A Place Called Home (36 page)

Mitch dealt. “What did he say?” he asked.

Shrugging lightly, Thea went on. “Just that I was avoiding some things to divert my own discomfort. I’m paraphrasing, but that was the gist of it. It’s easier for me to get caught up in what someone else is feeling than pay attention to my own. It’s not much of a test of my abstinence if I never allow myself to experience life.”

Mitch was silent for a long moment. His brows lifted slightly; his features settled into contemplation. “Joel Strahern may be my new best friend.”

Thea smiled faintly, her eyes forward again. “I thought he might be.” She took a shallow breath and continued. “I decided I needed to be here today. First at the cemetery and then later with all of you. It was presumptuous, I know. But to do this right, I needed to risk rejection.”

“Rejection was never a possibility,” Mitch said. “You saw how the kids practically ran over each other to get to you. And me?” He offered a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Hell, Thea, as I recall, you had me kneeling at your feet inside of a minute.” He stopped her before she took exception to what he’d just said. She wasn’t prepared to hear what he’d admitted about himself under the guise of humor. “But I appreciate that you didn’t know how it would turn out, and if I’d told you, you wouldn’t have believed me.”

“You’re right,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t have. Seems I’ve always been a student of the long and hard way.” Oh, God, she thought, hearing herself say those words. Please don’t let him make a sex joke. Inside she was cringing, waiting for it.

“So what is it you want, Thea?”

She relaxed, rubbing her knees lightly with the palms of her hands. “How do people answer that?” she wondered aloud. “Do some of them really know? I don’t. I think I’ll always be working it out.”

“Let me make it easier for you.” He watched her carefully. “What do you want right now?”

Her hands stilled. “This,” she said. “Talking to you.” Thea’s head swiveled to look at him. “You.”

Mitch studied her. He swore he felt a current of electricity arc from the curve of her shoulder to his fingertips. It made him glance involuntarily at his hand, wondering if he’d touched her. No, his arm was still braced against the back of the seat, his fingers just inches from her shoulder. He hadn’t moved. “What about tomorrow?” he asked.

Her smile was almost sad, regretful. “One day at a time.”

Mitch released a long exhale. Could he do this? he wondered. Have her in his life with this impermanency so well defined? He knew better than most that no future was certain. The fact that Emilie and the twins were sleeping upstairs in
his
home was all the reminder he needed of that. But to go through each day with the purposefulness of not looking too far beyond it was not something he was sure he could live with. And what about the children? Was it fair to submit them to Thea’s daily struggle?

He knew the answer to that almost as soon as the question formed in his mind. It wasn’t fair not to. Keeping Thea at arm’s length would certainly have consequences for the twins, but it seemed especially true for Emilie. Thea not only knew what to say to Em, she knew how to say it, and Mitch couldn’t imagine denying Emilie that influence.

One day at a time. The phrase echoed hollowly in Mitch’s mind, bearing no voice that he recognized.

Watching Mitch struggle with what she was offering was almost too much for Thea. She wanted to promise more of herself; she wanted to promise it for a lifetime. It would have been rash and inappropriate. She would have to remind him not to believe her. Not yet. “It was wrong of me not to let you apologize,” she said on a thread of sound. “Those things you said ... they did hurt. Even the true ones. I knew you felt bad after you heard yourself say them, not because you didn’t think you were right, but because you understood you’d hurt me. I suppose that not letting you make amends was my way of punishing you.” Thea ran her hands along the length of her legs from knee to ankle and back again, smoothing the fabric of her faded jeans and wiping her damp palms. “Pretty bad, huh?”

“Fiendish.”

The shadow of a smile crossed Thea’s patrician features. “Neurotic,” she said.

“Quirky.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it.” He hesitated. “About the other stuff I said ... I was way out of line.”

Thea nodded. “Yeah. You were.”

“Did I ever thank you for helping me finance the SUV?”

“I don’t want to be thanked, Mitch. I did it—”

Mitch flexed his fingers and this time he caught her shoulder. He laid his hand lightly there, drawing her full attention. “You did a nice thing, Thea. Let me thank you.”

“All right,” she said slowly, as if it were painful.

