by Sofia Grey
He stared down at me, his dark eyes burning into my soul. Slowly, carefully, he placed the empty glass on the table and then reached out a hand to me. Surprised, I let him pull me to my feet. His grip was warm and sure, but he let go when I stood before him. I felt a flicker of uncertainty. He opened his mouth as though to speak and then paused. “I couldn’t focus.” The words were slow and measured. “I wanted this instead.”
His hand lifted to slide into my hair, pushing back a stray lock and tucking it behind my ear. The breath caught in my throat. Spellbound, I searched his face, seeing the same intensity I glimpsed earlier. Fingertips trailed down my cheek before he traced my lips.
“Soft,” he whispered. I was lost. Time stopped. There was just Jonah and me, with the moon and the stars behind his head and his voice in my heart.
Chapter Five – Melting
His breath whispered across my face. It sounded ragged. I wanted Jonah’s lips on mine more than anything, and I’d have sold my soul if that would have been the price; eternal damnation would have Jonah’s name on it. Kiss me. I tilted my head the merest fraction and leaned into him at the same time as he drew closer. I don’t know who made the first move, but our lips brushed each other’s, and Jonah groaned. One hand sank into my hair while the other pressed the small of my back, guiding me into the perfect position for him to take my mouth. It was a move so practiced, so possessive, I would normally take offense, but with this man, it felt right.
Cougar! My battered self-confidence screamed at me, but I ignored it. Just one kiss. I felt his tongue flick at my lips and follow the seam, and without hesitation, I opened to let him in. I still had my wineglass in one hand, and I held that awkward and loose around his shoulders while I moved to caress his cheek. I wanted to feel his delicious stubble. His lips were soft, but the kiss was hard and hungry. Dear God, I felt so much, so turned on, I imagined myself dissolving into a sticky puddle there on the deck.
He tasted of mint and wood smoke, and he smelled of the surf. He was summer in human form. Young and strong, his body radiated heat beneath his T-shirt, and I had to touch him. I shifted to slide my hand down his stomach, across impossibly firm muscles, round the side, and down his spine to the top of his jeans, where I burrowed under his shirt. I might never get the chance to do this again, and I shamelessly caressed his skin, feeling the muscles ripple beneath my touch. He’d done something to my breathing because my lungs were struggling to inflate, and my heart pounded like an Olympic sprinter’s.
I pressed my chest against his, wanting to melt into him. I could feel his fingers caressing my scalp and something nudging against my hip. My erratic breathing hitched further. I was not the only one seriously turned on. A quick glance downward confirmed that his hard-on was straining against his jeans.
Common sense finally joined the party and shoved my wayward emotions to the side of the room. Like a strict, elderly aunt, my subconscious began to lecture me. He’s just looking for a quick shag. I’d take it. I didn’t get many offers, and this one was too tempting to decline. His mates both have girls, and he’s horny. He wasn’t the only one. I’d not been this turned on in years, too many to count. He’s too young, she shrieked at me. So what? He didn’t seem bothered by it. You’ll regret it in the morning. Her final statement, muttered in a sage whisper, should have made me pause. When Jonah whispered my name, it blanked everything else.
He eased back, dropping tiny kisses around the edge of my mouth, across my jaw, and finally buried his face in my neck. I skimmed my hand up his back and then smoothed it along his neck, delighting in the soft, fine hairs I found there. He was a man of contrasts. Steely muscles, silky hairs, stubbled chin, soft lips.
If he asked, I’d take him to bed.
He didn’t.
He cupped my cheeks with both hands and stared deep into my eyes as though trying to impart some unspoken message. I strained toward him, needing his mouth on mine again, but he resisted. Instead, he brushed his lips across my forehead in a tantalizing, breath-defying movement. “I have to go.” I heard regret in his rough whisper. Part of me wanted to grab him, persuade him to change his mind, but self-doubt and anxiety won this battle. I struggled to find my dignity, to remember how to behave in this situation. One scorching kiss from a hot guy. That’s all it was. No matter how much more I wanted, he didn’t...and I had too much pride to beg.
