Love on a Summer Night (21 page)

“Need my hands. Gotta worship every inch of you.” He circled her breasts, wide, lazy loops that barely grazed her skin but still raised almost painful goosebumps. He licked those away and repeated the pattern, with tighter and tighter circles, until his breath brought her nipple to a hungry peak.

“Suck harder,” she said, echoing his earlier instruction, and he did, laughing quietly against her skin.

Her back arched off the blanket, slamming their bodies together, and then all seduction efforts were lost, and it was a mad, lusty scramble to get him inside her and get their hands on each other’s bodies. One of his hands pulled her leg up high and stayed there as he slid through her folds, holding her wide open as he fit them together.

God, he felt bigger than before. Wider, thicker. She bucked, wanting to shove herself up and onto him. She wanted to feel every last inch of him, wanted him to possess her as thoroughly as he’d promised earlier. But then she gasped at the first cleaving stroke, and he shook above her.

“I’m fine,” she breathed. Claimed. Marked. Branded, maybe forever. Whatever, no biggie. She clung to him and he seared her mouth with a lip-bruising kiss before returning his attention to her breasts as they rocked, fitting themselves together as tightly as humanly possible.

“I’m not sure I am.” But he was. He was
so
fine. Even as he lost a bit of control, his breath getting ragged and his movements growing more desperate, he still made her pleasure his pleasure. Heat bloomed deep in her belly as he found all the right buttons and pushed them in the magic sequence that unlocked her orgasm in record time. And then he stretched it out as he drove himself harder into her body, carrying her climax until his own joined the party.

The look on his face matched the day’s theme—possession—but there was more there, too. Disbelief. Wonder, maybe, although it was hard to understand how Zander Minelli could be surprised by good sex. Great sex, even. The man had moves that had moves.

And some of his best were post-coital, as he stroked her back to Earth and kissed her in a way that promised more, much more.

“Wow,” she breathed.

He kissed her shoulder. “You getting cold?”

Hardly. “We should go inside, I guess.”

“We don’t need to.” He tugged her against his chest and stroked his fingers through her hair. “We’ve got all night.”

Right. And then back to real life. Long distance phone calls and planning for a Christmas visit.
Which is what you wanted, right? Slow and steady?
They’d talked about it in the restrained way that distance demanded. They were on the same page. She didn’t even hesitate before thinking about him as her boyfriend.

But doubt still lingered that they’d last. Faith closed her eyes and burrowed tighter into Zander’s chest. Maybe she’d find some answers in the solid warmth there. Somewhere between the tattoos and the scars, writ in invisible ink, was the secret to dating a bad boy and not losing one’s heart, and Faith desperately needed that insider information, because Zander was doing the world’s slickest impression of actually being a keeper.

“Your brain is whirring pretty loud there,” he said, and she caught her breath. He sounded chill. Calm. But there was an edge to his voice, and if she hadn’t been with him, up close and personal in all the most intimate ways, she might have missed it.

“Big day today,” she answered carefully. “Stirs up a lot of stuff in a writer’s imagination.”
A woman’s imagination, too.
“Don’t worry about it.”

“I do, you know. Worry.”

She nodded. She did know. Neither of them had seen an intense relationship coming.

“Faith—”

“Any chance we might find hot chocolate inside?” She rolled up to her feet, stealing the blanket and wrapping it around herself.

Zander stared up at her, every inch a naked god stretched out on the dock. Raw, masculine, powerful. His jaw worked silently for a moment before he jumped up to join her. “Yep. Marshmallows, too.”

“Good.” She stepped backwards, slowly, watching him advance on her.

He stopped her when they got to the porch. “Today was amazing,” he murmured, making a fist in the front of her blanket and tugging her close. “You are amazing. There’s nothing imaginary about how I feel about you, you got that?”

Did she get that? She heard him. She even felt it to be true in moments like this. It was when he left her and life was still the same as it had been before—when The Zander Effect was diminished due to lack of proximity, if not lack of effort—that was when she started to worry.

And the higher the peak, the harder the fall. She took a deep breath. “One thing at a time, mister. Let’s start with hot chocolate.”

