Magnolia Bay Memories

by Babette de Jongh

  It wasn’t until she lay there, gasping for breath, that his brain came back online and he had another thought for himself. He crawled up to the bedside table, keeping a physical connection between them by resting a hand on her thigh. He ripped open the condom’s foil wrapper with his teeth, rolled the condom on one-handed, and then eased up close to lie beside her.

  Past ready for it to be his turn, he still wasn’t taking it for granted. He propped his head on one hand and looked down at her satisfied expression while he trailed an idle finger down the center of her body, from neck to navel, then down to touch the soft skin he could still feel twitching from the gradual slowdown of a massive orgasm. “You okay?”

  She huffed out a laugh, and her eyelids fluttered open. “Okay?” She laughed again, a weak wheeze, and closed her eyes again. “I’m so much better than okay.”

  “Up for round two?”

  “Round…” She looked down and noticed his predicament. “Oh. Round two.” A sweet smile spread across her face, and she opened her arms to him. “You’d better believe I’m ready for round two.”

  When she took him inside her, her body was a revelation of softness and warmth.

  He’d been expecting that.

  But when she took his face in her hands, looked him in the eyes, and whispered, “Thank you” before kissing him with disarming sincerity, he found that the polished seduction he had attempted couldn’t compare with the brutal power of her innocent honesty. Some latent emotion that had been hiding out in the unused corners of his heart twisted and snapped, and he knew he was done for. He’d known from the beginning this wasn’t the casual sex he was used to, but it wasn’t the carefully crafted experience he’d been determined to provide either.

  This was something else entirely. Something he’d never experienced before.

  Then she grabbed his shoulders, digging in with her fingernails. She wrapped her legs around his butt, hooked her ankles together, and squeezed to draw him in even farther. She bit the side of his neck and sucked so hard he knew he’d have a hickey in the morning. Then she bucked her hips, and after that, all he could do was hold on and hope he survived.

  Thankfully, his body knew what to do. Because his mind had been blown by the emotional explosion that broke open his heart when she held him close and tucked her face into his shoulder. Her muffled cries signaled her orgasms, one tumbling over another as he answered his need to bury his body inside hers, faster, harder, deeper.

  He heard his own harsh gasps for breath, felt the cry of completion wrung from his lungs when the pulsing of her inner muscles forced his release. His arms trembled and then collapsed. Her soft breasts cushioned his heaving chest. Her cool skin absorbed his heat. Her heart pounded in time with his.

  “Wow,” he wheezed, his voice as ragged as an old man’s. He dropped his face into the pillow beside her and tried to breathe normally.

  She kissed the side of his ear, and he felt her lips curve in a satisfied smile. “You okay?” she whispered.

  “Not…” he barely managed to mumble, “sure yet.”

  Powerless to move a muscle, he all but passed out. He might have been somewhat conscious of Heather shoving his dead weight off to the side and smoothing the sweat off his brow, but maybe that was just a dream.

  He woke hours later with Heather draped over him, sleeping hard. His arms and legs were chilled, though the parts where he and Heather touched were toasty warm.

  Maybe a little too warm.

  He eased out from under her, found the sheets and coverlet on the floor, and then drew them gently over her, up to the shoulders.

  If he were an artist, he wouldn’t have covered her. If he were an artist, he would have found his sketchpad and charcoal, and he’d have drawn her naked body, sleeping and sated and so beautiful that the sight of her made his heart ache and urged his exhausted body to come alive again.

  He padded out of the bedroom and closed the door silently behind him. He stood naked in the dark loft and gazed through the windows that overlooked the river. The sky hovered close, a dark, impenetrable blue. Through the windows that faced the French Quarter, lights twinkled, expanding the view. The faint sounds of music and revelry drifted in past the double-paned glass.

  As he’d encouraged Heather to do earlier, he let himself pretend, just for a second, that he could be a different person if he chose. If he were the sort of man who actually wanted to settle down, could Heather fit into his life in this place?

  Yes, of course. But her kids…?

  No. The French Quarter loft lifestyle was not exactly a kid-friendly environment.

  So the next logical question was, could he fit into her life?

  He hadn’t thought that far ahead—hell, he hadn’t thought much past getting her in his bed. And he definitely hadn’t thought that Heather might have the power to crack his heart open and burrow inside. He had planned to gift her with a stepping-stone that would lead her to a new beginning in her life. He hadn’t realized that he might feel the need to go with her past that point.

  Just pretending… What if he had the guts to abandon everything he’d thought he wanted and buy into a completely different plan, one he’d never considered before?

  Adrian’s imagination didn’t stretch far enough to see himself stepping into a ready-made family. He wouldn’t have any problem providing for Heather and her kids financially. (Honestly, he made a ridiculous amount of money doing work he enjoyed whenever he felt like doing it.) He could, if he wanted to, set Heather and her kids up in fine style and continue to live the life he lived, only popping over to Magnolia Bay whenever life on the road and partying in New Orleans got dull.

  He had a sneaking suspicion that Heather wouldn’t be satisfied with that.

  But he wasn’t capable of anything more.

