Rowan literally held the key to Nick's pleasure. And as his excitement rose, so did hers.
"Time out," Nick said, air rushing from his lungs.
"I haven't finished."
"Another time." This time when he took her hand, he settled her next to him, on her side, face to face. "I want to be inside you. But my condoms are in my coat pocket."
"FYI? Modern women are always prepared."
Straddling Nick, Rowan plucked a foil packet from the nightstand.
"You can put this back." Nick unclipped the barrette, running his fingers through her hair. "Feel like running the show?"
Nodding, Rowan watched as Nick quickly and efficiently donned the condom.
"Ride 'em, cowgirl."
"Don't make me laugh," Rowan's cautioned, resting her forehead on Nick's chest. "If I slip, you might end up in a hole I'm not interested in letting you explore."
Rowan heard Nick snort, his entire body shaking.
"Jesus, woman. The way you think. I want to crawl inside that head of yours and watch the wheels turning."
"My head is fine. Just stay out of my a—"
Nick covered her mouth with his, stopping her words. As for her thoughts? Gone. If he were to make any observations at the moment, all he would see would be the pleasure center of her brain shooting skyrockets like the Fourth of July.
Every color of the rainbow and some Rowan was fairly certain were new to the spectrum.
Resting her hands on Nick's chest, her eyes locked with his, Rowan slowly, inch by excruciatingly wonderful inch, lowered her body onto his. They had no more room for banter. Or smiles. Or laughter.
Rowan spiraled higher, Nick with her all the way. He sat up, fingers tangling in the wild fall of her hair, his arm around her waist, anchoring her to him. His breathing matching hers. Their rhythm in perfect sync.
When they fell—after reaching so high Rowan swore she almost touched the sky—they fell… together.
CHAPTER NINE
● ≈ ● ≈ ●
TAKING ONE LAST glance at Rowan, sleeping peacefully, Nick reluctantly slipped from the warm bed. The soles of his feet protested when they hit the cold hardwood. Cursing his lack of foresight, he left the room, naked, hurrying down the stairs.
Nick used his memory, and the shaft of light from the street that filtered through the closed curtains, to find his clothes. He dressed quickly. Pants, socks, shirt. In his jacket pocket, he found his phone.
Using the light from the screen, Nick entered the kitchen. With a quick search, he discovered where Rowan kept the coffee and filters. A few minutes later, he had a pot brewing.
While Nick waited for his first shot of morning caffeine, he made a call. Yes, the hour was early, but he knew for a fact that Travis liked to work out at an ungodly hour. By now, his friend was either in the middle of his run or ready to hit the showers.
"Unless you're in prison or near death, fuck off."
Nick frowned. The voice sounded like Travis, but his hostile words and surly tone didn't fit. If he didn't know better, Nick would think he was speaking to himself.
"Hello to you too, sunshine."
"What the hell are you doing up so early?"
"A better question would be, are you still in bed at quarter to six?" Nick grinned. "Unless you aren't alone. If so, I apologize for the interruption."
"Wrong on both counts, asshole. I haven't been to bed yet."
"There's your problem. Get some sleep. And get yourself laid. I can highly recommend both."
"You've been there less than two days, and you've already talked some tootsie out of her clothes?" Travis growled, his voice laced with exasperation. "Unbelievable."
Normally, Nick would have laughed. Maybe bragged a little. But Rowan wasn't his usual conquest. She wasn't a conquest at all. And she certainly wasn't a tootsie.
"No comment."
"Since when?"
"Since…" Nick never hesitated to confide in Travis. But something stopped him. "You know what? Never mind. Tell me what crawled up your ass? Problems? Do you need backup?"
One word from Travis would have seen Nick on the next plane south. Rowan would understand. Or—he smiled when an idea popped into his head—she could come with him. A mini-vacation. The more Nick mulled over the possibility, the more his enthusiasm grew.
"I appreciate the offer." Most of the piss and vinegar had drained away. Mostly, Travis sounded tired. "Small towns. I'd forgotten what a pain in the ass they can be. How are you doing? Outside of the sex department? You always do well there."
