Where You Least Expect It (8 page)

She pressed her hot palm against his stomach, then slowly started sliding it lower. His breath hissed through his teeth. He closed his eyes, tensing for the moment when she would make contact with his straining erection. There was a feathery touch down the front of the shaft, then her fingers encircled him, squeezing carefully.

He caught her hand in his, then drew it to his mouth to kiss it. He climbed into bed next to her, taking extra care not to catapult either one of them off the narrow mattress. Penelope shifted to her side to make more room, putting them face-to-face. Aidan marveled at her, unable to remember when he’d wanted to make love to a woman more. They touched nowhere, but he felt her presence everywhere. He smoothed her hair back from her face and gently kissed her, then kissed her again.
When she was breathless with want, he slid his hand down her clearly defined collarbone to cup her right breast. She shuddered and scooted closer until her womanhood rested against his manhood.

Aidan slowly caressed her, rubbing his thumb over her distended nipple. Then he bent to run his tongue along the enticing bit of flesh, suckling gently. Her back arched in automatic response, her rapid breathing nearly tugging her nipple from his mouth with every intake. The fire that had ignited low in his belly the moment she pulled her nightgown off flared brightly. She was so damn responsive. So trusting. So…open.

He moved his fingers lower, not stopping until they rested at the nest of damp curls between her legs. Where her breathing had been erratic before, now it seemed to stop altogether. He tunneled his fingers into the springy hair, marveling at the way she parted her thighs to him, inviting him closer. It was an invitation he was loath to ignore.

The tip of his index finger found the silken bud of flesh. The narrow bed seemed to shake with her trembling body. He’d forgotten how special it was to be wanted…to be needed.

He slid his finger down until it rested against her slick portal. Slowly he breached the swollen entrance, finding her very, very hot. And very, very tight. Her trembling increased.

“Penelope?” he whispered, burying his face in her fresh-smelling hair. “You aren’t…I mean you have…” He wanted to groan. “Have you made love before?”

He didn’t hear her answer. Didn’t need to. He already knew.

The beautiful woman in his arms was a virgin.

He pulled back to gaze into her face, and saw her desire.

“I want this,” she whispered.

Aidan knew what he should do—pull away. He didn’t deserve this precious gift. Didn’t deserve Penelope Moon and what she was offering him.

He cupped her face in his hand. “Are you sure?” he rasped.

She nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Aidan groaned, pressing his face against her neck, feeling her strong pulse there, tasting the subtle salt of her skin.

He felt her move, then gasped when her fingers encircled his erection.

“Please,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder. “I want you, Aidan. I want you more than any man I’ve ever met.”

And, damn it, he wanted her.

He gently pushed her to lie flat on the mattress, watching as she parted her thighs to him, willingly offering herself up in a way that was painfully sweet and humbling.

He positioned himself against her, then found her bud with his free hand, rubbing her until she was gasping for air.

“Oh, Aidan, please…”

He slowly entered her, encountering the telltale resistance, then pushing through until he slid into her to the hilt. Penelope’s back came up off the bed and she froze, her muscles contracting tightly around him at the sharp pain. Aidan lay still for several moments, waiting for the hurt to subside. He moved his hand first. Over her right breast, caressing her with great care, then her left breast, following with his mouth, laving her with his tongue even as they were tightly connected. He drew back and dragged his palm down the middle of her stomach until it pressed against the wedge of dark hair. He parted her swollen folds until he found what he was looking for, then gently stroked her hot flesh.

She began to wriggle. He slowly withdrew, watching her eyes, watching her face, searching for signs that she was ready to continue. Then he slowly reentered her. She moaned, seemingly unable to catch her breath; then her sweet body was moving up to meet his.

He wasn’t sure how long it took. Maybe minutes. Maybe an hour. But he gritted his teeth and paced himself, waiting until he felt her muscles constrict in pleasure and not pain, before he allowed himself release, filling her with evidence of his want, his need for her.

