Back to Before

by Tracy Solheim

  Trying not to groan too loudly, Ginger carefully lifted her head, hindered by the fact that her body felt like Jell-O laced with wet sand. She sat up slowly so as not to excite the dog—or pass out. Ginger spied a glass on the nightstand, a stack of saltine crackers and a bottle of Tylenol sitting beside it. The dog drooled as she reached for a cracker.

  “Shoo,” she said. Midas ignored her, shimmying closer until his hind leg pinned her foot to the cool wood floor. The cracker turned to paste in her mouth after one bite and Ginger grabbed for the glass, gulping down a large swallow to wash down the grit. She nearly gagged as the sickly sweet, carbonated beverage slid down her throat.

  “Yuck! What is this?” She peered into the glass. “It’s the color of pee!”

  Gavin chuckled from the bathroom doorway. “It’s called Mountain Dew and it’s the nectar of the Hangover Gods.”

  Ginger dared a glance in his direction and instantly wished she hadn’t. Gavin stood with both hands reaching above his head, gripping the doorframe, the pose giving her a splendid view of his freshly showered body. Dressed in nothing but a towel slung low over his hips, his hair was damp and his beard unshaved. As he shifted his feet, a muscled thigh peeked out from beneath the fluffy wrap. Mesmerized, Ginger tried not to drool like the dog as she watched a droplet of water sliver down his chiseled chest only to disappear to the good parts hidden beneath the towel. She was grateful for the leaden weight in her limbs keeping her immobile on the bed. It was the only thing preventing her from embarrassing herself by leaping up and jumping his bones.

  “It’s disgusting,” she croaked, motioning to the glass in her hand.

  He sighed as he released the doorframe and ambled toward her, his feet padding quietly on the floor. Jeez-Louise! Were men supposed to have sexy feet?

  “Not a morning person, are we?” he asked as he stepped in front of her, shoving Midas out of the room before reaching for the bottle of Tylenol. “Here. It’s been eight hours since you last took some. Swallow these with the Mountain Dew. The caffeine will help with your recovery. Trust me.”

  He smelled fresh, like pine trees and rainwater and virile, sexy man. With trembling fingers, Ginger grabbed the two tablets out of his hand before she did something stupid like lick his damp biceps. The übersweet liquid went down a lot more smoothly the second time around.

  “That’s a girl. We’ll break your foodie snob habits, yet.”

  Another image flashed in Ginger’s mind. One of her on the floor of Gavin’s bathroom.

  Ginger’s stomach surged and she pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, God,” she repeated. “I think I may have embarrassed myself last night.”

  Gavin gave her one of his bone-melting smiles. “May have?”

  She buried her face in her hands with a groan.

  “Hey, it happens to the best of us when we drink on an empty stomach. Since I think yours is perpetually empty, it isn’t hard to guess that you wouldn’t be able to handle a few drinks.” He reached down to slowly help her up, tugging her along his bare chest. The heat radiating from his body sucked her in and she leaned closer to him. “But it’s okay because you’re a very friendly drunk.” His mouth brushed the shell of her ear and she couldn’t hold back a shiver. “Frisky, too.”

  The breath seized in her lungs as her panic ratcheted up a notch. “Frisky?” she choked out. “H-how friendly was I?” Ginger wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

  “Friendly enough that one of us is wearing a smile this morning.”

  Ginger didn’t know what unnerved her more: the fact that she might have been intimate with Gavin or that she didn’t remember a single moment of something she’d been fantasizing about since first laying eyes on him.

  “Gavin,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. “What did I—I mean, did we . . . ?” She left the question hanging in the air.

  His finger beneath her chin drew her gaze up to meet his solemn one. He slowly shook his head from side to side. “Trust me—if we had, you’d never forget it.”

  Ginger teetered on wobbly legs at the intensity of his expression and his words. Gavin wrapped his arms more securely around her. “But, hey, the day is still young.”

  Heat flooded her body and her panties grew wet. That was before she embarrassed herself with a soft belch.

