“I don’t have a calf.”
“No, not anymore. But it’s kind of like your leg doesn’t know that, and maybe your calf doesn’t know it either.”
He wrinkled his forehead. “Are you trying to say I’ve got some kind of ghost calf hanging off my gimp leg?”
She visibly winced. “There are a whole bunch of medical terms for why your leg has been bothering you. But if you want to call it a ghost calf, I guess that’s fine, too. The main thing is to acknowledge it. And help it along. Otherwise, it’s going to keep on giving you problems.”
“So that’s what you just did? You acknowledged my ghost calf?”
Another huge wince. “Seriously, Sawyer, I’m not the one to talk with about this.”
“Then who should I talk to? Because I’ve been to a whole lot of doctors. And none of them have been able to help me in six years as much as you have in two weeks. I’m wearing my leg easy now. I don’t feel nausea. No more pain. Until tonight.”
“I’m glad I could help, Sawyer, but—”
“You’re not hearing what I’m saying. You’re the only one who’s helped me, Willa. The only one. And I can’t stop thinking about you...”
Willa stared at him, the wince melting off her face.
And he finally asked her one of those questions he was hoping she’d have an answer for.
“Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”
She shook her head, but before she could tell him he shouldn’t be asking her that question, he was asking another one. “Do you think about me? Don’t lie to me, Willa.”
She looked to the side, as if trying to figure out a way out of the question. But then she gave a small nod.
And he let out a breath of relief. So grateful she’d admitted it. That he wasn’t alone in thinking there was something going on here.
“Fuck my ghost calf, Willa, touch me. Touch me somewhere real, baby.”
10
The answer was no.
In no way should she be touching Sawyer Greenlee. He was a patient. She had no business still being here. Still being in his bed. In Sawyer Grant’s bed. For the very first time.
“I shouldn’t…” she whispered.
But then like something entranced, her hand found the side of his face and she touched him. Unable to stop herself from marveling at the feel of him, underneath her palm.
One touch. Just one touch. But it set off an immediate reaction.
Sawyer groaned. Not with pain. With relief. Like this was something he’d been waiting for…for a very, very long time.
It was supposed to be one touch, but the next thing she knew, he was hauling her up his body. Settling her on top of the non-ghost part of his legs, and taking her mouth.
The kiss was hard, deep. A declaration of future intent: I’m going to take possession of you, Willa Harper. I’m about to claim you hard. His kiss told her that as clear as words.
His kiss was dangerous. So dangerous. She knew it would be the stupidest thing ever to kiss him back. She really, really shouldn’t kiss him back. But her lips trembled underneath his. And instead of pulling away, she gripped his thick bicep and used it to get her body closer to his. So close she could feel the hair on his chest through her night shirt.
This was her kissing him back, her body aflame with need. Her groaning, when he lifted the front of her night shirt up and palmed one breast.
Her not stopping him when she felt one arm move down between their bodies.
His fingers found the edge of her cotton panties and pulled them aside.
And then. Oh God. Then he was in. Pumping into her from below as one strong arm settled around her waist.
I’ll find you….
“Why can’t I stop thinking about you, Willa?” he demanded hoarsely. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” she cried back, giving him the truth on the thinnest of threads.
Because the fact was she didn’t know. Why had he come back here? Why was he doing this to her? Why couldn’t she stop him from doing it? Even when she knew what a terrible idea it was. She didn’t know the answers to any of these questions.
But her reply seemed to enrage him. And the next thing she knew her world was spinning.
Him still between her wrapped legs, but on top now, pushing her hips hard into his crumpled covers as he went into a frenzy on top of her, “Can’t stop…can’t stop…”
It didn’t take long after that. She came apart with a soft cry. And a few moments later, he did, too. His release streaming into her like a river undammed until he collapsed on top of her.
Quiet then. The cicadas outside were the only ones making a sound.
And she found she couldn’t stop herself from holding on to him with both arms, because he was still here. Still here…
“I know I’m probably crushing you and I know I should let you up,” he murmured into her neck. “But I can’t. I need you to keep holding me. Stay here with me, baby. Just for tonight, okay?”
If only he knew how much that request affected her. Any other PT with a lick of sense would have disengaged as soon as something as unethical as this happened.
But not her. Not after what had happened in Germany. Six years later, and she couldn’t turn him down. Couldn’t let him go.
Not yet.
SHE WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING ALONE in a bed full of cold sheets, her sex aching from…a dream?
Yes, maybe it had all been a dream, she thought with her eyes still closed. She’d had plenty of those in the six years since Germany. Waking up from them hot and frustrated, because of course, she hadn’t really been with Sawyer like that.
Yes, she thought, keeping her eyes closed so she could swim a little longer in the delicious, but ultimately harmless, dream memory. Maybe getting that call from Sawyer, going over to his house, Kate shouting at her that her son was upstairs and needed her help, please help him—yes, it could very well have all been a dream.
