Unforgiven (11 page)

He followed her into the tiny kitchen, and stood on the welcome mat while she hung up her coveralls and sat down to unlace her boots. “I’m going to take a bath,” she said.

His gaze focused ever so slightly. “Hard day.”

“Average,” she said. She went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water tap, sending water gushing into the deep claw-foot tub. When steam rose into the cooler air, she plugged the drain so the tub would fill. Adam still stood in the kitchen.

“In or out,” she said. “I close the bathroom door to trap all the heat.”

He followed her into the small room, closed the door, and stood, arms folded across his chest, with his back to it. She started shedding layers, starting with the red fleece and her fleece-lined jeans, then stopped to test the water temperature. Plenty hot. She added some cold to the mix, dumped in two cups of Epsom salts for the aches and pains, and resumed undressing under Adam’s increasingly interested eye.

“Where were you?”

The tone was too remote to be accusatory. “I had supper with Alana,” she said. “How long have you been here?”

He lifted one shoulder, an eloquent dismissal of the passage of time. He wouldn’t sit around home in a button-down and khakis, so he’d been somewhere, but wherever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it. Next came her turtleneck, and a waffle-weave long-underwear shirt and matching pants, leaving her standing in front of him in her bra and panties. He sank down, butt to floor, back to door, and braced his forearms on his knees. Well aware of what she was doing, less sure of why, she faced him while she unhooked her bra and let it fall, then pushed down her panties to stand in front of him, naked.

His pulse throbbed at the base of his throat as his gaze traveled from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, lingering in places that picked up the beat of his heart. For a moment water lapped at her senses, gushing into the tub, pattering at the roof over her head, streaming in rivulets down the porthole window overlooking the back meadow, turned to liquid heat in the crux of her thighs. Even Adam, solid and strong, blurred at the edges like a watercolor painting.

She could slip under so easily. Instead, she turned off the water, then lit candles on the shelves under the window and behind the tub. Adam reached one long arm up over his head to flick off the light, sheltering the room in flickering candlelight and the steady rain. Water lapped at the tub’s curved rim as she climbed in, then sank down with a low moan.

“Oh, that’s good,” she said. Cradled in blessed heat to her hairline, her muscles eased enough for her to relax. With her eyes closed she pinned her braids to the top of her head.

“How was Alana?”

“Fine,” Marissa said, eyes still closed.

“Don’t blame her for giving me the books. She asked if I’d known you a long time. I said yes.”

“It’s fine.”

“I thought I knew you.”

She turned her head to look at him, and realized the blurry edges to Adam’s face and neck were from a sheen of sweat. “You do know me.”

“Not like I used to.”

She smiled. “According to some standards you know me better than you did twelve years ago.”

“Sleeping with a woman only makes her more complex, not less.”

Shadows darkened his hazel eyes. “I’m the same person I was then, Adam. Aren’t you?’

“No.” The word was emphatic, required no explanation. “I’d better not be. You aren’t, either.”

The wine and heat combined to ease the pain in her back, and loosen her tongue as she looked at the tin-paneled ceiling again. “Alana didn’t know anything about what happened,” she said. “I forget that most people don’t know. She’s been in town for just a few weeks, so she didn’t even know the history between the Walkers and the Brookses.”

“Did you fill her in?”

“I gave her the short version.”

A little huff of laughter, which was, aside from the sweat now beaded on his temple, the first sign of a thaw. “What did she say?”

“Not much. She’s a good listener. Doesn’t judge. Maybe she’s not invested in the community enough to judge us.” Curiosity got the better of her. “Where were you tonight?”

“I had supper with the Walkers.”

That got her attention. “Why?”

“They invited me.” He nodded at the tub. “Long day?”

“I picked up the siding for Mrs. Carson’s house and took it over there. It’s stacked in her side yard, protected by tarps. This rain better let up, and soon, or I’m going to be working on that house when it’s ten degrees out.”

He stood up, unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, and pulled it over his head. “How big is it?”

“About the same size as your mom’s house. A small rectangle. The only difficult parts are the windows, and the cuts around the utility meters.”

“So if you had help, you could be done in a couple of days.” He set his hands to his buckle, and she tried not to stare.

“Uh, yeah.”

“We’ll start tomorrow,” he said, and shoved his shorts and pants off, then stepped out of them. His erection jutted away from his abdomen.

“You’re taking a lot for granted,” she said. “I thought I had to ask.”

He looked down at his shaft, then back at her. “I’m not taking anything for granted. It’s got to be ninety degrees in here,” he said. “When a gorgeous woman strips to her skin in front of me, I’m going to get hard. It doesn’t mean tab A will be inserted into slot B.”

