by Emily Bishop
Calm. The. Fuck. Down. He’s a man. A gorgeous man, who you’ve fallen in love with. Who feels like home. And you’re leaving him. Why are you leaving him again?
“For him. So that he doesn’t lose his movie and damage his career,” I whispered and opened my eyes again. I set my jaw. That was it. That was the whole reason, and I’d stick with it.
Jarryd and I were from different worlds. It would never work.
A noise clunked at the front of the RV, followed by scratching and another thump. I half-expected the car to start of its own accord. Curiosity tugged at me behind the navel—that and the need to see him again.
I shuffled through to the front of the car and slid in behind the wheel. Jarryd’s shape moved out in the darkness, the flashlight trained on the open engine compartment. All I could make out was his chest, pecs defined beneath the shirt, and nipples pricking at the fabric. The torchlight flashed across his forearm and lit up those muscles, taut and under strain.
I swallowed and leaned against the wheel, paying rapt attention. Nothing had intrigued me more.
Jarryd leaned in and the front of his face came into view, dripping water, his lips parted and tongue poking between his teeth.
I sighed and relaxed against the wheel completely.
BAAAAAAP!
The horn sounded, and I jerked back with a shriek.
“Jesus Christ!” Jarryd yelled outside, and stumbled back. The phone lifted and shone into the inside of the cab, lit up my red cheeks.
I squirmed out of the seat and rushed back into the back of the RV, cursing my idiocy. What the hell was wrong with me? Around him, I became a lame teenager rather than a fully grown adult woman.
I slammed into the kitchen counter and braced myself against it, eyes closed.
The side door of the RV opened then shut.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Jarryd said, mirth tinkling in his throat. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”
“No,” I replied and opened my eyes.
God, it was painful seeing him there.
The smile tugged up at one corner, his hair dripping, flat against his forehead. He tilted his head to one side and swept his gaze up and down my body. “Are you OK?”
“You don’t have to keep asking me that,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“Well, the engine’s not,” he said and stowed his cell phone in his pocket. “Not by a longshot.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Uh, let me put it this way, what’s not wrong with it?” He laughed again. “When last did you have this RV serviced?”
I colored. A while ago would’ve been a kind estimate. “I don’t remember.”
“Well, there’s your problem right there. There’s no way I’m going to get it started in this rain. I’ll have to come back tomorrow, with help. Maybe a certified mechanic,” he said.
“I don’t have until tomorrow. I need to get going now.”
“You have somewhere to be?” His smile faded. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Where do you need to be, Aurora?”
“Away from here,” I replied.
He bore down on me, took my wrists in his fingers, and pulled me to his chest. “Why?”
The heat between us, his wet shirt against my dry one, made this so much more difficult. “You know why,” I whispered. “Just let me go, and leave. I’ll figure this out in the morning. I’ve got a bed and a lock on the door. I’ll be fine.”
“You expect me to leave you here in the middle of a storm? With no protection? On the side of the damn road?” His voice rose.
“Yes, that’s what I expect. We’re not a couple. We’re not anything. You shouldn’t care what happens to me.”
“That’s fucked up, Aurora. On too many levels to word eloquently.”
I wriggled in his grip but it was a half-hearted struggle. This close to him, pinned, I could barely breathe, let alone think straight. And again, I didn’t want him to let go of me. Why is this happening? I want to do the right thing.
“I’m not going to bring you down,” I managed. “I don’t want your movie to get ruined because of me and my crappy reputation. Do you get that? Do you get that maybe, just maybe, I’m also doing this for you?”
“You’re scared,” he said, and his eyes flicked back and forth in his skull, sizing me up.
“I’m not.”
“You’re scared because I love you,” he said.
“I’m not,” I warbled, like a little bird tweeting for the first time. “I’m not.”
“Then stop running.”
“Didn’t you hear a word I said?”
Finally, Jarryd let go of one of my wrists but he bent and clamped and arm underneath my legs instead. He lifted me up and clutched me to his chest.
“What are you doing?” I asked, as he pinned my other arm to his torso. I wiggled. “Put me down!”
“No. I’m not letting you sleep out here,” he said.
And out into the rain he stomped, taking me with him. The drops were lighter now, more of a drizzle than actual rain, but it was cold and wet, and anger erupted behind my eyes. “Put me down,” I yelled. “I’ll stay out here. I don’t need you to help me. I’m fine on my own. I’ve been doing this on my own ever since she died!”
“You’re not on your own anymore,” he growled. “It’s time for you to accept that.”
I burst into tears and struggled against him, forming fists. I beat one of them against my chest. “I’m always alone.”
“No.” And finally he put me down, this time to hold me against him in the wetness, as rain soaked through our clothes. He pressed his forehead against mine, and the smell of him, of his skin and cologne, flooded my nose.
My knees buckled. He kept me upright.
“I’m not going to bring you down,” I whispered. “I know what it feels like to be judged, and you don’t deserve that.”
“You don’t get to choose for me,” he said, and then he placed his lips against mine and seared me with a kiss, burned away my anger with his tongue and his taste.
