Circle on Home (Lost in a Boom Town Book 5)

by MJ Fredrick

  Great. She was supposed to have let them thaw for an hour. Terrific. She wondered how much longer she could leave them in before the rest of the roll burned.

  “Don’t let me down,” she said to the pan of asparagus she’d already sprinkled with olive oil and parmesan.

  The doorbell rang and she swore, looking from the clock on the oven to the t-shirt she still wore. She had pulled out something sexier to wear, but it was still upstairs. Great. She’d lost track of time and ruined dinner. That was not a good start to a seduction.

  She turned everything off and hurried to the door to see Noah standing on the porch with flowers. The weather had warmed enough that he wasn't wearing a jacket, just a flannel shirt that stretched over his broad shoulders.

  And flowers. She couldn't remember the last time someone had brought her flowers. Damian had sent her flowers, but it wasn't the same as seeing a big, strong man clutching a bouquet. And they weren't something boring like roses. No, it was a colorful collection of all kinds of flowers. He offered them to her before she stepped back and welcomed him into the house.

  “Thank you. You didn't have to.” She mentally reviewed the kitchen and wondered if they even had a vase in the house. She’d find something to put them in. “They’re beautiful.”

  “They made me think of you.”

  She led the way into the kitchen. “I hope dinner is worth it. I don’t know what I did.” She waved a hand at the stove as she started opening cabinets looking for a container for the flowers.

  “Let me see what I can do.” He stepped toward the stove and inspected the mess in the pan.

  She couldn't find a vase, and the drinking glasses weren't big enough so she pulled a plastic pitcher from the cabinet and filled it with water.

  When she turned around, he was pouring a bit of milk into the bottom of the pan and scraping at the blackened bits with a spatula.

  She fluffed the flowers and joined him at the stove, where the blackened bits were coloring the milk and making a gravy.

  “Is it ruined?”

  “Nah, we can save it. What are we having with it?”

  She motioned to the asparagus sitting on the back burners. “I’m going to put those in the oven. The oven!” She flung the door open, and the warmth seeped out, not as warm as it should have been. Of course it wasn’t. She’d turned it off when he arrived. And the rolls. She’d forgotten about them. Lord, what had she been thinking, inviting him to dinner when she hadn't cooked in so long?

  “The center of the rolls are cold, too,” she said, hating her helplessness.

  He glanced to the display on the oven. “Perhaps if you turn it on?”

  She punched the buttons to turn it back on.

  He put the spatula down long enough to flip the rolls over, so the browned part was facing up, the cold part on the pan.

  “Let’s let the oven warm up a bit before we put those in. We might put these in something to keep warm, too, before I put them back in the pan.”

  She found an oven-safe container for the pork chops, and she slid them into the oven along with the rolls. She let him fix what was looking like a pretty good gravy as she turned to set the table. When she finished, she looked down at her top.

  “Do you mind if I run upstairs and change? I kind of underestimated the challenge of this meal.”

  He glanced at her old UT shirt. “You look great.”

  She dropped a little curtsy. “But I could look better. Do you mind?”

  He turned back to the gravy and gestured with the spatula. “I’ve got this.”

  She raced up the stairs, glad she’d already selected what to wear, so at least something tonight would go right.

  Naturally Skipper was sleeping right in the middle of her black sweater on the bed.

  “Seriously!” Her exclamation startled the kitten, who bolted under the bed, leaving nothing but a circle of hair on her sweater. “Of all the places you could have slept in here, you pick my sweater.”

  Her own fault for leaving the sweater there, but still. She flung open the closet, hesitated for a couple of minutes before she selected a fitted shirt that might be a little chilly, but hey, looked better than the t-shirt she usually just slept in.

  She fluffed her hair from her ponytail, inspected the boots that had seen better days, shrugged, and hurried back downstairs.

  The kitten had somehow beaten her down the stairs and now twined between Noah’s ankles. The pan of asparagus had disappeared into the oven and the table had been set.

  “I didn't think I was gone that long,” she said, crossing to the refrigerator and retrieving a bottle of wine she’d bought for the occasion. The grocery store in Evansville didn't have the biggest selection, but this was one of the nicer wines they had on-hand. She realized, as she turned toward him, that she didn't know if he liked wine. He’d always been a beer drinker before.

  “You weren’t.” He set the pan on a cool burner and turned to her as she pulled the corkscrew from the drawer by the fridge. That, she knew the location without question.

  “Would you like some wine?”

  Without a word, he took the bottle from her and opened it with some finesse, then handed it back to her.

  “Do I make you nervous?” he asked, without answering her question.

  She got down two glasses anyway, and poured. “Why do you ask?”

  “You just seem a little flustered, is all.”

  “I thought I had a better handle on dinner. I thought it was simple enough. I think my mistake was the pan.” And not taking the rolls out to thaw. And not giving herself enough time. But she’d wanted everything warm and on the table when he arrived.

  “Okay,” he said, taking the glass of wine she offered and watching as she took a gulp of hers. “Would it help to know I was nervous coming over?”

