He was so hard. His shaft was thick and solid, even through the layers of his jeans and my leggings, and my thoughts condensed down to the empty, needy clench between my legs. I was pinned here, between an unyielding man and a cast-iron sink, burning up, and everything was blurry when I tuned into the rolling pressure of his body. Of what it could be.
"Because I'll want more than your mouth and this is not the night for that," he added.
"That's a decision you own?" I asked as his hand traveled up my belly, settled on the underside of my breasts. "All yours?"
"Yeah. It is."
It wasn't only my thoughts gone blurry now but all of me, every eyelash, every centimeter of skin, every muscle that couldn't decide whether to clench or melt.
"For as much as I want you"—he ran his knuckles over my pebbled nipple, tearing a gusty sigh from me in the process—"tonight's not the night, Peach."
With all the severity I could muster, I asked, "And what has led you to that determination?"
He passed his knuckles over me again, catching that nipple between the joints of his middle and index fingers when he reversed course. He clamped down—and didn't release. "Because you need your rest. It's been a long day and you've been through a lot."
"Excuse me but—"
"I'm not hearing it. The fire was enough, but everything else? Not happening. You need to get the shadows out of your eyes."
"And my divorce official?" There I was, fixer extraordinaire, negotiating with the man pinching my nipple so hard I could feel my pulse throbbing in my core.
His beard rasped the back of my neck when he nodded. "It would help."
"Preston went ahead and got engaged. He didn't wait," I wailed.
"One of the many reasons I hope I never come face-to-face with him," Linden replied, growly as ever.
He brought the heel of his palm to the center of my back, kneading his way up my spine until he reached the base of my neck. He pressed, gently forcing my chin to my chest while he rubbed the gathered tension.
"This seems unnecessarily paternalistic." It was possible I moaned this but I stood by my point. I didn't need his strict daddy routine.
"Maybe so." He continued working my neck and shoulders while holding my nipple hostage. "Doesn't change anything. You need sleep, Jas, and rest too."
"Those things are the same."
He dug his thumb into a knot between my shoulder blades. "They are not."
"Don't decide you know better. I'll agree, it's a moment of upheaval for me. But that doesn't mean I can't say yes or no. It doesn't mean I don't want to hear your kidnapping fantasies while you back me up against a tree."
He leaned in, his beard brushing my ear. My nipple was throbbing throbbing throbbing and he went right on pinching as if he could do this all day, all night. "You liked that, did you?"
"Just because I liked hearing it doesn't mean I want you to do it. If you think I want you stealing me out of my bed in the middle of the night, you have a crowbar coming your way."
I felt the laugh move through him. "There goes that plan."
"Yeah, workshop that one a bit. Shine it up and come back to me with a fresh version."
"Here's what's going to happen, Jasper," he said, his voice drained of all teasing. "I'm going to offer you the fold-out bed in my den or that sofa over there in the living room because there was a motherfucking fire in your house today and I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay there. I've slept on both and can say, without a doubt, the sofa is much more comfortable. I'd offer you my bed but I know you'll pitch a fit over that and then set the kitchen on fire again with whatever you bake to live up to your honor code. "
"I couldn't possibly—"
"Hush. I'm not finished. Since I know you're not going to accept these offers, even if you should, I'll just invite you to come over and use the shower and anything else, anytime you want. I have a packed day tomorrow and I'll probably be out early but you don't have to wait for me to leave or get out of here before I come back."
He eased up on my nipple but that was worse. Very much worse. I was still pulsing like I was one great heartbeat and not a stitch else, and the slightly reduced pressure only made it pound harder. And that didn't even account for the ceaseless ache between my legs and the cock grinding against my ass. Just a heartbeat.
"Right. Well. I—um." I waved a hand in the general direction of my place. Included in that gesture was the cozy sectional where I could vividly imagine myself settling in for the night as well as Linden's bedroom. The one he slept in. Ohhhhh, he probably slept naked. I bet he did. "I should be on my way."
"You sure about that?" Linden asked this in that imperious way of his, as if he knew the answer, knew what I needed better than I did, knew everyfuckingthing yet he asked because he wanted me to think I had a choice in the matter. I had the option to leave and I could very well do that but then we'd both know it wasn't what I wanted. Not even a little bit.
"I am completely certain."
He peeled away from me, his heat and the pressure pinning me to the sink gone in one breath. He released my nipple in another. I nearly pitched over, my legs shaky and my midsection desperate for something to squeeze. And my nipple, well, I could barely feel that specific area of my body. I imagined it looked like a cartoon character's thumb after a good smash with a hammer—five times its normal size with a chorus line of exclamation points popping above my areola. Oh, yes, I was completely certain that it was time for me to go.
"Of course you are," he replied, something smug in his tone.
I turned around. He was already on his way to the door. "Yes, I have an appointment in the morning."
Linden dipped his chin, acknowledging my decision but not buying a word of it. "Do you have good directions this time?"
I smoothed my hands down my sides and strapped on a resolute grin. "My directions are fine, thank you for asking."
