by Nina Lindsey
“Not the post-sex talk I was hoping for, but sure.” He stroked his hand over her torso to her breasts.
“It’s so logical. When you write a program, you’re creating something out of nothing, but with order. You can rewrite code endlessly until you get the results you want. You find solutions to problems. When I’m in a programming zone, everything is clear and structured. Being in that world makes it easier to deal with the rest of life, which is always messy and unpredictable.”
“And computers are easier to handle than people, right?”
“Sometimes. At least they always do what I tell them to do.” She shifted and leaned on his chest, propping her chin on her folded arms. “My point is that I start writing a program knowing exactly what my end goal is and how I plan to get there. But real life is obviously very different, and I’ve never started a relationship thinking there’s an end goal.”
Grant lifted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t need to use a technology metaphor to tell me you’ve never dreamed of fairy tales and happily ever after.”
Rory’s face heated. “I know you haven’t either. I just didn’t want you to think I was expecting something beyond a good time.”
“Why, because I said you were the one woman who could change my mind about relationships?” He frowned, his muscles tensing underneath her arms. “This is about a hell of a lot more than a good time. I get why you can’t admit that, but you’re forgetting that I know you. Yeah, you’re a computer nerd who wants everyone to think you live on binary codes and JavaScript, but you also have a heart bigger than the sun and a soul made up of kindness and loyalty. Letting other people see that doesn’t make you weak or vulnerable. It makes you you.”
Swallowing past a flood of emotion, Rory rested her forehead on his chest. If her heart really was “bigger than the sun,” then he was becoming the flame right in the very center.
“I still don’t dream of fairy tales,” she mumbled.
A laugh vibrated through his chest. “Neither do I.”
She wasn’t convinced about happily ever after either. But she was beginning to think that Grant was the only man in the world who could change her mind.
Chapter 13
Rory woke with darkness still pressing against the windows, and Grant’s arm and leg pinning her to the mattress. She breathed in his scent, kissed his shoulder, and poked him in the abs.
“Hey, Rock, let me up. I need to pee.”
He grunted in his sleep and shifted, pulling her closer. Rory’s eyes widened as his erection pushed against her thigh. Apparently he had his own needs. Which she would be more than happy to meet…just not right this second.
She shoved at his arm and wiggled her way out from underneath his muscular bulk. He must work out regularly because a man didn’t get biceps like that from chopping tomatoes.
Pulling on a T-shirt, she padded into the bathroom and used the toilet, pausing at the sink to study herself in the mirror. Her hair was a tousled mess, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes gleamed with a deep, womanly satisfaction that she still felt clear down to her bones.
Fold up that feeling and put it in a little box, Rory Prescott. You’ll want to remember it when you’re back staring at a computer screen in your claustrophobic office cubicle, jacked up on Sour Patch Kids and getting your thrills by making a program work.
In that moment, you’ll remember Grant. His touch. His breath on your neck. Your response to the flick of his tongue. Warm, solid muscles and taut skin. Him inside you. How alive he is.
She shivered. She’d known she would miss his presence in her life. His being right over there. But deep inside, she suspected that now she would miss him in ways she couldn’t even fully comprehend.
A knock thumped on the bathroom door.
“You in there?” His voice was gruff and scowly.
“Nope.”
“Too bad.” The doorknob rattled. “Because I’m coming in, and I have dirty intentions.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, I’m definitely in here.”
She turned as the door opened, her heart jumping at the sight of him—sleep-rumpled, messy hair falling over his forehead, and a feral gleam in his eyes. Not to mention…still more than ready. Though less than five feet of space separated them, he stalked toward her in a thrillingly sexy, purposeful approach.
“Next time…” He grabbed her hips and tugged her toward him. “I want to wake up with you there.”
“Yeah, I noticed you could’ve used me right away.” Her blood heated as she brushed her fingers across his erection.
“Not used.” He slid one hand to the back of her neck. “I could have loved you right away.”
Rory’s breath caught in her throat. Grant brought his mouth down on hers.
“Instead, I’ll do it right now,” he murmured against her lips.
A thousand colors burst through her heart, like fireworks and spiraling rainbows. He eased her back up against the counter, edging one powerful thigh between her legs. She wound her arms around his neck as their kiss deepened and the air grew thick with heat. He lifted her onto the counter, sliding his hands up her thighs and underneath her T-shirt.
She shivered, no longer surprised by how quickly she responded to him. She’d always kept her attraction to him carefully concealed, even from herself, and it was an enormous relief to unlock those feelings and set them free.
Despite his obvious arousal, he was once again in no hurry to rush things. He slowed the pace of their kiss, stroking his hands up and down her thighs until she was panting and wrapping her legs around him in invitation. He eased away from her only long enough to turn on the shower before picking her up and stepping under the spray with her.
It was like being in a shoebox with a bull. Rory laughed as he lowered her to her feet, letting her body slide against his. “No way can we do anything fun in here. I can barely move.”
“You don’t have to.” He licked a drop of water from her nose. “I’ll do all the moving.”
She let him figure out the puzzle of fitting them together. After indulging in more of his slow kissing and caresses that brought her right to the delicious edge, he turned her to face the wall and took her from behind.