"Daddy dearest is a bigger asshole than I imagined."
"Considering your attitude toward him going in, that's saying something. Did he try to excuse his behavior toward your mom?"
"I haven't met Leonard Cartwright."
Nick gave Travis a quick rundown of the situation—deliberately leaving Rowan out of the mix.
"He put off seeing you until Wednesday? I'm surprised you didn't say fuck Cartwright and headed out of town."
Nick chuckled. His friend knew him well.
"I figured now or never. The answers are here in Jasper. A few more days won't matter."
"Looks like we ended up in the same proverbial boat," Travis said, his voice tinged with frustration. "My situation turned out to be more complicated than anticipated."
"So much for sandy beaches and lazy afternoons."
"Mm."
Nick noticed neither of them mentioned bikini-clad babes. A lot had changed in a short period of time. When he thought of Bermuda. Warm nights. Tropical drinks. The only woman he could picture by his side was Rowan. She filled his senses, leaving little room for erstwhile thoughts of random hookups.
"We'll get away before the first of the year," Travis assured him. "Maybe we can convince Spencer to come along. If you don't mind him bringing Blue."
"I like Blue," Nick said. "If Spencer had to go and fall in love, he couldn't have made a better choice."
"Too good for him, I say."
"Ditto, brother."
Hearing Travis chuckle, Nick grinned. When he and his best buddies took off for some R&R, girlfriends were strictly verboten. However, Spencer's reckless bachelor days were over. Nick and Travis were more than capable of raising hell on their own.
"Good morning, gorgeous."
Rowan brushed past Nick, her hand briefly touching his. Dressed in a bathrobe, her long hair bundled into a messy topknot, and her face glowing, healthy and freshly scrubbed.
Without the slightest attempt to glam herself up, Rowan had more allure than any woman Nick had ever known.
"Call if you need anything," Nick told Travis as he watched Rowan take two mugs from the cupboard.
"Same goes."
"Standing in the dark isn't necessary," Rowan said, handing Nick his coffee. "I can afford the electricity."
"Habit." Nick's entire body sighed as he took a sip of the steaming brew.
"From when you were a kid. Or now?"
"Both."
With a shrug, Nick wrapped an arm around Rowan's waist, kissing the concerned frown marring the area between her brows. He was tired of rehashing his childhood. He had grown up with a loving, supportive mother. She was the one who suffered. She sacrificed so much for him. Every day. In so many ways.
With the blithe ignorance of youth, Nick had assumed he would have years, decades, to shower his mother with luxury. Now, he would have settled for hearing her voice, seeing her smile—untainted by pain—one more time.
"I ran out of time."
Rowan didn't ask what he meant. Somehow, she knew.
"I'm sorry."
His mother would have liked Rowan. A strong, independent woman, Annie Sanders recognized the qualities when she saw them. Nick hated regrets. But every life was littered with a few. He would add the fact that Rowan and his mother would never meet to his short, but unavoidable, list.
"When do you have to leave for work
?"
"Twenty minutes. Why?"
Nick took Rowan's cup, setting it next to his in the sink. Lifting her, he gave her a long, heated kiss before heading up the stairs.
"Oh," she said, smiling.
Some regrets Nick couldn't avoid. Not taking every chance he had to enjoy warm, naked Rowan wouldn't be one of them.
ROWAN ADDED ANOTHER bag of yard waste to the growing pile near the back fence. The morning had been a non-stop race against the clouds moving in from the east. As each minute ticked from the clock, the temperature dropped a corresponding degree.
One more week and RTC Landscaping would have come up short on the promise Rowan made to Marsha Frederick. And the bonus her crew counted on to make the upcoming holidays a little merrier would have blown away with the nasty wind currently nipping at their heels.
Two more bags hit the pile. Rowan shot Nick a sideways glance as he stood beside her.
"I appreciate the help. But—"
"You didn't ask. I volunteered."
"And I'm grateful. But there's fresh snow on Mt. Blaire. I hear the skiing is fantastic."
