Chapter Eight

Luci

 

I search through Landon’s large pantry, trying to figure out what I can use to make him a suitable dinner. I settle on a small bag of flour and a few random spices. He lifts his head as I step out. I’d taken some time to sort through the shelves. He waited for me on the stool where I’d left him, making no effort to rush me.

He’s been noticeably quiet since I freaked out over catching that fish. I hope he’s not having second thoughts about having me stay. In case he is, I’m giving him space.

He hurries out of his seat when he sees my arms are loaded. “No worries. I have it,” I assure him.

“Are you okay? Cooking, I mean,” he clarifies. “You are my guest.”

I line the counter with my collection of goodies. “Of course, you cooked breakfast. Dinner is the least I can do.” I offer him a small smile. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do,” he adds quietly.

My focus drops to the large bowl he placed on the counter for me. His tone seems off, as if distracted. I don’t know him well enough to guess what he’s thinking. I don’t know Landon well enough at all. What I do know is that instead of keeping me in the house with the expectation of sex, he took me out for a couple hours, making the experience that much more.

I mix breadcrumbs, salt, garlic, pepper, and dried jalapenos, then reach for a knife and slice the potatoes I washed length-wise. We spent much of the night and a good part of the morning being intimate, and although we didn’t do more than kiss on the boat, I felt closer to him out on the water.

It sounds silly, even for me who dreams about someone to share forever with. I don’t know, I thought we were going somewhere, until we weren’t.

The moment I finish slicing the potatoes, I coat them with olive oil and add the packet of onion soup mix I found in the pantry.

I pop open the oven and slide the potatoes across the preheated surface, feeling Landon watching me closely. He doesn’t say anything until after I whisk a few eggs in a bowl and dip the first piece of fish.

“Looks like your oil is ready,” he says, pointing to the large pan on the stove.

I fork a little bit of egg white into the heating oil and watch it sizzle. “You’re right,” I answer, smiling. I prepare a small salad while the fillets fry.

Landon quietly sets the table. I’m not sure if we’re okay until I carry the food into the dining room and see that he’s been busy too.

There’s one place setting at the head of the table, and one right beside it. The table is large enough to accommodate twelve. Yet despite all the room only a small space separates our designated seats, proving he wants me close.

I set the food down, close to a pretty plate with four votive candles placed at its center. He shrugs when I turn at his approach. “Ambiance,” he says, as if that explains it all.

“Thank you,” I say, meaning more than just the added touch.

I step forward to return to the kitchen. His gentle grasp to my elbow keeps me in place. “Thank you for dinner,” he says.

“Don’t thank me until you’ve tasted it,” I say.

My laughter cuts off when he cups my face with his hands, but it’s the kiss that comes that lodges my breath.

It’s slow and sultry, a kiss that hints there’s more to come, and more to do, reminding me we still have a full night ahead of us.

His hands slide down my arms. They don’t quite stay there, moving to my waist. I’m only wearing the borrowed T-shirt and set of boxers he lent me. His fingers disappear beneath the waistband, skimming my backside.

His caress tickles and makes me jerk. I ease away. “We should eat first,” I say.

With a great deal of relief, I find him smiling. “First?” he asks. “Am I to assume you want to do something else second?”

He hangs onto his grin. I don’t. “Yes,” I reply, my tone and the promise within it dissolving his humor.

Between munching on snacks from his pantry and eating the frozen foods stowed away in his freezer, we could have spent the entire day having sex. It would have been fine with me seeing how I can’t get enough of him. But he switched things around in a way that both delighted and surprised me.

The boat trip on the ocean was the nectar to all the sweet Landon is. That doesn’t mean I don’t want another night in bed with him.

“Then I suppose we should get the meal out of the way,” he says, his voice low.

“I suppose we should,” I agree softly.

I return to the kitchen. He shadows me, reaching for a bottle of red wine perched on the counter. “This okay with you?”

“Whatever you want.”

My hands reach for the salad and the dressing I prepared, almost dropping both when Landon grasps my hips and drags a montage of kisses along my throat.

My eyes roll into the back of my head. “What I want is you. All night,” he says. “But I’ll be polite and eat, even though it’s you I’m dying to have another taste of.”

I gasp, breathing hard. He mumbles a curse and steps away, gripping the counter with both hands. “You make it really hard to be polite,” he says. “You know that?”

