Zach pulled up in front of Carly’s early Saturday morning. Collecting the brown bag from his front seat, along with the two cups of coffee he’d bought at Beans ’n Books, he made his way up the sidewalk, his breath fogging in the chilly air.
Ringing the bell with his elbow, he glanced around the porch, his gaze settling on the swing where he and Olivia used to make out after dark.
He grimaced. Epic fail on his avoidance plan. How could he have forgotten his inability to resist her?
Just as he was reaching to ring the bell again, the door swung open and there stood the girl from his memories. And, if truth be told, from his X-rated dreams. She drew her robe tighter against the chill, her bare feet curling on the floor. Her hair could use a brush, and she had a pillowcase crease along her cheekbone, but she still revved his engine. “Morning.”
She rubbed her forehead. “Did we say we were leaving this early?”
“No. But goes without saying when you have to drive an hour to get supplies and drive an hour back. Plus, I thought you’d want to get back and get some work done today.”
She nodded absently then yawned.
“Um, do you think I could come in?” He lifted the two cups and the brown bag.
Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Depends. Is that coffee?”
“French press. Black.” He lifted his right hand. “City Roast, cream and sugar.” He held up his left hand.
“And in the bag?”
“Kristen’s chocolate croissants.” He lifted a brow in challenge.
She flipped the latch on the screen door and swung it open, reaching for the coffee in his right hand. Taking a sip, she closed her eyes and sighed. Her eyes flew open. “Wait. How’d you know I drink French press black?” She hadn’t acquired a taste for it until she’d moved to Chicago.
“Kristen.” He shrugged. “We going to stand here letting all the heat out?”
Cradling her coffee as if it were a fragile egg, she turned and walked away. He entered the foyer, closing the door behind him before following her into the kitchen. She’d laid out two napkins on the breakfast table and was pulling plates out of the cupboard.
Wiggling her fingers at the brown bag, she said, “Gimme.”
With a chuckle, he handed over the bag.
She held her nose over the open bag and inhaled. “Omigod! They smell like sin.”
And she looked like sin. Her long chestnut hair a mess, her cashmere robe skimming lovingly along her firm curves, her bare legs and feet. He wanted nothing more than to back her up against the counter, capture her mouth with his, and find out what she had on underneath that robe. Hopefully, nothing.
“Oh, God!” she moaned.
His eyes shot to her face, afraid he’d spoken those thoughts out loud. Instead, she’d taken a bite of the croissant and closed her eyes in ecstasy. He wished he’d been the one to put that look on her face.
He snatched the bag out of her hand.
“Hey!”
“They aren’t all for you,” he said with a chuckle.
He pulled the other croissants out of the bag and laid them on one of the plates she’d set out. Carrying them to the table, he sat and, gazing at her over his cup of coffee, took a bite of the melt-in-your-mouth pastry.
Olivia stuck a finger in her mouth to suck the chocolate off it, and his body reacted. Sweet Jesus. Who knew eating breakfast with Olivia could be an erotic experience. “There’s another one with your name on it.”
She gazed longingly at the plate. “I really shouldn’t.”
“Come on. You can’t let such buttery, chocolatey goodness go to waste.”
She groaned and, retrieving her coffee, moved to the seat across from him.
He placed the pastry on a plate and slid it toward her.
She pointed her finger at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re trouble.”
Ha. If she only knew.
Two hours and a thousand dollars later, Zach and Olivia were headed home. They’d bought plywood, two-by-fours, two-by-twos, PVC pipe, spray paint, custom paint, paint thinner, brushes, and tarp. She’d already ordered yards of muslin for the painted backdrops, as well as cans of the scenic paints needed to paint them.
Her mother had allotted a generous budget to the scenery. She never had liked to scrimp on her shows.
“You hungry?”
His voice startled her in the otherwise-quiet cab.
“I could eat.”
“I know just the place.”
“Please tell me it’s not a bakery,” she said, still feeling guilty over the not one, but two, croissants she’d eaten that morning.
He chuckled, sending tingles dancing along her spine. He’d always had a great laugh. Throaty, male, and contagious. “If I told you they had salads, would that make you feel better?”
“Yes.”
A few minutes later, she found herself parked at a table in a gastropub with a long, galvanized-metal-topped bar and complementary metal-topped tables, the TV’s displaying a variety of sports.
