by Mari Carr
“Yes.”
They sat together in quiet contentment for nearly half an hour. Slowly reeling in their bait, only to cast it out again. She listened to Pat and Moose talk about family and work and past fishing trips as she studied the quiet serenity of their surroundings. None of them had had so much as a nibble, but she could see the attraction of the outing. No wonder Moose and Pat looked forward to this day each month.
“Nat,” Ewan said, sitting up quickly. “You’ve got a bite.”
She’d been so distracted by a flock of birds on the shore she’d forgotten to look at her bobber. “I do?”
The older men turned excitedly.
“Okay, here we go, sweet stuff,” Moose instructed. “Reel him in nice and slow.”
She followed his instructions, amazed by the strength of the fish on the other end of her line. “He must be huge,” she said. “I can barely move this reel.”
Ewan moved behind her, placing his hands on her waist but letting her do the work. He whispered directions and praise as she continued to pull the fish in. Finally Moose bent over the side of the boat with a net as she lifted her rod. A gleaming silver fish floundered in the net as Moose lifted him into the boat.
“Well, will you look at that,” Pat said. “That’s not a bad effort for your first time fishing.”
“Not a bad effort?” she repeated. “That fish is huge!”
Pat and Moose laughed while they worked together to pull the hook out of the fish’s mouth.
“Fish tales,” Moose muttered, but she wasn’t dissuaded from her opinion. He was just jealous, she thought with a delighted grin.
Moose held the wriggling fish out to her and curiosity drove her toward it. She took a deep breath and reached out to touch it.
“You’ll have to do better than that. It’s your fish. You have to kiss it.”
She narrowed her eyes at the older man. “I’m not kissing that fish.”
“Rules of the boat,” Pat interjected. “You wouldn’t want to offend your captain. It’s a tradition—we always kiss our fish. You better be quick though, that poor guy can’t stay out of the water much longer.”
“You’re throwing him back?” she asked, struggling to understand the purpose of fishing if you didn’t keep what you caught.
“This is a catch-and-release trip,” Moose replied. “Now pucker up and give this poor little guy some love. Bound to be traumatized after having that hook in his mouth.”
She bent forward, amazed by the realization she was actually going to kiss a fish. She placed a peck on the scaly, cold thing as Pat and Moose howled with laughter.
Moose released the fish back into the lake and Natalie had an anxious moment as she wondered if she’d killed the poor thing. Her fear was short-lived as the fish quickly swam away.
She wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand, narrowing her eyes at the two older men who were still chuckling. Realization dawned hard. “You never kiss the fish, do you?”
Moose tried to look remorseful but his attempt was spoiled by the shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “I didn’t think you’d really do it.”
She gave Ewan a dirty look when she caught him chuckling as well. “Don’t look at me. It’s every man for himself on the boat.”
“So I keep hearing,” she said. “Well, that’s okay boys. Laugh it up. Because if I’m not mistaken, I’m the only one on this boat who’s caught a fish to kiss.”
Pat sobered up quickly. “Hey, now. That hurts.”
She grinned as she reclaimed her rod, deftly baiting her hook and casting it with confidence. “Yep, looks like I’m kicking ass in the fishing game.”
The other men laughed and she was surprised when Moose came over and playfully tugged on her ponytail. “Day’s still young, sweet stuff.”
She smiled at him and his words. The day was still young…and she hoped it lasted forever.
* * * * *
It was nearly nine when Natalie descended the stairs, smiling at him as she approached the couch. Ewan was grateful for his loose sweatpants when she appeared in her plaid pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. They’d decided to watch a DVD together after they’d returned from fishing.
“Where’s your pop?” she asked.
“Watching the sports channel in his bedroom. Twenty bucks says we hear him snoring in half an hour.”
She laughed. “What about your sisters?”
“Teagan’s spending the night with Keira and Riley’s in her room sleeping off last night.”
She sat down beside him and he quickly bent to grab her legs, pulling them over his lap as she lay against the armrest of the couch.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
“Mmm hmm.”
He was taken aback again by her quietness tonight. She’d taken to the fishing experiment better than he’d hoped and as the day passed, he’d watched her fall deeper and deeper into a state of total relaxation. It looked good on her.
He didn’t realize before how sharp-eyed, focused and alert Natalie usually was. She was a bundle of nervous energy, never landing, never sitting for long.
They were nearly an hour into the movie when he felt her gaze on his face. He turned to look at her, confused by her expression.
“I shouldn’t have said all that stuff about my parents. On the boat. It wasn’t really the truth.”
