Beautiful Fall

by Jordyn White

  I want him to kiss me. I want him to kiss me like the fucking devil I know he is.

  “I think you don’t want to like me.” He lightly plays with my hair, still watching his hand, sending shivers through me. “If you want to know the truth, I don’t want to like you either,” but his voice is full of heat, and when he looks back at me I’m gripped in the thunderstorm. “At least... not like this.”

  Fuck. I would lean in and kiss him myself, but I’m caught in the intensity of his gaze and can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe.

  His hand brushes the base of my neck and his fingers curl into my hair. His other hand runs along my hip then curls around my lower back. Our chests touch lightly at first, then more firmly. My arms have circled around him too, but his mouth still hovers just over mine. His gaze is reaching somewhere deep inside me, sparking and popping.

  His grip on my hair tightens. His grip on my body tightens. My stomach presses against his. I let out a slow, heated breath, my lips parting. My fingers curl on his firm back, the other hand still loosely holding the pen.

  He leans in smoothly and the gap between our mouths disappears. His lips claim mine. My eyes flutter shut. He squeezes me tighter, little prickles of pleasure exploding where he’s pulling on the roots of my hair. I release the pen and it drops to the floor as I squeeze him back.

  Our mouths open and his tongue demands entrance. A little whimper escapes the back of my throat. I kiss him back, tasting him, giving in.

  He becomes, in that moment, his own entity in my mind. No longer tied to his family, it is only him, the man I’ve started to know myself: a man who’s intelligent, playful, kind, and apparently—Lord help me—passionate.

  I kiss him back, sinking with weak knees, all while something within me rises with desire. I run my hands into his hair and break our kiss long enough to say breathlessly, “I lied.”

  He takes me again. Kissing me more and making me dizzy, stopping just long enough to say, “I know.”

  We continue to exchange heated kisses, but I say the words I so need to say. “I do like you.”

  He pulls back slightly. Our hot breaths merge together as we look at one another, and grow still. His eyes soften and take me in—eyes, forehead, cheeks, lips. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I like you too.”

  Warmth blooms in my chest, and a faint smile emerges on my face.

  Sounds outside draw my attention and I drop my arms quickly, realizing people are coming up the steps to the cottage. He releases me more slowly, so slowly I have to give him a quizzical look. If it were up to me, we’d be clear across the room from each other right now, but even after he drops his arms, he’s still holding me in place with those eyes of his.

  There’s that amused look I’ve become so familiar with.

  “Wha?” I protest weakly. But he’s not flustered by the oncoming workers at all—they’re talking and laughing and in the living room now. He seems to be, in fact, keeping me from bolting on purpose.

  When they enter the kitchen, nodding at us as they go through to the back, Brett and I are not quite arm’s length apart and I’m trying to look casual, nodding my greetings back as if this were a perfectly normal day and didn’t tilt my world off its axis at all. Brett’s still watching me, grinning and leaning against the counter behind us.

  Four workers pass through, boots clopping, a couple carrying massive sledgehammers, but the fifth and final—who’s pushing a wheel barrel—is coming to a stop in the kitchen.

  “So,” Brett says, still grinning at me, “do you have plans on Saturday?”

  My eyebrows shoot up and I cast a quick glance back at the worker. He’s been scooting the wheel barrow alongside the far wall, but freezes at Brett’s question, apparently not wanting to look over here but peeking at us out of the corner of his eye anyway.

  “Uh...” I look back to Brett, who’s acting like this is the most normal thing in the world. I can’t help but smile a bit. The scoundrel. “No.”

  “I was thinking of going to the Concert Under the Stars. Want to come?”

  Abandoning the wheel barrel right where it is, the worker hustles out of the room and I blink after him. I can’t help but laugh at the situation. I look back to Brett, who’s watching me, amused.

  I smile and take a breath. “Sure.”

  He smiles broadly then, and there’s that heat all over my body again. Oh yes. I definitely like Mr. Brett Carmichael.