"Are you trying to get rid of me?"
Hardly. Rowan only had a few days with Nick. If she had her way, she would spend as much time with him as possible.
"Just pointing out your options," she said, keeping the rest of her thoughts to herself.
"I'm where I want to be." Nick stretched his back, grimacing. "I thought I was in good shape. Now, I'm not so sure."
"Different set of muscles." Rowan admired the view as Nick bent over, picking up a stray piece of cardboard. "Nothing wrong with your gluteus maximus. Or any other part of you."
"You should know." Nick's gaze dropped to Rowan's mouth. "You kissed every inch of me. From top to bottom."
Yes, she had, Rowan thought with satisfaction. And if Nick voiced no objection, she planned to do so again. Next time from bottom to top—for the sake of variety.
"You want to trek out to the dump, or should I?" Rebecca asked. She usually spent weekends with her children. But today, all hands were on deck.
"You get rid of this load. I'll run the other pile to the center."
Not only was making their own compost a win for the environment, every successful DIY project they initiated meant a hefty chunk of money saved.
"I shouldn't be more than an hour."
Rowan shook her head. "By the time you drive there and back, we'll be done. Go home. Hug your kids. And that man of yours."
"Darren doesn't want for attention." But Rebecca didn't argue. "We made a masterpiece."
Returning Rebecca's hug, Rowan nodded.
"Janna is taking pictures as we speak. Check your inbox tomorrow afternoon. She should have everything downloaded, edited, and sent out to everyone by then."
Normally, Rowan played photographer. She enjoyed walking every inch of a project. Double checking that everything was as close to perfect as possible. Mostly, she liked to take the time to savor a job well done.
However, Mother Nature had graciously given Rowan a window which wouldn't stay open much longer. Leisurely strolls through the garden weren't on her agenda.
Janna Stapleton had expertly documented the job before and during. Rowan trusted her to take care of the after.
"What's next?" Nick swung a friendly arm around Rowan's shoulders.
"Don't laugh. I have a little ritual I always do at the end of every job. Sort of a superstition."
"I'm a baseball player. We love superstitions. When I was still in the minors, I had a teammate who wore the same underwear for three weeks straight."
Rowan grimaced. There were times—often, in fact—when the habits of men left her utterly confused. Apparently, male athletes rose to a whole different level of odd.
"Why?" she asked. "And how did you find out?"
"He bragged. Damn proud of those stiff, crusty suckers. Randy was on a hot streak. During those twenty-one days, his batting average rose over a hundred points. He became an RBI machine. Doubles. Triples. Twelve home runs."
In spite of herself, Rowan found the story fascinating.
"And then?"
"One day he went 0-for-5. Ritualistically—in the locker room shower—he burned the underwear right after the game."
"You didn't find the whole thing a bit odd?"
Nick shook his head, grinning. "Randy's antics were mild. I could tell you tales that would curl that pretty blond hair."
Rowan could tell that Nick was kidding. Not about the stories, but about sharing them. But she wasn't letting him off that easily. He had opened the door to her curiosity.
Besides, learning more about the oddities of baseball meant she learned a little more about Nick. Or at least the world he inhabited. Knowledge was almost always a good thing.
If nothing else, Rowan simply enjoyed the sound of Nick's voice.
They stopped near a pile of yard waste. She handed a bag to Nick, taking one for herself.
"Tell me more."
"Really?" Nick seemed surprised—and a little pleased—by Rowan's interest. "I didn't think baseball was your thing."
"Baseball isn't. But— I can always use a laugh."
"Okay. Just remember, you asked for it."
Rowan let out a silent sigh of relief. Thank goodness she caught herself before saying, but you are. Somehow—maybe last night, maybe today—when she wasn't paying attention, Nick had become her thing.
As she filled the bag, Rowan waited for the warning bells telling her she was a fool to jump when Nick wouldn't be there to catch her. He would be thousands of miles away, probably forgetting her as quickly as he moved on to one of his glamorous models.
