The Next Day (Foothills Book 2)

by Carrie Thorne

  She snorted against his neck, but didn’t say it out loud. He scared her. More than anything. Vince had never admitted to weakness. Giovanni had never stood and embraced for no good reason. Randy had been a youthful playmate. Zane was built to shatter what was left of her heart.

  The door creaked open behind her. Clearing his throat and stepping back, Zane dug the keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go.”

  The long driveway to the Sutherland’s place was enclosed in a fairytale grove of maples. Zane had kept both hands firm on the steering wheel nearly the entire drive, since Freya’s skirt had slid up her thigh – not quite to the point of showing all the goods, but one glance at the curve of her inner thigh, exquisitely remembering how he’d traced his tongue along that contour, straight to the honeyed silk of her… breathing in and out, his knuckles turned white as he clenched the wheel.

  Imagination on the verge of exploding, he tried to keep his eyes locked on the road. Maybe an oatmeal stout with a coffee edge… Never polite to arrive at your best friend’s parents’ house with a raging hard-on. Even worse to admit it was because he’d been fantasizing about the erotic weekend he’d spent with his soon-to-be annulled wife who happened to also be their niece.

  There were already a few of cars in the driveway. Eamon and Tammy were just getting out of their car, carrying a red-flowered bowl that looked to contain a potato or pasta salad. Seeing Zane’s truck arrive, they turned and waited before going in. His heart thundered in his chest, wondering if they knew, and if they did, what the hell was he going to say?

  Although, on the plus side, nothing calmed a massive boner like in-law scrutiny.

  Parking next to their car, he held back while Freya hopped out to chat, Sophie joining her. He grabbed the box of beers he’d brought and took his time walking to the front of the truck.

  Eamon moved to greet him. “I hear you’ve got quite the home brewing set-up.”

  Zane nodded, gesturing to the opened box.

  A warm smile, damn disarming, Eamon accepted the subtle offer. Remembering he’d forgotten to take his ring off, Zane checked his grip to make sure the eye-catching piece of jewelry was hidden.

  If he’d seen it, Eamon didn’t let on. Instead, he popped the cap off and took a long swig. “Damn, that is good,” he held the bottle back and admired.

  “Thanks. I’ve always got more than I’ll drink and try to pass them off, so I can have Freya bring more over next time.”

  “Great.” Eamon gestured toward the gate to the back patio where Freya, Sophie, and Tammy were disappearing. “I hope my family wasn’t too overwhelming for you. We’re a big bunch, and that was a rowdy crowd.”

  He snorted, holding back on the eye-roll. “Both of my parents are only children, so it was… different.” Biting his tongue, he held back before he said anything potentially more offensive than he’d already implied.

  Eamon threw his head back and let out a chortle. “Got that right. Different. We’re a unique group, that’s for sure. I am really sorry about the toxic drinks and laced cupcakes. Lulu’s parents are so furious, they’re making them write formal apologies to all the guests and return the gifts. I can’t remember the last time I got stoned. And the combination? It’s lucky Tammy and I made it back to the hotel room. I don’t remember much after dinner.”

  Zane let out a long sigh of relief that their secret might be safe.

  Until Eamon laughed, “I mean, can you imagine what trouble we all might have gotten into? I’ve got the wildest pictures on my phone.”

  Blood draining from his face, Zane cleared his throat and backed away, “Yeah, I can imagine. I, uh…” he trailed off, on an urgent mission to deliver the beer to Paul at the outdoor kitchen. He set the box on the ground, slipped the ring off, and jammed it into his pocket in one smooth motion.

  Paul immediately grabbed one from the box and helped Zane load up the minifridge. “Thanks for bringing the beer. As soon as Asher mentioned how talented you were, I hinted you ought to bring some.”

  Denise pranced out the door and threw her arms around him, clearing her throat, “Hinted? Honey, I believe begged is the word.” She flipped her salt and pepper braid out of the way and looked up at Zane, “I’m so glad you came. Asher said to give you space, so we did. But now that you’re all settled in, please say you’ll come over often? If you want to use the pool but aren’t in the mood for company, just text us and come on over so we know to give you some privacy. That’s what Asher and Sophie do. We don’t get enough use out of it on our own, so really, I’m not kidding.”

