Skipping down the stairs, the doorbell rang just as she set foot on the landing in the foyer. She inhaled deeply and laid a hand across her midsection to stop the nervous flutters there, worse than thousands of butterflies flitting around a summer garden. With another breath, she stepped to the door and slowly opened it, not wanting to appear as jumpy and eager as she was.
He stood there, his hair slightly damp and brushed back from his sculpted features. He was in preppy mode in casual khakis and a pressed button-down Oxford shirt in a pale blue that brought out the lighter streaks of color in his eyes.
“Morning, Mags,” he said with that dimpled grin that started up those restless flutters again and kicked her heartbeat up a notch. His voice was smooth, the tone low, making her imagine again what it would be like to hear that voice beside her in the quiet of morning. Or as a whisper in the dark of night as he made love to her.
“G’morning, Owen. It’s good to see you and—” She pointed to the bag he held. A typical brown paper deli bag with a few grease spots here and there.
He raised the bag and jiggled it. “Got you something I know you’ll like.”
She motioned him in and over to the breakfast bar by the kitchen. She hadn’t had a chance to move all her papers off the dining room table.
“I hope you don’t mind if we eat here. I wasn’t quite ready for company.”
“I’m cool,” he said and sat at one of the stools while she grabbed some plates, napkins, and cutlery and set them on the quartz counter of the breakfast bar.
“Juice?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Just coffee.”
“Sweet and no foam,” she said, remembering how he liked it because it was just how she liked it. Yet another thing they had in common.
She made the coffees and took them over to the breakfast bar. He had pulled two sandwiches from the bags and placed them on the plates. As she handed him the latte and sat, she realized he’d brought egg sandwiches, but not just any egg sandwiches, she could tell from the smell. As she unwrapped the white deli paper off the one half, she said, “Pork roll. My favs.”
He grinned. “Mine too. I bribed my local deli guy last week to order some to have handy for me.” He wasted no time in ripping off the paper on his sandwich and devoured the first half in a few quick bites while she lingered over hers, enjoying the meld of salty meat, fried egg, cheese, and a perfect kaiser roll.
“Delicious,” she said and washed down part of the sandwich with some coffee while he finished the other half of his breakfast, slightly slower but way faster than her, which gave him time to sit there, sipping his latte and watching her.
“You’ve been working hard,” he said, his tone filled with concern and not condemnation.
She shrugged, guilt rearing up again. She knew there was only one way to get past that emotion. “I am beat, and while I have been working, I think we both know that wasn’t the reason I canceled on you.”
“I know,” he said matter-of-factly and with no trace of anger. But he quickly added, “I confess that I was pissed at first. It was a beautiful weekend down the Shore, and I was looking forward to doing some surfing.”
She smirked, rolled her eyes, and said, “Surfing? That’s all? You’re such a guy.”
One side of his mouth quirked up in a teasing grin. “If I said I was disappointed that we didn’t spend some time together, would you believe me?”
“Or would I think that you’re just playing me?” she retorted, but her words lacked any sting.
“I can see how you could think that,” he said, shrugged his broad shoulders, and polished off the rest of his coffee just as she finished her breakfast sandwich. He motioned toward the pile of papers on the dining room table. “Is that your work for the weekend?”
“Part of it. Connie and I spent a good chunk of yesterday going over an exclusive distribution agreement.”
He twined together his index and middle fingers and said, “Connie and you are like this?”
She nodded. “And Emma, although it’s a little tough with her being in Sea Kiss. Still, they’re like my sisters. Tracy too, but in a different way.”
“She’s high maintenance.”
Maggie confirmed it with a quick bob of her head. “Totally, but we still love her.”
Obviously intrigued by the scattered papers on her table, her excuse for dumping him for the weekend, he said, “Mind if I take a look?”
It was hard for her to mask her reluctance, so he crossed his heart with his index finger and said, “Promise not to spill any big secrets.”
“It’s just that…it’s there, almost. But something is missing,” she said as, in a whirl of motion, she walked over to the papers and began straightening them out on the tabletop.
He followed her and stood at her side as she explained the two different print campaigns and then skimmed her hand over the storyboard for the television commercial that incorporated the messages from the print versions into one.
“I can totally see this, almost like a spoof. Boxes just being tossed up on a porch, all beat up,” he said and pointed to that ad.
“Definitely. That’s exactly what I wanted, with a voice-over about Christmas being more than just that. But this…” Her voice trailed off as she picked up the second ad and laid it on top of the storyboard where the two ads were supposed to merge to complete the message she wanted to convey.
* * *
Owen scrutinized the papers, understanding what she was feeling, deliberating about what was lacking, when it came to him like a thunderbolt from the heavens. He hurried out to her living room and the side table that held a collection of photos. Snagging one, he returned to the table and placed the photo over the draft of the print ad.
