Bending Over Backwards

by Samantha Hunter

  It was disconcerting that he could read her so well. He didn’t really know her, but she felt like he did.

  “I was thinking that maybe we should catch the late ferry after dinner—they have one a little after ten—or a water taxi.”

  He finished buttoning his shirt, but more slowly, as if trying to process a response.

  “Why?” he asked. “We have the room until tomorrow.”

  Tension gripped her, strangling the relaxation she’d been enjoying moments before.

  “I just…I think it would be better to go back. This has been wonderful. I’ve loved spending the day with you, but—”

  “We’ve spent the night together before, Jasmine. Why is this different?”

  She shook her head, suddenly feeling confused. He was right; they had. But this was different.

  “Because this is more like what couples do. Like a vacation or something. It’s like we’re pretending to be something we’re not. You helping me with the store, us being here…it’s starting to feel real, but it’s not.”

  Her tone was frustrated, and she knew she wasn’t really making much sense. Some kind of fear had crawled its way into her chest, tightened up into a ball and made her feel like she needed to get out. Now.

  She expected anger, equal frustration, or any number of responses from Leo that would be, in some ways, completely understandable. But he simply tipped her chin up with his fingers and leaned in to kiss her. Lightly.

  “I get it. You’ve had a lot happen in the last few days. You’re a bit rattled. But this is still real. We don’t have to name it, or put a schedule on it, or worry about expectations. We could just enjoy it, don’t you think?”

  Jasmine wanted that so much she couldn’t stand it, and that was the problem, she realized.

  How much she wanted Leo to be a regular guy on the beach. Someone with whom she had incredible chemistry. Maybe someone with whom she could imagine building a future, like she had rebuilt her own life.

  But he wasn’t. Leo was like sand. When his memory came back like the tides, he’d be gone.

  Jasmine knew that one of her biggest challenges as a yogi was living in the moment. Noticing it and embracing it. Most anxiety was born of anticipation of moments yet to come or worrying about ones that had past.

  Leo was only promising her the moment. He’d never pretended they had more. She was the one extrapolating that. Maybe because it was what she wanted, but what she couldn’t have. She was running again. Trying to avoid being hurt or losing something she was coming to care about.

  She firmed her resolve not to do that. She could enjoy this—enjoy him—for what it was.

  “You’re right. We can enjoy this time together and not have to worry about what’s coming next, right?” she said, hoping she sounded convincing.

  “Yeah. We’ll take one step at a time,” he said huskily.

  She noticed that he hadn’t finished buttoning his shirt.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry for dinner anymore. She wanted to drown herself in every moment that they had.

  She’d come up for air later. Deal with what came after, later.

  Sliding her hands inside the open vee of his shirt, she ran her fingers over his chest, up the strong cords of his throat to his jaw. She leaned in to kiss him, softly at first, then deeper. His arms came around her, tight, his body pressing against hers, needy, as if they had been away from each other for far too long. It had only been a few hours since he’d been inside her, and yet she longed for him almost painfully.

  She wanted to embrace the longing, to fully experience it. Not run away. Not make excuses or think about her escape routes.

  She unbuttoned his shirt as he slid the zipper down the back of her dress, his hands slipping under the silky material to glide over her bottom.

  “Room service?” he said against her ear with a sexy chuckle, biting the lobe.

  “Mmmm, whatever.”

  He pulled back, looking at her seriously. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured. I want this time with you, Jasmine. However much of it there is.”

  She nodded, leaning her forehead against his.

  “I want you too. And this. So much. I think it’s what scares me, wanting this so much.”

  Leo groaned against her skin, and Jasmine felt freer than she had in a long while by admitting what she wanted and letting go of her fears.

  “It’ll be okay,” he said against her mouth.

  She nodded, feeling less and less like talking.

  As he eased the dress down her body, following its path with his mouth, everything was forgotten except how he made her feel. Though she was living completely in the moment, she knew she wouldn’t forget this, ever.

  Chapter Eleven

  Leo thought this could possibly be the best summer of his life. Better than when he was sixteen and he’d convinced Cindy Hubble to make out with him at the State Fair, and better than the summer when he had landed the job at the investment firm that had been his dream.

  He remembered more of his past every day in crashing, surprise flashes of memory that eventually gave way to a gentler ebbing of moments, images, and whole chunks of the years that he’d buried after the shooting. One morning that week, he’d awakened next to Jasmine, but thought he had to get up and get to work. He’d frantically searched for the alarm clock, worried, and then remembered where he was.

  It had been a weird moment, to say the least, but then he found Jasmine curled up next to him. She’d awakened too and had proceeded to distract him quite nicely from his confusion. She hadn’t seemed to notice his momentary disorientation, and he hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t told her about his memory coming back at all, in fact. She had enough on her mind, and he could feel the distance increase between them every time he did tell her something that happened from his past.

  She also remained closemouthed about hers.

  While they had been enjoying their time together and spent most of their nights together—sometimes at her place, sometimes at the beach house—they didn’t share too much more than that. At least, she didn’t.

