Second Time Around

by Beth Kendrick

  “Let me?!?” Anna choked. “Your kitchen?”

  “—and I let it slide when you called me up, all hysterical in the middle of the night, and accused me of stealing equipment that was right under your nose.”

  Anna’s indignation faltered as she fought off a fresh wave of embarrassment over the Hobart mixer incident.

  “But I’m through being nice,” Trish announced.

  “Then so am I.”

  They faced off in silence for a few seconds, posturing like parka-clad prizefighters.

  “Tell you what,” Anna finally said. “I’ll give you the baby shower job if you step away from my baby name.”

  “I don’t need you to ‘give’ me anything.” Trish grabbed an armful of the Belgian chocolate bars Anna had been eyeing.

  “Hey, I was looking at those!” Anna protested.

  “Yeah, and I’m buying them.” Trish swept her hand to the back of the shelf to make sure she’d gotten every available bar.

  “You can’t buy them all!”

  “Watch me.”

  Anna gasped and reached into Trish’s cart, but Trish slapped her fingers away.

  “Back off, Grabby. That chocolate was on the shelf. That’s fair game. Public domain.” She shook her head. “God, you really are psycho, aren’t you?”

  “But I need it,” Anna said.

  Trish shrugged again. “Life’s a bitch sometimes.”

  “I don’t think ‘life’ is the bitch here.” Anna wrapped her hands around the rim of the cart’s basket while Trish secured the metal handle in a death grip. A brief scuffle ensued, punctuated with high-pitched yelps, until the store manager dashed over to break it up.

  Gary (according to the small gold name tag pinned to his shirt pocket), a stocky, middle-aged man with nervous eyes and patchy stubble, made his way through the small crowd clustered at the end of the aisle and regarded Anna and Trish with evident trepidation before puffing out his chest and asking, “What seems to be the trouble here?”

  Anna pointed at Trish. “She stole my chocolate!”

  “Liar!” Trish retorted. “I got all of this right from the shelf.”

  Gary’s gaze went back and forth between the two of them for a moment. Finally, he addressed Anna. “Is that true? It was on the shelf?”

  “Technically, yes,” Anna admitted.

  Damp sweat stains had started to appear in the armpit creases of Gary’s white shirt. “I’m going to escort you to the checkout line,” he told Trish. “And then I’m going to have to ask you both to leave the premises.”

  “We’re banned?” Anna had to fight an overwhelming urge to laugh. She’d never been banned from anyplace, ever. She’d never even gotten detention in high school.

  “Not banned,” the manager said. “But I’m going to have to ask you to finish your shopping at another time. We can’t allow this kind of behavior.”

  Anna lowered her face and humbled her tone. “Of course. I apologize, sir, and I promise this will never happen again.”

  When she glanced up again, she saw Trish making a face and mouthing the words “kiss ass.”

  She ignored Trish and asked Gary, “Before I go, is there any way you could check in the back and see if there are any more of those chocolate bars available?”

  He used his shirt cuff to dab the sweat off his upper lip. “Whatever we have is on the shelf. A new shipment might be in next week.”

  “Guess you’ll just have to use Nestlé’s Toll House,” Trish said. “But that shouldn’t be a problem, you being the confectionary ninja and all.”

  “Checkout,” Gary said hastily. “Let’s go.”

  Trish tossed a wink back over her shoulder at Anna. “Until we meet again, Legacy.”

  “Truth is tough.”

  —Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. The Professor at the Breakfast Table

  How can you look at once so delicate and so decadent?” MacCormick’s gaze raked over Helena’s unclothed body, his eyes full of heat, nearly palpable upon her flesh.

  Even in the soft candlelight, she felt shy before him—she’d never been exposed like this, had never before been in a room with an unclothed man. But he gave her no time for a maiden’s sensibilities.

  His mouth met hers once more. When she drew a breath, she felt his tongue slip in between her lips. She’d read enough about kissing to know that she should meet him in kind. Once she did, he groaned against her, his grip on her waist tightening.