That was it, the problem, the crux of the matter, the issue, the elephant in the room. All that was wild and reckless now subdued under an iron will that locked down everything unpredictable. Like emotions, and not all of them were happy, sunshine feelings. He was strung tight, and the urge to comfort him rose with the steam from the tub.

He stood there, hands on hips, while she looked him over. The hot water melted her muscles, and her resistance. “Are you getting in this tub or not?”

“Ask me to,” he said without moving.

Her pulse throbbed in her throat, her temples. “Adam, please get in the tub with me.”

The tub held two quite nicely. With his added mass, water lapped dangerously close to the rim, and she sat forward to drain enough to keep the floor somewhat dry, then leaned back against him. His body cradled hers, his erection pressed hard and hot against her lower back, his legs stretched alongside hers. He lifted his hands to one braid and loosened the elastic, then the hair. He repeated the process with her other braid, until her hair hung around her face. He swept it back, then his big palm cupped her forehead and tucked her head into his shoulder.

Her eyelids drooped. Immersed in water that sloshed against the sides of the tub, with only the candlelight for illumination, she could pretend she lay on a bunk in a sailboat in the Caribbean, warm inside and out. With Adam.

“That’s nice,” she murmured.

“What is?” His voice rumbled low and rough in her ear as his hands skimmed her thighs, hips, up to her breasts. Maybe she wouldn’t have to ask for anything else tonight.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just dreaming.”

11

A
DAM WOKE UP
curled into the fetal position he’d adopted as protection against the futon’s frame. The direction of daylight, at his back rather than over his head, was his first clue he wasn’t in his mother’s house. The dead giveaway was the warm, naked female body tucked into the curve of his, hair spilling across the pillow wedged between his arm and her head.

Marissa.

She stirred, stretching her legs out and rolling partly onto her stomach. A pretty average morning wood hardened to desperate need in the space of two breaths; he tightened his grip and pulled her close, barely resisting the urge to growl possessively into her hair.

“Are you making up for lost time?” she asked, her voice sleep-rough, amused. By the time he’d lifted her from the tub and dropped her on the bed, he barely remembered to put on a condom before he sank into her. The hot, wet temptation of rubbing against her naked flesh as they lay in the tub together stripped away what passed for control around Marissa. He’d come home with no intention of making up for everything he didn’t do that summer, but if she asked, he was there.

Last night she’d begged. He’d spread her legs, braced a hand on either side of her head, nestled the tip of his cock just inside her, and kissed her through her pleading little gasps, all the while pretending he’d gone stone deaf. He’d sunk into her when she dug her fingers into his ass and shimmied her way onto his cock, an undulating, writhing movement that nearly blew the top of his head off. His tough girl was stronger than she looked.

He swept her hair back from her face, and out of his mouth. She turned enough to look up at him sleepily, her dark eyes soft, her mouth red and swollen. “I have no idea what you’re taking about,” he said.

A little swivel of her hips. “I’m talking about
that
.”

“You have to ask me for
that
, Ris.”

“I asked quite nicely, and very frequently, last night,” she said, and rolled onto her back. “Can we agree that you’ve cured my initial resistance to sleeping with you?”

“We can agree to that,” he said very seriously, “except for one thing.”

On forearms and knees he straddled her, bent to her jaw, kissed the soft, hot spot under her ear, then licked his way down her neck to her collarbone.

“What’s that?” she asked, her voice still soft and rough. Her hands slid along his upper arms to his shoulders, where her fingernails left several somewhat tender dents.

He kissed each pebbled nipple, then blew on one. They had to be sensitive. He’d been far less tender last night. “It makes me very, very hot when you ask, tough girl.”

“I don’t ask,” she said, then whimpered and tried to spread her legs when he lapped at the flushed tip. “I beg.”

“I’m trying to be politically correct.”

“Politically correct is for the rest of my life, not bed, and if it makes you hot, it’s probably not politically correct anyway.”

“I could pretend,” he said, then kissed his way down her belly to the trimmed dark curls. “I could be very formal.
Yes, ma’am,
” he said, and spread her legs with his palms.
“
No, ma’am
.”

Her hands slid from his shoulder to the back of his head as he peered up to meet her gaze. “Save that for when I’m making you beg,” she said.

Heat cracked through him. He curved one arm under her ass and around her hip to part the tender folds of her sex. Maintaining eye contact, he dipped his head and circled her clit with the tip of his tongue. On the second pass her eyelids fluttered, then closed. Her fingers slid into his hair, tightening on his skull when she couldn’t get a grip in the short strands.

“Please,” she husked, then, “
Adam
.”

