Somebody to Love
Page 37
James came over to her, the dock rocking gently. He stood in front of her and held out his hand. “Come on, coward,” he murmured. “You owe me a dance.”
His hand was warm and sure. He pulled her to her feet, right against him, and Parker thought she might actually swoon, because he smelled so good, was so warm. Her entire body seemed to melt into his as his arm slipped around her waist. Her hand went to his shoulder, and James tipped his head and smiled at her, just a little. Parker swallowed, then put her cheek on his solid shoulder.
Norah Jones’s smoky voice floated across the water, and the waves lapped against the dock, and she and James stood there, barely moving. Do something, James, she thought. Help me out here.
Slowly, slowly, he slid his hands down her bare arms, threading his fingers through hers. His hair tickled her neck as he bent his head, his lips warm as he kissed her shoulder, and the relief was so immense that her knees wobbled. He smiled against her neck.
Parker slipped one hand against his chest, feeling the solid thumping of his heart, such a sweet, intimate feeling that the ache in her grew sharply. His lips moved higher up her neck, his beautiful mouth smooth and warm against her skin.
Beauty suddenly decided that James was all right, because she chose that moment to stand, putting her paws against his knee, as if she was cutting in. James smiled down at the little dog, then looked at Parker, and honest to God, she was actually dizzy, his smile was that good, crinkling his eyes, changing his face.
He leaned in a little closer, still smiling, still not kissing her, but please, it’d better be soon or she might die. She closed her eyes, and thank goodness, his lips were against hers, the softest brush, so smooth and warm. Another brush. Then he did kiss her, a gentle, soft kiss that she returned carefully, almost shyly.
This was so different from that first time, so long ago, when she’d barely been thinking, when she’d used him to distract herself from loneliness. This was slow and tender and meltingly wonderful, James’s mouth against hers, waiting for her response. Then he cradled her head in his hands, angling for better access to her mouth, and kissed her more fully. Her hand slid into his thick, curling hair, and he held her closer, that beautiful mouth kissing hers as if there was nothing more he wanted to do other than stand out here and do exactly what they were doing.
Beauty whined, and James smiled. He pulled back a little and smoothed Parker’s hair back from her hot face.
“The blackflies are starting to bite,” Parker whispered.
“Maybe we should go in,” he said, that smile still playing at his mouth.
“Okay.”
Then he took her hand and led her off the dock, up the stairs and into the house, and Parker went with him as if it was normal, not as if her legs were watery and her whole body was pulsing with a warm, honeyed glow; as if this was old hat, no big deal, when the truth was, she felt something akin to terror here, all that warm, glowing stuff aside. Beauty leaped neatly onto the couch, ditching them, the good dog. James led her down the hall, past his room. There was her bedroom. Yep. Terror.
James stopped outside her door, tilted her chin up and kissed her again. He stopped almost immediately this time, pulling back to look at her. “You okay?” His voice was gentle. Which made sense. He was a gentle man.
The thought somehow made her more scared than ever.
“Yeah! No. It’s just…I’m a little…nervous,” she heard herself say.
Yes. The woman who’d given birth to an eight-pound, nine-ounce bouncing baby boy in a total of three hours. No drugs, either. Not really virgin-bride material.
His eyes were dark. “We don’t have to do anything, Parker,” he murmured, and his voice alone made Lady Land croon.
“Right. No, I know that. Which, thank you, by the way.” She took a shaky breath. “No, James, it’s just the last guy I was with was…” She felt her head wiggling around like a bobble-head figurine and managed to stop. She looked at his chest, which seemed like a safe place to park her eyes. “You. You’re the last guy I was with.”
He didn’t answer. She continued looking at his chest. Fascinating shirt, all white and, um…cottony. Then he cupped her face so she really did have to look at him.
His eyes were soft. And he was smiling. He looked so relaxed, how could he be relaxed when she was about to jump out of her skin?
“And that was… But this…” she said. “It feels—it feels different.” Her voice was a whisper now.
Very slowly, as if she were a skittish fawn—Why a fawn? Why not a skittish mule or ferret? Oh, Lord, her brain was going to explode—James kissed her, just a soft brush on the lips. “Maybe because we’re friends now,” he murmured.
