Where There’s A Will

by Stacy Gail

  His tongue flicked her nipple, and she shivered at the glow of desire it sparked deep in her belly. His mouth closed over it and sucked hard, and she mashed her lips against her teeth to prevent more sounds while her body surged toward him in a silent demand for more. It was getting harder to remember where they were or why she needed to keep quiet. Her world narrowed down to Coe and the world of delight he seemed intent on drowning her in. Everything else faded into insignificance.

  “You’re going to have to let go at some point, you know.” He moved back up to again kiss the hand she had clamped over her mouth. It was so sweet and chaste compared to the relentless rhythm of his hand down below that had her rocking all over his lap. “If you want me inside you, you’re the one who’s going to have to make that happen, since I have my hands full. And not to brag, but I think you know I’m pretty much a two-hand job.”

  Oh, dear God...

  With that, he let go of the hand he’d imprisoned behind her back to get his wallet out to retrieve a condom. A shudder went through her as he gave it to her, then leaned back to give her full access.

  Yes.

  She shook as she tore him free of his restraining clothes and rolled the protection in place. His fingers bit into her hips as she straddled him, pressing his darkened tip to her threshold. Gravity and her eagerness brought her down on him with a suddenness that shattered her self-imposed silence. A broken whimper parted her lips as the fullness of his shaft stretched her, the slickness of her cleft accepting him until she was seated on him fully. Her head fell back in a kind of delirium as he throbbed within her tightness. He felt so good, so incredibly right, that for a moment all she did was simply enjoy the sensation of having him where he belonged. Then she rolled her hips in building urgency to once again find the pleasure only he could give her.

  Her hands gripped his shoulders, her fingers bunching on his shirt while the harshness of his shallow breaths echoed in her ears. The part of her that wanted to drive him as wild as he drove her, rejoiced at the telltale sign of his slipping control, but she was past the point of indulging in any triumph. There was only room for the magnificent mindlessness engulfing her, a sensation she yearned to lose herself in for the rest of her life. Shudders began to tear through her as she plunged down on his steely length again and again. It was good, so damn good. The feel of him filling her was so exquisite she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stand it...

  Her climax tore through her body, her bones, her soul. The cries she’d tried so hard to hold back bubbled forth unchecked even as his joined hers, the rapture of completion swallowing them both. It was so intense that sanity took its own sweet time to return to her, while the sound of their gasps slowly calmed. Miranda opened eyes she couldn’t remember closing when his arms tightened around her in a simple, perfect hug, and she found her face had come to rest in the curve of his neck as if it belonged there.

  “Here’s hoping Lucy turned the music up all the way,” she muttered, and almost laughed at how hoarse she sounded. “I must have sounded like I was being murdered back here.”

  “Nah. No one could ever mistake what you were doing for cries of pain.” He moved far enough away to smile down at her, and she supposed he could be forgiven for looking so pleased with himself. “Wanna go again?”

  Dear God, the man was an undiscovered wonder of the world. “Not here.”

  His eyes lit up. “That’s a promise I’m going to hold you to.”

  * * *

  In Coe’s book, watching Miranda struggle to face Lucy with dignity before giving up with a chagrinned laugh and an offer to help box up pies was worth the price of admission. At first he kept an eye on them to make sure everyone played nice, but all too soon it became apparent they didn’t need a nanny. Just as well. It was past time they all kicked the drama of yesteryear to the curb and moved forward like the adults they were.

  At least that was how he wanted to treat the past, now that he had decided to reenter intimacy waters with Miranda to see if he’d gotten any better at swimming. The first time around, he’d been nothing more than a horny, swaggering kid, eager to prove he was good enough to bag a Brookhaven. Then everything had blown up in his face, and he’d acted like a total ass.

  If he’d been in her shoes he wouldn’t have given him the time of day. As for Miranda forgiving him...Things were better between them, yeah. But since she’d acted like accepting the loft made her want to break out in hives, he had a feeling unconditional forgiveness in her heart of hearts was still a long, long way off. Hell, the moon was probably more reachable than all-out forgiveness.

  Would he ever get that from her?

  Out of the corner of his eye, he studied Miranda as they steadily plowed their way through a never-ending stream of pies, pink boxes, gold seals and random raised voices of customers from the front room. With her hair tied back, plastic gloves in place and sleeves rolled up, it was impossible to remember she was a Brookhaven. In fact, even back in the day he’d often forgotten she was one of the Brookhavens, despite the fact that her name had originally been part of the reason his younger self had gone after her in the first place. Had she forgiven him for the past?

  On the surface it seemed like she had. Their sex was mind-blowing, better than he remembered. Better than anything he’d ever known. One touch and it was all he could do to keep himself from jumping all over her.

  But it wasn’t the same for her. He knew he could give her pleasure—nothing was more sexy or spine-melting than when Miranda lost herself in the pleasure he gave her. But once it was over, it was over. Finito. Her engine shut off, and she was done with him. The last time they’d had sex was a good example; she’d vanished, searching for alternatives to keep from moving into a place that would put her smack in the middle of his life.

  She didn’t want to be around him. He got the message loud and clear.

