by Jess Bentley
Kill stands up, shrugging at me. “Then I guess we’re all set. Are you ready too, Mama?”
“I was born ready,” I quip, lowering the goggles over my eyes. My heart begins to race again, just like it always does when I’m about to go over this hill. I love this trail, though I don’t attempt the side trails, of course. But ever since the first time I’ve seen it, I’ve appreciated its uninterrupted, grand slope. It is a beautiful, impressive work of nature.
The five of us head down the slope, and I pull ahead, sure that Liam and Kill will keep an eye on our kids. That’s one of the wonderful things about having five dads around: everybody can share the work. I feel confident that we have the safest, most well-loved children anywhere.
The wind whips past me as I serpentine down the hill, loving the carefree, exhilarating sense of having this beautiful world at my feet. As I near the bottom, I can see Jake and Carty waving to me, and I angle my skis in their direction. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that the twins have everything under control too.
“Wow, your skiing has really improved,” Jake remarks when I swish to a stop, impressively spraying snow over the snowmobiles. He bends down to help me out of my skis and when he stands, dives in first for a sweet, tender kiss. My lips are half frozen, but instantly warmed by his touch.
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot more time to practice,” I answer defensively. “Everything doesn’t come naturally to me like it does to you, Jake. You should count yourself lucky that you’re so gifted.”
He slides a hand around my waist and lifts me off my feet, easily picking me up, just like he always likes to do.
“You should count yourself lucky that I am so gifted too!” he quips. “Seems to work out pretty well for all of us.”
I kick my feet and pretend to be struggling, but of course I love it. He only sets me down when Eli and Bella are within reach, then he scoops each of them up for a affectionate hug and playful tease.
“Do you want go up again?” Carty asks. “Looks like you have time for another run before the sun goes down.”
“No, not today,” I sigh. “Why don’t we just ride on home? I think the kids are just about tuckered out.”
“No, Mom!” Eli objects. “Just once more? Please?”
“Gotta do what Mom says,” Liam shrugs sympathetically. “She’s the boss.”
“Fine,” Eli acquiesces. Like a proper gentleman, he takes his sister’s ski poles over to the ATV and clips them to the side.
“Are you feeling okay?” Jake asks, concerned. He’s always looking out for me.
“Well… to be honest, I thought that we might want to spend some time in Sacramento. What you think about that?”
Jake takes my skis and secures them in the rack, frowning thoughtfully.
“Well, sure, Lola. Any particular reason?”
“I think we have a movie premiere to go to,” I smile, winking. “Do you think your tuxedo still fits?”
“What are we talking about?” Carty asks as he comes over.
“Your big-screen debut, little brother!” Jake laughs, clapping him on the shoulder.
Carty rolls his eyes. “Oh my God… no. Is that happening already?”
“Yes. You know you couldn’t avoid it forever,” I scold him. “So is that okay? We can go to Sacramento for a while? We have to go for Nance’s wedding anyway.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s bound to be entertaining,” Liam observes wryly.
“Hey, are we going to get on the road or what?” Timothy asks, getting out of the ATV and coming around the side.
“Yeah, think you can get us all back to Sacramento by next week?” Jake calls out.
Timothy gives him a thumbs up. “You bet!” he grins.
“Sounds like a plan,” Jake confirms.
I smile at all of them, pleased at how this came together. While it’s true that the movie premiere is coming up, and Nance finally did find somebody to crack open the hard shell on her heart, I have a couple of other reasons too. I don’t want to be stuck on the mountain, not for too long.
Strategically, I wait for them to look at me all at once, to make sure I have their attention. Mist fills the air when they exhale, but eventually everyone looks at me. Jake smiles first. I think he knows what I’m going to say. Still, I’m very excited to say it.
“So… Sacramento is okay? Do you think the birthing suite is still ready to go?”
Jake nods, because he knew. He always knows. But Carty and the twins both figure out what I’m saying at the same time. They rush toward me, arms out. Instantly I’m on the ground, pinned below a puppy pile of my handsome lovers, excited beyond words.
“Is it twins again?” Jake asks breathlessly between kisses. “Say it’s twins again, Lola. Or triplets? Is it triplets?”
I just laugh, kissing him, kissing Carty, kissing whoever’s close in a dizzying explosion of love and joy. I don’t know what the future holds, but I know it’s going to be wonderful.
