by Donna Alward
They meandered down dirt paths, through various gardens. There was one with bee balm, verbena, and other florals that attracted butterflies and bees. There was a shaded area with trees and shrubs and hostas, most of which were blooming, their light purple stalks standing firm against the summer breeze. There was a rose garden, a section that was a profusion of larkspur, lilies, phlox, Shasta daisies, and other flowers Willow recognized but couldn’t name. “I swear they must have a full-time gardener,” she said as they stepped through an arbor tangled with wisteria.
“You belong outdoors,” Ethan said, squeezing her fingers. “You change when you’re in the sun and fresh air. It energizes you.”
“It does.” She grinned up at him and then let go of his hand and bent down to slip off her sandals. “Take off your shoes, Ethan. And your socks. Stand with me on the grass.”
Ethan’s cheeks colored. “What are you doing?”
“I’m showing you what it’s like to be grounded. Truly. It’s a whole scientific thing.”
He laughed. “By standing barefoot.”
She nodded. “Yep. Not everyone believes in it, but I always feel better after being in contact with the earth. It has to do with positive and negative electrons and balancing them in the body.”
He laughed again.
“Are you laughing at me, Gallagher?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She grinned. “At least you own it. Come on. Take off your shoes. No one will care.”
She moved around on the square of lush grass, her toes sinking into the cool softness of it.
He stared at her for a long moment, then began to toe off his dress shoes and bent to take off his socks.
“I feel like an idiot.”
“You look awesome.” He stepped onto the grass beside her as she continued, “Have you ever thought about how good you feel after walking on the beach? Or if you lie on the ground, looking up at the stars?”
He looked over at her, his eyes intrigued. “I’m still not sure I believe you,” he said. “But it does feel nice.”
She smiled. “All our technology is supposed to make us feel more connected, but we’ve lost important connections along the way. With ourselves. With nature. And we’re so connected that we’re more lost than ever.”
“I hate to admit that makes sense, but it kind of does. Like when you see people walking and texting, or sitting together but staring at their phones. They’re missing out on so much.”
“Right.” She took his hand. “Come on. Let’s walk. We can wash our feet later.”
They stayed off the pathway and walked the edge of the property, their shoes hooked on their fingertips. The further west they got, the more the landscape opened up. The inn’s property line bordered a nearby farm, and they stopped under a giant oak and watched a pair of horses graze in a pasture. Willow let out a deep breath. “If I weren’t wearing such a pretty dress, I’d sit down right now and just breathe all this in.”
“Maybe I can help.”
To her surprise, Ethan folded himself into a cross-legged pose beneath the tree, then patted his knees. “Sit here. Your dress’ll be safe.”
“I’ll hurt your legs.”
“A little thing like you? Hardly.”
“I’m almost five foot eight. I’m hardly a little thing.”
“Try me. Sit on my lap, Willow.”
Her heart stammered as she put her shoes beside his and then rested a hand on his shoulder, gently easing herself onto his lap. His back was against the tree, and his arms came around her, holding her in place. Because she was sitting higher than he was, his head fit the curve of her neck in a strangely nice way.
“There. One safe dress, and a few minutes to watch the horses and enjoy the evening.”
“Sometimes you surprise me,” she admitted. “I didn’t expect you to be such a good sport.”
“I like the outdoors. I like you. This is not a hardship.” He tilted his head a bit and smiled at her. “And I like seeing you smile.”
“I seem to be doing a lot of that when we’re together.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me, too.”
She leaned into his body, watched as the pair of horses plodded through the field, stopping now and again to snip at some grass, their tails flicking as the sun began to lower in the sky. His hand, warm and a little rough, slid along her upper arm, caressing gently, making goose bumps rise on her skin. She let out a breath, inhaled again, closed her eyes. Peace. That was what she felt right now. Peace, and gratitude for this moment, with this man.
His hair tickled along her neck as he turned his head, then she felt the soft press of his lips on the tendon next to her collarbone. Without thinking, she tilted her head a little, allowing him access, inviting him to keep going. He did, the butterfly touch of his lips stirring sensations that were completely new and yet achingly familiar. A sigh escaped her lips as his mouth slid up to the delicate hollow just below her ear.
“You taste good,” he murmured. “Kiss me, Willow.”
She opened her eyes briefly, found his gaze burning with the blue flame of desire. Her lashes slid closed again as she leaned down and pressed her lips against his.
For all the intensity in his voice and eyes, he didn’t rush. The kiss was gentle, but full of erotic little nips and licks that made the muscles between her legs tighten with need. His hand slid over the soft fabric of her dress and pressed against the pebbled nipple, unfettered from any bra. He made a sound of surprise in his throat, and then slid his hand up over her ribs, letting his thumb ride inside the ivory fabric, over the soft side of her breast.
“Ethan,” she breathed.
“I think you’re right. I think there’s something to this grounding thing.” He nipped at her bottom lip, stroked the fullness of her breast with his thumb, up and down, up and down. “I am feeling very, very connected right now.”
