by Emily Bishop
The snap-tssk of a can opening drew my attention. Aurora sipped the Coke and looked at me over it. Her eyes were wide and free of tears now, but it didn’t placate me. The damage was already done.
“Christ,” I said. “I should’ve bought that place for you the minute you mentioned you wanted it.”
“What? No!” Aurora choked on the soda and spilled a little down her front. She grabbed a napkin from the tray and dabbed at the shirt I’d given her. “I don’t want any help with it. Or I didn’t when I still had the chance to purchase it.”
“Don’t be stubborn,” I replied, evenly, tamping down on the anger that had balled up in my chest now, and demanded release. “If I’d bought it for you, you wouldn’t be in this situation now.”
“If you’d bought it for me, I wouldn’t have accepted it. Or I’d have left town. It would have terrified me.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ve known each other less than a week!” She glugged down more Coke and licked her lips. “A week. For heaven’s sake, it’s over now. It’s over. It’s fine, I’ll recover from this and move on. I’m sorry I let you bring me here.” Aurora slipped her legs over the side of the bed.
“Don’t leave,” I said. “I’m going to fix this.”
“Jarryd, you couldn’t possibly fix this. It’s been sold fair and square. It’s not like—”
“I’ll fix it,” I insisted. “Eat something. Get your strength up.”
“My strength is fine. I had a moment of weakness, that’s all. It happens from time to time.”
A moment of weakness? Her only dream had been crushed before her eyes, and she called the collapse after it a moment of weakness? “You don’t have to be strong,” I said and tightened my grip on the phone. “I’ll be strong for the both of us. I’ve got you, Aurora.”
She hesitated, her sneakers an inch off the ground. She bowed her head and shook it. “OK,” she said, at last. “OK.” And she slipped off her shoes and white ankle socks, let them fall to the ground beside the bed. “OK,” she said, one more time. Perhaps, the collapse hadn’t been the last of the emotions she needed to release.
Aurora lay back against the pillows, her raven hair spread out around her head, and squeezed her eyes shut.
I switched my focus back to the phone and tapped the screen to light it up again. The list of results from my search jumped out at me. I scrolled through them, looking for the cabin’s listing. Surely, it hadn’t been taken down yet. The cabin had to have been sold recently, perhaps in the last day or two, and I highly doubted Moondance’s real estate agency would be super-efficient.
Then again, that might’ve been LA snobbery on my part.
“Here,” I muttered and clicked on a link. An image of the cabin popped up on the screen. I scrolled a little further, read the description—a “fixer-upper”—and noted the picture of the real estate agent.
It was the same woman who’d interrupted us after our passionate moment beside the lake. And she’d definitely had a cell phone.
I clicked on her name and opened up a link to her profile page on the real estate website. She had contact information up, an office number and a cell. I clicked on the information and selected the option to dial.
I put the phone to my ear and listened to the ringing. It went to an automated voicemail message, and I hung up, redialed.
“What are you doing?” Aurora asked, sitting up in bed again, clutching two handfuls of the sheets. “Who are you calling?”
“Estate agent,” I replied.
“It’s past midnight!”
“I don’t care,” I said. The call went to voicemail again. Shit. I dialed again. I’d keep calling the woman until she picked up, if it took me all night. This had to be dealt with.
“Jarryd, I don’t think this is a good idea. If it’s already sold, what can we do?”
“I could buy it,” I said.
“I told you, I won’t accept it if you do that. It’s not right.”
“Aurora—”
“I won’t accept that,” she said, firmly.
“Fine,” I replied. “Fine, but I still want to find out who bought it and why. This is too much of a coincidence.” I hit redial again. Waited.
“You think someone did this on purpose?” she asked. “But that’s crazy.”
“Exactly.” Finally, the line clicked.
“Hello?” A groggy woman’s voice, heavy with sleep. She cleared her throat. “Hello? Who is this? Why are you calling me at—”
“Is this Marjorie Finley?” I asked.
“Yes, what do you want?” the real estate agent grunted.
I paced back and forth in front of the desk, Aurora’s gaze tracking me across the room. “Marjorie, this is Jarryd Tombs.”
“Jarryd Tombs. Jarryd—wait, the actor? That Jarryd Tombs?” Marjorie’s question came into sharper focus, the shuffle of covers pulled back and the click of a light on the other end of the line.
“Yes, that’s me. I need a favor.”
“A favor.”
This would be a hell of a lot easier if she’d stop repeating every word I said. “Yes,” I replied. “It’s come to my attention that the cabin by the lake has recently been purchased.”
“That’s correct,” she said. “Were you interested in it?”
“I was interested.” I waved Aurora’s to silence before she could interrupt. “But now it’s sold, yes?”
“Yes, the buyer paid the money for it, in full, this afternoon,” Marjorie replied. “Or was it yesterday afternoon? It’s past midnight, right?”
“And there’s no way the buyer will go back on the decision?”
Marjorie clicked her tongue—a hen clucking over its eggs, the eggs being money, of course. “No, I don’t think so. He seemed exceptionally happy with the purchase. Overjoyed, in fact. He wouldn’t stop smiling.”
