Man Candy: A Real Love Novel

by Jessica Lemmon

  “No.” I pull a tired smile.

  “Well?”

  “Fine. Worry. But it’ll be in vain. No sense in developing new wrinkles over it or anything.”

  She takes my good-natured ribbing and fills me in on the reason she called. Apparently a farmer called about the land at the back of her property. He wants to buy it.

  “It’s a generous offer,” she says.

  “No shit,” I tell her. The number she mentioned was such a high one, she doesn’t scold me for swearing. That was the right reaction to that amount of money.

  “I don’t want the chores that comes with keeping the land. I have plenty of money. I just want my little house.”

  Her “little” house is 2,500 square feet, so don’t take that statement to heart.

  “Then sell the land.”

  “You won’t be upset?”

  “Why would I be upset?”

  “You used to climb the trees out there. Explore the creek. Camp in the woods.”

  “I’m camping in the woods now, Mom. I haven’t camped in your backyard for nearly twenty years.”

  “That’s a good point.” In the silence stretching between us, I sense more is going on than she’s telling me.

  “Are you sure you want to sell it?” I ask.

  “I don’t need it.”

  “Do you want it?”

  There’s a lengthy pause as she considers. “Whenever I look back there, I picture your father on the riding mower, wearing his hat, cutting down the tall grass. I hated losing that.”

  “I know.” We hated losing him and everything he embodied. “But even if you sell it, there will be grass back there unless the buyer builds a shopping mall.”

  “No, nothing like that,” she’s quick to say. “It’s not zoned for shopping.”

  Mom’s a retired city surveyor. That’s why I don’t ask a million questions. She knows her stuff.

  “Well, then, you can still look out at the field and imagine Dad mowing.” I remember that too. I have the same picture in my head. It brings a smile with the hurt, and I’m beginning to think that’s the way I’ll feel for the rest of my life whenever I remember him. Happy and hurt at the same time. That emotion needs a name. I guess that’s what grief is, isn’t it?

  “I don’t need those acres,” Mom says.

  “But you want it.”

  “I can’t take care of it.”

  “But you want it,” I repeat.

  “I want it. But selling it is more logical.”

  “But you want it. So keep it. Keep paying the landscaping company to take care of it and call that guy back and let him know you’re not ready to sell yet.”

  It’s her choice; she should make the one she wants. God knows not all of us can get what we want, so she may as well. I pinch the bridge of my nose again and resent that my ability to frown has returned with such ease.

  “Hmm. Maybe I could ask him to check back in a year,” my mom says, sounding thoughtful.

  “Tell him it’s a ‘no, not right now.’ Sometimes that’s all ‘no’ means.”

  “I could say the same to you about your girl in Tennessee. Maybe she’ll change her mind later.”

  “Mom.”

  “To know you is to love you.”

  “Mom.”

  “Trust me, son. I’ve known you for thirty-three years. And I love you.”

  Yeah, but she isn’t like Becca. Mom sticks things out. Sees them through. She’s loyal and steadfast.

  And even if Becca were all of those rolled into one, I still have to consider that I’m left with the scars from my last relationship. I loved Courtney and she bailed with no more than a thinly veiled excuse so she could date another guy.

  Becca and I will part ways eventually anyway—she said it herself. Now or in three weeks. Or three months. I’m not big on having another wound to lick in addition to mourning my dad. And I’m not going to try to force Becca to change her mind. I promised her I wouldn’t, and I won’t.

  So our last week together has been reduced to fling status. So what? It’s enough. I have plenty to do when I go back home without maintaining a relationship. Remember what I said about the pancakes and blow jobs and how it should be enough? Well, it is.

  I decided that.

  No.

  I decreed it.

  Come this time Saturday morning, I’ll be packing up and leaving Becca behind in Tennessee. I’ll kiss her goodbye, I’ll climb in my Jeep, and I won’t look back.

  Starting to have second thoughts about naming the recipe after her too. She wants the ties cut? I’ll cut ’em. Right off at the ankles.

