The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

by Kate Angell

  Fuck, he couldn’t remember a kiss ever being this hot. This complete. This everything. Until the little moaned sigh escaped her throat. And then all the switches turned on.

  * * *

  She couldn’t stop.

  The cold was forgotten. So many alarms going off in her head, and none of them mattered as much as kissing this man. Not just any man. This one. This one who stole her heart years ago, and made her skin tingle with every look, every touch, and now every taste. He kissed her with all he had, sliding her body to him so that she straddled his legs.

  Oh God, she was toast. He felt amazing under her hands, against her body, it couldn’t just be that—shit—his hands slid up her legs, grabbing her ass and tugging her tightly against him, making her wrap her legs around him and move on her own, kicking off the heavy boots behind his back so she could lock her ankles.

  What was she doing?

  She didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop touching him. Stop kissing him. Stop moving like they were made to fit together, hands and mouths roaming, desperate to touch everything they could reach.

  “God, Sidney,” he growled against her mouth, his hands finding skin under her shirt, sliding up her back, moving to the front, cupping a full bare breast in one hand as he dragged his mouth from hers to taste all the way down her neck. All as she twisted her fingers in his hair and continued her leg vise around him, moving herself in a torturous rhythm that had her dizzy with desire. Then the buttons—they were gone—and his mouth was on her breast, hot and wet and—fuck, she was going to lose it.

  “Caleb,” she moaned.

  “Sawyer,” he corrected, sucking her nipple into his mouth.

  “Fuck!” she cried, arching her back and grinding herself against something she desperately needed to be freed. “I don’t care,” she breathed. “Just, please, God, I need you.”

  In less than a second, he had her flipped onto her back, the cold ground seeping through her shirt but she didn’t care.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his face looking strained even in the low light. His hand brushed hair from her eyes as he quickly tucked the blanket under her head. “Baby, are you sure?”

  She pulled his face down to hers, kissing him passionately. Was she supposed to be hard to get after all these years? If so, she wasn’t there. She wanted him like she wanted to breathe. In fact, breathing wasn’t all that important. Her breasts were open to the moonlight, each nipple getting a lick to chill them before he pulled her pajama pants down in one move and unfastened his jeans in the next.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he said through his teeth, pulling her left leg up over his shoulder at the same time that Sidney’s hands pulled him free, stroking him in her need. “Jesus, God, baby, please,” he growled, shuddering, moving the tiny strip of fabric aside.

  Bucking under the flick of his fingers, Sidney cried out, pulling him inside her, taking him in as he thrust, groaning as he bottomed out and filled her up and she wrapped her other leg around him. Oh God, it wasn’t going to be long. It wasn’t going to be—fuck—the build started almost immediately as their bodies found the natural rhythm. His fingers digging in to her thigh as he pumped into her, one hand on her face, eyes burning into her.

  She felt everything tense and begin to shake uncontrollably as the wave crescendo went barreling so hard and so fast she couldn’t breathe.

  “Sawyer,” she gasped, her fingers fisted in his hair. She forced her eyes to stay on his as it hit her with all the subtlety of a freight train, pulling a sound from her that was pure primal ecstasy as his own roar of release nearly drowned it out.

  * * *

  Never in his life had a sexual encounter left Sawyer shaking and speechless. Never. He was a man. He typically got up and walked away. He’d had some intense experiences, and some damn crazy-hot antics, but this—this with Sidney was something else. This was his damn heart on a spigot.

  And that was something he hadn’t felt in a hell of a long time.

  That was dangerous.

  “Sidney,” he said, finding his breath, finding his voice, coming back to her mouth, kissing her top lip and then her bottom one.

  “Mmm,” she said, her eyes still closed as if opening them would make it be over. “So, that just happened.”

  He gazed down at her, smoothing the hair back from her forehead. This was that girl. The one he always wanted. Miraculously lying beneath him in a state of post-orgasmic bliss. And somehow he knew he only had minutes. Seconds, maybe. Because even though he hadn’t been around her in over a decade, he knew her. And reality was about to dawn in that head of hers.