And that was it exactly. Whether it was good or bad, she didn’t know.
It was probably good.
He leaned in, so slowly, and kissed her again, and without quite realizing she’d moved, she found her hands were sliding against his lean rib cage, up to his chest.
“Is that a yes?” he whispered, pulling back the slightest bit.
“It’s a yes,” she breathed.
“Good.”
“Yes.”
He reached behind her and opened the door, his mouth finding her again, hot and slow and sweet. Backed her into the room, one hand undoing her hair clip, sliding his fingers through her hair, down her back. Her dress was suddenly looser—he’d unzipped it, clever lad—and his tongue brushed hers, and suddenly her hands remembered what they were for. They were for unbuttoning his shirt, even if they were shaking a little. His skin was hot and smooth, and she jerked his shirt open, exposing that beautiful torso, and pulled him down on the bed, suddenly desperate to get him on her, in her.
He captured her hands in his and pinned them gently above her head, his fingers twining with hers. “Not this time,” he whispered, kissing just below her ear. “This time, we take things slow.”
Then, his mouth hot and sure as he tasted her neck, his hands releasing hers to slip her dress off her shoulders, James proceeded to show her why some things in life shouldn’t be rushed.
And you know what?
The guy had a point.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WHEN JAMES WOKE up, the sun was at an odd angle, shining right into his face. The bed felt different.
He bolted upright. Reality, or really, really excellent dream? Nope, this was her room. Clock said 8:13 a.m. The latest he’d slept in months. He turned his head, and sure enough, a gorgeous female was looking at him.
Just not the one he expected.
“Hey, Beauty,” he said, and the dog wriggled closer and rolled on her back, offering her stomach, which he rubbed obligingly.
Man. Best night of his life. Parker Harrington Welles, with him. All night. For a few seconds there, when they’d come up from the dock, he’d thought she might bolt and they’d have to start all over again. Or never.
Nope. The Fates smiled on him, and if she wasn’t the most beautiful, softest…the way she’d said his name with a little gasp of surprise as she came, and the sweet, soft sinking afterward, as if her bones had dissolved and all she could do was curl against him, her hair cool and smooth against his shoulder.
Shocking. It was shocking, how good it had felt. Maybe it was years of unrequited imagining, but James could honestly say that there was sex, which was always a good thing.
And then there was last night. Which was unbelievable.
Where was she, anyway? He didn’t hear anything going on in the rest of the house. No shower running, no noise from the kitchen.
He got out of bed and pulled on some clothes, an image of Parker on top of him actually making him stop in his tracks.
Best. Night. Ever.
She wasn’t in the kitchen. Wasn’t on the dock. Wasn’t painting in his room, wasn’t outside in the little yard. Wasn’t swimming, thank God.
No note, either. Odd, because she’d been leaving him little notes as to her whereabouts lately.
At that moment, his cell phone rang. New Hampshire Correctional.
Shit. “Hey, Harry,” he said.
“James. How are you?”
Great, Harry. Just shagged your daughter. A few times, actually. “I’m, uh, I’m good. How are you?”
“Not bad.” There was a pause. “How’s Parker?”
So, so good. James grimaced. “She’s excellent. I mean, uh, very good. She’s fine. I mean, she’s looking forward to seeing her son next weekend.” He closed his eyes.
“Good. How’s the house coming along?”
“Pretty well.”
“She hasn’t been to see me. You think you could get her to come down?”
James paused. “Well, I think you should ask her yourself, Harry. It’d probably mean more, coming from you.”
“Is that right? And now you know my daughter better than I do?”
Oh, most definitely, boss. “Something wrong?”
“It would be pleasant, James, if my only child decided she could get her ass in the car and visit me.”
“Okay. I’ll pass that message on.”
“Thank you.” Harry’s voice was curt.
“So how’s sobriety?” James asked.
There was a long pause. “It’s harder than I thought,” Harry acknowledged. “Sorry if I’m being a prick.”
