Unlike last night, Summer didn’t fall asleep immediately after she and Kyle made love. Once again they’d been wild, their movements so heated and frenzied her mind felt a little singed, even now.
She wasn’t complaining. Kyle was an amazing lover.
The lamp was on, but he wasn’t asleep, either. He lay on his back, she on her side, her head resting lightly on his chest, listening to the even rhythm of his heartbeat and the uneven sound of his breathing.
He was quiet, probably lost in thought.
They hadn’t gotten around to finishing dinner. She would take care of the cartons on the registration desk later when she double-checked that the doors were locked.
She recalled the fit of frustration she’d witnessed by the river and everything that had come after. She understood his anger and the futility he was surely feeling. She’d once experienced very similar emotions.
She didn’t believe he was guilty of indiscretions as the people in his profession claimed he was. Although he’d undoubtedly left a great deal unsaid, she distinctly recalled that he’d mentioned seeing photographs of the people being used as slave labor and worse. If there had been photographs, there must have been victims.
“Are you awake, Summer?”
She hummed an answer.
“Do you have a mentor?” he asked.
“I’ve never put it in exactly that context,” she said, slipping her hand between his chest and her cheek where his chest hair was tickling her nose. “But I suppose I’d have to say my mentor is Rosy Sirrine.”
The sound he made had a lot in common with a growl. She didn’t think he’d asked because he wanted her to justify her choice, although she easily could have. The head waitress at the restaurant Summer frequented was at once ageless and as old as time. Rosy had worked and lived in Orchard Hill for years, and yet Summer had never heard anybody mention a single untoward detail of her life. She was wise and serene and seemed happy with her solitary life. She rarely offered advice, but when she did, people listened. Summer listened.
“What about you?” Summer asked. “Do you have a mentor?”
“There’s a man who took me under his wing when I first started in the news business. He rode me harder and expected more from me than anybody I’d ever known. He survived a childhood on the streets of Boston and has a mouth on him that makes seasoned sailors blush. He taught me about life and sour mash whisky and women. And somehow, in the process, he taught me about integrity.”
Summer tipped her head back in order to see Kyle’s face. “Was he the one who showed you those photographs?”
The deep breath he took moved the entire bed. “His son did.”
Her hair swished across his chest as she went up on one elbow, and emotion brimmed in her eyes and chest. “Are you and the son close?”
“I considered him my best friend.”
“Did he have access to your computer and password?”
“I can’t prove it.” His gaze was on hers as she drew closer. She saw so much raw emotion in his green eyes. She wondered if he had any idea what an incredible man he was.
“You aren’t going to tell this man, your mentor, about his son are you?”
He shook his head. “It would kill him.”
She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to offer him comfort or solace, a haven in the storm. But he was reaching for her again, and, although the raw emotion hadn’t waned, it shared the space with another kind of need.
Placing her hands on the sides of his face, Summer covered his mouth with hers. She made love to him, and it was more gentle than anything they’d shared before, slower and less frenzied, but no less fulfilling.
She was pretty sure he fell asleep later. They both did. When she awoke in the morning, the other side of the bed was empty.
Summer was stepping out of the shower when she heard the inn’s back door open and close early Sunday morning. Kyle was back at the inn, at least. She wasn’t sure he was coming back to bed.
She had slipped her arms into the sleeves of a long robe and was combing out her wet hair when he shouldered through her door. Wearing the same dark clothes he’d been wearing last night, he was windblown, his hair a mess, his face unshaven. He looked disreputable and not quite tame. There were shadows beneath his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well.
Although he didn’t smile when he saw her, there was a subtle easing in the tension in his shoulders. She was glad about that.
Waving a white paper sack in his right hand and lifting a cardboard drink tote in the other, he said, “I hope you like donuts.”
“Have I struck you as a fussy eater?” She led the way through a low archway that separated her bedroom from a tiny kitchenette and living room she rarely used.
They settled into chairs around a small table. After divvying up the orange juice and coffees, he handed her the bag of donuts. Although the fact that they both chose an apple fritter wasn’t lost on either of them, neither of them mentioned that they’d just discovered something else they had in common.
Seeing him looking at the small apartment where she’d lived these past six years, she said, “A man named Ebenezer Stone had the house built nearly one hundred and forty years ago. He died before it was finished and left the project and property to his half brother Josiah. Josiah knew that location was everything, and after the house was finished, he turned it into an inn on the newly established stage line between Lansing and Grand Rapids. Many inns fell into disrepair after the railroads were built. Josiah’s grandson Mead Johnson had the business sense to sell a parcel of the property he’d inherited to the railroad for the sole purpose of building a train depot. The last of Ebenezer’s ancestors was a man named Jacob. He and his wife, Marguerite—”
She stopped talking when she realized that Kyle had finished eating and was looking at her, an indecipherable expression on his face.
“I’m boring you to death,” she said. “I’m afraid I get carried away when I talk about this place.”
His eyes probed hers. “I like it when you get carried away.” He stood, but instead of reaching for her, he reached for his coffee and took a final sip. “I have to go,” he said. “I need to grab a shower upstairs.”
