Willing my eyes back to Tripper and Virginia Hanes in a rerun of Nailed, my thoughts cannot be contained. I stare at the couple I greatly admire for their devotion to one another and their dedication to hard work. Tripper isn’t just some man who stepped in front of the camera for five seconds in miraculously clean attire. His boots are scuffed. His shirts show sweat stains. Hats often cover his head. Yet he is a reality star.
“I’m living a dream,” I mutter as my eyes drift back to the front window. A real man who works hard is out there, hammering together a barn. He has scuffed boots, sweat-laden tees, and the occasional ball cap, and he is the real deal, not some fantasy on my television set.
“Love you, GinGin,” Tripper calls out as he takes the Hanes’ crew of children home after a pizza dinner with their mother. Virginia then speaks about family and loving her children, but having to work late into the night to make the home they’ve designed just right for others. My eyes gaze around the living room, taking in the three walls and the large bay window. Has this ever been a home? It’s my house. I live here. I raised Hannah here, but inside these walls is so much heartbreak.
I close my eyes and hear Ewell and his son fighting. I smell the cheap perfume on Howard after another night of stepping out on me. I feel the presence of a man and slowly open my eyes to find Jedd just inside the entrance of the living room.
“Sweet butter on a biscuit,” I mutter. “Have you no respect for personal property, letting yourself in my home at your will?” My heart leaps, and my fingers spread over my chest.
“You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked,” he says, his eyes fixed on my television. “Besides, I called out your name.”
Silence passes only a second before he speaks.
“Tripper Hanes?” Jedd’s expression morphs from watching the program to agitated wonder. “Tripper Hanes.” His eyes snap to mine as he crosses to the television set and stands in front of it, his back to the screen. His hand rests on his hip with the ball cap dangling off his claw, and he hisses at me. “You let me believe Tripper was a real man. Your man.”
“Get out of the way,” I snap, the familiar fight in me returning as he blocks the screen. I don’t really need to see the remainder of this show. I’ve seen it before; I’ve watched it too many times, in fact. Yet Jedd standing before it, learning my secret obsession, pisses me off.
He takes a step forward, his wide stance making more of a door than a window, and I sigh in defeat.
“I never said he was my man. You just assumed that.”
“You didn’t deny it,” he states, irritation filling his tone.
“You’re the one who mentioned assumptions.” My mouth hangs open, ready to say more, and then catching my tone, I clamp my lips shut.
Jedd huffs, dismissing his words thrown back at him. “Why?”
“Why what?” I retort although I know what he’s asking.
“Why fool me?”
I…don’t know why I didn’t correct him.
Was it foolish to pretend I had a beau? Yes, it was.
Was it interesting to watch his expression when he mentioned Tripper? It also was.
Suddenly, Jedd is in my space, which is becoming a habit of his like entering my home unannounced. He balances over me, his arms like fence posts on either side of me as he sets his hands on the armrests. The chair tips, and Jedd’s eyes widen.
“Is this a rocking chair?”
I nod in response, glancing up at him like a petulant child and then dragging my eyes away as he’s too close.
Wood shavings. Fresh air. All male.
“Oh, the things I could do with this seat,” he mutters, his voice that sleepy rumble sound, and I risk another gaze at his face. Big mistake. Those dark eyes. That crooked smirk. “Don’t you dare look at me like that when I’m upset with you.”
My eyes widen at the roughness of his words, which contain a chuckle.
“Upset with me? What did I do?” I snark, but a grin graces my lips, and I bite the corner hard, fighting against the curve.
“You little vixen,” he mumbles. Lowering his body, he slips to his forearms as he kneels on one knee, wedging his chest between my legs. He’s trapped me in the cushioned seat, and my hand comes to his chest.
“I…can’t.” I don’t know what I’m saying I can’t do. Kiss him? Why can’t I?
“Oh, because of Tripper?” Jedd mocks. He tips his head to motion over his shoulder. “Is he watching us?” I humorlessly snort. Turning back to me, he reaches for the edge of my hair with his fingers, pinching the tips. His eyes watch the motion. His face is only inches from mine, and my hand on his chest pauses. Fingers caress flannel. His heart beats underneath.