“No, Harry, you’re fine. You’re in prison. You’re supposed to be in a bad mood. Maybe you should join a gang, make some friends.”
Harry laughed. “You’re the only friend I have, kid.” There was an unfamiliar note of sincerity in his voice. “All right, James. Take care.”
“You, too, Harry.”
Bringing up Harry was not really on James’s list of top ten things to talk about with Parker. Especially now, when she’d apparently bolted. Her car wasn’t in the driveway, so she must be either at the diner or the flower shop. Or on the Interstate.
A note would’ve been nice.
Parker, warm and sleepy in bed next to him, would’ve been even better.
With a sigh, James took a shower, fed the dog and walked into town. She wasn’t at the diner, which was packed with pretty much the same folks he’d seen at the wedding yesterday. He said hello to a dozen or so people, got two coffees to go and headed for Lavinia’s.
As he walked in front of the open window of the shop, he heard Parker curse. “Tell him I’m on a delivery,” she hissed, completely audible. James rolled his eyes and went in.
“Hey, Lavinia,” he said, setting one cup of coffee on the counter and taking a sip of his own. “Brought you a coffee. Didn’t think you were open so early. On a Sunday. And look at you, here all by your lonesome.”
Lavinia stubbed out her cigarette on her palm, looking somewhat like a creased and grumpy badger. “I don’t usually open so early on a Sunday morning, you’re right. But as you might know, I live upstairs, and some crazed idiot was unlocking the door at six-fuckin’-thirty. To clean up the shop, she said.” Lavinia picked up the coffee and took a sip. “Thanks for this, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. So this crazed idiot, I guess she’s on a delivery, huh?”
“Ayuh. Something to that effect.”
James nodded. “Well, I’d like to send her flowers.”
“Sure. Your money.”
“Okay, here’s what I want the card to say. You ready?”
Lavinia picked up a pen and grinned. “Go for it, kid.”
“Dear Parker, thank you for the best sex I’ve ever had, even counting the last time you did me, which was also fantastic. Still, last night was even better. I’d love to have these encounters more than once every few years, and as we are currently living together—”
The door to the back room opened. “Okay! Fine! I’m here. Stop embarrassing yourself.”
His hand was warm and sure. He pulled her to her feet, right against him, and Parker thought she might actually swoon, because he smelled so good, was so warm. Her entire body seemed to melt into his as his arm slipped around her waist. Her hand went to his shoulder, and James tipped his head and smiled at her, just a little. Parker swallowed, then put her cheek on his solid shoulder.
Norah Jones’s smoky voice floated across the water, and the waves lapped against the dock, and she and James stood there, barely moving. Do something, James, she thought. Help me out here.
Slowly, slowly, he slid his hands down her bare arms, threading his fingers through hers. His hair tickled her neck as he bent his head, his lips warm as he kissed her shoulder, and the relief was so immense that her knees wobbled. He smiled against her neck.
Parker slipped one hand against his chest, feeling the solid thumping of his heart, such a sweet, intimate feeling that the ache in her grew sharply. His lips moved higher up her neck, his beautiful mouth smooth and warm against her skin.
Beauty suddenly decided that James was all right, because she chose that moment to stand, putting her paws against his knee, as if she was cutting in. James smiled down at the little dog, then looked at Parker, and honest to God, she was actually dizzy, his smile was that good, crinkling his eyes, changing his face.
He leaned in a little closer, still smiling, still not kissing her, but please, it’d better be soon or she might die. She closed her eyes, and thank goodness, his lips were against hers, the softest brush, so smooth and warm. Another brush. Then he did kiss her, a gentle, soft kiss that she returned carefully, almost shyly.
This was so different from that first time, so long ago, when she’d barely been thinking, when she’d used him to distract herself from loneliness. This was slow and tender and meltingly wonderful, James’s mouth against hers, waiting for her response. Then he cradled her head in his hands, angling for better access to her mouth, and kissed her more fully. Her hand slid into his thick, curling hair, and he held her closer, that beautiful mouth kissing hers as if there was nothing more he wanted to do other than stand out here and do exactly what they were doing.