She studied his eyes but couldn’t determine the reason for the change that had come over him. She stood, too, and cinched the sash of her yellow robe tighter.
“I ran into Walter Ferris at the donut shop,” he said on his way through her bedroom. “He invited me to ride along while he delivers papers to businesses in nearby towns. Never promise a man anything when he offers to let you cut in front of him in the donut line.”
She followed the course of his gaze around her room. The bed was unmade, their pillows rumpled, her pearl earring lying precariously close to the edge of the dresser. He glanced at the lamp that was no longer on and stood looking at the black-and-white photo underneath it.
Not one to press, she let him look. In his own good time, he turned his attention back to her and said, “Maybe later you can finish telling me about Jacob and his wife, Marguerite.”
She smiled. The kiss he gave her then was a culmination of all their previous kisses. Although she felt reluctance in the big hands cupping her shoulders, he still released her.
Church bells were ringing in the distance when he went upstairs while she finished dressing. The pipes rattled slightly, an indication that somebody was indeed taking a shower someplace else in the inn.
Although she didn’t hear his footsteps, when she looked a little while later, his Jeep was gone. For the rest of the day, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something beautiful was coming to an end. And she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason.
Chapter Nine
At midnight on Sunday, Summer crossed her ankles and adjusted her pillows behind her shoulders. Noticing her foot jiggling again, she brought both knees up beneath the covers and opened her book to the page she’d just read.
Now. Where was she?
Painstakingly, she sta
rted over at the top.
The blinds were closed, the inn was quiet, and the coming week promised to be a busy one. Madeline and Riley were getting married in five days. Tomorrow was Madeline’s gown-fitting and, on Wednesday, a bridal shower at Abby’s. The wedding rehearsal was scheduled for Thursday and, on Friday, Riley and Madeline would become husband and wife. Madeline had become nearly ethereal, gliding through the remaining preparations with a serene smile and sense of calm and purpose that was a joy to witness.
Comparatively, Summer was a bundle of nerves.
She tried to refocus on the book in her hands. It had been written by her favorite author, was on all the bestseller lists and was currently being made into a movie for the big screen. The fact that she was having trouble remembering the premise wasn’t the author’s fault.
All but two of the inn’s guests had returned hours before she’d checked all the exterior doors and retired for the night. The two remaining carpenters, who were not yet settled comfortably into their rooms upstairs, had called to tell her they would be arriving first thing in the morning.
She didn’t know where Kyle was. She didn’t even know if his Jeep was parked out in the lot with the other guests’ vehicles, and she refused to allow herself to check.
He’d been in and out of the inn all day. Although she’d caught him looking at her a few times, he hadn’t made any attempt to seek her out. She knew better than to be upset, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be disappointed. Two days ago, she’d decided she would take her cue from him regarding the protocol for an affair. It was good advice, although admittedly easier said than done.
She’d made a valiant effort, though. All day long she’d been reminding herself that, for all intents and purposes, Kyle Merrick was a passing fancy. She wasn’t sorry she’d met him, and she wasn’t sorry she’d discovered the passion he’d brought to life for these few short days. And nights. She was glad she’d been there when he’d been coming to grips with the irrevocable circumstances that had brought about the end of his career.
Surely he had loose ends to tie up. She wasn’t one of them.
What they’d had was a week of sex. Okay, it hadn’t lasted an entire week, and it had been more than sex. For her, at least. They’d shared laughter and food, sunsets and moonlight, but she’d known from the start that whatever was between them had a beginning, a middle and an end.
The end was near.
With a sigh, she punched the pillow at her back and closed the novel she’d started an hour ago. There was no sense marking her page, for she couldn’t remember a word she’d read.
She was reaching for the switch on the lamp when a soft knock sounded on her door. “Yes?” she said quietly.
“It’s me, Summer,” Kyle said.
She felt a lurch of excitement as she swung her feet to the floor. Every word of caution and every ounce of self-restraint she’d applied to this situation flew away as she turned the lock and opened the door.
Kyle stood on the other side, his shirt unbuttoned, the top closure on his chinos undone, as if he’d left his room in a hurry. He still hadn’t shaved, and although he wasn’t dripping wet, he looked very much as he had in her dream.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” she said.
Kyle didn’t know how to respond to that so he said nothing. The truth was, he hadn’t intended to leave his room after he’d climbed the stairs two hours ago. He sure hadn’t intended to knock on Summer’s door.
It was Sunday night. She had an inn to run and secrets to keep. It thoroughly ticked him off that one of them was his.
Oh, he wasn’t worried she would tell anybody. He didn’t care who knew. What made him so damned angry was how little she shared with him in return. What made him even angrier was that he was mad about that.
What was wrong with him? This was the perfect arrangement. She was beautiful and smart, and warm and willing.
He wasn’t accustomed to being the one wanting more.
It was bound to have happened sooner or later, but hey, the sex had been great. All day he’d been putting that in the past tense, as if it was over, done, long gone. All day he’d told himself it was time to move on. He should have barricaded the damn door.