The combination of the hot water and his heavy thrusts pushed Rory’s urgency higher every second. She had nothing to grasp to hold herself upright, but she didn’t fear falling because Grant’s grip on her was so tight and secure that she knew on some primal level that he would never let go.
When the waves crashed over her again, he pulled her back against him and used his fingers to ease the final sensations from her body. But this time, before he could give in to his own release, she turned and went down on her knees.
Urging him to completion, watching his gorgeous body tense and contract with pleasure, gave Rory a rich feeling of both power and yielding. As if she was affirming that she could take care of him, when he had always taken care of her.
Even if she hadn’t known that was what he was doing.
When the shower water began to cool, Grant wrapped her in a towel so big and fluffy it felt like a cloud.
“I had no idea you were into luxury bath towels.” She rubbed the thick cotton over her legs.
“I got those for you after you asked to move into the cottage.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, when I was getting the place cleaned up.” He hitched on his pajama pants and returned to the main room.
Rory followed, oddly pleased by the idea of him buying towels for her. She didn’t even buy towels for herself. As far as she could remember, she’d been using Callie’s old hand-me-downs.
Since it was still dark, they tumbled back into bed. Grant wrapped himself around her again, his body a striking combination of solid muscle and a warm haven. Ignoring the persistent feeling that she could get used to this, Rory tucked herself against him.
“So now do we pretend like we’re pretending that we’re real?” she murmured.
“I don’t know about
you…” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “But I’m not pretending anymore.”
“Good.” She slipped her arm around his waist and fitted her body to his. “Neither am I.”
Grant woke just as dawn began to streak across the horizon. He was pushed to the edge of the bed with Rory half-sprawled over him in a tumble of soft skin and silky hair.
He breathed her in and tightened his hold. Her revelation of what she’d endured at some of her past jobs, and what she might be returning to, had forged a white-hot ball of rage right in the middle of his chest.
He knew she didn’t talk about that often, if at all. She’d locked it behind her armor so she wouldn’t seem vulnerable.
While he’d never pretend to understand what she’d gone through, he did know how it felt to be considered less. That was just one of the reasons he’d constructed his own life. It sounded like she’d tried to do that once, too, with the MedCure software system before that fucker venture capitalist had destroyed her opportunities.
Rory shifted, her black hair sliding across his chest, her bare leg slipping between his. She spread her hand over his abdomen and opened her eyes. Blue like the sea. He stroked his finger against her full lower lip. Already his body was stirring with lust again.
“Morning.” He edged his hand under her T-shirt and rubbed her perfect ass.
“Morning.” She leaned in to kiss his chin. “I’m hungry.”
“Me too.” He slipped his fingers between her thighs.
She caught her breath, but bucked to dislodge his explorations. “Hand me that bag of gummy worms, and then we can get busy again.”
With a groan, Grant reluctantly detached himself from her soft heat. “No way are you eating gummy worms for breakfast.”
He hitched on a pair of track pants and a T-shirt, pushing his feet into his tennis shoes. “Any requests?”
“Your cooking.”
“Give me twenty minutes.” He picked up the tavern keys and started toward the door.
“Actually, I really like cinnamon French toast.” Rory pushed up on to her elbows. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and the sheet barely covered her incredible breasts.
Grant’s heart thumped. She was so damned beautiful. “Okay.”
“And bacon.” Rory pursed her lips. “Coffee, of course. Oh, a cheese omelet would be great. Maybe some fruit, too. Do you know how to cut a strawberry into the shape of a flower?”
He didn’t, but for her he’d figure it out.
In the tavern kitchen, he started a pot of coffee, collected ingredients, and began whipping up a batch of French toast. As the cinnamon toast slices sizzled in a pan, he cracked eggs into a bowl.
Behind him, the door opened.
“You’d better not be eating a gummy worm,” he remarked.
“There is no earthly reason why I would be,” his father replied.
Grant turned, his spine tensing. His father strode into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt. Even in casual clothes, Edward Taylor had a formidable presence.
“Sorry. Thought you were Rory.”
“I figured. Your mother is still sleeping, but I woke early and was making a few calls. Is there coffee?”
“Help yourself.” Grant tilted his head toward the pot. “Mugs are on the shelf over there.”
His father poured a cup, eyeing the array of food spread over the counter. “You don’t serve breakfast here, do you?”
“No. This is for Rory.” Grant flipped the French toast and dropped a pat of butter into the omelet pan. Aware of his father’s scrutiny, he started chopping chives.
“Your mother says we’re going fishing today.” Edward leaned back against the counter and sipped his coffee.
“Sure, if you want to.”
Edward shrugged. Grant dumped the chives into a bowl.
“You making an omelet?” his father asked.
“Yeah.”
“You need to turn the heat up.” Edward turned the knob on the gas burner. “Put the filling in while the eggs are cooking.”
“I know how to make an omelet, Dad.”
“I would hope so. Not many people realize there’s a technique.”
Grant set the bowl down. “You know how to make an omelet?”
“Damn right I do.”
Grant held out the spatula in a silent challenge. His father took it and adjusted the burner flame again.