Willow felt more than connected. She felt … wanton. She had the terrible, wonderful urge to slide off his lap, unzip his trousers, and straddle him right here against the ancient oak. But she wouldn’t. Not now. Even if there weren’t Laurel’s expensive dress to consider, she didn’t want a quick coupling under a tree to be their first time. She wanted something more. They both deserved that.
“Will you take me home?” she asked, more than a little breathless.
“We haven’t had dessert.”
She moaned against him, wondering what would happen if he knew she wore approximately four square inches of fabric beneath the dress. It wasn’t much of a barrier.
“You’re killing me here,” she whispered, and without thinking, pressed her breast more firmly into his palm.
“You’re not wearing a bra.”
“There’s not room for much under this dress.”
His hand paused, and he halted the progress of his lips and looked at her. “I think we should head back to Darling.”
“I’ll buy you a nightcap.”
Willow disentangled her body from his and stood, then slipped on her sandals as her body hummed, both from his touch and from the inevitability of what was to come. Tonight had been all about deliberate seduction. The setting, the meal, the romantic walk in the garden … all just window dressing for a mating dance that had been coming for a while now.
Ethan put on his socks and shoes, handed Willow her purse, and took her hand. The walk back to the parking lot went much faster than the walk out, without any stopping at the gardens to see any flowers or plants.
It seemed no time at all and they were ensconced in his car and heading back to Darling and the new reality of their relationship. Though neither had explicitly voiced it, tonight things were going to change. Go to the next level. Willow know she should be nervous, and she was, but not in a scared way. She’d done a lot of thinking and meditating lately, and it didn’t make sense for her to pretend like her sexual self no longer existed. And if she were going to choose a lover, she couldn’t do better than Ethan. She’d never met a guy with
more integrity or honor.
By tacit agreement they went to her place; it was probably still too soon to go to his. They climbed the stairs to her apartment; the café was still open downstairs, but wouldn’t be for long. Emily would close up and Hannah’s office was already vacated. The temporary food bank was also empty this time of night. Within the next ten minutes, there wouldn’t be another soul in the building. The whole, big, quiet building.
She put the key in the lock, marveling that her hand wasn’t shaking. Ethan stood close behind her, the warmth of his body radiating against the naked skin of her back. Once they were inside, she shut the door, slipped off her shoes, and offered him a drink. “Wine? I don’t have much else.”
“Wine is fine.”
Normally she would have cracked a joke about rhyming, but not tonight. Instead she went through to the kitchen and got a bottle of merlot, uncorked it, and got down two glasses. When she moved to pour, he was standing by the counter.
She handed him the glass. “Cheers,” she said weakly, touching her rim to his.
“Cheers,” he echoed.
They drank, deeply. It seemed nothing would be done in moderation tonight, and it was a heady thought. She had no need of liquid courage, but couldn’t deny the alcohol was fueling her hunger for him substantially. While he drank again, she went to the bathroom, retrieved a small basin, and filled it with warm water.
“What’s that for?” he asked. He finished the wine in his glass and reached for the bottle, pouring himself another few ounces.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d wash your feet?” She smiled at him. “Come. Sit on the futon.”
“You don’t have to…”
“Trust me, Ethan. Sit on the futon.”
His gaze burned into hers, then he topped off her glass, too, and moved to the living area where he sat on the futon. She put down the basin and knelt before him, spreading a towel over her knees to protect her dress. Before she started, she reached over to the side table and picked up her glass of wine, taking a long drink, savoring the rich flavor. Then she reached for Ethan’s socks, rolling them slowly over his ankles and off his feet. She dropped the washcloth into the water, squeezed out the warm water, and cupped his heel in her hand.
At the last moment she looked up and saw his eyes darken with what she knew was arousal and awareness. Then she ran the washcloth over his foot, along his arch, over the ridge just below his toes.
He sighed and leaned his head back, eyes closed. “God, that feels good,” he murmured.
She slid the cloth over his heel again, then along his toes. He jerked his foot a bit, laughing lightly. So he had ticklish feet. She smiled to herself, filing the information away for later. Right now she put the washcloth back in the basin and ran her fingers over his foot, rubbing her thumb into the center of his foot, right where the arch and ball met.
“Mmmm,” he moaned, and the sound vibrated through Willow, heightening her own arousal. She moved to the other foot, washing it, massaging the pressure points she knew would bring him pleasure and relaxation, until he was relaxed and putty in her hands.
“My turn,” he said. “Switch places with me.”
She did as he asked because she was dying for him to touch her again. He knelt before her, but put the towel on the floor beside him as he cradled her foot in his big hands. The cloth slid over her skin, warm and wet, and she bit down on her lip. The urge to close her eyes was strong, but she made herself watch him, the way he focused on her feet, the way his fingers moved over the sensitive skin of her arch. He cupped her heel in his palm, but dropped the cloth into the basin and, with his free hand, used his thumb to stroke the side of her ankle, right between the bone and her heel.
Did he actually know about that pressure point, or was he just lucky? Willow caught her breath, then held it as his hand trailed past her ankle bone up her calf.