  “Yes, it did,” he said.

  “Oh my God, I’m not usually this easy,” she whispered.

  “And I’m not usually that fast,” he said. A husky laugh bubbled up from her chest, warming him as she opened her eyes. He ran a finger down her cheek. “You called me Sawyer, too.”

  She chuckled, and it resonated through her body to him. Those eyes opened and focused on him, and the jab to the gut was like shooting back in time.

  “Eventually.”

  “I gave you a pass on the first one,” he said, resting his lips against her forehead. “You were distracted.”

  Another chuckle turned into a deeper laugh. “Dude, you may have been Sawyer for twelve years, but I’ve known you that way for about twelve minutes, so the fact that I remembered anything in the heat of that is a miracle.”

  Sawyer was hit again by her smile, by the seriousness that took it over. By what he knew was coming. Especially the longer she just lay there, still, looking up at him. Each second that ticked by made him more and more hers. And that was going to hurt.

  “What do you think would have happened?” she whispered finally. “Back then? If—”

  Her words trailed off, but he didn’t need the rest of the sentence.

  “You would have fallen madly in love with me,” he said, going for light.

  Sidney’s eyes welled up with tears, however, and she laughed to blink them free, sending them back into her hairline.

  “I was already there,” she said.

  Bam.

  Fuck, it was like a roundhouse kick to the chest. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds to keep it together. “Then I would have screwed it up,” he said, moving his thumb along her cheek. “I’m so sorry that I hurt you,” he said, almost not getting the words out.

  Sidney nodded, and her hands came up to his face. “I’m sorry he hurt you,” she whispered, her words catching.

  Everything inside him burned like someone stuck a fire poker right through his chest. Her eyes seared right through him as the quiet screamed. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.

  “Okay,” he said, kissing her hand softly. “Let’s—”

  “Yeah,” she said quickly, wiping at her face. “We should probably—”

  “Before we get arrested or something.”

  “Or your boss wakes up.”

  “Yeah, if that’s not a mood killer, I don’t know what is,” Sawyer said, laughing lightly and feeling anything but light.

  He helped her up as she held her shirt together—buttons scattered to the far corners of the earth. Found her pants about ten feet away and helped her back into them and back into his boots. It was clinical and polite and robotic and chilly in a way that had nothing to do with the frigid air, and it formed a sick pit in his stomach. She gathered up the blanket and the tin of cookies and turned back to him, her mouth open and poised to say something.

  He wanted her to say something. Needed it. Because there was so much to say and he was suddenly struck mute and stupid.

  Hold her. Kiss her. Do something.

  Her mouth closed, and something in her eyes faded. He could see that even in the dark.

  “Guess we got our night,” she said softly, giving a little grin with a head tilt.

  He smiled, feeling the frown behind it. Wondering if she could see it.

  Don’t agree. Tell he
r . . .

  “Yeah,” he said.

  She nodded. “Good night,” she whispered. And turned. Walked away. In his boots.

  He stared after her, watching her silhouette get darker until the back door of the cottage opened to the tiny nightlight inside. He picked up the small flashlight she’d forgotten and walked it over to the back patio, leaving it by the door.

  “I wanted forever.”

  Chapter 12

  Sidney woke up to dawn making an appearance outside her window, something hard scratching her back, and her eyes the size of basketballs.

  “Just shoot me,” she moaned, holding her temples as she rolled over and the pounding started.

  She couldn’t cry before bedtime. Not like that. Not the full-out gut-destroying meltdown she’d had when she came in from—from him—and closed the door.

  She hadn’t even made it out of the kitchen. She’d slid down the door to the floor and wailed like a baby. The ugly, snot-inducing, chest-hurting, I’ll-never-breathe-right-again kind. Like she’d only done one other time in her life.

  Over the same damn person.

