In This Moment

Chapter Fourteen

While Rebecca laid on her bed, cuddling with his damn dog, Graham connected an ethernet cable to her flatscreen on the dresser. After plugging in the TV, he glanced over his shoulder. “Try it out.”

She picked up the remote and pushed a button. “Yay.” She pushed another button, and Netflix filled the screen. “I’ll have to unbox my Blu-ray player one of these days, but we can find something on here to watch.”

Guess that meant they were staying in her bedroom.

He walked around to the other side of the bed and lay beside her, crossing his feet at the ankles. The intimacy of the situation wasn’t lost on him, but she seemed nonchalant, flipping through the menu. He about choked on his tongue earlier when she’d emerged from her shower wearing the equivalent of panties and a tight tee. From the second he’d spotted her at the curb outside their homes weeks ago, he’d been avidly attracted to her. Getting to know her better and learning her personality had only amped his desire.

But her in that outfit? Hell. He was but a mere mortal man, for crying out loud.

“What are you in the mood for?”

He turned his head to look at her, figuring this was a female trap, but she’d meant movies, not where his dirty, dirty thoughts had plummeted. Pity.

Clearing his throat, he rationalized a proper response. “I’m up for anything.”

Which was becoming a literal statement with her so close, laying in a bed beside him, and smelling like sweet honeysuckle. Long legs. Acres of fair, smooth skin. Blonde locks still damp from her shower. Damn, but he didn’t think he’d wanted a woman more in his life. An itch yet to be scratched. Oxygen through his bloodstream. The thunder in his heart.

Anticipation just might kill him.

“Anything, huh?” She smiled, cindering his brain cells. “Dangerous, that.”

She hadn’t the foggiest.

Sighing, he focused on the screen. “Okay, smartass. Action, horror, or comedy. Your choice.”

“I accept all three suggestions. Love a good ghost story, myself.”

Excellent. Maybe she’d get scared and seek…him for protection. She could defend herself, but he was delusional enough to hope.

She hit Play on some haunted house flick, then rose from the bed. Her perfect round backside swiveled as she closed the curtains, then she moved to his side of the bed. His pulse jacked, but she turned off the lamp instead of climbing on him, dashing his fantasies.

Eerie music played during the opening credits, and he retrained his gaze to the screen. Though the sun was nearly set, she’d cast the room in full darkness, adding creepiness to the atmosphere for the flick, but it only served to make the cozy room more intimate.

She reclaimed her spot on the bed beside him and lay down, the dog now on her other side instead of between them. “I’ve not seen this movie, but it looks like it’s scary enough to get my heart going faster than green grass through a goose.”

Unable to help it, he covered his face with his arm and laughed. Dear God, she didn’t drop southernisms often, but when she let ‘em roll, he about died. His side ached. Actually ached.

“You laughing at me?”

“No, ma’am.” He hadn’t necessarily adapted to the ‘yes, ma’am/no, sir’ manners of the south, but the few instances he’d sarcastically done so with her, she’d seemed to like it. As in, flushed cheeks, parted lips, hot-and-bothered kind of liking it. Any weapon at his disposal he’d willingly use. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Uh huh. Don’t make me bless your heart.”

“Yeah, about that.” He rolled on his side, propping his head in his hand. “Explain to me how the phrase appears to be both an insult and a sentiment.”

She laughed, sultry and rich, then shifted to lay on her side, matching his pose. “It depends on the context. There’s the oh, I genuinely feel sorry for you/that’s terrible kind of bless your heart, which is generally sympathizing for another, then there’s the equivalent of a fuck you version.”

He’d not heard her curse before. It was strangely cute. “Makes zero sense.”

“Unless you’re from the south.”

No kidding. “So, what you’re saying is, I need to read the room and body language to interpret meaning.”

“Precisely.” Her warm smile lit her baby blues as she swept her gaze over his features. “Kiss my grits is an alternate way to say kiss my ass.”

Shaking his head, he grinned wider until his cheeks ached. “I don’t know how you southerners can eat grits. They’re gross.” Made of finely ground hulled corn, they were grainy in texture and had the consistency of cream of wheat with less flavor. Blech.

“Another regional difference. Northerners tend to not like them because they expect the dish to have a lot of taste, but it doesn’t. It’s a tradition in most southern states, especially in low-country, because of the proximity to the sea. Fisherman found it a quick, yet filling breakfast and often added shrimp. Some prefer just butter while others use brown sugar. There’s a thousand ways to cook it. The dish actually originated from Indigenous Native Americans, though. Tribes served it to Colonists.”