Oh God. Oh God Oh God Oh God.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured, tracing his fingertips along the inside of her knee. The scrap of underwear Laurel had given her was soaked now, and Willow gave up all pretense of composure and leaned her head back against the futon cushion. There was a scraping sound—Ethan moved the basin and towel aside—and then his fingers crept up the inside of her thigh.
“Wil,” he said roughly, and she instinctively parted her knees a little more.
Heat rushed to each spot his fingers touched, and when he encountered her tiny thong, he made a sound of approval deep in his throat. He cupped her and her whole world was centered in the palm of his hand as she pressed into his touch.
“This is all you’re wearing under that dress?” he asked.
She nodded, unable to speak.
“Good thing I didn’t know that under the oak tree. We might never have made it back here. Damn, Willow. I want you so much.”
Her heart sang with the admission. “Me, too,” she whispered, opening her eyes. “I’ve been dying all night, waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“Waiting for you to touch me. To kiss me. To be inside me.”
His nostrils flared at that last part, and she knew she’d just tossed gasoline on an already burning fire. It had been so long since she’d had sex … longer still since she’d had great sex. She was a physical woman who’d denied herself that particular pleasure for too long. And for what? She suspected she knew the answer, but there would be time for that later. Not now. Now was about Ethan and her and slaking this crazy need that was consuming them both.
She got up from the futon and went to the wall of windows, drawing the bamboo blinds on each large pane. Light from the spectacular sunset filtered through the meshy fabric, giving them privacy but not darkness. No, not darkness. Tonight she would see him, and he would see her.
She went back to him and slipped her shoulders out of the dress, then let it fall to the floor. Nerves bubbled around in her stomach; she was practically naked before him, but they both knew where this was headed. Her bashfulness was balanced by a new sort of pride. She knew she was strong, limber, slightly curved in the right places. Her breasts were smallish but perky, and right now her nipples were so hard they were nearly painful. Mere strings decorated her hips, leaving her bottom essentially bare. She couldn’t hide a thing from him like this.
Ethan stood, pulled his shirttails out of his pants, and undid the buttons. She got a glimpse of his firm chest and the smattering of dark hair, then watched as he undid his belt and the button of his trousers. “You want it off?” he asked, a bit of grit in his voice that she now understood to be desire, need, arousal.
“I want it off. I want to touch you,” she admitted.
“Then touch me, Willow.”
Oh God.
She went to him and parted the sides of his shirt, then pushed it off his shoulders, letting it drop in a heap on the floor. Before she could put a thought together, she pressed her lips to his chest, sliding her tongue over to his tiny nipple while her hand slid over his still-clad bottom. His hand, meanwhile, cupped her breast fully, his thumb riding over the tip, and then slipped down over her hip to her center, where he deftly moved the strip of fabric aside and slid his finger inside her.
“Oh,” she moaned, her knees weakening.
“Before we go any further, I need to know you’re okay with what’s going to happen.”
His words brought her back to earth briefly. “What’s going to happen?”
“I’m going to take you into your bedroom. I’m going to kiss every square inch of your body. And when you can hardly take anymore, I’m going to be inside you. Fair warning.”
Holy Buddha. This new, take-charge side of Ethan was intoxicating. The way his fingers were moving right now would have her agreeing to just about anything. Never in her life had she wanted someone this badly. He was blowing up every one of her senses, and they’d hardly even begun. “I’m okay. More than okay. My warning is, I give as good as I get.”
“Then we’re in for a hell of a night.”
As much as she hated to pull away, she did, but only so she could take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. He was holding her hand, trailing a step behind her, when he gave her fingers a tug. “Willow?”
“Hmm?” She half turned, but didn’t expect the serious tenderness that was written on his face. It tugged at her heart, gave her pause for a moment. “What is it, Ethan?”
“You are so damned beautiful. I thought you should know that.”
Something inside her wept and sang at the same time. She smiled at him in return, then led him onward to her bedroom and the soft mattress that would cradle them for the next hour.… or more.
And as he took her in his arms and made her his, the very last chain holding her back fell away as if it had never existed.
CHAPTER 15
One long, languorous stretch and Willow felt the welcome soreness that had been absent from her body for so long.
She was naked beneath the cotton sheet, and so was Ethan. She relaxed her muscles and shifted gently to her side, looking over at his still-sleeping form. The sun was barely up, and the pale light touched his face, now rusty with a night’s stubble. She studied the freckles beneath his tan, examined how his eyelashes were a shade darker than his hair, noticed, for the first time, a tiny scar on his forehead.
Ethan had done what he promised. He’d loved her thoroughly, and more than once. The first time had been fragile and tender and overwhelming; an exploration of each other and their wants and likes. She scissored her legs beneath the sheet, remembering how it had felt when he’d slid inside her. It had been unbelievably sexy, but something more, too. It had been frighteningly right. There’d been a moment when he’d looked into her eyes and she’d felt this crazy connection that was exponentially greater than any she’d ever felt before.
Sexually, they were utterly compatible. If there’d been any doubt, the second and third time would have sealed that deal.
As he slept on, she realized what she was feeling was awe. At him. At them. At the kind of man he was—hard worker, good father, amazing lover. Perhaps a little broody at times, but Willow understood a lot of that now.
