CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WILLOW HAD BEEN waking up at four thirty in the morning for years without issue, but now, as she absently slapped the nightstand in search of her phone to turn off her alarm, a deliciously tempting man shifted on top of her and began kissing her neck.
“I’m coming with you,” Zane said between shivery kisses.
“You always come with me. You’re the double-rainbow king. The mutual-orgasm master. The postman who always rings twice . . .”
He laughed against her neck and nipped at her skin. “I meant to the bakery, but I’m totally up for a game of Willow-go-round.”
She wrapped her arms around him, surprised at how quickly she’d gotten used to sharing her bed—and her apartment. “I thought having you around all the time would be annoying since, well, you know, you kind of bullied your way into my life. But there are benefits to having a hot guy at my disposal.”
He grinned down at her. “Bullied?”
“Tricked? Coerced?”
“I think reentered is better.” He nudged her legs open, teasing her with the head of the world’s most talented pleasure wand.
“Like you’re trying to reenter my body?” She gave his ass a smack.
“Now that you mention it, that does sound like a good idea.” He kissed her cheeks, forehead, chin, the corners of her lips . . .
Everywhere except her panting mouth. If he didn’t kiss her mouth soon, she might combust. She mentally debated if she could be late to work without screwing up her entire morning. He dragged his tongue along the ridge of her jaw. Oh yeah, the muffins can wait.
She leaned up to trap his mouth, and he pulled back with a devilish grin. “You think I’m hot.”
She laughed. “This bed is too small for you, me, and your ego.”
He grabbed her hips with both hands and held them down. His eyes turned fierce and demanding, and her entire body ignited.
“You love my big ego.”
She reached for a condom from the box they’d torn open last night and tossed a handful on the bed. “I have five minutes.”
He grabbed a condom and reared up to sheath himself.
“What if I want to play for ten minutes?” he asked with a smirk.
“We played for hours last night.” She pointed to the area beneath her eyes. “See these bags? They’re called Z-bags, and don’t you dare make any tea bagging jokes.”
He laughed as he settled over her. “You want it fast and dirty or sweet and sensual?” He slicked his tongue along her lower lip.
“Z—” she pleaded. “Five minutes.”
He pushed the head of his cock inside her and stilled, dipping his head to tease her nipple. “Five minutes is not nearly enough.”
Her sex clenched around him, and she lifted her hips. He pushed them down to the mattress without missing a beat with his magnificent tongue. He grazed his teeth over her nipple, sending darts of exquisite pain to her core.
“Zane,” she panted out, and he began rocking the broad head of his cock in and out, ever so slowly, driving her out of her flipping mind.
He captured her mouth, kissing her roughly as his slow tease continued. His hands pressed harder, his kiss intensified, and she heard herself whimper. Five minutes would never be enough. A week would never be enough. Loving Zane Walker would take a lifetime. And then some.
“I love you, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me you love me. I need to hear it.”
“I love you. I’ve always been in love with you,” she answered, but she knew he felt the part of her that was holding back.
He touched his forehead to hers. “I’ll take it, and I’ll love you so hard you won’t be able to remember why you were scared of me in the first place.”
“I don’t need you to love me hard or to buy me ten dozen roses. I just need you, Zane. Plain and simple. I need to know that the Zane I love right this second is the same man who will fly back to California in a few weeks.”
“I can’t promise you that.”
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.
“My love for you has grown every moment since I told you how I felt, and it’s going to get even bigger.” He touched his lips to hers. “Deeper,” he whispered, trailing kisses over her mouth. “So much so, I’ll need all the seats on the plane just to bring it along.”
His mouth came coaxingly down over hers, and emotions swamped her. She disappeared into the sensual, sweet tenderness of the kiss, and when he thrust forward, filling her completely in one powerful motion, her body shuddered in ecstasy.
A few hours and two orgasms later, Willow was wrapping up a scone for the last of the morning rush. Zane had come down with her at five thirty and helped her with an hour of baking before his jitteriness had driven her crazy and she’d sent him out of the kitchen. He was tied in knots over sharing his screenplay with Sam. She hadn’t had a chance to read the whole thing, but she couldn’t imagine anyone thinking it was anything short of stellar.
