Her Secret Love

by Paula Altenburg

  Chapter Twelve

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  They’d left clothing scattered between the back door and the bedroom—his shirt and tie in the kitchen, her dress in the hall, his pants on the floor by the bed.

  The sight of her beneath him as he knelt over her, her skin pale and smooth in the light from the open, curtainless windows, made him so hard he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

  He rocked back on his heels to admire her. The mass of blonde curls. The trim line of her spine and narrow waist, the slender arms extended over her head. Her cheek pressed against the pillow. The round, gentle swell of her buttocks.

  He tracked a finger over one delicate mound. Tonight, this was all his.

  He eased himself into position. The tip of his erection nudged past the slick, soft folds between her parted thighs as he inched his way inside her. His fingers tightened on her hips as she rocked beneath him, meeting his thrusts with an increasing demand of her own. She wasn’t a talker, which surprised him a little. Instead, she made these soft sounds of pleasure that excited him more than he would have imagined possible.

  Her hands twisted in the sheets, her face turned to the side. Her eyes were closed. He bent forward and kissed her cheek, then nuzzled the side of her neck.

  “Harder,” she breathed, her movements beneath him more urgent. Her eyes were closed, her expression intent. “Deeper. Don’t stop.”

  He could no longer be as gentle as he would have wished. He thrust faster, and harder, and deeper. She gasped, a sound so erotic he came close to exploding, then her cries became louder. Demanding. She arched her back as her muscles tightened around him.

  He couldn’t hold back. Neither did she. He felt the throbbing pulse of her release as he poured into her.

  He collapsed beside her, one leg thrown over hers, his arm flung across her body. Their faces were close together now. His heart was a long time finding its normal rhythm again. He could feel the soft puffs of air on his lips as her breathing steadied, too. He gazed in her eyes, wondering what she was thinking, too chicken to ask.

  “That,” she said, slipping her hand around the nape of his neck and rubbing his skin with her thumb, “was incredible.”

  He’d thought so too, but it was nice having his opinion confirmed. “Better than the other two times?”

  She crinkled her nose. “Are we rating performances? If so, you get an A+ for them all because each one was different, but equally good.”

  He pretended to think about it. “I’d give you a B. I mean, the enthusiasm was there, but I did most of the work.”

  She laughed, burrowing in closer so that her head was tucked under his chin. “Just like old times.”

  This was far, far better than that.

  Too good, in fact.

  It was late. The room had gone silent except for the chirping of crickets and sighs of the night. He had to be at work in a few hours, but he couldn’t sleep.

  She couldn’t, either. He could feel how restless she was, even though she was trying hard to remain still so as not to disturb him.

  They both had things on their minds. He wondered if her thoughts were anything like his.

  She broke the silence first. “People are going to talk if they find out about this.”

  Not exactly the same, then, but along the same lines. She was wondering what would happen next.

  “It’s a small community,” he said. “People talk about everything, and then they forget. They always do.”

  “Is there anything for them to be talking about? Or is this just one night?”

  A prickle of apprehension wormed its way into his brain. He had to be careful not to assume this meant more than it did. Not to push her too hard. Until tonight, she’d made it very obvious that they were friends. Friends with benefits was good, but it would never be enough. Not for him and not with Jess.

  And yet he wasn’t ready to trust her. Not with his heart. She had a history of disappearing when she didn’t like the way things were going. She’d landed back in Cherry Lake for that very same reason. She’d been running.

  “Do you want it to be one night only?” he asked carefully.

  “Not really, no. Do you?”

  He was honest. “No. But as for how many I would like, I can’t really say. We’ve got a few months to think about it.” She’d started this conversation. He decided to push her, after all. “What do you plan to do once November rolls around?”

  She shifted in his arms. “That’s too far away for me to think about yet.”

  “You’d be surprised how fast time creeps up on you. You did a great job organizing the art exhibit,” he persisted. “Did you ever think of doing something like that? Becoming a special events coordinator?”

  “Your pillow talk leaves a lot to be desired,” she complained.

  He was pushing too hard again.

  “I’m wide awake and what I’d prefer to be doing might be beyond me,” he said. “Three times in one night appears to be my limit. And if we’re going to talk I’d prefer to talk about you. All I’ve got is my work and you already know about that.”

  She rolled to her stomach. “I searched out a job description for an events coordinator online. The requirements are beyond me.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “I don’t have a university degree, no years of experience, and no transferable skills. I can use a computer and a few software programs, but my communication skills are sketchy.” By communication, he assumed she meant reading and writing. She tucked her hand under her cheek. “I thought I might try for one of those casino jobs in Las Vegas instead.”

  “Dancing on tables?” he asked. “Or working them?”

  A dimple flashed in her cheek. “Any foot in the door will do.” He felt her eyes on him in the darkness as she grew serious again. “I don’t want anyone to know about what’s going on between us, whatever this is,” she said quietly. “I don’t want you hearing how I’ll leave you as soon as I find a man with more money, or that you should know better than to get mixed up with me again. I don’t want you defending me.”

