Ava shifted in the passenger seat, trying to admire the beauty that was San Luis Obispo wine country. The rolling green of the vineyards—endless rows of grape plants leading straight to hilltops shadowed in the setting sun. Today she sat in Jack’s truck, and she should have been grateful for the freedom to appreciate the view. Instead she was restless.
Jack settled a palm on her bouncing knee and she sucked in a breath.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his hand flexing at her reaction before he quickly pulled it away.
Um, we’ve been working together for five days now, and this is the first time you’ve touched me since Monday’s bee sting incident. But that was their deal, right? One time only. But instead of scratching an itch she’d opened the floodgates of need. Not that she could tell him that.
“Nothing,” she lied. “And you really didn’t have to be my chauffeur to and from the ranch today. That’s a lot of time in the car, and I don’t mind the drive.”
He shrugged, both hands back on the wheel. “You’ve been working your ass off this week pruning those vines. Least I could do is save you some mileage on the Jeep. Plus, it’s not exactly a punishment to spend a little extra time with you.”
She let out a breath and tried to force her gaze out the window instead of to her left where he sat in that fitted gray tank and jeans, his work uniform for the warmest weather they’d had this week. And she definitely wasn’t noticing how his blond hair curled above the tops of his ears—or how a few days without shaving had lined his jaw and mouth with a sexy scruff he’d never had as a teen.
Nope. She wasn’t noticing any of that. And she certainly wasn’t squirming in her seat because of it.
“Something’s up,” he said, calling her bluff.
She crossed her arms and groaned as he slowed to turn into her long driveway.
“It’s nothing. Thanks for the ride,” she said as he rolled to a stop. Then she hopped out of the vehicle before she said anything stupid.
She was almost inside the house when she heard his car door slam, effectively stopping her in her tracks.
“Ava.”
Damn him for that insistence in his tone, for that deep voice that spoke her name like no one else ever had and—she was beginning to realize—like no one could. That voice could make her core tighten and her heart ache, and it was succeeding at both right now.
She turned to find him leaning against the truck’s hood, all six-foot-who-knows-how-much-more feet of him, his hands in his pockets and his biceps flexing as if to say, You know what’s up, Red. And the longer you look at me, the more powerless you are against me.
She dropped her bag at her feet and pointed at him. He wanted answers? Fine. He’d get them.
“This,” she said. “You standing twenty feet away from me. It’s been like that all week. Every day out in the vineyard you’ve made sure there are at least two rows between us. We’ve eaten lunch at BBQ on the Bluff four times rather than step foot together inside the ranch. And I’m pretty sure you’ve either been marking your territory around the vines so no rodents eat the plants, or you can go several hours without needing to pee because you haven’t stepped foot in your own home at any time that I’ve been inside it since Monday afternoon when, if you don’t remember, you made me orgasm until I could no longer stand.” She hefted her bag from her feet and tossed it over her shoulder, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. “Now, if you don’t mind, my parents will have Owen home in about an hour, and I need to clean myself up and get dinner started. Also, Owen has spring break next week, which means he’ll be home—which also means I’ll have to be home.”
He crossed his arms. “So you’re not…”
“I’m not going to be able to come by Crossroads next week,” she said, mustering up as much finality in her tone as she could. Because she was on borrowed time with this man. And she had an application to complete—her future depended on it. Him pulling back should have made it easier for her to do the same. Instead she was losing the ability to think straight in his presence. Or maybe she’d never had it to begin with.
Besides, she said to herself, this is probably for the best because I need to reset my damn libido so I stop reacting to you like this.
When he didn’t respond right away, she pulled open the screen door and stepped through to safety. She was in the kitchen facing the back window, already pouring a much-needed glass of wine, when she heard his work boots scuff across the tile.
“And here I thought my dramatic exit would mean you’d drive away and forget about my verbal vomit.” She spun slowly to face him, holding up her glass before taking a sip.
She watched him watch her, not sure if the heat spreading through her veins was the wine or the weight of his stare. She guessed it was a little of both.