  I end the call with Mom and set my coffee cup at my feet while I watch the woodland creatures fly and climb and scurry. I’m deep in thought about nothing at all when I hear the squeak of the screen door.

  Becca walks out, her hair its usual styled mess, a steaming mug in hand. She’s in last night’s clothes, barefoot, and sits in the rocker next to mine.

  After her first sip of coffee, she says, “We literally slept together last night and did not have sex.”

  “Some fling havers were are.” I give her a wink and rock my chair.

  “Sorry to conk out on you. My family wears me out.”

  “Families do that.”

  “Was that your mom on the phone? How is she?”

  Becca looking sleep-rumpled is doing more than stirring my dick to stand on end. She’s making me want to lean back in this rocker and listen to the birds chirp and talk about my mom and the land and how much we both miss my dad. But that crosses several lines we agreed not to cross.

  I keep rocking and say nothing, hoping I don’t have to. Becca’s smart. She figures out the reason behind my silence.

  “I guess asking about your mom isn’t very flinglike either, is it?”

  “You tell me. You ask other guys about their moms?”

  She shakes her head. If I weren’t planning on leaving her behind in a matter of days, I might say it’s a sad head shake. I might sweep her off that chair and pull her onto my lap and tell her everything. About my mom. About my dad. Then I’d listen to stories about her parents. But that’s not who we are.

  Not anymore.

  “I guess the lines are a little blurry.” She wrinkles her nose.

  “You’re in charge of when you come and go, Princess. I’ll give you that.”

  “And that’s all you can give me.”

  “That and a few screaming orgasms.” That’s what she decided.

  I vow to make it as fun for both of us as possible.

  Chapter 22

  Dax

  Tuesday

  I kiss Becca’s neck as I collapse on top of her, supporting my weight on my elbows to keep from smashing her flat.

  “We found our way back.” She grins. Satisfied and smiling.

  Perfect.

  Wonder if my dad’s death had started clouding the way I was with Becca. Losing him made me consider a future with a woman for the first time in a long time. Not that I came here looking for that, but it was stewing in the back of my mind. Then I met Becca and let myself think that she could be my future. I put a lot on her, a lot on myself.

  Now that I’ve gone back to letting things come naturally, my relationship with Becca means only what it should, and no more: that we’re really good at blowing each other’s minds in the sack.

  I lay another kiss on her neck and inhale her soft perfume. Most of the traces of it have faded, but it’s there. I hum against her skin and kiss her again before pulling out and dealing with the condom.

  I walk back to my cabin bedroom from the attached bathroom to find her lying there, sheet pulled to her chest, eyes on me.

  “That smile is what keeps me working hard, Princess.” I climb into bed next to her.

  “Well, you trying so hard is what keeps me coming back.” She rolls over and wraps an arm around me, hugging my rib cage.

  I gently stroke her arm. I suck in a breath and almost ask if things are good wit
h her brother, but it’s better not to sail those choppy waters.

  I reroute with “Work good?”

  “Yeah . . .” Sounds like there’s more to come, but after a second or two, she exhales without saying more. I wonder if she was going to but decided those waters were choppy from her perspective as well.

  Getting used to the new arrangement is taking some doing.

  “It never would’ve worked,” she blurts.

  Assuming she means us, I say nothing. I’m not turning over what could’ve or would’ve been. That’s a dangerous road down which lies regret. I don’t do regret.

  “Me cooking for Grand Lark, I mean.”

  Right. That.

  “I like the office work. I call people and talk to them and answer customer service emails. Ordering the supplies is fun. Oh! And today I shopped for a few wall hangings for the cabins. It was like playing house.”

  I continue stroking her arm and absolutely do not think about how I might be part of her “playing house.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “About the quesadillas recipe . . .” She leans on an elbow, eyes wary as she watches for my reaction. “It’s my gift to you, Dax. Don’t put my name on it. Don’t pay me for it. Please. Take it. I want you to have it.”

