He knotted his fingers in her hair, holding her head captive so he could look her in the eye. “I need to bury myself inside you. Feel you wrapped around my cock. Watch you ride me, and see your face when you come.”
“Bedroom’s over there.” She gestured behind her.
He barely had the presence of mind to grab a condom from his wallet.
She raised her brows, a smile dancing on her face. “Why are you carrying protection if you don’t make a habit of this?”
“A boy scout is always prepared.” Hands on her hips, he guided her toward the other room.
“You weren’t a boy scout. What was it you said? If I’m going to work hard for recognition, I want a paycheck, not an embroidered little badge.”
He laughed at her false baritone. “Fine. It’s because I’m male, so even when I’m not actively looking to get laid, there’s always a part of me that hopes.”
“Fair enough.” She paused next to the bed and faced him. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, and pink still flushed her skin from the hot water. Fuck, she was gorgeous.
He kissed her, searing the sensation of her soft lips into his thoughts. Each moan and gasp she made acted like a string connected to his cock. She plucked the condom from between his fingers, and without breaking away, rolled it into place. The smooth motion made him grit his teeth in anticipation.
She glided his cock head along her slit. She was already slippery again. God, he couldn’t do this. He spun them both, so he could sit on the edge of the bed, and pulled her to straddle his legs. Instead of lowering herself, she hovered, the heat of her center teasing him. He wasn’t going to last at all once he sank into her, and he wanted to draw this out a little longer. He dropped his thumb to her clit and rubbed lightly. She squirmed and tried to pull away, but he gripped her thigh, holding her in place. She twisted and moaned. Dug her nails into his arms, rather than try to escape. Her eyelids fluttered, and a cry tore from her throat when she came again.
He thrust up when her grip tightened, and groaned at the sudden penetration. He slammed inside her, as her pussy clenched around him. In the back of his mind, he wondered if she might break the skin with her nails. He didn’t care. His head swam each time he plunged deep, and lights danced across his vision. Orgasm cascaded through him, but he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t slow his pounding inside her until he was spent and the edge of intensity tapered off.
He matched his rhythm to hers, slowing and then stopping as she did. She leaned forward until she rested her head on his chest, still straddling him. As he softened, he slipped out of her. The only sound in the room was the downpour of rain mixed with their efforts to catch their breath. Her cheek was hot against his skin, teasing and comforting.
He trailed his fingers through her hair, watching the pale strands flutter down against the dim light. “I think I owe you dinner.”
“Aren’t you supposed to do that before, not after?” Her laugh fluttered through him.
“Am I? I guess I need a little more practice, to get this right. Either way, I think the rain ruined the noodles on the way over here.”
She rolled off him and curled up next to his side, head on his arm. “I don’t think your Stroganoff was meant to be.”
“I still owe you dinner.” He kissed the top of her head before extracting himself. A nagging inside wanted him to stay wrapped up with Bailey, and that was the exact reason he wouldn’t. “Permission to raid your kitchen for something else?”
For a moment her smile looked sad, but it cheered before he could think about it too much. She sat, making no attempt to cover up. “If you insist.”
Unable to stop himself, he leaned in one more time and stole another quick, hungry kiss. “Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.” He strode from the room before she could reply. Hanging around would either lead to playful teasing, or another round of fighting, and both seemed like a bad idea.
He paused in the bathroom doorway, of course repeating in his head when he saw his clothes in a wet pile by the tub. His bag was back in his car. Apparently, he was destined to spend large parts of this trip wandering around in almost nothing.
BAILEY FLOPPED ONTO her back and stared at the ceiling. Being alone in the room tugged at her from so many directions. It gave her a chance to make sure her legs worked, which she wasn’t complaining about. That wobbly feeling helped keep her in a pleasant fuzzy afterglow... it might have been a lot more pleasant if he were still with her. A good reminder it was time to close the door on whatever happy emotions she had and lock them away where they belonged.