He just stood there, strong and silent as always, yet his eyes didn’t waver. He never looked away.
“It’s not that easy to forget,” he said, his deep voice a low rumble in the quiet house.
She laughed, the sound tinged with bitterness. “No kidding. That’s why they call it ‘verbal vomit.’ Too much comes out.” She waved her free hand in the air as she took another sip. “Makes it hard to clean up.”
He scratched the back of his neck, and there went those arm muscles, flexing and contracting with the slightest movement.
“I mean you, Ava.”
She set the glass down and wrapped her arms around her midsection.
“I never forgot about you, not since the day I forced you to push me away.”
She opened her mouth to say something but he shook his head. “I won’t hurt you like that again,” he said, the muscles in his jaw tight. “No matter what I said ten years ago, I’m going to figure out a way to do right by you and Owen—even if that means stepping back to make sure neither of you get hurt.”
He still hadn’t moved from the kitchen entryway, so she took a step toward him.
“You’re not him,” she insisted.
His chest rose and fell with a few quiet breaths before he spoke. “Neither was he for a lot of years. But things change. He got pushed over the edge and never climbed back up. This shit—there’s heredity to think about.”
She splayed a palm against his chest, his heart thundering against it. “Maybe you need to prove that to yourself,” she said. “But not to me.”
She took a chance and tilted her head to where his tanned skin met the collar of his tank, kissing him softly. He sucked in a ragged breath, but he didn’t push her away. She met his gaze again.
“I know you’re moving across the country—and that you’ll do right by me and Owen no matter where you are. Because that’s who you are.” She swallowed past the knot in her throat. “And I’ll be okay if you leave again. When you leave again.” She forced a smile. “But I have a confession. This heat between us? Monday wasn’t enough to get it out of my system. So if worrying about hurting me is the only thing holding you back, don’t. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. But if it’s something else—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish because his lips were on hers—rough, insistent, and exploding with need. He pivoted her around the corner so her back was against the kitchen wall, his hands roaming up her sides to cradle her face.
The kiss was deep and unrelenting, and her fingers grappled for purchase in his thick, soft hair.
“Not out of your system either?” she managed, breathless against him.
“Hell no,” he growled, and he slid a palm up the front of her T-shirt to cup her breast.
She whimpered and arched against him as he pinched her tightened peak outside her bra. Heat pooled between her legs as he nipped at her lip, as he peppered kisses across her jaw and down her neck. He hiked her up onto his hips, and she wrapped her legs around him, his erection pressing against her pelvis. Her arms snaked around his neck as she held on for dear life.
She was wet. She could feel it. From just his damn kisses.
“I don’t think I’ve ever gotten you out of my system,” he admitted. “And now the woman you’ve become? I don’t know how to stay away.”
He ground against her, pushing her harder into the wall, and she cried out with need.
“Then I guess we’re going to have to keep at this until we’re both free and clear of—of whatever this is.” Right now she didn’t care. She wanted more. Whatever he was willing to give.
“Ava?” she heard faintly in the recesses of her mind. Or maybe she imagined it. “Ava?” The voice was louder this time. “The front door was open…”
“My parents and Owen!” she whisper-shouted and Jack all but dropped her to her feet.
She smoothed out her shirt but knew her face was flushed, her lips swollen.
Oh well. Here went nothing.
“Mom!” she said, rounding the corner into the living room. “You guys are early.”
She could see her dad and Owen grabbing his school and baseball bags from the car. Scully, who must have been in the backyard, came barreling through the dog door and bounded toward the front entryway, as if he could sense his most favorite human in the world was about to step foot in the house.
Jack’s presence was palpable behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know he was there. Her parents would have seen Jack’s truck in the driveway, but the look on her mother’s face—jaw agape and eyes wide—told her they weren’t hiding anything.
“We left practice early because Owen said he had a tummy ache.”
Ava snapped straight into mommy mode and strode toward the door. “Why didn’t you call?” she asked.
