Coming Up Roses

by Staci Hart

  But more than that, I wanted her stretched out and comfortable, prone and exposed. I wanted her vulnerable, to strip her bare as she’d stripped me. So I kissed up her body instead, finding every dip—the valley of her breasts, the hollow of her throat, the soft space behind her jaw—as I backed her toward the blanket. I hooked her waist, reached out to brace us as I laid her down. Spread her legs with my thighs. Rose to my knees.

  Her eyes smoldered, snagging mine. Her hands reached for the hem of my shorts.

  I caught her wrists in one hand. “No.”

  A sweet pout settled on her face. “But I want you,” she said, her voice rough.

  “What? What do you want, Tess?”

  Her eyes flicked to my cock. It throbbed its answer.

  “Tell me,” I said, squeezing her wrists.

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, pink and slick. “I want your dick in my face, Luke.”

  A smile tugged my lips, just one side. “Next time. This time is mine. I’ve got something to prove, Tess, and I’m not stopping until I prove it.”

  She mewled, her hips shifting, calling my attention. I thumbed the rippling flesh between her thighs.

  “Don’t worry. You’ll get what you want.”

  I reached across my hips to hook her knee, and with a solid tug, I flipped her hips, corkscrewing her body. God, she was beautiful. The shine of her hair, spread out like a siren. The curve of her breast, the line of her waist, the twist of her body, the swell of her ass.

  “Roll over,” I commanded, grabbing her hips.

  She did, her breath noisy. I leaned over her, my eyes trailing up her back, hand brushing her hair from her face, stroking her cheek, thumbing her neck before clamping it with my fist. My free hand skated the length of her body, gripped the bend of her waist, pulled her into my hips, cock nestling in the valley of her ass with nothing but the jersey of my shorts separating us. Those hips rolled, stroking me.

  My lips on her jaw, breath stirring her hair, whispering against her shoulder blade. I rose, let her neck go, leaned back. Filled my hands with her ass, nudged her thighs farther apart, and was met with the gentle arch of her back, an offering. A request.

  I shifted, eyes locked on the split of her legs. Arms threading under her thighs. Lips tingling with anticipation. Mouth meeting her heat. Tongue tasting the salt of her body. My single-minded focus, aware only on the fringes of the tremble of her thighs, the gasp of my name. I stayed right where I was, taking my time. I knew every peak and valley of her body, knew how to bring her to the edge, knew how to slow her down without losing her.

  It wasn’t until she shifted that I released her and not by choice, but loss of contact. She sat and twisted, reaching for me as I reached for her, the synchronicity of body and mind instinctual. I knew what she wanted, where I would meet her lips, how I would lay her down again before it happened. Her lips crushed to mine, my body crushed to hers, pressing her into the blanket, the dip of the hay from her body cradling her. Her hands, frantic and frenzied, scrambled for my pants.

  I broke the kiss, looking down into her face, smoothing her hair, soothing her breath. But her hips were wild beneath me. I pinned them with mine. Nipped her lips. Only when she stilled did I back away to stand.

  She lay stretched out on the flannel, her skin bright against the dark. She was shades of red—the shine of her hair, the flush of her cheeks, the pink of her lips, of her nipples, of the neat thatch of hair in the V of her body. I couldn’t look away, and she couldn’t seem to either, not as I reached behind me to grab a handful of T-shirt and pull it over my head. Not as I retrieved the condom from my pocket and dropped my shorts. Not as I rolled it on, pumping my cock as I approached.

  Our eyes locked—they’d been otherwise occupied. Her thighs spread to make room for my hips. Her arms spread to make room for the rest of me. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. My hand on my base, thumb on my shaft, crown to her heat. And with a flex, I slid into her until there was no space between us.

  I swallowed her sigh with a kiss, held her body down with mine. My arms bracketed her face, my hands in her hair. And I spent a long moment right there, through the thundering of my heart, through the pulse of my body in hers, the echo of hers around mine.

  My hips were all that moved.

