by Dawn Atkins
"You didn't specify when you'd be back," she said mildly, not even looking up from her computer.
"Aren't you going to yell at me?" he said, going to stand in front of her.
"Why should I? You brought breakfast like you said you would. End of story."
"Look, Ariel, I caught some waves and time slipped away. That's how it is with me."
She kept typing for a few seconds, but when she looked up her green eyes sparked with anger. He felt abruptly better, less guilty. "No matter what you may think, Jake, I have not been collecting lint and twigs."
"Lint and twigs?"
"Nesting, remember? Your big fear from a roommate you sleep with? Last night we had a simple little thing…" she hit the word thing hard. Thing? He'd say it was mind-bending. At the very least the earth had moved, but okay, if she wanted to minimize…
"And that's that," she continued. "Chalk it up to a crazy night of celebration and too much champagne."
"Too much champagne? We barely drank a swallow."
She shrugged. "The point is that you don't have to worry about things getting complicated. I know what's what. And that's that."
"Huh?"
"Forget it. You know what I mean."
Did he? It didn't matter. She'd handled this perfectly. No pressure. No expectations. That was good, right? He pushed away a twinge of irritation. "How about I warm you up a bagel? Blueberry or onion cream cheese?"
"Neither, thank you. I already ate."
"I said I'd bring breakfast."
"I've been up for two hours, Jake."
He didn't like the rigid set of her shoulders, the frostiness in her voice. He pulled up a chair beside her. "So, let me make it up to you. Isn't it about time to take a break? The pause that refreshes? Maybe build up an appetite?" He put his arm across her shoulder.
She shrugged it away. "I don't think that's a good idea." She turned to him, deadly serious. "We got it out of our system last night. Let's leave it at that." Was there a wobble in her voice? God, he hoped so. Otherwise, she was treating him like an overloud TV interrupting her work.
"You think? If you're sure… Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"You mean for today or…?"
"For good. Neither of us wants this to get complicated."
"That's true. Okay then." He stood and looked down at her. She was typing away again like she'd just declined an offer to build a sand castle, not some terrific hours of great sex.
Wow. That was fast. It was probably best, if she was going to get all clingy and demanding—and that would definitely be her mode, for all her pretense at calm rationality. So, this was the best outcome. He should be relieved.
But he wasn't. He felt … let down … and disappointed. Maybe he was getting older, wanting things he could count on. Nah. He was as young as he'd ever been. As good on a board, as hot on a bike, as smooth on a sailboat as ever. He certainly wouldn't let a woman slow him down no matter how interesting she was.
Now what? He wandered into the kitchen for a bagel. God, there were enough for ten people in the bags. He'd take some over to Brice's. He needed to talk to the guy about the upcoming charters. Plus, Brice kept blowing off the community college professor who wanted to link up with Water Gear for a class on the physics of scuba. Jake wasn't looking forward to the disagreement, but he needed something to distract him from the urge to talk Ariel back into bed.
Maybe he'd get busy on that wall between their rooms. He sure as hell wouldn't plow through a wall for sex. Not even sex with Ariel.
Of course, he could always use the door.
* * *
Ariel tooled home from the city that evening, so happy she felt as if she were floating above the ground in some kind of hovercraft. After the painful discussion with Jake, she'd buried herself in preparations for the meeting with Becker and it had gone perfectly.
Becker liked her energy and her dedication, which he said were the hallmarks of his own success, and had hired her, offering her a hefty retainer. On top of that, she'd rented office space in the very building she'd had her eye on.
It had seemed like fate when she'd pulled up to find a man hanging a "space available" sign from the building's window—even more so when she learned renters from a right-sized office space had disappeared, lease payments overdue, and the harried lease agent wanted to deal. She agreed to take over the payments, pay for the painting and small repairs herself and he'd offered her a screaming deal.