“How’d you find this place?”
“When Tyler was considering opening the tasting room, we shopped around. Tough job, but someone had to do it,” he said with a wink.
A quick perusal of the menu, and she’d decided on the quinoa sweet potato bowl.
He snorted at her selection but didn’t say anything. Easy for him, she thought, he must have hollow legs to eat what he does and stay so fit.
After the server took their order, a story on the TV drew Zach’s attention. “That guy.” Zach shook his head.
“Who?” Olivia looked up at the screen in confusion.
“A pro football player caught cheating on his pregnant wife.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, and cheating in plain sight.”
“What do you mean?”
“The tabloids have been filled with photos of him caught in the act.”
Eyebrows furrowed, she shook her head. “You mean, like in flagrante delicto?”
Zach chuckled. “In flagrante delicto? Really? Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
“Would you prefer mid-coitus?”
He snorted. “Might as well call it what it is, but in this case, no. But he’d been spotted with any number of women.”
“You know, you can’t believe everything you read—or in this case, see—in those things.” She ought to know. She’d been paired with actors, sports stars, and royalty during the course of her career, none of whom had so much as kissed her much less slept with her.
He turned his beer in a circle on the table. “So, all those photos of you? Should I believe them?”
When he looked up at her with those dark blue eyes, she locked her gaze with his. “No. You shouldn’t.”
“What about you and Blade?” Zach asked, afraid of the answer.
Olivia rolled her eyes. “No. Do you really think I would date someone named Blade?”
“You danced in his music video.”
“Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”
He shrugged and then opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could ask, she continued. “Not Phillip Lane. Not Kendrick Luther. Not even Prince Amir.”
“Casey Durham?” NFL Rookie of the Year.
Her eyes flashed, and she smacked the table with her hand. “No.”
“That’s too bad. I’d like his autograph.” He grinned.
Olivia snorted, rearranging the salt and pepper shakers on the table. “All I had to do was stand next to someone. Or if they stood next to me, no matter how casual and innocent, the next thing I knew I was having a torrid affair with him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Because sex sells.”
And Olivia was sexy. Clad in a pair of faded jeans that looked as soft as the skin they covered, a T-shirt sporting a retro graphic of the Chicago skyline, and a gray hoodie, she could be ten years younger. Somewhere between aisle ten (paint) and aisle fourteen (lumber), her dark hair had found its way up into a messy bun.
The server set a glass of club soda with lime and a beer on the table. Plucking up the straw, Olivia opened the wrapper and plunged the straw into the glass before staking a sip.
“And the rumors about you and your former partner? What was his name? Carter Severens?”
“You’re kidding me with this, right?” She leaned across the table. “News flash—he’s gay.”
“Ah.” Zach felt the heat rise to his face. “Okay.” Nodding his head in relief, he lifted the glass of beer to his mouth.
“And just how do you know about all these guys?” She’d folded her arms and propped them on the table, her brow lifted.
Right. Walked right into that one, didn’t he? He shrugged. “You can’t miss those rags when you’re in the checkout lines.” There. That sounded plausible.
“Uh-huh.”
She didn’t sound convinced. Then another thought occurred to him. “Then who?”
“Who what?” She picked up the discarded straw wrapper and tied knots in it. A habit she’d had since they were kids.
“Have you been . . . involved . . . with anyone?” Why the hell was he asking this question? Of course, she’d been involved with someone or more than one someone. She was thirty-five years old, for Christ’s sake. It’s not like he’d been a monk either.
Olivia lowered her eyes and continued toying with the straw wrapper. “Do you really want to know?”
No. “Yes.”
She lifted a brow in challenge. “There’ve been a couple of relationships, yes.”
“Only a couple?” He waited, hoping she’d end it there but also hoping she didn’t.
“Bradley Wolfe was a lawyer and major supporter of the arts. We met at a gala for The Joffrey and dated off and on for two years.”
Dated? What did that mean? Fornicated? Cohabitated? “And?”
She shrugged. “My focus shifted when I made principal dancer. I broke it off.”
That must have been the guy he saw her with backstage when he’d flown up to Chicago to see her first performance as principal dancer—The Sleeping Beauty. He grimaced, recalling the morose walk back to his empty hotel room, never having spoken to her, much less let her know he’d been there.