He paused at the door while I stepped into my shoes. He intended to walk me home and I could argue if I wished but I wouldn't change his mind.
As he held the door open for me, he asked, "Where are you headed?"
Cold evening air bit at my cheeks and nose. "North, I believe."
He chuckled as he fell into step with me. "That covers a lot of territory."
I didn't know why it made me nervous to discuss my appointment with the divorce attorney but an anxious shiver stirred in my belly. "I'll be just fine."
A noise rumbled out of Linden though he didn't form any words until we climbed the front steps. "Do you want me to give you a ride?"
My throat tightened. "You said you had a busy morning lined up."
He shrugged. "Nothing I can't reschedule."
I swallowed around a thick, throbbing stone of emotion, one sure to be a product of this strange nervousness. His questions were polite and reasonable yet everything inside me prickled and worried like I was warding off some kind of attack. "No need. I'll be all right on my own."
I turned my attention to the very important work of digging the keychain from my pocket. Linden eyed me as I did this. Always eyeing me, always sizing me up. Always thinking about sinking those teeth right into my neck.
"I'm sure you will be," he said. "I can still give you a ride. So you'll be on time."
I shifted away from him, now busy with the work of unlocking the old door. "I'll be all right," I repeated. "You have a busy schedule."
"Where is this office? Do you have an address?"
I rattled off the street name, adding, "I've already checked out the directions online. Seems straightforward."
"There's nothing straightforward about the roads into Boston. In fact, we go to great pains to make sure they're as curved and convoluted as possible."
"I've noticed this."
"There will be rotaries," he continued. "You might want to plan an extra hour or two into your commute."
"Traffic circles," I murmured. "Thank you for the advice." I pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold
. Turning back to face him, I grinned, saying, "Thanks for walking me back. And everything else today. Unnecessary but very kind."
He folded his arms over his broad chest and tipped his head toward the door. "Lock up, all right? I'll wait."
"Have a good night." I closed the door and leaned back against it, my cheek flat on the panel. I didn't need to glance through the peephole to know Linden was still there. True to his word, that one. I was willing to bet he'd stay until he heard the deadbolt slide into place and it wouldn't matter whether it took me two minutes or two hours. He'd wait and I didn't know why that sent another bolt of unease through my chest, into my belly.
The strangest thing was this wasn't any form of worry I'd known before. Something was happening inside me, something that danced along the edges of worry, but that wasn't it. All I knew about this sensation was I couldn't decide whether to move toward it or away from it.
I ran the pad of my finger over the cool metal as I drew out this ritual a few seconds longer. What would he do if I didn't engage the bolt? Would he turn the knob and step inside, press himself up against me while he announced he'd lock the door for me? Would I allow that? Would I let him barge in and issue orders? Would I acquiesce to those orders? Would I let myself enjoy it?
Seeing as I didn't have firm answers to any of those questions but most notably the final one, I closed two fingertips around the bolt and flipped it into place.
Through the panel, I heard, "Night, Jasper."
I sank my teeth into my lower lip. I couldn't help it. No one had ever invested so much energy into looking after me before. No one had ever walked me home, waited until I was safe inside. No one had ever offered me a hanky while I cried or required I change into yoga pants for some nature therapy. No one stood by while I fully and completely fell apart and then fed me stew for supper.
I worried my lip some more and gave myself a moment to be the object of his concern without trying to convince myself I wasn't enjoying it.
When a knock sounded at my door the next morning, I was one leg into a pair of slim black trousers. I hop-stumbled toward the front of the house as I wiggled into the other leg. As much as I adored my dresses and the disequilibrating power of knife-sharp femininity, there was something about a pantsuit that said, I am in fucking charge here. Try me at your own peril.
Even though this attorney was on my side, I felt the need to walk in with some ass-kicking armor in place. A bit breathless from struggling into those trousers, I pressed a hand to my forehead as I opened the door.
I'd expected to find a delivery person with another fruit bouquet from my mother (and Martin) on the other side. Maybe one of the salvage and reclamation companies I'd contacted about hauling away the assortment of bricks piled up in the backyard. Those puppies sold for as much as a buck a brick, which could add up to enough to replace the water heater and electrical panel.
I did not expect to find Linden. "Ready to go, Peach?"
"But—what are you doing here? What about your schedule? You said—"
"Everything can be moved," he cut in, twirling his key ring on his index finger. "I'll be in the truck when you're all set."
Without any further explanation or—or anything, he turned, hulked down the steps, and disappeared around the driveway. Still frozen in the threshold, I heard a door open, then shut, and the roar of an engine followed.
The damp morning air wafted over my bare feet and I shook myself back into action. I had to locate shoes, run a brush through my hair, and dust on enough makeup to disguise the shadows under my eyes from sitting up all night, wondering what to do with my life now. Busy with those tasks, I didn't allow myself to form assumptions or acknowledge the warmth coursing through me at Linden's appearance. He was driving me because he expected I'd get lost. That was it.
There was nothing special or significant about this gesture. Nothing.
After checking my hair one last time, I joined Linden in his truck. He was tapping out a message on his phone while I settled in beside him. "You really don't need to do this—"
He held up a hand. "I got it, Jasper. I know."
