After a good long cry, I go downstairs. I need to wallow and that means ice cream. I ignore Sean working in the kitchen. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now. Instead I head straight for the door.
“Hey,” he says. “You going out?”
I didn’t clear it with him ahead of time, as per his request, so he wouldn’t have to worry about me. So stupid. He’s the most irritating guard I’ve ever had the misfortune to not hire. Always checking on me, never being with me.
I stop, staring at the door instead of facing him. I don’t want him to see my blotchy cry face. My voice comes out in a croak. “Yeah, bye.”
“Hold up.”
I shake my head and walk out the door. I’m heading straight for the market for a big tub of rocky road. No, chocolate fudge. I can snarf it down faster if I don’t have to chew bits of chocolate chip and marshmallow. This is an emergency ice cream moment.
“Josie.”
I walk a little faster hearing Sean so close behind me. “Please leave me alone.”
He catches up to me and stands in front of me on the sidewalk, blocking my path. “Wait. I haven’t seen you all week.” His voice softens. “What’s wrong?”
My eyes sting with fresh tears at the concern in his voice. “I didn’t get the pilot.”
His brows draw together, his eyes sympathetic. “Are you okay?”
I can’t take the sympathy in his eyes and look away. “I will be. I just need some space. You know what that’s like.” I laugh, but it’s one of those painful kind of laughs.
“Where ya headed?”
“Don’t you have a kitchen to put together?”
“It can wait.”
“No, it can’t. You’re on a tight deadline.”
I keep going down the block, practically jogging, and quickly leave him behind. I dart inside the first store I think might have ice cream. It’s one of those fancy health food places, where everything’s ridiculously overpriced. I can’t afford this fancy ice cream, but I’m afraid any more sympathy from Sean will have me bawling in the street. I just need some time to get it together. I grab the tiniest one-serving size of what I’m sure is a quality plain chocolate ice cream and head for the counter.
Sean appears at my side, and I jump. He’d make a good ninja. “That looks like two spoonfuls.”
“Yeah, well, I have to economize. I’m an out-of-work actor.” An unknown. Villager number four. No, tree number four.
He gives my arm a tug. “Come with me. What’s your favorite kind? On me. It’s the least I can do after all the times you fed me and helped me out.”
My lower lip wobbles, my eyes welling. “You’re just feeling sorry for me.”
His eyes are sympathetic, his tone soothing. “I do feel bad for you, but mostly I feel sorry for myself.”
My lips part in surprise. “Why?”
“Because I missed out on seeing you this whole week, and it was my own stupid fault. I missed you.”
My breath stalls, my heart thumping a little harder. He sounds so warm and sincere. “I made myself scarce so you could get your work done.”
“I know. You don’t hafta do that anymore. I can work just fine with you around. You’re good company.”
I warm at the compliment, but then I’m suspicious. This isn’t how we work. He’s irritated, and I’m keeping my distance from the grump zone. “You’re just being nice to me because I lost the pilot and my career is in the toilet.”
“I thought we already established that I’m not nice.”
“You’re not. You’re a jerk and a grump and completely closed off. It all adds up to one gigantic—” I wave my hands around in his direction “—irritation.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Say what ya really feel.”
I shake my head. He’s really hard to stay mad at.
“Let’s get your ice cream and go home.”
I head to the ice-cream freezer and put my single-serving size back. “I want the most chocolatey kind.”
“How’s death by chocolate?”
“Great.”
He pulls two pints out. “One for me, one for you.”
“I could easily eat both.”
“Okay, we’ll get six. Is six enough?”
I laugh despite my misery. “Maybe.”
He smiles. “Six death by chocolate. We’ll die drowned in a puddle of chocolate goo.” He gathers six pints and carries the bunch to the counter.
“It’s called wallowing. Do it right, or don’t bother doing it at all.”
“Glad I have you to tell me the right way to wallow.” He winks.
