32. Daisy
32
Daisy
W eston grins as we step from his car. I stretch, my back stiff after the drive and a ten-hour shift at Joe’s. When I try to grab my duffel bag from the trunk, Wes nudges me aside and carries both our bags, leaving me trailing behind him up the path empty-handed, but grinning with anticipation.
I run my eyes over the weathered cedar siding, burnished by the evening light, and I’m immediately taken back to the night Jess and I arrived, and how hesitant I felt with him. Guilt swirls through me as Wes and I step inside, thinking about Jesse’s apology last week, and that he made up with his dad. He’s not a bad guy, and he doesn’t deserve us sneaking around on him like this.
But as Wes drops our bags and turns to me with a sinful smile, any guilt I feel melts away. Weston is worth everything.
“Hi,” I say, which is ridiculous after we just spent an entire car ride together. But we didn’t say much; instead, we enjoyed each other’s company.
Wes and I have hardly seen one another since the day he reconciled with Jess. He’s popped into Joe’s each morning for coffee like the old days, and when no one else is around, I’m able to steal a quick kiss, even though what I’ve really wanted is for him to lock the door and bend me over the counter. Ever since that moment in his basement, I haven’t stopped thinking about the taste of him, the feel of him in my mouth. I’d always assumed giving head was a chore, something you did for the other person, and I’d never expected to enjoy it myself, but being on my knees, watching him slowly lose his mind as I pleasured him, made me feel powerful. I’ve been horny as fuck ever since, and I know I’m not alone in that because Wes spent the entire car ride here stroking my thigh, touching my hair, gripping my hand. I was electric and restless in my seat, hoping that once we got inside he’d rip my clothes off and reward me for waiting.
But as Wes steps back from me, my brows collide in frustration. What’s he doing? That car ride was like two hours of foreplay, and I’m more than ready to go.
“Let’s eat,” Wes says, his voice husky as he turns away from me, dragging a hand through his hair.
I suppress an impatient groan. “Fine,” I reluctantly agree. The sooner we get that out of the way, the sooner I can get his clothes off. “What do they have in the way of takeout around here?”
He shakes his head, eyes shimmering. “We’re not eating in. I want to take you out.”
“Out?”
He nods, reaching a hand for me, then letting it fall away, taking another step back. “If we don’t, we’ll just spend the entire weekend in bed.”
A laugh escapes me. “So what if we do?”
He chuckles too. “I want to take you out, babygirl. You deserve to be spoiled.”
My reluctance softens. That’s so sweet. I’ve spent the past few days worried he would cancel our trip, that he’d come to his senses about us and call it off. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for him to hide this from Jess, especially since they’ve finally reconnected. I’ve found it hard to fathom how he could think it’s worth the risk—that I’m worth the risk.
“What if we run into someone you know?” I ask.
He scrubs a hand over his beard. “I think we’ll be okay. I hardly know anyone around here, and we’ll go to the next town. I just… I want to go on a date with you, Daisy. A proper date. All we’ve done is eat takeout in my kitchen and have sex. Don’t get me wrong”—his lips tilt into a wicked smile—“it’s fucking awesome. But you deserve more. I want more with you.”
Warmth radiates through my chest. I want that too, and I was beginning to wonder if it would ever be possible.
“That sounds really lovely,” I whisper, wishing he were closer so I could kiss him, but he’s being very intentional about keeping physical distance between us right now, and I want to respect that.
A grin breaks over his face. “Good. I’ve made reservations at a restaurant in Mattituck, so we’d better get ready.”
He reaches for our bags again, turning to pass through the kitchen, and I follow him, feeling weird at not heading to the room I stayed in last time, which makes no sense. Why would I stay anywhere other than in his bed?
And what a glorious bed it is; huge king mattress, frame and headboard upholstered in a cream, bouclé fabric, draped in a soft, seafoam-colored linen comforter, adorned with throw pillows. The room itself is an off-white, with simple wooden nightstands, intentionally distressed to give them a rustic look.
Weston sets our bags in front of a pair of matching dressers, topped with various photo frames. My gaze drifts across them—pictures of the beach, of Jess as a kid, playing in the sand—and comes to rest on one of a beautiful blond woman. She’s around late thirties, with hazel eyes, and the kind of smile that lights up an entire room. There are more pictures, too. One of her with Wes and Jess on the beach, one of her with Weston, laughing. They’re a lot younger in that one, and I don’t have to ask to know it’s his late wife, Lydia. She’s beautiful, and even though I never got to meet her, my heart snags a little, thinking of what Weston and Jess lost.
