Sea Glass Winter (12 page)

21

P
hoebe was curled up in a ball, looking small and defenseless between the flowered sheets that had been a housewarming gift from Sedona, the pretty blond baker from Take the Cake. Her beautifully delicate face was as pale as marble and tears had left tracks down her cheeks.

After carrying her back into the apartment and putting her to bed, holding her as she’d cried herself to sleep, Ethan had remained sitting beside her for a long, silent time. And as the minutes stretched into an hour, then longer, he thought about the two very different women who’d made such a difference in his life.

He’d loved Mia, but their marriage had been one of youthful optimism. Sure, they might have had their problems, especially when he’d come home from deployment and they’d had to figure out how to settle back into being a family. Also, it couldn’t have been easy for her when he’d separated from the service and tried, for a very short time, to work on his parents’ farm.

Unfortunately, working with his brother, who’d resented Ethan’s college degree and new environmental ideas, had been like mixing gasoline and a flamethrower.

It had been Mia, who’d grown up on a farm herself in Idaho, who’d convinced him to buy Blue Heron Farm, although she’d been killed before they’d been able to settle in. With herb gardener Sofia De Luca’s help, he’d turned the farm organic and had been, if not as happy as he and Mia had planned, satisfied with both his work and his life.

Then he’d walked into the kitchen of Haven House and felt his well-ordered, comfortable world tilt on its axis.

Dammit, Phoebe had been through so much with her bastard husband. But she’d never given up. Although he’d wanted her from the first, falling in love with her had felt totally natural. And right.

Knowing she needed time, he’d mustered up all the self-discipline the Marines had drilled into him to give her however much time she needed. There’d been a moment, just a few months ago, when he’d thought they could move on. Until Fletcher had shown up in Shelter Bay and thrown a monkey wrench into Ethan’s plans to move their relationship to the next level.

And now, just when he’d thought they’d be able to move on for good, despite being dead and supposedly gone forever, the bastard was back in their lives . . .

She looked so vulnerable. No one looking at her would imagine the battle she’d waged—a delicate, amazingly brave David against that murderous, larger-than-life Goliath. Ethan had vowed that whatever it took, he would not allow anyone to hurt this woman ever again.

Her hair was spread out on the pillowcase, which smelled like the lavender he knew she bought at Lavender Hill Farm. Unable to resist the lure, he stroked it, kissed it, inhaled its familiar fragrance. Her lips were unpainted and parted ever so slightly.

Phoebe Tyler was Sleeping Beauty in the flesh. And amazingly, she was his.

She sighed, not sadly, but, he thought, with pleasure, which was surprising after the hit she’d taken. He wondered if she could be dreaming of him.

Which would only be fair, since his dreams had been filled with her for months.

He’d helped her move in, had even put her pretty white iron bed together. Not wanting her to risk climbing a ladder in her condition, he’d painted the walls a soft hue the color of sea foam. He hadn’t been in this bedroom since that day. Gauzy white curtains framed the windows; the sunny faces of perky daises she’d placed in small white bud vases brightened the gray Pacific Northwest view; ivory candles stood in distressed white lanterns, waiting to be lit.

It was definitely a woman’s room. A man wouldn’t feel comfortable here unless invited. Which, from the way she’d flirted with him before that process server had arrived, he’d suspected had finally been about to happen.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Ethan?”

Her weeping had left her eyes red rimmed and shadowed. But the uncensored emotion in them was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You were expecting someone else, perhaps?”

“No.” Her smile as soft as her voice, she reached across the sheet, took his hand, and lifted it to her cheek. “I’m glad you’re still here. Thank you for staying.”

“I wouldn’t leave you.” Waves of emotion, like from a tropical sea, washed over him. “Ever.”

Then, unable to resist, he lowered his mouth to hers.

He kept the kiss gentle, lacing it with all the tenderness swelling his heart. She sighed as she allowed herself to sink into the warmth of it.

Nibbling at her lips, Ethan tasted his way from one corner of her mouth to the other. “You taste like temptation,” he murmured as he dampened her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.

“Chef Maddy’s been teaching me all about flavor profiles.” She twined her arms around his neck. “But we haven’t covered that one yet.”

“It’s sweet . . . and warm.” He skimmed his tongue up her jaw. “Ripe.”

She trembled as he circled her ear. “Ethan.”

“God, I love to hear you say my name.” He punctuated his words with slow, melting kisses. “Say it again.”

His hands slipped beneath the hem of her sweater.

“Ethan,” she said, her voice somewhere between a sigh and a plea.

Although it took every ounce of willpower he possessed, he kept his kisses light, his hands gentle. “Again.”

Just when he thought they were finally going to forge a future together, Fletcher had, yet again, infiltrated himself into her life. Into their lives.

“About that subpoena,” he said, having come up with an idea while she’d been sleeping.

“No.” She framed his face in her hands and brushed her lips against his. “I don’t want to talk about all that right now.” Her warm, sweet lips plucked at his, encouraging a response. “I just want to make love with you, Ethan.”

