The Corner of Forever and Always

by Lia Riley

  In fifteen minutes he opened the oven and slid the soufflé in.

  “And now?”

  “We wait,” he answered. “Until it’s puffed on top and jiggly in the center.”

  “You have a way of making cooking sexy.”

  “Do I? I guess that helps even the field.”

  “How so?”

  “You make breathing look sexy.” His gaze lingered on hers for a few beats before he turned and began to wash the dishes.

  She stared at the back of his head, his broad shoulders, his narrow hips, blinking in surprise. He seemed wholly unaware that he’d broken her heart and put it back together, refashioned it into something new, stronger, and brighter.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Hey! Back away slowly.” Beau spun around, hands covered in dish suds.

  Tuesday sprang back from the oven door. “You sure it’s not done?”

  He dried his hands. “Five more minutes.”

  “Smells like heaven.” She inhaled deeply. “If heaven were made of chocolate.” Her small breasts rose and fell in her dress. They fascinated him. Those perfectly proportioned pale orbs. Her skin was so fair, almost translucent along the undersides of her arms. Is that how her skin would be, peaking into two pale nipples? He imagined taking one into his mouth, worshipping it while she gripped his hair and rocked back her head. Sucking until she lost that challenging smile. Until she begged for mercy. And he wouldn’t stop until—

  The timer beeped.

  “Ready!” She clapped her hands in delight.

  “Ready,” he echoed thickly, swallowing to rid his body of the hoarse need. Christ. It had been seven years since he’d touched a woman. Who was he kidding? There was a good chance that he wouldn’t last long enough to get his pants off his hips.

  “Look at that. You made that,” she said as he pulled it out. “That’s Instagram worthy.” He sliced a piece and smothered it with whipped cream, dotting a dollop on her lip.

  “Hashtag, winning at food. You like whipped cream? I should have asked.”

  “Everything is better with whipped cream.”

  He felt her naughty wink deep in his dick.

  She licked her lips clean with a groan that made him rock hard. “Hashtag, Is this dessert better than the best sex I’ve ever had?”

  He watched, captivated, as she dipped fork prongs into the rich crust, scooped a bite, and brought it to her lips. When her mouth parted, there was a glimpse of tongue.

  “So what’s the verdict?” he asked huskily.

  “Good.” She dabbed her lips with the side of her index fingers, wiping away invisible crumbs. “The best thing my mouth has ever tasted.”

  “Better than sex?”

  “I have to say yes, but with a caveat.” She pretended to consider, pursing her lips into a mock pout. “Better than any sex I’ve had…yet.”

  * * *

  Tuesday licked her dry lips. They’d shared kisses before. But this was different. Them. Alone. No one in the world knew where they were, and the night stretched out with endless possibilities.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked. “I’m not taking this any further unless you say yes.”

  Did she want him?

  He watched her behind the invisible line that separated friend from enemy, man from lover, want from need.

  She’d wanted men in the past, and when she’d gotten them, it hadn’t been healthy. This wasn’t wanting. Wanting meant never being full or whole. She didn’t want him to forget herself. She wanted to kiss him to remember the old magic, the fairy-tale promise she’d held in the deepest part of her. She couldn’t tell him that. That was her place, her small hidden castle, but maybe tonight could help take her back there. This was less about wanting and more about believing.

  How do you say that to someone? You can’t, but you can show them.

  “I need you.”

  He shook his head. “Needs are about surviving. Want?” He raised his hand and grazed his knuckles over her clavicle. “Wants are living. Wants are pleasure. Do you want to live, Tuesday? Do you want pleasure?”

  “Who’d say no?”

  “You might. I don’t just want to touch you here.” His hand dropped, skimming the side of her breast. “I want to touch you here.” He rested a hand on her heart.

  “You already have,” she whispered.

  The first kisses were slow, soft, no more than a whisper, a brush, a promise. Such a slight touch, and yet she shivered because, oh God, those lips were made to kiss a woman, and tonight she was it. Their kiss meshed and melded. She wound her arms around his broad shoulders, knotting her fingers behind his neck as he bracketed her waist, his thumbs flirting with her hip bones. Strength coiled inside him, powerful, commanding.