But then she opened her eyes. And the first thing she saw was Sawyer’s Adirondack chair beyond the window. The chair was a familiar sight since her bedroom faced the back of Greenlee Place. She’d grown up looking at chairs like these outside each of the second floor balconies, and they had two more just like it on the pier. However, she’d only ever seen the front of those other Adirondack chairs.
And now she was looking at this chair from behind. She could even see one of them had a sticker for that country singer, Colin Fairgood, on the back of it. Also, Kate was sitting in it.
“Crap!” she whispered, sitting up in the bed. One silky vanilla sheet fell to her waist to reveal she still wore her nightshirt and panties. But that didn’t really matter, did it, because she was in Sawyer Grant’s bed. “Crap! Crap! Crap!”
“Oh you’re awake!” Kate trilled. She blinked out of the chair and the air became about twenty degrees colder when she blinked into a standing position beside the bed.
“You certainly had fun last night,” she said, waggling a finger at Willa. “What a naughty, naughty nurse you turned out to be, Willa Harper. Not that I watched, but it was hard not to hear, even in my third-floor rooms.”
Willa continued to mentally curse herself as she scrambled out of bed. What had she done? What had she done?
“Sawyer’s in the kitchen. I think he’s planning to bring you breakfast in bed,” Kate told her. “Oh, this is turning into such a romantic story! His father never did things like that for me. But maybe he’ll be different for Grace. You know he’s had a terrible crush on her for years, but he’s been too cowardly to ever tell her. If I could just figure out a way to bring the two of them together, like you two are now. I’ve been consulting with your mother about the problem, but—”
That casual declaration brought Willa up short. “Wait, what? You’re trying to hook Miss Grace up with The Admiral?”
But before Kate could answer, she remembered her very sound policy against getting caught up in ghost drama and held up her hands. “You know what? That’s okay. I don’t wan
t to know about any of your plans. Especially if they have anything to do with my mother.”
She had to get away. Away from Sawyer’s mom. Away from this house.
She rushed out of the room.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Kate trilled behind her. “I’ll stay up here. Give you lovebirds some privacy.”
Lovebirds…no not even. More like full on train wreck, Willa thought as she ran down the stairs. The only thing that kept her from dashing straight out the front door was the smell of breakfast wafting out of the kitchen.
It would be too rude to leave out without a word when he was making her breakfast, she decided with a heavy sigh. Even under these circumstances.
Still, she entered the kitchen in a full cringe…and found Sawyer at the stove, tapping his prosthesis against the linoleum floor to an upbeat Colin Fairgood song as he flipped what looked like an omelet.
“Good, you’re here!” he yelled over the music, grinning at her over his shoulder. “What do you want in your omelet?”
“You know how to make omelets?” she asked, more than a little taken aback by the scene. She wouldn’t have thought Sawyer capable of anything more complicated than bacon and eggs.
He reached up and turned down the music before saying, “Grace taught me how to make them before I left for the Naval Academy. I think she was afraid I’d starve on Navy food. The food in the Chow Hall turned out to be pretty decent actually, but I kept her omelet recipe in my back pocket.”
Speaking of Grace… Her eyes went to the kitchen door, wondering if she was somewhere in the house.
“She only comes on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” he told her, as if reading her mind. “My dad will be stopping by later, though.”
“I should probably get going then. I don’t want to interrupt—”
“But not until twelve. We’re going into D.C. for a power lunch with the current Rep for our district.”
“You don’t sound all that excited about it,” she said, unable to make herself ignore the flat tone his voice took on when he talked about doing anything associated with his future political career.
He shrugged. “It came up at the last minute and I had to move a few things around. Including an appointment with a disabled vet who’s being unfairly evicted from his apartment next week. But I guess I’ve got to start hobnobbing with the right people if I want their support for this next campaign.”
“I thought you liked hobnobbing,” she said, remembering the way he’d been in high school. Walking down the hallway with two girls under his arms. Always surrounded by a group of kids in the lunchroom. Never alone in a corner, like her.
“Used to,” he said, putting the omelet on the plate and pouring a healthy helping of green salsa over it. “But now-a-days, I guess I prefer one-on-one.”
He gave her a significant look, and it heated her to the bone. Even though she should have been a little cold, dressed in nothing but the cotton nightshirt Trevor bought her for her last birthday.
“What did you say you wanted in your omelet?”
“I didn’t. In fact, I should go.”
“Or you could stay for breakfast.” He forked a bite off the omelet and held it out to her. “Big night last night. I know you’ve got to be hungry. And I don’t want all these breakfast fixings to go to waste.”
He pushed the fork toward her, and before she could remember to stop herself, she was taking the bite.
“That’s really good,” she said, surprised. “Are there hash browns in this?”
“Yep. But I can’t tell you what else. It’s Grace’s secret family recipe.”
“But she told you.”
He grinned. “I’ve got a way of convincing people.”
Didn’t she know it? Damn him and his weirdly delicious omelets! Now her stomach was working against her, too.
“How about if I just eat this omelet?” she said. Really quickly and then she’d go.
“Fine by me,” he agreed, and he went back to the stove. Turning his back on her. “Have a seat.”