  I roll my eyes, but I’m still smiling. “I mean, I guess.”

  He laughs. “Good. Pick you up at six?”

  I nod, but am startled into stillness again when he scoops my pen off the floor, hands it to me, and hooks his arm around my waist, pulling me close. He gives me a short kiss, practically a peck, but it’s infused with heat and filled with the promise of more to come.

  With that, he heads into the back where the workers are and leaves me standing there, feeling all tingly. I get my wits about me quick enough to call out just as he’s left the room, “Oh, Brett?”

  I take a step forward and he comes back, hovering in the doorway. God, he’s so striking, with those beautiful eyes, that handsome face, and that earnest expression.

  “Don’t you want to know where I live?”

  “Uh...” He almost looks guilty. “I know where you live.”

  I raise my brows. “You do?”

  He shrugs apologetically. “My aunt’s just down the street from you. She’s kind of a Rivers fan.”

  I smile and cross my arms, leaning one hip against the counter. “Well, at least someone is.”

  He grins. “See you Saturday, Lizzy.”

  Oh, it’s a good thing he turned his back to me, because I damn near melted right into the floor.

  Chapter 11

  Brett

  For the first time ever, I’m hoping Jessica keeps little Max through Saturday night, at least. Which just goes to show how out of my head Elizabeth Rivers is making me.

  Lizzy.

  God, that’s cute as hell.

  Makes me want to eat her all up.

  But I’m not used to a woman competing for Max’s space in my heart. Anyone, really. I have no small amount of guilt for hoping Jessica sticks with her visitation this weekend. As questionable as things get over there, that’s not what I should be hoping for at all.

  But I want time with Lizzy, too. I need to find out why she affects me so much. I’ve never been a guy to swoop in on a woman so suddenly like that. I usually prefer a little more finesse. But I could tell she wanted it too and, damn, I can’t deny swooping in was hot as hell.

  In fact, the memory of it has gotten me burning enough to require a little release. For our date, I’m determined to keep things under control and not go after her like an animal. Elizabeth Rivers is no ordinary woman and she deserves a respectful date... in spite of the fact that I’ve practically mouth fucked her on the job site, not once but twice now.

  As I pull into the long drive of her house—which I know used to belong to her parents only because my aunt goes to the same church they used to attend—I take a deep breath. My mind is still pulled in two directions, with Max in one corner and Lizzy in the other, but I’ve at least fixed things so it’s okay if Max comes back early. The last thing I want to do is dread a call like that. While I figure Jessica is more likely to keep him the entire weekend since she bailed on him the last time she had him, you never know. I called my sister and arranged for her to pick Max up if needed, just in case.

  We haven’t mentioned this date to our mother yet. It’s not that I think I need to hide it from her, exactly, but I don’t know what she’ll think about this and I don’t want to hear it just yet.

  I turn off my black Acura and climb out. I’m wearing tan pants and two layers of shirts, solid blue over white. My soft leather jacket is open in the front, and I readjust it so it’s sitting square on my shoulders. Feeling appropriately put together, I swing the car door shut, the thud softly floating out into the quiet night. Of course, this ne
ighborhood is probably quiet all the time. It’s one of Swan Pointe’s most premiere communities, which is saying something in a town like this. The subdivision is on a rise, and offers a stunning view of Swan Pointe and the ocean beyond. The sun is low in the sky, maybe half an hour from setting.

  Elizabeth’s house is an impressive Spanish-style home with Mediterranean influences. I take in its beautiful brickwork, iron trim, and the Spanish-style courtyard complete with a gorgeous, running fountain. From the architectural style, I’d guess it was built sometime in the 1970s, and has been kept in superb shape. So many times, the homes of the ultra-wealthy strike me as ostentatious and void of any of the emotions that suggest it might be someone’s home. This is one of the good ones, though, and is warm and inviting. The front door is imposing, made of a gorgeous carved oak, but a large wreath of fall colors gives it a homey feel. Rich done right, I think.