  Deeper and harder he kissed her until any inhibitions that might have remained vanished. Nothing could stop her from having this man. As if he sensed her complete surrender to him, he maneuvered himself between her legs.

  “I should no’ do this, but God help me, I want you so much,” he grated.

  “You promised to show me,” she reminded him. “You promised me anything.”

  “I’ve something I dearly want to show you, something I’ve been imagining. …”

  His mouth roamed down her neck to her breasts. When he suckled one budding nipple between his lips, his tongue lashed over it, hot and wet, making her moan low. Her other breast received the same tender ministrations before he began kissing down her stomach.

  Once he reached her navel and continued lower, she gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m preparing to be very improper with you.”

  As she felt the rasp of his beard nuzzling her inner thigh, she trembled with both surprise and anticipation.

  “We’re nearin’ the point of no return, love.” His voice sounded strained, his accent growing stronger with each word. His rough palms skimmed up over her belly to cup her breasts. He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, which were still damp and aching from his kisses. “If you want to stop, tell me now.”

  Her arms fell over her head. “Let us reconvene on the matter of stopping—after you reveal your notion of improper.”

  Helena was in no way prepared for the shock of pleasure when he pressed his mouth to her sex. Her knees fell open wide. The second he delved his tongue, she helplessly arched her back, moaning his name.

  Again and again, his tongue flicked and played, the sensations so exquisite, so maddening. … She threaded her fingers through his hair to draw him closer as she rocked her hips to his mouth. Just as the coiling tension within her threatened to release, he broke away.

  “No!” she cried in frustration. “Please. … Why did you stop?”

  He raised himself up on his knees, sliding his arms under her thighs. With a devilish glint in his eyes, he said, “I’ve only just begun.”

  Want to hear a secret?” Gavin murmured into Cait’s ear. They were entwined in his bed, naked and exhausted, listening to the chapel bell toll across campus. Pillows and clothes were scattered across the sun-dappled green throw rug.

  “Mmm.” She tucked her head under his chin and breathed in his scent along with the fragrance from the freshly laundered sheets. “It’s about time. Spill your guts, Clayburn.”

  “I think I’m addicted to you,” he said. Cait couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the slow, wicked smile in his voice. “Your taste, your smell, the way you do that thing with your tongue.”

  “I have many hidden talents.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re like …” He paused, thinking. “What was that jacked-up opium derivative that Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins used to take?”

  “Laudanum?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed her back, starting at her shoulders and kneading his way down her spine. “You’re like a bottle of laudanum in plaid boxer shorts.”

  She laughed. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “I’m quoting directly from Shakespeare’s sonnets,” he swore.

  “And which sonnet would that be, Professor?”

  “Uh, that would the little-known ‘In Praise of Hallucination-Inducing Hotties.’”

  “I see.”

  “Shall I compare thee to a habit-forming controlled substance? Thou art more—”


  “If you ever want me to do that thing with my tongue again, I’d quit while you’re ahead.”

  “Shutting up now.”

  “Have you noticed we have a theme going?” She nodded at the wall of bookshelves opposite the window. “Literary love nests: libraries, English department offices—”

  “You have a theme going,” he corrected. “I was just trying to take you to lunch.”

  “That’s what you said last time, and the time before that, and the time before that.” She rolled to one side and stretched her arms out over her head. “I think we’re going to have to accept the fact that we’re never going to actually sit down to a meal in public together.”

  “What about right now?” He sat up, suddenly energized. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of our systems, let’s get dressed and hit the town. You. Me. Clothes. It can happen.”

  She gazed up at him a moment, then asked, “But what if we get dressed and get out there and then, you know.”

  His gaze intensified. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Does it bother you that we don’t actually know each other?” She reached up to brush back the fringe of dark hair over his forehead. “In the nonbiblical sense?”

