He blinked at her quick retort, and then laughed, the sound deep and rich and elementally male. A feeling of love went through her at the moment, gentler and more compassionate than the wild, risky passion that he usually inspired in her. She reached across the table and put her hand on his. He went still and stared down at where she touched him. He flipped over his hand. She stroked his palm, both of them watching her deliberate caress. Slowly, he looked up to meet her stare.
“We can take it slow, Z. I’m not in any hurry,” she said, despite the heat she read in his eyes.
He shook his head, his expression grave. “It’s impossible for us to go slow. You know what happened this afternoon. You remember what it’s like. Every time.”
She swallowed the knot out of her throat, his low voice and hooded stare making her recall all too well what it was like every time they touched, when things spun gloriously out of control. Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand.
“Maybe it’ll be tough to go slow, sex-wise,” she agreed. “But we can go slow at other times. Make an effort at seeing each other in this new light. Maybe take turns going to each other’s places a few nights a week? Unless you think that’s too much, with the new business and all?”
He shook his head, his serious expression both amplifying her anxiety and heartening her about broaching the topic.
“Like right now, for instance,” she suggested hopefully. “We can take the opportunity to be like any other guy and girl who are attracted to each other, who enjoy each other’s company? You remember the concept of two people just having a drink, right?”
His slow grin made something tug tight at her core. “You mean act like we’re on a real date?”
“Act? Why does it have to be an act?”
He laughed again. She joined him, euphoria rising in her at their combined laughter. It was a sound she could get used to.
“Do you think they suspected anything? At dinner tonight? Our families?” Z asked after their amusement faded.
“Suspected? You mean…this?” Ursa asked, pointing back and forth between them. He nodded once. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I don’t think they did, either.” He took a drink and set down his glass extra hard on the table. “It’s annoying.”
Ursa thought about it for a few seconds, and then nodded decidedly. “Yeah. It is, isn’t it? All that stuff about me being so kind and sweet, and no one was good enough for me, and the whole time, I was so mad and worked up, all I wanted to do was take a bite out of you.”
“Really?” Z said, that familiar glint returning to his eyes.
“Not in a sexy way, trust me. All I kept thinking about was that Saint Ursula crap when Grandpa Joe started talking,” she said bitterly.
He gave a rough bark of laughter.
“What?”
“It’s just funny. That they could ever think of you that way,” he said.
“You used to think of me that way!”
“That was before,” he said, leveling a stare at her that made her toes curl in her sandals. “Now it seems odd that anyone would ever think that about you, and really… ”
“Limiting?”
“Damn straight. But it’s more than that. For that whole conversation while you were shooting fire-darts at me with your eyes, and our families never once thought…what about Z and Ursa? The way Grandpa Joe was talking about no one being worthy of you.” He shook his head, his lips curling. “I can just imagine what he’d do if he found out about our being involved. It’d probably put him in his grave.”
Ursa sobered at his obvious bitterness. She knew how much Z and Jude loved their grandfather, and how much he loved them in return. “Z, that’s not true. Grandpa Joe adores you. He thinks you’re brilliant. I’d be the one who didn’t measure up.”
Z made s scoffing sound.
Her heart sank a little. She’d caught herself at the last moment from saying: I’ll be the one who doesn’t measure up, as though it were inevitable Grandpa Joe would find out about them, eventually. She’d realized Z might never get to the point where he wanted to tell family about them, so her statement referring to a future event would have been presumptuous.
“Who gives a damn what they would think about us, anyway?” she asked after an awkward pause. “We just decided we were going to take things slowly. This is about us. Two people. It’s not a group endeavor. Right?”
His gaze narrowed on her. “Are you saying that it’s okay with you? To continue keeping this secret from everyone?”
“Yeah. I think I am. For now?”
Her heart gave a little nervous leap against her breastbone when he glanced away, appearing distracted. Worried?
“So you’re saying it would be okay with you if…say, two other people in our families had a relationship, and they didn’t tell us about it?”
“What?” Ursa asked.
He shrugged. It struck her that he was uneasy, which made her uneasy. “Z, what are you talking about?”
“I’m just curious. You don’t think hiding it is wrong? As a principle?”
“Seriously? We’re getting philosophical?”
“Never mind,” he mumbled, frowning.
“Z, do you think there’s something morally or ethically wrong with us keeping our relationship from our families?” she asked in dawning bewilderment.
He hesitated. “I think every situation is different. But no. When it comes to us, I don’t think it’s anyone’s business but ours.”
“Good,” she said with false cheerfulness. That had been confusing. But at least it hinted at the idea that Z was having his doubts about them keeping their relationship on the down low forever.
Yeah. Why shouldn’t I be cheerful? Z had apologized tonight for the way he’d brutally sent her away over the Memorial Day weekend. He’d told her about his brilliant scheme to get the Psychles to stay out of his life. Importantly, he’d sought her out almost immediately upon finding out that Contrail Williams approved of his bike, and had exited Z’s life for good.
