Playing for Love at Deep Haven (10 page)

She took a deep,
bracing breath of sea air and looked down at her laptop again. A blank page
read “Chapter 4,” about a third of the way down the page, in bold, black
letters. Underneath, she typed:

Veronica had
never told Shane about Nash, choosing to keep the two most important
relationships of her life wholly separate. In the quiet moments when she
allowed herself to wonder about Nash, the guilt she felt overwhelmed her to
such a degree that she needed to employ full-on denial tactics, second-guessing
the veracity of the entire failed love affair just to find a way to live with
it. She had, over time, managed to convince herself that more than half her
memories were dreams, not reality. Or reality embellished to the point of
absurd.

“Lucky
Veronica,” she sighed out loud.

“Who’s
Veronica?”

Zach stood atop
the three stairs leading from the front lawn to the deck.

Her eyes drank
him in as her body literally trembled with elation, instinctually leaning
forward to be closer to him. She swallowed, forcing herself to exhale the
breath she’d been holding and take a new gulp of air.

“No one! Just my—”

“Veronica from
the book? From
Me and Then You
?”

He looked so
much more normal and Zach-like in a long sleeve, gray
henley
T-shirt that covered his tattooed arms. Less intimidating without his nose and
eyebrow rings, he was still wearing black rubber bands and a leather bracelet
on one wrist and two rings on his fingers. The shirt pulled across his broad
chest, reminding her of how it felt to be in his arms the other night. Her eyes
dipped to his waist and then to right below his waist, remembering how it felt
to have
that
pressed against her too.
She may have whimpered slightly in the back of her throat, and she cleared it
to mask the small sound. She looked away, toward the harbor.

“Yeah. Same
Veronica.”

“What happens to
Nash in this book? Does he get thrown from an airplane? Eaten by fire ants?
Shoved off a cliff?”

She
pursed
her lips to keep from smiling, but when she glanced
at him, he looked so cute, she couldn’t help herself and grinned. He ran a hand
through his shaggy brown hair, looking pleased with himself for winning a
smile.

She tilted her
head and tried to look sassy. “Maybe I’ll drown him in a local harbor.”

“Oh, I don’t think
it’ll be that easy to get rid of old Nash.”

“No?”

“Nope. And no
offense to Shane, because he was, um, a good man, but he wasn’t right for
Veronica.”

“Is that right?”

“That’s right.
Didn’t you ever watch them discuss this book on
Oprah
?”

She grinned
again, imagining him watching
Oprah
.
Of course she’d seen it. She’d been squealing on the sofa next to Sophie when
her book was mentioned with thirty others and discussed for a whole two minutes.
“I must have missed it. Enlighten me.”

“Most everyone
in the audience agreed that she should have waited around for Nash. You know,
given him another chance. Since he was her first love.”

“Really? Because
I could have sworn women all over the world breathed a sigh of relief when she
made the sensible choice and went for Shane.”

“Nah.” He rubbed
his wrist with his thumb, something he’d done more than once since they’d
reconnected. In college, he’d had a habit of touching his lower lip with his
thumb—it had proved majorly distracting more than once—but touching his wrist
was new. “Everyone wanted her to be with Nash. They belonged together.”

“He hurt her.”

“He was young.”

“He knew what he
was doing.”

“He was scared
shitless.”

“Of what?”

“Of falling in
love.”

“Of
her
falling in love with him?”

He leaned against
the railing looking out at the harbor for a moment before looking at Violet
again. “No, Violet-like-the-flower. Of
him
falling in love with
her
.”

She gasped
softly, totally undone by his words and the quiet, careful way he delivered them.
She flinched and her eyes flooded with tears as she tried to get her head
around what he was saying. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. He had walked
away. He couldn’t have loved her back. He couldn’t have.

