“Where’d you go?”
I was not prone to games. Despite what Miss Lola said, I hadn’t ever played them with Jonny and I wouldn’t start. That didn’t mean I wasn’t up for a little evasive maneuvering when I wanted to postpone a conversation that was full of thorns.
“You’re an excellent cook. I’m happy to know—”
“Bobby,” Jonny cut me off and dashed all hope I could avoid getting sliced and diced.
“I was thinking about table manners,” I said.
The way his brow arched told me he wasn’t buying my simple answer and the way he rested his elbows on the table told me he wasn’t going to let me off the hook.
“It’s beautiful out here,” I started and looked from Jonny to the ocean then back to our empty dinner plates. “Good food. Good company. Can we shelve uncomfortable conversations for another night?”
“Yeah, baby, we can.”
My gaze flitted back to Jonny’s and I asked, “That easy?”
“That easy,” he confirmed.
I wasn’t sure what to make of this easygoing Jonny. He looked relaxed, comfortable, casual. The opposite of how he looked before he took off. I would’ve thought a month of solitude had done him well except for the fact when I’d arrived he hadn’t been chilling on his awesome deck with his feet kicked up, sipping a beer, watching the surf. He’d looked unhappy, stiff, miserable.
Now he was not.
“This is a great house,” I noted.
“It’s been in my mom’s family for a long time. My great-great-granddad bought property here in the 1920s. Back then Dewey Beach was nothing, land was cheap. The story goes, my great-great-great-granddad was furious at his son for making what he called a bad investment. Sean Crawford, that’s my great-great-granddad, saw something not a lot of others did, and before the stock market crashed, he cashed out and walked away with a lot of money. Again, his father and brothers thought he was a fool. Sean had even gone as far as selling his apartment in New York where his family lived. He bought more property in Kent County and built a modest home there, then took his wife and five kids and moved them to the farmhouse in Cliff City. The whole clan was outraged, furious at what they called his defection. Back then, the oldest of the Crawford sons leaving New York was a scandal, one my great-great-great-granddad didn’t take lightly. He disinherited Sean completely and Sean’s younger brother Theo was now next in line to the family fortune. Then three years later, the stock market crashed and over the next few years, the Crawfords lost everything. Crawford Industries was bankrupted.”
“What about Sean and his family?” I found myself asking. “How’d they make out?”
“I’d say he made out better than most. He was a smart man; got his family through the Great Depression and helped a lot of families in the county do the same. Sean and his wife ran a co-op and his five boys all worked the land. Most of what they grew was used to barter as Sean preferred to save the piles of cash he had hidden in the cellar. Sean’s eldest son, Seth—that’s my great-grandfather—was a carpenter. He could make anything from wood—from furniture to building timber cabins. He was good at it, made a decent living doing it. Seth came back to Dewey in the forties and built a house. A family retreat. It was small, had two bedrooms. With four siblings who all had families, four children of his own, it was hardly a retreat, but that’s what Seth called it. In 1963, there was a huge storm, demolished most of Dewey Beach. The original cottage was destroyed. My granddad, Stephan, rebuilt.”
The pride in Jonny’s tone couldn’t be missed. He came from a rich history—not rich in the sense of wealthy, though it sounded like the Crawfords were well-off—but rich in that there was a lot of it, it was interesting, and it was veiled in respect.
I loved that Jonny had that. Yet it was a reminder of how different we were. There was nothing reverent about my history. I held no esteem for my kin. They were criminals, bootleggers, thieves, and shysters. From my pappy, to my papaw, to my daddy—all tricksters, cheaters, and moonshiners. My brother had carried on the family tradition, though the last I saw EJ he was thieving not shining. But that was only because my daddy was still alive.
“You went somewhere again,” Jonny murmured.
“Sorry.” I shook my head in an effort to dislodge all thoughts of my people. The family I’d run from. “So is this the house your grandfather built?”
“It is. Though it's been added on to and updated since then. The house is in a trust. Sean made his wishes clear and the trust ironclad. This piece of land cannot be sold. If someone tries, all of the land and houses are to be donated to the American Legion.”
