by L. C. Morgan
His tongue swirled slowly, teasingly, flattening to firmly rub over the swelling bundle of nerves. Moving what I could of my lower half, I pushed myself harder against it, my breath speeding, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as I shook and shattered, silently coming undone.
His mouth stayed in place as I came down, his tongue still resting against me, causing me to jerk with every unexpected flick.
A small giggle burst from my chest, the action causing the muscles in my stomach to clench and my hands to grab his jaw. I tugged on the chaffing bristle, smoothing his hair down as he took the hint and crawled back up my body, sliding into the open invitation from my spread legs.
When he pressed his mouth against mine again, I could taste myself, feel the cool wetness that lingered there. His lips were sticky with me, skimming along mine to take my upper lip between them. I did the same to his bottom, staring up into his eyes, breathing in deep, still tasting the tangy flavor as he pulled back. I whispered against them. “I love the way you taste, too.”
***
I had been at it all day. Shopping all morning and cooking away the better half of the afternoon.
There was a reason I didn’t cook—it always took too much time and patience—and then there was the reason I was now …
Apparently, Meg had been a fantastic cook and an even better baker. A fact Mona made sure to throw in my face.
Okay, okay …
She didn’t necessarily throw it in my face, but she might as well have with the way she went on and on about Meg this, and Meg that.
Meg.
Meg.
Meg.
Meg.
Meg.
Blah.
It was almost as if she were trying to piss me off. Which if she was, she succeeded.
I guess I mostly just didn’t understand what her angle was. Why in the hell would she jump at the chance to help me do something nice for her brother and then slap me in the face with it?
Chopping the garlic cloves a little harder than necessary, I didn’t hear Joe come in and almost cut my finger off when he placed his hands on my hips.
His palms were warm, melting the lining of my stomach as they slid around my waist, holding me in place against him. Looking down, I saw his fingers were dirty, just the way I liked them—covered in grease and a long day’s worth of hard work. He smelled like outside. Sweat and sunshine, the fragrant musk of upturned earth.
Bending to rest his chin on my shoulder, he kissed the shell of my ear.
My smile was automatic and painfully wide as I tilted my head to capture him, rubbing my cheek against his hair. It was stiff with dried sweat on the sides but soft on top. I kissed his temple, letting my lips linger, breathing him in deep.
Things had been different between us since that night. Different in a very good way. He offered up his lips to me freely now, seeking mine out before leaving and when returning. He pressed them firmly against me—anywhere and everywhere—whenever he got the chance.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated on the sound of his breath, the feel, the way we swayed back and forth on our tired feet. If it weren’t for the smell of burning grease, I could have fallen asleep.
“Shit,” I hissed, twisting out of his arms to grab the pan from the front burner and dropping it a little too loudly on a cool one. “Shit, shit, shit!”
Joe stopped me when I reached for the paper towels, his hand wrapping around my wrist. “Hey.” His eyes were full of questions as he pulled me into his chest and wound his arms around me.
I felt stupid for overreacting, but Mona’s words were running on a loop in my mind.
“You better step it up, Laney. Everybody knows the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
Well, fuck.
“I wanted to do something nice for you,” I told him, pulling back. I was unable to look him in the eye until he touched my chin, turning it to face him.
“You’re nice,” he assured, his tone firm and low. His thumb ghosted over my bottom lip. Leaning down to kiss it, his hands dropped to my waist, his fingers digging into the thin fabric of my sundress as he lifted me up to sit on the countertop.
My hands twisted in his hair while his slid under the hem of my dress, his rough palms grazing along my thighs and up my sides to slip it over my head. Throwing the limp fabric aside, he palmed my breasts. “These are nice.” His gruff voice rumbled as his head dipped down. He licked my nipple once before pulling it between his lips.
Bracing myself, I rested my hands on the counter behind me causing his warm mouth to break away, a thin strand of saliva still linking us. He followed it, the contrast of cold and hot shocking my back into an arch. I sucked in a breath as he cupped me over my panties.
“This”—he practically growled against me, the vibrations penetrating my skin—“this is nice.”
Amused, I shook my head and pushed him away. Smelling something burning, I jumped down from the counter, almost collapsing on weakened knees before grabbing an oven mitt to get the ruined cake out of the oven. The pan hit the stove like a burnt brick as his arms wrapped around me from behind.
“Red velvet.” Skimming my jaw with his nose, he nuzzled into my neck and hummed against me. “My favorite.”
***
Weeks passed with no distractions from the outside. I hadn’t received any anonymous calls and Mona had been down for the count with morning sickness.
I was spending less and less time cooped up in my stuffy old house and more and more of it helping Joe finish his.
The morning breeze was cool on my skin, glorious as it blew against the sweat pouring down my back, but painful to my fingers. Even through the thick leather of the gloves, they ached. Everything ached anymore, to the point where I worried I was going to take after my gran in the end—crooked and cranky from the arthritis, high on narcotics half of the time.
Setting the hammer down on a wood plank, I leaned back against a beam, looking up to watch Joe work as I rested and cracked my knuckles.
