Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Joe hung up the phone, got out of bed, and staggered into clothes. Ashes lifted her head from her spot at the foot of his mattress and eyed him sleepily.
“Come on,” he said, and she jumped down and ran happily to his feet, ears flapping, tail wagging.
She was always thrilled to be with him, no matter what was going on. Odd how nice that was. He scooped her up because it was faster than waiting for her to try to keep up, and they headed off the boat, down the marina, and to his car.
The rain came down steadily, looking like silver sheets beneath the streetlight’s glow. Joe took I-5, heading toward O.B., and pulled into Tooley’s. Before he could get out of the car, Summer appeared at the passenger side.
She put both hands on the window, fingers spread wide. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” He came around for her and bent to open the door, but she had all her weight planted as she leaned on the window.
She stared at her fingers. “You got here fast.”
“I had visions of you deciding to jog home,” he said dryly.
“Nah. I already ran tonight.”
“You did?”
“After you wouldn’t jump my bones.”
He hardened himself to her dubious charms. “I thought you were going to wait inside for me.”
“I knew you’d come fast.” She smirked. “No pun intended.”
He had to laugh. “I have no defense.”
“Well, actually, you do. By the time we ended up on my floor that night, we were both charged, lit, and ready to go off like a firecracker.” She grinned. “Hey, you outlasted me.”
“By about two seconds.” Her casual recount of what had been one of the most memorable two minutes of his life, both aroused and embarrassed him.
“Joe,” she said simply and set her forehead to the window. Then she straightened and leveled him with her eyes. In them there was a lingering amusement, but also a sadness that nearly brought him to his knees.
Reaching out, he stroked a wayward strand of hair from her eyes, and then because he was a glutton for punishment, let his fingers trail over her cheek just for the sake of feeling her soft skin.
Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips to the palm of his hand, and then without another word, let herself into his car, where Ashes mauled her with lashes of her tongue.
Joe came around, slid behind the wheel, and hauled the puppy off her.
Summer smiled at him as she reached for her seat belt.
Her hair lay in soft, fiery wet waves about her face, which was slightly flushed.
Her eyes were glossy, too glossy, and she couldn’t match up the seat belt fastener to click it in.
“It’s broken,” she said.
He took it from her and popped it into place.
“So strong, Superman Joe.”
“Cut it out.” He revved the engine and drove out of the parking lot.
With a smile, she leaned back and closed her eyes. “I love this car. All powerful muscle, like its owner.”
He glanced at her but she didn’t open her eyes. Hair whipping around her face, she wore a small, secret little smile on her lips that said she’d have a good time no matter what was going on because life was too short. She’d learned that lesson long ago, and so had he.
Ashes hadn’t learned anything but the joy of sticking her head out the window and drooling on the glass.
“Nothing beats this,” Summer said after a few minutes. “A nice drive, a nice, rainy night, a nice…” At that she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Friend?”
He nodded, and she relaxed again, closing her eyes.
A nice friend. It’s what he’d promised her, though it was going to kill him.
She was going to kill him. He pulled onto her street and turned off the engine.
“Wait here,” he said, and was rounding the trunk of his car when she opened her door and tripped getting out.
She sat on the wet curb and grinned up at him as Ashes bounded from her seat to Summer’s legs.
“You never listen.” Joe bent and scooped Summer up in his arms. “Ashes, come.”
Summer sighed a dreamy little sigh, slipped her arms around his neck, and settled her face against his throat. “A puppy looks good on you.” She pressed her lips to his skin.
“Stop that,” he said.
“Okay.” She bit him instead.
The feel of her teeth sinking into him shot arrows of heat straight to his groin. “Red—”
“I love the way you say my name.” Pulling back, she smiled at him. “All thick and husky. Like you’re turned on.”
He was, but it was more than that. It was the warmth and affection in her eyes, the way her right eyetooth was slightly chipped from that headfirst fall she’d once taken off the monkey bars in third grade, the light smattering of freckles across her nose.
It was the way she held on to him, like he was the most important thing in her world, at least at the moment.
She laughed a little, and he looked into her face and thought, you are the silliest, most adorable, sexiest drunk I’ve ever seen.
“You have the prettiest eyes.” She sighed. “All four of them.”
