CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHAT THE HECK had just happened?
One minute Ryanne was basking in postcoital rapture with Jude, the next she was alone. No longer a virgin. Now a scorned lover.
Over the years, she’d imagined her first afterglow a dozen different ways. A little cuddling, a lot of laughter and talking. Drinking a glass of champagne, perhaps taking a bubble bath together to ease her sore muscles. Lying under the stars, quiet. None of her fantasies had ended with her alone in her shower, aching body and soul.
For however long, she sat on the bench, her knees drawn up to her chest. Wasted my virginity on a hit and run. Jude Laurent had to be one of the worst decisions she’d ever made. But then, she hadn’t based her decision on logic but feeling.
Just like Momma.
I’m an idiot!
And Jude, well, Jude was a jerk. How dare he abandon her the second he climaxed? How dare he not realize he’d made a huge mistake and come running back to beg for a second chance she would absolutely refuse to give him?
Hot water poured over her, steam enveloping her, almost convincing her the entire encounter had been a dream. Almost.
Despite her inexperience, she knew she’d rocked Jude’s world. The look of sublime pleasure on his face every time he’d thrust inside her had affected her on a cellular level. He’d found the ultimate satisfaction in her arms. And then he’d ruined everything by running away.
This is me. Broken.
Considering his unwavering devotion to his wife, it was a miracle he’d come near Ryanne at all. Maybe she was being too hard on him? After everything that had just happened, he had to be emotionally vulnerable, or worse, emotionally destroyed.
Let’s face it, Ryanne had been a wrecking ball to two and a half years of intentional celibacy. To him, up had to be down and down had to be up.
Why else would he have gotten a vasectomy? It was such an extreme action—one born of desperation? Because he’d known he couldn’t resist Ryanne much longer, and he’d feared getting her pregnant?
Oh, how she would love to shake some sense into the man! He’d screwed up his future, all to appease his fears in the present. What if he fell in love again? What if he remarried and his new wife wanted kids?
Ryanne’s nails cut into the pad of her palms.
He wasn’t her concern. More than that, she wasn’t in the market for love or marriage, and didn’t have time for a relationship. But dang him! He wasn’t the only one who was emotionally vulnerable right now.
Perched on his lap, spent, great waves of affection had washed over her. The man had taken her virginity—popped her cherry. Whatever you called it, the act would fuel her dreams forever. Jude’s attention to her details had set the standard of measure for any other man she invited into her bed.
I don’t want another man. I want him. Jude Laurent. Just one more time...
Too bad, so sad, mi querida.
From now on, Jude was off-limits. They would be friends without benefits. But...since they were friends, she should probably prove she had no hard feelings about his deplorable finish today. A few minor—cough major cough—renovations in the bathroom, like a grab bar to offer him support in the shower, one on the wall beside the claw-foot tub and one next to the toilet, should do the trick. Just in case he got into another fight and had to come upstairs to shower off the blood, of course.
Would the additions embarrass the proud Jude?
Did it matter? Friends helped each other out, even when it hurt.
Speaking of hurt, Ryanne stuffed what remained of hers into a box, locked it and shoved it in a hidden corner. Out of sight, out of mind. Feeling more upbeat, she shut off the water, dried off, and dressed in a T-shirt and pajama pants, and tried not to wince at the tenderness between her legs. All the while, her skin tingled, as if to tell her I remember what it’s like to be naked and damp, Jude’s hands on me. Give me more of that.
Hello, new addiction.
If only Jude hadn’t played her body quite so masterfully. He’d known when to touch and when to retreat, when to slow down and speed up. Part of her wished the experience had sucked, so she could write him off and move on without a problem.
She hmphed. Like his expertise really mattered. After a two-and-a-half-year hormonal deep freeze, a strong gust of wind could have given her an orgasm.
Am I bitter? I sound bitter.
No hard feelings, remember?
Oops. Some of her hurt had escaped the lockbox. Stuff. Click. Shove.
Time to focus on those support bars.
Taking a page from Coot’s book, Ryanne watched instructional videos to figure out what she needed to buy and what she needed to do. Then she called her girls to invite them over and, okay, okay, request supplies.
“You understand me better than anyone,” she said to Belle, then pulled her wet hair into a ponytail and gave her sweetie a pet behind the ears. “Your man loved and left you, too. Hopefully mine hasn’t left me in the same condition, though.”