“Bee, why do you have such a tough shell?” he questions without looking at me, his Southern drawl deep.
I shrug. He waits.
“It’s not a shell. I’m just cautious. I don’t…” trust anyone, I think as he answers for me.
“Trust anyone.”
“I don’t need anybody anyway,” I reply, watching my fingers spread on his flannel-covered chest, pressing at the soft fabric barrier to a firm chest.
“Everybody needs someone.”
“Men are all hot air.”
“Howard was hot air,” Jedd retorts. “I’m just hot.”
Shaking my head, I can’t help the smile growing on my lips. He’s ridiculous but not wrong. Heat permeates through his shirt, warming me with his nearness to a pulsing body part that hasn’t pulsed for a long time.
“What are you afraid of?” he asks, softening his tone as his fingers comb through my hair.
My lids lower, and I shake my head again, denying him an answer.
“Are you afraid I’ll leave?” My gaze momentarily jolts to his before drawing away. I tug at his collar, my fingers needing something to do. He’s hit it on the head. People don’t stick. My parents disowned me. Howard left. Friends are gone. Ewell dead. Hannah will go soon.
“Everyone leaves,” I whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear me. It’s too difficult to state the truth.
“Not me,” he says, cupping my chin so I look up at him. His upper half still leans over me. My knees spread to straddle his broad chest. He’s so close to me, overwhelming me.
“Yeah, well, you’ll go when you get what you want, or when you realize this isn’t what you want anymore.” Breeding horses. Borrowed land. It speaks of temporary. My tone returns, gnashing and sarcastic, but his fingers tighten on my chin.
“Not me,” he repeats.
“All men disappoint.”
Jedd shakes his head, which feels like it’s come closer. His lips are within reach, but that’s a warning for me. My hand covers his face, palm at his nose and fingertips at his forehead, and I push at him because I need space. He laughs, tugging my hand free and kissing the pad of my palm.
“All men? That’s a broad generalization. How many men you been with, Bee?”
“None of your damn business,” I snap. One. Came close to another but didn’t trust myself. But not this close. Jedd is too close. He’s still holding my hand, stroking his thumb over my wrist.
“Besides fictional men like Tripper,” he adds.
“Tripper’s very real,” I defend.
“Oh, yeah. Can he do this?” Jedd’s teeth graze the puffy skin under my thumb. I squeak. My mouth gaping with shock.
“Or how about this?” he continues, drawing my wrist to his lips and sucking at the sensitive skin over my vein.
“Or what about this?” Jedd leans forward, and before I know what’s happening, his lips brush mine. Tender, soft, quick. He pulls back, staring at me, waiting on my response, but I have nothing. No words form. No thoughts collect. Only my body reacting with flutters in my belly and a thumping at my center. My right leg twitches, and I want to wrap it over his hip and pull him to me.
Instead, I push at his face again, and he retracts a bit, chuckling when I say, “What did you do that for?”
“Because not all men are the sa
me, Bee, and I’m out to prove it.” He dips his head but tips a brow. “I can be patient, but not that patient. You’ll come around, Bee.” With that, he hops up from the floor, agile as a cat, and holds out a hand to help me stand. I shove it away. I’m not going anywhere with him, but as soon as he leaves the room, I twist in the chair for the hallway entrance, realizing Jedd Flemming might see me as a door, but a glass one, and he sees right through me. My heart hammers, and my stomach twists with hope that he really won’t disappear.
A few nights later, I stand in front of the mirror in my room, my robe loosely covering my body. I’ve just showered, and my hair is damp and springs to my chin. The white color still shows through the moisture, and the cut hints at the old me. The one with a bounce in her step and a smile on her lips. I grin in the mirror, but it looks more like a grimace. My lips lower to their natural pout, and I examine myself. My skin remains pale as I haven’t sat in the sunshine in years. My eyes appear brighter, sharper even, with the new color contrast of my hair. A hand comes to my throat and rubs down my neck, smoothing the large crease around the middle. I recall once reading an article, stating you can tell a woman’s age by looking at her neck.
