The You I Want for Life

by Alison Kent

  “Then how?” she demanded.

  He took a step toward her. “What the hell was I supposed to think after the way you walked away Tuesday night? You made your feelings pretty damned clear.”

  “The way I walked away? Try the way you pushed me away, Jace. The way you shoved me. The way you gave me ultimatums.”

  She stepped closer, moving in for the kill. “What I’ve been doing since Tuesday night is calling myself a fool for beating my head against a brick wall.”

  “Is that what I am? A brick wall?”

  “You’re about as unyielding as one. It’s your way or no way. I think that pretty much sums up what you said.”

  Her final step brought her close enough to touch. He didn’t, but she did, making her point with the index finger she jabbed against his chest.

  “You pushed me away then like you’re pushing me away now. I’m not going to let you run over me. You may feel you did that to your other friends, but I’m strong enough to make sure it’s not going to happen to me. I don’t play that way. And I’m not going to let you play that way either.”

  Silence hung between them as Jace absorbed her words. Once he did, he froze. The implications staggered him, but he wasn’t about to share that little secret. Still, he needed to know.

  “Then when you told me that you didn’t want a friend, that you wanted me...”

  “I meant it.”

  He caught her hand before she backed away and held her there, afraid to let go and find out that he was holding on to nothing but a futile hope. “And what happened in the truck...”

  “Is what I wanted to happen,” she whispered, her smile a clear sign that he wasn’t as adept at hiding his feelings as he’d once been.

  Or maybe what he felt for Eden was something he just couldn’t hide.

  “Are you blaming yourself for that night?” she asked, working her fingers free to splay both hands on his chest. “Couldn’t you tell that I was right there with you? Don’t you know that what I offered, I offered honestly? That what I took, I took selfishly?”

  Jace shut his eyes. The inky blackness of night offered welcome relief. “Then what we did...”

  “Was real, Jace. As real as it gets. No subterfuge. No lies. No ulterior motives. I wanted you.” Her voice fell then, as her strength of conviction failed. “And I thought you wanted me, too.”

  Jace sucked a sharp breath through his teeth. The way he’d wanted her then was nothing compared to the way he wanted her now. Body and soul, under his skin, breathing his air... forever. He couldn’t stop the moan that caught in his throat any more than he could stop himself from crushing her to him.

  He didn’t remember her feeling so good, or like she belonged to him. But this time he swore he’d remember everything. He stepped back into the shadows, drawing her with him, leaned against the tree trunk, pulling her close—as close as two people could get with so much still unsettled between them.

  Her belly seemed so much a part of her now that he didn’t think twice about the way she nestled against him. At the base of his neck, he felt her warm cheek, her warmer breath, and hot, silent tears. Her whimper was an echo of the sound in his throat that he couldn’t find the strength to let go.

  But then she touched her lips to the curve of his jaw, tasted his skin with the tip of her tongue, and what clawed at him then was a simpler need, one that knew nothing of risk.

  That only knew she was his.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A SLOW LOVER’S BALLAD soughed through the air. “So, as long as we’re here, do you wanna dance?”

  It was all Jace could think of to say. Not that he wanted to dance. In fact, never moving at all suited him just fine. But sooner or later someone would notice them standing like statues entwined.

  And neither one of them needed the gossip.

  She snuggled tighter, her arms slipping around his waist, her hands roaming down to his hips. “As long as we don’t have to move.”

  His feelings exactly. “I think that’s the whole point, Eden. You know, dancing. Moving to music.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “No. I mean as long as we don’t have to move from this spot.” Her hands found their way deep inside the back pockets of his jeans and she glanced at the crowded dance floor. “I’m not up to a crush of bodies right now.”

  Jace wasn’t about to argue. The only body he wanted crushed next to his was Eden’s.

