Bess
Two weeks later
Snow was coming down heavy again, sticking to any surface it found. Drifts of it had piled up on my porch, nearly blocking my front door, so I had to dig a passage for Brooks to get down to the yard so he could do his business. It was even deeper in the yard and he loved it, his tail wagging, brown eyes shining as he jumped and bounced through the drifts.
My man, Brooks Bailey. His life would be changing after the New Year. We were moving for a few months to Florida, a decision I’d made the Sunday after Thanksgiving, but still needed to get used to. It wasn’t final, I wasn’t selling my place, just trying out something new for a while. With Lane.
I wondered how Brooks would like the sand and warmth and constant sunshine, not to mention the noise and crowds. It was quite different from what he was used to here. It would be a big adjustment for him, and if I were honest, for me too.
Huddled on my porch with a scarf wrapped tightly around my neck, the wind blowing wet snow on my cheeks, I called for Brooks. He was whooping it up, his paws cutting through the fluffy powder, throwing it high in the air until it came fluttering down on his head.
“Brooks, come on, baby,” I yelled, and he came padding back to me. We walked through the door, and being the good boy he was, he shook off the snow while standing right on the towel I had laid out. And then he went and drank from the bottom of the Christmas tree.
We’d never had one before in this house. My dad and I always had a cheap artificial tree when I was growing up—typically a tiny thing on the table with gaudy white tinsel and lights that never worked quite right.
But there was nothing insignificant about the one that I had now. It stood regally in the corner by the window, holding its star up high, shimmering in all its glory. Thanks to Lane. Now those silver and red balls were shaking and shimmering in the light as Brooks turned around, his tail swishing against the tree.
Shivering, I put on the tea kettle just as my phone rang.
“Hello?” I said, not recognizing the number.
“Bess, it’s James. How you doing, doll face?”
“Hey, James! Happy holidays!” I said, leaning my hip into the counter.
“Same to you, my love.”
“So, what’s up?” I said, waiting for the water to boil.
“Just checking in, saying hi. Are you all ready for the move?”
“James . . . spill!”
We’d become close since my last visit to Miami. Lane and I had gone to a Halloween party at the Dylan—I was trying to venture out—except it was way too wild and crazy for me. We left early, and James grabbed us a quiet table in the back of the restaurant where we shared coffee and dessert. When we were waiting for the car, James came to check on me, and I learned that he was in the program. He noticed my apprehension at being around all the craziness and nonstop partygoers, and recognized my nervousness for what it was.
The next day, I had a few hours while Lane went to the office, so I met James for a coffee at the News Café. Sitting outside, watching all the beach babes work out in the sand, we shared stories. A few days later, he took me to a local meeting and introduced me to a few others in recovery in the area. And we had stayed in touch, chatting about my move.
His newfound warmness toward me did not go unnoticed by Mr. Wrigley, but they set down their swords when it came to me.
James came clean, his voice interrupting my thoughts. “Ugh, love. Lane told me to check in on you while he’s back in Madrid with the time difference.”
I laughed as I pulled the whistling teakettle off the heat and filled a mug with steaming water. “Of course he did. I’m fine. The snow is coming down and I’m making tea.”
“Life in the fast lane. So, what happened over Thanksgiving? You never told me. Did Lane and that hunk of a brother mend fences? How was your dad?”
I let out a sigh as I rubbed a hand across my temple, massaging away the headache about to come on. “Jake and Lane weren’t great. They’re at odds over the best way to leave everything in the past. Jake wants a sit-down with Shirley; he wants to hear her voice out loud her regret and guilt. Lane doesn’t want to see her ever again. As for my dad, he and I are in an okay place. He feels bad about my childhood and is open to trying to reconnect slowly. And he understands it has to be on my terms.”
“That’s good,” James said. “And you know Lane is nuts when it comes to you. That’s why he has me checking on you . . . duh! He’ll follow your lead with Jake, my love, you just watch. More important than all of that, are you ready to escape that shitty snow and come and live by me? Sand and surf twenty-four/seven?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll love the weather, but I’ll miss my house . . . and work. I still don’t know what I’m going to do down there, and it’s worrying me. Do not repeat that to Lane,” I warned him as I dipped my tea bag in my mug, letting the cranberry color seep out into the hot water.
“Well, that’s the other reason why I’m calling. Lacey left, she’s the other girl who helped at the desk, and since you have hotel hospitality experience and a marketing degree, doll, I recommended you. And management went for it.”
Walking away from my tea, I began to pace my small kitchen with the phone tucked into the crook of my neck. “James! This reeks of Lane’s doing!”
“Maybe a little,” he said with a hint of a whine. “He did mention that you needed something. He knew you were obsessing over working, but this was all me. Think of how much fun we’ll have, making fun of people the way I used to make fun of Lane!”
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. James did give Lane a healthy dose of banter, especially now that Lane had apparently settled down. It should bother me more—that playboy past—but I figured I got the real Lane. All of him, and that was way better.
As for the job, other than Camper and Jake, I didn’t have many friends my age. Now I had James, and I could truly be myself around him. It was the perfect opportunity, and even though I was sure Lane had way more to do it with than James had let on, I said, “Okay! What do I need to do?”
Later that night I woke to something tickling my cheek. My breath caught in my throat as I was about to scream when I heard, “Shh, Bess, it’s me,” in the gravelly voice I loved.
I sat up in bed, my heart racing despite realizing Lane was the intruder. No wonder Brooks didn’t bark.
“Hey,” I said, swiping the hair off my face.
The bed dipped as he sat down next to me in the darkness, kissing his way up my cheek to my ear, where he nibbled on the lobe. “Hey, I missed you,” he whispered.
“What are you doing here?” I reached around to his back, pinching him, making sure I wasn’t dreaming.
“Ouch! I finished early and jumped on a flight.”
His breath lingered over my lips. He was waiting to see if I needed to say anything else before he kissed me.
I didn’t.
Pulling him down the rest of the way, I grabbed his hair and kissed the hell out of Lane Wrigley.
He didn’t let me stay in control for long. After a toe-curling kiss, he stood up and quickly got rid of his clothes, his erection springing to life in front of me.
“Why, hello there,” I joked from the bed, and started to pull my tank off and shimmy out of my boy shorts.
“Have some mercy,” Lane said, setting a knee down on the bed. “I just flew back on an international flight and then drove another ninety minutes in the snow and sleet with a raging hard-on.”
“Did you now?” I teased as he crawled over to me, whipping the blanket off me in one swoop.
“Lane! I’m cold,” I said, laughing through my words.
“Not for long, love,” was all he said before his face was between my legs, his tongue running a familiar path. And then he went back to teasing me, planting a path of kisses along my inner thigh, his breath barely coasting over where I wanted his mouth.
“Please,” I pleaded.
He didn’t make me beg. His tongue homed in on that special place, his finger dipped deep inside me, and I came apart. My body burst into flames, my heart beating too fast. Love and contentment ran through my veins, emotions I never thought I would feel like a normal woman, but I was.
“Want inside you,” he said, bringing me out of my orgasm-induced haze.
“Mmm, me too,” I murmured.
And then he was. To the hilt, before he pulled all the way out and slid back in again. He tortured both of us like this for a while. In and out, long and languid, his dick hitting every single nerve along my walls, our mouths staying together while our hips did a sensual dance.
“More,” I whispered.
“More what,” he asked as he slid all the way out, torturing me.
“You. Deep. Faster. Please, Lane,” I said, giving in, saying what I wanted and couldn’t wait for.
“Okay, baby.” And he gave me everything I asked for.