“What I want is to go home and put my sweats on and curl up with a good book.”
“Books don’t keep you warm at night, babe,” Sam said.
“Look who’s talking,” Bella grumbled. “You, who have your own private rock star to cuddle up to.”
Jess laughed. “It’s just dinner, and you have to eat anyway. This guy is nice. And he’s the last one!”
And that’s why Bella was now sitting in the town square. Watching the late-afternoon sun set over the tree-covered hills in the distance, showing off the gorgeous New England fall colors. It was getting just a bit chilly, so she wrapped her sweater a little tighter around her shoulders.
Bella had made an effort tonight only because her friends had gone through all this trouble for her. She’d gone home and put on a long cable-knit sweater, leggings, and ankle boots, and redid her hair and put on some cute loopy earrings . . . But in her heart she knew, no matter how wonderful her friends were, no matter how badly they wanted her to stay in Mirror Lake, things weren’t going to work out for her here. She would never have a fresh start in this town. She wanted out, and finally, now that Joey was preparing to leave for college, she had nothing stopping her from living her own life at last.
She checked her watch. The last night of her twenties. Tomorrow she would be the big three-oh. She had exactly five hours and thirty-five minutes left of youth, and she felt it slowly slipping away like wine in her glass. Then she would have to usher in the decade of first wrinkles, Spanx, gray hairs and chin hairs.
But tonight she was getting wild and crazy, woo-hoo, meeting her last blind date. She was glad to have the distraction, because frankly, she was dreading her birthday. Thirty! Her parents were married at twenty, Gina at twenty-one.
She was lonely. Oh hell, she was horny. And given the emotional significance of this birthday, she was a little afraid she’d do something stupid. Maybe she should ditch this date now while she had the chance.
Long ago, she’d held out for love—well, more like she’d been completely swept away by love—but look where that had gotten her. Then she’d told herself she was in love with Ethan, but looking back, he’d been there for her at a time when she’d desperately needed to feel loved. The last guy she’d given a chance was no different. It was like some part of her knew she’d never feel the intensity of emotion that she’d experienced when she was so young. And unconsciously she’d made sure to pick the kind of men that wouldn’t demand of her that she even try.
Maybe something wild and crazy would happen to her tonight. Something to usher out the decade of her youth and bring in her thirties with a bang. Oh, who was she kidding? She wasn’t the type to fool around with a stranger.
But maybe she needed to be a new type.
She checked her watch. Date Number Three was late. Not good, since with every passing minute, she was closer to bailing herself. She took her phone out and started scrolling through Sam’s and Jess’s texts. Jess had sent her the picture of Toothpaste Man. She looked around the square. Nope, no tanned, displaced California surfer guys anywhere in sight.
Just then, she saw a man walking toward her from across the square. She looked the other way, pretending to be fascinated by a couple of little kids kicking up leaves. Because she’d know that sweeping, confident gait, that straight-as-a-cornstalk carriage, those big, strong shoulders anywhere. And the way her limbs were going weak, the way her heart had catapulted into her stomach like a basketball and her breaths were coming raggedly, her body knew it, too. All that told her that the man striding quickly toward her was no surfer guy. It was Roman.
She glanced up to find him standing there, wearing jeans and a black sweater. Looking like sin, as usual.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, trying to sound disappointed, but she couldn’t help smiling a little. “I’m expecting my big, burly, blond Swedish date.” When she showed him the photo on her phone, his response was an emphatic grunt.
He sat next to her on the bench, his leg grazing hers unapologetically. He smelled like woodsy cologne and shaving cream, and it was making her giddy. Like he’d just had a shower and was going out for the night. Maybe he was. An image of him on a date with some gorgeous woman floated through her mind. Him laughing and sipping wine with someone and caressing her hand across the table.
She pushed back that image. It made her uncomfortable. Sad. It was only a matter of time before he met someone. He was too good looking, too funny, too chivalrous. Too everything.
His leg touched hers again, but he didn’t say anything, like excuse me or oops. It seemed . . . intentional. Yet he sat there, focused on watching the sun sink over those gorgeous trees, that New England autumn post-card view . . .
She couldn’t take it anymore. She moved away into her own personal space. “Oh, for the love of God, what are you doing here?”
He sat up a little straighter. Eyeballed her in a way that confused her . . . he seemed hesitant, very unlike him, who usually said what he meant and didn’t play games. Finally he spoke. “Your date’s not showing tonight.”
“Oh.” Great. Apparently she was being stood up based on appearance only, since Jess had told her she’d e-mailed him a photo. That was confidence inspiring. And worse was that Roman knew she was being stood up. Not only knew but came bearing the news. Wait a minute . . . She stopped in the middle of gathering up her purse. “How do you know that?”
He leaned forward on the bench, resting his elbows on his legs, tapping his fingers together. “Trust me, he’s not your type.”
“You interfered with my date? How could you? I thought we talked about this.”
Roman sighed heavily. He turned toward her and spoke. “Your date’s not showing because he doesn’t exist.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Or two. “Did you annihilate him?”
“No, I made him up. I gave Jess a stock photo to show you.”