Her mom grabbed her wrist before she made it to the door. “Because this happened ten minutes ago. I knew you were either an hour away or already heading back, so I figured we’d wait for you. I wasn’t expecting…” She trailed off.
Ava glanced back over her shoulder at Jack, who gave her mother a polite nod. “Evening, Mrs. Ellis.”
Her dad was the first through the door, baseball bag over one shoulder and Owen’s backpack over the other. He kissed Ava on the cheek, but his jaw tightened when he laid eyes on Jack.
“Be nice,” she insisted in a whispered plea.
And then she was stooping to hug her son while fending off a very excited Labrador. She pressed her cheek to his, letting out a relieved sigh when he felt cool to the touch.
“I don’t think you have a fever, bud. Can you tell me where it hurts?”
Owen shrugged. “It kind of comes and goes. I think I maybe didn’t eat enough for lunch today.” He wrapped his arms around her neck and squeezed tight. Not that he wasn’t an affectionate boy, but something felt different.
She kissed him and finally backed away so the dog could get his fill, and in seconds Owen was on his back, laughing as Scully lavished him with slobbery, wet kisses.
Ava’s dad dropped the bags in the small entryway and walked straight past Jack into the kitchen. She turned to her mom, who pulled her back to where Jack stood so Owen couldn’t hear above his own giggles.
“He’s missed you,” she said. “You’re doing a good thing—helping out with the Everett vineyard”—she smiled at Jack—“but you’ve missed both practices this week. Plus, you’re out the door as soon as the bus comes each morning, and you barely make it back before sundown.”
Ava’s heart sank. It had only been five days, but her mom was right. This was the least present she’d been as a mother in all of Owen’s life, and the guilt seeped into her bones.
“It’s my fault,” Jack said. “I took you up on your offer without realizing the sacrifice. It was never my intent to take you away from your son.”
“Jack!” Owen called, springing to his feet once the dog set him free. “Mom said you read the Sports Illustrated article about the pitcher for the Dodgers. Do you think he’ll get them back to the Series this year?”
Ava stepped back, allowing her son into their small huddle, and she watched the warm smile spread across Jack’s face.
“Sure as hell doesn’t hurt their chances. Does it?” he asked, giving Owen’s baseball cap a friendly swat. “Might even win it this time.”
“Sure as hell doesn’t,” Owen parroted, and at this Ava raised her brows at both boys.
“Language, you two.” But she couldn’t help smiling as well.
“I hear he’s got a wicked curveball,” Jack said.
Owen nodded. “I’m still trying to figure that one out. Maybe you could show me sometime? Mom said you were a good pitcher.”
It was Jack’s turn to raise a brow. “Good?” The corner of his mouth quirked into a grin, and Ava wondered if he knew how gorgeous he was when he did that. “Just good?”
She laughed and backhanded him on the shoulder. “I never had the pleasure of seeing you in action. I had to take your word for it—and trust that whole scholarship situation.”
Ava inwardly winced at the possible memories this would bring up, but Jack’s smile never faltered.
“Sure, Shortstop. Sometime sounds good. But I should let you all get settled in for the night.”
Owen grabbed his bag from where his grandpa had set it on the ground. “Or we could do some pitching practice while Mom makes dinner?” He glanced at his mom and grandma. “I’m feeling a little better,” he said, then bit his bottom lip.
Ava’s heart squeezed so tight at her son’s pleading eyes—eyes so much like his father’s. She wouldn’t ask Jack to stay. He had to want it. He had to want to spend time with his son.
Jack crossed his arms and tilted his head toward the ceiling, heaving in a breath before his eyes met hers. How many times had she seen Owen do the exact same thing whenever he needed to think? It only hit her now that the gesture wasn’t solely her son’s. It was Jack’s, too.
“I can head out when dinner’s ready,” he said.
Her mom patted him on the shoulder and smiled. “Or you could stay.”
“If you want,” Ava blurted. “No pressure. I was going to grill some chicken. Whip up a salad. Nothing fancy.”
