The Wonder of Now

by Beck, Jamie

  Peyton caught Mitch’s eye while subtly shaking her head. The instant her mom opened her mouth to rebut, Mitch winked.

  “I’ve already been asked to help with some of the plans.” Her mom shot her dad a proud little stare.

  He frowned. “Darla, they were probably being polite. Logan may be paying for the wedding, but if the McKennas are doing it, they can’t afford your taste. Don’t interfere.”

  “Nonsense. I can work within a budget, and I want a chance to get closer to Claire. She’s going to be the mother of my grandchildren.”

  “Mom, Dad’s right.” Peyton leaned forward. “Let Claire and her mom make this their special journey. If they reach out, great, but don’t push your way in.”

  Darla’s ruby-red lips puckered while she toyed with a giant sapphire earring. “But you said you don’t want a traditional wedding, which means I’ll never get to plan one if I can’t be involved with Logan’s.”

  “I never said any such thing.” Peyton scowled.

  “Yes, when you and Todd were getting serious, I asked you if you’d want a wedding here or in some exotic destination, but you said you’d rather elope.”

  Peyton’s entire body flushed. She couldn’t look at Mitch. “That was because I knew I couldn’t celebrate that relationship with anyone from around here.”

  “We all know you’ve never been one to do things the normal way. Even before Todd, you’d never wanted to settle down. I long ago gave up hope of shopping for dresses and tasting cake with you, dear.” Her mom averted her eyes, but it was clear that comment was a warning shot fired at Mitch.

  Peyton bugged her eyes at her mother, plotting her revenge—like faking food poisoning from the scallops or something.

  “Darla, it’s time for us to leave these two alone.” Her dad stood with his empty bourbon glass and reached for his wife’s hand. “Good night, sweetheart. Mitch. See you both in the morning.”

  Her parents closed the french doors, disappearing into the dark house.

  As much as Peyton rejoiced over the end of the Todd conversation, she wasn’t yet prepared for what would be coming next. The romantic night had set the stage for bed and all that that entailed. She stood and began straightening the chairs around the table.

  “Can I ask something . . . ?” Mitch stared at his hands as he twined a napkin around his fingers.

  “Sure.” She gripped the back of a chair, keeping a smile in place.

  “What your mom said about you and Todd . . . Were you two engaged?”

  “No. We might’ve mused in that ‘someday when we’re married’ way, but he never proposed. But because he was my first and only serious relationship, my mom prematurely went into planning mode.” She shrugged with a light laugh. “You see how she gets carried away.”

  Mitch nodded, but his stone-faced expression told her he didn’t find any of it funny. “And you haven’t seen him since the breakup? He never once called to check on you?”

  “I haven’t seen or heard from him, although a few times I had a creepy feeling like he was watching me somehow. But I was on a lot of drugs.” She leaned against the chair. “I told you, that’s over. We don’t need to give him another thought.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of him at all if your mom hadn’t brought him up. I suppose I needed some closure on the subject.”

  That would be a miracle, considering that she didn’t have closure and doubted she ever would. How could she when she’d never had the chance to confront him after she recovered? In her dreams, she’d bump into Todd on the street—he’d be laughing with some new woman—and he’d make some polite comment about how well she looked. Then she’d punch him in the face.

  “Do I even want to know what spurred that evil look?” Mitch asked.

  “I’m sure you’ve had plenty of revenge fantasies for that Danielle chick, haven’t you?”

  He nodded with a smile. “Say no more.”

  Time to change the subject. “Any favorite parts of the evening you’d like to share?”

  “Being with you in a beautiful setting that didn’t involve your book. Outstanding food. Keeping everyone’s names straight has worn me out a bit, though.” Mitch’s gaze homed in on her as she finished straightening the empty chairs. “I’m more than ready to climb into bed.”

  She stumbled, her stomach a confused flutter of want and panic. Reaching across the table, she straightened the centerpiece that had been jostled when the caterers removed the candelabras. “Mm.”

