Love on a Summer Night (13 page)

He wove one hand into her silky hair, the cool strands doing nothing to douse his ardour for her. With an insistent tug, he stilled her movements, slowing his caress of her mouth to an erotically glacial pace.

They weren’t going to do more than kiss, so this was going to have to rock her world.

With his other hand, he lifted her hips into his, rocking her slowly against his body as he stroked his tongue against hers, thrusting and twisting until she was mewling in his arms.

And then, dying a little inside, he stopped, pressing his lips to her cheek, then her ear. “I wanted to do that yesterday.”

She shook in his arms, her cheek rubbing against his as she whispered back, “Me too.”

He kissed her again, softer this time, more exploratory. He was still learning the taste of her, what she liked and how she reacted. She sighed as he sucked gently on her lower lip, a sound of pure desire that worked its way right to his balls.

They needed to stop before he did something stupid like sliding his hand inside her robe and finding out just how sweet and heavy her breasts were. If she was wet for him and if she liked him sucking anywhere—everywhere—else.

With a Herculean effort, he licked his way to the corner of her mouth and pressed one last, chaste-ish kiss there before pulling back. “Go put clothes on.”

Her eyes were glazed and heavy, and she blinked slowly twice before responding, her gaze pinned on his mouth.
 

Oh, fuck.
 

“Really?”

“No. Yes.” He made a strangled animal sound in his throat and let her go completely, picking up the flowers and handing them over before crossing his arms for good measure. “Yes. Get dressed and give me a minute to think about math.”

He watched as she ducked her head, sniffing the flowers with a smile that made his balls ache. Then she twisted away from him and moved up the stairs. Every third step she glanced back in his direction, and his dick told him how much being noble sucked.

Yep, pretty much.

It didn’t take her long to put on jeans and a t-shirt, and as soon as she was back on the ground floor, he leaned in and gave her a regular, quick little kiss.

That felt surprisingly good, too.

“Hi,” he whispered, keeping his face close to hers. “Sorry for interrupting your work day.”

“I was already thinking about you and feeling distracted,” she said, blushing.

“Good.” He took a deep breath. “We should get out of the house. You want to go for a ride?”

She froze, then shook her head.

“It’s safe.” He cleared his throat, not wanting to lie to her. Not that he’d be able to—Faith was whip-smart, and wary enough to question everything. “Well, safe enough. We can just go around town. Slowly. I brought a second helmet. It’s my brother’s, but I’m not sure he’s ever even worn it.”

“How about we go sit in my backyard instead?” She worried her bottom lip between her front teeth, and in that moment, he’d have done anything for her.

“Sure.” He let her lead him through her house—which was surprisingly large inside, and had an amazing kitchen that opened up onto a large, terraced backyard. She’d stopped long enough to put the flowers in water and grab them drinks. When they got outside, she pointed to a cushioned bench tucked up against the back wall of the house, under the shade of a soaring maple tree.

When they sat, their knees bumping and hands brushing, she didn’t speak right away. Instead she looked at him. He could feel her gaze on his neck, his jaw, his brow. Her fingers followed, tracing the top edge of the cityscape tattoo that decorated his shoulder. Her hand curved down his arm and she tugged up his t-shirt sleeve.

“I could just take it off,” he said roughly, and she leaned in to kiss his clothed biceps.

“That would be dangerous,” she whispered. “What is it?” Her fingers followed the links of ink. Each brush of her flesh against his made his nuts ache a little more. “Oh! Toronto!”

“Yeah.”

“Did you ever live there?”

“No. I just wanted an ice rink and a city behind it, and the artist had lived in Toronto. He did this sketch of city hall, and I knew that was it.”

She turned her finger so the tip of her fingernail outlined the drawing of the kid playing hockey. “Is this you?”

He shrugged. “It’s representative.”

“Hmmm.” He turned just in time to see her duck her head and press her mouth to his hot, bare skin.

His muscles jumped beneath her lips. “You make it hard to be a good guy.”

She smiled against his skin. “Sorry?”

“Tell me why you don’t want to go on my bike.”