“I was a short-order diner cook after college.” Edward made a disparaging harrumph in his throat as he salted the eggs. “Shittiest job I ever had. Long hours, low pay. The place was a dive, too. Probably could have made a book out of the health-code violations. Manager was an asshole. I kept the job because it was the only one that worked with my schedule. Finally, your mother said she was going to walk out on me if I didn’t quit.”
Grant couldn’t remember the last time his father had ever said so much to him all at once. He cut into a brick of cheese and began grating it. “Did you?”
“Turned in my notice the next day. Hated doing it, though. I never wanted to be unemployed.”
Grant paused. “Was that when you started Intellix?”
Edward nodded. He added more butter to the pan and swirled it around. “I had an idea for how to improve relational databases, and I contacted a former professor for advice. I worked on it in our apartment living room for a year before I looked for funding. Your mother didn’t complain once that we were scraping by on her paycheck. You got any mushrooms? Ham?”
“In the fridge.” Setting his knife down, Grant went to the walk-in.
“Get some spinach, too.”
After retrieving the items, Grant returned to the counter to find his father starting a bowl of filling. He set the ingredients down and focused on the French toast and bacon. Strange as it was to be cooking beside his father, it was a hell of a lot better than cold silence.
“The eggs should set immediately at the edges.” Edward poured the eggs into the hot pan. “Then you push the uncooked part toward the center. I made so many goddamn omelets, I didn’t eat eggs for a year after I quit.”
“Is that diner still open?”
“No, they shut down a while back.” Edward studied the cooking eggs. “Good riddance.”
Grant slid the toast onto a plate and dusted it with powdered sugar. After adding slices of bacon, he started paring down a large strawberry.
His father set an impressive omelet, golden-brown and stuffed with a hearty mixture of ham, spinach, mushrooms, and cheese, onto another plate.
“What the hell are you doing to that strawberry?” Edward pulled his heavy eyebrows together and picked up his mug.
Grant frowned at the mangled berry on the cutting board. “Rory asked if I knew how to make a strawberry flower.”
“You couldn’t just tell her no?”
The kitchen door opened. “I had to eat an apple gummy worm as an appetizer.”
Rory entered, a disheveled beauty in slouchy sweatpants and a T-shirt that said Back That Thing Up. Under any other circumstances, Grant would have crossed the room to kiss her, but with his father here, everything inside him locked down.
“Oh, morning, Edward.” She paused and gave him a little wave. “Didn’t realize you were here.”
“Didn’t realize gummy worms were a suitable food first thing in the morning.” He took another sip of coffee. “Or ever.”
“They’re not.” Grant set the plates on the counter and gestured for Rory to sit down. “Which is why she’s had to supplement them with nutritional paste.”
“Only in times of need.” She hitched herself onto a stool and picked up a fork. “This looks amazing.”
“My father made the omelet.” Grant added two sugars to a cup of coffee and set it in front of her. “A hidden talent.”
“I have a few.” Edward picked up a knife and plucked a large strawberry from the box. With a few flicks of the blade, he turned the strawberry into a perfect little rose.
“I’ll be dam
ned.” Grant shook his head in amused surprise. “Did you learn how to do that at the diner?”
“No.” Edward presented the rose to Rory, who took it with a smile. “Since your mother was supporting us after I quit working there, I made breakfast every day. Roses were always Joanna’s favorite flower, but for years we couldn’t afford them. So I learned how to make them out of strawberries.”
“That is very sweet.” Rory gave Edward an “I’d never have guessed” look. “No wonder you’ve been married for so long.”
“I’d be nothing without her.” Edward glanced at the wall clock and poured another cup of coffee. “I’ll go see if she’s up. Leave the food out. I’ll make her breakfast this morning.”
After he’d left the kitchen, Rory hooked her leg around Grant’s thighs and pulled him closer. He bent his head to kiss her. His blood heated.
“Was that progress?” She rubbed his chest.
“I don’t know.” He ran his hand through her hair. Something loosened inside him, though he knew that had more to do with Rory than his father.
Still, a week ago, he’d never have imagined his father setting foot in the tavern kitchen, much less cooking here. If that was progress, then Grant would take it.
Chapter 14
“Well, that should be interesting.” Joanna shaded her eyes with her hand as she and Rory watched Grant and Edward trudge toward Grant’s truck with a tackle box, a net, and two fishing rods. “Those two have spent more time together in the past few days than they have in the past three years.”
“It sounds to me like your husband is angry over how this whole rift has affected you.” Rory closed the cottage door, and she and Joanna started walking toward downtown. “That makes it surprising that he criticizes Grant so often and so publicly. He has to know how much that upsets you.”
“Yes, but he’s a bit of a bear, as you’ve noticed.” Joanna slipped on her large sunglasses and sighed. “He lets his anger get the better of him. He also just doesn’t understand it. Why would his eldest son walk away from everything we’ve provided for him? Why would he want to run a restaurant, of all professions? Edward hated being a cook so much. He finds it untenable that Grant chose that work. He sees it as Grant turning his back on the legacy he intends to leave to both his family and the world.”