  “That’s why we’d be going to dinner.”

  She nibbled her lower lip. “Yes, but …”

  He settled in next to her. “I’m all yours. What would you like to know?”

  So many questions sprang to mind: What’s barricaded behind your guest room door? Why are you calling your FedEx guy for urgent predawn pickups? What was your last girlfriend like and is she stashed under your floorboards?

  Cait decided she’d start with a softball and work her way up. “Where’d you grow up?”

  “Portland, Maine.”

  “Favorite film of all time?” she asked.

  “Blade Runner.”

  “Never seen it.”

  “How can that be?” He shook his head. “Ridley Scott? Harrison Ford? Come on, it’s a classic.”

  “I’ve seen Indiana Jones,” she said.

  “Not the same thing. Not even remotely. That’s it—we’re watching Blade Runner on our next date. Along with your all-time favorite movie, which is?”

  “Don’t judge me.” She covered her eyes. “Dirty Dancing.”

  “That’s going to be quite the double feature.” He grinned. “See? This isn’t so hard. Next question, Ms. Johnson?”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath and lowered her voice with exaggerated suspense. “What’s the deep, dark secret lurking behind that mysterious padlock in the hallway?”

  He didn’t miss a beat. “Would you believe Jimmy Hoffa?”

  “No.”

  “Narnia?”

  “Come on.” She whapped him in the chest with a pillow. “I’m dying to know.”

  “Hold that thought.” The mattress bowed as he leapt out of bed and headed for the adjoining master bathroom.

  She lifted her head and called after him. “Gavin?”

  “Back in a second.” He closed the door.

  Then she heard the shower turn on. So much for the Q&A portion of this rendezvous.

  Somewhere in the depths of his pants pockets, a cell phone started ringing.

  Cold, naked, and very confused, Cait gathered the rumpled white cotton sheet around her like a makeshift toga and knocked on the bathroom door. “Your cell’s ringing.”

  No response. All she could hear was running water and the occasional splash. She knocked once more, then sat down on the edge of the bed and waited.

  The cell phone stopped ringing. Two seconds later, the landline started. Since the phone on the nightstand was simple white plastic, there was no caller ID box, but Cait figured whoever was calling must really want to talk to Gavin.

  She hammered on the bathroom door with the heel of her hand. “Gavin! Your phones keep ringing. Would you like me to pick up?”

  His response was garbled, but she thought she heard him say, “Take a message.”

  So she picked up the receiver and tried to sound casual. Or at very least, clothed. “Hello?”

  “Hello?” said a low, cultured, female voice.

  Cait’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Hello?” repeated the other woman. “Who is this, please?”

  “This is, um—” Cait coughed. “Gavin Clayburn’s phone.”

  “Ah.” An audible intake of breath. “I’ll call back.”

  “Wait!” Cait cried, desperate for more clues. “I can take a message for him.”

  “No specific message. Just kindly let him know that Yvette called.”

  “I’ll do that,” Cait said, and the caller clicked off immediately.

  By the time Gavin emerged from the bathroom, showered, shaved, and smelling vaguely of aftershave, Cait’s list of questions for him had multiplied exponentially.

  “Who’s Yvette?” She cocked her head and waited for him to assure her that Yvette’s my sister/cousin/incredible talking French poodle.

  Instead, his expression hovered halfway between horror and excitement. “Yvette called?”

  “About five minutes ago. She sounded quite sultry on the phone. Is there anything I should know about?”

  His gazed shifted. “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. She refused to leave a message. Just wanted me to let you know she called.”

  Relief flooded into his eyes. “Okay, great. Thanks.” He leaned over and kissed her hard. “You look devastating wrapped up in my sheet like that. We better get going before I lose all self-control again. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Cait pulled away and yanked the sheet up to her chin. “Are you kidding me? That’s it?”

  He opened his closet and selected a simple white button-down shirt and a pressed pair of khakis. “What do you mean?”

