Healing Hearts (The Challenge Series) (6 page)

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

***

By the time she got home, soaked in the tub, washed and dried and finally gave up on taming her hair, Abby was a complete wreck. She settled on a classic little black dress she’d had for about five years after discarding four other potential outfits. She despised clothes shopping, but right now she would have given anything for a few hundred bucks and two hours to find something new. Smoothing the linen- silk blend fabric over her hips, she turned every which way in the mirror, worried the black seemed too funereal, then stripped it off in favor of a cream colored skirt and a black sleeveless blouse. After tucking a few more bobby pins in her hair, hoping it appeared like a casual up-do and not a desperate attempt to control the uncontrollable, she grabbed a dark denim Salvation Army vintage jacket and walked to the door, a little wobbly in heels after four years in tennis shoes or flat boots.

When the doorbell rang, Abby took a long, deep breath and opened the door. Jefferson Taylor Longmire stood there, manly perfection in khaki pants and a blue and white-striped button down shirt, his blond hair smooth and his jaw the same. She gasped and put a hand to her mouth.

“What?” He looked over his shoulder.

“Your face.” She blinked a few times.

“Oh, yeah.” He rubbed his cheek. “Feels weird.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t tell me you like the bearded version better?”

She nodded but glanced away before making a fool out of herself by gawking at him any longer. Dear God in heaven, his gorgeousness made her a nervous wreck. But he was so…damaged.

She plucked her purse from the mess on the kitchen table and turned to find him towering over her, way too close for comfort. She gulped and stepped back, holding out a hand. “Um, yeah. So no personal bubble invasion. It’s too tempting for a poor divorced gal.” He grinned, and she matched the first real smile he’d shared with her. Her heart pounded but she kept her voice light. “Okay with that, handsome?”

“Sure.” He held out his arm. She glared at him then tucked her hand into his elbow and accompanied him to the parking lot of her apartment building. “Your chariot awaits you.” He opened the door of his car, a late model domestic SUV of some kind, and handed her up into the luxurious leather seat.

He climbed in behind the wheel and smiled at her, his eyes neutral. She had a brief moment of relief, thinking that guilt wouldn’t be part of this night at least not at first.

“You good with a Mission Peninsula winery?” he asked. “I know one that’s very nice.”

“Uh, sure.” She’d never been to one. Wineries were not in her meager budget, especially the ones up on the peninsula, many of them part of bed and breakfasts or resorts.

He pulled out into the light traffic, and an uneasy silence settled between them. Abby fidgeted with the strand of her hair that kept tumbling around her face. Jay kept his eyes trained on the road. After a while she gave up and decided to do the jumping-in-with-both-feet thing. If he were indeed a friend, she’d ask him the same sorts of questions after all. “So, court. How did it end up?”

He flinched and she regretted bringing it up. Then he took a long breath, as if prepping for an underwater swim. “The criminals are going back to jail and will stand trial for real in three months.”

“Oh, that’s good then.” She watched him, unable to rip her eyes from his perfect classic profile. He glanced over at her while waiting at a stoplight. His forehead furrowed with something she regretted putting there. But she met his gaze, lifting her chin a little with a bravery she did not feel.

He smiled, sending all sorts of inappropriate signals shooting down her spine. “It’s okay, you can ask me anything you want. Like friends do?”

Without thinking, she put a hand on his leg, needing a connection more than words right now. He looked down at it, then up at her. “I believe that is also a personal bubble invasion. No fair to the poor, grieving, and very horny widower.”

She laughed so hard tears rolled down her face, and when he joined her, she had a split second of relief followed by a deep shaft of lust right to her core.

Chapter Nine

Jay’s hand shook as he poured wine into the large glass in front of her. Her dark eyes shone and her full lips glistened, He acknowledged that he wanted to lick those lips so much his whole body tensed when she ran the tip of her tongue across them. He felt light, airy, unencumbered by grief and unhappiness and general despair for the first time in what seemed like forever. A small finger of guilt kept trying to creep around the edges of his brain, but he shoved it away.

“Nursing school, eh?” he said, raising the glass to touch hers before sipping the rich, fruity vintage.

“Oh, yeah, you remembered.” She flushed some, ducking her eyes down.