The odds were astronomical. His little swimmers would have to overcome the formation of scar tissue caused by his vasectomy, as well as her birth control.
Belle gave her a look that said, You should be so lucky, silly hooman.
“Easy for you to say. You have the cutest babies in the world.” She kissed a little black-and-white beauty, her mind straying to Jude’s twins. Had the girls looked like him or his wife? Had they been happy children or somber? Princesses or tomboys?
You couldn’t live without experiencing loss, a fact as old as time. Death was hereditary. Ryanne comforted herself with the knowledge that she would one day see Earl in heaven. Because yes, she was going up, not down, and no one could stop her! Did Jude find comfort the same way?
Well, comforted or not, the pain of losing a child, much less two at the same time, plus a significant other...the pain had to be unbearable.
Any lingering bitterness over his abrupt departure faded. So. Ryanne wouldn’t castigate him by word or deed. She would act like the friend she’d agreed to be...even though she wanted to be more.
There. She’d admitted the truth. She might not have time for a relationship, but she wanted one—with him. He’d introduced her to the height of sensual pleasure, and once hadn’t been enough.
He’d ruined her for other men.
She would give anything to be the girl he smiled at, laughed with, and slept with every night. The one he craved under him, as well as beside him.
By the time her friends knocked on her door, Ryanne had convinced herself to make another play for Jude.
If he rejected her, he rejected her. She would let him go, content in the knowledge she’d done everything in her power to win his affections. No regrets.
Also, she would force herself to remain open to possibilities—with other men. No more shutting down her desires.
“You owe me big-time.” Dorothea placed a large box on the kitchen counter. “I had to promise Mr. Mumford a free night at the inn just to open the hardware store after hours. The last time he stayed, he partied like a rock star. He literally swung from the chandelier.”
Lyndie, who’d come in directly behind Dorothea, covered her mouth to muffle a giggle. Ryanne smiled. She loved seeing her former stepsister at ease. For too long, happiness had seemed unattainable.
After their parents had married and Ryanne had realized the abuse poor Lyndie had suffered most of her young life, she’d done everything in her power to protect the dear one, to offer hope amid a hopeless situation.
One day we’ll run away together and travel the world!
Lyndie had sniffled. I don’t want to travel the world. I want to fight back and win.
They’d taken a self-defense class together, at least for a little while. Only Ryanne had finished the course. Lyndie had a panic attack and dropped out.
To Selma’s credit, she’d tried to help, too, staying with Mr. Scott far longer than she’d wanted, doing everything she could to convince Mr. Scott to let her adopt Lyndie, at the same time planning to divorce him after the papers were signed so she could fight him for custody. Somehow, he’d learned of her intentions, and he’d divorced her.
That’s when Selma finally filed a report about the abuse. Of course, gossip had quickly claimed the “man-eater” only wanted revenge, that she’d lied in order to hurt the first man to tire of her.
Ryanne still battled intense guilt over her inability to shield the fragile Lyndie from further harm. But every time her friend displayed some semblance of joy, like tonight, that regret eased a little bit.
“If Mr. Mumford swings from the chandelier again,” she told Dorothea, “I promise I’ll cheer you on while you buy a new one.”
This time, Lyndie’s giggles burst forth, as if a dam had crumbled.
“Actually,” Dorothea said, wagging a finger at Ryanne, “you’ll reward me by coming to my engagement party in two weeks. It’s on a Saturday night, your busiest time, but I need you there. My mother decided I absolutely had to have one. She wants to let the town know Spotty Dotty has finally landed a man.”
“Hey. That man is lucky to have you,” Lyndie said.
Saturday was her busiest night, and her employees were always overworked, but they could handle the crush and rush without her. And she could wear a slinky dress. As one of Daniel’s closest friends, Jude would certainly have to attend the party; he’d never seen her dressed to slay-and-lay.
Anticipation washed through her, leaving goose bumps on her skin. “Yes. I’ll be there.”
“Why are you installing grab bars in your apartment, anyway?” As soon as the question left her, Lyndie gasped, her amber eyes aglow. “Are you and Jude officially dating?”
“Oh, oh, are you?” Clapping, Dorothea jumped up and down. “Did he pass the Ten Commitments?”
