Crave
Authors: Violet Vaughn
Crave
Casey Cassidy is a girl who gets what she wants.
Determined to get over Jason and find a man that wants a family, she moves to Breckenridge, Colorado. Landing a job skiing every day, Casey finds Blaine Johnson - a wish come true. A hunky surfer turned ski instructor, he checks off every requirement on her list. Except for the one she forgot to add.
Blaine has a secret. A secret so big it keeps intimacy smoldering,when Casey needs fire. No matter how hard she tries, the embers won’t ignite. Can she live without passion to get the family she craves? When Jason comes to town, Casey questions everything she wished for. Their consuming love threatens to explode and ruin her dream. Will she have to choose between a family and the love of her life?
Crave
A Fire and Ice Novel
Violet Vaughn
www.VioletVaughn.com
Sugarloaf Press
Copyright © 2014 by Violet Vaughn
Smashwords Edition
Editing services by Kats Eye Editing and Victory Editing
Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs
Book Design/Layout by The Printed Page
This novel is a work of fiction. The town and ski area of Breckenridge, Colorado has been embellished to suit the story, and the references to people, events and locations are used fictitiously. Names, characters and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word marks mentioned: Jell-O, Pop-Tarts and Nivea.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form including but not limited to printing, scanning, and photocopying without permission from Violet Vaughn. However, brief quotes in reviews are allowed.
Contents
Many thanks to Nicole Slaunwhite, Deanna Chase, Jennifer Feddersen, Doree Klassen and Tamra Work for their help in my journey. I couldn’t have done it without you, ladies.
A special thank you to my daughter, Claudia. You let me talk about characters as if they were real, helped me bounce plot ideas around and always listened. Thanks for being my person.
“What the…? Oh, God.” My stomach churns and I gulp, and hope to keep the contents down. This can’t be happening. Marc scrambles out from under her as I step backward.
“Casey, it’s not what you think.” He gives me a condescending look, as if I haven’t noticed they’re both naked.
In an instant, I turn from nauseated to furious. I hold up a hand. “Don’t. Just don’t.” There’s nothing this asshole can say that makes sleeping with his ex-girlfriend okay. Nothing.
“I can explain.”
I turn and bolt down the stairs of his apartment and into the parking lot. He doesn’t follow me. Running to my car, I step into a pothole, turn my ankle, and fall. “Shit!” Warmth spreads across my knee. I look down to see blood seep through the hole in my jeans. I barely feel it. All I feel is an intense need to get the hell away from here. Now. I get behind the wheel and jam the key toward the ignition; I hit plastic. After a few more tries, I throw them at the windshield with a satisfying crack and slam my hands against the steering wheel. My vision blurs as tears spill onto my cheeks.
What the hell? Why would he do this? Would it have been so hard to break up with me first? My body shakes with sobs.
Within a few minutes, I’m spent. I snap open the glove box and search for a tissue or even a napkin. I throw what I find on the passenger seat. Tampons, Pop-Tarts, mascara, sunscreen, toothbrush. Damn it. I’ve got nothing, so I wipe my nose on my sleeve. As I look up, I see Jason. Tall and lean, he saunters from the Laundromat across the parking lot. Those hazel eyes look into me; he comes toward my car.
Fantastic. My ex-boyfriend. This just keeps getting better and better. I unroll the window of my vintage Saab.
Leaning his arms on the roof, he peers in at me with concern. “Are you okay?”
“What do you think, Sherlock? Do I look okay?” I’m pissed and take it out on him. I can’t help it.
He backs away, holding up his hands. “Hey, sorry. What happened?”
The door from the apartment building slams shut. Panicked that it’s Marc, I glance in my rearview mirror. I watch Lorna stomp toward her car. I burst into tears again. Big, heaving sobs I can’t stop. The most humiliating experience of my life, and Jason has to be the one who witnesses it. I really need to wipe my nose. “I don’t suppose you have a tissue, do you?”
He shakes his head. I’m not sure if it’s about the tissue or the situation. I grab the bottom of my shirt and blow my nose into it. Jason grimaces, then takes off his T-shirt and hands it to me. It’s not a warm October day. I blow my nose again. The shirt smells like him, and my heart aches a little.
“Thanks.” I do that horrible post-cry, gasping-hiccup thing. I don’t have to look in a mirror to know my face is blotchy.
“So.” I hear compassion in his voice. “I’m just hanging out waiting for my laundry to dry. Want to talk?”
The floodgates open and more tears start to stream. Jason opens my door and pulls me out by my hands. He tucks me against his chest and holds me tight.
Three weeks, and Marc’s betrayal is still so raw it hurts. I try to focus beyond the blustering snowflakes. I blink back tears in time with the windshield wipers. On my way home from another wild night out, I dropped Gretchen off a few miles ago. The driving sucks, and while I drank earlier, I’m sober now. Drinking every night, out dancing with my friends, and still I can barely eat or sleep. Never could I have imagined the pain and humiliation I feel over Marc cheating on me. I didn’t even have a clue. Damn it! He was supposed to be the one. Marc was a step toward what I want—no, need. A guy with a real job and goals for the future. A guy that likes children and—
“Crap!”
