His jaw tightened. “I wish I had something more for you.”
Her hair swung against her back as she shook her head vehemently. “No, what your mom was able to find is amazing. Please tell her and her friends how much I appreciate it. Thank you, too. I know this isn’t your problem.”
He closed the distance between them, setting his beer on the island. “I hate thinking about you all alone in that house.”
“Then don’t think about it,” she said, her tone light with the attempted joke. Her small smile faded when he didn’t return it. The proximity of his body made her nerves tingle with awareness.
His eyes darkened as he looked down at her. “That might be tough. I find myself thinking about you all the time.”
“You do?” The words came out in a husky whisper, and she swallowed.
Instead of answering, he grazed his knuckle across her cheek, trailing a streak of heat.
Her breath caught. Held.
He bent his head, capturing her lips in a series of lingering kisses, each one a smoldering connection that made her desperate for more. Moaning, she leaned into him, sliding her palms up his muscled chest. His kisses moved to the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, down the tender flesh of her neck. Oh, God. She gasped as shivers shot through her like fireworks.
His tongue ran along her collarbone, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic band of her strapless top. She locked her arms around his neck, pressing her hips into his, savoring the feel of his arousal. She did that to him. He wanted her. She wanted him. Nothing else mattered.
The world disappeared, conscious thought receding as need took over. She arched her back as his hand slid over her breast, her knees going weak as the rough pads of his fingers brushed across her taut nipples. She pushed her thigh between his legs, and he groaned.
“Bedroom,” he said thickly, the word somewhere between a question and a statement. He caught her mouth in another all-consuming kiss, leaving her unable to answer. Or even to think. Every cell in her body ached for him. She managed a breathless sound of assent, and he began pulling her toward the stairs.
He tugged her through his bedroom door, then shut it behind them before the dogs could follow them any farther. Walking her backwards, he pressed her against the door, his arms caging her in as he kissed her ravenously. She wrapped her hands around the hard muscles of his neck, lifting to her toes to get closer. She met his kisses with a matching urgency, only pulling away to drag his shirt over his head. Their mouths clashed again, tongues exploring as he ran his palms over her arms. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic band of her top and dragged it down, following the material with his lips, over her breasts, down her stomach, to the lace edge of her black panties. Her outfit puddled to the floor, and he kneeled in front of her, his hands fanned over her hips, his warm breath caressing the sensitive skin of her belly. She dug her nails into his shoulders, every nerve quivering with anticipation. The moment stretched out with agonizing deliberation, the slow intensity heightening the feverish passion like the calm before the storm. Her heart banged against her ribcage, the sound echoing in her ears. The lace thong inched down her thighs, along her calves, over her ankles, each brush of his fingers against her flesh tormenting her, building an unbearable pressure deep within her. She whimpered, pulling at him, needing his body against hers again.
He rose, lifting her up, once more pinning her to the door. Her shoulder blades ground against the wood as she clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist. She sought his mouth, reveling in the taste of him, desperate to get her fill. Heat surged through her, raging like wildfire.
He carried her toward the bed, his strong arms supporting her weight, his lips never leaving hers. Hurry. She needed all of him. Now. Her body craved release; she was going to go mad without it.
He laid her down, unbuttoning his shorts in one swift motion, and she tugged at the layers of clothing with him. Silvery moonlight filtered in through the open windows, accentuating the definition of his chest and shoulders, the hard planes and sculpted muscles. Their eyes met, his dark with desire, and the seconds spooled out, measured in heartbeats. Realization suddenly flashed across his face, and he blinked. “Condom,” he said roughly, shifting his weight.
“I’m on the pill,” she said, the words rushing out. She hadn’t stopped taking it. And maybe the prudent thing would be to use one anyway, but right now, her mind was a dull haze. She had been reduced to raw nerves and smoldering flesh, and all she wanted was to feel Jesse inside her, no barriers between them.
“You’re sure?” he murmured, bending his head to nuzzle her neck. He moved lower, his mouth closing over her nipple as his fingers stroked between her thighs.
A raspy sound of assent was the best she could do as powerful sensations washed over her. When she remembered how to speak, she managed, “Yes. I’m sure.” Her voice was strained with need, her hips lifting, legs trembling. Please. Hurry.
He pushed himself into her with delicious deliberation, slow and controlled, until she was filled with his hard heat. With a groan, he thrust deeper, and a gasp tore from her throat.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head wordlessly, gripping his back, rocking her hips beneath him. He matched her rhythm, driving into her, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. Oh, God. Yes. The waves built into a crescendo, and she shattered, crying out. His lips caught her whimpers, his fingers knotting in her hair as he came over the edge with her. Aftershocks shuddered through her, and he touched his forehead to hers, their ragged breaths mingling in the darkness.
“Lark,” he murmured, scraping the scruff of his jaw across her cheek. He sank onto her, the solid weight of his body holding her captive. She ran her hands along his back, her palms sliding over slick skin and hard ridges. As her heartrate slowed, her limbs grew heavy, and she drifted, still awash in sensations. He rolled to his side, pulling her with him, gathering her in his arms and settling the comforter over their entwined bodies in one intimate motion that made her chest contract. He held her tightly, his fingers brushing her temple as his breathing evened.
