| |
I LOVE THE PART OF The Lord of the Rings where Sam wakes up after the ring has been destroyed and for a moment believes he’s been dreaming. Then he sees Frodo sleeping beside him and reality catches up to him, and he’s greeted by Gandalf, whom he thought was long dead but is alive and laughing again. Even though the poignancy of loss catches up to them all eventually, that scene of Sam waking up is one of pure joy.
In fact, I love waking-up scenes of all varieties. It’s like life starts anew just a little bit every morning, and waking-up scenes capture that newness most perfectly.
Just to clarify, I like waking-up scenes in fiction. Not in real life.
I usually wake up naturally between eight and nine o’clock in the morning, but on Monday I wake up at six instead.
For a moment, I have no idea why.
It’s far too early. I know that as soon as I open my eyes. My class on Mondays isn’t until the afternoon.
I shouldn’t be awake. I have at least a couple of more hours to sleep.
What the hell?
I’m feeling grumpy and confused as I roll over and see the other side of my bed.
It’s not empty.
It’s supposed to be empty.
I sleep alone. It’s been two years since I haven’t slept alone, and that was just for a couple of months with a guy who gradually became more and more annoying.
I’m like Sam (the hobbit) in this moment, in that oblivion before sleep catches up to reality.
Because Hunter is in bed with me this morning.
I have no idea how I forgot, even for a few seconds.
He’s awake, staring up at the ceiling. His hair and beard are rumpled, and his bare arms are out from under the covers so I can see his broad shoulders and strong biceps.
He turns his head to meet my gaze.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It just feels like... something’s wrong.”
He lets out an audible sigh, his expression softening. “To tell you the truth, I’m kind of nervous.”
I’m surprised, although I don’t know why. He always seems so competent, sure of himself. It never occurred to me he might be at all insecure about starting a new job. “You’ll be great.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Because I know you, and I know the job. You’ll be good at it.” I pause, trying to think of something that will make him feel better. “It’s not like you have to report to Pop. You’ll probably never even see him around. You’ll report to Chip Montgomery. He’s a nice, laid-back guy. And Chip reports to Melissa.”
He huffs. “You think that helps? Melissa scares the crap out of me.”
I laugh because his voice is dry now. He’s not entirely serious, although there might be a grain of truth in his words. “She’s not that bad. She expects a lot, but she works harder than anyone. If you don’t slack off, she’ll be happy with you.”
“I’m not about to slack off.” He turns onto his side, causing the covers to slip down. I try not to let my gaze fall to his bare chest—his darker nipples, the scattering of coarse hair, the red and gold shading of his tattoo—since I don’t need to start having lascivious thoughts this early in the morning. “I promise. I’m not going to waste this chance you’ve given me.”
“It’s not an act of charity. I’ve told you that before. I’m getting something out of it too.”
“Maybe. If you’d actually let me help you.”
“I will.”
“You haven’t so far.”
I roll my eyes. If it wasn’t so ungodly early, I wouldn’t get annoyed so easily. “I had that paper to do this weekend. I didn’t have time for playing around.”
It’s true.
Mostly true.
I do have a big paper due today, and I did have to work on it over the weekend.
I also used it as an excuse, however.
It just feels strange. To have a husband. A husband who’s not in love with you. A husband who is supposed to help you do new things—things that are a little scary.
So I wanted a weekend to ease into the new situation.
I don’t think that’s unusual.
I don’t think it’s a sign that I’m a coward.
Hunter doesn’t like the delay, however.
I suppose he wants to get started on paying off what he feels is a debt.
“When is your next paper due?”
I have to think before I answer. “Three weeks or so.”
“Good. Then you’ll have no excuse this weekend.”
I make a face at him. “Don’t you need to get up soon?”
“Yes, if I want to have time to run this morning.”
He runs every morning—at least he has for the two mornings we’ve been married. When I told him about the very good workout room in this building, he made a face and said he prefers to exercise in a way that doesn’t feel cooped up.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m getting up.”
I sit up in the bed, although it’s way too early for me to think about getting up. I’m wearing pajama shorts and an old T-shirt. Nothing very attractive. Maybe sometime this week I can get Chelsea to help me shop for cuter sleepwear.
If Hunter is going to be sleeping with me, then I don’t want to always wear ratty stuff.
“You won’t have much to do today. Chip will just show you the ropes. You can meet the other folks in your area and get the lay of the land.”