“Your mind is fascinating.” He shook his head as his gut heated into a hot ball. Seriously. Brains were sexy. Specifically, hers. “I love these tidbits you throw my way.” Since they’d met, she’d done that very thing. Found ways to logically explain things so he could adapt and understand.

She narrowed her eyes as if suspicious.

“Relax. I’m not pulling your leg.”

She made an uncommitted sound he couldn’t decipher. “I enjoyed learning as a kid. Weird, random facts. Gammy said I was a sponge for meaningless trivia. I don’t realize I lecture sometimes. I think I started doing it in Boston to justify some of our ways when co-workers made fun of us. My ex got annoyed by the habit. Eventually, I quit doing it.”

Which meant she was comfortable enough with him to pick it back up again. Good. She should always be free to act like herself, not some version others expect.

“Well,” he said through a sigh, “I don’t mind. He can kiss your grits.”

Her laugh penetrated his skin and wrapped around bone. “Absolutely.”

“Why did you two call it quits?” He’d been itching to ask more personal questions, and she’d left the opening for him to eek past.

“Eh.” She rolled to her back, arms crossed over her face in clear avoidance. “We didn’t really have a lot in common. I think he was expecting me to advance in my career, getting irritated when I didn’t. He also wanted kids, and I don’t.”

Hmm. They were in the beginning stages of a relationship, but they probably should’ve brought up that topic before tonight. “I don’t, either.”

She turned her head. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m more indifferent to the concept than outright against it. I just…” He frowned, attempting to formulate the right words. “I don’t know. Never had the urge to start a family.”

“What about marriage?”

He wondered if she was fishing or just that good at communication. “I’m all for wedded bliss, so long as it’s actual bliss. Relationships take work. I get that, but I don’t think I’d leap unless I found the right woman.”

She nodded. “Ditto, except with a man.” She winked.

Utterly adorable. “Your ex had unrealistic expectations of your career and your womb, thus the split. Were there other factors? What’d he do for a living?”

“He was a bigwig at a marketing firm. As for the breakup, I also don’t think I…”

They’d circle back to her job, but for now, he wanted the last half of her sentence. “Don’t think you what?”

“This is embarrassing.” She scrubbed her hands over her face and moaned. After a heinous pause, her arms dropped to the mattress. “I don’t think I satisfied him.”

Um, no. That couldn’t be the case. Granted, they hadn’t gotten more physical than kissing or heavy petting, but she was warm and affectionate. No way would she be unsatisfying to any living, breathing male.

She must’ve taken his silence for agreement because she made a motion to rise.

He grabbed her hand and tugged until she was facing him again. He slid her closer and trapped her with his arm. If she showed signs of distress, he’d let her go. For now, they needed to hash out a couple things.

Staring at her pretty face, the way she bit her lower lip was enough to turn him on. Just her presence, her scent, or the whimsical sound of her laugh. Her body. Her wit. The feisty way she liked to put him in place…

“If he was sexually unsatisfied, he should’ve discussed it with you to find ways to fix the issue. In saying that, I highly doubt you were the problem.”

She stared at him so long, the earth rotated, and four seasons came and went. Dramatic music from the movie drifted in the room, but he ignored it.

He raised his brows. “You don’t believe me?”

“Forgive me, but no. I don’t believe you. I was in the relationship. A woman can tell when a guy is bored.”

Nodding, he silently agreed. “If things go stale, there are a number of factors. Lack of chemistry can’t be laid solely at your feet. That’s nature. Some people are compatible, others aren’t.” And since he had the sinking suspicion she blamed her feminine wiles for the disconnect, he decided on brutal frankness. “You turn me on sixteen out of twenty-four hours a day.”

She blinked, yet said nothing.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He very much didn’t. “Why only sixteen hours? Because for the other eight, I sleep. You can’t be responsible for those.”

Blink, blink.

“Your scent has managed to turn something sweet and innocent in nature to an X-rated fantasy that belongs behind closed doors.”

Blink, blink, blinking.

“I find you attractive as hell, including your mind. Not accounting for your temper.” Uhn, her temper. “I want to taunt you just to hear that sexy little southern drawl that emerges when you’re angry.”

Blink. Silence.