I watched as he separated from me, turned and descended to the sand, and melted into the darkness. Gone, as though he’d never been there. If it wasn’t for the perfect sand dollar on my table, I’d think I’d imagined the whole thing.
Tami looked up to see Lena scowling at her over the small table in the galley-style kitchen. “Have fun last night? Daniel sounds pretty full-on.”
“Mmm, it was good.” They’d normally share the details, but they’d never both wanted the same guy before. “How was Digger?”
Her friend shrugged. “He’s into me, but I think he’d prefer you. We could swap tonight? Digger says they often share.”
“Share?” She struggled to find the right words. “At the same time?” It came out in a shocked whisper.
Lena rubbed her nose. “Not sure. Maybe. Should I ask? Are you up for that?” Was she? Two guys at once? Nothing in her limited experience could compare to that.
“I don’t know.”
Her friend shrugged again. “Whatever. I’m going for a shower.” She disappeared, and seconds later, the sound of rushing water started up in the bathroom.
Tami sat perfectly still. She could feel someone watching her. She just knew. She waited to see if anyone moved, and when the kitchen remained silent, she glanced over her shoulder. Joseph. He stood in the doorway to his room, his eyes gleaming in the bright morning light. She wondered again why he was the lone male on this short break. Was he single, or did he have a girl not able to join him? He couldn’t be gay. Their eyes locked, and he gave her a brief, half smile before stepping toward her.
“Morning, Tami.” They reached for the carton of juice at the same time, and his fingers brushed against hers. The smallest of touches, it electrified her, and she felt her mouth drop open.
Joseph gestured toward the drink. “You first.” Aware that she probably looked like an idiot, Tami snapped her mouth shut and tried to pour herself some juice. Her hand trembled and jerked when she tipped the carton. Orange splashed across the pristine white counter as if in slow motion, spattering over Joseph’s hand and splashing Tami’s tank top.
“Shit.” She tried to regain her composure, to stop the flood of sticky liquid before it poured onto the floor.
“Here, let me.” Joseph seized her wrist and lifted it away while he grabbed a roll of absorbent kitchen paper. He released her only to rip a handful of sheets and stuff them in her hand. “You rescue your top.” He mopped up the spill, but it was a halfhearted attempt. His focus rested on Tami. On her chest. She glanced down and saw what he must be seeing: her nipples clearly visible through the damp, stained fabric.
“Jesus, Tami.” His voice came out so gruff it was hard to understand, and to make matters worse, her nipples began to stiffen and push on the soft cotton. She swallowed, her mouth dry and tongue thick and tried to find something to say.
He beat her to it. “Look at you.” His voice was filled with wonder and he dropped the soggy paper into the sink, and then slowly raised his hand to her breast. Her heart clattered along like a galloping horse, and she watched, powerless, unable to stop him even if she’d wanted to.
His fingers hovered a heartbeat away from the curve of her breast, and she imagined how it would feel if he cupped them and pressed them together, if he stroked her nipples. She shivered, but whether from cold or anticipation, she couldn’t be sure.
Joseph seemed frozen. His eyes darkened as she stared, and a delicious thrill coursed through her, heating her blood and making her squirm.
He swallowed and finally dragged his eyes away, his hands, too. A towel lay draped on the edge of the counter, and he g
rabbed that, shoving it at her, trying to cover her heaving chest. The caress was accidental, she was sure, but when his hand touched her nipple, she gasped. How was it that one touch from Joseph excited her so much? Daniel had fucked her so hard and so thoroughly, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting another man.
Lena may have wanted her to tag team with Digger and Daniel, but in Tami’s mind, Joseph was far sexier.
Her mind danced back and forth. Would he kiss her? Would she let him if he tried?
I opened bleary eyes and blinked in the bright sunlight. The hangover already demanded attention, and I had to think hard before I remembered the events of the night before. They came rushing back in full, glorious Technicolor soon enough, and I lay there, reliving the stolen moments with Jonah and glorying in the utterly dirty deliciousness of his kiss. He was ten years younger, for God’s sake. Yeah, and he’d sported a boner for me. I hadn’t imagined that. As to why he’d left in such a hurry was anyone’s guess. He was embarrassed? Or maybe he remembered a girlfriend, or even a wife. My overactive imagination conjured up a gorgeous, blonde partner and three angelic, little children. How could I possibly compare?