Owen watched them both expectantly. Jack tilted his head down to take in his own appearance.
“Let me just grab a clean shirt from my truck.” He shifted his gaze to Owen. “I think I have a glove somewhere in the back of the cab, too. You got a handful of balls?”
Owen grinned from ear to ear.
“All right, then. How about you go on out back and get us ready while I grab my stuff and clean up real quick.”
Owen shot his fist in the air and whooped as he ran through the kitchen and out the back door, Scully following at his heels. Jack headed out front to his truck, a smile still spread across his own face as well.
Ava’s heart swelled. “Doesn’t look like he has much of a tummy ache anymore,” she said.
“He just missed his mama.” Her mother gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Bradford?” she called toward the kitchen where her dad was, no doubt, sulking. “Let’s leave the kids to their dinner.”
Her dad emerged, his jaw set as firm as it was when he first entered the house.
“Come on, Dad.”
He grunted. But this was not acquiescence. She knew that look. It was the one she got when she backed into the mailbox the year she got her license—the one he gave to every boy who rang their doorbell throughout her high school career—except golden boy Derek Wilkes. It was the look that asked, What do you have to say for yourself? But it was a rhetorical question. Because Bradford Ellis had the answer. He always had the answer.
“This is a mistake, Ava.” His voice was steady. Even. The way he spoke when he knew he’d already won the argument. So she decided not to disagree.
“Then it’s my mistake to make.”
He let out a bitter laugh. “You’re a lovesick teenager again, running around behind our backs with a boy you know isn’t good enough for you.”
“Dad.”
He crossed his arms. “You gonna deny sneaking around with a boy who couldn’t even take you on a proper date?”
Ava’s eyes burned, and she could feel the heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. “He was in a cast for the first two months I knew him.”
Her father shook his head. “You didn’t answer the question. If I had nothing to worry about with you dating Jack Everett, why’d you hide it from us? Why did he let you?”
A throat cleared, and everyone’s attention volleyed toward the front door where Jack stood with a clean T-shirt thrown over his shoulder and a baseball glove under his arm.
“Because she knew you thought the son of an abusive alcoholic might hurt her someday. And you were right.”
“Jack. Don’t,” she said, her voice wavering. “You didn’t know about Owen.” She turned to her parents. “He didn’t know.” Not that it mattered telling them this now.
He had hurt her without even knowing it, broken her heart—she’d thought—beyond repair. But she’d done the same to him.
“He never raised a hand to me, Dad. He never would. Not to Owen, either.”
Her father narrowed his eyes. “You’re letting your infatuation with this boy blind you again. It’s my job to protect you. Maybe he never laid a hand on you, but you saw what he did to the Wilkes boy. You saw what he’s capable of. You think you can guarantee there’s no risk of that happening again?”
“Bradford—” her mom started, but he held his hands up in surrender.
“I’ve said all I need to say. Even if she’s right, he can still hurt her in other ways. We helped put the pieces back together the last time he left her. We’ll be here to do it again. Just remember that it’s not only your heart he’ll break,” her father said. “That boy’s already taken a liking to him. What’s gonna happen to Owen if he finds out the truth and then Everett leaves you both?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Ellis,” Jack said, “it’s up to Ava and me how to proceed with Owen from here.”
Ava’s mom kissed her on the cheek and then hooked her elbow with her father’s, practically dragging him toward the door.
“The hell it is,” he said to Jack through gritted teeth. Then her parents were gone.
Jack stood, motionless except for the pulsing muscle above his jawline.
“I’m sorry,” she said, moving toward him with measured calm, as if he was an animal she might scare off and send running. “He’s scared for me—for us. I don’t condone his treatment of you, but he doesn’t know how to do the protective thing without being a total asshole.”
She was hoping to coax a smile from him, but she failed.
“Jack.” She stood right in front of him now, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. She could count his breaths—see how each held a slight tremor. She cupped his cheeks in her hands, and he closed his eyes. But still he said nothing.
So she did the one thing she knew she could do to make him react. She stood on her toes and kissed him.