“Of course. It came within the same breath as you calling me an asshole. It stuck.” He allowed himself to smile again, the muscles used to make such an expression a little stiff from disuse. It felt great, and he kept doing it, unable to stop, as she fiddled with her hair, and filled him in on her big plans for school at U of M. Her lips moved, formed words; her teeth flashed; her dark eyes mesmerized him. He shifted in his seat, his body alive and aware in ways he’d forgotten he possessed. Jesus he wanted her, and how. But he’d vowed to keep it friendly. So he would. Because if that’s all he got, he’d take it.

“And the divorcee part? What’s up with that? Who would leave you? I mean, I’m sure once I get to know you I’ll find some flaws but so far….” He let the thought linger between them and sipped more wine, nodding his thanks to the server who put salads down in front of them.

“He was sort of a dumb jock type, I guess. I fell in lust with him first, when I worked down at the hotel bar. Construction worker—he sang in a band every now and then. A perfect physical specimen, I assure you.” She winked, and a very strange sensation gathered at the base of his brain.

Jealousy—he hadn’t had that particular feeling for so long, even married. He blinked and kept his mouth shut. She kept talking. “He was pretty amazing until I figured out that he’d wanted to elope because he kept hiding from a bunch of guys he owed money to on his construction crew. Then I saw the credit card bills start showing up with giant balances under his name. He was—is—a drifter. A guy who ghosted into TC and ran into me. I held onto him for a while, but I was honestly not sad to see him go even if it left me holding a huge bag of debt.”

“You aren’t legally responsible for his debt, Abigail.” He sipped and watched her lips move some more, tried to listen to the actual words coming from them and not to his small brain that begged him to grab her and shove her up against the wall of the nearest supply closet and make her come all over him.

“I know. He managed to open new accounts under my name while we were together. I remained oblivious, for various reasons. I didn’t care. Until…oh, never mind.”

“No, no, come on spill it. What did the oily bad-credit-risk bohunk do?

“He disappeared, I guess. A classic ‘honey-I’m-going-out-for-cigs-and-never-coming-back’ move. By that time I was onto him, but he had a way of convincing me it didn’t matter.” She sighed and looked out into the middle distance, and Jay had to sit on his hands to keep from launching himself across the table at her. She shot him a quizzical glance. “You okay?”

“Yeah. So, you grew up here in Michigan tourist central. What did your dad do? Where did you go to college? Are your parents around?”

“Yes, I did. I’m finishing community college courses and some online work now, but it’s sort of moot since I already applied to nursing school. My parents owned about ten rental units and we all worked them. I loved growing up here.” She sipped her wine and Jay would swear her lips, or perhaps the line of her throat, was hypnotizing him. “My dad died about three months before I met my ex husband. After my pseudo-wedding, my mom sold all the rentals and crawled into a bottle of vodka. She’s still emerging. A ‘recovering’ alcoholic now, I suppose. Next?” She leaned back, crossed one long, tempting leg over the other, and eyeballed him.

“Huh?”

“Next question?”

“Oh, sorry, I don’t mean….”

“No, no, Jay, it’s fine. I know pretty much everything about you without even asking. That’s hardly fair. So ask away.”

He tried to remain calm, to slow down, remind himself about the friendly nature of this date. Not meant to go anywhere but in a…friendly direction. He gulped down some wine and held up a hand for the waiter. “What are you hungry for?”

She smiled that amazing, wide, toothy thing that turned his knees to Jell-O. “I’m not, to be honest.”

“Oh?” He looked down at the menu. “I sort of am for the first time in…a long time.” He glanced up at her, but she kept her gaze trained out the window. “So, we can share. They do a kick ass filet here. Oh crap, you aren’t a vegetarian, are you?”

She chuckled at the familiar words. “No. Solid carnivore, thanks.”

He ordered for them both with his eyes locked on the long, dark line of her neck, already sensing his lips there. Jesus. “Okay so, personal question. Ready?”

“Sure.” She held out her empty glass.

He filled it. “Are you first-generation or something? Your parents Greek or maybe Italian, because you surely do not appear to be a classic grown-up-in-Traverse-City-girl.”

“I’m adopted.”

“Oh.” He narrowed his eyes but her gaze remained wide and genuine.

