Chapter 6
6
[Judd]
I don’t know what possessed me to say it. I’m her fiancé . The words came out of nowhere and yet everything about them felt . . . good. I felt better than I’d felt in a long time, and all from a few words linked together.
Now, Genie’s hand is cupped in mine and I’m leading her down her mother’s driveway.
The moment I saw Genie, I should have simply asked her if she wanted to run away. I was happy to be her escape. Now, I’ve made her my fiancée.
The practical side of my brain is already calculating how many days she’ll be present in Sterling Falls and what that means once she leaves. For now, I have ten days with Genie and a lot to explain.
She shifts her hand, so her fingers entwine with mine, and I glance down at how our fingers link. The distraction pulls me from my thoughts. I lead Genie down the street to my Harley and she stumbles as I draw up beside the powerful machine.
“You opposed to motorcycles?” I ask, my voice lighter sounding than it’s been in years.
Genie glances down at herself. “I just don’t know how I’ll ride that thing with this dress on.”
I pause a beat, observing once more the fullness of the bottom half and the constriction of the top. “Want me to wait while you change?”
Genie is already shaking her head. “I am not going back in there.” Not yet, her bright dark eyes say.
I nod once and hitch a leg over the seat, then hold out my hand to help Genie climb on behind me, telling her where to place her feet and to be careful with her legs. When she’s seated, she tucks and wraps and positions her dress in such a way her bare legs are mostly exposed. She sits with too much distance between us, and I worry she’ll fall off the back.
I also just want her close to me.
Every boyhood fantasy I had of Genie included her pressed up against me somehow and I’m not going to miss out on this opportunity to bring her closer.
With her knees bent, I curl my hand behind one of them and tug her forward, forcing her legs to spread wider and her inner thighs to hug my outer ones.
Better .
Genie grunts and her hands come to the sides of my suit coat, clutching at the fabric, but it’s still not close enough. I take her right hand and tug it forward so her arm wraps around my stomach. Then I cover her left hand, pulling it forward and pausing a moment to admire my mother’s ring on her finger. My thumb flicks over the tiny gemstone. Then, I curl my hand around hers and purposely position her left palm near my heart.
Much better .
With my hands on the throttle and the engine suddenly revving, Genie leans into my back. Her hesitant hold in the position I’ve placed her tightens. Her thighs clench. Her arms stiffen and her left hand momentarily fists in my shirt. Then, she’s simply hugging me from behind, leaning her face against my back, and nothing has ever felt so right. Nothing.
She who shall not be named never rode on my bike. She liked the idea of motorcycle riders but the practicality of riding . . . she didn’t want to get dirty. Her hair would tangle. She didn’t trust me.
The last excuse was a difficult one to swallow and should have been my first clue that we were not right for each other.
As Genie squeezes my mid-section, returning my thoughts to her at my back and the road before me, I let go of everything else and just drive.
“Where should we go?” I eventually holler over the roar of the engine.
“I don’t know. Your place?”
Any other time, Genie’s answer might sound like a pickup line. Your place or mine?
Heather had used one on me. We met at a Chamber of Commerce get-together. Not the most romantic setting and certainly not where I expected to meet anyone. Clay asked me to attend on his behalf back when my over-worked brother was still over-working himself. Heather was there representing her dad’s dealerships.
She asked me if I’d like to join her for a cup of coffee, then made a joke by tilting her head toward the carafe at the back of the meeting room. After I’d poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup, we stood next to one another when she propositioned me.
I could wet that dry spell of yours. It was the most forward anyone had ever been with me. I’d been flattered. Combined with my loneliness, it was a bad mixture.
I haven’t answered Genie about where to go, but I have made a decision.
Spiraling down the winding road, I pull up to the iron gates of my property, where they automatically open at our approach. I pick up speed again and zip swiftly along the drive until I slow in front of my home.
The house is dark limestone, with wooden exterior beams and a steep black roof. Rustic mountain cabin meets French Alps, or something like that, the realtor told me when I purchased the place a few years ago. It’s hardly a cabin with two wings off the main common area, including five bedrooms in addition to the primary suite.
Only my family has ever been here. Until now. Now Genie has been here too.
After I park in the garage, I help Genie off the Harley. She steps back on shaky legs, and I quickly reach out for her hip to steady her.
“You okay?” Through all that’s happened, I haven’t asked her how she’s feeling.
Her mother’s piercing gaze. The altercation with Heather. The ring on her finger.
I need to do better. I will do better .
“I’m good.” Her warm smile accentuates her response.
Once inside, we pass by several rooms before entering the great room, which is a living room and open concept kitchen area. With a vaulted ceiling that includes thick beams and a large wrought iron wagon wheel chandelier, the space feels grand, which is one reason I love it. I also fell in love with the fieldstone fireplace that encompasses the entire wall opposite the kitchen. A huge kitchen island with four high-back stools on one side and another one at each of the ends divides the space. The dining room is offset to the right.
But all I can focus on is Genie, who takes in the two caramel-colored, soft leather couches and a pair of plaid swivel chairs that face into the room. Most nights, I take a seat in one and turn it to face the windows. A set of three glass panels offer a grand view of the small, private lake on the property. Those three panes have another set of windows above them culminating in a triangular one that matches the pitch of the ceiling. Natural light filters into the room, and from my position, Genie practically glows.
A firefly in broad daylight. An anomaly.
“It’s breathtaking,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around her middle.
“Yeah,” I reply. “It is.” She is. She’s prettier than I remember, only because my memory fails me. Breathtaking, like she said.
“So, this is home?” She twists at the waist to glance back at me and I slowly remove my suit jacket.
“This is it.” Maybe it’s not sweet and cozy but it’s mine. Seeing it as if through her eyes, it might look a bit masculine, foreboding, and dark, but I love this place. And I want her to love it as well. “Make yourself at home.”
Suddenly, I’m nervous. “Want a drink?” I pause, considering our unusual circumstances—fiancés for ten days. “Maybe champagne to celebrate.” We did just get engaged, right? At least, on some level.
Genie spins fully, still hugging herself. “Maybe another time.” She pauses, lowering her gaze. “Do you know how to make a gin martini?”
I sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.” She who shall not be named coached me into perfecting the drink.
Genie nods once in understanding. “How about wine?” she hesitates.
“Wine I can do,” I offer with more of a smile. “Red or white?”
“Red, please.”
I cross the room for the bar tucked behind the kitchen, facing the dining area, and make quick work of opening a new bottle.
When I return to the great room, Genie has moved into the space between the back of one couch and the high back stools. She’s still gazing around the room when I stop in front of her.
She accepts the glass of red wine I hand her and then I lift mine, speculating what we should toast to.
“To old friendships?”