Stirred (6 page)

She drew me in for a squeeze. I rested my chin along her shoulder as tears streamed down my cheeks. We remained locked in a sisterly hug until Ashlyn straightened back up. She wiped her own tears away then sat there and stared at me with her sad eyes. I shrugged, like it didn’t bother me anymore, like time had healed that hole in my heart. But just talking about it all had a way of ripping the scab off the wound, and my emotions began to get the best of me, tears seeping through like blood. My shoulders shook with twenty years of pent-up emotion, of grief and loss, anger and resentment, of shattered dreams and utter disappointment in myself.

Ash rubbed comforting circles along my shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said over and over.

But I disagreed with a firm shake of my head. “No, it’s not okay, Ash. Because, besides catching Declan and Aurelia, today marks twenty years since Ivy died,” I explained through broken sobs. “She was my only connection to the one man I truly loved, and the only man who ever genuinely loved me.” I choked out then stood up as the emotions became unbearable. “I’m sorry, I…I need a moment. If you’ll excuse me.”

Without a backwards glance, I grabbed my bag and fled.

The crowd in the bar had swelled in the last hour, making it a challenge to snake my way toward the restroom. I received salacious stares and bawdy comments as I pushed through the bodies, something I, as a former ugly duckling, never got used to. Just as I approached the vestibule outside the bathrooms, a guy in his mid-twenties blocked my path. He moved when I moved, side to side, a choreographed dance purposely hindering my progress, all with what I’m sure he thought was his most irresistibly charming smile, but which only made me want to knock his teeth down his throat.

“Hey, babe, you look like a smart lady,” he said then glanced over his shoulder at a table of cavemen urging him on with vulgar gestures and lewd remarks.

I tried to push by him, but he continued the dance.

“Let me by, please,” I begged as I swiped at my tears.

“Just answer one question first, okay? You know the dove is the bird of peace, right?” he asked.

I shook my head, still working to get around him. “Whatever. Just…please... Let me by.”

He seized me, his hands on my arms. “Do you know what the bird of love is?” he persisted.

My grief morphed into irritation, but I just stood there and shook my head, biting back an immature response. 

He looked at his friends again before he turned back to me and said, “The swallow. Get it?” He burst out laughing, like he truly believed he was the wittiest man on earth.

I narrowed my eyes and gave him a withering look that should’ve straightened him out. Disgusted, I pushed against him. He refused to give way and tightened his grip on my arms, With me firmly in hand, he leaned in over my shoulder as if to whisper in my ear. Instead, he presented the perfect opportunity for my knee to make acquaintance with his balls, to which he strenuously objected with a sharp yelp and a stern shove backwards into the crowd.

“Fucking bitch!” he swore, advancing on me with rage in his eye.

But before he could reach me, someone yanked him from behind, dragged him into the vestibule, and thrust him out the back door into the alley, knocking him into the filthy Dumpster and crowning him a true dirty hipster. My savior slammed the self-locking door shut and comically brushed himself off to the applause of the surrounding crowd.

He raised his hands. “All right, show’s over. As you were,” he said. And with that, they all went back to what they were doing. The young man approached me with a sheepish grin. “Apologies, ma’am. We aren’t
all
Neanderthals, I assure you,” he explained, then asked, “You okay?”

I nodded silently, afraid, if I said one word, I’d start to cry all over again.

My savior wasn’t convinced. He bent down to catch my eye, his hands gentle as they caressed my arms exactly where that douchebag had grabbed me so roughly.

“You sure?” he said as he eased me toward him, carefully pulling me into the vestibule and away from the boisterous bar crowd.

When the last occupant exited the single-user men’s room, he held the next in line back with a pleading look before he escorted me inside, closed the door, and locked the deadbolt. He leaned back against the door with his hands clasped in front.

“You want me to go beat his ass? ‘Cause I will if you want. Anything to help a beautiful woman,” he said with a twinkle in his eye and what actually
was
a charming smile.

I stared at him and was struck dumb, reliving that time years ago, the night Jacob was killed protecting me. Every emotion I’d felt back then, and again today while visiting Ivy’s grave and telling Ashlyn about Jacob, it all began to wash over me like a rogue wave—the pain of what I’d lost, my first born, my daughter, the longing and physical ache for someone I’d loved more than life itself, an unbearable craving to see Jacob again, to touch and smell him, my first and one true love.