Rowan waited. And waited. The bells, pealing their warning, never came. Great. Fine. No, even better. Terrific. How often did a man like Nick come into a woman's life? Into her life? The answer was simple.
Once in a lifetime.
Instead of worrying about how she would feel after he left, shouldn't she embrace every second she had with him?
Again, Rowan found her answer without much digging. Yes. To everything.
Wednesday. Until then, Rowan would fill her head with as much information—as many memories—as possible. Thursday would be soon enough to deal with the consequences.
"By then, stopping him wasn't an option," Nick finished another tale covering the antics of a minor-league teammate, blissfully unaware of Rowan's thoughts. "The manager's office was filled with fifteen goats. Trust me, they weren't housetrained."
"Who cleaned up the mess?" Rowan asked, laughing.
"Tuffy, and the two guys who helped him pull the prank. But the entire team paid the price. No amount of showering could completely eliminate the smell of goat shit. Naturally, we started a road trip the next day. Tuffy and his cohorts were relegated to the back of the bus for the next week."
"What about you?"
"Me?" Nick tied off his bag, reaching for another without missing a beat.
"All your stories are about teammates. Tell me one of your misadventures."
"I kept my nose choirboy clean." The twinkle in Nick's eyes told a different tale. "Maybe I slipped. Once. Twice at the most."
"Go on," Rowan urged.
"Have you ever been to Wilbur, Missouri?"
"Can't say that I have."
"Don't bother. Blink, and you'll miss the one highlight. Miss Sally's."
Chuckling, Rowan shook her head at the improbable name. "Sounds like a brothel."
"Close enough."
"You're joking."
"Scout's honor." Nick placed a hand over his heart.
"Were you a Scout?"
"No," he admitted, the edge of his lips twitching upward. "But the principle's the same."
Rowan had known a few Scouts. Some were trustworthy. Some? Not so much. As for Nick? In this case, she would give him the benefit of the doubt because… he was Nick. But mostly, she really, really wanted his story to
be true.
"Though Wilbur is a small town, Miss Sally's catered to a wide-reaching clientele. Including visiting baseball teams. With nothing else to do for hundreds of miles, we naturally gravitated there after the game."
"Boys will be boys."
Rowan said the words tongue in cheek. Nick's nodding agreement was devoid of the irony she intended.
"I'd always avoided paying for sex—still do. But if a young man played minor league ball. And his team landed in Wilbur." Nick shrugged. "Miss Sally's was a rite of passage."
"What kind of passage? Years later, you can all brag that you caught the same STD?"
"Miss Sally's ladies were clean." When Rowan sent Nick a skeptical look, he backed down—a bit. "The only time I visited, I came away clean."
"A ringing endorsement if I ever heard one." Rowan finished filling the last bag. With a sense of accomplishment, she placed her hands on her hips. "Is Miss Sally's still standing?"
"Hell if I know. Probably."
Prostitution wasn't something Rowan could comfortably expound upon. However, she knew the practice wasn't all laughter and good times—despite what Dolly Parton and The Best Little Whore House in Texas wanted everybody to believe.
As far as Nick and his youthful indiscretion? She asked. He willingly volunteered. Subject closed.
"I'll get my truck. Once we've loaded these bags, we're done. Except for telling the lady of the house that her showpiece garden is finished. On time and, yay, under budget."
NICK WATCHED AS Rowan walked away, her long legs eating up the distance between her and her waiting truck. She was a sight to see. Strong. Confident. Carrying a heavy load of responsibility and more than capable of doing the job.
Outside of his mother, Nick couldn't think of a woman he admired more.
"You're the first person with a dick to work on Rowan's crew. How does that distinction make you feel?"
Glancing at Marsha Fredericks, Nick smiled. He met her briefly when he joined Rowan for lunch. A dynamic personality, she struck him as someone who spoke her mind and to hell with what the world thought. He liked her immediately.
"Rowan isn't sexist."
"No. She hired women because she had to. Then stuck with them because they could do the job and didn't grouse about working for a woman." Marsha scoffed. "Men."
For Another Day (One Strike Away Book 2) Page 10