He frowns as he sits up too. He’s got gray boxer briefs on, and I can’t quite keep my eyes from darting down to check him out.
He sees me looking and lifts his eyebrows.
“Don’t give me that look,” I say, both embarrassed and frustrated by his attitude. He really is far too cocky for this situation.
Practice husbands are supposed to be... nicer.
“What look?”
“You know.”
He’s almost smiling now. “Any time you wanna a better view...”
“Oh shut up.” I flop back down on the bed, even more embarrassed but also ridiculously excited.
I’ve never had an offer like that before.
He laughs and hauls himself out of bed, walking to the bathroom with long strides.
I tell myself not to stare at his bare back, long legs, and tight butt as he leaves the room, but my mental lecture is ignored.
I’m not going to get out of bed this early. I’m just not. So I stretch out under the covers again and listen to the muffled sounds of Hunter in the bathroom. The toilet flushes, and then I hear the water in the sink.
He must leave the bathroom through the door that connects to the hall because I don’t see him for a few minutes. Then he appears in my bedroom doorway wearing gym shorts and a T-shirt. “I’m off.”
“Have fun.”
“You can join me any time.”
“Don’t count on it. I hate running with a passion.”
He chuckles as he disappears. A few seconds later, I hear the apartment door open and close.
I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep, but my mind is whirling with thoughts of Hunter.
I guess I might have dozed off for a few minutes, visions of a mostly naked male body and wry bearded face filling my dreams. It seems like no time at all when I hear Hunter return.
I look at the clock and realize it’s been just over forty-five minutes.
He comes back into the bedroom, drenched in sweat and smelling like effort and the outdoors. “You still in bed?”
I frown. “Yes, I’m still in bed. It’s not even seven yet.”
“Just think of how much you could get done if you give yourself a couple of extra hours in the morning.”
“You’re in an obnoxious mood today. You should have married Melissa instead. She’s always preaching the virtues of early rising.”
He’s giving me that ironic half smile. “I wouldn’t wanna marry Melissa.”
“Well, good, because she’s already taken.”
“I’m pretty happy with my choice. And you would be too if you’d stop being scared and let me—”
“Go take a shower!” I break in, suddenly afraid of what he’s about say. “You stink.”
He laughs but doesn’t argue as he heads into the bathroom.
I think about how he might have finished his sentence as I hear the shower turn on.
I think about it a lot.
***
AFTER MY AFTERNOON class, I stop by the grocery store with a long list of ingredients I’d put together earlier in the day.
I’m going to cook dinner tonight.
I’ve always liked the idea of cooking, and I love watching the food shows on TV. I’ve often imagined myself preparing delicious meals and serving them to people on a beautifully set table. But it never seemed worth the trouble to learn to cook just for me.
But I have a husband now, so I figure this is as good a reason as any to get started.
Hunter used to talk about the food in prison in his letters, and it was never any good. Well, he can finally have some good meals now, and I like the idea of giving that to him.
So I find a recipe from one of my favorite cooking shows that’s supposed to be super easy, and I buy all the ingredients before I go home.
The roasted chicken and vegetables all cook together in the same pan in the oven. But I hadn’t realized what a pain it would be to chop the potatoes, carrots, peppers, onions, leeks, and mushrooms.
It takes me forever since I’m not any good at it, so when I’m finally done, I gaze down in exhaustion and satisfaction at the piles of chopped vegetables.
I still need to prepare and season the meat before I put everything in the oven, so I’m about to start doing that when my phone buzzes with a text.
It’s Hunter.
Chip wants to grab a drink after work. Ok?
I smile as I read it. Hunter’s new boss is a really nice guy, and he’s obviously making an effort with Hunter. I’m glad. I hope he fits in with the people he works with and maybe even makes some friends.
Yes. Do it!
Ok.
I’m making something for dinner so be back by 7 if you want any.
I do. I won’t stay long.
I smile like a dope down at my phone until I realize what I’m doing.
If Hunter won’t be back until seven, then I have plenty of time to get the chicken on. I don’t want to put it on too early or it will be done too soon.
I get a can of grapefruit-flavored sparkling water out of the refrigerator and go get my e-reader to take a little break before I mess with the chicken.
I’m reading a cozy mystery about an amateur sleuth who’s a librarian, and I’m really enjoying it because the main character is a lot like me. Only nosier.
I’m an omnivorous reader. I’ll read across all genres, from classic literature to graphic novels. I don’t read nonfiction for pleasure, but everything else is fair game as long as the prose isn’t too flowery and overdone and the characters feel genuinely human.
