The Girl He Wants

by Kristi Rose

  We’re still, only our chests dare rise and fall. Suddenly, he lets out a slow breath and straightens, only instead of stepping away he steps closer. He’s pressed against me, my arms trapped between us.

  “You feel that?” he asks.

  Beneath my palm his heart races, thudding energetically. I nod.

  “Yours is doing the same. I can see it jumping right here.” He lowers his lips to the pulse point on the side of my neck and drops a light kiss. “And there’s this.” He licks along my collarbone where a light coat of sexual-tension-induced sweat has popped up. He has it too. On his brow, down his throat.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper and meld between him and the door.

  “You don’t know how you feel or you don’t know what you want?”

  “There’s more at stake,” I argue but return the rubbing.

  “Only if we let it. I want you, Jayne. I want your friendship and I want to take you right here on my friends’ guest room floor. But this job with Brinn will grow and my job with it. Will I be here in a year? Hard to say. There’s so much you haven’t accounted for.”

  He kisses me then. A good one. Hard and fully loaded. It’s a real knee buckler and when he pulls back I’ve a two-fisted grip on his shirt.

  “What do you say?” He kisses me again, this one light and airy.

  “To the shag on Josie’s floor? I say hurry please.” I rub one leg up the side of him, the hem of my dress rising up, exposing my unmentionables.

  Stacy lets out a deep, guttural moan and slides his hand up my thigh. “I mean about you and me avoiding this. Can’t we just have this?” He lifts the edge of my panties and I almost come on the spot. All the nights he’s held me have done nothing to cool my attraction for him.

  Being with him would do me right. I run the argument through one more time and it sounds tired and old. I simply want this. I want to be touched and cherished. I want to be chosen. And Stacy is choosing me.

  “I say it’s too bad you can’t come home with me.”

  “Cordie is staying with Josie tonight. They’re all going to Sea World tomorrow. Heather included.”

  “You aren’t?” I wish we’d shut the hell up and get to what really matters.

  “I have an afternoon meeting with Brinn and another investor. I have all night and all morning.”

  Pippa’s staying with Mum tonight so there’s no need for me to be there.

  “Are we going to do this here or my place?” I say and shudder from the anticipation.

  Gently, he lets go of my panties, but rubs the palm of his hand over me before lifting me up and pushing me harder against the door. “I don’t know if I can wait.”

  “We can make as much noise as we want at my place.”

  He drops me suddenly, stepping back, and rubs his hands over his face before dropping them in front of his crotch. “I’ll give you a ten-minute head start. It’s going to take at least that long to get control of this.”

  Chapter 27

  “What’s the matter?” Pippa hands me an apron.

  I blink several times and force back the exhaustion. The hot kitchen and six pieces of fish I’d inhaled ten minutes earlier haven’t helped.

  “Nothing. What are you going on about?” I slip the apron over my head.

  “Because you’ve yawned about twenty times in the last two minutes. And you put the apron on inside out.”

  I look down, yawn, and forget what we were talking about.

  “Oh, my God, maybe you’re deficient with vitamins. I have a pack here. Take two doses.” She rummages through a hemp hobo bag and pulls out a large brown bottle with no label.

  “I’m not deficient. Just tired.” I plop on to Dad’s stool and stretch my legs in front of me.

  I’ve gone barmy from getting my end all night long. And I don’t feel like a dirty slapper who’s had a leg over on her neighbor. I feel satiated. Balanced. Like I can breathe.

  I smile, rest one arm on the counter, and lean into it. Then I sigh and wink at Pippa, whose mouth falls open long enough to net a fly, and then, I suppose, she figures it out.

  Pippa claps and lunges at me at the same time, startling me to where I almost fall off the stool.

  “You slept with Stacy!” She throws her arms around me, taking me off the stool.

  Praise the yoga gods that she has such amazing upper body strength as she manages to balance us enough that our fall is more graceful than I could ever execute. Needless to say we land with an oomph and Pippa on top.