And he’d agreed they should see each other. He’d left things open-ended as far as a relationship was concerned.
Recalling all those things went a long way to making her cheerfulness genuine and not faked.
They talked for a while longer and ordered a second drink. Ursa got so absorbed in their conversation that she was surprised when she looked around a while later and noticed that the Lakeside had almost emptied.
A tall, lanky man standing at the bar caught her wandering glance. He was in his thirties with a pockmarked face. His stare on her looked interested. Speculative. Until he glanced over at Z, anyway.
A shadow immediately crossed his face. He turned his back to them.
“Isn’t that guy Tony Cavetti?” she asked Z softly. Ursa recalled the man vaguely. He’d been a year older than Z, and they’d played football together in high school. Cavetti was a townie, and she occasionally caught sight of him when she returned to Tahoe Shores.
Z had already noticed where she was looking. He hummed an affirmative. They watched as, not thirty seconds later, Cavetti left the bar with his two companions, even though they’d just arrived.
“Why do you think he left so fast?” Ursa mused.
Z shrugged. Something about his bland expression made her suspicious.
“Z? He left just as soon as he saw you sitting here. What’d you do to him?”
“Nothing,” Z said, looking insulted.
“You did something. At some time, you did,” she said knowingly, refusing to be thrown off the scent.
“The guy’s an idiot. I don’t know why he’s acting squirrelly about it still. It happened years ago,” he said, rubbing his scarred eyebrow.
“What happened years ago?”
“I might have slugged him.”
“Might have?”
“
Okay, I hit him a few times for mouthing off about a girl.”
She sighed. “Wasn’t defending a girl what got you in trouble with Emory Martin that time?” she asked, referring to the jail time he’d served for assault.
“I was drinking. Both those times. I’m not proud of it. But the situation with Cavetti was worse than what happened with Martin.”
“How was it different?”
“Do you really want to know?” he asked her, taking a sip of his drink.
“Yes.”
“The girl Cavetti insulted was you.”
“Me,” she said after a stunned moment.
“Yeah. It was three, maybe four years ago. It actually happened right here, at the Lakeside. Cavetti and I both happened to be up at the bar, even though we weren’t together. And you came in to pick up an order. Pizza, I think. You were going to take it down to the beach. I remember, because you were wearing a swimsuit underneath a cover up, and the cover up was low cut.”
His eyebrows arched.
“I kind of remember that,” Ursa said. “I asked if you want to join us for the pizza. But you were too busy—”
“Drinking, yeah,” Z said grimly.
“And?” Ursa prodded when he lapsed into silence.
“After you left, Cavetti and his buddies—but mostly Cavetti—started mouthing off about you.”
“What’d they say?”
“A lot of bullshit not worth mentioning.”
“Humor me.”
His heavy-lidded stare dipped down to her chest. Her nipples stiffened against her bra. That’s all it took from Z. A glance.
“They were going on about how they hadn’t realized the youngest Esterbrook girl had gotten so hot. They started comparing you to Sadie and Esme, crap like that.” He hesitated for a few seconds, fiddling with his glass. “Cavetti said something about you having a rack on which he could die happy, along with a few other choice descriptions of what he’d like to do to other parts of your body.”
“And you hit him for that?”
“Yeah,” he said bluntly, his expression making it seem like she’d asked the most obvious question in the world. He pointed to the thin scar on his right eyebrow. “Haven’t you ever wondered how I got this?”
“Don’t tell me—”
“Courtesy of Tony Cavetti. He smashed a glass in my face when I had him up against the bar. Damn near lost my eye,” he said with an air of casual remembrance. “Andy—the owner—would have called the police, but Cavetti hightailed it out of here. Luckily, Andy is a friend of Stephen’s. He agreed not to press charges if Stephen came and got me, and I paid for the damages.”
“Z,” she said softly.
He noticed her concerned amazement, and took a deep breath. “It was another lifetime, Ursa. Besides, now you see why I’m so determined to keep the Café clean from troublemakers. I owe the universe back for all my misdeeds.”
“I can’t believe you got in a fight over me.”
“Maybe I was a little extra defensive because I noticed, too,” he mumbled.
“What do you mean?”
“I noticed how beautiful you were, that day. Not that I was thinking all the dirty stuff Cavetti was, just that you were… ” He paused, blinking dazedly at the memory. “Amazing,” he finally finished gruffly.
Warmth rushed through her. “Did you ever get in a fight with a guy defending Sadie or Esme’s honor?”
“Not that I recall.”
Her smile widened. “So in other words, in my apartment that day, that time we first were together, that wasn’t really the first time you thought of me as sexy.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m just a guy, Ursa. I’m not blind.” He did a double take. “Why are you grinning like that?”
She shook her head and chuckled. “Because. You’ve just made me very happy.”
“Because I told you that I acted like a drunken idiot and slugged a guy?”