About the Author
Jess Bentley is a contemporary romance author who adores writing about adventurous young women — and the hot sexy men who love them. She spends her days reading and writing, tending to her flower garden and growing vegetables, as well as playing the guitar.
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Copyright © 2017 by Jess Bentley
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the authors’ imagination.
Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.
Kindle Edition
For you. You know who you are.
Contents
Chapter 1 - Prologue
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21 - Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter
25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Jordan
My head is reeling. I fish around in my purse for the keys to my parents’ place, but I don’t make contact with anything. Maybe it’s unlocked. Just as I reach for the door handle, the door pops open and I’m face to face with a man in a open-necked button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and suit pants. He’s stunning. The look on his face is surprised and receptive, his bright blue eyes bright, their crinkled edges softening his expression. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. He definitely looks gorgeous.
“Oh, hi,” he says. His voice rumbles softly.
I fumble a bit, rub my hand on the side of my black dress, and hold out my hand to shake his. I’m flustered. His touch feels like electricity. I try not to stare at the way his collar falls around his upper chest and collarbone, or how the fabric stretches across broad shoulders.
“You’re Jordan,” he says.
“Yes,” I manage to say. He opens the door wide and moves out the way.
“Jordan, honey, is that you?” I hear in my mother’s voice. It’s her “company” voice, modulated and mellifluous. “We weren’t expecting you for another hour.”
Yeah, I couldn’t stand being at my best friend’s funeral and wake for a second more, but I don’t want to talk about that in front of the gentleman that’s here.
“Things ended early,” I say simply.
“Oh honey,” my mom says, swooping in and kissing me on the cheek. “I’m so sorry. How did it go?”
“It was fine,” I answer quickly, dismissively. My mind is churning with thoughts and emotions. I don’t know how they did it, but it was an open casket. Kelsey died in a car crash, and her forehead hit the windshield. I guess the airbag didn’t deploy. But whoever did her makeup restored her to the way she looked when we were fifteen, except peaceful. Clear. She looked different later—kind of cagey, somehow. After a certain point there was a shadow across her face when we hung out that never quite left. I don’t know why it was like that. I figured we just were growing apart.
For me, I tried to hold on too hard, to cling too much to her. But she was my rock for so long that it was difficult to try to get along without my best friend at my side all the time.
It’s hard for me to trust anyone now that she’s gone, and if I’m honest, some part of me didn’t even trust her, though I did follow her.
“Jordan, this is Mr. King,” my mother says too brightly. “He and your father were best friends in college, and now they’re going into business together.” Best friends. Like Kelsey and I were.
“Hello, Mr. King,” I say dutifully. It feels strange that a man my father’s age could be so attractive, and that even on the day of my best friend’s funeral I could feel heat rising in my chest, and tingling in my core.
“We met before, Jordan,” Mr. King says. “But you’ve grown up a lot since then.” There’s an appreciation in his voice that goes just to the edge of what might be flirting, or might just be politeness.
“That’s right!” my mother says, clapping her hands to the sides of her mouth. “You met Jordan when she was a little baby!”
“She was adorable,” he smiles, and his full lips stretch over perfect teeth. “And later too, when she was eleven or twelve? Now she’s a real lady.” His eyes flicker almost imperceptibly over my body. “You must be very proud.”
My mother smiles. “We couldn’t be prouder of Jordan,” she trumpets.
I slip off my heels. I’m not usually so done up, but I had to show my respects and wear heels. “Thanks,” I say. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I really need to change into something more relaxing.”
“I think you still have some clothes in your old room,” my mother says. “Jordan was at her best friend’s funeral today,” she stage-whispers to Mr. King. He looks stricken.
“I’m so sorry,” he says softly. I glance up at him, and there’s genuine compassion in his eyes, but something else as well. What is it?
“That’s okay,” I say inanely, caught in his glance. Of course it’s not okay. But neither is wanting to crawl into this stranger’s arms, and I feel like that as well.
“Go on up and get changed, Jordan honey,” my mother finally says, and I rip my eyes away from Mr. King.