The car swerves and begins to fishtail. Lifting my foot off the gas, I slow and let the wheels gain traction. As my heart settles back down from my throat, I take a deep breath. That’s all I need, to total my car the day before I leave for Colorado. I won’t let this get to me. I’m a beautiful girl with friends. I’m funny and sexy, and that idiot will regret losing me. And Lorna? She can have him. A smile sneaks onto my face as I recall her pounding her way across the parking lot.
Colorado has been my dream for years. East Coast skiing can be cold and icy. But out West? Powder, steeps, and lots of it. My life is such a mess; I need to start fresh, far away from Marc. And Jason. I turn off my iPod. Justin Timberlake doesn’t help right now. I need quiet to focus in this storm. I flash to Jason’s smile at the bottom of a great run. He should come to Colorado with me. This is his dream too. Except that wouldn’t solve anything. Jason is almost perfect for me. Almost.
He doesn’t want children. And he hates holidays. How can someone hate Christmas? I hit a big pothole and my car bottoms out. Damn dirt roads. If he came with me, how would I ever get over him? I miss him so much. Where’s my phone? I dig through my purse on the passenger seat. When I find it, I try to hit numbers. My car lurches toward the left and I drop the phone. I graze the embankment and hear a crunch. The change in lighting tells me I broke a headlight. “Shit, shit, shit!” I yank the wheel to the right and bump back onto the road.
Chill, Casey, chill. You can call him when you get home.
Now to make it there in one piece.
Focus.
Finally, I’m home. I pull my still-shaking body out of the running car to assess the damage. It’s just the headlight. Good. I turn off the ignition and head toward my apartment. I grab two logs for the woodstove and let myself in.
It’s cold. I drop my purse and take five steps to check the cast-iron woodstove. Embers only. Sighing, I stoke them and drop in some kindling. I blow a few times, and watch for the fire to catch. It does, and I add a log to the pile.
Now what am I going to do about my car? Tears fill my eyes. I want Jason. I pick up my cell phone to call him.
No.
I need a drink. Something hot because it’s freezing in here.
I pour the remains of the coffeepot in a mug, put it in the microwave, and hit One-Minute Express. Where did I put that Kahlúa? Rifling through a box of bottles, I find it. The smell of sweet coffee and vanilla-scented liqueur swirls up my nose. I take a quick swig before I retrieve my cup. The syrupy liquid slides down as I mainline alcohol into my bloodstream. I splash a hefty amount into the coffee and stand by the woodstove.
When my mug is empty, I’m warm enough to take off my coat. I can’t fight the urge any longer. I call Jason.
A groggy voice answers, “Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Casey?” He sounds unsure.
“Yeah. Ah, I need your help.” Darn it, I’m crying. This is getting old.
His voice is suddenly alert. “Are you crying? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh. It’s just I did something to my car. I think it’s only a headlight, but… would you come over?” Yeah, it’s lame. It’s not like this is an emergency.
“Jesus, what time is it?” Okay, now he sounds mad. Crap.
“I don’t know, two?” I’m being selfish. I want to be held and feel loved. Even at the expense of someone else’s heart. There’s a long silence. I wait and hope he doesn’t hang up the phone.
“I have to plow in the morning.”
“You can start here. Like you used to. I’ll make you coffee and breakfast.” I’m not above begging and add with a slight whine, “Please?” More silence. I hear rustling in the background.
“Jason?”
He sighs. His voice is resigned “I’m coming. Be there in a bit.”
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“Casey Cassidy, you owe me a lot more than one.”
I know.
Pacing my apartment, I wait for him. Not that there is much to pace. I count fifteen steps and turn around. I love my space. An old garden shed converted into a loft apartment, the décor is tacky early ’80s. For six hundred a month, it’s all mine. The main floor is open with a loft set up in the eaves. The loft is what sold me. A big, triangle-shaped window frames a view of the valley. I set up my bed with the window at my feet, allowing me to gaze at the stars on a clear night. It’s not uncommon to see a shooting star, and I’ve made my share of wishes. Unfortunately, they aren’t coming true.
I grab a log from the pile and put it in the wood stove. Sparks fly and threaten to burn me. I flinch and hit the side of the round opening with my wrist.
Shit!
Searing pain shoots through the branded red welt on my tender skin.
Heating by fire is trying. I cut a piece of aloe plant and the cool jelly globs onto my burn. Sure, I have electric backup, but my bill is high enough due to the hot water. I’m in a constant state of temperature, and burn, management. Some days, I can be gone for twelve hours and come home to mere ashes and a cold house. Some nights, I wake up sweating in a ninety-degree loft. Stoking the fire, I know things will warm up soon enough.