  Best to go back to plan A, giving Heather a respite from real life that she’d never forget, then going back to being friends. Or maybe friends with benefits.

  His stomach growled, thankfully interrupting his circling thoughts. “Food,” he said to himself out loud. He had thought that he would take Heather out for dinner and live music at Bacchanal, but by now, the place would be too crowded. To snag a table, they’d have to circle like sharks, looking for diners who might be making motions to pay their bills.

  Not exactly romantic.

  Frenchmen Street bustled with places that offered Cajun food and live music, and it was only a quick walk from the loft. If Heather were any other woman, he would make haste to get dressed and hustle them both out the door in search of a new adventure, a change of pace, a different vibe.

  But he wanted to keep Heather to himself, at least until they had to leave here in the morning. Tonight might be all they had, so he decided to make the most of it. He ordered dinner to be delivered from the bistro in the building. He made the call and got way too much food in an effort to give Heather another long-overdue experience of being pampered.

  No matter how this turned out or whether it lasted past tomorrow, Adrian wanted to remind Heather what it was like to be cherished.

  ***

  Heather woke slowly in a pitch-dark room that smelled of sex…along with the drifting aroma of food. The cool, soft sheets that covered her moved aimlessly when she did. They weren’t anchored to the bed, so she sat up and wrapped the bedclothes around her. The room wasn’t entirely dark, she realized. A sliver of light barred the bottom of the closed bathroom door, behind which she could hear the hiss of water hitting a glass shower door. Adrian.

  Adrian, with whom she had just luxuriated in several blissed-out hours of mind-blowing sex.

  “Slow down,” she said to her galloping imagination. She wasn’t planning to allow Adrian into her life just yet, if ever. But she was damn sure gonna allow him to take charge of her life for at least the next fourteen or so hours because the last ten had been pretty damn incredible.

>   She left the sheets and coverlet piled on the bed and opened the door of the master bathroom, where Adrian stood in the shower, his arms lifted to comb his fingers through his hair while water pelted down his perfectly sculpted body.

  Feeling her eyes on him, he wiped his face and opened the shower door. “Hey, honey. Come on in.”

  She joined him beneath the shower spray, and he closed the door behind her, then turned a tap that suddenly had water pelting them both from all angles. Surprised, she grabbed onto him and huddled close while she got used to the stinging spray. He rubbed his hands up and down her back, then cupped her backside and turned her so the water hit her with an oblique spray instead of head-on.

  She turned her face up to his. “Did you just call me honey?”

  He grinned, then dipped down to steal a quick kiss. His wet lips slid against hers, silky-sweet. “Yep, I guess I did.”

  “Okay. I’ll take that.” She took the initiative and kissed him back. “I’m okay with being called honey…but only by you…and maybe only in private.”

  He kissed her again, smiling against her mouth. “You do taste pretty sweet, so it’s only fair, right?”

  “Only fair,” she replied, her voice already sounding breathy because he had backed her up against the shower’s white-tile walls. He rubbed her down with a slippery bar of something that smelled suspiciously like cheap antibacterial soap, then set the soap aside and ran his hands over her skin while the water pelted down on them both.

  He kissed her, and his mouth tasted clean and minty, like toothpaste.

  She pulled away. “No fair. You brushed your teeth. I don’t have a toothbrush.”

  “Aw, jeez. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. I’ll give you a new toothbrush. I have a drawer full of them.”

  “You do?” The only reason she could imagine was that Adrian liked to be prepared for the parade of women who ended up spending the night with him.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter.” He gave her a little pop on the butt, a playful spanking. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “Yeah, well what is it?”

  “I used to date a dental hygienist. She gave me a whole case of toothbrushes that some company gave her.”

  “Okay, you’re off the hook.” Not that he was ever on the hook in the first place. He most definitely wasn’t on her hook. “As long as you deliver on the toothbrush before you kiss me again.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, giving a sultry look. “I’m not sure I can do that. In fact, let’s conduct a test…” He lowered his head and kissed her again. “All I can taste is my own mint.”

  “I don’t care.” She bit his bottom lip, gently sucking it into her mouth before letting go. “I still want my toothbrush.”

  He reached past her and turned off the water, then stepped out of the shower, giving her an excellent view of him in the altogether—as in altogether naked—this time unobscured by water or steam or even a clear pane of glass between his body and her ability to see it.

  She resolved to look her fill, since this might be the last time she got to see such a magnificent sight.

  With his back to her, he rattled around in a cabinet drawer, but she could see his front in the mirror. A near-panoramic view. He met her eyes in the mirror. “What?”

  She grinned. “Just enjoying the view, in case it’s the last time I get to see it.”

  He held out a new, pink, cellophane-wrapped toothbrush. “I’m not sure I want to sacrifice a brand-new toothbrush for you if you’re not coming back again.”

  She tried to take the toothbrush, but he wouldn’t let go of it. She gave it a little tug. “I don’t want to take anything for granted, that’s all.”

  He held his end of the toothbrush in a firm grip. “Let’s pretend for a minute that we both want to do this again. Are you willing to come back?”

