by Sofia Grey
Tuesday and Wednesday passed in a flurry of furious typing, pausing work only to grab a sandwich and make fresh coffee, or to fall into bed for a brief sleep. By Thursday afternoon the creative fever had diminished and I finally folded down the lid of my laptop and walked out onto the deck for some fresh air. The sun beat down on the sand again. When did the weather change? I rubbed my eyes and ran my fingers through sticky hair. I needed a shower. Nestled on the padded bench I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the sun on my face and the warmth of the late afternoon. Tomorrow was Friday. Jonah might be here.
Hang on. He’d just said “the weekend,” he hadn’t said when at the weekend. A thrill coursed through me as I wondered if Thursday might even be a possibility. Reality came knocking. It could just as easily mean Saturday. Or Sunday, just for the day.
I couldn’t check, as I didn’t have his phone number. I gnawed my lip as I wondered how amenable Sam might be, if he would share Jonah’s number? Unlikely. How could I explain myself? Hi, Sam, can you please give me the phone number for your old friend Jonah, so that I can find out when he’s coming to visit his cougar lover. I snickered at the thought and accepted that I wouldn’t be doing that.
If I found his phone number by myself though, that was a different matter. I tried to justify it. I only wanted to check what day he was coming to visit. I needed to buy groceries and I didn’t want to be out when he arrived. Feeble, I know.
Telephone directories were the first option, and I found legions of “J. Marsh” listed in Wellington. Okay, scratch that idea. Google came next and I thought hard before entering my search string.
Jonah Marsh guitar amplifier Wellington Greg Marsh brothers
As I’d expected, Google brought up thousands of results, but only a handful that might relate to my Jonah. I examined them with glee, only to wish I’d never looked.
The first hit included a thumbnail image of Jonah as a younger man with cropped hair and several piercings in his eyebrow and ear. It was a magazine feature and intrigued, I clicked on the link.
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO...?
...Jonah Marsh, previously of Starborn, the band currently rocking up a storm in Britain. Drunk driving is a loser’s game and Jonah paid the price. Brain damaged after a high-speed collision, it’s unlikely he’ll ever play again. Starborn survived the loss of their lead guitarist and are about to release their fourth album.
I stared at the screen, unable to believe the words. It had to be someone else. I checked the thumbnail—definitely Jonah. And really, what was the chance of there being another fantastic guitarist in Wellington with the same name?
My chest tight, I reread the paragraph. Nausea churned in the pit of my stomach and I had to turn away, to draw a quick, harsh breath. Did I want to look any further? It was such a gross invasion of his privacy. Jonah’s halting words rang in my head: I don’t know you well enough.
Brain damaged? I ran a hand across my clammy forehead. Surely not. The scar on his head. His slow, careful speech. They spoke of some kind of head injury, but to call him damaged? What an ugly word. How dare they! It was a load of rubbish. Angry now, I folded down the lid of my laptop and stalked away, wrapping my arms around myself as I went. I glared at the computer from the other side of the kitchen, torn between ignoring the story and looking again. I don’t want to know anything more. Unable to decide what to do, I opted for a long shower and stood for an age under the hot water. I emerged with my skin pink and my head still swirling with questions.
My phone had a recent text from Dylan.
Hey Mum. Picked up yr post. Going 2 Mel’s at wkend, will drop it off 4 u
It wouldn’t be the first time Dylan had collected the post for me, but it was Murphy’s Law that he’d call this weekend, when I might have company. His current girlfriend had family an hour’s drive north of here and he made the trip every few weeks. I gnawed at my thumbnail as I tried to formulate a reply. Tell him my lover might be here? No. I opted for vagueness.
Dylan. No rush, am planning to see a friend, so might not be here. Leave the post for another weekend, but thx anyway. Mum
I congratulated myself on my slick answer and went to brew coffee while I thought about the other dilemma, the snooping-on-Jonah issue. I didn’t expect Dylan to reply tonight. It was a struggle, but I avoided the Internet and tried to be virtuous, rereading the pages of notes for my medical thriller. It was no good. The Google search nagged at me and eventually I caved in, and looked back at the page again. How about if I searched for Starborn? That wouldn’t be so bad.