I get into my mystery novel and lose track of time.
When I hear the apartment door open, I realize immediately what happened.
I forgot to put the chicken on.
I jump up, scrambling over to the counter where I left the half-prepared food. I’m rubbing the chicken down with olive oil like a fiend when Hunter comes into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he says.
“I messed up!”
Now I have raw chicken all over my hands, and I can’t even get the water on in the sink without spreading germs all over the handle.
Hunter is wearing a pair of tan trousers and a blue dress shirt. He looks different from usual but still ridiculously sexy. He cocks his head at me. “How did you mess up?”
“Can you turn on the water in the sink for me?”
He does as I ask, and I wash my hands quickly. Then I put the vegetables in the pan. Toss them in olive oil. Then salt them and put the chicken pieces on top. As I work, I explain, “I was supposed to put all this in the oven a half hour ago.”
“It’s only six thirty.”
“But this takes almost an hour to cook.” I wash my hands again and then put the pan in the oven. I’d preheated it more than an hour ago, so it’s been hot and ready to go ever since.
“So we’ll eat at seven thirty. No big deal.”
I lean back against the counter, flustered and annoyed with myself. “I wanted to eat at seven. I had the whole thing laid out and ready to go. I’m usually good at things.”
“It looked damn good to me.”
“It’s not even cooked yet. I started reading and got distracted.”
“Typical.” He’s got that familiar teasing expression, like he’s smiling underneath a straight face.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I can’t help but giggle as I go to the refrigerator to pull out the bottle of chardonnay I bought to go with dinner. Since we have a lot of time to kill, we might as well start on it.
“You didn’t have to cook dinner for me,” Hunter says, digging a corkscrew out of a drawer.
“I know. But it’s something I’ve always wanted to do, so I figured this was a good chance to get started. But I don’t know if I’m going to be any good at it. It’s more work than fun.”
“So make something easier next time.”
“This was supposed to be easy. Oh well. I won’t give up yet.”
Hunter has opened the bottle of wine and pours it into the two glasses I set on the counter.
“How was work?” I ask after I take my first sip.
“It was fine.”
“Just fine?” I scoot into one of the stools at the kitchen bar.
Hunter sits beside me, putting his phone down on the counter. “It was fine. You know. A first day. I didn’t do that much, but folks were nice to me.”
“Good.”
He slants me a quick look. “Did your sister make this job up just for me?”
“What? No. She said they really were looking to expand their finance department. Why?”
“Because what I’m going to be doing is so easy that anyone could do it.” He straightens up. “I’m not complaining. I’m happy for anything. But it just made me wonder if she made it up just so I could have a job and gave me a bunch of busywork.”
“I don’t think so. I really don’t. She acted like it was going to be a real position. That’s why she wanted you to send over your old classwork—so she could make sure you’d be able to do the job. Does it not seem like stuff that needs to be done?”
He makes a face. “No. I guess it probably needs to be done. It’s just easy.”
I reach over to put a hand on his arm. He’s got his sleeves rolled partway up his forearm, so my palm rests halfway on fabric and halfway on his bare skin. “Do you think maybe it’s because you’re so good at it? Maybe it wouldn’t be so easy for other people. Didn’t you say you were really good at the financial stuff you worked on for... for...”
He gives a huff of ironic amusement. “For the car thieves?”
“Yeah. Isn’t it possible you’re just good at it? That it comes naturally to you? And the job isn’t really just a filler.”
“Maybe.” It seems like he’s really thinking about it now, and some of the tension in his shoulders has relaxed.
I relax too.
I ask him some more about work, and he asks about my classes and my attempts to cook. Before I know it, the timer on the oven goes off (which I set in case I lost track of time again), and I go to pull out the pan.
It smells good, but it doesn’t look the way it does in the pictures. The potatoes got broken up every time I went to toss them midcooking like I was supposed to, and the peppers just disintegrated, so now the vegetables all appear mashed together. The chicken looks okay, so I’m hoping it turned out right at least.
I’m nervous as we start eating and then disappointed when I try a chicken breast.
It’s supposed to be moist and succulent, but it’s dry.
I followed the recipe exactly. I didn’t mess up (except for the delay in putting it in the oven). I did everything I was supposed to do, but it still didn’t come out quite right.
“What?” Hunter says with his mouth full, evidently seeing something on my face. “It’s really good.”
“It’s dry.”