His name, softly whispered, tightened like a fist around his heart, squeezing emotion into his throat and gut. He inhaled her girl scent and focused on the moment. Nothing more. She was so easy, holding nothing back as he layered pleasure with his tongue until she shuddered and cried out. When she subsided, he found his wallet on the floor, and opened it.

No condoms. He’d used both of them up last night.

Mother
fucker
.

A stifled laugh from the woman splayed underneath him. “You should see the look on your face,” Marissa said, then reached for her nightstand and opened the top drawer. He reached inside, grabbed a strip of condoms and tore one off. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to go slowly. She winced once, but when he stopped to let her adjust, she flattened her palms at the small of his back and urged him on.

Who knew lazy could be so intense? His strokes were thorough but gentle, no athletics, not a hint of frenzy. Just him and Marissa, in the dove gray daylight that made her pale skin glow. He watched her watch him, her lower lip caught between her teeth as the pressure climbed his shaft and spine at the same time. His heart pounded crazy-fast, wildly out of proportion to the physical effort involved, but he didn’t close his eyes, not until release pulsed at the tip of his cock. Two more slick strokes and he was the one shuddering helplessly in her arms.

She stroked his shoulder blades, then traced her fingers up and down his spine, not seeming to mind his weight, or realize he’d shattered into little pieces in her bed. Desperately racking his brains for something casual to say, he took a deep breath and pulled out of her body to sit back on his heels, then got a good look at the clock.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned.

“What?” She struggled up on her elbows and watched him duck into the bathroom. He ditched the condom, then bent over the pedestal sink to splash water on his face. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

“Medicine cabinet,” came through the six-paneled door. “What’s the matter?”

He tore open the packaging like he’d once torn open an MRE after a long, brutal march, and used the thirty seconds he spent brushing his teeth to strive for calm. He dropped the green toothbrush into one of the three empty slots in the silver holder, dried his face, squared his shoulders, then opened the door.

“I’m meeting Keith at the Heirloom at eight.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, then looked at the clock. “You’re going to be late.”

“Yeah.” He grabbed his clothes from the bathroom floor and dressed. “This won’t take long. I’ll head home for work clothes, then meet you at Mrs. Carson’s in an hour, maybe less.”

When his head emerged from the open collar of his half-buttoned shirt, she was looking at the rain coursing down the windows. “We’re not siding today,” she said.

He couldn’t take another day in his mom’s house with nothing to do. “What are you doing today?”

“Nothing I need help with,” she said as he yanked up his pants.

“The paneling?”

She pushed herself to a sitting position and pulled the covers over her bent knees to her chin, a move he knew had nothing to do with the cold. Her gaze drifted from the rain-streaked windows to the five framed pictures of her great-great-grandfather’s yacht. Picture, picture, window, picture, window, picture, picture. The photos’ frames were roughly the same size as the windows. When she lay in bed, she’d see sky and boats above the pale blue wainscoting.

Daylight gave him a new perspective on the room. The wainscoting was painted in shifting shades of blues he recognized from hours and hours on, in, and near the ocean. The hues lightened to grays at the top of the wainscoting, then returned to blues, this time the paler colors of the sky that deepened to midnight blue near the ceiling. The room’s furniture consisted of her double bed, which really wasn’t big enough for the both of them, but he wasn’t complaining; the nightstand; a single lamp; and a bookshelf. Even from his position at the foot of the bed he could read the spines. Sailing books. Novels. Lots of nonfiction. Biographies, but not about famous politicians or celebrities.
My Old Man and the Sea. Adrift: Seventy-Six Days Lost at Sea.

Run-of-the-mill obsession all right. At least she was reading about the worst that could happen.

“And now you’re going to be really late,” she said.

He snagged his wallet from the floor and slid it into his cargo pants pocket. “He can wait.”

“That’s not how things work around here,” she said. “You don’t keep Mr. Billable Hours waiting.”

Ignoring the little dig at Keith’s occupation, he folded his arms across his chest and said, “I’m going with you.”

“Maybe I’m not going anywhere.”

Sure she wasn’t. The wedding was days away, and based on that conversation last night, he knew the bank president wouldn’t hesitate to add interest to her loan if she didn’t make his daughter’s wedding perfect. “Great. I can’t think of a better way to spend a rainy day than in bed with you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It’s eight o’clock and it’s twelve minutes into town.”

“Marissa,” he said quietly. “Please. Let me help you with the mantel.”

Making her ask for sex was a joke, bedroom games, but he was dead serious about this. Maybe she was accustomed to doing things on her own so she didn’t have to pay a second set of hands. He’d do this for free, if she’d let him.

