In a way, she supposed that was fair. She had her secrets, too.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
The disappointment was crushing.
“Sure,” she finally said.
***
He paid, and when she’d offered to help, he’d reiterated that this was a date. It had certainly felt like one until she’d gone and asked about his dead wife.
She berated herself with every S-word she could think of in the car as they drove back toward his house. Subtle. Smooth. Sensitive.
Stupid.
He was taking her home now. Any plans he’d had for the rest of the night were off. She couldn’t say she didn’t understand. When Cole had died, she’d wanted to be alone, too. Anna had been the only one to break her out of the sadness. They’d made constellations on the ceiling of her bedroom in glow-in-the-dark stars and, in silence, Amy had wondered if Heaven was supposed to be somewhere in the sky, or if her brother would just burn out, like those cheap plastic stars.
Anna had been there when that pain had turned to anger, and the anger to recklessness, and then after, when that recklessness had driven her into the bed of a wild boy with an eyebrow ring who had only asked if she was a virgin after he’d taken the one thing she had left.
Amy knew grief, and she ached for Mike. He’d hidden it so deeply, she’d never known it was there.
She didn’t say a word as he entered the neighborhood. She sat in her seat, hands on her lap, checking her phone for any 911 texts from Anna. But Mike didn’t go back to the house. He took a different street, into a different development, and parked in front of a two-story house that looked like it had seen better days. The yard was overgrown, the roof was patchy in sections. In the dark, it was hard to see in the windows.
“I think maybe you took a wrong turn,” she said.
He unbuckled his seat belt.
“I want to show you something,” he said.
He came around the front of the car, and opened her door. When she stepped out onto the curb, he took her hand, and because she was unsure of what they were doing here, she grabbed her oversized purse.
“If you need some time, you can drop me back at the house,” she said. She had a sudden image of ice cream dripping from the walls, and Anna and Alec tied back to back in the kitchen chairs, unable to stop the mayhem.
He gave her a curious look.
“You giving up on me already?”
He didn’t let go of her hand.
“No,” she said, confused. “I thought...back at the restaurant...”
He waited. Patient as ever.
“I thought you wanted to be alone,” she finished.
“I do.” He pulled her hand to his lips and planted a soft kiss on her knuckles. “With you.”
Heat flashed through her body. She imagined his mouth pressed against hers. His hands on her bare legs. Her next breath was shaky, at best.
This was happening. She was going to have sex. In a sort of sketchy house. And she wasn’t freaked out or scared, inside she was dancing, and jumping up and down, and screaming Finally!
“I set the scene, you set the pace,” he reminded her.
She gave him a little nod.
He led her up the uneven brick walkway toward the front door.
“Is this some kind of haunted house tour? Because I wasn’t kidding when I said horror movies terrify me.”
He chuckled. “No ghosts, don’t worry.”
“Then what is this?”
“A swinger’s party.”
She stopped, then caught up with him.
“You’re real funny.”
“Am I?” he asked, quirking one eyebrow at her. “I don’t see you running.”
She groaned. He was joking. But all she could think about was the giant box of condoms in his glove box.
Key ring still in his hand, he searched for a key and fitted it into the lock.
“Would you ever do that?” she asked.
“Not with you,” he said, making her wonder if he’d done it before with others. “I have zero interest in sharing you.”
Warmth shimmered through her.
He pushed into the house and flipped on the lights, and she was taken aback by the sight before her. A living room opened up to the left, a kitchen to the right, and in the center, just before the door, a staircase leading to the second story. The floors of both rooms were ripped out, leaving just the wooden boards beneath. The kitchen looked like a warzone. Cabinets stuck out at angles, a dusty countertop leaned against the wall. The removed sink was leaning on its side on a table, beside an electric saw and a pair of work gloves.
On the floor beside where she stood were a pair of steel toed boots and a tool box.
“What is this?” she asked again.
“My other job.”
She turned to face him. “Your construction job? I just assumed...” She’d imagined him at a worksite, wearing a helmet, with a foreman giving orders.
He grinned at her. “I buy and flip houses. Takes some time with the job and school, but it pays the bills.”
“You do everything?”
“I contract out for some of the plumbing work, but yeah. One of the few skillsets I inherited from my old man.” He chuckled. “The shock on your face is killing my ego right now.”
“No... I just, wow. Just wow.” She stepped into the empty living room, imagining an L-shaped couch and a coffee table. Pictures up on the walls. He’d have to remove the wallpaper of course; the green clovers were atrocious. “Mike, this is incredible.”
He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “You think so?”
“Yes. I’m sort of in awe.”
“Then I’d better stop talking before I ruin it.”
Right. Like anything he could say would make her like him less.
She passed in front of him and headed back toward the kitchen. It was a nice space, square in shape, with room for a small island below the window. She could practically see someone standing at the stove, cooking dinner while her children colored at the table she would have put in the corner. The images were dim, a little out of focus, but there.
Her eyes landed on a bouquet of copper wires sticking out of the wall.