So she'd plunked down her first-month's AutoWerks retainer and now she had the office of her dreams. With a view and everything. She couldn't believe it. It was a little risky, but she had a good feeling about AutoWerks and she desperately needed to get out of the cramped beach house and somewhere closer to the corporate offices of her client. Her giant client.
Now she found herself racing home to tell Jake. Probably a sign that she was too attached to a man who didn't care enough about her to kiss her awake in the morning.
Still, in a way, she owed this success to Jake, who'd introduced her to Brice and arranged for her to meet Myron Becker. His advice about easing up had probably led to her ability to convince both clients to work with her.
Oh, who cares why? Right now she just wanted to see Jake's face when she told him her news. She hoped he'd be home. When she'd left, he'd been hammering up the Sheetrock between the two bedrooms—something she'd wanted him to do forever, but now it made her sad. It meant things were really over.
From the sunporch, she heard music and movement. He was home. Her heart rose. She found him at the kitchen table in swim trunks, squirting white frosting onto a chocolate layer cake, which had filled the cottage with its rich, warm aroma.
"Hey, Ariel," he said, glancing up at her. He'd adjusted to the change in their relationship with annoying ease, it seemed, which proved it was the right thing to do … probably.
"Smells good," she said, coming closer. She read what he was writing in white frosting: Congrats, Ariel! "But what if I hadn't gotten the job?"
"Of course you got it," he said simply.
"And you made me a cake." Her heart warmed.
"I'm still your roommate," he said. "You get the first piece." He picked up a knife and cut a wedge he placed on a paper plate.
She moved even closer to him, inhaled his coconut-and-man scent, along with the warm chocolate, took in the light bristle of his blond beard emerging, the slight dimple in his cheek.
"I couldn't wait to get home to tell you, Jake. I wanted to thank you for all you did."
"You did it yourself," he said. "I just opened a couple of doors."
"I got an amazing retainer and I put money down on an office and signed a lease. It's absolutely perfect."
"That's great. Here, taste," Jake said, holding out a forkful of cake. "You won't believe what makes this so moist."
But she didn't care about the cake. She only cared about the man who'd made it for her. The man she loved. She took in his eyes, fanned by sun wrinkles, flecked with indigo, and his mouth, built wide for grinning. He loved her, too. She could see it in his face. This morning, he'd just gotten scared. She'd been scared, too—so scared she'd backed out too fast.
She could tell Jake had picked up her mood because the fork he held wavered, then dipped, and the bite dropped to the floor. He took a step closer. She held still, starting to tremble.
"I've been thinking about this morning," she said.
"Don't," he said. "Don't think. That's what got me in trouble." He let the fork hit the floor, too, and yanked her into his arms. "I can't let you go," he said into her hair.
"Me neither," she said, so happy to be in his arms.
Jake's heart thumped against her chest. And then his mouth was on her, hard and hungry. Desire poured through her like thick syrup. She held tight to his bare back, wishing her clothes were gone so she could feel his chest against her breasts. She kicked off her shoes, heard them hit the wall.
"I want in you," he said, walking her backward
through the living room, heading, she knew, for the bed. His fingers worked the buttons on her suit jacket.
"Yes," she said. "Inside me." All the way.
She banged something metal with her heel and felt wetness—she'd hit a paint tray, no doubt—but she didn't care. She kept moving, shutting out sensible thought.
They fell together on the bed, both tearing at her clothes. Her zipper snagged, got jerked open, the seam of her skirt tore. Jake tugged her panty hose away—ruining them, of course, but they were cheap. She noticed fleetingly that her foot was covered in Navajo white, which had smeared onto Jake's calves. Somewhere in there, Jake lost his trunks, and they were naked, and it was like coming home.
Jake couldn't believe he had Ariel in his arms again. He felt as though he'd been starving for her—her flowery scent, her tight body, her smooth skin, the round swell of her breasts, her pink nipples and her sweet little mouth. She reached for him and he almost shot off at just her touch. He wanted in, though, wanted to bury himself in her, make her his.