  If it’s a matter of wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, then the “messier emotions” probably aren’t a factor.

  Lucy’s blunt description played through his mind, and he hated it. Hated it, because it was pretty much dead-on. Sex with Miranda was definitely of the wham-bam variety. She enjoyed it, but could just as easily live without it. If she wanted to, she could shut down on him anytime she chose. That was the nature of the wham-bam. Enjoyable, fun as hell, no strings attached and no promises given. When it was over, there was no expectation of a repeat performance. It was just...over. Hell, he knew that better than anyone. He was a wham-bam master.

  But none of that answered the original question. Deep down, did Miranda forgive him?

  “Hallelujah, five o’clock and no one’s been killed. We lived through another final day of preorders and a run on inventory.” Exhausted and limping badly due to her gout, Pauline entered the kitchen along with a shell-shocked Celia. When she saw who was populating her kitchen, she went wide-eyed before easing onto a stool. “What are you two doing here?”

  “They’re earning their keep.” With a grin, Lucy presented Miranda first with a pink preorder slip for the cupcakes, and then a hug, much to Coe’s surprise. “You and Coe were lifesavers this afternoon, Miranda. As thanks, the cupcakes will be on the house, and if Coe doesn’t find a way to talk you into coming to Thanksgiving dinner, I’m going to uninvite him and he’ll be stuck eating fried Spam sandwiches.”

  “First, fried Spam sandwiches have kept me alive all these years, so don’t knock it. And second, I was planning on kidnapping her as my plus-one and not giving her a choice in the matter,” Coe said before Miranda could find a polite excuse to get out of it. He’d finally figured out that when it came to dealing with him, her default setting was to go into avoidance mode until otherwise cornered. Might as well cut to the chase and corner her right out of the gate.

  The glance she shot him was a weird mix of how dare you and help. “Thank you so much for the invitation, Lucy, but I wasn’t r
eally planning on celebrating this year...”

  “So you don’t have any plans, right? Awesome.” With a smile, Lucy busied herself with cleaning up the workstation. “Pauline, please tell me you’re bringing those sourdough rolls Sullivan likes so much. I’ve been messing around with making my own herbed butter, and what I’ve come up with is so good it’ll make you want to slap your mama.”

  “Willard told me it wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without them, so we’re good to go.”

  “I’m going to my aunt’s place for Thanksgiving weekend,” Celia offered, not looking at all happy about it. But Coe remembered that being a senior in high school and unable to plan your own life made for some serious self-induced woe. “Everyone else in the universe is going off to Colorado for a ski trip. I get to go to Beeville. Beeville, for crying out loud. Someone please tell me how this is fair.”

  “If it gets compared like that, it does seem unfair.” With a sympathetic sound, Miranda smiled over at the ebony-haired girl. “Though I have to admit, it does sound kind of nice that you have a family who loves having you around and enjoys your company. But I guess it’s all about perspective.”

  “That’s right, this is going to be your first Thanksgiving without your father.” Pauline’s wide face was filled with compassion as she handed Lucy a dish towel. “I suppose it’ll be tough for you this year, now that he’s passed on.”

  “Not at all.” Miranda’s smile didn’t waver, but Coe wondered if everyone else could see the frost forming around its edges. “At the time my family left Bitterthorn, my father and I had a spectacular falling out. I never saw or spoke to him again.”

  Pauline’s mouth puckered in distress. “Oh no, how awful. I’m truly sorry to hear that, Miranda. Did either of you try to make peace before he died?”

  She shook her pale head. “I had no interest in doing so. In my mind, that man died several years ago, so that was pretty much the end of it.”

  And that was Miranda in a nutshell, Coe thought, noting how her eyes now resembled ice chips. No bending. No mercy. No forgiveness. He’d never imagined he’d feel sorry for that asshat of a father of hers, but in that moment he did. In a fit of greed, B.B. Brookhaven had thrown his daughter away.

  Just like he had.

  Maybe B.B. had thought his youngest daughter would be like his oldest, and get over being pissed once she saw how much money he was raking in. Maybe he’d told himself he’d find a way to make it up to her after she’d cooled down. Maybe he’d taken it for granted that forgiveness would come from someone who appeared to be a soft little angel...but in reality possessed absolutely no bend in a core that was harder than titanium steel.

  Coe didn’t know what her father had believed. The only thing that was certain was that the old bastard had gone to his grave knowing he was so hated by his own child, she couldn’t find a single drop of forgiveness in her heart for him.

  His mouth curled at the irony. Of all the possibilities in the world, the one he’d never considered was that he and B.B. Brookhaven would wind up in the same boat.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “And this is the view of Main Street from a snazzy wall of windows.” Miranda carried her open laptop as she walked around the nearly empty loft, screen facing outward. “Right across the street from the garage is the town square filled with trees, a fountain that’s never worked and a bandstand that’s great for necking after dark.”

  “So speaks the expert.” Geraldine’s voice emanated from the speakers, and Miranda could hear the other woman’s smile even though she couldn’t see it from her angle. “Oh, look at all that fall color right outside your window, and the natural light coming in is amazing. Does it have a peaceful vibe? I’m getting a peaceful vibe from your new place.”

