Chapter 9
Jonah’s disappointment and unease didn’t relent when he walked back into the kitchen and saw Carla moving around the kitchen. She didn’t look like the woman who’d been paralyzed by her own panic that morning or the competent organizer from the afternoon. Her movements were loose and easy. She hummed to herself while she seasoned something. The lights were still on, so she hadn’t lit candles, but there was the same sense of cloistered softness about her right now that candles might create.
He sounded like a romantic, and that usually wasn’t him. But there was something about Carla that softened the hard shell he surrounded himself with. He wasn’t sure whether or not he liked it, and he was sure it wouldn’t cause any permanent changes in him. This was an interlude.
There might be sex—non-penetrative unfortunately—but there wouldn’t be emotion. They didn’t have time for that.
“What’s cooking?”
She didn’t start, so she must have known he was watching her, and allowed it. “I’m just freshening up some ropa vieja from last night with a salad.”
His stomach grumbled at the thought of food. She wasn’t the only one who’d missed meals today while battening down the hatches. “Sounds amazing.” He knew he sounded like a lecher when he said that. But everything around Carla turned into something sensual. At least everything for him.
She picked up two large plates of food and nodded her head towards the fridge. “Get two beers.”
He obliged her, although he wasn’t thirsty for beer. They ought to have a serious conversation about what could happen and what could not happen tonight. Because shit was going down. But they had to remain sensible and in control.
He waited until they sat down and had taken a few bites of food. It was delicious, like all Lola’s food was, but he had a pit in his stomach. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. Carla was the only woman who’d made him nervous in a dog’s age.
“We can’t have sex tonight.”
She choked on her food, coughing until he patted her on the back once, hard. Then, she started laughing, long and uproarious. The long peals of her amusement were almost hysterical in volume, pitch, and duration. She laughed for so long he was afraid it was turning into another panic attack.
“Are you okay?”
She slowly pulled her laughter back and wiped the tears off her face. “Thank you. That was good.”
“What was good?”
“That joke. The one about us not having sex tonight.” She took a bite of food and stared at him while she chewed. He didn’t know what she was talking about so he stayed silent. “You were joking, right? I mean, we already had sex on the kitchen counter. My great aunt’s kitchen counter. We sullied the tiles, probably forever.”
“I don’t have protection.”
“We can still do other stuff.”
“But I want to get inside you.”
Her lips curled into a smile so sexy it made him angry. “You do? How badly do you want to get inside me? Describe it.”
“I was glad the shower was cold.” He didn’t have words for how he wanted her.
“Really? Did that make your hard-on go away?”
He couldn’t believe she was casually asking about his erection and chewing on ropa vieja. He’d been all wrong about her. She wasn’t uptight. She was possibly as much of a pervert as he was. “No.”
“I could help you with that without a condom.”
“I think you like making me uncomfortable.”
Her knowing smile said he wasn’t wrong. “I won’t deny that I like seeing you blush. It takes my mind off worrying about Lola and whether my family in Florida is safe.”
“Well, then. Embarrass away.”
“I don’t think you’re embarrassed.”
“You’re wrong there.”
“What do you have—we have—to be embarrassed about?”
She put more food on his plate. He liked that she was taking care of him. Aside from Lola, he didn’t often have someone seeing to his needs. But, where his affection for Lola was maternal, his feelings for Carla were decidedly more primal. He wasn’t a chest-beating caveman, but he wanted to claim her despite the fact that they were all wrong for each other. Her feeding him was bad—unless he wanted to make a terrible mistake tonight.
“We’re just eating dinner. And the only reason we’re eating together is the storm outside.”
The wind had picked up yet again, and metal hit stone somewhere outside. The lights flickered but didn’t go out—not yet. The limited light from the darkening sky and the boarded-up windows made the room feel more intimate somehow.
His flesh rippled with the need to clear the plates from the table with a sweep of his arm and take her right there. He wanted to show her that he wasn’t embarrassed about anything he wanted to do to her. No, he was ashamed that he couldn’t control his reactions to her. He was angry at himself for his thinking about her the day they’d met. When she’d knocked on the door, he’d dismissed her as an annoyance, and possibly a danger to Lola. But she wasn’t either of those things. Her spoiled rich girl exterior had gotten under his skin, but she was much more than that.