“Thank you.” He watched her carefully. “Good girl. You took that right on the chin. Didn’t even flinch.”

She gave him an arch look. “You’re not going to thank me for the sex, are you?”

“I’m thinking that would guarantee me never getting any again.”

“Good thinking.”

“So that leaves the pill-popping crack I made,” he said.

“Which was accurate,” she told him.

“I’m feeling my way here,” Mitch said. “Am I forgiven?”

“You haven’t actually said you were sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Thea. You can’t possibly know how—” He stopped because Thea had reached across the space separating them and placed one fingertip on his mouth.

“You’re forgiven,” she said softly. “Take it on the chin.”

Mitch caught her hand just as she would have removed it and slipped his fingers through hers. She didn’t resist. He made a point of looking around him so that she followed the direction of his glance. From the undercarriage of the truck, Mitch’s work lamp glowed, illuminating their surroundings in a way that made the bikes and tools and trash cans all look a little less harsh, if not quite romantic. When his eyes settled on hers again, she was regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and humor. “You know where we are, don’t you?”

“Your garage?”

“
A
garage,” he corrected.

“Hmmm,” she murmured.

“In a big red truck.”

Her eyes widened a bit. “So we are.”

“Exactly. There’s even a hose and ladder lying back there in the bed.”

Thea glanced through the rear window of the cab again. There was indeed a garden hose and reel lying on the cargo mat. The ladder was a stepladder. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Did you put—”

“Practically a fire truck,” Mitch said.

“I get it,” she said dryly. “You really know how to wax nostalgic.”

Mitch shrugged. “I’m not sure about that. I was going to wax the truck, though. I started tinkering under the hood and ran out of time.”

Thea couldn’t help but smile. She looked out over the high-gloss finish of the hood. Light shimmered across the surface. “I don’t know, Mitch. This Chevy might not be able to stand another buffing. It practically glows now.”

“Shine and Shield,” he said. “I just spray it on and—”

That was when Thea launched herself at him. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Mitch accepted it, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her close. She had kisses for his mouth, his cheeks—quick, smacking kisses that made him just grin as she placed them on his jaw, neck, and when he ducked a little, his forehead.

“You’re a genius,” she whispered against his mouth. “Do you know that?”

“Tough question. Is there a prize if I get it right?” Before she could answer, Mitch kissed her lightly, brushing her mouth with his. He felt the tug of her lips as he drew back. His fingers tightened on her waist as he sensed her starting to move away from him. “No way,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Thea studied him, amused. She was also aware of her breath quickening. “I’m not?”

Mitch risked taking one hand off her long enough to turn on the radio. He kept the volume low. The La’s “There She Goes” was just moving into the first refrain. Perfect. “I had a seduction thing going here. You’re messing with my timing.”

“I don’t think I want to do that.”

“Good.” He bent his head and kissed her again, just as lightly as before. “You wanna neck?”

“Hmmm.”

Mitch took that as a yes. There was no resistance as he pulled her closer. Thea slid across the wide bench seat easily and her lips parted as she raised her face. His hands left her waist and repositioned themselves gently on either side of her throat. The pads of his thumbs made an angled pass along her jawline. He felt the sweet rush of her warm breath a moment before his mouth closed over hers.

He nibbled. Tasted. Nipped. Teased. Frustrated, Thea arched into him, pressing herself against his chest, feeling the flattening of her breasts as a pleasant ache. Her arms circled him. She ran her hands along his back. Her fingers wound in the damp hair at the nape of his neck and ruffled it. She felt him shiver. When he kissed her again it was openmouthed, hard and hungry and deep. Thea pulled at the tail of his shirt until it was out of his jeans. Her palms slipped under the material. His skin was warm and smooth, taut across his shoulders and along his rib cage. It retracted as her nails skittered up his abdomen.

Mitch felt the change in the line of her mouth. Her smile was still evident when he drew back and studied her darkening eyes and flushed face. “Like knowing you can do that, do you?”

Thea’s answer was a small nod.

Mitch held up his hands in mock surrender. “I like it, too.” He plucked the front of his shirt away from his chest and offered it to her. “Buttons,” he fairly growled. “Make sure you get them all.”

