Fly In Fly Out

by Evie Snow

  Jo paused. “No. No, I’m not. Don’t ask me why. I might be tomorrow after a bit of sleep though. I only flew in last night after thirty hours of transit, remember?” Her nerves pinged too much, and she looked away.

  “I see.” Stephen pulled two of Amy’s quiches from the container, handed Jo one and then offered her the bottle of wine to have the first swig.

  “Good, because I don’t.” Jo drank a few mouthfuls, feeling a bit embarrassed. She hadn’t done anything like this since she’d been in university. It seemed so intimate to pass Stephen the bottle and watch his lips touch where hers had been only seconds before.

  He handed her the wine again then swallowed his little tart in one bite. “Hmm, remind me to propose to your sister.”

  “Get in line,” Jo said wryly, taking another swig, and just like that, her tension faded away.

  Stephen laughed softly. “Like that, is it?”

  “I’d lock her up if I could.”

  “You know, I feel the same about Rachael. I don’t know if you remember her? Yeah? Well, she’s got a pretty bad track record too. I should feel good she at least tells me what’s going on, but it’s a double-edged sword. I just end up feeling bummed out for her every time she goes out with another idiot who dumps her.”

  “Yeah.” Jo watched Stephen’s mouth as he took another drink. “So what happened between you and your ex?” She surprised herself with her question; it wasn’t normally like her to be so intrusive. “I just can’t imagine a woman passing you up. I mean, you’ve acted like a bit of a dick to me here and there, but you’re still alright.” She qualified with a smile to take the sting out of her words.

  Stephen leaned back, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. I guess I have been pretty awful where you’re concerned,” he said softly but with no discernible irritation. If anything, Jo detected regret. But she didn’t want to go back in time tonight. Instead, she sneaked a peek at his profile. He was gazing out over the city lights, brow creased in thought.

  “Mm-hmm.” Jo took another swig from the bottle. “So the ex?”

  He heaved a sigh and held his hand out for the bottle of wine. “I think we just grew apart. Out of the blue, she started picking fights with me about little stuff, and it escalated from there . . . one day, I woke up in the spare room after trying to give her the space she seemed to need, had a think, and . . .” He shrugged.

  “And?” Jo prompted, moving closer to him on the blanket until her thigh touched his. This time, she allowed herself to enjoy the contact.

  “And I straight-out asked her if she wanted to end it, to which she said that she did if I didn’t get it.”

  “Get what?” Jo’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

  “I’m not sure,” Stephen said. “Something. Obviously. She wouldn’t tell me what it was, and she seems pretty pissed off I haven’t worked it out yet. I guess that’s why she won’t sell the apartment we used to share so we can split the profit. She said as much the last time we talked.”

  “That’s rough.”

  “Feels it. I still care about her, you know. She was my friend before we got together. Feels like a double loss. I know it’s over and we’ll never even be friends in the future, but I just wish she’d tell me what the hell she wants.”

  Jo heard the hurt hiding under his matter-of-fact tone and felt her stomach clench in sympathy. She rested a hand on his knee in comfort.

  They lapsed into silence again. The sound of the couples sitting around them combined with the noises rising from the car horns and sirens below.

  “So what’s the deal with the current lady?” Jo asked after a while, knowing she was pushing it; but hell, he was answering what she was asking, and she was still curious.

  “Bridgett?” Stephen looked at her sideways. “She helped me out with a fantastic deal for Evangeline’s Rest and was really great in getting me back on the horse after Lauren. We didn’t . . . Well, Lauren wasn’t in the mood in the last year or so, you know?”

  Jo didn’t know, but she made an understanding noise all the same.

  “And Bridgett was great at first. Really helped out, but now . . . it’s not like we’re in a relationship, especially not after this afternoon. She’s a great lady, but I’m pretty sure she sees me as a means to some sort of end. Maybe an ego trip. The whole younger-guy thing. And I was sure as hell using her, but now, well, we’ve not been together, like together”—he made a wide gesture with his hands—“for a month or so, mainly because I haven’t wanted to play the games she’s been pulling. I decided today that we’re probably through, but it’s how to have the conversation without anyone’s feelings getting hurt, you know?”