I’d stayed up late again working on my manuscript, and if nothing else, Jonah had certainly influenced that. I smiled as I showered. If he had the slightest idea that he featured in my sexy romance novel-to-be, he’d probably run a mile.
Coffee was next, and I carried the steaming mug outside to enjoy on the deck. The beach was quiet, my neighbors were silent, and it felt as though I had the world to myself. The brilliant blue sky looked a shade darker today, and when I squinted, I saw crests of white foam on the waves in the distance. Clouds lurked on the horizon, and I figured some rough weather was on the way. It would be cozy in my little beachside cottage if there were a storm. I’d curl up under a blanket and use it as an excuse to catch up on my reading while secretly fantasizing about Jonah.
Lost in thought, I belatedly noticed something small on the table. Frowning, I stretched out a hand and picked it up—a perfect, pink-and-blue mussel shell. Iridescent sparkles adorned the outside, and the inner walls were bleached clean by the sea. It was the kind of shell you could spend days hunting for, and I examined it in delight. I hadn’t left it there, and there was only one other person who might have. Jonah.
Was it a thank-you? An apology? Or just another to add to my collection? There was something odd about Jonah. More than just being shy, he reminded me of the abused dogs I’d once helped care for in a rescue kennel. I’d volunteered there for a long, hot summer while at high school, and only adopted two dogs during my stay. My mum refused to let me take any more home; otherwise we’d have ended up with a house full. Like those dogs, Jonah felt neglected somehow.
I shrugged off my wild imaginings. The day was too bright to be melancholy. It was only when I stood up that I saw the Post-it note stuck to the table. Written in a bold, black scrawl was a short note:
Dinner tonight? 8pm?
Jonah
Chapter Six - Waiting
He was interested, the note confirmed that, but could I really go on a date with him? How could I not? Should I reply? The cottage next door appeared deserted all day, and the car had gone. I went for my walk but didn’t venture so far today, just in case they came back. As the evening approached, and my neighbors still hadn’t returned, I felt the first twinges of anxiety. I’d waited all day in the hope of catching a glimpse of Jonah and had been disappointed. Please God, this wasn’t just some teenage prank. My brain immediately conjured up a scenario where one of his friends had written the note, and he knew nothing about it. Where I might go trotting across at eight p.m. to meet him, and he’d be embarrassed and angry, and I’d be humiliated. Surely not.
I decided that I wouldn’t go to find him. If this really was a date, he’d come to fetch me. Six came and went, then seven p.m., and the car had not returned. When I ducked into the shower at seven thirty, I told myself it was just because I needed to freshen up. My dinner date looked as remote a possibility as winning the lottery.
Even so, I lingered in the bathroom, smoothing a scented body lotion into my freshly shaven legs, and then took the time to tidy my eyebrows. It was all basic maintenance, I lied to myself.
I heard the clatter of car doors and high-pitched voices as I peered into the bathroom mirror, tweezers in hand. They were back. It was already ten to eight, and I felt like the biggest idiot in the world, but I applied some light makeup anyway. Maybe I spent just a little longer on my eyes, but my friends had always told me they were my prettiest feature. God knew they were all I had in the attractive department. Neither tall nor short, I had a typical, pear-body shape. My hair was a vague, not quite blonde not quite brown, with too much wave in it to be straight but not enough to qualify as curly. My complexion was pale with a tendency toward freckles. I could sum myself up in one word. Forgettable.
The clock moved inexorably on. Ten past eight and no sign of Jonah. I’d dressed casually in cropped jeans and a soft, floral shirt, and I had a pair of pretty, flat sandals waiting by the door. I’d even painted my toenails with an iridescent, shimmering polish that reminded me of the shells on the beach. All dressed up and nowhere to go. My self-conscious taunted me, and I mentally stuck my tongue out at her. So what if I’d been stood up? It wasn’t the first time and likely wouldn’t be the last. It still hurt, though.