I start to nod and speak, but don’t manage either so I force my body into action. I carry the remaining food to the table and just about run into Landon when I whip around.

“Oh, sorry,” I say.

He adjusts the wine glasses in his hand, as well as the opened bottle. “Where are you off to?” he asks, his gaze sliding over me just as it had the first time I smiled at him.

“We don’t have anything to drink besides wine,” I respond, trying my best to keep from tackling him. “I thought I should pour us some water.”

“I’ll get it,” he says. “You sit and relax.”

“Where do you want me?”

“With your legs thrown over my shoulders,” he replies, his tone matter of fact. “But since you prefer calorie eating before calorie consuming, wherever you want.”

“Uh,” I say, and that’s about it.

I can’t tell whether he sees me blush. His chuckle tells me he can. “Damn, you’re sweet,” he tells me.

I gush, just a little, then a little more when he winks.

My legs move although it takes some coaxing on my part. I sit off to the side, leaving the head of the table to him.

He pours the wine and returns with two tall glasses of ice water. I drink most of the water, never mind that we’ve collectively consumed at least a gallon between us since our return from the ocean. I fill my plate with salad and add the fish on top. Landon heads straight for the fish and chips. I watch him take his first bite, hoping he’ll like it. I’m a good cook, but I’ve never cooked for him.

He pops a large piece of fish in his mouth, his chews slowing as if savoring every bite. “This is really good,” he says. He takes another bite. “And what did you do to these potatoes?”

“I added olive oil and the soup mix,” I explain.

“Well it works.” He takes a sip of water. “And here I thought my mother and sister were the best cooks on Kiawah.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Who taught you how to cook?” he asks.

What should be an easy question is not, and makes me squirm. “My grandmother, Mamita.”

Landon doesn’t notice the change in my voice. He’s too busy eating for which I’m glad. “Not your momma?” he asks.

“No.”

He glances up. This time, he does notice the change in me. I busy myself slicing my fish and salad into small pieces as he waits for me to say more. “The man you paid to clean the fish, is he always there at the dock?” I ask, carefully squirting lime over the surface of my food.

My attention stays on my meal as I mix the greens and fish together. I’m trying to act casually rather than guilty. But in my world, guilt appears too often, reminding me it’s never far away.

Landon takes his time answering. I’m hoping he’s just chewing an extra-large bite, but I feel his stare upon me just as I felt his hands on my waist moments ago.

“For the most part,” he explains. “If you can believe it, filleting fish was a job he started as a teen. He was good at it, fast. Eventually he stowed enough away to purchase the dock. He’s been cleaning our catches ever since I was a kid. I’ve known him most of my life, and I think my father has known him most of his.”

“He seems like a nice man,” I add.

“Most people around here are. There are some spoiled brats who went on to have more spoiled brats, like that idiot Kirk who was bothering you. But the rest of us have a fix on them, and they’re usually smart enough of to stay out of our way.” He rolls his eyes. “Usually.”

I take a chance and glance up. “If he’s so bad, why was he there?”

“He’s Becca’s cousin,” Landon explains. “I’ll bet you this whole house he wasn’t invited and only showed because he felt he could.”

“If that’s the case, I’m surprised Becca didn’t toss him out. From what Blythe says, Becca doesn’t put up with anything or anyone who gives her trouble.”

“That’s for damn sure,” he says, laughing. “Except you’re forgetting Becca left with my sister and I can’t be sure she came back.”

I place my knife down. “Why would she leave her own party?”

“‘Cause as much as Becca loves a good time and an even better party, she’s smart enough to know who her real friends are.” He works his jaw. “And my guess is, she knows who she needs to hang onto.”

I’m not sure what he means entirely, but it’s enough to make me admire Becca a little more.

“Man, this is good,” he says, returning to his food. “With you doing all the hunting, maybe I should do some gathering to even things out.”

I wipe my mouth. “You gathered the plates,” I remind him. “And if you’re so inclined you can gather them again and help me place them in the dishwasher.”

He swallows and takes a sip of his wine. “I suppose I can do that. I just prefer to gather you in my arms.”

No, that wasn’t romantic or anything. I’m not swooning. No, absolutely not.

I poke through my food, trying to stop the smile that comes, but smiles aren’t something I can help around Landon. “Do you hunt?”