He shook his head. “One of these days, we’re gonna have to talk about this.”

She nodded. “But not tonight, okay? Today was perfect.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “You are perfect.”

“Brat.”

She kept going. “There’s nothing imaginary about how perfect I think you are.”

“Now you’re just talking about my ass.”

“Mmm-hmm. Indeed I am.”

“Hot chocolate?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

So he made her hot chocolate and ran them a bubble bath for two, because he really was perfect.

— SIXTEEN —

I
T wasn’t that she expected dating someone who lived on the other side of the country to be easy. But then it
was
, for weeks on either side of his trip home for the wedding, so when their first fight happened, over something kind of stupid, it took her by surprise.

Eric’s birthday was almost a month after the wedding, and in the weeks between, a steady stream of boxes had been delivered to their house, that Faith had ordered because she lived in the middle of nowhere and hated shopping in malls, anyway. Mostly presents and birthday party supplies. The vast majority of the time the couriers showed up during school hours, so Eric had no clue, but the few times he had been home and gotten curious about the increase in brown cardboard boxes—“Is that for me? Is it the robot dinosaur I saw a commercial for?”—she’d distracted him with Anne Minelli’s chocolate chip cookies.
 

She had a regular supply of them now, because Zander had tasked his friends with bringing them to her and Eric. Twice a week, one of the Minelli brothers, or a Foster substitute, would drop off a Tupperware container and a note from Zander. Always something funny and cute and very much PG-13, because it was a guarantee that the “delivery men” would read them.

Everyone had a price for doing a favour, clearly.

So the cookies worked to keep Eric from peeking at the boxes before she could hide them. And Faith kept a checklist in her office of everything she’d ordered, and when the last box arrived, she breathed a sigh of relief. Hiding things from Eric was getting harder and harder.

A few days later, on a glorious, unexpectedly warm day, when she walked to get Eric because it was just that lovely outside, they returned home to find two more boxes stacked against the front door.

“Can I help you open them?” Eric asked hopefully.

She wracked her brain.
 

“Uhmmm…” She looked at the two packages, then picked them up and inspected the return addresses. The first was definitely for her—lingerie, so he didn’t need to open
that
one. The second was from a bigger online store, and she was pretty sure it was books she’d ordered a while back. They weren’t presents, he could open that one. “Take the big brown box, sweetie. This one is mine.”

She jogged upstairs and stashed the itty bitty silk scrap of nothing in her bedroom closet.

As she headed back to the kitchen, she heard Eric grunting in determination. His little fingers scrabbling at the tape, then cardboard ripping.

Then a gasp, and a laugh of disbelief. “Skates? No way!”

What?

He repeated the words, this time shrieking them loudly. Yep, he definitely said skates. As in, okay on a cute pair of pyjamas she’d bought him for his birthday, but not so much actually on his feet, what with being blades and causing head injuries and so forth.

Faith skidded to a stop next to the table, where Eric was jamming a shiny black winter-sports helmet on his head. He shook his whole arm, index finger extended, at a pair of black and white hockey skates on the table.

Skates.

“You got me hockey stuff?” His mouth hung open in disbelief.

That made two of them that couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“This…wasn’t me.” Her mouth dry, she reached past him and grabbed the packing invoice. At the top in big block letters it read
GIFT RECEIPT
and below that was a message.

Eric bumped into her arm and his little, happy voice read it out loud over her shoulder as she took it in.
 

Happy birthday, bud. I’m sorry I’m not there. We’ll use these at Christmas.
 

Zander
 

Oh, no. No, no, no.

“Can we call him, Mom? This is freaking awesome.”

Awesome?
When did her kid start talking like a teenager? Maybe around the same time he somehow wiggled a secret desire to play hockey into a conversation with her boyfriend.

Yeah, she’d be calling Zander all right. “I think he’s probably still at work, baby.” She glanced at the clock. Four o’clock in Ontario meant it was two in the afternoon out in Alberta. “I’ll send him a thank you note on my phone, and maybe we can video chat later.”

