Just a Summer Fling (15 page)

*   *   *

JOSH
woke up disoriented. Where the hell was he, why did he hurt so much, and what was that smell? In his own bedroom, he realized, but on the wrong side of the bed. A small difference, but apparently enough to throw him off. And he hurt because . . . Oh. Yeah. He hurt because David McArthur had clearly
not
known about his wife’s affair before, but obviously did now. But that was something to be depressed about later, because the smell . . . He sniffed carefully, then rolled off the bed onto his feet. He was still wearing his jeans and T-shirt from the day before, but he was barefoot. The smell was coffee. And maybe bacon. And was there something sweet mixed in with it all? Something that smelled like baking?

He staggered into the bathroom, tried not to look toward the mirror as he peed, then washed his hands and splashed some water onto his face. All his bruises were beneath his clothes, except for the wide black-and-blue stripe on his right palm. He flexed his fingers carefully; it hurt, but everything was functioning.

He made his way to the kitchen and stood in the doorway, bemused. Ashley was there, and she was cooking. It was a bit hard to understand, but somehow it felt right. Well, it felt right that she was there, but it felt wrong that she was doing
all the work. “Can I help?” he asked, and Ashley jumped in surprise and whirled around, spatula raised in an aggressive manner. He grinned at her. “You going to flip me to death?”

“If I had to, I would,” she responded once she’d collected herself. She pointed the spatula at him and said, “A woman who can drive a pickup and wash a dog and who’s planning to enter a fishing derby can absolutely flip a man into submission.”

“Damn, somehow you’re making it all sound kind of sexy.”

She grinned at him and waggled the spatula a little. “There’s coffee. And I’ve got bacon frying, and cinnamon buns in the oven, and we can have eggs, too. And toast.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t even know I had ingredients for cinnamon buns. And is that a movie-star-approved breakfast?”

“That’s my breakfast calories for the week, at least,” she admitted. “I’m splurging.”

He wanted to ask what the occasion was but somehow that felt like he’d be pushing too far. So he shuffled to the counter and poured a coffee, then lowered himself into a kitchen chair and watched her as she worked. Daisy trotted over and laid her head on his knee, inviting an ear scratch, and he frowned down at her. “What happened to you last night?” he asked, but he was pretty sure that he already knew. He glanced over at Ashley and caught her hiding a guilty smile. “Did you sleep with my dog, Ashley? Did you seduce her with your sudsy, watery fun and then drag her into bed with you?”

“Oh, there was no dragging,” Ashley retorted. “That bitch was begging to get into my bed.”

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to wrap himself around her and not let go, not for a long, long time. He knew his bruised body wouldn’t appreciate it, but he was pretty sure the pleasure would be worth the pain. If he could taste this woman,
if he could claim her, even if it was just for a little while . . . that would be worth a lot of pressed bruises. And maybe even worth the bruised heart he was sure to suffer later on.

But Ashley was still working on breakfast and he didn’t make a move, just sat there and rubbed the dog’s ears with his unbruised hand. Eventually Ashley said, “I think that was the first time I’ve heard you say my name. Just then, when you accused me of seducing Daisy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say it before.”

He thought for a moment. “Did I mispronounce it or something? I mean, there can’t be that many ways to say ‘Ashley.’”

“No,” she said slowly. “You said it just right.” She was pulling the bacon out of the pan and mopping the fat off it with paper towels, and she kept her eyes on her task as she added, “I liked hearing it. From you. I liked the way it sounded.”

He wasn’t sure how far he could push his luck. “So you’re not mad at me anymore?” Her quizzical look made him say, “The other morning. On the dock? You were mad at me, right?”

But she shook her head. “Not really.”

“You said I was trying to get revenge on people and I got my kicks out of shooting you down.”