Beauty whined, and James smiled. He pulled back a little and smoothed Parker’s hair back from her hot face.
“The blackflies are starting to bite,” Parker whispered.
“Maybe we should go in,” he said, that smile still playing at his mouth.
“Okay.”
Then he took her hand and led her off the dock, up the stairs and into the house, and Parker went with him as if it was normal, not as if her legs were watery and her whole body was pulsing with a warm, honeyed glow; as if this was old hat, no big deal, when the truth was, she felt something akin to terror here, all that warm, glowing stuff aside. Beauty leaped neatly onto the couch, ditching them, the good dog. James led her down the hall, past his room. There was her bedroom. Yep. Terror.
James stopped outside her door, tilted her chin up and kissed her again. He stopped almost immediately this time, pulling back to look at her. “You okay?” His voice was gentle. Which made sense. He was a gentle man.
The thought somehow made her more scared than ever.
“Yeah! No. It’s just…I’m a little…nervous,” she heard herself say.
Yes. The woman who’d given birth to an eight-pound, nine-ounce bouncing baby boy in a total of three hours. No drugs, either. Not really virgin-bride material.
His eyes were dark. “We don’t have to do anything, Parker,” he murmured, and his voice alone made Lady Land croon.
“Right. No, I know that. Which, thank you, by the way.” She took a shaky breath. “No, James, it’s just the last guy I was with was…” She felt her head wiggling around like a bobble-head figurine and managed to stop. She looked at his chest, which seemed like a safe place to park her eyes. “You. You’re the last guy I was with.”
He didn’t answer. She continued looking at his chest. Fascinating shirt, all white and, um…cottony. Then he cupped her face so she really did have to look at him.
His eyes were soft. And he was smiling. He looked so relaxed, how could he be relaxed when she was about to jump out of her skin?
“And that was… But this…” she said. “It feels—it feels different.” Her voice was a whisper now.
Very slowly, as if she were a skittish fawn—Why a fawn? Why not a skittish mule or ferret? Oh, Lord, her brain was going to explode—James kissed her, just a soft brush on the lips. “Maybe because we’re friends now,” he murmured.
And that was it exactly. Whether it was good or bad, she didn’t know.
It was probably good.
He leaned in, so slowly, and kissed her again, and without quite realizing she’d moved, she found her hands were sliding against his lean rib cage, up to his chest.
“Is that a yes?” he whispered, pulling back the slightest bit.
“It’s a yes,” she breathed.
“Good.”
“Yes.”
He reached behind her and opened the door, his mouth finding her again, hot and slow and sweet. Backed her into the room, one hand undoing her hair clip, sliding his fingers through her hair, down her back. Her dress was suddenly looser—he’d unzipped it, clever lad—and his tongue brushed hers, and suddenly her hands remembered what they were for. They were for unbuttoning his shirt, even if they were shaking a little. His skin was hot and smooth, and she jerked his shirt open, exposing that beautiful torso, and pulled him down on the bed, suddenly desperate to get him on her, in her.
He captured her hands in his and pinned them gently above her head, his fingers twining with hers. “Not this time,” he whispered, kissing just below her ear. “This time, we take things slow.”
Then, his mouth hot and sure as he tasted her neck, his hands releasing hers to slip her dress off her shoulders, James proceeded to show her why some things in life shouldn’t be rushed.
And you know what?
The guy had a point.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WHEN JAMES WOKE up, the sun was at an odd angle, shining right into his face. The bed felt different.
He bolted upright. Reality, or really, really excellent dream? Nope, this was her room. Clock said 8:13 a.m. The latest he’d slept in months. He turned his head, and sure enough, a gorgeous female was looking at him.
Just not the one he expected.
“Hey, Beauty,” he said, and the dog wriggled closer and rolled on her back, offering her stomach, which he rubbed obligingly.
Man. Best night of his life. Parker Harrington Welles, with him. All night. For a few seconds there, when they’d come up from the dock, he’d thought she might bolt and they’d have to start all over again. Or never.
Nope. The Fates smiled on him, and if she wasn’t the most beautiful, softest…the way she’d said his name with a little gasp of surprise as she came, and the sweet, soft sinking afterward, as if her bones had dissolved and all she could do was curl against him, her hair cool and smooth against his shoulder.
