Riding the Pause (16 page)

“Not anymore today,” he said, resisting the urge to swat her on the butt when she rolled her eyes at him.

He loved that he was the one who could make cool-as-ice perfectly polished Rachel Southerland act like a child. He loved her, and he planned on spending the rest of his life showing her exactly how much. Ignoring the soot from his hand on her cream silk blouse because he couldn’t make himself stop touching her if he wanted, he guided her up the stairs to his shower.

Maybe they could find a place in Charlottesville with a huge two person shower, one with rain showerheads everywhere, but for now he’d take whatever he could get. Pushing open the door, he led her into his small bathroom, freezing when he saw his soot covered reflection in the mirror standing alongside hers. The pins were falling from her normally neat blonde twist. She had dark smudges over her face and her blouse and slacks were filthy.

“Good Lord,” he said to their reflections. “And here I was accusing you of being a bad influence. I ruined your clothes.”

“I don’t care,” she said, moving so she stood in front of him, pulling his hands around her so his dirty fingers splayed across her silk covered ribcage.

He gave up worrying about her blouse and gave in to the feeling of her skin, hot under the silk. With fingers that shook because he wanted her so much, he unbuttoned the row of tiny pearl buttons, revealing inch after inch of her creamy skin flushed a beautiful rose. She shrugged, letting the blouse fall to the floor. Standing in front of him in her delicate white lace bra, she looked like a smudged angel, and regardless of how much he wanted her, he couldn’t bring himself to touch her bra. It seemed crazy and old fashioned, but ruining the clean lace felt too much like defiling her and he could never do that.

“I can’t,” he said, out of his depths and over his head.

“I can,” she said, seeming to understand his predicament. “You start the water.”

Grateful to be doing something, anything that got him one step closer to getting his hands on her, he turned the tap and waited for the water to heat. Some of the soot came off his hands when he was testing the temperature of the water but there were other greasy smudges he knew from experience would only come off with soap, scrubbing and lots of hot water. Turning to face her, he saw she’d stripped out of the rest of her clothing and the white lace and was waiting for him, naked.

The breath caught in his throat, and he had a hard time swallowing, but his body moved on its own like he was pulled by a string toward her. He couldn’t resist her. He had to at least be close to her even if he couldn’t bring himself to touch her with his grubby hands.

She was the one who reached for him, gripping his sweat soaked T-shirt and tugging it from his jeans. She raised it over his chest, pushing it up his body until he took it from her and peeled it off, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. She dropped to her knees in front of him, tugging at the knotted laces of his work boots.

“No, princess,” he said, trying to pull her to her feet. “I’ll do it.”

“I can help,” she said.

The sight of her, looking up at him, naked and vulnerable almost did him in. Sitting on the edge of the tub, he struggled with one set of laces while she worked on the others. Her nimble fingers were faster, but he was motivated by desperation and in moments he was shucking off his boots and stripping off the last of his clothing. And then he could finally let himself touch her, guiding her into the steam filled shower and stepping in after her.

Rachel had never seen anyone as dirty as Ian. Naked, she could see patches of clean skin, but even his T-shirt and jeans hadn’t completely stopped the grime from spreading through to his skin. The water ran gray as he rinsed the soot from his body, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to be the one who washed him. The one who took care of him. Now that she had him back, she needed to touch him the way she needed air to breathe.

Picking up the bottle of shower gel, she squirted a dollop into her palm and rubbed her hands together to work up a lather. The scent of grapefruit started to replace the burnt wood smoke smell in the steam filled shower. Letting her soap slick hands slide down Ian’s arm, she caught his hand in hers, washing his work rough fingers and callused palm. Repeating the process with his other hand, she moved her palms up his body, soaping his chest and letting the hot water carry away the bubbles and soot.

As soon as his hands were clean, he touched her, tentatively at first but growing more demanding, his hands rough on her sensitive skin. She loved the way he felt, loved the contrast between the calluses on his coarse hands and soft skin of her inner arm. As good as it felt to have him touch her, she wanted to be able to give something back to him. Stepping up onto her toes, she brushed a kiss over his mouth, licking the water from his lips. He met her, teasing and tasting cradling her to him as he kissed her.

“Let me,” she said, breathless when she finally managed to break the kiss.

“Anything, princess,” he said his eyes dark with hunger. “Let you what?”

“This time let me be the one to take care of you.”

She watched the emotions war across his face and the control freak in her recognized how hard it was for him, but finally he nodded and she beamed up at him. He let her guide him around so he faced away from her and into the spray, tipping his head back so she could work the lather through his hair. Massaging his scalp, she kneaded at the knots of tension she felt, smiling to herself when his face relaxed. There was something almost intoxicating about having a man as strong and capable as Ian go soft and pliant under her hands.

She worked her way over his shoulders and down his back, loving the way his muscles rippled and bunched under her palms. When she’d worked the tight spots out of his back, she reached around him to run her hands over the hard muscles and chiseled planes of his abs and chest. Pressing her body against the length of his, she felt her soap slick skin slide over his, every press of her body against his winding her desire tighter.

With insistent fingers, she slid her hands down to his narrow waist, tracing the V at the juncture of his hip and thigh. Cupping him, she held the heavy weight of his sex in her hands. She wrapped her fist around his long, hard length and stroked, running her soapy hand from the root to the tip. His head fell back, his lips parted, and the look of pure pleasure on his face sent heat flooding low in her body. She loved that she was the one making him feel like this. She was the one giving him back a fraction of the pleasure that he gave her.