“Why, Miss Luci,” he says. “Are you trying to make small talk, instead of letting me talk about what I want to do to you?”

My fork hovers in the air, the piece of lettuce I gathered a mere inch from my mouth. “Maybe. But maybe I also want to know more about you.”

I start eating again, feeling Landon’s gaze on my warming face. I don’t have to look in his direction to know he’s grinning, and do I love that grin! But as much as I’m falling at his feet, I want to preserve the bit of me who isn’t so easily charmed.

It’s what I think, I should think. Yet I’m so taken with this man, I’m ready to abandon this fine feast and lay in his arms.

“I don’t hunt,” he admits. “But I’d give it a try if I wasn’t sure it’d break my mother’s and sister’s hearts.”

“Really?” I ask.

He nods. “Not big game or trophy, that’s bullshit as far as I’m concerned. But elk for sure, pheasant, that kind of thing. I like game meat and grew up eating it.”

I finish another bite of food. “Do you own a gun?”

“No,” he says, lifting his wine glass and giving the dark liquid a swirl. “I own several, two handguns, plus a shotgun and an assault rifle.”

I stop eating. “Why?”

He blinks back at me like I’m missing the obvious. “Because it’s the south and southerners love their guns.”

His eyes shimmer when I laugh. “The shotgun is for skeet shooting, the guns are for personal protection when I’m out, and the two assault rifles are for anyone stupid enough to break into my home.”

“You wouldn’t have a problem killing someone?” I’m not judging him, and I hope that’s not how I come across.

“I never said that,” he adds, softly. “But I wouldn’t hesitate to protect myself or someone I loved.”

Maybe I should be afraid, considering all the weapons he owns. But as I remember how he protected me at the party, fear doesn’t present itself. If anything, his willingness to look out for others endears him more. “I can understand that,” I say.

“I take it you don’t own a gun?” I shake my head. “Then I also take it you don’t know how to shoot.”

“Not at all,” I admit.

“I’ll take you—”

The manner in which he cuts himself off compels me to return to my food. I’m not sure if he was going to end the conversation with “sometime” or perhaps “the next time we see each other”. He didn’t mean “tomorrow”. He knows I’m leaving. But maybe like me, for a brief moment, he simply forgot.

Last night flew by and today is almost gone. We returned in time to watch the sun set along his deck. It was magnificent, an artistic masterpiece come to life. It was also a reminder how fast time is slipping from my grasp.

In the morning, the sun will rise just as quick, the day will come faster than I’m ready for, and life will go on for both of us. Landon will continue his life here in this little piece of paradise and I’ll return home to Charlotte, and in a way, to my mother, too.

I know it, and he knows it too.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean . . .”

My smile is forced, something that doesn’t feel right in Landon’s presence. “It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m not offended.”

“I hope not,” he says, the seriousness in his voice keeping me in place. “The last thing I want is for you to think I’ve used you.”

My finger slides across the handle of my fork as I set it down. I almost tell him that I’m the one who used him: to stir the smiles I often go without, to bring out the woman in me that I often forget I am, to push aside the loneliness that surrounds me, and to think about all the good I’m still capable of instead of the bad things that haunt me.

I don’t admit as much, of course, although in a way I wish I could.

My gaze travels to the large windows across his living room and to where the ocean continues its gentle serenade. It’s almost seven now, an hour or so from the time Landon and I met yesterday. Despite the brief time we’ve spent, I know him better than some of the people I’ve worked with for years. I’m not certain why. Maybe because I’ve allowed him to know me as well.

“I don’t think you used me, Landon.” I reach for my water. “But thank you for caring about whether or not you did.”

The candles cast a glow against his dark eyes, adding an air of mystery to a gaze that already hides so much. We finish our meal in silence and in a way that breaks my heart.

Last night in the quiet we shared there were moments where we simply smiled and moments where we couldn’t stop laughing. There wasn’t tension, and there isn’t tension now. What there is, is a sadness akin with goodbyes, the kind that lasts forever and one you don’t forget.

“Would you like some more wine?” he asks when I rise.

I stack a few dishes onto my plate. “Are you having more?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Then I’ll join you.”

I hear him pour the wine as I pad into the kitchen, working quickly to rinse off the plates and stack them in the dishwasher. There’s very little to clean, I did most of it as I cooked.

“Where’s your dishwasher detergent?” I ask.