“When we kiss, my head explodes.” What he wouldn’t give to have her do just that. Right this second. Kiss his damn brains straight out of his head.

Still, she said zilch.

“Believe me yet?”

Her mouth opened and closed twice before she summoned words. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

Kind. Kind of him? Not a syllable had been etched from kindness. Consideration went a long way and was ingrained in his DNA. Respect, for sure. But his admissions weren’t due to either. Lust? Definitely. Truth? Undeniably.

“I wasn’t trying to be kind.” She was driving him up a wall and back down again, only to repeat the process without having moved a muscle. A special talent of hers.

“Please don’t feel obligated—”

“It’s not obligation.” He drew a steady breath. “I am feeling something, though. You started your response correctly.”

“Okay.” Her delicate throat worked a swallow. “What are you feeling?”

He’d rather demonstrate. He’d never been good at the former part of the Show Tell game.

Sealing his lips to hers, he wove his fingers through her damp hair and shifted to roll her beneath him. She made a sexy little mewl of surprise that traveled from her mouth to his.

Keeping his weight on his forearm, he kissed her with the patience of a saint while waiting for her cues. His skin was tight, and his muscles strained with the want of her. Having their bodies horizontal and aligned wasn’t helping. He vaguely wondered if it bore no end, this rampant desire she invoked.

Their tongues mated in a dance that resembled the salsa. Rhythmic. Teasing, taunting, stimulating moves meant to entice. Nothing more. A precursor. Foreplay. Yet, he desperately hoped for more. That she was just as enthralled and needed him with the same fervor. He may never get over it otherwise.

The bed shifted, indicating the dog jumped down, and the skittering of nails on wood meant he’d vacated the room. Their movie continued to play. All white noise to Graham, at this point.

Her fingers skimmed up his sides, the first instance she’d touched him since they’d locked lips, and his muscles rippled like a caged beast. She’d not had many relationships or lovers. By her admission, it had been part situational, and the rest chalked up to uncomfortable inexperience. She’d said she wasn’t good at it.

He disagreed. With every fiber. As her hands roamed—up his back, down his sides, across his pecs—he all but vibrated with need.

Deepening the kiss, he tilted his head, and began an exploration of his own. Smooth, taut skin. Slight curves. To which she reacted by arching under him, silently seeking more.

Gladly.

Breaking the kiss, he latched onto her throat, swirling his tongue and losing his mind in her sweet scent. He cupped one firm breast, small enough to fit in his hand, and something about her size undid him. Restraint was becoming a thin tether as her nipple beaded against his palm. Shifting lower, he brushed his lips across her collarbone and peeked up at her to verify he was hitting her hot buttons.

Head back, lips swollen from their kiss, she moaned. Emboldened, he pulled her nipple into his mouth through the soft cotton of her tee. She arched again, just like that. A puppet on his string, yet she seemed to have all the control. Shoving her fingers in his hair to hold him, her lids parted, and their gazes locked. Hers were heavy with lust.

He moved to her other nipple, repeating the ministrations, and her lids drifted shut again with a flutter of her lashes. Gripping the back of his shirt, she tugged at the material, insisting its removal.

Okay. They were doing this.

Hell to the yesssssss.

By the hem, he removed her shirt before his own, exposing a blue lacy bra shades darker than her eyes. Hair spread over the pillow, she stared at his chest. Fingernails lightly scratched over his abs, her gaze following the path, and his dick throbbed.

“I’m glad you shared your feelings.”

He only half-listened to her words since her fingertips had been tracing the waistband of his sweats. Panting, braced over her with his elbows locked, he wrenched his brows in confusion.

“I asked what you were feeling.” She gripped his shoulders, and in a move that would probably have him bowing in covenant later, she bent her knees, dipped her toes in his waistband, and tugged his sweats down his legs. “I’m glad you did.”

The nimble little minx.

Tit for tat, he shoved the pants off the rest of the way and did the same for hers. Have mercy, her panties matched her bra, but with way less material.

She sat up, unclipping her bra. Unceremoniously, she tossed it to the floor. Part of his restraint went with it. Small, pale, perky breasts. Pink, hardened nipples. So damn beautiful. As she reached for her panties, he shook his head.

“I got you.” Palming her hips, he hoisted her off the mattress, and she fell backward onto her pillows, feet in the air. More slowly than he could withstand, he slid the blue lace torture device down her legs. It joined the bra on the floor.