“You’re coloring
it with a different brush all these years later,” she said. “You’re trying to
change history. You’re making things—”

“Okay. Okay.
Stop a second and think.” He sat down in the chair across from her where she’d
been resting her feet, cradling them gently in his lap. His eyes seized hers.
“Why would I do that? Why would I try to change history?”

“I don’t know.
To . . . to play games with me.”

“No way. That’s
not who I am, and you know it.”

“To make
yourself feel better about it all.”

“Okay, but I
wouldn’t make a play for you. I’d just apologize.”

“To get in my
pants!”

His eyebrows
almost hit his hairline. “As great as it was, Vile, I wouldn’t lie just to get
back in.”

She yanked her
feet away from his lap, wrapping her arms around her legs and curling into a
ball in the chair across from him.

“Listen up,” he
said.

He leaned
forward, putting his hands on the armrests on either side of her and capturing her
eyes uncompromisingly. When he spoke, she could feel his breath, hot and minty,
on her face. “I was falling for you just as hard as you were falling for me.
That’s the truth, Violet Smith. That’s the God’s honest truth, and may I be
struck by lightning right now if it isn’t so.”

“Then why?” she asked,
her voice breaking.

“I didn’t know
what to do with it.”

“With what?”

“With you loving
me.”

“All you had to
do was love me back.”

“I did.”

“But you pushed me
away.”

“I did.”

He searched her
eyes, then yanked up the sleeve of his left arm until his wrist was bared—the
wrist he was always touching and rubbing—then turned it over. There, on his
pulse point, about the size of a quarter, was a violet. A small, four-
petaled
, purple flower with a tiny yellow center and one
elegant green leaf with the word
Lost
printed underneath in a simple script. She reached out and placed her palm
under his hand to steady its trembling, staring at the tattoo as tears streamed
from her eyes. Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips to it gently,
lingering there until she felt his other palm on her cheek, urging her to face
him.

“Violet-like-the-flower,
it was always you for me.”

Without
thinking, she hurled toward him, into his arms, straddling his lap, finding his
lips with hers. She wanted so badly to believe that it was true, that the boy
she had loved so desperately as a nineteen-year-old girl might have actually
loved her back and only pushed her away because he was too confused, or too
overwhelmed, to return her feelings. She wove her hands into his hair as his
fingers slipped underneath her shirt, his calluses sliding along the soft skin
of her belly to her breasts, which he cupped through her bra, making her push
against him with urgency.

He leaned away
from her, catching her eyes in the afternoon light.

“You want this,
Violet? You sure?”

It felt so right
to touch him and be touched by him. She nodded, feeling brash and reckless as
her blood heated up, flushing her skin. She didn’t want to sensibly think
through her decision, didn’t want to be Greenwich Violet or Miss
Havisham
anymore. She just wanted to melt into him. For too
many years, she’d been careful and cautious; it felt unbelievably good to be
impetuous—new, yet strangely familiar, and boundlessly exciting. She ignored
the warnings in her head and pulled his face back down to hers, slipping her
tongue into his mouth with a breathy moan.

Without breaking
contact with her mouth, he put his hands under her ass and picked her up, as
she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He fumbled
briefly with the sliding door but managed to open it and carried her, without
hesitation, through the kitchen to his bedroom, on the opposite side of the
house.

Once there, he
lowered her to the bed, covering her with his body, planting his elbows on
either side of her head and cradling her face with his hands. He drew back from
her, tracing her lower lip with his thumb.

“I never thought
I’d have another chance with you.”

“Neither did I,”
she confessed, her fingers moving to the hem of his shirt and tugging.

He knelt between
her legs, reaching behind his neck and pulling off his shirt to reveal a
muscular torso partially covered in graffiti. He watched her eyes carefully as
she looked at his bare chest for the first time in nine years.

“You hate it,
Vile? The way I look?”

“You look
different.” She reached out to touch the hard lines of his bulging abs.
Two, four, six . . .
She felt her lips
spread into an unsure smile that was unfamiliar, years out of use. “But I could
get used to it, Z.”

