Chapter 16

Juliana

 

 

The address Pacey had texted led me to a nice-looking house in a good neighborhood not far outside of town. What surprised me about it was that it was a neighborhood known for great family living with wide sidewalks, big trees, yards with play equipment, and the best elementary school in town.

It wasn’t that far away from my place, but I’d chosen my location based on proximity to work and the places I frequented, and I couldn’t help but wonder why Pacey had chosen the location that he had. Although, he wasn’t from here, so maybe he didn’t realize what kind of neighborhood he was living in until he was already there.

I parked behind a two-car garage in a paved driveway that seemed to form one edge of his property. There was a neatly trimmed row of hedges and a low fence that separated it from his neighbors.

To my right was a green front lawn that had white steps leading up to a porch with an old, rickety-looking swing hanging from a gnarled tree next to it, and a front door that was painted bright red. It didn’t look like the home of a single, former Navy SEAL who drove a motorbike, wore leather jackets, and had tattoos on his arms.

Frowning, I pulled my bag from the passenger footwell of my Jeep, retrieved my phone, and was double-checking the address when the door opened and Pacey stepped out. My jaw nearly dropped, not just because of the fact that this was indeed his house, but because while Pacey was mouthwatering, Pacey’s home was breathtaking.

And I wasn’t even inside yet.

His hair looked almost black, still wet from either a swim or a shower. The places here mostly all had pools, so I couldn’t be sure which. Washed-out jeans hung from his hips and his feet were bare, a white, sleeveless shirt giving me my first full view of his arms and the stark black tattoo that I’d been dying to take a look at. It was an intricately designed Navy Frogman tattoo that signified, if I remembered correctly, having lost one of their own in the line of duty.

Pacey grinned from the doorway when he saw it was me, then jogged across the porch and down the steps to meet me when I stepped out of the Jeep.

“Hey,” he said, brushing back a lock of damp hair that had fallen across his forehead as he jogged. 

“Hey.” I wished I was as casual and effortless as he was, but I just wasn’t. “How, uh, how are you?”

He tilted his head slightly, then motioned me toward the door. “Fine, you? Come on in.”

Since he’d fallen into step behind me, I could feel his warmth radiating into my back, and a part of my mind immediately went to wondering what it would feel like to be completely enveloped by it. A clean, soapy scent drifted from him, quickly overpowered by delicious-smelling food when we entered his house, and he shut the door behind us.

“I’m good. Gosh, it smells amazing in here,” I told him. Maybe he could actually cook something other than the omelets that were my only specialty.

Pacey gave me a disarming smile and led me to his kitchen. “It does, doesn’t it? Full disclosure though, I can’t take credit for it. I think my neighbors were about to call the fire department when my friend showed up and helped.”

I laughed, picturing how close my own neighbors had been to calling them once when I tried baking a pie. “Thank God. I can’t cook to save my life; it would’ve been awkward if you were some kind of a whiz at it.”

His lips quirked into a smile and he held up a bottle of wine. “Nope, I would’ve starved if not for quality take-out places. Wine?”

As if that one thing had broken the ice, I felt myself relax immediately, and found that once I did, I was instantly comfortable in his presence. “Please.”

He poured a glass for me, grabbed and uncapped a beer for himself, and showed me to a patio area with a small bar tucked into the corner. It opened to the kind of large backyard that the neighborhood was known for, complete with a sparkling pool.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a small round table off to one side that had been set with two simple white plates, cutlery, and a single white rose. A salad, garlicky-looking bread, and a dish of lasagna sat on the side.

“Thanks,” I smiled, sliding into the seat across from where he was standing. He waited for me to sit, then took his own seat. I nodded to the food. “Your friend seems to be quite the chef.”

Pacey started laughing, the fading light on the patio catching the golden specks in his eyes. I found myself leaning forward a little, if just to be a few inches closer to this man. There was something about him that I trusted implicitly, and had since the first time I’d met him really, but he was in his element here. He was just so comfortable in his own space, and in his incredibly sexy skin.

I wasn’t usually one to trust quickly or easily, but whether it was the knowledge that he’d defended my honor—and that of my former best friend—that made me realize it, or something else, it was easy to trust him.

He’d stopped laughing and was looking at me curiously. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I was just thinking about what you did for me last night.”

