Love on a Summer Night

by Zoe York

  It was more than nothing.

  And given that he was a vagabond currently under contract to the Queen on the other side of the country, he could hardly ask for anything beyond that, anyway.

  But watching her straighten her skirt, then step toward the door, her curvy legs even more so in a pair of nude pumps that made him think of sex, he had to warn himself not to go too far. It wouldn’t be easy.

  What was easy, though, was giving her a welcoming smile—and receiving one right back. Her face lit up as she found him.

  That wasn’t nothing, either.

  “I presumptively ordered apple pie and coffee.” He held out his arm and she moved closer. For a second he thought she might lean into his side for a hug, but then she drifted past, leaving a subtle scent of sweet perfume in her wake.

  “Good choice, it’s my favourite,” she murmured, glancing back at him over her delicately curved shoulder. His dick jumped to attention. So the woman liked apple pie. Noted.

  He took his time settling back in the booth, because she was taking her time looking him over. Curiosity danced all over her face. Was it that much of a surprise that he’d dress up for her, like she had him?

  Friends. Ha.

  “How’d work go today?”

  She exhaled, blowing one of the loose strands of hair around her face into the air. It settled back in exactly the same spot on her cheek. He leaned across the table and tucked it behind her ear, relishing the zinging in his fingertips as he brushed her skin.

  She blushed, but when he kept looking at her, because yes, he meant that as a serious question, she gave him a real answer. “I’ve been waking up early—not my usual routine, but it seems to be working for this book. My daily goal is a chapter, and if I get more than that, awesome. I did that today, but it was hard-fought.”

  A chapter sounded like a lot. “So how long does it take you to write a book?”

  She leaned forward, wrapping her fingers around her coffee mug, and told him about first drafts and edits, revisions and world-building. He found every bit of it fascinating, and before long, their mugs were empty, their slices of pie long gone, and still they talked. She asked about his work, too, but he kept steering the conversation back to her and her books because it was infinitely more intriguing.

  Talking with Faith was easy and friendly and more than a little arousing. Apparently Zander had a fetish for writers, or one writer in particular.

  When her phone alarm sounded, Zander did a double-take. “Pick-up time already?”

  No way had they been talking for three hours.

  She shook her head after glancing at the screen. “That’s my one-hour reminder. I get lost in my work, so I schedule a bunch of alarms.”

  So they’d been talking for two hours. Still meant the afternoon was slipping by alarmingly fast. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  Her eyebrows hit her hairline, a fair reaction because Greta’s sat just off the highway. There weren’t any sidewalks in sight.

  “Do you not know about the trail that runs behind the bakery down to the lake? Clearly you’ve never been snowmobiling in the winter and come here for hot chocolate.”

  She laughed. “Clearly.”

  He stood up, threw a five dollar tip on the table, and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  — —

  Friends didn’t hold hands. But today’s Zander was clean-cut and kind, and he’d spent the last two hours priming the pump for this moment. Seducing her with excellent listening skills and apple pie.

  He might be the devil.

  She took his hand, letting herself be breathless and excited for a minute. Two minutes. Maybe five or ten, but soon she’d snap herself out of it.

  He led her outside, his hand resting in the small of her back for a split second as he reached past her and opened the door, then he filled the aching silence with chatter about teenage winter exploits. The trail system crawled up the peninsula, he explained, and one of their most popular stops had been Greta’s.

  Then they’d take their hot chocolate down to the lake and test out just how frozen it was.

  “You did not!” She gasped, grabbing his arm. They were halfway down the short, well-groomed trail and all alone.

  His muscles bunched under her touch and she wobbled as they turned to face each other. The ground was nice and flat, but it was also soft, and thanks to the stupid heels she’d decided to wear at the last minute, she was a bit unsteady on her feet. He slid his hands to her hips for a second, making sure she was stable before he ghosted his palms up her arms.

  Goosebumps skittered across her skin.

  He slowly dropped his hands back to his side, then stuffed them in his pockets. Her goosebumps protested.

  “Yeah, we did. I was a stupid kid. I also joined the army at seventeen and a half. I didn’t have a healthy fear of my own mortality yet.”

  “Yet?”

  His eyes lit up every time he smiled, and he did that a lot. Each flash of white teeth framed by soft lips undid her a little more. She needed to stop asking him questions that made him grin. “I have a lot of reasons to play it safe now.”

  “Like what?”

  It would be ridiculous for him to say a pretty single mom he’d just met. And if he did, she’d run screaming. But the pause he took first? That was dangerously addictive.

  Fantasy. Hope.

  She hadn’t allowed herself either in a long time.

  “When I was a teenager, I thought forty sounded ancient. That I’d feel like an old man now and nothing would be worth living for, anyway.”

  There was nothing old about Zander Minelli. She sucked in a breath and held it, not trusting herself to exhale. She might say something stupid like he was the most handsome, virile man she’d ever been pressed up against.

  Stop thinking about his virility, she told herself. Or wishing he’d plaster himself against her again. She still hadn’t gotten over him pressing her against the side of her house the day before.