“Here you go, sweetie. Have a great day.” She handed the bakery bag to her customer and poured a fresh cup of coffee for Zane.
He looked up from the table where he was poring over his screenplay. He’d run his hand through his hair so many times it stood on end. Willow set down the coffee and finger-combed his hair.
“I love the just-romped look,” she teased. “But maybe a little less wild will go over better with Sam.”
“Thanks, babe.” He glanced at his watch for the millionth time.
“He’ll be here in five minutes.”
“I don’t want to push myself on him,” Zane said.
“Zane Walker.” She put her hand on his forehead. “Pushiness is your middle name. Are you feeling feverish?”
He pulled her in for a kiss. “Just for you.”
“I get off work in a few hours. But my fiancé might kick your ass if he finds out you’re hitting on me. We’d have to be very covert.”
His eyes narrowed, and she laughed.
“Really?” She sank down to the chair beside him. “You’re jealous of yourself?”
“Just nervous, baby.”
“I can see how much this means to you, but you have nothing to worry about. From what I read, it’s an amazing story.” She sat back and crossed her arms, taking in his dark T-shirt, his golden tan, and his knee bouncing like a jackhammer under the table. She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “You weren’t even this nervous your first time.”
His hand coasted through his hair again. “I was, but you needed me to be confident. And I trusted you, Wills. I had read enough about sex and watched enough porn to know I’d be pretty good at it. This is totally different.”
“You researched sex?” That shouldn’t surprise her, but it did.
“Think I wanted to screw up your first time? No way. You trusted me, and that meant the world to me.”
“Aw, Z. That’s so romantic.”
He scoffed. “I also jerked off twice before I met you so I’d last longer. Not so romantic, sweetheart. A necessity.”
Laughter burst from her lungs. “Seriously? That’s . . . oh my God. Do all guys do that? Do you do that now? Geez, what other things is the male race hiding from us?”
He was laughing as Sam Shearson shuffled past the front window.
“Here he is now.” Willow squeezed Zane’s hand. “You’ll love him.”
ZANE TOOK IN the large elderly man entering the bakery. His checkered button-down shirt didn’t quite go with his cargo shorts. Dark knee-high socks and black orthopedic sneakers rounded out his quirky outfit. Wrinkles mapped his deeply tanned skin like rivers coursing around a thin-lipped mouth and slightly hooked nose. Smiling eyes surveyed the bakery from behind wire-framed glasses resting on the type of ears mothers grew their children’s hair long to hide.
Sam stuck a finger up toward the ceiling. “One banana nut muffin, a cuppa coffee, and a hug for my newly engaged friend.” He opened his arms, and Willow walked in, embracing the man as if he were family.
“Aw, thank you, Sam.” She glanced over her shoulder at Zane, and Zane’s nerves went haywire. She took Sam’s hand and led him to the table as Zane rose to his feet.
“Sam, this is my fiancé, Zane Walker. Zane, this is Sam Shearson.”
Sam had a good two inches on him and probably thirty pounds. A fluff of white hair circled his bald crown, and Zane couldn’t help but notice several fine white scars on his hands and forearms. The marks of a fisherman.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Zane held a hand out in greeting.
Sam pushed his hand away. “Get on in here.”
He tugged Zane into a tight embrace, slapping him on the back harder than expected. “You hurt my Willow, and I’ll take you out on my boat and drown you in that lake. Got it?”
“Sam. That’s illegal,” Willow teased.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head.” Sam pulled out a chair at Zane’s table. “I’ll take him out into the ocean. Ocean floors don’t tell your secrets. You don’t mind if I sit and chat with your gentleman friend, do you, Willow?”
Willow raised her brows. “I’ll get your breakfast, but be good to him, Sam.”
Sam waved her away and set a serious glare on Zane, then dropped his eyes to the empty chair by Zane’s side.
Zane sat, feeling like he was about to get reamed. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to hurt her.”