You look so much older than you are. Sort of on the shelf, if you take my meaning. Spinsterish. Hazel Cumberstone’s unflattering words come to mind. I’ve felt older than I am. I’m well over shelf age, in the terms of historical romances, and as for being a spinster, well, I’ve been married. I’m more the scorned woman. I chuckle at the thought. I don’t want to think of Howard, but it’s a good reminder of not being wanted by another human being.
What’s wrong with me? I wonder as my hand wanders down my chest, loosening the already ill-fitting robe to expose the swell of my smallish breasts. I pause and consider touching myself. My nipples are already points, highlighting my awareness that it’s been a long time since I’ve been caressed. Suddenly, a movement reflected in the mirror alerts me to the outline of someone in the doorway.
My heart leaps to my throat, choking on the scream as my body freezes with momentary terror. He becomes clearer in the low light of my room when he shifts forward just a little.
Cheeseoncracker.
“Beverly.” The way he says my full name. The ruggedness to his deep tone. The struggle in his loud voice sets my girly bits pulsing, and those peaked nipples are so rigid they ache. My hand stills at my sternum, caught between the fright of him standing just on the edge of my room and the temptation to cover the needy swell.
“I called out your name, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
My eyes remain on Jedd while my heart continues to race. Does he ever considering knocking? He nearly tore down my door that first meeting, but now he just lets himself into the house. Into my room.
“I should…” he starts, motioning over his shoulder with a thumb, hinting he should leave, yet his body remains still, and then he steps forward.
My gaze leaps to his residual limb, the space empty beneath the edge of his classic gray T-shirt. From there, my sight traces over his shoulder and up his neck, thick and solid like the rest of him, to the edge of his jaw, covered in silver stubble.
Jedd clears his throat, and my eyes leap to his.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” The tone reminds me of rustled covers and sleepy caresses, and shivers whisper over my skin. I can’t answer him. I don’t see myself in that manner.
His hand comes to the back of my neck, cupping it like he does. He pauses, holding my eyes through the reflection as if he’s asking for permission. I’m not certain what I’d be agreeing to, but the way he’s questioning me, I can’t deny him. I blink, lazy like my lids are heavy. The signal triggers his grip to tighten on my neck. The rough palm moves upward, his fingers delving into the short locks. He spreads those thick digits, and my head nods forward, the sensation sending ripples of calming pleasure down my back.
“Your hair is so soft.” With a loud voice, Jedd struggles with volume control. His tone lowers so his eyes meet mine in the mirror to confirm I heard him. My lips curl just the slightest, and Jedd continues to massage the back of my skull, fat fingertips working at the base and moving upward. He gives a little tug, and my head lolls toward him.
“Mmm, Bee. Your skin is just as tender.” His mouth whispers along my neck, his lips not yet touching the skin, but his breath is like a kiss. The fine hairs on my body stand at attention, waiting for more, longing for more. Then his mouth brushes the juncture of my neck and shoulder. With fingers wrapped in my hair, he tilts my head, and my lids lower again. His mouth opens, and he sucks at the sweet spot.
My legs give as a hissing cat sound escapes my lips. Mercy, that feels so good.
With the collapse of my knees, Jedd quickly releases my hair and wraps his arm around my waist. He holds me against his chest, continuing to nip at my shoulder and nudging the material of my robe farther over the joint. His nose reverses the trail of his lips to the edge of my ear while his hand fists at the knot on the tie of my robe.
“You smell like sunshine and honey.”
I swallow against any answer as his hand rises and slips into the opening of my covering. The warmth of his thick palm flattens against my belly, and my abs retract, not from displeasure but surprise at the heat. His fingers gently press on my stomach, holding me still, allowing me to feel the temperateness of him. His mouth continues to work over my neck and shoulder, blazing a trail of kisses only to return to my ear and trace the outer edge with the tip of his nose.
