* * *
Stuart
The last thing I need is a crowd of women teaming up, trying to tell me what to do. I’m one comment away from going to the cabin until Amy leaves, but after Mariska’s no-eating stunt, I’m forced to stay and endure. My escape would be tainted with worry otherwise.
At least for now, they’ve backed off telling me how much I don’t know about babies and women and being pregnant. Amy sits on the hearth in front of the empty fireplace, and Mariska is on the couch, her large sketchpad balanced on her thighs.
I walk behind her and smooth a thick strand of chestnut waves away from her cheek so I can see her progress.
“Any good?” She reaches up to catch my hand and press a kiss to my wrist.
“You don’t need me to tell you that.” In a series of expert lines and shading, she’s captured Amy’s features and personality on the page. “It looks like it could talk.”
She blinks up to me, and her eyes are shining with pride. “Thank you.”
“I want to see!” Amy hops up from where she’s sitting and dives onto the couch. Mariska passes her the sketchpad, and she gushes.
“It’s gorgeous! I can’t wait to show Marcus!”
“It’s funny.” Mariska’s voice is full of warmth. “As I drew, I could see the features you and Stuart share.”
“Really?” My little sister sparkles with curiosity. “Like what?”
Mariska’s face is adorably serious. “You have the same straight nose, and that little cleft in your chin.”
Amy turns to the mirror and laughs. “I guess you’re right.”
“But you have Sylvia’s round, green eyes.”
“You should know,” I can’t help teasing. “You’ve sketched me enough.”
Pink floods Mariska’s cheeks. “Stuart!”
Thinking of the times she’s sketched me stirs a response below my belt. I decide I’d better hit the small wet bar in the corner. The more time passes, the more confident Bill is about allowing liquor in the house. Still, we try to keep cocktail hour discreet.
“Where’s Marcus?” I say, pouring a tumbler of scotch. “I could use the backup.”
Marcus Merritt is Alexander-Knight’s go-to attorney. He’s quick and clever, and he’s done something I never thought possible—convinced my little sister to try being in a relationship for longer than a month. They’re going on a year, actually.
“He’s working on some case and couldn’t leave on such short notice.” Amy joins me at the bar. “Pour me a vodka.”
I pull out another tumbler and reach for the Ketel One.
“I do miss being able to have a fruity cocktail once in a while.” Mariska watches us from the couch.
“Oh! I have a solution!” Amy skips to the kitchen where her Mary Poppins bag waits. “Mocktails for pregnant women!”
She flops beside Mariska on the couch, holding her small tablet and scrolling with her thumb. “How about this one, Watermelon Mocktini. It’s watermelon, white grape juice, tonic water and an orange wedge.”
“Do they have anything with lemonade? I’ve been craving it so much these days.”
“Hm… Probably the Vitamin C. Hang on.” My sister continues scrolling, and I drift back to the couch holding two tumblers, my scotch and Amy’s vodka. “How about a Frost Bite? It’s lemonade, tonic, blueberries, and fresh mint!”
“I don’t think we have all of that…” Mariska glances up at me, and I lean down to kiss her forehead.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Going to the fridge, I grab the pitcher of fresh lemonade Winona has kept on hand every summer as long as I’ve been here and a few strawberries. Going back to the bar, I put the lemonade, crushed ice, and seltzer in the shaker, shake it up and pour it into a tumbler over the strawberries.
“How’s this?” I say, returning to the couch.
She takes it, and I actually hesitate. I’ve never been into fruity drinks, so this was completely off the cuff.
“Mmm!” Her eyes widen, and I laugh. “It’s really delicious! What did you do?”
I look back at the bar and frown. “I’m not exactly sure.”
“That’s my brilliant brother,” Amy gripes.
“Hey—”
She starts to laugh. “I’m only teasing. It was incredibly sweet. Uncharacteristically sweet.” Turning back to Mariska, she puts her arm around her shoulders. “Like I said, you’re a wonder.”