  Maybe even.

  She wasn’t sure what that meant…the maybe even. She didn’t want to think about it for fear it would pop faster than a soap bubble.

  Instead, she rolled her pelvis up, a fraction, a small grinding flirt.

  His voice was barely a whisper. “Tuesday. Christ. I love what you’re doing to me.”

  “And we haven’t even gotten started.” Her nipples were hard and hot beneath her light dress.

  “Oh, we’re started, babe. We got started the minute I first set eyes on you. There is nothing sexier than a woman who isn’t afraid to be herself.” He dipped beneath her skirt, his fingers sliding to the crease at the bottom of her ass, playing with the lacy ruffle. “You are fearsome.”

  “You’re pretty fierce yourself.”

  He pinned her with his heavy-lidded gaze. She was addicted to the color of his eyes, the icy blue almost Arctic except for the depth and warmth. A wonder she ever found them cold.

  When his mouth covered hers again, his tongue tangled with hers, and she was filled with a sweetness that had nothing to do with chocolate. She barely had time to process before he was probing, nipping, and sucking her in.

  And this was only his mouth. Imagine what the rest of him could do.

  She rocked her hips into his again, and he lifted her off the ground. Her feet had nowhere to go except around his waist as he carried her through the kitchen, down the hall, and into his bedroom.

  Except they didn’t move to the bed. He walked her straight into the wall. Never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined Beau Marino dropping to his knees for her. Her palms splayed the plaster while he massaged her inner thighs, urging her to widen, to open, licking the crease on either side of where she wanted him most. No. He didn’t lick her there. He didn’t even kiss her. Instead he breathed on her sensitive skin. Slow, hot caresses that who knew could feel so good, almost as good as, and then there it was. The first kiss. The big lick. There was absolutely nothing tentative about it. Slow and ruthlessly steady. From his groan of approval, he savored every second.

  She stared into the pitch-black, giving herself over to sensations that she hadn’t wanted to let herself believe were real. Guys had done this before. Sometimes it had felt good. But this. This wasn’t good. He sucked deeply and good Lord, he owned her in this moment. Her legs shook, quivering from thigh to ankle. Then he had them over his shoulders and this couldn’t be happening, except it was.

  No part of her touched the ground. His mouth meshed to her body as if she were something rare and delicious, demanding she give in. Give over to pleasure. And so she gave up need and want and simply became, rocking against his face in a building frenzy until he slipped a finger inside her, then another, and pressed forward in a come-hither gesture, and she obeyed. As he sucked and nibbled, his hands migrated to her ass, and he carried her to the bed at last.

  She unbuttoned his shirt—well, that was a fancy word for “tore it apart.” A few buttons might have been sacrificed, but he didn’t even seem to notice. He could do her like that, lit from the hall’s diffuse light, which seemed to capture the gleam in his pale eyes. This whole suit thing really worked for her. She sat up. “My turn.” And before he could argue, her mouth was on his nipple, the ha
rd, flat point, and oh God, those muscles. She needed to worship the muscles. The salty sea air imbedded in his skin.

  He had gotten a condom on, and they knelt across from each other, breathing hard.

  “Tue—shit. It’s been so long. I might not last.”

  “If I don’t feel you in me, I’m going to start begging,” she said.

  “I think that’s something I’d enjoy. But not tonight.” He pushed her back on the bed and was above her, his strong shoulders flexed, his belly against her, hard and rippled and sheened in sweat. There was a faint sucking sound as he angled himself into place, and he pushed slowly, excruciatingly, tenderly slowly, a few inches inside.

  “More,” she begged. “More.”

