by Lea Nolan
"Not more crazy than you drive me," he said, then pulled down her panties and trailed his finger over her wet center. "Do you want this?"
"God, yes." Wren gasped as her nails dug into his shoulder
He slid two fingers inside. She whimpered as he stroked her hot core. Satisfaction rose as she writhed against the mattress each time his thumb flicked her round nub. Her toes curled and her insides tightened around his fingers. She was close, so close. All it'd take was a curl of his index finger and a stroke of his thumb. And another. Then one more.
Wren cried out as her body froze in place, but her insides clenched around him. He sat back, enjoying the expression of sheer ecstasy on her face.
He gave her this pleasure. Because he loved her and always had. And he had so much more to give.
He needed to be inside her, to feel her wrap around him, and join as one.
Smith removed his fingers. Wren's eyelids flew open. "Don't leave me," she panted.
He smiled. "Oh, darlin' that's the last thing you need to worry about." He reached for the drawer on the nightstand and pulled out a foil pouch. "Last chance to change your mind," he whispered as he tore it open and pulled out the condom.
Wren couldn't change her mind. Not since she'd sat at the bar tonight and contemplated what it'd be like to move to Atlanta and leave Smith behind.
Before walking into Harbor's Edge, she was filled with rage at her jackass bosses and ex-fiancé for ruining her career plans with their unfair treatment. Add to that a healthy dose of self-loathing for considering the offer because she'd earned a promotion, dammit, and no one was going to take it from her.
But then Smith smiled at her with those twinkling baby blues and a hole opened up in her chest. Moving to Atlanta meant he'd be out of her life, for good. That void only grew as the night wore on and the impact of her choice became clear. If she moved away there'd be no weekends on Heron Harbor. No lunches at a Baltimore expansion site. No walks on the beach, trips to Fun Town, and definitely no funnel cakes made just for her.
No...Smith.
She wasn't certain what she wanted, or could even expect from him, but one thing was clear. She didn't want to be without him. And she wanted him inside her.
Wren met Smith's smoldering gaze. "Make love to me. Now."
That was all he needed. He rolled on the condom then seated himself between her legs.
With their eyes locked, he entered her, sliding deep.
Her breath stuttered. He was thick, hard, and filled her more than any other man had.
"I've wanted you for so long," he whispered as he moved inside her. "You're so beautiful. So perfect to me."
Even in the dimness, the adoration in his gaze was clear. Add to that his touch, so tender that it spoke louder than the sweet murmurings he uttered in her ear. She was precious to him, cherished, and more dear than money or jewels. How had she missed it before?
A piece of her heart she'd thought was dead began to beat anew. Each pulse brought her closer to Smith and awakened emotions she swore she'd never feel again. The darkness and pain that had been her constant companions over the last six months evaporated, replaced by a light and warmth she'd never known before.
This was more than just sex between them. It was something closer to love. And to her deep surprise, it felt like home.
"Oh, Smith," she said, her heart full, then tilted her head to kiss him.
His lips were soft as he devoured her, exploring her mouth, neck, and breasts as they moved together in perfect harmony.
Tension coiled in her belly as he hit every nerve, every spot that sent electric sparks over her body. She wanted this pleasure to last forever. Or at least all night.
Smith's rhythm sped up and he thrust harder and faster against her.
Moaning, Wren dragged her nails down the length of his back then dug them into his firm backside. "Take me. Make me yours," she rasped. She'd never meant anything more.
"You're mine," he growled, gripping the hair at the back of her head. His stroke quickened, driving deep inside her, until it triggered an orgasm so strong, she cried out as a wave of raw sensation crested over her.
A few thrusts later, Smith clutched her tight as his own release exploded. Chest heaving, he collapsed on the bed beside her.
When her blissful fog lifted, Wren rolled onto her side. Her fingers glided across the downy hairs on his chest. His heart thumped loud and strong beneath his ribcage. She caught herself staring at his profile in the moonlight. Strong cheekbones, straight nose, and square jaw, he really was beautiful. And maybe, just maybe, he could be hers.
