It was a message from Ev, the yarn shop owner. Are you coming tonight? Sawyer said he thought you were, and I am ready to sell the ecru silk and angora blend sample. I can bring it tonight for you?
Oh, that Sawyer. He knew if the prospect of him baking—or failing at baking—wasn’t enough the new scarf would tempt me into coming. And I needed the scarf. I wore my gray one at the moment, my vanilla colored cables yesterday. Sawyer had done a number on my neck, and seeing as I’d pretty much egged him on, I couldn’t be too mad about it. But still, I’d be wearing my scarves all week thanks to him.
And each glimpse in the mirror was a reminder of what a fool I’d been.
I’ll be there with cash for you, I typed quickly before I could think twice about it. At least I could be a fool with a nice scarf.
At seven I entered the People’s Cup with a large kale salad—something I’d quickly tossed together. I still had my gray scarf firmly in place, and I hoped to God that Sawyer could manage to withhold any innuendo. I’d told him I needed time to think, but my thoughts were still a jumbled mess, no conclusion forthcoming. It wasn’t just who Sawyer was—or wasn’t—and it certainly wasn’t just his penchant for the casual. I wasn’t that much of a prude. No, it was something deeper, a sharp, shameful tug of guilt, a reminder that maybe I shouldn’t be feeling this good right now. Resolving that mess of thoughts was more than I’d been able to do.
I placed my offering with the other food, then looked around the room. People’s Cup had frosted their plate-glass front windows with winter scenes. A small tree was set up to the side of the counter with the register, and even the tip jar sported a jaunty red bow. The place was closed for outside business but full of the same crowd that attended the monthly meetings, some of whom appeared to have brought family and significant others. Just my luck, Sawyer was standing with Ev and Brady near the couches. If I wanted my scarf, I’d have to brave his presence, and I couldn’t exactly snub Ev after saying I’d be there with money. Still, though, my feet felt trapped in thick, gluey, old ink as I made my way to them.
“Ah! Hollis! Here is your scarf.” Ev held out a small brown bag with the Iplik logo on it.
“Thanks.” I gave him the cash, which I’d placed in a small envelope with the amount and purchase information for him.
“You’re always so organized,” Brady observed.
“He is.” A smile tugged at Sawyer’s mouth.
“I wanted to make it easier on your bookkeeping.” I took the scarf out, petted its impossibly soft yarn blend, and admired the nubbly texture of the knit pattern.
“Put the scarf on,” Brady urged. “I almost made him keep that one back for me when it came back from the test knitter.”
“No, thank you. I’m saving it for a special occasion.” Like Tuesday. I quickly put it back in the bag.
Sawyer looked like he was fighting an attack of the giggles. He knew darn well why I wouldn’t be showing off my neck right then. “You do that.”
“I’m starving,” Brady said, tugging on Ev’s hand. “We’ll catch back up with you guys.”
“Me too,” Sawyer said, but he didn’t follow closely behind Ev and Brady, instead hanging back with me. “So, Hollis…any interesting thoughts lately?”
“Not many.” I kept my voice light. “Trying to figure out what three-quarters of the dishes are, though.”
Sawyer grabbed a plate and handed one to me as well. “What did you bring? The kale?”
“Yes.”
“Thought I recognized your silver bowl.” He smiled up at me. “You feel free to take as much of that as you want to fill your plate, but be sure to leave room for dessert.”
“Oh?” I followed his suggestion, taking a large portion of my salad and a small amount of some roasted chicken, leaving the casseroles for braver folk. “What did you bring?”
“The spice cake.” He pointed to a homely square that was a bit squashed with some lumps to the icing. “I know it’s a bit sad-looking, but I got the recipe from Char.”
“Mother’s spice cake?” I couldn’t keep the hope from my voice as I helped myself to a small piece.