  “You’re mad,” I say as she straddles me. It reminds me of our childhood when she’d ask me to spot her in some gymnastic pose or something of the sort before she found yoga. The end result the same, me on my back and Pippa on top.

  “Good for you, you daft hen,” she says, hands on hips.

  “I beg your pardon?” I push her off and roll over.

  “You’re boffing Stacy.” She rolls her eyes. “And you tried to set us up. Crikey you’re a lost cause.” She scoops up a handful of flour and tosses it at me.

  “Let’s not share this with the group. It could end tomorrow, so why get everyone worked up?”

  “So long as you get worked up, all is well.” She wags her brows at me.

  I scoop up my own handful and blow it in her face. “Oh, no! You’ll melt. It’s not organic flour,” I say and toss a second handful.

  “Get stuffed, you manky slapper.” She tosses two at me.

  Within moments we’re covered in flour and once again hugging each other.

  “I’m a mad cow, you know,” I say, wiping a heavy streak of flour from above her brow.

  “Why so? Because you’re shagging someone you really like instead of someone you tolerate?” Even covered in flour, she sets about finishing the scones.

  “This is going to hurt when it’s over,” I say and plop back onto Dad’s stool. “Sometimes that’s all I can think about and it’s terrifying.”

  Pippa stops, staring at me, her mouth working to find the words, her hands still deep in dough. She sighs, shifts, and looks away, her gaze fixed on something other than me.

  It was a secret I’d been holding on to. A fear I was afraid to give weight to with words and now that I have, I wish with all my being I could take them back. Having my fear out there leaves me vulnerable and scared and wondering if perhaps I should schedule another trip out of town. Far out of town, like on a different continent. Only I can’t leave Mum and Dad or the shop and that only makes the panic more present, a tiny buzzing in the back of my mind.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally says and takes her hand from the dough, crosses her arms, and levels me with a stare. “For once in your life you have a chance to feel something wonderful. Something magical and yet you sabotage it. One night and I bet you’ve looked at flights to Italy.”

  “And you know this how?” I attack her because it’s safer. She’ll love me no matter what.

  “Because I watched Josie fall in love, I see Kenley and Doug, and now Paisley and Hank. Because I believe in love and its healing powers. Maybe I’m a romantic. Maybe I’m a realist and the rest of you are all cowards because you all go kicking and screaming but me...not me. I would rush into love’s waiting arms and hold on until either forever or it unravels in my hold, whichever came first.”

  I lay my head on the counter, covering my eyes with my arm. “What about Cordie? She might get the wrong idea. Might think something permanent will come from it,” I say from between the folds of my arms.

  “Maybe something great will come from it. You aren’t the first woman he’s dated or slept with and you might not be the last.”

  I send her a glare.

  “But embrace this, Jaynie. Make good memories for all of you. Love rewards the brave,” she says, never wavering in her stare down.

  Love rewards the brave.

  I’m not being so brave right now. A bit of a prat actually.

  I smile up at Pippa.

&n
bsp; “All done are we? Can I put the pram away? Going to be a big girl now?” she says, her smile broad.

  “Sod off.” I sit up again. “I can be brave.”

  “Trying to be brave is enough, too.”

  “When did you get so clever?” I ask and hand her the cutter for the scones.

  She smiles and turns back to the dough, punching out the round shapes. “I’ve always been. Question is when did you get so clever that you finally figured it out?”

  I toss back my head with laughter. “Too right, Pip.” I’m cut off from saying anything further by the ringing of her phone.

  “Answer that, please.” She turns her backside to me so I can take out her phone.

  I show her the screen that reads Logan Ikert. Pippa freezes, hands pushing down on the cutter, her face suddenly pale even under all the flour.

  “Pippa Clarke’s phone,” I say while staring at my cousin. I kick her softly on the side of the shin to spur her into action.

  “Hello,” says the richly deep male voice.

  I arch a brow at my cousin.

  “Hallo,” I return.

  “May I speak with Pippa, please? Tell her Logan Ikert is calling.”

  “One moment, please.” I press the mute button. “What’s happening here?”

