The Real Thing (Sugar Lake Book 1)

by Melissa Foster

  Ben rose beside Remi and held out his hand. “Care to show me how to dance?”

  “Careful, Remi,” Bridgette warned. “He has two left feet.”

  “And I’m not afraid to use them,” Ben said as Remi accepted his offer.

  “I haven’t danced in ages,” Aiden said. “Bridgette? What do you say?”

  Bridgette glanced nervously at Willow.

  Willow knew her sister wanted to be saved from having to dance, but she really wanted Bridgette to break out of her shell, and Aiden was not only hot, but he’d been flirting with Bridgette all night. Surely any man who’d raised his sister wouldn’t have issues with Bridgette being a single parent. But Willow knew there was a problem, and she had to wonder if Bridgette saw it, too. Aiden was too good. Too perfect and proper. He’d stifle the side of Bridgette that Willow, and everyone who knew her sister, wanted to revive. But Willow still thought a dance would do her sister some good. Maybe even make her want to do it more often.

  She’d catch hell for it later, but instead of saving Bridgette, she said, “She hasn’t danced in a long time. But she was one of the best dancers around before she had Louie. Nothing could keep her off the dance floor.”

  Willow quickly turned away from Bridgette’s glare and said, “Dance with me, Z?”

  He rose to his feet and guided her to the dance floor, whispering in a voice as hot as liquid fire, “I’d say I’m up for anything.”

  When he drew her into his arms, dancing slowly despite the quickening beat, her pulse was as erratic as a summer storm. His hand slid to the base of her spine, and he touched his cheek to hers. Every time he did that, it stole a little of her anxiety but amped up her anticipation. She loved when he whispered dirty things to her at the most unexpected times as much as she loved his tender and loving side. Now his warm breath slid over her skin, but no words came. She ached for his words as much as she longed for his touch. Was that crazy? Was she hopelessly in love with him or hopefully in love? She closed her eyes, fighting her overthinking mind, and settled in against him.

  “Sweet girl,” he finally whispered, bringing her eyes open. “That was a cruel thing to make me think of you bare beneath this dress.” He kissed the tender skin beside her ear. “Now all I can think about is slipping my fingers inside you and teasing you nice and slow until you’re so swollen and wet you can’t sit still.”

  “Z,” she said breathlessly, feeling herself go damp.

  He moved his fingers along the dip at the base of her spine, holding her tight against his arousal. “Feel what you do to me, baby. I’m enjoying our dinner, but I can think of something else I’d rather feast on. So how about we change the rules?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, but he trailed kisses down her neck, and everything other than his hot, sensual mouth faded to black.

  He brushed his lips over hers and said, “If they say hard four more times, I’ll be your sex slave, baby. Anything you want, for as long as you want, anywhere that you want.”

  Desire sizzled low in her belly. She lifted her gaze, riveted by the mix of hunger and love in his. Tightening her hold on his shirt to combat her weakening knees, she said, “Hard, hard, hard, hard.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  PASSION POUNDED THROUGH Zane’s veins as he took Willow’s hand, apologized to the others about suddenly feeling ill, and quickly paid the bill—leaving an exorbitant tip, along with an extra two hundred bucks in case they wanted dessert and more drinks. Hell, he’d have paid thousands to get out of there without any questions. He was pretty sure Ben didn’t buy his too-ill-to-stick-around act, but he didn’t care. He had tunnel vision. Willow had taunted him all evening with seductive looks and tempting brushes of her leg, her fingers, her gaze, until he felt imprisoned by a web of arousal.

  Every step toward her car was a test of control. When they reached the dark, deserted corner of the lot where he’d parked, he took her in his arms and finally—finally—kissed her as he’d been dying to do all evening. His mouth moved over hers, devouring its softness with urgency. He tried to throttle the dizzying current racing through him, but when his hand touched her thigh and she rocked against him, he couldn’t hold back. He’d waited all night to feel her, and he pushed both hands beneath her dress, filling his palms with her exquisite ass. His breath sailed from his lungs in a sigh of sweet relief, like a drowning man getting a foothold on dry land.