Sam’s eyes roved over his face. “No, son. I don’t expect you do. But hurt comes in many forms, and I’ve read the papers.” He slapped the newspaper down on the table so hard, coffee splashed from Zane’s mug. “Not that I believe all the garbage. You Hollywood types got no privacy. It’s not like it was in my day. Hell, I’d go out on the fishing boat before dawn and be gone until dark. Come back stinking so bad no woman wanted to be anywhere near me. No expensive colognes for me. No, sir.” He pointed at Zane, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I don’t care what the papers say. I know enough about you from when you lived here.”
Aw, Christ. What the hell did that mean?
Willow brought Sam’s coffee and muffin, along with a fork and knife. “You guys let me know if I can get you anything else.” She headed back to the counter and gave Zane a thumbs-up.
Zane hung on Sam’s next breath as the old man lifted the coffee to his lips.
“Mm. Willow makes a mean cup of coffee.” Before Zane could respond, Sam said, “Star quarterback, on the track team, the homecoming parade. You were the boy whose parents lived on the other end of town. The scared boy.”
“Excuse me?” Zane felt like he was sitting at the bottom of a valley and all his childhood fears were about to come crashing down around him.
Sam proceeded to cut his muffin into bite-size pieces, working in silence. If it weren’t for the kind smile on his lips, Zane would think he was purposefully dragging out his misery.
He took a bite of the muffin and pointed the empty fork at Zane. “I know a thing or two about being scared. Can’t be afraid out on the high seas. Mother Nature will beat that fear out of you quicker than you can drop a fishing line.”
Zane raked a hand through his hair, unsure what to make of the old man.
“You ever fish?” Sam asked.
“Sure.”
“Then you know when you hook a live one, every muscle comes to life. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you hold your breath, or curse, or pray that you’ll be able to reel her in. And when you do, you finally breathe like you’ve never breathed before.” He took another bite, sipped his coffee, taking his sweet time. His eyes never left Zane’s. “You were stuck in that middle ground for a while. Scared but ready to bolt. And then you made it. Everyone in Sweetwater followed Zane Walker’s success. You were the talk of the town for the first few years after you left. I couldn’t walk into the post office without hearing a story or two.”
Zane wondered if that was why his parents had moved away.
“So tell me,” Sam said. “Can you breathe now, son?”
A laugh escaped before Zane could stop it. Now he knew why Willow loved this man. He had successfully dragged Zane through an emotional roller coaster in less than five minutes and completely disarmed him with the unexpected question.
“That’s a hell of a question.”
Sam popped another piece of muffin in his mouth. “Yes. Yes, it is.” His eyes dropped to Zane’s screenplay, lying faceup on the table. “Beneath It All. That yours?”
At least he’d let him off the hook with the first question. Only now he felt like one of the fans begging for his autograph. He didn’t like being the guy who wanted something from a stranger, and Sam was too nice a guy to be used like this. Zane decided not to ask for his help after all. “Yes.”
“Good story? Turning it into a movie?”
He shrugged. “I hope so.”
“I wrote a story once.”
“Willow told me that you won an Academy Award.”
Sam finished his muffin and coffee and rose to his feet without acknowledging Zane’s comment.
“All done?” Willow came out from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her jeans. She gave Zane a concerned look, and he shook his head, indicating for her not to say anything.
Sam handed her a wad of cash. “Delicious as always. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Sam. As always.”
“Walk with me, Zane,” Sam said.
“Sure.” He folded his screenplay and stuck it in his back pocket. Willow gave him a curious look. He hugged her and whispered, “It’s all good.”
Zane pushed the bakery door open for Sam, inhaling the crisp mountain air. Sunlight glistened off the lake across the street. He was glad they no longer needed security at Willow’s door. “You lead, I’ll follow.”
“You are no follower,” Sam said, surprising him.
Bridgette was setting up a display in front of the flower shop. “Hi, guys. Pretty day today.”
“Sure is, sweetheart,” Sam said. “How’s that boy of yours?”
Bridgette’s eyes lit up, as they always did when she spoke of her son. “Brilliant, bossy, and infuriating. Unfortunately, I think at five he’s already well on his way to manhood.”