“To play a joke on me?” Why would he do that? Her throat felt lumpy. Through everything, she thought at least they were friends. “That is the lowest—”
He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Bella,” he said and shook her a little. “Look at me.”
She did, through narrowed eyes. When she saw his face, all the fight whooshed right out of her, like a balloon let loose before it’s tied. There was something different about him tonight. A graveness. The way he looked at her was just different, like he was not joking or being sarcastic. In fact, he looked dead serious, those big brown eyes staring right at her, those long, lovely lashes looking sinfully angelic on such a gorgeous hunk of man.
“I did it because I want to be your date for tonight.” She must have still looked confused, because he said, “I knew you’d never agree to it the regular way.”
All Bella’s critical body parts were humming. She was filled with elation, with hope. Maybe it was wine or desperation or the upcoming birthday, she didn’t know. But she had the distinct feeling she was about to do something reckless, and like it. A lot.
She must’ve looked dumbstruck because he repeated, “I want to take you on a date.”
“Take me on a date?” she echoed. A bright bulb, she was indeed.
“Yeah, you know”—he pointed back and forth between the two of them—“go out together, you and me. Tonight.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. Our history, you know.” Their history was a mess, and they both knew it.
“Right, right,” he said, pretending to contemplate that. “But still.”
But still what? “Why me?” she asked. It came out sounding very quiet and clogged, because she was having difficulty getting the words out.
“I think you know why.” His eyes dropped to her lips. Her stomach dropped to her feet. Oh God.
Date him? That would be foolish. Do him? Even worse. To her horror she realized she wanted to. A lot.
“Look, Bella, I don’t have it in me to play games. It’s just that I seem to be having this problem: I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s messing up my concentration.�
� He made a hand gesture near his head, like his brains were being scrambled.
Yeah, so were hers. They must be if she was considering this.
He dropped his hand to the back of the park bench, where suddenly she found him stroking her shoulder.
It was so hard to think with his body heat seeping into her, with him smelling just like a wonderful man would smell, spicy and clean, and he was so damn deadly hot-looking in that black pullover sweater and jeans. “You want to go out with me because I’m messing up your concentration. That’s really romantic.”
He smiled, a sweet smile that made it impossible to be irritated with him. “I think I might be messing up yours, too.” He turned to face her. “Let me try again. It’s not a good enough reason for me to stay away from you because of our past. I want to spend time with you. I think about you all the time. I want to date you. And I want us to stop fighting whatever this is between us.”
“I—I don’t know how I feel about that.” Sure she did. She felt great! Flattered, ecstatic. But also terrified.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated. My brother’s playing at the marina tonight. Want to go?”
Listening to some music didn’t sound complicated. “Lukas?” Duh. Of course Lukas.
“Well, Drew doesn’t sing. At least, from what I’ve heard from him in the shower, he’s missed the music talent part of the gene pool.” He chuckled to himself a little. “Besides, he’s still laying low at my place.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure,” she found herself saying. Yet she knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on any music. Even Lukas’s, which she liked a lot. The realization suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t want to listen to any music. She wanted to jump Roman’s bones. Bad.
She thought about that. It wasn’t her nature anymore to do impulsive things. For all these years, she’d been dutiful, kept her nose to the grindstone, and done what was right for herself, for her family. She’d never had a one-night stand or gone home with a stranger.
And wait a minute. What exactly did he mean by it doesn’t have to be complicated? Every relationship she’d had since him had been complicated. Worrisome. Back when they were younger, everything had seemed so simple. Natural. Was that just because they were kids?
“I have to be clear about what you’re proposing,” she said.
“We both seem to have unresolved feelings from our past, so this is an opportunity to . . . explore them.”
“That sounds very clinical. Like something I would say to a client.”
The corner of his beautiful mouth turned up in a grin. “I was hoping you’d get it if I spoke your language.” He sat there for a moment, drumming his fingers on the bench. Then he leaned over and kissed her.
He caught her by surprise. Just a graze of his lips over hers, but then he repositioned himself, using his hands to anchor her face and draw her closer, to slide his lips over hers and fully kiss her. And, oh, what a glorious kisser he was, so thorough and smooth, so sweet and tender. He was the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, and Aunt Fran’s homemade cavatelli all rolled up into one.
“Um, okay,” she said, trying to catch her breath, feeling him smile against her neck, which he’d begun nuzzling. She thought he was going to toss out a quip to lighten the mood, but he didn’t say anything. In fact, when he lifted his head, he looked as thrown off guard as she was. “A date, huh?” she finally said. “All righty, then.”
They got up and started walking through the park toward the lake. He slipped his hand in hers, but it made her almost tear up, because she hadn’t felt that big hand encompassing hers for twelve years, and by God if it didn’t feel exactly the same—warm, solid, safe. Some guys were terrible at walking and hand holding. Either they were too tall and the hands just didn’t hang well together, or holding hands was stiff and awkward. But with Roman it was just about perfect.
An older couple passed them and smiled. In the distance, the faint sounds of a band warming up drifted across the park, the marina lights glowing softly as the day faded to twilight.