  It was as if they were living in a snapshot, a moment in time, isolated from the past or the future. Jasmine seemed content to leave it that way, while Leo thought about it all the time. Increasingly, he struggled with his need for more while not wanting to push her away.

  Jasmine had let him into her home, let him help her remodel the studio, let him into her body—in that way, they were completely open with each other. Sexually, he shared deeper, more intimate moments with her than he had with anyone else in his life. He was beginning to think he was addicted to her. He couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. When had sex ever been this powerful for him? Now that he could remember, he could safely say never.

  If he’d met her while he was working, would she have still turned his life upside down? Made a dent in his devotion to his job? He thought so. Maybe. Looking back at his past, he felt like his former self remained a stranger of sorts. As if someone else had lived that life.

  They shared some things. She loved fried foods, reality TV and chocolate chip cookies, but he had no idea about her past, except what she had told him several weeks ago when they had dinner. She’d told him that her father had committed suicide, but she never said much about him otherwise. She never talked about her future, her dreams, except for the studio and her work.

  Leo told her what he could, hoping she might share in turn. Mostly about his mother, growing up on Long Island, and anything else that didn’t have to do with his work.

  He’d loved working in finance, and he had been damned good at it. But Leo didn’t feel that love anymore. Whatever had driven him before, it was gone.

  Now, he thought, as he looked around his living room, he was in danger of becoming one of those guys on TV, the junk hoarders.

  Well, maybe not that bad. But he couldn’t seem to stop from bringing items back to the beach house, which was more and more like, well, a home. Antique furn
iture he’d picked up filled empty spaces, and he had restored a few small pieces with plans to work on more.

  When he took in the room, the cast-iron pans he’d hung on the walls, the old hand-knotted rug he’d put in the kitchen, and the aged pottery collection he was accumulating, he felt good. Grounded.

  This was his stuff. His place.

  He was making it all his.

  Building a new life. He supposed some unconscious drive had pushed him to accumulate things from the past in general. Giving them a place, and giving himself one in the process. A new home.

  His apartment in the city hadn’t been a home. It was where he slept when he wasn’t working. He’d entertained there a few times, brought women home, but that was about it. It was sparse, lonely. No wonder he’d preferred work.

  Looking out at the beach, he felt no need to return there. Picking up his phone, he made a decision and called Neal’s number.

  “Hey, bud, how’s things?” Neal answered, clearly having seen his number on the caller ID. “Changing your mind about coming back? It’s not too late.”

  Neal apparently hadn’t finalized his termination.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m remembering a lot more these days but I think I’m done. I won’t be back. Not to the firm, not to the city.”

  Neal was quiet for a moment. “We took your resignation as conditional—are you sure? We could really use you on board. Things are picking up, getting better, but there are some challenges, and we need our best.”

  Leo’s smile at the warm welcome offered him faded. Neal acted like a friend, but only to the extent that they worked together. In the end, Leo knew he was just another asset to the firm. They’d invested a lot in him over the years, training him, building his reputation. They hated to lose that investment, but Leo was afraid that was their problem.

  “I wish I could help, but I don’t think it’s for me anymore. I used to think I would do anything for a win. You know, Jerry shot me because we lost his money. It meant that much to him, that he was willing to kill someone. It doesn’t mean that much to me. Everything’s changed. Maybe for the better.”

  “I guess I can understand that. I mean, I can’t, really,” Neal said with a chuckle. Money was in his Neal’s bones. “But I can understand how you might feel that way, much as I hate to say it. So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But I wanted to talk to you about the beach house…”

  A half hour later, Leo was off the phone and infused with new energy. Jasmine was teaching a class at her friend’s studio since the plywood boards on the missing windows still blocked all of the light at her place. She’d been having a terrible time lining up window contractors, but Leo had arranged for a surprise.

  He’d found someone who, for the right price, was going to install windows that morning, and once the windows went in, they could move the murals to cover the brick and open up the shop. Jasmine would be back in business. He couldn’t wait to show her.

  That, along with his news, would be cause for celebration. She might also want to celebrate the fact the police had caught the group of thugs who had been vandalizing homes and businesses up and down the Cape. They’d pulled the same shit in Provincetown, but had been caught there. There wasn’t much detail in the paper, but Leo was glad they were under wraps at the police station and wouldn’t be turning any more lives upside down.

  He pulled into her driveway, happy to see her car there. Knocking at the door, there was no answer, so he went around back and found the screen door open there, as it often was.

  “Jasmine? You here?” he called out, throwing the keys on the table in the entryway and walking farther into the cottage. It was so different from his place. He was decorating with heavy wood, bronze and cast-iron pieces. Jasmine’s home was light, everything cozy, but colorful and bright.

  Small antique bottles lined a window, a single flower in each one. Her bare wood floors were plain except for solid color sisal mats distributed here and there. The windows were all open—no air-conditioning. Wisps of white curtains moved gently like ghosts in the breeze.

  “Jasmine?” he called again, and then saw her appear in the hallway.

  “Leo!” she said, surprised, and he paused, taking her in. She was wearing a simple shift dress and an apron, her hair pulled back and her face warm from her efforts in the kitchen.