“Was it in bad shape before you bought it?”
She glanced back to find him leaning against the entryway behind her, arms crossed. There was something ridiculously attractive about him in his nice clothes, at home in a room filled with dust and chaos.
“The bones were good,” he said, knocking his knuckles against the wall behind him. “Some old water damage, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed up with a little TLC.”
She smiled. “Looks like it needed more than a little TLC.”
“All the good things do.”
He held her gaze long enough to make her aware of the distance between them, and the smell of sawdust, and every tiny movement of her own body.
“Do you like styling hair?” he asked.
Styling. Not just cutting. Not fixing. She liked that he’d used that word. Not a lot of people understood what she did.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She moved around one of the cabinets, fingers gliding over a paper with a long list of measurements he’d scratched in pencil.
“I like making people feel better about themselves.”
“Making them beautiful.”
She ran her hand over his gloves, imagining him wearing them while he worked.
“They’re already beautiful,” she said. “They walk out the door with everything they came in with. I just help them...see themselves better, I guess. Help what’s on the inside show on the outside.”
She knew he understood this; she could feel it.
Outside the kitchen was a long, open family room. New carpet stretched across the floor. The windows were covered by sheets, tacked to the walls, and in the center of the floor was a blanket, topped with two pillows. There was a small end table beside it, and resting on top wer
e two candles and a box of matches.
Her pulse kicked up a notch.
“And what if they’re already beautiful, but they don’t see it?”
She could feel him come closer. Feel it in the energy that sparked between them. Feel it in her own body, that grew tighter, and more electric.
“I guess you have to show them,” she said quietly.
“Amy.”
She loved the way he said her name. Like he was caressing the word with his deep, velvet voice. She was so intent on savoring it, she didn’t turn to face him right away.
The bare floorboards creaked under each step as he moved toward her. Soon, he was close enough she could feel the heat from his body, even across the space between them, even through their clothes.
The blood was humming through her veins.
She turned, heart pounding, her boots making a scuffing noise against the floor. He met her gaze, and the intensity in his bright eyes sent tremors through her. She’d never seen that look before, not in all her time staying with him. Not even in the few moments when they’d been alone. She could barely catch her breath.
He lifted his hand, and touched her bare shoulder. She jumped at the contact, even though she’d seen it coming, but then leaned into it, craving more. His fingers teased their way down her arm, leaving a trail of heat that seared straight to the bone.
“What do you want?” His voice was rougher than before. “Green light?” His fingers moved back up, this time gently, deliberately, tracing the side of her breast.
She exhaled in one hard whoosh.
“Yellow light?” His touch returned to her arm, though it didn’t feel much more chaste than what he’d just done. “Red light?” He pulled his hand away, and she tilted forward on her toes, nearly losing her balance and falling into him.
“I...”
Her brain was starting to overheat again. A buzzing filled her ears. She grasped the sides of her dress, uncertain of what to do with her hands.
This wasn’t her first rodeo. She’d done this before. She knew what men wanted, and more than anything, she wanted to give him that. Make him feel good. Make his breath go raspy, and his eyes go dark, and watch as he lost control. She couldn’t replace his wife—it was a lie to think she could—but she could make him feel good at least.
But she wanted just a little for herself, too.
“Kiss me,” she said.
He moved fast, and before she had the chance to breathe, he’d bent down and crushed his lips to hers. There was no reserve this time, no quiet exploration. He claimed her mouth as if he’d been waiting a lifetime for this moment. His lips parted, drawing hers open, and as his tongue licked at hers, every part of her that had been tense and frightened turned hungry.
She moaned into his mouth; a primal, indecent sound that she was certain she’d never made before. Her fingers clawed at the collar of his shirt, and when the top button tore free, he wasn’t mad. He kissed her harder.
His hands were around her shoulders, but slid lower, making heavy tracks on either side of her spine until they curved beneath her bottom. His hard chest curved around hers, and then he lifted her, so that she was forced to stand on her tip-toes, her whole body flush against his.
She gasped. He was hard. She could feel his erection straining against his pants, pressing against her stomach. His knee pushed between hers, and suddenly his thigh was pressing higher, against the parts of her that no man had touched since Danny. She was so sensitive there a cry tumbled from her throat. Every time he shifted closer, it felt like lighting was striking her body, making her stomach clench, and her hands fist, and her nipples grow so tight they were almost painful.
His mouth lowered down her neck, to a place near her hairline that made her arch against him. Her eyes drifted closed.
“You’re killing me,” he muttered into her hair as his hands pulled her closer. “This body. Those little gasps.” He groaned, and rocked her hips closer. The tension coiled tighter between her thighs. Every little muscle there flexed, needing more.
His words were like a drug. She wanted more the second they’d left his lips.
“Say it again,” she whispered. “What you said in the car. Say it again.”
He didn’t have to ask what she meant.
