by L. B. Dunbar
My mind flips through a mental checklist. This is Anna’s house. This is Lakeside Cottage. Her folks owned the place, and she inherited it. My daughters and I are her guests. The apartment above the garage was offered to me for a much-needed break. She said her brother—
“Archer?” I croak, wondering if the man holding my jaw is the elusive older brother Anna has mentioned a time or two. He wasn’t expected here. At the sound of his name, his hand slowly releases my chin but travels south to my throat. The thick palm isn’t squeezing. He just rests it in place like a turtleneck sweater. I can still breathe, but my breath is gone. Despite the dark room, the intensity of his eyes sucks up all the oxygen.
“Who the fuck are you?”
I struggle to find the words again. Maybe it’s that strong voice or the fact he’s on all fours over me. How did I not hear him enter the apartment? Or this room? Or this bed?
“I’m Jenna Davis, a friend of Anna’s.”
His hand lowers even more, flattening over my chest. I’m certain he can feel my heart thumping under my skin. I’m wearing shorts and a tank top, and loosely covered by a sheet and light blanket. But I’m all too aware of how thin the layers of material are. The heat of his hand seeps through my flesh just above the swell of my breasts which rapidly heave in fear. Maybe fear isn’t the right word. Is it possible I’m also turned on? Despite not knowing Anna’s brother, I was having the most wonderful dream before the gruff little bear invaded my thoughts, and that dream has my nipples on high alert that someone’s hand is very near them.
However, my head says this is all wrong.
“What are you doing?” I choke because his hand is sweeping lower, and my gut reaction is to lift my knee for his balls. Which I do. Only, two things happen at the same time. First, he captures my leg between his before I get anywhere near his precious cargo, then his hand slips lower, squeezing my breast.
“What the fuck?” he says, his voice like sandpaper against rocks.
“What the frickety-frack?” I say at the same time.
“What the fuck is frickety-frack?” That incredulous tone returns, and I finally find enough strength in my arms to lift them upward and push at his chest. Speaking of rocks, he’s missing a shirt, and his smooth pecs are as solid as a boulder. He bitterly chuckles at my weak attempt to move him but shifts enough for me to scramble out from underneath him. He remains on the bed, on his knees, while I slip off the mattress and back up until I collide with the wall.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. That rugged voice softens only a sliver, and my arms cross over my chest in a giant X, covering myself as best I can.
“You just manhandled my boob,” I blurt.
“You were sleeping in my bed. Find a woman in my bed, and I get to touch her.”
“That’s rather assumptive and chauvinistic.”
“Those are two big words I can’t comprehend in the middle of the night, babe.”
I huff again and then think of my girls.
“Tell me you didn’t touch my daughters.” My heart continues to hammer as the statement stammers from my lips.
“You’ve got kids?”
I roll on my shoulder, intending to slip from the room through the open door. Only, I misjudge the distance to the entrance and smack into the frame.
“Frickety, frack, frack, frack,” I hiss as my nose explodes in pain and my eyes sting. Instantly, warm hands are on my shoulders, steadying me from behind.
“Where’re you goin’?” The seductive sound blurs with the pain radiating across my face, and tears fall.
My voice shakes as I speak. “Just let me go. Just let me get my girls, and I’ll get out of here.”
His hands peel free of my shoulders, but he doesn’t move. His presence overpowers me from behind. Heat wafts off his chest. I sense the strength of him, but it’s no longer fear holding me in place. His breath tickles the fine hairs on the back of my neck. Would he kiss me there? It’s the most ridiculous thought I’ve ever had.
“Look, there’s no need to go anywhere. It’s the middle of the night. I’m sure this is my sister’s fuckup. It’s been a long night. I’ll just take the couch.”
I have no sense of what time it is. I’d left my hometown of Elk Lake City, roughly three hours north of Lakeside, and arrived midafternoon. That was hours ago. The girls and I needed a change of scenery, and Anna is a friend from college. When she moved here, we promised we’d get together more often.
“No, you should take your bed,” I say, spinning to face him, bumping into the firm chest which remains too close to me. My nose throbs and tears still prickle my eyes, but those nipples of mine ache as they tenderly scrape the inside of my thin tank top.
“You gonna join me again?” The teasing shift in such a rough voice doesn’t compute at first, so in all seriousness, I respond.
“I’ll just sleep with my girls.” I’m certain I won’t sleep after all, but I’m not in the right frame of mind to wake the girls and carry them out of here. Plus, it is somewhere past midnight, and the thought of crossing the driveway to wake Anna doesn’t sound great. She’s been so kind to offer this garage apartment for a two-week stay.
“You weren’t supposed to be here,” I defend.
“It’s still my place,” Archer reminds me.
“Yes, but you weren’t supposed to be here,” I repeat as if that clarifies anything.
“Well, I am.” A large arm lifts, and I flinch at the raising of his paw, preparing for a strike. “What the fuck? Calm down.” Our eyes meet, and his search mine for answers I cannot give.
“Do you need to keep saying that word?”
“What word?”
“The frickety-frack word.” It took years of training on my part to curb my vocabulary so I don’t drop an f-bomb or two before my girls. I’m conditioned not to swear as I teach high school and need to keep a stern face when I call out kids for language. But I was no saint outside my classroom until I had children of my own. Even then, I’m still not perfect.
Thinking of my two little ones, I need to get out of this room and check on them. Taking a step to the side as Archer’s presence is just so . . . present, I kick the doorframe of the opening I still cannot seem to make it through.
“Frick,” I hiss as my heel collides with the edge in a fluky spot right where the two pieces of wood corner together. A definitive thud echoes in the quiet of the place.
