Better Deeds Than Words (Words#2) (46 page)

“You know what amazes me?” he asked. “I still can’t believe we’ve made it. It’s okay for me to love you, to make love to you. No one can do anything about it. I could make love to you again, right this minute. There’s no reason to stop, no need to feel guilty. It’s surreal, after all this time.”

“It’s pretty amazing, that’s for sure.” I batted my eyelashes at him hopefully. “So, do you want to?”

He chuckled and shifted his body so that his legs were stretched out and I was tucked between him and the back of the couch.

“Of course I do. But I also want to do a million other things—all the little things we haven’t been able to do. I want to curl up with you and talk for hours, watch movies, drink wine, cook together, watch the sunrise, watch the sunset, sleep with you wrapped up in my arms.” He tucked my hair over my ear. “I’m in love with you, Aubrey. I want to share everything with you, not just my body…
everything
.” He rolled his eyes. “God, that sounds cheesy. I’m sorry. Does this all make me less—what did you call me?”

“Fuck hot?” I laughed and shook my head. “Not at all. It actually makes me love you more, if that’s possible.”

He rested his hand on my hip and kissed my forehead. “Good.”

I looked at him quietly, trying to digest all the wonderful things he’d just said.

He examined my expression, and his eyebrows furrowed. “You do believe me, right?”

“Of course,” I said. “It’s just…I have to admit it
did
cross my mind at one point that maybe the novelty would wear off. Like maybe part of my appeal was that I was forbidden—”

He frowned and interrupted me. “Do you want to know why I’m not tearing this incredibly sexy but ridiculously flimsy robe off of you right this minute?”

“I guess.”

“Because we have all weekend together. And as much as I’d love to devour you, I think I’d rather savor you and enjoy every single moment.” He punctuated his words with kisses.

He slid his hands inside my robe, finding the curve of my breast, teasing me until I was trembling and the familiar ache between my legs surged back with a vengeance. I moaned and slipped my hand up his thigh.

“I have a funny feeling you’re trying to make it difficult for me to resist you,” he murmured, running his nose along my cheekbone.

“I might be.” I pressed myself against his hand, urging him to continue his caresses.

“It pains me to admit this, sweetheart, but I’m not seventeen. I do need a
little
recovery time.”

He leaned over the arm of the couch and poured us each another glass of wine.

“Recovery time, eh?” I said, lifting my eyebrow.

“Uh-oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Do you need to give this some thought now that you know I’m not Johnny Endurance?”

“Yeah,” I said, feigning disappointment. “I don’t know about Johnny Endurance, but you did sort of mislead me with the John Holmes thing. I guess I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”

He snorted and squeezed my thigh playfully. “Okay, let me get this straight—you don’t want something from a fairy tale, but you
do
want something from a skin flick?”

I shrugged, and he laughed.

“I may not be a porn star, but I guarantee I’ll make you eat those words,” he said. “Give me half an hour, and you’ll be sorry.”

“You promise?” I asked playfully.

“Cross my heart.” He drew a little X on his chest.

“I look forward to it, Mr. Grant.”

I made an exaggerated show of looking at the clock on the mantelpiece while I sipped my wine and stretched my legs out across his lap, occasionally rubbing my foot against his zipper. Though he resolutely refused to react, the shadow of a smile played on his lips.

He relaxed against the couch, running his fingertips lightly up and down my legs, making me tingle with every sweep. I marveled at how natural this all felt. It was as if we had done this every night for months. There was something to be said for getting to know someone before becoming intimate. We could talk seriously, we could joke around—everything was so easy. All of the turmoil we’d been through seemed to have brought us closer together, showing us the importance of being completely open and honest with one another.

He rolled his head to the side to look at me. “You’ve gone very quiet all of a sudden. What are you thinking?”

“About how happy I am. I’m comfortable here, and with you.”

“I feel the same way. It’s been ages since I’ve felt…
content
. I’m glad you like it here.”

“It’s perfect,” I sighed as he massaged my calf. “Daniel, did you really think about us here? Me lying on the rug in front of the fire?”

“Honestly? I sat on this very couch when I was up here with my parents and imagined you doing exactly what you did earlier—holding out your hand to me, like I was the only person in the world that mattered. That’s when I decided I wanted to bring you up here this weekend. Earlier I had to remind myself I wasn’t dreaming.”

“It’s rare that things work out the way we hope they will. So, where else did you imagine us?”

“Everywhere! In my bed. In the shower.” He chuckled and put his hand over his eyes. “Oh, God, if you only knew what went through my mind that weekend.”

“Really? Well, we’d better get moving. Maybe we should head to the bedroom. Sounds like we have a few fantasies to fulfill. Once you’ve fully
recovered
, that is,” I added with a wink.

He stood up and grabbed the bottle of wine.

“Okay, you insatiable wench. How do you feel about watching a movie in bed? I brought
Casablanca
. You told me you’d like to watch it together some time.”

“I wouldn’t mind watching the first
half hour
of
Casablanca
,” I said mischievously. I glanced at the clock. “Nope, make that the first
twenty-five
minutes.”