  Covered in flour from head to foot, she calmly washes her hands and dries them before taking the phone from me. “Logan owns one of the most popular yoga studios in the States. He modeled it after the one in India. That’s where we met. Travel magazines everywhere rank it as either the best or second best in the world.”

  Impressed, I ask the next logical question, “What do you think he wants?”

  She shrugs. “Let’s find out.” She takes the phone and taps the mute button and then speaker and holds the phone between us. “Hallo, Logan. I have you on speakerphone because I’m working at my aunt’s pub. I hope you don’t mind. I’m surprised to hear from you. It’s been how long—”

  “Two years since we saw each other last, but three months since I sent you that email about the spa in India. I just saw their press release about the new hire. I’m sorry, Pippa. When I found out they had an opening I thought you were a sure thing. They’re dumbasses for not taking you on.”

  Briefly, Pippa purses her lips. “Thanks, Logan. I won’t lie and say it didn’t hurt.”

  “Do you still work for them?” He’s an American, his accent is more northern if I’m correct, and whoever he is has Pip all flustered. She’s wiped her brow four times already.

  “No, I gave notice last week. They asked me to come for the holiday season and I resigned.” Her eyes dart to mine and I cover my gasp with my hand. In the madness of all our family drama, Pippa was giving up her dream.

  I want to weep on the spot.

  “Fabulous.” We hear him clap his hands together.

  “I’m sorry?” Pippa says with such an air of indignation, Logan Ikert is scrambling over the line. We hear him fumble the phone and sputter.

  “Christ, I didn’t mean it was fabulous you quit. Well, that’s not true. It is fabulous that you no longer work for them. All I meant was that you being a free agent and all, forgive the sports analogy, that means I can extend an offer I’ve been waiting two years to do.”

  “I’m afraid you’ve left me confused, Logan.” She looks at me and rolls her eyes.

  “I want you to work for me. I want you at my retreat. I want to give you what they were too stupid to do.”

  Pippa staggers and plops onto my lap. “Work for you?”

  “Does that offend you?” He’s quick to ask.

  She’s just as quick to respond, “Absolutely not. I just...it’s just....”

  “You’ve blown her mind,” I say into the phone, taking it from Pippa’s hand. Fat tears are rolling down her cheek. “Hallo, this is her cousin Jayne. I apologize for eavesdropping but it looks like it’s come in handy as my cousin has been rendered a mute.”

  Logan laughs. It’s a nice, easy laugh. “So you think she’s interested?”

  Like a manic bobble head, Pippa nods.

  “Oh, I’m quite certain she’s interested.”

  “Can she start in two weeks?”

  I raise a brow, looking at Pippa. The struggle is clearly written on her face. Cordie, Mum, Dad, and the pub have all become part of her day, where she’s needed. I know she wants to say yes and I know she wants to say no.

  “Well, there’s the issue of her work visa.”

  “If she can get me her specs, I can get my lawyers on it today,” Logan says.

  “Specs? You mean her information and the like.” The businesswoman in me wants everything to be clear.

  “Exactly.”

  “How about three weeks?” I say making an executive decision while mentally scrolling through the calendar.

  “My uncle’s ill. He’s having a surgery tomorrow and possibly another surgery in two weeks,” Pippa finally chimes in. “I want to be here for that.”

  “Absolutely. The schedule will be very flexible. Even afterward, you can take time off as you need. Welcome to the family, Pippa. I’ve been wanting to say that for a long time.”

  I take the phone off speaker and hand it to Pippa. I squeeze her hand before I leave her alone to finish out her business. Once out front in the restaurant, I make a list on my phone of things the pub will need to have in place before Pip leaves and a second one to organize her going away/congrats party. I text Josie the specifics.

  Her response: Let’s make the party happen Wednesday. My place. 8.

  Then I unwrap the fortune cookie I tucked on my skirt pocket this morning after Stacy left.

  Some inspiration would be welcome. It reads: Don’t be grumpy, be grateful.

