by Scott, D. D.
Last night, when she’d been unable to sleep for picturing Justin and the brunette in a passionate embrace she could honestly visualize because she had once shared such embraces with him, she started to really question why she left him at all. They’d both lived in the unsightly part of town, two short blocks apart, but Justin had been charging headlong into a bright future. At the top of their high school class, even if he looked like a kid about to rob a convenience store, the Trues were old money, blue blood and great minds, though Justin’s father had ruined that legacy for his wife and four sons. His anger and addictions had taken them to the brink of hell. It was a wonder the True boys had survived.
And Justin, ah, there had been no holding him back. Looks, brains and kindness. Jesus, he’d been close to perfect. Too close for an insecure girl who had her own disconcerting upbringing to justify.
So she left him before he could leave her.
With the realization ringing in her mind like a church bell, she drew a breath layered with the scent of freshly turned soil, honeysuckle and raw tobacco. At the intersection of Pine and Maple, she halted. Decision time. Maple ran past the high school, Pine past Justin’s house. Someone had mentioned that he’d purchased the old Myer cottage.
Coward, she thought, and turned down Maple. The school’s main parking lot was crowded with people setting up rows of small tents and at the back, a group of men assembling a stage. Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” poured from the speakers with a crackle and a high-pitched squeal. She remembered Fontana telling her that the wine tasting in town was followed by an outdoor dance. Jimmy Mallard, who had kissed her behind his father’s barn in seventh grade, was playing with his band, of all things. She had not known him to ever have a band and wasn’t expecting much.
At the end of the block, she drew to slow jog, then a walk, done for the morning. Now it was time for coffee, a cappuccino if she could find it, and a bagel. She would kill for a bagel and cream cheese. She crossed the street and there sat Pine again, grinning at her like a Cheshire cat. She chewed on the inside of her lip, debating. Last night had ended badly. Feeling like an intruder at someone else’s party, she and Fontana left the gallery soon after her altercation with Justin. To watch him snuggle up to Miss Sophistication was more than she could pretend to endure. Obviously, she was losing her mind and losing it quickly, but she felt a little possessive where Justin True was concerned.
Insanity, yes, but there you had it.
What to do about the fact that he was still mad? And that she couldn’t blame him? Maybe nothing. Less than forty-eight hours to rectify thirteen years of anger and hurt, it felt like a ticking clock from a James Bond film.
She sighed and shoved her damp bangs from her face. Buck up, Prescott. He’s probably out and about already or sleeping in with the brunette. A quick jog past his house couldn’t hurt, like calling and hanging up in the old days. Plus, she was dying to see what he had done with the Myer cottage. Lovely, with latticework and gray shingles, if she had the right house in mind, it was the only one in town that looked as if it belonged on the New England coast.
Of course, her plan went to hell in a handbasket when she reached the house—she had the right one—and there he sat, on the front steps, his iPad in his hands, a coffee mug by his side. She stopped at the white picket fence surrounding the neat front yard and rested her arms along the top, leaning in to observe. Damn, he was so cute it almost hurt to look at him. A baseball cap sat on his head, a bit crooked, sprigs of hair sticking out on both sides. His cheeks and jaw were covered with a light dusting of stubble, dark enough to give him a swarthy look. He had on a long sleeve Dartmouth T-shirt and jeans that looked like ones he’d had back in the day. She smiled as he wiggled his bare toes and murmured something as he swiped his finger across the screen. His shoulders were broader than they’d appeared in his suit jacket, and his height added a lean edge to his physique. She was a bit surprised by the chest muscles she noted beneath his cotton T. Gone was the boy who had lost more fights than he’d won.
This man looked like he could take care of himself just fine.
“Coming in or what?”
Her hands tightened on the wooden slats. Still some of the anger from last night in his tone. Justin didn’t lift his head, but she saw one dark brow lift and slide beneath the shadow of his hat. With a little laugh at her own stupidity, she opened the gate and walked down the front path. She had to come see him while wearing leggings and a ratty Atlanta Braves sweatshirt. Great idea, Lainey. “If that’s decent coffee in your mug, and you’re willing to share, you’re my new best friend.”
