by Anna Argent
He tabled the news about the roof for now. It could wait until after dinner, when he could find a way to get her completely out of earshot of Aunt Beth. Maybe ask her to go on a walk with him. Or take her over to his place.
Where he could have her all to himself, near a bed, in private.
He could almost imagine her laid out naked on his bed, her dark hair fanned out, her long, tan legs spread wide while he moved between them—first tasting her, then fucking her.
"…don't you think?" she finished asking.
"What? Sorry. I drifted off for a second."
His cock throbbed now, and he had no illusions that the swelling was going down any time soon.
"I asked if you thought I should stick with the classics: apple, cherry, blueberry. Or if I should mix it up."
She was still talking about pies, he realized. "Like what?"
"Nothing too crazy. Maybe ginger peach, or pear and cardamom. I made a lemon buttermilk pie with saffron once that was lovely. Do you think that's too foodie for Whisper Lake?"
He didn't know what half of those ingredients were, so it was hard to say. "I think you should start with the basics, then work a few curve balls in a little at a time."
She nodded, her ponytail swaying. "That's what I thought, too. I don't want to mess up this job before I even start."
"You might check with Marilyn Jessup."
"Who's that?"
"She's the woman who runs the Chez Bourgeois Café on the square. Her daughter—Lulu—she was the one who came in asking for straws and napkins today. Marilyn might like some pies for her cafe, too."
"Surely she has her own source for baked goods."
"She does, but they're awful. She started her café shortly after Aunt Beth's accident, so she was never able to order from the best. Whoever her supplier is now, they suck. Word has gotten around town and her business is starting to suffer."
Gemma beamed. "Good idea. I'll check with her tomorrow. Thanks."
Something warm expanded in his chest. He liked pleasing her, helping her. He wondered how soon he could do it again. "Sure."
A timer dinged. Gemma opened the oven and bent over to take something out. Every other thought in Saxon's head melted and ran out his ears.
He really wanted to strip those tiny shorts off and fuck her from behind. He could bend her over the table where he sat, get a good grip on her hips and slide in nice and deep…
The fantasy took on a life of its own, growing and expanding until he could see nothing else but her. Bent over. Hair wild. Legs spread. Breathing hard. Begging for more.
"I hope you're hungry," she said as she set a perfectly golden, family sized pot pie on the table.
Steam wafted up from the surface, bringing to him the scent of onions and chicken mixed with a buttery crust.
His mouth watered, but he knew no amount of food was going to ease his hunger. Only Gemma could do that.
***
Saxon wore the strangest look through dinner. Gemma had no idea what it was, but he was definitely distracted by something.
She kept up a light conversation with Aunt Beth, steering clear of anything having to do with the bakery. As it was, Gemma had already had to lie about why she couldn't use the ovens there instead of here in the kitchen to bake her pies for Flora. The fewer lies there were between them, the better.
Saxon's contribution to the conversation was minimal, but he laughed at the old stories Aunt Beth told about when his dad and uncles were children. The Grace boys would work for cookies, so she was always having to think up new tasks she needed done so she wouldn't have to deny their hopeful faces.
"Not much has changed," Saxon said. "My cousin Conlan was just telling me today he'd do anything for a batch of your oatmeal raisin cookies."
"The sheriff?" Aunt Beth held her hand to her bosom. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "He's moved on to bigger and better things. I figured he'd forgotten all about my cookies."
"No, ma'am. We all still miss your treats. We can't wait until you're back in business."
Aunt Beth's flush of pleasure faded, melting before Gemma's eyes as if she realized just how far a journey she had left on the road to a full recovery.
Gemma covered her aunt's hand. "You'll be back in the bakery before you know it."
Aunt Beth flashed a brief, lifeless smile and said what was expected of her. "I'm sure you're right. If you two will excuse me, I'm going to head on to bed."
Saxon jumped up and positioned her walker so she could climb to her feet. Her movements were slower than usual, making Gemma wonder just how much pain her aunt was in.
"Are you sure I can't get you a pain pill?"
Aunt Beth had staunchly refused them since Gemma's arrival, and she expected the same answer she always got.
Instead, Aunt Beth nodded slowly. "I think that would be for the best, dear. Thank you."
***
Saxon couldn't cook worth shit, but his mama had taught him how to clean. By the time Gemma was back from helping her aunt to bed, he'd already finished washing the dishes.
"You didn't have to do that," Gemma said.
"No problem." He laid the damp dish towel over the oven door handle to dry and turned to face her.
It was time to tell her about the rooftop damage and how it hadn't been an accident, but the second he saw her, he knew that he wouldn't tell her tonight.
Worry tightened her mouth and made twin creases between her brows. The golden sparks that lit her brown eyes were missing—slain by stress and fatigue.
The need to fold her in his arms and hold her was nearly as overwhelming as his earlier fantasies of bending her over the kitchen table. As much as he still wanted to do that, there was something in her face that took the edge off his lust and made him want to simply hold her.
She moved to a drawer and pulled out a box of plastic wrap to cover the leftovers. "I've got this. You don't have to stay."