This was bliss, and she didn’t want it to end. When sleep reached up to claim her, she slipped seamlessly into its comforting depths.
13
Her shoulders sagged as she checked her phone again. Why wasn’t Nathan answering? She dropped the phone back into her bag and dug out her keyring. Sliding the key into the lock, she let herself into his apartment.
Had Nathan known? Was his job safe? She blew out a frustrated breath. For all she knew, he could currently be packing his office belongings into cardboard boxes as human resources waited to escort him out. She grimaced, setting down her own solitary box—all she’d needed for her picture frames and coffee cups—onto the floor. God. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t answering his phone. If he was also getting laid off, they were in serious trouble.
A muffled moan drifted through the apartment, and she froze, her eyes snapping to the closed bedroom door. What the hell? Bedsprings squeaked in time with a rhythmic thumping. Her stomach clenched, some primal part of her understanding what she was hearing before her already battered brain could interpret the sounds. Her vision swam, the edges of the front room blurring as she reached out and put a hand against the wall.
Someone was having sex in there. But this was Nathan’s apartment, and he lived alone…and he was presumably at work. Even if he was home, she was his fiancé, and she was standing right here. She glanced over at her splayed fingers as if checking the diamond ring for confirmation.
It must be someone else. She nodded to herself, swallowing down the nausea bubbling up like rancid oil. Then a louder noise—a familiar groan.
That was Nathan.
She’d just gotten fired, and her fiancé was having sex with someone else in the bed she regularly shared with him? This was too much.
Anger burned through her, sharp and blinding. She stalked over to the bedroom, steeling herself as she gripped the knob. Then
she opened the door.
She jolted awake, her heart racing, eyes peering through the darkness at the unfamiliar surroundings. A heavy arm draped across her middle quickly brought her back to reality. Jesse. She was in his room, not at Nathan’s apartment in the city. The dream faded as consciousness seeped back in, but the ugly images remained, playing out in her head. That scene, unfortunately, hadn’t originated in a dream. It just revisited her there, a painful reminder of everything that had happened. Of why she was here, on Cape Cod.
Her pulse continued to surge, and a clammy sweat broke out over her skin. A vise tightened around her chest, strangling her breaths. I need to get out of here.
This had been a mistake. Not the sex—there was no denying that had been amazing. But staying over with him, sleeping here. That’s what couples did. Sleeping beside him felt safe. Comfortable. Comforting. And that was dangerous. Certainly not the way to avoid an emotional attachment. Her subconscious was trying to warn her. And now her body was following suit with some kind of panic attack.
Despite the urge to tear herself away from him, she slowly slipped from under his arm, praying he would not wake up. Bosco glanced up at her from the end of the bed. She dimly remembered Jesse getting up at some point to get his cell phone, in case of a vet emergency, and the dogs coming in. Please be quiet, she begged them silently. Benny offered her a soft snore from the floor beside the bed in answer.
She crept over to the door, bending down to gather her clothes. She’d lost her sandals somewhere downstairs before they’d made their way up. She quickly dressed in the hallway, fighting against the dizziness threatening to pull her under. Her legs trembled as she tiptoed down the stairs.
She located her sandals in the kitchen, and she slipped them on, trying not to think about how they came to be strewn across the floor in the first place, kicked off as she and Jesse fumbled and groped their way to the stairs. And she certainly didn’t want to think about what came after. Not right now, or she might lose her courage.
Her car was still at The Boatyard. No big deal, she could walk home. It was the middle of the night, but her bag with her phone was sitting on the island. She grabbed it and turned toward the front door, then hesitated.
He’d be worried if he woke up and found her gone. That was the kind of guy he was. She searched the shadows of the kitchen counters, finally spotting a pad of paper and a pen. Moving as quietly as possible, she carried them over to the island so she could leave a note.
But what could she write? She tapped the end of the pen against her lips, still tender from Jesse’s ravenous kisses. God, she was so close to falling for him. She needed to pull herself back from the edge before she tumbled headfirst, exposing her heart to more pain.
She couldn’t write that. It was too hard to explain, and it sounded presumptuous, anyway. Just because she was in danger of developing deep feelings for him didn’t mean he was in the same place. She was pretty sure he’d share her view that the sex had been mind-blowingly incredible. But he might not understand that despite how close they’d been, waking up together was just too intimate for her to bear. It felt like assigning a significance to what had happened. Placing it further away from just sex and closer to relationship territory.
Hurry up. Just write something truthful and to-the-point. She touched the tip of the pen to the paper and scribbled, “I had to get home. Didn’t want to wake you.” There. She resisted the urge to add, “Everything’s fine,” because everything was not fine. Her heart was still flailing about, as though trying to escape from her ribcage. Fresh waves of betrayal surged through her, leaking out of the ragged wound the dream had torn open. Her head hurt from the wine and the ramifications of what she’d done. Hopefully Jesse would just be glad she was gone and no excuses would be necessary to get her out of his house so he could have a peaceful morning alone.
