Wine&Dine: another romance for the over 40

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Come here,” I say, guiding her up and over me. We took this position last night, but something slipped in her eyes when I told her to ride me. I flip her once we align, and she spreads her thighs to accommodate my legs. “Are you sore?”

  I went a little rough on her in the chair. My dick jolts with the memory. My heart skips with a new feeling.

  Dolores shakes her head on the pillow. “But maybe we could slow down at first.”

  I lean over her, reaching for the nightstand where I stowed the condoms I should have used earlier. She doesn’t question me as I kneel back and sheath myself. There’s no urgency like an hour ago, and my heart races. She’s looking at me like she sees my soul.

  Do you know how I feel about you?

  Can you hear my heart beating for the first time in a long time?

  Does the rhythm of yours match mine?

  Her mouth curls as if she’s read my thoughts, and I shift my eyes from hers. Bracing myself on one arm, I guide my dick to her entrance. I swipe a finger upward, finding her primed and ready for me. I wish I was bare once again as I’m slick as well from her mouth. Slowly, I enter her, waiting for a whimper of pain. When there’s no response, I glance up to find those blue beams focused on me. She’s watching my face, not how our bodies join. The look is intense. A gleam in the deep sea I haven’t seen before. My heart races faster while I ease into her.

  Lowering to my elbows, I still and brush back hair near her cheek. Our eyes hold. Our hips move.

  What is she doing to me?

  I have my answer. It’s buried deep within, under painful childhood memories and broken teenage dreams and scars from a woman who was never mine.

  Dammit. This can’t be…but that internal organ disagrees, as does my body moving in sync with hers. Our eyes connect almost more fastidious than our lower region. If I were a child, we’d be locked in a staring contest. Yet I sense neither of us wants to look away first and break the spell. Our eyes link in more ways than our bodies.

  “Dolores,” I whisper, taking my time to glide back and plunge forward, feeling each ripple against my ridges.

  “Shh,” she soothes, reaching up to press a hand to my face, and then combing her fingers back through my short hair. My mouth lowers for hers. I’ve lost the game. She wins. She can take my body and my soul. She already owns my heart. The one I didn’t think I had to give.

  + + +

  With a new day, I have a different perspective, and I shake the intense emotions from the night before. Our second round of sex was too much, and I try to ward off the weirdness this morning with a quickie before I showered alone, attempting to distance myself from her.

  My heart gallops within my chest with irritation.

  I must stop these feelings of her, for her, wanting to be with her.

  We leave the vineyard, and I decide to take her on a trip down Highway 1 along the coastal edge and redwood forests. I can’t decide if the long drive is a way to clear my thoughts or prolong our time together. I’m a total contradiction at this point with distance desired yet the fear of separation. It will take us twice as long to get home on this path. Home. I’m starting to think of her as belonging in my place with me.

  Knock it off, I scold.

  We eventually stop at a visitor’s center and walk along the designated path to view the trees. Neither of us has hiking boots for a trek through the woods, but I want her to experience the massive trunks up close.

  “It’s huge,” she teases, wrapping her arms as far as she can around the mammoth base and tipping her head back to peer up the steep column.

  “That’s every man’s favorite compliment and every woman’s dream.”

  Her laughter blends with the quiet surroundings, and my heart speeds up once again.

  Stop thinking of her, I scream, and then she looks at me. Her blue eyes in broad daylight are just as intense as last night in the dark. Her smile is slow like drizzled chocolate. How I’ve wanted to see that smile since the moment I met her, and here it is, aimed at me.

  For some reason, irritation and attraction mix, and I rush the few steps to come up behind her. She huffs as my body slams against hers, forcing her into the sharp bark.

  “Garrett?” she questions, and my head takes over. Must stop feeling for her. I paw at her shoulder, tug back her sweater and nip her hard at her neck. The bite bucks her hips, making it worse for me as her backside slams into my rising dick.

  “Fuck, I want you.” How do I mean the words? Do I want all of her or just her up against this tree?