  Mitch stood and stretched, cast in moonlight and shadows. Long and lean and slightly rumpled. She almost licked her lips from the look of him and grew hot from the memory of curling up beside all that muscle and warmth.

  “Shall we?” He gestured toward the french doors.

  She nodded and led him inside. “Maybe I should double-check the kitchen to make sure everything’s put away. My mom hates coming down in the morning to a mess . . .”

  Mitch caught her hand. “Will you relax if I tell you that I’m not expecting anything more than to spend the night like we did in London? At least not unless you want more.”

  Her heart took on a life of its own, flapping around in her chest like a bird trying to find its way out of a cage. She pitched forward, hiding her face by planting her forehead against his shoulder. “I’m so ridiculous . . . A woman my age shouldn’t be this awkward.”

  “Peyton.” He raised her chin. “I understand—even if I disagree with—your hang-ups.”

  He planted a gentle kiss on her nose, patiently allowing her to take a breath.

  “Let me grab us some water.” She crossed to the refrigerator and plucked two small bottles from the door. “All set.”

  On their way up the stairs, Mitch slowed in front of Duck’s photo. “Can we hold up? I want to check these out.”

  She stood on the step two above his while he studied the pictures of generations of Prescotts.

  “You don’t mention your grandparents much.” He peered at their image.

  “Like my dad said earlier, he and his dad fought a lot. Grandfather pursued many artistic hobbies, thinking he’d be a great talent like his father, but he wasn’t. He had no independent income yet spent money as if he were making tons, so he created a lot of chaos. My dad took control of the assets and had to sell a bunch of the property and stuff to pay debts and rebuild.”

  “Sounds brutal. No wonder you’re so resilient. That’s a lot to deal with as a kid.”

  She supposed she had been through a lot, although nothing like what he’d survived.

  He then made his way farther up the stairwell until he came to the image of her and Logan. “Even back then you were striking.”

  When he smiled up at her, her entire chest filled with light.

  “Thank you.” She peered at the picture again. The innocence of it all left her with a bittersweet pang. “Seems like a million years ago.”

  They finished climbing the stairs. While meandering down the shadowy, silent hallway, he said, “I can see why you came home to recover. It’s beautiful and peaceful, and you’ve got real friends here.”

  “For the most part, it let me step back from the world and reset.” Only the memoir kept her tethered to any kind of obligation.

  “So now that the book is out and you’re coming to the end of the promotional tour, what’s next? Will you stay in Connecticut?”

  “I’m not sure.” She opened her bedroom door and then closed it behind him. “After Todd and I broke up, I moved into Logan’s apartment in Chelsea. Now he and Claire split time between here and there, so I can’t crash there anymore. It’d help if I knew what my next career step would be . . .” She meandered to the dresser and picked through her pajamas, choosing a crimson silk nightgown. Wrapping both hands around it, she turned to Mitch. “Do you want to go brush your teeth first?”

  His crooked smile appeared as he unzipped his overnight bag to retrieve a Dopp kit. “Sure.”

  While he remained sequestered in the bathroom, she set
the nightgown on the bed and paced, shaking out her hands. Deep down, below the fear, she wanted to take this step. Wanted him.

  He’d seen the photos. He knew what to expect.

  She could do this.

  She checked the nightstand drawer, as if the lube she’d bought this week might’ve somehow escaped on its own. Maybe she wouldn’t need it, despite what she’d heard from other patients.

  Oh God. She shut the drawer. Her nerves were more fried than when she’d lost her virginity to Matt Shepard.

  The bathroom door opened, jarring her from her thoughts.

  Mitch stepped aside and gestured toward the bathroom. “All yours.”

  “Thanks.” She snatched her nightgown off the bed and slipped behind the safety of a closed door. She brushed her teeth for longer than usual, then washed and moisturized her face, brushed her hair, and finally undressed. The vanity’s bright lights didn’t do her any favors. No matter how hard Mitch tried to convince her she was desirable, scars and fake nipples didn’t look sexy. Poking at a foob—something she rarely did—she wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t fault the surgeon, but they didn’t feel real.

