Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
JOANIE
Greg’s bed, as it turns out, is the stuff of legend, humongous and the exact right balance between soft and firm, with silken pillowcases that make me feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven, and the highest thread count sheets I’ve ever felt outside of a hotel.
And between his sheets is exactly where I am now, wearing only one of his shirts and panties as he puts together some food in the kitchen. The gorgeous kitchen of his modestly sized yet beautifully appointed home just outside of “downtown” Alpine Ridge. Nothing about it says “bachelor” from the stylish yet functional furniture to the Pottery-Barn-esque décor.
“Dinner for the lady,” Greg announces as he walks in, carrying a laden tray.
“What, you’re not going to eat with me?” I tease as he sets it down in front of me.
“Oh, I am,” he assures me with a wink. “I’ll be back with my tray.”
When he turns and leaves, I look at the spread before me. And I burst out laughing. I’m still laughing a minute later when he returns.
“What?” he asks, clearly a little affronted as he settles beside me. “You don’t like it?”
I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes. “No, I love it,” I declare. “Really. Tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches takes me right back to third grade.”
He shrugs. “It’s what my mom always made me when I wasn’t feeling well. It’s my go-to comfort meal.”
I tilt my head, an unfamiliar sensation washing through me. “Greg, I’m … touched,” I say, naming the feeling. “You wanted to comfort me.”
He blushes and takes a bite of his grilled cheese with another shrug but says nothing. So, I go ahead and start eating. And it tastes every bit as nostalgic as I’d expected it would.
We eat in companionable silence until another unfamiliar feeling starts gnawing at me, and I stop eating.
“Is something wrong with the soup?” he asks. I look up to find him gazing at me in concern.
“Not at all. I was just … thinking,” I respond.
“About?”
I push the tray away, agitated in a way I’m ashamed to admit. “Nobody has ever cooked for me before. I mean, my mom has. And lord knows Mia has, but …”
“Ah,” he says, pushing away his own now-empty tray. “You’ve never had a man cook for you before.”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “Can’t say I have.”
Greg reaches up and brushes his thumb over my cheek. “I’m honored to be your first,” he teases, leaning in and placing a chaste, grilled-cheese-flavored kiss on my lips.
I scrunch my nose and make a face at him. “Well, I’m willing to bet I’m not the first girl you’ve fed in this bed. No man chooses sheets this nice by himself.” I try not to think too hard about the fact that I care about being another notch on his seriously luxurious bedpost.
“Well, that’s presumptuous,” he scoffs.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you picked these out?” I ask, running a hand over the luxuriously thick and smooth material.
He rises and carefully sets the trays on the dresser opposite the bed before climbing back in until he’s right in my face. “No. I’m telling you that you’re the first girl I’ve fed in this bed.” And then his mouth is on mine, gentle but firm. Unbidden relief washes over me, and I open my lips to welcome him in, but he pulls back. “And that’s all we’re doing in this bed tonight, city girl. No taking advantage of me.” He winks and pulls me back on the pillows, cradling me against his chest.
“So, a woman did pick out these sheets,” I say, but since it’s against the hard plane of his pecs, it comes out garbled. He laughs, the sound rumbling through where my lips and cheek meet his shirt. And it makes me smile.
“Yes, but it was my Aunt Margaret, so you have nothing to worry about. I haven’t fucked anyone in this bed.”
I pull my head back to look at him. Hating that I’m not up for all the things I want to do to him after that declaration. “Yet,” I reply, batting my eyelashes.
He smirks and shakes his head. “I’m glad you like the sheets.”
“And I liked the dinner.” Greg gives me a deeply skeptical look. “Really. Thank you,” I add, running my hand down his chest, once again struck by this softer side to him.
“You’re welcome,” he replies. And then, as if out of nowhere, “What are you still doing here, Joanie? I didn’t expect you to stay in Alpine Ridge this long.”
I’m a little startled, but it’s a fair question. “I didn’t either,” I admit with a small shrug. Then, with a sly grin, “Maybe there’s just been enough worth sticking around for.”
Now he looks surprised. “Me?” he asks incredulously.
“Full of yourself much? I was talking about the macarons. And the spectacular array of winter sports. Concussions and all.”
He narrows his eyes at me, my humor fooling nobody.
“You like me.” It almost sounds like an accusation.
I roll my eyes, playing it off. He’s not wrong, though admitting things like that out loud isn’t my style. “I’d like your cock in me, but since that’s not an option, I’m happy to lay here and feel you up.”
Greg grasps my chin and looks into my eyes. “Well, I like you, Joanie — a lot. You’re smart, honest, and sarcastic. Oh, and way too sexy for your own good. Especially tonight.”
I lick my lips. How does this man always know the right things to say? And how can he turn me on so much while barely touching me?
“You know, maybe we could just …” I slide my hand lower, down his tight abdomen, but don’t get far before he laces his fingers with mine.
“Is intimacy without sex that terrifying for you?” he asks bluntly.