“I’m
gonna
blow your mind,” he murmured, his fingers moving to
the buttons on her crisp white button-down shirt. Her hands rested on his
waist, slipping into the waistband of his jeans, making him flinch and shiver.

“Promise?” she
asked, straightening her back so her breasts strained against the remaining
fabric. He undid the final buttons, smiling at her, his lips still the sexiest thing
she’d ever seen, familiar and tempting like a bad habit from a long time ago.

“Promise,” he
said, as his fingers pushed the shirt over her shoulders and down her arms,
tugging it over her wrists.

He lowered his
lips to hers, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, and pulled her into his arms.

Chapter
8

She tasted like
sugar and coffee, and her skin was the softest, warmest, most sweet-smelling
miracle of anatomy he’d ever encountered. He ran his hands up her back, unhooking
the clasp of her bra, and then there was nothing between the skin of his chest
and the skin of hers.

He could feel her
nipples, hard and beaded, pressing against his chest, and it made him harder,
made him tighten with want. He left her lips, kissing a trail down her neck,
stopping to lick and suck lightly at the small hollow at the base of her neck. Running
his lips across her skin, he breathed in her scent, and she ran her fingers
through his hair, guiding his face to her breasts.

He took one hard
pink nipple in his mouth, sucking on it greedily, and she
arched
up against him, sensitive and gasping. His fingers pinched her other nipple
gently and she bucked lightly against his hand, her reaction to him making him
twice as hard. He stroked her with his tongue, gently clasping the nub of
sensitive flesh between his teeth before releasing it so he could pay attention
to its twin. She moaned in the back of her throat, and her fingernails dug into
his scalp with an urgency that made him slide his half-naked body back up along
hers until his lips found hers again.

She caught his
tongue between her teeth and nipped lightly until he caught hers, sucking on it
until she whimpered, and his hands moved to the waistband of her jeans. He unbuttoned
them quickly, hooked his thumbs through her pants and panties, and she pushed
her body up off the bed so he could slide both down her legs.

He knelt over
her for a moment, taking in the sight of her naked body, flushed and perfect,
waiting for him. Her lips, her kiss-swollen lips, tilted up into a smile, and
she leaned forward, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. She
reached inside and her eyes whipped up to find his.

“Commando?” she
asked with a short, surprised gasp, encircling his thick, rigid length with her
fingers.

He pushed his
jeans down over his hips, thanking every power in the universe that he’d rushed
to get downstairs this morning, pulling on his jeans without boxers.

She held his
pulsing sex in her hand, lightly rubbing her thumb back and forth over the
sensitized tip, making him groan softly. He was quickly losing any tether on
self-control, his senses in chaos. He took her wrist, gently pulling her hand
away from his throbbing erection, and brought her fingers to his lips, touching
them reverently as he drew her into his arms. He leaned her back so he could
cover her body with his, reveling in the feeling of his skin against hers, his
body lined up perfectly against hers, hard where she was soft, aching and
impatient to finally be inside her.

“Are you sure
you want this?” he asked again, reaching back for his jeans so he could find
the wallet that held a condom. He didn’t have more than one, a circumstance he
fully intended to remedy in the next few hours.

“I’m still on
the pill,” she said tenderly, searching his eyes.

She may as well
have thrown a bucket of cold water in his face.

Fuck.
His heart dropped as he looked away
from her. While he was pretty careful about who he’d been with, this was
Violet. He wouldn’t put her in any danger until he was sure he could share his
body with her safely.

“Oh,” she said
softly, reading his eyes, disappointment flitting across her face as she bit
her lower lip. Her cheeks colored pinker. “Oh.”

“It’s not like
I’m with someone new every night, but . . .”

Her open mouth
snapped shut, and her eyes filled with tears.