  He kissed her again, stumbling to the far side of the car without breaking their connection and trapping her between the cold metal and his hard body. He ground against her, pushing his fingers between her legs from behind, teasing her slick heat. She moaned into the kiss, moving her hips and widening her stance to allow him better access.

  “Need you, baby,” he said between kisses.

  “Take me.”

  Keeping hold of her with one hand, he moved his other to the front, thrusting into her velvety heat and earning a sweet, sexy sound. She palmed him through his pants, stroking him to the same rhythm as he moved over the secret spot that drew a delicious whimper from her lips. He swallowed the sinful sound as she continued stroking him and driving him out of his mind with every tight stroke of her hand.

  “I need more,” she pleaded.

  A quick sweep of the lot assured him they were out of eyesight, and he dropped to his knees and ran his hands up her thighs, kissing them as she tangled her fingers in his hair. She spread her legs wider, the scent of her arousal drawing him in, but even though they were alone, shielded from anyone who might come or go from the restaurant, he loved her too much to take her here. He touched his lips to the tender skin below her belly button and rose to his feet, lowering her dress.

  “Not here, baby. I don’t want to chance anyone seeing us.”

  “Take me to the bridge,” she whispered.

  “The bridge?” The covered bridge was about a mile from Tasker’s Chance and had been known as Make-Out Point when they were in high school.

  “Yeah.” She pointed to his mouth. “You have lipstick all over your face.”

  He wiped his face on his sleeve, and she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

  “Come on, big boy.”

  Ten minutes later they parked just beyond the covered bridge, which offered an even more majestic view of the town than the restaurant had. He reached over and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it.

  “Why are we here, baby?”

  “Because I’ve never been here with a guy, and you were my first, so I wanted to experience this with you as my first, too. Nobody comes here anymore. It’s all ours.” She took off her heels, opened the glove box, and popped the hood. With a coy smile, she stepped out of the car.

  He followed her to the front of the car. She lifted the hood, and he was astounded to see the blue-and-green blanket they’d made love on all those years ago. She rubbed her shoulder against his before grabbing it and closing the hood.

  “You’ve kept it all this time?” As he helped her spread out the blanket, memories rushed in—the scratch of the blanket on his knees rivaling the softness of Willow’s nubile body. The worry about the abrasions it might leave on her back. The fear of coming too soon, or too hard, or saying the wrong thing.

  “I took it with me when I went away to college,” Willow answered. “It’s been with me ever since.”

  “Baby . . .” He grasped for words, but how could he put into words emotions that felt like they were expanding too big for his body? “We were so young. Everything was new and bigger than life. And it still feels that way.” He reached for her hand. “You planned all of this? The dress, the tease, the blanket. Wills . . .”

  She shook her head, and her hair tumbled forward, framing her beautiful face. “Not the hard part at the restaurant,” she said shyly. “But I had hoped to drive you crazy enough that you’d want me by the time we came here.”

  He laughed. “That I’d want you? Was there even a question?”

  “Well, you’re not very sexual, so . .
.” She hooked her finger into the waist of his pants and tugged open the button, slowly working his zipper. “Sometimes a girl has to . . .” She struggled to tug his pants down his hips. “Go the”—tug, tug—“extra mile.”

  “Is that so? I only want you every minute of every day.” He gathered her against him. “Baby, the minute you said you’d help me with this crazy scheme, you went the extra mile. And in doing so, you unlocked my heart and claimed the part of me you’ve always owned.”

  The emotions in her eyes rivaled those in his heart. She crossed her arms, gathering the hem of her dress in either hand, and drew it over her head. It floated down to the blanket like a whisper. They didn’t speak, didn’t reach for each other, as they undressed. Their love transcended words, and space, and time. Moonlight shimmered off her skin as they came together, and he lowered her to the blanket. He crushed his mouth to hers, driven by memories of the past and hopes of the future. There was no elegance to their lovemaking, no finesse or careful, tender moments. Raw, unbridled passion propelled them into fierce thrusts, clawing fingers, and moans of pleasure. And still it wasn’t enough. He needed to see her, to be claimed by her.

