Recipe for a Homecoming Page 11

  “Well, I’m not interested in marriage, or commitment, or any forever thing. I’d want to keep expectations at a minimum. If we do pursue this, I want you to know what you’re getting into. I don’t want you to regret being with me—”

  “How could you think I would?”

  “Let me finish. Please.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t want you to think this thing is something it’s not. Mostly, I don’t want either of us to feel trapped or get hurt. Do you think those are terms you could live with?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then.” She drew in a deep breath, took his hand and stared into his eyes. “Mark Stirling, would you be my friend...with benefits?”

  “I will.” He held her gaze as he said it. A shudder wracked him.

  How ironic that this was a vow of noncommitment.

  Most men would be over the moon.

  “Shall we begin now?” she asked.

  His mind blanked out. His lungs froze.

  Once his brain started working again, he had to laugh, even though this was no laughing matter. Then again, it kind of was. “There are eggs in the back,” he reminded her.

  Her eyes widened playfully. “What? What do eggs have to do with it? Have I been doing it wrong?”

  He chuckled. “Let’s unload everything first, shall we?”

  “Yes. Yes. Excellent idea.”

  “And then, we can go upstairs to your apartment—” where there was a bed “—and, ah, finish this conversation there. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she said. He started the truck, and she folded her fingers and set them in her lap.

  Mark could barely focus on the stupid road. It was the longest drive of his life.

  Of course, in this case, it was a good thing, because he was able to remind himself how important it was that he did this right. Not just that he remembered to be safe, but that he remembered to be gentle.

  The bottom line was that he should avoid doing anything that scared her, or anything she didn’t like. He wanted her to feel so good that it made her forget the pain she’d endured with Anthony.

  Hell, he’d do anything to make her forget Anthony. Period.

  * * *

  Roni watched the darkening fields flick by, more excited than she’d ever been in her life.

  She was going to sleep with Mark Stirling. The thought would have petrified her just a couple of months ago, but right now, she knew she was ready. And she knew he was the right man to escort her on this journey. He was friendly, warm, patient and sweet. He was her friend, and cared about her...but wouldn’t expect more than she was willing to give.

  He was everything she needed.

  She—

  “Oh, no.”

  Mark shot her a look. “What’s wrong?”

  “I forgot about Gram.”

  “Text Sam that we’re going to be delayed, and have Milly spend the night.”

  Her heart lurched. “Spend the night?” Did that mean he was going to spend the night, too?

  How did she feel about—

  Hah. She knew damn well how she felt about that. She tapped in a message to Sam, who quickly responded, Yikes. No problem at all.

  When they got back to town, they worked in silence unloading everything from his truck into the refurbished kitchen, and while she appreciated time to prepare for what was coming, it also provided a chance for second thoughts to sprout.

  Oh, her proposition hadn’t been a momentary whim. She’d thought about it long and hard. She knew this was more than something she wanted. It was something she needed...to heal. The second thoughts came from fear, and she refused to let fear rule her anymore. So when the truck was empty and all the perishables were safely in the fridge—and she’d done a quick tidy-up of all the boxes and bags and wiped down the counters even though they were spotless—she shot him a chipper smile. She didn’t exactly make eye contact, but considering the situation, she was sure he would forgive her. “Shall we go upstairs?”

  “Sure.” He clapped his hands together to indicate he was finished with his chore. Or ready for the next one. “After you.”

  She led the way up the stairs, barely able to contain her breath. They were actually going to do this. Her heart rattled like a jackhammer. Beads of sweat prickled at her nape.

  How long had it been since she’d been with a man for the first time?

  Too long. What on earth would she say once they got upstairs?

  Fortunately, once at the top of the stairs, her gaze fell on the kitchen table, and she blurted, “Um... Do you want a cookie?” She grabbed one from the cookie jar and thrust it at him. Dear Lord, he was large. He seemed to fill the room with his warmth, his presence.

  He stared at her. His lips kicked up. “No.”

  “Are you sure?” This, she said this in a somewhat panicked tone.

  He set his hand gently on her shoulder. Stroked her with his thumb. “Would you feel better if I ate one?”

  Oddly enough, “Yes.”

  “All right then.” He took a bite of the cookie, right out of her hand. She nearly dropped the damn thing. “Are you going to have one?” he asked.

  “I’m not hungry.” He raised his eyebrows—no words whatsoever—but she knew what he was saying. “All right.” She took one, as well, but it crumbled in her grip.

  He chuckled, took the whole mess from her, and piled all the cookie pieces onto a plate. “Look, Roni, we don’t have to do this. Not tonight.”

  Relief rushed through her, quickly followed by a ribbon of irritation. “What?”

  He shrugged. “We both want this to be right. It doesn’t have to be right now. Okay?”

  For some reason, her shoulders relaxed, and she realized she’d been tighter than a wound-up spring. “Okay.” They shared a silent smile.

  “And you need to know that nothing is going to happen between us that you’re not ready for. Okay?”

  Why on earth did that make her want him more? Oh, she knew.