Sam and Zane both laughed.
“That’s my boy,” Sam said, and continued walking at a slow pace.
They walked in silence and turned at the corner. It was still early summer, with a nice morning breeze, and many of the shop owners had their doors propped open.
“It was 1960,” Sam said out of the blue.
“Excuse me?”
“When the whole award thing got under way. Hell of a fluke, too. We’d docked the boat in San Diego and hit a local bar. I’m sitting there drinking my beer, and the guy next to me is talking to the bartender. It was pretty dark, and I was dead tired, but the guy had a gorgeous, deep voice, and it was the kind of voice you don’t forget. Well, I waited until he was done talking, and I said, ‘I’m sure this will sound crazy, but you sound just like Orson Welles.’” Sam turned left at the next corner. “The guy picks up his drink and says, ‘That’s because I am Orson Welles, and this voice has made me a hell of a lot of money.’”
“No way.” It wasn’t the most eloquent of responses, but it was too late for Zane to take it back.
“That’s exactly what I said. We got to talking, and I told him about this little tale I’d written. To make a long story short, he said to send it to him. I did, you know, expecting nothing. And a few weeks later I got a phone call from him. The whole thing was crazy. But sure enough, he got it made into a film. Winter Fear. You ever see it?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Zane admitted, wishing he had. “Were there more opportunities that followed? Did you ever write anything else?”
Sam waved a hand dismissively as they turned another corner, heading toward the lake again. “Oh, opportunities were offered, but happiness isn’t found by taking every opportunity. It’s choosing the right opportunities. I didn’t mean to write that story. It came to me, I wrote it, and that was it. Strangest thing, too. I was horrible in school. Why do you think I became a fisherman? My father had taught me a trade, and thank goodness he did. Oh, I bitched a blue streak when I was younger. I wanted to hang out with my friends over the summers, but you didn’t tell my father no.” He laughed under his breath. “No, sir. Back then you got the belt. Not like nowadays, when kids curse at their parents.”
Zane knew all about being horrible in school. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”
“Dumb luck. That’s what it was. But I made a few good friends over that time.” They reached Main Street and turned toward Willow’s bakery. Sam stopped in front of the hardware store. “Here we are. Get that door for me, will you, please, son?”
Zane pulled open the door. “Why did we walk around the block when we could have walked two doors down?”
“A man’s got to have a purpose at eighty-five,” he said as they entered the store, “or he won’t make it to eighty-six.” He went straight to the aisle with nails and picked up three, three-inch nails.
“They sell them in boxes.” Zane reached for a box.
“I don’t need a box. I need to fix a loose board on my deck.”
“You may need more than three nails, and then you’ll have to walk back here.”
Sam smiled and headed up to the cash register with his three nails in hand. “Like I said. At my age a man’s got to have a purpose.” He paid for the nails, and when they left the store, Sam stood on the sidewalk looking out over the lake. “What’s your purpose, Zane?”
“That’s a tough question.” His goals were clear—to do whatever it took to win Willow over once and for all, to be the best man he could be for her, and to get up the guts to bring his screenplay to the big screen, but his purpose? That was much more difficult to define.
“Goals and purpose are two very different things. Your goal might rely on others, but your purpose? That’s all you, son. And I guarantee, when you figure that out, the rest will follow.” He checked his watch. “It’s time for me to head down to the library. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For giving me a purpose to reach my goal,” Sam said. “I made it around another block. That’s a good day in my book.”
Zane watched him stroll away and called after him, “Hey, Sam. How does a deep-sea fisherman from San Diego end up in Sweetwater?”
A smile crept across the elderly man’s face. “My right opportunity came in the form of Ruthie McGee, the sweetest woman to ever come out of Sweetwater. That is, until your Willow came around.”
Emotions bubbled up inside him. “My girl is something, all right.”
“So are you, Zane. You’re not that scared kid anymore. If you believe in that story in your pocket, you’ll find a way to bring it to life. But I’m not telling you anything you didn’t figure out a long time ago.”