“That’s the one.” Hollis looked a bit uncomfortable, worrying the edge of his lip with his teeth. “Char said you’d been missing it, and that she still couldn’t figure out how to duplicate it. I thought I’d give it a try and I hope that’s all right. It turned out okay, but…well, you taste it and tell me what you think.”
Moving away from the table, we found chairs near Ev and Brady. I took a bite of cake first because Sawyer’s eyes were so eager. “It’s…not bad.” It wasn’t Mom’s—she’d gotten the recipe from her own mother back in England—but it wasn’t terrible either.
“See, something’s off with the texture. I just can’t pinpoint what.” Sawyer took a bite from his own serving.
“Hmm.” I took another bite, considering. The flavors were there, but he was right about the texture. “Mom always used a Bundt pan. Try one next time.”
“I’ll have to get one. I want to make this again for the big family Christmas dinner. I’ve been really into baking lately.” His smile was a bit more sheepish than usual.
Something about that smile totally disarmed me and loosened my tongue. “I have one. If you walk me back after this, I can lend it to you.”
“Really?” Sawyer’s eyebrows went skyward. The man had the most expressive eyebrows. Bunched together, they could show disappointment or anger better than any of my well-honed looks, and flaring up and out, they did surprise as well as a TV hostess. “That would be…cool.”
Oh dear. He assumed I was asking him back for sex. I shook my head slightly, but he only grinned wider.
Aren’t you? a devilish little voice in my head prodded me. I could have just as easily pointed him to Char for a pan or dropped one off at the shop.
Ev turned to ask me a question about business and I made my reply on autopilot, carrying on small talk while my head raced. What was I doing? What would we do?
Sawyer knocked ankles with me under the table, further increasing my distractibility. I shot him a look.
We are not playing footsie here, I said with a glare.
We already are, his quirked eyebrow replied with a sly smile. He knew I couldn’t jerk away without giving something away, which left quietly enduring as my best option.
“We have to get back to the kids,” Brady said as they cleared their plates. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” I said.
“I was just about to head out as well.” Sawyer grinned at me. Damn, confounding man. “Want to walk out with me, Hollis?”
He knew I had few choices, seeing as I’d already made the invite. I didn’t really want to walk out with him though—more than a few of our fellow business owners were terrible gossips.
“I suppose.” I gathered my things and my nearly full salad bowl. And then I attempted to gather my wits. We were not having sex. But one look at Sawyer’s twinkling eyes told me I was going to have to work to cling to that resolution.
* * * *
My condo was a short walk away and the evening was warmer than it had been, which should have pleased me. However, I was too busy being a nervous wreck about Sawyer coming over.
“You know, I haven’t seen your place since Tucker and I helped you move in.” That had been right before the wedding, after I’d returned from graduate school, back when this development had been new with a fabulous financing deal my parents had helped me secure. Watching Sawyer carry boxes all afternoon had certainly played a role in my foolishness over the wedding weekend. As had driving together to the resort—something had been different that summer as Tucker and Char became a family, leaving Sawyer and me with each other’s not-unwelcome company. At least it hadn’t been unwelcome right up until the wedding, when I’d realized what we’d been creeping toward and put on the brakes before
I could be Sawyer’s flavor of the summer.
“I don’t entertain much.” I led him up the steps to my unit.
“No kidding.” Sawyer laughed. Benedict was waiting just inside the door for me. “And there’s Bunny!”
“Benedict.” I picked him up. He’d been with me since I’d adopted him as a kitten my final year of graduate school. And unfortunately, he had a tendency to dart toward doors, which meant Sawyer had heard me and Char try to stop him by calling the only name he responded to. Darn Humane Society and their cutesy names.
“It’s neat to see the place all put together.” Sawyer wandered into the living room as if he were about to give himself a guided tour. Not that there was much to tour: one big living/kitchen/dining/work area with a bedroom and a bath tucked behind the kitchen. Sawyer tossed his coat on the couch. I picked it up and placed it on the hook by the door next to mine before toeing my shoes off and placing them on their rack.