  Something she swore would never take her down again. Ever. And yet here she was, with a cry hangover from hell and eyelids that felt like they’d been blown up into flotation devices.

  And more than that. Her heart hurt.

  Because that other thing she did last night? Sidney couldn’t do that, either. Sex just for sex didn’t exist for her. That was why she hadn’t gotten herself laid in so long. Because sex meant something. And it should. It didn’t get more intimate than that. It didn’t get more personal. It should be with someone you love, or at least have a feeling or two over.

  What it should not be, at least in Sidney’s case, was with someone you once loved. Who stole your heart, broke it, vanished, strode back in with said heart riding shotgun, and managed to claim it all over again. Sex and that situation should avoid each other at all costs.

  Yeah.

  This was not what Sidney came to this damn blink-and-you-miss-it town for. To fall back under the spell of the same damn guy. No matter how amazing it felt.

  There might have been a misunderstanding the first time around, but there wasn’t this time. They were different people now, living different lives. In different states. He had his—Sawyer Finn world, and she had hers. And the rest of reality. Their chemistry might still be off the charts, but they couldn’t stay attached at the mouth 24/7 in order to have something in common.

  The unmistakable aroma of coffee reached her, pulling her from pity to need, and she rolled back over, grimacing at whatever was digging into her spine and groping at her open shirt, mortified that the buttons were gone. Well, not gone, exactly. They were on the property if she really wanted to go looking, but—then again, Sawyer could just find them one day with the lawn mower.

  And no, she wasn’t that girl. The one who stayed in her sex clothes so she could fall asleep smelling him.

  No. No way.

  “Grow some ovaries, will you?” Sidney muttered, sitting up and shrugging off the pajama top. And stopping dead still with it in her hands.

  Along the center back, scratching and annoying her, was a line of dried mud. Mud. From lying on her back.

  A little burn hit her very tender eyes at the thought of that moment, and she tossed the shirt aside and stood. She would not be that pathetic woman.

  Coffee was going to have to save her. Thank God Amelia Rose was an early riser.

  * * *

  Sawyer slung empty water bottles from his floorboard, and crushed an old hardware store list in his hand. Cleaning out his truck to lend it to Sidney.

  In the dark.

  He clenched his jaw as tightly as his fist was around that paper, closing his eyes against the memory of everything from last night. Her laugh, her taste, her body exposed for him under the moonlight. Her hands on him. The primal way she’d moaned his name. The way they fit. The way they moved.

  And that was just the sex. That didn’t even take into account all the everything elses that he always worked so hard to avoid. The magnetic fucking need to be around her. Chasing her through town. Making her business his. Walking over to the cottage last night—he knew damn good and well who that was, and there he had to go like a stupid kid. Because he could not leave well enough alone. He had to go sit by her and her idiotic duck pajamas that were so ugly they were hot. See those eyes that never failed to slay him. Looking at him like that, turning his whole world upside down in one night.

  Who was he kidding? She’d uprooted everything the second he saw her sitting in Amelia Rose’s kitchen.

  Sawyer slammed his fist against the dashboard, sending tiny dust particles running for their lives. Damn it, he didn’t have time for this. This mooning crap. Feelings. This was why he didn’t do love.

  And that was why he was dropping off his truck before she woke up. Because he was a chickenshit. Duke jumped in the truck and looked at him as if he agreed.

  “We’re just rolling up the road, buddy,” Sawyer said.

  Duke’s tail thumped against the seat.

  * * *

  Amelia Rose looked exactly the same at five thirty in the morning as she did at five thirty in the afternoon. Perfectly put together, in her version of together. Hair still meticulously braided over one shoulder. Beads of every variety still dangling. Timeless smile still warming the room.

  Pancakes and a fresh pot of coffee in her hands made her look even warmer.

  “I might love you,” Sidney said, taking the pot from her and pouring into both their mugs.