I get serious. “Thank you for the ice cream.”
“Anytime.”
A few minutes later, we’re on our way home. Weird how I’ve started thinking of it as home. All I have is a suitcase, and a blanket and pillow on the floor. It’s not like Sean and I are actual residents. He’ll finish up soon enough. I’ll have to find an apartment with a bunch of roommates and go back to waitressing, even though I suck at it. It’s one of the few jobs flexible enough for me to go on auditions, which are often last minute. God, I’m so tired of getting rejected.
“How about we watch a movie tonight?” he asks. “Anything you want.”
“What about the kitchen?”
“The way I figure it, I have to take the night off to save you from yourself. You’ll regret six pints of ice cream in the morning.”
I lift my chin. “I will never regret ice cream.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
“I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around a sweet Sean.”
“Desperate times, Josie. So, what is it?”
“You won’t like it.”
“If you like it, I’ll pretend to like it. Mostly I’ll watch so I can make fun of ya for liking it later.”
“That sounds more like the Sean I know.”
“See, I’m still in there under the layer of sweetness.”
“It’s an old black-and-white romantic comedy. The first one, I think. It Happened One Night with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. It’s opposites attract and really funny.”
“Is there a color version?”
I wince. “If there is, I don’t want to see it. Look, if you can’t handle a rom-com, then leave me to my wallow.”
He leans close. “Okay, just between you and me, and I will deny this with my last dying breath, but the truth is, I enjoy rom-coms.”
“You do?”
He laughs. “No.”
I try to narrow my eyes, but they’re swollen from tears, so it doesn’t have much effect. “It’s sublime and, if you ruin it for me, I will stab you with my spoon.”
“Wouldn’t a knife work better?”
“For ice cream?”
He grins. “You really are funny. I wish I’d seen you at the alternative comedy club.”
“If only it was a paying gig.”
We arrive home, and I unlock the door and hold it for him as he carries in my bag of ice cream.
“It’s good to put yourself out there, though,” he says. “Let people see what you can do. You never know who’s in the audience.”
“Yeah, I guess. I just do it to keep sharp.”
“I’ll get the spoons. Can ya pull the drop cloth off the couch? Try not to let the dust get on it.”
A few minutes later, we’re settled side by side, the laptop propped on boxes. Sean found the movie on a streaming service and actually bought it instead of just renting it “in case you want to watch it again later,” which is so sweet it makes me mushy inside. It’s his laptop, so he’s kind of saying he wants me to be around and watch it again with him. I’m extra emotional right now is all. At least it makes it easier to wallow.
I dig into my ice cream in my favorite way, which is to take one thin layer at a time and work my way to the bottom. Sean digs his spoon in the center, which is the worst way to do it because it’s harder in the center. He eats it in large spoonfuls.
“You’r
e going to get brain freeze that way,” I warn.
“Shh, I’m watching a sublime movie.”
I snort softly and watch too. I glance over just as he presses his fingers to his forehead. “Told you.”
“Shh!”
Sean finishes his pint ahead of me and actually seems to be watching the movie. I’ve seen this movie so many times. That’s the only reason I’m watching him instead of the movie. He smiles at just the right parts. I think he actually does like rom-coms, though he tried to play it off. It’s a classic and inspired so many more.
I finish my ice cream, relaxed and sleepy. I lean my head against his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around me, tucking me against his side. I could get used to this.
“I like when you’re nice,” I tell him.
He pauses the movie and looks down at me. “You want more ice cream?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Water? Wine?”
“You have wine?”
“I could get you some. I wanna be sure you achieve a proper wallow.”
I smile. “I’m good just like this.”
He smiles back and presses play on the movie. I sigh in contentment. My favorite movie, a happy tummy, and a warm man holding me close. It doesn’t get any better than this.
But then the movie ends. Sean takes his arm off my shoulders, putting some distance between us. I’m genuinely pissed because the moment is gone, and I want more.