  Chapter 28

  When we arrive at Josie’s, it looks as if the event has been planned for ages, not two short days. Chinese lanterns in various colors hang from the arbor. Flickering candles light the way around the fire pit and reach out to the beach. A buffet of food, all healthy, is spread on a long table that rests against the house on the deck.

  I stare down at a veggie tray, my stomach growling, but nothing looks enough to feed my hunger.

  “There’s cheesecake in the fridge inside,” Josie says in my ear.

  “I see a spinach dip that I might be able to choke down, but must I only have celery sticks as the mode for which to deliver it?” I load my plate with celery and carrot sticks because the truth is I want some of that dip. The stress of everything, Mum, Dad, Pippa, and even Cordie and Stacy makes me want to wallow in the goodness of junk food. I want biscuits with chocolate, onion-flavored crisps, and chips saturated in malt vinegar. With Pippa staying at my flat, I’ve had enough vegetable to hold me for the year.

  Josie reaches across me and puts out two plates, one of fried rice and the other sweet and sour chicken.

  “Bless you,” I say and scoop the veggies back onto the tray. I feel safe in doing so as I’ve not touched them with anything but the tongs Jo set out next to them, and I need the room for the rice and chicken. I load my plate and find a quiet corner where I can devour it in peace. Time has sprinted away at a breakneck speed and I need a moment, a long one, to process everything that has happened. Dad’s pacemaker surgery went well with no complications. Hallelujah! Unfortunately, the two procedures weren’t enough and though we’d hoped to avoid it, Dad was scheduled for his last procedure, the valve replacement. After which Pip will pack her hemp and cotton clothes and be gone again. I know I should find comfort that she’ll be in the same country but part of me wonders if having her in town takes off some of my burden with Mum and Dad and that’s why I want her to stay.

  See Jayne be a bloody awful selfish person.

  I’ve cleaned my plate without realizing it and glance to the buffet only to find Stacy there with Cordie. How had I missed them coming in?

  He glances up at me as he’s loading a plate for her and winks.

  Cripes,
my taste for food has been replaced by my craving for him. He’s wearing a ball cap, has it pulled so it shades his forehead but not his eyes. He’s in a Henley I picked up for him on a whim, figuring if he were from the Pacific Northwest he’d like it. I’d been correct and the fit was spot on. He moves with the grace of mountain cat and for a guy who I likened to nerd quite early in our acquaintance, he’s shown me that people are more than the one thing we first think.

  I mean, I knew that. Everyone does. But mostly people don’t think nerd and mountain lion in the same context, yet that’s Stacy. Because out of his back pocket sticks a small notepad and pen, tools I’ve seen him use to jot down thoughts or equations. The dichotomy is as much confusing as it is attractive.

  Sweet heavens it is oh-so-very attractive.

  That’s when I know why I waffle the way I do. Why he’s not cut and dry for me. If he were an outright player, the score would be known. The outcome understood and expected. If he were a hundred percent a sweet pliable bloke, again the outcome would be known. But the predator in him, the trait that makes him a sharp business man, not only has me fantasizing about him long after he’s left my bed but shaking with want to my very core.

  Needing space, room to stretch my thoughts, I toss my plate in the rubbish bin and escape the group through a side door, hoping Josie’s cheesecake has been pre-sliced so if I nick one now no one will be the wiser.

  The thankfully assorted and sliced triangles are in the fridge and I select one with chocolate. I strip away the thin sheet of parchment, lick that clean, and stare intently at the slice, trying to decide which way is best to devour the scrumptious morsel of courage. All at once or in small bites? Either way, sustenance gives me strength.

  “Hey,” Stacy says behind me and I turn, cheesecake in hand. Heat climbs up my neck.

  “Hallo,” I say.

  He steps closer, his smile large and inviting, and lowers his head for a kiss.

  BAM! The bill of his hat collides with my forehead.

  “Yowl,” I say and lean back.

  With a swiftness I’ve come to read far more into than I should, he flips the hat backward, steps one space closer, and goes for the kill.