“He?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Who’s the buyer?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tombs, but I’m not at liberty to disclose that information. I have to respect his privacy as he specifically requested that I don’t divulge that information to anyone,” she said, though her voice cracked a little at the end—this was tough for her. Perhaps, the intrigue of this situation, me calling in the middle of the night, had gotten to her.
“If you give me his name, I may be able to convince him to sell. I’ll give you a cut of the payment, call it a finder’s fee.”
Aurora hissed at me.
I raised a palm. “This is important to me, Marjorie. I have a special connection to that cabin, you understand? A friend of mine has fond memories there.”
“I—Mr. Tombs, this is highly unorthodox.”
“I’m a highly unorthodox individual, but I always stand by my word. If the buyer decides to sell to me, I’ll give you a finder’s fee of $30,000.”
“Mr. Tombs! That was the price of the cabin to start with,” she said.
“I know.”
I could almost make out the cogs working, smell the burning as she calculated what she could spend that money on.
Aurora huffed and folded her arms, the soda can still in one hand.
“I trust that you’ll keep the information discreet.” Marjorie’s voice lowered. “He did request that the information be kept from the public, from anyone. This is unethical on my part but—”
“But I’ve made you and offer you can’t refuse.”
Marjorie exhaled, a low rush of wind against the receiver. “All right. The guy who bought it is pretty well known in town, and once again, I ask that you keep this information to yourself.”
“You have my word. Who is he?” I turned and looked Aurora in the eye.
“His name is James Goodman. He’s quite popular. A nice man who would probably sell to you if you asked him. He’s ancestor descendent of one of the founding fathers of Moondance, if you can believe it.”
“What is it?” Aurora asked.
My face had gone numb, my fists clenched
involuntarily.
“Jarryd?” Aurora whispered. “What is it? Who is it?”
“Thank you for the information,” I said and hung up. I dropped the cell phone on the desk as if it’d transformed into a viper.
“What’s going on?” Aurora had slipped off the mattress in the interim. She padded across the carpet and took my arm, tugged on it. “Jarryd, you’re scaring me.”
The thoughts that rolled through my mind scared me, too. Violent thoughts of tracking the fucker down and punishing him. He’d done this to Aurora, and now I had to tell her the truth and watch her fall apart about it all over again.
Because the truth was, there wasn’t a chance in hell James Goodman would give up that cabin if he knew it would wind up in Aurora’s hands. It truly was over.
Chapter 22
Aurora
Jarryd had turned a shade of red that would’ve been the envy of strawberries. I tugged on his forearm again. “Who bought it? I have a right to know.”
He flinched and looked down at me. The color drained from him, but he didn’t pale completely. “I’m sorry,” he said.
My heart tha-thumped. Well, that can’t be good. “Why?”
“It’s James. James bought the cabin.”
I clung to his arm to keep from falling over again. How many times could that happen in one day? I shut my eyes and steadied myself. James, my ex, who wanted to punish me for daring to go against his wishes to date me, had bought the cabin right out from under me. He didn’t care about it. He probably didn’t want to live in it or even resell it. It was a tactic to make me feel small.
How did he know I wanted it? Likely, he’d heard it around town. Heard that I was interested.
And that meant he’d never sell it to me. Not without some sick undercurrent of a cost. I didn’t want to think about what that might be.
“Aurora.” Jarryd anchored me to the present with his presence.
I opened my eyes and looked up at him. “I’m OK,” I said. But I wasn’t. Not really. A part of me had believed that Jarryd might be able to convince the buyer to sell to me. Not to him, no, I truly didn’t want the handout. I wanted to buy the damn place fairly, and I’d been five thousand dollars from reaching the price.
“You’re not OK,” Jarryd said. “I know how much this meant to you.”
I sucked in a breath, hiccupped. “I have to be OK. That’s life, isn’t it?” Ironically, if Jarryd had never challenged James’ masculinity and his warped sense of self-esteem, he likely wouldn’t have bought up the cabin.
In a way, our relationship, if it could be called that, had been part of the cause of this. It’d brought us to this moment. “I’ll work something out,” I said.
“What?”
“I don’t know. Something else will come up. Another house.” But I couldn’t afford much, and I didn’t want another house. I wanted my only childhood home. “It’s not the end of the world. I’ve handled worse than this.”
“You don’t have to be brave if you don’t want to be, Aurora. You’re allowed to be mad. God knows, I’m fucking furious.” He trembled under my grip, and I smoothed a finger over the hairs on his forearm.
“There’s nothing we can do,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he replied. “I’ll make that asshole give the place to you. I’ll fucking throttle him for it if I have to.”
“That won’t change anything. If anything, it will only make things worse.”
“No. It will make things right,” Jarryd replied. “Men like him, they’re bullies. As soon as you confront them head on, they buckle. Your ex thinks he’s bullying you by doing this. He probably thinks you haven’t told me about it. Boy, is he in for a fucking surprise.” Jarryd gently removed his arm from my grip and made for the door.