  Hugging her right back, he felt the familiar affection that had grown with each of their visits to San Diego. Asher was damn lucky. Clenching in his chest, that growing pang tugged at him. “I’d like that. Thanks again for making that apartment so great and inviting me over today. Looks like a hell of a setup.” He checked out the patio, its clusters of conversation-arranged furniture, an outdoor sofa set under a huge gazebo, Pippa and Lincoln snuggled up in one of the overstuffed chairs.

  “You’ve kept our boy out of enough trouble over the years, and aside from all that, we like you. We are truly glad you’re here.”

  Paul nodded, “Good to have you.”

  Sashaying over, her breezy tank skimming above the edge of her skirt, Freya grabbed a glass and poured some ice water from the fancy dispenser filled with lemon slices and cucumber. She leaned against the counter and smiled knowingly, lacing her arm around Denise’s other side.

  Shifting, Denise squeezed them both and then stood comfortably with her arm around her niece. What was it about Freya, that, okay, shit, hokey as it sounded, but she was so damn huggable? She exuded this warmth and easy affection that settled those around her. Zane stepped back and grabbed a beer for himself, enjoying watching Freya interact amongst those she’d known her whole life.

  “And you,” Denise smiled. “Home at last. How are things going? Have you found a space to work that makes you feel productive? Selling globally going okay from our small corner of the world?”

  Freya crossed one foot in front of the other as she stood linked with her aunt, the casual gesture showing how close they were. “It’s tough. I haven’t been as productive as I’d like. I need a studio.”

  “None of the bedrooms work at the house?”

  “Maybe the dining room. But I doubt Asher’s going to make it the full six months before moving in, and, although I know I’d be welcome, I do want to use the next few months to find a space to make my own; someplace I can knock out walls if I have to, as good lighting can make a piece.”

  “I understand that. You just let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

  Tammy came out of the house, joining at Freya’s other side. “You liked the light in your old bedroom; you can always move back home, or even use it as a temporary studio.”

  Freya’s smile remained genuine, but Zane could see the nine-one-one emergency flashing behind those brilliant blues. He nodded to Freya, “You were going to give me a tour?”

  She leaped to his side. “Of course.” Linking elbows with him, she strolled toward the pool and cascading hot tub. “Thanks.”

  “They’re supportive of you. But, well, I know I like to have my feet steady beneath me before I’m open to help.”

  “Me too,” she leaned in, then immediately righted her posture at the familiarity of the gesture. Waving her arm over the water in front of them, she commented, “So. This is the pool.”

  Grinning, he brushed his thumb over hers, then pulled away. “Yup. Lovely.”

  Standing a few feet away, her body moved smoothly, openly, as if they were still joined. “Think my parents know more than they’re letting on?”

  “Your dad mentioned ‘wild’ pictures on his phone. Honestly, I ran away before I could find out what he meant. I immediately envisioned pictures from our wedding and wanted to ask to see, then I realized, shit, what if he meant he and your mom were up to something I don’t want to see?”

  She threw
her head back and laughed, “Good call. They’ve never exactly been closed off about sex, but I think my dad would have a stroke if he discovered naked pictures of he or my mom on his phone.”

  Continuing their tour, he followed Freya over to the seating area where Lincoln, Pippa, and Sophie had already settled. He heard a splash as Asher came sprinting out of the house and dove into the pool.

  Pippa had set out flutes on the lip of the propane fireplace and had a champagne bottle nestled in a silvery bucket filled with ice. “Hey guys, we’re toasting,” she grinned.

  At his side, Freya shivered like she’d teased him about earlier. “No thank you. I’m all champagned out these days, and I’ll bet Zane would agree.”

  Pippa rose to her feet and pulled the bottle from the ice. “We have twenty more bottles leftover from our wedding that we need to use up. Please have a few sips at least. Besides,” she winked and whispered, “we never got to toast your wedding.”

  Flashing her cousin a death glare, Freya whispered, “Shush. You’re lucky I told you.”