She looked around for a place to sit. But Greenlee Place had a lot in common with many Southern houses that hadn’t been updated in the current century. Lots of space in the rooms meant for the residents, but very little in the spaces meant for the help. There wasn’t any place to sit in the small kitchen, which probably hadn’t been updated since the sixties—back when no Greenlee County resident would ever dream of doing their own cooking in their own kitchen.
Seeing her dilemma, Sawyer nodded his head toward an empty space, next to all his fixings. “Tell you what, I can’t give away Grace’s secret recipe, but I won’t stop you if you want to sit there and watch me make one of these.”
Her eyes went to the counter. It was covered in royal blue tile, the same color as…
Her heart stopped. He didn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know, she reminded herself.
Still, the best she could manage was to set the plate down on its blue surface. Like it was no big deal, and she preferred to eat standing up.
At least she thought it wouldn’t be a big deal. Supposedly she was watching Sawyer prepare the recipe, but she soon found herself just watching him. The way his biceps bunched as he picked out different ingredients. The placid look on his face as he put everything together in the large pan. The tap of his prosthesis to the upbeat country song against the floor. He struck her as…happy. Which was fascinating in and of itself. She’d never seen him look this way before. Like he was totally at peace.
But then he glanced up, catching her in the act of staring. “Gimp leg keeps pretty good time, huh?”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “I wish you wouldn’t call it that,” she told him truthfully. “I don’t like it, and I’m real sure it’s not endearing your leg to you when you call it that.”
She expected Sawyer to fight her on this. But after a thoughtful moment, he just flipped the omelet and said, “Alright. If you don’t want me to call it that anymore, I won’t.”
Willa smiled, happy he’d decided to start being more respectful where his leg was concerned.
But then he abruptly turned off the flame, even though the omelet was only halfway done.
“Everything okay?” she asked. Still unable to stop herself from worrying over him. Caring, despite…
“No, it isn’t.” He bowed his head. “I thought I could do this.”
“Do what—”
Before the question was fully out of his mouth. He had her in his arms.
Ramekins crashed to the ground. All those fixings gone in one sweep of Sawyer’s arm. Then she was up on the counter, Sawyer’s hands at her hips as he kissed the everlasting hell out of her.
11
Sawyer kissed her.
Not just because he wanted to, but because he felt compelled to. Because somewhere deep down in his soul, he absolutely had to.
That strange déjà vu feeling was back. Riding him hard as he reached underneath the hem of her nightshirt and wrenched the sensible cotton panties right off of her. Then he found the tight button between her legs with his thumb. “Get wet for me, baby,” he said against her lips. “I need inside of you.”
Her moan was the best answer she could have given him. But then she said, “Sawyer, we shouldn’t…”
Fuck that. She wanted him, too. He could feel her hot nub swelling against his thumb, and when he pushed two fingers into her tunnel, her sex squeezed them tight, hot and wet, juices already coming down. For him. For this.
He kissed her some more, convincing her the best way he knew how. Also wanting to taste her. Next time, he’d get between her legs, he promised himself. He was dying to eat her out.
But not this time. This time his need was too urgent, flooding his entire body with heat as he entangled her tongue in his. And the déjà vu was too powerful, making him feel like this was a scene he just had to play out.
Unable to take it any longer, he pulled himself out of his sweats and—thank fuck—the counter was low. All he had to do wa
s push in…and he was exactly where he wanted to be. Exactly where he knew he belonged.
Her throaty moan was just the encouragement he needed to start moving inside her. He braced his hands against the counter and went hard, pounding into the heat between her thighs like a man possessed.
Holy fuck, her pussy fit him like a glove. Squeezing his dick in a hot clasp better than anything he’d ever felt in his life. Tight and hot, it pulled him in with every stroke.
Soon he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to change up his thrusts, slowly rolling his hips into hers in order to keep from coming too fast. But he only got to savor her this way for a little bit…
“Sawyer, please,” she whimpered, her face tight with erotic agony. “Please, more, more.”
Then she wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his ass, pulling him in deeper. And. Sawyer. Just. Lost. It.
The appliances at the back of the counter rattled as he started fucking her fast again. Hard and deep, to the rhythm of her sweet whimpers and moans as hot, volatile need flooded his system.
The déjà vu—though weird—made taking her like this even better. He felt insane, but also like this was absolutely right. Absolutely where he should be. Between this woman’s legs, claiming her as his, in the oldest way known to man.
“Sawyer!” she cried out again. Then she broke off, croaking as she came so hard on his cock. So hard…
Her release was his complete undoing. His cock jerked deep inside her and he came, spilling jets of semen into her with a hoarse shout. Only then did the intense déjà vu feeling ebb away. Only then did he feel fully satisfied.
At least for now. He already knew in both his heart and his mind, that taking her in the way he had literally dreamed of wouldn’t be enough to scrub her out of his every waking thought. He’d want this with her again. Today. Tomorrow. Possibly always.
Always and forever.
“Oh God, we didn’t use a condom. Again.”
Her shaky words jerked him down from his cloud, a lead balloon on a sunny morning.
His Everlasting Love: 50 Loving States, Virginia Page 8