“Huh-uh.” He likes brown meat, so he took a leg and thigh. He cuts off a piece of the thigh, spears it with a fork, and extends it to me.
Since I’m obviously supposed to eat it, I lean over and pull it off with my lips and teeth.
“Oh,” I say as I chew. “The dark meat turned out better.”
He’s nodding and stuffing another bite in his mouth. “De-licious.”
I can’t help but giggle as he chows down. Maybe he’s hamming it up on purpose, but he does seem to like the food.
And the vegetables do taste good, even though they don’t look very neat.
I feel better as I finish eating, and I watch with fond amusement as Hunter eats everything on his plate and then fills it up again.
After a while, he notices me watching him. “What?”
“Are you really that hungry or are you just trying to make me feel better?”
“I was hungry, yeah. But it’s good.” He looks from his plate to my face. “You think I’m lyin’?”
“No. Not really. I guess it turned out okay. Not perfect, but not bad.”
He snorts as he takes another big bite. “Doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s the best meal I’ve eaten for years.” He meets my eyes. “Seriously. Years.”
Just for a moment, I’m afraid I might melt away in pure sappiness.
But no. I’m too smart for that.
No sappy melting for me.
***
HUNTER HELPS ME CLEAN up after we’ve finished eating, and as we’re finishing the dishes, he says, “Thanks for makin’ dinner.”
I blush slightly, for no good reason. Maybe just because of the raspy thickness of his voice. “You’re welcome. It was a decent first effort, I guess.”
“Definitely.” He pauses. “I’ve missed good meals like that.”
“I know. From your letters.”
“I never—”
“Hey, I can read between the lines too, you know. And I want you to have good meals now that you’re out.”
“Yeah?” His eyes are warmer, softer.
“Yeah.”
Then, before I know to expect it, he reaches out and takes a fistful of my shirt, using the grip to pull me closer to him.
I stare up at him in astonishment, too dazed to know what’s happening.
Not until he tilts his head down and presses his lips against mine.
It’s a light, gentle kiss. Nothing hot and heavy. But the brush of his lips against mine fires off thousands of nerve endings, all jolting down to my heart.
And then even lower.
I gasp against his mouth and reach up to cling to his shoulders.
He’s smiling as he pulls his head back.
“What are you doing?” I manage to say. My face is flushed, and my heart is hammering wildly.
“Kissin’ you.”
“I know that, but why?”
“I thought you were practicing being married.”
“I... I am.”
“Shouldn’t a husband kiss a wife after she cooks him dinner?”
“Maybe.” My fingers are clenched in his shirt, and I’m fighting the urge to just rip it off him so I can get to his bare skin.
“So what are you all uptight about?”
“I wasn’t expecting you to kiss me.”
“Didn’t you like it?”
God help me, I did.
I liked it so much that the sensations are still shuddering through me.
He smiles, like he’s pleased by what he sees in my face, and tilts his head down to kiss me again. This one is just as gentle, but it lasts longer. His mouth moves against mine for several seconds before I feel his tongue lightly licking the line of my lips.
The feel of it goes right to the building pressure between my legs. As he draws back, I follow his retreat, trying to claim his mouth again.
He chuckles softly as he turns me around and leans me back against the counter. “You do like kissing me,” he murmurs, giving my bottom lip a little tug.
“I’m just... just practicing.” I’ve twined my arms around him now and am pressing my chest against his, trying to get some friction on my aching nipples.
He deepens the kiss as his hand slides down to cup my bottom over my jeans.
I’m starting to feel something else—something really good and hard at the front of his pants—when he abruptly takes a step back.
We stare at each other, both of us panting.
Then he says, “You just let me know when you need some more practice.”
He turns and walks away, and I assume he’s heading to his own room or to the bathroom.
I want to follow him. I almost do.
But I’m not really clueless, although I may occasionally act that way. And I might sometimes try to hide from it, but I know the truth that always exists at the core of our relationship.
He’s going to help me out in any way he can, and he might even enjoy doing so.
But if I’m not careful, it’s going to be like high school all over again.
I’ll be swooning over a man who can never return my feelings.
Because no matter what I say to Hunter in an effort to protect myself, he’s not practice to me.
***
TWO DAYS LATER, I’M trying to read a philosophical essay and sipping a glass of wine on the couch when Hunter gets home from work.
Maybe it sounds antisocial, but I kind of like that he works regular hours and he’s not hanging around the apartment all day.