The house is in a trust.
I didn’t even know what a “trust” was until I started to work for Evie. Growing up, I didn’t know a single person who had anything worth anything. Certainly not something to put into a trust.
I ignored the ball of humiliation. The shame I’d grown up with. The utter embarrassment I’d always felt when someone found out I was Elmer Layne’s daughter. Jonny didn’t know who the Laynes were, he didn’t know I’d come from a shanty shack. To him, I was Bobby, assistant to the country music superstar Vivi Rush. He didn’t know I’d gone to bed hungry and scared. He had no clue that in the winter I’d lay in my bed shivering because Daddy was out and EJ was too lazy to go out to the shed and get more wood. He had no idea even though I’d grown up in a modern era, I’d lived like we’d been thrown back into the eighteen hundreds with barely a pot to piss in. And when the pipes froze that’s what I had—a pot to piss in.
“Baby,” Jonny whispered, his voice infinitely kind. “You’re worrying me.”
That wouldn’t do. I didn’t want Jonny worried and I didn’t want him asking questions. It was time to start playing the game I swore I’d never play. There wouldn’t ever be another night for uncomfortable conversations because we wouldn’t be having them. My past was the past and nothing good ever came from looking back. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I worked my ass off to shed every vestige of the Kentucky girl I once was. I’d moved to Tennessee and done whatever I could do to fit in there. I wasn’t ever going back to the holler. Jonny didn’t need to know anything about it because there was nothing worth knowing.
Nothing good.
Nothing decent.
Criminals, cheats, and shiners.
That was no longer my life and I wouldn’t dredge it up. It was over. I’d escaped and survived—the end.
I pushed everything out of my mind and gave Jonny my best smile.
“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” I told him.
“Can’t help but to worry when you’re a million miles away and you look like I punched you in the gut.”
He hadn’t punched me in the gut, but his words had.
“Don’t be silly—”
“And you don’t finish that statement.”
Jonny shifted in his seat and leaned forward but his elbows stayed where they were. If someone was looking at us, which no one was because even though we were on his deck, darkness surrounded us, and not even the seagulls were out. But if someone had been watching, it would look like he was leaning forward to whisper a secret or maybe to kiss me. But I was no fool, I’d seen his ‘Lieutenant Spencer’ stare enough times to know he saw through my lie.
Then he went on as if he weren’t giving me a frosty glare. “We’ve wasted a lot of time. I’ve wasted a lot of time. I’m not asking you to confess your deepest secrets tonight but I am asking you not to lie. You forget, I know you. I know when you’re giving me a bullshit smile to shut me up—”
“You don’t know a thing about me,” I snapped.
“I damn well do. I might not know where you grew up, or if you have brothers and sisters but I know you. I know all the important stuff, the rest of it I’ll learn as we go along. And I know you, I know when you’re lying. I also know when you’re giving me one of your fake-ass smiles. The kind you give to one of those artists when they come to The Farm to record. I don’t want fake, I do
n’t want lies, I don’t want either of us to hide.”
In a perfect world, I wanted that, too.
“You said you weren’t asking me to confess my deepest secrets tonight.” Jonny's studious study of me was unnerving. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m in an interrogation room and you’re trying to crack a case.”
That was the wrong thing to say and I knew it when Jonny completely closed down.
“Not a cop anymore, Bobby. And we’re on my deck, not an interrogation room.”
I would’ve preferred for him to tell me I wasn’t a suspect, that I was the woman he cared about, the woman he was starting a relationship with and wanted to get to know. But that wasn’t what he said. And if I was being honest, that stung.
I refused to be one of those wishy-washy women. Go, stay, run, come back. But right now, I wished I were one of those women. I wanted to run. Go home and lick my wounds, fortify my walls, and wait for Jonny to come home so we could start anew. Now that I knew a little about who his people were and the legacy they’d passed down through the generations, I’d be prepared. I just needed a little bit of time to come to terms with our differences.