“Ava,” he finally whispered against her, the sound of his voice both an admonishment and a plea.
“He doesn’t know you,” she said, her lips still moving against his. “And that’s on me. Maybe if I’d been up front from the beginning, the whole Derek incident never would have happened. At the very least I should have told them who the father was and why I pushed you to leave—” She felt the tears prick at the backs of her eyes.
He stepped back and pressed a thumb to her cheek where the first one had sprung free. “But you were too much of a mess to do that,” he said. “They had to pick up the pieces because of me.”
“Because of us,” she corrected. “What happened ten years ago, that’s on me, too.”
“But the Derek incident did happen. So did Walker’s birthday and me telling my pregnant girlfriend I never wanted to be a father. And then you coming to find me in L.A.?” he added. “Shit.”
“They don’t know about L.A.,” she said.
“You dealt with that on your own—coming to tell me about Owen and then thinking I was marrying someone else? I am the asshole your father thinks I am.”
She shook her head. “You’re just someone who’s still trying to put his own pieces back together. Go,” she said, nodding toward the back door. “He’s waiting for you.”
He sighed heavily and strode past her, pulling his dirty shirt over his head before tossing on the new one. And for those few moments when his torso was bare, Ava simply stared at the beautiful man he’d become and wondered if he even wanted those pieces back in place, or if he’d already convinced himself that broken was how he’d stay.
They’d eaten outside, unable to pull Owen from his baseball glove for too long. Then he and Jack had continued practicing their curveballs until past sundown.
Now Ava looked over her shoulder to where Jack stood in the frame of Owen’s bedroom door, watching her tuck their son into bed.
“You want me to sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle,’ little man?”
Owen squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “I’m not a baby, Mom.”
Her heart constricted in her chest. “You’re right,” she said. “Maybe you’re getting too old for this.” She kissed him on the forehead and willed herself not to lose it in front of Owen and Jack.
So he wasn’t a baby anymore. So he didn’t need her to sing to him. Fine. She’d be fine.
“Goodnight, bud.” She stood from the side of his bed and turned toward the door where Jack waited with brows raised.
“Wait,” Owen said, reaching for his mom’s hand. “Maybe—just tonight. If you really want to.”
Ava blew out a breath. “I really want to,” she said, a dopey grin spreading from ear to ear. She crawled in bed beside him and softly sang the words she’d been singing since the very first time he fell asleep on her chest in the hospital almost a decade ago.
When she was done, Owen’s eyes were closed, and his breaths were long and deep. So she slid quietly from the bed and turned toward the door—and Jack.
“Love you, Mom,” her son said dreamily.
“Love you, bud.”
“Goodnight, Jack. Thanks for the curveball help.”
“Night, Shortstop,” Jack said, a hesitant smile playing at his lips.
The dog lumbered in past them and hopped onto Owen’s bed, stretching across the boy’s feet, his paws dangling off each side.
She grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled him down the hall and then the short flight of stairs until they were in the small entryway, Ava leaning against the front door.
He ran a hand through his hair, then crossed his arms as he inhaled, head tilted up.
“Ah,” she said. “The thinking pose. Ya gonna let me in on what’s going on in that private place of yours?”
He dropped his head so his gaze met hers. “Stay with me next week,” he blurted, and her eyes widened.
“I—I can’t. I told you…it’s Owen’s spring break, and I’ve been gone too much already. I can’t just—”
“Both of you,” he said. “Or…all three of you. I mean, Scully too. We’ll work on the vineyard, and Owen and I can perfect his slider.”
Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. It was Jack who couldn’t seem to stop talking now.
“I’ll move my shit to the bedroom upstairs so you and Owen can have the guest room. But if it will be too weird for him—for both of you, I get it. It’s actually probably the worst idea I’ve ever had so—”
“What does this mean?” she asked warily. “If Owen gets attached to you…I don’t like agreeing with my father, but he’s right. It’s already happening.” It was for her, too.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what the hell it means other than I hate the thought of not seeing either of you next week. But you’re right. It could be confusing to Owen. And you. Shit. A couple of hours ago I was ready to do what I thought was the right thing and step back—keep you both safe from getting hurt again but—”
There he went again—trying to do the right thing. The only problem was she had no idea what right meant for their situation.