Rushing through his mind were two thoughts. That he didn’t feel he deserved her. And that he was so damn grateful that she felt differently that it hurt even to breathe.

T
he following morning at the shop, Penelope pored over the real estate section of the
Old Orchard Chronicle
that she had picked up at the General Store. If her state of awareness before last night had been on high, now her body practically thrummed with the knowledge of how things could be between a man and a woman. How things were between her and Aidan.

She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cool air blowing on her from the vent above. If anything, her skin was flushed, her body temperature high. He had been so gentle. So intuitive. So passionate. He’d turned her inside out with the myriad sensations he’d introduced her to, stroking her, caressing her, both with his hands and his body, until she was out of her mind with pleasure. And with love for the man who had awakened a part of her she hadn’t even known existed.

Love…

Such a simple word. But one she hadn’t known the true meaning of until now. Until Aidan.

But where could it lead?

Her gaze caught and held on a house listing. The old Jenkins place on the north end of town. She drew a circle around it several times, then stuck the end of the pen into her mouth. Hadn’t something happened there recently? Yes. Last year ex-Sheriff John Sparks had caught two fugitives at the abandoned house. It seemed the townsfolk hadn’t been the only ones to hear the rumors about Violet Jenkins and the unaccounted-for monies from her late husband’s insurance check. When she died, the house had become a magnet for local treasure-hunting teens…and for the two fugitives who shot Darby Parker Conrad—now Sparks—before John caught them and put them away for good.

She stared off into space. If she recalled correctly, the house was a one-story structure much like her and Mavis’s place, except that it had been well maintained and sat on a large piece of land that had at one time been a farm. She heard a sigh and, with a start, realized it was her own.

Maximus whined from where he lay at her feet watching Spot give herself a tongue bath on a chair in the corner.

“What do you think, Max? Plenty of room for you to run around.”

The dog looked at her with watery eyes, his tail thumping against the floor.

She eyed the price of the house, her stomach dropping. There was no way she could afford that. Sure, she could make the down payment, but what would the monthly payments be? She couldn’t really count on a steady income from the shop.

Moreover, how would Mavis react if Penelope moved out of the house? Who would be around to look after her grandmother when she went through one of her spells?

She sighed again, the sound full of worry rather than wistfulness.

Aidan had left her at about three in the morning. At about four, she’d heard her grandmother return. And when she got up at seven, she found Mavis pulling young plants willy-nilly out of the back garden. Penelope had merely shook her head and absently eaten a bagel that Mavis must have missed in her frenzy to throw everything away.

“I see Aidan brought the truck back,” her grandmother had said, not even looking at her.

Penelope had nearly choked on the bagel. She nodded, then told Mavis she was leaving for the shop.

The bells on the shop door rang, announcing that she had company. She began to throw the newspaper away, then instead tucked it under the counter and watched as Sara Burnham walked in.

“Am I the first?” Sara asked after she said hello.

Penelope smiled. It was Sunday and she didn’t open the doors until ten. There really wasn’t much reason to open them earlier. Even if she had been there since eight.

“You’re the first.”

“Good.” Sara moved over to the display of experimental scented wax melts in the shape of chocolate bars that Penelope had made at home a few months ago.

Penelope absently watched her. Sara had been a grade under her in school and had always been nice. Her blond hair was always pulled back into a ponytail or French braid. In fact, Penelope couldn’t remember a time when she’d seen Sara with her hair down.

Sara gathered up nearly the entire stock of melts and piled them on the counter, her fair skin flushed. “Do you have a basket or something I could use to get more?”

Penelope raised her brows. “Sure.” She handed her a wicker basket that was more for show than utility. Truth was, she rarely sold more than a person could hold in her arms.

She quietly cleared her throat as Sara moved back to the pile. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Sara glanced at her. “What? Oh. I’m sorry.” She smiled widely. “It’s just that I sent my friend Ginny a gift basket for her birthday and she loved these wax things. Wanted me to send her a dozen of each.”

“That many?”

