Wind Chime Café (A Wind Chime Novel) (25 page)

Will’s mouth never
left hers as he fit the key into the lock. Pushing the door open, he guided her into the café. The scent of coffee and pie crusts clung to the air, mingling with the sultry spice of her perfume.

Every touch of her fingers had his muscles tightening, had a flood of warmth building inside him. Her lips tasted of sherry, her skin like spun sugar. He dropped the keys on a table, shoving the door closed with his foot.

He had waited so long for this, so long for her.

A soft sigh escaped from somewhere deep in her throat when he pulled her to him, fitting her body to his. His hands roamed over her curves, imprinting every inch of them into his memory. She shuddered when his palm closed over her breast, when his thumb skimmed over the sensitive tip through her dress.

Had he ever wanted—needed—anything as much as this woman?

Outside, the leaves shivered. The branches tapped against the windows. The restless chant of the chimes drifted over the wind.

She kept her hips locked to his as he backed her slowly, step by step, to the stairs. He fought the urge to lift her up in one fluid motion, to hook her legs around his waist and take her hard and fast against the wall.

Instead, he edged her away from him, backing her up the steps until they were eye-to-eye. When she reached for him, he took both her hands, placing one on the banister, the other on the opposite wall.

She watched him uncertainly at first, but when his fingers curled around the back of her knee, coaxing it to bend, desire swam into her eyes. He unzipped one boot, then the other, letting them drop to the tiles until she was barefoot.

“Will,” she breathed, pulling him up to where she stood.

She kissed him hungrily, desperately, as if she needed him as much as he needed her. He followed her up the stairs to the apartment. A single lamp burned in the corner, illuminating the streaks of gold in her hair.

He ached to see her, to watch that warm glow slide over her bare skin.

He reached for her, peeling her dress off, letting it fall to the floor.

She stood before him in ivory lace, her full breasts rising over the thin fabric that barely held them in place.

“Annie,” he breathed, dipping his mouth back to hers.

Heat raced like fire through his veins as he eased the straps down her shoulders, as he unhooked the clasp holding the delicate fabric together.

Her breasts spilled into his hands, and the need to bury himself inside her grew painful. But if he only had one night with her, he wanted to savor it. He wanted to remember every moment.

He lowered his mouth to her breasts, one after the other, taking his time. Annie’s head fell back, her fingers curling around his shoulders as his hands moved down to her hips, his thumbs dancing under the scrap of ivory-colored lace.

Her skin sparked, heating under his touch. He heard a soft sound, like the hiss of wet wood burning, right before she came apart.

Annie didn’t know
what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been this. The few men she’d been with in the past had all been in such a rush. They’d seldom cared about pleasing her; they’d only been concerned with the satisfaction of their own release.

Her heart fluttered when Will scooped her up, carrying her into the bedroom. She lowered her mouth to his neck, loving the taste of him, the feel of his salty skin on her lips. She wanted to make him feel the way he’d made her feel—weightless, like a leaf spinning away in the wind.

When he laid her down on the mattress, she reached for his shirt, dragging it over his head. A restless ache built inside her as she traced the hard ridges of his chest, the broad planes of his shoulders, the long lean muscles of his upper arms.

How had she lived for so long without this, without
him
?

Moonlight spilled through the window as he lifted her mouth back to his for another searing kiss. His hands skimmed down her hips, over her thighs, up the inside of each of them until she shuddered, arching up to meet him, desperate for his touch.

When his fingers slid over her, into her again, his name escaped from somewhere deep in her throat, a desperate, pleading voice she didn’t recognize as her own.

Will.

She needed to see him, to touch him, to make all his pain go away. She fumbled with the top button of his jeans. He helped her slide the denim down, stepping out of his jeans and covering himself with protection. She barely had time to glimpse that hard warrior’s body when the mattress shifted and he was on top of her again.

Her hand trembled as she lifted it, touching his face—the slightest brush of her fingers over his cheek. The force of the emotions in his eyes, the need in them, nearly stole her breath. She felt dizzy, like she was spinning out of control. “Will, I…”

He slid inside her.

A flash of colors—monarch wings, autumn leaves, marsh grasses at sunset—danced into her vision.