  Pippa grinned mischievously, “No matter. I will be supportive of whatever you decide, but I can tell you right now, you’re not getting an annulment.”

  Zane clenched his jaw and moved to her side, forming a quiet wall of resistance.

  Rolling her eyes, Freya’s flip-flopped foot tapped furiously, “Please, Pip, this is hard enough.”

  Instantly, Pippa showed her sweet side and held the champagne bottle to one side, wrapping her other around Freya’s upper back, speaking softly. “I’m sorry. I love you and want you to be happy. And you look happy with Zane. He’s twice the man any of the others ever were. But if he’s not the one, or you’re not ready, I’ve got your back.”

  Zane bit his cheek and stared at the ground as Pippa stepped back. He wasn’t sure if she’d meant for him to hear all that, but something told him that had been her intent. As if he weren’t miserable enough already.

  Twisting the wire safety off the champagne bottle, Pippa grimaced as she muttered, “You don’t even have to drink any of this, but at least pretend.” Rocking the top, Pippa struggled to uncork the heavy bottle.

  Zane reached to help, having opened enough when hiding in the kitchen at his parents’ parties. “May I?”

  “No, I got it,” she grumbled, putting more muscle into it.

  Having seen it coming a mile away, the pop didn’t scare him, nor the cork whizzing passed his ear as he ducked out of the way. But the spray of foamy bubbles soaking him head-to-toe was shocking and unpleasant.

  Closing his eyes, he wiped off the sticky sweet liquid from his face. As soon as he could see again, he looked down to see he was utterly drenched. At his side, Freya was scowling and equally soaked, her top and skirt pasted to her skin. She licked the champagne off her lips and adopted one of those I’m-pissed-but-won’t-admit-it-because-I-love-you smiles to mask her irritation. She blinked and looked up at the sky.

  Pippa laughed out loud, covering her mouth to hide her obvious amusement. “I’m so sorry,” she said over and over. “Really. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Shaking more of the bubbly off his hand, Zane shook his head and managed a smile, “That’s okay. Really. I’ve got my swim stuff in the car anyway.”

  Denise came dashing over. “Oh my. Pippa, honey, really? Could you not soak our guests?”

  Rolling her eyes, Pippa laughed again, her grin almost sheepish. “I do feel bad. Someone else can open the next bottle.”

  “Why don’t you guys get your swim stuff on and I’ll get those clothes washed for you so they’re ready before you leave,” Denise offered, her sincerity more convincing than Pippa’s laughing remorse.

  Freya finally found a smile, “Thanks. We’ll need to head in to get changed anyway, so I’ll toss our things in the wash.” She motioned for Zane to follow, reaching out to take his hand, realizing her mistake and withdrawing just as fast.

  Leaving wet footprints on the driveway as they stepped off the patio, Zane ran ahead to the truck, calling to Freya, “I got it.” Keeping both of their bags outstretched to avoid any further champagne-contamination, Zane met Freya at the house.

  On the front step, she slipped off her flip-flops and scooted her feet along the doormat. “Have I mentioned how much I hate champagne?”

  Catching up to her, he slipped off his shoes, leaving them to dry in the sun. “Me too. I’d like to see if there was anything left in the bottle or if it’s all on us.”

  She grinned and opened the front door. “At least we didn’t have to drink it.”

  The house was open and airy, yet warm and inviting. Like a postcard, the massive windows overlooked the valley beyond. Instead of going up the stairs to the open loft-style bedrooms, Freya led the way past the kitchen, past the bathroom and opened the next door.

  Not much more than a closet, the laundry room was just shy of feeling cluttered. The washer and dryer were covered with folded towels and linens on the right, and a wall of shelves filled with cleaning supplies, coats, and other odds and ends covered most of the wall on the left. Dimly lit, the edges of the room were cloaked in shadow, the only light an uncovered bulb overhead.

  Freya reached around him and shut the door behind him. As he held out her clothing bag, she peeled her sopping top over her head, then efficiently scooted her skirt over her hips.