A sarcastic remark hangs on the tip of my tongue, but something about his expression seals it behind my lips. His pupils are dilated, his expression open and searching.
I take a deep breath. In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
“Yes. If a guy isn’t looking to just fuck me, he’s looking to get something by fucking me. Ergo, I don’t do real intimacy. It’s asking for trouble. I like my life how it is. I don’t need intimacy, just sex. Relationships complicate things.”
He shakes his head sadly. “Are you telling me there’s not a single man who has successfully broken through your bullshit?”
“Excuse me? My bullshit?”
“Yes, Joanie. Your bullshit. Your ‘I don’t need men for anything but sex’ attitude. Are you telling me you honestly don’t want more? A life partner?”
“Not a priority for me,” I reply flippantly.
“Maybe not, but isn’t everyone looking for someone who gets them? Who wants to be with them for who they are? For more than just sex?” he presses.
I close my eyes and realize I’m too tired for this shit. And the pain is creeping back out from under the drugs they gave me at the hospital.
“If you’re looking to uncover some trauma that’s made me afraid to love, you’re wasting your time,” I say flatly, then open my eyes and stare hard into his. “I guess I just haven’t found anyone worth sharing … more with. Which is fine by me. I like my independence.” I scooch up into a sitting position, and he scrambles to follow. “Can we just … not talk about this anymore? I need more acetaminophen and some rest.”
His eyes search mine for a long moment. “Yeah, okay, of course,” he finally accedes, rising from the bed. He stacks the contents of both trays onto one and takes them out of the room with him. He returns a few minutes later with a glass of water and two pills. “Here.”
I take them without looking at him, swallowing the pills and chugging the water. “Thanks.”
Greg draws the blackout curtains, sealing the room in semi-darkness, the only light from the lamp on my side of the bed.
I slip under the covers and lay on my back, watching Greg round the bed to his side. He kicks off his slippers and removes his sweatpants, revealing boxers underneath. Despite the tension of our conversation, I’m disappointed when he leaves his T-shirt on and climbs into bed.
After all, he is ridiculously attractive. But then, I’ve been with plenty of attractive men. With Greg, though, it’s … more than that. I mean, the physical attraction is clearly strong for both of us, but he’s the first guy possibly ever to want to stick around when sex was off the table. On top of that, he’s taken care of me. And even though he doesn’t seem to get that I don’t need a man to feel complete, he respectfully dropped the subject when I asked him to.
I think he’s what most women would call a keeper.
Shit, do I want to keep him?
I realize … maybe.
Maybe I do.
The realization makes emotions drum quietly but steadily against my insides. So, against my better judgment, I decide to let him in. Just a little. Just enough to reassure him that I’m not totally opposed to the idea. That I’ve just never trusted someone enough for things to get even close to needing them. That maybe I’ve just been looking in the wrong places all this time. Places that weren’t here.
“When a man wants to focus on his career to the exclusion of an intimate relationship, he’s seen as ambitious and hard-working. But when a woman does it, she’s closed off and frigid and clearly messed up somehow,” I begin. I feel rather than see Greg stiffen beside me. “I love being a lawyer. I loved the challenge of getting ahead at my firm. Even though I don’t work there anymore, I still need that kind of challenge. And I intend to find it again.” I turn, and we lock eyes. “What I didn’t intend was you.”
Greg considers that before sitting up and stroking a hand down my back. “I’m not trying to distract you from getting your career back on track. I did a shit job of saying it, but what I was trying to tell you is that … well, I don’t just want you for sex, Joanie. If you want more, I’m up for it. That’s all.”
A smile pulls at the corners of my lips. There he goes, saying exactly the right thing again. “And if I just want sex?”
Greg’s eyes darken, and he goes still. “Christ, I wish you didn’t have a concussion right now.”
A laugh slips through my lips, and he chuckles. “I’ll take that as you’re up for that, too,” I tease.
Greg closes his eyes briefly, shakes his head, then reaches for my hand and places it over his boxers. Letting me feel the hard length of him underneath. “Definitely.” My breath catches, and I look up to find his eyes open again and fixed on my face. “But I’m not going anywhere, city girl,” he says in a deep, warm voice that washes through me like a balm.
I take a subtle deep breath. I’m too tired and in too much pain to deal with what I’m feeling and how that fits in the picture I had for my life. I’m not sure what excuse I’ll have once I’m feeling better, but one problem at a time.
“Good. Because tonight we’re going to have to settle for spooning,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood as I slip down so my ass is right over his hard cock.
He groans and rests his forehead on my back. “You’re killing me here.”
I laugh and pull his arm around me. “Well, if you’re not up for the challenge …” I wiggle my ass, and he laughs, thrusting his hardness into me.
“I am if you are,” he says huskily in my ear.
I bite into my bottom lip, even though I know he couldn’t see me if I did smile.
Well, when he puts it like that …
“Weren’t you listening? I’m always up for a challenge.”