“You’re what’s missing. You and your mom. The memories that will never leave you,” he said, because that was what she was clearly trying to get across with the campaign: boxes were just boxes, but memories were forever, especially good memories.
She danced her fingertips across the surface of the photo, her touch tender.
As he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, the longing was obvious. The pain, but also the love. He had his brother’s love, but he’d never experienced that kind of love from his father. As for his mother, they’d had some fun times before she’d just up and left. Since then, he’d never sought it out from a woman either, maybe because of his mother’s abandonment.
Now, standing there with her, the thought of it both thrilled and scared him. It made him contemplate what it would be like to be loved like that by her.
When she spoke, her voice was husky with emotion and the threat of tears. “I remember when this was taken. We’d come to the store for the holidays, and after we went to see Santa, my mom took me for high tea in the Savannah Courtyard. I felt so grown-up, and my mom… I so wanted to grow up and be like her. So beautiful and smart and special.”
He wanted to tell her that she was all of those things and more but held back. It was maybe too soon for that.
“This is your story, Maggie. You should be the one to tell it in these ads. No one else will be as effective.”
She stood there without moving, without breathing possibly, for an unnerving second. Then she inhaled shakily and held her breath before facing him.
“Thank you. I was too close to see it.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. One errant tear leaked out and slowly trailed down her face. Another soon followed.
The tears tore at his gut.
He cupped her cheeks and gently swiped the tears away. At her brave half smile, he leaned in and kissed the corners of her eyes, tasting the saltiness of her pain against his lips and the quiver of her lashes as her eyes drifted closed.
He couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed to help her heal. Wanted to feel her sorrow vanish with his love. His love, he finally admitted to
himself. Despite everything that said this was insane and could bring nothing but more heartache, he was in love with her.
The first kiss was gentle, urging peace to her soul. She answered in kind, accepting his solace. The second kiss demanded more. Demanded that she engage. Give more of herself.
As she pressed into him, she dug her fingers into his hair and cradled his head in her hands. Opened her mouth to invite him to enter. Taste. Savor.
God, but she was so sweet and responsive.
When he danced his tongue across perfect white teeth, she playfully chased it and then lightly bit his lower lip, jerking a groan from him.
He was hard, so hard, that he had to bring a stop to this or there would be no turning back. And as soon as he thought that, she shifted away slightly and met his gaze.
“I want you, Owen. I want this,” she said, laying her hand on his chest directly over his beating heart.
“I want it too, Maggie.” He’d wanted this since they were eighteen and he’d kissed her on that moonlit beach. Maybe even since they were children, playing on the beach together happily. Being with her back then had always seemed to make any day special.
Maggie smiled and pointed an index finger heavenward. “My bedroom is two flights up.”
“Good thing I work out,” he teased, bent, and scooped her up in his arms.
Maggie grabbed hold of his shoulders and laughed out a halfhearted protest. “You don’t have to carry me.”
Owen grinned. “I know what you spent all your summers reading in the gazebo,” he said as he hurried to the stairs and began the climb to her bedroom. Without any strain or hitch in his breath, he said, “I know what the heroes in those books do.”
She chuckled, pulled herself close to nip his earlobe, and whispered, “Bet you can’t guess what the heroines do.”
“Sweet Lord, I can’t wait to find out,” he said and quickened his pace up the stairs.
He entered her room and, with a muttered “Wow,” marched straight to her antique four-poster bed, with its artfully draped canopy of gossamer-light fabric.
Her body skimmed along his as he released her, and she slowly sank to her feet. As soon as she touched the ground, he rested his hands just above where the jeans ended, his palms slightly rough against that sensitive skin—and hot. So, so hot.
With a gentle sweep upward, he bracketed her body beneath her breasts and urged her close, her hips grazing against his erection, trapped beneath the khaki he wore. The tips of her breasts, tight and hard with her need, just brushed the starched cotton of his shirt.
She inched her hands up to the first button of that shirt and half glanced at him as she deliberately, leisurely, slipped each button free until his shirt hung open.
“You’re killing me, Mags.” He didn’t need to say what he wanted, because it was obvious she wanted it too.
* * *
Maggie laid her hands on his chest, cupping his nicely defined pecs, brushing her thumbs across the hard paps as he eased his hands upward and mimicked her actions, cradling her breasts. Teasing the hard tips between his thumb and forefinger, each little tug blasting straight to her center, creating a sympathetic twist of need.
He grabbed the hem of her crop top and drew it up and over her head. Stopped to gaze at her in the sexy lingerie she was glad she’d worn.
He idly traced the swell of her breasts with the tips of his fingers and said, “You’re so beautiful, Maggie.”
She felt more than beautiful with him gazing at her like that. She felt…cherished.
Reaching behind, she undid the bra and slipped it off, baring herself to him, delighting in the swift inhale of his breath and the jump of his arousal against her belly.
