He would have been satisfied with simply bringing her to climax. He could have set her up in the kitchen with something to eat for lunch and then come back for a cold shower of his own, where he’d take care of his own release.
Because shit—he needed it. He just wasn’t prepared for needing her.
Seeming to have regained her sea legs, Ava stood and held her hand out for his. He was still kneeling, still savoring the taste of her and wondering how he’d gone his entire adult life without it.
“Ava—” he said when they were both standing, but she shook her head and splayed a hand across his chest.
“It’s only this once, remember?” she insisted, but even with the water beating down on them, he detected a hint of uncertainty. Or maybe it was him. “And despite what you might think of me,” she teased, “I’m not a selfish woman.”
“I never said—” he started, but she kissed him, silencing him because he couldn’t say no to her lips on his. “Red,” he groaned as her teeth tugged on his bottom lip, but she wouldn’t respond, and he knew if he didn’t get the words out now, he never would. “Ava.” She stopped and tilted her head up, her emerald eyes meeting his. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I already did that once, and that’s not my intention here.”
She nodded. “But you didn’t know,” she said. “And I hurt you, too.”
His forehead fell to hers. She’d destroyed him—the messed-up kid he was then. But she’d been a messed-up kid, too, one who thought he wouldn’t want their son, and back then…who could say he wouldn’t have reacted exactly as she’d expected?
“If we know what we’re getting into, then no one gets hurt,” she said, then kissed the line of his jaw. “Right now, though, you need to let someone take care of you.”
And before he could argue, her kisses traveled south, down his collarbone, his abdomen, each of his hips, until her tongue, warm and willing, swirled around his tip.
She teased him for what felt like hours—licking, tasting, stroking. Time seemed to stand still when she was near, or maybe it was that he wanted the minutes to stretch out before them. If this was his one-time-only with her, he wanted only to be infinite.
But without warning, the teasing was over. He gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into her hair as she swallowed him down to the base of his cock. She gripped him tight, her hand following the trail of her lips as she came back up for air. Again and again she took him into her mouth, her hand working him until he thought he might lose his mind.
The water still beat down on them, steam clouding the air, and it was as if they weren’t really there. As if this wasn’t exactly real. It was this realization that let him relax his shoulders, that gave her permission to take him to the edge, where he spilled over with silent release. He couldn’t fully let go, but he could trust her enough to let her take the wheel—to let the smallest piece of his decade-old walls crumble here—in this fantasy world they’d created, and then piece himself back together as soon as the steam cleared.
She stood and buried her head beneath his chin, his chest heaving against her.
“You gave up control for me,” she said softly. “I don’t suppose that was easy to do.”
She stepped back to look at him, and as much as he knew he was a dick for doing it, he shuttered his expression.
He couldn’t let her see that even after climax, he still needed. He needed her close, needed her hands on him to steady the erratic beat of his heart. Needed her kiss to reassure him that this was something more than her getting him out of her system.
If she knew how far that was from how he saw things, she’d know how much control he’d truly lost, and nothing terrified him more than letting her see that.
He had no right to need these things from her, not when he was moving to the other damned side of the country.
Her smile quickly fell, and she shook her head. “You keep so much of yourself locked away,” she said, then kissed the spot on his neck where he could feel his pulse thrumming against her lips. “If you’re ever ready to let some of it go, I’m here for you.”
She pressed her lips to his and then stepped out of the tub, wrapped herself in a towel, and exited the bathroom with her clothes in hand.
He let his head thud against the tile while the water, cooling off now, pelted him in his chest.
She was right, of course. Not that he’d say it aloud. Not that he could. He didn’t just keep his past at bay for himself. He did it for everyone around him. That’s why San Diego was easy, why New York would be even easier.
But here? Even ten years after the fact, Ava knew him. He’d let his guard down for a matter of minutes, and she’d seen right through to his goddamn core.
She deserved better than that. Better than him.
When he emerged fully clothed into the kitchen, the place was a flurry of activity. Ava was carrying a tray of burgers out the back door to where he saw Luke firing up the grill. Walker stood next to the sink, slicing tomatoes on a cutting board.
