He's the One

by Cat Johnson

  She stiffened. “Cars cost money,” she said. “I only live four blocks from the diner. I don’t mind walking. Molly picks me up on rainy days.”

  Brad’s jaw set. She didn’t have a car. He bet her sister had one, even if it was a junker. He couldn’t fault Vi for being a giver, but Lydia would take and take until Violet had no more to lend.

  He would buy Violet a vehicle of her choice someday when she stepped back and made Lydia stand on her own two feet. He was a patient man.

  Looking around him now, he noted that they’d crossed into Olde Barefoot William, where the majority of the Cateses lived. The streets were quiet and the old Florida-style cottages were quaint. The homes were shingled and shuttered with wide porches. They’d withstood hurricanes and time. The homes were handed down through generations. Here lay the inner circle.

  Enormous evergreens lined the narrow two-lane road. The late-afternoon sun winked between the branches. Ancient moss hung from the boughs. The scents of hibiscus and plumeria were heavy on the air. Sprinklers whirred as homeowners watered their lawns.

  “South on Seashell,” Violet directed, pointing left.

  They turned the corner and stopped midblock. Her cottage was the smallest on the street. Painted green with white shutters and narrow window boxes, her house blended with the flowers and the foliage. Magnificent Queen Palms formed crescent arcs on both sides of the house. Red rosebushes lined the brick path that led to her front porch.

  Brad followed her to the door. “How long have you lived here?” he asked.

  “Three years,” she said, fitting the key into the lock. “It was a Cates family hand-me-down from my great-uncle Thomas. He retired from the post office, bought a camper, and took off for Colorado. He prefers the mountains to the beach.”

  Vi bumped the door with her hip and he came in behind her. She sidestepped a small pink tricycle. He nearly tripped over a plastic water gun that had leaked onto the floor.

  “Lydia and her kids stopped by while I was at work,” she said. Her voice was flat.

  They’d left one hell of a mess, Brad noted. “They came, they played, they didn’t clean up.”

  Violet sighed. “They never do.”

  “Where does your sister live?” he asked. Vi’s cottage wasn’t very big. He figured two bedrooms at the most. There wasn’t enough room for four more people. They’d be walking into walls.

  “She lives boyfriend to boyfriend,” she told him. “Lydia’s staying with her latest, as far as I know. His name is Mark. He’s a mechanic and a decent guy. She gets bored during the day and often drops by. My cottage is her day care center.”

  He caught her eye and she read his look. “Vi . . .”

  “I know, I know,” she said, making excuses. “Changes are coming soon.”

  They walked into the living room and Brad swore a tornado had hit the place. Hundreds of Legos were strewn across the blue and beige diamond-patterned carpet. Board games sat upended. The playing cards from Candyland lay amid a rifled deck of Uno. The plastic body parts of Operation were mixed with the Hungry Hungry Hippos. A dollhouse had fallen over. The roof was cracked.

  A Teddy bear held a toy camera in the corner. A dozen wooden soldiers surrounded the stuffed animal, as if holding him hostage. The TV had been left on, and Big Bird waved from Sesame Street.

  A glass of orange juice had tipped over on a side table and the juice dripped onto the couch, sticky and staining a cushion. The remains of a peanut butter sandwich smeared the glass coffee table. Graham cracker crumbs were as thick as sand.

  “Sorry about this,” Violet apologized. “Why don’t you take a shower while I clean up?”

  He had a better suggestion. “How about we both straighten the place and shower together?” He tossed his duffel bag back into the hallway. “Where can I find garbage bags, paper towels, and a sponge?”

  She set down her purse on top of the television and came to him, her expression soft. “Thank you.”

  He drew her to him, held her close. “I’d do anything for you, Violet, even vacuum.”

  “I’m in your debt. I’ll repay you in the shower.” She smiled suggestively.

  His body stirred at the thought. He set her gently from him. They had a mess to clean up. The faster they scrubbed and straightened, the sooner they’d have sex.

  He worked like Mr. Clean. Thirty minutes later, the living room was spotless. There was a minor mess in the kitchen; together they loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters.