“Ah. No shoes rule?” Sawyer kicked off his like he was planning on staying a while and pushed them toward the door with his foot. He looked around more. “No tree?”
“For only me and the cat to pull off ornaments?” I shook my head. Char had all the family ornaments, and as for me, I hadn’t even put up the cards I received in three years.
“You’ve got a fern, though. You could toss some lights on the planter. It’s not…is that the same kind they had all over at Char’s wedding?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I lied, pretending the memory of being pressed into that foliage wasn’t imprinted on me. “And I don’t need lights.”
Sawyer looked unduly sad on my account as he shook his head. “Nice treadmill, though.”
“Thanks.” I liked walking briskly or jogging while watching TV. So much better than joining a crowded gym.
“And dude! Is that Mordor?”
“I thought you came for the pan?” I tried to steer him away from my bookshelf wall, which meant my hands on his broad shoulders, which led to him spinning around to face me. I dropped my hands and stepped back before he could make good on the dark intent in his eyes.
“Pan can wait.” Sawyer made a dismissive gesture. “You’ve got a whole Lord of the Rings section here. Framed map and everything.”
“I also have an art history section—”
“I’m sure you do, but that section doesn’t have three—or wait, four—different editions of the series. And collectibles!” Sawyer chortled as if he’d discovered my porn stash. “You have collectibles. Why have I never seen you buy from me?”
“Most of them were gifts,” I said frostily.
“An ex-boyfriend?” Sawyer frowned.
The back of my neck itched. It would be easy to let him think that. “No, my father.”
“Oh. That’s right. He took all four of us to see the first movie.” Sawyer grinned at the memory, which was a good one, even if he and Char had chattered in line incessantly.
“Hollis, you sit next to Sawyer,” Char hissed.
“Why?”
“He talks during movies.” She blushed. That wasn’t it at all.
“But then you’ll be next to Tucker,” I whispered.
“I know.” More blushing.
It was dark out, the line for the movie wrapped around the front of the theater, and I was glad for the chill in the air that might disguise my own blush.
“I don’t want a talker,” I mumbled. “I want to enjoy the movie.”
My protest was no more real than hers. I didn’t want to sit next to Sawyer because he smelled too good, talked too loud, and just last week had confessed to kissing Jimmy Ingles behind the school. I was not jealous. I refused to be jealous. So what if he was out? So what if he ran around handing out kisses like trading cards? So what if Jimmy Ingles got to find out what he tasted like—
Stop it. It was going to be a long movie and I was not going to let Sawyer ruin it.
“He was as big a geek as you for that fandom.”
“I am not in any fandom.” I removed my Aragorn action figure from his grasp. “I merely share an appreciation for some of the greatest fantasy literature of all time. That’s all.”
“That’s all? Hollis, you even own the Risk and Trivial Pursuit Lord of the Rings editions.”
“Unopened.” I tried to keep my voice disinterested.
“Well, they could be opened if you’d invite some of us for a game night.” Sawyer clearly had me mistaken for one of his many friends who had such things as game nights. Dinner parties. People in my space. I thought not. A brief image of Sawyer and me playing, just the two of us, popped into my head, but I quickly dismissed it. Never happening.
“Would you like some Scotch?” I offered, still trying to get his attention away from the board game.
“Sure.” Sawyer followed me over to the small bar area at the end of my shelves.
My hands shook as I brought down two tumblers. I knew full well what I was doing, prolonging his time in my apartment. “Ice or neat?”
“Neither.” Sawyer removed the glasses from my hand and set them back on the shelf. “We don’t need a drink.”
Chapter 7
I didn’t step away. I knew what was coming next, but I didn’t step away. Instead, I met his heated gaze. He raked his eyes over me, intention clear as he moved forward and closed the gap between our bodies. But rather than kissing me, his hands went to my neck, gently unwinding my scarf until it hung open, draped across the back of my neck and down the front of my shirt.
“Fuck. Look at your neck.” His hazel eyes went even greener than usual.