“My parents are the ones who raised me, who brought me home at two weeks old or something. Not sure. But we didn’t discuss it much.”

He raised his full glass. She clinked hers to it. “Here is to…um….”

“Dysfunction? I drink to that a lot.” She grinned and Jay’s heart sped up yet again.

“New friends,” he said, his voice firm.

Dinner was a blur of rich food, laughter, and more wine. Jay switched to water, knowing he had to drive. But also recalling this particular winery restaurant was attached to a very nice bed and breakfast, emphasis on the
bed
end of the equation. But he would not do that to her, not again. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. He cut and fed her pieces of the amazing steak, scooping out bites of butter-infused whipped potatoes and olive oil-dredged green beans.

“Damn,” she said, sitting back and patting her lips with a white napkin. “Nice foreplay, I must say.”

“Oh shit, busted.” He smiled at her, his cheeks and lips getting used to the movement.

“Oh, I’m kidding, lighten up.” She winked and leaned in on her elbows giving him a breathtaking view of her cleavage. He gulped down some water then noted an older man in a tux step up to the mike and a few musicians settle in behind him. “Oh, God, that’s Mr. Henry!” She raised her hand and the dapper old guy saluted her then launched into the most amazing rendition of
Minnie the Moocher
he’d ever heard. They listened, smiling, and clapped with the rest of the full restaurant.

“Okay, ladies and gents,” the man declared. “Time to dance.”

Jay raised an eyebrow at her, ignoring the pounding in his heart. Christy had made him take dancing lessons. It had been one of her “marriage trades,” used to convince the other partner to participate in something they otherwise might not. His were more along the lines of blowjobs, but he’d suffered the waltz, the two-step, and even the tango once or twice. They’d been good at it, too. He shut his eyes against the looming onrush of memories. A hand on his shoulder startled him.

“So?” She stood, arms crossed. “What’cha got, Longmire?”

“You have no idea.” He rose to his feet and took her hand.

After three songs’ worth of guiding her around the dance floor, the rest of the crowd had taken their seats. Jay stood, holding Abigail close, alone in the middle of the room. He felt released, free of guilt, of sorrow, of anything but the perfection of her small form in his arms. The band launched into a Sinatra song. She smiled up at him through her thick black lashes.

“Stop flirting with me. That’s a personal bubble violation,” he whispered, letting his lips graze her earlobe, loving how her whole body shivered against him.

“Fine, then stop pressing against me so hard I can feel how much money is in your pocket.”

“Touché.” But he gripped her closer. The candlelight flickered, the music embraced them, and she nearly brought him to his knees with her next words.

“I can’t be what you want me to be, Jay. I have goals. I need my independence. I want to make it on my own.”

He sucked in a breath, slid the hand he had on her hip around to the small of her back. He didn’t need this. But he wanted it so much he was about to explode. “I’m never going to be what you want me to be, either. Let’s just be…what we are…tonight.”

She laid her head against his chest, and he shut his eyes, trying not to let the moment overwhelm him, send him screaming into the night. Christy’s face at their wedding, at the birth of their children, and that last moment when her eyes clouded over after she told him not to blame himself while he watched her die—they all rose, clear and bright. He swallowed, leaned down into Abigail’s thick riot of dark curls, sucked in a deep breath. “What do you want me to be for you…tonight?” he asked.

She put her hand to his face, went up on her tiptoes, and met his lips, urgent and needy. He kissed her, listening to the crowd clap and catcall. Then broke away. “Well?” he asked, his body zinging.

“I want you to be the guy who fucks me again.” The simplicity of her words took his breath away. “I don’t want to be made love to, not now. I need you, Jay. With me, inside me, all over me. And you need it, too. No strings, no emotion. Only physical urges met. I’m willing. Are you?”

He stepped away from her, a little shocked and a lot horny. “Give me two minutes.” Grateful the room had dimmed for the music and dancing, he dropped three hundred in cash on the table, more than enough to cover the meal, wine, and a healthy tip, and took her hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, giggling when he pushed her up against the side of his SUV and dove into her mouth, sweeping into it with his tongue, his hands cradling her face then buried in her hair. She molded into him, making that damn noise, the one that made him insane, down in her throat.