God, that felt fantastic.
The view wasn’t so bad either.
Shirtless and sweating, Joe was crouched in concentration, forearms straining, biceps bulging. The hardened muscles in his back set in a straight line as he braced himself, singlehandedly lifting a bound structure. I licked my lips while he picked a nail from between his, pulling the holstered hammer from a loop on his tool belt to pound the nail into place. Moving to the opposite side, he did the same.
We’d made a lot of progress. What he was finishing up was the last of the skeleton. Only the roof was left to finish, and he was on his own for that one. I climbed a ladder for no one.
Pulling off my gloves, I blew into my curled fingers, fisting my other hand to do the same.
Fall was creeping up earlier than I was used to this year. At least that was what it felt like in the early morning hours. The birds had stopped chirping outside my bedroom window about the same time the leaves started to fall. The lack of sunshine didn’t help either. It was extra cold deep inside the woods where the sun couldn’t reach. No matter how hard it tried to peek through what little leaves were left dangling on the trees, it wasn’t enough.
In passing, Joe had mentioned the house would be ready for furnishing before I knew it and it was a task he surprisingly left up to me—the woman with no creative bone in her body. I could have laughed and probably did. However, despite my doubts, he made it perfectly clear I was to pick out the entire interior. That meant anything I wanted. Paint color, trim, all of the household appliances, including the furniture. It was all up to me—the clueless one.
The responsibility was overwhelming, and his trust in me was incredibly humbling. He of all people should have known I didn’t know the first thing about decorating a house. I didn’t know what a bachelor pad was supposed to look like. All I knew was that my place was boring, and what most would call gender-neutral, with its clean lines and natural colors.
I had been looking through magazines—m
anly ones—in hopes of some inspiration. Ideas of what he would want. He was giving me nothing to work with, no clues and even less help. The only thing I had to go on was his quiet personality and his style—which was basic. Mostly black and white with an array of complimenting denim. The brightest thing I’d seen him wear were those red flannel sleep pants. And wear the shit out of them he did, so well that the image was burned into my brain.
The magazines had actually helped me with organizing a rough floor plan that worked with the current plumbing and overall color scheme. Earth tones were definitely the way to go. Maybe a nice barn red for the kitchen. Copper for the sink and countertops and a matching vent hood hanging over the six-burner stove. Of course, that all came from page thirty-three of the September issue and was probably ridiculously expensive. I didn’t feel comfortable with bringing money into the matter, which was kind of a problem. I didn’t know how much Joe made and while I was curious, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know. I knew I didn’t want to ask.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” His question interrupted my thoughts. Smiling, I shook my head. Joe gave me a look like he didn’t believe me before going on. “I’m starting on the roof next week, and I need to know if you want a fireplace.” Unhooking his tool belt, he dropped it on the floor at his feet.
“Uh … are you wanting a fireplace?” I picked up my gloves just to have something to fiddle with while he scratched at the underside of his beard, staring off into the distance before looking back down at me.
“If you do.”
His closed-lip smile was disarming, but I still had to fight the instinct to huff. I didn’t like being the one making all these big decisions. What if it was the wrong one? What if I said yes, and then a flame flicked out onto the bearskin rug and caught the place on fire? I didn’t want to be responsible for that. I didn’t want to be the reason his house burned down.
Was bearskin even the way to go?
As far as I knew, Joe wasn’t into hunting, but he very well could have been and the idea kind of got me hot. It was such a rugged hobby to have—life sustaining and barbaric in its prime. Well, it was still barbaric, but that only added to its appeal. I could just imagine him having been out all day, still working hard like he always did on his time off, but to literally put food on the table.
My uterus did all sorts of strange things when I thought of going back to the basics. Curling up beside him by the fire, helping him relax and unwind after a long day. I’d never wanted to suck someone off and then rub their feet so badly in all my life. What in the hell was wrong with me?
“Okay, then. Yes, a fireplace would be nice,” I decided, remembering page fifty-two. All that natural stone piled up to the ceiling. Green-gray walls would set it off nicely, really catch your eye with the dimensional pop.
Maybe I did have a knack for this kind of thing after all.
Holding out a hand, Joe helped me to stand before winding both of his arms around my waist.
“Have you thought about the bedroom?” he asked, his hands dipping low just to creep back up and slide under the hem of my shirt. His fingers were cold on my skin making me squeal and stiffen with a shiver. I groaned as he pressed my back up against the same wooden post I’d been leaning on, blocking me in. A weak protest escaped between the giggles as he used my stomach to warm his hands.
“The bed … You know what kind you want?” His hot mouth pressed against my cheek, and I dipped my own hands under his shirt to press ice-cold palms into his warm skin. His stomach clenched, and I nipped at the gruff scruff on his jaw before mumbling against it.
“The smallest one they have.”
***
I left for home the same time Joe headed out to assist Phil with a remodel of the town’s courthouse.
Pulling into my driveway, I smiled for two reasons. One, I could actually see it; and two, the memory of how I reacted the day he finally cut the overgrown branches down.