When his pulse slowed to normal, she broke the silence. "That was amazing," she whispered.
With his eyes still shut, he grasped her hand and brought it to his mouth, planting a sweet kiss on her palm. "It was better than that. A wish come true." He smiled.
"For me, too, I think. And for longer than I realized." Being with Smith felt right. Like a puzzle that finally found its missing piece.
Smith's eyes opened and he sat up, propping himself on an elbow. Cupping her jaw, he bore into her gaze. "Stay the night. Please." It was more than a request.
As if she'd do anything else. Leaning in, she kissed him. "I'm not going anywhere."
Chapter 12
Smith set the breakfast tray on the foot of his bed. Wren was still sleeping, her face the picture of peaceful calm. Not wanting to disturb her, he settled into the nearby armchair and watched her gorgeous chest rise and fall with each breath.
Damn, she was beautiful. And she'd stayed the night. With him. In his bed.
She couldn't possibly understand how momentous that was. He didn't remember the last time he'd spent an entire night with a woman, much less in his own home.
But now Wren, the woman of his dreams, was dreaming in his bed. How fucking lucky could he get?
Wren stirred beneath the sheets and her lids fluttered open. She stretched her arms above her head and smiled when her eyes met his. "Good morning."
Smith rose from the chair and crawled across the bedspread to her. "Good morning to you." Leaning on his elbows, he pressed a kiss to her luscious lips.
She caressed his cheek. "I'd love to kiss you all morning, but I smell something delicious."
Smith chuckled. "I figured you'd be hungry after last night." Or more precisely, last night, the middle of the night, and early this morning. Olympic caliber sex tended to generate an appetite.
"I'm starving."
"And I'm going to feed you." He reached for the tray and slid it toward her.
Gathering the covers around her breasts, Wren sat up. Her eyes saucered at the feast he'd prepared. Fresh squeezed juice, hot chocolate, muffins, thick cut bacon, and his brunch specialty, a vegetable frittata. "This looks amazing." Setting the plate on her lap, she grabbed a fork and dug in.
Watching Wren eat was as close to a religious experience as Smith got. Her expressions, and the soft moans she made as she savored his food made his heart soar. This woman loved to eat, and he loved feeding her.
The phone rang on the night stand. The voice-activated caller ID spoke in a robotic voice, "Brittney Ashford."
Smith didn't move to answer it. Nothing and—no one—would interrupt his morning with Wren.
"Aren't you going to get that?" Wren asked.
He shook his head. "Nope." Then he pointed to the mini blueberry muffin on her plate. "Try that. I added cream cheese to make it extra moist."
"Why not?"
"She's probably calling to ask about the homecoming parade today."
"Sounds like fun." Wren split the muffin in two and handed him one of the halves.
"Oh it will be. I'm sure she and Timmy will have a great time. Just not with me. Because I'm going with you." He popped the muffin in his mouth. Damn, it was good. These bad boys were going into the Sunday brunch baskets at Harbor's Edge.
"But don't you have to work?" Wren asked, crunching a slice of maple-roasted bacon.
Sitting b
eside her, Smith leaned close. "I took the day off. This is your last full day on the island. I'm not letting you spend it alone."
Her shoulders slumped. "It is my last day. I can't believe this week went so fast."
Was it bad that her reaction made him happy? Sadness meant she felt something for him and didn't want to leave.
He nodded. "Too fast."
Pulling away from his gaze, Wren stared at her plate. "Tomorrow night I'll be back to eating frozen dinners."
Don't be a fucking coward. Tell her what's on your mind.
Smith trailed his fingertips along her forearm. "You don't have to."
Evading his eyes, she poked the frittata with her fork. "I doubt I'll find someone to cook for me in Atlanta. Unless I spend my raise on a personal chef." She forced a dry laugh.
Shit. She was considering the move. If she went he'd lose her forever. "Don't go to Atlanta."