We’ve been getting along well, and life is certainly more exciting when he is around, but I’m not sure how I’d be able to get my coursework done if I were constantly distracted by Hunter and his gruff voice and hot body.
As it is, I have the days to myself to do my normal thing, and it’s only in the mornings and evenings that it feels like every cell of my body comes alive.
It could be worse.
Hunter only owns one pair of good trousers and two dress shirts. He doesn’t have to wear a suit and tie to work, but he does need to look decent.
He looks more than decent as he walks in, his collar undone, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his body exuding a familiar, Hunter-like scent. Masculine. Natural.
I like it a lot.
“I opened some wine,” I say, gesturing toward the granite bar that separates the kitchen area from the living room.
He pauses at the counter to pour himself a glass, and then he comes over to the couch. I bend my legs to give him room to sit down.
He slumps with a soft groan and closes his eyes.
“Bad day?” I ask, putting down my deadly dull essay—I wasn’t making much progress trudging through it anyway—and sitting up straighter.
“It was fine.”
“Then why does it look like you’ve been through a battle?”
He opens his eyes to slant me a look.
“Don’t give me that look. Did something happen today?”
“No. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”
“Chip is pretty easy to work for, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. He’s great.”
“And the other folks in your area are okay?”
“They’re fine. A few of them are kind of wary of me, but I can hardly blame them. It’s a good job. I appreciate it.”
“You don’t have to make everything sound good all the time. No job is all good. I know you appreciate the job. You can tell me the truth if something isn’t great about it.”
“It’s not the job.” He sounds almost resigned now, and he takes a few sips of wine. “It’s me.”
“What about you?”
He sighs and meets my eyes again. “I think I already blew it.”
“What? No, you didn’t. That’s ridiculous.”
Hunter just shakes his head and slumps down on the sofa, and I’m suddenly scared. Really scared.
“Hunter, what happened? Tell me. You said the work you were doing is really easy.”
“It is easy. It isn’t the work.”
“So what happened then?”
For a moment, his face twists with such reluctance I’m not sure if he’s even going to tell me. Then his whole body loosens, as if he’s let go of his resistance. “I was reviewing departmental budgets, and I found one that was overspending like crazy. Not intentionally but just because they were letting things slip through the cracks. So I took it to Chip, and he said I should go talk to the department manager. So I did.”
I’m sitting up very straight, and I’ve reached over to hold on to his forearm. “So what happened?”
“I talked to the lady. I tried to take it seriously and explain the problems and how to fix them. I was thinking it was just business and there were pretty easy ways to tighten it up. She just kept nodding like she understood, so I left.” He clears his throat and rubs his beard. “Then Chip comes to see me later and told me I made the lady cry.”
“What?” My voice squeaks on the one word.
“I made her cry. I scared her or upset or something. She thought I was mean. I made her cry.” He groans and covers his face with both hands, pulling away from where I was holding his arm.
“Oh no, Hunter! Why did she cry? Was it really that bad?”
“I don’t think so. I keep trying to remember what I said, and I’m sure I didn’t say anything mean to her. I was just trying to take care of business. I guess I suck at this.”
He looks so wounded that I can’t stand it. I reach over and give him a soft hug. “You do not suck at this. You’re doing great overall. Women are sometimes really sensitive, and they’ll misread gruffness as meanness.” I pause. “Does she know you were in prison?”
He’s reached up to hold on to one of my arms, as if he’s trying to keep it there. “Probably. Word’s gotten around.”
“So what happened was probably that she was nervous about you to begin with. You’re so big, and you have that beard, and with your sleeves rolled up she could see the tattoo on your arm, and she knows you were in prison. She was intimidated by you to begin with. Then you came to talk to her about something she did wrong, so she was already on the defensive. And I bet you didn’t smile at her or anything.”
“No.” He’s frowning thoughtfully, like he’s thinking back. “I thought I was polite, but I was kind of nervous about it too. I was tryin’ to do a good job.”
I tighten my arms around him. “I know you were. But she doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know how sweet you are beneath it all.”
“I’m not sweet,” he mutters, leaning his head toward mine.
I press a kiss against his jaw, unable to stop myself. “Yes, you are. But she doesn’t know it. So she read your gruffness as meanness.”
He suddenly pulls me into his lap, putting his arms around me. I adjust to the new position immediately, loving the way he seems to need me right now.
“So what happened?” I ask.
“I went to apologize to her right away. I think we worked it out. At least she said it was okay. Damn it. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Nothing is wrong with you. You’re getting used to working again, to the business world. Nothing is wrong with you. Did Chip seem mad?”