“And the other?” he prodded. Seemed he liked self-flagellation.
“Joshua Steele.”
“That’s funny. There’s a Joshua Steele who played for the Cubs.”
“Yeah. That Joshua Steele.”
His mouth fell open. He didn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed. Jealous. Definitely jealous. “What happened there?”
“He was traded to the Colorado Rockies.”
“Right. And no discussion of a long-distance relationship?”
A sad smile crossed her face. “No. It was nice while it lasted, but it wasn’t meant to last beyond that.”
Nice, as in love? he wondered. Before he could ask, the server returned with their food, effectively ending his relationship cross-examination.
Zach considered asking Olivia to dinner, but he didn’t want to push his luck. Or his resistance. Enclosed in the cab of his truck for the better part of the day, the scent of her filling his head with all sorts of naughty thoughts, he didn’t know how much more he could take and not break like a suspect under interrogation.
He pulled up in front of her mother’s house and shut off the engine.
Olivia glanced at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Oh, you don’t need to—”
“Yes. I do. You have those empty boxes in the back.” She’d collected some discarded boxes to use while cleaning out her mother’s things.
“Right.”
They met at the tailgate and gathered the boxes. He followed her up to the house, waiting patiently while she found her keys and unlocked the door.
“Just set them against that wall,” she said, nodding to the wall that separated the dining room from the living room.
After unloading the boxes, he turned to find Olivia standing by the front door. She looked so beautiful. And so lost.
She’d been through so much recently. And now she had even more on her shoulders. As if handling her mother’s estate and cleaning out her mother’s things wasn’t enough, she had the recital and the subsequent sale of her mother’s business.
“You look like you could use a hug.” Zach stopped in front of her, just shy of her personal space.
“Zach,” she admonished then glanced away, biting her lip.
The hell with it. Reaching out an arm, he wrapped it around her waist, and he was struck anew at how slender she was, despite her physical strength. Pulling her resisting body toward him, he enveloped her, pressing her tight against him. She stiffened at first then released a sigh, sinking into him.
But when her breasts flattened against his chest, he realized his mistake. What he’d intended to be a platonic hug for a friend in need quickly turned into more. So much more.
Her heart beat against his chest, and the scent of her filled him. His hands roamed over her back, feeling the tense muscles but remembering the feel of her silky bare skin. The way it tasted in that spot where the pulse beat in her throat, and he longed to taste it again.
She pulled back and looked up at him, her brown eyes warm, her lips parted, and that was all he needed. He bent his head, his mouth hovering over hers, giving her time to reject him. Her breath stuttered, then she licked her lips, and his restraint fled.
Capturing her mouth with his, he cupped her face, tasting her for the first time in seventeen long years. God! How had he lived without this all these years? How had he thought letting her go had been the right move?
Her lips parted, and his tongue grazed hers. A breathy moan escaped her as her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. Backing her up, he pressed Olivia against the wall behind her, sliding a thigh between her legs, while his hands glided down her arms to rest on her hips. So. Damn. Good.
He finally had to come up for air. He retreated, his breath coming in harsh pants like he’d just swum up from the depths of the ocean. Her breathing wasn’t any more controlled.
She looked up at him, her lip between her teeth, her palms flat against his chest. “Zach, do we really want to do this again?”
Her question may as well have been a cold bucket of water thrown in his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He stepped back and combed a hand through his hair. “I’ll, uh—I’ll see you.”
He blindly reached for the doorknob and jerked the door open, shoving the screen door aside, then drew the door closed behind him with a quiet click.
Funny, he thought, as he drove the short distance home. She never asked about his past or current relationships. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or hurt by that. But one thing was for sure, he was far from over Olivia James.
Later that evening, Olivia dragged herself up the stairs. Jennie had long since gone to bed, but Olivia had needed to make some changes to the script and finalize the costume order.
Switching on the bedside lamp, she gazed around the bedroom. It had been her room once, but her mother had turned it into a guest room. Not that Olivia could blame her. It wasn’t as if she had been a frequent visitor.
Gone were the pale lavender walls and the posters of famous ballerinas like Gelsey Kirkland, Wendy Whelan, and Julie Kent, to name a few. In their place were robin’s-egg blue and paintings from various artists.