On a gasp her jaw fell open but no sound came out. In her eyes he could see her mental deliberations. "I wish I didn't have to, but my job—"
"Your job is in Baltimore."
She shook her head. "I can't stay there." Her voice twisted with pain.
Smith clasped her hand. "I get it. I do. It's just...this week with you has been better than I ever imagined."
"I know. I never expected this to happen. I came here to be miserable, not this." Wren gestured to the bed and her sheet-covered body.
He stiffened. "Do you regret it?"
Please God, don't let her say yes. He could take anything but that.
Her hand stroked the stubble on his cheek. "Not for a second," she said, softly.
Smith exhaled with relief. It was now or never. Time to be honest, but not so much that it scared her away. "I have feelings for you, Wren. Strong feelings. And I think you feel something for me."
Her breath caught. She laid her palm over his hand. "I do. More than I ever thought I might feel again. I was so broken, but you helped put me back together. More than that, you opened my heart and made me feel safe. I haven't felt this way in years."
He kissed her with years of bottled up passion and longing. And she met him stroke for stroke, giving back as good as she got.
When they parted, Smith gazed into her gorgeous green eyes. "This thing between us is good. It could be great if we give it a chance. But if you go to Atlanta, we probably won't see each other again. Do you want that to happen?"
Wren threaded her fingers in his. "Leaving here tomorrow is the last thing I want to do. I want to try to make this work. But I also have a job I've worked really hard for. Things are happening so fast—the transfer, us—I don't know how to make it all fit. Not yet, at least."
Neither did he but he'd be damned if he'd turn his back on this amazing woman. Long distance relationships sucked but they could work. "Then there's only one thing I can do," Smith said, smiling. "Wait until you figure it out."
For a small town, Heron Harbor put on a hell of a show.
Wren hadn't been to a homecoming parade in years, but this one was worth the wait. It seemed like the entire island came out to celebrate the Hurricanes. School bands, dance teams, Scout troops, the fire and police departments, even a couple of knitting clubs and the ladies hospital auxiliary all marched down Main Street or rode on floats decorated in the school's colors of blue and white.
This show of support went deeper than just putting on a great parade. It proved that Heron Harbor was a great place. Charming and close-knit, the people here cared about each other and cheered each other on.
Like a family.
Compared to her isolated, work-consumed life in Baltimore, Heron Harbor felt like home. For the first time in ages, Wren yearned for the summers she'd spent on the island, and for all those she'd missed.
But that ache was more than soothed by the sheer joy of being with Smith. When his arm wasn't draped around her waist, he held her hand, or occasionally leaned in to kiss her lips that were fixed in a perma-smile. Bathed in his adoring gaze, her heart swelled to twice its normal size and she felt light enough to float on air. The sensation was more than mere happiness. It was bliss.
And it was addictive. She wanted more. She needed more. And he'd asked her not to move, ensuring she could get her Smith-fix nearly on demand. It was almost perfect...except for the heartbreaking reality that her life was elsewhere and no amount of wishful thinking could change the location of her promotion.
There had to be a way to make this relationship work in person. She just didn't know how or when that might be. Until then, she hoped the feelings she shared with Smith were strong enough to endure the distance.
After the last float rolled down Main Street, Smith clutched her hand. "What now? The day is yours."
"Will you hate me if I say window shopping? I haven't had much chance to visit the boutiques this week." Wren winced, knowing that to a lot of men, window shopping was the equivalent of being sentenced to hard labor.
For a split-second, Smith's mouth tensed—clearly he was not Team Window Shopping—but then his lips relaxed into an easy smile. "Your wish is my command. We can stop by the library, too. I wouldn't mind checking on my auctions."
"Maybe I'll put in a bid." She smirked.
He pulled her into an embrace. "No, you won't. You get me for free." His mouth closed on hers and they kissed like two teenagers in the middle of the sidewalk.
