Forever in Blue Jeans (10 page)

Thing was, he already knew he didn't want to...

Blue slid the quiche into the oven, careful not to spill the liquid contents over the sides of the dish, then set the timer. She gathered all the dirty bowls from the counter and put them in the sink and stood, staring outside the kitchen window. The rain had begun to fall. Large tear-drop shaped rain. Pretty soon, the size of the drops would diminish and start to fall in a steady downpour. With soapy hands, she popped the lock on the window and opened it just a bit. The sound and smell of rain was one of her favorite things. It made her think of warm soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, curling in a chair to read a book, and afternoon naps.

It also made her think of sex. Hot, sweaty, very naughty sex. And this particular rain storm was making her think of hot, sweaty, very naughty sex with the man taking a shower down the hall.

She ran the sponge around the inside of the mixing bowl, then turned on the water to rinse it before placing it in the dish drainer. She repeated this process until all the dishes were cleaned and ready to be dried. She didn't have a dishwasher, and though she'd had the house remodeled a bit after her aunt died, she'd left the kitchen alone, save for new, state-of-the-art appliances, minus the dishwasher. There was something therapeutic about doing dishes by hand.

She'd gone to culinary school in Atlanta with Rosie because she hadn't known what else she wanted to do. Aside from cooking for herself and her friends once in a while, her degree sat in a drawer collecting dust, although given the fact that the bed and breakfast was becoming a reality, and she hadn't even looked into hiring a chef, maybe it would come in handy. The classes had taught her a love and appreciation for food, for presentation, for simplicity of flavor. They'd also given her an appreciation for amazing equipment.

And speaking of amazing equipment, her thoughts traveled back to Cort. He wanted her, wanted her body, the signs and signals were impossible to miss. She'd been wondering about the kind of woman he'd been dating the last few years, and even in the years before they met. She'd almost been just curious enough to ask, but in the end, she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. She was coming to realize that jealousy ran both ways and that was a novel notion for her. She was never jealous. She had a hard enough time committing to someone, so how could she justify jealousy if her lovers had other lovers? As long as they practiced safe sex, and everyone involved knew the rules, she was good. But, if she gave any thought to the women who'd come before her or since her in Cort's life, she found she didn't like the idea of him with them, finding pleasure in them, sliding into them, laughing with them.

She pretty much figured Cort had never dated anyone like her, though. Given his anger at her, his distance from her despite his declaration in the woods last night, he probably stayed as far away from women like her as he could get.

She would also guess he went after the tall, leggy blonde type. Hell. What was she getting herself into? Of all the things she'd done in her life, doing whatever she had to to get him was the scariest. Taking her clothes off for the camera had never been a problem, had never bothered her.

She loved her body and loved the exhibitionism, showing off the ink on her skin. If she had a kink, that would be it. She liked other kinks too, but she really loved the exhibitionism. She was a bit of a voyeur as well, but she'd rather be doing than watching.

She knew people talked about her, speculated about her, pointed at her and whispered even though she'd grown up in Blue Ridge. Not many knew about the tattoo on her back or about the pictorial documentation of the process, but she wouldn't care if they did. Her aunt had shown her that being true to herself was more important than what anyone else thought or said.

Rosie was right in what she'd said last night. Since her aunt's death and since meeting Cort, Blue had done whatever she needed or wanted to do in order to find herself. That kind of thing didn't seem to fit the man taking a shower down the hall. The one time she'd been with him, he'd been intense during sex He'd made her laugh, talked with her, but talk never lasted long. They hadn't left any surface untouched in his hotel room, even the table in front of the window. His hand had been planted against it, as had hers as he'd bent her over the edge and taken her ass from behind.

Damn.

The memories had her clenching her thighs tight together. She wanted that again. With him.

She wanted more than that too. In the long run though, perhaps she wasn't what he wanted. He was stiff, buttoned up, and it would stand to reason that was the kind of woman he would desire too. Serious. Professional. Tailored.

Oh yeah, she could definitely see the him he projected now going for someone like that, not for someone like her.

Though he'd made the proposal last night about fucking to get it out of their system, she stood by what she'd said to him while they were eating. He thought they could do it and move on. She was under the impression it would only increase the want. He didn't want to believe it and she was good with that. He would either come to it on his own or he wouldn't, but she wasn't going into it with the hope or wish to get him out of her system. No, she wanted forever from him and that's how she was going into it.

Despite his rigidity and standoffishness, she knew he wouldn't be able to fuck her once and never again. While the majority of her sexual partners were friends and lovers and everyone was happy with little to no commitment, deep down inside, Blue wanted more. On the surface, she was sexually open-minded, safe for certain, but open-minded. Below the surface, though, she wanted more, dreamed about more.

Seeing Cort again yesterday... Those wants and dreams now had a direction.

He wouldn't be the kind of man who liked to share with men or with women. He'd want his woman all to himself all the time. Blue had never been in a serious, monogamous relationship like that. Aside from Cort, she'd never wanted one. Now, she couldn't think of anything she wanted more.

She picked up the dishtowel and started drying the dishes, one by one. The repetitive process, the physical act of cleaning and putting away, of being neat and tidy, she loved it. She loved domesticity. She might live alone, have what some might consider pornographic pictures on her walls, be considered sexy and pretty, live with a sort of free mentality, but she also considered herself a Domestic Goddess.

She could sew, cook, and clean with the best of them. She could craft, create, and bake just like Martha Stewart, though with more personality and minus the jail time. She took pride in everything she did. Maybe that was part of Cort's problem. Maybe he needed someone to just care for him, take care of him for a while.

He likely also needed someone who wouldn't leave him in the middle of the night while he snored softly.