Pacey raised a dark eyebrow and shrugged. “You’ve already said thank you for that, which was entirely unnecessary, by the way. He’s an asshole. No offense.”

“None taken,” I assured him. “I just wish I’d seen it sooner.”

“Yeah well, things happen the way they happen. We can only learn from it and move forward.”

I propped my elbows on the table, formed a bridge with my fingers, and let my chin rest there. “That seems oddly profound for this time of night.”

Pacey’s lips curled into the smallest smile; then he nodded to the bottle of wine he’d brought with him from the kitchen. “Just you wait ‘til I hit that stuff.”

Laughing, I held my glass out for a refill. “Let’s get to it, then.”

He took it, topped me up, then poured some for himself. When he was done, he handed my glass back to me and raised his own in a toast. “To getting oddly profound.”

I clinked with him, took a sip, and set my glass down. “So, tell me about this fire you nearly set.”

Pacey launched into what he dubbed his latest kitchen disaster, and I laughed so hard I nearly cried. His tale sounded so familiar that I couldn’t help it. When he was done, I told him about some of my own more questionable cooking moments, and he laughed right along with me.

“Did you grow up in town?” he asked when I’d exhausted my less embarrassing kitchen nightmares.

“I did, but you didn’t. Where are you from?”

“Originally? Washington, but my dad was a military man, so I’ve been around,” he said, a faraway look in his eyes. “What was it like growing up here?”

“It was fine; nothing like being around, though,” I teased lightly.

Pacey’s mouth turned up in a half smile. “You probably went to camp and stuff, right? I never got to do that, but I always thought it would kick ass.”

“I went for two summers,” I admitted, then started giggling at the memory. “Then I begged my parents to let me do chores all summer instead of going back there. Sleeping in a dorm with all those people had my OCD tendencies flaring up something awful. They make you tidy up, but the kids just stuffed things in everywhere.”

“You’re slightly OCD?” he asked, the half-smile turning into a full one. “Me too.”

He held his glass up, and we clinked again. “Does that mean we’re cleaning up right after dinner?”

“I think so,” I smiled. “I wouldn’t comfortably be able to go back inside knowing that all this was just sitting out here.”

“Ditto,” Pacey laughed. “It would drive me nuts to know it was all just waiting.”

“Deal. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he smirked, refilling my wine.

“Okay, let’s do a quick-fire round. No thinking,” I told him.

“Ladies first,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

I thought for a second, then fired off my first question. “Why landscaping?”

Pacey shrugged, “I like being outside. Why banking?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Maybe not, but it’s the best one I’ve got. Do you miss active duty?”

That seemed to give him pause, but he met my eyes and nodded, “Most days.”

I was burning to ask him why he didn’t go back, but he beat me to the punch. “Tell me something nobody else knows about you. No thinking, remember?”

“I sing along to Disney movies.”

Pacey laughed, “I’m sure people know that about you.”

“They don’t know that I was still doing it last night. What about you?”

He sighed deeply, “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in years.”

“Why?”

“I thought this was a quick-fire round, not a discussion.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded. “Do you want to eat? Because I’m starving.”

He looked stunned that that was my question, then started pulling the food closer and dishing up for us. 

After that, we talked about his business, my job, his time in the SEALs, but not about why he quit. We talked more about growing up and our plans for the immediate future, but neither of us had any.

Dinner was good, and the wine was better, especially since it kept flowing, as did the easy conversation between us. There was none of that first date awkwardness that I’d been expecting. Pacey was attentive, intelligent, funny, and charming.

Yet somehow, he also managed to maintain a sense of mystery and guardedness, like there was a part of him locked away and he intended for it to stay that way. I couldn’t blame him, of course. No one spilled their deepest, darkest secrets on the first date. Some people never did; Scott certainly hadn’t.

Things were different with Pacey though; the conversation was light but honest and insightful. I was having more fun than I could ever remember having on a date, and that included dates with the few longish-term boyfriends I’d had.

“You want to go for a walk?” Pacey asked, once we’d finished eating and I’d helped him clear the table and take the leftovers back to the kitchen in accordance with our deal. We worked so naturally and so well together that it took us no more than a few minutes for his dishwasher to be loaded, the leftovers wrapped, and the white rose the only indication that we’d finished eating there not 10 minutes ago.

He was leaning against the counter by the kitchen sink, his eyes darting to the window. “It’s a clear night; there’s a creek nearby that we should be able to find using only the moonlight.”

