by Zana Bell
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JAKE WOKE SASS EARLY
on Saturday morning. “The westerlies have kicked in,” he said, clearly excited. “It’s really going off at Shippies, so the boys and I are driving up. Want to come?”
Shaking her head, Sass struggled to her elbows. “Shippies? What time is it?”
“Five o’clock. Shippies—Shipwreck Bay—is a few hours drive north of here, on the West Coast. C’mon, you have to come. It has the longest left-hand break in the world.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “Irresistible as that is, I sadly have to decline your lovely invitation. I’ve got work to do.”
“It’s Saturday!”
“Yeah, and I have a report to write. No,” she said as his eyes narrowed, “I haven’t decided anything yet. But I can make a start on it.”
“Damn right you haven’t decided anything yet. You’ve still got to meet the terns. I’d meant to take you today, but—”
“Yeah, I know, the westerlies. Go on, go. Enjoy.”
“Will do.” Taking her completely by surprise, Jake dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t work too hard,” he ordered, before bounding out of the room and clattering down the steps. Sass stared after him. She couldn’t read anything into it, it was just an impulsive gesture born out of high spirits. Nevertheless, for the rest of the day, as she labored over the report, the memory made her smile.
The guys returned in the early evening, tired but exhilarated. Almost immediately, she and Jake left to have dinner with Moana and Rob before the party.
Never having had a sister, Sass hadn’t known what fun it was to get ready for a party with someone else. She laughed harder than she had in years. Somehow, Moana coerced her into the leopard-print leggings and a black T-shirt so tight her lungs felt constricted. They’d found teeteringly high, wooden heels, and she’d even been persuaded into letting Moana use heated curlers and do her hair in a semblance of the Olivia curly-top style. A vinyl black jacket, all zips and silver studs, completed the ensemble.
“You look fantastic.” Moana stepped back to admire the effect. “Man, I’m good! You look like a babe.”
Sass laughed. “I feel like a hooker. I’m sure I’m going to break my ankle on these things.”
“Get over it. You’ll steal the show.”
“I doubt that. You’re looking pretty hot yourself.”
Moana twisted to study her rear end in the mirror. “Not bad, but I wish I’d shed my baby fat. My backside seems enormous in these jeans. Oh, well, Rob vowed for better or worse, so he’s stuck with me now.”
“I think he’ll come to terms with the idea.”
In fact, Moana was stunning in skintight Levi’s. Her “baby fat” accentuated her curves. She wore a blood-red, off-the-shoulders shiny top, and her black hair fell to her hips. She, too, was wobbling on heels far higher than anything she normally wore.
“What I don’t understand,” she said, “is why our mothers weren’t all crippled. These things are death traps. Let’s see what the guys have come up with.”
As they walked in, the brothers, who’d been sprawled in front of the TV watching sports, got to their feet.
“Nice outfits,” Rob said.
“Drop-dead gorgeous,” Moana mouthed to Sass.
But Sass didn’t need a translation. Jake was taking her in from head to toe. Then he took her in again, lingering this time. She had no trouble interpreting the nod and the quick indrawn breath.
“Looking good,” he said.
Moana rolled her eyes and gave Sass the I-told-you look. “Yeah, well, you two have scrubbed up okay, too.”
So women could also use the laconic understatement, Sass realized. The guys hadn’t done much—both wore jeans and white T-shirts—but there was something swaggering in their manner that was pure Travolta. Maybe it was the big boots, but either could have posed as the Marlboro man.
Moana wasn’t completely satisfied, though. “You can’t go dressed the same. Come over here, Jake.”
He walked up to her suspiciously. She snatched up a large pair of scissors.
“What the—oi, that’s my T-shirt, crazy lady!” But it was too late. She’d already snipped off one sleeve and was hacking at the other. “Attack your husband, not me!”
She shook her head. “First off, I’m not having him strut about and become the target of all the lecherous women of Whangarimu. Secondly, he hasn’t got your biceps.”