Her trophies and ribbons had been relocated to her mother’s office, where her gold medal from the USA International Ballet Competition, the Olympics of ballet, hung in a shadow box behind Carly’s desk.
She’d renovated the bathroom, upgrading the plumbing fixtures, adding a free-standing shower next to the tub, and retiling the floors.
After washing her face, she ran a brush through her hair, detangling it before bed.
It had been a long day, starting with the early arrival of Zach and ending with the late afternoon unloading of the supplies at the studio. Tyler had graciously come by to help with the heavy lifting, and it had been great to see him again. He had looked as handsome as ever with his sandy-blond hair and gray-blue eyes.
And then . . . there was The Kiss.
Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingertips to her lips.
Seventeen years! Seventeen long, lonely years since she’d felt his mouth on hers. Dammit! Why’d he have to go and do that? Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone.
Maybe she wasn’t over him, but at least she’d managed to get on with her life.
As she undressed, she recalled her conversation with him in the pub. His belief in the veracity of the tabloid photos had troubled her. She couldn’t really say why. Frankly, it was none of his business if she’d slept with none of them or all of them. Just like his relationships were none of her business. At least that’s what she’d told herself while exercising restraint in asking about them.
Brushing her teeth, she scowled in the mirror as she remembered his questions about her relationships. She’d only been semi-truthful about them. While it was true that she’d been in those two relationships, she hadn’t been in love with either one of the men. They weren’t jerks or anything. Far from it. Both were great guys.
They just weren’t Zach.
He’d been the love of her life, and she’d never met anyone who lived up to him.
She’d been about nine years old when her mother bought the house two doors down from Zach and his father. His father had kept to himself, but Zach’s curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he’d wandered down as the movers arrived with their meager furniture and belongings.
He’d been all legs and arms, not unlike her. His wavy hair a few weeks past a haircut, a skateboard tucked under his arm, he’d approached her with determined reticence. “Hi, I’m Zach.”
“I’m Olivia.” She’d stuck out her hand to shake, only to have him stare at it like it held cooties. He’d finally reached out and curled her fingers into a fist then gave her a fist bump.
Their friendship began that day. She couldn’t say it was love at first sight. Their relationship built through the years of science, math, and English classes, shared experiences like sitting at the old train station watching the trains as they lumbered past, speculating on where they came from, where they were going, and what they carried. Ice cream on hot summer days and hot chocolate on cold wintry nights. Swinging on her front porch, catching fireflies in jars, and skipping rocks on Polk Pond.
Later, when he’d joined the junior high school baseball team, she’d gone to the games and cheered him on. It was somewhere around freshman year when something changed. The platonic feelings they shared for one another morphed into something . . . more. The first time he’d held her hand, a strange mix of both peace and excitement had settled over her. Nothing had ever felt so right.
And nothing else had since.
Two teenagers hopped up on hormones, it wasn’t long before they were sneaking into the dilapidated Hastings house for stolen make-out sessions.
On the night of the high school talent show in their junior year, they’d made love for the first time. Despite their youth, inexperience, and raging hormones, it wasn’t something they’d taken lightly. They’d discussed it for weeks. Planned it all out. Olivia didn’t want to follow in her mother’s footsteps and get pregnant, and Zach wanted to ensure that Olivia was safe and comfortable.
Zach took Olivia to a doctor in the neighboring town to discuss birth control and safe sex. Since they were both virgins, there were no issues with disease, so the doctor had given Olivia a prescription for birth control pills. They’d waited two weeks, a week longer than necessary, to ensure the pills would do their job. And then, after the show, Zach had taken her for the best dinner he could afford, at Dominick’s, before taking her to the abandoned house.
When Olivia entered what had been the living room to find a bed made of layers of blankets and sleeping bags, flowers, camp lanterns, and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne, she’d melted. She had no idea where he’d come by the champagne, but she’d felt very grown up drinking it.
After a few sips of the cold bubbly, Zach had gathered her into his arms and kissed her with all the passion of a horny sixteen-year-old before looking her in the eye and asking, “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I’ve ever been of anything in my life.”
The distant blare of a train whistle shook her from her reverie.
Those days were long gone, and she’d be better off if she put those memories behind her.