  Okay. Now he knew what she didn’t want. He still didn’t know what she did.

  He did know what he wanted, however. He wanted her to be happy. That didn’t mean he planned to be miserable. She didn’t get to break his heart twice.

  “I can’t make promises on things I might or might not hear. That’s beyond my control.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I can’t promise no one will find out, either. Keeping secrets around here is like storing grain in a sieve. I will promise, however, that no one will find out anything from me.” A quick glance at the alarm clock told him sleep was no longer an option. “Come on, princess. It’s time for you to go home.”

  The streets were quiet as he drove Jess to Carrie’s, the streetlights winking out one by one as the sun began its morning ascent.

  No one was up yet to see them. Not even the dog walkers were out.

  In Carrie’s yard, Jess turned to him. She had the gift he’d given her in her hands, the paper wrapped around it as if she wanted to protect it. As if it was precious to her.

  The sight warmed him. That was what he’d intended—for her to have something she’d never want to part with.

  He’d love to have her hang onto him as tightly as she was clinging to that sculpture. To give him the same sort of value.

  “You might want to give me back my panties,” she said.

  They were where he’d tucked them last night, in the door of his truck, lacy and pink, out of place against the tire gauge, the receipt book and pen, and the Phillips screwdriver.

  She had a hand on the door handle and he wanted so badly to kiss her, but knew if he did, he’d never stop there.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “How about you come and get them from me tonight?”

  A wicked smile lit her eyes. “I’ll bring dessert.”

  *

  It was a Thursday afternoon and Jess was having lunch with her grandfather. He’d driven into Cherry Lake to
take her to the Montreau’s restaurant, but she’d insisted on the Cherry Street Diner. It was a block from the gas station and within easy walking distance.

  She knew why he wanted to talk. They were approaching the end of August. She’d had over three months to come up with a plan for what she intended to do with his money and he wanted to hear it, but so far, only one idea with any true potential had struck her. She was pretty. That was it.

  And just like he and Aunt Pansy had both said, that wasn’t going to last her forever, either. She’d have to cash in on it while she could.

  She met him at his truck, which he’d parked on the street out in front of the diner.

  They chose one of the booths. “It’s more private,” Nate said. “I hate sitting in the middle of the room like I’m some fossil on display in a museum.”

  She was worried about him. His son, her uncle Robert, had suffered a heart attack the morning after the dance, and even though he was well on the road to recovery, Nate had taken it hard. He’d aged over the past several weeks. She could see it in the slow way he moved and how long it sometimes took him to come up with answers when he was asked a direct question.

  After they’d looked at the menus and placed their orders, her grandfather got down to business. “So, Cherry Bomb. How goes the hunt for a purpose in life?”

  She had her answer prepared. “I’m going to head back to LA and try for more work in commercials. I’ve done a few in the past. I still have an agent.” As John had tried to tell her, it was honest work. She could make a living at it if she was willing to work hard. She’d proved she was capable of it.

  Los Angeles was Plan B, however. What she really wanted was for Damon to ask her to stay.

  They’d become closer. Sleeping together did that to people. But he was keeping a distance between them, and it was more than him having to make time to finish his pieces for the upcoming art show in Missoula. He held a bit of himself back—which meant she had to, as well. She got the feeling she hadn’t proved herself to him yet. That he didn’t trust her. She didn’t blame him. How could she?

  But she didn’t know what it would take for her to earn his trust.

  “Are you sure that’s such a great plan? Why are you so anxious to leave? You’ve got a job.” Her grandfather’s hand trembled as he picked up his glass of water, sloshing a little over the sides onto the tablecloth. He caught her look of concern as she mopped up the excess with her napkin. “Nothing to worry about. Missed my morning scotch so I’d be legal to drive,” he tried to joke. “Just goes to show I’m an old man and I could die any day. If you play your cards right you can have the money and not have to make a second trip home for the funeral. All you need to do is be patient.”

  It was too soon for talk of funerals to be funny. She’d missed the one most important to her. She didn’t want to think about attending—or not—any more of them.

  “My job is temporary,” she said. “You know that.”

  And every day she felt a little guiltier about it. Damon did need someone to help him. But until he got more steady customers, he really couldn’t justify the expense.

  “What was so great about your life in Los Angeles? Did you like being an old man’s mistress?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I really did. I loved him.” She had. She always would. It was past time she said so rather than allow people to assume he’d meant nothing more than a bank account to her.

  But life was for the living and she was ready to move on.

  The waitress placed a basket of bread and a side dish of butter on the table. Jess picked up a thick slice. It was warm and smelled fresh.

  “Besides,” she continued, returning to their conversation. “Why would I stay here? It’s not as if I have anything to keep me. Other than your funeral, of course. And since you’re living forever, I’m not counting on that.”

  “I have no interest in living forever. And are you sure you don’t have a reason to stay? Or is it that you haven’t given anyone a reason to think you might want to?”

  He looked so innocent that she was immediately suspicious. She and Damon had been sleeping together for the better part of a month. She’d been spending her nights at his house. The only one who had any reason to suspect what was going on would be Carrie, however, and she had her own affair keeping her busy.