  I ring the bell and am waiting only a few seconds before Lizzy opens the door. She’s wearing black, skinny jeans, a flowing maroon top with a wide band that hugs her at the waist, and black, flat strappy sandals that go up to her slender ankles. The perfect blend of casual and class. Her long, brown hair is flowing half-way down her back, and as usual, those green eyes of hers are striking.

  In fact, at the sight of her opening the door and smiling at me, I’m feeling struck in general.

  In one hand, she’s carrying a tiny picnic basket with silver handles, her offering for our evening’s activity. The Concert Under the Stars series is a long-standing Swan Pointe tradition, rivaled only by our local Shakespeare Festival, which puts on outdoor performances from April to October. In both cases, it’s custom for attendees to bring blankets, chairs, dinner, and wine to enjoy beforehand. Since I didn’t see Lizzy on the job site yesterday, I texted her to let her know I’d provide everything we need. She insisted on bringing dessert though. Thus, the little basket.

  We exchange hellos as she locks up, and as we walk back through the courtyard I ask, “What do you have there?” I’m eyeing it, mostly to keep from swooping in on her right off the bat. I’m certain she would taste far better than anything she’s got in that little box, but I’m determined to be a gentleman.

  “Streusel apple pie bars.”

  “Ooh.” I reach for the basket, but she switches it to her other side.

  “Uh uh. Dinner first.”

  “If you insist.” I take the hand that is now free. She rewards me with a smile and I resist the urge to pull her into a kiss right now. Instead I lead her to the passenger side.

  “I was expecting to see your truck,” she says, stepping back as I open the door. I get a whiff of that vanilla scent I’m coming to associate with her.

  “No truck. I’m not your contractor tonight.”

  “That’s good, because I probably shouldn’t be sleeping with my contractor.” I blink in shock and her eyes go wide. Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my god.” I’m trying not to laugh, but I guess I’m not trying too hard. That was damned funny.

  Her hand momentarily covers her pinched eyes. “I didn’t mean...” She reaches her hand out in earnest. “I’m not expecting...”

  But her adorable flustering is really getting me laughing and she’s starting to laugh too. “It’s all right, Lizzy. Talk about breaking the ice.”

  She exhales and shakes her head good-naturedly. “I say the stupidest things around you.”

  “Do you? I haven’t noticed.” I take the little basket from her so she can get in. “Maybe because I’m too busy trying not to launch myself at you again.” Because I wouldn’t mind making out with her right freaking now. Wouldn’t mind one bit.

  Her body grows still and her cheeks flush. She gives me a sly look. “Well, isn’t that a damned shame.” Then she slides herself into the passenger seat so smoothly, it wouldn’t have been any sexier if she were wearing lingerie.

  Fuck. Me.

  I go to the trunk to put the basket next to the rest of the stuff I have stashed back here for our dinner tonight. Before I close the lid, I rearrange my dick so it doesn’t totally give me away when I get into the driver’s seat. Down boy.

  Soon, we’re pulling out of the driveway and making our way out of her neighborhood. “I want to apologize for something in advance. I need to keep my phone on in case I get a call about my son.” A twinge of nerves tugs at my stomach, hoping she doesn’t consider the fact that I have a kid a deal breaker. “He’s with his mother this weekend and sometimes she needs to send him home early.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you had children,” she says with a genuine smile.

  I nod, relieved she doesn’t seem bothered. In fact, she seems interested.

  “One child. If he has to come home, my sister will pick him up. Don’t worry.”

  “It’s fine.” She smiles warmly. “How old is he?”

  “Four and a half.”

  “Oh, he’s just a little guy.”

  I nod. “Actually, we call him little Max. He’s named after my dad, so Dad is big Max and my son is little Max.”

  “How cute.” We pass through the elaborate entrance to her neighborhood and start to descend the hill toward town. “How long have you been divorced?”

  “Who says I’m divorced?”

  This time she’s the one gaping at me in shock, but I’m still the one laughing. “Just kidding. Two years.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, but she’s smiling. “You do like tormenting me, don’t you?”