He lifted his head, his face partially hidden by the shade of his bill. “Actually, it’s a cappuccino.”
“Are you kidding?” She dropped to the step and peered into his mug. “You’re not kidding.”
His lips curved. “I would never joke about coffee in a town that’s severely lacking. Would be pretty cruel.” He jacked his thumb over his shoulder. “My little machine is sitting in there, just waiting for another order.”
“I’m in,” she said and rose to follow him inside, trying hard to keep her eyes off his trim bottom outfitted in denim so worn it was almost white. One hole above a back pocket revealed skin. And nothing but skin. She swallowed. Dear God, was he going commando under there?
Forcing her mind from the gutter, she glanced around the house as they traveled through the den and into the kitchen. Masculine colors, lots of dark brown and maroon. Framed photographs graced the walls, many similar to those she had observed at the gallery. “The photographs are Campbell’s?”
Justin placed his iPad on the kitchen table and moved with swift efficiency through the motions of cappuccino creation. “You’ve heard of his work?” he asked over the gentle roar of the coffee grinder.
Lainey pulled a chair out and slid into it. She almost cried when she heard the sizzle of steaming milk and smelled the mildly bitter aroma of espresso. “Sure, who hasn’t?” Campbell True, Justin’s first cousin, was one of the most famous photographers in the country. Two years older in school, he’d nonetheless been part of their crew until he left for college. “I have one of his books, the African landscapes.”
“He’s done well. In fact, part of my success with the gallery is riding on having exclusive rights to some of his pieces.” He placed a steaming mug in front of her. “Barista, I’m not. But it’ll do in a pinch.”
She wrapped both hands around the mug and brought it to her lips with a sigh of pleasure. The guy was amazing. Gorgeous, intelligent, creative and he handled a steam wand like a pro. Feeling his regard, she glanced up to find his dark gaze trained on her, visible beneath his cap from her low vantage point. “What?” She licked her lips, dabbed. “Foam?”
He sighed and shook his head, staring hard, his Adam’s apple shifting as he swallowed. “Nope, no foam,” he finally said and turned away.
While he went through the motions of making a cappuccino for himself, she studied his kitchen. Stainless steel appliances, marble countertops, every accent red, black or gray. He definitely had a minimalist style, and he had created a charmingly urban oasis in the country. His lifestyle was reflected in his home.
His iPad blinked, and she slid it close and tapped the screen. No password entry, it lit up and opened on the About Us page of her practice’s website. She nudged it back and took a hasty sip of her drink. Her heart drummed in her chest, and she felt a flush steal across her cheeks. Why was he looking her up online? Not that she hadn’t Googled him last night when she got back to her hotel room. Or in the past when she couldn’t help herself.
But, still.
“So, you’re in New York most of the time?” she asked, rather than sit there watching his buttocks shift in faded denim and wondering if he still had feelings for her. That damn hole above his pocket was fascinating. She so wanted to stick her finger in it and touch bare skin.
He sat down across from her, his mug cradled between his palms. He had nice hands, wide, h
is fingers long and slender. “I just made junior partner with my firm. But, I don’t know.” He tapped his mug on the counter and tilted his head down in thought. Would it be rude to ask him to remove his hat? She wanted to see his face. “I did some pro bono work on a house in Charleston last year, and I think architectural restoration is the way I want to go. And there’s plenty of that here, but…” He shrugged, face still hidden from view. “It would be a big change. Career, life.”
Going on instinct, she lifted from her seat and pulled his cap from his head. His hair stuck out at all angles, charmingly undone. She curled her hands into fists to keep from plunging them in and bringing his mouth to hers.
As she went to settle back, he grabbed her wrist and held tight. Bringing the pulse point to his nose, he inhaled. “You smell the same, Lainey, why is that? Loves Baby Soft. Or is that just my memory talking?” His lips brushed her palm and moved lower, drifting across each fingertip. The air between then changed, thickened. The baseball hat dropped from her hand as his gaze ran the length of her and made its way slowly back. His eyes when they finally met hers looked as warm as her skin felt. Liquid honey.
