Elizabeth of East Hampton (For the Love of Austen #2)

Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

Will blinked open his eyes, the soft morning light peeking through the wood blinds and cascading into his bedroom where he slept. What the hell time was it anyway? He turned his head to the side and relief flooded his entire being. Elizabeth Bennet was there, sound asleep, with nothing on except his thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

The details of yesterday came floating back to him in waves. How he’d pulled her from the ocean, how her skin felt warm and cold at the same time against his, and how she sounded when she came.

They had stumbled upstairs afterward, ready to fall into bed, but instead they found their way into the newly installed shower in his room, letting the glass walls fog with steam as they fought for space under the hot spray. She had tried to bat him out of the way to wash the soap from her face, but he stopped her, grabbing those wrists again and pushing her against the tile wall. Her face was still covered in suds, so she couldn’t open her eyes, and he took advantage of it, watching her expression as his other hand ventured down between her legs, delving inside and setting a steady rhythm that sent her over the edge again.

If I had known sex made you tongue-tied, I would have tried this ages ago.

It’s not the sex. It’s you.

This wasn’t one-sided anymore. At the very least, she didn’t hate him.

The muted sun streamed in over her face, her hair a mess of vibrant crimson and gold curls falling around her, her small frame taking up half his bed. It hardly seemed real. He studied her perfectly upturned nose and high cheekbones, her lips almost as red as her hair. It was difficult to catch his breath; she was so damn beautiful.

Without waking her, he got up and padded quietly into the bathroom, turning on the shower again.

Shit , he thought as he turned his face up into the hot spray. He didn’t know how to do this. He had no clue. Everything in his life fit into a neat box, and a serious relationship was the opposite of that. Why would he willingly throw himself into something messy and complicated, something guaranteed to uproot his orderly life with a high net return of heartache?

But this thing with Elizabeth Bennet had him questioning everything he’d meticulously constructed. Could he even imagine waking up without her now?

He turned off the water and grabbed a nearby towel, wrapping it around his hips. Then he brushed his wet hair back and took a deep inhale before he walked back into the bedroom. The bed was empty, a mess of sheets and pillows where Lizzy had been sleeping. His brow furrowed, but the confusion only lasted a moment before he heard clattering coming from downstairs—cabinets opening, metal hitting metal, and then a mumbled curse.

Lizzy had found the espresso machine.

He smiled to himself as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and headed downstairs to find her.

Sure enough, through the living room to the kitchen doorway, there she was, struggling to dislodge the sump from the espresso machine. Her back was to him, so he leaned against the doorframe and took a minute to watch. Her mess of red hair was piled in a bun on top of her head, and it lolled side to side with every tug. She was wearing his Columbia University sweatshirt again, the one she had been trying to return to him all week. It barely fell to her mid-thigh, exposing the length of her bare legs, and he let himself wonder if she’d bothered to put anything on underneath. His cock twitched at the thought, all exhaustion and confusion forgotten as he fought the urge to come up behind her and kiss her neck.

“Come on, you little son of a bitch,” she hissed, tearing Will from his train of thought.

“Did you break my espresso machine?” he murmured, his voice gravelly from sleep.

She whipped around, holding the now-free sump in her hand. Her dark eyes were wide with surprise, but she recovered quickly, raising her chin at him. “Depends. Do I need to break it to make a cup of coffee?”

He tried to maintain a serious expression around his lopsided grin as he walked to her, stopping just inches away.

They stared at each other for a moment, tension filling the cozy room. She ran her tongue over her full bottom lip at the same time that he bit his own. The old part of him wanted to talk. Sit down and hash out the last twenty-four hours, map out exactly what this was and where they were going. But this wasn’t a business deal. This was Elizabeth Bennet. And as she looked up at him, eyes expectant, he realized there wasn’t a rule book for this. He had to do this right, if she’d let him. Yes, there were details they needed to work out, but they had time—neither of them was leaving Montauk until that evening—so he would ease into it, step-by-step, for the both of them.

“Turn around,” he said, walking forward to close the gap between them. “I’ll show you.”

She rolled her eyes but complied. “Why don’t you just make us both a cup?”

“Because I want you to learn.” He was pressed up against her back now, his arms bracketing her against the counter. There was a small mirror hanging above the espresso machine and he could see their reflection in the glass. “First, add the coffee grounds to the filter basket.”

She sighed dramatically as she picked up the bag from the countertop and opened it. She was just about to pour them when he ghosted his lips down the side of her neck.

Her breath stuttered, and her movements became clumsy as she poured the grounds into the basket.

“Well done,” he murmured into the shell of her ear. “Now, tamp them down.”

She slowly reached for the metal tamper. As her fingers wrapped around it, his hand came up her hip, sliding up the edge of her sweatshirt to her bare skin. In the reflection he could see her eyes flutter closed.

“You’re distracting me,” she breathed.

He smiled to himself. “Well, now you know how it feels.”

Her body stilled as his hand ventured up, resting on her sternum as his thumb moved back and forth just below her breast. “You were making us coffee, Elizabeth.”

Her voice faltered with a breathless laugh. “I don’t know if I can right now.”

He leaned forward, his chest flush with her back. His mouth was at the shell of her ear as he maintained her gaze in the mirror. “Try.”

She let out a soft gasp as his hand inched higher and his thumb grazed over the peak of her nipple.

“Will…” She let her head loll to the side, giving him better access to her neck. He growled his approval, sliding his mouth down from her jaw.

Somewhere in his mind the nagging anxiety tried to stay afloat, but it quickly drowned in the rush of her pulse under his lips. He pressed his hips harder against her, forcing her to feel how hard he was even now.

She let out a strangled moan, and suddenly he didn’t care about coffee, or what was happening today or tomorrow or a week from now.

With one hand cradling her jaw, he reached down to find an elastic waistband—she was wearing underwear after all. But no matter. He pulled the thin material aside and ran his fingers against her.

“Oh my God…” Her voice was barely audible.

Her head fell back against his chest. The mirror reflected back her expression, a testament to everything he was making her feel, and the image ignited a live wire deep in his core.

Then a sharp ringing shattered through the air.

RING. RING. RING .

It was her phone.

They froze, listening until it finally fell silent, only to begin again a moment later. He wanted to tell her to ignore it, but he could see the concern on her face now, as if playing out the emergency that might be waiting on the other end.

“I should get that,” she whispered.

“I’ll wait,” he murmured.

She slid out of his grasp to walk to her bag on the counter. Meanwhile, he gripped its surface, trying to get ahold of himself.

“Hey, Jane,” Lizzy answered, a weary smile on her lips. But as she listened, it slowly dissolved. “What?”

The color drained from her face as her eyebrows knitted together.

Something was wrong.

“Okay… Yes… Wait… I know… Okay… I’m leaving now. Tell everyone not to do anything until I get there,” she said, and hung up.

“What is it?” he asked.

She didn’t move. It was like she was in a trance, staring at the wall.

“Lizzy,” he said, his voice a bit louder. That caught her attention. “What’s wrong? Is it your dad?”

“No. He’s fine. It’s my sister. She’s in trouble.”

“Jane?”

“No.” She turned and stared up at him for a moment, her eyes so wide and lost that it almost broke his heart. “Mary.”