  Mouth dropping open, his breath whooshed out as if he’d been punched in the gut. Wet and built and covered only by the skimpiest damn bra that barely supported her breasts, a wisp of lace panties covering the rest of the goods, she stepped close to him. A whisper away, she didn’t quite touch him, the space between them tantalizing with possibility.

  She murmured as she reached around him, “Excuse me.” A squeal of hinges shattered the flimsy hope that she’d been coming onto him, and she tossed her clothes in the top-load washer.

  Too late, he was already rock hard. Hell, since Freya had come into his life, he’d been a blink away from a full erection at pretty much all moments of the day. No ignoring it at night.

  As she moved, she brushed against him… right against his groin.

  Closing his eyes, he groaned, trying fruitlessly to tame things before she noticed. Not that she wouldn’t notice the rigid tenting action, even in the dim light.

  Biting her lip, she traced her hands along the edge of his waistline. “Okay, you win. I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

  Inhaling sharply as her hands grazed the skin of his abs, he murmured, “I’ll go take a cold shower.”

  She continued her exploration before tugging his shirt over his head, tracing her fingertips down every hard-earned muscle on her way down to his shorts. Sliding his cargos, his briefs over his hips, she trailed those long, clever fingers over his shaft.

  “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he gasped. Before he embarrassed himself right into her hands, he gripped her hips and spun her, pressing her up against the washing machine.

  She gasped at the cool metal against her skin.

  Taking advantage of her open mouth, he kissed her urgently, plundered, hungry for her lush lips, her savory taste he hadn’t stopped dreaming about since that first kiss on her bedroom floor. Her fingertips dug into his shoulder blades as she kissed him back with equal fervor, the soft roundness of her breasts, the skin of her abdomen pressing against him. Every muscle in his body tensed as he tried to hold back, but he was completely lost. Painfully hard, he relinquished and pulled her against him; she pressed back, writhing and murmuring her equal need.

  The world around them nonexistent, he shifted, nipping at her ear, her neck, grazing his tongue along her collarbone and to the narrow recess between her breasts. Hands encircling her, he flicked off her bra and took a breast deep into his mouth. She gasped, her soft moans suppressed under a frantic whisper. Sweet and damp from the champagne, her skin prickled as he wrapped his hands around each breast. Sucking and laving, he nearly came at the feel of her, at the sound of the response she couldn’t silence.

  Dropp
ing to his knees, he slid her panties down and clutched her hips, flattening his tongue against her clit before either had room to doubt. Wet and ready, her breath came fast. He flicked his tongue against her, then savored a long, slow lick as she melted against his mouth. Leaning into him, she tightened her fingers in his hair, urging him on.

  Increasing the pace as the shudder in her voice accelerated, he pulsed and vibrated. He groaned against her soft curls as she grew slicker, sweeter, her body temperature raising to feverish in response.

  One weekend together, hell, one night really, and he felt her, anticipated each need, knowing she was nearing her peak. Not giving an inch, he intensified his movements, wet against wet; he nearly came as her soprano moans became an aria.

  As her body slackened, relaxing into him, he slowed his pace and brought her down gently. His heart thundered in his chest as the urgency, the thrill, tapered to a yearning.

  Lowering, he sat on his heels before her, biting his lip as he savored one last taste of her, and looked up to see her response.

  15

  Need a Hand?

  Flipping and flopping of shoes against the hardwood floor outside the laundry room tapped closer. Still hazy from epic orgasm, it took Freya a moment to identify the sound.

  Silencing a squeal, she moved and stood in front of the door, blocking in case anyone tried to come in. Shit, what if they’d been caught? Thirty seconds ago, she couldn’t hear anything beyond her pulse in her ears, her irrepressible sighs as Zane sent her across the brilliant sky, grounding her with his rumbling moans that echoed hers, his strong hands bracing her hips.

  As he rose to his feet, lower lip still teasing between his teeth, he grinned. Holding her finger up in front of her mouth, she nodded outside in case he hadn’t heard. Nodding, he acknowledged the sound and casually slipped the rest of the way out of his shorts, tossing them in the washer.

  Breathless, she nearly came again watching him. Damn, that man was built. In every possible way.