She looked at him as if he were speaking another language, then nodded slowly as her words came back to her. “Yeah. Okay. I was a little mad at you. But I got over it.” She stepped away from the counter, just a little closer to him, and he felt the hairs on his arms rise and strain toward her. “Even before last night, I was over it. I want . . .” She frowned. “I was going to say that I want the same thing I always wanted. I’m pretty sure I was going to paraphrase
Pride and Prejudice
, that scene where Darcy tells Elizabeth that his ‘affections and wishes are unchanged.’” She looked at him and clearly realized he had no idea what she was talking about. “Okay, you should read that book, or at least
watch the movie! But the thing is, I’m pretty sure my affections and wishes
have
changed. I think. . . .” She sighed and half turned as if the bacon was calling her, then turned back to him. “I think you were mostly right. About me treating you like a . . . I don’t know. A prize. I played games, and I stopped thinking about you as a person with your own life and started treating you like a—like a satellite, or something.”

She trailed off and stared at him, waiting for a response, and he said the only coherent thing that came into his head. “I don’t really understand the satellite part.”

“You should talk to Charlotte about that,” she replied. “But the point is, I don’t think I feel that way anymore. Spending time with you, even with you trying to get away from me through it all, and fighting with you on the dock and worrying about you last night . . . you’re real to me, Josh. A real person, someone I value, someone I care about. You’re not a prize anymore. You’re you, and I’m me, just like that first night at the bar, and the morning after on the dock. And I really think that if we could just keep it that way—” She broke off and frowned at him. “What?” she demanded, clearly not pleased with his expression.

He had no idea what his face looked like. Which probably meant he needed to use words. He felt like he’d already used up more words on this woman than on anyone else in his life, ever, but if she wanted more he’d try to find them. “Okay,” he said. And when she was clearly waiting for more, he added, “We should try that. It sounds good. Being real, and being just us. That sounds good.”

“Even though I’m a summer person?”

“Summer people don’t drive my truck,” he said. “They don’t feed my horses or plan to enter fishing derbies. And they sure as hell don’t wash my dog.”

“So I had to prove myself to you?” she asked, and he could see her starting to get irritated again.

“No,” he said. But again, she was waiting for more. Damn it. “What were those lines? From the book, or the movie, or whatever? My affections and wishes . . . yeah, they’re unchanged. I wanted you that night in the bar, and I’ve wanted you ever since.” Scary to say it, but even scarier to not say it and maybe see her walk away. “I managed to keep a lid on it for a while, but the lid’s off now. You didn’t have to prove anything. I came to see you on the dock, remember? Before any of this happened?”

“You did,” she agreed thoughtfully. She turned back to the bacon, then reached over and turned off the oven before asking, “How sore are you?”

“Pretty sore,” he admitted, and then his addled brain realized why she might be asking. “But not that bad. Bruised, not broken.”

She nodded, then waited. He took his time. If this was really happening, after all the false starts and stupidity, all the angst and doubt, then he wanted to make sure it was something he’d remember. Something
she’d
remember, but he couldn’t think too much about that without getting nervous. So he focused on himself. He stood up, trying to ignore the complaints from his bruises, and stepped slowly toward her. She turned so she was facing him full-on, and he raised his hand and let his fingertips hover over the smooth skin of her face. Finally, slowly, he brought his hand down until he saw her eyes jump at the first touch, the touch that sent a small shockwave through his whole body. And that was just from his fingertips on her temple.

He let his hand relax until the palm cupped her face, his thumb skimming along her cheekbone and then down to trace the outline of her lips. No makeup, just her own beauty shining out at him. Her eyes were big and round, her lips soft before they quirked into an encouraging smile.

He smiled back at her. How could he not? But they both grew more serious as he lowered his head and she raised
hers, and when their lips finally met it felt like a new beginning, as if all the misunderstandings and confusion were washed away by the sincerity of this connection.

He pulled away before anything could happen that would ruin things, and she didn’t try to follow him. She just stood still, then slowly licked her lips and smiled at him, as if she’d tasted him and found him delicious.

“We should eat some breakfast,” he made himself say. “You made a feast.”

“If you like carbs and fat . . .”

“I do like carbs and fat,” he said sincerely.

She nodded. “So do I. On special occasions.” Then she smiled at him and turned around, reaching for the plates to serve their first breakfast together.

