0451471040

by Kimberly Lang

  His response was instantaneous: heat rushing to his skin, pulse kicking into overdrive, blood rushing south. Then he noticed she looked like a very flustered angel, in a knee-length cotton skirt and a snug white-and-gold V-neck T-shirt that showed her chest was as flushed as her cheeks. Her curls were loose, framing her face like a halo, and she tucked the stray strands back behind her ears nervously.

  That gesture tempered the rush, but only a little. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Her smile was shaky.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. Am I interrupting? I’m sorry I didn’t call first. I can come back some other time if you’re busy.” Her words were tumbling over each other, and she was looking pretty much everywhere except at him. “You know, never mind. I’m going to go—”

  He caught her by the elbow. “Just wait. You’re not interrupting anything. Why don’t you come on inside?” He still had no idea why she was here—and quite frankly, his body didn’t much care—but the part of his brain that was still working had him moving cautiously.

  She jumped a little when he closed the door behind her.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  She shook her head, still not making eye contact.

  “Well, then would you like to sit down?”

  She shook her head again. “How are you?”

  “I’m good. And you?” he asked carefully, perching on the arm of the couch. He was a little afraid that any sudden moves might cause her to bolt like a deer.

  “I’m a bit nervous.”

  He bit back a smile. “I hadn’t noticed. Want to tell me why?”

  “Because this is awkward.” Molly tried to smile again, but it faltered. “When you kissed me the other night . . . Well, it’s been a really long time since anybody has kissed me.”

  He didn’t know how to respond, or even whether he should. “I think that’s a shame.”

  He got a weak smile in response. Progress. “And the last time anyone seriously asked me out . . . I was in high school. Before I got married.”

  The word brought him up short, but it made sense. A bad marriage could have done a number on her head and would explain why she wasn’t “there” yet. So maybe he wasn’t the problem after all.

  “So I’m definitely rusty at everything, and after the disaster of my marriage, I’m not entirely sure about anything . . .” She looked up at him quickly, then dropped her eyes back down to her hands. The corner of her mouth turned up. “But it was a really good kiss.”

  God, she was killing him. He dug his fingers into the fabric of the couch to keep them from reaching for her. His throat was tight, but he managed to say, “I thought so, too.”

  “And you wanted me to let you know when I was ‘there.’”

  He realized he was holding his breath.

  She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not quite all the way ‘there’ yet.”

  He waited.

  Molly took a deep breath. Then she lifted her eyes and met his evenly. “But I’m here.”

  Christ. The possibilities implied in that sentence lit him up like a bottle rocket. But those possibilities were all across the spectrum, and while he was on board no matter what that “here” might entail, the ambiguity kept him frozen in place. She still looked ready to bolt. At the same time, though, her hands had stilled, as if saying the words had committed her to whatever “here” was. He realized the ball was in his court, and she was waiting for him to make his play.

  He held out a hand to her.

  She took it, curling her fingers around his and giving it a squeeze, letting him guide her forward until she stood between his thighs. A curl had sprung loose again, and he pushed it back into place, letting his thumb stroke over the soft skin of her cheek. “So, would you like to go to dinner?”

  “Maybe another time.” And then she kissed him.

  All that nervous energy in her seemed to disappear, and her mouth was hot and sure when it found his. It broke the thin thread of his control, causing him to groan as he pulled her against him from hip to chest. She answered him with a sigh, arching into his body, twining her arms around his neck.

  Molly tasted like wine, making him wonder whether she’d needed to seek a little liquid courage to come over. She was kissing him with a passion that had him feeling drunk, but he didn’t want Molly making this decision anything other than clearheaded. As much as his body screamed at him that it didn’t matter what got her here, only that she was here now, it did matter. It nearly killed him, but he pulled back and waited until she opened her eyes. There was a glaze across them, but it seemed like it was more from desire than alcohol. Still . . .

  “Do I want to know how many glasses of wine it took to get you here?”

  She blinked, momentarily confused, but then her tongue slipped out to taste her lips. Then she smiled. “Just one. To calm my nerves.” Taking a step back, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and off in one quick move. “I’m fully aware of what I’m doing,” she said as she walked back into his arms.

  Molly was soft and warm and wonderful. She sighed into his mouth as he cupped a breast in his hand, then shivered when his thumb raked over her nipple, and her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

  Those fists moved to his hair as he kissed his way down her neck and used his tongue to trace the skin that swelled above her bra before sucking her through the fabric.

  He’d thought that kiss last night was incredible and insane, but this was something else entirely. Freed from whatever had been holding her back, she was a fantasy come to life in his arms. He tasted her neck again, nibbling his way to her shoulder, easing the straps of her bra off her shoulders and releasing the clasp so it joined her shirt on the floor. Molly responded by pulling his shirt up, forcing him to release her as she pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

  She ran her fingers over his chest, around his nipples, tracing the line from sternum to navel. He was being inspected, appreciated, and damn if it wasn’t sexy as hell.