“I want you,” he said. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”
He’d promised he wouldn’t lie to her, but she wasn’t sure how to accept this as truth, either. When his teeth scraped against her earlobe, her doubt vanished.
She could have kissed him forever, but she didn’t want to be selfish. More, pounded like a heartbeat through her body. More, more, more. She wanted to show him how she felt, how much he meant to her.
Perspiration misted over her skin. She didn’t need a deep breath. Didn’t need to count to three to be brave. She wanted him so much, the sight of him alone might have been enough to get her off after he was done.
Now was about him.
Her hands slid down his chest between them, and she shuddered as their bodies separated. He’d pushed aside the strap of her dress and was kissing her shoulder when she reached for his belt and undid the buckle.
He pulled her closer, trapping her hands between them.
She eased back to pull his belt open.
His hands lowered under the hem of her skirt, where his fingers could spread over her hips. She wavered, giving a tight sigh.
You’re killing me, he’d said. She knew what he wanted.
She pushed back, a little harder this time, and watched his expression as she hastily opened his fly and pulled down the zipper. An anxious anticipation filled her as she waited for the lust to simmer in his eyes. It was going to be such a rush, knowing that his desire was in her hands.
She hadn’t quite made it onto the new carpet, and the hard, sawdust-covered boards scratched her shins as she knelt. That was okay. It’d be worth it. She was going to make him feel so good.
But when she looked up, it wasn’t lust that she saw, but confusion. Surely he knew what she was doing, but just to make things abundantly clear, she reached for the waistband of his boxers and started to pull them down.
“Amy.” He grabbed her wrists.
Worry sparked inside of her.
He just had to see that she could do this. She could take care of him. He’d love it. Twisting her hands free, she hooked her fingers around his waistband again.
“Amy, wait.”
He crouched down in front of her.
Every inch of her body turned red.
“Did you want to lay down?” She glanced over at the blanket.
“Slow down,” he said.
The panic was swelling in her throat. It didn’t belong here. She was safe. This was safe. He was supposed to be excited.
“I thought you wanted...”
The heat was turning cold. Her body was turning cold. Useless thing. Nobody wanted it. Not Mike. Not even her.
This was a stupid idea.
“I do,” Mike said, raking a hand over his skull. “I do. But you don’t have to...” He rocked back on his heels, scowling. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want this.”
She stood so fast she got a little dizzy.
“I think I must have had too much wine.” She gave a little laugh as he rose. “I’m kind of a lightweight.”
He stepped closer. She stepped back.
“I didn’t mean –”
“Where’s the bathroom?” she asked.
Her hands were shaking. She made fists to hide them.
After a second he motioned to the staircase around the corner. “The one upstairs is done.”
Without a word she slid around him, grabbed her bag, and jogged up the steps.
Chapter Twelve
She stared into the mirror with its braided gold frame and gripped the edge of the granite countertop. Her chest ached, like she’d been holding her breath too long. What had happened down there? One second, everything seemed to be going well. Better than
well. Amazing. The next it had fallen apart. She thought she’d read the signals right—he’d acted like he was into her. So why didn’t he want her to get him off?
Possible answers flipped through her mind.
He didn’t like blow jobs. Yeah right, next.
He had a hard time climaxing. That didn’t exactly explain the giant condom box in his car.
She’d moved too fast.
She considered this. Maybe she’d rushed things. Yes, they’d been sleeping under the same roof for almost two months, but tonight had definitely catapulted them to the next level. Maybe he’d been thinking about his ex-wife; he’d cut off the conversation quickly at the restaurant, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still on his mind. A wave of pity swamped her. She could have been a little more sensitive, but it was hard with Mike zapping all her brain cells.
She had baggage, he did too. It was better option for why he’d slammed on the brakes than the possibility that he’d changed his mind.
If that was the case—if he’d tested the waters and decided he didn’t feel like swimming—she needed to get over it. He wasn’t the first man who’d turned her away.
She turned on the faucet and let the cool water run over her hands. Echoes of Danny’s voice were still in her head.
What are you doing?
It doesn’t feel right.
This isn’t working.
Her eyes burned.
Don’t cry, she told herself. Don’t you dare cry.
She turned away from the mirror and dug through her bag. She’d packed a change of clothes for tomorrow morning—tights and a boat-neck T-shirt. Mom clothes. Things that could survive the morning routine. That was who she was. Not this platinum hair. Not the makeup and the dress, and the funky jewelry, and these stupid boots. She undressed in a hurry, all the way down to the lingerie that Anna had convinced her to buy. Once her comfy bra was on, she felt a little calmer. More real.
She put on a front with everyone else. She didn’t want to do that with Mike.
Before she opened the door, she rested her head against the wood. Carolyn had suggested talking. Mike had said he wanted her uncensored.
She counted to three and opened the door.
He was waiting on the top step, but rose quickly when the door cracked. The hallway light wasn’t working, so he was only dimly lit by the bathroom overhead. It was hard to read his expression.
More: A Body Work Novel (The Body Work Trilogy Book 4) Page 10