  “All done,” he said, drying his hands on a dish towel.

  “That’s what you think,” said Vi as she turned on the dishwasher and crossed to him. “We’re just getting started.”

  His gaze was hot. “I haven’t even put my mouth on you, and I’m betting you’re wet.”

  “I’m betting you’re hard.”

  His dimple flashed. “See for yourself.”

  She tucked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, flicked the snap with her thumb. She lowered his zipper and reached inside the Y-front fly of his navy Jockeys. Her tender touch set him on fire. He came alive for her. She led him to the shower, and not by the hand.

  Chapter Three

  Brad’s cock swelled in her grasp. She loved the feel of him, all taut, hot, and satisfying inches. She gently rubbed her thumb over the head of his penis, then down the underside of his shaft. Sensitive to her touch, he groaned.

  “Easy, Vi.” His voice was tight, almost choked. “You’re killing me.”

  “Death by my hands?” she asked as she slowly stroked and squeezed him. She loved doing this for him.

  “Better than by my own.”

  “You’ve been flying solo?” she had to ask. That both surprised and pleased her.

  “For too long,” he admitted.

  She liked the fact that during his absence he hadn’t had a lot of sexual partners. But then, neither had she. Her vibrators had done their job just fine.

  “Condoms are in my duffel,” he said.

  Violet lifted his bag. It was light for a man returning from his travels. Apparently, he didn’t have many clothes. She’d buy him a new shirt and pair of jeans tomorrow. The ones he wore now had seen better days.

  She led him into her bathroom. The space was small, narrow, and it was a tight squeeze for the two of them. She loved having him so close that their bodies touched. Tingly sensations ran up and down her spine when she pressed up against his broad chest, making her nipples harden. She ran her fingers from the base of his shaft to the tip, then gently released him. His sex stood at attention at the opening of his Jockeys.

  She set his duffel bag down on her clothes hamper, then faced him. She slipped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes, just looking at him. Wondering where he’d been, if he’d thought about her as much as she dreamed about him. And now he was back. They’d been separated too long. She felt a hot, immediate ache for this man. Her panties were already damp.

  She licked her lips.

  His nostrils flared.

  They were all over each other in two heartbeats. Their bodies slammed together with a force that should’ve flattened them both. Grabbing on to every second they’d lost with such passion it made Violet’s head spin.

  She banged her hip on the sink. He hit his elbow against the wall. It became a race to see who could get the other person naked first. Who would beg for mercy.

  Violet wasted no time. She shoved his white T-shirt up his chest and stared. How could she ever have been satisfied with a vibrator? Look at the man. He was all solid muscle and six-pack cut. Her fingers played over his ribs. She brushed his male nipples. His breathing deepened. She felt the race of his heart beneath her palms, appreciated the twitch of his dick against her belly. Her whole body softened when he widened his stance and drew her between his thighs.

  She tugged off his shirt, let it fall and crumple on the tile floor. She stood back a moment, admiring his deeply tanned chest, wondering if he’d been doing hard labor under the
hot sun all these years. She didn’t care. She wanted him, whatever his past. Taking advantage of his bare shoulders, she nipped him, leaving her mark. She flicked her tongue to the pulse point at the base of his throat. Blew her breath where she laved.

  She kissed her way to his jawline. His evening stubble was dark and rough against her lips. Her kiss to the soft spot beneath his ear made him moan. He lost it when she bit his lobe. He grew sexually impatient.

  He cupped her face, looked deeply into her eyes, before raking his hands through her hair. His intimate touch spiked her need for him. He took her mouth with passion, arousal, and pure male urgency.

  She blinked when her polo crowned her head and Brad tossed it aside. He pulled the scrunchie from her ponytail and her hair went wild. A cool shiver slid over her when he unsnapped her bra and let it slip off her shoulders. Her breasts spilled onto his palms. She threw her head back and gasped softly when his thumbs pressed her nipples and his fingers curled around her breasts. He teased the tips to tight points.

  They kicked off their sneakers.

  As he hurriedly undid the side buttons on her khaki skirt, two popped off. The skirt shimmied over her hips.

