“Okay, no problem,” Liz said. “I’ll bring Ruthie home tomorrow after breakfast.”
“Sounds good,” I told her, and then called good-bye to my daughter.
Back in the truck, the air was charged and I felt an electric current running from my heart to the tips of my extremities.
“We could have stayed for a bit,” Blythe said easily. “But I’m glad you said we had to go.”
My pulse was drumming hard, and I was beginning to tremble a little.
“Me, too,” I managed to whisper.
“What would you like to do?” he asked then, his voice low and husky. My legs were trembling so much I cupped my hands around my thighs, lightly, as though that might help. I was suddenly self-conscious of my outfit (cut-off jeans and a green tank top, tennis shoes) and the state of my hair, which was still slung back in a ponytail that surely smelled of the fried fish I’d been serving since afternoon. I hadn’t even reapplied any make-up since my rain-drenched fight with Jackson this morning.
“How long have you known Rich?” I asked, biding a little time.
“Since I was little. I lived in Oklahoma most of my life. Dad and Mom split up when I was five or so, and Mom took care of me. You knew her, right?”
“A little,” I told him. “The summer I met her was the first year Rich and your grandma, Pamela, were married.”
“We didn’t visit up here very much,” he stated, and I watched him without replying, my breath caught in my throat.
“Your mom and Ellen, and Louisa, are such great ladies,” Blythe went on, as I silently studied his profile. . “I like their independence. Louisa really grilled me when she heard I’d been in jail. She didn’t think Joan and Ellen should hire me, at first.”
“What changed her mind?” I asked him, my voice hardly more than a whisper. We had driven back through Landon and were rounding the lake again, but on the opposite side. Shore Leave would be visible through the trees, had I looked back across the water. Blythe angled onto a side road, one that led into the dense woods, and finally came to a halt, far off the beaten path. We were in a clearing I knew well, one of the old state park campsites, where I’d spent many a merry teenage summer night.
Blythe turned the key and the engine quieted. It was almost fully dark outside now, the sky lavender and violet-tinted where it was visible through the trees. I turned farther and curved my left knee onto the seat, facing him, feeling the trembling start again. My body was literally aching to be pressed against his, but I waited patiently as he angled to face me, too, just barely two feet away.
“She looked at me, really hard, and finally concluded that I was all right,” he said, and I remembered we’d been talking about my grandmother. “She said she couldn’t see anything dangerous in my eyes.”
I laughed a little, saying, “That sounds like Gran.”
“I was in jail because I stole my boss’s car,” he told me, though I hadn’t asked. “I was twenty-one and had been fired. I took money, and stole his car. I did three months and got out for good behavior.”
It wasn’t exactly hard time, but it couldn’t have been easy either. And he’d be branded a criminal for the rest of his working career. I said, “Thanks for telling me.”
“I figured you’d be wondering,” he said, holding my eyes with his. The radio was low, still playing softly in the background, and the dash lights picked out the deep navy of his eyes. His jaw was scratchy with a day’s growth of whiskers, his hair held back in its customary ponytail, low on his neck. I drank in the sight of him, greedy for it. He was so good-looking he was beautiful, with his full, bowed lips and arching eyebrows, dimples and huge shoulders. I almost gulped, slipping my hands under my thighs to stop from touching him.
There was a pause, and my heart was firing so hard I was certain he could hear it.
“You are so pretty,” he said after a moment, low, and touched my jaw with his right hand, cupping it and caressing along my neck. “Your eyes are so green.”
“Thanks,” I managed to whisper, my entire body trembling now. He moved his hand to my waist and gripped me lightly, his fingers skimming over my back, almost teasingly. His other hand wrapped around my leg and he drew me closer; his dimples were showing again.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he whispered.