  “Well, yeah, if I can manage it. I do have three kids though. Getting away isn’t as easy as you might think.” This was ridiculous, standing here naked, drip-drying on the fluffy bathroom rug, arguing over whether he was going to give her a toothbrush. She gave the toothbrush another tug.

  He tightened his grip. “But you’re not discounting the possibility?”

  “Not at all.” She tried again to take the toothbrush, but he held on. She made a huff of frustration. “Are you gonna give me the damn toothbrush or not?”

  He still scowled at her, and she searched his expression for some hint of a teasing grin, but he looked pretty grim. “I’m just beginning to wonder,” he said, “if you were planning all along to take advantage of me and then cut me loose.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “I wasn’t planning anything. For the first time in my fucking life, I was going with the flow. Enjoying myself. Pretending we could be…I don’t know…whatever this is.” She gestured to the two of them standing naked in his bathroom. “I thought that was what you wanted me to do. Was I wrong?”

  He let go of the toothbrush. “No. Not wrong.” He whipped a towel off the bar and wrapped it around himself, then handed her a folded one from the shelf above the toilet. “I ordered dinner. It’s on the table. Let’s eat it before it gets cold.”

  ***

  In the kitchen, Adrian took the lids off the food that had been delivered right before he got in the shower. He had already set the table with two place settings, with the unlit candle from the guest bathroom between them.

  The candle seemed stupid now.

  He stuck a serving spoon into every container but the soup, which he poured into two bowls. As he spooned a swirl of sorbet into each soup bowl and sprinkled croutons on top, he scoffed at himself for being such a dumbass.

  What on earth had compelled him to act that way? For some reason even he couldn’t fathom, he had gone from seduction mode to whatever mode he’d slipped into for no reason. He wasn’t used to examining his emotions—he’d never been much into navel-gazing. But something had gone seriously off-course here, and he knew that the problem was all his.

  Heather came into the room, wrapped in a bath towel and looking rightfully hesitant, since he had just tried to start an argument over a damn toothbrush. “I’m sorry,” he said, straightaway. “I’m an ass.”

  “No, you’re not an ass.” She took in the table he had set with plain-white china and heavy flatware. “This looks beautiful.” He had left a lighter next to the candle; she lit the candle and laid the lighter aside. “What can I do to help?”

  He pulled out a chair for her. “Sit. I’ll open the wine.”

  “Wow, look at all this food.”

  He pushed her chair in, taking the opportunity to kiss the side of her neck. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a bunch of different stuff for you to try.”

  “It all looks and smells delicious. But we’d have to stay here for a week to eat all this.”

  He poured wine into both their glasses, then sat across from her and gave a rueful grin. “I wish.” And he realized that he did truly wish they had more time together. Maybe that was part of the reason he’d acted so childishly just now.

  “Maybe…” He shook his head. “Never mind.” He’d been about to try to explain his actions, but how could he when he could hardly figure them out himself? Better to just start over and try to recapture the romantic scene he’d been so careful to set before he messed it up.

  She let his unfinished comment pass and held her glass up. “To our new friendship.”

  He clinked his glass to hers. “To our new friendship.” He wanted to add more, to tack on an and…but couldn’t decide what it would be. And that, he realized, was exactly his problem. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, watching Heather eat her soup. “What do you think?”

  She looked up, her green eyes smiling. “It’s amazing.” A tiny frown line appeared between her pale brows. “Aren’t you going to eat yours?”
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  “I’m having too much fun watching you.” She gave him a quirky look, and he picked up his spoon. “But yeah. I’m gonna eat.”

  By the time they finished dinner, he had managed to regain his sense of perspective. Mainly because Heather had so easily forgiven his momentary lapse of both manners and judgment.

  Heather started putting the lids back on the containers.

  “Nope, none of that. I’ll do it.”

  “Okay.” She sat back with a cheeky grin and put her hands in her lap. “I’m guessing you have a better idea?”

  “I think so.” He picked up the wine bottle and held it to the light; it was about half-full. “You want to split the rest of this wine and take our glasses out on the balcony?”

  “Yes, please.” She held out her glass. “I would love that.”

  He poured the wine, clinked his glass to hers, and took a sip. “You go ahead. I’ll put all this away and meet you out there.”

  She grabbed her phone off the counter. “I’m gonna check in with the kids real quick.”

  “Take your time.” After she went outside, he put away the leftover food, stacked the dishwasher, then went into the laundry room to put their clean clothes in the dryer. When he joined her on the balcony, she was leaning back in one of the patio chairs with her feet propped on the railing.

  He had always appreciated her generous curves, her breasts and hips so lush and ripe with a softly inward-curving waistline that gave her a subtle hourglass shape. But he hadn’t truly appreciated her legs until just this minute because she usually kept them hidden under slightly baggy jeans. Even the denim skirt she sometimes wore hid more than it accentuated. Perfect attire for her job, of course, but he would love to see her wearing a soft, curve-hugging dress with a short hemline.

  Although he had no complaints about the towel she was wearing. “How are things back home?”