I jump when I realize he’s behind me. He grabs my waist, steadying me. “Are you some kind of ninja spy?” I ask. “Is that why you have all those guns? I didn’t even hear you come in.”

His arms band around me, pulling me closer. “If I told you, my ninja spy oath would require me to use my Jedi mind tricks to erase your memory and make you forget everything you did and saw this weekend. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No.”

The truth behind my words paralyze him. For the briefest moment he doesn’t dare move. “I don’t want to forget either,” he admits.

His mouth slides over mine, the smooth taste of wine greeting me as his tongue explores. I push up on my toes, skimming my fingers through his hair. When I start to lose my balance, Landon catches me, lifting me in an embrace.

I’m barely wearing anything.

But it’s too much for Landon.

His hand disappears beneath the leg of the boxers I’m wearing, smoothing across my cheek. It’s time for us again, for our bodies to join and please. I know it, and I’m so ready for it.

I unsnap his jeans when he lowers me and pull down the zipper, falling to my knees and taking the waistband of his briefs with me. He’s already erect, adding to my arousal. Except when I reach for his staff and try to place him in my mouth, he pulls away.

“Not here,” he says.

I follow, unsure what he means. “Do you want to go in the bedroom?”

“No, it’s not that.” He shudders as my nails trail up his thighs and again when I trace circles along his backside.

“What is it?” He freezes when I lick my lips, his expression torn. “Landon,” I say, barely above a whisper. “I just want to make you feel good.”

He strains beneath my touch as I open my mouth wide. I start out slowly, using my tongue to massage him and gentle suction to stimulate him further. But as the muscles along his legs relax, I grow more aggressive.

My pulls are harder as I take him further in, falling into an erotic dance where only my hands and mouth participate. I want him to allow me to lead, and give me this moment to please him. I need to, and I want him to need it, too.

His hands fist my hair, not enough to hurt me, but enough to prove he likes what I’m doing. His audible sounds, mere gasps at first, deepen to hungry growls. My fingertips skim the “V” of his waist. I want to steal a glimpse, to make sure he’s okay, and while I only intend to do it briefly, it doesn’t stay that way. Not when his stare fastens to mine.

Dark lust flares in his eyes. He’s so consumed and turned on by what I’m doing, his pleasure burns into me. His breathing turns shallow and he bites down a groan. I’m not touching myself, nor is he touching more than my hair. But I’m so impassioned by how he’s reacting to me, a low hum vibrates along my throat.

Landon lifts me to him into a straddle, his lips crushing over mine. He fumbles with his jeans and briefs, kicking them off. In a few strides, we’re back in the dining room and on the table.

The fabric of my shorts rip as he strips me bare. I reach for his shirt, managing to pull it off him half a second before his mouth disappears between my thighs. My palms press against the cool granite slab as I lean back, the lower half of my body wriggling as Landon lets loose.

I’m trying to move the remaining items from dinner aside. But all the licks, sucks, and movements of his fingers, blind me to anything except him. I manage to slide the plate of votives away in time for my orgasm to hit.

The force is so sudden and deliciously brutal, my legs jerk out of control. “God, I’m sorry,” I stammer, when I knock his shoulder.

He doesn’t notice, burying his face deeper.

This time, I’m the one cursing and gasping, trying to hang onto any bit of composure lost in his presence. I want to beg him for it, to take me now and not stop. But all I manage to say is his name. For him, it’s more than enough.

He lifts up, hooking my knees and hauling me against his muscular body. We manage a brief kiss. But when the thick ridge of his erection presses against me, we don’t manage much more. My fingers link behind his neck while his hands clamp over my hips.

Each thrust is hard and fast, our gazes radiating and fusing with rapture. My head falls back as that familiar tension builds in my core. Landon cups the base of my skull, tipping my head to face him.

His jaw is clamped so forcibly, it’s hard for him to speak. “Don’t turn away from me,” he says, his voice carnal. “I want to watch what I do to you.”

He gets his wish as jolts of energy fire every cell in my body. I start to finish only for Landon to pump faster, sprawling us across the table, his mouth dipping to worship every inch of my skin.

I knock over a dish when he throws my legs over his shoulders. The dark, sensual edge to his features is so erotic, I lose myself in the moment and slip my hand between my legs.

“Oh, fuck,” Landon says, bowing his head to watch. It’s the last thing he says before the grunts from his release echo across the room.