“Hey.” Rob protested.
“It’s all right, babe,” Moana explained, “I love you for your brains and personality.”
“Thank you very much,” he retorted, insulted.
“There.” She stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. “Whaddya think, Sass?”
Sass tilted her head and sized him up, starting at his battered Doc Martens and traveling slowly up those long legs, noting the way the denim tightened a fraction on the thighs and molded to his butt. Her eyes moved slowly up the T-shirt that strained over the chest, and she nodded approvingly at the way the ragged edges of the sleeve holes drew attention to the bronzed arms, allowing a glimpse of honed muscles running across his shoulders. This guy was ripped. She looked into his face. He seemed half amused, half annoyed by her appraisal.
“Hmm, not bad.”
Moana high-fived her. “Gonna have you talking like a native before you leave.”
The brothers exchanged glances and shook their heads.
“Totally losing it, but we’re stuck with them now. Shall we go?” Rob said, proffering his arm to his wife.
THE PARTY WAS HELD in a country hall outside town. It was more like a glorified barn, Sass thought, with whitewashed wooden walls and wooden floors. A huge mirrored disco ball hung from the ceiling, which was festooned with balloons and streamers. The blaring music was straight from the seventies and took her back to her childhood, listening to her mom and dad—when he was around—and their friends after she’d gone to bed, playing Fleetwood Mac, Moody Blues, Billy Joel. Oh God, and the Bee Gees, she remembered as Saturday Night Fever began blasting out. How could she have forgotten the Bee Gees?
“I’ll never survive this,” she muttered, and that was her last coherent thought. Alison came racing up in a fifties-style circular skirt and bobby socks, instantly towing Jake off for a dance. He threw Sass an apology over his shoulder, but he didn’t need to worry because some guy with the skinniest legs she’d ever seen, in stovepipe jeans, was already asking her to dance.
All ages and types were on the floor dancing…everything; rock and roll, disco and hip-hop. One of Sass’s favorite moments was seeing Jake do the twist with a kid about eight years old. When he swung her up in the best rock-and-roll tradition, she was grinning like a jack-o-lantern. Sass danced with Rob, with Moana, and with a whole bunch of guys she’d never met before, but who just kept on coming.
She caught sight of Jake from time to time through the crowds, always dancing with a new girl. But no matter how many times he changed partners, they all seemed to wear the same silly, idolizing smile. Man, he must be feeding them some lines to get that reaction. Still, Sass had to admit the guy could dance. His performance of “Greased Lightning” drew an impromptu burst of applause. Sass mentioned this fact to Moana when they finally sat to swig icy beers.
“Those Finlayson boys look okay on the dance floor.” She reckoned she was getting the hang of this laconicspeak, and shrugged off the jacket. She’d been shy about the tightness of her T-shirt but was now way too hot to care.
Moana waggled her eyebrows over her bottle. “Yeah, they’re good, but you’re a pretty mean dancer yourself, Sass. Must be all that barn dancing you grew up with in Texas.” As Sass snorted into her beer, Moana glanced at her watch. “Damn, it’s midnight. We should be getting back to the babysitter. You okay here alone while I go look for Rob?”
“Sure. Glad of the break. My feet are killing me.”
“Ditto. Don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.”
Moana teetere
d off as the opening notes for “You’re the One That I Want” roused a cheer from the dance floor. Sass groaned. Man, this really was hokey—but fun. A shadow fell over her and when she looked up, there was Jake, his hand outstretched.
“We haven’t danced.”
A fact hard to refute. The hand hard to reject.
“Okay.”