  “C’mon,” he said, wrapping one arm around her shoulders, reluctant to let her go even for the time it took to walk to the far side of the tree. The few extra feet took them out of the reach of the brightest lights and into the dark shadows. The distance would also hopefully dissuade any well-meaning townsfolk from crashing their private party.

  Now that he had Eden all to himself, he damn sure didn’t intend to share these intimate moments.

  Though Eden’s shape made for a difficult slow dance, Jace had no complaints. He took her hands in his, secured them around his neck, then wrapped himself around her like warmth from the sun.

  She tangled her fingers in the length of his hair and tangled her breath with his. He tasted her in the air, drew her into his mouth, the very way he’d wanted.

  Her head on his shoulder, her lips on his neck, she rocked against him, an awkward swaying of bodies more precious than a first kiss. He smoothed back her hair and tenderness swelled, the unfamiliar emotion lulling his senses.

  What, besides nothing, had he done to deserve her?

  Jace lingered there, in the shadows, and absorbed only Eden. He closed his mind and opened his heart.

  And then his body took over.

  The way they stood was too close for dancing, the way they moved nonexistent. Their rhythm was fluidly smooth, their motion sleepy and slow.

  When he pressed his thumb to her throat, Eden’s pulse quickened. His own heart responded with a steady rise in tempo and a rapid pumping of blood.

  He dropped a kiss at her hair, at her temple and her brow, then reached up to release her hold on his neck. “Eden, give me your hands.”

  She smiled against his neck and nuzzled even closer, rich female satisfaction in the chuckle that rose in her throat. “No. I want you right where you are.”

  Her comment only made his blood pump harder, his arousal thicken. But, hell, if she didn’t mind, then neither did he. This was his fantasy, after all, his time to steal until one of them woke up from this mad dream.

  Because that’s what he was—crazy—for thinking anything would be different after tonight, for thinking she wouldn’t wake up tomorrow, or the next tomorrow, or the one after that and start making plans to leave town, to return to a life he could never be part of.

  Wasn’t that reason enough to turn and walk away?

  He staggered backward and came up against the tree, spread his legs and pulled her between. She came without question, cuddling against him like he really had something to give her, like no place else would do.

  His own feelings made even less sense because he knew in her arms he’d find out exactly who he was. And that scared more than the hell out of him.

  With no pretense left between them, with common sense dispatched, he lowered his head. She was waiting... as if she’d expected him back, as if she wanted him back. As if he belonged. Her mouth opened, her hands roamed, and he could barely concentrate on one for the other.

  And this time he wanted to go slow.

  He kissed her thoroughly, giving no thought to time or place, only to Eden and her mouth, the way her lower lip trembled, the way she nipped him with her teeth, the way she seemed to smile like she held all the cards in this game.

  But Jace could only play for so long. Especially when her tongue stroked his, her movements slow, seductive, a striptease of the senses. Oh, God.

  And he’d thought sex in the seat of his truck was intimate. Nothing topped what Eden was doing to his mouth.

  Heat grew and with it longing, a building of sexy steam. He tunneled his hands into her hair
, holding her still before he went off. Intoxicating, drugging, her mouth refused to stop, working at his, tiny strokes of tongue, hot breath, and whispered words of wicked want.

  Slow was out of the question.

  Her hands wandered to the waistband at the back of his jeans—jeans too tight for the strain in front. But she fought her way inside. She skimmed the tail of his shirt, bunching material, wadding it in her hands until her fingers found his naked buttocks.

  She laughed then, a girlish giggle that knotted him up. “Jace Morgan, where are your drawers?”

  “I was in a hurry,” he managed. Her fingers inched around to his side, her thumb finding the crease where hip met thigh, getting too close for comfort.

  So he decided it was time to get even.

  He leaned back, putting enough space between their bodies to discover the shape of her very shapely breast. It filled his palm and then some, the sexy curves swollen with pregnancy and desire.

  At her sudden intake of breath, he thought he’d gone too far, until she took his hand in hers and pressed harder, showing him how to touch her, to arouse her, to make her moan.