She walled off her heart, ignoring the throb behind her ribs, and sat up. How long would it take Jonathan to remember he didn’t have dry clothes to wear? She grabbed some things from her dresser and wandered into the bathroom, to clean up. He’d draped their wet items over the shower rod. The sight made her smile. Fortunately, the washroom was at the back of the house, so tossing his things in the dryer gave her another few minutes to collect her thoughts.
After taking care of that, she dressed and grabbed an extra pair of shorts and a T-shirt from her bottom drawer. Voices floated into the room, and she frowned. Was he talking to someone? That wasn’t Jonathan. It sounded muffled. No, he was watching TV. Something about that bothered her. She padded toward the noise, and stalled in the doorway when she realized what had his attention. The Weather Chanel.
“Sorry.” He didn’t look up from the screen. “I couldn’t get a signal on my phone, and I had to see...” He shook his head and stood. The only thing covering him was a towel around his waist. “I’ll get started on dinner.” Tension that wasn’t there before ran through his voice, and his gaze drifted back to the screen every time he started to look away.
They were showing radar images of the area. The hurricane had been upgraded again in the last few hours, to a Category 4. The tip of it had caused flash flooding throughout the Keys, including overtaking some of the smaller bridges, and wind tore older structures down as it gusted north. “Looks like I’ll be here for at least a couple more days, regardless of my plans.” His words were strained, and she suspected it wasn’t all caused by the possible loss of access to work.
Was he paler, or was that a side effect of the lighting? Over the last thirty years or so, she’d ridden out a lot of hurricanes. Like most locals, she was unfazed by them. There was one that still haunted her dreams, though. When they were thirteen, it happened a lot like this. The weather said no big deal, and she’d never seen a big storm. She convinced Jonathan they didn’t need to go home yet, and despite his parents calling for him, she and Jonathan stayed out on the beach and in the ocean, playing.
“Hey. I grabbed you some clothes.” She nudged his arm, to distract him from the news.
He took the shorts and T-shirt but didn’t look away from the TV. “Thanks.”
She could almost guarantee what was going through his mind. The same thing she saw in her head. Back then, the storm drove in quickly, the wind picking up and turning splashes to roaring waves that slammed into the sand. He got swept up in them, and by the time rescuers pulled him out, he wasn’t breathing. Despite how long ago it happened, the memory still terrified her. Was it doing the same to Jonathan? It took almost a minute to bring him back with CPR. Bailey’s parents didn’t try and pull her from his side. He and she spent the night in the local clinic, listening to Jonathan’s parents scream at Nana about teaching the kids to be irresponsible, and threatening to never let Jonathan see her again.
When his family left a few days later, Bailey was terrified she’d never see him again.
She dragged herself back to the now. “Hurricane party?” Her chipper tone sounded tinny and false when it hit her eardrums. “I’ve got tequila and sweet-and-sour mix.”
“No drinking.” He gave her half his attention. As soon as the anchor said something about eighty-mile-an-hour gusts driving into the coast, he snapped his head back to the news.
She tugged at his arm, to prompt him to t
urn toward her. “Get dressed, at least.”
“Right.” He shook his head and focused on the clothes. “Am I wearing another guy’s leftovers?”
“They’re mine.” She took the opportunity to grab the remote and turn off the TV.
“I want that on in the background.”
“You don’t, and it won’t change anything. Get dressed.”
“Now who’s bossy?” He held up the shorts, and looked between her and the clothing. “These are too big for you.”
“They weren’t, once upon a time.” Would her brushoff deter him? She didn’t want to explain why she had them. Not now, not ever—to him or anyone.
He glanced back at the blank screen. “Okay.”
She’d spill whatever it took, to keep him distracted. “Put them on. Don’t touch the remote. And sit. When I come back, I’ll tell you why I have them.” As soon as she made the commitment, she wanted to take it back. There were a billion other ways to pass the time that didn’t involve gutting herself in front of someone else. But this was the best reminder of why no man was worth losing her heart over, no matter how good a past they shared.