  His balance on the arm of the couch was too precarious for this, but as he stood, his chest slid over Molly’s and the sensation was enough to make him wobble. Molly sucked her breath in sharply, and he knew she’d had the same reaction.

  It made him smile.

  Hands in her hair, he tilted her face up to his and kissed her hard. When she was breathless, he pressed his forehead to hers and fought to catch his own breath.

  “Do you want me to carry you up the stairs?”

  • • •

  It took a moment for the words to penetrate the fog, and another moment for Molly to recognize the words as English and give them any meaning at all. Kissing Tate had turned her mind to mush. Last night had been only a sample of what he was capable of.

  That small taste had haunted her, turning her dreams into erotic X-rated movies, throwing her off her stride all day when a memory would pop up—in full sensory detail.

  She’d served a hell of a lot of coffee this morning, but she remembered nothing of it. She’d watched the marching band and the cheerleaders line up for the parade in front of Latte Dah and then walk away, and the symbolism of her life and good times passing her by smacked her in the face almost painfully.

  She didn’t have to live like this. Either everything would work out or it wouldn’t, but if she wasn’t helping or hindering anything by inaction, then action couldn’t help or hinder, either.

  Either way, she knew she was tired of spending her life waiting.

  Then the next thing she knew, she was on Tate’s front porch.

  But Tate was now waiting for an answer to his question—the bigger one lurking underneath the question he’d actually asked. She recognized this as her chance to back out and go home, or even just back up to an evening of heavy petting on the couch.

  It was tempting. It would be safer. Easier. Less scary.

  No. She wanted this. She wanted Tate. He’d lit a fire inside her with
that kiss, showing her what she’d been missing—and not just recently. She’d never been kissed like that. Like he couldn’t get enough of her.

  And damn, he was just so perfect. She’d known he’d have a good chest, but it was broad and defined, hard in all the right places, the crisp, dark hair narrowing to a thin line before it disappeared into the waistband of his shorts.

  He was breathing hard, but then so was she, and those blue eyes burned hot. His hair was mussed and sticking up everywhere from where she’d played with it, gentling the angles of his face.

  And he was still waiting for her answer.

  “Lead the way.”

  He kissed her instead, both hungry and sweet at the same time, and it thrilled her all the way to her toes. It went on for a long time, making it hard for her to find her breath.

  Following him up the stairs gave her a lovely view of his back—equally as nice as his front—which she’d never really looked at before. She’d felt his thighs under hers last night, felt them squeezing her tonight, so she had an idea what the rest of him was like, and knew she was not going to be disappointed there, either.

  Once in Tate’s room, with the bed right there, her bravado finally started to falter. Above and beyond anything else she needed to worry about, there was one part of this she hadn’t thought all the way through: she’d slept with only two men in her entire life, and none at all in three years. After the way she’d just thrown herself at him, Tate might be expecting porn-star-level skills.

  But then Tate was behind her, his hands on her shoulders, stroking down her arms and across her belly as he kissed the side of her neck. She could feel the heat of his skin against her back, and she leaned into him and quit worrying. Hooking her thumbs in the waistband of her skirt, she slid it over her hips. Shimmying out of her panties, she let both of them drop to the floor.

  Tate’s teeth grazed her shoulder and his hand immediately angled south. She grabbed his thighs for support as her knees went weak and she lost her breath completely.

  Mercy.

  She had no idea how she ended up in the bed. Her head was still spinning, and she wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t blacked out. The sound of Tate’s shorts hitting the floor only barely registered, as did the shifting of the mattress as he joined her there, rolling her beneath him and settling between her thighs.

  But the toe-curling, mind-melting kiss definitely registered, as did the feel of him sliding inside her. Lord, have mercy. Tate groaned her name against her hair and she arched against him, gripping his biceps to anchor herself as he braced on his elbows and started to move.

  Tate’s eyes never left her face, but her self-conscious embarrassment at that scrutiny quickly evaporated as the pleasure built inside her. She was so close to the edge, and she locked her legs around his waist, wanting him to take her over. His hands fisted in her hair and his forehead dropped to hers as he began to move faster, thrusting into her until she saw stars.

  It didn’t take long for the tremors to start, and she held on to him as she shook, only vaguely aware of Tate collapsing on top of her a few moments later.

  His heart was slamming against her chest, and she could barely breathe, but the solid weight of him on top of her was incredible. Air didn’t seem to be a good enough reason to move.

  But Tate did move, pulling her with him as he rolled, reversing their positions. The cool air felt good against her sweaty skin, and she lay there, boneless, her legs tangled in his.

  The directionless languorous movements of his hands lulled her, keeping her in that dreamy space where she didn’t have to think.

  But, of course, it couldn’t last.

  “When you said you weren’t ‘there’ yet, but you were ‘here,’ what exactly did you mean?”

  She angled her head to look at him. “It’s a little late to be asking that, don’t you think?”

  Tate laughed, causing her whole body to shake. “I got the gist of it, I think.”

  “True.”