“I don’t think so. He was kind of laughing about it at the end of the day and said he made the same woman cry once too. But still... what if it happens again?”
“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again. Make sure you smile when you talk to people you don’t know. No one has a smile like you do. People will like you.”
“Yeah right.”
“They will. Everyone loved you in high school. You were so popular.”
“I was different then.”
“Not all that different.”
“I was... I was always trying to get people to like me back then. I don’t care about all that anymore.”
“Well, you do care about your job, so you can do just enough to get by without making anyone else cry. Hunter, you didn’t blow it. You’ve just forgotten how to do all the social stuff. It will come back to you. Give it time. And in the meantime, make sure you smile a little.”
He is smiling now—just a little one at the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes are very soft.
“You never think I’m being mean, do you?” he murmurs.
I lean my head against his shoulder, enjoying the unusual feeling of being small and cradled in his lap. I’m not actually a small person, so this doesn’t happen to me often. “No, I never think you’re mean.”
“Good.”
“Just bossy sometimes.”
“Only when necessary.”
I laugh. “But I know you. I know you really well. People who don’t know you like I do might not see what I see in you.”
“And what do you see?”
I can’t answer with the full truth. There’s no way I can do that. So I give him part of the truth. “I see a really good man.”
I feel his body relaxing under mine. He feels better. I know it. I’m ridiculously proud of being able to help him this way.
After a few minutes, he asks, “How was your day?”
“Fine. Class was boring, and then I went to the library to do some research. That’s about it.” He doesn’t seem like he wants to move anytime soon, so I stay in place on his lap. I’m really liking it there.
“We’ve got to get you some more excitement in your life.”
“I don’t need excitement every day.”
“Why not?”
“Because. Life isn’t always exciting. You’ve just been to work. You didn’t have any excitement today, did you? I mean, other than making a poor lady cry.” I raise my head so I can look at his face.
“No,” he admits. “That was my only excitement. But the day isn’t over yet.”
Oh God. His eyes. They’re smoldering in that way that melts me. We haven’t kissed at all since Monday night, but I know what he’s thinking about right now.
I’m thinking about it too.
“You had a hard day,” I manage to say. “You’re not going to want to exert the colossal effort it will take to get me... excited.”
I can’t believe I’m actually saying that.
His eyes get even hotter. “I don’t think it’s gonna take all that much effort.”
“Oh!” I gasp. “How arrogant can you be? I’ll have you know I’m more of a challenge than you think.”
“Of course you are. Any man would be a fool to think you weren’t a challenge.”
“But you just said—”
“I’m just talking about lust. You’re talking about everything.”
I stare at him, suddenly realizing that he’s absolutely right.
Of course he’s just talking about lust. Simple lust. Physicality. Nothing more.
That’s all he’s offering me in the way of sex.
And me—being me—am complicating it unduly.
I’m thinking about everything. I’m wanting everything.
And I’m never going to get it from him.
My cheeks are flushed, but my voice is cool as I say, “I might not be as easy as you think in terms of lust.”
He chuckles. Rough. Sensual. “Give me a chance to find out for myself.”
I almost—almost—say yes.
Almost.
“Not tonight.”
He lets out a long breath and stretches his legs out in front of him. “Coward.”
“Bossy asshole.”
Both of us are smiling.
***
ON SATURDAY MORNING, I’m once again awakened early.
That description makes it sound passive and rather pleasant, but there’s nothing nice about how I’m awakened.
It’s dark in the room when Hunter shakes my shoulder. The blinds are closed, of course, but I can tell from the darkness of the room that it’s still pretty early. “Wha—” I mumble, blinking at the unexpected touch.
“Time to get up.”
I hear the words and recognize the gruff voice. Who can it be except Hunter? But I turn my head to check the clock and see it’s not even six thirty, so I close my eyes again.
There’s absolutely no reason to get up at this time.
“Don’t go back to sleep,” he says.
“’Kay.”
He stops talking, so I do the only reasonable thing in such a situation.
I go back to sleep.
I have no idea how long it is before he’s shaking me by the shoulder again. Probably just a minute or two, but it feels like I’m really asleep again.
I don’t appreciate being shaken awake. “What?” I demand, my voice less groggy than before.
“Time to get up.”
“It’s not time to get up. It’s six thirty on Saturday morning. It’s time to sleep.”