She sighed and turned her head, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Her body curved around his arm, soft moulding around hard—a perfect fit. “It’s a long story.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Enough.”

He wiggled his fingers and she laced hers around them.

“My husband had a racing bike. Not like yours. It wouldn’t be comfortable to ride across the country on.”

And it would be built for speed. He could see the puzzle pieces, but he might be wrong.

“When he died, I sold it. We didn’t have any life insurance, you see, other than a bit through his work. All of a sudden I needed to make every penny count. I didn’t get very much for it. And I got so mad at him.”

He squeezed her hand, trying to convey whatever one should say, without knowing exactly what that was.

She sighed. “It was a stupid thing to lose my shit over, but that’s how grief is sometimes. That was the first time I’d gotten mad that he’d died. It wasn’t even a bike accident—but it was similarly stupid, and I saw the bike as a symbol of his choices, I guess. He was waterskiing and did a flip. Landed badly on his neck and he was dead before they got him out of the water.”

Zander burned, angry on her behalf. And also angry for her husband, because how many times had the guy probably done something similarly exciting and lived to crow about it?

Every damn time until the last.

Life was unfair. “I’m sorry,” he said roughly.

She lifted her head and gave him a sad smile. “I’m usually fine. I’ve done the counselling thing and I’ve got a bereavement group that I lead. I’ve moved on with my life, ya know?”

“It’s okay if you’re not fine, though. Sometimes or regularly still. Especially if a bonehead like me suggests you do something reckless.”

“I used to love that reckless, adventuring spirit. Love it in men, and in myself.”

“Nothing wrong with that. There are ways to do things safely. A sedate, grandma-esque tool around town, for example.” He winked, to be light, but he wasn’t playing off her concerns.

He got it—better than she might think.

“I don’t…” She winced. “I don’t want half-measures, either. You know? I don’t want to go to a gym with a rock wall. If I’m not climbing anymore, I’m not climbing. Full stop.”

“You climbed?” He shifted closer, wanting to know more about that. He wanted to know everything about her. But it also seemed like a happier place to steer the conversation toward.

“Yeah.” A tentative smile curled up her face. “I wasn’t great or anything, but I really enjoyed it. Especially rappelling.”

He laughed. “You’d make a good private recruit.”

“I really wouldn’t. The first time someone tried to get me out of bed at five in the morning I’d be court-martialled for what I’d say to them.”

“Not a morning person. Noted.”

She blushed, and he thought of all the possible thoughts spiralling through her head to make her cheeks turn pink like that. The two of them waking up together. Naked. He’d make mornings so good for her…

“Don’t!” She pointed her finger at him. “Get that thought out of your head.” She hesitated, and then went there. “Not if you’re not going to do anything about it.”

Time slowed to a crawl, and the hot summer afternoon suddenly felt like the surface of the sun. Zander could feel sweat rolling down his back as he weighed his options.

They were both hungry for each other.

This wasn’t the time, though. “What? I just want to take you for a ride around town, Ms. Davidson. You have a filthy mind.” He mock nipped at her fingertip and she laughed.

Then she sighed and her face slid back to that serious, thinking expression she wore so often. Her mom face. Her writer face. He got that those were two important hats for her to wear, but she needed a way to find the joy of adventure, too. Not in this moment, though.
 

She gave him a little shrug. “I need to get Eric from the library in an hour.”

“I can do a lot in an hour.” Now he was just having fun making her mind go to the various filthy places. Because even though she was blushing, her eyes were wide and bright and glued to his face. She wanted more and damn it, he wanted to give it to her.

In every imaginable way.

But the first time he made love to her, he didn’t want it to be rushed. And on a selfish note, he didn’t want her to be able to run away afterward—not until he’d made sure they were okay.

“I could do even more if we had a whole night.” He took a deep breath. “You can slug me if this is too presumptuous, but is there any way you could get away tonight?”

Her face transformed in an instant. Distant, hungry longing shifted to a bright, sparkly conspiratorial look. “Maybe.”