Jack cleared his throat, and Walker looked up.
“What?” he said, already on the defensive.
Jack shrugged. “Nothing. I guess I didn’t know you were so—domesticated.”
He was used to seeing his youngest brother eating whatever he could find right from the fridge, not bothering to take the time to do anything more than open his mouth and insert food. As a teen he’d always been on the move, agitated. Jack understood. The anticipation of their father’s mood was almost worse than what happened when he was in a bad one. Almost.
“I guess it’s just nice to see you—relaxed,” Jack added.
Walker picked up a half-empty bottle of beer and raised his brows. “Meet my brand of medication,” he said before taking a sip and setting it back down. Jack normally would have worried about his brother drinking and wielding a knife, but he could tell Walker was sober. He did, however, second-guess himself as his brother pointed his knife at him. “I can take care of myself in the kitchen,” he said. “But you tell anyone I know how to julienne and shit, and I’ll lay you out cold.”
Jack couldn’t hold back the laugh. “Do you—julienne and shit?”
Walker returned to cutting, his back to him once again. “You’re a dick,” he said under his breath.
“And apparently you’re not only Mr. HGTV but Gordon Ramsay as well,” Jack said. “Who’d have guessed?”
“I need cheese!” Ava said as she came back through the kitchen. She headed straight for the fridge, grabbing a block of cheddar Jack hadn’t even known they had and then opening and closing drawers until she found a knife fit for slicing it. “You still take yours medium rare?” she asked, elbowing Jack in the side but not waiting for his answer before she was out the door again.
Walker turned to face him, crossing his arms as he shook his head.
“What?” Now it was Jack’s turn to play defense.
“I know I don’t know my elbow from my asshole sometimes, but I’m pretty damned sure you’re gonna ruin that pretty woman when you leave.”
Jack crossed his own arms, a mirror to his suddenly perceptive brother. “What the hell do you mean?”
Walker strode to the fridge and retrieved another beer, twisting off the top as he spoke. “I mean I’m not blind. And if you’d open up your damn eyes, you’d see it, too.” He swigged from the bottle, then wiped the back of his hand across his lips. “That girl carries a ten-year-old torch. And let’s not forget the offspring. Seems like a good kid. You gonna be the father that messes that all up?”
Jack’s hands balled into fists. He started forward, ready to unleash his frustration on his brother, but knew it would only leave him hollow. Instead he turned toward the front door and walked out.
Luke found him out by the stable, beating a bale of hay on the far outside wall with the bucket of balls he’d found still tucked away in the garage.
“You still got a mean curveball,” he said over Jack’s shoulder.
He threw a few sliders. Then a changeup. And then several fastballs until the bucket was empty and his elbow ached. He shook his arm out and then collected the balls, gearing up for round two.
“I’ve stayed too long already,” Jack said, tossing the ball into his glove. He could still get his hand inside it, but the fit was too small. It was the glove his father had gotten him when he’d started the new season junior year.
Jack Senior had had a rare, lucid afternoon. He’d found Jack in this very spot, fighting with his then too-small glove.
“Jackson!” he’d called as he approached, and Jack had held his breath, bracing himself for the blow. But when it didn’t come, his father had simply nodded toward the glove and said, “C’mon. You won’t make it through the season with that.”
And they’d driven to the next town over where they had a sporting goods store—Jack behind the wheel, of course, since Jack Senior was with it enough to hand the keys over.
That was the closest his father had come to showing him affection in the years following his mother’s death, so he filed it away under memories he let surface. It wasn’t an apology or an end to the drinking. But it was something.
“Or maybe you haven’t stayed long enough to let this place sink back into your bones.”
Jack missed the hay bales and drove the ball right into the side of the stable, the wood splitting on impact.
“Shit.” He shook his hand out of the glove and went to survey the damage. As soon as he touched the point of impact, the old wood cracked clear through so he could see one of the horse’s stalls.
“Looks like you’ll have to hang around a bit longer to patch that up. And while you’re at it, we could call one of the Callahan brothers. I was thinking we could talk to them about adding on the tasting room to the structure where we’ll do all the fermenting and shit. I bet they’d fix up that wall pro bono if we gave them the contract for the tasting room.”
