by Cecy Robson
I didn’t want her to leave when her friend called, but I also didn’t want her to think I was keeping her just to have sex. Everything’s closed today, and since I hadn’t planned on company, I didn’t have much in my fridge except the leftover pizza I’d ordered earlier in the week and some frozen pot pies that have seen better days. We had two choices: take a chance on the pizza and pot pies or go fishing. We decided on the latter. Based on the way she’s mesmerized by the waves and all the splendor, it’s already been worth the ride.
I offer her my hand. “Come on,” I say.
She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know about this, Landon.”
“What’s wrong? You seemed excited back at the house.”
She looks past me and to the chairs fixed on the stern. “They don’t have seatbelts,” she points out.
“Boats generally don’t. Are you afraid you’re going to fall in?”
“Yes,” she admits.
“I promise I won’t let you, but in the off chance you do, I also promise to save you.”
Her brows crinkles as she focuses on the chair. “I’ll feel bad if you have to dive in after me.”
It’s what she says, but she still takes my hand, allowing me to help her onto the stern and into the seat. I set the bait on her pole and cast the line. I’m not trying to show off, but am more than pleased by how far it soars.
Apparently, so is Lucy. “Wow,” she says. “I take it you fish a great deal?”
“It’s the southern boy’s yoga.”
Her laugh drifts into the air like a gentle breeze passing along the waves. She stops laughing when I offer her the pole. “It’s okay,” I tell her, “I’ll talk you through everything.”
She takes it hesitantly from my grip, eyeing me as I cast out my line. I plop down beside her, trying not to chuckle. She’s gripping the pole with both hands, more tense than she was when she first walked into the party last night.
Damn, she’s cute . . . and beautiful . . . and I should work on not gawking at her like a fool.
“Should I put on some music?” she offers. She bats at her coat, searching for her phone.
Good luck with all those layers, sweet thing. I grin, thinking it’s best not to overdo the teasing. “No, the fish don’t like it.”
“Okay,” she says. “So, what do we do?”
“We wait, and hopefully snag us some dinner.”
“All right.” She adjusts her position in the seat, stealing a peak overboard. “You’ll really save me if I fall in?”
“I will,” I assure her.
“But who will save you?” she asks, appearing nervous.
I hook my arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. “Don’t worry about it. I used to lifeguard and was an endurance athlete for about five years.”
“Of course you were,” she says smiling.
I chuckle. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”
She purses her lips, appearing to hesitate to tell me what she’s thinking. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re too good to be true?”
I lose my grin real fast. Luci doesn’t notice, her stare intent as she watches her line bob along the waves. “You volunteered all over the world to help those in need, are a successful engineer, who’s not only attractive, but just so happens to be an endurance athlete. I swear, Landon, if you tell me you foster abandoned puppies and kittens, read to the elderly at the local senior citizen’s center in your spare time, or are secretly developing the cure for cancer in your basement, it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Nah, I don’t have a basement.”
I mean to make her laugh and move on, but she neither smiles nor laughs when she takes in my features. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I reply, blowing off her comment.
Her gaze dances along my face. “Something is.” Her voice trails as she latches onto something despite how I think I keep my expression fairly neutral. “I’m sorry, Landon, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just—”
“You didn’t offend me,” I say, cutting her off. “I just . . . you’re giving me too much credit, is all.”
“No, I’m not,” she adds quietly.
Her tone trickles with sadness, but I’m not sure that sadness comes from something she senses in me or something that belongs solely to her. I don’t know her well enough to ask, but I want to.
“Are you happy?” I ask her.
A tiny little crease forms between her eyebrows when she frowns. She’s probably wondering why I asked or assuming I’m trying to switch the focus off of me. I’ll admit, she’s not far off if that’s what she’s thinking. She takes her time answering, not too much where the minutes pass, just long enough that I can already guess the answer.
“There are a lot of good things in my life,” she replies.
“And maybe some not so good things?” I ask.
Her voice is so gentle, I barely hear it. “Yes.”
“I think I know what you mean,” I say.
Thinking about everything that went wrong last year often consumes me, to the point I’m sure I’ll go insane. More often, those memories leave me bitter, or worse yet, numb. I hate those moments, and those feelings. But today, the bitterness and numbness pass me by, and that overwhelming sense stays far away.
I reach for Lucy as she leans in, meeting her with a kiss that grows teasing. She laughs.
“Why are you laughing?” I ask.
“Your whiskers tickle my lips,” she says, giving my beard a stroke.
“Just your lips?” I ask.
Her lids close, and her voice tightens. “Mm, maybe not just my lips,” she confesses.
“No?” I kiss her again. “Then what else?”
Her cheeks redden in that way that drives me wild. “I’ll leave that to your imagination,” she says. She scoots back into her seat, grinning at me with a shy smile.
“Really?” I ask. “I don’t know, I have a big imagination. You sure you want me to go there?”
She curls forward, the motion bunching her layers and shielding her face. “Oh, goodness,” she says, shoving the heavy layers down.