  Ergo, her grandfather was fishing.

  She returned his smile, equally innocent. “You asked if I’ve found a purpose in life. I told you my plan. It’s not perfect, but it’s not terrible, either.”

  “Fair enough.” He seemed content to let it drop, although she knew him better than that. He’d be asking again, or offering suggestions he thought were better.

  Their plates arrived.

  “Damon’s art show…” he said, changing the subject. “That’s in a few weeks, isn’t it? Do you know the date?”

  “The ninth of September.”

  “I thought I might get you to take me. I want to support a local boy.”

  Again with the innocence.

  This time it was harder to hide her reaction. She’d planned on spending the evening as Damon’s plus one. She’d also ordered a gift for him she really didn’t think her grandfather would approve of and didn’t want him to see. She’d talked Carrie into taking boudoir photos of her, and while she’d taken her clothes off for photographers plenty of times in the past, this was different. She’d meant these photos for one person, not the public. The gift was supposed to be private. The remainder of the evening, too.

  Sharing it with her grandfather wasn’t part of the plan.

  “I’d love to take you,” she managed to say. “It’s so nice that you want to support him. I’m sure he’ll be pleased.”

  “It’s the least I can do for him.” Nate ate one of his French fries, chewing it slowly, with great concentration. “After all, he’s had to put up with my granddaughter for over three months. I bet that hasn’t been easy.” He took a sip of his water. “I’ve been thinking…” Jess held her breath, waiting for the next bomb to explode. “You’ve done everything I asked, and more. You’re working. You volunteered at the cherry festival, and from all that I’ve heard, you did a respectable job. Carrie tells me you’re no trouble. You’ve got a plan for the future, even if I don’t like it. If you’re dead set on leaving Cherry Lake, then there’s no real reason for me to try and keep you here. You can have the money whenever you want it. I’d still like you to take me to Damon’s art show, though. I don’t want to drive around Missoula after dark.”

  Jess dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, trying to think of what she could say to convey the enthusiasm he was waiting to hear but she didn’t feel. She hadn’t expected him to give her the money so soon. She’d thought she had until November.

  She wasn’t ready to leave.

  And Damon hadn’t once so much as hinted that he’d like for her to stay. What if he told her to take the money and have a nice life?

  She’d have to kill him.

  “I promise, I won’t disappoint you,” she heard herself saying. “I’ll be careful with your money. But why don’t we talk about it after the ninth?”

  “It’ll take some time for me to get it together, anyway. I don’t keep that kind of cash in my mattress.” He tapped his fingers on the tablecloth. Sunlight streaming across the room caught the gray hairs on the back of his hand, turning them to shining silver. “It gives me a lot of satisfaction to see how well you’ve turned out. You’ve grown up a lot in the past few months, Jess. You make me proud.”

  She had no idea what to say to that, either. She was no different than she’d been when she drove into town—except, maybe, that she’d stopped trying to hide her flaws by covering them up with worse ones.

  They finished their meal. Jess walked him to his truck and kissed him goodbye.

  As she watched him carefully pull into traffic, she heard someone calling out to her. Lilian approached, looking efficient and sensible as always, pretty in a way all her own.
r />   Jess waited for her to catch up.

  “Would you be able to take over Story Time at the public library for me now that school’s starting up again?” Lilian asked. “It’s for preschoolers, just an hour or two on Tuesday afternoons. With your acting experience you’d be great at it. Not that three-year-olds expect Broadway, of course.”

  Jess was getting her money soon. She couldn’t make that kind of commitment. She should be planning on how and when to tell Damon she was leaving.

  And find out what his reaction would be. The possibility of it being the wrong one tugged a constricting knot in her chest even tighter.

  “I don’t know anything about children,” she said.

  “You’ll learn. You won’t be babysitting. We’re trying to teach them to love stories and reading. All you have to do is figure out how best to entertain them.”

  “I’m not a very good reader.” Jess’s heart quivered with anxiety as she made the confession. She’d never come right out and said it, before. She didn’t know why she brought it up now.

  Lilian’s thick-lashed brown eyes deepened with kind understanding. “They can’t read at all so they won’t be judging you. These are picture books. You can manage. If you stumble a little, you can rely on the pictures to help you out.”

  She couldn’t say no. Not with Lilian being so nice. She’d deal with what happened after she got the money when she had to. Besides, it might take her weeks to be ready to go. There was her agent to call and contacts to reestablish.

  And there was always Plan A to consider. That one was out of her hands.

  This wasn’t the time to spring anything new on Damon, though. Not when he was so busy.

  “I’d be happy to do it,” she said. “It sounds like fun.”

  Chapter Thirteen

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  It was after five o’clock on a Friday, and Damon had closed and locked the outer bay doors for the weekend, but he had Jess’s car on the hoist and was in the process of changing the oil. She was waiting for him to finish.

  She could simply go home with him, because that was where they were both headed, and this could wait until Monday, but she insisted on driving her own car.