They browsed the length of Main Street, navigating the busy sidewalk and crowded shops, picking through knick-knacks, island branded T-shirts, and other tourist items. Hungry for a snack, they ducked into the Chocolate Haus and bought way too many treats. Outside the shop, Wren paused to break off a piece of fudge. She nodded toward the vacant building next to Town Hall.
"When did Tom Jackson close his practice?" Mr. Jackson had been the town's lawyer and her father's good friend.
Smith sipped his coffee. "When he died last year."
A bolt of shock ran through her. "But I saw him at my father's funeral. He looked great."
"He looked great the day before he passed, too. It was a heart attack. Very sudden."
Memories of her father and Tom flooded her mind. Both widowers and single fathers, their shared experience brought them close. Tom's sons must have been crushed by his death. "I'm sorry I didn't know. I would have gone to the funeral."
Smith headed toward the library. "It was packed. He was a real institution around here. No one's replaced him."
Wren kept pace. "So where does everyone go when they need an attorney?"
"Mainland, mostly. But a lot of those lawyers won't give discounts or payment plans like Tom did so most people can't afford them."
"Huh." They walked in silence as her brain churned on an idea that was probably ill-conceived and possibly ridiculous but definitely exciting. She couldn't voice it out loud, not until she'd done some research. But if everything panned out, she'd spill it to Smith and everything about her life would change—for the better.
In the library, Smith and Wren went straight for the silent auction table. Among the hundred or so items, Wren's offer of free legal services was already a top seller, along with the dinner with Smith, and his homemade cookbooks. Scanning the list of thirty of Smith's would-be dining partners, she noticed Brittney had been the first, then fifth of the bidders. The pot must have grown too rich after that since she hadn't bid again.
Ignoring the auction for his date, Smith gaped at the bids for one of his books. "Is my dyslexia screwing with me or does that say fifty bucks?"
Smith's mother, Madeline walked up behind them. "I certainly hope so. I've got big plans for the literacy program this year."
Wren peered at the bid sheets. "It does. And this one says fifty-five," she pointed to the listing for a second copy.
Smith shook his head. "I can't believe anyone would pay that much for my recipes."
"Nonsense. Your food is wonderful. Everyone's always asking how you make your dishes," Madeline said.
"And since these are the only copies
in the world, I'm sure they'll sell for more by the end of the day. But it's nothing compared to the deal my literary agent client can get from New York publishers."
Smith's stunned gaze bounced between Wren and his mother. Clearly he thought they'd lost their minds. He chuckled. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
"Mark my words. A year from now, you'll be a best-selling cookbook author." Wren winked and he grinned back at her. They hung there for a moment, transfixed in each other's gaze.
If Madeline had had any doubts about whether her son and Wren were an item, they were gone now.
Smith's cell rang. "Excuse me, I've got to take this." He retreated to this mother's office.
Madeline stepped close and spoke in her best hushed-librarian voice. "Now that we have a few moments alone, I want to tell you how happy I am that you and Smith are together. I haven't seen him smile this much in years."
"That's nice, but I wouldn't say we're together together," Wren answered, because she didn't want to get her own hopes up—about the idea that was still swirling around her head, or whether she and Smith could withstand a long distance move.
Madeline's brow arched. "I saw you two out on the sidewalk earlier. Trust me. You're together."
Heat bloomed across Wren's cheeks. "We've had a very nice time this week."
"You were like a daughter to me when you were young, so I hope you don't mind some unsolicited advice." Madeline placed her hand on Wren's arm. "Don't settle for just this week. Take a chance and follow your heart. I know what it's like to live with the result of missed opportunities and regret. Don't repeat our mistakes."
Wren blinked, unsure how to respond. Yes, she and Madeline had been close when Wren was a girl and Madeline was the source of all knowledge about books. The library, and Madeline's kind, loving encouragement and patience meant the world to little girl Wren.
But she was a grown woman now. She didn't need any help deciding how she felt about Smith. She knew. The only question was whether she could make everything work out the way she wanted.
And what did Madeline mean about our mistakes, anyway? The woman never dated anyone after Smith's father took off. That was her choice.