I glance at Wes, but he’s too busy looking through the closet to notice, and I force myself to rummage through my bag for something to wear.
“You can shower in here if you like.” He motions to the ensuite I hadn’t noticed, and pulls a dress shirt from the closet. “I’ll get ready in the main bathroom.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, watching him leave.
I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the hot water flow over me. My mind wanders to the pictures of Lydia again, and it occurs to me, as I scrub the day of work from my body, that I’ve never seen a picture of her before. Weston has a huge house in the city, but there’s not a single picture—or item that appears to belong to a woman—anywhere. Not in the living room, not in the entertainment room in the basement, not in the ensuite bathroom—not even in his bedroom.
And that makes my heart break a little for him.
I step from the shower and towel off, wiping the fog from the mirror. When I pull on my new dress, I take a moment to admire my reflection. I splurged a little and went shopping, knowing we were going away for a couple days. Tonight I’m wearing a mustard-yellow dress, printed with large, white daisies and green leaves. It’s got buttons from the sweetheart neckline to the hem, which falls to just below my knees, and thin spaghetti straps. It’s probably more suited to the beach than a fancy restaurant, but it’s all I’ve got, so it will have to do.
I pin my long hair back in a low bun, letting a few loose strands fall around my face, and paint my lips with a soft, blush- colored lipstick. Then I slide my feet into my navy peep-toe sling-back wedges, hoping I look okay for wherever Weston is taking me.
“You ready, baby?” Wes calls from the entry hall, and there’s an anxious ripple through my belly. I grab my purse and head out, smiling shyly.
I don’t know why I feel nervous all of a sudden. He’s seen me completely naked, seen me with no inhibitions, with nothing to hide behind, but somehow, walking into the foyer to meet Weston for a proper date, I feel more exposed than ever.
I needn’t have worried, though, because the minute I meet him at the front door, his jaw falls open.
“Holy shit, Daisy. You look…” He finishes the sentence with an audibly rough exhale instead of actual words, and I take that to mean I look alright.
“Thanks,” I say, smoothing a hand down my dress. “I didn’t know we were going out, so I only had this, but—”
Weston strides across the foyer and slides his hand around the back of my neck, crushing his mouth to mine.
“You are so beautiful,” he rasps, walking me backward until I hit the door. “Fuck, babygirl, you’re killing me.”
His mouth lands on mine again, hot and urgent, and I hook a leg over his hip. He responds by sliding his hand under my dress and up my thigh to grip my ass, palm warm on my skin. When I feel his hardness dig into my belly, I moan into his mouth.
He draws away with a low growl, adjusting himself, dark eyes pinning me to the spot. “I want to fuck you up against this door.”
Heat shudders through me. I love it when he says filthy things like that to me.
“But we have a reservation…”
I give a whimper of disbelief as he reaches for his wallet and keys, a grim expression on his face. My dress falls back down my thighs, and I scowl in frustration. What kind of torture is this, to get me all riled up and then just stop ?
He notices my agitation and takes my hand with a chuckle. “Let’s go have a lovely meal together, and afterward I’ll make sure it was worth your while.”
My impatience dissolves, and I lift his hand to brush a kiss over the back of it. I don’t need sex from him to make it worthwhile—just being with him is enough.
“Sounds good,” I say, tipping my mouth into a smile. I glance at my reflection in the large mirror in the entry hall and laugh.
I’ll need to reapply my lipstick.
I’m completely under-dressed for the restaurant—an upscale place with linen tablecloths that overlooks the harbor—but Weston doesn’t seem to notice. He keeps reaching out to touch me, his gaze straying from my face to sweep over me from head to toe. More than once I catch him looking at me instead of his menu, and it makes my chest bubbly and fizzy, makes me feel like I’m living inside some kind of dream instead of reality.
How did I end up here, with this man who can’t keep his eyes off me, can’t keep his hands to himself? This man who wants to make me smile, who cares about me in ways I could never have imagined possible, who knows exactly how to make my body feel good?
I don’t know, but I’m going to appreciate every damn second of it.
The menu is almost too fancy for me to understand, but Wes makes a few suggestions that sound good, and when he orders us a bottle of wine, I try not to balk at the price. I tell him that a bottle of expensive wine like that is wasted on me, but he waves my words away, insisting I’m wrong. I’ve never had a man spend money on me like this before, and I’m not going to lie, it’s good to be spoiled.