  “Sexy,” Gavin teased as she slapped a hand over her mouth. “First things first, you need food and a warm shower. You’ll feel better.” His lips brushed against her forehead as he spoke. “After that, we can take our time with whatever comes next.” The self-assured smile he gave her told Ginger she’d definitely enjoy whatever came next. She traced a finger down the planes of his chest.

  With a grunt, he guided her toward the bathroom, gently shoving her inside. “Get in there, before I change my mind and I have my gentleman card revoked for life,” he growled.

  Twenty minutes later, she felt slightly more human as she emerged from the bathroom freshly showered. Better yet, the aroma of cooking food didn’t make her stomach roll. Ginger slipped into her sandals and moved into the main living area of the loft. NPR’s “All Things Considered” was quietly streaming over the Bose speakers discreetly tucked into the high ceilings.

  Gavin stood in the open kitchen looking comfortable and in command in front of the six-burner range. “There’s some toast there on the counter,” he said as he whipped up some eggs with a fork. He’d traded in the towel for a well-worn pair of jeans and a golf shirt, and Ginger tried not to be too disappointed. “Help yourself to coffee if you want it.”

  She poured herself a cup as she took in the understated beauty of Gavin’s loft. Cinnamon-colored brick made up the walls while handcrafted iron pillars supported the beams holding the track lighting. The industrial-sized windows were high enough to let in light but discreet enough that they didn’t give outsiders a bird’s-eye view. Wide pine floors glowed throughout the room scattered with mission furniture and homey knickknacks.

  “This place would go for seven figures in New York City.”

  “I know,” Gavin said. “I based it on a design I used in Tribeca.”

  Ginger wandered over to the large drafting table strategically placed beneath the western windows. “You’re very good at what you do. I can see why you miss it so much. I’m sure it was hard to give it up.”

  “I haven’t given it up,” he said with conviction. “I’ve been freelancing since I came back to Chances Inlet. I just finished a big design project for a developer in Wilmington.”

  Somehow, Ginger wasn’t surprised. He did seem to spend a lot of time in Wilmington. Gavin may be doing time in Chances Inlet to ensure his father’s legacy remained intact, but beneath it all he was a talented artist who obviously loved his work. She fingered the drawings he’d left on the table before her eyes landed on a photo sitting on the windowsill behind his desk. In it, Gavin, another man with sandy brown hair and glasses, and a petite blond woman were standing in Times Square laughing merrily.

  “Friends of yours?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Ginger picked up the picture as she studied Gavin. “If they’re not friends anymore, why do you keep the picture?”

  “I haven’t redecorated yet.” His mouth was grim as he ladled the eggs onto a platter.

  “Ahh.” Understanding suddenly dawned on Ginger. “She’s the former fiancée.”

  “Yep. And he’s the former best friend.”

  “Hmmm. Well, isn’t it nice how that all worked out.”

  Gavin laughed. “Most people just tell me they’re sorry.”

  “I’m not sorry. She obviously didn’t deserve you.”

  He grinned then. One of his triple-dimple grins that made her week at the knees. “Well, well, Ms. Ginger, I do believe you’re starting to like me.”

  As if there’d ever been a question about her liking him.

  TEN

  Gavin watched as Ginger wandered around his loft. Her fingers absentmindedly trailed along his belongings much as the
y’d moved over his chest a half hour ago. Obviously, the cold shower he’d endured this morning hadn’t been enough to quench the fire still burning inside him after the sexy gift she’d given him the night before. It had taken everything he had to lift her warm, sleepy body off his own hard one last night and leave her alone in his bed. As desperately as he wanted to wake her and return the favor, Gavin knew it was sleep she needed.

  Unfortunately, that meant he had to spend a restless night on the slick leather sofa in the living space, listening to her soft breathing twenty feet away. As a result, he was not only horny as hell, but exhausted, too. The sooner he got her fed, the sooner he could get her back into his bed.

  He carried the platter of eggs and a carton of orange juice to the table, kneeing a drooling Midas out of the way. “Come and get it.”