  She widened her eyes. “Why? You’re seriously the least nervous person I’ve ever met.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, but we have a history, and I feel like there are expectations when two people try to get back together after so many years. I don't want to let you down.”

  She opened her mouth to counter his words, but he stepped forward, curved his hand under her hair and kissed her. Breathless, she rose into his kiss, fumbling to set her wine glass on the counter behind her so she could wrap her arms around him and hold him to her, something she hadn't dared to do in his office. The moment her arms locked around his neck, he closed his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the counter. She gasped against his mouth as he wedged her legs apart to lean between them, and she had a moment of gratitude for the sturdiness of the cabinets as they deepened the kiss, moving into each other. She resisted the urge to tighten her legs around his hips, to bring him closer. She let him drag her hips to the edge of the counter. He held her a moment, snug between her thighs, then he lifted her, holding her against him. This time she did tighten her legs around his hips and—God, was he carrying her toward the stairs?

  “Dinner,” she gasped.

  “I turned off the oven.”

  “Thank God.”

  He chuckled, and started up the stairs. After a few steps, he paused, his heavy breathing having less to do with the kissing and more to do with carrying her. She laughed softly and released her grip on his hips, sliding down the length of his body until she stood on the step above him, arms still wrapped around him.

  “I’ll go up the rest of the way by myself.”

  Her heart jittered in her chest as they mounted the stairs, him so close behind her she could feel the heat of his body. She turned into her bedroom without looking back, her pulse pounding in her ears. Why was she so nervous? She’d slept with him before, dozens of times. She tried to remember the first time, how nervous she’d been then, but she had been a virgin, so eager to see what the fuss was all about. Now, well, the decision felt so much more weighted.

  But she was still eager to see what he’d learned in the past fourteen years.

  She turned to him, s
lid her hands up his body, over his chest, feeling the crispness of chest hair over the muscles strengthened by hard work. She dug her fingers in just a bit as he captured her mouth again, this time hotter, sexier. He edged her to the bed, slid his hands down over her ass, pulled her against him before lowering her to the mattress, and stretching out over her, holding his weight off of her as they kissed. She reached between them and tugged at the buttons of his flannel shirt, wanting her hands on his skin. He moaned against her mouth as she touched him, then slid her hands up to twine her fingers through his hair, like she’d wanted to do since she saw him in July. It was just as silky as she remembered, and she liked guiding his head to where she wanted to be kissed, her throat, her jaw, the swell of her breast.

  She’d worn the shirt approximately five minutes before she was whipping it over her head and tossing it across the room, where the kitten pounced on it. Miranda was still smiling when Noah took her mouth again. He slid one hand down her body, over the swell of her breast, the lace of her bra, the indentation of her waist, his callused fingers tracing the low waistband of her jeans. She gasped against his mouth, arching into him, chills from the shock of his touch chased by the heat of desire. She wanted to be naked beneath him, wanted him naked over her. Her pulse raced after the fantasies that flipped through her mind.

  “You realize,” she said, flicking open the button of his jeans when he broke the kiss to slide his lips down the line of her throat, “That I’ve been doing all the undressing here.”

  “I carried you up the stairs.”

  “Only part of the way.”

  “It was my idea.”

  “I invited you, and told you I had the house to myself,” she reminded him.

  He rose over her and angled his head. “It might not be as much fun if we’re going to keep score.”

  “I was just thinking you might not need me naked as much as I need you.”

  “That,” he said, unbuttoning her jeans, “is not accurate.” And he slid his hand down the front of her panties.

  She sucked in a breath and clung to his shoulders as she moved into his teasing touch, the one he tried to remove, but she was greedy for the pleasure he offered her and chased his hand when he tried to retreat.

  Then she found it, that sensation that made her toes curl, that shot her back to the forbidden pleasures they’d enjoyed when they were teens, in his truck. God, those nights had been magical, a boy who adored her, who awoke in her sensations she’d never known existed. He tugged at her jeans and she helped him kick them off, like she used to, and slid her feet up his thighs, over the softness of his jeans. When she reached between them to help him undress, he batted her hands away and rolled his hips against her, into the lacy fabric of her panties. The tremors that had started subsiding flared back to life.

  “Noah!” Her hands slipped on his shoulders as he kissed his way down her body, licking her breast through the lace bra, continuing over her stomach until…

  “Noah!”

  Part of her wanted to push him away, another part wanted to pull him closer, to just go with it.

  She wouldn't be able to move him anyway, right? He was much bigger and stronger than her. In surrender, she let her hands fall to the mattress beside her head and gave in to the pleasure.

  She was still drifting when he lifted himself off of her. The sound of his jeans hitting the floor was enough to rouse her, and she sat up to admire what fourteen years and hard work had done to his body.

  God, he was beautiful, broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. Black hair had filled in his chest between his shoulders, arrowing down his stomach. He knelt over her, drawing her focus to his face, solemn now as he leaned over her.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice rough.

  She shoved away all the doubts that rose in her mind and nodded. “Yes.”