The creak of the pipes signaled the shower being turned off. The one man who spoke to that picket fence part of her was down the hall, naked and wet with water droplets sliding down his body. His skin would be moist and smell of soap, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost feel him against her tongue. His lean, defined muscles would twitch and his ass would look even tighter than it did in those well fitting pants he wore. He'd have a small sprinkling of hair on his chest and sensitive pointed nipples just begging for her attention. And his cock,
oh damn
... She shuddered as a fresh wave of lust rolled over her. His cock would be hard, just about perfect for her fingers to wrap around, for her mouth to cover, for her throat to caress. He--

The loud crash of glass to the floor brought her back to reality. "Crap," she muttered.

"You okay?" Cort called from down the hall.

Blue smiled at his concern and shook her head at her own day-dream clumsiness. "Yeah. I just dropped a glass."

"Do you need some help? Are you cut? I'll be out in just a second if--"

"No, I'm fine. No blood. I just wasn't paying attention."

She carefully stepped back after putting the dishtowel down on the counter. Through the doorway behind her was the broom, and she grabbed it along with the dustpan.

She'd just started sweeping up the glass shards when Cort appeared in the doorway, pulling a shirt on over his head.

Oh. Hell.

She'd been dead on in her imaginings of his chest.
Damn and double damn
. She tried not to stare as he dropped the end of his shirt over his lean, well-defined abs but failed miserably. She could stare at him for days, weeks, months, even years and never tire of him. He was still as gorgeous today as he'd been that night in the bar. He had a physical job, but she bet, not for the first time, that the man would cut a dashing figure in a suit.

"Blue? Are you sure you're okay?"

She blinked and smiled and started sweeping again. "Yeah, I'm fine. You can just call me 'Butterfingers' today."

"We all have accidents."

"Yes. Yes, we do."

He stepped into the kitchen with her, taking slow, measured steps and looking at the ground.

When he reached her side, he gently took the broom. "Here, let me help."

For once, Blue was speechless. She wasn't quite sure why because the nice thing for him to do, was offer to help, and it's not that she hadn't expected the offer, only when it came, it surprised her.

She let go of the broom handle, and her gaze followed the movement of the bristles on the floor as Cort swept all the slivers and pieces into a center pile. He moved all the glass into the dustpan as she held it steady and slowly inched backward until the last particles were gone from the wood floor.

Blue stood from her crouched position with Cort's help again. This time, his hand held her arm steady as she rose. He was being kind, and while she hadn't thought him unkind at all, this was a side of him she wasn't sure how to handle. Sexy and irresistible, she could do. Fucking her five ways to Sunday, she could do, too. Helping her clean up a mess she'd made in the kitchen, that was out of her elemental range of how to handle.

She quickly dumped the trash in the can and started to take the broom from him. "Thanks,"

she mumbled, her eyes downcast, her bottom lip between her teeth. Somehow this gentle, caring side of him unnerved her and made her want him all the more.

"Welcome. I think we got it all."

"Yeah, I think so."

"Where's the broom go? I'll put it up."

The man just kept doing that, surprising her, throwing her off balance just when she thought she'd regained it. "I can do it."

"I know you can, but I can too."

She pointed in the direction of the mudroom. "There's a hook on the wall to the right for it."

Cort took the dustpan from her, and instead of watching him walk across the kitchen like she wanted to do, she turned away to busy herself getting plates from the cabinet. The quiche would be done soon, and they could eat.

"What else can I do?"

Her brows furrowed as she contemplated his question. He wasn't right behind her, but he was close. Her past lovers weren't what she'd define as inconsiderate, but they didn't offer to help her clean up something she'd spilled or set the table.

"Blue?"

She turned and faced him before she could think about it further. "Why are you being so nice?"

"You didn't think me nice before?"

The small smile trying to work its way across his face made her laugh. This Cort was different than the one from earlier in the living room and the one from yesterday. This Cort was similar to the man she'd met in Savannah. Maybe that's why she'd run from him while he was sleeping. "Yes, of course I thought you were nice before, it's just... You're being extra nice and helpful, not as wary and scared of me as you were yesterday and last night and a little while ago.

I was wondering why."

"It's the way I was raised."

She quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the edge of the counter. "You were raised to be wary and scared around women?"

When he laughed at her comment, she became all warm and gooey inside. She liked it.

"If you'd seen my mother a few times when me or my brother or sister did something we weren't supposed to do, you'd know the answer to that question is a resounding yes. However, that's not what I was referring to when I said it's how I was raised."

"Ah."

He took one step, then two, then two more until he was so close she had to tilt her head up to look into his face. He smelled of soap, clean and fresh. There was stubble on his cheeks and chin, and the blue of his eyes reflected some of the blue/blackness of his hair. She could see faint gray at his temples, and she wanted to touch the strands, slide her fingers through the thickness, test the weight, the softness. Instead, she kept her arms firmly folded across her chest.

"My mother raised us to be considerate, kind, and helpful to others."

"Good woman."

Cort nodded and leaned closer, lowering his head in her direction. "And if I'd simply stood in the doorway as you cleaned up the glass rather than offering to help, well, trust me, I'd have felt the flat of her hand upside the back of my head as sure as if she were standing behind me."

Blue giggled, and he grinned. "Point taken."

She stopped giggling when he kissed the tip of her nose. His grin fell as well, and they simply stared at one another. His gaze roamed her face; hers did the same to his. "And for the record, scared is not what I am when it comes to you." She thought to say something, to refute his words, but she had no idea what words of her own to utter. She thought about kissing him, to see if he really meant what he'd said about not being scared of her, but didn't want to send him back into the skittish, rigid cloak he'd worn around her earlier. Though this version of Cort mystified her, she liked it and wanted to keep it at the forefront.