  The slow wave, the shift when I hit the end, the pressure she needed, the depth I craved. The kiss broke when she lost her body to the feeling, her head lolling, eyes pinned shut. She couldn’t move, couldn’t exact pleasure. It was mine to give.

  And I wanted to give her everything.

  Deeper I drove, kissing what skin I could, breathing into the shell of her ear, tracing the lobe with my tongue. The wave of my body, achingly slow. Deliberate and steady. A deep thrust. Another deeper still. Once more, and she was there, her body tight, her breath shallow.

  I lifted my head, pumped my hips, watched her face stretch and brows come together, heard the rasp of my name riding her breath. Felt the flex of her body around mine, so hard and tight. I didn’t pull out, just stayed until the pulse burst through her, drawing me deeper.

  The pull was too strong, too deep, my awareness shrinking with every thrust of my hips, my senses retreating. Sight gone with a slam of my lids. Sound nothing beyond the thunder of my heart and the sawing of my breath. Touch slipping from every extremity, rushing to the place where my body met hers.

  And with a burst of lightning behind closed lids, I came, hanging onto her like I’d fly away if I let her go.

  Her arms were the first thing I registered, twined around my ribs. Then, her fingers, the delicate graze of her fingernails up and down my back. The scent of her hair where my face was buried, lilacs mingling with sweet hay. The fluttering of her pulse under my lips as I kissed the column of her neck.

  I rose in search of her lips, kissed her with the slow appreciation I’d given her body. And when I broke away, it was to gaze into her face, reveling in the sight of its smiling form in my hands.

  “What have you done to me, Tess?” I asked, searching her eyes. “How did you do it?”

  Her smile ticked up on one side. “Well, I have this voodoo doll.”

  I laughed.

  “No, really. And there’s a shrine in my closet with the standard stuff. You know, some of your hair, red candles, your headshot, some chicken bones.”

  “What, no sage?”

  With a roll of her eyes, she made a noise of dissension. “Please, everybody knows you don’t use sage in love potions.”

  A shot of emotion burst through me at the word love from her lips, and I kissed them to cover it. Fear, surprise, desire. Warning. Welcome.

  Love. It meant so many things in so many contexts, a single word to span a hundred emotions. I loved my family. I loved my friends. I loved Wendy, though I never wanted to see her again. I loved Zhenya, my old neighbor, even though I wanted to see her again and probably never would.

  The way I felt about Tess was a form of that word. I didn’t know what form, not yet. But I knew without knowing that this feeling wouldn’t leave. It wouldn’t go away. It would only grow.

  I only hoped we grew together and not apart.

  I packed the thought away, shifting to roll us over and apart. Tess broke the kiss, propping her little chin on her hand to look down at me, hair wild and loose. I smoothed it, tucking a mass of it behind her ear so I could see her face better.

  “I always wondered what it was like to be Luke Bennet’s girlfriend,” she said with that lazy smile of hers.

  “Is it as glamorous as you imagined?” I teased, flicking a glance at the hay around us.

  “Trust me, it’s better,” she said, leaning in to press a fleeting kiss to my lips.

  My hands bracketed her hips. “So how do you want to play this? Should we put up a sign in the window? Maybe take out a newspaper ad?”

  “I was thinking a billboard, or at least a sandwich board.”

  I chuckled. “Seriously though—we’ll have to tell my mom at some point, and she�
��s going to insert herself directly into everything we do. She’s going to ask you questions you don’t want to answer, like what kind of birth control you’re on and if there’s any history of heart disease in your family. Maybe your ring size and which cut diamond you prefer.”

  When she laughed, the flush on her cheeks was almost as deep as her hair. “God, I didn’t even think about your mom. I didn’t think you’d ever want anyone to know about us.”

  My smile faded. “Tess, if taking out a billboard wasn’t outrageous and inappropriate, I’d fucking do it. This has never been temporary for me.”

  Her face softened. “I thought all you wanted was temporary.”

  “And I thought you weren’t interested in temporary. I walked into it with the intent to date the hell out of you, Tess Monroe.”

