She moved to his other shoulder, following the map in his skin, but she wasn’t asking about them the way other women had, wanting his practiced stories. She wasn’t using it as a treasure hunt either, a ploy to get to something better.
She was reading him, as clearly as if he’d labeled his ink with signs.
“A compass rose, but there’s no cardinal points, no north or south. You’re drifting. Lost.”
His throat went tight. No woman had ever questioned why his compass had no direction, why he’d gotten a tattoo of something that was supposed to guide him without including the symbols that let it.
It reminded him to stay the course. Not follow his heart.
And Jamie had figured it out without even asking.
As much as he tried to shut it out, Dean knew this was what he’d been missing. The intimacy, the feeling of being known—that was what had been absent from every sweaty encounter he’d had. He also knew the reason that night with Jamie back in high school had been so special.
It was because she’d looked at him like this, her eyes open and full of wonderment.
Everything snapped into perfect focus when her hand came to rest over the stars on his heart. He could screw every woman in the world blind and he’d never shake her from his system.
It was always going to be her.
He took both her hands in his before she had a chance to ask what the design meant and placed them on his chest.
“Take what you want, Jamie.”
He hoped she’d realize he was repeating her words from the day before, that he was saying it because he wanted to give her everything. Because he wanted her to feel in control for once, to know she could have what she wanted, and that he was hers for the taking until morning.
Jamie took a condom from the nightstand, placed it beside them on the bed and climbed on top of him. The warm satin covering her skin was a sinful slide against his cock. When she leaned down to kiss him, her necklace dragged over his chest. Dean wasn’t sure if it was the scrape of the beads or her mouth that made him shudder. She rose up to shimmy out of her panties, and then she was fitting the condom over him.
She pressed down, lowering her body until he was fully seated. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head.
“Ah, fuck, Jamie.”
Dean fisted his hands by his sides to stop himself from taking over. Instead he cataloged her every shiver, every moan as she rose up and dropped down, tucking her reactions away for safe keeping.
Her soft breaths grew faster as she worked herself above him and said, “Touch me, Dean.”
He offered her his hands. “Show me where.”
She took his hands in hers and drew them to her hips. He stroked her skin, squeezing when she asked him to with a gentle press of her fingers. She tugged one hand a little harder, pulling it to where they were joined.
“Wait,” he whispered, tugging her fingers in return. “Let me watch you first.”
He had to. He fucking had to see that, just once.
She chewed her lip, and he helped the decision along by circling his hips beneath her, changing the angle so her next downward movement rubbed his tip along that crazy-sensitive place inside her. Jamie grunted, nearly doubling over, and then she was touching herself, tiny up-and-down motions that quickly got her where she needed to go.
It got him there too. The image was too fucking hot for his brain or his body to handle.
“Dean.” She clutched his fingers. “You. Please.”
He knew what she needed, and he wanted to give it to her. Sitting up, he took over for her, his hand between them and stroking until she trembled. She was the one to grab his hair when she came, holding on as her lips bruised his with rough, violent kisses. Dean worked her clit until her grip loosened, then clamped his eyes shut as he followed her over the edge. He couldn’t keep them open and witness what he knew would be the last time he ever saw her like this, beautiful and satisfied and panting to quiet above him.
He didn’t open his eyes again until she’d stretched out on the bed. Dean threw the condom in the trash and shut off the light. Curling up beside her in the darkness, he reminded himself of the final rule of a road trip:
Eventually, the trip had to end.
Chapter Eleven
Jamie didn’t want the weekend to be over.
Snuggled under the covers with Dean on Sunday morning, her back against his chest and some old cartoon he’d been completely stoked to find playing on the TV, she felt relaxed. Content.
Maybe it was being away from home, trading ocean and sand for the sheltering peaks of the mountains and the flat calm of the lake. Or maybe it was being at the fair yesterday, kicking up leaves, enjoying fall for once. Whatever it was, an understanding had taken root, saturating her thoughts as the day went on. She realized that Portland wasn’t holding her back, and neither was her brothers’ success.
The problem was all her.
She’d boxed herself into the life she was living, giving up on anything else because she’d tried once and failed, but Dean made her feel confident, something she’d never felt any place other than a pool. What he said in his truck yesterday about her deserving an amazing life showed her how silly it was to have given up when she’d hit one bump in the road. And when the sunlight came in through the curtains this morning, warming their tangled bodies on the bed, Jamie finally figured out what she wanted.
She wanted to go back to school for a degree in fashion. To spend her time learning about materials and textiles, to get over her fear of working with a sewing machine and see what kinds of designs she could create. To tell her parents about the program she’d looked into, and ask them to support her, the way they’d supported her brothers. She wanted to grab hold of her dreams and chase after them, but school wasn’t the only thing that would give her the exciting life she’d always wanted.
She wanted Dean too.