  Ginger took a seat and he was glad to see her nibbling on a piece of toast as he shoveled some eggs on her plate.

  “This looks delicious,” she said. “Thank you.” She made no move for her fork, though.

  “It not only looks delicious, but it tastes delicious, too.”

  She scowled at him, gesturing to the toast in her hand, which she then promptly inhaled before moving on to the eggs. “Why is everyone in this town so obsessed with what I eat?”

  Gavin laughed. “They’re more obsessed with what you don’t eat.” As he watched her consume the breakfast he’d made, he was relieved that her idiosyncrasies about food seemed to be just another false assumption of the crazy people in Chances Inlet.

  “I don’t have an eating disorder, Gavin,” she said between bites. “I just have to be careful.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve used the word ‘careful.’ Why?”

  Ginger took a sip of the orange juice before she answered, seeming to need the time to figure out how best to respond to him.

  “My life . . .” She hesitated. “Well, it’s kind of a little crazy right now. I grew up in a very regimented environment where everything was done so that I could achieve one goal: to perform at my best. Making sure I eat healthy is the only thing I have left that’s under my control now.” She shrugged. “I’ll admit to being a little obsessive compulsive about it sometimes, but that doesn’t make me crazy. Or sick.”

  Gavin nodded his understanding. He could definitely relate to living a life that was no longer his own.

  “It’s funny,” she continued. “Growing up, I always hated the strict routine. Ever since the accident, though, when it was all taken away from me, I guess I’ve missed some aspects of that life. This is just my way of handling it,” she said, waving another piece of toast at him.

  “Wait—what accident?” Gavin had assumed she’d hurt herself dancing. The thought of her being injured in another way caused a trickle of unease to crawl up his spine.

  She fiddled with the stem of her juice glass, again seeming to choose her words carefully.

  “Hey,” he said. “I’ve let you in on my dark secret; you could at least spill yours.”

  “It’s not a secret,” she said with another of those little head shakes. “Just embarrassing.”

  “It can’t be any more embarrassing than your karaoke,” he teased.

  Red-faced, she buried her head in her hands. “Ugh, I hope I never have to relive those moments.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck getting that genie back in the bottle. Half the people in the bar were recording your show on their cell phones.”

  Ginger groaned again and Gavin reached for one of her hands.

  “So you see,” he said as he softly traced her palm with his finger. “Your accident couldn’t have been so embarrassing that you can’t tell me about it. I’ve heard you sing.”

  She smiled even as a tear escaped her eye. “But last night the only person who got hurt was me.”

  Another lick of unease traveled along Gavin’s spine.

  “Tell me,” he demanded, gently squeezing her hand.

  Ginger sighed. “It was all my fault. Remember that discipline in my life I said I missed?”

  Gavin nodded.

  “Well, I had a tendency to chafe at it. Often. One night, after a performance at the Met, a group of us went out to dance and have a few drinks. It was supposed to be an early night. We all had a corps lesson at nine the next morning.” She blew out a breath. “At the bar, I ran into some friends of Diesel’s. They’d all gone to prep school together with him. I’d met them a few times when he and I were at Juilliard, but Diesel had always kept them at a distance from me. But I liked them. They were . . . different than the guys I normally met. I liked that they had nothing to do with the world of dance, you know?”

  Gavin nodded, although he wasn’t too sure why the idea of Ginger liking any other guy made him so edgy.

  “Anyway, they offered to take me to a party in Brooklyn. They said Diesel would be there singing with his band, so I felt it was pretty safe.”

  “Diesel sings?” He couldn’t imagine the gravelly voiced producer warbling a dirty limerick, much less singing in a band.

  She nodded. “He has the most amazing voice.” She swallowed hard. “Had the most amazing voice.”

  Gavin didn’t like where this story was going. Not one bit.