He needed a condom. Now. "Hold it." He staggered to his feet and to the wall he'd started to tack together. Right now, that Sheetrock stood between him and what he needed, so he jerked it off the studs and tossed it away to Ariel's shocked gasp, then giddy laugh. He loved making her laugh.
He stepped over the baseboard, grabbed what he needed from his nightstand, then lunged back to Ariel's bed.
Except those few cooling seconds had got her thinking again. Uh-oh. He had to keep her in sync with him, deep into what they were doing. He kissed her mouth, her neck, then lower, kissing her skin as he headed down to where he could offer her that special pleasure—and really taste her.
"Oh," she said, gripping his hair, realizing what he intended. "I don't think I—" Before she could finish her worry, he found her with his tongue and softly dabbed.
She went rigid, gasped for air and then quivered into the feeling. She was into it. Good. He gripped her hips, so he could keep his mouth where it needed to be and he began to lick her there.
As he did so, he felt the oddest sensation—a sort of calm certainty that this was where he belonged. He enjoyed tasting women, knew they loved it, but with Ariel he felt the pleasure of it in his bones—each twinge, every lunge made his heart swell with the desire to give her more and more. He slid his tongue inside, then out.
"Oh, oh, oh." Her voice was weak with wanting.
He focused on that sound, wanting more of it, wanting that final gasp of desperate pleasure, knowing she was depending on him to get her there. For all their differences in daily life, in bed they were a matched team, knowing each other as if they inhabited each other's skin.
Ariel pushed up against him, calling his name with such yearning that warmth rushed through him. His own release seemed distant, willingly set aside in favor of her fulfillment. Again he had that sense of rightness … as if they were two halves of a whole. The words soul mate rose in his mind but that was just the magic of lovemaking, the natural consequences of this much intimacy. Probably.
Then Ariel signaled her climax with a drawn-out "Oh, Jake," like a cry of relief and gratitude and amazement. He stilled his tongue and felt her orgasm ripple through her body. He held her gently. Her fingers, which had been gripping his hair, loosened.
When she was still, he looked up at her and saw how beautiful she was, her pale skin lightly tanned around the edges of what her modest swimsuit covered. Her chest had a post-orgasmic flush, and her nipples were still tight. And she wore a smile—a sweet, relaxed, satisfied smile.
Even in the trembling aftermath of her orgasm, she was reaching for him and he knew, looking up at her, that he loved her. He loved her body, loved making love to her, loved how she thought, who she was, with all her focus and energy. He slid up her body and kissed her, his own need beginning to pulse through him.
She broke off the kiss and looked at him, her eyes wide. "How do you know exactly what to do? I didn't even know where I was half the time."
"You were right here," he said, squeezing her. "And so was I." He brushed her hair away from her face, perspiration making a strand cling to her forehead. "Now I want right here," he said and pushed himself at her entrance.
"Oh, please," she said, practically begging.
He quickly applied a condom and found his way where he belonged. Again he had the sensation of being part of her body—her warm, wet tightness, shaped just for him, muscled ridges hugging every inch, pulling him in, wanting him all the way there.
They worked together, pumping hard up that climb, striving, reaching, the rhythm taking over as the best wave ever surfed through them, tossing them together onto the sensual shore, both slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in perfect rhythm, hers a bit softer than his.
"I love you, Jake," Ariel said, the words like a prayer.
"Me, too," he said, squeezing his eyes tight. "I love you, too." He knew that was a promise—that he'd stay, that he'd be there for her, that they'd be together.
Panic swelled. What had he done? But Ariel was a sensible woman. Surely, she wouldn't get clingy and demanding. She'd said she wasn't nesting. She'd accepted him for who he was. Wasn't that what she'd promised him when she fell into his bed again?
He had the urge to escape, to move to his own bed and stretch out—just a few feet away through the wallboard he'd torn off the studs. Except Ariel had a death grip on his body—her arms around him, her legs twined so tightly he'd never get out, not even to go to the bathroom—and he realized that when he'd torn down that wallboard, he'd torn down all the walls between them.