  “Let’s sit on the sofa and chat instead.”

  Something inside her pinged. “You mean, you don’t want to?”

  He took her hand and led her into the living room, sitting next to her on the old couch. “Honey, no matter what you may think, I always want to. With you, at least.”

  “You do?” Well, that made her feel a little better.

  “Yes, but I want you to be ready.”

  Oh, she was ready. So ready. “I’m just nervous.”

  He chuckled. “I can tell. Okay, let’s pretend we’re fifteen again. Just kids. Sitting in dad’s living room late at night, I dunno, watching a movie.” He yawned widely, stretched and slickly draped his arm around her shoulders.

  She didn’t know why she jumped. She pretended it was to grab the remote. “Well, we need a movie, don’t we?” When she turned on the set, a classic Bogart movie filled the room with black-and-white images and music from the forties.

  “I love this one,” he said, executing the slick stretching move again as soon as she resettled. This time she didn’t jump. This time she nestled in. It felt wonderful, sitting side to side with him. His body was hard where hers was soft, yet they seemed a perfect fit. And he was warm.

  They watched the movie in silence for a while as a hurricane battered Key Largo, and Bogart and Edward G. Robinson drank brandy and barked at each other. And Roni relaxed.

  Then, something touched her neck. Stroked. Stroked again. And then, gently, he drew soothing circles along her hairline.

  She sighed. “Nice.”

  “Mmm.” He continued to caress one side of her neck, while on the other side, his breath teased her ear. Then he stopped.

  She was about to complain, but he whispered, “You okay with this?”

  With this? She pulled back...but
not too far. “Your breathing on me?”

  His eyes glinted. “Oh. You don’t like that? Too bad. I was just about to nibble and see if you like that.”

  “Oh.” She had to respond to his humor, she just had to. She tipped her head to the side, providing him access. “All right. Nibble away.”

  His breath caught. She could feel his pulse thudding against her shoulder. “You tell me if you don’t like something. Okay?”

  “Okay.” And, yes. She was breathless.

  Oh, oh but then his lips touched her, there, on the tender sensitive skin at her nape, and she nearly went through the roof.

  Again, he stopped immediately. His beautiful brow furrowed. “You didn’t like that?” Was that a pout?

  “I did. I do. Go on. Do it again.”

  “Bossy,” he muttered, but she was fairly sure he was teasing. He lowered his head again, nuzzled her, teased and tormented that spot, and then, when she was about to scream with frustration, he moved on. And on.

  He kissed her like that for what seemed an eternity, and she gloried in the sensations, her closeness to him, his heat. He made his way to her mouth, and she gave it to him freely. She loved that he didn’t suffocate her, that he gave her space, that he made her come to him for more.

  It was the sweetest first kiss ever, even though technically, it was their second.

  And, as exciting as his kiss had been to a fifteen-year-old girl, it paled in comparison to this. Oh, the thudding heart and breathless anticipation were the same. As was his scent and the feel of his lips on hers. But this kiss went beyond any other, simply because of the care he took with her. His intention to reassure her was inherent in every touch, every look.

  She was safe with him. She simply was.

  When his hand moved, she stilled. He’d only set it on her hip, but her reaction was instinctive. To her vexation, he stopped moving, again. Not just the stroking of his thumb. Everything.

  “You, ah, still okay?” he asked, his voice barely strained at all.

  “Yes.” She willed him to get back to work, but didn’t dare say the words.

  “So, you’re okay if I touch you here?” He stroked her hip.

  “Yes,” she growled.

  He eased up to her waist. “Here?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “How about here?”

  Dear God. He cupped her breast, just its curve. For some reason, her nipple hardened. Ached.

  “Mmm.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes—”

  Oh. Good. God. The pad of his thumb scraped against that aroused nipple, sending a bolt sizzling through her body. It settled between her legs, causing a flood of sensations and desires, far beyond anything she’d ever experienced before.

  “Maybe we should...”

  Again, he froze, the second she spoke.

  “Stop doing that!” She couldn’t help it. The words just came out.

  And, hell. He completely pulled away. Completely! Like, to the other side of the sofa! Damn it!

  His brow rumpled with consternation. And maybe a little frustration. “Stop doing what? What did I do?”

  “Stop stopping what you’re doing every time I move.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  His expression was repentant. “Only when I think I’m moving too fast. I don’t want to scare you, and I really don’t want to hurt you.”

  That gave her pause. She didn’t want this to be scary, either. Mostly, she didn’t want to be afraid of him. “What if I need you to stop? Can you stop?”

  Understanding crept into his gaze. “Yes, Roni. I can. We will.”

  She could tell he meant every word, and yet, a hint of apprehension gnawed at her. “How can you be sure?”

  He set his forehead on hers, kissed her nose and stared into her eyes. The scent of his breath enrobed her. He took her hand and placed it against his thudding heart. “I promise you, nothing will happen tonight that you don’t want.”

  Her heart warmed. His words, his expression, the energy pouring from him, all honest and true. He seemed utterly at peace with his decision, which put her even more at ease with hers.