“Tell me about your week,” he asks as the waiter pours our drinks. His gaze is warm, focused on me as I take my first sip of wine, savoring the notes of cherry and chocolate that are somehow infused into the dark red liquid.
So, he was right. This wine is to die for.
A happy sigh escapes me as I set my glass down. “My week was good. I had that shoot with Kyle and Violet.”
Weston nods. He must have seen the photos I snuck in to develop while he and Jess were at work. Thankfully, he gave me a key to the basement entry, so it’s been easier to slip in unnoticed, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little sick with dread each time I did.
“The prints looked fantastic, Daisy. Did Violet and Kyle like them?”
I nod, unable to suppress the excitement that surges through me because they didn’t just like the prints, they were thrilled. So thrilled, in fact, that Violet begged me to shoot their wedding. They’re having a small, quiet ceremony in their yard a few weeks from now, and I was honored by her request. It’s a little intimidating, shooting someone’s wedding—there’s a lot of pressure to capture the magic of the most special day of their life—but I couldn’t say no. Not when she’s supported me so much.
I tell Weston about her request and he beams at me, reaching for my hand across the table. Creases form beside his ocean-blue eyes as they move over my face. It’s that look from the meadow, the one where he’s so happy and proud of me, where my achievement means the world to him.
It’s a look that, if I’m being really hopeful, is filled with love.
But I’m too afraid to let myself want that from him.
“You know, I’m not at all surprised,” Wes murmurs, lifting my hand to his lips. “You’re so talented, baby. You have a knack for capturing the mood of a moment so well.”
I’m not the only one who can capture that; I also developed those pictures he took of me while I was on my knees for him last week, and holy crap , I couldn’t believe them. The look of pure lust in my eyes, the hunger on my face as I wrapped my fist around him. I’ve never seen myself like that before—as a powerful, sexual woman—but it showed me another side of myself. It showed me the woman that Weston sees, and it helped me to see that there might be more to me than I give myself credit for. That I’m more powerful than I realized.
“I got an invite to their wedding,” Wes adds, during our starter of locally sourced oysters.
“Well, I’ll see you there.” I smile, but only to disguise the uncertainty rippling through me. I’m not sure if he wants to tell Violet and Kyle about us, given they’re so close to his home and probably see Jess around.
“I’d love to have you as my date,” Weston adds quietly, as if sensing my unease. “But I’m not sure if that’s a good idea just yet. Not until we figure out what to do about Jess.”
“I get it,” I murmur. The waiter sets my entrée down in front of me, and I poke at it absently, wondering how we’re going to make this work. How it’s even possible for us to be a couple.
Why does it have to be so complicated?
“How was it having Jess home?” I ask, taking a bite of salad.
Wes nods, chewing thoughtfully but saying nothing, and my brows pinch together in concern.
“Did you argue?”
“No.” He reaches for his wineglass and takes a long sip. “No, it was good. I wasn’t sure if I should… if you wanted me to talk about him.”
“Oh.” I set my fork down. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He lifts a shoulder, going to set his wine down, then changing his mind and taking another gulp. “He’s your ex-boyfriend, Daisy.”
“Who also happens to be your son,” I point out.
Weston’s gaze flits to mine. “Exactly. I guess… I don’t know the protocol for this situation.”
I reach for his hand where it rests on the stem of his wineglass, and squeeze. “We only dated for a few months, and I never felt for him anything close to what I feel for you. Besides, I knew you first.”
Wes chuffs a small, quiet laugh. “That’s true.”
I withdraw my hand, reaching for my wine. “The protocol is whatever we want it to be. Yeah, it’s a little weird, but I want to hear about your relationship with your son. I want to hear about how things are going for you guys. It’s important to me.”
His eyes move between mine, as if trying to read me. Finally, he exhales, giving in to a smile as he picks up his fork again. “Things are going well. He had a night off work and we hung out and watched a game, had a few beers. It was really nice.”
My heart swells as I listen to Wes talk about spending time with his son. Not just for him, but for Jesse too. For the relationship they both so clearly need.
And when we finish our meals and Wes rises to use the restroom, I force myself not to think about how much worse this makes it for me and him. How it could, very possibly, spell the end of whatever is blossoming between us.
I drain my wine and place my napkin on the table, a sigh of satisfaction slipping from my lips. The food, the wine, the company—this has been an absolutely perfect evening.
“Daisy?”
My head jerks up in surprise at hearing my name in such an unfamiliar setting. I glance over my shoulder, and my blood turns to ice in my veins.