“In some aspects, yes. Still missing out on the best parts of life, though.”
Fuck. Fuckity-fuck. She continuously stepped, no…dove, head first, into her own traps. Desperately needing to fill her mouth with something, she took a long draw of the whiskey. Subtle layers of smoky heat balanced perfectly with smooth hidden hints of sweet buttery vanilla.
“Umm. That’s delicious. It’s got a little sweetness to it,” she assessed, taking another drink.
“It’s made with a bit of honey.” He shot her a lopsided grin, declining the half empty glass when she handed it back. “Go ahead and drink that one. I’ll get another.”
Gulping down another swig, she licked the wetness from her lips inspecting the flexing of his assets as he moseyed to the bar. A slow burn seeped through every nerve ending she possessed. Carrie Ann could’ve sworn she heard an internal sigh of pleasure from her hooha as it gave a little hug to her nether regions. Peering down at her crotch, she mentally wagged her finger from side-to-side in a scolding fashion. Oh no you didn’t! No, no, no!
Placing the drink on the coffee table, she pushed it out of her reach, and fell back into her book. Summer lowered into the cushions, one foot curled under his thigh, reading what she assumed was a script. She didn’t dare open her mouth until all effects of the alcohol left her body. The term lightweight was an understatement and whiskey always made her frisky.
Somewhere near the end of Chapter Seventeen, some serious action was about to go down, literally, under an oak tree in Montana. After six toe-curling pages of foreplay, the wealthy rancher started to seduce the city girl. He’d unbuttoned her sundress and slipped his fingers into…
“Is your book getting good?”
Carrie Ann jolted wildly at the sound of Summer’s voice.
“What?” she asked breathily. Her head popped up, eyeing him over the pages. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”
“I figured.” He had the nerve to flash a haughty grin. “Your feet are wiggling a lot.”
Color flooded her cheeks. She scoffed, deriding his accusation, but failed to keep the edges of her mouth from lifting.
“You want me to read it to you? Judging by the shade of red you’re turning, I’m guessing it would be far more interesting than these scripts I’m reading.”
Clutching the paperback to her chest like a scared virgin, she attempted to turn the tables, “What are you reading?”
He played along, mercifully. “I’m going over several scripts my agent brought me. One in particular that he swears I’ll be perfect for.”
“You don’t sound very interested.”
“It’s not particularly in my wheelhouse.”
His disinterest surprised her, heightening her curiosity. “What’s it about?”
“The producers are pitching it as an erotic thriller. Think Fifty Shades meets Dexter. He’s a very dark character, which no matter how challenging, it’s just not something I want my name on. Plus, I’m not keen on being fully exposed for the world to see.” A throaty laugh rumbled in his chest. “However, it does have a big number attached to it, so my agent loves it. I can already tell by the premise that I’m not going to take the role.”
She smirked, squirming restlessly in her seat.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s what supposed to mean?”
“You just rolled your eyes at me, like you think I’m full of shit or something.”
“I’m sure your principles have boundaries, but…” she hesitated, shoulders winched up, tossing out an insignificant shrug. “It didn’t seem like you had a hard time making your last movie and it had a nude scene.”
And there it was again. On full display. Ryan Summer’s heart-stopping, cocky, motherfucking smile. “You jealous?”
“No.” She was.
A clash of wills ensued. He stared at her with glazed concentration. Carrie Ann sensed he had more to say, but patiently and silently, weighed his options.
“This might surprise you, but filming that scene has been the biggest challenge of my career.” She could tell he was serious. And it did surprise her. “It wasn’t believable.”
Her lip twitched and eyes took another rotation behind closed lids. She didn’t want to show any reaction, but she couldn’t stop the words from spewing out her mouth. “Looked believable to me. I’m sure practice makes perfect.”
“Practice made it worse. Not to mention, her husband insisted on being on set while filming the scene. He was totally into it.” His features scrunched in disgust. “Who the fuck would want to watch his wife making out with another man?”
