Will
heads downstairs, and I dry off and get dressed. I’m swimming
in his pants, but I tie the drawstring tight and roll up the sleeves
on his shirt to make them fit, toweling off my hair and twisting it
up in a wet braid. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above
the bureau: my cheeks flushed pink, and my eyes bright and shining. I
look like I’ve just had the best sex of my life—but I
haven’t, not even close.
Not
yet.
The
sun is just starting to sink over the woods when I find Will
shirtless out on the back deck, nuking a plate of pizza in a
dangerous-looking microwave. “You weren’t kidding about
the paper plates,” I say, looking at the haphazard collection
of plastic takeout utensils and condiments he’s got set up on a
folding table. “Don’t tell me this is your kitchen?”
“Until
I get the gas line checked, I’m afraid so.” Will pulls a
couple of beers from the cooler and offers me one. “But on the
plus side, there’s no clean-up required.”
“It’s
like being back in college,” I laugh, taking a bottle and
toasting it against his. I take a sip, relishing the cold buzz, but I
can’t help looking around again at the shabby work-in-progress.
“You know, it’s not too late to change your mind,”
I suggest. “I could find someone to take this off your hands,
set you up somewhere with an actual working range.”
“Don’t
you worry about me.” Will moves closer, and slides a hand
around my waist. “You’re off the clock. Relax.”
“I
might relax right through that hole in the porch.” I eye it
cautiously.
“I’ll
catch you.” Will hooks one finger over the waistband on my
pants, yanking me against him. I laugh and melt into his arms,
reaching up to claim a kiss, savoring the warmth of his bare chest,
and how I seem to fit in the nook of his shoulder, just right.
Deeper,
hotter, we’ve barely had our hands off each other all
afternoon, but still, I want more. Will backs me up against the porch
railing, ignoring the “ding” of the microwave as we feast
on each other, instead. His hands slide up under the hem of my shirt,
tracing wildfire across my naked skin. “The food . . .”
I say breathlessly, already arching against him, offering myself to
his wandering hands.
“I’m
not so hungry anymore.” Will bends his head and drags a trail
of smoldering kisses down my neck, flicking his tongue over the
delicate hollow of my throat. “Besides, I made you a promise,
and you know, I’m a man of my word.”
I
shiver. He is, and not just when it comes to my pleasure.
“
You’ll
be mine
.”
I
pull back. “I forgot!” I exclaim. “I have a movie
date with Lottie and Kit tonight. I’m running late already.”
Will’s
hands slide lower, teasing the waistband of my pants. “Sure you
can’t cancel?”
His
mouth grazes my neck again, pushing my shirt off one bare shoulder.
My body is melting towards him, already caught up in the magic of his
sinful touch, but I force myself to step away and yank my clothes
back into place. “Sorry, she’s been kind of lonely since
her sister left,” I explain quickly. “I think she just
needs some girl time, you know?”
I
feel guilty, but it’s only half a lie. Lottie
did
want me to hang tonight, and I know she’ll be happy to see me.
Still, I feel a stab of regret as Will smiles at me. “I get
it,” he says. “But just know, you’re missing out on
all of this.” He points to himself, and the reheated leftovers,
and I laugh.
“Next
time.”
Will
puts on a shirt, and gives me a ride back to where I left my car by
the creek. I get out, and look at the water regretfully. I can still
see part of Harold the boat sticking out of the water, stuck in the
mud of the shallows. “I guess I should find someone to haul him
out.”
Will
gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry I broke your
boat.”
“It’s
not your fault,” I sigh. I head over to my car, and Will opens
the door for me.
“I’ll
call you,” he says, and I nod, trying to ignore the unsettled
feeling in my stomach.
“Bye.”
I lean up on tiptoes and drop a quick kiss on the corner of his lips,
but Will catches me around the waist and kisses me deeper, leaning me
back against the car and claiming my mouth so thoroughly, I’m
left reeling and dizzy, and breathless in his arms. God, this man can
kiss: his hands sliding hotly over the curve of my hips, his tongue
stroking me slowly, intoxicating. A promise of so much more.