This young man looked so much like Jacob, near the same age and tall, his body long and lean, muscular and broad-shouldered. He had dark hair that swept over his forehead in front and curled just to the top of his Henley collar in back. A small iron medallion hung from a cord at his neck, and a mix of leather bands encircled one wrist. But this was no dirty hipster. His jaw was clean-shaven, square and sharp. His gentle, brown eyes glowed, unobstructed by unnecessary designer glasses. And his lips were full, yet masculine, the smile different from my Jacob’s, but still just as genuine and easy-going.

Blinking away the tears, I took a tentative step closer and raised a finger to the young man’s well-sculpted cheek, sliding it to the crisp line of his jaw, until it came to rest at his slightly dimpled chin.

He didn’t say another word. Confident and unassuming, he just stared me in the eye in a way that quieted the turmoil and bitterness. If I believed in ghosts, I would have sworn Jacob had swooped down from the heavens and stolen into this young man’s body, had possessed his soul, even for the briefest of moments.

My fingers moved to his lips of their own accord as I stared at the soft, dusky flesh, so tempting, as if beckoning me across time. I felt his hands drop to his sides. They never reached up to touch me, but rather waited for me to do what I wanted so badly to do.

I moved in closer, until my body felt captured by his heat, his breath warm and gentle against my cheek. My gaze drifted over every inch of his beautiful, young face. Then, like gravity, I was drawn to him, my lips brushing his from side to side before pressing ever so lightly.

I closed my eyes as he opened his mouth a hair’s breadth, just enough for the tip of his tongue to peek out and make an introduction. Mine joined his, and we danced about each other for a few seconds, testing the waters. We both opened a little wider, each inviting the other in.

With a deep breath and a slight moan, my hands smoothed over his chest and up along his shoulders, behind his neck and into his soft, lush hair. I felt the warmth of his hands coil around my waist and slide up my back. His body molded into mine as I pressed him harder into the door.

He let me have full rein, never forcing himself on me, yet never pulling back either. He gave himself to me—to use, to explore, to feed upon. Because that’s what it felt like, as if he were infusing lifeblood into every cell, to my very soul, and I was the starving animal at the very end of my rope.

It was the single most sexually fulfilling moment I’d felt in nearly twenty years, standing here with this stranger, this man who was hardly more than a boy, really, at least compared to me.

So young, so tender, so giving.

And so sexy.

Just like my Jacob.

But he wasn’t my Jacob, and I was aware of that every second. I just didn’t want to let the moment go. I needed it like I needed air, like I hadn’t had a decent, full breath in two decades. It filled and energized me, spread through me like wildfire, igniting passions I thought long dead. And it made me realize how I’d become little more than a thin shell of the sensual woman I used to be.

With a longing sigh, I slowly eased my tongue from his mouth, my lips from his lips, my fingers from his hair, and dropped back down from my tiptoes. His eyes fluttered open and looked down at me with an unfathomable expression, aroused and smugly satisfied, a little amused, I think.

I couldn’t be angry with him for that. He was entirely too hot and so very young, yet obviously not the least bit inexperienced. Everything about him felt sexual, sensual.

“What was that for?” he asked, his voice low and his heated eyes glued to mine.

With an upward squeeze of my shoulders, I said, “Payback,” then flashed him a grin as a whirlwind of desire churned inside me, making my cheeks flame and my fingers tingle with electricity.

His brow shot up and his smile widened. “Interesting,” he said. “May I ask for what?”

His casual attitude emboldened me. “My husband,” I answered. “I caught him cheating earlier. With my best friend, no less.”

His brow knitted for a moment, but the amusement remained. “You know, I’ve heard revenge can be sweet. Perhaps you should retaliate, even the playing field a little.” He raised one brow. “Or maybe…a lot.”

I breathed a slight chuckle and skimmed my hands downward, my eyes following as I explored the chiseled plane of his chest, then the ripped expanse of his stomach below. I wanted to go farther, to smooth my hand lower and mold my fingers around the thick length of his cock, bulging beneath his blue jeans.

He was hard. I’d felt it, hot and ready, when I pressed him against the door. My own body responded with a deep and urgent pulsing, my panties damp between my legs, and my breathing quick, in pace with my heart.

I licked my lips, let my gaze drift from his eyes to his mouth, and said, “God, I’m so damned tempted. You have no idea.” I shook my head, just once, more at myself than him, and added, “But…I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

I stepped back and dipped down to pick my bag up from the floor where I’d dropped it moments earlier. He turned his body, as did I, and we exchanged a long, silent look. I smiled softly and reached for the handle, unlocking the door and pulling it open just wide enough for me to wedge through.

Then, as my judgment warred with my desire, I let it close against my young, seductive savior.