At eight fifteen—not that I was watching the clock at all—I headed for the kitchen to raid the fridge for wine. I’d have a liquid dinner tonight and get back to my manuscript. I really didn’t expect the rapid knock at my door, and I answered it with the half-empty bottle of wine in my free hand.
Jonah stood there, wet hair slicked to his head and face flushed. I couldn’t help myself, I smiled to see him, my heart racing and my nipples leaping to attention. He wore long, denim shorts and another faded T-shirt that was molded to his chest. On his feet were the ubiquitous flip-flops that all Kiwis seemed to love. He looked as though he’d rushed from the shower, and he smelled delicious, woody and spicy all at once. I wondered if he’d be on the menu for dessert.
“I’m late.” His eyes were worried. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” It was, now he’d arrived. I wanted to perch in a nearby tree like a bird and sing to everyone that I hadn’t been stood up. I had a date! I remembered the wine in my hand and held the bottle to him. “Would you like a drink?” He shook his head. “No matter. Did you all go out somewhere today?”
“Yeah, seeing some friends.” He seemed to weigh his words. “It took longer than I thought.” He cocked his head slightly to one side, his gaze flashing over me. I saw his eyes darken. “Gorgeous.” His voice was gruff. “Am I too late?”
I felt my cheeks flush at his compliment. “Of course not. Shall we go?” It suddenly occurred to me that I might have read this entirely wrong. He might simply have invited me to eat with his friends, another barbecue on the sand. I hoped not. There was an awkward moment where I waited for him to say something while my stomach tied itself in knots, but then he gave me his sexy half smile and held out his hand.
There was something very intimate about walking alongside Jonah, his fingers tangled with mine. I’d quickly come to like his quiet style, the way he refrained from chattering at the top of his voice like his friends and like my son. Instead, he spoke slowly, with care, as though considering each word. We talked in a gentle, unhurried manner as we strolled up the beach toward the little, corner shop where I’d bought my groceries. He invited me to talk, to tell him about life in England (busy and overcrowded), where I’d grown up (the outskirts of Manchester), if I missed my home country (not so much), and how I’d given up the day job to carve out a career as a writer.
I’d already decided that the old Cass would be staying at home tonight. Instead, her spicier, naughtier alter ego would emerge, the kind of woman that might captivate someone such as Jonah. Someone confident in her own skin, open to new experiences, and willing to take a short-term
lover. With Jonah, I could be the woman I’d always longed to be, safe in the knowledge that we’d only be together a matter of days. If that.
I wanted to step outside myself, to look at the two of us walking along the sand, smiling and laughing, to capture that perfect, fleeting moment. He was rugged in profile, his cheeks and chin rough with stubble and his rapidly drying hair falling forward. He raked his fingers through it, and I thought I saw a flash of angry scar tissue over his ear, but moments later, it was lost from view again as though it had never existed. All too soon, he led me up and over the small sand dune and onto the quiet beachside street in this sleepy village. We walked past the corner shop and approached the bar, where he squeezed my hand. I’d not been in there yet, preferring the café farther up the street for sitting in alone. I always felt exposed in a bar, as though inviting men to hit on me. With Jonah by my side, though, it would be different.
It was Saturday night, but even so, it was busier than I’d expected, and we had to wait a few minutes for a table to become free. The smiling waitress lit a set of candles on the table for us and chattered through the evening specials before depositing a pair of menus. She poured water, left us the remains of the pitcher, and finally disappeared. Jonah gave me an uneasy smile.
He shrugged. “Thought it would be quiet. Sorry.” His gaze flicked left and right, and one hand fiddled with the neckline of his T-shirt before dropping to the table where he played with his napkin. Was he nervous?
“I heard someone talking about live music this evening. That’s why it’s so busy.”
His brows drew together, and he pursed his lips. It made them look even more sultry. Unbidden, a surge of lust spiraled through me. Dear God. After the scorching kiss we’d shared, would I be able to keep my hands off him tonight?