She gasped as he began to move, as the lines between what she wanted and what she could have began to blur. Her palms fanned out, over his chest, memorizing every angle, every edge, every scar he had taken in this war, both inside and out.

When his mouth found hers, she rose up to meet him, matching him beat for beat, breath for breath, stroke for stroke as he pushed them both toward the edge of pleasure.

The air grew thick, filled with fire-colored wings, like a thousand monarchs breaking free of their chrysalises, and realizing for the first time they could fly.

W
ill lay in Annie’s bed, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He could tell from the whisper of light along the horizon that it was nearly dawn. He listened to the sound of her slow steady breathing, the faint rustling of her curtains in the wind.

For the first time in months, he felt calm, rested, relaxed.

Maybe this was all he had needed, maybe
she
was all he had needed. He inhaled the sweet scent of her hair as it tickled his bare chest. His arm curled around the underside of her breasts, tucking her small body closer to his.

If she was anyone else, he would be gone by now. He would have come up with an excuse sometime in the middle of the night and left with a promise to call the next day.

A promise he probably wouldn’t have kept.

But this was Annie—a woman who already knew more about him than most of his friends, a woman who decorated her daughter’s bedroom in dream catchers and brooms so she wouldn’t be afraid of the dark.

Gazing around her room while she slept, he took in the bare walls and stack of unpacked boxes beside the closet. With a stab of guilt, he realized that she hadn’t had time to unpack her own things.

If he hadn’t put off selling the inn, she might have been well into the renovations for her French bistro. She might have been interviewing potential staff instead of working as a waitress, barista, and manager at a café she’d thrown together in a matter of weeks.

If he hadn’t put off selling the inn, she wouldn’t have had to put everything else in her life on hold to get the café up and running just to keep the bank off her back.

She stirred, and he felt a strange tightening in his chest when her eyes fluttered open. She blinked, like she was surprised to find him there. His hand felt heavy as he lifted it, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

From the moment he’d set foot on this island, he’d made her life complicated and difficult. And yet, somehow, despite that, she’d given herself completely to him last night. He’d never imagined how much more of her he would want afterwards.

He kissed her slowly, savoring the taste of her soft lips, the feel of her warm body pressed against his. When she reached for him under the covers, wrapping her legs around his waist, his body responded instantly.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as he slid inside her. He rose up over her, covering her body with his, moving slowly in and out of her. Would he ever be able to get enough of her?

Her fingers tangled in his hair. He felt the pressure build, the desperate need for release. She kissed him back urgently, as if he’d disappear if she let go. When her breath caught and her head fell back, her body arching like a bow, he buried himself all the way inside her.

They lay for a long time afterwards, tangled up in each other. He wanted to stay here all day, bringing them both back to that place where they could let the rest of the world fall away. But Taylor would be home soon.

He eased back, stroking a hand up and down her bare arm. “What are the chances Della left any sweet rolls downstairs?”

She opened one eye, looking him up and down. “You’re not going downstairs like that.”

“I’ll put pants on.”

“And a shirt.”

“And a shirt,” he conceded, smiling.

She closed her eyes, turning her face back into the pillow and muttering something incoherent.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Coffee,” she mumbled.

“How do you take it?”

“With sugar.”

“How much?”

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “I should help you.”

He shook his head. “You’re not leaving this bed yet.”

“Why not?”

Because I don’t know when I’m going to get you alone again and I haven’t had enough of you yet.
He rolled away from her, grabbing his jeans off the floor. “When do you think Taylor will be home?”

“She said she’d call when she woke up.”

“Good.” He stood, stepping into his jeans and pulling them up over his hips. He turned, bending down and dropping a light kiss on her lips. “I’ll be right back.”

When she leaned back, her red hair splayed over the pillow, her green eyes watching him curiously over the rumpled sheets, he felt his heart skip a beat.

Two weeks isn’t going to be enough.

He dragged his shirt over his head.

Shit.
It had to be enough.

It was all he had to offer.

Three hours later,
Annie was still floating. Sugarcoated butterflies had taken over her body, had nested in her hair. Everywhere she looked, there was a dusting of sugar. It coated her bare feet as she walked down the steps to the café, clung to the windows like snowflakes, gathered in the corners like sparkling snowdrifts. She ran her fingers over the gleaming silver countertop; they came back covered in sugar.