He
releases me, breathing heavy. “Next time,” he tells me
with a wink. I nod, half-falling back into the driver’s seat. I
manage to fumble the keys into the ignition, and I drive away,
watching him recede in the rearview mirror. It already feels wrong to
be leaving him there, when I could be wrapped up in his arms; naked
in his bed. Just a taste isn’t enough. I need all of him.
And
I’ve never needed anyone before.
I
turn back to the road. This is why I made the excuse about Lottie,
why I need a moment to catch my breath. Just as fast as the pleasure
took over, now I feel something else spinning through me,
off-balance, too close to the edge. I want him, god, I want him so
bad, but a part of me is still holding fast to keep control.
I’ve
known from the start that he’s different from all the other
guys. Nobody’s ever pursued me like this, and nobody’s
ever treated me this way either—looked past all the flirty
quips and careless teasing, and seen the part of me I never show.
He
wants to know me. Not just for a brief fling, or a couple of crazy
nights of fun. He’s never asked for more, but I saw it in his
eyes today: that fierce possession, a heat that could take us both
down in flames.
“
You’re
going to be mine
.”
I
show up on Lottie’s doorstep with a takeout pizza, a bag of
chips, and one condition: no talking about William Wyatt Montgomery.
Lottie
seems puzzled, but she keeps her word, and we spend the rest of the
evening curled up on the couch, watching old Julia Roberts movies
with Kit snoozing, sound asleep between us. I let out a yawn as the
final credits roll—which quickly turns into a sneeze. Lottie
reacts like she’s heard a gunshot go off.
“No!”
she whispers loudly, scooping Kit into her arms and turning to shield
him. “No germs, we just got done with that flu last month!”
“I’m
fine.” I sniffle, grabbing a tissue.
“Hmmm.”
Lottie gives me a dubious look. She gets up and retreats a safe
distance with Kit still in her arms. “You don’t look so
hot. You should take some Emergen-C or something.”
I
roll my eyes. “I don’t get sick,” I tell her
proudly. “I haven’t had so much as a cold in
years—ATCHEWW.” I sneeze again, and then twice more until
my eyes are streaming.
Lottie
points to the door. “I love you, babe, but you haven’t
stayed up half the night feeding this guy cough syrup. Out! Call me
when you’re not contagious.”
“I’m
not—ATCHEW.”
“Out!”
I
get my stuff and head back across town. Now that I think about it, my
throat feels kind of scratchy, but it’s probably nothing. Like
I told Lottie, I don’t get sick. I haven’t taken a day
off in years, and I don’t plan on starting now.
I’m
just unlocking the door when my phone buzzes: a text from Will.
How’s
girls’ night going?
Fun,
I text back.
Back home
now.
Want
someone to come tuck you in?
My
stomach curls. Lust comes rushing back to me in an instant, but the
hesitation I felt before hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s still
lurking, uneasy in the back of my mind.
I’m
not ready to take this step with him.
Rain
check
? I type instead
.
I’m beat.
Sweet
dreams xo
When
I see my reflection in the hall mirror, I know I’ve made the
right call: my eyes are streaming, and my nose could give Rudolph a
run for his money. I dig out a couple of vitamin bottles from the
kitchen drawer and down a handful before I go to bed, certain that
whatever it is, I’ll feel better in the morning.
I’m
wrong. My bulletproof immune system must have been shot by spending
half the afternoon splashing around in running water, because I wake
up sick. Really sick. Burning eyes and raw throat and streaming nose
and pounding headache kind of sick. All I want to do is bury myself
back under the covers and never come out again, but I have viewing
appointments booked with a client all morning; they’re driving
in from the city and I can’t just bail on them, and besides,
with Marcie gone now, I’m the only one who can do it.
The
show must go on.
I
stumble out of bed and get dressed, sneezing every other breath. I
look like death warmed over, but I manage to slap on some concealer
and make myself look halfway human before heading to the door.
The
hallway starts spinning. I cling to the wall.
No.
Not today. Mind over matter, I tell myself, that’s all that
counts. For a moment, I wish I was a kid again, tucked in my pajamas
while Mom brings me hot tea, but I’m an adult, and adulting
means downing two shots of Emergen-C and three multi-vitamins and
giving myself an epic pep talk while I try not to cough up a lung.
