Old-fashioned words? Perhaps, but I’d nabbed me an old-fashioned guy. And how brilliant was that?
And my old-fashioned guy began to move, thrusting deeper into me, the weight of our combined bodies making the old wood creak. Sweet friction sizzled between us, spinning out of control as his pace increased and my hips moved in time with his.
“So good, Clark—it’s so good.” His mouth as he panted, his groans as he thrust into me again and again—I marveled at the beauty of this man, and at what this was becoming. It was beautiful. He rolled and circled his hips, pressing in exactly the right spot every time, and soon I was ready to slingshot around the moon once more.
“Christ, Vivian, I can feel you coming all around me,” he murmured, and with those words, I was gone. And with a few more thrusts, he was gone too. He groaned into my neck as I held him close, and I felt him take a ragged breath.
Then he lifted his face to mine and tenderly kissed me. Touching the tip of my nose, he said, “I’ve loved you almost from the moment I saw you standing on the porch, threatening to tear it down. I’ve loved you since you put your leg up on the railing and teased me with your bare leg. I’ve loved you since you picked a fight with me about the very thing you’re sitting on, and I loved you even when you punched me in the nose—mostly because you took off your shirt to stop the blood flow. Which was very quick thinking, I might add.”
Which made me giggle. I loved Daytime Clark too.
“I love you,” he whispered, and brushed his lips sweetly across mine.
“Vivian,” I whispered back. “Say it with my name.”
He smiled. “I love you, Vivian.”
I smiled back. “I love you too, Clark. But can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything,” he said, nuzzling at my neck.
“Did you lick my leg when you were under the porch?”
He froze, then burst out laughing. “I one hundred percent licked your leg when I was under the porch.”
“I knew it!” I yelled, bringing his face back up to mine so I could kiss him again.
And then the balustrade finally gave way beneath us, and we fell to the floor of the landing in a tangle of naked limbs. I started laughing so hard I was bouncing. Which made his eyes focus on one area in particular, as he asked, “What the hell is so funny?”
“I told you I’d get a new baluhwhozit.”
He laughed too.
Delighted, I pushed him down, my legs straddling his hips, and slid onto his still-hard Substantial Town. Putting his hands on my breasts, I commanded, “Hold on here, Clark,” and began to ride.
“Impossible woman,” he said, but did indeed hold on.
For dear life.
I woke with a start, reaching automatically for Clark, but my bed was empty. Slipping into his white button-down, like all good heroines do the morning after, I padded downstairs. My nose pinpointed his whereabouts, the scent of coffee calling to me like a beacon. I peeked around the corner and saw him dropping French toast into a frying pan, whistling a tune that sounded a lot like “Chances Are.”
Chances are no one ever looked as hot as my librarian did on this bright and shiny morning. Bare feet, unbuttoned chinos, and a smile. A smile that grew bigger when he saw me. “Get that sweet ass in here,” he said, waving me over with his spatula. Aw yeah.
I crossed to him in three steps. Catching me in a fast embrace, he dipped me just like in the old movies, planting kisses all over my neck and collarbone, making me giggle and squeal. “Hungry?” he asked.
“Starved,” I admitted, and he swung me back up onto my feet.
“Breakfast will be ready in five minutes; there’s coffee already on the table,” he instructed.
I grabbed two mugs and watched Clark flip his toast, whistling his tune merrily as he shook the pan, making the bread sizzle.
He made things sizzle all right, and I was so caught up in watching his fantastic butt that I overpoured and spilled the coffee. Hissing at the hot liquid on my hand, I set the pot down and went for the paper towels. Damn, we were out.
We.
Stifling a grin at the thought, I slipped into his loafers and made for the door. “Need to grab some paper towels from the backseat of the car; I forgot to bring those in yesterday,” I told him, stepping out into the sunny yard. No traces of last night’s storm were evident. I bore the traces of the Clark Storm, however, in the form of stubble burn on my neck. And between my breasts. And between my thighs. Shivering at the memory, I started across the driveway to the Bel Air.
Clark pushed open the back door. “You don’t have to grab those, Vivian, I’ll get them.” He crossed to me, taking the keys from my hand and opening the trunk.
“Hey there, Viv, need some help with— Whoa!” I heard from across the yard, as Hank appeared in the barn doorway. He looked at me, then looked at Clark. Then back at me again.
Clark calmly picked up the bag of paper towels and closed the trunk. “Morning, Hank,” he said, tucking me into his side and grabbing my ass below his shirt. “I’ve got this.” And he walked us back into the house, holding the door open for me, and grinning broadly.
Hank stayed in the barn, looking confused.
And I laughed as I straddled Clark moments later on the kitchen floor. Why ride a cowboy when you can ride a librarian?