“Yes,” I whispered back, trying not to sound like I was begging, though it was close. He did, pulling me flush against him, and I slid my arms around his neck, pressing my breasts to his chest, moaning as his lips met mine, so amazingly inviting. Again some tiny part of my mind was screaming that I needed to stop this right now, that I shouldn’t be arching my back so he could swiftly unhook my bra. But I shut out that voice and reluctantly broke the contact of our mouths to allow him to slip my shirt over my head. He breathed lightly against my neck, his hands warm around my hips, and then my bra joined my shirt, abandoned on the dashboard. I gasped a little as he rubbed his scratchy jaw gently against my neck, sending spasms of pleasure through my limbs. He leaned back and I unbuttoned his shirt, running my hands over the hardness of his bare chest, and I was then flush against him, being kissed passionately. It felt so good to be half-naked with him, so incredibly fucking good. He tipped his head and swirled his tongue over my nipples, hot and lusciously, murmuring appreciatively as I cried out and curled my fingers into his hair.
It was when his questing fingers began working at the button on my jeans that I had to say, “Blythe, we can’t…”
He pulled back immediately, though he kept me tight in his arms. He said, his deep voice slightly breathless, “It’ll be so good, just let me show you.”
Temptation clawed me, but I said, “I have my period. We can’t tonight, anyway.”
He let that sink in for a half-second, but then he tipped his head slightly to the side and regarded me with a smile lifting one side of his full lips. He said, low, “No matter. Come on,” he added, moving to hand me my shirt and turning the knob to raise the radio volume. I watched in surprise as he nudged his door with one shoulder to open it.
I slipped my tank top back over my head, my lips swollen from his kisses, my bra crumpled on the dashboard. He rounded the hood and then proceeded to open my door, reaching up, like a gentleman at a formal occasion, for my hand.
“May I have this dance?” he asked, politely, his unbuttoned shirt parted over his hard chest and knife-blade belly, places I wanted so desperately to be pressed flat against my bare skin, all night long.
I felt myself smiling at him, rocked by his tenderness. I slipped my hand into his and allowed him to help me from the truck into the night. On the local country station the deejay was talking about the weather for the rest of the evening, and then a slow Randy Travis song filtered through the speakers, one from my own high school days. My heart was beating my ribcage as though I’d just sprinted all the way from Shore Leave to be here in Blythe’s arms. Which I would have. With wonder in my eyes, I slipped my hands up, way up, and around his neck, and felt his strong arms gather me close, tight around my waist. His eyes were steady on mine, just visible in the purple-tinted gloom of evening. His hair was hanging down his back, thick and with a slight wave, but utterly masculine. I traced patterns against the back of his warm neck, frightened by how possessive I felt of him, just how much I felt for him. But it was best not to think about that right now.
His fingertips traced lightly over my back, his thumbs against my belly. My nipples were diamond-hard through my tank top, just skimming his chest. I shivered a little at the pleasure of it, and he grinned at me, while I reaffirmed just how much I loved his mouth.
“You feel so good,” he said, low, in keeping with the nighttime.
“You, too,” I murmured back, drowning in his eyes. “You have no idea.”
We swayed slowly, pressed tightly together, as the song moved into another. Blythe reached up and gently pulled the band holding back my hair, then spread it around my shoulders with one hand, keeping the other about my waist. It was such an intimate gesture, and I
thought of Jillian expressing that about Justin smelling her hair. Blythe stroked my hair and the side of my neck before trailing his fingertips lightly over my left nipple, and then he pulled me back against him.
My body was absolutely humming with desire; when he tipped his face to kiss me, I pulled his lips to mine almost fiercely. He responded with a full, deep kiss, lifting me up against him. I clutched his scalp, my fingers in his hair, wanting to take him as deep as possible into my body, even knowing that was impossible at the moment. His tongue swept into my mouth, and he bit my bottom lip lightly, sending an arc of heat through my legs. With a smooth motion, he moved to set me on the hood of the truck, not breaking the contact of our mouths. I kissed him back with utter abandon, sucking his lips, tipping my head back joyously as he moved to kiss my throat, my collarbone. He slipped the tank straps over my shoulders and bent again to my breasts, and I moaned, clutching his head against me, greedy for everything he was giving. My breath was coming in gasps as he plied his tongue on my nipples, and I reached, blindly, and unbuttoned his jeans.
