seeking something from him. That much was clear.

  But she was also defiant.

  “I told you,” she said, “I go after what I want these days. And until someone stops me, I keep going.”

  “I’m going to stop you,” he said.

  “No, you’re not.” She shrugged out of her blouse and started working on her bra clasp.

  He could feel his resolve weaken. “Just think about it, Ella. Seriously. I’m leaving when this week is over.”

  “Uh-huh.” She was still fiddling with that bra. “I’m aware of that.”

  And then he heard the clasp release. The bra popped forward, the straps sliding down her arms. Her breasts were still covered. Just barely.

  “You really want to get involved this way?” he asked.

  “I’ve made it obvious. Do you?” She slid a strap off her arm.

  Hank thought a few curse words so he wouldn’t give in to temptation. She was more gorgeous than ever. “Of course, I do,” he said. “You’re a beautiful woman. And…”

  “And what?” she asked. She was now naked from the waist up. She leaned back on the sofa with her glass of wine. Her free arm was slung across her abdomen. She looked comfy lounging there on a sofa with her wine, her breasts unbound.

  But he wasn’t thinking comfy thoughts.

  “You were saying?” She took a sip of wine.

  “I said you’re beautiful. And you know you’re special to me.” There. He got that out. “Which is why I’m not going to ruin things by getting involved this early.”

  “Meaning you were planning on getting involved before you left,” she said, her unflinching gaze fixed on him.

  “I wanted to,” he said, admiring her confidence. “But I had no idea if we’d be in that place. I didn’t want to force it.”

  “I’ve taken the first step, obviously.”

  “You have. In a big way. I didn’t expect this, Ella. At all.”

  “But you’re an international celebrity, Hank. This must happen to you all the time, women throwing themselves at you.”

  “You’re not just any woman, and you’re not throwing yourself at me. I feel distinctly unworthy. This half-naked-on-the-couch seduction scenario feels like you’re intentionally reminding me of that fact.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “It’s like waking up on Christmas morning after you’ve robbed a bank the night before, and Santa still gives you a gift. You feel guilty as hell when you open it.”

  She laughed.

  “Well played, Ella.” He said it with affection.

  “Tell me this, Hank.” She sat up a little higher. “You could have come down to Charleston any time, so why’d you wait for a movie role?”

  “It was a good excuse. Otherwise…”

  “Otherwise, you w
ould have nothing to hide behind,” she filled in for him.

  “You’re right.”

  “What are you afraid of, Hank?” She swung her crossed leg. Took another sip of wine.

  “Hurting you again,” he said. “And never getting to touch you again. You can see I have a problem, and I don’t see how it’s solvable.”

  “It’s not.” She put her wine glass on top of the Scrabble board. And then she stood and unzipped her jeans, her eyes on his. “But venturing into that territory is a risk I’m willing to take. The older I get, the less inclined I am to run away. There’s too much good stuff mixed in where hurt and fear reside. I don’t want to lose out.”

  “I don’t either.” He stood.

  “I’m getting naked. Feel free to join me.” She got one leg out, revealing a pair of tiny silk panties that matched her bra. Back in the old days, she never had matching sets. She got her undergarments from discount department stores, five pairs of cotton panties to a pack and a bra on a plastic hanger, all for a song. The underwear she wore now was expensive, something a successful working woman could afford.

  And then she started working on the other leg.

  “If we do this, Ella, we’re going to do it every day,” he said, “until I leave.”

  She shimmied out of her panties. “We’re on the same page.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Oh my God, what am I doing? Ella thought as she pranced—yes, pranced—up the stairs buck naked on Tuesday night.

  I know what I’m doing, she reminded herself. This is what I want. And I embrace it.

  She knew her rear end was definitely bootylicious. Hank was a butt man, and seeing her from behind was probably driving him crazy in a good way that promised high sexual energy later. Hopefully, sooner rather than later. Hopefully, in about two minutes. Or less.

  She threw herself on her bed.

  Maybe in thirty seconds.

  Please! In thirty seconds …

  She started counting, and was at twenty-seven Mississippi, twenty-six Mississippi when he appeared at her door.

  “Come on in,” she said, leaning back on her elbows, her knees propped up, kept primly together.

  That wouldn’t last long.

  That was the beauty of knowing someone already sexually. She was instantly comfortable. Hank knew her hot spots. She knew his—unless, of course, something had changed in the last ten years.

  She’d had a few boyfriends over the last decade. One had lasted a whole year and a half. She’d even had two well-protected but steamy one-night stands with guys at conferences halfway across the world.

  But nobody excited her and satisfied her the way Hank did. She was ready to join a convent after he left because she was sure she’d never want to have sex with another guy again. Luckily, she’d made the decision not to be so foolish and cut off her nose to spite her face. She was too young to swear off intimate encounters.

  Yet she had to admit, not a single one had remotely reached the level of fantastic, mind-blowing lovemaking she’d shared with Hank.

  He started unbuttoning and unzipping while she watched, and when she was at four Mississippi he landed on the bed next to her.

  Hank. The man who’d left her, who didn’t deserve to be with her, was now naked as a jaybird too, and a fine specimen of manhood he was. She raked her glance over him from top to toe. “Mmm-mmm,” she said with the smallest shake of her head, to signify how intensely she appreciated his physique.

  “That’s a new Southern thing you’ve picked up,” Hank said, almost grinning. But not.

  She saw that he was torn between amusement and looking at her, appreciating her feminine form.

  Well, let him look! Let him see what he’d been missing for a decade!