  Holding her tight, he rolled them over, giving her the reins. With the moon at her back, blond tendrils cascading over her flawless breasts and her sexy, full hips moving in time to his thrusts, she rode him hard, looking every bit a goddess. But to Zane, while she was stunning, her hair and physical attributes were like makeup for an actor. They were what everyone else saw, not what made her the woman he loved.

  He saw her generous heart, which nearly bubbled out with every smile. He felt her tender and carnal touches, which burned him to his core. He saw treasured memories he’d held for so many years, he knew he’d take them to his grave and follow them up to heaven. When he saw her with Louie, he saw the mother she’d become, and one day, the old and gray doting grandmother she was destined to be.

  She flattened her hands on his chest, moving along his shaft with a blissful look in her eyes—the deep pools of emotions that tore at him when they were apart, and drowned him when they were together.

  He pulled her down on top of him, kissing her over and over again in a series of chaste, needy kisses, and rolled them over again.

  She smiled up at him as he slowed them down.

  “You love me,” she said with such confidence it filled him with joy.

  “Always have. You’re my best friend, Wills. My frosting queen.” He laced their hands together and lowered himself over her.

  “I know. I mean, I really believe it all the way to my bones.” She drew in a ragged breath and turned her face, pressing her lips to their joined hands before meeting his gaze again. “This is our new moment, Z. Our forever moment.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE FLIGHT TO California in Zane’s private plane was long but enjoyable and made even more pleasurable when they joined the mile-high club. Unfortunately, as exciting as it was, it was hardly something Willow could brag about. Which was a shame, because it was hilarious, exhilarating, and naughty. A driver picked them up from the airport in a black sedan, and she snuggled up to Zane in the backseat. A long while later, the driver pulled through a private gate and onto a long, bamboo-shielded driveway. Tall trees and wide bushes lined the pavement all the way up to the house, which was completely secluded from the road. The first thing Willow noticed was how unremarkable the ranch-style bungalow was. It looked like the kind of house the Brady Bunch might have lived in if their family had been smaller.

  “Welcome to my world, sweetheart.” Zane helped her from the car and kissed her cheek.

  While the driver brought their bags to the door, she took a good look around his cozy little oasis. Even after Patch had told her Zane lived modestly, she’d still envisioned something more glamorous than the small, single-story home nestled among a veritable forest. And now that she was taking a closer look at the two-car garage and slate walkway leading to an arched front door, it reminded her of something else. Sweetwater. The foliage was different, with leafy palms and bamboo instead of the indigenous trees of Upstate New York, but it definitely felt familiar.

  Zane took her hand, and a flicker of nervousness danced in his eyes. She found it endearing, like everything else about him.

  “It’s not very exciting.”

  “Actually, I really like it,” she said as he pushed open the door.

  Honey-toned wood floors spilled into an open living room with three sets of glass doors leading out to a deck and a pool. The walls were white with stained wood trim, giving the moderate-size room a spacious feel. A fireplace was built into the far wall, and its bricks were also painted white. A quaint kitchen was tucked into a nook to their left, with butcher-block and stainless-steel countertops. Perfect for baking. The vintage stove was reminiscent of her own.

  Zane carried their bags in and closed the door behind them. “Go on, Wills. Take a look around.”

  It felt strange to walk into his house after they’d spent so much time in her apartment, which felt like his home as much as hers. She stopped walking, struck by the distance that would soon divide them. What will it feel like going home without you? Sleeping without you? Waking up without you?

  A knot rose in her throat, and she worked hard to swallow past it. They had less than twenty-four hours together, and she wasn’t about to waste any of it being sad. There would be enough time for that on the long plane trip home tomorrow. And in the coming weeks.