She made short work of them, surprising herself with the steadiness of her fingers, even if Mitch seemed to take it all in stride. This time when Mitch pulled her flush to him, her breasts felt the heat and hardness of his chest through only the material of her own shirt. It was a maddening barrier, deliciously abrasive and tantalizing. He played with her as they kissed again, running his hands up and down her thighs, slipping his fingers under the waistband of her jeans.

The heels of Thea’s hands pressed against Mitch’s shoulders. Her fingers uncurled. She tugged on his open collar, searching for the pulse beating in his neck. They shifted, breaking the embrace so Mitch could remove his shirt completely. It was pushed unnoticed to the floor of the cab while Thea found herself being levered back into the corner. Her thighs were splayed. Mitch fit himself between them, filling his palms with her butt, then lifting her so that when she came down again her seat was solidly against him.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck. Thea’s fingers clasped behind his skull, cradling his head as he sipped her skin. His tongue darted out. Damp. Rough. Slippery. Sensation rippled through her and her hips jerked. She ground against him, lifting her pelvis, rocking so that she felt the outline of his erection against her crotch. “Touch me,” she whispered raggedly. “My breasts.” Her hands groped for his and brought them around to her chest. His palms lightly cupped her swelling flesh. She surged into Mitch, rubbing herself against him. “My shirt ... please ...”

Mitch’s fingers showed far less consideration for Thea’s Oxford than she had shown for his. One button ricocheted off the windshield and dashboard before it fell to the floor. Mitch helped Thea shrug out of the shirt and whipped it aside. He stared at her bra. It was only a shade paler than the cool lime color of her shirt. “Nice,” he said huskily.

Then he got her out of it.

A shadow between her breasts defined the curve of them. Mitch touched her there first, making a pass with two fingers. He could feel the strength of her heartbeat. He made a long sweep with his fingertips, from sternum to navel and back again. Thea bit her lip, stemming a small cry of frustration. Her breasts ached. She arched, pushing herself toward him.

“Let me see,” he said. “Do it.” His palms continued to caress her sides, finding the swell of her rib cage and the indentation of her waist and taut belly. On one pass he unsnapped her jeans and worked the zipper open. What he did not do was touch her breasts. “I want to watch you.”

On those few occasions that Thea wondered how she might respond to this very request, she’d never been able to sustain the image of herself complying. She found the idea of someone watching her embarrassing, even humiliating. But then the someone had always been faceless, an indistinct masculine presence unrecognizable as any of the men she had known. She thought it would have been easier to touch herself in front of a stranger formed only in her mind’s eye. It wasn’t. But for Mitch ... for this man watching her now with the darkening eyes and unashamed interest ... she could do this. She
wanted
to.

Thea watched him watching her. His fingers were splayed across her midriff. She laid her palms over the back of his hands first. Taking a shallow breath, she lightly dragged her nails across his skin, then across her own. Her hands lifted, skimming her ribs. She could feel the swelling of her breasts as she cupped them in her palms. Mitch’s gaze seared her with heat as she gently kneaded her flesh. Her thumbnails scraped her nipples and sensation shuddered through her. Mitch was the one who gave it sound.

Thea’s pelvis rocked again. She caressed her breasts, lifting them as though in offering, then covering them with her palms. The rose-colored nipples were sometimes visible between her fingers. She tweaked them with a scissoring motion that engorged them with blood, making them darker and exquisitely sensitive. For a moment she thought Mitch stopped breathing.

What he did was grab her wrists, remove her hands, and lift her so his lips could settle where her fingers had been. She cried out at the first hard suck of his mouth. His tongue laved her nipple. The wet contact ignited a fire rather than put one out. It was as if a flame were licking her skin. Sparks cartwheeled along her spine and when her lashes fluttered closed, they danced against the dark screen of her eyelids.

Thea found purchase in the waistband of Mitch’s jeans. She felt him suck in his breath as her fingers dipped inside and skimmed his skin. She yanked on the snap and opened the fly. Her fingertips made immediate contact with the crisp arrow of dark hair. Her hand stilled and a startled, husky chuckle escaped her throat. Mitchell Baker wasn’t wearing any underwear. He released her breast long enough to give her a grin that might have been sheepish if it weren’t so thoroughly filled with the devil.