“I do too, but I’ve never been able to cook like this! I might actually enjoy cooking if I could do it this well,” I say.
“If you’re really interested and not just being kind, I’d be happy to give you some lessons. I consider my cooking style to be “Cowboy Simple”. Basically, you use simple ingredients, with the least intervention possible, for an amazing result.”
“Whatever you call it, I’d love to learn, if you really wouldn’t mind teaching me. There was never really anyone around to teach me cooking.”
He studies me just long enough to make me certain I have carrot on my forehead before answering.
“Can I ask you a question, Bay?” he asks.
“Sure. I’m an open book, you can ask me almost anything you want.”
“Okay, now I have two questions,” he says, chuckling.
I finish chewing my first bite of potatoes that are equally amazing as everything else on my plate and nod, “Fire away.”
He appears to be choosing his words carefully, and there’s a long pause before he asks, “Why wasn’t there anyone to teach you to cook?
I’m sure relief is all over my face, but I don’t care. At least he picked an easy one. “I never knew my dad, not even his name, and my mom… let’s just say that being drunk eighty-five percent of the time doesn’t make for very palatable cooking. She preferred her meals in liquid form.” I stab a few more carrots and chew thoughtfully. He doesn’t say a word.
“It’s not that big of a deal, really. It’s just the way it is.” I say, trying to fill the uneasy silence. Still nothing. “You said you had two questions now. What’s the second one?” I ask.
“Why did you say I could ask almost anything?” He asks simply.
“Because there are a few things that I don’t talk about.”
“Well I wouldn’t ask anything that could be seen as inappropriate or anything. You should know that,” he says, indignant. It’s cute, this mildly offended set of his chin and mouth. Makes me want to kiss him. I mentally smack myself, what the hell? No.
“Haha… I would probably answer those. There are very few questions I won’t answer. Like I said, I try to be an open book. It’s just the one subject that I can’t talk about really,” I explain.
His eyes widen and he laughs, “You would answer those?”
“Why not? I am who I am, I’ve been who I’ve been. Sure, I’ve done things I’m not proud of, I’ve made mistakes, but who hasn’t? It’s not as though who I am changes depending on who I’m talking to. They’re just facts, and facts aren’t really worth hiding, are they?”
He pushes his empty plate away, “When you look at it like that, I guess you’re right, but I’m an honest person and that still doesn’t mean I want everyone to know every little thing about me. You have to have some things to keep for yourself, don’t you?” he asks.
“I see your point too, but most people who would ask the questions aren’t just some person standing next to you in line at the grocery store. I mean most people have a little more class than that. So, the way I figure it, if someone cares enough to ask the question they must be trying to get to know you, right? So, what’s the point of putting up a false front or holding back? The faster they figure out you’re not what they’re looking for the faster you can move on. You waste less time that way.” I take my last bite of potatoes and push my plate away as well. I’m shocked to see that it’s empty. I can’t remember the last time I cleaned my plate of anything. I also realize that the one thing I won’t talk about is the one thing that would make his opinion of me change and I feel like a hypocrite. I push the feeling down.
“What makes you assume you’re not what they want?”
I consider my answer. “Because they usually don’t. And the ones that still do usually aren’t the kind I’d want.”
He laughs again, and I really enjoy the sound of it. “So, should I call you Groucho Marx?”
The laugh just rolls out of me. It’s a full-on belly laugh, and I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. “Yes! I don’t want to belong to any--,”
“—club that would have me as a member,” he finishes for me. “I’m impressed. I don’t know many people who would know that reference. Actually, I don’t know anyone who would.”
“I like to read, and history fascinates me. Sometimes I start off looking up a news story or quote and the next thing I know, I’m researching where they grew up, what their parents’ names are, what their political views are. I know it sounds weird and stalker-ish, but I swear I’m not a stalker. It’s mostly historical figures, places, battles. I like to research. It’s silly and my mom always said, ‘No man wants a woman who knows more than he does.’ And she was always telling me to put the book down and go put on some makeup.” I laugh.