“Sean,” I snap, “what happened to my wallow cuddle?”
His eyes widen. “Uh, the movie ended. Are ya having a sugar crash?”
“No. I was just feeling good and now I’m not.”
“Another movie?”
“Yes, please.”
He hands me the laptop, and I pick another black-and-white classic, The Philadelphia Story, with Katharine Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart, and Cary Grant. Oh, to have been born in the heyday of Hollywood. I know the studio system wasn’t perfect, but these movies are so fabulous. Witty, fast-paced banter, sexual tension, headstrong women, sophisticated men.
I lean back on the sofa and pull his arm around my shoulders. He settles me against his side and kisses the top of my head. I like that even more. I tip my face up to him in silent invitation.
“Josie.” His tone holds a note of regret.
“What?”
“You’re vulnerable right now.”
“I’m gonna rip your head off if ya don’t kiss me.”
His lips curve up. “Ya sound like me.”
“Good. I’ve been observing you closely for an authentic Brooklyn accent.”
He cradles my jaw. “I heard all about my corded thick neck.”
“It’s a thing of beauty.”
He closes the distance and presses his lips to mine for a sublime moment before pulling back, his eyes tender and locked on mine. In that moment something passes between us. He’s letting me in, showing me he cares, and I feel the same. It’s time. Well past time. We’ve been dancing around this attraction since the day we met.
Then he settles me back in place, muttering, “Watch the movie.”
I do, my sad wallow giving way to a small spark of happiness. He’s so warm I drift off to sleep before the movie ends.
Suddenly I’m chilled, and I realize he laid me down on the couch alone. He’s standing next to it.
I reach out and snag his jeans-clad thigh. “Stay with me. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Chapter Eight
Josie
Sean blows out a breath, and I can tell he’s about to tell me no.
“Please,” I say. “I feel so much better when you hold me.”
He studies me for a long moment. I must look appropriately worn out and pathetic, because he caves. “All right, come with me.” He tugs me off the couch and pulls me to my feet.
I follow him. He turns off the light on this level, turns on the flashlight on his phone, and heads upstairs to his air mattress. The forbidden zone. I’m normally locked in the tower on the fourth floor on my humble floor bed. He offered to get me an air mattress, but I declined. I know it sounds strange, but it keeps me motivated to rough it, always reaching for my dream. That’s how badly I want it. I’ll sleep on a hard floor as a reminder that I need to persist in the face of rejection. But not tonight.
He sets his phone on the hardwood floor, plugging it into the charger, and turns to me. “Turn around.”
I do. I can hear him rustling in his duffel bag, probably putting on pajamas. I’m in a T-shirt and yoga pants, which is fine for sleeping. Usually I sleep in just the T-shirt or my favorite Smokey the Bear pajamas, but I have a feeling if I go to get them, he’ll change his mind about cuddling me by the time I get back. How many guys would wallow with me so wonderfully and then agree to cuddle me to sleep?
“I’m going in,” I announce before diving under the comforter on his bed. The mattress doesn’t bounce nearly as much as I thought it would. “It feels like a real mattress. I thought it’d be squishy like a waterbed.”
I sneak a peek at him. Unfortunately, he’s already in a T-shirt and gray jogging pants. No muscular display of perfection for me.
His expression is grim. “I got the quality reinforced air mattress.”
“Come on over. You’re part of the cuddle equation.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m really not a cuddler.”
“Okay, then I’ll cuddle you. Come on, I need your body heat. You’re like a giant warm teddy bear.”
He mutters something to himself.
“Don’t be scared,” I tease.
He picks up his phone, taps a few times, and turns it off. The room goes pitch black. His deep voice sounds gravelly. “How tired are ya?”
“Very.” I say that just to get him over here. I was very tired before I considered cuddling possibilities with the man I’ve been secretly lusting over.
Finally, he gets under the blanket, bringing the delicious heat of his body in close range. He rolls to his side away from me, and I plaster myself against his back, wrapping my arm around his waist.