  He pulled one hand out of his pocket and reached behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now…”

  Her alarm sounded again. She’d left her backpack at home, bringing just a small cross-body purse, and she dug the phone out. “Thirty minutes.”

  His gaze snapped from the phone in her hand to her face. “Now I know that life is for living, and I want to do that for a long time still. I have a bucket list a mile long and I’ve only seen half of the world. I want to see the rest of it, every inch, and that’s going to take decades.” He stepped closer. “Doesn’t mean I don’t still want to seize the moment, though.”

  She stepped back. Her heart fluttered and her mind blanked. Do something! screamed her last vestiges of sensible thought. “Um, I forgot to tell you how nice you look today.”

  He reached out and gently circled her waist with his hands so she couldn’t step back again. And then stepped closer.

  “I want to kiss you, Faith.” He curved his body over hers, angling his face a bit as he traced the shape of her mouth with his gaze.

  “Is this about the chase?”

  “Maybe. Do you like being chased?”

  Yes. “Not anymore.” And he got that, she knew he did. That’s why he’d dressed up for coffee. That’s why she’d dressed up. Trying to prove that she wasn’t torn jean shorts and rock-band t-shirts, tattoos and piercings. “I’m not the rebel you think I am.”

  “I think you’re many, many things. A rebel isn’t really one of them.”

  Oh. “Because if you’ve got some fantasy you’ve concocted of a wild girl in soccer mom trappings…” She trailed off. It didn’t sound right outside of her head. It didn’t sound completely wrong, either—and the look on his face admitted as much. But after their lunch the day before, she knew it wasn’t really fair to keep thinking of Zander as a reckless bad boy. He was dangerous for a whole other set of reasons, maybe—like the way his glances turned her inside out.

  He only looked chagrined for a second, but then . “I’m
going to convince you that you really are a fantasy, Faith, exactly as you are.”

  “Stop it.” That would have more weight if she didn’t sway against him. He wasn’t wearing a t-shirt under the borrowed shirt and she could feel the solid heat of his chest against her breasts.

  “I can’t. Not until you look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same.”

  She couldn’t do that. “It’s not that easy.”

  “I told you yesterday I’m not asking for much. I just want to talk, to hang out.” He lowered his voice, his gaze searing into her. “Let’s explore what this is between us.”

  “There’s nothing between us,” she whispered the weak, weak lie, almost relieved when his baleful look told her he didn’t believe her.

  His voice crackled with restraint. “We’re two people who want each other.”

  “I never said I wanted you.” That wasn’t exactly true. She’d admitted she liked looking at him and shown him that she liked touching him. She’d given him every indication that she wanted him…and then lied about it out of fear.

  Zander wasn’t afraid. He was bold and brave, and more than a little filthy as he leaned in. “I’m saying it first.”

  “You could find anyone—”

  “I want you.”

  And there it was. The raw, teasing fact that would probably prove irresistible. He wanted her, something that didn’t happen very often. And by some strange miracle, given how much she’d closed herself off to this possibility, she wanted him back. But while she could admit that now, she was terrified she’d freak out again. “I’m going to run scared. You know that, right?”

  Instead of answering her, he shifted his hands, one up her back, settling between her shoulder blades, the other lower, to the curve of her hip, his fingers moulding to the top of her ass. Zander’s idea of tugging her closer was dirty, possessive, and thrilling.

  “Zander…”

  “You talk too much,” he whispered, then covered her mouth with his.

  His lips teased against hers, relaxed and coaxing. He smelled like shower gel and sun warmed skin, and his stubbly almost-beard was surprisingly soft against her chin. But the best part of Zander kissing her was that he took his time, and yet still managed to make it abundantly clear that this kiss was going to get heated.

  More heated. She was already boneless from the first press of his mouth to hers.

  When he tasted her lower lip with his tongue, she wiggled closer. More. He gave it to her, unlocking the seam of her lips with a single swipe.

  And then it got better.

  Before he delved deeper, he invited her to taste him, coaxing her own tongue out to play with the tip of his. Lick. Thrust. Parry. And then when she did, that’s when he surged forward, filling her mouth. But still it didn’t feel like too much—just exploration.

  Teasing. Promising.

  He was big and bold and demanding…but nice. Damn it, the biker dude kissed like a prince. A dirty prince. As they tangled, one of his legs shifted between hers and his fingers inched up her skirt—

  Until they stopped.

  And he sighed.

  No….

  Between them, she could feel the press of his arousal against her belly.

  Soooo not just friends.

  She moved her fingers through his short hair, eliciting a groan and a tighter hug. He tipped her back a bit, moving his mouth across her jaw and down her neck. His nose bumped into her dangly earrings and he muttered something about pretty things getting in the way.

  Noted.

  His breath warmed her skin before his lips moved across it, and she arched her back, giving him access to more neck. And maybe the cleavage below it.

  Maybe.

  God, she was a hussy.

  When he stood her back up without licking his way into her bra, she was disappointed. Like that made any sense at all.