  She jerked down his jeans. Her fingers caught in a front pocket, tore the seam. She definitely owed him a new pair now.

  He freed her of her panties.

  She took off his Jockeys.

  They stood naked, and the air around them seemed to explode. Her face flushed and her lips parted. They kissed again. His warm tongue thrust into her mouth and tangled with her own. The man could kiss. She grew light-headed.

  She dug her fingers into the corded curve of his biceps and clung to him.

  She angled her hips toward him unconsciously.

  He clutched her bottom.

  “The shower.” Violet could barely catch her breath. The words couldn’t come fast enough. “The water’s slow to heat.”

  Brad wasn’t about to be deterred. “The vanity will have to do.”

  The countertop was old, a swirl of gold and pink marble. He boosted her up until her ass was braced on the edge. The marble was cool against her bottom, the back of her thighs.

  She inhaled his scent and soaked up the warmth of his body. The plump swell of her naked breasts pressed his hard chest. She wrapped her legs about his hips and drew him close. His sex fit her V-zone.

  His duffel was at arm’s length. He upended the bag. Locating a condom, he stripped the wrapper, and sheathed himself. It was pure pleasure watching him, his eyes warming when he caught her. His fingers then moved between her thighs. He stroked her deeply. Her nerves tingled and her spine strained. Her fingernails traced the crease of his thigh and his muscles twitched in response. She tilted her hips and he entered her. He began to move.

  She responded to the rock of his hips, to the tense heat of his body. She burned. She moaned. And he claimed her.

  She made love with her heart.

  He bared his soul.

  Blood thrummed. Desire throbbed.

  He pushed her to the edge.

  She made him pant. Gasp. Groan.

  Sensations built to wild currents.

  Her climax shook her.

  A hard shudder convulsed him.

  A sated, sensual ease brought them back to reality. He rested his forehead against hers. He kissed the curve of her cheek, the tip of her nose. “You’re amazing,” he said, his voice husky.

  “I could say the same for you.” She sighed.

  “We’re good together.” He leaned in, kissed her brow. His gaze remained warm and steady after their lovemaking.

  He made her feel special.

  Easing back, he got rid of his condom. He moved to the shower/bath combination, turned the hot water valve.

  “It’s been a long day,” he said, his body sleek with the sweat of their lovemaking. “Tub soak or shower?”

  She smiled, remembering their sensual bubble baths before he’d left town. Eucalyptus and almond had filled the air. Somehow Brad managed to look even more masculine immersed in bubbles. “A bath would be nice.”

  “I’ll give you a foot massage,” he offered.

  Which she desperately needed. She’d worked a double shift today. Her feet ached and her calves were tight. He would take care of her, and then she’d relax him, too. “I bought a new Stimulite bath glove.” Her lips twitched. “I want you slick and soapy and reaching for a second condom.”

  “You smell like almond,” Violet said when they stepped from the bathtub, following their hour-long soak, sex play, and shower.

  Brad wrapped her in a towel, securing the ends over her right breast. She liked nothing more than feeling snug and comfy in a big towel. Brad turned up the heat when he skimmed his thumb along the terry cloth edge, dipped a finger in her cleavage, and stroked the inner swells. “So soft,” he murmured.

  He continued to touch her. Vi found it difficult to breathe. The man was insatiable. She welcomed each brush of his fingers and press of his palm. He turned her on. Again and again. They both wanted to make up for lost time.

  She loved his body. Always had. He was a man of strength and sensitivity. And charm. He’d always treated her well.

  He stood in his own towel, secured at the blade of one hip. His shoulders were wide, the expanse of his chest mesmerizing. She was about to walk her fingers down his happy trail when the sound of the front door opening and closing announced they had a visitor.

  Brad raised one eyebrow, then asked, “Who?”

  She could think of only one person who would enter without knocking. “Lydia,” she said on a sigh.

  His jaw worked as he grabbed a fresh gray T-shirt and athletic shorts from his upended duffel bag. He was dressed in seconds.

  Violet’s clothes were in her bedroom. She didn’t want to put on her dirty polo and skirt. Not when she felt so clean and refreshed.