  But Tate seemed to want an answer. He was playing with her hair now, pulling the curls out long and letting them spring back into shape. This didn’t exactly seem like the right time for confessions, regardless of what movies might imply about those afterglow moments. She was honest enough to know that it was mostly her own selfishness in not wanting to spoil her mood that held her tongue. She didn’t want to think about it, either, but it was a little late for that now. So how to answer him without lying to him?

  You’re lying to him either way, her conscience reminded her. A lie of omission was still a lie. She couldn’t meet his eyes, so she watched her fingers as they drew circles on his chest.

  “It’s complicated,” she finally said. “I’ve got a lot of stuff I still have to work out. A lot of stuff I still need to figure out. I’m not sure how long that’s going to take to get there. And until I get there, I can’t offer much to someone else.”

  She felt him nod against the top of her head as if he understood.

  Ugh. She was disgusted with herself. That was the most evasive truth ever, and the guilt sat heavy on her chest. Tate didn’t deserve that kind of weaselly answer, but she was simply too chicken to tell him the full truth. She liked him, but she certainly didn’t like herself much right now.

  She’d used him. Oh, he’d been a willing participant, but that didn’t change that fact.

  Sitting up, she pushed her hair out of her face and slid to the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry.”

  His eyebrows knitted together. “For what?”

  “For kissing you last night. For coming here tonight. I should have told you all of that up front.”

  Tate rolled to his side, propping his head on his hand. Why does he have to look all sexy and adorable? “You did. You told me you weren’t there yet.”

  “But—”

  In a sneaky fast move, Tate caught her around the waist and pulled her back down onto the bed, easily rolling her underneath him and caging her with his arms. “So we’ll just hang out here, okay?”

  It was the smile that accompanied the words that sealed it for her. “Okay.”

  Then he kissed her again, and she couldn’t think at all.

  It was bliss.

  • • •

  Tate was a little disappointed to wake up and find that Molly was gone, but the light flooding his bedroom told him how late it was, so he couldn’t be all that surprised.

  Downstairs, he drank juice straight out of the jug and checked his phone. There were a ton of texts from people wanting to know why he hadn’t shown up for the concert last night, and he laughed. He’d forgotten all about it once Molly had arrived. And while he was a fan and enjoyed a good show as much as the next person, his evening had been far, far better.

  But he couldn’t exactly tell his friends what he’d been doing instead, now could he?

  He wasn’t entirely sure what Molly had been trying to tell him last night to explain her sudden change of mind, but he knew there was a hell of a lot she hadn’t told him, either. Which was fair enough. Everyone had issues and came with baggage.

  At the same time, he was selfish enough not to worry too much about it right now. That self-knowledge didn’t exactly paint him in the most flattering light, but he couldn’t be unhappy that Molly had decided to come to him last night, whatever reasons had driven her.

  He could hear his neighbors on both sides gearing up for their Memorial Day cookouts. The Ferguson kids were screaming as if they were being murdered, but a glance out the window showed water hoses and squirt guns as the weapons of choice. As he watched, their cat, Sadie, jumped the fence into his yard seeking refuge as a stream of water headed her way.

  He had a couple of options for today—invitations to various backyard parties, a gathering down at the Shore. He could—and probably should, even though he knew he wouldn’t—put in an appearance at the events at the War Memorial.

  But he found himself wondering what Molly had planned for today. Scrolling through the texts on his phone ag
ain, he made sure there wasn’t a message from her, and then he checked his e-mail, too. He was acting like a teenager with a crush, but he refused to feel bad about it.

  He could just call her and ask, of course.

  After a shower, though, he decided to just walk the two blocks to her house and see. It was on his way to Jack’s house anyway, so if she was busy or out, he’d just go on from there and wait for her to call.

  While a lot of downtown businesses were closed today, anything that catered mainly to the tourists would still be open for business, and the beach area would be busy. There was plenty to do for those who wanted to go find it.

  But this side of town was almost all locals, and it had a definite lazy feel today. And with the sun shining, it was a perfect day to be outside, maybe find a hammock in the shade and do nothing.

  He waved to Mr. Fillory across the street as he climbed the two steps onto Molly’s porch. Before he could knock, though, he heard a loud bang from the back, followed by a loud, colorful curse.

  Heading around the side of the house, he could hear muttering. “Molly?”

  Hands on her hips, Molly seemed to be yelling at her porch. Wearing a snug blue tank top and cutoffs that were a little too short for his heart health, with her hair pulled back from her face and covered in a blue-and-white bandanna, she looked a little like a modern Rosie the Riveter.

  When she saw him, she set the screwdriver she was holding on the step and picked up a water bottle. After a long drink, she gestured to the screen door. It was raw wood, not yet painted to match the rest of the porch, and clearly brand new. “I put the damn thing on backward and upside down.”

  She was frowning, so he smothered a laugh. It was crooked, too, but considering her current mood, he felt it was best to not mention that. “Want some help getting it down?”

  She sighed. “Please.”

  He moved Molly’s step stool aside and unscrewed the hinges from the doorframe.

  “I wasn’t trying to sneak out this morning,” she offered matter-of-factly. “I had to come home to feed Nigel, and you were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you.”