  She moaned again, then yelped, and he knew this time was different, especially when she backed away wide-eyed and pressed her hands low on her abdomen.

  “Eden? What—”

  “A contraction.”

  Christ! “Now?”

  “A false one. The first one I’ve felt.” She gave a tremulous laugh. “Ooh. Bethany felt it, too. Don’t worry, my sweet,” she crooned, stroking the left side of her belly. “It’ll be over soon.”

  “Eden?” His heart thudded. His voice shook.

  “I’m fine.”

  Not even marginally relieved, Jace scraped a hand down his jaw. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, and concern creased the corners of her eyes. “I’d better get home, but I want you to understand this doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”

  He felt like a three-year-old. “I’m a jackass, Eden. I’m not stupid.”

  The corner of her well-kissed mouth tipped in a grin. “There’s a difference?”

  He scowled, then reached out and buried his hand in her hair, drawing her close. “Can I ask you one thing?”

  “Sure,” she answered, breathless.

  “If we ever start this again—”

  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Then his. “When we start this again, you mean.”

  Once he’d guaranteed his own heart failure, he pulled away from her slick mouth. Taking a deep breath, he looked her straight in the eye.

  “When we start this again, can we make sure we’re in a position to finish it?”

  Pouting as she thought, she cocked her head to one side. “Physical position or emotional?”

  “Physical, for sure. But emotional would work.”

  “I’ll sleep on it,” she answered, giving him one very tired wink.

  He’d rather she slept on him, but as he’d said, he wasn’t stupid. So instead, he walked her home.

  LIGHT FROM THE SIDEWALK lamppost at the corner of The Fig Leaf sparkled through the etched-glass window on the shop’s front door.

  Eden dropped the bottle of window cleaner in the bucket at her feet, straightened the freshly washed lace curtains, then, Fists in the small of her back, stretched out her own kinks as well.

  She hadn’t had another pain since the one that so rudely interrupted her reunion with Jace two hours earlier. Not that she didn’t welcome the sharp reminder of how little time she had left—and what all she had left to do.

  But she wasn’t quite ready for her life to turn upside down. Not yet. She had too much to settle with Jace before Beth and Ben arrived to consume her attention, her energy, her every waking moment.

  She needed time.

  Time with Jace. Private time. Long, quiet hours. Laughter filled minutes. Days and weeks to sort the risks from the challenges, the facts from the feelings, the rights from the wrongs.

  Or maybe what she really needed was guidance.

  Unless she could figure a way to clean up her so-called love life as fast as she’d cleaned up her shop. Her shop. She loved her shop, the way with every passing day it felt more and more like home—and less like a stop on life’s road.

  Turning to survey two good hours of work, she decided the hardwood floor still needed a good buffing. But until she could get to The Emporium and rent a buffer from John, the light coat of wood cleaner she’d mopped on would have to do.

  She’d refolded and aligned the stacks of jumpsuits stored in the cubbyholes Jace had built, then moved the placemats and tea towels from the old set of shelves to the new.

  With the hanging garments spaced on the racks at one-inch intervals, she tackled the corner of baby things, draping a tumbling blocks quilt over the back of a miniature white wicker sofa.

  The two antique dolls that sat there now wore her favorite christening gowns, and the patchwork teddy bear propped between sported a jaunty bib of his own.

  Seized by an uncontrollable urge, she’d finished the display by covering the trio with the silver and gold baby blanket she thought of as belonging to Jace.

  She remembered the first day she’d seen him, the way he’d played the big bad wolf to her little lamb. She’d known even then that he was a phony. His brusqueness had only succeeded in making her wonder who he was.

  She no longer wondered who. Or why. She knew exactly what thoughts had been going through his mind. And exactly how he’d felt reliving his past, thinking of the friends he’d lost touch with, the families they’d started, the careers they’d advanced.

  He’d be contacting them soon, she just knew it. And that pleased her more than she would’ve imagined.