Unfortunately, I’d stubbornly demanded my place. Now I had to stick to my guns and stay. My problem was I didn’t know what to say, which was totally out of character. I always had a snappy retort or some smartass comment at the ready. But snappy and smartass didn’t work on Jonny.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted and Jonny’s brow once again arched.
“You, Bobby Layne, are speechless?”
“No, I’m not speechless. There’s plenty I can say. But you said you didn’t want fake so I thought I’d save us the trouble of another go-around and just admit I don’t know what to say to take us back to the light, friendly conversation we were having before I complimented you on your cooking. We could sit in silence, but that’d suck. Or I could make a snappy remark about that damn eyebrow of yours and how you arch it right before you say something smartass. Further, I could tell you that one morning you might wake up to your brows Nair’ed off. You’ll look stupid but in the long run, you’ll thank me for not waxing them. Though, I reserve the right to use wax and not Nair if you continue to annoy me with the brow thing you do.”
Throughout my monologue, Jonny’s lips started twitching. This was highly attractive as was everything he did, including the annoying eyebrow thing, thus making it even more annoying.
Then I watched in rapt attention when his head dipped and he busted out laughing; making everything—every-last-thing about him—even more attractive. He’d laughed more in the last few hours than I’d ever seen but I knew it was a sight that would never get old. It was glorious. Deep and rumbly and made my body come alive in new ways.
“Only you,” he said through a chuckle.
That felt amazing.
“I want all of you, Bobby.”
That did not feel amazing. That felt terrifying.
“And I want you to have all of me.”
Back to floating on cloud nine.
I wanted all of him. I was just worried when he learned I wouldn’t be able to give him parts of me, he’d rescind his offer.
“How long can you stay?” he asked.
“I have my laptop,” I told him and when my answer was met with confusion, I reminded him, “I can work from anywhere. Evie doesn’t care where I set up shop just as long as my work gets done.”
“I want a week.”
“A week?”
“Here, alone, at the beach house. A week of just you and me before we go back and our well-meaning friends stick their noses in our business.”
Holy shit. Jonny Spencer wanted a week. A week alone with me.
Hell to the yes.
Instead of jumping up doing a jig or something similarly lame like pumping my fist in the air or breaking out into jazz hands (thankfully I’d never actually done any of those things), I remained in my seat and calmly said, “I can do a week.”
“Let’s take these inside.”
Jonny didn’t wait for me to answer. He picked up his plate and mine then walked across the deck to the door. I gathered up the silverware and our empty beer bottles and followed.
A week.
I’d have a whole week of Jonny all to myself.
I wasn’t sure if that terrified me or excited me.
By the end of the first night, I was heavily leaning toward happy.
“Mouth,” Jonny grunted.
That was not the first time he’d demanded I kiss him.
The first time, however, he hadn’t asked; he’d simply taken what he wanted. We were standing in the kitchen, I’d placed the empty beer bottles on the counter but I still had the silverware in my hand. About two seconds after Jonny’s mouth had touched mine, the forks and knives had clattered on the floor. That was a second after it hit me I was finally kissing Jonny or Jonny was kissing me as it were. And since I no longer had sharp objects in my hand I was free to touch, so I did. I’d wrapped my arms around him and held on while he sweetly, softly, tenderly introduced me to what a kiss was meant to be. It was sublime. It lasted a good long while. Jonny was in no rush; despite my eagerness to move things along, he kept me in the moment. His hands bracketed my jaw keeping me where he wanted me as he took me how he wanted. When he was done, he scooped me up and carried me to the bedroom.
I didn’t protest this. I didn’t bother telling him I could walk. There was something so endearing about him carrying me I settled into his arms and closed my eyes. Every step he took, I fell harder. Never had anyone made me feel special. Small, yes. Unworthy, absolutely. Protected, loved, cared for, not ever. But in Jonny’s arms after the best kiss of my life that was how I felt.
From there it only got better. So much better.
Fucking against the wall had been hotter than anything I’d ever experienced.
Jonny making love to me was out of this world.