“I know. You did a number on me.”
“You let me.” He traced one mark with his thumb. “Fuck. That’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Perhaps you need to up your porn intake,” I suggested dryly.
Sawyer laughed. “God, I love it when you joke.”
He ducked his head, kissing the worst of the marks, the one where my neck and shoulder met, a big, blooming love bite that had turned lurid colors over the past few days. I shivered, hands instinctively seeking the warmth of his body. The spot where his sweater met his jeans made the perfect hand warmer, and my next shudder was pure pleasure.
Grasping either side of the scarf, Sawyer used it to tug me forward until we were kissing, him locking me in place with the scarf. His mouth was more confident tonight, as if he’d figured out some essential truths about my reactions on Friday and intended to exploit them. And indeed he did, lips and tongue claiming my mouth. He sucked on my lower lip and I moaned. He was simply too good at this.
He shifted, hands still on the scarf but pulling it lower so it dropped across my shoulder blades, another tug and our chests were mashed together. He chuckled softly, obviously pleased with himself.
“Someday I want to tie your hands with this scarf.” His voice was a dirty promise in my ear.
I made a noncommittal noise as someday implied a future of repeats that I refused to think about right then. One act of insanity at a time. But his words also thrilled me, made my pulse flutter. I hadn’t let anyone do that since Yuto. Hadn’t wanted to do that since Yuto, truth be told. But affable Sawyer, the last person I would have thought, made those old longings hum.
“You’d let me,” he said, wonder in his voice. My eyes must have given me away. “Hols…”
He dropped to his knees, a surprisingly graceful movement from a six-foot-two guy built like a soccer defender. His hands immediately went to my belt, but I stayed his touch. “Not that.”
“You don’t like being blown?” Sawyer looked up at me like I’d confessed to not liking birthday cake.
“I’m not entirely opposed, just…context…” My hand fluttered as I struggled to explain. This position in particular didn’t work for me, for reasons I really didn’t understand.
“Context.” Sawyer
raised an all-knowing eyebrow, then stood, eyeing past the kitchen to my bedroom door as if trying to decide how far he could push me before I’d bolt. Evidentially not very far as he tugged me toward my couch. It was a nice, long midcentury-styled gray number, one I’d dozed on during more than one insomniac movie marathon. I silently praised its sturdy build as Sawyer none too gently toppled me back into the cushions. “You’ll tell me when I find the right…context for touching your dick?”
“This isn’t terrible,” I admitted, luxuriating in the heavy press of his body against mine as he stretched out. Two tall men was a tight fit, even with the generous proportions of my couch. Truth be told, I kind of liked being a bit squashed by Sawyer. He propped himself up with one arm, using the other to work at my shirt buttons. One-handed was more than a bit fiddly, and after two buttons I pushed him up.
“Oh here, I’ll do it.” I shed my shirt and T-shirt in short order while he did the same, his green and yellow Ducks sweatshirt hitting my white rug.
“Swear to God, if you need to stop and fold, Hollis, we’re going to have an issue.” He half-growled, half-laughed.
“No.” I pulled him down for a kiss for the sheer luxury of feeling his fuzzy chest against mine. He had far more chest hair than I, a contrast that made me hum with approval. And whereas I was fair, he was still tanned from a summer and fall of outdoor sports.
We lay there making out until I lost all track of time and reason. The wide expanse of his back muscles called to my hands, which roamed up and down as he continued to plunder my mouth. I’d been the one to initiate the kiss, but he’d been the one to master it.
His lips drifted to my jaw. “You good with wearing one of your hipster scarves tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” My head fell back against the arm of the couch, exposing my neck to his eager mouth.
“Christ. I just can’t get over how sensitive you are,” he said as I writhed under his attack. I was rocking against him, and it was like rubbing up against a solid oak tree. We were both hard, but he made it clear he wasn’t about rushing. The more he limited my range of motion, the more I moved and moaned.
Gathered Up Page 18