Thunder rumbles low outside as we climb into the bed. I called it a night after I caught my fiancée falling asleep on the couch.
“You’ve had a busy day,” I say, stroking her face.
Her cheek rests on the pillow, but she smiles. “I’m glad Amy’s here. I guess after this morning, I’m just exhausted.”
“Get some rest.” I lean down to kiss her, and she holds my face a moment.
“I wish you would talk to me.” Her eyes blink slowly, and I know she’s on the edge of consciousness.
Warmth moves across my chest. “What do you want to talk about, baby?”
“What you really want.” Her eyes stay closed longer this time. “Don’t hold me out.”
“Sleep now,” I say, kissing her soft lips. “We can talk later.”
A little nod, and she’s out. I stay awake several moments, moving her hair back with my fingertips. My bewitching little gypsy. I stopped fighting it long ago.
“The only thing I want is you,” I say.
Revelation
Mariska
When I open my eyes again the next morning, and I’m alone in bed, I’m pissed. Sitting up, I know what I have to do. I pull my hair around, over my shoulder and weave it into a thick braid then I throw back the covers and stomp over to the window. Still raining.
Going to the closet, I jerk it open, pulling out a bright red floral dress and pulling it over my head not bothering with a bra. It buttons up the front, but I only fasten the middle ones. I’ve had enough of this behavior.
Amy is sitting at the kitchen table when I emerge from the hall. “Hey, Mare! I want you to read my coffee grounds!”
“In a minute,” I grumble, going straight to the door and outside. Light rain gathers in little beads on my hair, making it look like I’m wearing a veil.
Into the barn, I scan the open space looking for Bill. As far as I can tell, the only person in the area with the horses is Stuart, just the man I’m looking for.
He’s in Ranger’s stall, and I go straight to the door, pull the latch, and go inside. He stands up slowly, a confused smile on his face, and it hits me so hard. He’s gorgeous in those loose jeans and that damn grey Henley I stole last year.
“Hey, babe—” but I don’t let him finish. I go straight to him and grab the front of my favorite shirt.
“I’m sick of it!” From the corner of my eye, I see Ranger’s ears lay back, but I don’t care.
Stuart’s brow lowers. “Sick of what?”
“Stop treating me like a fucking China doll!”
“Mariska—”
“No!” I push him, but he doesn’t move. The man is a wall of granite. “Before you knew, before I told you, when I was already twelve weeks pregnant, if I left you in the bed alone one morning… One! You were pissed!”
He’s fighting the urge to grin, but I won’t have it. I push against his arms and grab the front of his shirt, shoving it up his lined torso.
“What are you doing?” He tries to catch my hands, but I push his away.
“You’re going to fuck me right here and now in this stall.”
“What the…” He steps forward, past me to the door of the stall and looks out into the barn. “Where’s Amy?”
“She’s in the house having breakfast with your mom. I don’t know where Bill is.”
“He went into town,” Stuart says quietly before turning to face me.
“Then we’re alone.” My hands are on his waist, but I only get the top button of his jeans open before he catches them.
“Take it easy. We
’re not doing this here.”
The tightness in my chest almost makes me scream. I’m breathing fast, and my whole body is on fire with fury and hormones and lust. “Stuart William! You’re the only man I’ve ever slept with!”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he says, that sexy smile returning.
“You taught me how to make love—fierce and rough and demanding. I want you to love me like that now.”
I unfasten the buttons on my dress, allowing the front to fall apart, revealing my bare breasts heaving beneath. His expression darkens, and I see a glimmer of the old Stuart in his eyes.
He reaches out and catches my waist, pulling me hard against his chest. A flash of need spikes in my veins. “Yes,” I whisper. “Like that.”
The muscle in his jaw moves, and he looks away. “I can’t get off thinking I might hurt you.”
“You’ve never hurt me before.” Sliding my hands up his arms, I grip his biceps. “You’re hurting me by holding back.”
Reaching for his hand, I guide it down, pulling my skirt up so he can feel I’m not wearing panties, so he can feel how wet I am. “I want you. The real you.”