Chapter Eight
It wasn’t that Jonathan was worried about the weather. He wanted to watch for purely academic reasons—to know if he’d have cell-phone access again soon; to get an idea of when he could head back to the mainland. His fascination with the glaring swirl of the radar maps had nothing to do with the heavy weight trying to force the air from his lungs. Didn’t correlate at all to the dreams he never managed to shake, from which he woke up struggling to breathe past the water and choking on his inability to fight the currents.
He forced himself to swallow, and then tugged on the clothes Bailey brought him. He was grateful her promise to explain gave him a new direction for his thoughts.
She returned a moment later with a bag of potato chips, a jar of onion dip, and two cans of Coke. “Dinner is served.” She arranged everything on the coffee table.
“Not quite what I was going for.” He settled back onto the couch.
She took the spot next to him and twisted sideways so she faced him, one knee propped on the couch and resting against his leg. “Unless you can turn hamburger, two pickles, and sweet-and-sour mix into something gourmet, you wouldn’t have done much better. I don’t keep a lot in my kitchen.”
“Why not?”
“A list of reasons. I travel as much as I’m home. I don’t like to cook. It’s too much temptation—” She snapped her jaw shut. “Angel investor firm—how’s that work?”
“People pitch me ideas that aren’t necessarily worth millions, but are still solid business plans, and I loan them money in return for a share of the profits. Why do you own clothes three sizes too big for you?”
She grabbed one of the soda cans and fiddled with it, not popping the top. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to check the weather again until tomorrow morning. And that doesn’t mean midnight; it means normal wake-up time.”
She was trying to distract him. The realization threatened to make him smile. Not that he needed distracting. “I promise.”
“When I married Danny, things were wonderful. I knew you were wrong about him.” Bailey’s words cut deep.
“I see.” Despite him knowing something went wrong, Nana never told him what. Said it wasn’t her place. At eighteen years old, for the second time in his life, he thought he’d never see Bailey again. Not because of some great tragedy—though he swore it was one, at the time—but because she was engaged and refused to listen when Jonathan tried to tell her Danny was a cheating, lying asshole.
Each time she clicked the tab on her drink with her nail, metal clinked against metal. “And then, about six months in, life imploded. I was dropping something off for a friend who worked at one of the hotels, and found him sucking face with a brunette in the bar.” When she opened the drink, a hiss mixed with her words. She took a long swallow. “I should have gotten furious—that was what I felt. But I told him I’d see him at home, so quietly I’m not sure he heard me. I called in to work, went home, and stared blankly at the wall, trying to figure out what to do, until he showed up about three hours later.”
“He didn’t even have the balls to follow you home right away? Chase you down as you left?” Fury surged inside Jonathan. A rage he thought he’d put behind him years ago.
Bailey gave a bitter laugh. “Save the pissed-off-edness—and don’t tell me that’s not a word. We’re just getting started.” She grabbed the chips and nibbled one. “He was all sweetness and apology, and even brought me chocolates. Told me he was so sorry. He loved me. It was a lapse in reason. The moment he saw me, he knew he didn’t want to lose me. Swore he hadn’t been with anyone else since we got engaged, and it would never happen again. I told him I didn’t know if I could trust him now. He said he wanted to earn it back—my trust. We’d work through this. He’d be better. I’d try harder...”
“Try harder at what?” Jonathan wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.
She met his gaze, eyes hard and expression blank. “In his words, I had put on a couple extra pounds since we got married. We both had things to work toward, and we’d do it together. Wait.” She held up a finger when he opened his mouth to argue. “We went back to happy la-la land. It was all good for a few more months—I was starting to trust him again—and then one of his girlfriends called the house. Rinse and repeat this conversation five... six more times? I lost count. The first couple of encounters, Danny was sweet about his apologies. It started with hints. I should take better care of myself. I needed to try harder to make him happy. I didn’t understand what he wanted in the bedroom. I was so fucking fat.”