She’d go out the front door, so she could lock it behind her. She crept through the dark, silent house like a thief, cringing at every tiny sound she made. Then she let herself out into the night.
14
He stared at the note on the kitchen island, his brows pulling together. He hadn’t been expecting that. He’d been expecting her. When he’d awoken, he’d already been reaching for her, seeking to pull her back into his arms. And, yeah, his body had been aching for her again, arousal pulling him out of his dreams.
Disappointment had rushed through him when he realized she wasn’t still in bed, but he expected to find her somewhere in the house. The kitchen seemed the logical place. Not that there was much to offer there, but the rack next to his coffee machine was always stocked with pods of both coffee and tea, and there was orange juice in the fridge and fruit in the bowl by her note.
The dogs whined, and he let them out back, staring for a moment at the woods blocking the view of her house. What time had she left? He’d come downstairs to get his phone around 12:30, relieved to find no missed calls that might indicate an emergency, and she’d still been in bed when he returned. Maybe she just woke up really early and wanted to go home and get changed. She had to work the lunch shift—maybe she needed to get some things done before she went in.
He checked the time on his phone: 7:45 a.m. He’d need to drive her to work, as promised. Maybe tonight he could take her to dinner in Provincetown, like he mentioned. She might be from a busy city, but he felt reasonably certain she’d never seen anything like Ptown on a Saturday night in the summertime. Just watching the parade of people along Commercial Street was entertainment, and then there were all the restaurants, art galleries, and shops.
After he brewed coffee, he took his mug outside and sat on the patio. Pulling out his phone, he brought up their text chain and typed, “Hey. I missed you this morning. Everything OK?”
By the time she answered, an hour had passed, and he was headed out the door to the gym. He frowned as he read her response. “All OK. One of the waitresses is picking me up on her way to work, so you don’t need to worry about giving me a ride.”
Something about the tone of the text bothered him, but then again, it was a text. He typed back, asking if she wanted to head to Ptown for dinner after her shift.
Dots appeared, then disappeared. He shook his head, closing the door behind him and straddling his bike. As he pulled on his helmet, a chime sounded, and he dug his phone back out.
“Think I’ll probably be tired after working last night and today. But thanks anyway.”
He jammed the phone back into the compartment of his bike, along with his gym stuff. Something was clearly wrong. Did she regret last night? There was no doubt in his mind she’d wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
Her questions about Heather surfaced in his mind as he started up the engine. Hopefully that wasn’t giving Lark second thoughts.
Second thoughts about what? Why was he even thinking this way? They’d had phenomenal sex last night, but she was still hell-bent on leaving town as soon as she could sell the house. He was helping her solve the mystery that might make it happen faster. Sure, his protective nature also wanted to keep her safe, but she had told him more than once she preferred to rely on herself.
That was fine. If she needed space, she could take it. If she wanted to see him, she knew where he lived. If something scary happened and she needed him, she had his number.
Until then, he was going to put her out of his mind. Clenching his jaw, he leaned in to take the turn, then opened up and sped down the road, letting the roar of the engine drown out his thoughts.
* * *
By Sunday night, she estimated she had checked her phone at least a hundred times over the remainder of the weekend, simultaneously hoping Jesse had texted her, and hoping he hadn’t. This obsessive behavior was exactly the reason she’d been right to put some distance between them. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. And if she managed, even for a few seconds, her body would remind her with twinges of delicious soreness from every sensitive spot she had. Damn it to hell.
She�
��d even taken herself to Provincetown for the day, to get out of the house, and get him out of her mind. She had to admit, it was a wild place, even on a Sunday afternoon. But she just kept wishing he was with her.
The best part of her day had been exploring the galleries and talking to the artists and photographers about their work. There was everything ranging from large studios filled with the work of one incredibly talented photographer, to small collective shops selling the work of multiple artists and crafters. She’d even been given a card for a collective looking for someone else to join the group. Everyone split the rent, displayed their work, and contributed hours working in the shop. Of course, she was rusty, not to mention the fact that she probably wouldn’t be around for the entire summer…but still, it was nice to be asked.
Maybe they’d like a nice ghost photo, she thought to herself as she poured soup into a saucepan. She could frame them all; offer up an entire series: “Eva, the Spirit of Holloway House”. Or, as an alternative title, “The Reason I’m Now Terrified to Look in the Bathroom Mirror”. A wry grimace pulled at her lips. Tourists were probably seeking something more along the lines of her shots of the beach.
She’d brought her camera with her and taken dozens of photographs in the few hours she’d been there. She’d have to take a look after dinner and see if anything came out decent. Hopefully no wayward phantoms had made their way into these pictures.
Stirring the soup, she reached for her phone yet again. Nothing from Jesse. A melancholy ache settled in her chest. What did she expect, after the way she’d shut him down? Lord, she was a mess.
As she closed her messages, a notification from her calendar popped up, and her pulse skittered. A reminder about Preston’s follow-up vet appointment. Tomorrow morning.
Ghost Moon (Haunting Romance) Page 12