“But Owen might not be the only one forming an attachment,” she said as realization bloomed.
It was, very possibly, the worst idea. But this was a chance for Owen and his dad to really connect—for Jack to see the kind of father he could be, even if from afar.
It was her chance to figure out how to reconcile these new feelings for the first boy she’d ever loved with the fact she’d soon say good-bye to him again.
But for right now, she simply kissed him.
“Is that a yes?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered back, her lips still on his, and then kissed him again to shut them both up because she knew. Verbal vomit was a mess that was almost impossible to clean up, and she didn’t want either of them to say anything more.
Because she didn’t want either of them to change their minds.
He relaxed into her, his hands gripping her hips, and she could feel him smile against her lips.
“You made his night, you know,” she said.
He didn’t say anything in response other than claiming her lips with his again. He didn’t need to. She’d watched them both all night, the boy and the man. She’d even go out on a limb and say that Jack had enjoyed himself as much as Owen had.
It didn’t matter what Jack thought he was or was not capable of because Ava had seen it right there in her own backyard.
Jack Everett was a father, and he could be a damned good one if he’d only see himself the way she saw him.
Well, now she had a week to prove it.
Except his tongue slipped past her lips, and all her bones turned to jelly. She had to stop kissing him before her brain did, too.
“You should…probably…”
But he’d taken her pause in kissing him as an opportunity to trail his lips down her neck, his stubble scratching her skin in a way that made her knees buckle. If she didn’t stop him now, before he got to her breast, she’d let him take her right on the entryway rug.
“Not here,” she said before it was too late.
He backed away, brows raised in question, but he was otherwise completely composed.
“How the hell do you do that?” she asked.
“Do what?”
She blew out a breath and placed her hands on her hips, even as her taut nipples were about to slice holes through her shirt. “How do you liquefy my bones and then stand there as if you weren’t about to have your way with me up against my front door?”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “You gonna catch me if I go weak in the knees?”
She swatted him on the shoulder. “That’s not the point,” she pouted. “As soon as you leave I’m going to have to take a really cold shower and think about doing my taxes or something.”
He leaned forward like he was going to kiss her but instead let his lips brush against her ear.
“I could do your taxes,” he murmured.
She groaned and slipped out from under his arm. “I just—we can’t. Not here. Not yet. Owen could come down those steps at any second, and I don’t want to have to explain us before I can—you know—explain us.”
Because how could she explain to her son what she didn’t understand herself?
Jack pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. Then he kissed her on the top of the head. “Your father’s right. Sneaking out after curfew didn’t count,” he said. “Maybe ten years too late, but I’d like to make up for it.”
She reminded herself that proper date or no, their lives were headed in opposite directions, with Owen the only true anchor between them. But it was no use. She was falling for this man, and if she stopped kidding herself, maybe she’d be able to admit that she’d never quite gotten back up from the first time she fell.
“I’d like that,” she admitted, but she kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. Maybe the father-son bond could span the miles between one coast and another, but her heart wouldn’t withstand that distance.
“Goodnight, Red.” His lips brushed softly against her cheek. His warm breath tickled her neck, and goose bumps peppered her skin.
She sighed, and there was a slight tremor in her breath. She couldn’t be quite sure, though, if it was due to her heightened emotional state or the fact that she was still turned on just by the nearness of him.
It was probably a combination of both.
“We’ll be out there bright and early Monday morning,” she said.
He nodded again. And then he was out the door.
She stayed there, peering through the window as his truck backed out of the driveway and rolled away down the street.
“I’m in big trouble,” she said aloud, then marched herself upstairs and straight to her bathroom, where she turned on her shower and waited for the water to get cold enough to make her body forget how much it wanted his.
Her heart, though, that was another story.