  She ran her fingers along the back of the deep-cushioned sofa, wanting to flop down on it with Zane, wrap herself up in his arms, and not think about this time tomorrow, when they’d be apart. Her eyes were drawn to pictures hanging on the wall. Five pictures from their childhood. She moved closer, and the knot returned to her throat. The first picture had been taken on the island. She and Bridgette lay on beach towels in the sand, Bridgette in a pink bikini, Willow in a blue one-piece bathing suit. Willow lay on her stomach, her hands folded beneath her chin, smiling and watching Talia and Ben splashing in the water. Bridgette lay on her back sunbathing, her eyes closed. Piper’s backpack sat discarded on a towel. She was probably in the woods. Willow remembered that summer. She’d been sixteen, and she’d had a major crush on Zane.

  She glanced at him now, and he lifted a shoulder, crossing the room toward her as she looked over the next picture. Zane sat beside Ben on the top of the picnic table in her parents’ backyard. He was gazing across the lawn at Willow with a faraway look in his eyes. She sat cross-legged, reading on a blanket in the grass. Her hair was a tangled mess, with leaves sticking out of it. She remembered that afternoon. Ben and Zane had raked the yard for her parents, and she’d jumped into every leaf pile, which had started a leaf war. She laughed softly at the memory.

  “Who took this picture?” she asked.

  “I took the first one, but I don’t know who took the rest. When I came back one Christmas a few years ago, your mom was going through pictures, and I asked her for a few of them.”

  “She never told me.” She glanced up at the third picture, of Zane and her father on her father’s boat. Her father had a prideful look in his eyes, his arm draped around Zane’s shoulder. Zane’s head was tipped back, caught laughing. “I love this one.”

  She moved to the next picture, of him and Ben wearing their football uniforms. They were arm in arm, grinning like fools. The lights of the football field lit up like diamonds against the night sky behind them. Zane’s face still held the softness of youth, not yet blessed with ever-present scruff or sharp edges, but his eyes were as focused and determined as ever.

  “No wonder I chose you.” She slipped her finger into his pocket. “You were hot.”

  He laughed. “I weighed, like, a buck thirty. I was a wiry kid.”

  “Hardly.” She took a step up to look at the last picture, and her heart tumbled in her chest. The two of them were studying at her parents’ kitchen table. Willow was pointing to something in the textbook, and he was leaning over,
cheek to palm, gazing up at her with a vacant look in his eyes.

  “Told you so,” he said. “I have no idea how I passed math, because I was totally into you.”

  “Osmosis?” she teased.

  He retrieved the suitcases, and she followed him into the master bedroom, taking in the king-size bed with a masculine, navy-blue comforter, a leather recliner beneath a lamp in the corner, and a single long dresser.

  He set their bags beside the bed and picked up a photograph from the nightstand, running his fingers over the picture as he came to her side. “This is my favorite picture. The one Patch told you about.”

  She took it from his hands and sank down to the mattress, the significance of the image clinging to her like a second skin. Her back was to the camera, her head bent forward, the red rose he’d given her that night—their night—barely visible in her hand. She sat on the green-and-blue blanket.

  Zane sat beside her on the bed, their shoulders touching, his familiar scent lulling her toward him.

  “You took this that night?” She met his eyes and was bowled over by the emotions in them.

  “Yes. Are you mad?”

  “I might have been back then, but not now. I . . . That’s a nice memory.”

  “Thank God. I wasn’t sure if you’d be pissed off.” He put his arm around her. “I followed you home that night.”

  “You did? After I told you to let me be so I could process what we’d done? That was rude.” She smiled and added, “And pretty romantic.”

  “What did you expect? You don’t have sex for the first time and just walk away, no matter what rules you thought up. I’d broken your other rules. I felt even though you said no feelings. Who am I kidding? I fell. Hard. I looked at you differently even though you said not to. You can’t control everything, sweet girl.” He took the picture from her hands and set it back on the nightstand.