  “I’m sure you can guess that Diesel wasn’t at the party. Just a bunch of rich kids hopped up on drugs. I tried to call Diesel, but he never answered. Things got pretty intense.” Her voice grew soft. “It was stupid of me to have even gone with them. I did my best to keep my wits about me, thinking if I just had one drink, I could sneak out and catch a cab home.” Gavin’s body was tense now and his breathing a little labored. “Of course, someone slipped something in my drink without me knowing it. Suddenly they were convincing me I could fly off the balcony of the stairs. I couldn’t.” She reached down and rubbed her ankle. “By the time Diesel got my message and came to rescue me, a fight had started. One of his supposed friends hit him with a table leg. The blow partially crushed his larynx. As bad decisions go, it was the worst one of my life.”

  “Jesus,” Gavin said. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been squeezing her hand until she tugged it out of his grip. “I’m sorry,” he said, and she nodded as though she knew he was referring to more than just her red wrist. “For both of you.”

  “Diesel has a nice trust fund and lots of family connections to fall back on,” she said with a shrug.

  “How did you end up on the soap opera?”

  “When it was evident that I’d never perform again, my mother started nagging me to join her back at the ballet company. But I just couldn’t. I’d let her down. After all that hard work, she wasn’t going to get her Prima Ballerina. I’d made a stupid error in judgment and I felt very guilty and ashamed.”

  Gavin hated how small her voice sounded. “None of it was your fault.”

  “You sound like Diesel,” she said with a pensive smile, and Gavin’s esteem for the show’s producer went up a couple of notches. “An agent friend from Juilliard set me up with the audition. They were looking for someone who could pass for a sixteen-year-old. With my small build, I fit the part. It was actually a lot of fun. I was used to working long hours to get the job done, and the director and crew liked that.”

  “But?”

  She laughed then. “But nobody gets better audience recognition ratings than Savannah Rich. When Destiny started to become more popular, it was time for me to go.”

  He reached for her hand again, gently guiding it to his mouth so he could brush his lips along the skin he’d made red earlier. “Now what?” he asked.

  “Now Diesel and I try to reclaim what I took away from us both. If this show is successful, his father has promised him a music talent show, similar to American Idol. There’ll be some dancing, too, so he’ll need a choreographer.” She pointed jauntily at herself and grinned. “It’s not ballet, but I’m sure I can handle it.”

  So many futures were riding on the success of the restoration of Dresden House. Gavin was never more determined to make i
t a success.

  “You can definitely handle it.”

  Her smile was a little wobbly, but sweet, and Gavin couldn’t resist pulling her in for the kiss he’d been craving since last night. He opened her mouth with his and a contented moan escaped the back of her throat before she crawled out of her chair and straddled his lap. It was his turn to groan when her thighs wrapped around him. Desire, strong and hot, seemed to engulf both of them as she tangled her fingers in his hair and returned his kiss.

  * * *

  Ginger was embarrassing herself again, but she was beyond caring. Kissing Gavin felt way too good. His hands cupped her bottom, pulling her in closer to his very aroused body. Their kiss grew more urgent at the contact. She swiped her tongue against his and felt him twitch beneath her.

  “What are we doing, Gavin?” she breathed against his ear, his day-old beard grazing her cheek.

  He brought his mouth down to trail along the sensitive skin beneath her jaw as his fingers made quick work of her bra beneath her blouse. “First,” he said as Ginger threw her head back to give his lips greater access. “I’m going to return the very nice favor you gave me last night.”

  Ginger was as embarrassed as she was turned on by his husky words, and her hips thrust forward of their own volition. He let out a satisfied grunt. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she arched her back over his arm, offering her breasts to him. Gavin didn’t ignore the invitation, lifting up her blouse and closing his mouth around her now-bare nipple. Her breath hitched as heat pooled in her belly. Now deeply aroused, she shifted agitatedly on his lap.

  “Ginger,” he growled. “Move like that again and it’s the kitchen table for you.”

  She smiled, thrilled to have such power over him. “Then you should probably take me to bed.”

  Passion flared in his eyes and his amazing mouth was as hard as the rest of him. He lifted her up in one fluid motion and they were in the bedroom in three strides. Wrapping a hand behind her neck, he pulled her in for a deep, searching kiss.