Shit!
He groaned, rolling off her, lying
beside her on the bed, trying to catch his breath. His body was taut, like a guitar
string ready to snap, and every muscle, every cell, called out for him to bury
his body inside of hers. But he didn’t have a right to touch her. He’d seen it
on her face. He was willing to bet she hadn’t been with anyone since
Shep
died, and he’d had a slew of one-night stands over the
past nine years.

He threw his arm
over his eyes, angry with himself, frustrated by the way he pulsed with want
for her. She was offering herself to him, and he couldn’t even get that right.

But then he felt
the feather touch of her hand brushing his, peeling his fingers open and
tugging the condom away. He opened his eyes to see her rip it open then
straddle him, sitting on his thighs, leaning down to fit and roll it carefully
over his rock-hard sex.

“Get tested,”
she said gently.

His eyes burned,
and he reached up to hold her hips, to knead his fingers into her pale, flushed
skin, speechless with emotion, terribly in love with her for the second time in
his life.

“Promise me,”
she whispered.

“I promise,” he
breathed. “As soon as possible.”

She grinned at
him, leaning forward slightly to catch his lips in a quick kiss.

“Now,” she said,
positioning her body over his. “Blow my mind.”

Her deep brown
eyes held his, and she gasped as his hardness entered her, as he stretched her
just a little, and she eased herself down onto him, achingly, almost unbearably
slowly, taking inch by swollen inch of him, until he was almost completely
lodged inside her. She made a small, satisfied moaning sound deep in her
throat, then leaned her head back and sighed.

Zach held his
breath as she leaned back and took him deeper into her body, finally exhaling
when she was fully impaled on him, and he couldn’t tell where he ended and she
began.

He had a sudden
flashback to nine years earlier when they’d both been inexperienced virgins
clumsily finding each other in the dark, frantic and raw, fitting together with
careful yet awkward imprecision.

This was
separate. Unique. Unequaled. His body was perfectly matched to hers, as though
she was the split-apart half of his flesh, of his soul, finally back together,
finally whole. He moved inside her, the combination of her wet tightness and the
rotation of her hips making him almost come like a teenager. He watched her
breasts move up and down as she rode him, as he drove up into her body again
and again, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

He sat up, cupping
her ass and lifting her onto his lap, without breaking their connection. He
wanted to feel closer to her, to hold her body flush against his and feel her
in his arms as she lost herself in pleasure. He wanted to feel every tremble
and gasp, hot against his neck. As her chest touched his, he slowed them down, clasping
his arms around her and kissing her lips. She wound her arms around his neck,
pulling him against her until breath couldn’t find space between them. His
movements were deep and controlled as she arched herself against him to meet
his upward thrusts again and again, small sounds in the back of her throat
driving him crazy.

“Zach,” she moaned,
her head dropping forward as her lips and teeth brushed the skin of his
shoulder. “Zach, I want . . . I can’t hold on. I
can’t . . .”

“Just let go,
baby. Just let go. I’m right behind you.”

He felt her
muscles tighten around him, her arms tauten with urgency. He reached up to
steady her head, pressing his mouth to hers. He found her tongue, sucking on it
as her back bowed and she shuddered in his arms. Her head fell back as she
called out his name in a ragged sob. With one final thrust he let go with her,
clasping her to him, her heart to his heart, trembling, shattering, falling
apart in her arms, as he buried his head in her hair, as every muscle shuddered
and contracted. They held one another tightly, desperately, bodies entwined, heads
resting on each other’s shoulders and the only words in his head, in an
unrelenting A-flat tone of absolute and total devotion were these:

I love her. I love her. I love her. I love her.

And this time, I will
never
let her go.

***

Violet woke up
in Zach’s arms an hour later, physically sated, emotionally exhausted and unsettled.
Deeply unsettled. She barely recognized the girl who’d just
thrown
caution to the wind, having wild, impulsive, passionate sex with a boy she’d
loved long ago. Violet had said good-bye to that girl at Yale. Honestly, she’d
almost forgotten that girl had existed, and now here she was, reasserting
herself with abandon.