“Sounds good. A little fresh air wouldn’t hurt after all that wine,” I said.

Pacey crossed the kitchen to me, placing his palm lightly at the small of my back to guide me out his back door. His hand was large, and his fingers splayed across my lower back, spanning almost all the way between my hips. His hand was hot through the thin material of my shirt between our bare skin, and I suddenly wanted nothing more than to have nothing between us.

But it was way too soon for those kinds of thoughts, so I focused on my surroundings instead. The moon was high, lighting the fields of grass behind his house. We made our way slowly across them, meandering more than walking. “It’s beautiful out here.”

“Yeah, it is,” Pacey agreed, lacing his fingers through mine. My heart started drumming in my chest at the feel of my hand in his. Despite how much larger his were, it felt like they fit together perfectly. His palms were dry and warm, his fingers gripping mine in a way that made me feel protected, safe.

“Do you do this walk often?”

“Sometimes. When I can’t sleep.” He glanced at me, shaking his head a little.

“What?” I asked, wondering what he could possibly be shaking his head at. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he said, quickly. Too quickly almost. “It’s just you—you surprise me. I surprise me when I’m with you.”

“Okay? I’ve missed something here, haven’t I?”

Lips twitching into a smile, he squeezed my hand and picked up his pace a bit. “No, you haven’t. I just find myself telling you stuff that I don’t usually tell people.”

“Ah. I understand. It’s the same for me, if that’s any consolation to you,” I admitted.

He chuckled softly. “I had a feeling it might be.”

What the hell did that mean? Was I that obvious?

We talked a little more on the walk to a small creek about a quarter of a mile behind his house. The sound of the creek coupled with the frogs and crickets made for a beautiful accompaniment, with the moon reflecting off the glassy surface of the creek.

Pacey was standing next to me as we looked out over the creek, still holding my hand. I didn’t get how I could be so damn comfortable with him, whether it was talking, laughing, or just quiet. So much so that when he pulled me into his arms, I wasn’t startled or unwilling; I went to him as if I’d been there my whole life.

We fit together perfectly, my head sliding under his chin so that he could rest it there without having to bend down or crouch too much. The feel of him against me was amazing, his muscles were hard and his arms around me were better than I ever could have imagined. I liked being there. A lot.

My whole front pressed against his, molding to his, our faces nearly touching. Then our foreheads were touching, and I nearly stopped breathing in anticipation. He touched my lips with his gently, holding the simple kiss for a beat. I felt his tongue sliding across my lips to urge them open, tugging softly on my lower lip with his teeth before slipping his tongue into my mouth and kissing me deeply.

Leaning into me, he feverishly stroked my tongue with his. Both of his hands were on my waist, then he slid them under my top, his thumbs stroking my skin over my ribs.

I brought my hands to his hair, pressing myself up against him, kissing him back with total abandon. I had no idea kissing could be like this. The kiss had a beat, a perfect rhythm that I was completely lost to. I was consumed by it, by him.

His hips rolled forward slightly, as if moving of their own accord, and I groaned when I felt him hard against my stomach. The kiss deepened, taking on a life of its own. His hands moved up, thumbs stroking the tender skin under my breast, causing my nipples to pebble and making moisture pool between my legs.

Soon, he was leading me back towards the house, never letting go of me. Holding my hand, keeping me close to his side, stopping every so often to kiss me again. It felt like it took us a second or all of eternity before we got back to his house.

When we finally got inside, he kicked the door shut behind us and then pushed me against it, kissing me and caging my body with his muscular arms, just like he had in one of my dreams. My arms were around his shoulders, my hands twisted together at the nape of his neck, holding him to me. Kissing him like I’d never kissed anyone before.

I was on the verge of losing control, of begging him to take me to his bedroom and to do all the things to me that I’d been fantasizing about. My hips were arching against his, seeking him out, and I whimpered when he pressed hard against me, pinning me to the door.

My mind splintered and split in two. I never wanted to stop kissing him; I wanted to let the kiss run its course and end where a kiss like this was worthy of ending, with the both of us panting and sated in his bed. Hell, right here against the door or on the floor, even.

But I couldn’t do it. I had to pull back, to put a stop to this. Gathering every last ounce of self- control that was quickly fleeing my body, I pulled back.