Carrie Ann’s eyes drifted shut for a brief moment recalling the scene. Her fingers began to curl into the edges of her book.
“Anyway, it required a private conversation…some keen advice from Tommy for me to get through the scene.” He set the script on the table and stretched his long arm along the top of the couch. “He suggested I visualize Evie, the woman I was dating at the…”
“I know who she is,” she grumbled. Slamming the book on the table, she bolted to her feet, not wanting to have this conversation. By the time she reached the bar, Summer’s fingers hooked around the front of her hipbone.
“Tommy praised my efforts.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“He said, ‘You must really be crazy about Evie. That was one of the most passionate…’”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” she spouted. Jealousy simmered. Carrie Ann couldn’t control it. She was shaking with it.
“I thanked him for the advice—” He spun her to face him, paralyzing her retreat with a solid grip to her arms, “and admitted that I wasn’t thinking about Evie.”
A scalding flash of raw emotions rushed through her veins hitting her chest like a molten red branding iron.
“I was thinking about you.”
A shudder of understanding rolled down her spine one vertebra at a time.
“It’s always you, Red. Always. No matter who I’m with, when I close my eyes, it’s you I see.”
“Are you telling me…that I was set up by Tommy? At the premier?” She yanked her arms free from his grip.
“It’s not like that.”
“Bullshit!” Her jaw clenched. She targeted the center of his broad chest and jabbed him forcefully with her index finger. “When I ran into you at the gym…did you know I’d be there?”
“No. Well, sort of. I’d heard that you’d joined my gym. Shayla mentioned it in passing, but when I ran into you, it was by chance.”
“And the premier?”
His lips parted, but only to draw in an edgy breath of air.
“Where’s that satellite phone? Can I text on that thing?”
“Carrie Ann, this has nothing to do with Tommy. They were only trying to help me out a little. I’ve spent a lot of time with them while…”
“Who is them? If I find out Shayla knew about this…”
“Calm down, Red. Shayla had nothing to do with it. Not really. I had dinner a few times with Tess and Tommy.”
“Give me your phone!” Springing toward him, she shoved her hands in his pockets. Carrie Ann delved through his jeans retrieving the bulky phone from the confines of his back pocket, she located contacts and pushed T.
Tommy Clemmins!!! You are in some serious trouble when I get back! FYI this is Carrie Ann!
“Don’t be mad at them, just because you’re too damn hot-headed to come to your senses. Big deal. So what. He gave you tickets to the premier.”
The phone vibrated in her hand. Hello, my dear. Enjoying Montana?
Between shaky fingers and the thin layer of perspiration gathering on the palms of her hands, she only managed two words. Not hardly!
“I planned to ask you to the premier as my date, but you didn’t even respond to the bouquet of roses I sent for your birthday.”
“I hate roses!” The shrill of her voice cut through the space between them like the swing of an axe.
“
No you don’t.” He shook his head adamantly. “Red roses used to be your favorite.”
“Not anymore.” She was thrown into a panic, bombarded with a dozen urges to unload the burden and solitude she’d been carrying. Her self-control began to wither, anger tipped the scale. “Thanks to you I can’t even look at roses anymore. The smell makes my stomach turn. You ruined it for me. Just like everything else, Summer!”
They both fell silent. Nothing between them, but weighted air saturated with tension and remorse.
“You don’t like roses…because of me?” he ground, more as a painful statement of acknowledgement than a question.
Her eyes aimlessly searched the room, courage nowhere to be found, before landing on his shirtfront. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
He showed zero emotion. “Yes you did. You’ve been holding that in for a long time.”
“Summer,” she said, unsteadily.
He held up a hand in restraint as if warning her off, but not before she caught a glimpse of anguish and turmoil forged across his face as he walked away.
Chapter Nine
‡
Carrie Ann hid beneath her covers, seeking refuge from the deafening cracks of lightning. Huddled on her side, she held one hand over her ear and the other over the pup’s, blocking out the rumble of thunder and high winds howling through the tall trees. Aspen panted, nudging Carrie Ann with her wet nose. Her hand trembled uncontrollably petting her head.