  “You’re waiting for the right opportunity to end it officially?” Jo asked. Looking down, she realized she’d been rubbing her palm over his knee for the past few minutes. His leg felt solid and warm. He didn’t seem to notice, so she didn’t stop. She even moved her hand a bit higher for good measure. It was a blatant effort to cop a feel, but then she’d always been a bit slutty on red wine. Well, actually, she was anyone’s on red wine, which was why she usually avoided it at all costs. This, however, was different. This was Stephen.

  She took another swig from the bottle to give herself a solid alibi.

  “Yeah!” Stephen let out a loud exhalation of air, turning to face her with an intense stare. She’d managed to move close enough that his face was only inches away. After a charged silence, Jo held out the bottle for him again.

  “Thanks. Last one. I’m driving.” Stephen took a gulp then set the bottle down in front of them. He glanced at Jo again, eyes dropping to her arms in the half-light. He frowned.

  “Hey, you’ve got goosebumps. You cold? I’m so sorry, I’ve been talking about myself, and you’ve been cold.”

  Jo wanted to say no, that the sea breeze was proving quite useful in cooling down her overheated libido, but before she could say anything, he’d hauled her alongside him and pulled the far edge of the blanket up, covering them both from waist to feet.

  If Jo had goosebumps before, she was one large one now. Her entire left side was plastered against Stephen’s. Her hand was still resting high on his thigh, and she could feel his muscles begin to tense up as she kept running her palm softly over his jeans, knowing she should stop but enjoying the way he was reacting now that he wasn’t distracted anymore.

  He turned to face the view again, not stopping her from moving her hand but not acknowledging it either. “So tell me about you?”

  Jo grabbed the bottle and indulged in another gulp of Dutch courage before inching her hand up a little higher, almost to the crease in his jeans where his thigh met his body. She moved her fingers slightly from side to side, feeling him tense again, and allowed herself a small smile and another sip of wine before answering.

  “About my past relationships? Hasn’t been in one in ages. Had a few flings but nothing major. It’s hard with my job, you know?”

  She faintly increased the pressure of her fingers on his leg, allowing them to brush softly up against the base of the distinct bulge under his fly. When he didn’t stop her and groaned softly, she took another quick swig of wine, put the bottle aside, and threw caution to the wind—she’d have a chat with her conscience and inhibitions the next day when the booze wore off.

  When she settled her hand squarely on his erection, his eyes flew open and he gave her a searching look, meeting her reassuring smile in the near-dark before flopping back on the grass. One of his hands snaked down to cup her hip, dragging her closer, while the other pillowed his head to give the appearance of a guy innocently lying next to his cross-legged girlfriend.

  “There was someone a while back,” Jo said softly, looking out over the city, her hand beginning to run softly up and down his length.

  She was rewarded by the sound of a sharp inhalation as her fingers made contact with the tip of him peeking over the waistband of his low-riding jeans. Giving it a languid pat, she began the movement all over again.

 
“But, well, he couldn’t handle me working away so much, and I couldn’t handle him . . . telling me what to do.”

  “Hmm?” Stephen made a valiant attempt to give a verbal response, but she was much happier to feel his hips twitch under her palm as she released the top button of his jeans.

  Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she slid the zip down and then reached into his briefs to wrap her hand around him. His grip tightened on her hip, sending a shimmer of warmth through her lower body as she resumed the steady stroking movement, enjoying the velvet-soft feel of his skin. He groaned again, the muscles in his neck visibly bunching in response to what her hand was doing.

  “I don’t work that well with guys who don’t let me have a choice in my career, you know? I like to make my own decisions.”

  Concealing a wicked grin, she changed the way she was sitting so her thighs were pressed together, intensifying the feeling of her own arousal in response to seeing him so vulnerable and in the moment.