  If that didn’t sound like the final nail in the “us” coffin, I’m not sure what would. How about that? We made it. Not many flings are this successful—where everyone walks away with what they want.

  I stroke her cheek with my thumb, then drag that thumb around to her chin as I study her beauty in the fading light from the windows. Truth? I’m not sure I’m getting what I want. She’s given me no choice but to graciously accept, so that’s what I do.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says.

  Becca’s the first to look away. I move my hand down her bare back and, because I can’t resist, around to cup her breast and slide the pad of my thumb across her nipple.

  “What are your big plans for the rest of your stay?” she asks. “I only ask as a dedicated customer service provider of Grand Lark.”

  Cute.

  “Tomorrow I’m going to hike to that spot we were going to hike to before we were rained out.” Rained out and rerouted to a birthday dinner for her dad where I nearly beat the shit out of her brother.

  “You’ll love that area.” She traces circles over my chest and averts her gaze. “If you need a tour guide, I know a girl who would go with you. And she’ll pack a homemade lunch.”

  “Throw in sex on the picnic blanket, babe, and you have yourself a deal.”

  “Really?” She beams.

  “It’s your fling, Princess.” I want her to enjoy every second of it.

  “I’d love to show you around. I can categorize that as part of my job and get a little extra time off to do it.”

  “Not the sex part. I think that’s illegal.”

  “I think sex this good should be illegal, Mr. Vaughn.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “Have you ever considered offering a moonlight escort service for some of your female clientele back home?”

  I slide my palms down her body and pull her on top of me. All my favorite parts of her are now touching all my favorite parts of me. I cup her ass and squeeze. Hard.

  She sucks in a breath.

  “You think I could have a backup career?”

  “I know you could.” One eyebrow hitches in playful seduction, and then she kisses me. After a few deep kisses with lots of tongue, Becca and I find our way back to what we’re good at.

  Me wringing orgasms out of her, and her giving them to me in return.

  Becca

  Wednesday

  I’m sure you want to lecture me right about now, but I know what I’m doing. I know how to have sex and not let it cloud my judgment. I know how to keep the man I’m sleeping with out of my every waking thought.

  Usually.

  Today feels different.

  Dax and I are going on a hike and I’ll be out in the glorious mountains, soaking up the sun, sweating out my demons—and not in the way I’ve been sweating them out lately. Not beneath the two hundred pounds of muscle that is Dax Vaughn. Nope, I’m going to clear my head the old-fashioned way.

  With exercise.

  I wear the outfit I’d planned on originally—short, frayed pale blue shorts that ride quite high on my thighs, Timberland hiking boots and sturdy socks, and a white tank top with a red and black plaid shirt tied in a knot at my waist. Beneath my “lumberjill” outfit I’m wearing the naughtiest underwear I own. I’m taking him seriously about the sex at the picnic thing.

  Dax picks me up at the main building since the hiking area is closer to Grand Lark’s home office. I know it sounds dumb to drive to where you’re going to hike, but there’s no good way to get there from his place without sliding down a ninety-degree hill face.

  His Jeep turns into the parking lot, where I wait under the overhang. The top’s off. The doors are off. A ball cap shields his eyes. He does that one-handed circle thing with the steering wheel to straighten the tires. My pulse flutters at the side of my throat, but I ignore it.

  Of course he’s going to make my heart flutter. I’m looking forward to fantastic food, fantastic sex, and a welcome break from work.

  Toting our lunch in a soft-sided cooler, I hop into the passenger seat. From underneath a pair of reflective aviator sunglasses, Dax gives me a swoony grin.

  “How long we got?” He takes the cooler from my hands and places it behind the seat.

  “I took an extended lunch, so I don’t have to be back for two hours. Ish.”

  “Ish, huh?” He reverses out of the lot as I buckle in.

  “You know me. I like to leave an opening.”

  “Yeah, Princess. I know that about you.”

  Dax has been nothing but supportive for days. Which I’m all for. I think. A nagging voice in the back of my brain speaks up whenever he’s super compliant. I’m trying to ignore it.