Between her thighs, watching her, he bent and pressed a kiss to her navel.

She inhaled, lids at half mast, cheeks flushed.

Oh yeah. He adored her avid response to him. Still watching, he kissed his way lower, and her pupils swallowed her irises. Inner thigh. Kissing one, then the other. Her lips parted as if oxygen was in short supply.

And then he buried his face in her short golden curls.

She gasped, fisting the pillow.

Smiling, he flicked her tiny little nub with the tip of his tongue, parted her wet folds, and groaned against her. Responsive, she bucked, seeking more, to which he was only happy to oblige. He learned her body, her pleasures, and relished every moan, gasp, and tremor until her body went rigid. A sharp cry, and she threw her head back, limbs vibrating as she came.

Hard, throbbing, he shucked his briefs while she recuperated. He climbed over her on all fours before she’d opened her eyes and sucked her nipple between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Another tremble, and her hands were back in his hair, fisting the strands. Groaning, he kissed his way to behind her ear, slid his hands between her perfect backside and the sheets, and thrust against her swollen wet folds. She emitted the most delicious, detrimental to his well-being sound of inclination he’d ever heard.

Needing inside her, he crushed his mouth to hers, aligned his hips, and thrust.

Stars. He actually thought he saw stars, until he realized his eyes were shut. Damn, she was… Tight. Hot. And made just for him, the fit was that right.

He paused, giving her a moment. Or maybe he needed one. Regardless, he buried his face in her strands and tried for all he was worth not to say or do anything stupid. Breathing labored, he skimmed his hand up and down her outer thigh, cherishing the feel of her under him. Around him. Inside him, it seemed, now that they’d taken things to this level. She was all he could breathe, hear, or see. All he could taste or feel.

But then she moved. That thin tether he’d had earlier snapped as her legs wrapped around him, her arms held him, and she ground her hips, seeking more.

He had the stray thought he’d give her everything as he withdrew achingly and methodically from her. Only when he thrust anew did he seem to find purchase amidst the firestorm in his head. Pleasure ran rampant through his system, unlike anything he’d known before. The connection between them heightened the experience, put them in sync. It was too much and not enough.

She kissed his jaw, trailed her lips to that tender spot between his neck and shoulder. He pumped harder, rolling his hips to ground her clit, while she assaulted his nerve endings. So beautiful, the way she moved. Languid and graceful. Submissive, but wielding all the power. Giving and taking.

They seemed to fuse, and not just their bodies. Becoming one, yet not even close to similar. Joining. Merging.

Just when he thought he couldn’t hold out much longer, she bowed, bringing them even closer, and her walls gripped him in a vise. She trembled, emitting a cry of satisfaction that penetrated his ears and reverberated in his skull.

A tingle shot up his spine, and he followed her over the edge. He tensed, mouth open over hers, as he came undone. His arms gave out, and he collapsed on top of her, fighting for oxygen exchange.

Moments passed while he tried to recover. She held him, warm hands stroking his back, and their legs tangled. It should be the other way around. He should be holding her, but she offered a sense of reprieve he hadn’t felt since his life erupted in Minnesota. Comfort, safety, and peace. Gratification. Selfishly, he took it, in case it never came again.

Toying with the ends of her hair, he tried to recall what they’d been discussing before she’d had the brilliant idea of asking what was on his mind. Wait. No, she’d asked how he’d felt. A sluggish, methodical laugh rumbled in his chest, emerging as a tired chuckle.

Turning her head, she pressed her lips to his forehead. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re not unsatisfying in the sack. Your ex is an idiot. The biggest idiot in all the land.”

She paused her stroking across his back, and he could all but hear the gears turning in her head. “Thank you.” Combing her fingers through his hair, she let out a quiet sigh. “Maybe you’re just better at it.”

What? Nuh uh. He lifted his head. “Maybe?”

She grinned, leveling kingdoms. “No maybe about it.” She brushed her knuckles across the whiskers on his jaw, gaze following the movement. “At the risk of sounding cliché and going to reporter hell, that was pretty amazing.”

His inner caveman wanted to pound his chest and preen. He settled for accepting the compliment as she’d done. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Most guys clam up or tuck tail and run for the hills when asked about their feelings.” The teasing amusement in her tone and illuminating in her eyes was cute. Playful with a side of sass.