  She looked around the bathroom. Her only option was a long nightgown, hanging on a hook on the back of the door. The blue cotton gown covered her fully. She wore it for both lounging and sleeping. She slipped it on now.

  Brad was the first out the door. She followed him into the hallway. The pad of their feet warned the visitor of their arrival. None too soon, either.

  Vi had been right—they found Lydia in the living room, her head bent as she went through Violet’s wallet, which was sitting atop the TV. She didn’t look up, didn’t immediately react to being caught in the act.

  “You’re as broke as me,” her sister snorted. She returned the wallet to Vi’s purse, then scavenged the bottom of the bag for loose change. She came up empty-handed. She straightened then, revealing highlighted blond hair and a determined expression. Her tank top was a size too small, her skinny jeans were too snug, and the heels on her pumps were too high.

  “Shit,” she muttered as she moved to the couch and flipped up the cushions. There were no coins, only a sticky piece of hard candy and a broken plastic spoon. “Still stashing cash in the empty coffee can in the kitchen?” Lydia guessed.

  Violet shook her head. “Finances are tight,” she said, which was the truth. Fortunately, the tips she’d made at the diner remained in the pocket of her khaki skirt, crumpled on the bathroom floor. She had plans for the money. She owed Brad a pair of jeans. “Sorry, I’m tapped out.”

  Lydia slapped her palms against her thighs. “I’ve bills to pay. We’re out of groceries.”

  “Get a job,” Brad said evenly.

  “Brad Davis.” Lydia eyed him now. “Back in town, I see, and already gettin’ busy with my sister.” Her gaze came back to Violet. “Granny jammies?” Her smile was snide. “No wonder you’re not married.”

  Embarrassed, Violet glanced at Brad. He wasn’t uncomfortable with Lydia’s careless remark, only annoyed. His gaze had narrowed and his jaw was set. His frown deepened. His biceps flexed. He looked ready to punch a wall.

  She stopped him with her hand to his forearm, silently requesting that he let her deal with Lydia. He understood and gave her a br
ief nod. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. She found his concern comforting, but that didn’t help the situation.

  Vi loved her sister, but Lydia took advantage of her more often than not. Borrowing what few clothes she had, using her as a babysitting service, then begging for a handout. Lydia expected the world to revolve around her and pay her way.

  It was time Violet took a stand and set down some rules. She was grateful for Brad’s support. She drew a fortifying breath, then said, “Brad is home and he’ll be living with me while he’s here. I’d appreciate you knocking next time.”

  “Brad is staying here? Now who’s the mooch?” Lydia mocked.

  “I invited him,” Vi said evenly. She held out her hand. “I’ll need your key.”

  “My key for him?” Her sister’s eyes rounded. She looked so hurt, Violet almost felt sorry for her. Almost .

  “The key, Lydia,” she requested, waiting.

  Grumbling, Lydia reached into the front pocket of her skinny jeans and produced the house key. “Not a nice way to treat family, Violet,” she whined, trying to make her feel bad. “What about my kids? All their toys are here at your house.”

  “That’s an easy fix,” Brad said, taking the initiative. He walked into the hallway, lifted the tricycle by the handlebars, and said, “I’ll help you pack and load your car.” He opened the front door, peered out. “Is that your Datsun parked at the curb?”

  Lydia hissed, and Brad carried out the trike. Violet glanced through the front window and watched as he loaded it into the trunk. A rusted trunk that popped open without a key.

  “You’ll regret this, Vi,” Lydia said sharply from the corner of the couch. “Brad left you before and he’ll do it again.”

  No regrets, Vi thought, shaking her head. If anything, she felt relieved. “I’ll grab a garbage bag for the toys,” she said without so much as a nod in Lydia’s direction. “Brad can deal with the dollhouse.”

  “I feel ill,” Lydia said, clutching her stomach. She hurried down the hallway toward the bathroom, moaning all the way for effect.

  “Will she be okay?” Brad asked, returning from his first trip to her car. He began dismantling the dollhouse next. It came apart in five pieces. Vi saw concern for her spoiled sister on his face in spite of Lydia’s nastiness. She loved him for that.