  Tap, tap goes my heart. You know the answer, it whispers. My hands move of their own accord and slip under her sweater, searching for the button on her jeans.

  “Garrett,” she hisses. “Someone will see us.”

  “Only the trees,” I tell her, still nipping harshly at her neck while fumbling with her pants. Unbutton. Unzip. And my hand slips in. She pops back against me again, and a finger delves in while I use the force of my hips to press her forward. With my hand trapped in her jeans, I grind against her backside. This is going to get messy.

  I add a second finger, pressing at the waist of her pants with my free hand to loosen the material. She releases the tree and struggles blindly behind her to unbuckle my belt. I help. Within seconds, she’s cupping me while I feverishly finger her. I haven’t gotten off on a hand job other than my own in years, but I pump into her fist while my digits curl inside her.

  “Give it to me,” I growl, frustrated with myself. Why am I acting like this? I question at the same time I curse her for making me want her so much.

  Don’t leave me.

  Dolores muffles her scream against the tree, stilling to clench my fingers, and I jet off over her palm. Our ragged breathing echoes around us, and I lift my head, conscious for the first time that someone could have seen us. My forehead lowers to her neck.

  What have I done?

  “Dolores?” I question. Don’t hate me. “I’m sorry.”

  “You okay?” she asks, her voice trembles, and she shakes against my chest. I withdraw my fingers and fumble with redressing her. She gently pushes my hand away and straightens herself. I step back. I have nothing for her hand, and I shrug out of my coat and flannel, then offer the shirt to her. She doesn’t look up at me, and I sense I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.

  Distance. She’s too close, Tin Man. But my newly restored heart sinks to my belly. I reach for her cheeks, forcing her to peer up at me.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  She nods once, rolling her lips. She doesn’t speak, and her eyes have that lost look again.

  Dammit. I did this. I tug her to me, holding her tight to my chest with a hand at the back of her head and another around her waist.

  “You…you do things to me, make me feel things, and I don’t know how to handle myself.”

  “S’okay,” she slurs into my cotton tee, but I press her back. My eyes search her face, and I see it. The hurt.

  “It’s not.”

  She averts her eyes, fighting the hold my hand has on her head. My stomach roils. I don’t like her not looking at me, struggling to look away from me.

  She’s going to leave.

  Isn’t this what you want? My eyes find hers, and I will her to know that I’d never hurt her. And no. No, I don’t want her to go home, back to Georgia.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and her head lowers for my shoulder. Look at me, I scream internally, but I did this to her, to us. My arms slip around her, and I tug her tightly to my chest. She doesn’t hold me back.

  “Sweetheart?” She slips her arms up my back, pressing into my shoulder blades, sensing I need her to hold me in return. “Did I hurt you?” Is it physical? Was I too rough?

  “Just my heart, Garrett.” Her voice is so low I’m not certain I hear her correctly. My heart hurts for her as well. It aches for her. How do I explain I’m protecting myself, but it’s a lost cause. I’m going to follow her down any path she leads
me—yellow brick or not.

  21

  He has a headache

  [Dolores]

  Sometime after noon on Monday, Garrett cancels our dinner plans.

  I have the worst headache.

  I haven’t heard this excuse before, though I’ve used it myself on Rusty. He would be pissed instead of sympathetic, and he’d keep his distance for a week to punish me for something I couldn’t prevent.

  Is there anything I can do? Bring you something or make you soup later.

  I don’t know how soup would help a headache, but I want to offer him comfort.

  I get these sometimes. I just need to sleep.

  I understand.

  Something happened to us yesterday afternoon on our way back. Actually, it happened Saturday evening when it felt like he was making love to me. His eyes, so intense, gazing down at me as he moved with slow, deliberate pulses, filling me and treasuring me. The connection was deep, and I’d never felt like I did at that moment. Not with James. Not with Rusty. Not with a few men between them. The moment was powerful and disturbing, and Garrett tried to distance himself the next morning. I think. There was the morning sex. The finger fucking against a tree. But between those rash, rapid couplings, he still held my hand and spoke sweetly to me. He’s a complete contradiction, and my heart can’t keep up.