I found the band biography page—light on details—and scoured it for mentions of Jonah. He’d been one of the founder members when they started up in Wellington some five years ago, but there was no mention of any accident, just that he’d been replaced.
Assuming that he turned up this weekend, what did I say to him? Do I ask him what happened? Or pretend blissful ignorance? I wasn’t sure how to do either.
Chapter Twelve – Drowning
I drove up to the nearest supermarket and stocked up on food, just in case. Who am I kidding? I want him to stay for the whole weekend. I worked late on the romance novel and finally quit in the early hours of the morning. I’d reached an impasse. Tami wanted Joseph, but didn’t want to hurt Daniel. Joseph being honorable, wouldn’t break up their relationship. Without a murder and a set of forensic clues, I felt hopelessly out of my depth. I wanted my characters to face up to their love and embrace it, but reaching their happy ending looked impossible without one of the party being hurt.
I decided to sleep on it.
By the time I crawled out of my bed on Friday, it was nearly midday and the weather had closed in again. I checked the forecast online: a cold southerly wind, heavy rain, and possible gales. If the weather was bad, Dylan might not bother heading up to Mel’s. I checked my phone and found another text from him.
Chill. I’ll leave it on the deck if u r out
Hmm. Not the answer I’d hoped for, but there was no sense in making a bigger issue as that would only make him suspicious. Dylan was trying very hard not to take sides between myself and Colin, but admitting I had a lover to him? Not going there.
Unable to settle, I fiddled some more with my manuscript, made coffee, changed the bedding, and tidied every corner of the tiny cottage. It was still only four p.m. The wind had started rattling at the patio umbrella and I made sure it was secure, and then I sat and stared at the rain as it rolled in. The clouds hung low in the sky, heavy and foreboding, and ready to dump their water over the land. I wondered if there would be lightning again. Another round of tidying up and I resorted to baking cookies to pass the time. Dylan adored my chocolate-chip cookies and I’d made them so many times that I didn’t need a recipe.
An hour later, the kitchen was filled with the warm, homey smell of baking and a mountain of cookies sat cooling.
I made a casserole. Something to sit quietly in the oven and be eaten whenever Jonah arrived. If he arrived. It was seven p.m. and there was no sign of him. The wind now tugged at the windows and the rain battered across the roof, and I didn’t like to think about Jonah driving up here in this filthy squall. He’d most likely be here tomorrow, when the storm had blown itself out. By ten, I’d removed the casserole to the refrigerator and then curled up on the sofa while I pretended to watch some television.
Disappointment clawed at me. He wasn’t coming tonight.
A banging noise jolted me awake. I lay on the sofa with the TV playing quietly in the background and I stared at the screen for a moment as I tried to place the noise. The wind had risen to a banshee howl since I fell asleep. Had something been blown over outside? I scrambled to my feet and rubbed my eyes as I headed for the kitchen door. What time was it anyway? Nearly midnight.
I flicked on the kitchen lights and saw a large, dark figure on the other side of the sliding glass. Arm up, he looked ready to smash the glass with his fist. My heart stuttered. I covered my mouth to stifle the scream that ripped from
my throat. Where was my phone? Wait...he was knocking on the glass, not trying to break it.
Jonah.
My knees sagged with relief and my cheeks heated with shame. How stupid was I? I hurried to open the door, to let him in, to get him out of the horrible weather. Uncaring that he was dripping onto the floor, I hurled myself into his arms and kissed him. His lips were icy cold and wet, his hair damp and the leather jacket he wore was saturated. He didn’t seem bothered by it and lifted me off the floor with the force of our embrace.
“I’m so late.” He ran cold hands through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
It didn’t matter. I couldn’t speak. I was so pleased to see him. Instead, I burrowed closer and claimed his lips again. He gave a soft little sigh and pulled back, creating a space between us. “I’m soaked.”