“And we’re consenting adults.” He started, realizing that he’d been staring at her, devouring her with his eyes like a fucking creep. “At least I’m consenting.”
“Consenting to what?” She couldn’t possibly see inside his mind. He wanted her to take his cock in her mouth far enough that tears ran down her face. He wanted to fuck her so many times that she’d remember him inside her every time she moved for a month. He wanted to make her mouth swollen with kisses and leave fingerprint bruises on her inner thighs from holding her legs open so he could eat her up until she lost herself in pleasure, again and again.
He was sick with how much he wanted her and how swiftly she woke up desires he’d thought long dead. Sure, he always liked rough sex. But, even with his other partners, he’d never let himself off the leash the way that he wanted to with Carla. None of them aroused lust that gnawed at his gut and made his skin itch. She was like heroin, not that he would know. But that’s how the addicts he’d photographed for a story last year had described it.
How would he put into words what he needed to do to her, and how dangerous it could be for both of them?
“I don’t want to hurt you.” That was the essence of the issue.
“You think I’m going to catch feelings for you?” She shook her head, her drying hair drifting over her shoulders and arousing a new fantasy of using her ponytail as a steering wheel while he took her from behind. “I’m not. I just want sex. Or rolling around naked. Sucking you off. Or if that doesn’t make you comfortable, I’d settle for mutual masturbation.”
Her talking about putting her hand on his dick had him feeling the ghost of a touch. Even a hand job from Carla could send him over the edge.
“Why are you pressing the issue?”
It seemed that, despite their proximity, she didn’t like him all that much. It was a mystery to him why she was so insistent that they get down and dirty together.
“You’re hot.”
Women liked him sure, but he was tall and didn’t look like someone had taken a shovel to his face. He wasn’t vain enough to call himself “hot.” “Do you fuck every hot guy you meet? Not that it would matter.” Really, not that it should matter, but he still wanted to throttle any guy who’d fucked her before. He ought to be ashamed of that, but his carnal need made him feral and territorial.
“No, but I just got dumped. And, even though we don’t like each other and don’t have anything in common, I want to have sex with you. I want to touch you.”
“So, I’d be your rebound.” He should be fully onboard with her using him sexually since it aligned with what he could offer her, but something stopped him from grabbing her from the table and taking her to bed immediately. “Why did you two break up?”
She looked down, breaking eye contact with him for the first time. “He said I wasn’t exciting enough.”
That left him dumbfounded. Since they’d met yesterday, he’d experienced more up and down spikes than were possibly healthy for him and his late-thirties’ blood pressure. When she was serving him food or spread out for him to taste, she was so sweet she could give him diabetes. That afternoon, when he’d been worried she’d get caught up in the storm while trying to help people, she’d had his heart rate up so high that he’d felt the blood pounding in his neck. And when she called him out or told him what to do, it made him so hard he could barely stand upright.
“He’s an idiot.” He knew he was going to regret his words, but he said, “You’re right. We need to have sex tonight.”
* * * *
This was the weirdest seduction she’d ever performed. She’d had to hector him for fifteen minutes, describe what they would do sans condoms, and finally had to guilt him into fucking her. She ought to be ashamed—especially given how not excited he seemed about having sex with her—but she wasn’t.
He had a bite on his way to his mouth when she asked, “Was that a pity orgasm earlier?”
He looked horrified by her question, sort of like he was about to choke. His “What?” was more of a cough than a question.
“Did you go down on me because you felt bad that I had a panic attack?”
“No.” He dropped his fork. “If anything, I only did that much because I was worried you only wanted to hook up because you felt bad that I saw you like that. You seem like someone who cares a lot about what other people think of you.”