My stomach grumbles. What have I eaten today? I remember a banana, a few stolen French fries and maybe some cheese? And alcohol. A wave of nausea passes through me. Now that I think about it, quite a bit of it. Yeah, I need food.
Grabbing a granola bar, I open the fridge. Diet Pepsi, wine coolers, and a few condiments. Working in a restaurant feeds me well most days, so there isn’t much need for food at home. Except on a day off. I pop the top of a Diet Pepsi and let the cool fizz soothe my tongue as I hop up on my tiny counter. Hell, I need more alcohol. I reach around to the freezer and pull out the chilled Absolut. I take a long drink from the soda to make room and pour a hefty amount of vodka in the can. I bite off a big chunk of the granola. I know I’ll be hungover tomorrow. But right now I don’t care.
I watch for lights through the kitchen window. This storm sure is something. Snow beats against the window. We’ve already had a great snow year, and it’s shaping up to be an amazing one. My skis loom in the corner, waiting for me. The storm is supposed to last through tomorrow. This is my favorite kind of ski day. I hear wind howl and I shiver. Just the diehards venture out in a blizzard. Blustery winds, sleet-covered goggles, and snow swirling make for low visibility. It also means nearly fresh tracks every run. I had planned to leave tomorrow, but this storm is a good reason to wait one more day.
Lights flash and I hear Jason’s plow scrape the snow off my driveway. I should move my car, but I don’t. Peering out the window over the couch, I notice truck headlights on my car. He gets out and bends down to inspect it. Damn, he looks good. I sense the tingle in the pit of my stomach and fidget with a button on my blouse. He walks toward the door. I open it before he can.
With one hand I grab his coat and pull him inside. Shoving the door shut, I push him up against it. His body stiffens in surprise. Before he can speak, I pull his head down and kiss him. Hard. I thrust my tongue into his mouth as if I can’t taste enough of him. My hands slide into his open jacket, and I strip it off his shoulders. He relaxes and I hear a rustle of nylon as it falls to the floor. He darts his tongue into my mouth, but I pull away.
His voice is husky. “Case?”
Putting my finger to my lips I say, “Shhhh. Don’t talk.”
I grab the waistband of his jeans as I get down on my knees. When I unbutton them, I realize he’s rock hard. The zipper releases a grinding noise as I pull it down. No underwear? Hot. He must have been half-asleep when he got dressed. Yanking the pants over his hips, I drag my tongue up his hardness. His head is tilted back, and a moan rumbles through his body. I think he’ll go for this. I grab his hips and pull him deep into my mouth. My senses are intoxicated with the musky woodland scent of him. I place my hands in the hollows of his butt and suck him the way he likes. I tremble with desire, and he sways a little.
I push away and stand up. My nimble fingers release the buttons on my blouse. He scrambles with his boots and tries to watch me. Stepping back, I fling the blouse onto the couch. His eyes are full of lust, and I quickly add my black lace bra to the pile. It lands with a soft swoosh. The carpet is cool under my feet as I move toward the ladder for the loft. I strip off my jeans. Sure he’s watching, I walk and wiggle at the same time. With the smooth, wooden rung of the ladder in my hand, I turn toward him. His eyes are big, and I guess he noticed I’m not wearing panties either. A deep, throaty sound escapes as he shakes his head.
The worn fabric of his jeans hits the floor while he pulls his shirt off over his head. His muscles appear defined in the dim light. I hook my finger at him, and urge him to follow me up the ladder. His breath is warm on my butt as we climb; I arch my back to push it closer. Jason’s teeth nip and I scramble up with a yelp. I turn to stare at him and put my hands on my hips. My loft is small, and he can only stand in the very center. Having hit his head more times than I can count, Jason crawls across the shag carpet toward me.
As he rises up on his knees, I push his head between my legs and his hair tickles my tender skin. His tongue darts right home as I feel his firm grip on my bottom. Oh Lord, does he do this well. I pulse with need as ripples of pleasure spread through my core. It doesn’t take long before I’m about to climax. Trembling, I grab a condom from the top of my bureau and lie back on the bed. Since it’s a mattress on the floor, he easily crawls over me. He takes the slippery foil package and I hear it rip. “Hard and fast,” I order. He plunges in and I cry out at the abrupt pleasure.
Oh God, I can barely think. He pumps quickly, bringing me over. Endless waves of passion take me as he thrusts deeply into me. I hear myself call his name as he gets closer. His body tenses, and I know he’s almost there, but I push him away. Jason shudders and lifts up to his knees. He has a questioning look. I reach out and whisper, “Slow and deep, please.” He slides back in as I sit up to taste the salty moisture on his chest and flick my tongue up to his neck. I touch his lips with my fingers and tears burn in my eyes. My heart breaks into a million pieces. Burying my head in his chest, I wish he could be inside me forever. I wrap my legs around his waist and settle back. I let him take over.