Hunter knelt beside her, his erection jutting dark and thick. Sylvie couldn’t resist stroking him a couple times before she rolled on the condom. Then she stroked him some more. She loved the feeling of all that strength and power in her hands. He moaned as she touched him, his eyes half closed, his head thrown back.
“I can’t take much more,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “I need to be inside you.”
“Yes. I need you too. Now.”
He plunged into her, deep and hard, in one long stroke. Sylvie cried out with the force of the intrusion. She was tight. It had been a long time. But her slick flesh quickly accommodated to his size and his forceful thrusts.
Her body jerked with his pounding. She loved it. He gripped her hips as he plunged into her, each slide hitting that special spot inside her that she’d thought didn’t exist. The erotic pressure built. Each stroke brought her closer and closer to the peak.
He caught her eyes with his dark gaze and the intimacy in addition to the rough sex was overwhelming. Her orgasm took her by surprise, more intense than she ever remembered. Her scream surprised her even more. She clenched around him from deep in her core as she writhed beneath him, riding out the climax and his continued thrusts.
Hunter’s jaw tensed, and he roared as he came. His fingers gripped her tighter and he pounded even faster, harder. Their bodies moved together in a primal rhythm until exhaustion caused them to collapse, spent, on the mattress.
Hunter sprawled beside her as they caught their breath. That was the most incredible sex of her life, and tears sprang to her eyes with the realization. Would Matt have agreed to rougher sex if she’d asked? It didn’t matter because she’d never known that was what she wanted. Not until she met Hunter.
Her hand rested next to Hunter’s and she caught his fingers with hers. He was quiet too, and she had a feeling he was haunted by Jenny’s ghost right now, just as she was by Matt’s. She rolled to her side and brushed a kiss lightly over his lips. He’d thrown his other arm over his eyes so she couldn’t read him very well.
“The rain’s stopped,” she murmured.
“Yeah.”
The chill in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “Is Jenny telling you that you shouldn’t have enjoyed that so much?”
“Yeah.”
She froze. There was pain mixed with the cold tone this time. “Maybe I should go home.”
“Yeah.”
She swallowed the hurt, scrambled out of bed and into her clothes. Riley raised his head and thumped his tail as she headed for the door. She couldn’t stop glancing back to the bedroom. Hunter still hadn’t moved by the time she let herself out.
Darkness had fallen and Sylvie still hadn’t seen Hunter. She stretched her legs out in her deck chair and looked up at the sky. The clouds had disappeared, and billions of stars dotted the expanse of black velvet. Were there other worlds out there where screwed-up people didn’t know how to get on with the rest of their lives too?
She cradled her second glass of pinot grigio. She had no appetite but nibbled on a plate of cheese and grapes because she knew she needed something in her stomach, especially since she was drinking. The bottle was beside the chair and there was at least one more glass of wine waiting for her there.
She felt too much for the infuriating man next door. It was okay to like him, but she wasn’t supposed to feel anything more. She didn’t want to feel anything more for him, but the whole day had been a roller coaster of emotions. She knew he wasn’t over Jenny. If he hadn’t let go of her in almost two years, a couple of bouts of sex with Sylvie wasn’t going to change that.
The future was waiting for her. It didn’t include Matt, but it didn’t include Hunter either. She was on her own.
She took another sip of wine, then set the glass down on the little side table and hugged her knees to her chest. On her own. That shouldn’t sound so lonely. It should sound like freedom. She could do whatever she wanted now. Live wherever she liked.
She didn’t have to travel the world, living out of suitcases and eating way too much takeout. She didn’t have to worry about what someone else wanted to do or go, or eat. She could drink white wine and eat nothing but cheese and grapes for dinner if she wanted. She could take her life in any direction she wanted her future to take.
That was why she was here, to figure out what that direction was. She wished she had a clue.
Sylvie had poured the last of the wine from the bottle into the glass when she heard movement from next door. She closed her eyes, rested her head back and tried to ignore her racing heart. Hunter popped the top on a can of beer and paced the deck. Each footfall seemed to match the pounding of the surf.
His steps stopped by the railing. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was an asshole.”
“Yeah.”
He let loose a dark chuckle. “I don’t know why I thought I could do this. Last week I couldn’t stand the thought of you.”
She opened her eyes. He was nothing but a dark silhouette against the night sky. “Gee, thanks.”
“I like you, Sylvie. A lot. But I think this no-strings-sex idea was a mistake.”
Her hand tightened on the stem of the wineglass. “A mistake,” she repeated. He was probably right. Still, it hurt to hear him say it out loud.
“I can’t make love to you without Jenny being there in the bed with us. It’s not right, but it’s the truth. It isn’t fair to you. I know that.”
“So you’re giving up?”
“Is it so easy for you to forget about Matt? To pretend he was never a big part of your life? To forget you ever loved him?”
She jumped up. Her acrylic wineglass skittered across the deck. “I’ll never forget.” She leaned over the railing to get in his face. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living.”