  “You feel magical,” he ground out. Then he went deeper and deeper until there was nowhere else to go. He filled her utterly and stared. She closed her eyes, and even still he could feel his eyes looking at her, taking her in, and there was nowhere to hide anymore, no part to play except for herself. She wasn’t the sex kitten or the innocent. She wasn’t acting in a specific way to turn a guy on. She was just Tuesday, and from the feeling of the thick, hot stretch between her legs, he seemed to like that just fine. He withdrew a few inches and came home again. More than fine. She let him do that a few times before she gathered up the courage to open her eyes. To look back. And what she saw there took her breath away.

  He appeared full of wonder. Amazed. And she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t believe this. She let out a whimper. “Like that?” he asked.

  “So much.”

  He appeared determined to get her to make the sound again. Which she did. Many times over.

  His movements lost their control, took on a desperate rhythm, and soon her legs draped his shoulders. Their skin slapped as their breath came short and fast.

  “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t hold on,” he ground out.

  “You don’t have to,” she cried. Because somehow she was there, too, ahead of him, dropping off a cliff. His fingers knotted with hers, and they went in tandem. Down they fell, crying out, capturing each other’s moans. The mattress squeaked as he dug his knees in to get better purchase, to go further, and he got there, and for one infinitesimal moment they were bare to each other, naked in need, offering themselves at their most basic, at their core, and for the hot, pulsing moment, it was more than enough. It was pure magic.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Beau blinked in the dim dawn light. Tuesday talked in her sleep. No complete sentences, but in the past five minutes she had said the words “golf ball,” “agreed,” and “nozzle.” What was she dreaming about? And “nozzle”? She’d fallen asleep in his arms, cheek resting on his chest. He’d held her close, not wanting to speak, not wanting to break the strange magic that hung in the space. And before he knew it, her breathing had deepened, and here she was, twitching and dreaming.

  What must it be like to be Tuesday Knight? To give herself over to experiences? To trust so deeply. Here she was when he’d given her reasons to doubt, and she trusted him enough to fall asleep with him. To give him the secrets of her day. He knew she had been with other men. But tonight he knew she let him in somewhere private. He knew because he’d done the same.

  She nestled in deeper, releasing a happy sigh as he settled a hand on her waist, her ass soft against his groin.

  He sucked in a breath, not wanting to wake her up with a pushy erection. It took a moment to realize she rocked back and forth in a subtle shimmy—­tormenting him on purpose.

  “You’re asking for trouble.” He reached for a breast, the nipple tip already stiff across his palm. Add “responsiveness” to the long list of things he was starting to love about Tuesday Knight.

  “Not asking.” She rolled to face him. Her fingers traced his happy trail down, down, down, until he turned to granite in her hand. “Begging.”

  “That a fact?”

  “Uh-huh.” She rose, cheeks flushed. “How do you want me? On my knees begging?” She hooked one leg over his waist, straddling him with an unselfconsciously playful grin. No scurrying off to fix hair or add makeup.

  “Sounds good to me.” Nothing sexier than a woman comfortable in her skin. And what skin it was, creamy silk he couldn’t quit touching. Each caress unlocked a new secret, led to a new mystery. Would she moan if he stroked the curving flesh of her inner thigh? Gasp if he peppered the concave plane of her stomach with gentle kisses? Buck if he took her ass in a firm grip? Sigh if he slid his tongue between her soft intimate folds and sucked in her sweet nub?

  “I am supposed to be pleasing you,” she protested after a groaning moan. “That’s why I hopped up here.”

  “You think this doesn’t give me pleasure?” He gave another slow, savoring lick.

  “This seems selfish.”

  “This is me at my most selfish.” He swirled and kissed, thrusted and sucked. There was nothing better. He slid a finger into her heat, pressing hard until she came apart.

  He got on a new condom and she slid down, sheathing herself in one grinding rock. Their bodies joined like the easiest thing in the world. The dawn light spilled through the partially closed curtain, catching the gold chain on her neck, the gold burnishing her hair. Hope flooded him. This was what he’d been looking for, and here he’d found it in the most unexpected place. Easy and perfect. Perfect and easy. He sank into heaven. He braced his hand on her waist, guiding her to the tempo, letting her set the rhythm.