  She headed for the second floor to take advantage of this curious burst of energy. She set her bucket of cleaning supplies at the foot of the stairs, stopped in the kitchen for an extra roll of paper towels and decided to do something about Jace’s mess when she got there.

  He said he’d get to it tomorrow, but for some bizarre reason, that wasn’t soon enough. So while she had the drive and the time, she did what she could, tossing the scraps of molding into a paper bag along with the old hinges and screws.

  She found a discarded shipping box big enough for the few tools still lying on the floor and pitched fragments of Sheetrock into the trash.

  With that little bit accomplished, she dusted her hands together and wrinkled her nose. And sneezed.

  Might as well wipe down the countertops.

  And the sink.

  And the stove.

  She double-checked the cupboards, switched the shelves of tumblers and coffee mugs in one, then rearranged the jars on her lazy Susan spice rack in another. While she was at it, she cleaned the window over the sink and the smaller one set into the door.

  Then she mopped.

  With a sense of urgency she purposefully shoved aside, she finally headed upstairs. Her bedroom didn’t take more than a minute or two—just a quick change of sheets and a fluffing of the lace throw pillows in the dormer window.

  Wanting to make sure her loosest jumper was pressed for tomorrow, she opened the closet. Finding what she wanted, she decided there was really no need to keep all her old business suits on hangers.

  A trip downstairs yielded a lawn-size leaf bag. She folded the remnants of her old life into neat stacks and shoved the bag into the back of the closet. Later she’d decide between charity or resale... charity or resale or storage. Funny how she had to stop and add the latter to those options.

  The bathroom came next, but once she saw her reflection—the unusual brightness in her eyes, flushed cheeks and wild halo of mahogany hair—she supposed a long soak might help ease whatever it was that had her so keyed up.

  Ten minutes later, up to her chin in scented bubbles, eyes closed, toes tapping the end of the tub, she knew it wasn’t going to work.

  Where had this energy come from? And where had it been when she’d needed it the past three weeks? With a defeated s
igh, she toweled off, then slipped into her panties and bra and a long button-front cotton jumper.

  The only room left on which she could vent this cleaning fury was the nursery.

  Securing her hair in a topknot, she padded barefoot down the hall. Now, before she got everything set up, would be the perfect time to do one final cleanup and make a list of everything she needed to buy.

  Two steps inside the door, she forgot why she was there, filled with the wonder of what this room made her feel. The almost terrible sense of rightness, like if she gave in to her feelings and shouted her joy to the sky the bubble of gladness would burst.

  Maybe that’s why reaching for Jace scared her so. Loving him was such a risk. She wanted him desperately and knew he wanted her, too.

  She crossed the nursery to the window seat, peered out at the twinkles of light in the sky. “Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight...”

  Turning around, she raked a critical glance over the nursery. This is where her children would begin an incredible future. This nursery would be perfect, even if Beth and Ben didn’t know a thing about it.

  The south wall was bare, and that’s where she’d place the cribs, end to end, out of any drafts from the window and the spill of light from the hall. An antique dry sink sat inside the door.

  She’d padded the top to use as a dressing table, and after this weekend’s shower, she’d stock the bottom with diapers and sleepers and gowns.

  The north wall was Chloe’s masterpiece, and Eden couldn’t bear to cover it. She’d already imagined long lazy mornings propped in the cushioned window seat feeding first Benjamin, who was sure to be most demanding, and then Bethany, whose docile nature would give her a rare strength of her own.

  She’d huddle up with her sweet babies, snuggle down into the mountain of multicolored pillows and weave magic tales of the creatures on the wall.

  Of the blue and yellow butterflies, who were really tiny fairies sprinkling magic dust in the air. Of the trio of elves that slept in every red poppy, safeguarding the creatures living in the green woods beneath. Of the enchanted winged animals, flying away to freedom and opportunity—the same things she would give to her babies.