  She shook her head in wonder. “How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Make me feel like I’m the only woman in the world.”

  My hand cupped her jaw, my eyes holding hers still. “Because you are.”

  And I kissed her to prove it.

  15

  THINGS THE CAT DRAGS IN

  TESS

  “I told you he was your boyfriend,” Ivy said with smug certainty.

  I laughed, the sound unburdened, just like me. Light as a feather and floating through the breeze, free as could be, despite my exhaustion. It had taken us all night to get the installation done, no thanks to Luke’s lips and hands and that body.

  “You were right, and I was wrong,” I said pointedly.

  She pressed her hand to her chest, smiling. “It’s more common than I get credit for. Are you going to tell Mrs. Bennet?”

  My nose wrinkled. “We’re gonna wait a bit. Just … get settled, make sure we’re stable before she jumps in with wedding invitation samples or something.”

  “I’d say she’d scare Luke off, but somehow, I don’t think it’s him who’d get cold feet.”

  I gave her a look. “Can you blame me? I don’t do anything fast.”

  “No, you don’t. And when Mrs. Bennet gets word that her favorite person on the planet who’s not related to her is dating her son, she’s absolutely going to start planning your wedding. I give it two hours.”

  “God,” I said on a laugh. “Maybe we should keep it from her until we’re engaged.”

  Ivy gave me a look.

  “What?”

  “You said until. Until you’re engaged.”

  My cheeks flamed. “I was kidding, Ivy.”

  “I’m just saying, Tess. I think somewhere in your rational little mind lies a gooey romantic who knows you two are well-matched.”

  “We are well-matched. That doesn’t mean we’re getting married, you weirdo.”

  She gave me another look, this one telling me she knew better. “You remind me of me and Dean. You just…click, you know? And everyone around you can see it.” A wistful smile slipped out of her, her hand absently moving to her belly. “It’s your own kind of magic, and I’m so happy you found it. I swear, the electricity flickers when you’re in the same room. How Mrs. Bennet hasn’t already guessed is beyond me.”

  “She’s too busy fussing over having her kids home to be paying attention. Anyway, when she’s down here, Luke and I aren’t usually in the room at the same time.”

  “By design?”

  “A little, but also because we’re just too busy.”

  Ivy snorted a laugh. “You act like I didn’t catch him feeling you up in storage yesterday.”

  I shrugged. “You know what they say—a grope a day keeps the single away.”

  “No one says that,” she said around a giggle just as the bell on the counter rang for a second time in thirty seconds.

  I frowned, glancing behind me. “Where the hell is Jett?”

  “I don’t know. He went back to the greenhouse a minute ago. Luke’s on a delivery.”

  I wiped my hands on my apron. “I know where Luke is.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. It’ll become your sixth sense, knowing how far away he is at any given moment. Because you’re gonna get maaaaarried,” she sang, giving me a display of jazz hands for effect.

  I rolled my eyes, smiling as I walked toward the front.

  The shop was so busy, I found myself surprised Jett had gotten away for so long without the bell ringing.

  In the wee hours of the morning—after a too-short nap in the hay—we’d unveiled the new installation to a small crowd, coffees in hand as they waited on the sidewalk. Every week was a little bigger, a little grander, and today was no exception.

  It was a surprise to us all. But nowhere near as surprising as who I found on the other side of the counter.

  Wendy Westham had always been beautiful, and time had not changed that. In fact, I thought time had made her more beautiful. The roundness of youth had been erased from her face, leaving high cheekbones and a perfectly shaped jaw. Her eyes were more confident than I remembered, more grounded, though still bright with that spark of mischief I so often saw in Luke’s. Those eyes were nearly the same color as his, a deep, shocking blue.

  If their marriage had yielded a baby, that baby would have had those eyes, clever and ocean deep.

  Pain split my ribs as a smile split my face. “Wendy!” I cheered, the sound too light to be genuine. “What … what are you doing here?”

