by Ava Miles
“That’s…” She bit off her comment. The germs hadn’t deleted all her good sense.
Jill’s gaze darted to the door, but Maven was still out of earshot. “I know. I told Brian he has to convince me he’s super into me before I make some important life decisions. And he needs to know I can trust him and be with him before he does the same.”
Her head hurt when she tried to nod. “Moving in together would be convincing.”
“And there’s a slight chance I might be pregnant.” Her screech made Peggy wince. “Oh God, why do those words make me want to scream and hide my head in the sand like I’m an ostrich?”
Oh crap. Now the haste made sense. Peggy wove a little where she was sitting, attributing it to shock and the stupid weakness. “I don’t think ostriches scream.”
“Who cares? I saw that French chick leaving Brian’s house, and I got mad at him. Things got intense and…we…went nuts with each other. A tornado couldn’t have stopped us. I know it sounds stupid now, but I was so hot for him, I told myself one time without a condom wouldn’t matter. The whole thing was intense and wonderful, but things are complicated.” Jill brought her up to date on Brian’s affair with the French chick. Her words continued to rush out faster than water from a hose. “So, when Brian popped the craziest idea on the planet, I agreed.”
When she smacked herself on the forehead, Peggy’s face contorted. That had to hurt.
Jill told her the rest in greater detail. Her rampant energy drained the life out of Peggy like some vampire with a victim’s life force. She slumped onto the couch, trying to assimilate the news.
The hand Jill was clenching uncurled, revealing Keith’s mini race car. She dropped it to the ground. “What a mess, huh?”
“You’re doing the best you can. That’s all anyone can do.”
“You’re right. Everything will be…whatever the hell it is.”
Peggy patted her hand, her vision wavering in and out.
“You really are wiped,” Jill muttered. “Let’s get you back in bed.”
“I can’t make it,” she whispered. Colors swirled behind her lids. She rubbed her nose when it tickled, wishing she had a blanket.
A warm hand settled on her back. Her body immediately recognized the heat and size of it. Maven. Let him do that magic thingee. When he rolled her into his solid frame, she moaned.
“Leave me,” she protested.
“No way.”
He lifted her into his arms like she was weightless. She cracked her eyes open a fraction to see his face. He was staring down at her, his handsome face softened with gentleness. His stoplight green eyes pierced her soul. She let them close again. She didn’t want anyone to see into her soul.
Still he was warm, hot actually, his body like the heat vent she’d stood over in the kitchen when the microwave was nuking her soup. Part of her wanted to crawl inside him to ward off the chills.
“It’s okay, Peggy. We’ll get you to bed.”
Jill’s voice sounded close by. Good, she wasn’t alone with Maven.
“When does Keith need to be picked up?” Jill asked.
Her head lolled down onto a pillow when Maven put her down. “Tanner is getting him,” she whispered.
“Have him stay a while so you can rest,” Maven said, tucking the covers around her shoulders and sides. “Go to sleep, Peggy.”
That warm hand brushed hair back from her brow. Then she was falling into a place where deep rest called her name along with another.
Mac.
The sweetness of his name rolled through her.
Her mind interrupted the warmth cushioning her heart. She had to find a way to stop him. He threatened everything she’d become.
Chapter 27
When Jill got home, Brian’s car was parked on the street outside her house. She had to force herself to stop gripping the steering wheel. It was now or never.
She checked her face in the mirror. Smoothed her hair back. Her stomach had knotted up after seeing the French chick waltz across Main Street earlier that day, her perfect skin and body making Jill’s old insecurities rise up. She wasn’t as pretty as that woman, never would be. And she certainly wasn’t as experienced.
When she opened the door, the smells of a new culinary parade made her wonder if she’d be able to eat tonight.
“Hi,” Brian said a little too brightly.