Hunter reached out and stroked her hair, so slowly, so softly, she wanted to cry. “I know. I don’t want to stop living anymore either. I have you to thank for that.” He dropped his hand. “But I don’t think I have it in me to love another woman. Pure and simple.”
“I’m not asking for love,” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied, just as softly. “But you should be.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Try to get some sleep. I hope we can still be friends. I could use a friend right now, and I think maybe you could too.”
Her heart clenched over the loss of something she hadn’t even had a chance to know. “Okay. Good night, friend.” She picked up the plate and the empty bottle and walked away. She’d find the wayward glass in the morning.
After a stop in the kitchen, Sylvie headed into the bathroom. Her clothes were wet from the wine she’d spilled all over herself when she’d jumped out of the chair. She started the shower and stripped. Her reflection in the full-length mirror hung on the back of the door showed circles under her eyes. Her hair stuck out at all angles and there were bruises on her hips from Hunter’s hands. Her sex clenched as she remembered the passion he hadn’t held back and the pleasure they’d given each other. It was too bad they hadn’t met some other time. Some other life.
The warm water slid over her skin, relaxing her, washing off the sticky wine. At least they could still be friends. Hunter was right. She could use a good friend. Probably more than a good lover at the moment.
Although she wouldn’t have minded a lover like Hunter for a couple more weeks.
Hunter dialed Fletcher after Sylvie went inside. He walked down to the water, Riley at his side. He didn’t want Sylvie overhearing this conversation through the thin walls.
“Tell me about Sylvie,” he said as soon as Fletch answered.
“Hunter? Do you know what time it is?”
“You never go to bed until after midnight.”
“True, but I’m in the middle of a manuscript from one of my authors who is actually producing new books.”
&
nbsp; “Then you don’t need one from me.”
“I would relish a new one from you.”
“Tell me about Sylvie,” Hunter repeated.
“She isn’t bothering you, is she? What do you want to know?”
“A smart, savvy woman like her shouldn’t be settling for a minimum-wage job. Didn’t her husband leave her with anything? Insurance? Royalties?”
Fletcher was silent for so long, Hunter thought he wasn’t going to answer. “As pleased as I am that you seem to be interested in something other than your beer consumption, I don’t feel comfortable discussing Sylvie or her financial situation.”
“I know her fucking financial situation isn’t good or I wouldn’t be calling you.”
Fletch sighed. “There are royalties still coming in, of course, but you know they only come twice a year. And they won’t last forever.”
From what Sylvie had said, Matt had needed round-the-clock care for over a year. If there had been a life-insurance policy, it might not have even covered all his medical and long-term-care expenses.
“She’s tapped out, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know any more than you,” Fletch said. “Truly. But she has a lot of friends and family. We’ll see that she does okay.”
Hunter couldn’t ask for more than that. He really couldn’t ask for anything.
“How are you doing?” Fletch asked softly.
“Better.” Then a thought hit him smack between the eyes. “Did you send her here to work on me?” Had Sylvie only pretended to like him? To want him? Had he been so tortured by his wife’s death that his friend thought he had to send Sylvie as a kind of intervention? And was he so needy he’d fallen for it?
“No,” Fletch replied sharply. “She’s had a hard time of it too. Yes, I hoped you two might be able to help each other, but she didn’t come there with any ulterior motive, believe me.”
Yeah, he knew that. “I…I like her.”
“You don’t sound happy.”
He sank down onto the sand. Riley licked his face and then sat down beside him. “It’s complicated.”
“You had Jenny for a long time, then she was taken from you. That was tragic, yes. But now life might have given you someone else. How can you not be happy about that?”
Hunter wished he could accept the gift that Sylvie was. “I don’t deserve her, Fletch. How can I pick up and go on like nothing ever happened? Jenny died in that crash and I…”
“And you didn’t,” Fletcher completed. “That’s right. You didn’t. You’re alive. So live. Jenny would want you to be happy.”
That was what Sylvie had said. “It’s not easy.”
“Nothing worth having ever is.”
Fletcher would never understand, but Sylvie did. “I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks.”
“Anytime. And don’t forget, I’m still waiting for book six.”
“Night, Fletch.”
Hunter stood and brushed the sand off before climbing the steps and collapsing into the deck chair. He started to reach for another beer but stopped before he opened the cooler. He didn’t need it. Didn’t want it. Grabbing another had become a lousy habit.
The term survivor’s guilt had been bandied around after the accident. He’d ignored all the talk from friends and family with good intentions. All the gentle suggestions of therapy. He’d just wanted to be left alone. Funny how he didn’t want to be alone any longer.
But he felt the guilt just the same.
Chapter Six
When Sylvie came outside the next morning, she saw Hunter sprawled on his deck chair, gently snoring. She let the door slam behind her, and the sound woke him up as she’d hoped.
“Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep out here all night?”
“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Guess I needed the fresh air.”
“I have coffee made and pancake batter ready. Would you like some breakfast?”
He scratched his scalp and squinted up at her.
“Hunter? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I was having this weird dream. Just trying to remember it.”
“What kind of dream?”