Sara nodded. “You know, they don’t have these anywhere else. Ginny says she hasn’t seen them in California. I mean, they have those individual flower-looking things, but nothing like these. It’s so convenient to just break off a chunk and put it into a diffuser.” Her gaze fell on a diffuser that had just come in from India the week before. “Is that new? Oh, it is, isn’t it?” She added it to the basket. “I’ll take that, as well. For me.” She finished filling the basket and moved back to the counter. “You know, you could make a killing on the Internet selling this stuff.”

“The wax melts?”

Sara nodded as she helped Penelope unload the bars. “That and the other homemade things you offer. Your hand-milled soap is amazing. Even my fiancé told me I smelled like roses. And I didn’t even know he knew from roses.”

Penelope shook her head. “Well, I don’t know much about the Internet.”

Sara waved her hand. “They offer courses at the community college. Within a month you’d be up and running.”

Penelope laughed as she rang up the order. “I doubt it. I may do well when it comes to this kind of thing, but me and machines? We don’t get along very well. It took me forever to learn how to operate this-—” She indicated the register, which seemed to take its cue and jammed up on her. She met the other woman’s gaze, and they both laughed. She cleared the tape and started again from the beginning. “You know, since you’re buying so many at once, I can give you a discount. How does fifteen percent sound?”

“Fantastic! At that price, I just may come and buy up everything you’ve got and sell it on the corner myself.”

After Sara left, Penelope stood behind the counter, staring at the small pile of wax melts that remained. Could it really be that easy to learn how to operate a computer? She’d seen a bank of them at the library and had even stopped to try to look up a book on her own one time, but she’d given up when the screen made a series of strange beeping noises and went blank.

The bells rang again and she glanced up to find Aidan standing just inside the door, the look in his eyes making her flush from head to toe. But rather than try to hide it, she held her head high.

She was still astounded that she had been so bold as to lead him to her bedroom and strip off her nightgown right there in front of him. But she had known such a wanting, such an acute awareness of him on every level, that her actions had come naturally.

And when he had touched her…

She shivered again, her body tingling. She quietly cleared her throat, waiting for him to say something.

He didn’t speak, so she asked, “What do you know about computers?”

Aidan might have expected Penelope to say many things, but “what do you know about computers” definitely wasn’t one of them. And now, five hours later, as they headed out to the old Jenkins place in Mavis’s rusty truck, he couldn’t help but wonder what she had in mind.

It was late Sunday afternoon, and Penelope had closed the doors to her shop early and asked if he would drive her out to the house. He had been surprised by her request, especially when she refused to offer up why she wanted to go, but any excuse to be with her was a good one. He squinted at her in the slanting sunlight. She didn’t buy into all the rumors surrounding the place, did she?

“There,” she said, pointing to a spot to the right. “Pull into the driveway.”

He downshifted with some effort, flicked on the blinker although there was no one else on the two-lane rural road, and pulled into the gravel driveway that ran a ways before coming to a stop next to the Jenkins place.

“Stop here.”

They were halfway up the drive to the house. Aidan silently questioned the move, but did as she asked.

Damn, but she was beautiful. The sunlight bounced off her shiny black hair, and her dark eyes were alive as she looked over the small structure twenty yards or so ahead of them. She blindly reached for the door handle and gave a yank; the door opened with a loud groan. She slid down to stand outside, her gaze glued to the house.

Aidan shook his head and switched off the engine, then got out on his side of the truck.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it,” she asked quietly.

The smell of freshly cut grass filled Aidan’s nose as he looked over the manicured lawn. Likely the realtor’s office saw to the upkeep of the place. It almost looked as if Violet Jenkins still lived there.

Penelope slowly stepped up the drive, stopping every couple of feet or so as if seeing something the previous vantage point hadn’t allowed. Aidan followed her gaze. The simple house was in good shape, the black roof was new, the cream-colored vinyl siding and white trim neat. There were curtains at the windows, and he suspected the place probably still held the Jenkins’ furniture.

“It’s too far to walk to town, isn’t it?” Penelope asked.