"Oh. Well. Thank you."
He draped his arm over the back of my seat to glance out the rear window. "No worries."
"I didn't say I was worried. I said thank you."
He cut a piercing grin in my direction as he drove up the street. "It's all good."
"But you know how I feel about people doing things for me. I'll have to fire up the crockpot."
I was aiming for some self-deprecating humor but it was clear I'd missed the mark when Linden said, "I know you won't let anyone help you. I know you see it as a liability, a weakness."
Still hoping for humor, I continued, "I'll have to whip up another batch of biscuits. Maybe a banana bread."
"Oh god, please don't. The bananas deserve a better fate than your baking."
We shared a laugh at that and fell into comfortable silence by the time we reached the interstate. Though I wasn't about to announce it to him, handing off the task of navigation was a treat. One less thing to worry about today.
I wasn't worried, not in any true sense of worried. It was more like the feeling of standing on the end of a diving board, toes curled around the edge, heart racing in your chest as if anything could happen when you jumped, anything at all. It could be fun and perfect but it could also hurt. It could be an embarrassing, uncoordinated splash of limbs. Even if you wanted to dive, even if you'd climbed up there because you wanted to go through with it, getting to the edge was something else altogether.
I fished my phone out of my bag and checked the notifications. Nothing new—and that came as a thin, mild relief coupled with unspeakable confusion. I needed to figure out my next steps sooner than later.
Linden reached over, covered my hand with his. "You're nervous," he said as he stilled my fingers. I wasn't sure when I'd started tapping my nails against the screen.
I nodded. "A little, yeah."
He shifted his hand to lace his fingers with mine. "About the lawyer or something else?"
"I don't know. I have a lot to figure out. The lawyer and…everything else."
"Not today you don't. One thing at a time." He turned into an office park and stopped in front of the last building. It was low and gray, and completely ordinary. "Here we are."
I stared at the shingled building and the sign announcing the practice partners, and it struck me that I'd never told Linden the specific location. He must've looked it up in advance. I didn't know how to react to that. I wanted to take it as proof he cared about me—he cared much more than he was annoyed by me—but that seemed foolish. When I boiled it all down, it didn't matter that much and it probably mattered nothing at all to him.
"Would you like me to come in with you?"
This was nothing. I meant nothing to him. He was just very neighborly. "Um…"
"Let me put it to you this way: Would it make you uncomfortable if I walked you inside?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Would you get stressed out if a receptionist made an offhand comment referring to me as your significant other?"
"I don't want you to deal with—"
"I asked if it would stress you out. Would it?"
Again, I shook my head. "No."
"Then that's what we'll do." He squeezed my hand. "Stay here. I'll come around."
I watched him kill the engine and disengage his seat belt, and I wanted to honor his request. I wanted to stay in my seat, I wanted it more than anything, but my entire body rebelled against the notion of sitting here and waiting. I couldn't let him help me out of a vehicle when I was perfectly capable. It was a pleasantry but it was also a doorway to leaning on him, relying on him, expecting things from him.
That was the last thing I needed, especially after—oh god—yesterday.
When Linden rounded the hood of the truck and found me standing there, straightening my hair in the side mirror, he blew out a breath, muttered something to himself
, and gave me a slow up-and-down stare. "All right, Jasper. Let's get to it."
Linden was right about being mistaken for my significant other at the front desk, and his repeated insistence that it didn't bother him saved me from apologizing all over the situation while I waited to be called back into a meeting room.
"Why would it bother me?" he asked. "Why would I put any effort into reacting to the presumptions of a stranger?"
I wanted to provide him a thoughtful explanation as to why it was reasonable to feel some sort of way about this but all I could offer was, "I don't know. Sometimes men get weird about being misrepresented."
"Men get weird about being misrepresented?"
I threw my hands up. "Please don't goad me into a 'not all men' moment."
"No, that's not what I'm getting at," he replied, impatience thick in his voice. "What I mean is, if someone can't handle being logically and reasonably mistaken for a significant other in a low-stakes situation, that person is probably forcing a lot of their own insecurities onto you. So no, not all men. Just the ones too fragile to deal with the idea of significance."
I studied him for a moment, his large body wedged into the chair beside me and his gaze steady in a way that made me feel extremely unsteady, like an awkward hatbox on the top of a precarious pile. Like I could come crashing down at any minute and he'd go right on staring, waiting for me to do something better than fall to pieces before him.
"Ms. Cleary? We're ready for you." A woman with a tablet cradled in her arm smiled at me with expectant eyes. "Your partner is welcome to join us too."
He glanced over but kept his gaze on the floor. His voice lowered, he asked, "Will it make you uncomfortable if I go in there with you?"
"Seems a little intimate, considering I've only cried on your shoulder twice and gagged my personal problems all over you."
He bobbed his head as he laughed. "If it would make you feel better, you're welcome to come home with me after this and get naked. I'll also get naked. To balance things out. If you wanted, we could be naked together. That's about as intimate as it gets, Peach."
The Belle and the Beard Page 13