Okay, so he was nervous too. Thank God. Then her brain signals crossed. His indolent pose in a simple gray pullover with jeans made her mouth water. He’d shaved recently, his cheeks and jaw smooth. Great, no beard burn tonight when he buried his face in her…
“Hi,” she responded brightly, like a demented weather girl. She eyed the entryway. “Where’s Mutt?”
“With…a friend.”
His hesitation tipped her off. He didn’t want to use Pete’s name. Probably better.
“You hungry?”
Her stomach continued jumping up and down—and not because it wanted to eat. “Sure.” And the pep-pep-pep in her voice made her want to gag. God, she’d spew cotton candy from her own mouth soon.
“Great.” Then he lurched forward to kiss her. Since she was in the process of turning to hang her coat, he banged her nose instead. She fell back a few steps, pain shooting up her sinuses like someone had stuck a spike in there.
“Ow!” she howled.
“God, I’m sorry. Here, let me see.”
“It’s fine,” she assured him, even though it wasn’t.
When he reached for her face, she drew back. “Seriously, it’s fine.”
His eyes had a crazed expression as he let out a huge breath. “Let’s try this again.” He kept his gaze glued on her as he lowered his mouth to her cheek. “Hi. How was your day?”
God help her. She was on Leave it to Beaver.
“Great,” she continued in the same over-bright voice. “How was yours?” Did people actually do this every day? No wonder they ate dinner with the TV on. Who could talk like this?
He reached for her coat and hung it up. “There’s something I need to tell you before we start this.”
His tapping foot drew her attention. Dread, dread, and double dread rolled over her like a tropical typhoon. She held up her hands. “Is it about the future?”
His head nodded like some bobble head on a car dashboard. “Ah, sorta.”
“Is it something I won’t like?”
“Maybe… no…probably,” he replied, crossing his arms, his whole body tense.
“That’s clear.” She blew past him into her family room. Her heart started pounding like bongo drums as she cleaned up the crap on her purple coffee table. “I don’t want to hear it.”
He grabbed her hands to stop her from picking up her zebra coaster. She straightened. The sheer dread in his expression intensified.
“You promised this would be the Jill and Brian Bubble,” she said.
When he released her hands, he took the coasters and stacked them. Sitting down, he patted the place on the couch beside him. “Maybe we should make an exception to that rule this one time. A new option opened up for me. One in Dare.”
“Good for you. But seriously.” Instead of sitting, she paced the narrow space by her coffee table. “We either have the rule, or we don’t.”
Brian put his head in his hands. “You’re putting me in a position here.”
All she could think about was the position they were supposed to get into tonight. How in the hell was she supposed to give herself to him if there were any more known obstacles? Like Siren Simca wasn’t enough. “Right now I think we should just get it on. I can’t stand drawing this out.” She pulled off her wrap, revealing the silky tee underneath.
Brian lurched off the couch. His hands stopped her from tearing off more clothes.
“Wait,” he cried. “Just wait one damn minute. This is exactly what happened the first time.”
She struggled. “Worked for me, aside from the missing protection. I think we’ll manage to work that in this
go-round.”
“Jill, can’t you even look at me?” He angled his head in toward hers and caressed her cheek with his nose. “How are we supposed to make love if you can’t even do that?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, inhaling a whiff of his cologne. “It’s harder this time.” I keep comparing myself to your ex, dammit.
“It certainly is,” he drawled, shifting his hips against her.
Her gaze flew to his. His mouth quirked up. “That got your attention.”
So, he was turned on. Funny, how she wasn’t even close. She punched him in the arm. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. You want to be swept away. Have all that hot, sweaty desire make the decision for you. We already did that. Last night you said you thought we needed to make an intentional decision. What happened?”
“Reality! Now I understand why people have sex in the back seat of a car.” They weren’t thinking about ex-whatevers when they did that, she’d bet.
He snorted out a laugh. “We’ll have to try that later. I made you dinner. We’ll eat. Relax. Take our time. I want to treat you right, okay?” Then he pulled her into the kitchen with him before she could argue.
