Chapter Fifteen #2
“What was what?”
“You made me laugh and come at the same time.”
He smirked, guilty as charged. “Did you like it?”
She pulled on her shorts and stood there for a few seconds. His smile faded as he stared at her bare breasts, his humor replaced by lust. She stepped forward and stood on tiptoe, brushing her lips over his. “I liked it.”
“Can you stay longer?” he murmured.
She slipped out of his embrace, with reluctance, and put on her T-shirt. “I have to get back to Emily before the lemon pirates kidnap her.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I saw Penelope on the porch. She’s asking for trouble.”
Vanessa had put the doll on the railing to dry. She really did have to go. “If you want more coffee, my door’s open.”
He walked her to the doorway, and watched her retreat to her own cabin. He wore a hungry expression, as if their frantic coupling hadn’t satisfied his appetite, and he couldn’t wait to do it again. She floated inside, smiling to herself.
Emily woke up at her usual time and Vanessa made a light breakfast. She considered inviting Paul over again.
Her body was still humming with pleasure.
Then she considered Emily, who got attached to people easily, and discarded the idea.
She was eager to continue their affair as long as they kept it light.
She wanted more of his skillful touch. She couldn’t let Emily believe he would become a permanent fixture in their lives, however.
This was a summer fling, hot and transitory. It would burn out quickly.
Something about this train of thought troubled her.
She couldn’t pinpoint the cause. She wasn’t bothered about using him for sex.
He wouldn’t expect a commitment. He’d admitted that he wasn’t looking for a close connection.
He was perfectly suited to meet her physical needs.
Too perfect, perhaps. The orgasms he’d given her had been earth-shattering.
Vanessa decided her concerns were post-divorce jitters. She’d gone too long without a man. Paul was good—he was very good—but she wasn’t going to mistake pleasure for special feelings. She would never trust him with her heart. He wasn’t emotionally sensitive. He was gruff, and blunt, and abrasive.
She accompanied Emily to mini-camp, and brought a practice exam workbook.
She bubbled answers with her pencil, one after the other.
She felt confident about her chances to secure her license.
As long as she studied daily for the next few weeks, she’d be well prepared.
The time off from work was doing wonders for her brain and body, as well.
The constant stress of the ER could suck the joy out of anyone.
She’d been more desperate for rest and relaxation than sexual fulfillment.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming call. It was her mother. Vanessa hadn’t spoken to Lorelle since she’d arrived in Lost Lake, though they’d texted back and forth. After a second’s hesitation, she answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Darling,” her mother said. “How are you?”
Vanessa gave her mother a quick update, and listened to her chat for a few minutes about her spiritual retreat in Mexico.
“I saw Dad yesterday,” Vanessa said.
“Really?”
“He looks good.”
“He always did.”
Vanessa heard the rueful tone in her mother’s voice. Good looks had never been Eric Nava’s problem. “He told me you had several miscarriages. Is that true?”
“Yes,” her mother said, after a pause.
“You never mentioned it.”
She clucked her tongue. “You were too young to understand.”
“And when I got older?”
“I didn’t want to worry you,” Lorelle said carefully. “It’s not a trait a mother wishes to pass on to her daughter.”
As a nurse, Vanessa was familiar with the frequency of miscarriages, and the possibility of a genetic predisposition toward them. “You didn’t think I needed to know about this before I started my own family?”
“It would have only caused you more stress.”
Vanessa suspected that her mother had protected herself from the painful discussion, in the guise of protecting Vanessa.
“What else did he say?” Lorelle asked.
“He said he went to other women because you didn’t love him.”
Her mother made a huffing sound. “You haven’t spoken to him in years. Now you believe his excuses?”
“I’m asking you if it’s true.”
“I stopped loving him because he went to other women. Not the other way around.”
“Did you stop sleeping with him before he cheated?”
She drew in a sharp breath. “That’s none of your business.”
Vanessa interpreted her mother’s chilly response as a yes.
The truth probably lay somewhere between their two accounts.
Her mother had spurned her father’s attempts at intimacy, after a series of failed pregnancies.
Her father had refused to keep trying for more children.
He’d been unfaithful, and she’d never forgiven him.
Their love hadn’t been strong enough to survive the losses.
“You let me believe it was all his fault,” Vanessa said softly.
“It was his fault.”
She didn’t argue, because what good would it do to criticize her mother at this point? Lorelle had dealt with grief by turning to religion. She’d married a minister and immersed herself in a community of worship. “I’m sorry for upsetting you,” Vanessa said. “I just wanted to hear your side.”
“I’m not upset. Everything worked out the way God intended it.”
“Right,” Vanessa said, massaging her forehead.
She wasn’t interested in her mother’s religious proclamations.
She’d started this conversation for a reason, and she might as well get on with it.
She’d already told the rest of her family about Bennett.
Her mother would find out sooner or later. “Bennett cheated on me.”
“Oh, honey,” her mother said. “I’m so sorry.”
Tears sprang into her eyes at her mother’s instant defense. “He complained that I was too busy with work and the baby.”
Lorelle made a sound of disapproval.
Vanessa wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Do you think I should have tried harder?”
“Tried harder? To do what?”
“To make him happy.”
“Don’t be silly. He didn’t deserve you.”
She smiled through her tears.
“You are so young and beautiful. Try to forget about Bennett and his sorry excuses. Someday you’ll find a man who treats you right.”
Vanessa didn’t tell her mother about Paul, and she made no protest when Lorelle advised her to go to church to meet men. She wasn’t husband hunting. Instead of saying that, she changed the subject. “Was I a difficult child?”
“Hmm?”
“Did I have temper tantrums?”
“Oh, yes. They were legendary.”
“What about Jackson?”
“Jackson was very calm. He hardly ever cried.”
“Emily still has tantrums.”
“She’ll grow out of it. You did.”