The Ten Commitments. A list of requirements they’d come up with in high school, for anyone hoping to date Ryanne, Dorothea or Lyndie.
A boy shalt not:
1) Lie to anyone, ever, not even to flatter.
2) Cheat with so much as a look.
3) Steal even when desperate.
4) Harm others in any way.
5) Make excuses for bad behavior.
He shalt:
6) Compliment when merited.
7) Help when needed.
8) Treat others with kindness, always.
9) Consult you when making big decisions.
10) Do his best, not just what’s good enough.
Well, no wonder Ryanne had so often demanded Jude give her compliments. The list must have been in the back of her mind the entire time.
You brought me back to life.
She shivered now as she’d shivered then. Sexier words had never been spoken.
Her friends didn’t know it, but a few years ago she’d added an eleventh commitment. He shalt want me for more than sex. Plenty of boys had asked her out pre-romance ban, but only a rare few hadn’t tried to get into her pants at moment one, because of course she’d had to be as easy as her mother.
Somehow, she’d convinced herself to settle for sex, only sex, from Jude.
Worth it?
“I’m not dating Jude.” She wouldn’t mention the orgasms he’d just given her. Dorothea and Lyndie would demand a complete retelling, and there would be no hiding the remnants of her emotional vulnerability. “He’s working for me, and I’m kind, caring and magnanimous.”
“And super humble,” Dorothea said with a laugh.
“Such a giver.” A sly gleam in her eyes, Lyndie waved a hand in her direction. “And a receiver of hickeys.”
What! She had a hickey? Ryanne resisted the urge to cover her neck. “You’re lying. I do not have a poor girl’s tramp stamp on my neck.”
The sly gleam got slyer. “I know. I was seeing if you knew.”
Rat! “Lyndie, dear, would you be a lamb and tell us all about your feelings for Brock? Inquiring minds want to know.”
Twin pink circles colored Lyndie’s cheeks. “Okay. Enough conversation. We’re here to work, so let’s get to it.”
Do not laugh. “You sure?”
In a rare show of spirit, Lyndie flipped her off. “What do you think?”
Ryanne snorted and carried the box her friend had brought into the bathroom—where she promptly panicked. Had she left any sexual reminders out in the open?
Wet towels—in the hamper.
His clothes—gone.
The condom and its wrapper—in the trash can.
She released a relieved sigh.
“You know,” Dorothea said, digging through the box’s contents and withdrawing a power drill. “Jude was prowling around the bar, looking particularly stylish in a bikini shirt, and snapping at everyone with a drink in hand.”
He hadn’t gone home? Maybe later she could watch him on the security feed, the way he’d watched her...
“His hair was wet, just like yours.” Dorothea wiggled her dark brows. “Doesn’t that strike you as an odd coincidence?”
Poo on a stick! She had no leverage against Dorothea. “All right, detectives. You busted me. I took a shower with Jude. We conserved a little water, had a little sex. Happy now? Great. Help me install the bars.”
Both women squealed.
“I knew it!” Lyndie said.
“Daniel owes me five dollars.” Dorothea fist pumped the air. “But I’m going to do him a solid and accept payment in the form of orgasms.”
Ryanne planted her fists on her hips. “You guys took bets on when I’d sleep with Jude?”
“Of course. Did I mention I won?”
“Wow. I need better friends.”
“Too bad. You’re stuck with us.” Lyndie bumped her shoulder. “So. Tell us everything. Was your first time everything you dreamed? How do you feel? Any different?”
Unable to cut off her dreamy sigh, Ryanne pressed her palm over her heart. “It was better than I’d imagined. He was better. I’m still amazed. And probably in shock. Yeah, definitely in shock. I’m pretty sure I left my body, soared through the heavens, danced with angels, came back to my body and died of acute, intense pleasure, only to have my heart shocked back to life.”
Her friends shared a look before bursting into laughter.
“So you and Jude are a couple now?” Dorothea asked, her tone happy, as if she was certain of a positive response.
Ryanne pasted a false smile on her face. No one was going to blame Jude for her desire for a relationship, rather than a one-night stand. “Nope. We had tonight, that’s all.” At least until she convinced him otherwise.
“Oh, Ryanne. I’m so sorry,” Lyndie said. “I know you were secretly hoping for more.”