“Your dad isn’t a workaholic?” He’d always wondered about her family, her childhood. It was the one subject she steadfastly refused to talk about.
“He is. He just wasn’t always. He was a good dad, just not a fisherman.”
Ewan grinned. “Not all men are, but don’t tell Pop and Moose that. I have to admit I was curious about the June Cleaver comment.”
“My mother lives her life looking absolutely perfect while sitting on a pristine white couch in an immaculate house. She loves the illusion of it, I suppose.”
“And the gin?”
“A bottle a week, every week. More over the holidays. So much for perfection.”
Ewan wanted to ask more, but he could see from the tightness around her eyes, she wouldn’t go any further with this conversation than she already had.
“You said something about your dad never taking his daughters fishing. I assume that means you have sisters?” he asked.
“Had a sister. Just one. She died in a car accident.”
He could tell those words were being pulled from her with every ounce of strength she possessed and he knew he should let the subject stop there. “I’m sorry, Nat. My mom died of cancer when I was twelve. I don’t think there are words to really describe…” His words fell away. He rarely talked about Sunday, his mother, to anyone—least of all his siblings.
He was worried they’d figure out how much he’d forgotten about her.
Sometimes he lay in bed and tried to force his memories of her to return, but most of the scenes he could recreate were made-up versions of the stories his older brothers and sisters liked to tell about their mother.
“You’re right,” she said softly, pulling him from his troubling thoughts. “There aren’t words. So let’s don’t try.”
He narrowed his eyes at her short response. Natalie could flash from red-hot to ice-cold in less than a millisecond. But in this instance, he wanted to change the subject as much as she did.
“Don’t worry about what you said on the boat. The more you talked, the more apparent it became to those guys that it’s just your way.” He grinned as he spoke and she scowled.
“Is that your way of saying I’m cynical?”
He turned, lifting one of her legs and pulling it over his head until her legs were wrapped around his waist. Her eyes darkened with desire and he felt the same wave knock him down as well. “Let’s just say you’re cynical with the right amount of romance.”
She snorted, a genuine snort, and he laughed. “I think I missed the day they gave out romance.”
“Haven’t you ever been in love?” he asked, curious about her past relationships
. He’d never heard Teagan or Sky mention Natalie having boyfriends or even dating.
“Well, I suppose I have.”
“You suppose?”
“I’ve had boyfriends, Ewan. Done a bit of dating. Just not lately. Work keeps me busy and, well…there’s that case of bitchiness we’ve discussed.”
“Dating’s not love, babydoll.”
She looked at him, biting her lower lip. “Semantics,” she said.
“So you’ve never been in love.” His comment wasn’t a question and she didn’t bother to refute it.
“Too busy. Not interested. Men annoy me.”
He laughed at her list, but decided to let her off the hook. He lowered to his elbows, trapping her beneath him on the couch. He could see her chest rise and fall as her breathing accelerated.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Time for a little pop quiz. What did you learn from today’s lesson? One kiss for every right answer.”
“A kiss?”
He kissed the end of her nose. “Just a kiss.”
He watched myriad emotions fly across her face as she considered his offer and he wondered if she remembered kissing him on the dance floor last night. He was fairly certain she did. He’d caught her looking at him a few times today on the boat, a slight flush on her cheeks.
“I learned how to relax.”
He bent forward to kiss her but she pressed her fingers to his lips before they could touch hers.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she said.
“Why not?” He wanted to move out of this just-friends hell she’d placed them in the past three years. He knew she didn’t give a shit about their age difference but something was definitely holding her back, and if her earlier comments were true, that something wasn’t simply keeping her from him, but from all men.
“There doesn’t seem to be much point.” Her answer was frustratingly vague and insulting, until he spotted the genuine panic in her eyes. She was scared.
He decided to pull back and put the kiss in terms she could accept—place it in a category that wouldn’t make her uncomfortable with him. It was still early. He had time to wear her down. Not a lot of time, but some. “Does there have to be a point?”
“Doesn’t there?”
He gave her a wolfish grin, hoping it would distract her from the truth. “I think making out on a couch is more relaxing than fishing.”
“So this is still part of the lesson?” Her question proved she’d fallen for his ploy. A small grin crossed his face.
He gripped her cheeks in his hands. He wasn’t stopping again. He’d ease her into it but he wouldn’t be denied. Not when he could see obvious interest emerging.
“You ready to relax some more?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. Instead she rose up slightly, meeting his lips halfway. Her hands flew to his hair and his intention of giving her a peck was washed away by her tongue, her sweet breath as they consumed each other in a flurry of hungry, no-holds-barred, open-mouthed kisses.