  Then we returned home. His place. Denton’s place.

  “I…I think I need some sleep, tomorrow being Monday.” It was such a strange thing to say, but I didn’t argue. We hadn’t spent overnights together other than this weekend and my Thanksgiving self-imploding. I didn’t want to feel like I was getting a brush-off, but let’s call a spade a spade. I was.

  “Okay. Well, thanks for the weekend. I really enjoyed myself.” I tried not to smile too big, no hint of how I was feeling, no coyish recall of the amazing things we did together.

  You do things to me, he said.

  He did things to me too. Things I was afraid to feel and admit. I’d been down this road before.

  Keep it to yourself, Dolores.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I hated the question in my voice as I toyed with the handle of my bag. He wasn’t going to walk me into Denton’s. He wasn’t going to hold me again. We awkwardly stood in the space between—the no-man’s-land of his place or mine.

  “Yeah, how about dinner?” He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it, and my heart sank, but I let it be.

  “Sure.” I paused a beat. “Good night.”

  He reached for the back of his neck and scrubbed. Tipping his chin to me, he said, “Thanks for coming with me.” I bit my inner cheek. There wasn’t a hint of sexual innuendo, which was so unlike him. Or maybe this was him. I was getting a dismiss-slip from the player next door.

  I decided to call my brother to distract me after Garrett’s text. Maybe a familiar voice from home would ground me, remind me I don’t belong here anyway.

  This is Oz. Home is calling.

  “What was that?” I ask as I hear a crash before Denton even says hello.

  “Oh, nothing. Just a little work on Magnolia’s.” He pauses, and then says to me, “Hang on.”

  Denton finally agreed with me about moving our grandmother, Magnolia. It is not a good idea. She has lived in her post-Civil War home most of her life, and after losing our mother, I didn’t think another change for her would be in her best interest. Denton wanted to sell the family farmstead, but we learned we couldn’t. The house is tied to the land which loops back to land entitlement. It could only be inherited, never sold.

  I’m relieved, as I had hoped, one day, I’d own the house. I don’t have the financial means to fix it up, but one day, it might be mine. Of Magnolia’s two children, one is deceased and the other lives in Texas. Aunt Rosalyn doesn’t wish to ever return to Blue Ridge. There are only three grandchildren living: Tommy Carrigan, our cousin; Denton, and myself. None of us have children, though our deceased cousin, Kit, has two. We are a rather small, sad lot as far as family goes.

  Magnolia always told me we were a maternal line, meaning the house went from her grandmother to her mother, who was an only child; to herself, who was an only child; who had two girls. I am the next in line female not to mention the one who has taken care of my grandmother—and her house—for years.

  Another crash occurs as I wait for Denton to finish speaking to someone. Then it goes quiet around him.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. What is happening over there?”

  “A little home improvement. How is California?”

  Denton does this often—deflects topics—when he doesn’t want to give me details. However, after my weekend away, I find I want a little more information.

  “California is great. I want to know what improvements you are making to Magnolia’s.”

  “Magnolia’s?” He hesitates as if her house isn’t the place he’s improving.

  “Got some other place to improve?” Denton newly returned to Blue Ridge for the love of his life. He didn’t move into her home for several reasons. After a long talk with Magnolia, our grandmother agreed Denton could temporarily stay with her.

  “No, Magnolia’s, of course. Most of it has been structural. Supports for the foundation. Roof. Window measurements. Boring stuff.”

  Actually, it sounds exciting to me. I’d love to see Magnolia’s house restored to grandeur. It would make a nice bed and breakfast. The thought surprises me because I’ve never thought such a thing before.

  “Do you have plans for other improvements?” A list filters through my head. New kitchen. Refinished floors. Update bathrooms.

  “Just taking it one step at a time. Structural seems most immediate. So California? I miss my ocean. How’s it been?”