  And then he was pushing into her, filling her, and she couldn't catch her breath as he looked down at her, the gleam in his eyes at once familiar and new. She reached up to touch him, to run her fingertips over his jaw. So hot, so masculine, such a contrast to his soft lips.

  He kissed her fingers, lifted one hand from the mattress to press the back of her hand to his lips, then began to move. She slid her touch down his spine before gripping the flexing muscles of his back and matching his rhythm, much more deliberate than when they were teens, much more…mature. Thorough. Hot.

  She had imagined that the sex would be fast and hungry, and part of her regretted that it wasn’t, that he wasn't crazy for her, but a bigger part of her liked each thrust and roll of his hips, that drawing out of each sensation that made her feel like she was floating, awash in nothing but sensation, his hard body, the rough hair against her sensitive skin. His hot breath washed over her, his breathing heavy, accented with groans of appreciation. He caressed her body, but when he met her gaze, she saw the pleasure was because of her, not her body.

  He bent to kiss her and she clung to him, opened to him, as his tempo increased, his kiss hungrier, his mouth trailing down her throat. He braced over her on one hand, the other sliding down her body as if he could bring her even closer. His grip tightened and he rolled onto his back , bringing her over him, and now she couldn't get close enough to him, rhythm forgotten in her frantic search for pleasure—his and hers.

  She cried out when she found it, and rose over him, dragging her hair back from her face, riding him with the confidence she’d never felt when they were young, a sense of power when she saw the tension wash from his face as he found his release. His hands tightened on her hips, then relaxed as his body melted beneath hers, his fingertips stroking her thighs lazily as he floated back to earth. She slid her hands up his chest, then down again before she leveraged herself off of him and flopped to the mattress beside him.

  “That was…way better than it used to be,” he murmured, looping his arm about her shoulders and pulling her close.

  “Well, we had an actual bed this time and not the seat of a pick-up truck.”

  “We did it in the bed of the truck sometimes,” he reminded her.

  And those times had been sweet, beneath the stars. She’d loved how he’d planned for it, with blankets and pillows to soften the experience. She’d become more cynical in later years and figured he’d been a boy who just wanted to get laid. But it had still been romantic to her teenage heart.

  She didn't want to talk about why they’d changed—they’d been with other people, they’d become other people. Of course sex would be different. Definitely better.

  Was he going to stay the night? Should she invite him? She didn't want to be the first of her roommates to have an overnight visitor, not without discussing it with them first. Besides, if he stayed, everyone in town would know that his truck was parked in front of her place overnight. She didn't think he’d ask to stay, and maybe it was best if he didn’t.

  “I’m starving,” she said, sitting up and grabbing her jeans from near the foot of the bed, going to search for her shirt, which, naturally, had a kitten curled up on top of it. She dusted off what hair she could and pulled the shirt on without a bra, then turned to watch him button his shirt more deliberately. Did he do everything with such concentration now?

  She should maybe have waited a little longer, given him some more recovery time, but his silence made her nervous, so she hurried out the door and hoped her roommates didn't come home.

  To be fair, even if the food hadn't been reheated, it probably wouldn't have been very good. She made a face as she shoved a half-cooked asparagus into her mouth.

  “Next time I’ll do a practice run,” she promised. “At least I have a decent dessert to fall back on.” She rose to open the refrigerator, revealing a pink cardboard box from Riley’s bakery.

  Noah caught her hand when she passed the table. “Are you sorry about what happened tonight?”

  “What? No! Why?”

  “You’ve got all this energy, and it’s kind of…unsettling. Like you don't know what
to do with yourself.”

  “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve been in this position. I mean, trying to figure out what’s supposed to happen next.”

  He tightened his grip on her hand. “What’s supposed to happen is what we want to happen. What do you want to happen, Miranda?”

  She let out a deep breath. “I guess…I want to see where this goes. See if things can be better this time around. What do you want to happen?”

  He regarded her solemnly. “I want to give that to you, but my life is in almost as much of a mess now as it was when you left the last time. I can’t make any promises except that I’ll try to give you what you want. How’s that?”

  “It’s only good if you want it too.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips. “Oh. Trust me. I do.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Leaving Miranda’s after they ate was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He’d never spent the night with a woman before, but last night, going back up to Miranda’s bed after dinner seemed like it would have been the most natural thing in the world. He’d told her that they could steer their own course in this relationship, but that wasn't a hundred percent true. Maybe not even fifty percent. She had her roommates to worry about and he had his sister.

  He’d thought about Selena’s future for a lot of years, but hadn't made a step to resolve it. He’d been content to let things lie as they were, until his father came home and Noah started worrying about her again. Noah had always kept her safe, but didn't feel like he could do that anymore, especially when he wasn't home.

  And he didn't want to be home.

  He’d always thought he’d just keep her with him when he got married or whatever, but now he couldn't even say for sure he’d stay in that house. He should maybe be looking for a place on the outskirts of town. Now that the boom was waning, housing prices might be more reasonable, and he could find a place for him, Selena and Miranda, and whatever animals he needed to take care of. Ben and Rey could keep the house and land out in the country.