Chapter Sixteen
I woke with a start, almost positive I’d slept longer than I meant to, and then I remembered.
His sensual kiss.
His predatory hands.
His hard, sculpted body, and all the marvelous ways he used it.
Sex with Rory had been everything I hoped it would be, and then some.
I also knew for a fact he wasn’t a one-hit-wonder.
After our first round, and an epic naked make-out session by the fire, he’d suggested we get some sleep. It was late, so I agreed, and he dealt with the fire while I wrapped our blanket around myself and carried our untouched drinks to the kitchen. When he was finished, he gathered our clothes and headed straight for me, taking me by the hand as he led me down the hall and into his bedroom.
We weren’t under the sheets two seconds before we were reaching for each other again. What might have started as a goodnight kiss morphed into something else entirely, and we both came again before finally drifting to sleep.
My ginger knew what he was doing, and my sore body was proof.
Except—was he?
Was he my ginger?
Glancing over my bare shoulder, I saw I was in bed alone. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, which only served to push me deeper into my own head. I knew I needed to get up, but I flopped onto my back, stared up at the ceiling, and allowed myself a couple minutes to freak out.
We’d crossed a line in a way that couldn’t be un done.
Best case scenario was a happily ever after —but that seemed too much to hope for, which left all the other alternatives.
There was only one onto which my under-rested, pre-coffee brain could latch.
Rory told me he thought breaking my heart was inevitable. I didn’t think that was true. I wasn’t his ex. I would never ask him to choose between me and the pub. It was a thought which had been living rent free in my head since the night he confided in me about his past.
More than him breaking my heart, I feared I might break his .
The night before, we dove headlong into whatever we were doing. We didn’t talk about it; didn’t weigh the consequences; didn’t think twice. Instead, we’d been impulsive, succumbing to our most primal desires. And while it had been amazing, it was also true that a little bit of the mystery was now gone.
I knew myself.
As I laid naked beneath the sheets in Rory’s bed, I had to admit I was afraid of myself, too. Afraid I’d screw it all up—that I’d be the one to get bored, to lose interest, and to ruin not just what we were becoming, but also who we’d been. Friends .
I clapped my hands over my face and sealed my eyes closed tight with a groan.
I didn’t want to regret it. Not any of it.
Behind the darkness of my eyelids, the memory of Rory’s smile flashed before my eyes, and I felt the tension instantly leave my shoulders.
How could I ever regret eliciting that?
Before I could get caught up in my thoughts again, I decided it was time to get up. I was definitely going to need a phone date with Diane to help me sort through my neuroses, but at present, a cup of coffee would have to suffice.
Morning’s light was peeking through the blinds Rory had over his windows, providing enough illumination for me to search the floor for some clothes to cover my nakedness. I hunted for my panties first, but as soon as I found them, the thought of putting them on made my sex clench as memories of Rory’s mouth on me flashed before my eyes.
It was true, I didn’t know what we were doing. Not exactly.
But all fears aside, I knew I wasn’t nearly ready to stop doing it.
I decided to skip the panties and reached for Rory’s turtleneck instead. As I pulled it over my head, the scent of him—bergamot and birch—engulfed me, leaving me wanting.
The bedroom door was cracked open, and I slipped into the hallway quietly, making my way to the kitchen. I found Rory already at the table with a cup of coffee and his tablet. He was wearing only a pair of black trunk briefs, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His bedhead had me pressing my thighs together—not simply because it was sexy, but because I was a big reason it was such a mess.
I stopped halfway to him, reaching up to assess the state of my own hair. There was no way it wasn’t an absolute disaster. I had half a mind to turn around and go find a mirror in order to straighten myself up a little, but then Rory shifted his attention my way and it was too late.
“Morning,” he muttered.
My stomach twisted at the word.
Not the word itself but the tone wrapped around it and the expression which accompanied it. It gave away nothing .
“Hi,” I replied cautiously.
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
He was quick to lift himself out of his chair in order to pour me a cup. As he did so, he told me, “Your alarm was going off when I came out here. I silenced it but didn’t bother waking you. You’d already slept through mine, and I figured you needed the rest.”
“What time did yours go off?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“And what time is it now?”
“Nearly nine,” he said, turning to hand me my coffee.
I glanced down at it, noting he’d remembered I liked mine with milk and sugar.
Looking up at him, I was on the verge of thanking him when he spoke next.
“I want to talk to you about last night.”
This time, my stomach bottomed out, terrified what he would say next.
“About the break-in,” he clarified. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I have my suppositions as to who it might be.”
I let out a breath, giving my head a quick shake.
I didn’t want to talk about the break-in.
I wanted to talk about what happened after the break-in.
I wanted to talk about how I was standing in the middle of his kitchen wearing his shirt and no underwear.