“What would you do if I dragged you to my bedroom and striped that sweatshirt from your lovely little body and showed you what I remember about us? What I dreamed of doing with you so many times. Damn, the restraint I had then. I thought we had time to get there, making love. And I so enjoyed the rest. I’ve learned a lot, Lainey, I’ve paid attention. Even if I’m insane to admit it, I’d love to pay attention to you.”
Lainey closed her eyes and let her senses take hold. His breath hit her cheek as he leaned over the table, pressed his lips to the sensitive skin beneath her ear and sucked. He smelled of citrus and coffee, and the lightest hint of shampoo.
“Whatever we were waiting for,” he whispered. “I must have been crazy to deprive myself of you.”
She wanted to touch him, do all the things they had denied themselves the first time around. She wanted to feel his lips on her breasts, his teeth biting and scraping her raw as he explored her body, and she explored his. They hadn’t had sex back then…but they’d done just about everything else.
Need sparked and lit, sweeping through her. For the first time in years, she felt sexy, attractive, desired. She almost wept for knowing she could feel this way again.
“What would you do, Lai, if I showed no restraint this time.” He came around the table until her stood before her. His lids hung low, as if he held them open with effort. His hands flexed once, twice, by his side. He seemed to shimmer, restraint battling with lust and making him appear a bit feral. He drew her to her feet and whispered, “I’ve always wondered why I agreed to wait. I made you come but never while I was deep, so deep, inside you. What would you do if I decided the wait was over?”
“Let you,” she whispered. “I’d let you.”
His hands came up to cradle her face, his lips meeting hers. “Good answer.”
Four
As Lainey settled against him, the past returned to Justin’s mind and his body, born on a rising tide of hunger. The anger he’d felt last night still bubbled beneath the surface, beneath his skin…the unbelievable rage he’d felt knowing she had left him for a man she had not loved. He had seethed inside, the emotions raw and ugly.
She had loved him.
And still she’d left. Right now, though, this minute, he wanted to want. Take. Give. No thinking, no analyzing, no mourning for the goddamned past.
He slipped his hand into her hair and tilted her head, angling her lips to his. They parted on a sigh, and he almost melted into a puddle imagining the moans, the whimpers, the appeals, he could make her utter. He yearned for this woman as he’d yearned for no other in his life. Even as he claimed her, diving deeper, more, more, he realized that this simple fact scared the shit out of him.
He could argue all he liked…but his body knew what his mind sought to deny.
Pausing, he recorded the moment in stunned silence, his eyes roving her face: high cheekbones, impossibly long lashes and a chin that jutted just enough to give the appearance of stubbornness. And her eyes when she opened them, tilted slightly, they were her sexiest feature. Sultry, exotic and as gray as smoke. He let his gaze trail the curves of her body. The girlishly thin tomboy wearing thrift store clothing had made way for the alluring woman standing in front of him. A wave of unexpected longing surged through him as he realized he’d missed watching her grow up.
Taking his cheek in her hand, she shifted, pulled his bottom lip into her mouth and sucked. She stirred against him, and he crouched to allow for their difference in height, bringing them hip-to-hip. With a bump and slide, they fit into place. He groaned low in his throat, unable to hold back the plea, his cock hardening against rough denim. Against her.
“More,” she whispered, as if he’d kissed the word into her mouth. “Now.”
He felt frenzied, wild, as if he’d left his mind behind and was body only, living, breathing, on instinct, driven by heat, desire, need. The scent of her, that damned floral something he had never associated with anything but love and angst swirling around him.
Slanting his mouth over hers, he promised to give her more.
This was going to happen. Finally. And he wasn’t going to let her go until he knew her in that way. All the way. Fate tied him to Lainey Prescott. He had known it the first time he laid eyes on her.
His heart had known. In a way he could not describe or explain.