“It’s okay girl. It’s just a storm. It’s just lightning. It’ll be over soon.” She repeated the encouraging words attempting to bolster the tiniest amount of comfort for her and the dog.
Carrie Ann was already wide awake and hanging on every little noise when she heard Aspen’s nails clicking down the hallway in a fast trot. The puppy pushed open the door, scratching and whining at the edge of her bed. It took two whole seconds for Carrie Ann to snatch her by the belly and dive back under the blankets.
Carrie Ann suffered from an abnormal fear of lightning. Each time a bolt of electricity ripped through the heavens it brought back the terrible memory of the night her mother died. The image of her father’s large silhouette sitting at the edge of her bed in the darkness, still haunted her. His grief stricken face unrecognizable, disguised in ashen grey as a bolt of lightning broke through her window. Shadows of his mouth moved in slow motion delivering the horrible news that her mother wouldn’t be coming home. His promise…broken.
The California coastal fog had burned off early that Saturday morning. The calm before the storm delivered an unusually hot June day. The sun shined brightly, warming the top of her head as she played Barbie’s, watching her mom play tennis with a neighbor. Carrie Ann could never remember the precise moment her mother collapsed on the court. Her brain had blocked the horrific memory from her sub-conscious. However, she clearly remembered her father’s promise when he said that everything would be fine. He swore her mother would be okay. All the power her father fought so hard to earn wasn’t powerful enough to save her mother. His promise was broken. Nothing would ever be okay again.
A bright flash exploded in her room as another bolt of lightning crashed to the ground. Carrie Ann screeched out loud. Her feet hit the floor, pup in hand, rushing from her bedroom to the other side of the cabin.
“Summer?” she whispered thickly through the gap in the door. “Summer?”
Nothing had changed. The man could sleep through a tsunami warning. She eased the door open, swiftly tiptoeing across the room. He laid sprawled out on his back in the center of his bed. Silky white sheets draped to his waist. Dark shadows of the night hung in the dips and contours of his bare chest and abs. One arm rested at his side, the other thrown haphazardly above his head. Drinking in the stunning sight of him, she could hardly control her breathing. Her heart beat rapidly, the sound of it pulsed stridently in her ears.
“Summer, are you awake?” Scoffing at her own ridiculous question, she eased a hip onto the edge of his mattress so she could reach him.
He stirred restlessly, rearranging the arm above his head.
Carrie Ann extended an arm, the flat of her hand hovered above his chiseled physique, deciding where to touch him. The outline of muscular thigh bent to the side beneath the silky fabric. Temptation, powerful in its force, pulled at her hand like a magnet.
A shiver ran through her.
Warily, she touched her icy fingers his warm shoulder. “Summer?”
His eyes jarred wide with alarm. Summer lunged upright, swiftly grasping onto her upper arm. “Carrie Ann?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” she croaked. A fine layer of perspiration spread across her skin, dampening the thin material of her cotton tank top.
Mere inches separated their faces. He looked bewildered, blinking repeatedly to see if she was real. His hands wandered to the underside of her jaw, cupping her face. The confusion in his eyes replaced with lust. His fingers delved into her thick mane, gently clasping the base of her skull. The pressure felt divinely good.
“You came to me?” Hope clouded his whisper. His moist breath, rough and strained, drifting across her cheek on a billowy cloud.
Unable to make a coherent sentence, she sat silent, panting and quaking from head to toe. Her hands came to his arms, securing to his wrists, uncertain if she wanted to hold them there or pull them away. Aspen scampered from her lap taking ownership of his pillow.
Thunder roared through the black sky in a long drawn-out rumble, delivering a strike of lightning beyond his window. Her clammy fingers tugged at the dusting of dark hair covering his wrists as she squeezed, digging her nails into the flesh.
Summer dropped his forehead against hers. All the air pushed from his lungs in a deep, disillusioned sound of sympathy.