  “I went to Napa this weekend.” The sound of joy rings in my tone despite Garrett blowing me off. It’s just a headache.

  “Napa? That’s awesome. I’m so glad you’re getting out and traveling.”

  “Yeah, Garett wanted—”

  “Garrett?” he interrupts. “What does Garrett have to do with Napa?”

  “As I was trying to explain,” I began in my big sister voice, “he wanted to see a place and asked me to go with him.”

  “Garrett,” he repeats as if he hasn’t heard the rest of what I said. I realize I also haven’t been overly forthcoming with the fact Garrett and I spend time together.

  “Yes, your neighbor. The one who took me to a spa and shopping because you asked him to.”

  “I didn’t...” His voice drifts. “Dolores, I like Garrett as a businessman. He’s ruthless, and he gets what he wants. He’s been a decent friend to me. But as a guy, he can be an asshole. Don’t get wrapped up with him.”

  Too late, I think, but then I remember his dinner cancellation. It’s nothing, Dolores. He has a headache.

  “I’m fine,” I say, words I recall speaking too often in my life. I’m not fine. I’m falling in love with a man who lives across the country from my life.

  “How’s Mati?” It’s my turn to change the subject.

  He sighs, and I can almost hear his happiness. “She’s good.”

  “That’s it.” He normally jabbers on and on about her, her volleyball team, and her new grandson. Blah, blah, blah.

  “What else can I say? Life is good.”

  I weakly grin. Lucky him.

  + + +

  Close to four in the afternoon, Garrett sends me another text.

  Can I ask you a huge favor?

  Soup, I think, a little too hopeful.

  Can you walk Wally for me?

  Sure. Of course. Wally. Something doesn’t settle well with me, but I meet him at his door when he gets home.

  “You look terrible.” Actually, he looks hot as hell in his business suit of sharp blue with a crisp white shirt, and I want to undress him right here in the hallway.

  “Thanks.” He chuckles, and then he winces. He presses two fingers on his temple.

  “Poor baby,” I say, and his eyes leap to m
ine. He unlocks his place, and I call out for Wally. Garrett winces again.

  “I’m just going to shower. I’ll leave the place unlocked so you can bring him in when he’s finished.” He steps into his condo, drops his keys on the counter, and continues down the hall to his bedroom.

  Alrighty then.

  Wally easily follows me, and we saunter down to the beach. It’s getting colder, and I consider what Denton asked. How’s my ocean? I stare out at the waves, crashing into each other. The seas are rough this evening. Just the concept of beach living is so opposite my mountaintop town. Denton isn’t really a wealth of information. I should have asked him about the diner, but I didn’t. I haven’t asked in a month, but something niggles at me. Hollilyn Abernathy, my sort-of manager, had her baby a week before Thanksgiving. I should have asked who was in charge, but I know why I didn’t. I don’t want to hear someone else is handling things better than me. Ignorance is bliss, they say. I can understand why sometimes.

  If nothing else, I should call Hollilyn and congratulate her. During the week of Thanksgiving, I had my meltdown, and then Garrett and I celebrated the holiday. It wasn’t until the weekend when I learned Hollilyn had her baby, and her boyfriend-baby daddy proposed.

  Death. Birth. Proposals. Life is everchanging, I think as I watch Wally chase a sea gull.

  Who knew my life would bring me here?

  How long will you stay? a voice inside my head whispers to me. It’s the one question Denton doesn’t ask. He keeps telling me to take all the time I need. I’ve taken enough time, though. I’m feeling the itch to do something again. If nothing else, I can’t spend my days waiting on Garrett to get home and entertain me.

  I sigh as I call out for Wally, who surprisingly listens to me. He slows as he nears me and walks at my side while we take our time to return to Garrett’s.

  When I enter his place, I decide I’ll make him dinner anyway. Simple chicken with seasoned rice. Something quick and easy. As I struggle with the pots and pans, Garrett enters his kitchen, scrubbing at the back of his neck.