“Oh, come on, we have to at least watch Sam sing ‘As Time Goes By,’” he insisted, wrapping his arm around me, the bottle pressing against my back. “That’s my favorite part.”

“I don’t know. My favorite part of the movie has always been the opening credits. Once they’re done…the rest? Meh,” I said, smiling as I took his hand and led him to his bedroom.

Daniel rummaged around in his bag and tossed the movie on the dresser, then headed to the washroom. I took the opportunity to examine the books on his shelf and the photos perched here and there, mostly family shots of summers spent at the cottage—he and his brothers playing in the water, all tanned, with mops of sun-kissed hair; the family gathered around the barbeque; Daniel with his guitar beside a fire pit; Jeremy roasting marshmallows; their mom sitting in the screened-in porch, drinking wine; his dad snoozing in the hammock…

Irrational pangs of envy stabbed my stomach. I was coveting Daniel’s upbringing. My own had been so different. Once my mom and dad separated, life became very much a case of plodding along, one day rolling into the next with little to distinguish one week from another.

Summers were long and boring. Part-time jobs were more and more crucial as my aspiration to attend university became firmly rooted in my mind, along with the realization that my parents’ income wouldn’t be enough to help me in any significant way.

I frowned as I thought back over my adolescence. The last truly carefree summer had been the one before I’d started ninth grade, but if I was being honest, once my father had left when I was eleven, I’d begun to dread summers. Being a latchkey kid and an only child made for a lot of very long, quiet days. Of course I had a handful of close neighborhood friends, but they would inevitably go away on vacation or head off to camp. It was no wonder I’d become such a bookworm.

“Hey, you okay?”

Daniel was behind me. I hadn’t even heard him come back in. I was holding a picture of him sitting on the dock with his guitar, the setting sun in the background. I placed it on the shelf and turned, locking my hands around his neck.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure? You seemed very deep in thought.”

He looked over my shoulder at the picture I’d been holding and rubbed my back.

“I was thinking about my dad. When I was little, we used to go camping at Sandbanks. My dad would rent a boat, and we’d go out really early, just the two of us, to catch the sunrise. I loved watching the sun come up with the mist hovering on the water…” I shrugged. “It was
our time,
you know?”

“Those are special memories. I love being on the water too. Being out on the lake in a boat when everything is peaceful? Nothing compares, especially when the sun’s coming up or setting.”

He wrapped his arms around me, swaying gently. I was reminded of all the times we’d held each other, knowing an embrace was all we could share. I didn’t want to let go, but finally I did, unlocking my hands and easing myself back.

“So, are we gonna watch this movie or what?” I asked.

He chuckled. “You really don’t want to watch it, do you?”

“I’m a terrible actress, huh?”

“Not to worry. You have other
far
more interesting talents,” he said, scooping me up into his arms and lowering me onto the bed. I scampered up toward the pillows. He stood beside the bed, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his neck. “Frig, my shoulders are killing me.”

“Are you implying that I’m heavy, sunshine?”

“Not at all. I think it’s from marking exams—being hunched over for hours in the same position. Occupational hazard, I suppose.”

I resisted the urge to ask him how I’d done on my exam. The question had nibbled at the edges of my mind all day, but I was firm in my determination to avoid putting him on the spot or making any reference to the TA/student relationship which was, thank the freaking Lord, over and done with. Instead, I focused on his muscle pain.

“Do you want a back rub?”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious.”

“Fuck, yes, I would love one. I can’t even remember the last time —”

I held up my hand. “Don’t want you to remember the last time, sailor.”

“Right. Sorry.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay.” I patted the bed. “Lie down here, and I’ll see what I can do.” I cracked my fingers and shook out my hands, feigning an expertise I didn’t actually have.

He grinned like a little boy on Christmas morning and peeled off his T-shirt, tossing it over his desk chair. He made a move to climb onto the bed, but I stopped him.

“You might as well lose the pants too. I mean, you
do
want to be comfortable, right?”

“Of course.” He smiled knowingly, removing his pants.

I salivated at the sight of his long, toned thighs and the way his boxers sat just below his belly button, hiding what had quickly become my
new
favorite part of his body.

How much longer until he was suitably recovered? Surely he’d be good to go now? I had such a one-track mind. Was I really an insatiable wench? Pfft. Who wouldn’t be, in my position? After weeks and weeks of delayed gratification, my patience had officially worn thin.

Daniel made a big production of getting comfortable, stretching out on his stomach and resting his head on the pillow with his arms underneath. I straddled him, first running my fingers up and down his back and then rubbing his shoulders, pressing my thumbs into his muscles. He moaned approvingly. I loved his back. So strong and lean. Unfortunately, right now he was also sporting some rather angry red marks.

“Wow, I did a number on you. I think I drew blood.”

“I don’t care. It felt amazing. I love it when you scratch me like that.”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

He turned his head, trying to peer up at me. “Does that bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“Me being so vocal about what I want?”

“No, why would it? It’s incredibly hot.”