“Christ. It’s the lightning?” He drew her into his chest, arms closed around her, stroking her hair and back. “Come here, Red.”
She nodded weakly and went limp against him. Gripped by fear, her arms quaked violently, curling around his shoulders. Carrie Ann shimmied to get closer. Summer held her safe and secure, offering constant reassurance. “It’s okay. I’m right here. I got you, Red.”
Over the years, she’d tried cognitive behavioral techniques to calm her fear: soothing massages, visualization exercises, talking herself through the panic, but nothing calmed her nerves like the feeling of Summer’s embrace.
Clutching her shoulders, he coaxed her a few inches from his body. “You want to climb in here with me?”
Glimpsing downward at the sheet pooled around his very naked hips, she shook her head hotly. Her breathing slowly began to regulate, anxiously waiting for the next strike. She trembled from head to toe, peeling her nails from the muscles flanking his spine. “W…will you come sit with me in the living room?”
“Sure.”
Fisting the covers, he moved around her and stepped out of bed. Naked. Staring straight ahead, her lips parted releasing a small gasp, completely mesmerized by the sight of him, semi erect getting harder before her eyes. A shiver tingled up her spine, feeling the ghost of his hand slipping firmly into the mass of hair at her nape. She knew she should look away, but loneliness left her yearning for comfort.
Taking notice of her fascination, he paused. A quirk ticked the corner of his mouth. Summer caressed the side of her face, pinching her chin between his finger and thumb. Her mouth willingly opened a little wider.
“It’s not like you haven’t seen it before,” Summer repeated her words.
His voice slipped over her like the comfort of a favorite blanket, pulling a faint groan from her throat. Begrudgingly, she flicked her eyes upward finding his, but only for a moment. Her gaze dropped to the thick, jutting column protruding from a perfectly trimmed nest of dark hair. Twinges of need stabbed at her core, her chest needled with warning, and her mouth watered.
A flash of lightning weaved across the sky, slamming to the ground. The thunder ricocheted throughout her body. Summer pulled her to her feet and into his arms. Th
e hot, solid length of him, rested against her abdomen with only a thin barrier of cotton between them.
“Your choice, Red. Would you like me to get dressed? Or if you’d prefer I can undress you. We can lay wherever you’d like. In front of the fire, my bed, your bed, the couch, the kitchen table…Hmm? It’s your call.”
The double question struck low in her abdomen, wickedly fingering a pleasure cord as if plucking pizzicato on a cello. The internal vibration wracked her head and heart in confusion. She’d built a barricade around her heart, safeguarding her raw emotions. Being near him the last few days chipped away at the armor. She didn’t know what she wanted. That’s a lie, Carrie Ann Lowell. You know exactly where you want him. As she instinctually licked her lips, she could feel the look of torment etching over her face. Her heart felt as if it were sitting on the stump outside waiting to be chopped in two, but her fucking vagina was ready to give the acceptance speech of a lifetime. I’d like to accept this penis…
He spoke into the curve of her scalp. “Let me throw some pants on and we’ll go lay on the couch. Okay?”
She nodded hotly, staying right beside him as he stepped into his walk-in closet.
“You coming in here with me?”
Her head bounced up and down. “P…power’s off. Besides, I’ve s…seen it before, remember.”
Carrie Ann couldn’t see his face in the blackness of the closet, but she heard him laugh. A shaky exhale, riddled with humor, caught in her chest. Summer’s hand wandered over her shoulder, guiding her out of the closet. She could easily make out the comfy jeans she’d seen him wear the other day, fly unbuttoned, and commando on full display. A bolt of electricity wracked her body, unbridling a deep ache between her thighs and it had nothing to do with the storm and everything to do with his damn jeans.
She could feel a band of soft cashmere wrapped around his fist. “What’s in your hand?”
“It’s the belt from my bathrobe.”
She stopped abruptly. “A belt? If you think for one second that you’re going to tie me up…”
A Taste of Summer Page 15