Chapter Eleven #2
But he’s already walking away from me toward the gate in the tall fence.
He holds it open for me and in we go. Small solar lights are set amongst the lush garden.
Such a beautiful property. It’s like its own private little world.
There’s a main three-story wooden house with a separate cottage and garage.
They’re all painted navy with white trim.
And the bottom level of the main house is set into the side of the hill leading down to the river.
“Going to turn the two bedrooms and living space down there into a recording studio and place to jam and store instruments,” he says, taking the front steps to the second level and the main entry.
A wide deck surrounds the house, with views both front and back.
He unlocks the front door with a key from his pocket.
“It’s over a hundred years old. The windows and wood paneling are all original.
Skylights and the new kitchen with stone counters were put in more recently. ”
The entry is a generous-sized room painted white with lots of potted plants and walls full of windows for natural light.
It wouldn’t surprise me if it used to be an enclosed porch.
Comfortable armchairs and a bookcase stand on one side, while a hall table with a bowl for keys and a cupboard for shoes and coats is opposite.
And on the deck out front is a sunken hot tub with views of the river. This house is sick.
“Is this the furniture that was here?” I ask.
He nods. “The previous owners had good taste. A lot of it’s antique. Had a cleaning crew come through and new mattresses, linens, plates and silverware delivered. Otherwise, it’s staying as is for now.”
“You’re really thinking of hanging around?”
“Come check out the old gas stove,” he says, walking into the living room.
Invitingly worn-looking large tan leather couches are decorated with cream cushions and throws.
The place couldn’t be cozier. There’s an office with more bookshelves, and a dining room with a beautiful old battered wooden table and mismatched seats for eight people.
And a central staircase to access the first and third levels.
It’s cool as fuck. And the kitchen seems shiny new, with its quartz counters and top-of-the-line fridge and stove, etcetera.
You have to appreciate the large pantry and plentiful wine storage.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“It’s amazing. But what about the media finding out where you are?”
“Come see the view from the top.”
“Nash…”
He has, however, already disappeared up the stairs to the third level. And so I follow. There’s another large living space up here with a huge flat-screen and bedrooms off either end. One room sits in darkness while the other has a light turned on low.
“Did I mention there’s a clawfoot tub?” he asks from somewhere inside.
“No. You didn’t.”
“Nice big bed in here too.”
I wander into the bedroom. He’s leaning against the wall by some windows with his arms crossed.
There is indeed a very large four-poster bed made up with white linens.
Some comfy-looking armchairs sitting in front of a smaller gas stove fireplace with a marble coffee table.
And a small hallway leading doubtless to the bathroom and a walk-in closet.
Because a house like this has to have a walk-in closet.
The blue and green stained-glass windows open to the night air are the cherry on top of the masterpiece.
The house is amazing. And as curious as I am about it, I am a hundred times more so curious about the man. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not planning on going anywhere?”
“Picked up on that, did you?”
“You came here to escape the attention,” I say. “And now thanks to Lady Caroline, the attention is going to follow you.”
He nods. “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Doesn’t change me trying to build a life in The Bend,” he says. “And this happens to be where you’re currently located, so…”
I smile. Then I realize something, kick off my sandals, and start walking toward him on bare feet. And Nash watches me with interest.
“What’s that look mean?” he asks.
“Just occurred to me there’s no one here creeping down the hallway or listening at doors to make sure we’re not getting up to anything.”
“We are completely without a chaperone, my sweet.” He licks his lips and my heart beats double time. The effect this man has on me. “It’s scandalous.”
“Anything could happen.”
“Anything?” He raises a brow and his hands grasp my waist to draw me closer.
We should always be like this—our bodies pressed against each other.
How unfortunate we’re wearing clothing. It’s a situation in need of amending ASAP.
And this is coming from someone who loves the sight of him in a pair of worn jeans.
But this is just so right. This quiet moment on a warm summer night, when everything else has gone wrong.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. And no one else I’d rather be with.
When I arch my neck, he meets me halfway.
The firm press of his mouth on mine followed by the teasing flick of his tongue.
His hands cup my face, holding me just so.
And then his tongue is in my mouth and his teeth are bumping against mine.
We’re both so hungry. I want to crawl beneath his skin and learn his mind.
To know his thoughts, both the good and the bad and what’s in between.
He tastes of beer from the bar and emits a warmth I want to wallow in.
Just have with me always. And the way everything low in me draws tight, there’s no hope for the state of my underwear.
Which reminds me of the dire situation involving our clothing. How dare these torturous unnecessary layers come between us.
He smiles and kisses me some more as my fingers fumble over the buttons of his shirt.
Then my hands are pushing back material and running over the hot skin of his chest. His body is a tactile delight.
The delineation of his muscles and dusting of hair.
How his chest rises and falls with each breath and his heart beats hard beneath the palm of my hand.
One of us is way overexcited and breathing heavy. I think it’s me. Sex hasn’t been like this ever. As if nothing else matters in this moment—nothing but us being together.
His stubble brushes against my soft skin as his hot mouth moves along my jawline and down to my neck.
Teeth nibble and his tongue lashes. It’s lightning up my spine.
And I can feel him growing harder against my hip.
Of course, my curious-as-fuck fingers head south.
Tracing over his abs and delighting in the goose bumps rising on his skin.
I want to have this effect on him and so much more.
The destination of course is his jeans. It’s truly a question for the ages—why are pants?
And he’s thinking the same sort of thing. He nips at my earlobe and says, “Can I take your dress off?”
“Yes.”
With a gentle tug, he undoes the bow at the back of my neck.
My dress hits the floor and the cooler night air on my chest makes my nipples tighten even more.
It hurts how much I want him. The flat of my palm rubs along his length through the denim.
And his hands take the weight of my breasts.
The sound he makes…though maybe we’re both moaning.
“You’re beautiful, Junebug,” he says in a low voice. “Can I fuck you?”
“Please do.”
His answering grin is almost feral. I forget the man has real brawn.
But he lifts me like I weigh nothing and deposits me on the bed.
Then he’s bent over me with his mouth sucking on one nipple while his fingers expertly toy with the other.
My breath catches in my throat and my hands tangle in his hair.
To think we could have been doing this days ago.
We should have run away from Grandma’s house and checked into one of the local bed and breakfasts or the inn.
And sure, sex isn’t everything. However, I could cry over the time we wasted getting to know each other when we could have been naked in bed.