He was. I realized that my T-shirt now clung to me and I tried to assemble my thought processes. “Yes, take your jacket off. Why are you so wet? Where did you park? Had you been knocking for ages? I fell asleep.” The words tumbled out on top of each other and I stepped back and looked at him properly. Brain damaged? The gorgeous man giving me the sexiest of grins looked anything but damaged. He looked virile, handsome, wickedly teasing, and with a sharp intelligence gleaming in those dark eyes. There had to be a mistake.
That’s when I noticed the heavy boots he wore. There, on the deck, stood a motorbike. “You biked here?” Why did I assume he’d drive a car? I was speechless again. The idea of him riding a motorbike here in this weather was terrifying. I gazed at him wide-eyed.
“I wanted to see you.” It sounded obvious and I just about melted at his words. My throat clogged up and I had to swallow hard.
Silent, I unzipped his jacket and slid it from his shoulders. It was heavier than I expected and I draped it carefully over one of the chairs before turning back to Jonah. He wore a hoodie underneath and I ran a hand across the fabric to check if that was dry. It was. I took a deep breath and found my tongue. “Are you hungry? I made a casserole if you want some. It will only take a few minutes to heat up.”
He looked surprised. “Yes please.”
While I nuked the food, laid the table, and fetched glasses of water, Jonah retrieved a backpack and disappeared into the bedroom. His boots and thick socks sat near the door and he wandered back into the kitchen with his feet bare, wearing a T-shirt and the knee-length denim shorts I recognized from last week.
He grinned when he noticed the pile of cookies. “You made these?” This was the perfect opportunity to tell him Dylan might be calling round tomorrow, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment.
I just nodded. “Help yourself.” He snagged one from the pile and devoured it, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with one finger.
“Really good.” He caught my hand and pulled me to him, sliding one arm around my middle. “I left late. The bike kept stopping.” He paused, as though weighing his words. “I worried you might not be here. I’m glad you are.” He kissed me lightly, tasting of vanilla and chocolate, and I replayed his words in my head.
“What was wrong with your bike?”
He nuzzled against my hair. His voice was muffled. “Doesn’t like rain.” Right on cue, the wind shrieked some more and another torrent of rain poured onto the roof as though from a giant tap in the sky. I held Jonah tight. The microwave pinged, but I cuddled him a few seconds longer.
He ate a large portion of the casserole and wiped the plate with a chunk of bread, to mop up all the gravy. I was hungry, but not for food. I picked at a small amount to keep him company and then insisted he sit while I cleared the table. He sipped a glass of water and watched me, before pulling me onto his lap, the sexy half smile dancing over his face. “I missed you.” His voice rumbled through me, and my stomach went into free fall. Maybe I was just a booty call, but one he’d bike through the rain for. A dozen questions nagged at me, and I knew I’d have to ask about the accident, but not yet. As with the cookies, I didn’t want anything to spoil this blissful moment.
He smelled of outside and old leather, and I buried my nose in his hair, inhaling deep. I wanted him. My breasts ached for his touch, my belly tight and pussy damp. Why hadn’t I put on something sexier? I wore loose-fitting yoga pants and a silky camisole, my version of lounging pajamas. I’d wanted to keep things casual, but now I wished I’d bought some sexy lingerie.
His lips sought my throat, moving down to my collarbone and the V-neckline of my camisole. Warm, soft, and sensuous, I relaxed into his arms, giving myself to the flood of sensations that he coaxed from my body. Slowly, he pushed the camisole down to reveal a naked breast. “Perfect,” he whispered and closed his mouth around the nipple. I gasped, the shockwave flashing through me, fierce and hot, and straight down to my core.
“Bed,” I replied, my voice cracking with pleasure as he rasped his teeth over my nipple. “I want you, Jonah.”
“Impatient, much?” He stood anyway, lifting me at the same time and carrying me as though I weighed nothing. Every step punctuated with a kiss. We reached my bedroom and he sat carefully on the bed, smiling fully at me.