“That’s an awful thing to say!” he says.
“Yeah, maybe. That’s just how she was though. She had a different guy at the house almost every night. Sometimes more than one. I guess when you’re certain your beauty is fading fast, you have to use it up as much as you can while you still have it. I learned that men will put up with almost anything if they’re guaranteed a piece of ass at the end of the night.” I shrug evasively.
He looks uncomfortable and I feel bad. I hate when I make people uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Jace. I didn’t mean you. I just meant in general. I know I’m a little too blunt sometimes,” I say to smooth things over.
I stand up and begin collecting the leftover food from the middle of the table, and start towards the kitchen with my hands full. “Really, I didn’t mean to offend you, but I understand that I did. Sometimes I’m too blunt and it makes people uncomfortable. I think I’m missing a censor or something,” I laugh nervously, setting the plates of food on the counter.
When I turn around he’s right there. Mere inches away as he leans over me, placing his hands on the counter behind me, one on each side of me. The space between us fills with the smell of him. I can’t quite place it, but it’s clean, masculine, and lovely. It’s been a very long time since I was close enough to smell a man. That I remember anyway.
For a long moment neither of us says anything. We just stand there, not touching. I can’t quite force myself to look up and meet his eyes. The curve of his neck is more inviting than I recall any neck being. His skin is darker than mine, and velvety smooth. His adam’s apple is prominent, but not distractingly so. I see it move as he swallows and push down the urge to kiss it. It would be so easy. I’d barely have to move at all the way he’s leaning over me. He swallows again and I realize he’s nervous too. It gives me the strength to look up.
His eyes are not the lake blue I’ve always believed them to be. They are a deep sapphire, with an almost turquoise colored ring around the pupils. This gives them the appearance of lake blue from a distance, but they’re much deeper than any lake I’ve ever seen.
His breath makes my hair flutter by my ear, and I lean into it before I can stop myself. He reaches up and brushes my hair behind my ear, his fingertip grazing my cheek. Butterflies erupt into flight in my stomach as he lets his finger drift down the side of my neck. “You don’t ever need to put makeup on to be beautiful, Tiny, and any man who doesn’t love that he can have an in-depth conversation with you, that you have opinions and thoughts of your own, most definitely isn’t in any club you want to belong in. You’re a rare find, Tiny, and one any man should have to work to earn. Any man.” His voice is like velvet, and I desperately want to cuddle up in his words, even though I know he doesn’t mean him.
He leans back, picking up a plate and covering it with saran wrap. I realize I’ve been holding my breath and take a deep, and as quiet as possible, breath. I know I should go get the rest of the food from the dining room, but my legs are wobbly and I’m afraid they won’t hold me.
“Thank you,” I say, more breathless than intended.
“Anything you need, any time, you just let me know,” he says. I think he means dinner, and resist the urge to hope he
means something else. “You should go relax. Read a book, go to bed, whatever you want to do. I’ll clean this up, and get the fire going good for the night. Then I’ll be heading to bed myself.”
“You’re staying here?” I ask, alarmed. How am I supposed to sleep with him a room away? Why hadn’t it occurred to me that he would be staying here with me?
“Yes. The doctor said we couldn’t leave you alone, remember?” He looks concerned, or maybe sad. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll sleep down here on the couch instead of upstairs. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Bay.”
“No, don’t be silly. I just hadn’t thought that far ahead. It just didn’t occur to me. Of course, you should sleep in my bed… er… their bed… a bed. Any bed you want, I mean, not my bed of course, that’s not what I meant.” Oh. My. God. Shut UP, Bayleigh. His back is to me, but I can see his shoulders shaking with silent laughter, and I know I must be the same color as that cranberry juice I tried to drink. Please don’t turn around. Please don’t turn around. “I think I’m going to head up to bed, my bed, to sleep I mean. I think maybe I ate too much and I’m not feeling so well. Goodnight, Jace. Thank you so much for dinner,” I say. Too embarrassed to feel the pain, I run upstairs.
