Home to Laura

by Mary Sullivan

  Laura’s knife clattered to the table. “She never met Gabe? How old is she?”

  He sensed the censure in her voice. “Twelve.”

  “In twelve years she’s never met her uncle?”

  “She didn’t come here for my mother’s funeral. I thought it would be too hard on her.”

  “What about all the other years? Why didn’t you come back to visit? I know you loved your mother.”

  Except for that, she would have thought Nick was incapable of love.

  He shrugged.

  “What was it that happened when you were a kid that made you so angry with Gabe?”

  “Never mind, Laura.”

  “What made you so bitter about this town?”

  “Give it a rest.”

  “I’m just trying to understand you.”

  He threw his napkin onto the table. “If you follow this line of questioning, this meal is over.”

  She thought of her dark apartment, of the hours stretching ahead of her, leaving her too much time to grieve for her lost baby and her failed engagement.

  “Fine,” she said. “Let’s talk about other things.”

  Kristi brought entrées, steak for Nick and chicken marsala for Laura.

  “Why did you come to town this weekend?”

  Nick explained about the problem with the Native Americans.

  Good. A neutral topic.

  While he spoke, he surprised her with a glimpse into the businessman he was. He enjoyed the challenge of business, even the problems that arose. Another surprise? He didn’t intend to annihilate his opponents’ concerns. He planned to find a solution that would work for both of them.

  She had to admire that.

  Nick sipped his wine slowly, seemed to savor it. “Where did you get all of that music you were playing in the café today? Is it a local radio station? I don’t remember hearing commercials.”

  “You didn’t. It wasn’t the radio. It’s music from my own collection.”

  “You have eclectic taste.”

  “I seem to.” She smiled. “Vin says—”

  “Vin?”

  “My fiancé.”

  “You’re getting married? Why can’t he give you a baby?”

  “We’re no longer engaged.”

  “You just called him your fiancé.”

  “Force of habit. He broke up with me today.”

  His jaw flexed. “I’m sorry to hear it. No wonder you were upset in the kitchen.”

  “It was more than that.”

  “What else was it?”

  “Five months ago, I had a miscarriage. I was broken up about it. Vin was relieved. I thought we could try again. Today, he decided he didn’t want to. He no longer even wants to marry me.”

  He set his cutlery carefully onto his empty plate and took one of her hands in his.

  Her gaze flew to his.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I had no idea. No wonder you were so upset when you saw me.”

  “Yes. It was worse when you came to town in January, though. The grief of losing the baby was new and raw. It hurt to see you, but even more, it hurt to see Gabe. I hadn’t seen either of you in years.” Her pulse pounded. She wondered if he could feel it where one of his fingers sat on her wrist. His hand was warm, heavy, reassuring. This. This was what she’d needed, what she’d tried to find elsewhere. How odd that she found it with Nick Jordan, of all people.

  Kristi approached to clear the table and Nick let go of Laura’s hand, breaking the warmth of the moment. She missed the contact.

  “What did Vin say about your music?” he asked.

  “He thought it was weird. He wondered why I didn’t listen to the hits on the radio.”

  “I’m glad you don’t. I enjoyed what I heard today.”

  Kristi brought coffee and homemade chocolate Grand Marnier truffles.

  They talked about music, about how much of their taste overlapped.

  She bit into a truffle and caught him watching her tongue as it collected chocolate from her lips.

  She stared at his refined hands, at his long fingers and the way he held his coffee cup. She was used to Vin’s calloused construction worker hands.

  Nick’s would feel so different.

  There it was. That same old attraction. So many years later, there was still that pull that was so hard to control. Why? What was it about Nick?

  Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. She’d been studying French. Loved it. Adored it. Wanted to visit Paris someday so she could use it.

  The more things change, the more they stay the same.

  No. It wouldn’t be the same as all those years ago. She was older and wiser. She might feel attraction toward Nick, but she wouldn’t act on it. Absolutely not.

  He’d stopped talking and she glanced up to find him watching her. He knew what she’d been thinking.

  Nick wouldn’t let her share the tab, went a little Neanderthal, actually. Feeling mellower than she had earlier, and less without hope, she didn’t mind. He’d been a gracious dining companion. He’d grown up well.

  Who would have thought she could share a civilized evening with the enemy?

  He insisted on walking her home.

  “Nick, it’s only across the street. I live in the apartment above the bakery.”

  “So I’ll walk you that far.”

  The night had turned chilly, but the skies were clear and the stars were out. This end of Main was empty. Farther down, where there were several bars, people were having fun, but here in the retail section all was quiet.

  They walked across the street. When a raccoon crossed their path, Nick took her hand and steered her clear.

  At the far end of a narrow alley and around the back of Sweet Temptations was the fire escape that led to her apartment.

  “Why aren’t there stairs from inside the bakery?”

  “I don’t really want them. I like that my home and workspace are separate. I like stepping outside to go home.”

  “Well,” he said, looking down at her.

  “Well,” she said and stared at him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE MEANT TO say good-night and leave, really, after one kiss. Just one small kiss. Her full lips tasted of chocolate and coffee. Sweet. Lush. Warm.