  Sexy as hell, as always, he thought, his eyes traveling down shapely legs and back up to her face again. She truly was surprised to see him.

  “Something smells good,” he commented. Jasmine liked to cook, when she had time, and when she was stressed, in particular. It was one of the few things he knew about her. He wondered if she was cooking dinner for them, noting the table set for two.

  “I didn’t think you’d be around today.”

  So much for the idea of the dinner being for the two of them.

  “I knew you were teaching up at Kathy’s, and thought I’d come by and take you out. But it looks like you have plans.” He left it open for her to fill him in on exactly what her plans were.

  “Yes, yes, I do.”

  She didn’t seem to feel the need to explain.

  “I’m sorry, I have to get back to the stove.” She turned and hurried back to the kitchen.

  Leo stood in the hall, alone, emotions tangling inside of him—anger—but he was also hurt. Jealous.

  This wasn’t a simple summer fling anymore. She could hurt him. He was halfway in love with her, or as much as he could be with a woman he barely knew.

  Jasmine was locking him out of her life, slamming the door shut like she always did. He was okay to have sex with, to hang out with, but when it came to sharing anything meaningful, the barricades came down. And who the hell was she making dinner for?

  Following her into the kitchen, he leaned on the doorway, deceptively casual.

  “So who is dinner for?”

  She worked at the stove, focusing intently on her recipe. As she walked to the sink, she spared him a glance.

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “I’d rather you did.”

  She looked at him then. “Why? Because we have sex? One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

  He snapped then, closing the distance between them in a few, long steps and backing her up against the counter. Her softness gave way to him as he closed in, trapping her there.

  “I think it has everything to do with everything.”

  Before she could retort, he kissed her, hard—possessive—letting her know exactly where he was at. He plunged deep inside her mouth and took what he wanted to be his. Only his.

  She struggled against him at first, but then opened to him, chemistry flaring between them as she melted into him, her hands coming up to his hair, digging in, deepening the kiss on her own. Leo forgot everything but her scent and her softness as his hands found her breasts, massaging through the layers of fabric.

  He was hard, and he wanted her now. Needed her in a way he couldn’t explain, but the need to claim her so she knew that she was his burned inside of him. He intended to do just that before her mysterious dinner guest showed up.

  Sliding his hands down, he bunched up her skirt, pulled it higher, ground his erection into the crux of her thighs. He swallowed her moan of need.

  “I can’t, not now,” she gasped as she broke the kiss, pushing on his shoulders. He ground against her again, and her lips parted on a caught breath. He knew the hazy look in her eyes. A little more and she’d give in. A little more than that, and he’d be inside her, which was what he wanted more than breathing.

  “Who’s coming to dinner, Jasmine?” He held her gaze as she stared back. He saw her indecision, her struggle.

  Why was this so hard for her? What was she up to? Had he only assumed they were exclusive?

  But when he looked closer, he saw more. The pinched tension around her mouth, the worry in her eyes behind the desire.

  Shit. She was really upset about something.


  “Babe, what’s going on?” he asked, softer this time, backing off but only enough to offer one more kiss, a gentle touch, pulling her against him again, gentler this time. This woman twisted him in knots, untied them and then pulled him tight again, but he couldn’t get enough of her.

  “Leo…you have to go, it’s not what you think. It’s not someone else. It’s just that—”

  The doorbell rang, and Jasmine stiffened in his arms.

  “Dammit,” she whispered. “Dammit to hell.”

  “What?” The strain in her face seemed to multiply ten times over, and Leo was actually beginning to worry. “Who is that?”

  Pushing away from him so that she could straighten her hair and her dress, she took a deep breath, obviously composing herself as the doorbell rang again and she hurried out to answer it. Leo followed.

  Opening the door, Leo watched Jasmine greet her visitor, an older woman who hugged her lightly, distantly. The two women said something to each other that he couldn’t hear, and then both turned to face him.

  Leo knew before she was introduced who the woman at the door was, and regret swamped him for how he’d treated Jasmine moments before.

  Jasmine took a deep breath, forced a smile. “Leo Fischer, meet my mother, Darla Stanford.”

  Jasmine was in hell.

  Of course, it was a hell of her making. She shouldn’t have been ignoring her mother’s calls and questions about a visit, and she should’ve told Leo she was having company for dinner that evening. But she hadn’t been looking forward to seeing her mother—horrible as it was to say—since Darla was always dredging up the past and how good things were before. Until they went bad.

  And did Jasmine really need to report every little thing she did to Leo?

  Now, here she was with both her lover and her mother at the dinner table. She had to make the best of it. Though in all honesty, she’d been surprised by her mother’s visit. At least Darla hadn’t yet bothered to start cataloging the past; she was far too taken with Leo.

  “You look good, Mom,” Jasmine said honestly, taking in her mother’s healthy color and fresh, simple hairstyle. So different from the old days, when she tended to be made up more glamorously, Darla now wore little makeup, and actually had on a pair of pants. Jasmine wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her mother wear pants.