CHAPTER 5
I wake up cold. Rolling over to check the clock I see that it’s only four o’clock in the morning. My stomach is still a little bit upset and I’m so thirsty, which is probably why my stomach is upset. One of the medications I’m on makes me dehydrated. I throw the blanket off and resist the urge to bundle right back up in it. This is the coldest I’ve been in a long time.
Quietly, I creep down the stairs. I’m not sure where Jace decided to sleep and I don’t want to disturb him at four a.m. I don’t think he’d appreciate it and I know if the situation were reversed I certainly wouldn’t. I carefully step wide at the bottom of the stairs to avoid the creaky board that resides there and tiptoe to the kitchen. I decide to avoid the extra noise of getting a glass and open the refrigerator for a bottle of orange juice. It’s not my favorite thing, but it is cold and wet, and will help with dehydration.
I wish I had thought to get my robe. It’s usually much warmer in the house and I don’t bother with it, but tonight is anything but warm. I wander over to look out the window. “Oh my God!” I cover my mouth and spin around, waiting to hear the telltale footsteps that I’ve woken him up. There’s no sound, so I turn my attention back out the window. There is easily two feet of snow on the ground outside and it’s still snowing. Huge, fluffy, sparkly flakes lazily falling from the sky.
I’ve seen snow before, but in Maryland this would be an entire winters worth of snow. More probably. I’ve never gone to bed with grass and woke up with feet of snow. It’s beautiful. Breathtaking even. I could stand here all night and watch it fall, covering everything, making a whole new world.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I jump and whirl, choking on orange juice in the process. I cough hard, grabbing onto the counter to steady myself, his big hand rubbing my back.
“I’m so sorry, Tiny. I thought you heard me behind you. I’m sorry,” he says.
“I’m okay. You just startled me. I guess I was in my own little world,” I reassure him, even though I think he could probably be brought up on attempted murder charges. I gasp for air very carefully, trying not to irritate the fire in my throat.
“I really am sorry,” he says looking sheepish. His dark hair is mussed, one piece at the front standing straight up like a tiny little mohawk. There’s a crease on his cheek that shows he was sleeping hard. Alarm bells go off in my head as my gaze drifts down. Dear lord, he’s not wearing a shirt. His broad shoulders are more solid and muscular than I even imagined and his stomach… I want so badly to trace his muscles with my fingers. He’s wearing jeans, but they’re not buttoned. He clearly got up quickly. The navy-blue waistband of his underwear peaks out just below a small patch of dark hair I’d love to tangle my fingers in.
When I look up, his sapphire eyes jump to mine. It appears mine weren’t the only ones roaming and I’m suddenly very aware of the small t-shirt I’m wearing. It’s a simple white pocket tee, and it’s barely long enough to cover my ass cheeks.
“You look cold,” he says. I look down and see my nipples are straining against the thin white material. Why didn’t I grab my robe? “Because you’re shivering, I mean. And it’s cold in here. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. I should have grabbed my robe before I came down,” I mutter. No need for both of us to feel like idiots.
“No, you can walk around naked if you want, I promise I won’t bother you,” he says.
“Wow, Jace. You really know how to make a girl feel sexy,” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. That one stung. I turn to go back upstairs, preferring to keep my shame to myself, when he grabs my wrist and spins me back to him. There’s some force behind it this time, more than he intended I’m sure, and I put my hand up to stop my momentum. It lands with a solid slap against his bare chest, my breasts and stomach pushed up hard against him as his other arm wraps around my back, locking me in.
I look up into eyes as dark blue as the sky outside. “Now, hold on a second, Tiny. I didn’t say that to offend you. I said it because I meant it. I may not know everything you’ve been through, but I can imagine, and I was just making it clear. I would never do anything to you that you didn’t want. You could walk around naked if you wanted and nothing would ever happen except for a lot of cold showers on my end. Unless you want me to touch you, I won’t.”