  He meant to leave it at that.

  So why was she in his arms and kissing him like a starving woman, and he returning it with fervor, every bit as starving? Just as alone. Craving passion.

  All evening, he’d been civilized, aware that he would be the last person Laura Cameron would want touching her, but there had been an attraction, a temptation.

  He’d wanted this contact tonight with another human, with Laura, his affections tinder-dry and her touch a flint.

  She took his hand and scrambled upstairs with him close behind, ready to burst with need and desire.

  Once inside her apartment, she was in his arms again, because he couldn’t wait for her, couldn’t wait for the conflagration he knew was about to ignite.

  He tasted her again, drawn in by her contrasts, her lips and tongue like wine and butter, at once mellow and sharp, and oh so heady.

  Taking control, he pushed her coat from her shoulders to the floor.

  He unbuttoned her dress and ran his hands over her breasts. Even confined by her bra they were full and ripe and womanly. His hands arced across the soft skin of her abdomen and waist and around to her back to cup her generous behind and pull her against him. He strained against his zipper, hungry for release.

  Breathing hard, Laura took his hand and led him through a dark room to a bedroom. She lit a match and touched it to a trio of candles and a stick of incense in a holder. Her eyes shone when she pressed a button on a small stereo and Dr. John’s rasp filled the room. “Makin’ Whoopee.”

  He laughed and dragged her into his arms like oxygen into his lungs.

  Her bedroom suited her. Warm colors tumbled like acrobats across her duvet, reds and purples and oranges. Fine gauze draped from the
ceiling in swaths of color like swooping cockatiels.

  She’d turned a plain room into a sensual paradise.

  Taking his eyes from her briefly, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, removed a condom from it and tossed it onto a small table beside the bed.

  Prepared.

  Laura turned up the volume until the driving drums and horns filled the room, drowning out sense and reason. Her eyes shone. She unbuttoned the rest of her dress and shrugged out of it, the move so sexy Nick nearly swallowed his tongue.

  Candlelight flowed over her lavish curves like melted butter. A scrap of lace between her round thighs hid treasures he wanted to plunder with his fingers and tongue.

  Sandalwood, rich and thick and redolent with heady promise, scented the air.

  His blood beat to the pounding of the drums.

  He hauled her into his arms and took her mouth, biting her lips, sweeping her with his tongue, sucking on hers as though it were cinnamon candy—hot, spicy, juicy.

  His fingers dived into her luxuriant hair, took fistfuls of it and angled her mouth where he wanted it. Her nails scraped his neck and he shivered.

  Her tongue played with his, her fingers grabbed at his belt, annihilated the zipper of his pants and wrapped around him.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  “Laura,” he moaned, her name a benediction and a curse. Sweet Laura.

  He popped her bra open and her breasts spilled into his hands in their ripened glory. He pulled back to feast on her beauty. Her nipples peaked in dark aureoles centered in pendulous goddess breasts. Not perky, not sweet, but full, mature and perfect.

  He kissed and bit and sucked them then trailed his lips to her stomach, kissed and bit the fullness there, then licked farther down, skimming off her panties with his teeth. She leaned against the dresser, her head back and her legs spread wide—nothing shy about Laura. He drank in the sight of her, her chestnut curls barely hiding pink wet folds of unashamed arousal. He tasted her, sucked her and caught her when her knees went weak.

  He turned her around. While he paid homage to her glorious ass, she leaned her arms against the wall and hummed low.

  He kissed every tiny bone of her spine then nipped the back of her neck. She shivered and turned.

  “Come to me,” she said, reaching for him, her voice husky, as though her throat ached with unlocked secrets. “Give me...”

  She took him in hand again, squeezing and urging him to meet her, falling back onto the bed and taking him with her.

  He plunged into her and her lustrous body wept around him, hummed with energy and sexuality.

  He pulled out then plunged again.

  “Magnifique,” she whispered, and he’d never heard anything sexier.

  He rose to kneel on the bed between her legs, driving into her, and a satisfied laugh burst from deep in her throat.

  God, she was uninhibited and hot, driving him to go deeper still, harder.

  He took her hand and bit her fingers, one by one, starting hard then gentling. He sucked on the inside of her elbow and the soft flesh of her underarm.

  Honest and earthy and loud, she cried out.

  Wrapping his arms across the back of her waist, he leaned forward and sucked her breasts, first one and then the other. He hardened further inside of her.

  Grinding into her—she wanted nothing gentle, demanded more—he urged her until she hung from the side of the bed, her body arching and as supple as a willow branch.

  She let her arms fall over her head where her fingertips brushed the floor. Her strong legs gripped his back and she met him thrust for thrust.

  His fingers grasped her thighs. Still, he moved, deeper and deeper, and her body accepted his as though made for him.

  The room grew warm and fragrant with Laura. The scent of her sex mingled with the incense. In the flickering candlelight, she looked like Woman, surrounding, taking, swallowing him until all there existed was Laura.

  He touched the perfect aroused nub of her sex and she cried out. Crooned. Purred. Her muscles contracted around him and he came with her.

  He shuddered, continued to come, hissed and held her still when she tried to move.