Fifteen

EVERYTHING SEEMED BRIGHTER.
Better. The bacon was saltier, the cinnamon rolls sweeter, the coffee more invigorating and aromatic. And Josh himself? Clearly the sweetest, handsomest man on the planet. His smiles turned her insides to mush, his gentlest, most casual touch made her ache for more contact. She knew she was being silly about most of it, but she had the sneaking suspicion that her reaction to Josh was going to be a little more permanent.

They ate their breakfast with goofy smiles and a fair bit of unnecessary touching, and Ashley was torn between wanting to jump on Josh and drag him to the bedroom and wanting to stretch the perfection out as long as possible. When they were done eating, Josh said he’d do the dishes. Ashley challenged him to hold a plate in the hand bruised by David’s golf club, and he almost growled at her and then looked so abashed she wanted to wrap him in blankets and snuggle him forever. “I’m not establishing a pattern of behavior,” she
said. “I’m not always going to cook and clean up. But when you’re not at your best? I can do it. Okay?”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but finally sank back in his chair and let her work. Then she insisted on them going to check on the horses, and they were just coming back from the barn when Charlotte’s convertible appeared in the driveway, Kevin again relegated to the back as his mother rode shotgun. Ashley felt Josh groan beside her and she realized that he was letting her in, letting her understand his reluctance, because in his mind she was finally on his side, and it was the two of them together facing whatever challenges might come.

As it was, the challenge wasn’t too serious. Aunt Carol fussed a little, Charlotte and Kevin smirked, and Josh tried his best to change the subject away from himself and any health concerns he might be experiencing.

They ended up all sitting on the front porch as the day heated up. They would have been more comfortable, objectively, at Ashley’s cottage, with the cool breeze coming off the lake, and the wider porch and more abundant seating. At the cabin, Josh ended up on the wood floor, leaning his bruised body back against the post at the top of the short flight of stairs, because all the other seats were taken.

But Ashley knew better than to suggest a change of venue. This was Josh’s home, and he relaxed here in a way he never had at the lake house. He still didn’t say much, but he listened to the conversation and interjected occasionally, and his smiles came easy and often. He was home, and Ashley was welcome. She wasn’t going to push for more.

*   *   *

JOSH
was content. He knew it was just temporary, but he didn’t care; he was going to enjoy it while he could. And everything got a little bit better when Ashley squeezed past Kevin’s long legs and crossed the porch to settle onto the
floor next to Josh. She was just in front of him, and there was a question in her eyes. He knew what she was asking. If they’d been alone, it would have felt totally natural to pull her in next to him, finding a nest for her in the space between his legs, her back leaning against his chest, her head resting against his shoulder. It would have been perfect.

But they weren’t alone. Kevin and Charlotte and Aunt Carol were pretending to be absorbed by their conversation, but they weren’t blind. If Josh and Ashley . . . if they
cuddled
, out there on the porch in front of everybody, that was a declaration of sorts. An admission. Josh didn’t think he could touch Ashley without being tender, and if everyone saw that, it would make it a hell of a lot harder for him to pretend he wasn’t hurting after she left. Kevin and Aunt Carol were family. They might tease, but for something like this? Something bigger? They probably wouldn’t. They’d probably sympathize, and that would be even worse.

Josh knew better, but apparently his body didn’t agree with his brain, because he let his legs relax a little, let his eyes answer Ashley’s question in the affirmative. Then he didn’t have to pull her in because she was moving on her own, scooting over and nestling and burrowing and nudging until her Josh-shaped backrest was molded to her satisfaction.

It was like being back in high school and holding hands in public for the first time. A simple action, but with so many consequences. And Josh’s stomach was dancing the same way it had back then, a mix of dread and excitement and, of course, a good helping of lust. He was letting this happen. Later, maybe he’d actually
make
it happen. And now everybody, everybody who mattered, knew he cared.

“Oh my God,” Ashley whispered to him. “Relax! I feel like I’m leaning against a brick wall!”

Relax. Because for her this wasn’t a big deal. She wasn’t declaring herself in front of her family. She was just trying to find a comfortable place to sit.