He shook his head. “All I can remember is walking down this dark alley. The walls seemed to be closing in on me. Maybe I was being chased? Or I was looking for someone or something? Yeah. Yeah. I remember.” He glanced up with a guilty expression. “I was looking for Jenny. I think.”
He closed his eyes as if he was trying to picture it. “The alley had a dozen twists and turns and got narrower with each turn. When I finally got to the end, a dead end, there was…wait…there was a woman in a long, white dress strung up. I don’t think it was Jenny. No, it couldn’t have been her, the woman had dark hair. Her arms were tied above her head. I have no idea what she was hanging from. Her mouth was covered in duct tape and her eyes were wide and frightened. And then a couple of big guys all in black jumped me. An ambush. That was it.” He stretched his arms above his head. “Crazy dream.”
He grinned up at her, and her stomach fluttered from the sheer power of the smile, the tousled hair, the half-lidded look. “Guess I’m glad you came outside and woke me up before I felt those punches I knew were coming.”
She laughed. “Come on. I’ll pour you some coffee.”
“I’ll wash up and be over in a minute.”
“Okay.” She started the pancakes cooking on an old cast-iron griddle she’d found in the cupboard beside the stove. She concentrated on the breakfast and not on the sexy image Hunter made, sending her libido soaring, her blood pumping. No matter how sensible the friends-only decision was, it didn’t stop the need singing through her veins.
Hunter was halfway through his pancakes before she said the first thing she’d thought when he’d told her about his dream. “You know, it sounds like a great opening scene.”
“What?”
“Your dream. As you were describing it, I could picture Quinn lumbering down those narrow alleyways, frantic, searching for Olivia. Then there she is and he’s so glad to see her, he takes the bait instead of hanging back and getting the lay of the land or calling for backup. And he gets the shit kicked out of him. Awesome first scene for your next book.”
“I’m not writing another book.”
“Tell that to your subconscious.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sylvie shook her head and took another bite of pancake. She knew better than to press the issue, but maybe now that she’d planted the seed, his subconscious would keep working at it. No matter what Hunter said, he missed writing. He needed writing. Especially if he was going to push away whatever happiness came his way.
“It was just a dream,” he said. “This is delicious, by the way,” he added, then shoveled another bite of pancake into his mouth.
“Thanks.” She was glad there didn’t seem to be any awkwardness between them this morning.
“Want to take a ride after breakfast?” he asked.
“Where?”
“If we’re going to be sharing meals, we should hit the grocery store to pick up supplies.”
“A real grocery store? Not the eggs-and-dog-food place on the corner?”
“A real grocery store,” he agreed with a smile.
“Sounds like a plan.”
As they browsed the shelves and the produce department later that morning, Hunter pushed the cart, but said he’d leave the selections up to her. He still threw a ton of junk food into the cart, but Sylvie knew her produce choices would help balance out their diet.
“You expect me to cook for you?” She shot him a grin because she’d like nothing better. Soon enough she’d be back to making meals only for herself.
“Of course. That’s why I’m paying for the food.”
She grabbed the cart and stopped him fr
om moving to the meat cooler. “Oh no. We’re splitting the cost.”
“I’m not splitting the cooking so I’m going to cover the bill. No arguments.”
When he turned that dark gaze on her, oh my, she couldn’t think clearly enough to argue. “Okay, but I still expect help cleaning up.”
He frowned and maybe pouted just a bit. “I helped clean up this morning.”
She couldn’t resist kissing his cheek. “Yes, you did.”
After they put the groceries away at her place, they walked to a nearby ice-cream stand and sat on a bench overlooking the water. They laughed as they licked their cones, doing their best to keep up with the drips.
When they were finished, Hunter turned to her. His gaze was hot as he looked her over in a way that made her shiver. Raw need licked her skin, hotter than the sun beating down on them.
“Hunter?”
He blinked and the heat was gone. “Hey. Let’s go out tonight.” His tone was lighthearted, but clearly forced. “There’s that seafood restaurant down the block. I hear the food is great.”
She felt like crying and laughing at the same time. “You want to go out to dinner after we just bought all those groceries?”
He shrugged and shot her a crooked grin. “We’ll have plenty of time to eat them.”
Frustration buzzed through her system. “I don’t understand.” Why did he look at her like that? Why did he want to take her out to dinner? Was he changing his mind about not having sex again?
A frown knitted his brow. “Don’t read anything into it. I thought it would be fun. And it would give you a break from cooking for me.”
“I like to cook.”
The heat was back in his eyes. “Let me do this for you. Let me take you out to dinner.”
“That sounds an awful lot like a date.” She tried to keep the words light but wasn’t sure she succeeded.
The regret in his expression was easy to read. “It’s not a date, Sylvie.”
She was certain she couldn’t hide the regret on her face either. “I know.”
Dinner had been delicious. They’d been surprised to discover there was live music at the restaurant. The music was a pleasant mix of classic ballads and contemporary love songs, the volume low enough for the diners to carry on easy conversations.
The Cottage Next Door Page 6