Now I was so close to climaxing I was panting. My knees were hitched high, my thighs pressed to his sides. My arms wrapped around him, one diagonal across his back holding him to me, one hooked under his arm and my fingers were wrapped over his shoulder. And my breath was coming out in choppy gasps.
I couldn’t kiss him like he demanded because I could barely breathe.
“Can’t Jonny,” I moaned.
I felt Jonny’s fingers slide into my hair so he could right my head. He accomplished his task, never losing his slow, leisurely rhythm. The steady thrusts became harder but not faster. Once again, Jonny was in control of my pleasure and he had me where he wanted me—dangling close, almost there, ready to beg for more even though I knew he wouldn’t give in. He’d give me precisely what he wanted me to have.
And what he gave was good—the best.
Jonny lowered his mouth and brushed his lips against mine and that was the best, too. When he pulled back his gaze was intense. Icy blue flames. Glacial but burning hot.
God, I loved his eyes. Loved that they could convey a hundred things without words.
“I need you with me,” Jonny whispered.
“I’m with you,” I assured him and closed my eyes.
“No, baby, I need you with me.”
“Jonny, honey—”
My eyes snapped open but I didn’t get a chance to finish my statement. Gone were Jonny’s long, measured strokes. Hard, pounding breath-stealing drives. So deep, so fast I tightened my limbs and did the only thing I could do—I held on while I let go.
“Christ,” Jonny snarled and continued to power inside of me.
Grunts and moans filled the room. His and mine mingled together and I did everything I could to stay lucid. I didn’t want to miss it this time. Then he shoved his face in my neck and growled his release while I was still flying.
Together.
The best.
Bar-none, the very best.
Best feeling in the world. Jonny’s body damp with sweat
pinning me to the bed. My arms around him. His hand fisting my hair. His moans vibrating against my skin. Us connected. Forget the orgasm, just those things, that was the best. The closeness I felt. The warmth. The desire. That was what I’d needed. What I never knew or understood. How the heavy weight of Jonny over me could make me feel so light.
I needed him with me, too.
Forever and always.
We stayed like that for a long time. Quiet, just catching our breaths, enjoying the last moments of being joined.
“Say something, beautiful.”
“I love you.”
Jonny’s body went statue-still before he relaxed and all the oxygen whooshed out of my lungs when he collapsed on top of me.
“Thank fuck.”
I pinched my lips trying to hold back my hysterical laughter. Of all the things Jonny could’ve said, that was not what I’d expected. I failed miserably and with an unfortunate snort, the laugh bubbled to the surface. Jonny rolled to his elbow and stared down at me smiling. God, that smile. It was his eyes that had caught my attention. But the first time he’d smiled at me I’d been lovesick and every one since that first I fell harder.
His free hand came up and he brushed my hair from my face. Still smiling he said, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”
His confession made my fingertips dig into his shoulders.
“I love you, too.”
In that moment I forgot all about the past, all the times I’d felt less-than and small. His words didn’t wipe my childhood clean, it was just that it no longer mattered. I would’ve endured thousands of more days being laughed at and made fun of if it led me to this moment lying next to Jonny, him looking at me as if I were precious.
I’d endure absolutely anything to be Jonny’s.
7
Bobby moaned and her hips surged to meet his driving thrust. Jonny waited for it, listened, knew it was coming. So when her breath caught and the moan turned into a throaty whimper he knew she was there.
“Mouth, baby.”
Bobby struggled to right her head and when she did, instead of taking what he’d intended to take, he took something else—all that beauty under him. The feel of her wrapped around him, her heels digging into his ass, her hands frantic on his back, her tight, unbelievably wet pussy clutching his cock, all of that so fucking phenomenal. But for Jonny, it was the way she arched her back trying to get closer. It was the way she held on like she never wanted to let go. It was the way she was looking at him like the rest of the world had been erased and all that was left was the two of them. Unmistakable love. Obvious desire. Her pleasure was on view—unhidden, wild, stripped-down, and on display.
Jonny's Redemption (Gemini Group Book 7) Page 4