  “Choice. Yeah. I believe . . . in choice,” Stephen rasped. He was beginning to pant softly, his face tensing.

  “That’s good to hear,” Jo murmured in a voice that, to her own ears, sounded even huskier than normal.

  All thoughts of continuing the conversation were lost as she watched his face contorting in pleasure. She continued moving her hand, her own breath beginning to come fast as she felt his thighs tense, felt his cock harden even more and his hips give short jerking movements until he let out a long low groan and came over the tips of her fingers. She continued to softly stroke him as his body shook violently for a few seconds, then rested her hand on his stomach, loving the feel of him, all warm, sticky, and alive.

  They stayed like that for a while, Stephen’s breath gradually slowing down, Jo feeling like she was flying after getting this close to a man she’d been fantasizing about for years, before his voice broke the spell.

  “Wow. Thanks. Didn’t expect that,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

  “Yea-a-ah? Well, you’re welcome,” Jo drawled, smiling softly, gently patting his stomach then withdrawing her hand to wipe it off on the blanket next to her. She made a fuzzy mental note to wash it the next day.

  He sat upright, reaching over to run his thumb over her cheek before leaning forward, cupping his hand behind her head, and pulling her to him for a gentle, toe-curling kiss. For some reason, it felt so much more intimate than what they’d just done.

  He pulled back, looking her straight in the eyes. They were close enough that their noses were almost touching. “You’re amazing.”

  Jo felt a fiery blush travel from her chest to her cheeks as she looked over his shoulder. “We should probably be getting home.”

  Stephen pressed his lips to hers again, this time running his tongue over her bottom lip. “Sure?”

  For some silly reason, she felt her eyes tear up. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was what they’d just done, but this felt too close, too soon and it freaked her out. Sex was easy. Sex was casual, but this . . . this was something else. “Yeah.” She really did pull away this time, hauling herself to her feet.

  To cover up the crack that was beginning to form in her wine-induced shell of confidence, she got busy capping the bottle of red and packing away the tarts before hoisting the picnic basket over one arm. Sense of bravado restored, she plastered on what she hoped was a casual smile.

  “Traffic’s died down now. Let’s get home.”

  Chapter 8

  Stephen stood next to the coffee machine in Jo’s kitchen, staring out the window at a bee buzzing around a box of red geraniums. Boomba, not having been fed yet, was circling his feet, broadcasting his displeasure at high volume.

  Distantly, he heard Jo moving around in her bedroom and then the sound of the bathroom door closing and the shower running. He probably had about ten minutes before he saw her this morning. That was ten minutes to work out his plan of attack.

  The night before had been so unexpected that he wasn’t sure he’d handled it well. One minute, he’d been pouring his heart out, and the next minute . . . well, the next minute, Jo had managed to shock him to his toes. Afterwards, he’d been in such a euphoric post-orgasm daze, he’d probably been as charismatic as a cardboard box.

  He’d driven them home in crazy-stunned silence, acutely aware of Jo sitting next to him, her windblown hair partially obscuring her profile as the salty, tangy smell of the sea drifted between them.

  When they’d gotten home, he’d fully intended on continuing where they’d left off in the park, at least getting in another couple of kisses, but Jo had foiled him by disappearing off to her bedroom.

  He’d ended up lying in his bed alone, staring at the ceiling feeling simultaneously like the cat that had got the cream and the cat about to eat the canary. He still felt the same today, with the addition of feeling like the cat that was about to get a boot up its backside.

  He had no idea what had inspired Jo last night. He’d been damn happy she’d made a move, but . . . what if he fucked this up as well? He wanted her. If she hadn’t disappeared last night, he would have shown her how much, but would they be regretting it now?

  It could never be just sex between them.

  He already owed Jo big-time. There was so much history, so much they hadn’t talked about, and the more he thought of it all, the more he felt like he was standing on the edge of a minefield wearing clown shoes.

  Jesus, his life was complicated. The tent in his pants wasn’t helping matters.