Asking her for her keys would be useless, so for the second time he let himself in the back door of her cottage. “You should lock this thing up better.”
“I know. But then how would you tuck me in? You are going to tuck me in, aren’t you?”
He didn’t bother to answer that question because in all truth, he had no idea what the hell to do with her.
“I want a bubble bath.”
“You’ll drown yourself. Maybe a shower.” He took her into her bathroom and set her down.
When her feet touched the floor, she weaved and sat down right there on the tile. “I think I need help.”
Oh no. No, no, no. No.
She removed each sandal with the exaggerated care of the elderly or the extremely inebriated.
Then she began to wriggle out of her loose sleeveless dress, which took her a long moment, several curses, and finally a giggle as she got stuck with her arms tangled in the material, stretched over her head, her body wriggling as she laughed breathlessly. “Help.”
He stared down at her, having to laugh too. God, he wanted to gobble her up.
She flopped to her back. She still wore her coral tank and black biker shorts, and according to the muffled snorts beneath the dress covering her head, she was still cracking herself up. With a sigh, he bent and grabbed the soft dress and pulled, freeing her.
“Only a few more garments to go,” she said, grinning stupidly at him from flat on her back.
He stood over her, his hands now jammed in his pockets to keep them to himself. “You’re on your own, baby.”
With a big huff, she rolled over and got to her knees. “If you could start the water.”
He flicked on the tap and turned back to her, immediately closing his eyes because she’d wriggled out of her tank and was shoving down her shorts.
She wore nothing beneath either and her glorious, long, tough body imprinted itself on his brain as she stood.
“You can look,” she assured him, stepping toward the shower, doing a little shimmy that made his eyes cross and all the blood drain out of his head for parts south.
“And you can touch.” She waited a second, standing there free as a bird and more beautiful than any single, mischievous, drunken minx should ever be allowed to look. “Please touch.”
“No.”
She looked so disappointed he might have laughed, but he had no working brain cells left. “Get in the shower, Red.”
“All right.” She opened the glass door, then weaved for a second, forcing him to leap forward and grab her. Hands full of naked woman, he gritted his teeth, steadied her, then shoved her into the water.
Her scream pierced the air and made him smile grimly.
“It’s cold!” she shrieked.
“The better to sober you up,” he said, suddenly enjoying himself immensely, and left the bathroom. Ashes was asleep on the couch, curled up with a pillow like she belonged there.
The wind had picked up again, and branches of the trees alongside the cottage brushed the windows.
The lights flickered a few times as he paced the living room.
He needed to get home, needed to be at work early in the morning, but he didn’t want to leave until the water turned off, until he knew Summer was in bed and safe.
She was a grown woman, he reminded himself. There was absolutely no reason to tuck her in, to make sure—
“Oh, good,” she said softly from the doorway. She was wrapped in a light peach terry cloth robe, her long hair combed and dripping, her feet bare, her eyes unusually dark and solemn. “You’re still here.”
“I was just leaving—”
“I think the power’s going to go.”
Indeed, it flickered and she looked around uneasily.
“You’re used to being without power,” he reminded her. “You’re outside for weeks at a time.”
“Yeah.” She bit her lower lip. “But it’s not exactly the dark I’m afraid of.”
Against his better judgment, he moved close.
She had a light sunburn on her nose and a small smile on her naked lips.
Even as he looked, her tongue darted out and nervously dampened them.
Her eyes were clear now, any wobbliness had vanished, even if her earlier joviality had been replaced with far more complicated things.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked quietly.
“Being alone.”
A drop of water ran from her jaw, down her throat, and into the robe. He thought about the body beneath the terry cloth and felt his knees wobble. “Look, I’m trying to be the good guy here. You’re—”
“Sober,” she said firmly. “You ruined the buzz with that icy shower.” She slipped her hand in the robe pocket and came up with a condom that made him want to groan.
“I’m leaving,” he said, feeling like a damn saint because hell if he wasn’t every bit as head over heels for her as he’d always been. But he couldn’t let her do more damage, not when she had one foot out the door.
He couldn’t live through that again.
A gust whipped around the outside of the cottage, and again the branches brushed the windows. Summer jerked and stared wide-eyed at the dark windows. “I wish there were shutters here.”