He hadn’t actually spouted feelings, though. He’d shown them instead. And there were definitely feelings involved. What they were precisely, he didn’t know yet, but they were present. Hovering in his peripheral. Poking at his chest. “Stereotypes are yesterday’s headlines.”

A laugh, and she covered her face with her hand.

He rolled them to their sides, still facing one another, and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. It had grown quiet in the room, and he glanced at the TV. The title page was floating around the screen, indicating their movie had ended.

He grunted. “Great film.”

She laughed again, and he figured he wouldn’t mind spending an eternity getting her to do it often. Every hour on the hour. “It was great. We should watch it again.”

“Inuendo accepted, Rebecca.” Wasn’t she a gem. “I need to let the dog out. Give me some time to recuperate.”

They got dressed and went out onto the back deck, watching Twain mill about the yard. A cool humid breeze brought varying scents of the river, magnolias blooming, and night jasmine. Stars littered a pitch black sky, unmarred by the city lights to which he was accustomed. Crickets chirped, but it was otherwise silent.

“It’s so quiet here,” he mused.

She hummed a sound of agreement and claimed an Adirondack chair. “I don’t know which was harder to get used to, the city noise or the stillness.”

“For me, I’d say the quiet, but I was raised in the city.” He plopped in the chair next to hers, tilting his face toward the sky. “I think I’m used to it, and then the hush just hits me.”

“I was the same way after leaving for college. Just when I thought I had adapted, a fire or police siren would wail on the street or a party would start down the hall.”

The conversation reminded him of a thread he’d meant to unravel. They’d already dealt with her ex. “You mentioned how your career didn’t advance in Boston.” She’d skirted the whole truth in her interview, but they were much closer now. “What happened?”

Laying her head back on the seat, she drew her knees to her chest and stared at the heavens. “I’m not sure if it was one thing or many, if I’m being honest. They hired me straight out of college, and I just assumed Obituaries was a starting position. My first week on the job, I was in a bathroom stall when two ladies from higher up the food chain came in, talking about me. They made fun of me and my accent. Worst part was, I’d worked dang hard in college to drop most of my southern dialect.”

Not completely. He’d caught traces when she was in regular conversation, but it went from a trickle to a flood when she was animated or angry. Nevertheless, she shouldn’t have had to hide it from anyone, and said as much.

She shrugged. “A lot of people equate southern with stupid. Figured I’d just prove them wrong. I applied for three positions in three different departments after my first year. None of them even bothered to consider me. It was a huge paper with lots of staff, but I suppose word got around. Sometimes, I’d spot a good story and write it up, forwarding it to the proper department head. All I ever received was polite formulated rejections. I just…never fit in.”

Twain walked up to her, and she absently petted him. “I had a couple acquaintances in my apartment complex or at work, but not anyone I would consider a friend.”

It sounded terrible to him, and he could relate. He’d moved here, sight unseen, at the lowest point in his life. At least he had Forest. “Why didn’t you leave? Put your bid in at other newspapers?”

“I did. Probably should have sooner, but I kept holding out hope that they’d see my skills and promote me.” She shook her head. “First year was settling in. Second was a wash. I dragged my heels most of the third year. I sent my résumé out to quite a few companies, but after seeing I was employed at one of the largest syndicates in America, without advancing, they passed. Smaller bloggers and newspapers couldn’t match my salary. I could barely afford my apartment as it was, so even if I got offered a position, I couldn’t take it.”

She slanted him a look from the corner of her eye. “Lord, I hated that place. The job and the apartment. It was a studio with a kitchenette. Seven hundred square feet.”

He winced. “Ouch.”

The thought of her alone, proverbially beaten down by life and luck, and wasting her talents, tore a hole in his gut. She was outgoing, friendly, and smart. A rare, gorgeous flower among weeds that had choked the spirit out of her amazing attributes. Not for the first time, he wished he’d known her back then. Or sooner.

“Would you go back?” Scratching his jaw, he stared at his house next door to hers, wondering what his answer would be if she asked him. A month ago, it would’ve been an unequivocal yes. He’d merrily return to the city, his family, his life, and his career if given the chance. He hesitated to think it over now, and that surprised him. “If they offered you a better position and higher pay, would you take it?”

Distractedly, she shook her head, but her tone brooked no argument. “No. I’m grateful for the learning experience and opportunity. It taught me a lot about the world and myself. I used to beat myself up over failing or not fulfilling my dreams, but I believe all roads led me back here for a reason, even if it’s not where I expected.”