“Joelle,” he groaned against my hair as I gripped him tightly, shuddering with the pleasure of how hard he was.
“I don’t care if you have your period,” he went on, his voice hoarse. But I couldn’t let him, no matter how little I cared about that fact right now either. Instead, I hopped nimbly from the hood and led him back into the truck, where the radio was still crooning love songs. I shoved him (as much as someone my size could shove a huge, incredibly strong man like Blythe) into the seat and unzipped his fly, feeling my heart everywhere in my body.
I tipped down and slipped him into my mouth, running my tongue around and around, as he cupped one hand against the back of my head and groaned. I realized it had been a darn long time since I’d done this kind of thing, but it was like riding a bike…I still had it, and almost smiled at the thought. His breath was ragged, and after a few minutes I felt the tip of him swell even more and change shape in my mouth.
“Joelle,” he gasped out. “I’m gonna…”
But it was too late and I tried desperately not to gag. I managed rather nicely, I thought, sitting back on my legs and surreptitiously wiping my mouth. He sat with his head tipped back, hands lax on the seat, the picture of satisfaction. I smiled at him, admiring his gorgeousness, trying not to think about how much I wished I had something to drink.
“Holy shit,” he murmured, turning his head to smile back. “Next time it’s your turn, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. I moved like a magnet into the curve of his beckoning arm and snuggled against his side. He smelled so good, and I ran my right palm over his stomach, bare beneath his unbuttoned shirt, marveling at the hard, smooth texture under my hand. He caught it lightly in his left and brought my knuckles to his mouth, kissed them gently.
“You’re on,” I whispered.
***
I felt like a criminal twenty minutes later as we drove back around the lake to Shore Leave, though not so much as a hair was out of place on my head, my ponytail back in place, severely tight. Blythe held my hand in his, our fingers linked, his thumb tracing lazy patterns against my skin.
“What are we going to do?” he asked, when we were about a minute from the café.
I knew exactly what he meant, but the truth was, I had absolutely no idea.
“My girls won’t understand,” I told him. “Everything with their dad is too raw right now.”
He glanced over at me and said, “I’m not trying to play you, Joelle. You know that, right?”
I was startled that he’d say that…especially when I was probably the one playing him. Using him to feel better about my divorce, my cheating husband. But when my eyes met his and my heart thundered against my breastbone yet again, I knew it was more than that. I really, really liked him. And there was no way I could let myself feel this way.
“I know that,” I whispered as he turned into the parking lot. “I don’t think that.”
“I’m glad,” he said.
An hour later and I was on the porch with Jillian and Gran, Tish and Camille. The girls were curled on the porch swing, giggling about something while Gran and my sister played Slapjack with a deck of cards. All the men in our lives had disappeared to points unknown, at least for the night. I listened to the girls with one ear, but I didn’t hear Noah’s name mentioned. My thoughts were in a snarl; I was alternately giddy with the pleasure of what I’d done with Blythe and knotted with guilt for the same thing.
It’s not as though you’ve hurt anyone, I thought, chewing my thumbnail, reminiscent of my oldest daughter.
But you’ll get hurt. This can’t last, you know it, the grown-up, rational part of my mind insisted.
But I want to so much. I pictured the way Blythe’s eyes looked when he kissed me, so smoky blue and full of want. The thought made my heart begin drumming. I pressed a fist to my belly and thought about unzipping his jeans and…
“Joelle, why are you so distracted?” Gran was asking me, and I snapped my attention to her.
“I’m just thinking,” I hedged, glad for the darkness that hid my flushed face. Gran flapped a hand at me and I pretended to ignore my sister’s speculative gaze.
“No good ever came from that,” she teased, then motioned for me to join the game.
I scooted my chair up to their table as Gran dealt me in to the round.
“We’re going to have to replace the phone,” Gran added, but the glint in her hazel eyes was a merry one.
“Why, what happened to it?” Tish asked from five feet away, hanging upside down off the seat cushion with her feet braced on the back of the swing.