I wanted to undress him. When his hands reached for the back of his T-shirt, I stilled them. “Let me.” I pulled the shirt over his head and softly bit one of his nipples. His grin disappeared. The tattoo fascinated me. I traced the notes with my fingertips, my lips following in their wake, and I moved down his body, across the taut stomach to the happy trail of hair that led into his pants. He groaned and caught my head, lifting me to meet his kiss. This was more than a kiss. He owned my mouth by the time he’d finished. I hurried to unfasten his shorts and he helped, shucking them off with ease. Gloriously, deliciously naked, he sat before me. “Baby, you’re still dressed.”
I whipped off my top, he yanked down my yoga pants, and I lay before him feeling shy. “Beautiful,” he murmured. My nipples were throbbing, and already I felt on the edge. One touch, and I’d come. I gazed at his cock, hard and ready, and I licked my lips. He fisted himself and shook his head briefly. “Touch me, and I’ll come.”
A soft laugh slipped from my mouth. “Same. Do you have any idea what you do to me, Jonah?”
He released a jagged breath. “Same,” he echoed.
I reached for the bedside table, for the condoms I’d bought earlier, and handed one to him. “Touch you first.” He began to stroke my pussy lips with one finger, and my hips bucked, arousal spiking. “Good, huh?”
I squirmed on the bed, hands clawing at the bedding, needing more. “Yes.” My breath hitched when he slowly curved one finger and pressed it deep inside me. Jesus, he hit the spot, just there. A second finger joined the first, and I whimpered. My lungs stopped working for a moment and I peaked, a rapid, hot orgasm flashing over me. I grabbed his head with both hands, needing his lips, his kiss. “Oh God, Jonah. Don’t make me wait.” I writhed on the bed, needy and hungry. He was the drug that I’d become addicted to, and right now, I needed my fix.
“Anyone tell you you’re bossy?” He sounded amused as he deftly fitted the condom and then positioned himself between my thighs. He pushed into me slow and steady, filling me, with another climax already beckoning. Braced on one arm, he fisted his free hand in my hair and tilted my head back to feast on my throat. His lips dropped and brushed over each nipple in turn while I moaned beneath him.
It was too much, my skin too sensitized, my need too great. “Jonah,” I curled everything around him, hands digging into his shoulders, legs tangling around his waist, trying to climb under his skin. I wanted to live inside his body. I wanted to feel his heart beating next to my own, our breaths shared and his hands on my skin. I struggled to breathe. He panted above me, and for a second, I stepped outside myself. How beautiful we must look together. I fell right back into the moment. Jonah slid a hand underneath my butt and changed the angle that he pounded into me. Everything changed.
“Come for me,” he rasped, and I let go. I saw sparks. I felt as though I was drowning, and he was my life belt, hauling me back to
earth. Shudders racked my body, aftershocks clenching around his cock, and he rode it out, rocking gently while I sobbed his name. When I finally drew breath again, I opened my eyes to stare into a gaze so intense, I felt he could read my mind.
I ran shaky hands along his arms, feeling the tension in his muscles, the strain in his body. He pushed deep and slow, inhaled, pulled back, and blew out his breath, every slide sparking new triggers inside me. I couldn’t possibly come again. I felt as weak as a wet rag, but I wanted to make it good for him. I reached down and closed my hand around the base of his cock. He jerked at my touch, and I saw him tense his jaw, his eyes darken. “Cass,” he warned, but I ignored him. On his next push, I squeezed hard and drew a groan from deep in his throat.
“So good, Jonah. You make me feel so good.” I flicked my tongue over one of his nipples and squeezed his cock again. He made an agonized noise, whispered my name, and began to fuck me, hard. Two more thrusts, and he trembled; on the third, he came with a muffled shout and collapsed onto me, his face against my neck. I stroked his back, cupped his neck, and kissed his shoulder.
“God, Cass.” He eased out of me and stripped away the condom. I lay there, my pulse still racing, breathing unsteady, and feeling as though I just ran a marathon. When he turned back and kissed me, I forgot my own name. Nothing existed beyond this man and his lovemaking. My world had shrunk to the size of my bed, and I’d be happy to never leave if he stayed there with me.
He spooned behind me, one hand playing with my breast in a movement that felt as natural as if we’d been doing it for years. My last thought before I slept was of Jonah.