She followed him into the crush in the middle of the hall, his smile as much as his broad shoulders clearing them a path. He had nice manners, a good touch with people. Light and easy. But when he turned, she thought again how he was pure Travolta—in a tawny, surfer way. Deep inside, she located her Olivia and, flinging back her shoulders, for the next few minutes let herself respond to the bad boy Jake was playing. They swung together, rubbed and bumped, laughed and kidded around in the strutting, flirty style of the song. Jake’s mop of curls was wilder than ever from the heat, the sweat, the movement, his eyes alight with fun and challenge. He picked her up and swooped her between his legs, then, as if she was no weight at all, tossed her from one side of his waist to the other. The walls of the hall blurred; the only sound was the beat of the music and the silly lyrics with their “oo, hoo hoos.”
For the final notes, he picked her up and spun her around and around. When he put her back on her feet, they were breathing heavily, staring at each other.
“And after that lively number,” the DJ announced, “all you oldies will need to catch your breaths, so here’s a knee-wobbler to take you back.”
As Fleetwood Mac’s “Oh Daddy” began to play, Jake pulled her into his arms. Sass, out of breath, relaxed against his chest. Even in these shoes, she was still not as tall as he was. That was nice. Swaying with him, she closed her eyes, inhaling the clean tang of his sweat, feeling his heart gradually slow. The hand clasping hers was large but gentle. His other hand was at the small of her back, his thumb moving in caressing circles. It made her want to arch and purr. It made her want to stretch so the caress could go up and down her spine. It made her want to run her own nails up and down that bronze back to feel the muscles flex under her touch.
It made her want.
Sharply, she pulled herself together and raised her head. At her sudden movement, Jake looked down, and in the soft light of the dance floor, his pupils were dilated. It was as if he could see into her and, as if hypnotized, she felt unable to break away. DNA sequencing. Had to be, to make her feel this breathless. This weak. This aching and needy.
Stevie Nick’s husky voice came to an end.
“Let’s go home,” Jake said very softly.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
LATER SASS COULDN’T
remember the drive home, except for the image of Jake’s fierce concentration as he whipped along that dark, winding country road at a breathless speed. They didn’t talk, didn’t touch. The agony of anticipation and arousal was suffocating. And delicious. They hurtled down the bumpy driveway and came to a skidding halt outside her cottage. Somehow they made it up the steps to her room and laughed as they collided with the bed. Then there was the blessed, mindless relief of giving vent to their passion. The sex was good; great even. The best sex she’d ever had. Jake was the sort of lover every girl dreamed of. First, he had the body—a body that was pure lean strength and muscle. But he was so much more than that. He’d been fun, flirty, gentle and, yes, demanding, too, and she’d been just as demanding back. He’d roused her to almost screaming point before he’d come in a pounding climax. Twice.
They fell back, side by side. She was satiated, but he didn’t seem to be in quite the same space.
“Um, Sass?”
“Mmm?” She was so drowsy.
“Sass?” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sass, did you by any chance, in fact, um, come?”
Her contentment fell away in a flash.
“What do you mean?”
“I just thought—and I could be wrong—that it wasn’t, well, for you what it was for me. And if it wasn’t, I’m really sorry.”
She sat up, gathering the sheet over her breasts, feeling horribly exposed. “Just what do you mean?”
“I don’t think I gave you an orgasm.”
There it was. He’d said it, and she cursed herself. As a lawyer she knew better than to ask a question she didn’t want the answer to.
“Either time,” he added. “The first, I know I was quick, but the second, I really thought it was going to happen.”
Her worst nightmare had just come true. No guy had ever confronted her about that before. She might have known it would be Jake Wonderboy Finlayson who’d pinpoint her one failing. Still, she wasn’t about to concede anything.
“It was great. One of the best lays I’ve had. So relax, buddy. Your reputation as surf stud is safe with me.”
He drew back to look up at her. “Whoa, hey, there’s no reason to fly off like that. It’s not me I’m worried about. I’m concerned about you.”
“I don’t need your concern. I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m great, just great.”
“Well, that’s okay then.”
She glowered at him for a second, then lay down, the sheet still clutched to her chest. “Don’t you think you should be getting back to your own bed now?”