Jack ran a hand through his hair. “I can handle a hammer and some plywood.”
“Good as you can handle your pitching arm?” He grinned.
Luke was always grinning. Did nothing faze the guy?
“Look,” Luke added. “You’re gonna do whatever it is you need to do, and if that means getting us up and running and then heading to New York, then that’s your call. But you fit here once, Jack. You could fit here again.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Jenna told you?”
He crossed his arms and shook his head. “She didn’t need to. I know you think you’re the one who keeps tabs on us, but I can read. I check on the San Diego Sun every now and then. Caught the article on how your firm was making you its youngest partner—in their New York office.”
“Shit,” Jack hissed.
Luke laughed. “It’s a good gig. Walker’n I have just been waiting for you to grow a pair and tell us.”
“I was waiting for the right time,” he said, not taking his brother’s bait.
“Hope you’re taking it because it’s something you love to do, though,” Luke added. “Not because you think we need the money.”
“You do need the money,” he said. “You got a mortgage to pay.”
Luke shrugged. “Ranch isn’t in the red yet. And do me a favor. Ease up on asking Jenna to keep your damn secrets. It’s enough to ask her to pretend she’s not that boy’s aunt. Don’t make her keep more from her family. That’s not her way.” He opened his mouth to say something else but didn’t.
“It’s my way,” Jack said, finishing his brother’s thought. “That’s what you were going to say.”
“Looks like I didn’t have to.” Luke turned and began to stride off.
“How can you stand it?” Jack asked.
His brother stopped and spun back to face him, overgrown blond hair in eyes that now squinted from the sun. “There was no alternative for me. No baseball scholarship—not that I wanted one, by the way.” He laughed, but for once it wasn’t an entirely happy sound. “I was born to work the ranch. Never wanted anything else.” He turned his attention toward the pasture. “I’m happier out there on my horse or in the rodeo arena than I am anywhere else. Jenna was good to us, but when Dad couldn’t take care of the place anymore, I wanted to come back.”
“Why?”
“Not for him,” Luke said. “No way. But for her. For what they built for us.”
Jack squeezed his eyes shut and let the sun beat down on his cheeks, trying to remember what he used to love about Crossroads Ranch. Because he had loved it once. He knew that much.
When he came up blank, he dropped his gaze back to where his brother stood, but Luke was already gone.
That seemed to be the theme today.
Ava left him in the shower.
He left the house.
Luke left him here to take his frustrations out on the stable.
Leaving had been the right answer once—when he was a messed-up kid in a messed-up life he couldn’t fix.
He’d sworn things would change once Jackson Everett Senior was dead and gone, but his ghost was everywhere, reminding Jack that his life was still a mess—and that he still had no damned clue how to fix it.
But he would. He’d fix the barn, fix the damn vineyard, and fix things between him and Ava. No more lapses in judgment. He wouldn’t let them hurt each other again.
He shook his arm out one more time and headed back to the house. Jenna’s car was parked behind Ava’s now, which meant it was a goddamn party inside. He clenched his jaw and prepared himself for his aunt’s third degree. But when he entered the kitchen, they were all talking. And laughing. And passing food around the table like they’d done this a hundred times before.
Jenna patted the seat next to her, and the tension in Jack’s muscles relaxed slightly. He sat, kissed his aunt on the cheek, then narrowed his eyes at a scabbed-over cut on her upper lip.
She waved him off. “Nothing more than the aftermath of me trying to give a little smooch to one of my chicks. The cute little shit nipped me.”
Jack let out a breath. Jenna was okay. They were all okay.
Ava handed him a plate covered in plastic wrap. Beneath it was a cheeseburger piled high with all the fixings and, next to it, a grilled cob of corn.
“Hope it’s still warm,” she said, her smile soft and conciliatory.
We’re okay, he let that smile tell him.
And for the remainder of this impromptu family meal, he let himself believe what his brother had said to him. He’d fit in here once—and maybe, for the short time he’d be here, he could find a way to fit again.