I think she’s annoyed, but as her face appears I catch sight of her widening smile. She settles back into her seat, content.
That’s how I like her, happy, even though like me, there are parts not to be happy about. Again, that negativity I’ve felt doesn’t quite come, at least not here with Luci.
I recline in my seat, trying not to inundate her. I don’t want her to think she’s stuck having sex with me all weekend, not that I’d mind if that’s what she wants to do. But I’d hate for her to think she has to do it.
Last night, when I entered Becca’s house, staying was the last thing on my mind. Scratch that, finding someone to go home with, that was the last thing on my mind. But the more time I spent with Luci, the more she became what I wanted.
I’m trying not to think about how it felt to have my soapy hands pass along her breasts during our shower, how her hands slid along the tile as I pumped into her, or how she wrenched her neck to hang tight to our kiss. But I’ve realized it’s hard not to think about Luci period.
She hangs on every word I say like it’s the most important thing in the world, laughing at all the right moments, and appreciating the silence when it comes.
How is it possible I’ve known her less than a day? And how am I going to let her go?
I keep waiting to piss her off, or for her to do something that annoys me. Hell, even the woman I married managed both the same day we met, and the second, and probably every day after that.
My thoughts wander to what should have been brunch, but turned into lunch since we spent so much time in the shower. Luci walked into the kitchen in one of my T-shirts and the sweatpants I’d given her. I was whipping up an omelet, but stopped when she strolled in.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” she said, pointing behind her. “I took the staircase in the front hall.
I didn’t know there was another one that led directly into the kitchen.” She seemed uncomfortable as she looked around, like she was somehow intruding or shouldn’t be there, even though nothing was further from the truth. “You have a lovely home,” she added, her voice quivering slightly.
“Thank you,” I told her. For a minute I tensed, waiting for her to ask me how much money I make or how much the house cost. It’s something I was asked by a lot of women when I went out on my own and started bringing them home.
Luci didn’t ask. “Do you need help?” she offered instead.
“No, I’m good.”
She took a seat in front of me, her attention trailing to the deck and to the ocean. “If you want, you can take a look around,” I offered.
“Only if you want to show me.”
“What?” I asked. Her voice was soft, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t heard her. I was just used to people jumping at the chance to look around.
“I said I’ll look if you show me.” She smiled. “But I’d rather stay here with you.”
I’d rather stay here with you, I repeat in my head. If I’m being honest, it’s the best damn thing she could have said.
The strong whirling sound has me jerking in her direction. “It’s doing something,” she says, clutching the handle as the reel spins out of control. “Landon, it’s doing something.”
I toss my pole onto the deck, scrambling behind her and helping her secure the reel. “Take it,” she insists, trying to pass me the rod.
“Shhh,” I murmur against her ear. “It’s okay, you’ve got this.”
“I really don’t,” she says, her voice close to a whimper.
“Yeah, you do,” I assure her. “Come on, reel it in.”
I guide her with my hands. It’s moments like this when I press against her that I’m reminded how tiny Luci is. Even with all this padding, I sense her fragility beneath the layers and the vulnerability that teeters so close to the surface.
I suppose that’s why I wrap around her like armor, trying to shield her from harm, despite that she’s made it this long without me.
The line jerks and I lean her back. Whatever she caught is putting up a hell of a fight. I’ve fished ever since I was old enough to hold a pole. In fact, there’s a picture of me when I was about two, perched on my father’s lap with my lure in the water.
If I wanted to, I’d already have the fish in a bucket and speeding back to shore. But this is Luci’s catch and her moment. I’m making sure she gets both.
“What if it’s a shark?” she asks, her eyes wide as the pole bends and whatever she caught pulls harder.
“Then we’re about to be eaten,” I whisper.
“You’re not funny!” she says when I crack up.
“Dun-dun,” I sing. “Dun-dun-dun-dun.”
“Landon!” she squeals, all the while laughing.
“Baby, you’ve got this.” I should focus and reel faster. Except she’s so fucking adorable, I take a moment to kiss her cheek. “Come on. That there’s our dinner.”
“Are you sure nothing is open?” she asks. “Chick-fil-A? Or Wendy’s? A burger would be nice.”
“I promise you, nothing is going to taste as good as this.” I help her crank the reel harder. “Hang on. Here it comes.”
Holy shit. We pull what’s easily an eight-pound trout out of the water and onto the boat.
“Omigod. Omigod. Oh. My. God!” Luci is running in place, her hands shaking, unsure what to do.
I take over, lifting the fish up and hopping down to place it into the bucket. “Damn, woman,” I say, taking in the size of the fish. “You sure you’ve never done this before?”
She stares at the bucket from her position on the stern, watching it rattle. “I caught a fish,” she says like she can hardly believe it. She stumbles back into the boat, losing her footing and crashing on top of me.
She knocks us both down. I barely keep her from smacking her head. “You all right?”
