Chapter 20
twenty
IAN
The flight to Los Angeles was long and a little turbulent leaving Charlotte.
I shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much, but Joan was a terrible flyer. She was nervous and jumpy, all clenched-jaw tension and white-knuckled stress.
On the ground, the woman was a fortress, bothered by very little, no problem she couldn’t solve.
But when the plane dipped unexpectedly due to some bumpy air, she grabbed my hand like a lifeline and squeezed the hell out of it.
It probably had something to do with her passive position in the cabin.
If she’d been able to fly the plane, it was likely she would have been just fine.
But I liked being the one she’d reached for. It was selfish, but there it was.
Mostly, I felt grateful that Joan had agreed to come at all.
I’d been shocked to get her text last week saying she’d attend the premiere.
I wouldn’t waste the opportunity or the time we’d been given.
Part of me worried how things might change between us outside the small-town bubble we’d been existing in. But we wouldn’t know unless we tried.
Darren was accompanying us on the commercial flight. Georgie was staying in Kirby Falls with Sophia. But I imagined my nephew would be spending plenty of time with Nick and Amy Judd, Candace and Mercer, too.
Georgie had already texted me twenty-plus pictures of him and Ralph that morning before we’d even boarded the flight. Rationally, I knew that he would be fine, but I still felt uneasy that I’d be so far away.
We’d finished filming in Kirby Falls yesterday. The plan was for Georgie to stay with Sophia in North Carolina until I wrapped up my obligations for the Inferno Man franchise and could return.
First, I had a few weeks of shooting in the studio and postproduction with Della in LA.
The schedule would be grueling. Then I’d have the media tour following that in early April, traveling all over to promote my final film in the Inferno Man series.
The LA premiere this weekend was just the beginning.
I wasn’t dragging Georgie to New York and London just so Sophia could try to find ways to keep the kid entertained on her own while I was stuck in hotel rooms all day for interviews and meetings with the press. That wasn’t fair to either of them.
Georgie had a routine in Kirby Falls. He was happy there. That was what I kept reminding myself.
I’d be back in six weeks. Then, I could figure things out regarding Georgie, Joan, and the future.
Yes, I was probably being cowardly in waiting, but fear was a great motivator. Plus, something told me that this weekend would be an important part of moving forward together.
When we arrived at my beach house on the northern edge of Malibu, we were both worn out. Multiple flights and a long layover in Dallas had us looking forward to collapsing shortly after walking in the door.
I should have known my assistant wouldn’t let an opportunity like this slip through his fingers.
The kitchen was set up for a romantic dinner for two, candles and everything.
Joan looked at me in surprise.
I released our luggage and held up my hands in surrender. “Not it. Probably Eddie J’s idea.”
She shrugged, looking amused. “I could eat.”
Joan slid off her shoes and abandoned her things in the foyer before walking through the open floor plan toward the back of the house.
My home was the first big purchase I’d ever made. The four-thousand-square-foot beach house sat on the cliffside, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It had been decorated and furnished by a professional, and as a result, it looked like a showroom. Clean lines, monochromatic walls, and pale everything.
I thought of Joan’s cabin. How warm and comfortable it was—inviting. Surrounded by a beautiful scenery.
Well, at least our homes had that last one in common.
Joan made her way around the large marble island in the kitchen, bypassing the elegantly laid table, and down two stairs into the living room. She approached the rear wall of windows slowly, as if she needed to be cautious.
The sun was setting on the water, the waves reflecting the deep orange of the sky. Joan stood silhouetted by the landscape. I considered joining her, but I let myself stand there, enjoying the moment, and her in it.
She was here. She’d said yes.
It felt like the first step in something important, something big.
We ate a delicious meal before Facetiming Georgie to tell him good night.
Surprising me, Joan pulled out her own copy of the book he’d been reading before bedtime and read the next chapter over the phone.
Listening to her narrate the different voices while my nephew giggled through the speaker made my throat go tight and my imagination work overtime.
I told Georgie I loved him and then excused myself while Joan finished up the chapter. I cleaned up our dinner and loaded the dishwasher—embarrassingly, for the first time in this house—so I could gain some space, if not a little perspective.