She sagged back against the kitchen counter, letting him play with the world’s greatest gifts because there was no point closing the barn doors now that the horses had fled and joined the Calgary Flames.

Or something.

Fingers shaking, she typed out a text to Zander.
Skates?

His reply was immediate.
They arrived?

She growled and stalked to the craft room for some privacy. She tapped his name, then the phone icon. If he could respond to a text, he could talk on the phone. Hopefully.

He answered on the first ring. “Uh oh.”

“What?”

“You’re calling me instead of texting. Were the skates a bad idea?”

“Yes!” She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “Zander, why didn’t you ask me first?”

Stunned silence was the only response. She tried to picture his face. Was he annoyed she’d called him during the day and yelled right off the bat? That would be fair. She was overreacting. She couldn’t help it, though.

“Well…” He sighed. “Okay, in hindsight I can see how I may have overstepped. But they’re skates, Faith. Every boy needs a pair of skates.”

“Not my boy.” God, she hated the defensive, brittle tone in her voice. She’d worked so hard to be chill, and it had all been an act. She wasn’t chill in the least when it came to recreational activities. She was uptight and overprotective, and she knew that it was about Greg’s death and entirely irrational. She also didn’t try very hard to curb herself. “Hockey isn’t safe.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, babe.”

“But you don’t agree.” Something creaked over the phone lines, and he sighed again. She echoed the sound. “I’m sorry. I interrupted you at work.”

“I’m just sitting in my office, it’s fine.” Another creak.

“What are you doing right now?” The tension ebbed from her voice and she closed her eyes. “Tell me what your day is like.”

“I thought you wanted to have a fight.”

“Never.”

“It would be our first one. Might be a fun milestone.”

She laughed quietly. “Tell me about your day.”

“We’re planning a week-long Arctic exercise for the end of the month, so I’m filling out forms for that. All computer stuff.”

“I have a hard time picturing you behind a desk.”

“Well, it’s an Army-green metal desk, and my feet are propped up on an ammo can that has my name stencilled on it, if that helps.”

“Are you in uniform?”

His chuckle rumbled through the phone. “Yes. Always.”

“That was a stupid question.”

“No such thing. I’m sorry I didn’t ask about the skates. It was just a spontaneous thing. I was online late the other night, and there was a countdown sale to midnight. It would have been like two in the morning for you, not that I even thought about calling. I just clicked on them because…”

“Every boy needs a pair of skates?” She repeated back his earlier, not incorrect, defense. “Is it a lost cause, me trying to keep him safe?”

“Babe, you can keep him safe while he learns to play hockey. Whether or not he plays on a team, that’s a different question. If he’s ever allowed to play contact, that kind of thing. But just learning to skate? That’s a rite of passage. And can be totally…”

“Boring?” She perked up at the thought of boring skating that might drum an interest in hockey out of her son forever.

“Safe. And still interesting.”

“Not too interesting.”

This time his laugh wasn’t restrained, or quiet. He guffawed hardcore, but it warmed her in a weird way. Like he was laughing at her in a way that meant he’d always be laughing with her.

“Lost cause?”

“Nothing boring about hockey, babe.”

“Shit. I was worried you’d say that.”

In the background, another man’s voice spoke. Zander muffled the phone for a second, then with a rustle he was back. “I gotta run. Can we continue our first fight later on?”

“Sure.” She grinned. “Eric wants to say thank you.”

“Video call?”

“Definitely.”

— —
 

Zander knew he’d messed up, not checking first, but it had been a genuine mistake and Faith was a reasonable woman.
 

It would be easier when he was back on the peninsula. He looked at the brown paper envelope on his desk. He had a career planning meeting in two weeks time, and he’d put off signing the discharge forms inside the envelope. He grabbed the envelope and slid out the sheaf of papers. A quick click on the pen he always carried in the breast pocket of his uniform, and he hovered his hand over the signature line.

“Are those your discharge papers, Warrant Officer?”

He looked up and nodded at Captain Diwali, his commanding officer, who’d silently appeared in the doorway of Zander’s office. “They are.”