“I’m glad you did,” she said. “Come downstairs, that is.”
Just like that, nothing else mattered. She was glad he was here, and Kyle faced the fact that, even if he’d barricaded the door, he would have found a way to Summer’s room, into her arms, into her bed.
He stepped over the threshold and his mouth came down hard on hers, harder than he’d intended. He’d kissed her often these past several days, and every time was an indulgence. This was different. From the onset it was a rocket launch at three G’s.
She was wearing some sort of pajamas, slightly bedraggled, and not intentionally sexy. Her nipples showed through the thin fabric of the top. The bottoms were a mere technicality.
He kicked the door shut and back-walked her to the bed. Their bodies melded, thighs, bellies, chests and mouths. She shuddered in his arms, warm and responsive and giving.
See? He didn’t have a problem. What he had was a passion to burn off and a need to satisfy. It was the same for her. They were on even ground.
He stopped kissing her long enough to peel off her top. While she shimmied out of the bottoms, he shed the rest of his own clothes.
They fell to her bed together, her legs already going around him. She wanted him. And he wanted her. Even-steven. They didn’t speak of the future. She’d always made sure of that, hadn’t she?
What they did had nothing to do with the future, anyway. It had everything to do with this moment. So what he did was his damnedest to tangle the sheets and burn off this passion that somehow refused to be appeased for long.
Eventually, Kyle and Summer both stilled. She lay underneath him, catching her breath. Recovering enough to put two thoughts together took a little longer. She’d never known passion could be like this, could make her feel like this.
He eased to his side.
And she took a deeper breath.
The first word out of his mouth was “Damn.”
She’d wondered when he would realize they’d forgotten about protection. It had only just occurred to her, too. “If it’s any consolation,” she said, still slightly breathless. “I’m on the pill.”
“I don’t forget that,” he said. “I never forget.”
She gave him a reassuring smile. “You’re the first man I’ve slept with in a long, long time, and as long as you’ve always made sure to…you know…we’re both okay, aren’t we?”
He settled on his side, and she drew the sheet up over them.
“My father is probably turning over in his grave,” he said. “God knows he had no self-control when it came to women, but he never forgot protection.”
She wondered about the stern line of Kyle’s lips. “Do fathers and sons really talk about that?” she whispered.
Releasing a deep sigh, he said, “My dad had a lot of faults. You could say his life lessons were a little on the tawdry side, but he had a good side, too. He was the reason Braden, Riley and I are close. The three of us grew up with different mothers, in different homes and in different circles. We started life at odds. Our father couldn’t abide by that, so as soon as we were all old enough, he brought us together for a month each July. Every year, he traveled from one side of the state to the other, gathering us together. At first he rented a house on Lake Michigan. When we were older, we stretched it to six weeks and ventured farther—to Spain, to Italy and, once, to Timbuktu, but only because Riley didn’t believe there was such a place. Beneath those sunny skies every summer we were simply and profoundly three brothers with the same dad. I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”
“Which of you is more like him?” she asked.
“Like it or not, we all ended up with a piece of him. Riley has his aptitude for architecture. My father’s work is truly noteworthy. To this day, his buildings
and designs are cited. Braden got his need for the thrill of the chase. Dad chased women. Braden for the most part limits his chase to boats, motorcycles and race cars. I wound up with our father’s appetite. The two of us could eat our weight in just about anything.”
She smiled. “I noticed. What about your mother? Do you take after her, too?”
“My mom is the most stubborn, determined and organized woman on the planet. Did I mention interfering? She never remarried, never tried to make me hate my father.”
“You love her,” Summer said.
“Yeah.”
“What about your stepmothers?”
“My father’s wives got progressively younger and smarter. If you repeat that, I’ll deny it.”
She laughed, and everything felt the way it had yesterday and the day before, relaxed and carefree and good. “What do the women in your family do?” she asked, curious now.
“They strategize, scheme and interfere. Oh, you mean when they’re not trying to help one of us? My mom is an interior decorator. Her clients are some of the wealthiest and most spoiled and indignant people on the planet. They’re putty in her hands. Riley’s mother is a biochemical engineer. She has her own line of makeup and skin care products. Braden’s mom is an orthopedic surgeon. God knew what He was doing because my youngest brother has had more broken bones than Riley and I combined. One time Regina literally had to set Braden’s broken arm with two sticks and some twine string at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.”
When Summer chuckled, Kyle noticed that his heart rate was almost back to normal and his irascible mood was all but forgotten. He supposed he could attribute his improved outlook to endorphins, and those were the result of great sex. It was possible that the figure-eight pattern Summer was tracing on his chest had something to do with the reason he was thinking about doing it again.
“Now your mother and stepmothers are friends,” she said, after he’d told her that he, Braden and Riley referred to their three mothers as The Sources.
“I’m in bed with a beautiful woman,” he said, nuzzling her neck with his lips. “A beautiful, naked woman. Talking about my mother feels wrong on so many levels.”
A Bride Until Midnight Page 12