Repeat
after me: you’re a goddamn rock star, you can beat a mild fever
any day.
Rock
star or not, by noon, fever is whipping my ass. “And look at
all these windows,” I surreptitiously blow my nose, guiding Liv
Sullivan and her sister, Annie, through the next house. They’re
the tip I got the other week: in her sixties and recently widowed,
Annie wants to move to Oak Harbor to be closer to her sister and
family. We’ve been looking at small, low-maintenance properties
for her all morning, but this cute craftsman cottage is definitely
the best of the bunch. “South-facing, so you get the sea
breezes. And the light is incredible—”I sneeze again.
“Excuse me.”
Annie fishes a tissue from her
bag. “Are you sure you’re OK, sweetie?” she looks
concerned.
“I’m
fine! Just, hayfever allergies, that’s all,” I cover,
ushering them through to the cute, farmhouse-style kitchen that opens
up to a small, flower-filled garden. “Isn’t this just
adorable? You said you had a green thumb, didn’t you?”
“Oh,
look at that courtyard!” Liv exclaims. “Can’t you
just imagine having a nice cup of coffee out there, with all the
pretty flowers?”
Annie
looks around, starting to smile. She’s been quiet and hard to
read all morning, but finally, I recognize the look in her eyes.
That’s the look my clients get when they find The One: when
they can imagine themselves living somewhere for real, cooking dinner
at the range and unpacking their books on the hallway shelves.
“You
two go wander, soak it up,” I tell them. “I’ll have
a chat with the broker, see what the situation is.”
Annie
glances around. There are at least three other people looking around
right now, some couples, and a family with kids in tow, who are
loudly talking about how perfect it is, and how they need to make an
offer right away. “I don’t want to get in a bidding war,”
Annie whispers, looking worried. “The budget’s already
tight.”
“Don’t
worry,” I reassure her. “Let me figure that out.”
The
women head outside, and I can see them talking—Liv
enthusiastic, but Annie is already worried she’s going to lose
out before this new life is even hers.
“Great
property, isn’t it?” I look up. The selling agent has
come into the room, a smug smile on his face. Ron Parsons, a broker
from up the coast, heavyset in a lime-green polo shirt and chinos.
“We’re getting a lot of interest.”
“Hmmm.”
I smile, non-committal. “That’s great.”
“If
your buyers are interested in making an offer, I’ll tell you
now, you should probably go full ask, or even a little more,”
he adds, as if he’s doing me a favor. “Like I said, this
won’t last long.”
I
hide a smile. Ron has a reputation for bidding up the value of a
house with some underhand tricks, and I’m pretty sure that
loud, enthusiastic family has been at every one of his open houses
for the past year. So either they’re really, really picky, or
Ron here has roped in his extended family to show up and try to
pressure other buyers into putting in high bids.
“Do
you actually have any offers?” I ask sweetly.
“Not
right now,” Ron admits, clearing his throat. “But they’re
coming soon.”
“Right.
Well, we have a bunch of other places to look at, so I’m not
sure this one will rate.” I look around with an exaggerated
sigh. “These older houses, you never know the problems
lurking.” I wrinkle my nose. “Is that . . . mold?”
Right on cue, I sneeze, only this time, it’s actually helpful:
Ron’s eyes widen with horror.
“Mold?
No!”
“Huh,
OK then.” I casually stuff the flyer in my bag. “We’ll
let you know.”
Ron
walks off, anxiously sniffing at the air. I smile. This place will be
perfect for Annie, but I’m not going to let her spend a dollar
more than she’s comfortable paying. I’ll let Ron hang for
another few days, then make a low opening offer, and see where we can
wind up.
My
phone rings. It’s Will calling, and I answer with a sneeze.
“Sorry,” I sniffle, making a mental note to pick up more
vitamins. “Hi.”
“You
OK?” he asks. “You don’t sound too hot.”
“Ugh,
I’m not,” I admit. “I think I caught a chill
yesterday.”
“Poor
baby.” Will sounds sympathetic. “You need me to bring
anything?”
“No,
I’ll be fine,” I insist. “But I think I better take
a rain check on hanging out, at least until I’m feeling
better.”
“Sounds
good. Let me know how you’re doing.”