“It’ll take me a bit of time to figure out where we should go—and later on I’ll tell you about just how damn nosy my family is.”

She laughed. “I bet they love you.”

“Like Lenny and the mouse.”

She threw her arms around his neck, her entire body shaking with glee. “A Steinbeck reference. If you can find us a quiet place later on, I’ll reward you for that.”

— TEN —

“D
ID you have any trouble getting away?”

Faith shook her head. Her mouth was too busy licking and kissing Zander’s jaw to actually use words.

She’d ducked out of having to explain anything directly to her mother by dropping Eric off at Ryan Howard’s place for dinner and a play date with Maya—an acceptable alternative to a picnic with Zander, although she felt a pang of guilt about the change of plans. Miriam had gone to the early show and would pick him up before bedtime on her way back up the peninsula. She hadn’t even blinked at Faith’s texted request.

Ryan, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what she was doing. The knowing look he’d given her when she dropped off her son made her wish the ground would open up. But there’d been an understanding edge to it—unlike her mother or Zander’s family, he wouldn’t relish in her embarrassment, she knew that. And her secret was safe with him.

Now all of those thoughts faded away. Zander had texted her a cryptic question—
do you have GPS?
—and then sent her coordinates for where to meet him when she responded that of course she did, and she even knew how to use it.

It turned out that Zander’s snowmobile trail knowledge had other advantages. At the end of a dead-end road ten minutes north of Pine Harbour she found Zander’s bike. Parking next to it, she got out and followed her phone’s instructions down a small trail through the woods, and came out the other side to a secret paradise.

The beach was small, hemmed in on either side by pine trees and rising rock. Waves crashed on enough boulders in the private bay that she doubted it was safe to swim in, but the shore had a decent amount of sand, and closer to the woods, soft grass and pine needles made an equally nice base for a couple of tents.

Or tonight, just one.

Zander rose from his seat next to a small fire he’d made and approached, an easy smile relaxing his normally sharp features.

Camping looked good on him.

“This is nice,” she murmured as he pulled her close for a soft kiss that quickly heated up.

He groaned as she slid her hands under his shirt. “Found it my last year of high school. I’m sure other people use it, but I’ve never seen anyone here.”

She nodded, only half listening. Which was terrible. Zander was interesting and this place was beautiful.

But he was more beautiful, and since he was leaving the next day, and she’d finally admitted just how much she wanted him…now she really wanted him. Over and over again.

He spun them around, pointing her to the campfire. His tent was set back toward the woods, and between it and the fire lay a thick blanket. On it was a picnic basket and a small cooler.

“Hungry?” he asked as he tugged her down to the blanket.

Her only response was to roll on top of him and kiss him again.

That’s when he asked her about getting away without difficulty.

The man asked way too many questions.

He laughed and rolled them both so they were on their sides, then he cupped her cheek and finally stopped talking.

After a time, when she was finally drunk on the taste of him, sated for the time being, he pulled her to sit between his legs, her back against his chest, and they ate cookies and drank coffee from a shared thermos as they watched the sun set over the lake.

“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered, his lips caressing the curve of her ear.

She rolled her head back. “It’s been a wonderful week. Better than I ever could have imagined, really. I’d given up on the idea of having a social life.”

“I have to admit I wondered why you’re still single.”

“Fear, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“There’s also the other side factor—grown men on the prowl are worse than teenage boys.” She hesitated, but something about Zander made her want to tell him everything. “I did try dating, about a year and a half after Greg died. When Eric was sleeping through the night and my mom had moved in with me. I wasn’t looking for anything romantic, just…”

He tensed around her, and she worried she’d made a mistake. Of course he wouldn’t want to picture her with other guys, not that anything had happened. But she’d wanted it to. Getting laid had been her goal for a bit, and when she hadn’t been able to find a healthy, safe way to do that with someone who sparked the right kind of feelings, she’d buried those feelings deep.

“You deserve the world.” His words were slow. Careful. Rough with an edge of something she couldn’t name—but it felt sharp. Possessive, like her pleasure might be a responsibility he wanted.