But he kept talking, so I resigned myself to the fact that we were going to discuss the break-in, whether I wanted to or not.
Logically speaking, it was a perfectly necessary conversation to have. I did need to deal with it, not ignore it.
“I believe it was Archie. He has a gambling addiction, which has a tendency to make him reckless. I can’t make it add up with what happened, but—”
“Wait,” I muttered, setting my coffee on the counter. “You think it’s Archie, too?”
Rory quirked an eyebrow at me. “So, you agree?”
“Yeah. I think so. I didn’t say anything to the police because I can’t justify the accusation. I mean, the only reason I could think he would do such a thing is to scare me. If that’s the case, then telling the police my little brother is bullying me seems ridiculous. Not to mention, if they took me seriously and questioned him but I was wrong?” I raked my fingers through my hair and got caught on a tangle. I groaned, extracted my hand, and finished, “The Blackstones already don’t like me. I don’t want to make it worse. Though, I didn’t know he had gambling problems.
“In any case, what I said last night was true. I couldn’t tell if the person who pushed me was a man or woman. It happened so fast, and I wasn’t expecting it.”
“I understand. We’ll see what the police turn up, but we’ll be vigilant ourselves. I can’t today, but I’ll go buy more security cameras for your place. I also know a locksmith who works for a decent wage and can change your locks. Until all that is sorted, you’ll stay here with me.”
The thought of sleeping in Rory’s bed for the next few nights was more than a little appealing. Except, I didn’t like how the beginning of us— if we really were an us —was coupled with the previous night’s break-in. It made everything more convoluted, and I didn’t need any help making things complicated.
“Do you want me to stay because you’re worried about my safety or because you like me?”
He frowned, as if he found me completely ridiculous, and then replied simply, “Yes.”
I thought I knew what he meant, but I still hadn’t taken so much as a sip of coffee, and I didn’t want to get it wrong.
“Sorry, I—um—it’s been a long time since I’ve done this with anyone, and last night—we didn’t discuss what this was between us and—”
Rory didn’t let me finish but closed what little distance remained between us, slipped his hand around the back of my neck, and brought his lips down to meet mine in hard, closed-mouth kiss.
He lingered for a solid six seconds, long enough for me to begin to remember all the finer details of our night together.
When he lifted his mouth away from mine, he didn’t go far, but gave my neck a squeeze and muttered, “Sawyer, we both knew what we were doing in front of that fire. There was nothing casual or meaningless about it. I’ve tasted almost every inch of you, and I’m not nearly finished—how are you the least bit out of sorts about what this is?”
What I could only describe as relief—a feeling which didn’t seem to fit within the confines of such a small word—washed over me, making me feel as light as a feather. I placed my hands on his chest, giving him some of my weight as I murmured, “Well, when you put it that way…”
He shook his head. “I assure you, there’s no other way to put it,” he said before kissing me once more.
This time, I pressed up onto my tiptoes and reached for his shoulders, wrapping my arms around him as I opened my mouth in invitation. He accepted, and as his tongue swept between my lips, I forgot all about the worst-case scenario.
All I could think about was how much I still wanted him.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, his lips still pressed to mine. “I’m beginning to think enchanting was putting it too mildly. Why can’t I stop kissing you?”
I smiled against his mouth and whispered, “Because you know I don’t want to stop, either.”
He grabbed me at my hips then, lifting me from my feet and planting me on the counter. I giggled in sheer excitement as he made room for himself between my legs before cradling my face with his hands. He swallowed my girlish delight, responding with a deep groan as he kissed me indulgently.
I sensed the bulge of his hardening length right where I wanted it, and I could feel it as my arousal began to make itself known.
“Rory? I’m—I’m not wearing—any—panties,” I managed to confess between kisses.
I’d meant it as a warning, seeing as I was sitting on his cool kitchen counter with only the very bottom of his shirt covering half my behind. But his next move made it clear he’d interpreted it very differently.
I liked his interpretation better.
He dropped a hand down to my center, tracing his fingers along my seam before slipping two inside of me. I gasped, sinking my own fingers into his messy hair as he played with me. It didn’t take him long to work me up to breathless. When he got his thumb involved, coaxing my orgasm by way of my clit, I buried my face between his neck and shoulder and moaned as my sex fluttered around his fingers.
“That a girl,” he mumbled, his lips in my hair.
His encouragement elicited another shiver.
“I better hop in the shower,” he said, pulling away from me before I was ready.
“Wait,” I panted. “What about you?”
He was obviously in need of attention, and I liked to consider myself a fair lover, if warranted.
In his case, it was definitely warranted.
“Sawyer, my underwear is the only thing saving us from being naked in my flat for the remainder of the day. Unfortunately, we’ve both got places to be. We’re meant to straighten your flat before I head into the pub. What time is Victoria expecting you at the bookstore?”