I moaned into his mouth, clung to him, one hand still balled up. “Stop,” I said and pulled back. “I get a choice, too.”
“You made it without all the facts,” he said, and water trickled down the slope of his forehead, the bridge of his nose, dropped from its tip.
“What? What facts?”
“I dropped Pride’s Death,” he said.
“What?!”
“I dropped it. I wasn’t happy with it from the start. I already called my investor and told him that it’s over. Felicity’s out of my life for good. And quite frankly, I don’t give a shit what anyone says about me, Aurora. You scoured that need to care away. All I want is you. All that matters is you.”
Hot tears struggled to escape the corners of my eyes. “I—”
“I love you,” he said. “You’re all I want.”
“I-I love you, too,” I replied.
We kissed again, and the water on our lips mingled, a fresh coolness that spread on our tongues. I loved him, and he loved me, and we could be together. This was too good to be true.
I pulled back and looked up at him. “But how will this work? I don’t understand.”
“We’re going to move in together,” he said. “No offense, but I’m not much for RV living. It’s kinda cramped. Don’t you think Mistress deserves better?”
“Mistress!” I spun and looked back at the open door of the RV. My kitty sat in the entrance, calming waiting for us to realize we’d left her behind. “I’d better get her.”
“No, I’ll do it,” he said then handed me the keys to Jerr’s truck. “You get in and wait.”
“OK,” I said. “But cover her in a robe or something. A towel! She doesn’t like the water.”
I watched him walk back to the RV, his back muscles rippling underneath the wet shirt, and those tears did, finally, escape. This is happening. He gave up Pride’s Death for me. What am I giving up for him?
My entire w
ay of life, was probably the answer.
I walked around the truck, unlocked it, and got into the passenger’s side of the vehicle. Boy, Jerr would flip out about the wet seats when we returned it to him.
Jarryd got in with Mistress, highly indignant over the towel wrapped around her furry body, in his arms. He gave her to me then sat down and shut the door behind himself. He took the keys, started the truck.
“I still don’t understand how this is going to work,” I said. “Us. Where will we live? I mean, we can’t stay in the Moondance Motel. They don’t allow pets.”
“We’ll smuggle her in for tonight,” Jarryd replied and grasped the back of my neck in one massive hand. “And tomorrow? I know a place that will suit our purposes, just fine.”
“Where is it?” I asked.
“It’s close by. You’ll like it,” he replied then drew me into another earth-shattering kiss, the experience dampened only by the annoyed cat in my lap. “What do you say?” he asked, after our lips had parted.
“I’ll be happy as long as I’m with you.”
Chapter 31
Jarryd
The small bench in front of Aurora’s mother’s cabin, now ours, needed a damn cushion. I shifted on it, and something pricked my ass cheek. “Ouch!”
“What’s wrong?” Aurora called from the kitchen—the windows were open, and the rich scent of apple pie drifted out into the garden and over the lake, still in the early morning light.
“Splinter,” I called back and shifted to get it out. “Another splinter. I’m going to head to the hardware store later and get some sandpaper or something. Varnish, too. I can’t continue like this.”
“Rich people problems,” she said.
I laughed and turned my gaze back to the pages of my script. It was new, and I rifled through it, smiling still. It was good. I’d already forwarded a copy to Luke to check out, though it’d been a pain in the ass to get Wi-Fi out here.
That’d taken some string pulling. Then again, it’d taken a truckload of cash and even more string pulling to get that cunt, James, to sell the place to me in the first place.
We’d managed to convince Jerr to buy the place for us. James had assumed he’d use the space for another quaint restaurant or eatery. Instead, Jerr had handed it right over to us.
I grinned. And James was out-of-his-skull mad about it.
“What are you smiling about?” Aurora asked and sidled across the grass toward me. Her curls fell past her shoulders now, and she wore a loose cotton shift dress. An entire year had passed since our night in the rain, and I still couldn’t get enough of her, of the sight of her naked or clothed, and the sway of her hips as she walked.
Radiant, elegant, there weren’t enough words to describe her.
I patted the seat beside me then swore again, lifted my hand and plucked a splinter from it. “Are you kidding me with this?” I held it up for her scrutiny.
“I assure you, it wasn’t like this when I was a kid,” she replied then spun around in a slow circle, taking in the trees across the placid lake, the front of our cabin.
Already, we’d built on an extra room and remodeled the kitchen.
“The pies are almost done,” she said and sat down. She didn’t shift or cry out. Aurora had the easy grace of a swan. “When they are, we can have some coffee and apple pie, with a side of cream.”
“Sounds amazing,” I said and drew her into a one-armed hug. I kissed her forehead and inhaled that light, lavender perfume I loved so dearly. “Maybe we could have dessert before we have the pie.”
“Naughty,” she whispered and leaned into my embrace.
I traced a line down her collar bone, using my fingertip to draw shivers from her and raise the tiny hairs on her skin. She craned her neck and kissed the underside of my chin.
“Hey, have I told you I love you yet, today?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But I could hear it again. Again, and again, and again.”