“No. Because you told me that you thought I was sexy one day. I wasn’t as invisible as I thought I was to you.”
He grunted softly and laughed. “It was more than one day, baby girl.” Their gazes met and stuck. “It’s just that I built up some serious defenses against noticing. And when I did notice, I took pains not to let it show.”
“Well I noticed all the not noticing. I’m also noticing that you’re getting past those defenses.”
“I’m working on it.”
His small smile mesmerized her. Elbows on the table, he leaned toward her. “Cavetti is an idiot. But he was right about one thing. You have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
“Without a doubt,” he said, his steamy stare again dipping to her breasts. It was like he’d reached out and stroked her. Her nipples stiffened, and her breasts suddenly felt swollen and achy. Obvious.
“Z, do you think we could—”
“Without a doubt,” he repeated. He reached for her hand. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Z kept his gaze glued to the road, but he was hyper-aware of the woman sitting in the passenger seat. She drew his attention like a magnet. Was it just going to keep getting stronger, this attraction? It seemed impossible, especially after the volcano that had erupted between them this afternoon. How much wilder could it get? But he was already hard as a rock, just from talking to her. Hearing her laugh. Seeing the way her eyes lit up when she’d talked about how a couple of her clients were progressing, or her optimism about her dream of opening a home as a refuge for troubled, struggling young people.
It was like watching a flower unfold, and realizing there were more complex, delicate layers, more depths of beauty to her than he’d ever imagined.
Then they’d started talking about her breasts, and suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to be buried deep in her.
Now.
It shocked him a little. Previously in his life, his lust had always been comprehensible and straightforward. In his more serious relationships, true caring had always added a unique aspect to sex. But it also could complicate the equation. Rising tensions, insecurities, and anxieties on both sides could dull the biting, sharp edge of lust.
But it all felt different with Ursa. She already knew his rough spots and scars so well. He knew her insecurities, as well. In her case, seeing those dents in her armor, witnessing how she’d grown around her wounds into the amazing woman she was today, only seemed to make her more exciting to him.
They’d agreed to see each other. That was great. But if he was being honest with himself…he was a little concerned he’d wear her out. He’d never experienced such a visceral attraction to a woman in his life.
“Should we go to the beach?”
He blinked at the sound of her voice. She’d sounded breathless. Was she as excited as he was? He dared a glance at her, noticing how large and shiny her eyes appeared. She was wearing a dress that had been flirting with his senses all night. It was simple and black, but the way it ghosted her breasts and left a good portion of her tanned, toned legs exposed had him on high alert ever since he’d picked her up. She wore a pair of tight, sexy leather boots with the dress. As he glanced at her now in the car, he noticed her full breasts rise and fall beneath the jean jacket she’d donned before they left the restaurant. He stared back at the road determinedly.
“No. It’s too chilly. Plus, I won’t be able to see you there,” he said.
“Oh.” There was a short, charged pause. “Is that important?”
“Very.”
She didn’t respond, but he thought he’d heard her breath hitch at his terse response.
A few minutes later, he pulled the car off the main road. There were benefits to being a former snowboard bum and member of the local college’s competitive snowboard team for years. He knew this ski res
ort like the back of his hand, in all seasons. Ursa didn’t question him, even when he turned again onto the remote, wooded access road used exclusively for maintenance equipment and snowmaking machines. He suspected she was as tense with anticipation as he was. He put the car into park at a pull-off.
Leaving on the dashboard lights—they’d have to suffice for illuminating her—he turned to Ursa.
“Take off your jacket and your dress.”
He saw her throat convulse as she swallowed. Uncertainty tickled at the edges of his raw lust.
“Is it okay? That I say it like that?”
“It’s very okay,” she said.
Relief, not to mention rising lust, gripped at him hearing her absolute certainty. How could he have ever thought she was timid? How could he have forgotten that she liked him to be bold? He watched her fixedly as she took off her jacket and tossed it in the back seat. His gaze still glued to her, he slid his seat all the way back. He’d restored this car himself—a ’65 Dodge Coronet convertible. Being a big man, one of the things he loved about it was the legroom. He stretched his legs, his mouth watering as he watched Ursa grab the hem of her dress and wiggle her hips and ass until the fabric pooled around her waist.
She wore a tiny pair of black bikini panties. They barely covered her mound. Just looking at her naked thighs and barely covered outer sex made his cock twitch against the confines of his clothing.
She whisked the dress up over her breasts and over her head.
He hissed a curse and gave up pretending. He pressed his hand against the hard ridge of his erection.
“Let me,” she whispered, leaning across the console toward him, hand outstretched. Her breasts were squeezed into a brief black bra. The lush top curves of the mounds spilled over the fabric. He hadn’t been kidding about her having the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. They thrust out from her narrow ribcage, prominent and firm, but ample as well.
He grabbed her wrist when her fingers were just an inch away from his cock, his stare stuck on the swells of her breast.
Wild, Wounded Hearts Page 25