A large pot coughed out steam, giving off notes of mushroom and garlic. Crusty French bread lay on a cutting board. She caught a hint of roasted meat. None of it tempted her taste buds.
He pushed her into a chair and headed to the stove. The table looked as romantic as it had for their aborted dinner days ago. Bright pink daisies made her think of Jemma. Brian probably wouldn’t know it had been her favorite flower, but Jill did. So did Pete. Thinking about their old friendship was more than she could bear.
“What were you planning before, when you decided you were ready to make love with me?”
Not having images of your ex in my head, for starters. She took her gaze from the table. Brian was leaning against the counter, a yellow hand towel tucked in his jeans, looking very much at home.
“That seems eons ago.”
His mouth flattened. “Doesn’t make my question any less relevant.”
She played with an artfully arranged blue napkin and its silver ring. “New lingerie, aromatherapy candles. Music.” Her cheeks flushed with heat.
Walking toward her with a spoon, he gave her a smile that punched through to her heart. “You weren’t going to put on something like Let’s Get It On by Marvin Gay, were you?” He tipped her chin up. “No smile yet? Okay, how about Just Shut Up, Shut Up by the Black-eyed Peas?”
She narrowed her eyes. He was laughing at her!
“No? What about Lady Gaga, Show Me Your Teeth? ”
Even a dentist couldn’t get turned on with that image. She shook her head.
“Billy Ocean?”
Crossing into 80s land was the limit. She threw her napkin at him. “Oh, for cripes sake. Would you let it go?”
“No.” His arms tightened. “Tell me what’s wrong with taking it slow tonight.”
Her emotions popped like a champagne cork. “This!” she cried, arm sweeping across the room. “It’s all a bunch of props to make me feel more secure when the truth is I’m scared shitless.” She could admit that at least.
He pulled the chair out, but angled it close to her. His hands gripped hers. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s scared here, Jill?”
“I wish we were in some Victorian movie where the wife gets under the covers and her husband joins her, lifts their nightshirts, and just does it.”
“While she’s thinking about merry ol’ England?” He dropped her hands, cupped her cheek. “Jill, you don’t want that. You forget. I remember how you were when we made love the first time.”
“That was insanity. I wasn’t thinking. I—”
“Exactly, which is why this whole thing is spinning out of control. We need to relax and savor each other.”
Okay, now she was getting hot. Those blue eyes of his always knocked her back. There was no way he was even remotely thinking of Simca, looking at her like that. It was time to tell him the truth. The only way they could move forward was if they were honest with each other.
“I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you.” She looked down, pulling at the wool fibers of his V-neck sweater. “I can’t stop thinking about your ex.”
“Stop it,” Brian ordered, pulling her into his arms, rocking them back and forth. “I don’t want you to think about her.” He angled her back so that they were looking in each other’s eyes. “Do you have any idea what I see when I look at you? I see fiery red hair that reminds me of the aspens in autumn, white skin like whipped cream, legs that go on for miles, and those eyes. They see right through me, Jill. Every time.” His soft gaze melted her heart. “You’re beautiful.”
Her throat thickened like the soup on the stove. “Thanks.”
He drew back, raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “We’re going to be fine, Jillie. Better than fine.” Then he smiled with total urbane smoothness. “Didn’t I promise to stir you within an inch of your life?”
The warmth rose to a bubbling boil. Her insides clenched, and she settled her body closer to his. “Yes, you did.”
He pulled a wooden spoon out of his back pocket. “It’s bamboo, so it won’t give you a splinter. I plan on running this all over your body tonight. Jill, I’m going to make you cry out my name until you’re too hoarse to speak.”
Her breath rushed out. Shock, excitement, and lust all converged into a fiery ball in her stomach.
The spoon ran down her neck in a slow, teasing gesture. “I’ve been dreaming about you for over a decade. I have a lot of ideas stored up.”