  She smiled a smile that belonged on a magazine cover, a smile as perfect and practiced as it was charming and true. “Tess, right? God, it’s good to see you. The shop looks incredible. I heard you did the windows, is that true? Because you could get a job in LA like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  I laughed, wooden and stiff. “I did, thank you. So … can I help you?”

  “Oh!” she said on a laugh, adjusting her handbag, which was hooked in the crook of her arm and cost more than a month’s rent on Fifth. “I was looking for Luke. Is he here?”

  I swallowed the stone in my throat. “You just missed him. He’s on a delivery.”

  Her face fell. “Oh. Do you mind if I wait for him? I’ve been back in New York for a minute, but I haven’t had a chance to see him yet.”

  With a nod—seriously, what else could I do?—I said, “Yes, of course, though I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  She waved a hand, stepping around the counter to head to the back before I could object. She wore a dress, simple and bohemian in design but colored with little details—a tie here, a ruffle there, clever design that made it feel almost couture. Her beauty was as blinding as it was understated. She didn’t have to try. She just was.

  I didn’t know Wendy well—she and Luke had met well after we graduated, and they’d only dated for forty-two seconds before running off to get married. But they’d been a singular unit, inseparable from the second they met. Whenever Luke had come by the shop, Wendy had been at his side. She’d never been unkind to me, though everyone painted her to be a succubus. Everyone just loved Luke too much to accept anything but five-star treatment of him. Anything less was blasphemy.

  She wound her way into the workspace. “Thanks, Tess. You work back here, right?”

  “Try to.” On days we aren’t interrupted.

  As we stepped up to the tables, Ivy looked up, her jaw popping open for a nanosecond before recovering.

  “Ivy? How are you?” Wendy beamed, stepping around the table. When she caught a glimpse at Ivy’s belly, her face softened, her eyes sparkling with what seemed to be … tears? “Look at you. You’re beautiful.” Wendy gave her a hug, prompting a terrified look from Ivy over Wendy’s shoulder. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Oh, I don’t think you know him. Dean, one of our suppliers.”

  Wendy’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Wait, the big guy? The one who always brings all the pots?” One of her brows rose.

  Ivy laughed. “Yes. Pots—and a little pot, if the mood was right.”

  “Congratulations, seriously,” she said, the words tight with emotion she covered by glancing around. “It h
asn’t changed back here at all. God, I can’t count the times Luke and I used to sneak back here.” She laughed. “I think we hooked up on every surface in the building.”

  The wind flew out of my lungs in a nearly audible whoosh.

  Ivy tittered nervously, hopping off her stool as fast as any woman in her state and size could. “So what are you doing back in town, Wendy?”

  “Oh, you know, just needing home for a minute. Ever get that feeling? When you need a friendly face? Not so many of those in LA these days.” She chuckled softly.

  God, why did she have to be so charming? And a little sad? And really fucking pretty? And goddamn married to Luke? Once upon a time at least … though it was all I could think of, along with Wendy’s beautiful naked ass all over the shop I loved with the man I thought I could.

  The thought tarnished the memories he and I had made here, made them feel tired and used, a repeat rather than a revelation.

  In that moment, I could no longer understand what Luke was doing with me. Wendy was his equal in a way I could never be—larger than life, stunningly charming, beautiful in that mythical way that defied your senses. And all that in a summer dress and sandals, and without a stitch of makeup on her face.

  And then there was me. Short and freckle-faced, eyes like mud and hair the shade of wet clay. Jeans smudged with dirt and with little holes worn where my thighs met. My pilled T-shirt and sneakers scuffed, the rubber cracked and peeling. Where Wendy was charming and worldly, I was awkward and a little suspicious, and I hadn’t left this side of Manhattan in close to a year. My world existed inside the blocks around this flower shop and included the people inside and my father.

  Her world—Luke’s world—was too big and brilliant for the likes of me.

  Wendy wandered over to the arrangement I’d been working on, bringing her pretty nose to the head of a peony. “This is so pretty, Tess. Luke always said you were the most talented florist he’d ever known. I have to say, I think he was right.” She smiled so gently at me that the ache in my heart squeezed tighter.