I scooted forward on jelly legs and blocked his path. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to see him.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I can, and I will,” he said and gripped my upper arms. He lifted me, spun around then set me down gently out of his route to the exit. “He’s got to know that he can’t get away with this. That I know, and I’m going to destroy him if he—”
“Please, stop,” I said and took one of his massive hands in both of mine. “Please, Jarryd, I’m begging you. This isn’t what I need right now. I don’t want to have to worry about the consequences of what you’ll say to him. Or do to him.”
“You won’t have to worry about the consequences. I will.”
“And I will have to worry because of that.” I dragged him backward, but he didn’t budge more than a single step.
“I’ll be back in a half hour.” He turned again.
I launched myself at his back, the earlier jelly legs made sturdy by fear for his safety, and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“What the heck are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m leeching onto you,” I replied, sheepishly. “If it’s the only way to stop you from going, I’ll do it.”
“Why? What are you afraid of? You think that chump is a threat to me?” He puffed up, expanded that chest and those shoulders, made it difficult for me to cling to him, at least in this position.
“He’s got friends in high places. He’s a founder.”
“Yeah? Well, unless his friend is a relative of Al Capone, I think I’m OK,” Jarryd replied and took a single, powerful step toward the exit.
I kissed the back of his neck. He froze.
“Please. Don’t go,” I whispered. “Stay with me. I need you to stay with me tonight.”
Jarryd tensed. “Aurora.”
“Please.” A gravid silence, and the walls of the room seemed to breathe for the both of us, in and out. “Please.”
“OK,” he said, at last.
I released my chokehold on him and slid down his back, dropped to my feet. I rested my forehead against his back and pressed the cotton shirt to his skin. “Thank you,” I whispered. “You didn’t have to do any of that.”
“I did.” Jarryd rotated in place and looked down on me. “You don’t seem to understand how much all of this has meant to me.”
“Explain it.”
“You came into my life at a time when everything was bleak, Aurora. You brought light and freedom. Maybe that sounds dramatic, but it’s true. Before you, I spent my days working and that was it. Work, work, work, and then the breakup, and now this. You’re my breath of fresh air.” His throat worked around the words of that last sentence.
He was so close, the warmth from his chest leaking out from the opening of his shirt. I ran my finger between his pecs, over the abs, and they rippled beneath that caress.
Jarryd slipped his hands around to the back of my neck and held me there, looked down at my breasts, though they were hidden beneath a plain white cotton tee. Those blue eyes flashed with a surge of desire that matched my own.
“We’re here again,” I whispered. “In your hotel room.”
“Would you rather be somewhere else?” he asked. “Wait, don’t answer that. I have an idea. Stay right here.” He moved off, and I let out a little moan, which stopped him. Jarryd’s smile twisted another spike of need in my core. “I’m not going far.”
He crossed the floor and entered the bathroom then shut the door behind himself. The faucet squeaked, the sound of running water, and nothing else.
Oh, god, is he going to dive out of the window and make a run for it? Has he finally realized I’m a total loon and too high maintenance for him? The crazy thoughts danced through my mind, taunting me with dumb questions that weren’t even a little plausible but bothered me nonetheless.
A couple minutes passed. “Jarryd?” I called out. I slunk toward the bathroom door then rapped my knuckles on it, a light request for entry. “Is everything OK?”
The door swung inward and revealed the tiled bathroom—nothing spectacular about it, except for the tea light candles that decorated the marbleized sink, and the top of the toilet tank. The bath, a deep white tub, had
been filled to the brim with steamy water and foam. Jarryd stepped back from the door and allowed me a better view of everything.
“It’s the best I can do on short notice.” His shirt was off, and his hand rested on his belt buckle. “You must be cold after the forest. After everything, I mean.”
I nodded and gulped down air.
God, this was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me.
“Come on,” he said and guided me into the bathroom. He shut the door then positioned himself in front of me. “Do you need help getting out of that?”
I nodded again.
Jarryd lifted the hem of my shirt and stripped it off then removed the shirt underneath and exposed my lacy bra. I’d thrown it on the morning, so I’d have something on for work.
He reached around and unclipped it. The straps slipped down my arms and coldness brushed against my breasts. My skin prickled, and I shivered.
Jarryd bent, held the back of my neck, gentle as always, and took one of my nipples into his mouth. I gasped and placed my hands on his shoulders, dug my nails in.
He sucked, grunted his satisfaction, and transferred his lips down the slope of my breast and over to the other one. Jarryd licked my other nipple, bit it gently, and drew another shudder from me.
“The water’s getting cold,” he said and undid the button on my jeans. He slipped them over my hips, taking my panties down with them then helped me step out of them.
I unzipped his pants, tugged them down, and freed his already hard dick. “Oh god,” I whispered. “Jarryd.”
“You do this to me,” he said, and his cock throbbed.
I sucked my bottom lip, reached down, and ran my finger over his head. I squirmed at the sensation of his moisture against my skin, already wet for me, as I was for him.
He took my hand and walked me to the tub then helped me into it.
The water sloshed against my skin, and I sighed. It was perfect, not boiling anymore but warm enough to comfort me after the chill from the forest.