So much for her fear. It wasn’t the affection, the touches holding her back. Natalie Miller was afraid of relationships. Commitment.
He filed the thought away for later. For several minutes, he let himself fall into the moment, into her. It was always this way whenever she was with him—he simply couldn’t stop touching her, wanting her.
He pulled away, gentling her with soft kisses against her smooth cheeks. “What else did you learn today?”
Her heavy-lidded eyes looked at him and he wondered if she’d heard the question. “I learned I need to get out more often. Commune with nature, as it were.”
“Good answer.” He kissed her again, his hands drifting down to cup her breasts in his palms, testing her limits. She moaned against his mouth, pressing up into his grip. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
He chuckled at the little voice telling him he was about to make it to second base in his family living room with his dad asleep in the next room. Christ, he really needed to get his own place.
“What’s so funny?” she asked breathlessly.
“I haven’t made out in this living room in years. I’m gonna steal second.”
She laughed. “Oh hotshot. I wouldn’t suggest it.”
He tweaked her nipple firmly and she let out a little cry. “I’m not sure but I think the third-base coach is waving me on.”
He rose until he was kneeling between her open legs. He grasped the hem of her T-shirt, slowly pushing it up. He half expected her to call a halt. Though they’d touched often over the past two days, he hadn’t advanced their play to this extent. She watched him as he lifted her shirt above her breasts and he could tell she was holding her breath. One look at her bare chest and he felt his own breath leave in a rush.
His eyes glanced at her face as he moved closer. “You’re beautiful.”
“Kiss me,” she whispered. He didn’t have to be asked twice. He lightly took her breasts in his hands, his lips immediately engulfing her right nipple, sucking the pebbled tip into his mouth. She gasped and he knew he’d surprised her with his speedy assault. If he’d been able he would have teased her a bit first, but he was only human and he’d dreamed of this moment for years.
Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging almost painfully as her legs wrapped around his waist. She was mindlessly gyrating against his stomach and he wondered if she’d been as long without sex as he had. He was starving for her, his finesse shot to hell by her needy response.
“Easy,” he murmured against her flushed skin. “I know what you need and I’ll give it to you.”
He sucked her breast back into his mouth. With his free hand, he tweaked her other nipple, pinching it until she was squirming beneath him once more. He kissed his way across her breast, up her neck, until his lips rested at the shell of her ear. “I’m coming around to third. What’s the call gonna be, Nat?”
He was a fool for giving her a choice. Her body, her flushed face, told him she was his for the taking, but he didn’t want to seduce her into something she’d only regret in the morning. He wanted her with him in this—one hundred percent.
He dragged his hand along the smooth skin of her stomach, working his fingers under the elastic band at her waist slowly. “Make the call.”
She stared at him for several painfully long moments. “You’re out,” she whispered.
He froze, his fingers resting lightly just above her pussy. “Out?”
She nodded slowly. “I think…I’m sure. Definitely out.”
He pulled his hand away, brushing a stray hair away from her face. “I won’t stop trying,” he warned her. “I get three outs. This was only one.”
She looked at him and he wished he could read what was going on in her mind. Her face wasn’t telling him a thing. She wasn’t smirking, wasn’t giving him a cocky victorious look. If anything she looked sad, guilty, tired.
“I have to warn you,” she said quietly. “I’m one helluva ballplayer.”
He chuckled, hoping to coerce a smile from her, trying to bring back the lightheartedness he’d seen in her face all day. He pressed his erection into her stomach, grinning when she gasped. “That’s sort of what I’m hoping for, Nat. I’ve actually got a couple of balls right here—”
She laughed, shoving at his shoulders, and he was relieved to see her spunky personality reemerge. “Get off me, you dirty boy. I’m going to bed. Alone.”
He pushed away from her, rising as she did, watching as she pulled her shirt back down. She headed for the stairs but he stopped her, his hands grasping her waist.
“No cheating,” he said.
She looked at him, confused, but before she could ask, he clarified. “No vibrator. You don’t want me yet, that’s fine, but don’t you dare get yourself off with a piece of plastic, pretending it’s me.”
Her gaze narrowed and he braced himself for a fight. He wasn’t sure why he’d started this battle after all the trouble he’d just gone through to lighten the mood aga
in. All he knew was that he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if he thought she was finding her release without him, retreating back into her safe, lifeless box. She wasn’t going to take any more steps backward. From this moment on, they were moving forward.
“Another lesson?” Her question was laced with anger.
“I won’t be used in a fantasy when you’ve rejected the real thing. It doesn’t work that way.”