They’d agreed on one time, but being with him like this had changed the game. It wasn’t only the way they were able to laugh and talk, or how incredible the sex was, how she’d finally been able to feel wild and let go. It was the feeling of being seen, something she’d never had with anyone else, something she couldn’t have had without the years of history the two of them shared. And last night, that final time, holding on to each other as the pleasure built until they splintered apart—it felt like so much more than a quick romp in the sheets. More than some dirty little secret they’d stolen away to share and would never talk about again.
It felt like everything.
She stroked Dean’s knee over the sheet covering them. What he’d said about his dad answered so many questions. He didn’t think he was supposed to make his mark on the world, or come up with anything creative and beautiful. With the weight of business on his shoulders, he thought he had to fall in line and do his duty to his family, but Jamie could see the boy he once was on the inside. The one who’d handed her a handful of hopes over a rusty art table and asked her what she thought.
He could do so much more. Could be so much more. And she could show him that.
He could ground her and she could lift him up. They were perfect for each other. How had she never realized that?
She’d thought they were too much alike to ever balance out: both of them relationship-hoppers, unable to commit. But they’d both lost sight of what they wanted, both of them lost. And it wasn’t only sex drawing her back to him like a lighthouse on the shore. Six years of being unable to connect to other guys was all because she wanted him. Because despite everything they’d been through, she still wanted to be around him. Still liked him.
Loved him?
A tingle raced from her shoulders to her toes. It made sense, now, why she’d never tried to start a life somewhere else. It wasn’t because she’d gotten stuck. It was because something inside her had known this was possible.
That she and De
an could be amazing together, if they let themselves.
The cartoon ended, and he shut off the TV. He didn’t say anything, just ran his fingertips down her arms and marked her neck with a soft, wet kiss. Lifting a hand to her breast, he circled gently, easing his palm over her nipple until it rose up under his touch.
Jamie shivered, her reaction instantaneous. Involuntary. Her body had known for years that it wanted him. It had just taken time for her brain to catch up.
He pulled the covers back with his other hand, all that muscle and ink crisscrossing over her belly as he palmed her thigh and spread her open.
“Let me?” she asked, reaching around to thread her arm between them.
He shook his head, kissing beneath her ear as his fingers inched lower. “Just you.”
Her ability to protest vanished when he teased her. Circled. Delved between her lips and slid inside. Jamie was amazed she could take any more considering how many times he’d made her come, but she was ready for it, her pussy wet and aching after one deep pump.
He returned to her clit and worked her quickly, alternating wide circles that skidded by her most sensitive spots with rubbing directly against them. Her body arched with little ripples of pleasure, his warm breath at her neck making her melt. He brought her to the edge and kept her there, and Jamie clung to him, her heels pedaling against the mattress until he sped up and pressed down and ohhh, fuck.
Her voice cracked when she came, his name the only thing she could say, his arms the only thing she could cling to as he broke her apart and put her back together again.
She could barely breathe, let alone speak when she returned to earth. Her heart was thumping so fast because of what she was about to say, but he’d told her she was the only bright spot in his life, that she should have everything she wanted, so Jamie imagined she was standing at the edge of a diving board, and jumped.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Hmmm?” His mouth was still pressed against her ear, one hand on her belly, the other playing with her hair.
“There’s another reason why I never pushed myself to go to New York.”
“What’s that?”
“Because it would’ve meant I’d be too far away from you.”
A short exhale was her only answer. Silent, he twirled a tiny bit of her hair around a finger and pulled it straight. When it sprang back into place, Dean squeezed her once tightly, then shifted behind her. Jamie sat forward, letting him move, expecting a conversation to follow.
He stood up and started to dress instead, keeping his back to her.
“Dean,” she began softly.
“Yeah?”
Did we screw everything up?
Am I still your favorite girl?
Did that ever really mean anything?
“Did I…are you…mad?”
“Course not.” His boxers and jeans were already on. “Why would I be mad?”
“Cause you’re acting…” She watched him drag a gray T-shirt over his head. “Weird.”
He turned around. A casual mask was fixed on his face.
“It’s cool. We’ve just gotta get moving. Check-out time.” He threw her a smile and waved toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna wash up.”
The smile didn’t reach his eyes.
They barely spoke the entire drive back. When he pulled to a stop in front of her house and cut the engine, Jamie stared at the driveway. A chasm had opened between them, and she didn’t know how to close it.
She turned to face him. He didn’t move, just stared out the windshield, his jaw tense.
“I meant what I said in the hotel,” she said quietly.
Dean’s fist made contact with the steering wheel, three short, staccato strikes before he sighed heavily and ran the heel of his palm over his head.
“I thought we were coming back here like it never happened,” he said. “That we were getting it out of our systems and leaving it behind us.”
The air in the cramped space of the cab grew thin. There had to have been something wrong with the ventilation, because Jamie suddenly couldn’t breathe.