Bella was getting a little overwhelmed, so she slid her hand away and started fishing through her purse, pretending to look for something. Besides, if they showed up holding hands at the marina, their relationship status would spread faster than if she’d posted it on Facebook.
“Second thoughts?” he asked.
“No.” That wasn’t it at all. She stopped fishing. Something in his eyes urged her to say what was on her mind. “Do you—do you want to go to my apartment?” she blurted. She’d never propositioned a man so outwardly. Or invited one up for lovemaking. Well, she’d never turned thirty before, either. She cleared her throat and forced herself to say it more calmly. “I haven’t been there for a few weeks, but it’s just a couple of blocks away, and I think we can—”
“Yes.” No hesitation there. His full-on gaze let her know what she’d always known, that he was a straight shooter who’d always said what he meant.
Before she could rethink anything, she led him away from the square, a few blocks south to the end of a street lined with moderate-size century-old homes. Her apartment was a nondescript brick building with metal letters lined up over the portico that read “Mirror Lake Meadows. Senior Living.”
Bella loved that her apartment was in the middle of this old, tree-lined neighborhood, and that it was only a few blocks from work. There were a handful of younger tenants, too. Not that she minded the seniors—they were quiet and friendly . . . but sometimes a little nosy, too.
She took the concrete pathway to the back. In a building full of elderly widows, there was no shortage of eyes watching every move she made, and she wanted to be discreet. Because the last time she’d brought a man here had been exactly . . . never. She let them in with a key and climbed the stairs to the third floor.
She knew there would be clothes all over the bed. Shoes strewn about from her last wardrobe crisis. Mail on the table. She usually drew the line at stockpiling dirty dishes—she hoped. Roman had always been kind of a neat freak, a trait not uncommon in children with alcoholic parents. She’d just have to make sure he was too focused on her to notice.
She flipped on a switch by the front door, which lit a little table lamp. The apartment didn’t look too bad, if she could say so herself.
“Nice place,” Roman said, but his attention was all on her as he leaned casually against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, looking like dessert. Nope, he didn’t seem like he minded a little bit of mess at all.
Dressed all GQ, the faint growth of beard already shadowing his jaw, he made her stomach tumble with nervous excitement. He looked faintly amused, his dark eyes holding a glint of mischief, but he didn’t speak. He was letting her call all the shots.
For the first time in her life, Bella turned off all the warning voices inside her head. The ones that told her that getting involved with him again was an impossible mistake, that it could only lead to more heartbreak. Because beneath all the warnings lay this need that could no longer be denied.
She walked a few steps forward until she was standing right in front of him. He met her gaze levelly, an invisible tractor beam between them, drawing them inexorably together. But he didn’t move a muscle.
She placed her hand near his jawline, felt the slight scrape of stubble there. She was pleased when he closed his eyes, seeming to savor her touch. He brought his hand up to cover hers, pulled it to his lips, and kissed the inside of her wrist slowly, softly. Then he opened his eyes and smiled.
“I’m glad you’re my date tonight,” she said, her voice practically a whisper. Oh, what a dumb thing to say. It didn’t even begin to express the thunderous wave of emotion that was welling up inside her. To stop all the thinking inside her head, she stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips over his.
That was all the invitation he needed. As soon as she kissed him, he circled her waist with his hands and tugged her flush against him. And, oh, he felt so good, so big and masculine, so familiar. He pulled her closer, angling h
is mouth over hers and kissing her deeply. The absolute pleasure of his touch radiated hotly through her stomach, her limbs, making her lose her balance and her breath at the same time.
He showed no mercy, pulling her closer and dragging his lips from her mouth down her neck. She could only arch helplessly to give him better access. More, more, she wanted to cry out. Take all of me.
“Took you long enough to kiss me,” he said as he was doing that nuzzling thing again that felt so, so good.
“It’s only been a minute since we got here.”
“That’s a minute too long,” he said. “You know I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you again.”
Oh, that pleased her, because she’d felt the exact same way. He kissed her again, and this time their tongues slid together, and Bella curled her fingers through his hair, relishing the silky coarseness.
“Why do you always wear sweaters with a thousand buttons?” he mumbled as he struggled with undoing them. She brushed his hands away and peeled the sweater over her head. He tugged his own sweater off and tossed it across the room, where it landed on a chair. Meanwhile she tugged his shirt free of his jeans. Her hand brushed his flat abdomen, and she couldn’t resist running her hands up along the valleys and hills of his beautiful chest, the hard muscle, the fine covering of hair that hadn’t been there at eighteen.
He was kissing her like it was their last moments on earth. Armageddon kissing, deep and hard and wet. And it felt so damn good to be kissed like that, like he wanted her more than water and food and air. As much as she wanted him.
Everything about him was so good, the warm, hard feel of him, the clean smell of his soap, the way his hands felt on her as he undid her blouse. The way he undid her.
It was too good. Scary in a way she’d never felt before. She had to remind herself what this was really all about. That she had to somehow prevent herself from the absolute surrender that would be so easy to succumb to.
A wave of panic suddenly welled up inside her. “Wait,” she said, gasping, pushing on his rock solid chest. “I have—conditions.”
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