Josh winced and forced his body to comply with her orders. His muscles relaxed, and after a short battle his brain surrendered as well. It was too late to worry about it, so he might as well enjoy. He let himself smell her hair, and savor the way her skin felt against his hands, and appreciate how warm she was, how flexible and pliant and strong. He was holding her, and as scary as it was, it felt right. So he focused on that, and went back to ignoring the conversation the others were having.

He didn’t realize his eyes had closed until he was startled by a gentle touch on his cheek. He opened his eyes and saw Ashley twisted around and frowning at him. “You okay?” she asked. “Were you asleep? You’re looking kind of grey.”

“I figured I’d be looking black and blue.”

“The parts of you that show are grey. You probably didn’t sleep well last night if you couldn’t get comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You should go lie down.”

“Come with me.” He surprised himself with the words, grateful that he’d at least said them quietly, and even more grateful that she didn’t seem offended by them.

“You need to sleep,” she said with a smile.

“A nap, maybe. But when we wake up . . .”

Aunt Carol’s voice broke into their little flirtation. “Okay, then, let’s go.” There was an uncomfortable moment before Josh realized she was talking to the whole group and referring to whatever she and the others had come up with. Maybe Josh had been asleep, because the conversation certainly seemed to have shifted at some point. “Josh, I’m assuming you’re done with The Splash for the year? You don’t want to come back in with us this afternoon?”

“Not really,” he admitted. Then he looked down at Ashley. “But you should go. You didn’t get to see that much yesterday. And you were interested in the fishing derby—the big measurements happen tonight.”

“I don’t think I want to see someone else derby-ing, not when I’m not doing it myself.” She raised her head proudly. “The derby is not a spectator sport.”

Kevin stood up then, Charlotte with him. “We came out in one car,” he said, nodding to the parking area. He looked at Ashley with an annoying little smirk. “You want to hitch a ride home, or you going to babysit?”

“Babysit,” she said, then turned to Josh. “If that’s okay. If you can give me a ride back in later.”

Hopefully by “later” she meant the next morning, but Josh figured he didn’t need to press for a commitment on that, not quite yet. “Sure. Okay.”

And that was it. Everything was taken care of. Aunt Carol frowned at Josh and said, “Take it easy today,” and she sent a look in Ashley’s direction that probably meant something in woman-ese, but was nothing Josh could interpret.

Then they all piled in the convertible and left, leaving Josh and Ashley standing on the porch, both of them suddenly a little shy. But Josh had waited too long to let them slip backward now. So he stepped forward and brought his hand to her cheek, gently angling her compliant face toward him. He leaned down for a short, sweet kiss, one that teased of more to come.

Ashley kissed him back, then slipped two fingers through his belt loops and tugged gently. “Come on. You said you’d have a nap. And the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner we can wake up.”

He liked the sound of that, and followed her into the bedroom. This time instead of pushing him under the covers and abandoning him, she gave him another questioning look. He lifted the covers and let her spoon in next to him, then whispered, “For future reference . . . I’m on the wrong side. We’ll need to switch, eventually.”

“No. This is
my
side.” She smiled and rolled over onto her back, edging her leg in between his so she could keep
it straight while his stayed curved. His hand felt completely right, absolutely natural as it rested on the curve of her ribs, his thumb tickling in just under her breast. He supposed it was still bruised, but he really didn’t notice. “Nonnegotiable,” she said, and she stretched up to kiss him.

He managed to resist for about a second before the temptation of her lips was too much. “We could take turns,” he suggested, and leaned down for the kiss.

“Maybe,” she conceded, and she rolled back over onto her side, nestling her ass back into his crotch in a way that made it clear to him that he wasn’t going to be winning many arguments with her, not if they took place horizontally. “Maybe I’ll let you earn this side of the bed.”

“I’m ready to start working,” he started, but she shook her head and gripped his hand, bringing it up to nestle under her chin, his forearm tight against her soft breasts.

“We’re sleeping,” she said firmly, her face turned so he could see her profile. “You need some rest.” Another tiny wriggle of her ass, combined with a grin that made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing, and then she added, “You’ll need your strength. Absolutely.”