Whether she was worried about Keith getting pissed off at him, or just wanted to get him out of her apartment, she nodded. “Meet me back here when you’re done in town.”

Breath eased from him like snow falling on a still prairie. “Okay. Thanks. What’s your cell number? I can call you when I’m on my way.”

“Don’t have one,” she said with a shrug. “Everyone I know lives in Chatham County. They know where I live, and usually where I’m working. I’m not hard to find.”

“Okay. I’ll call here when I’m on my way.” She rattled off the phone number, the same one her father had when she was a teenager, he noticed, and he keyed it into his phone. Then he strode to the bed, dropped a kiss on her mouth, and jogged to his car through a steady downpour. He pulled into the parking lot of the Heirloom Cafe, a mere twenty minutes late, lucked into a parking spot by the door, but sat in the car for a moment. Through the big front window he could see Keith and Delaney sitting together. Their hands rested on the table between them, their fingers linked, as Delaney spoke in her measured way and Keith leaned forward to listen.

When Delaney rose, Keith helped her with her coat, then gave her a kiss good-bye. For a split second Adam wondered how much of a relationship depended on that simple thing, a kiss good-bye in the morning, another when returning home. The daily routine he’d never forged with Delaney.

He waited until Delaney was in her Camry before heading into the restaurant. The bell over the door tinkled prettily, and customers—including Lucas Ridgeway, sitting alone in a booth in the corner—automatically swiveled their heads to see who the newcomer was. The room quieted considerably for a few seconds, then talk resumed when Keith, dressed for his workday in a suit and tie, raised his hand in greeting.

“Hey,” he said as Adam pulled back a chair. Two menus sat on the green checked tablecloths, Keith’s open to the skillet section. He looked Adam over quickly, then sat back and grinned. “Last night’s clothes? Nice. Anyone I know?”

Adam pushed the menu toward the waitress who materialized at the side of the table, a pot of coffee in one hand, her order pad tucked in her white apron. “Just coffee,” he said.

“I’ll take the garden skillet, no onions, and coffee,” Keith said.

The waitress returned with coffee and a smile for him. Keith watched her, waiting until she left before he leaned across the table. “Come on, man,” he said conspiratorially. “Who was it?”

“Why? You’re not in the market anymore.”

“Living vicariously, my friend. My player days are over. The ring’s basically on.”

“This was on the floor when I got up,” Adam said. It wasn’t a lie. His clothes were on Marissa’s bathroom floor when he got up. “What’s up?”

“You need to get fitted for your tux,” Keith said. He pulled his wallet from his suit jacket pocket and removed a card. “Here’s the address. The store is in Brookings. Go in for your fitting and make arrangements to bring them back to Walkers Ford the day before the wedding.”

“Who else is standing up with you?”

Keith shrugged. “A couple of guys from college, another couple from law school. It’s no big deal. You need to go to the university before classes start? Kill two birds with one stone?”

Adam glanced at the card and recognized the store’s name embossed in black on the white business card. It was the same place Delaney wanted to use for tuxes when it was his wedding. “It’s no trouble,” he said with a shrug. “Anything else I need to handle? You want a bachelor party?”

Keith’s gaze remained steady on his. “I wasn’t going to ask you to do anything else.”

“You’d have done the same for me, if things had worked out.”

“I’m sorry they didn’t,” Keith said. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Chatter ebbed and flowed around them as Adam met Keith’s guileless blue gaze. Adam remembered when Keith’s family moved into Chatham County. It was sophomore year of high school, and Keith, with his easy manner, quickly made friends in all the high school cliques. Jocks liked him, brains liked him, dopers liked him. Even the hard-core rebels he ran with were drawn to Keith because he seemed so far above high school. He’d graduate, go to college, go to law school, and join his father’s small-town practice. Keith took it for granted, didn’t seem to care if it happened or not. He’d sought Adam out early on, rode along on some of the craziest rides, just as easily had Adam over to play video games or to watch movies. He’d been a good friend, a solid friend, and he hadn’t been there that night. Neither had Delaney.

One hand on the green-rimmed coffee mug, he slouched back in his chair. “Why wouldn’t I be okay with it?”

“Come on,” Keith said. “Your best friend. Your ex-fiancée. It’s awkward.”

“Multiple deployments are hard on a relationship. Lucky for Delaney she had good people around to help her pick up the pieces. Yes or no on the bachelor party?”

Keith shook his head. “Delaney’s had weekly meetings with her bridesmaids and her mother for the last three months. They’ve all got color-coded binders. I’m keeping things low-key. Delaney doesn’t need the extra stress. Just get the tux and be at the church. It’s no big deal.”