  A smile crawled across her face, so wide and full, it made her muscles ache. She held out her arms and wrapped them around the man she knew she could trust. “Then kiss me, Mark.” And he did. But their mouths were full of laughter.

  When the embrace ended, they stared at each other for a second, and then he kissed her nose and said, “Maybe we should...what?”

  “What?”

  “Earlier, you said, ‘Maybe we should...’ dot, dot, dot.”

  “Oh.” Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I was going to say, maybe we should go into the bedroom.”

  “Okay.” It was comical how quickly he leaped up.

  After they kissed their way down the hall to her room—and she was more than ready to continue this adventure—he pulled away from her and started flipping through his wallet. And then he cursed.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He blew out a breath. “Damn it. I don’t have a condom.”

  She stepped into his arms, tossed his wallet onto the floor and pulled him close to her, glorying in the hardness of his erection surging against her belly. “You don’t have to worry about getting me pregnant,” she whispered.

  “You got that covered?” he asked on a pant.

  She nodded but then a thought occurred. “You don’t have any STIs, do you?”

  “I’ve been tested. All negative.”

  “Me, too.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him and it was sweet. Still, he resisted.

  When she frowned at him, he cleared his throat and said, “So are we, ahem, good to go?”

  “I think so.” She pulled him closer, and in response, he walked her to the bed.

  “Remember, tell me if you need me to stop,” he said as he lay down beside her and she began to explore his body.

  “Okay,” she said. But she didn’t. Not once.

  His body was glorious. So perfect, she barely noticed that, while she was undressing him, he was undressing her. When his fingertips found the scars on her shoulder and back—the reminders of the trauma that had broken her, the scars she was always so careful to cover up—he didn’t say anything, but she felt him tense.

  Her gut clenched. How would he respond? Would they repulse him?

  Her breath caught when he eased her to her side, when he looked at her, when he touched her there, on that mass of spidery scars.

  She flinched as he bent over to see them more clearly, but that wasn’t his intent.

  Tears burned in her eyes as she realized what it was, his intent. When the velvet touch of his lips bathed those ugly parts of her with kisses. He kissed them in a slow, reverent journey over her shoulder and down her arm, where the worst ones were. She loved it so much—his gentleness, his care—that she decided not to be bothered by the fact that those ugly marks were bared. She didn’t need to hide anything from this man. He accepted all of her. Which was, in itself, seductive.

  Such seduction made it difficult for her to focus on her part in all of this, and before long, she had abdicated her study of his glorious abs and hard, muscled buttocks because the pleasure he inflicted on her body evicted every rational thought. She acquiesced to the pleasure and delight of his touch, certain it couldn’t get any better than this.

  And then, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic of her underwear and eased his way into the warm, wet nest between her thighs. She gasped in surprise. He caught and held her gaze as he did so, so she felt it, with what seemed like all her senses, when he touched her.

  Such bliss.

  She couldn’t hold back a moan.

  Which, apparently, had been what he was waiting for, because the moment he
heard it, he repositioned himself, yanked down her panties, exposed her core with his thumbs and grinned at her before he lowered his head.

  That expression was a sight she was sure would be emblazoned on her mind’s eye until the day she died. Those eyes, filled with wicked intent. That smile, crooked and dimpled. The scruff of day beard that gave him the look of a dashing pirate.

  And, yeah. Even that thought evaporated when his warm mouth engulfed her. She might have screamed, the pleasure was so exquisite. Whatever he was doing transported her completely. She threw back her head, sank her desperate fingers into the flesh of his shoulders, arched her back and simply was. She hovered in a state of glory for as long as he cared to torment her.

  Her climax, when it came, was unexpected. Roni was hardly a virgin in the orgasm department but, in simple fact, there was a certain transcendent element to making love with Mark that simply had never existed for her before.

  * * *

  Mark collapsed on the bed and stared over at Roni, glorious in a sheen of sweat.

  That had been amazing. Watching her, hearing her, bringing her to pleasure. This remarkable woman had given him the greatest gift of his life. Her trust. He was so grateful that he’d been able to honor that.

  With a groan, he shifted up beside her and pulled her into his arms, loving the scent of her in the afterglow. “You okay?” he asked into her forehead.

  Her response was a low, throaty laugh.

  He held her and let her recover, even though he was dying. His body was still hard as a rock. His heart thudded. Every muscle was tight and aching. Even the taste of her breath made him twinge with anticipation.

  She murmured something and rolled closer into his embrace.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “Oh, Mark,” she said, her eyes damp. “That was wonderful.”

  He reached up and caught a tear. “Are you crying?”

  “Oh, no. Yes. I don’t know.”

  She cuddled too close to the wrong place and he groaned in agony. All he wanted to do was sink into her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, with genuine innocence, damn it all to hell, anyway. And then, she glanced down. “Oh,” she said. She reached out—his pulse pounded. Then she froze, just a millimeter away, and looked at him. He nodded, gritting his teeth, knowing he was in for some sweet torture. And, God, he was so right.