  “It’s really nice here.” Truth be told, the loft was downright palatial compared to the trailer of doom. The thought made her grin as she set the laptop down on the kitchen counter and moved around to face the webcam. “I was concerned about all the noise that usually comes from Coe’s garage downstairs—you know, hydraulic tools and clanging and Coe cussing a blue streak at whatever’s not working right. But I’m wrapping up my first full day here and I haven’t heard a thing. An engine block could have dropped on his toe and I wouldn’t be aware of it.” Then she rolled her eyes. “Great. Now I’m worried an engine block has fallen onto his toe and he’s passed out from the pain.”

  “Sounds like things are looking up with you and your old flame.” Geraldine’s playful tone brought Miranda’s attention back to neighbor and friend. With strawberry-blond hair styled in a swingy asymmetrical cut and peaches-and-cream skin that glowed with healthy living and happiness, the other woman looked ready to bounce up and down with glee. “I just had a thought. Why don’t you call your yummy new landlord up for a quick visit? I’d like to take a look at him.”

  Miranda’s smile locked. “I’d better not.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I’ve been fighting the urge to do just that all day and I’m now totally wiped out by it. “Because he’s hard at work running his business, and I don’t want my presence to get in the way of his daily routine.”

  Her friend made a skeptical sound. “Do you really think he’s going about his business as though you’re not even there?”

  “He seems to be.” And she wasn’t resentful about that. Nope, not at all. So what if she’d spent the day trying to settle in, but instead jumped at every noise in the hope that Coe was coming up to see her? But he hadn’t dropped in. And she was fine with that.

  Just.

  Freaking.

  Fine.

  Geraldine’s image was the picture of doubt. “I’d be willing to bet that even as we speak, your Coe is trying to figure out a plausible excuse to come up to see you. Like wanting to get a good, long look at your plumbing or something.”

  Oh, wow. “Why does that sound like a dirty-girl comment?”

  “Because it was.”

  “Next you’ll be talking about Coe laying some serious pipe.”

  “How did you know?” Geraldine hooted with laughter, clapping her hands. “At the very least, I’m positive he’s been listening for you just as obsessively as you’ve been listening for him.”

  Good grief. Maybe gaining telepathic powers was all part of tantra yoga. “‘Obsessively’ is a bit strong, and I wasn’t specifically listening for Coe. It’s perfectly natural to be concerned about the noise level when you live above a busy garage.”

  “True. And I would buy that if you hadn’t personalized it by being concerned that he’s now passed out, and that’s why it’s so quiet downstairs.”

  “Geraldine—”

  “Don’t deny it. You’ve been listening for him.”

  “Ugh.” Miranda dragged a hand through her hair and wondered if she could get away with snapping the laptop shut without a reasonable excuse. Probably not. “I’m almost sorry now I told you anything about him.”

  “Oh, don’t be so grumpy, kiddo. It’s perfectly normal to have your senses attuned to your lover, or former lover as the case may be.” When Miranda didn’t say anything but merely stared at the screen, Geraldine’s eyes widened. “Aha. Former and current lover, then. Yes?”

  “Yes.” The admission came out grudgingly, and she felt compelled to add, “The term lover doesn’t really fit in this case. Friends with benefits would be better...except we’re not really friends. Is there such a thing as cautiously friendly acquaintances with benefits? If there is, that’s what we are.”

  “And you’ve been in close proximity to each other all day without actually seeing each other? Not even once? Self-denial is so unhealthy, Miranda. Maybe you should meditate before you blow a gasket.”

  “Maybe I should forget about this conversation and figure out what I’m going to do for dinner.”

  “Classi
c transference—feeding one type of hunger because you’re denying another.”

  “That, and it’s a little after five, the sun’s going down and it’s about that time where everyone starts thinking about fixing dinner.”

  “While you’re doing that, you might want to consider giving yourself the gift of honesty.” Geraldine’s expression was suddenly more serious than it had been throughout the entire conversation, and it took Miranda by surprise. “Once you do that, the poison that was your shared history can be put into proper perspective. Then it can be left behind in that past, where it belongs.”

  “I have been honest,” Miranda said, mildly affronted. “I’ve been as transparent with Coe as humanly possible. I need for him to know that I’m the one Brookhaven who isn’t out to rob him blind.”

  “I’m not talking about being honest with Coe. I’m talking about being honest with yourself. Have you asked yourself what you want out of renewing your relationship with him?”

  “There is no relationship.” She put out a hand, palm-up, before Geraldine could take another step down that mine-strewn path. “It’s all about my father’s will and giving back to Coe all that he lost seven years ago.”

  “Uh-huh. I see. So...where does the sex fit into this mission statement?”

  “Damn it.” Miranda grimaced. “Okay, fine. Let me rephrase that. It’s about the will, giving back to Coe everything he lost, and fun, it-doesn’t-mean-anything sex. I refuse to be an idiot like I was before with Coe and allow my emotions to get involved. This time around it’s purely physical, and that’s all.”