Her arm slid around his back and down, and he paused, pulled back slightly. Breath coming hard from his lungs, he watched a strip of sunlight roll over her like a wave, kissing her hair with golden highlights, her cheeks with a flush born of longing. Her finger worked into a hole in the back of his jeans, and she stroked what she could of his bare buttock. With her pinkie, if he was not mistaken.
“Anything on under there?” she asked breathlessly.
He shook his head, took her by the elbows and backed her into the wall. The zipper of her hoodie was halfway to her waist before he had time to think, her small breasts bare, the nipples pink, perfect. Wonderful to find she had on nothing below, either. He blew on one nipple, then the other, and felt his muscles strain as he watched them peak and bud. His lips followed where his breath had been, then his teeth. Torturing her. Gentle, and when she requested, not so gentle, until he wondered if his steady grip kept her from slithering to the floor. Her lids fluttered and a muffled whimper rolled from her throat, the nudge and rub of their bodies sending a fevered rush through him.
He worked his hand inside the waistband of her sweatpants and maneuvered until he met her slick heat, the warm folds welcoming him back. She moaned and dropped her head against the wall, her lips parting, air rushing forth. Her cheeks were flushed, her breasts rising and falling. What a beautiful woman she had become, he thought. And, too, she felt familiar, captivating, in a way that made his heart contract. He shook his head, trying to refute the sensation of falling. Of landing in a place he wondered if he’d ever left.
Stay in the moment, Just, nothing more.
He moved in close, his lips at her ear. “Remember the times I made you come? Before? God, you were the most stunning thing I had ever seen in my life. The first time, in my bedroom, after the ballgame. We had less than an hour before my father got home, and I thought I’d die from wanting you.” He sank his finger deep inside her, again, and again. She moaned against his chest, her hand rising to grasp his shirt, the other sliding low to clutch his hip and draw him in. “And now you’re a stunning woman, Lai, and I want more, too. I’m dying to have more.”
He worked another finger inside her and did a gradual glide, muscle memory for what she liked. Slow, deep, thorough. His Lainey had not been a rough-and-ready girl.
“Don’t stop,” she said against his neck. A gasp raced from her lips. “It’s been so long. Don’t. Stop.” She slid her hand around to the front of his jeans, and he was honestly afraid he would embarrass himself if she hit her t
arget. He drew her hand up before she arrived, lowered his head and kissed her softly. “Let me. Now, just let me.”
The kiss deepened as they battled, passion flowing into every hidden reach of his body. What if he gave her another chance, he questioned as he heard her breath catch, felt her body clench around his fingers? What if it was fate, they were fate, as he’d always believed? What if that teenage fool who had loved without reservation had not been mistaken?
Lainey sighed and moaned, rocking against him. He looked over her shoulder, for one, brief moment calculating how long it would take him to carry her to his bedroom, or, hell, the couch. Couch was closer. He glanced to the side. Really, the kitchen counter would work well enough.
No. He was hard and thick, chafing inside his damned jeans, but he’d die before he let her leave this kitchen without breaking into pieces in his arms.
So, first things first.
Because, from the way she was responding, he suspected that it had been a while since she’d experienced the kind of pleasure he would so love to give her.
“Relax, sweetheart, I’ll fix things.” He pictured sliding her sweatpants to her ankles and going down on her, which he had only done to her once before, and probably badly. Deciding the idea was the best he’d ever had, Justin kissed his way down. Over her collarbone, a pause to suckle her breasts, nipping each rib and her toned stomach, then a dead stop when he hit her hoodie zipper. With a grin, he flipped it open and dropped to his knees before her. The pounding of his heart almost blocked her whispered entreaties to continue. Almost.
His phone vibrated from its spot on the kitchen table and two seconds later began to ring.
Her hands tangled in his hair, pressing him closer to her heat. “Ignore it.”
From his crouched position, he gazed up at her, feeling like he was listening to her speak while underwater, completely delayed understanding. She blinked and looked down at him, her hoodie hanging off one shoulder, her breasts bouncing with each deep breath, her flaxen hair tousled. Her eyes had darkened to the color of wet ash, darker than he ever remembered seeing them. No orgasm yet, but damn, she looked well loved.