He looked at her. “Pardon me?”

She looked behind them toward the truck. “I’d have to get a car. Something trustworthy.”

“A car?” Aidan tried to make sense out of her words.

Penelope reached out and rested her hand against the white mailbox with hummingbirds and morning glories painted on the side—for show, because the true mailbox sat at the edge of the road.

Then it dawned on him. Penelope was thinking of buying the place.

His legs froze beneath him.

Her asking him to take her there… Her wide-eyed wonder as she took in the place… Her odd comments…

Why hadn’t he caught on?

Perhaps because he hadn’t wanted to.

He ran his hand slowly through his hair, turning from the house and from Penelope and squinting into the sun. He pretended to consider the surrounding farmland. Well, what had he expected? That she would be the same woman she’d always been? Wasn’t he the one who had pressed her to get out, to participate more in the community? He’d even asked if she had ever considered moving from Mavis’s house.

Then last night he’d forgotten who he was. He’d given in to his desire for her, accepted the special gift she’d offered up and tried to give back as much as he could.

And for a short stretch of time he had wanted to make himself deserving of that gift. Of her love. Pushing aside that he never would be.

“Aidan?”

He stiffened his shoulders, refusing to look at her. Because when he did he got himself—and now her—into all kinds of trouble.

She stood next to him, gazing out at the landscape.

“It would need more trees,” she said. “I could plant a row up the property line here…and over there. Then maybe a stand out back. A few fruit trees, maybe. Pears, cherries, apples.”

Aidan clenched his teeth as she fell silent again.

It was only natural that she would want more. Want to live like a normal woman. Have the same dreams other women had. He hadn’t thought…

He hadn’t thought, period. That was the problem. Sure, he’d considered the impact of getting involved with her. But it had been her uniqueness, the fact that she wasn’t like other women, that had caught him off guard. Drawn him in a way no other woman had—his late wife included.

His gut clenched. It was the first time he’d thought of Kathleen in those terms. In the past fourteen months she had remained his wife. Not his
late wife.
Not the woman who had been ripped from his life in a way that had nearly destroyed him. Not the woman he would never see again.

He felt Penelope’s light touch on his arm. “Aidan, are you all right?”

His chaotic emotions collided with her tenderness and nearly sent him mentally careening over the edge.

“Fine. I’m fine.” He looked at her, purposely keeping his face blank. “Are you ready to head back into town? I have some things I need to do.”

The shadow of pain in her eyes was obvious as she hesitantly took her hand back.

“Sure.”

Later that night, the sun but a smear of color on the horizon, Penelope sat on the front porch alone, trying to squelch the odd sensation that things had changed between her and Aidan.

She swallowed hard and reached for another sheet of the fluorescent purple tissue paper that she was fashioning into makeshift stars. They would be hung along with white lights from the trees along Lucas Circle for the Midsummer Night’s Dream celebration. She finished with the ten-inch-round ruffled star, then attached several stretches of clear piping to the core and tied smaller stars to the ends. She’d worked mindlessly for the past two hours straight and had nearly used up the supplies she’d picked up from Mrs. Noonan the day before. Now she was trying not to think about Aidan and where he was at this moment and what, exactly, had made him so distant from her at the Jenkins house.

A rustling came from the direction of the bushes on the east side of the house. She glanced that way, then at Max, who lay asleep on the opposite side of the porch, Spot curled up next to him.

Another sound. She looked that way again. A small animal? Probably. But that didn’t explain the way her scalp itched as if someone were watching her.

A crash sounded from inside the house.

“Gram?” she called.

There was no answer but for several carefully chosen curse words.

Penelope put the completed star down next to the others and got up from the swing. Through the open doorway she watched Mavis crouching to sweep up glass from a broken picture frame. Then, suddenly, it all appeared to be too much for her, and she stopped, falling back from her crouched position to land on her bottom. Penelope watched helplessly as her grandmother’s shoulders shook and a deep sob seemed ripped from her very chest.