“Nope. Not today.” He’s leaning over me now. I’m quite aware of his body, although I’m keeping my eyes closed intentionally.
“Why not today?”
“Because we’re getting started today.”
“Started on what?”
“Doing what you married me to do.”
I’m silent for a moment, my eyes still closed. Then I say, “I’m not having sex with you at six thirty on a Saturday morning.”
He chuckles. I can feel him smiling even when he stops laughing although I’m still not opening my eyes. “We can do that later. I’ve got something else planned for you this morning.”
Okay. I can’t hold out anymore. I finally open my eyes. “What do you have planned?”
“You’ll find out if you get your little ass out of bed.”
“Why do we have to do it so early?”
“It’s going to get hot later on. It will be a lot more comfortable this morning.”
I groan. “I’d rather be hot than get up so early.”
Assuming this concludes the conversation, I roll over on my side, showing him my back.
Hunter doesn’t seem to understand that the conversation is concluded. He lifts me out of the bed and sets me on my feet.
I squeal in surprise and indignation, and I’m convinced this is the only reasonable way to react to such an affront.
“I said—”
“I know what you said,” he interrupts. He’s dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, and he looks particularly big and bearded this morning.
Maybe that doesn’t make sense, but you’ll have to trust me. He does.
“So you should respect my—”
“I respect everything about you. But you agreed you’d do what I said about making your life more exciting. So we’re doing this and we’re doing it now.”
I groan and rub my face with both hands. I know he’s right. I did agree I’d do what he said regarding my desire to live life more fully.
I just don’t want to.
Not at six thirty in the morning.
“Go take a shower,” he says.
I frown. “I need coffee first.”
He shakes his head. “Shower first. I’ll make coffee while you’re in there.”
“Damn it, Hunter.”
“Are you gonna go take a shower or do I need to undress you myself?”
In the mood he’s currently in, I wouldn’t put it past him. “Fine. I’ll go.”
“You’ve got six minutes in the shower before I come in.”
I make a growling sound, but his threat is sufficient motivation.
I’m out of the shower in less than five.
***
I’M NOT IN A GOOD MOOD when we get into the car.
He still won’t tell me where we’re going, so he has to drive. I don’t mind his driving, but it’s barely seven on a weekend morning, and I should really still be in bed. Plus he’s just being obnoxious today.
But he pulls into a Starbucks, and I order a big sweet coffee drink, so that improves my mood.
Just a little.
We get on I-77 and start to leave Charleston.
“Where the hell are we going?” I demand for the third time.
“You’ll see.”
“This better be worth it.”
“It will be.”
He got a black coffee, which is boring as hell but seems to fit him. He’s sipping it as he slows down at the first toll booth outside town.
“Are we going to Beckley?” I ask.
He shakes his head as he pulls through and speeds up. “Not that far.”
“Good.”
“No wonder you don’t get up early if you’re always this grumpy in the mornings.”
“No,” I correct. “No. That’s not how it is. I’m grumpy because I was cruelly woken up hours before I should have been.”
“Okay.” He’s almost smiling, and it’s really pretty cute.
Way too cute. I’m having trouble holding on to my bad mood.
We drive for ten more minutes before he pulls off at an exit and takes two country roads to a long driveway that goes up to a big house on a huge property.
“Where are we?” I ask, looking around. I’ve never been here before. That’s for sure.
“You remember Kyle Gerson from school?”
“Yeah.”
“This is his place.”
“Oh. What are we doing here?”
“You’ll see.”
I frown at him, which he (very annoyingly) ignores. He’s silent as he drives around the house and then pulls to the side.
As soon as we turn the corner, I see why we’re here.
There’s a big motorcycle parked in the middle of the large paved parking area.
I’m pretty sure it’s the one Hunter was borrowing last week and had to return.
“Oh,” I say, my heartbeat accelerating.
Nerves, not excitement.
I might like the idea of riding a motorcycle—just an isolated symbol of excitement that’s never been part of my life—but there’s no particular reason why I should need to ride one.
And I’m not sure I even really want to.
“I’m not sure...,” I begin, trailing off before I finish the sentence.
“I’m sure.”
“That thing is too big for me.”
“You can ride with me. I won’t make you do it by yourself on your first try.”
I take a ragged breath, although his words do make me feel better. Riding with him is better than riding alone.
“Come on,” he says getting out of the car.
I get out too, much more slowly. My stomach twists as I get closer and realize the motorcycle is even bigger than it looked from a distance.
“Hunter.”