Knows me better than I know myself.
Dorothea patted her shoulder, her big baby blues filled with remorse. “If you want more, you’ll get more. He’ll be back.”
Ryanne gulped. Maybe. Hopefully. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it.”
They hopped to, but neither Lyndie nor Dorothea were used to such late hours and soon began to drag.
“Hey. When you came through the door, did Jude ask what was in the box?” Ryanne asked, then bit her lower lip. “Did you tell him? Show him? How did he react?”
“At first he said nothing, just waved us in without even glancing at the box.” Dorothea yawned. “Then he chased us down and demanded to know what was going on.”
Lyndie lifted her chin. “You would have been proud. I told him we’d be sure to tell him all about it the moment the information was his business.”
Dang, Ryanne loved these girls. “Okay, maybe I’ll keep you guys as friends.”
They worked another hour. Or rather, Ryanne worked. Dorothea fell asleep with her head resting on the edge of the tub while Lyndie fell asleep on the floor in a fetal position.
When a soft knock sounded at the front door, neither woman reacted. Ryanne left them where they were and checked the monitor Jude had installed last week.
Daniel and Brock stood in the hall, no sign of the third amigo.
Was she ready to face his best friends? Didn’t matter. The best friends in question wouldn’t leave until they’d collected their women.
Deep breath in...out... Ryanne disengaged the lock and turned the knob.
“Your better halves are asleep in my bathroom,” she said.
“I have no better half,” Brock replied.
Both men marched inside, only to remain in the foyer, watching her. And oh, wow, they were handsome. Not Jude handsome, of course. No one was. But these two exuded strength and animalistic sex appeal. While Daniel possessed good ole boy charm, Brock had bad-to-the-bone down to a T.
T is for tempting.
If anyone could coax Lyndie out of her self-imposed exile, it was Brock. The woman only left her house to teach at Strawberry Valley Elementary School, and to visit with Ryanne.
Brock winked at her before holding up one hand. “Go ahead. High-five me.”
Though she was confused, she obeyed. “Why are we acting like teenagers?”
“You rode Jude out of misery, straight into agony.” With a smile, he offered her a thumbs-up. “Well done.”
She nearly choked on her tongue. “He told you?”
Brock turned his widening smile to Daniel, revealing a bright red smudge of lipstick on his neck. Dang him. Boning girls in the bar bathroom had become his specialty.
Now that Jude had given celibacy the stinky boot, would he follow in his friend’s footsteps?
A curse brewed in the back of her throat.
Okay, so. She was a wee bit possessive and jealous. If Jude turned to another woman, she would kinda sorta want to take a crowbar to the girl’s face—then Jude’s junk—even though he’d made no commitment to Ryanne.
It would have been nice to know she’d feel this way about her first lover before doing the deed, but no matter. She could deal.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Daniel said, shifting from one boot to the other, “but he told us he’d made a colossal mistake.”
There was a right way to take that?
“We worked out the details on our own,” he added. “His wet hair...your wet hair. Plus, the last time I saw such a haunted look in his eyes, he’d just lost his family. But don’t worry. We’re not going to ask for details. Are we, Brock?”
His buddy hiked his shoulders, clearly disappointed. “You take the fun out of funniest.”
“So Jude is now in agony?” she demanded.
“You misunderstood.” Brock linked his fingers with hers, startling her. “This is a very good thing. He’s going to be in a dark place for a while, but that’s okay. In the dark, he might finally see the light.”
A beautiful sentiment, but what, exactly, constituted light for Jude? So far, Ryanne had only seemed to add to his troubles.
“What are your intentions toward my boy, anyway?” Brock’s head canted to the side, his attention on her deepening. “He doesn’t give his goods and services away lightly. Well, not anymore.”
“Brock.” Daniel sighed.
“What?” Brock stretched out his arms, acting like the last sane man in a universe gone to hell. “She needs to know the kind of man she’s dealing with. And to Jude, sex equals commitment.”
Her heart fluttered wildly. Sex means something to Jude.
He waited for me, as I waited for him. We were...fated for each other?
No, no. I don’t believe in fate. Do I?
“Look, I’m going to ask him out,” she said. “If he says no, that’s it. I’m done. If he says yes...” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance.
Please, Jude, say yes.