“Is that still what you want?” she asked.
“It’s what we agreed to, isn’t it? One time, and then we’d go back to normal.”
Right. She was supposed to act normal around him. Not like her heart was trying to claw its way out of her chest. She’d forgotten he was still the legendary Dean Trescott. There could be half a dozen women back here waiting for him. Oats waiting to be sowed.
“I thought maybe, something might have changed.”
It felt foolish to have thought that, now. To think anything would be different for him. The whole weekend was her suggestion after all. She’d planned to take back control. Get what she wanted. Scratch the itch and move on.
She hadn’t expected to realize she was in love with him.
Dean looked at her with eyes that had gone flat and dark, the coal-gray color of the ocean before a storm. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jamie.”
Of course he didn’t. Because he didn’t feel the same way. His rejection felt like Parsons and F.I.T. all over again.
Dear Ms. Matthews, We regret to inform you that Dean Trescott doesn’t want you, either.
The tears threatened. She reached for the door handle.
“Nothing. You don’t have to say anything.” She shoved the door open, slammed it shut and waited on the pavement.
Dean dug his hand through his hair and banged a fist against the roof. When he came out to pull open the truck box, she yanked her bag from it and started up her walkway.
“Jamie,” he called out.
It hurt to turn around. He seemed so far away on the other side of his truck, hands jammed into his pockets, his hair lifting on a breeze. Leaves skittered across the pavement around him like tiny red tumbleweeds.
“We still good?”
Her heart stopped beating.
She couldn’t believe he was asking her that. She couldn’t believe she was stupid enough to think he’d say anything different.
She never wanted to hear those words again.
“Of course, Dean,” she said, not caring if he heard the sarcasm in her voice. “We’re always good.”
Jamie stormed toward her house, too angry to feel sadness or regret. Too angry to do anything except walk away from him and never, ever look back.
Five days later, Jamie came home from her Friday shift at the center ravenous and completely exhausted. It was only mid-afternoon but her stomach was rumbling like she hadn’t eaten in days. She’d thrown herself into the workweek, picking up as many extra shifts as possible.
She’d needed the distraction.
Portland was a minefield, everything around her a tripwire, triggering memories of Dean. Halloween candy in the supermarket. Red-brown leaves on her lawn. That stupid bear she’d won at the fair, mocking her from her dresser.
She hadn’t had the heart to get rid of it. It wasn’t the bear’s fault, after all. And it served as a reminder of how what she thought was real was only make-believe. The whole thing had been a false start, and she dove in headfirst without looking, when she should’ve known that hitting the bottom would be the end result all along.
It was behind her now. And she had a decision to make: take the job at the center, or turn it down.
Dean’s easy dismissal of her feelings last weekend had shaken her confidence, making her second-guess everything she’d thought she could do. She couldn’t trust the whim that had said go back to school, make fashion your focus, since the person who’d made her believe that was possible didn’t actually want to be a part of her world.
Swimming had always been the easy fallback. But doing the easy thing wasn’t sitting right with her anymore, either.
She had until Sunday to give her boss an answer.
> Jamie made her way into the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the table.
“Hey,” she said. “We haven’t seen much of you this week.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been working a lot.” Jamie opened the fridge, searching for something that would take the least amount of effort to make.
“You hungry?”
No, she just liked sticking her face in forty-degree air after being underwater all day. “Starving.”
“I have some leftovers from dinner with the board of trustees last night.” She stood and shooed Jamie away from the fridge. “Sit. I’ll heat it up for you.”
Jamie couldn’t remember the last time they’d sat here alone together. It was awkward, being like this now, but her mother was offering, and Jamie was too hungry and tired to come up with a reason to turn her down.
She sank into a chair and put her chin in her hands. “Where’s Dad?”
“Still at the hospital.” Her mother filled a plate with pasta from a Styrofoam container. “So, it seems you were back to your usual antics when the boys were home.”
Jamie glanced up. The look being sent her way wasn’t judgmental or disapproving. It seemed like a fact mission, a request for information.
“I only pulled a couple of pranks.”
Her mother focused on the microwave. “I thought you were over that.”
Jamie picked up a pen and started doodling on a napkin. She wanted to have been over it. She should’ve been. But the little kid inside had been waving stick figure drawings and stomping her foot.
Mommy, pay attention to me.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Her mother shrugged. “Don’t apologize to me. I’m not the one whose wedding gifts you pretended were about to careen into the ocean.”
Again, there was no sense of irritation in her tone. If anything, it sounded more like…humor? Jamie chanced another look in her mother’s direction. Pursed lips had quirked up into a grin.
“It was a good joke, though,” she said.
Laughter broke through the surface of Jamie’s dour mood. It was a good joke, but she shouldn’t have done that to Sean on his wedding day.
The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) Page 12