I frowned, disappointed but aware he had a point.
“Right. Reality,” I said with a nod. “We have to get back to that.”
He dipped his chin in affirmation, and I looked for the nearest clock. When I saw it was already almost ten o’clock, I grimaced.
“I can text her and let her know I’ll be late, but I don’t want her to be in the shop by herself for more than an hour or so. Not with the whole break-in situation. I should probably grab a shower, too.” When he quirked an eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smirk, I grinned and clarified, “ Not with you. I’ll use the guest bath. We should get a move on.”
“I won’t be long,” he said before he left me—still half naked on his counter.
I watched him go, then remembered my drink.
I wasn’t a fan of lukewarm coffee, but as I grabbed the mug and lifted it to my lips, I did it smiling.
Rory and I managed to keep our hands to ourselves long enough to make quick work of cleaning up the mess I’d left behind after the police had gone. Like I’d discovered at the bookstore, nothing of significance had been taken from my flat. It wasn’t proof, but it made me suspect Archie all the more.
It was a quarter after eleven when Rory and I let ourselves in through the back of the bookstore. He was due at the pub, which had opened a few minutes earlier. Hattie, like Victoria, was around to unlock the place so business could begin. With it being the weekend, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Rory walked into the Tavern to find a crowd.
Tattered Edges, on the other hand, was still in a growth stage. Business had begun to pick up, but there remained a bit of work to do. The next idea I hoped to try was to find a book club or two who wanted to host their meetings at our location. I was willing to throw in free biscuits and tea as an incentive.
Who knew if it would work, but it was worth a shot.
However, there were a couple of people wandering around, perusing the shelves, as Rory and I headed for the front, and I found I was quite proud of that.
“Pub closes at ten,” Rory reminded me as we drew closer to the front door. “It’s Saturday, though, so I doubt I’ll be home before eleven thirty. Drop by when you’re done here. You can stay for a drink or not—either way, I’ll give you my key so you can head upstairs.”
“Okay,” I murmured, starting a mental countdown.
Twelve hours.
Twelve hours and then I could work on earning another smile.
“I’ll see you later, then.”
I didn’t even have the chance to wonder if he was a public display of affection kind of guy. Without a hint of hesitation, he curled a finger under my chin, angled my face where he wanted it, and planted a solid, hard kiss against my lips.
Then, my head in a haze of his making, he was gone.
“ Oh. My. God! ”
I bit my bottom lip, combatting my wild grin before I spun on my heel to face Victoria. She was standing in the middle of the staircase, her eyes almost the same size as her cat-eyeglasses frames, and her mouth hanging wide open.
“Did I just see that?” she cried in her posh South African accent.
I nodded, then laughed as she hurried down the stairs.
“Sawyer Nielsen, you have goss you must share!”
Clapping my hands over my cheeks, I replied, “I know. I have so much to tell you. Last night was—a rollercoaster.”
“Well, don’t hold back, dear. Give me the highlights. You can save the good stuff for later. I’m free tonight if you want to grab a bite. Or maybe just a drink?”
She said the last part suggestively, waggling her eyebrows, eliciting another laugh from me.
“Yes to dinner. And a drink too, if you want. I have to stop by the pub anyway. But, before you get too excited, I should start with the bad news.”
“Oh. There’s bad news?” she asked, her shoulders deflating. “Haven’t you had your fair share of that as of late?”
I was just about to answer when the front door opened, and an older woman walked in. I was quick to step out of her way, and was on the verge of welcoming her to the store, when Victoria beat me to the punch.
“Iris. Hi,” she greeted, her tone giving away her surprise.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, her name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite figure out why. I was sure I’d never seen her before. She had a presence about her that was too poised to forget.
Her dark, brunette shoulder-length hair was styled in big, soft curls, and she wore only enough makeup to accentuate her best features.
Her hazel-blue eyes.
Her high cheekbones.
Her full lips.
She had on a beige trench coat she wore tied closed, but I noticed the crease in her navy slacks and the diamonds that draped around her neck. I was sure she was covering up a fabulous blouse or a killer cardigan, and the purse looped over her forearm was designer.
“Victoria, it’s good to see you,” she replied kindly.
Then her eyes were on me.
“And you…you must be her.”
The way she said it, almost in awe, made me anxious. Not because she made me uncomfortable, but because something told me I should know her, and I didn’t.
“My god, you’re lovely.”
I looked helplessly at Victoria, silently begging her to introduce us, but she didn’t. Worse, even, she took a step back and nodded at me, as if quietly insisting I was on my own.
Shifting my attention back on the strange woman once more, I conceded.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Not yet. My apologies for staring,” she said, a hum of amusement lacing her tone. She held out her hand for me to shake as she told me, “I’m Iris. Your aunt.”