Instead of answering me, she leans in and kisses me, her enthusiasm evident in the way she opens and closes her mouth. I chuckle as she pulls away. “I guess you are.”
Her entire face is brighter than a collection of stars on a warm summer night and her smile as brilliant as the moon itself. “I caught a fish!” she says, beaming.
Yeah, she did. What she doesn’t know is that she also captured my heart.
Chapter Eight
Luci
I search through Landon’s large pantry, trying to figure out what I can use to make him a suitable dinner. I settle on a small bag of flour and a few random spices. He lifts his head as I step out. I’d taken some time to sort through the shelves. He waited for me on the stool where I’d left him, making no effort to rush me.
He’s been noticeably quiet since I freaked out over catching that fish. I hope he’s not having second thoughts about having me stay. In case he is, I’m giving him space.
He hurries out of his seat when he sees my arms are loaded. “No worries. I have it,” I assure him.
“Are you okay? Cooking, I mean,” he clarifies. “You are my guest.”
I line the counter with my collection of goodies. “Of course, you cooked breakfast. Dinner is the least I can do.” I offer him a small smile. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do,” he adds quietly.
My focus drops to the large bowl he placed on the counter for me. His tone seems off, as if distracted. I don’t know him well enough to guess what he’s thinking. I don’t know Landon well enough at all. What I do know is that instead of keeping me in the house with the expectation of sex, he took me out for a couple hours, making the experience that much more.
I mix breadcrumbs, salt, garlic, pepper, and dried jalapenos, then reach for a knife and slice the potatoes I washed length-wise. We spent much of the night and a good part of the morning being intimate, and although we didn’t do more than kiss on the boat, I felt closer to him out on the water.
It sounds silly, even for me who dreams about someone to share forever with. I don’t know, I thought we were going somewhere, until we weren’t.
The moment I finish slicing the potatoes, I coat them with olive oil and add the packet of onion soup mix I found in the pantry.
I pop open the oven and slide the potatoes across the preheated surface, feeling Landon watching me closely. He doesn’t say anything until after I whisk a few eggs in a bowl and dip the first piece of fish.
“Looks like your oil is ready,” he says, pointing to the large pan on the stove.
I fork a little bit of egg white into the heating oil and watch it sizzle. “You’re right,” I answer, smiling. I prepare a small salad while the fillets fry.
Landon quietly sets the table. I’m not sure if we’re okay until I carry the food into the dining room and see that he’s been busy too.
There’s one place setting at the head of the table, and one right beside it. The table is large enough to accommodate twelve. Yet despite all the room only a small space separates our designated seats, proving he wants me close.
I set the food down, close to a pretty plate with four votive candles placed at its center. He shrugs when I turn at his approach. “Ambiance,” he says, as if that explains it all.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning more than just the added touch.
I step forward to return to the kitchen. His gentle grasp to my elbow keeps me in place. “Thank you for dinner,” he says.
“Don’t thank me until you’ve tasted it,” I say.
My laughter cuts off when he cups my face with his hands, but it’s the kiss that comes that lodges my breath.
It’s slow and sultry, a kiss that hints there’s more to come, and more to do, reminding me we still have a full night ahead of us.
His hands slide down my arms. They don’t quite stay there, moving to my waist. I’m only wearing the borrowed T-shirt and set of boxers he lent me. His fingers disappear beneath
the waistband, skimming my backside.
His caress tickles and makes me jerk. I ease away. “We should eat first,” I say.
With a great deal of relief, I find him smiling. “First?” he asks. “Am I to assume you want to do something else second?”
He hangs onto his grin. I don’t. “Yes,” I reply, my tone and the promise within it dissolving his humor.
Between munching on snacks from his pantry and eating the frozen foods stowed away in his freezer, we could have spent the entire day having sex. It would have been fine with me seeing how I can’t get enough of him. But he switched things around in a way that both delighted and surprised me.
The boat trip on the ocean was the nectar to all the sweet Landon is. That doesn’t mean I don’t want another night in bed with him.
“Then I suppose we should get the meal out of the way,” he says, his voice low.
“I suppose we should,” I agree softly.
I return to the kitchen. He shadows me, reaching for a bottle of red wine perched on the counter. “This okay with you?”
“Whatever you want.”
My hands reach for the salad and the dressing I prepared, almost dropping both when Landon grasps my hips and drags a montage of kisses along my throat.
My eyes roll into the back of my head. “What I want is you. All night,” he says. “But I’ll be polite and eat, even though it’s you I’m dying to have another taste of.”
I gasp, breathing hard. He mumbles a curse and steps away, gripping the counter with both hands. “You make it really hard to be polite,” he says. “You know that?”
I start to nod and speak, but don’t manage either so I force my body into action. I carry the remaining food to the table and just about run into Landon when I whip around.
“Oh, sorry,” I say.
He adjusts the wine glasses in his hand, as well as the opened bottle. “Where are you off to?” he asks, his gaze sliding over me just as it had the first time I smiled at him.