“Mariska,” he growls as his fingers curl against my sex.
Putting both hands on his face, I pull him to me and kiss him hard, parting his lips and pushing my tongue inside. At the same time, his fingers plunge into me, and a low moan scrapes from my throat.
I rise on my toes, chasing his lips, and he’s kissing me back with just as much passion, plundering my mouth. When I pull back, I nip his bottom lip with my teeth, and our eyes meet, burning with the fire I’ve been missing so long.
He takes my arm and turns me around, pushing me against the wooden side of the corral.
“Yes,” I gasp, clutching the wooden slats, arching my back as I brace against the wall. Cool air sweeps along my thighs and ass as he sweeps the flowing skirt away.
He studies my body as I hear his zipper lower. One large hand grips my hip, kneading my skin. “So beautiful.” His voice is rough and hungry.
“Please,” I whisper. I’m on fire, and I ache deeply for his rough touch.
At once I feel a stinging SLAP! against the soft skin of my behind followed by another kneading grip. The biting pain only spikes my desire.
“Oh god, yes,” I sigh. My legs tremble. Sparks of pleasure fizz in my veins, and waiting for him is almost painful. I moan as he slides his erection up and down my slick folds until finally, in one hard thrust, we both groan as he plunges inside.
I buck against him, and he catches my braid, pulling my head to his shoulder and kissing then biting the side of my neck.
“This is what you want?” His voice breaks as he rocks into me, and I can barely speak. My eyes flutter shut as my orgasm starts to rise.
“Yes… Please…” I moan, trailing off as his fingers work my clit so hard and fast. All of this is hard and fast and exactly what I’ve been craving.
“Fuck,” he shouts, and a strong arm goes around my waist. His hips move faster, and I’m wailing as I begin to come, burning and clenching. I’m on tiptoes, sparks fluttering in the arches of my feet, as I work to draw it out.
Another low swear, and I feel him start to come. Our hips collide again and again before he holds me, hips flush against my backside, pulsing deep inside my body.
“Shit,” he gasps, rocking again, slowly, riding out those final pulses of pleasure.
My cheek rests on the back of my hand against the wall, and my eyes are still closed. My bones are liquid, and a smile curls my lips.
Large hands push my dress higher, and he leans down to press a kiss against my back, spilling warmth through my veins.
Both arms surround me in a strong embrace. My arms wrap over his, and I’m not sure I can move. But I feel so satisfied.
Our breathing begins to slow. He slides out, and I pull my skirt down as I hear him straightening his clothes, fastening his jeans. I roll against the wall so my back is against it, holding me up while I blink at him. Stepping forward, he places both hands on the wall beside my face and kisses me long and gentle, sweeping his tongue inside for a brief taste. I lift weak arms to hold the front of his shirt.
When he leans up, a grin is on his handsome face. “Good morning.”
My strength is slowly returning, and I run my thumb down that line in his chin before pushing off the wall. He steps back, and I walk to the stall door.
“Thanks, I’m heading in to breakfast.”
My tone is teasing, but before I can make it to the door he catches my arm and pulls me to his chest. “Don’t get any ideas, Miss Heron. You’re not in charge here.”
His proximity and that intensity I love makes my heart beat a little faster. I press my lips into a grin, gazing at the fullness of his mouth. “Oh, I have lots of ideas, Mr. Knight.”
With that, I meet him in the middle and kiss him hard. Just as fast, I duck out of his arms and skip through the door, laughing.
“You’d better run,” he says, shaking his head, which of course, makes me slow down and do a little hip swish.
A lunge in my direction causes me to squeal and take off running again, the sound of his laughter chasing me to the house.
Amy is still at the table when I enter, a satisfied smile on my face. She’s holding a cup of coffee, and Sylvia is standing by the bar.
“Mare! I want you to read my coffee grounds,” she calls, but I do a little wave.
“Give me a minute, I need to change.” … and shower and put on underwear.