After I started the wash cycle, I moved our luggage to my bedroom. Then I found Joan once again by the back windows, gazing out, fingertips pressed to the glass. The ocean was dark, but the moon lit the waves, highlighting each crest and peak.
“It’s not the mountains,” I told her.
She didn’t turn. “But it sure is something.”
I smiled at the approval, the undisguised awe I heard in her voice. “Our bags are down the hall. You ready for bed?”
Despite the early hour, I knew she was just as exhausted as I was from a long day of travel.
“I am,” she replied, and let me slip my fingers through hers and lead her toward my bedroom.
We showered away the day, the warm water loosening tense muscles. I lathered Joan’s short hair, enjoying the sounds she made as my nails scraped gently along her scalp and soap trailed down her lean body.
As the water beat against my back, my lips found her neck, her shoulders. I bit down on her earlobe, and she pressed into me, the subtle curve of her ass nestled against my rapidly hardening cock.
I couldn’t get over seeing her in my space.
Despite how much I’d hoped, there had been a big part of me that had never truly believed she’d accept my invitation.
But now . . . she was here, and I wanted to see her in every part of this house.
I wanted to memorize how she moved in my shower, how her clothes looked hung next to mine.
I wanted to watch her drink coffee in the morning out on the balcony while the sun rose.
I wanted her to ruin this house for me when she left.
We fell into bed, our skin warm and still damp from the shower. Joan settled herself on my lap, her strong thighs astride my hips.
I’d never be able to lie in this bed again without closing my eyes and seeing Joan smirking down at me, tucking a strand of wet hair behind one ear. Perched on top, she looked like a goddess. Long, gorgeous lines bathed in moonlight.
Her hands smoothed up my abdomen, over my chest to the tops of my shoulders, and back again, completing a circuit. Her midnight-dark eyes followed her movements intently.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” she breathed, gaze still focused on her ministrations.
I lifted my arms, crossed them behind my head. My biceps popped, and I grinned, giving her a little show. “Just muscles,” I commented, but I liked her words, her attention, her approval.
“No,” she argued. “It’s time and dedication. It’s focus. Commitment and hard work. But it’s not just your body, Ian. It’s your heart, your goodness, every part of you. That’s what’s beautiful.”
From someone like Joan—who valued determination and devotion—that was quite the compliment.
I unfolded my arms and brought my hands to her thighs, ghosting up and down, scared to press too hard, to squeeze too tight. All I wanted to do was hold on, but I worried it would be too much.
Her hands found purchase on my chest, and she circled her hips. She ground down on my erection, making my hands shake from the effort to keep myself in check. She was slick, and the tip of my dick was dangerously close to sliding home.
As if she knew exactly what she was doing to me, Joan smiled and leaned down to capture my lips. The kiss was hot and intent, zero to sixty in an instant, her tongue slipping easily into my mouth. Her hips worked up and down my length in these little pulses of torture, steady and demanding.
I groaned into the kiss, my hands reaching around to cup her ass. I squeezed, urging her body against mine. She could come like this, I knew. She had before. No matter how desperately I wanted to be inside her, I didn’t want to rush. I needed her to feel good, here in my bed.
But Joan broke our kiss and pushed herself up, gasping and impatient. She produced a condom from somewhere and rolled it on before I could protest, my hands fisting the sheets as she squeezed my length, pumping once, twice, a third time before guiding my cock to her entrance.
She sank down slowly, her eyes closing on a sigh.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted this moment to last forever.
But Joan started to shift, a slow and steady rise and fall that made me ache to move—to thrust from underneath, to chase the pleasure gathering at the base of my spine. It was a slow simmer, this fire between us, and I had to fight the urge to pour fuel on it, to set us both ablaze.
I let her lead. Let her set the pace.
So much of our relationship had been me stoking the flames, demanding more. But in this, I could follow, give up control, and trust that Joan knew exactly what she wanted and that it included me.
Shifting one hand, I brought my thumb around to her clit. I matched her rhythm, applying pressure and circling as she moved. When her speed increased, so did mine.
In the end, it became a race. Joan’s focused gaze, her panting breaths, and my dedicated touch, determined to keep pace and give her whatever she needed.