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I said and kissed her on the lips, stroked the backs of my fingers down her jaw.
We lost ourselves for a second, and memories of our times together over the past year flooded me.
Aurora in an apron and nothing else in the kitchen, her hair done up in a messy bun, dancing on the spot to pop music and crooning along. She had a terrible singing voice, shockingly bad, but man I loved it when she sang.
I broke the kiss and searched her eyes, touched the tip of her nose. “What do you say? Fancy a little fun?”
“Not right now,” she replied and sighed.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?” Aurora and I were usually in sync, when I wanted her, she wanted me and vice versa. “Are you OK?”
“I’m feeling a little sick this morning.”
“Oh, shit. Do you want me to stop at the drugstore when I’m in town?” I asked.
“No. And I don’t want you to go to town today, either,” she replied and gulped.
“What’s wrong?” I asked and shifted to get a better view of her face. Her brow had wrinkled, and tears threatened to broach her lower lids. “Jesus, Aurora. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. “I guess I’m really nervous. I need to talk to you about something. It’s serious.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it, together.”
Aurora remained silent and looked out over the lake. Fish swam beneath its surface—vibrant colored, every now and again a beam of sunlight caught the flash of an orange tail or a white and black specked body. Reeds rustled at the water’s edge, and a toad croaked.
The past year had been heaven for both of us. There’d been ups and downs, sure, but we were together, and we could overcome anything because of that. We’d moved into her mother’s house, we’d fought off the press and the bad media, and we’d loved each other for an entire year.
“Aurora, whatever it is, we can handle it. I promise you.”
She blinked tears and gave me a watery smile, finally turning her head. The breeze lifted her curls from her shoulder and blew them back. Her dressexposed the soft flesh of her breasts and neck.
“Talk to me,” I said. “Is it James? Did he speak to you again?”
“No, it’s not him,” she replied and managed a small chuckle. “Like I said, I’m nervous. This is a big deal for me, I guess. I—I know you’re going to be busy with work soon and you don’t need any distractions.”
In the year we’d lived together, I’d filmed on location once or twice and the distance had sucked—all movies I hadn’t written myself. “Everything will be OK.”
“But this is huge,” she said and took both of my hands, squeezed them. “You’re taking your script to Rod on Monday. I shouldn’t even be talking about this now, but I can’t keep it in anymore.”
“You’re killing me, here. What’s going on?”
Aurora bit her bottom lip and held it. “I’m pregnant,” she said.
My jaw dropped, and I stared at her, open-mouthed. The most beautiful woman in the world, pregnant with my child. Our child. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Oh, my god, Aurora. That’s fantastic!”
“Really? I mean, you’re happy about this?”
“Are you out of your mind? I’m over the fucking moon.” I pulled her into a hug, grabbed either side of her face and brought mine to it. “I love you so damn much, I can’t wait to meet our baby and raise it in this house with you.”
The tears finally broke, and she sniffled. “Gosh, I’m such a cry baby. Ha!”
“Ironic.”
“It must be the hormones. Or is it? I don’t know if they kick in at eight weeks or not.” She licked her lips. “The morning sickness does, though, sheesh.”
“Ugh, sorry about that. We could take you to the doctor and see if he has anything that will help for that? Maybe like a natural remedy?”
“I’m too happy to care, right now. I was stressed about this,” she said. “I figured it was the
last thing you needed.”
“This is the first thing I need,” I said. “You and me, in this cabin.” And I slung my arm around her shoulder, and we both sat back against out splintery bench and looked out at the lake and the forest again.
Aurora rested her temple against my shoulder, and I placed my hand on her still-flat belly.
“When will you start showing?” I asked.
“I think somewhere around three months? I’m not sure. Oh, god, I need to get some baby books. And pregnancy books.” Her voice went light and bubbly, and she sat upright and turned to me again. “I’m going to get big. Like scary big. Ass and face, and hips. What if my feet swell?”
I chuckled. “You sound happy about that?”
“It’s a new adventure. God, I might have to set up my tent in our front yard. I doubt I’ll be able to walk out to the fairgrounds when I get that big.” She swiveled in the seat and peered at the clearing beside the lake, positively glowing, her smile broader than I’d seen it in weeks. At least now I understood why that was.
“That could be arranged. It might be nice. Mysterious for folks to come out here and get readings from the pregnant fortune-teller.” Honestly, I loved the privacy of this place—after being in the limelight for years, our cabin in the woods was my safe haven. We’d already fenced off the borders in the forest.
“Would you mind? I mean, it would only be if I couldn’t walk that far.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t mind.” I rose and brought her up with me, tugged her to my side, and grasped her tiny waist. I pointed to the line of trees where our little dirt path began. “We’ll get some fairy lights and string them up in the trees. Put a sign by the gate that announces that you’re in here. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” she choked the words out. “Oh, god, here come the waterworks again.”
“What’s wrong? Is it something I said?”
“No, Jarryd, it’s—this is everything I’ve ever wanted, right here. It’s more than I ever thought I’d have.” Aurora reached up and placed her palm against my cheek. “I can’t help wishing my mother was here for this.”