“Mom chucked it in the lake when she was talking to Dad earlier,” Camille explained, and I hung an arm over my chair and turned to face her, eyebrows raised.
“Grandma told me,” she explained. “I understand.”
“Well thanks,” I said, irritated at myself for doing that, for letting Jackie get me that angry. Partly to change the subject but mostly because I was wildly curious, I continued, “So when did you meet Noah?”
“A few weeks ago,” she said.
I studied my oldest’s lovely face; she was hedging just as obviously as I’d been a few seconds before.
She squirmed under my gaze and added, “About a week after we got here from Chicago.”
“He’s a nice kid,” Jilly added, fanning her cards and peering at her niece. “We went to high school with his brother Ben.”
“Yeah, that’s what Ben said,” Camille told us.
“Did Noah graduate this year?” I pressed.
“No, last year. He’s back from his freshmen year at Madison,” Camille told me. “He wants to be a pharmacist.”
“Hmmm,” I said, swinging back to face the card game. Jilly raised her eyebrows at me.
“Five card stud?” Gran asked, and I abandoned the Spanish Inquisition for the moment
Two hours after that I was tucked into bed when my phone vibrated. I had been expecting it, and yet my heart still turned cartwheels and sent hot blood backpedaling though me.
“Hey,” came his deep, sexy voice.
My lips curved into a smile and I snuggled into my pillow, covers over my head and Gran’s snores in the background.
“Hey,” I whispered back, feeling my pulse everywhere. I cupped my free hand around my belly and stroked lightly, wishing it was Blythe’s hand.
“I just wanted you to know I had a great time tonight,” he said.
“I did, too,” I whispered.
“Good-night, then,” he said, low and sweet.
“Good-night,” I told him, caressing the phone. I added quietly, feeling bold, “I wish you were here with me.”
“Me, too,” he said, his voice full of feeling. “So much. See you tomorrow, sweetheart.”
Chapter Ten
June was getting hotter and more humid as it melted towards July. I spent the days helping at the café, trying to not to drown in the deep blue of Blythe’s
eyes as he worked behind the scenes, bandana in place, his shoulders huge and strong beneath the Shore Leave t-shirt. I watched him as constantly and inconspicuously as possible, but the one person who would have really noticed was distracted with her own lovesickness these days. Justin and Dodge were frequently in the café, especially for breakfast, and I found myself scrutinizing the younger Mr. Miller. He did watch Jillian, intently, but was so subtle about it that I would have missed it if not for our conversation on the way to Bemidji. His dark eyes would seek her, and she seemed to know it every time; I would peek at my sister and watch her indigo eyes flash to him, just as hotly as his sought her, to see Justin look quickly away. I vowed to find a way to get them together; if only I could enlist help, but I couldn’t betray Jilly’s confidence.
Blythe and I had not been able to concoct an excuse to go anywhere together since the evening of the bonfire at Liz’s. The next evening he’d found me behind the café, as the sun was setting, and pulled me around to the far edge of the garage. There we’d clung like rain-drenched leaves, kissing with all of the pent-up desire that raged beneath the surface after working all day within the same space and being unable to touch.
“I dream about this all day,” he said against my hair, clutching my waist and holding my hips flush against his.
I curled my hands around his neck and let his words sink into me like a sensual perfume, one I hadn’t let touch my body in far too long. I felt heady, like a teenager, and reveled in that feeling in these moments, conveniently shutting out the very real responsibilities that filled my world. Constantly my mind would be shrieking at me, it’s just for a moment, it’s just for a moment…this can’t last…
To shut out that voice I lined his jaw with my hands and pulled his lips back to mine, where we kissed and kissed, rich, deep, stroking kisses. My breath was coming in gasps as he opened his lips in small, suckling kisses along my neck. He made a hot spot on my collarbone with his tongue just as the screen door slammed twenty yards away, and the sound of Clint and Tish thumping along the porch boards penetrated the haze surrounding us.
Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe Page 12