  I direct him to the entrance to the woods where we’re going, and after bumping along a path clearly marked no trespassing (Tad posted that sign—the land is his), we come to a stop and park in the sun.

  “This it?” Dax grabs the cooler.

  “I can carry it.”

  “My ass.” He steps out of the vehicle and pulls on a backpack, sliding the cooler’s strap over one broad shoulder.

  I admire the way he moves. The smooth way he does just about anything. He’s wearing a coffee-colored life is good tee. The screen-printed image is a dog holding a marshmallow on a stick next to a campfire. His baggy cargo shorts are deep green, and on his feet: a good ol’ pair of Nikes.

  His cap has a Guinness logo. I wonder if he bought it or if a vendor gave it to him for free because he’s a bar owner.

  “You look amazing,” I say. “I know we’re supposed to be creating distance, but you’re as hot as hell.” I come around the Jeep to stand in front of him. “I thought you should know that.”

  I can’t see his eyes for the dark shades perched on his nose, but his mouth is a flat line. Under those lenses, are his eyes heated with lust or wary with caution?

  “Trust me, Princess, hell doesn’t get as hot as you in those shorts.” He grabs me by the waist and jerks me close, and I grin up at him as I clutch his bicep. I bet I’m resembling a romance novel cover’s heroine right about now. “And you smell too good for words.”

  He leans down and nibbles my earlobe until my grip on his biceps turns into clawing his bare arms.

  Inches from my face, his voice low and growly, he says, “Leave enough time after the hike for me to slide those shorts off your long legs and bury my face between your thighs, yeah?”

  Breathlessly I answer, “Okay.”

  “I want five orgasms. No less.”

  “I can do that,” I say, still breathless.

  He ends the suspense and kisses my mouth, but despite his commanding words, the kiss is gentle and slow. I melt against him.
r />   “Or we could skip the hike altogether?” Oh, boy, I can hear the hope in my own voice.

  “Nope. We’re doing it all. Within two hours’ time, evidently.”

  The hike lasts fifty-five minutes, so by the time we settle on the blanket I packed, we’re cutting it close. We’ve stopped about a mile from the Jeep to eat under a wide shade tree with a view of the pond.

  I pull out the container of chicken salad and gesture to the packed contents. “If we hurry, we can— What are you doing?”

  My question is asked with a smile because there’s not a lot of mystery surrounding what Dax is doing. He undid the button on my shorts and is now sliding the zipper south.

  Next he takes his sunglasses off and tosses them on the blanket, then spins his ball cap around backward.

  So. Freaking. Sexy.

  “Take off your shorts,” he demands.

  “Orgasm number one achieved.” I set aside the food and remove my shorts.

  “Sorry. No cheating.”

  He fists the back of his T-shirt and pulls it over his head, knocking off his hat and replacing it right away. He has to know how hot he looks wearing it.

  He’s ridiculously gorgeous. Wide, tanned chest. Perfect pectorals dotted with flat male nipples. Low-slung, baggy shorts hovering at his hips.

  “Hot.”

  “You’re the hot one, babe.”

  My heart is pounding so hard, it’s a wonder I can’t hear it.

  “On your back, Princess.” He snags the edge of my bright pink panties and pulls them half off my hips.

  I do as I’m told.

  Dax kisses his way up my legs, lifts the left one, and settles one of my heavy boots on his shoulder.

  “Should I take my shoes off? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You can’t hurt me, Princess,” he says, paying particularly close attention to the inside of my knee.

  I drop my head back and let my eyes slide shut, enjoying his mouth as he tongues my inner thigh. Enjoying the warm air and his warmer body brushing against mine.

  “Orgasm número dos.” I squirm, already damp from the attention he’s paying to my leg.

  “I’ll start counting when you start shouting my name, Princess.”

  I feel his smile as he nips me very, very close to where I want his tongue. I jerk to attention, eyes flying open, head lifting. He’s all white-toothed smile and sin.