“It will be great.” He sounds perfectly confident, and he’s got his hand on my back now, pushing me forward.
“Shouldn’t we tell Kyle we’re here?”
“He and his family are out of town this weekend. He gave me the key yesterday. I thought you’d be more comfortable riding on roads out here, where there’s no one around, rather than in the city.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Come on. It won’t be nearly as scary as you think.”
“You can say that. You’ve done it before. I haven’t, and I’m not very brave.”
“Sure you are. When you were in high school, you stood up in front of the whole school and gave that speech for homecoming. You weren’t even nervous. I remember thinking you were the bravest girl I’d ever met.”
Okay. That’s nice to hear. Really nice. It makes me feel a little better. But I say, “That’s different. That was just using my brain. I’m not brave about anything that doesn’t use my brain.”
He gives me a quizzical look.
“I know I can make my brain do what I want it to do,” I explain. “But that’s not true about the rest of me.”
His expression softens slightly, like he understands. “Well, there’s nothing to be scared about in this. I’m not going to let you get hurt.”
“I’m not really afraid of getting hurt. I’m afraid of looking stupid.”
He arches his eyebrows. “In that case, I have no sympathy for you. The only person around right now to see you look stupid is me, and I don’t give a fuck about that. Get your little ass on the seat, and I’ll explain how it works.”
I glare at him, but I do what he says.
He’s right, after all. I don’t want to look stupid in front of Hunter. I want to look smart and sexy and appealing in every way.
But he doesn’t think about me like that, and he’s telling me the truth.
He doesn’t care if I look stupid or not.
***
RIDING THE MOTORCYCLE is actually kind of fun.
At first, I’m too uptight to enjoy it. I sit behind Hunter on the seat, and I cling to him helplessly. He makes me wear the helmet, which is hot as hell. He’s right about getting an early start before the temperature rises. But eventually I grow more comfortable, and I can relax my hold. He slowly increases the speed, and I enjoy the view and the wind rushing over us.
And gradually I start to enjoy the feel of my body pressing so snugly against Hunter’s.
I’m not even aware of it at first, aside from the comfort I take in his being so big and strong. But as I relax, I become aware of him in a different way.
And the vibrations from the big engine don’t exactly help.
We ride to an overlook out on the mountains, where we get off, sit down, and drink a bottle of water. And on the way back I start to get turned on.
Really turned on, if you want to know the truth.
It’s kind of embarrassing.
I keep telling myself he can’t possibly know how I’m feeling. After all, my face is flushed from the wind and heat and motion, and the excitement of the ride will explain any other effects he might observe.
Driving home, I’m still kind of turned on, and it doesn’t go away even though we stop for a late breakfast.
It’s like my whole body is vibrating, pulsing, straining toward Hunter again.
I want to press up against him like I was before. But different this time.
When we get back to the apartment, I’m worried about how my body is feeling. Surely a physical reaction like this should have gone away by now.
“What’s the matter?” Hunter asks, kicking off his shoes.
“Nothing.”
He slants me a look.
“Nothing. Really. I just...” I think quickly and come up with something. “When is it going to stop feeling like the whole world is vibrating and rushing around in front of my eyes?”
He smiles. “It will go away eventually. I know a few tricks.”
“Really? What are they?”
“You should take a shower first.”
I nod, since this makes sense. Even going so early, I got hot and sweaty beneath my clothes. I’ll feel better all-around after I take a shower.
I go to the bathroom, peel off my clothes, and wait for the water to warm up. Then I get under the spray and start to lather myself up.
I’m rinsing off when I’m suddenly aware of a blast of cool air.
I squeal as Hunter gets in.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking a shower.”
“And you couldn’t wait until I got out?”
“I thought you wanted to know what will make how you’re feeling go away.”
He’s giving me a particular look now. An intentional smoldering look that takes my breath away.
I take a step back as he takes a step forward.
“I know exactly how to take care of how you’re feeling,” he murmurs.
“I can’t have sex in the shower.”
“No problem. Shower first. Then sex.” He’s standing right next to me now.
My eyes dart down and see he’s already partly aroused.
My whole body throbs excitedly.
“Hunt-er.”
His expression changes as he meets my eyes. “I’m assuming you want this, angel. And that you’re just nervous. But you need to tell me if I’m wrong. If you don’t want this—I mean, really don’t want it—tell me. Tell me right now.”
I gulp. Take a breath. Gulp again. “I... do want this.”
He smiles hotly. “That’s what I thought.”