  “I’ll take it,” Amelia Rose said, chuckling. “I don’t normally have anyone to share morning coffee with, so I’m enjoying the company.” She sat down across from her just as Sidney took a large bite of a pancake dipped in honey butter and homemade blueberry syrup. “I think Sawyer is, too, if last night is any indication.”

  Sidney nearly choked, slapping a hand over her mouth so she didn’t blow pieces of pancake.

  “He—um—we—” Sidney managed around her food, taking a swallow of coffee to push down what had become cardboard.

  “Relax,” Amelia Rose said. “A lot of couples come here, Sidney. It’s not the first time. Won’t be the last.”

  “Oh my God,” Sidney mumbled, dropping her fork and covering her face. She shook her head. “No. No. I am so—I have no words. He’s your employee.”

  Amelia Rose started to laugh. “Sawyer is much more than that,” she said. “He’s like a son to me.”

  “Yeah, that’s not better,” Sidney said behind her fingers.

  “And I suspect he’s the reason you were up all night crying?” Okay, this day wasn’t going uphill from yesterday. Just more bizarre. If that was possible. “I have some witch hazel for your eyes,” she whispered.

  “He didn’t—” Sidney shook her head slightly, dropping her hands and her gaze. “He didn’t do anything. It was just a bad idea. Too much history.”

  She took one of Sidney’s hands in her own, and Sidney felt the instant change. There was no oil. No artificial anything. Just the elderly woman’s cool skin against hers, and the overwhelming comforting aroma of butter. Again. Of course her plate did happen to be filled with it. But peace, and warmth, and an almost buzzing calm instantly rested her anxious core.

  “You were the one,” Amelia Rose said softly.

  “That’s what people keep telling me,” Sidney said, her voice sounding sad to her own ears.

  “And you’re in love with him,” Amelia Rose said.

  The pierce to her heart somehow didn’t destroy her calm, but it did bring tears to her swollen eyes.

  “I—can’t,” Sidney said, laughing as she swiped at her eyes. “I know that sounds silly, and even sillier to have this discussion after seeing him for one day, but—”

  “But you’ve worked hard to keep up this persona,” she said. “To keep all your walls carefully maintained. To not let anyone hurt you again. To not feel anything.”

&
nbsp; Sidney’s breath caught in her chest. “Something like that.”

  “Yeah, I know someone else with that same agenda,” Amelia Rose said, patting her hand. “Here’s a little news flash for both of you,” she said, turning Sidney’s hand over so that her palm faced up. She ran her fingers over Sidney’s palm, and turned it back over. “Love doesn’t work like that.”

  Sidney glanced down at her hand and back up to the old woman’s gray eyes. “What did you just see?”

  Amelia Rose’s lips curved up at the corners. “I thought you didn’t believe.”

  The back door opening broke the spell, carrying a certain Sawyer Finn and a large dog along with it. Sawyer was concentrating on hanging the flashlight back on the nail, and not looking up. The dog headed straight for Sidney.

  “Hey, tell Sidney I dropped the truck off for her,” he said. “Duke, get back—”

  His words stopped cold when he turned and saw her sitting at the table.

  Sidney felt the dog’s head push under her hand, sniffing upward toward the food, but she couldn’t look away from the weight of the dark eyes in front of her. She felt every inch of the maybe six feet between them, and was suddenly hyperaware of her homeless urchin appearance. The same pajama pants—the ones he’d stripped off of her—with a T-shirt that read Do Boston. Hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. No makeup to disguise the carnival-mirror facial features she had going on. Oh yeah. Just what she wanted him to see the day after they’d made love. Had sex. Made love.

  “Well, this scene is familiar,” Amelia Rose said.

  Sidney rose to her feet, impulse driving her. Yesterday, she’d been slammed by seeing him again, and had reacted like a silly girl. She was a grown woman now, and could certainly fake her way through a post-sex greeting. Even though he was slowly walking toward her. Without blinking. Looking way better in his jeans and long-sleeved pullover than should be legal. She lifted her chin.