Yes, please. Touch me all you want. “I appreciate the effort to make me feel better, but it’s no big deal. No need to feign interest,” I say, attempting to pull my wrist from his grip. He tightens his hold, moving two steps forward, taking me with him until my back is against the counter. One of his hands comes up to fist in my hair, tilting my head back until I meet his eyes. The instant I do, he grinds against me, until I can feel him, unmistakably hard, against my stomach.
“There is no feigned interest here, Sweetheart,” he says, head bent low, the breath from his words lightly caressing my ear. I lean into it, knowing that I shouldn’t. His other hand slides from my ribcage, down, down, over the curve of my hip, as I shiver helplessly. He moans low, and pulls me tighter against him.
His tongue flicks my ear lobe, his hand sliding around and gripping my ass. His other hand grabs the other side of my ass and lifts me up, setting me on the edge of the counter. His hands slide over my hips, and to the center of my thighs where he pulls my legs apart and settles between them in one swift move, my panties the only barrier against the rough denim of his jeans. My arms slide around his neck as though I have no control over them at all. When he grinds into me this time, the head of his cock lands perfectly centered on my clit, unmistakable even through his jeans, and I yelp with surprise and pleasure.
“Jesus,” he says, his voice ragged and low, “I can feel how hot you are through our clothes.” He nips lightly at my neck, his tongue flicking out to soothe the place he’s bitten and I feel myself melting. He continues thrusting against me, slow and smooth, and I do my best to meet his thrusts. It’s been so long since I’ve actually wanted to do this. I desperately want to feel him inside of me, but my brain keeps screaming ‘No, No, No, don’t do it’. I know that I can’t have sex with him, but I can’t stop myself from kissing his neck, his shoulder. I can’t believe this is happening.
I hear his jeans hit the floor, and grab at his arms. “Oh my God, Jace, we can’t. I’m so sorry.”
He stills immediately. His face a mask I can’t read. He rocks himself against my clit one more time and my eyes close, my hips flex into him and I moan again. When I open my eyes, his are questioning and curious on mine.
“Jace, please, you have to stop. I can’t do this. I am so sorry,” I plead, begging him to understand, to not hate me, and half hoping he’ll ignore me, how bad could it really be? Though I don’t feel good about that thought at all.
�
��What can’t you do, Bay? You seem to be doing just fine,” he pumps his hips three times, hard against me, and I can’t breathe. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed feeling wanted.
“I can’t fuck you, Jace. I can’t have sex with you. I want to, I do, but I just can’t. I can’t explain right now,” I drop my head to his shoulder, moaning low as he rocks against me again. I should be afraid, considering, but I’m not at all afraid of him. “I can’t explain,” I say again. I haven’t told anyone, and I know if I do he’ll walk away and never come back.
“Okay,” he says quietly, “It’s okay. I told you I’d never do anything you didn’t want me to do.”
I sigh, my frustration palpable, expecting him to pull away, but he doesn’t. He nuzzles against my neck, his voice a velvet whisper caressing my ear. “Can I make you come, Tiny?” he asks.
“What?” I ask, certain my mind is playing tricks on me.
“You don’t have to do anything except let me take care of you. I don’t want anything in return.”
“You can’t be serious,” I answer, confused.
In answer he grinds against me, this time moving his hips in a devastatingly slow arc that I can’t help but answer with my own body. “Please. I need to watch you. Let me,” he whispers.
He said please. How do I say yes? I feel like I should say no, and if this leads to something else I’ll have no one to blame but myself. No man I’ve ever heard of cared only about the woman getting off, but….
“Please, Bayleigh,” he says again.
I grind my hips against him in answer, digging my fingers into his shoulders, and kissing his neck. He pulls away slightly, and I know this was all a cruel joke.
“Say it,” he says, midnight eyes unrelenting on mine.
“Say what?” I ask.
“You have to say yes,” he replies.
I try to pull him closer, aching to feel him against me again. Telling him yes with my body.
Faith (Stregth Series Book 2) Page 4