  She yanked the nightgown over her body and twirled in front of the mirror. Better, anyway. With a sigh, she opened the door and turned off the light.

  Mitch—shirtless and stunning—had stretched out on her bed, wearing drawstring pajama pants. Her mouth went a little dry despite the abundance of mouthwash she’d swished around. His smooth skin appeared to be hand-painted over a ripple of muscle across his chest.

  He said he’d wait for her to be ready, but this move proved him an expert at baiting a trap. He knew he looked hot. She’d be mad at him if she weren’t throbbing with lust in a way that hinted she might not need that lube, after all.

  “You look pretty.” His gaze skimmed her from head to toe.

  She raised one knee and twirled her foot. “I figured you’d prefer I keep my calves uncovered.”

  He chuckled, reaching out for her. “Yes, thank you.”

  After she turned off the overhead light, she crawled onto the bed. “Maybe we want to get under the covers?”

  “Sure.” When they repositioned themselves, he tucked her against his side. She was bracing for a kiss or a hand on the ass, but he surprised her with none of the above. “I’ve been thinking about how you keep saying you don’t know what to do next, assuming you’re not interested in writing more books.”

  “You got that right.” She grazed his chest with her hand, leaving it to rest over his heart. Her muscles relaxed with each thump beneath her palm.

  “I noticed how you spent a ton of time speaking with readers at every bookstore event since Paris, especially other patients and caregivers. It seemed like you enjoyed that interaction best.”

  She nodded, having never before given it that much thought.

  He held her closer, laying one hand on top of hers. “What if you went back to school for a master’s degree to work with chronically ill patients?”

  “Wow,” she blurted. “That’s out of left field.”

  “Sometimes the best ideas are, but is that your way of saying no?”

  She grimaced. “Your confidence is nice, but I’m not sure I could counsel anyone when I’m still such a mess myself.”

  “Don’t underestimate your gift for making people open up, or your empathy for those facing what you’ve survived. Maybe the education would also help you come to grips with your own grieving process.”

  She looked up at him. “I’ve never considered such a grown-up job before.”

  “It was just a thought . . .”

  “I know.”

  He rolled so they were face-to-face. “You don’t want to talk about this now, do you?”

  “Not really.” She shook her head.

  He kissed her shoulder and snuggled closer. “Do you want to talk about something else, or go to sleep?”

  While wrapped in his arms, her body softened like chocolate in the sun. He smelled like sea air and mint and something uniquely Mitch. She didn’t want to talk or sleep. She wanted to kiss those beautiful, full lips and bury her hands in that thick, shiny hair. She must’ve been staring at it, because he said, “You have a thing about my hair, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s beautiful and it feels so good.” She threaded her fingers through the front.

  “Like you,” he said right before he kissed her.

  They weren’t drunk this time, and she felt that kiss everywhere all at once. She kissed him back, gently sucking his lower lip before opening her mouth to let him inside. Heat and tingles and a surge of desire so strong she shivered, making her brain fuzzy.

  Mitch shifted back. “You taste delicious.”

  She wound her arms around his neck to keep him close, stealing another kiss and another until she was on her back with the weight of him pinning her to the bed, his hands splayed through her hair, his hips beginning a tantalizing rhythmic grind against her pelvis.

  “Peyton,” he moaned, breaking the kiss and suckling her neck. His hand skimmed over her front and then down her thigh, which he then hiked over his hip. Confident yet pausing to give her time to slow him down or say no.

  She throbbed like a woman who hadn’t been touched in forever, which was pretty much the truth. The gentle ache below now demanded more of him and his kisses and his touch. Slowing down held no appeal.