  Boomba tried to climb his leg with razor-sharp claws, painfully derailing his train of thought, and Stephen finally relented to his demands.

  “Do you mind? I’m trying to think here,” he grumbled.

  The cat didn’t look like he cared, running to the fridge and then to his food bowl before giving Stephen a gold-eyed stare that clearly said there were more important things as far as felines were concerned. Gently shoving Boomba out of the way with his toes, Stephen retrieved a can of tuna cat food and filled up his bowl, grimacing at the fishy smell before resuming his position in front of the window.

  Since getting up this morning, he’d gotten as far as deciding to make coffee. Once the coffee machine was finally done gurgling, he poured two cups and lifted them off the counter to take them into the other room, ready for when Jo emerged from the shower.

  “Is one of those for me, or are you really not a morning person?” a sleepy voice that sang to his libido asked from behind him.

  He grinned the minute he got a look at Jo’s getup: the old stolen T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.

  “Yep.” He held a coffee out to her and she took it, meeting his eyes.

  He paused. The shyness he was pretty sure he saw in her expression threw him. Yeah, he’d noticed it before, but after last night, it was a bit of a shock she’d still feel that way. He watched a deep flush travel up her neck to her cheeks and felt his mouth twitch, not because he thought it was funny, more because he found a woman so kickass blushing cute—

  “Fuck!” Jo’s exclamation jerked him from his thoughts.

  He looked down to see steaming hot coffee sloshing from her cup all over her hand. He went on immediate autopilot. Snatching her cup back, he shoved it onto the counter and pushed her over to the sink, running the cold water before he forced her hands beneath it.

  “Here. Hold them there,” he ordered, his voice sharp, authoritarian. “Does it hurt? How bad did you burn yourself?”

  He was pressed up against her side, his concentration on her hands as she held them under the running water. She smelled like the coconut shampoo she used. Her hair was damp and curled around her face, and her cheeks were still a deep red, either from pain or embarrassment. He couldn’t tell and that worried him.

  “Jo? Does it hurt?” he asked, raising his voice to get her attention.

  “What? Ah, not that badly now,” she said, her expression a little dazed. She was standing close enough that he could even smell the minty toothpast
e on her breath.

  Stephen ran his fingers gently over the back of each of Jo’s hands before turning off the water. “Well, they’re a bit red, but it doesn’t look like you’re going to blister.” He grabbed a dish towel from the counter next to the sink and gave it to her. “Here. That’ll probably do it then.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  It was Jo who spoke first, two lines furrowing the space between her brows. “Maybe we, ah . . . Maybe we should talk,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah. That was my thought as well.” He turned to pour her another cup of coffee. “Want me to carry this for you?”

  “Thanks. I’m pretty uncoordinated in the morning,”

  He caught her looking down, no doubt catching sight of the tent that he’d forgotten was lurking in his pants. He braced himself for a comment, a look, anything, but was met with nothing. Instead, she kept her face blank and friendly, eyes flickering away to glance at Boomba.

  “You coming too, cat?” she asked, and was rewarded with a meow before she wandered into the living room, leaving Stephen to watch her swaying hips as his internal temperature hit boiling point.

  * * *

  Jo’s stomach was jitterbugging to a pulse rate that was so accelerated she worried a heart attack was imminent.

  Considering she was usually the last candidate for the Bright and Cheerful Award in the morning, it was taking a massive effort to try and appear calm now that the initial scare of burning herself was over. She’d spent a few hours already this morning lying in bed, wondering what the hell she was going to say about the night before. Nothing appropriate had been forthcoming. Sorry for putting my hands down your pants and groping you was an option, but she really wasn’t that sorry and would do it all over again if given the opportunity.

  She settled with parking her backside on a couch and trying to nonchalantly sip her too-hot coffee without staring at the impressive party in Stephen’s pajama bottoms. Never mind how impressive it was, it would be stupid to read it as a sign he wanted to continue the little scenario she’d begun the night before. It was probably just morning glory or something.