  When he got his breathing back, he pulled her up into his arms and fell onto his back, taking her lush body on top of his, panting as though he’d run a marathon.

  He smiled, slowly. The only other time in his life when sex had felt so good had been with Laura.

  Her hair fell across his face, soft and fine like spiderwebs. Her body still held him, her lips moist against his groin. He softened and slipped out of her.

  She sighed, long and sweet, as though peace were settling through her.

  Tenderness flooded him.

  He laughed and took her face in his hands, kissed her and laughed again, happier than he’d been in years. She kissed his laughing mouth and then pressed her hands into the mattress and arose onto her arms to look down at him, her smile satisfied and smug.

  Her lips shone in the candlelight. Her breasts hung like ripe fruit, tempting him, and he took a nipple into his mouth.

  She stiffened. Not pleasure.

  Something felt wrong. Had he hurt her?

  He pulled away to look at her.

  She stared at something beside the bed. Her expression changed, joy flitted away replaced by concern, worry. Horror.

  He turned to see what had caught her attention and got a kick in the gut.

  His condom sat on the bedside table. Unopened. Unused.

  He’d lost control. He never lost control with a woman, had never once in his life. Before tonight. Before Laura and her tempting body. She’d made him lose control.

  You owe me. Was she really that driven, that selfish and underhanded? Today is the perfect day. She was ovulating.

  The look he turned on her could freeze hell. “You did this to get your baby.”

  She’d taken from him, had stolen from him. Robbed him of choice.

  “No,” she whispered. “No,” she yelled. “No, no, no. Not like this. Not now. Not with you.”

  He grasped her arms and squeezed. “How could you do this to me?”

  She fought out of his hold and jumped from the bed. He chased her down the hall.

  “You can’t get away that easily.”

  In the bathroom, she turned the shower on full blast and stepped inside.

  “What are you doing?” She was splashing water into herself. She soaped up her hands and shoved her fingers into her channel. The room filled with steam.

  “Trying to get rid of your semen.” She sounded desperate, looked a little sick.

  “Why?” he asked, suspicion high. What the hell was going on? “You wanted a baby. You asked me for a baby.” He was just starting to get to know his daughter and now there might be a baby?

  Water streamed over her head. Her hair hung in wet strings around her face. She stared at him, shattered. Broken. “That was temporary madness. My fiancé had just broken up with me. I was desperate.”

  He reached behind her and turned off the water.

  “Are you crying?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t cry.”

  “You’re a real piece of work.” And the best damn actress he’d ever come across.

  “Me? Why did you ask me to dinner? To seduce me? To see if you could do it again like you’d done once before? To make a fool out of me again?”

  “You were giving me those little lost girl looks in the cemetery. I felt sorry for you.”

  She turned on him, her face flattened into shock. Disgust. “That was a mercy screw?”

  He stalked back to the bedroom and gathered his clothes, dressing in the room that twenty minutes ago had felt like a sensual paradise, the sexiest room on the planet. His hands shook and he fumbled, but managed to get the job done.

  He left without another word, without another glance in her direction, and crossed the street to the B and B where he showered in the hottest water he could stand.

  He slept fitfully an
d by morning had settled on a plan. Skipping breakfast, he pulled his rental car up in front of the bakery. He walked around to the back and took the stairs to her apartment two at a time.

  She opened the door just as he raised his fist to bang on it.

  Shrugging into a jacket, she asked, “What do you want?” Graceless and humorless, but still gorgeous as hell. Shadows marred her eyes, but did he care? No. Why should she have had trouble sleeping? She wasn’t being dragged into parenthood against her will. She was getting what she wanted. A baby.

  “I’m taking you to the hospital for a morning-after pill.” He should have taken her last night, but he’d been too angry to think straight.

  “There’s no need,” she said. “I’m going to the clinic. It’s closer and staffed on Sundays.”

  He didn’t trust her. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Why?”

  “To make sure that’s what you’re doing.”

  “I don’t want this baby any more than you do.”

  “Yeah, right.” You owe me a baby. “Last night was all about getting pregnant. You’re ovulating, remember?” At the bottom of the stairs, when she would have walked to her car parked behind the café, he took her arm and steered her toward Main Street.

  “I’ll drive.” His tone brooked no objection and he got none.

  She yanked her arm out of his hold, but approached the passenger side of the car. “You’re a bully, you know that?”

  “Too bad. You did one nasty number on me last night.”

  She settled into the seat without a word and remained silent while he drove.

  At the clinic, they gave her the prescription, with Nick sitting in the doctor’s office right beside her to make sure she asked for the right thing. He took her to the drugstore to fill the scrip. He bought her a bottle of water and watched her take the pill. Done. There wasn’t any more he could do.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ON SUNDAY AT NOON, Olivia parked her Escalade in front of Aiden’s house. The driveway was so overgrown she almost missed the turnoff. A quarter of a mile in, it opened to a charming glade in the middle of which stood a barely civilized, rough-hewn log house.

  Last summer, he’d shown her artwork for her to sell in her gallery, but they’d been in his garden. She assumed that since it was a cool day, she would be invited inside this time.