He cradled her breasts again, his touch slow and unhurried. Patient as he learned just what she liked. A little tweak of her nipple followed by his sweet kiss. The long pull into his mouth and a crazy swirl of his tongue that made her knees buckle.
She grabbed hold of his shoulders, encountering the soft cotton, but she wanted to feel him. Only him.
She swept away his shirt, and he broke away from her only long enough to let it drop to the floor and then met her lips in a kiss.
Unhurried. Searching. Over and over, their mouths met as he hauled her close, her breasts crushed against the hard wall of his chest.
She opened her mouth and accepted the slide of his tongue. Danced hers along his until they were both breathing hard and there was no holding back.
Faster than a New York minute, they finished undressing, shoes, socks, khaki, and denim flying free until she stood before him in just the tiny bikini bottoms.
His touch was restrained, almost reverent, as he cradled her breast and then tenderly skimmed his hand down her body to the lacy edge of the panty. He dragged the back of his hand back and forth across the flatness of her belly, just above the low waistband. Then he dipped his hand lower, eased the fabric down her legs, and helped her step out of them.
“So, so lovely,” he said, and before she could say another word, he urged her to the edge of the bed and covered her body with his.
His weight on her was pleasant as he kissed her again, his firm lips inviting her to join him. She raised her hips, butting them against his erection, and his body shook with need.
He broke away from the kiss and licked his way down her neck to her breasts, where he nipped and sucked at her tight nipples. Each little drag of his lips sent a beat of desire between her legs. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair and held him close, urging him on with soft keening sounds and the press of her body to his.
* * *
Owen nearly came undone at her response, and it was all he could do not to plunge deep into her and take her. He shuddered as he wrestled his need, wanting to bring her pleasure first. Wanting to learn every inch of her gorgeous body.
He teethed the tip of her breast and skimmed his hands down her body to her center. Parting the silken curls there, he found her core and caressed the swollen nub, building desire. Her body tensed beneath him, and she arched her back, pressing into his touch.
She trailed her hands down and dug her fingers into his shoulders, inciting him with the sharp bite of her nails into his skin and her needy moan.
Slipping one finger into her, he stroked her and barely kept from losing it at the wet heat of her and imagining how she would feel surrounding him.
He licked and sucked at her breasts, loving the taste and feel of them against his lips. Needing more as he continued to play her with his fingers and she moved beneath him, inviting him to join her.
“Maggie,” he breathed, almost a plea.
* * *
“Now, Owen. Please now,” Maggie said, lost in the desire he had created.
She cradled his hips with her legs, opening for him. His hard heat teased her nether lips, but he found restraint and broke away from her to cover himself with a condom he whipped from his pants pocket. He returned quickly, poised at her center, and locked his gaze with hers.
“Owen,” she said, fighting back worry that he’d reconsidered.
“I want to see your face when we make love. I want to see you go over with me.”
She nearly came with his words but held back. “I want that too.”
He thrust inside, and she gasped at the fullness and heat of him. At the feeling of perfection at being joined with him.
He didn’t move for long seconds, and she shifted her hips, deepening his possession. Compelling him to move and take them over.
He drew back and thrust forward, his thighs hard and powerful against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. His arousal stiff and insistent within her, building passion. Dragging her up ever higher.
She joined him in the dance, undulating her hips. Her gaze focused on his, watching those amazing charcoal eyes darken to almost black. Watching the silver be
come molten with heat.
His lips, those full, generous lips that had brought her such pleasure moments earlier, had a slight hint of a smile as he met her gaze.
“God, Maggie. This is so good. So good,” he said.
“Yes-s-s-s,” she nearly keened as another plunge of his hips drove her higher, and it was all she could do not to close her eyes against the desire growing inside her.
She bucked up, meeting his thrusts. Dug her fingers into his buttocks, feeling the power in his body as he moved. Relishing his hardness along her body as her blood hummed in her veins, driving satisfaction through every cell in her being.
Her climax hit her, as fast and powerful as a speeding freight train.
She cried out his name but never shifted her gaze away from his face as his features tightened for a moment and a long, sibilant breath escaped him as he uttered her name and joined her with his release.
He stilled, his body taut except for the quivering of his muscles as he held his weight off her.
She wrapped her arms around his back and dragged him close. Kissed the side of his face and whispered, “That was amazing.”
“Yeah, it was,” he said as he returned her embrace, hugging her tight.
Stroking her hands up and down his sweat-damp back, she restored calm and peace with her touch until he roused and pushed up on one arm to look at her.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yes, I am. And you?”
He grinned, revealing that enticing, boyish dimple on the right side of his face. “I’m good. Better than good actually.”
“Definitely better than good,” she replied with a chuckle and traced her finger along the indentation on his face as she had wanted to do for so long.
His dimple deepened as his smile broadened with her words. “Does that mean you might want—”
“A repeat? What do you think?”
“I think that great minds think alike.”
One Summer Night Page 16