  Fuck, he loved this. Watching her find pleasure. It was so easy, the way their bodies moved together.

  Her head flung back, and together they soared.

  When he opened his eyes again, it was noon. He blinked. No. Impossible. He blinked again, but the alarm clock on the nightstand didn’t change. The numbers “12:00” shone back.

  Shit. He scrambled to sitting and checked for his phone. It wasn’t there. Double shit. He must have left it in the kitchen. Today was a conference call with the Tourism Commission. He had the PowerPoint pitch prepared.

  He threw on his boxers. Tuesday was nowhere to be seen.

  He ran down the stairs and wrinkled his nose, assaulted by the smell of something burning. Then the fire alarm went off.

  “Shit,” she yelped after a bang. He quickened his pace. Tuesday stood in his tuxedo shirt on a kitchen chair, banging at the fire alarm with a broom handle.

  “Sorry,” she called as the alarm stopped. “I couldn’t reach.”

  The kitchen was a mess. Cracked eggshells lined the table, as well as grated cheese and some badly chopped mushrooms. “What’s going on?”

  “I made you breakfast in bed. Or at least that was the plan. I have eaten enough omelets in my day that I didn’t think it was going to be hard. Turns out I was wrong.”

  “I admire the sentiment,” he said, and he did. His kitchen was a disaster zone, but who cared? He could clean it later. There were more pressing concerns.

  “My alarm clock didn’t go off.” He buttoned his shirt. “I never sleep in. There’s a meeting and I’m late.”

  “Oh, the alarm,” she trailed, her expression guilty. “I might have turned it off.”

  “What?”

  “You looked like you could use more sleep. Plus, we were up, you know, all night long. Are you mad?”

  “Of course not.” He bent his lips in a smile, but his frown remained hidden on the inside. Who turned off alarms without checking? “Just not used to having other people here.” And she didn’t know his schedule. What today meant for him.

  “I can’t offer you a omelet for the road, but I can fix you peanut butter and toast. The breakfast—or lunch—for any champion.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Good.” She leaned to kiss him and he tried to snuff out the flicker of doubt. She hadn’t meant to do anything wrong, but that didn’t change that his day had just gotten a lot fucking harder.

  Easy? Had he really thought being with Tuesday would be easy?

  Because it might be anything but.
>
  * * *

  She kept her arms wrapped around Beau as they passed the WELCOME TO EVERLAND sign on his Ducati. He slowed to the school speed limit, and she took the opportunity to shout, “What’s that?” pointing to the over-the-street banner: HARVEST FESTIVAL THIS WEEKEND: PIE BAKE-OFF, SPELLING BEE, QUILT AUCTION, AND MORE.”

  “Isn’t it self-explanatory?”

  It was actually. She could fill in the blank with what would be in the “more” category, but dammit, he’d barely said a word since breakfast.

  “You can drop me at my house.”

  He turned on Forever Lane, and in the light of day it looked like a street, a pretty street full of old houses tiered like wedding cakes, but nothing particularly magical. And there was the corner of Always. “Mother, Father,” she muttered. Pepper and Rhett stood there with Kitty and the three golden retrievers that she could never quite tell apart.

  One peed on a hydrant to extinguish every last hope of a potential romantic reenactment moment.

  They glanced up at the sound of the bike. Pepper’s eyes went as wide as her mouth. Rhett looked at her. She looked at him. And Tuesday decided nothing had ever been as interesting as the back of Beau’s head. They hadn’t gone ten seconds before she felt her phone vibrate in her bodice, because yes, she was still wearing her ball gown.

  She could see the text now. OMG WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? OR SHOULD I SAY…WHO HAVE YOU DONE?

  Talk about a bike of shame.

  When they pulled onto Love Street, of course Miss Ida May stood in the middle of her driveway, and because bad luck comes in threes, she was flanked by her two partners in crime, Phaedra and Lucille.

  So much for any hope of a quiet good-bye kiss. These three biddies were going to make this situation front-page news on their blog before lunch.

  “This isn’t good,” she said as he killed the engine.