  As if on cue, the doorbell chimed. Gavin zipped up his pants and took a single step toward the hallway.

  “Do not answer that,” Cait commanded. “We’re not done here.”

  He stopped in his tracks. “I’m listening.”

  “I don’t need you to listen, I need you to talk. I have questions, burning questions, and it makes me very nervous that you keep changing the subject and deflecting me with humor and escaping into the shower whenever I—”

  Ding-dong.

  “Hey, G?” bellowed a voice from the front porch. “It’s Simon, man. Got a delivery for you. Overnight express.”

  Cait threw up her hands. “What is the deal with you and your FedEx guy?”

  “It’s fine,” Gavin said quietly. “He can leave it at the door.”

  But Simon was nothing if not persistent. “Hey! I need a signature here, buddy! I know you’re home; your car’s in the driveway.”

  Gavin shrugged in helpless frustration. “He needs a signature.”

  “I heard.”

  “I have to get that.”

  She sighed. “Of course you do.”

  He ran down the stairs and she collected her clothes, save her lucky plaid boxer shorts, which had somehow gotten lost in the frenzy of foreplay. She arrived on the landing just in time to glimpse Gavin sending off Simon with a bottle of water.

  “See you soon,” Gavin called. “Say hi to Heather for me.”

  “Will do.” Simon climbed back into his truck and waved. “Thanks for the water.”

  Gavin turned, closed the front door, and stashed a bulky Tyvek envelope in the storage bench of the antique walnut hall tree.

  “What’s in the package?” she asked.

  He closed the bench lid firmly. “Nothing.”

  She sat down on the stairs and rested her chin on her hand. “Gavin. What’s going on? The padlock, the phone call, your deep and enduring bond with your FedEx courier. I have to tell you, I’m more than a little freaked out here.”

  He finally looked up at her, and she could tell that he was choosing his words very carefully. “I’m sorry. You’re right. The last few weeks have been a little crazy.”

  “No kidding.
” She leaned against the banister.

  “But it’s got nothing to do with us.”

  She held her tongue and waited him out.

  “I’ll explain everything eventually, I promise, but for now you’ll just have to take it on faith that I have very good reasons for all of this.”

  Cait pushed off the banister and sat up straight. “As I was saying earlier, we don’t know each other that well yet. But here’s something you should understand about me: I don’t do secrets, and I don’t tolerate subterfuge. My ex-boyfriend was big on both, and I’m not going down that road again.”

  “Is that why you left your teaching position?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  He nodded. “I hear you, loud and clear. But I’m asking you to realize that I’m not your ex-boyfriend. I’m asking you to trust me. Just for a little while. Can you do that?”

  Cait crossed her arms and considered the consequences for a long moment before relenting. “I can try.”

  You’ll never guess who just called for you,” Brooke said when Cait returned to Paradise Found.

  Cait crossed her fingers. “Gavin?”

  Brooke shook her head. “Cheerio Charles.”

  “You cannot be serious.” But from the pained expression on Brooke’s face, Cait knew this was no prank. “His timing couldn’t be worse.”

  “He called on the main house line. He said, and I quote, ‘The matter is urgent.’”

  Cait tossed her purse onto the pile next to the glass-paned front door. “How does he even know I’m staying here?”

  “I have no idea. He said you weren’t picking up your cell.”

  “More like I permanently blocked his number.” Cait trudged up the staircase, all too aware that she was going commando beneath her jeans. What had started out feeling cheeky was starting to chafe.

  “Are you going to call him back?”

  “I think I will. I’ve got a ton of pent-up hostility at the moment, and he’s the perfect target. Give me two minutes to find out what he wants and then I’m at your disposal. I need a few hours of mindless physical labor to clear my head.”

  “Perfect. I could use a hand laying tile in the bathroom.”

  “Don’t start without me.” Cait marched up to her bedroom and dialed Charles’s office number, half hoping he’d already gone home for the evening.