  His eyes shone with excitement. “I know you’d rather not talk, but I have to tell you that you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

  Her nose tingled, but she wouldn’t let those joyful tears fall. She dragged her fingernails down his back, causing him to shudder.

  He closed his eyes and kissed her again, his hand still holding her thigh in place. Another rumble in his chest and a more forceful thrust of his hips let her know that his body was racked with the same restless need as hers.

  “Mitch,” she panted breathlessly, throwing her head back to grant him access to her neck. Her back arched, her body hungry for more contact and friction.

  He kissed his way down her neck, then released her leg and pulled up the hem of her nightgown inch by inch, stopping below her breasts. With a quick glance seeking permission, he then slid lower and planted a warm, wet kiss on her abdomen, then trailed his tongue lower while stroking his hands upward along her sides until he’d cupped her breasts.

  The shock of being touched there by anyone other than her doctors made her go still, so he did, too . . . a heartbeat of a pause. When she didn’t move his hands or stop him, he resumed his trail of kisses and gentle caresses until her body writhed beneath his with the most pleasurable kind of pain building in her core.

  She reached her hands between them, to where he strained against his pajama pants, and untied the strings so they could push his bottoms off.

  He looked at her as if he didn’t trust that she meant what she’d done, so she grabbed him, stroking the length of his hot, hard penis. He crushed his mouth against hers, roughly kissing her now, all traces of delicacy and patience frayed.

  He kissed her shoulder and she nipped his. His hands were everywhere, but he didn’t remove her nightgown. She preferred that barrier for now, as she suspected he assumed.

  When she thought she couldn’t wait another second to feel all of him inside her, he reared back and reached for the condom he’d discreetly placed on the other nightstand, tore the packet, and rolled it into place.

  Her heart raced so hard she struggled to catch her breath.

  This was it. No turning back.

  Mitch wanted nothing more than to channel the need coursing through his body into a hard thrust with his hips, but he didn’t. “I want you, Peyton. So much . . .”

  Desire had his body strung so taut he thought he might snap if he didn’t get release.

  “I want you, too,” she muttered against his cheek, kissing his neck and then nipping at his earlobe.

  He slid his hands beneath her top. “Can we tak
e this off?”

  She panted, wriggling her hips and legs, looking uncertain.

  “You don’t have to hide. We don’t need this between us.” He tugged at the silk, then waited.

  She nodded, giving in to his plea. He smiled and began to yank it over her head, but she closed her eyes tight, like she couldn’t bear to see his face when he caught sight of her scars.

  Mitch tossed the nightgown aside. “Open your eyes, Peyton. I want to see them when I come inside.”

  She opened her eyes and they stared at each other, sharing the same breath. He could hardly believe they were here together after the stops and starts along the way.

  “You take my breath away,” he said before he slid into heaven, at which point his head fell forward onto her shoulder and his entire body shivered from the heat and pure ecstasy.

  Momentum took over as they rolled their hips in a carnal rhythm, building in tempo and power. He lost track of time, of kisses, of her nails and moaning, and then his field of vision narrowed with his climax—it hit him so hard.

  A little dazed, he rolled over, pulling her with him because he didn’t want to lose the connection. She lay with her head on his shoulder while he dragged his thumbs from her hips along her waist to her shoulders and down again—over and over—neither speaking. The room felt like a sauna and smelled of sex and perfume and happiness. A sort of happiness he hadn’t known before. The kind he didn’t need to share with anyone but her.

  The thought of it prompted him to wrap his arms around her and hug her so hard to his chest she coughed. “Sorry.” He released her a bit and kissed her head.

  “No apologies.” She let loose a satisfied, slow sigh. “I feel so loose, like I couldn’t control my limbs if I tried.”

  “Don’t move. I like you right where you are.” He rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes, needing another minute or so of this contentedness.

  She pressed a kiss into the base of his neck and whispered, “That was so good.”

  Eyes still closed, he grinned and hugged her tighter. “Glad you thought so, but I think we can keep trying until we reach perfection.”