She drew her head back and, although her confidence had grown in leaps and bounds in the past months, in her remarkable eyes Ethan could see faint seeds of doubt. “If you want to . . .”

How the hell could she not know that making love to this woman was what he’d been thinking about ever since he’d found her in the kitchen of the shelter, her hands deep in bread dough?

He drew her back against him, gathering her close, inhaling the herbal scent of her hair, the fragrance of the silky flesh behind her ear. “Let me show you exactly how much I want to make love to you.”

Take it slow.
As he brushed butterfly kisses over her face, a soft, excited laugh slipped from between her lips.

“I’ve been waiting for this for what seems like forever,” she murmured as his mouth glided along her jawline.

“That makes two of us.” She was so unbearably soft. And warm. And special.

He undressed her slowly. Tenderly. She lifted her arms as he pulled the sweater over her head. Then pulled the jeans down her legs.

“Wow. I didn’t even know they made bikini panties for pregnant women.”

“Remember when I went to Portland overnight with Kara, Sedona, Charity, and Maddy?”

“Sure.” He’d played poker with the guys and lost every hand because his mind had been fantasizing about spending the night in some luxury hotel with a view of the river and city lights, and making love to his Phoebe in an oversized marble tub.

“Kara found out about this amazing maternity boutique,” she said on a light gasp of pleasure as he slipped his finger beneath the low-cut waistband. “Charity, who apparently is rich, though you’d never know it because she’s so nice, insisted on practically buying out the lingerie department for me.”

He could feel her light laugh beneath his fingers. “I told her I didn’t have anyone to wear them for, but all of them said that didn’t matter. That I should wear them for myself.”

“Tell them thank you for me.”

The shadows in the room deepened. When he reached to turn on the lamp, she caught hold of his hand.

“I want to see you, Phoebe.” He lowered his mouth to hers again. “All of you.”

“I’m fat,” she protested. The complaint was little more than a whisper, but Ethan had no trouble hearing it in the hushed stillness of her bedroom.

“Not fat.” His fingers dispatched the clasps of the lacy bra. Hot damn. He hadn’t lost his touch. “Beautiful,” he said as he scattered a trail of kisses across the slope of her breasts.

She was still tense. He could feel it. Sense it.

Ethan had waited too long for this moment not to want it to be perfect. So he was willing to forgo the lamp. But no way was he going to make love to Phoebe in the dark.

He stopped his caresses just long enough to snag the lighter lying beside the candle on the bedside table. He touched the flame to the wick, bathing her in a warm yellow glow.

Her heavy breasts were the color of porcelain, but so much warmer. Her flesh was drawn tight against her belly, outlining the child she’d run away from a dangerous marriage to protect. The child she was still having to fight to keep.

The child Ethan swore she
would
keep.

“You,” he said, as he kissed a white stretch line, “take my breath away.”

“You don’t have to lie.” Even as she protested, when he skimmed his tongue over her navel, she arched her back in pleasure.

“I’ll never lie to you, sweetheart. And especially never about this.” He kissed his way up to her breasts, running his tongue over a taut nipple. Her flesh was so hot, Ethan was amazed it didn’t sizzle at the wet caress.

Basking in the pleasure of the fragrant damp flesh, he moved to the other nipple. “There’s something really hot about a warm, ripe woman.”

“Now you make me sound like a fruit from one of those trees in your orchard,” she complained. But he could tell she enjoyed the idea.

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “And before the night’s over, Phoebe, my love, I’m going to taste every delicious bite.”

There was no storm. No flare of fireworks. The earth did not move.

Instead there was flickering candlelight and the scent of melting wax. Sweet, whispered words. Tender, murmured promises.

Fingers linked, lips melded, legs entwined as Ethan finally slipped into her as easily and as perfectly as if they’d been created for each other. Which to his mind, they had.

And as the flickering candle burned low and a huge harvest moon climbed high in the sky, showering its light over the room, Ethan and Phoebe soared over it.

22

It was rain
ing. Again. As he gulped down three packages of microwave instant oatmeal, Matt made a mental note to start checking his feet every night before bed to make sure they weren’t becoming webbed. Aimee had assured him that Shelter Bay summers were awesome, but he was beginning to suspect that her bar might be set a lot lower than his.

“We have a problem,” his mother said as she sat down across from him.

He wondered what her first clue had been. The problem was obvious. . . they were living in the wrong damn state.

“What?” he asked around a mouthful of oatmeal.

“That gallery in Portland, the one where I’m having my exhibition next month? The hotel room they booked only has one king bed.”

“So?”

“So, because of some Christmas boat parade thing, the hotel’s booked solid. I couldn’t get two rooms.”

“Why do you need two rooms?” He took a long swallow of milk.

“Because I don’t want you having to sleep on the floor.”

“Why would I do that? I’m not even going.”

“Of course you are. You have that night free. I checked your schedule.”

“I’d rather just stay home and watch a video.” He paused, thinking about their conversation last night. “And work on my term paper for Coach Slater’s class.”

“But you’d be alone.”