  He’d been totally right. They were the same. Faith wasn’t this demure girl in a sundress. She was tattoos and piercings and first kisses that went to second base, at the very least.

  Years of solitude hadn’t changed that. Hadn’t made her any more sensible when it came to matters of the heart or the body.

  “Your alarm is going to go off again any minute, isn’t it?” Zander asked roughly, still holding her in his arms.

  She sighed and soaked up another moment of the steely warmth before nodding.

  He smoothed his hand over her hair and kissed her forehead. “Let’s walk back to our cars, then. Before I lose my mind completely.”

  She ducked her head and smiled at the ground as he laced his fingers into hers. At least she wasn’t alone in the crazy feelings department.

  At her car, he settled against the door and pulled her close again, sliding her into the space between his solid thighs, spread wide. His dark eyes caught her gaze and held it as he brushed his free fingertips across her cheekbone and down her nose, then over her lips.

  Their other hands were still entwined. In her purse, the alarm went off. Ten minutes.

  “I’m going to have a hard time not kissing you again,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

  “I don’t think I’ll want you to try,” she admitted.

  “Tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “But I have to work more than just a half day.” And she had a feeling that she’d get nothing done tonight after Eric was tucked into bed, because she’d just want to crawl under her own covers and relive their kisses, over and over again. “Eric has a soccer game in Pine Harbour tomorrow night. Not a great chance of kissing, but…”

  “I’d love to come watch with you. And then if it’s not too late, maybe we could go to Mac’s for dinner?”

  He’d said it the day before. Now it was her turn. “Sounds like a date.”

  — EIGHT —

  THE next day, Faith zipped Eric over to the library in her car to make the most of her writing afternoon. She’d gotten sucked into an online debate for most of the early morning, and then they’d made pancakes…somehow that had taken two hours.

  She loved the slower pace of the summer, but there was a part of her that was more than ready for Eric to go back to school. How quickly that had changed—a year earlier, she’d been clinging to him, not ready to send her baby to junior kindergarten.

  He’d had other plans. School had been really good for him.

  Her, too.

  In the last year, she’d finished three novels and if she managed to finish this one in the next two weeks, it would be four in exactly a year, a personal record.

  But she really needed to buckle down and focus for the afternoon. No thoughts of Zander, of kissing, or just how much she was looking forward to sitting with him in the late afternoon sun.

  Her mother had been gardening in the back all morning, and when she returned, Miriam had moved to the front garden.

  “You’re a busy worker bee today,” Faith called, and her mother sat back from her weeding. Writing could wait a few minutes—just a few—because they’d been like two ships passing in the night for more than a week, seeing each other for rushed dinners and not much else. Sometimes her mother was too good at fading into the background and letting Faith get her work done. She shifted guilty. “I can help more on the weekend.”

  “You’re on deadline, sweetie, it’s fine. I’m really just doing it to keep myself moving. With Eric in this afternoon program, all of a sudden my daily exercise seems cut in half. How is the book coming along?”

  “Good.” Normally Faith would expand on that, but she’d talked about it a lot with Zander the day before, and probably would again tonight while they watched four-year-olds bounce off each other, and the ball, and the field.

  “Hey, dinner tonight… there are lots of leftovers. Maybe you and Eric can have your pick?”

  “Sure. I meant to tell you; it’s soccer night, so I was thinking of treating him to a burger in Pine Harbour after the game. So he really just needs a snack beforehand.”

  “Oh, good.” Mi
riam picked up a spade and started to dig a hole in the ground.

  “Are you going out tonight?” That would be the second time this week and like the fifth time in the last month that Miriam had skipped dinner.

  Given that Faith was doing her own secret lust-filled something with Zander, and would never tell her mother about that, she hardly had any right to ask, but there was only so much willful ignorance a girl could manage. “Mom?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Do you have a date tonight?”

  Miriam turned pink and dug her spade a little more forcefully into the ground. “I need to get these hostas into the ground.”

  Faith sat back on her heels and waited. Three, two, one…

  Her mother sighed and looked over at her. Just a peek. “Maybe.”

  “With who?”

  “His name is Bill. He…” She took a deep breath and twisted away, looking out over the harbour. “He captains the ferry. Eric and I met him on one of our rides.”

  “Wow.” She rolled that over in her head. Her mother and someone who wasn’t her father. Huh.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” She shook her head, then nodded, more vigorously this time. “Yes! Of course. I’m sorry. It’s weird when it’s your parent. But this is good.”

  Wow, it was like she wasn’t a trained bereavement group facilitator or something. Why was this so weird?

  She tried again. “I think this is awesome. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” A memory of her father—stocky, bearded, happy—slipped into her mind. “So what is he like? Did you find your own Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?”

  “Faith Elaine Davidson, you leave this conversation alone.” But her mother smiled, and Faith’s heart exploded with happiness, because whatever this guy was like, he made Miriam’s eyes sparkle like diamonds.

  “So he’s handsome,” Faith teased. “And a captain!”