Everything always seemed to be a burden until it wasn’t anymore, and I had grown fond of the cloaking device that grew across those trees. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate him taking the initiative. It was just one of those things. Like with the wallpaper. How it was my task to tackle, if for no other reason than to know I could.
The smile slid from my face as a pink Cadillac came into view, the sun shining off the Pepto-Bismol paint.
Shielding my eyes, I pulled up to park beside her, not too concerned with the wind this time. She climbed out at the same time I did, following me up the stairs and into the house.
“You want something to drink?” I asked as I pulled two glasses from the kitchen cabinet, not bothering to glance back. “I got water, juice, milk.”
“Water’s fine.”
Filling both glasses from the tap, I set one down in front of her, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.
“So, how’s it going?” she asked.
“Fine. You?”
“Okay.”
We sat in silence while she sipped her water, her eyes never leaving me as I tried to stay still in my seat. “So …”
She set the glass back down on the table and used the sleeve of her jacket to wipe her lips. “So …”
It was ridiculous that it had come to this. Ridiculous that I’d known this woman all of a couple of months, and the majority of that time had been spent in more and more disagreements between thinning apologies. It was the strangest kind of friendship. If you could even call it that.
I never fought with Julie. Not once. Not until she decided it was okay to sleep with my fiancé. Even then, it was subdued. A silent exchange and a mutual understanding that she was dead to me.
Mona cleared her throat. “Believe it or not, I don’t do the things I do to hurt you,” she started, her stare faltering the longer I challenged it.
“Then why do them?”
“I’m trying to help you.”
I scoffed, an astonished smile tightening all the unused muscles in my face.
She was unbelievable. Just … unbelievable.
“Help me? Are you kidding? How exactly is comparing me to your brother’s ex helping me?”
Sighing, she rolled her neck along with her eyes. “I wasn’t comparing you. Jesus. He pushes people away, Laney. Things get too hard, and he runs them off. I was just trying to give him one less excuse.”
“He runs them off? You think Joe ran Meg off?”
“Think?” She blew out a laugh. “No, Laney, I don’t think. I know.”
It was my turn to laugh.
“I don’t know what Meg told you, but it was a lie. He didn’t run her off. She ran off on her own.”
Leaning forward, Mona cocked her brow, the crease in her forehead deepening in confusion.
Unable to find it in me to feel bad for telling Mona the truth about Meg, I went on. “She didn’t want the responsibility. He needed her, and she couldn’t handle it. She didn’t want anything to do with him. She was disgusted by him. Something that I could never be.”
The sound of the front door shutting made me jump. Both of our eyes went wide as heavy footsteps stomped across the creaking floorboards.
“Forgot my wallet.” My heart was lodged somewhere in my throat, a sickening feeling stirring inside my stomach. I looked down at the table as Joe walked by the kitchen and into the bedroom.
“Is that true?” Mona whispered once he was out of sight.
Does it matter? I wanted to say, but the dresser drawer slammed shut before I could answer. Wide-eyed and silent, Mona and I stared at each other as he passed by again, heading for the front door.
The legs of Mona’s chair scraped across the floor, and I followed them both outside.
“Is it true? Did Meg leave you?” Mona asked her brother, briefly stopping him in his tracks. She took his silence as a yes and followed him the rest of the way down the steps. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe it when she said you ran her off?”
Joe ignored her, head
ing straight for his truck.
“Joe! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked.” Yanking open the truck door, he jumped in the cab. His dark eyes found mine through the dried streaks of dirt on the windshield. He revved the engine, giving Mona fair warning to back up before shifting into reverse and whipping around to face the driveway.
I didn’t know which was worse: the fact that he was angry or that he was fighting the urge to express it. It wasn’t healthy, him keeping it all stored up to sit and fester. And in all honesty, his sister deserved to be put in her place by the one and only person who possibly could. Or maybe he just had.
Mona sat on the steps, staring off into the distance. I sat a few steps above her.
“If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have …”
Been such a monumental bitch?
Scratching her head, she shrugged her shoulders in bemusement. “Why would she do that? Why lie to me?”
“To save face?”
“Maybe. But why wouldn’t Joe tell me truth? Why let me believe the lie?”
I held back a sigh. “I don’t know.”
We sat in silence for a moment while she studied the ground.
“I’m going to be a terrible mother, aren’t I? I’m too self absorbed. How am I going to take care of a kid?”
“You’ll be fine.”
“How do you know?”
I shrugged even though she couldn’t see it. “I don’t.”
Craning her neck, she gave me a look and playfully pushed the side of my leg. “Thanks a lot.”
We both chuckled and she let out a long sigh, turning back to stare at the ground some more. “He hates me, doesn’t he?”
Gumming my lips, I closed my eyes. If she asked me one more question …
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just hurt. First Meg, then you. His recovery was hard enough without either of you to support him through it.”
Nodding, she wiped away what I assumed was a tear. “You’re right. I should have been there. No matter what. Just make sure he knows I’m sorry, would ya? He’ll listen to you. Maybe even believe it.”