  “Sorry. It’s hard to resist. You’re so damned cute when you get flustered.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Carmichael.”

  I laugh, and she laughs too, settling deeper into the seat. I take the hill’s broad turn with one hand on the wheel and put my free hand on her knee. So much for being a gentleman, but I didn’t really think about it before I did it. In addition to the physical draw between us, which is substantial and all the time, it feels ridiculously comfortable being with her. Like we’ve known each other much longer than we have.

  She angles her legs toward me, crossing her feet at the ankles, and tucks her hand over mine. “So what did you bring us for dinner?”

  God, this is almost too easy.

  The seating on the broad lawn in front of the open-air band shell is first come, first served. We pick a spot about halfway back and to the right of center. The lawn rises slightly as it goes toward the rear, so there’s not really a bad spot. I spread out the big denim quilt first, marking our territory so no one else comes too close. I’m not the only one. Like most people at these concerts, I want to make sure we have plenty of room to sit or lie down, which plenty of people tend to do as the concerts get on later in the evening.

  There’s a group of people not far from us who are looking this way and covertly pointing in our direction, apparently recognizing local celebrity Elizabeth Rivers. She doesn’t seem to notice though, and we continue to set up, putting our chairs on the back edge of the blanket. They’re the kind that sit just above the ground, so you can stretch your legs out in front of you, and angle back slightly, so you can sit partially reclined.

  They’re pretty funky looking and Lizzy is eyeing them suspiciously.

  “They look strange, but they’re comfortable as hell,” I say. I grab her chair, which she set up, and scoot it over so it’s right up next to mine, raising one eyebrow and giving her a mock serious look. She laughs and retrieves the dinner basket, bringing it onto the quilt.

  I get the remainder of our supplies—the portable wine bucket and second blanket in case we need it for warmth—and start laying out our meal. Soon we’re sitting cross-legged on the blanket with an impressive spread of food in front of us, if I do say so myself. There’s antipasto skewers, goat cheese pesto chicken mini sandwiches, cucumber honeydew salad, and a chilled soft huckleberry wine to go with it.

  “This all looks amazing,” she says, placing a mini sandwich on her plate. I brought real plates and silverware. While it’s just as socially acceptable to show up
to the Concert Under the Stars with a bag of In-and-Out, it’s also not uncommon to see people going in style. Obviously, I wasn’t going to hold back with this girl. I actually enjoyed getting everything ready for her.

  “I don’t get to do much cooking these days. Max really isn’t into goat cheese and pesto.”

  She laughs. “I’ll bet not. Is he more of a hot dog and chicken nuggets kid?”

  I roll my eyes. “Unfortunately, yes. I try to give him real food, but I have to keep it simple or he won’t touch it. It’s ironic though, when I do something like spaghetti and meatballs with some sort of veggie, I feel like I’m at least trying to be a good parent, but you know when he tells me I’m the best dad ever?”

  “McDonald’s night?”

  I laugh. “Bingo. We’ve had our fair share of frozen dinosaur nuggets and tater tots, too. That’s when he thinks I’m being a good dad.”

  “Kids just don’t know how to reward good parenting.”

  “True. He never thanks me for putting him in time out, no matter how much he deserves it.”

  She chuckles, the sky behind her glowing with yellows and oranges as the sun continues to set. The grassy amphitheater is still bright for now, though. They won’t dim the lights until the concert starts. “How often do you get to see him?”

  “I get Sunday night to Wednesday morning, plus every other Friday night and Saturday.”

  She raises her brows. “That’s great. So many dads just get the every other weekend thing.”

  “I’d have him all the time if it were up to me.” I don’t offer any more details than that. I’m tempted, which surprises me actually, since I don’t talk to people about what’s going on with Max’s mom. But even though I’m feeling comfortable with her, it’s too much to go into all that. It’s not just about me, it’s about my kid, and I guess I’m a little protective of him.