“You’re kind of a hot mess.” He roughly chuckles again.
Don’t I know it. He doesn’t need to know it, though.
“I’m just gonna . . . and then tomorrow . . .” I can’t seem to collect words because I inhaled as my breath caught when I kicked the door, and sweet cherries, Archer smells good. I can’t distinguish any specific scent, but it’s strong and musky, and I lick my lower lip. Even in the dark, Archer’s eyes lower to watch the motion.
“Girls’ room,” he says, dropping his voice while focused on my mouth. I don’t know if it’s a question or a command, but two hands come to my shoulders, shift me to the right, and spin me to face the wide door opening. I hardly take a step through the space when the door is closed at my back, and I race across the living room, but not before bumping into the edge of the couch and then stubbing my toe on the coffee table as I’m unfamiliar with this layout in the dark. Hobbling to the bedroom where the girls sleep, I finally make it to the door and slip into their space, pressing my back against the barrier once closed, and wondering what has me so flustered.
With my head tipped back and my eyes closed, I recall Archer’s heavy, thick hand over my breast. Maybe I moved, and it was all innocent enough. I did try to knee him in the balls, and squeezing my breast might have been more a gut reaction. Still, I reach for the swell and tenderly place my hand over the heaviness, feeling my nipple erect and firm, peaking the soft, thin cotton of my shirt. Then I stifle a giggle. A ridiculous teenage girl squeak at the thought of that large, mysterious man purposely tweaking my breast.
“
Oh my God, I need to get laid,” I quietly mutter to the darkness and the heavens. My lids flutter open, and I lower my head to face two twin beds and two little reasons it hasn’t happened in years. Taking a deep breath, I sigh with exhaustion and move to one bed, pressing at Rosie’s little shoulder so she’ll roll over. For a tiny thing, she can take up a lot of space with thin limbs spread in all directions. I know I won’t get a wink of sleep with her as she often climbs into my bed at home. I don’t mind it much, as the bed feels too large without Ryan, but Rosie has no concept of head on pillows and feet toward the foot of the bed. Eventually, little heels will be pressed into my back, and I’ll be forced to the edge of the mattress, practically hanging on to a sliver of the blanket.
Still, she shifts, and I settle into the bed, pulling the blanket to my throat as if it can hide me or protect me. My head rolls to the left, and I check the other bed. Talia sleeps soundly on her side, facing my direction. Her little hands are tucked under her cheek, and her lips part, causing her to softly snore. With not a care in the world, not a fear in her dreams, my little worrier rests.
“Sweet dreams,” I say to the dark, wanting only quiet and peace in both my girls’ heads as they slumber.
For me, I’ll be lying here wide-awake until morning before I escape the apartment of one hot Archer McCaryn.
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Read more about Archer and Jenna in Loving at 40.
Do you read Logan and Autumn’s story in Living at 40?
Like small town sexy silver foxes? You might also like: Silver Brewer.
And stay up to date with me through Love Notes.
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More by L.B. Dunbar
Lakeside Cottage
Four friends. Four summers. Shenanigans and love happen at the lake.
Living at 40
Loving at 40
Learning at 40
Letting Go at 40
The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge
More sexy silver foxes in the mountain community of Blue Ridge.
Silver Brewer
Silver Player
Silver Mayor
Silver Biker
Sexy Silver Foxes
When sexy silver foxes meet the feisty vixens of their dreams.
After Care
Midlife Crisis
Restored Dreams
Second Chance
Wine&Dine
Collision novellas
A spin-off from After Care – the younger set/rock stars
Collide
Caught
Smartypants Romance (an imprint of Penny Reid)
Tales of the Winters sisters set in Green Valley.
Love in Due Time
Love in Deed
Love in a Pickle (2021)
The World of True North (an imprint of Sarina Bowen)
Welcome to Vermont! And the Busy Bean Café.
Cowboy
Studfinder
Rom-com standalone for the over 40
The Sex Education of M.E.
The Heart Collection
Small town, big hearts - stories of family and love.
Speak from the Heart
Read with your Heart
Look with your Heart
Fight from the Heart
View with your Heart
A Heart Collection Spin-off
The Heart Remembers
THE EARLY YEARS
The Legendary Rock Star Series
Rock star mayhem in the tradition of King Arthur.
A classic tale with a modern twist of romance and suspense
The Legend of Arturo King
The Story of Lansing Lotte
The Quest of Perkins Vale
The Truth of Tristan Lyons
The Trials of Guinevere DeGrance
Paradise Stories
MMA romance. Two brothers. One fight.
Abel
Cain
The Island Duet
Intrigue and suspense. The island knows what you’ve done.
Redemption Island
Return to the Island
Modern Descendants – writing as elda lore
Magical realism. Modern myths of Greek gods.
Hades
Solis
Heph
About the Author
Love Notes
www.lbdunbar.com
L.B. Dunbar has an over-active imagination. To her benefit, such creativity has led to over thirty romance novels, including those offering a second chance at love over 40. Her signature works include the #sexysilverfoxes collection of mature males and feisty vixens ready for romance in their prime years. She’s also written stories of small-town romance (Heart Collection), rock star mayhem (The Legendary Rock Stars Series), and a twist on intrigue and redemption (Redemption Island Duet). She’s had several alter egos including elda lore, a writer of romantic magical realism through mythological retellings (Modern Descendants). In another life, she wanted to be an anthropologist and journalist. Instead, she was a middle school language arts teacher. The greatest story in her life is with the one and only, and their four grown children. Learn more about L.B. Dunbar by joining her reader group on Facebook (Loving L.B.) or subscribing to her newsletter (Love Notes).
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