Oh, the French toast? It was great . . . reheated an hour later.
epilogue
Six months later
The sun shone clear and strong through the new windows that had been installed. Heat curled around my bare toes as I stood in the middle of the attic, brush in hand, staring at my canvas. I chewed at my thumbnail, thinking about what direction to take.
“Vivian?” I heard from below, and my body immediately knew which direction to take. “You up here, Sweets?”
He called me Sweets. Smiling, I called down to where I knew he was waiting by the steps. “Come on up.” He always waited until I gave him the okay; he didn’t like to bother me while I was working.
I’d created a studio that was filled with light and color. We’d added heating and cooling so I could work up here year-round, and I’d purchased oodles of supplies. I’d kept some of the dressed mannequins; the colors they wore had become an inspiration for me and helped me get back into this world.
Caroline and Simon had come up to visit a few months ago, and when I showed her what I’d been working on she’d flipped. She purchased two paintings on the spot for clients, and asked me for ongoing updates on new pieces. It seemed I had a new career.
I’d carefully packed up all of the paintings by Aunt Maude and sent them to Mr. Montgomery, who was overwhelmed but very grateful. That was their story, and I was glad that the paintings had found a new home.
Over my head in my home was a new roof, and two floors down was a newly restored staircase with a new balustrade. The woodwork throughout the house gleamed once more, the floors shone, and the front porch was hole free.
And the Legless Knight still stood proudly in the corner of our bedroom, watching the sea for pirates.
Clark had moved in almost immediately. Was it too soon? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I loved him so utterly and totally that I wanted him around all the time. I asked him, he agreed, and just like that, we were living together. And we’d taken over the master bedroom. It seemed fitting, and we needed the space, frankly. He had more tweed jackets than I’d realized. Turns out that cedar closet was pretty useful.
I heard a whinny from out back, and I crossed to the window to look out at the barn. Nina, a veterinary student who had taken over caring for the animals, was exercising Paul and Paula in the pasture. Hank was long gone. We saw him around town occasionally, usually with a big-boobed blonde. Clark always held me a little tighter and his hands were a little handsier when we ran into him. I liked that. Was it wrong in this day and age to want to feel possessed by a man? Who cares; I liked it. He owned my ass 100 percent.
I heard my librarian’s steps crossing the wide planked flo
ors and he scooped his arms under my breasts and kissed my neck. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” he murmured, his mouth nibbling at the curve of my shoulder. Goose bumps formed instantly, and I leaned back into him as his hands dipped lower and rested on my tummy. He was obsessed with the little bump there, which wasn’t so little anymore.
Oh yeah. Clark was going to have a house full of kids, if he had his way. And he had his way with me frequently. The hormones I was experiencing made me crave his touch even more than before this wonderful surprise happened.
The day he found out he was going to be a father, he pulled a ring out of the top drawer in the dresser, fell to his knees, and asked me to marry him. Then he passed out cold from excitement. When he woke a few moments later, lying with his head in my lap, he told me that he was the luckiest person on the planet.
Second luckiest.
“Vivian,” he said, my name always sounding so perfect when he said it. Only he got to call me that, and only he ever would.
“I’m hungry,” I said, suddenly famished. “Let’s get pizza and then go for a drive.”
“Butcher Block?”
“Aw yeah,” I answered, turning in his arms to clasp my hands behind his neck. “Then we can go park somewhere along the beach and make out like teenagers.”
“Impossible woman,” he whispered into my ear, pressing a kiss just beneath it and making me squeal.
“Come on, Clark, feed your impossible woman,” I said with a laugh, and we headed downstairs.
And after the pizza, we didn’t even wait to find a beach. We just put the convertible top up and fucked just off the highway. That’s how this romance novel ends. And when my librarian pushed deep inside me and whispered the naughtiest, filthiest things imaginable about what he wanted to do to me?
It really was my own happily-ever-after.
About the Author
Photo by Lisa Nordmann
After working for years in the cosmetics industry as a makeup artist, esthetician, and educator, Alice Clayton picked up a pen (read laptop) for the first time at age thirty-three to begin a new career as author. Having never written anything longer than a grocery list, she soon found writing to be the creative outlet she’d been missing since walking away from the theater ten years earlier. She enjoys gardening but not weeding, baking but not cleaning up after, and is trying desperately to get her long-time boyfriend to make her an honest woman—and also to buy her a Bernese Mountain dog.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Alice Clayton
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First Gallery Books trade paperback edition September 2014
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Cover photograph by Claudio Marinesco
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-4767-6672-0
ISBN 978-1-4767-6675-1 (ebook)
contents
Dedication
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
Screwdrivered (Cocktail #3) Page 23