But he wanted to. He wanted to sweep away all of her fears and burdens and bring back her smile.
Saxon took the box from her fingers and set it down. He captured her hands in his and looked her right in the eyes. "You're doing too much. You can't keep up this pace if you're going to be in any shape to take care of Aunt Beth. It's a marathon, not a sprint."
Gemma pulled in a deep breath, then let it out. "I know that. Intellectually, I do. But there's so much to be done. I haven't even started on the bakery menu or sourced suppliers. I don't even know if Aunt Beth's suppliers will work with me since she dropped them all so suddenly."
"I'm sure they'll understand."
"Even if they do, it won't make a difference if the building isn't done."
"I'm taking care of that part."
"And it's too much. It kills me that I don't have the skills to do the job myself."
There was something she wasn't telling him. He could see her eyes cloud over, shielding whatever thoughts were going through her overstressed mind.
Saxon pressed her hands to his chest, willing her to feel his strength and steadiness. "It's not too much. I'm here for you. It's okay to lean on me."
"I barely know you. One shouldn't burden strangers with their troubles."
For some reason, it stung that she thought of him as a stranger. Sure, he grew up in an area where everyone knew everyone and she hadn't, but that didn't mean he was a stranger—that he didn't care.
"You're tired. It's been a long couple of days. Why don't you get some rest and see if things don't look better tomorrow morning?"
She gave him a shallow smile and nodded. "I'm sure you're right. I didn't sleep at all last night. What I really need is some shuteye."
He thought of about ten ways he could make sure she fell into a blissful, exhausted sleep, but said nothing. She didn't need to know how badly he wanted to find out what she tasted like, or how desperately he needed to learn how she sounded when he made her come. Instead, he let go of her hands and stepped back, his honor intact.
"I'll be at th
e bakery working first thing tomorrow. The lumber yard is bringing materials over, and I'll be able to get to work. That should put your mind at ease."
"It does. Thank you, Saxon." She leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss on his cheek.
The feel of her lips on his skin zinged through him like lightning, sparking every nerve ending to life. His blood warmed and pulsed through his veins in an uneven rhythm. To his dismay, his hands began to shake.
He wanted more from her, but knew it wasn't going to happen. At least not tonight.
But he would have her. That was no longer his choice to make. She could always say no and he'd walk away, but if she gave him even the slightest opening, he was going to take it. Take her.
But for now, he simply took the brief peck she offered and savored just how sweet a little taste of heaven could be.
Chapter Eleven
Beth Fortier lay in bed, staring at her ceiling.
She felt every one of her seventy-one years tonight, and while each one weighed on her, it was the twenty-four years of her marriage that dragged at her bones until it was all she could do to simply breathe.
Walter had been a good man. A wonderful husband. He'd given her the best twenty-four years of her life.
And she had betrayed him.
The kiss she'd shared with Cotton Cyrus had been brief, but it could never have been called chaste. Even at sixty-eight, the man still burned with a passion men half his age could only dream about.
She'd had that kind of passion once, too. When she was young and fresh. But she was so far past her prime now, she didn't know how a man like Cotton could even look her way twice.
But he had. Boy, had he.
She was going to have to call him tomorrow and tell him she couldn't see him again—that she'd find other transportation to physical therapy. Gemma was busy, but maybe she could find a way to work it into her schedule.
As much as Beth hated asking for help, there was no other choice. She couldn't be alone with Cotton again. She couldn't kiss him—a younger man—again. It was too shameful.
What would Walter say?
She knew he was dead, and that was where her marriage vows had legally ended, but the bond they'd shared had been stronger than mere laws.
They'd shared a soul.
Tears welled in her eyes—both those of shame for what she'd done and those of yearning to do it again.
She didn't want her life to be over. Not yet. She wanted to live. To love again. But how could she? How could she do that to the man who'd claimed her heart all those years ago?
She couldn't. That kiss had been a momentary lapse of good judgment—a side-effect of the pressures her life had forced her to bear. Cotton was sweet and charming and attentive, and she'd let that sweep her away like some kind of schoolgirl. But she wouldn't do it again.
"I'm sorry, Walter," she whispered, hoping that her husband would hear and understand that she'd never meant to hurt him. "I'm so sorry."
But when Beth closed her eyes and drifted off into the vivid dreams her pills induced, it wasn't Walter's handsome, young face she saw. It was the sweet, weathered, wrinkled smile of Cotton Cyrus.
***
Gemma finished the pies she'd promised Flora, cleaned the house, did laundry, and caught up on Aunt Beth's bills. It was nearly midnight, but she still couldn't sleep.
Again.
She walked out onto the front porch to get some fresh air, hoping it would clear her head and help her relax enough to sleep.
The smell of spring was heavy on the air, filled with the green scent of freshly cut grass and damp earthiness of the lake nearby. Overhead, a billion stars sparkled like glitter cast across black velvet.
The surrounding houses were dark, with only an occasional porch light here and there.
Across the street, Saxon's house was also dark except for the flickering blue glow of a TV screen shining through the open blinds.
He was awake.