  “I learned at Miss Thing’s feet how best to show appreciation for something pretty, or remarkable,” she said. “You’re pretty remarkable.”

  “Not as remarkable as you,” he said, and ran his hand down her side.

  She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the feeling of his hand on her flesh. “You feel amazing,” she said.

  He leaned over and kissed her breast—before he’d even kissed her mouth. And she let him. She jutted it higher, let him take more of her nipple into his mouth.

  He grabbed her elbow, effectively making her fall on her back, and moved his mouth to her lips.

  They kissed. With wild abandon. It was the only way she could describe it, and when she told the girls about it later—if she told the girls—that was what she would say. They kissed with wild abandon, their every inhibition gone. Then with the strength of a linebacker, she hooked his thigh with her leg and pulled him over on top of her. She had no idea how she managed that. She was petite, and he was a big guy. Her desperation to feel him covering her is what gave her the strength and agility.

  When he was on top of her, she wrapped her legs around him and held him close, urging him toward union with her. And they’d barely started kissing.

  But he was ready too. He was so ready.

  And here she was. About to mess around with a man who’d done her wrong. What would her friends at Two Love Lane say?

  She knew what they’d say.

  But her survival instinct, which was really strong, wasn’t as powerful as her desire for Hank. That eclipsed everything.

  “You have protection?” she said. She was barely aware of the words they’d spoken. She was too lost in sensation, in remembering, in running her hand up and down his back.

  Hank.

  Hank!

  They still fit perfectly together.

  “Wait a minute,” he murmured.

  “You’re getting something?” she asked. “I forgot. I don’t have anything here. Aw, shoot. The Sicilian side of the family staying at my house might see my basket of condoms under the bathroom sink. I meant to move them.” She paused. “They’ve been collecting dust.”

  She shouldn’t have told him that part! Why did she do that? She had a tendency to get close too fast, say too much, believe in sunshine and unicorns.

  To trust too much.

  That was her problem.

  “Don’t worry about your relatives,” Hank said, in between kissing her breasts, and then her belly. She knew where he was going, and it wouldn’t require a condom. “You’re thirty years old. You don’t have to explain anything to anyone. And guess what? I don’t have anything either.”

  “You mean you don’t always carry something in your wallet?” She was shocked.

  And then she had the magnificent—stupid!—thought that maybe he’d been celibate since he’d left her, that she was the only woman he’d ever wanted to have. And so he’d suffered without sex all these years.

  “I’m not a teenager.” He chuckled. “So, no, I don’t carry a condom in my wallet. If I’m going to have sex with someone, I pretty much know when and where ahead of time. Sadly.”

  Oh. So he had had sex since he’d left her. Of course, he had. Too bad. She’d hoped—

  No, she was a realist. Hank was a red-blooded, masculine male. And she wasn’t actually a narcissist. She knew her body wasn’t the only one in the entire world that could tempt him, especially over a period of ten years.

  “Yeah, that’s a shame,” she said. “About the condom. But also about the fact that sex is scheduled for you.”

  “I said too much.”

  “So did I. About the dusty condoms.” As if she needed to repeat that. She just couldn’t stop herself.

  They both laughed.

  “I guess it’s part of getting older,” Ella said. “I mean, losing a sense of spontaneity. And wonder. Probably because we’re very busy with our careers. And being grown-ups. Doing taxes and having to pay bills does nothing for my libido.”

  “Mine either, although I hire people to do that stuff.” He pressed a deep kiss in her belly, and her pelvis rose up in response. She wasn’t at all embarrassed. It was Hank. “And you know what? I haven’t lost that spontaneity with you.”

&nbs
p; “Maybe that’s because we haven’t had sex in ten years. It’s new again.”

  “Maybe,” he murmured. “But I don’t think that’s it. I really don’t.”

  “You’re kind to say,” she said automatically, as if he’d complimented her on her dress. Or haircut.

  “I’m not kind,” he said. And before she could respond, he moved between the apex of her thighs, his face warm on her most delicate flesh, his hair sweeping over nerve endings that clamored for more. He burrowed there, kissing every inch of her.

  No tongue, though. Simply homage to a reunion between old friends—him and her lady business.

  She almost chuckled thinking about the Scrabble game, how the word “tongue” had sent her over the edge, and she’d practically ripped her clothes off. It was because she remembered … Hank had excelled at loving her this way.

  “What hand of fate gave you those letters?” she asked him, barely able to speak. “The Scrabble gods?”

  “You mean ‘tongue’?” he asked, and then showed her what he was capable of with his.

  “No, ‘stove,’” she said. Even in the midst of this, she could crack a joke, heady with lust as she was.

  He started to laugh.

  The vibrations took her to the next level. “Oh,” she said. It was sexy enough to make him stop laughing.

  “Keep laughing,” she whispered. “Please.”

  “No,” he said low, which worked even better than laughing.

  “Keep saying no,” she said.

  But he wouldn’t. He wrapped her legs around his shoulders and took his sweet time, giving her the kind of focused, thoughtful attention he gave to everything in his life.

  Within seconds, she was lost. Out of her mind.

  Why, she managed to think right in the middle of it, why did this ever go away?

  It was the best thing that had ever happened to her. If this happened to her every day, she would never want for anything more. She’d give up her special accounts at her favorite boutiques, her regular pedicures and manicures, her expensive perfume, and even her shoe collection.

  “Hank,” she cried as wave after wave took her. And was annoyed with herself. She shouldn’t have called his name. Because no doubt he could tell from how she said it that he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.