He was right—about most people. Although she wanted Jonah to like her, particularly with his penis, she didn’t really care what he thought of her in a deeper sense. Whether or not he’d thought her motives for coming down to the island were pure didn’t really matter, did they? They would never see each other again when they both left this house. He’d go off to some disaster porn hot spot and she’d go back to her little life in Miami.
She’d get her head together and arrange teas with her mother. She’d stand up in her sister’s wedding. Maybe someday, she’d find another guy like Geoff, except maybe even less attractive and more staid. Someone who would never think of leaving her and who would think the Junior League was the height of excitement. Someone who would appreciate what she had to offer.
Even thinking it out in her head made her want to cry. How would she go back to that? She didn’t know, and she didn’t have to think about it right now. The concept of what her life would always be made it even more imperative that she grab the man in front of her with both hands and ring him the fuck out before the storm passed.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You’re right. I care way too much about what other people think.”
He grabbed her hand, and the heat of his touch traveled through her whole body, torching her old life to pieces. As long as she could remember that this was temporary, everything would be fine. She might have to grit her teeth and endure for the rest of her life, but she had it a lot better than most. Because of her family, she should never have to worry about money. She had a very nice roof over her head, a closet full of designer clothes, and people who tolerated her—nay, loved her—despite her shallowness and shortcomings. That should be enough. That would have to be enough.
“I don’t want to care what you think of me, but it bothers me that you don’t approve of me. I don’t know why. No one in my family thinks I have much to offer, but I want you to see me.” Saying it out loud was terrifying, but it felt vitally important. Somehow, in falling apart in front of him and cajoling him into having sex with her, she’d stumbled into something intense and emotional. If only if it weren’t so damned fleeting.
The look in his olive-green eyes melted her reticence about opening up to him. She wished they had more time. The way he looked at her right now was everything. The little huffs of breath between them, seated around one corner of the massive table, the only audible sounds inside the house. The wind might scream outside, debris hitting buildings and trees, and the rain pelting the stone masonry of the house hushed the noise inside her head and focused everything on him.
“I approve of you.” His words were a low whisper, and she drank them in like they were sacred wine. “I was wrong about you when you showed up. I still think a romper is a dumb outfit to travel in. I mean how do you use the bathroom on the plane?”
“I flew a private charter. The bathrooms are very nice.” She bit her bottom lip, wondering if he would give her shit about her privilege. She would have flown commercial, but she wasn’t going to turn down a private plane from her dad. She wasn’t dumb.
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and she felt lit up inside. When he smiled every molecule in her body shed the heavy weight of fear. She wanted to bask in his smile forever, taking breaks only the revel and whirl in his desire for her.
“What are you thinking about?” She had to know if he was regretting being stuck here with her. She needed to know if he thought she was silly.
“Only you could make the argument for the practicality of a private plane.”
“The bathrooms are bigger, too.” She ran her fingers up his arm, over his shoulder. “You probably have a problem fitting inside a plane bathroom.”
“Let’s just say I’m not a member of the mile-high club.” If she could ever get with him on a private plane, she would most definitely remedy that immediately. It wouldn’t happen, but it was a useful fantasy to have in her arsenal for the trip home.
“You don’t think I’m spoiled?”
“I do.” That almost broke the spell; it felt like a betrayal after his kind look and previous words. Before she could respond angrily, he said, “But I don’t think you’re spoiled in a bad way. I think you’re loved, and that’s a good thing. Not everyone gets it.”
All of the sudden, she realized she knew next to nothing about him and his past. “Did you not have it?”
He looked away from her, down at his plate, and she drew her hand away when his body went stiff and cold. Maybe he didn’t have a place to call home, and that’s why he traveled so much. Maybe no one loved him enough to worry about him, so it didn’t matter to him whether he was in harm’s way all the time. She absolutely hated the thought of him getting himself blown up, contracting some terrible disease or something because he didn’t have anyone. It broke her heart, like actually pierced her chest cavity and made her ache.
“My mom loved me.”
“She’s not here anymore?”
He shook his head.
How long?”
“A long time.” He looked at her again, his emotional depths closed to her. He’d replaced them with lust. “But talking about my dead mom isn’t going to get you rebound sex, is it?”