Shocking. It was shocking, how good it had felt. Maybe it was years of unrequited imagining, but James could honestly say that there was sex, which was always a good thing.
And then there was last night. Which was unbelievable.
Where was she, anyway? He didn’t hear anything going on in the rest of the house. No shower running, no noise from the kitchen.
He got out of bed and pulled on some clothes, an image of Parker on top of him actually making him stop in his tracks.
Best. Night. Ever.
She wasn’t in the kitchen. Wasn’t on the dock. Wasn’t painting in his room, wasn’t outside in the little yard. Wasn’t swimming, thank God.
No note, either. Odd, because she’d been leaving him little notes as to her whereabouts lately.
At that moment, his cell phone rang. New Hampshire Correctional.
Shit. “Hey, Harry,” he said.
“James. How are you?”
Great, Harry. Just shagged your daughter. A few times, actually. “I’m, uh, I’m good. How are you?”
“Not bad.” There was a pause. “How’s Parker?”
So, so good. James grimaced. “She’s excellent. I mean, uh, very good. She’s fine. I mean, she’s looking forward to seeing her son next weekend.” He closed his eyes.
“Good. How’s the house coming along?”
“Pretty well.”
“She hasn’t been to see me. You think you could get her to come down?”
James paused. “Well, I think you should ask her yourself, Harry. It’d probably mean more, coming from you.”
“Is that right? And now you know my daughter better than I do?”
Oh, most definitely, boss. “Something wrong?”
“It would be pleasant, James, if my only child decided she could get her ass in the car and visit me.”
“Okay. I’ll pass that message on.”
“Thank you.” Harry’s voice was curt.
“So how’s sobriety?” James asked.
There was a long pause. “It’s harder than I thought,” Harry acknowledged. “Sorry if I’m being a prick.”
“No, Harry, you’re fine. You’re in prison. You’re supposed to be in a bad mood. Maybe you should join a gang, make some friends.”
Harry laughed. “You’re the only friend I have, kid.” There was an unfamiliar note of sincerity in his voice. “All right, James. Take care.”
“You, too, Harry.”
Bringing up Harry was not really on James’s list of top ten things to talk about with Parker. Especially now, when she’d apparently bolted. Her car wasn’t in the driveway, so she must be either at the diner or the flower shop. Or on the Interstate.
A note would’ve been nice.
Parker, warm and sleepy in bed next to him, would’ve been even better.
With a sigh, James took a shower, fed the dog and walked into town. She wasn’t at the diner, which was packed with pretty much the same folks he’d seen at the wedding yesterday. He said hello to a dozen or so people, got two coffees to go and headed for Lavinia’s.
As he walked in front of the open window of the shop, he heard Parker curse. “Tell him I’m on a delivery,” she hissed, completely audible. James rolled his eyes and went in.
“Hey, Lavinia,” he said, setting one cup of coffee on the counter and taking a sip of his own. “Brought you a coffee. Didn’t think you were open so early. On a Sunday. And look at you, here all by your lonesome.”
Lavinia stubbed out her cigarette on her palm, looking somewhat like a creased and grumpy badger. “I don’t usually open so early on a Sunday morning, you’re right. But as you might know, I live upstairs, and some crazed idiot was unlocking the door at six-fuckin’-thirty. To clean up the shop, she said.” Lavinia picked up the coffee and took a sip. “Thanks for this, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. So this crazed idiot, I guess she’s on a delivery, huh?”
“Ayuh. Something to that effect.”
James nodded. “Well, I’d like to send her flowers.”
“Sure. Your money.”
“Okay, here’s what I want the card to say. You ready?”
Lavinia picked up a pen and grinned. “Go for it, kid.”
“Dear Parker, thank you for the best sex I’ve ever had, even counting the last time you did me, which was also fantastic. Still, last night was even better. I’d love to have these encounters more than once every few years, and as we are currently living together—”
The door to the back room opened. “Okay! Fine! I’m here. Stop embarrassing yourself.”