Jonathan couldn’t remember the last time he was so furious. “Ale, I—”
“Don’t.” She clipped the word off. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Because you’re a decent human being, I assume that, and I don’t want your pity. Don’t say anything because you feel obliged. You tried to warn me, and what could you have done? You weren’t here. It wasn’t your responsibility.”
“If you told me... If Nana said something...”
“What? You would have hopped the next plane to Florida and beaten the crap out of him? Even if that was true, it wouldn’t matter. I would’ve been furious with you, he’d tell me it was my fault, and the cycle would start over again. While it was happening, I didn’t see it for what it was. The entire thing was my fault as I lived it. He tore me down, to the point I was convinced I couldn’t do anything right. I gained fifty pounds and hated myself every step of the way. No wonder he didn’t love me. Of course he was sleeping with other women. I was lucky he let me claim to be his wife, anymore. And you know how they love gossip around here. Everywhere I went, I was the pudgy girl whose husband was sleeping with everyone but her.” Venom filled her words, and her voice shook by the time she finished.
Sympathy died in his throat. She didn’t want that. Or pity. “How did you get out?”
“Nana.” Bailey set the chips aside, though she’d only eaten one. “She kidnapped me.”
Under any other circumstance, he’d laugh. Now the best he could manage was a snort of disbelief. “How’d that work?”
“Danny and I argued one day, and I fought back. It wasn’t the first time I’d bitten back, but it was the first time I told him we were done. I walked out, but I didn’t have anywhere to go. In the time leading up to that, I’d drifted away from my few local friends. My parents had moved to Tampa. I was scared of what he’d say if I touched the money in our account to get a hotel room. So I went to the coffee shop. Nana found me sobbing in my car. I was terrified he wouldn’t take me back, and just as scared this was the only place I had to go and I’d be stuck with him forever.”
Bailey dragged the back of her hand across her cheeks, as if to wipe away tears, but Jonathan didn’t see any. She dragged in a shaky breath. “She brought me back to her house. Then... she listened. I told her everything I just told you, more or less. She didn�
��t say anything, except to let me know she was listening. She had that damned expression you get.”
“I have an expression?”
Bailey almost smiled. “That stupid impassive mask that would make you a brilliant card player. She had the same look. She didn’t judge me, or offer her opinion or her advice. She let me ramble as I talked it all through. And then she refused to let me go home. She called Danny. Told him I was staying with her for the week. I begged her not to. What if he didn’t let me come home after? He didn’t care. Not until I realized at the end of the week I didn’t want to go home. While I was there, Nana and I talked about everything. What it was like for her to grow up. You. Me. Danny only came up when I mentioned him.
“I’m not saying a switch was flipped; I still had days I knew I was wrong and wanted to go back to him. Times I was terrified I’d be alone forever if I walked away from him. But Nana was there for me through the divorce. Through figuring out how to live alone. Through finding work. That’s how I got into the auctioning and appraisal. It felt good, selling off all his shit.” She made a sound that was half-sob, half-laugh. “You must think I cry and scream all the time. I promise, in everyday life, I’m pretty even keel.”
“I had no idea.” He reached out to comfort her. He needed to do something.
She placed her palm on his chest, holding him at arm’s length. “Don’t. I’ll be fine.” Tears flowed down her cheeks, but she didn’t sob or sniffle. “I need a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”
Jonathan ached to make things right but didn’t have any solutions. He let her walk away, suppressing every urge he had to stop her.
BAILEY STOOD IN FRONT of the bathroom mirror, red-rimmed eyes staring back, as cold water spilled over her hands and into the sink. She needed to bring her thoughts back under control. Relaying the story shouldn’t have hit her so hard. She’d dealt with it and moved on. She only told it to distract him and remind herself she wasn’t that person anymore. It was done and over, and she needed to drag herself from that past.
The Second Chance and The Auctioneer (The Love Equation, #3) Page 6