She rolls her eyes as if she can read my mind and resumes talking to her mother. I dash down the hall to complete all the tasks I just rattled off, and when I return, only Amy is in the room, scrolling on her phone, cold coffee cup in front of her.
“So,” she puts the phone down and scoots around in her chair. “Since you’re my gypsy future sister-in-law, I want to know all about my aura and my coffee grounds and all that fun stuff!”
It doesn’t bother me. I actually have Kenny over all the time to drink Turkish coffee and eat Turkish delight and do readings.
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” I say, giving her a little frown. “We don’t have the right equipment, and even if we did, it’s so subjective. Half the time we don’t even know what any of it means.”
“That’s okay!” She hops out of her chair and joins me in the kitchen. “What kind of equipment do we need?”
Looking around, I spot a coffee press in the corner. “This could work if we take the plunger out.”
“Will you have coffee too?” I press my lips together and look to the side. “Maybe half a cup.”
Amy’s eyes are round. “What’s wrong with coffee?”
“They say it can increase your chances of having a miscarriage.” Just saying the words makes my stomach sick. “Maybe I won’t have any.”
“Does it make a difference if it’s decaf?”
My brow lines, and I think about it. “Maybe? I think the caffeine is the problem.”
“Problem solved!” She pulls down a green bag of decaf, and I start the kettle boiling.
“Isn’t it weird how they put decaf in green bags and caffeinated in red?” I tilt my head to the side as I open the bag.
She leans on the bar beside me. “I never thought about it, but now that you say it, yes! Green is for go.”
“Right?” I nod as the kettle starts to whistle. I put six scoops of grounds into the glass carafe, and once the kettle is boiling vigorously, I pour the hot water on top of the grounds and set the plunger while it steeps.
Amy watches the whole process. “How is Turkish coffee different?”
“Oh, it’s a total process.” Going to the cabinet I take out small espresso cups to pour the coffee into.
“You have a special pot for starters, and the coffee is ground superfine, like dust. Then you add the coffee straight to the water and slowly bring it all to a boil on the stovetop. Well, almost a boil.”
Removing the plunger, I pou
r the steaming, grounds-laden beverage into the two demitasse, and we watch as the bubbles rise to the surface along with the grounds.
“You repeat the process several times before it’s ready. Then when you pour it into the cup, you have to wait a few minutes for the grounds to settle to the bottom.”
“It sounds really strong.” Amy’s watching as I put a scoop of sugar in the thick liquid in the two small cups.
“It’s delicious.” I give her a wink, and put the carafe aside. “Now, let’s see how terrible this is.”
She lifts her cup and stares into it. “Do I drink the grounds?”
“Give it a few minutes,” I say, watching. “They should settle to the bottom.”
“Is this what you did with Patrick?” She’s watching now, and I glance up at her.
“He told you about that?”
“Oh, yes. He’s a believer.”
“It was totally bogus.”
“You saw a camel fighting with him, and the next week he was almost run off the road by a Michigan Transport truck.”
I can’t help it. I start giggling. “It was so random.”
“Still…” She places her hands around the small cup. “Is it time to drink it?”
“Yeah,” I say, picking up the tiny cup and taking a cautious sip. The warmth of the coffee flavor sends a little shiver across my shoulders. “Mm… I didn’t realize how much I missed that.”
“It’s not bad at all! A little debris…” She picks a ground off her tongue, and we both laugh.
In a few sips, the bulk of the liquid is gone. “Don’t drain the cup!” I hold out a hand, and she stops. “You wouldn’t drain the cup with real Turkish coffee either.”
“Okay.” She puts it down, and I do the same.
Going to the cabinet, I take out two regular-sized saucers and motion for her to follow me to the table. “This is the fun part.”
She follows me to the table, and I put the saucer over the top of her demitasse then flip it upside down. For a moment or two I hold my hands around the small cup and move it back and forth. I wave my fingers over it like a Svengali, and her eyes widen.
Broken and Beautiful Page 108