Instantly, the need to go to him called to Gemma, tempting her with his solid strength and rock steadiness. She always felt better when he was around—like the weight she carried around was somehow lighter because of his presence.
It wasn't fair for her to use him like that, but she was overwhelmed, overstressed, and overwrought. If she was to have any hope of sleeping tonight—which she desperately needed—she needed to find a way to calm down. Relax.
The idea of begging him to fuck her into oblivion flitted through her mind like a naughty little fairy bent on self-destruction.
Gemma didn't sleep around—at least not casually. She cared for the men she let in her bed. It was the only way she could put herself in such a vulnerable position. She couldn't have sex with a man she didn't trust.
You can trust Saxon, the naughty little fairy whispered. You've known him for years. Aunt Beth has known him all his life and she's firmly on Team Saxon.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep driving her, or the way he made her skin ache for even a little touch, but she made a decision then and there that she was going to march her ass over there and…what?
Sleep with him?
Maybe, whispered the fairy.
No. She was going to talk to him—soak up the calming effect he had on her. And then, when she was all relaxed and sleepy, she'd slip back across the street and into her comfy bed.
Gemma had taken two steps when she realized that she had no reason she could tell him for why she'd come. She sure as hell couldn't tell him she was going to just hang around and use him for his calming effect. He'd laugh his ass off.
A plan surfaced quickly. She rushed back into the house, got what she needed and marched across the street.
Chapter Twelve
The knock on Saxon's door was so faint, he almost wasn't sure he'd heard it.
He glanced at the clock, saw it was nearly midnight. His grandad would have said that the only thing that knocked on a door at this time of night was trouble.
His cousin's mention of meth labs in the woods and tweakers running rampant gave him pause. Still, better it be he who answered the door to trouble than one of his little old neighbors.
Saxon peered through the sidelight to see Gemma standing there, looking tired and uncertain.
He swung the solid wooden door wide as his heart kicked into a faster gear.
He'd spent the evening thinking about her as he aimlessly flipped through channels, hoping something could catch his interest. Nothing had even come close to the scene playing out in his mind of her bent over the oven, with a faint hint of the smooth, firm curves of her ass peeking out at him.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, and then before she could answer, "Come in."
She hesitated for a moment, but he wasn't about to let her slip away, not before he found out what had driven her from her aunt's house at such a late hour.
Saxon wrapped his fingers around her bare arm, reveling in the feel of her skin under his grip. He pulled gently, being careful not to dislodge the hold she had on a pie plate covered in aluminum foil.
"I brought pie," she blurted, as if that somehow explained her presence.
"Pie?"
She nodded, biting her plump lower lip. "Apple. I know you like cherry, but it wasn't cool yet."
He waited for her to offer him the pie, but she held fast, clutching it to her chest like a shield.
"Gemma, is everything okay?"
Her jerky nod made the ponytail on top of her head sway. "Yeah."
She scoured his home with her gaze, taking in the Spartan décor and sturdy, masculine furniture. There was a messy stack of mail on the coffee table he hadn't yet bothered to sort, along with a bowl of burnt microwave popcorn he'd tried—and failed—to choke down. The bitter stench of it still lingered in the air, potent, but not so strong that he couldn't smell the cherry and buttercream scent of her skin.
She wore a smear of cherry pie filling across one cheek, and her eyes were wide and uncertain.
His natural desire to lead stepped up
and took charge of the odd situation.
He led her by the arm to his kitchen table where he pulled out a chair and lowered her into it. She still hadn't relinquished her pie.
"Would you like a drink? I have some soda, beer, coffee and sweet tea."
"Did you make the tea?" she asked, her tone almost fearful that he might say yes.
A bubble of humor rose in his chest, but he didn't dare laugh. She was clearly in some kind of distress.
"Why?" he asked, all innocence.
Her face went pink with embarrassment. "It's just that I saw what you did to that poor popcorn, and I was just wondering what horrors you might have inflicted on a perfectly innocent bag of tea."
He'd eaten a few bites of the charred popcorn. Her concerns weren't without merit.
"I buy it by the gallon from Flora. You're safe."
She let out a sigh of relief. "Good. I'll take tea."
He filled two glasses and sat down beside her. She still hadn't set down the pie. It remained clamped in her hands, held tight against her chest.
"Gemma, why are you here?" he asked, his tone low and gentle.
"The pie…"
"Yes, I know. You brought pie. But why did you bring it so late? Is something wrong?"
"I wanted to sleep. I tried to wear myself out. God knows I'm exhausted."
"But you couldn't sleep?" he guessed.
She nodded. "I saw your TV was on. Thought you might like pie."
That didn't explain why she'd come inside or why she was sitting there like the only thing standing between her and a monster was said pie.
Saxon pulled the glass dish from her fingers and set it on the far side of the table. He took her hands in his, hoping she'd look at him so he might figure out what was going through her head.
"Gemma. Honey. What's going on?"
Her gaze lifted then, and hit him like a battering ram. All the air whooshed from his lungs, leaving him breathless.
She was so beautiful, he didn't know how he could stand looking at her even one more second, and yet he didn't know how he'd survive if he didn't keep looking at her.