When had she ever thought bamboo was boring? She was going to plant acres of it—somewhere. And make more spoons. All sizes. She clasped her hands around his neck. “That many years? Weren’t you a child prodigy?”
“I also brought something I think you’ll like.”
When he stepped away, a sliver of panic resurfaced. He wasn’t into anything kinky, was he? She didn’t think she could pull that off tonight, if ever.
Since he was opening the fridge, it couldn’t be that bad, could it? He held out a fancy bottle. “It’s a Belgian beer, corked like champagne. Very unique. Like you.”
As he reached into her cupboards and pulled out some beer mugs, he gave her a smile—the one she’d missed all those years he was away.
“Light the candles, Jill. Let’s make this a night to remember.”
Chapter 28
The minute Jill walked out of the kitchen, Brian opened the freezer. He stuck his whole head inside, letting the arctic blast settle around him like fog. Damn, he needed a walk-in cooler right now. His head wasn’t the part of him that needed the frigid blast.
He had to get a grip. She was skittish. That was understandable, but Christ, how was he supposed to make her scream his name when he could barely walk around the kitchen without wincing? It was harder than last time, she’d said.
She had no idea.
He waited until his eyelids stopped twitching before stepping back. Take it slow. Make her relax. Hell, make him relax. At this point, he was starting to worry whether she’d get hot enough to come. Her nerves and fears were making her mouth pinch.
Tonight had to lay the foundation for the whole can they make it thing? He couldn’t remember ever feeling this much pressure over sex. Well, maybe a little. To please. To perform. But never before had his whole future been on the line.
He ladled the soup into the bowls and carried them to the table. The sausages looked good when he opened the oven, juices bubbling out the meat when he speared them with a fork.
When she came back in, he didn’t have the heart to tell her she had red splotches on her neck. He turned back to the sausages and decided they were like a bad joke. Why hadn’t he picked something that didn’t resemble a dick? Like pork tenderloin. Hell, even that had “loin” in it. Why hadn’t he realized how sexual meat was? Legs. Breasts. Loin. Throw in shank, and you had Lady Chatterley
’s Lover.
She came up next to him. “Can I help?” Her gaze fastened on the sausages. The red spots intensified. “Do you want me to take…these…over to the table?”
Yeah, she was thinking the same thing. Hot juicy sausages. Freud said there were no accidents. His subconscious must have had a field day—he’d made enough for leftovers.
“Sure,” he managed, fighting the urge to clear his throat as he slid them onto a platter. “I served up the soup.”
Her hands gave a lurch, and the sausages slid a little. He reached for the platter to avert disaster. She gave a semi-hysterical laugh. “That would have been awful. Bunch of sausages rolling around on the floor.”
She set the platter down with unusual precision. He grabbed the bread board and knife and sat down across from her. As he poured the beer, Jill couldn’t seem to take her gaze off the sausages.
“Jill. Your beer,” he said when she didn’t take it.
“Right,” she murmured, eyes darting away like she’d gotten caught looking at something dirty. The red spots now resembled sunbursts.
“To us,” he toasted, lifting his glass.
She almost spilled her beer when she clinked his glass too hard. “The beer’s good,” she commented and then focused on the soup with an intensity that made him sure she was trying to avoid the hot, steaming sausages between them. The candles flickered in the awkward silence. He nudged the platter toward her, but refused to say, you want one? He had clearly won Most Idiotic Entrée Choice of the Year. It could be a new James Beard category.
She still avoided the sausages, grabbing a slice of bread like a Titanic passenger pouncing on a life preserver. Spent way more time than needed buttering it before taking a nibble. “Everything is so good.”
Everything was shit. He might as well put it out there. “So, the sausages were a bad choice.”
Her leaf green eyes flew to his. “Were you trying to give me some secret message?”
“Jesus,” he said, taking the platter off the table. “Not consciously.”
Her breath heaved out. “Good. I thought it was some sort of strange foodie foreplay.”