His body tightened against hers, and she knew he was close. Intent on being the one to take him over the edge, she continued to stroke him, pausing every so often to cup him with her hand until his breath was coming in shallow gasps, and he reached down to catch her wrist with his hands.

“Not yet. I want to be inside you first. I missed you so much, Rachel. Please let me have you.”

She nodded, her forehead pressed to the soapy skin of his back. Spinning in her arms to face her, their bodies slick against each other, he pulled her back into the spray, rinsing the soap from his hair and skin. Wedging her back against the cool tile wall, he hooked his hand behind her knee, opening her to him and stealing her breath. With her heart hammering in her chest, he bent his knees and drove up into her, pinning her to the wall with his body inside hers.

It was everything she’d ever wanted and things she’d never known. She felt vulnerable open, and owned; it was everything she’d ever wanted. With every demanding stroke, every delicious scrape of his long hard length plunging inside her, he drove them on taking them higher and higher until the orgasm crashed over them, swamping them.

“I love you,” she murmured when she could breathe again.

“I love you, too.”

“Maybe we can find a place in Charlottesville with a huge bathroom.” Snuggled under the covers in his bed, Ian pressed a kiss to her damp hair, letting his hands trace the bumps of her spine. Making love with Rachel in the shower was amazing. He wanted a chance to try it in a tub big enough for both of them. “Are you locked into some kind of lease already, because I’m thinking a two person shower is a must?”

She propped her chin up on his chest so she could look him in the eye. “No, but what do we need a two person shower in Charlottesville for? We have a perfectly good shower here.”

“And it’s been a lot of fun,” he said slowly so she’d understand. It was important to him that she knew what he was telling her. He didn’t want a long distance relationship. He wasn’t interested in casual. He wanted the whole thing. Commitment, living together, everything, and as soon as he was sure he could ask  her without her freaking out because it was too soon – which it was – marriage. “But I’m not okay with just seeing you here on the weekend. I have no intention of letting you out of my sight for days at a time, so I figure we’re going to need a place in Charlottesville near your job. And we may as well get one with a great bathroom.”

She pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, her lips warm and soft against his skin and he squeezed her tighter, loving her so much.

“I don’t work in Charlottesville.”

“But your job…” Confused, he let the rest of the question trail off.

“I quit it.”

“I don’t understand, your career, you love your work. You can’t give that up.” He searched her face, looking for something that would help him understand what she was saying. Why would she quit the job she had just accepted?

“I’m not giving up,” she said, smiling, her lips still pressed against his skin in a way that made it hard for him to concentrate. “I’m changing directions. How were you planning on living in Charlottesville when your workshop is here?”

“I’m moving it, or I was,” he said, reconsidering. “Still am if you need me to.”

“But you love it here.” She propped herself up on her elbows, pinning him with her gaze. “That’s crazy. Why would you move?”

“I love you more,” he said simply and as the words left his mouth, he realized how true they were. He loved Rachel. She was it for him. His everything, and he’d move whatever he had to out of the way so they could be together.

“I love you, too,” she said, blinking, and he saw tears filling her eyes.

The
I love you
was great – better than great, fantastic – but he hadn’t wanted to make her cry.

“I can’t believe you were willing to move your workshop for me.”

“I can’t believe you quit your job and came home.”

The word home hung in the air between them and he held his breath because he hadn’t realized until that moment how much he wanted her to think of this space they had together, wherever it ended up being, as home. But none of it mattered if she pretended something she didn’t feel, even if she really wanted it. He’d lived through that already, and he wouldn’t make that mistake again or let her make it.

“I don’t think you should quit. Work is too important to you. I don’t want you to give that up.” She’d let her head rest on his chest again and he loved having the warm, sweet weight of her body curled in his arms.

“Too late. I already quit and what makes you think I’m giving anything up?”

“What are you going to do?”

She was silent for a few long moments so he raised his head, tipping her chin up so he could see her face. She looked sheepish. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his Rachel look sheepish.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“No way, princess. I never make a promise I can’t keep. If you’re planning on doing something like making and selling garden gnomes, I’m going to laugh. I’ll help you, but I’m definitely going to laugh. You’re not are you?” he asked when she didn’t speak right away.

“No, not garden gnomes,” she said, swatting at him playfully. “Remember when I helped you organize your business stuff?”

He felt her cringe in his arms and laughed amazed at how much things could change in just a few days. “I remember.”

“Well it occurred to me that there were probably hundreds of craftspeople who could use someone to help them with the logistics of their business so they were free to concentrate on creating. I thought I’d start a company to do that. Minus the crazy overstepping. I really am sorry about that. I didn’t mean to go too far.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to be such a jerk about it.” For a moment he held her in his arms, feeling her warm breath against his chest, and he thought about how similar what she described was to what Mrs. Smithfield said Mr. Smithfield had done for her. And about the paperwork that had driven him onto the Appalachian Trail and led him to this place, lying here with Rachel in his arms. “I went to see Mrs. Smithfield. She wants me to bring you with me next time.”

“I’d like that.”

He stopped for a minute, trying to figure out how to say what he was thinking. He didn’t want to offend her, but he couldn’t risk having her make choices she didn’t really believe in because she thought it’s what she had to do to keep them together.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he finally said, jumping in. “But are you sure you’re going to be happy doing paperwork for a bunch of flakey artists?”

“You misunderstood me.” She rolled on top of him before climbing up to straddle him. “I’m going to build the multi-million dollar company that does the paperwork for the flakey artists.” She smiled down at him and the combination of her gorgeous curves and the passion in her eyes stole his ability to think. “I’m talking about world domination,” she said, and he knew without a doubt he’d spend the rest of his life following her wherever she wanted to go.