“This is lovely,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“This sucks.”
“Why?”
“I can’t sleep with ya pressed against me like this.”
“Can you just give me a few minutes of cuddle? You can put me on the floor after I fall asleep.”
“I’m not gonna toss you on the floor,” he grumbles, sounding like the Sean I’m used to. Somehow it’s endearing now. Maybe because I know he’s making an effort for me, even though he’s not keen on cuddling. I’ll do something nice for him tomorrow.
“Thank you,” I whisper, close my eyes, and sigh in utter contentment. I stroke his chest because I’m feeling affectionate and, yes, lusty, but he grabs my hand and holds it. That’s nice too.
Next thing I know, there’s a loud banging in the kitchen. It’s Saturday morning, and he’s back to work.
I slept fantastic. He must’ve cuddled close all night, the sweetheart. I head upstairs, grab a fresh outfit, and take a quick shower. Today I’m going to help him in any way he needs me. He’ll be working all weekend, and I will too, side by side, partners.
When I get downstairs, his back is to me in his usual T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. Sweat glistens off his rounded biceps as he hammers a length of wood molding where the wall meets the floor. A surge of raw lust nearly makes me woozy. I always knew he was gorgeous and muscled, but after the tender way he cared for me last night, I don’t want him to just be my fantasy man anymore. I want him to be the real thing. Desperately.
I wait for him to pause in hammering. “Sean.”
He gives me a quick glance over his shoulder, sets his hammer down, and rises to his full height of gorgeous perfection. “Hey, how’re ya feeling today?”
I close the distance and wrap my arms around his neck. “Much better. Thank you for last night.”
His eyes are hot on mine as his hands go to my waist, holding me lightly. “You’re welco
me. It was torture.”
“Let me help with that.” I press my lips to his in a gentle kiss that escalates quickly. He pulls me flush against him, his hands roaming all over me as his mouth devours mine. My body hums with pleasure. I moan in the back of my throat, and he breaks the kiss.
“Upstairs,” he growls.
“Yes.”
He grabs my hand, tugs me upstairs, and stops, standing in the center of the mostly empty space, suddenly looking uncertain. “I’m sweaty.”
“I know. I like it.”
He groans and grabs me, kissing me and peeling me out of my clothes at the same time. My hands go to the edge of his T-shirt and tug. He breaks the kiss, ripping it off in a quick two-handed move. I roam my hands all over his chest like I wanted to last night. He strips me down quickly, then him, and we slam together, all grabbing hands, lips and tongue and teeth. It’s wild and out of control.
His hand delves between my legs. The heel of his hand grinds against me as his fingers plunge inside me. My knees buckle, and I grip his arm for balance.
“So wet, so ready,” he growls. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”
“You were my fantasy man,” I gasp out.
“You starred in all my best fantasies.”
His mouth claims mine, and I’m shamelessly riding his fingers, my hips arching for more of his touch. I’m overwhelmed by him, his touch, his masculine scent, and the intensity of what he makes me feel. He cups the back of my head, his mouth shifting to my ear. “As soon as you come, I’m gonna fuck ya so hard.”
I gasp, the intensity ratcheting up.
“Ya like the dirty talk,” he whispers darkly in my ear and then keeps it up, bringing me ever closer to the edge. His big hand holds me by the nape of my neck while his other hand thrusts and grinds in an escalating pace that leaves me panting. Oh, God. I’m so close. I open my mouth to beg him not to stop, but nothing comes out except a low keening sound, and then I explode, the pleasure rocking me helplessly against him.
“Beautiful,” he croons in my ear, his hand gradually slowing, guiding me through wave after wave of pleasure. Finally he stills, and I cling to him weakly.
He steers me back to the mattress and lowers me onto it, spreading my legs and taking me in with gleaming eyes.
Rogue Gentleman (The Rourkes, Book 8) Page 9