Which was the freaking point. She had no idea how much he’d been looking forward to her going away for that show. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said yourself I need to apply myself to get my grades up.”

“I did, but—”

“So, that’s what I’m going to do. You’ve got to admit that me working on the physics of basketball and getting started on that English reading list makes more sense than hanging around some gallery with phony artsy-fartsy types.”

“Excuse me? I’m artsy-fartsy by your definition.”

“No, you’re not. You’re my mom. And I realize you have my best interest at heart.” He figured that, along with the mention of getting started on the damn list, would soften her stance. “But since I’m too old for a babysitter, you’re just going to have to bite the bullet and trust me.”

“Of course I do,” she said, not quite convincingly, making Matt wonder how long it would be before they got beyond that stupid pot fiasco.

What nobody knew was that it hadn’t even been his stash to begin with. Not that he ever would’ve ratted out the owner. Even if she hadn’t been a girl who’d taken off her shirt and bra while they’d been studying in her bedroom while her parents had been at some movie premiere red-carpet deal.

“But what if something happens?” his mother was asking as Matt was imagining, not for the first time, what Lila Greene might have looked like with the rest of her clothes off. What really sucked was that before he’d had an opportunity to spend more time with her and find out, he’d been busted by that pot-sniffing German shepherd the campus cop had brought in, and her movie-producer parents had banned her from seeing him again.

“Like the house catching on fire,” his mother said.

“You taught me how to dial 911 before I was three,” he reminded her.

“Like it or not, I’m your mother. I worry.”

“Well, don’t. Everything’ll be copacetic. Really.”

He’d never been so happy to hear anything in his life as he was the beep of the horn on Aimee’s janky Volvo outside the door.

Feeling as if he’d just gotten a reprieve from death row, Matt jumped up and grabbed his jacket and book bag. “See you after practice.”

He managed to escape before she humiliated him by going out to meet his new “friend.” Which would undoubtedly lead to her giving Aimee the third degree.

“Let’s roll,” he said as he threw his bag into the Volvo’s backseat. “Now.”

“We’re not late.”

“I just want to get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Bad morning?” Aimee asked.

“It could’ve been,” he said as she pulled away from the house. Matt did not look back. “If you hadn’t shown up just in time. Like Black Widow from
The Avengers
.”

“Thanks. But I’d rather be Katniss from
The
Hunger Games
, who’s a heroine because she’s wicked smart, and not because of how she looks wearing a catsuit.”

Matt decided not to point out that there was nothing wrong with Scarlett Johansson poured into black latex. In fact, Black Widow claimed a major chunk in the hot-chick section of the pie chart that was his brain.

“Pull over,” he said after they’d turned the corner.

“Did you forget something?” She pulled the Volvo over to the shoulder of the narrow, winding road.

“Yeah.” He unfastened his seat belt, leaned across the console, and kissed her smack on the mouth.

It wasn’t a long kiss. He didn’t use any tongue and kept his hands in her hair instead of letting them wander into dangerous territory. But it still left her eyes as wide as an owl’s when he pulled his head back.

“What was that for?”

“I owe you.”

“For what?” She looked a little stunned. Which was weird. He couldn’t have been the first guy to ever kiss her. She was sixteen. She had wheels that would let her go anywhere she wanted. With anyone she wanted. And the back of that station wagon offered a lot of possibilities.

“Because you saved me. From my mother, which, believe me, is no small deal. But also because your basketball physics lecture got me back on the team.”

“I’m glad.” She touched her mouth with her fingertips. Her nails were short and unpolished. “But a simple thanks would’ve been sufficient. You didn’t have to kiss me.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.” He shrugged, wondering, as he refastened his seat belt, if she was afraid he might want to become a couple just because she’d rescued him from high school oblivion. “It didn’t really mean anything.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t think it did.” Her cheeks turned a bright pink as she put the car back into drive. “Because boys like you never kiss girls like me.”

“Boys like me?” What did that mean?

“You’re, like, from Hollywood.”

“Technically Beverly Hills.”

“Even worse. I’ll bet the girls at your old school look like they belong on
Gossip Girl
.” The wipers were really squealing this morning. He could hardly hear her voice, which wasn’t as perky as it had been yesterday. “Which I so don’t.”

“I think you’re cute.”

“Maybe if the light’s right. On a rare good day. I’m a nerd, Matt. I’ve been a nerd all my life.”

“So?”

“So . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just drop it, okay?”

“Fine.” The temperature inside the car had dropped twenty degrees. “If it makes you feel better, like I said, it was a spur-of-the-moment impulse. It wasn’t as if I was hitting on you for sex or anything like that.”

“Oh, yeah.” She smoothed a hand over her hair where his hands had been tangled in it. “Thanks. That totally works.”

Matt didn’t need to be Dr. Phil to realize she was being snarky again. Fuck. Was there anything more complicated than girls? She’d told him she was also driving Jenny Longworth to school, and as they pulled up in front of the other girl’s house, Matt decided scientists would unlock the code for cold fusion before any guy managed to figure out the mysterious workings of the female mind.