* * *
Chapter 11
«^»
The first thing Ariel noticed the next morning was that Jake was gone again. She panicked, pawing at the empty space. Was he off surfing, escaping from her again? Then she heard whistling and smelled garlic and realized he was cooking. Thank God.
She looked at the clock. Nine. She'd probably managed two hours of sleep total. She thought simultaneously of the AutoWerks project and of the man in the kitchen fixing her food. She wanted both, but her body felt too weary for sex and her mind too fuzzy for work.
She felt a flash of anxiety. Had she messed everything up? No. Their lovemaking had been more solid, more intense than the night before. This was more than a joining of bodies; it was a blending of spirits. Jake had felt it, too. She'd read it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, felt it in the way he held her, the way his tongue found her and stayed like it belonged.
He'd held her tight all night, too, tucked himself around her as if he was afraid to let her go. She looked at the open wall and smiled. Jake had ripped it down himself. What could be a clearer message than that?
He was changing. Settling down. He'd just needed someone stable to help him realize it. She pulled herself to the edge of the bed, tried to clear her head, then found her robe and padded out to the kitchen.
"Omelets with smoked salmon," he said, carrying two steaming plates to the table.
She sat at her place.
"Fish is brain food. I figured you'd need it for your work." He set her plate before her with a gentle plunk.
"Thanks, Jake." She gripped his wrist, looked up at him, "Last night was…"
"Yeah, it was," he said. He was smiling, but she caught the flicker of anxiety, which stood out on Jake's face like volcanic rock on a white-sand beach.
"We just have to give ourselves time to get used to this."
"Sure," he said. "Time." As if to silence any doubts he bent down to kiss her. There it was, that rush of desire that made her so sure they were right together. It will be okay, she told herself. Like Jake said, things work out.
They enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, glancing up at each other and smiling. A little tentative, she thought, but they had to get used to it.
After breakfast, Ariel got busy and Jake made himself scarce, working on the bathroom floor with uncharacteristic focus, declining a beach visit with Rickie and Lucky, and keeping the stereo low.
Two women left messages that he didn't pick up. What would he do about all his women?
Despite how much work she had to do, Ariel kept getting lost in thought about Jake. Would he move in for good? Should he? They should talk about it, but she dreaded the conversation. Everything seemed so tentative.
She watched the fish swim and swirl across her computer screen—after the scuba experience, she'd changed the screensaver from a rolling banner of keep on keeping on to the underwater setting. Her computer dropped into screensaver again and again.
She thought about her checklist for her future husband—the man so clear in her mind she would recognize his voice when she heard it. Jake had a great voice. And he did care about her needs, like her dream man. Look how he'd treated her in bed, and he cooked for her constantly. She'd never dreamed of Mr. Wonderful being able to cook.
But what about a career? And ambition? Jake was a big zero there. When I need it, I'll get it, he'd said about getting a job. Maybe now he needed it. He said he didn't want to work for Brice, but what if he had his own shop? Not as a competitor to Brice, of course, but something to do with water sports.
She found the newspaper and looked through the classified ads. Before long she'd circled four listings—a sailing store, a surf shop and two charter boat businesses. She'd check them out. All Jake needed was a little boost and he'd learn the joys of settling into something, building on work he loved. That was a way she could help him.
* * *
Five days later, Ariel headed home from an amazing day in the city. She'd accomplished a lot. First, there'd been a three-hour meeting with AutoWerks' L.A. management team explaining the proposal she'd somehow managed to cobble together despite a lack of sleep—Jake seemed to consider it a personal challenge to keep her in bed. The team liked her work and Becker had beamed her his Santa-Claus smile. He needed a little more marketing information that she would put together tonight and deliver tomorrow. He would take her report to a planning meeting with the New York office later in the week.