“Yes.” I walk up the carpeted spiral staircase and head to my old room, the path I’ve walked so many times before. In my mind I hear Kelsey’s voice, feel her fingers wrapping around my hand and pulling me along, me falling behind, her urging me on to whatever scheme she wants to pull. I was her sidekick, her security blanket, and without her, I’m completely lost.
I push the door open into my room, and crumple on the bed, still in my dress. It’s so surreal. Kelsey, where are you? Why did you leave me? All those mourners standing around, eating hors d’oeuvres, shifting from foot to foot, spouting platitudes. I wanted to jump up and strike the food out of their hands and yell, “She was only twenty-three! How can you people just stand there! The whole world has changed!”
But it hasn’t, I guess. Not for them.
I saw the same look in the eyes of her mother and her father. The look of being completely lost, bereft of hope. I would have commiserated with them more, but they never really warmed up to me even when we were kids. They weren’t exactly warm people. Their living room was one of those with plastic covering the furniture. It was more of a sitting room that people weren’t allowed to sit in.
Kelsey and I spent most of our time as kids at my house, in this room. As I enter, the smell of it is stifling—the slight mustiness, the memories, the near-presence of Kelsey. The feeling that threw me out of here when I was eighteen mostly on Kelsey’s urging is still egging me to leave.
I stood there at the funeral home with her mother, playing with the napkin I was holding, trying to hide the fact that I was ripping it into tiny shreds. Her mother, clearly uncomfortable and looking everywhere but at me, said that Kelsey left me something in the will, and that I would have to attend the reading. I have no idea what it might be. I know she had some money. I wouldn’t be surprised if she left me a thousand dollars or something. Or maybe it will be like one of those soap operas and I’ll get a video of her talking. That would be spooky.
“Jordan, if you’re watching this, I’m dead now.” I shudder at the thought. But part of me is still curious as to what she might want to give me on the occasion of her death.
Whatever. A will is the last thing I want to be thinking about right now. It’s been too much, thinking of Kelsey all day, thinking of her dying, of me being left alone. I feel hopeless at facing life without her.
When she was still alive, I never faced the fact that I relied on her too much. I just put it up to being best friends. But I was always more dependent on her than she on me.
It’s too much to think about.
I reach up and undo the hook and pull down the zipper of my black dress, then strip it off. It’s funny—sometimes I have the odd feeling that I’m being watched when I undress, but not here in my old home. Must be a little quirk I have. Still, something inside me feels like putting on a show. And for Mr. King, too.
I imagine his eyes on me as I raise one foot onto my childhood bed and peel off my black pantyhose. I shimmy out of the other leg, and then slowly pull down the black thong I was wearing, not to be sexy, but to avoid panty lines. It catches between my legs and sticks for a second, probably because of the wetness that slicked my folds when Mr. King touched me.
Why am I thinking of him? My mind is uncontrollable right now. Is it just a reaction to Kelsey’s funeral? It all feels so strange, so fake. Like life is a performance. I unhook my bra and slide it off my shoulders, clutching the cups to my chest as if I’m embarrassed, before letting it fall down onto the floor. I thought being back at my parents’ house would make me feel like myself again, but then Mr. King showed up.
Now I’m naked. Part of me wants him to appear at the door.
“Jordan,” he would say. “Excuse me. I didn’t know you were changing...” His words would trail off and he’d stand there, the bulge in his dress pants getting bigger until it was clearly defined, the shaft, the head. He’d be frozen for a moment, wanting to leave, wanting to stay. Wanting to bend me over, let his cock free, and plunge every inch into me. “I’m sorry,” he’d say, “but I just can’t help myself. You’ve just gotten too sexy. And you’re going to have to obey me.”
My hand trails down between my legs and I try not to make any sound, but I want to moan when I come in contact with my slick clit. I look at myself in my childhood mirror, painted pink above a pink vanity, and see my nipples, hard and proud, the long stretch of my stomach, the recently stripped-bare mound. That brings me back too, to see my sex so naked, like it must have been when I first met Mr. King.
I draw my hand away and walk over to the dresser. I should get dressed. There has to be some old clothes here. I pull open the underwear drawer and find some old panties I used to wear and a bralette. The bralette is aqua-colored and lacy, and the panties are cotton with an aqua lace trim with the day of the week printed in girlish script on them. The bra goes on easily but the panties are a little small, though they’ll do. They only cover half my butt. I imagine Mr. King again.