With the rise and fall of my chest, the draping of the robe at my shoulder slips to the crook of my elbow. The material catches on my nipple, barely containing my breast. Enough of my cleavage is on display for Jedd to pause in his kisses.
“How long has it been, Bee, since a man savored you?”
A quick retort rests on my tongue, stopped short by my teeth clenching. What man would want to savor me? I think, but the twinkle in the midnight of his eyes tells me this man wants me. At least at the moment.
“Never,” I croak because my throat doesn’t work, and I can’t move my tongue properly to form more words.
His hand moves across my skin, not a smooth stroke but a hesitant skitter until he’s just under the weight of an achy breast.
“May I?” he whispers directly at my ear, the question mixing with his breath. May he? Can I do this? I must give some sort of affirmative because the thick pad of his hand covers my entire breast, and my knees weaken once again. My head falls back to his shoulder, and my eyes close as I’m experiencing the tenderest touch I’ve even known. Without hesitation, he pinches the ripe nipple between his forefinger and thumb, tugging forward just enough for the pull to ache, and I whimper in pleasurable pain. In deep lust. In desperate desire.
I want this man’s hand to move everywhere on me. Considering he’s only using one hand, the only physical hand he has, he’s driving me mad. A cyclone of want swirls inside me: Kiss me. Tease me. Please me.
He releases the nipple and returns to massaging the weight of my breast.
They’re small, I think, and Jedd speaks as if he heard me. “The fit is perfect. Right in the palm of my hand,” he mutters, still rough and scratchy and all Jedd.
Jedd, Jedd, Jedd. Ms. Mabel was correct in her pronunciation of his name. Thrusting and sexual, I want it to grace my lips.
I consider turning toward him because I should return the pleasure. Howard always demanded it be equal—a kiss for me, then one for him—but I don’t want to move. I don’t want this sensation to end. Selfishly, I feel desired in a way I’ve never been desired.
Jedd’s hand releases my breast, and I softly purr in protest. His lips curl against my neck again, and our eyes lock in the mirror. His palm returns to my belly, pausing while we stare at one another for a long minute.
“Now, I’m the curious one…” His voice drones, reminding us of him catching me snooping through his things. Reality slams into me as I realize I still don’t really know Jedd. I mean,
I watch him every day. I recognize the gait of his stride, the curve of his shoulder blades, and the shortness of his hair, but I don’t know him know him. What’s his story?
My expression must says something to him, along with another reality check—headlights outside my window. The stream grows brighter, and I’m aware Hannah’s pulling up the drive. What’s she doing home so early? The question doesn’t linger as Jedd slowly retracts his hand, and I want to protest. My eyes prickle with liquid, blurring the mirror before us like we’re blurring lines.
He lives in the barn. He’s borrowing my land. There’s nothing between us.
Or there shouldn’t be.
Why not? my body cries as he presses a quick kiss to my neck and then moves his hand to right the edge of my robe, returning it to cover my shoulder. He stands for a moment with his one arm crossed over my chest, holding the material in place over my clavicle.
“This doesn’t get rid of me, Bee. I’m not going away,” he states, his voice a little louder, more Jedd’s normally heightened tone but with confident assurance. He’s leaving my room but not my home. The loudness startles me, and I flinch against him. Releasing his hold, he takes one step back. His eyes watch me before he nods once and then steps back again, disappearing into the darkness outside my bedroom.
I’m left feeling flushed but chilled from his absence. Flustered as well. What just happened here? I hadn’t said more than a few words to him, but none of them would equal the three words I feel for this man. Confused. Frustrated. Yearning.
When I finally come to my senses, holding my robe at my shoulder with my arm over my chest in a similar manner to the way Jedd held me, I question if I’ve dreamed the entire thing. Was he really in my room? Did I just project him into a fantasy? Yet his warmth loiters. His touch lingers. The scent of him remains.
“Momma, did I just see Jedd leaving the house?” Hannah calls out as she enters through the kitchen. I smile to myself, noting I’m not insane. Jedd Flemming just kissed my skin. He touched my breast. He was here. He was real, and I don’t know how I should feel about it.
Love in Deed: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 6) Page 15