Ignoring this dismissal, he rolled onto his side, propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. The only light came from the moon, so the planes of his face were rimmed with silver, the hollows of his cheeks dark pools of shadow.
“Come on, Sass. Tell me truthfully. I felt we were both there, that you were wanting it as much as I did. I thought, I honestly thought, we were making the journey together. But when the final moment came…” he paused, searching for the words “…suddenly I felt I was doing it alone. I’d lost you.”
“Goddamn you, Jake Finlayson. We’ve both just had sex for the first time in a year—yes, me, too!—and now you want pillow talk? Just take the sex and shut up.”
He stretched out his hand to smooth away a strand of her hair that was lying across one of her breasts. His fingers were very gentle. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, Miss Pain-in-the. I just care about you and want to know if I did anything wrong, so I can do better next time.”
“Just because I wasn’t screaming your name and going like ‘Yes! Yes!’ you assume I don’t have orgasms?”
His smile was wry. “Something like that, yeah. But it was more than that. I felt I could almost pinpoint the moment you’d slipped off the wave.”
She rolled her eyes. “I might have known a wave analogy was there, just waiting for me. Jeez. I’m really beginning to regret this. I’m fine, so why don’t you head on back to the house and let me get some sleep.”
That tone would have got any sane, sensitive guy out of her hair pretty damn quick, but not Jake Finlayson.
“Hmm.” He regarded her for a minute. She was tempted to close her eyes to show him the conversation was terminated, but she didn’t want him looking at her when she was, well, vulnerable. She chose instead to glare at him. But Jake was undeterred. “Have you ever had an orgasm?” he asked.
“None of your damned business!”
“Well, in this situation it sort of is.” He still sounded apologetic, but with just the tiniest thread of laughter running underneath. Then his tone changed as he asked softly, “Do you ever wonder?”
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. Her ability to stay calm in the toughest court, with the meanest judges and the most hostile witnesses, deserted her, and Sass felt her tears rise.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She dashed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired, so back off, okay?”
“Sure.” He lay back down next to her. And sneaked a hand into hers. A friendly hand. She accepted it and they lay there on their backs, staring into the darkness. Sass felt stupid. No other lover—not that there were that many, considering she was over thirty years old—had ever picked up on her inability to orgasm, and it was something sh
e’d learned to accept. She just wasn’t the climaxing sort of girl.
Didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy sex. She did. It was simply that at the end of it, there was no rocket, no fireworks. She secretly wondered if all those movies and advertisements exaggerated the event. Sure, she’d read the magazines, got the odd book out of the library, but nothing helped. And that was okay, too, because in the end, she didn’t need it. She enjoyed going to bed with men and knew enough to make them come back begging for more. That had been enough for her.
But now Jake had outed her. She’d never felt so humiliated—even more so because of his gentleness. She could fight mockery, but was defenseless against his softer concern. So she decided it was time to out him, too.
“Why did you quit competitive surfing?”
He shifted uneasily and blew out a big breath. Ha. To his credit, he knew exactly what she was doing. “That’s hardly fighting fair, Ms. Walker.”
“I just care and want to understand you better.”
She felt the bed vibrate with his laughter.
“You are such a bitch,” he said amiably.
She smiled into the dark. “You haven’t answered the question, Mr. Finlayson. But here’s another. How did you get into it in the first place?”
“That’s easy. I grew up surfing, but I’d never seen anything like those big waves until I went to Hawaii. It may sound crazy, but in a strange sort of way I felt as if I’d come home. Riding them is terrifying, of course, but man—the rush.” He paused and she could feel him holding his breath, before exhaling long and slow. “There’s nothing like it. Even sex,” he added drily.
“So were you driven by some sort of death wish?”
He shook his head. “Not as such, no. It was more like a flirtation with the idea of death. There’s this sick fascination and a belief that it’s a price worth paying for the sheer exhilaration of one of those rides. Plus,” he added, his tone shifting to self-mockery, “the adulation wasn’t bad, either.”