Unsettled, yes.
But Violet also looked for regret, and it surprised her that she didn’t feel
it. She didn’t regret what had just happened between them. It didn’t feel bad
or wrong. It felt scary and risky, but freeing somehow, too. And familiar.
Familiar like a forgotten song from long ago that takes you back to a moment
the second you hear it. And you recognize who you were. Then. And now. And you
have to figure out how to reconcile the two.

She took a deep,
shaky breath and trembled lightly.

“Hey,” he said
softly, stroking her hair.

“Hi. How long
was I out?”

“An hour or so.”
He reached out his hand, spreading his fingers to span her hip. It felt so
intimate, which made no sense after what they’d just done. “I watched you
sleep. I can’t remember the last time I did that, but you looked exactly the
same. I could have watched you for hours.”

She tried to
smile, but it didn’t feel right. It was forced. She bit her lip, trying to
compose her face into an expression that didn’t look as wary and guarded as she
felt. What she
felt
like doing was
running out of the bedroom and up the stairs to her room, where she could
think, where she could process what had just happened, where she could try to
get her head around what was going on between them, and if it was real. And if
it
was
real, whether it was something
she actually wanted.

“I don’t do
this,” she murmured. “I don’t do things like this.”

“Well, you did
it really well,” he teased, gently stroking her face. His smile faded when she
didn’t respond. “You’ve changed. You used to be more . . . carefree.”

“Yeah. Look
where that got me.”

He winced,
understanding her meaning perfectly. “I’m sorry, Vile.”

“It was a long
time ago,” she said, trying to compose herself, wishing that she didn’t feel so
confused, so at odds with herself.

“I was
wondering,” he said with a slight grin, part of a new cockiness that disarmed
her, “if I could take you out on a date tonight.”

It was the last
thing she’d expected, and her thoughts scattered. “A date.”

“Uh-huh. You and
me. A drive. Dinner in Bar Harbor. More catching up. More of this.”

And just like
that, her distracted surprise turned back into nerves and worry.

“Or not,” he
added, flinching as his hand slipped off her hip, breaking the contact between
them.

“This is
complicated, Zach.”

“I don’t think
it is.”

She searched his
eyes, letting her face reflect her true feelings: worry, distrust, wariness, confusion.
Yes, and lust, too . . . and something else. Something from long ago that was
trying to resuscitate itself, trying to gather itself together into a fully
formed idea, a fully rebuilt feeling. She felt it deep inside, risky and
dangerous, and College Violet wanted to explore it, as Sophie had suggested,
even though Greenwich Violet was terrified of it.

Zach turned onto
his back, staring at the ceiling. “It’s just a date, Vile. If you don’t want—”

“I do. I
do
want to.”
Where did those words come from?

She
propped
her head up on her palm, looking at his face in
profile, at the strong cheekbones and long lashes. At the empty piercings in
his eyebrow, nose, and ears. He was so different from her. So different from
how he used to be.

His lips tilted
up in a tentative smile. “Sure?”

“On one
condition.”

“Name it.”

 
“I have to work tomorrow. I have to. If I
don’t . . .”

He smiled. “If
you don’t, readers will never see Veronica and Nash finally end up together.
And you know they’ve got to end up together, Vile.”

His teasing tone
and the inadvertent reference to
Shep
soured the lift
in her mood. “Not everything’s a joke,
Zachariah
.
Some people struggle to create something, you know. They don’t get paid forty
thousand dollars for songs they can pull out of their ass.”

“Money again.” He
rolled his eyes. “You
have
changed.”

“Really.”

“Really. You didn’t
look as chic in college, but you used to write because you loved to write.
Those poems you wrote that fall? I actually have to keep myself from using them
in every single song I write, Violet. Because none of the words I come up with
are even half as beautiful as yours.”

Yeah, right. She
knew exactly how good her poetry was–not good enough to score a poetry
contract, that’s how good. “Well, poetry doesn’t pay the bills and that’s a
fact.”