Thirteen
After considerable internal debate, Naomi pushed herself out of the house on Friday night. A compromise of sorts, she thought, as she couldn’t and wouldn’t push herself to go back to Xander’s. Not yet.
Tag wasn’t thrilled with the idea of her going out at all, though she left him with his stuffed cat, a rawhide bone, and the promise that she’d be back.
She couldn’t take the dog into a bar.
She’d nearly used him as an excuse, at least to herself, but going out was normal, and normal, after the disaster ending Wednesday night, was her current goal.
One drink, she told herself. One drink, one set, easy Friday-night conversation with Jenny and Kevin—and if Xander came over during the break, easy conversation with him.
Normal.
Maybe the thought of reaching for normal exhausted her, but she’d give it a solid attempt.
Conversation posed no issue with Jenny, so she’d just let Jenny take the lead, ride that wave until it was time to go.
Keeping it all light had to help throttle things back with Xander. She’d chosen the house—or it had chosen her—the small town. Which meant that avoiding Xander struck the wrong note. So throttle it back to casual friendship. That was the answer.
How could she have forgotten, allowed herself to forget, what she’d come from and how easily normal could come crashing down?
A book on a shelf, she thought now. It only took that to remind her.
As before, she’d timed it so the band already rocked the small stage. She made her way to Jenny and Kevin, cozied up at the same table. Jenny immediately grabbed her hand.
“Great timing. Sitter was late so we just got here. And they’re hot tonight! Kevin’s going to get us drinks, then he’s going to dance with me.”
“My round,” Naomi insisted. “Sam Adams, red wine?”
“You got it, thanks. Come on, Kevin.”
“Why don’t we just—”
But Jenny dragged him to the dance floor while Naomi worked her way back to the bar.
She felt Xander’s eyes on her, the responsive flutter in her belly. She needed to acknowledge him, and she would. She would.
She outlined it as she maneuvered.
Get to the bar, order, then lean back on the bar, send Xander a smile.
Two bartenders worked nonstop, so she figured she’d have a wait. But the hot brunette—sassy swing with . . . yes, that looked like magenta streaked through the brown—glanced her way.
She had a face so sharp, cheekbones so keen, she might have been carved with a scalpel.
“Leggy blonde, short hair, long bangs, a boot-in-the-balls face. You’re the photographer.”
“I . . . Yes.”
The woman sized her up with eyes more gray than blue in the dim light. “All right,” she said with a slow nod. “You’re with Jenny and Kev?”
“Yes.”
“Sam Adams, glass of merlot—and what’re you drinking?”
“The merlot’s fine.”
“It’s not bad.”
The woman wore big silver hoop earrings, joined in the left lobe by a trio of red studs that matched her snug, low-necked T-shirt.
“I used to be married to the guy who pretended to take care of the lawn and yard work up at the old Parkerson place.”
“Oh. Pretended?”
“Turned out he was smoking more grass than he mowed. I ended up firing him as a husband before they fired him as groundskeeper. Can’t say he wasn’t a good-natured sort. Do you want to run a tab?”
“Ah, no. Thanks.”
Naomi paid cash, digging bills out of the wallet in her pocket.
“I can have that brought out to you,” the woman said.
“I’ve got it.” Competently, Naomi used one hand to cup the two wineglasses, the other to lift the lager.
“You’ve done some waitressing.”
“Yeah, I have. Thank you.”
They’d slowed it down with the Stones and “Wild Horses.” As she worked her way back, she saw Kevin and Jenny, still on the dance floor, wrapped around each other and swaying.
The sweetness of it struck her straight in the heart.
Love could last, she thought. She’d seen it with Seth and Harry. For some, love could last.
She set the drinks down, sat, and, since the bartender had distracted her from her outline, picked up her wine and looked toward the stage with a smile ready.
Xander’s gaze locked on hers. He sang as though he meant it. As if wild horses couldn’t take him away. Talent, showmanship, she told herself. And she wasn’t looking for love, for promises, for devotion.
Still, where Jenny and Kevin had struck her heart, he gripped it. Just hard enough to make it ache.
She wanted it to stop, just stop. Wanted to empty herself of what he made her feel, made her need. He’d been a mistake, she knew it. Had been a mistake since he’d hunkered down to change her tire on the dark side of the road.
She made herself look away, told herself to watch the dancers. Her gaze brushed over the woman who’d whispered something in Xander’s ear the last time she’d been here. Right now the woman looked back at her with something between a sulk and dislike.
Great. Now she had the attention of some jealous groupie.
She should’ve stayed home with the dog.
The ache stayed lodged in her when they kicked it back up, and Kevin pulled Jenny back to the table.
“Two dances in a row.” Bright-eyed, Jenny pumped fists in the air. “That’s a record.”
“You don’t like to dance, Kevin?”
“Did you see me out there?”
She laughed, and spoke absolute truth. “I thought you looked adorable.”
—
He’d known the minute she’d come in—not because he’d seen her, Xander thought as he let Lelo take the lead. But because there had been a change in the air. The way there was before a storm.
She had that inside her, that storm. He knew why now, but the why wasn’t the whole story. He wanted the whole of it as much as he wanted her.
Should he tell her he knew? He’d asked himself that question a dozen times and more since he’d picked that book off the shelf. Would telling her help her relax or send her running? She remained too much of a mystery to be sure.
If she trusted him . . . But she didn’t.
She didn’t want to be here. She covered it well—he imagined she was used to covering—but even in this light he could see that the smile didn’t reach her eyes and stay there.
But she’d come, maybe to prove a point to herself, to him. To both.
If he left her alone, just backed away? He suspected she’d be fine with it. And that was likely something else she was good at—making wherever she was, whatever she did, fine for the moment.
She’d be used to that.
And he was damn set on giving her something she wasn’t used to.
The hell with fine.
They moved on to Clapton, and Xander ordered himself to concentrate. Even as he watched Naomi and Jenny get up and join the others on the dance floor.
—
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced, but since Jenny had pleaded, Naomi thought dancing might help burn off some of the heat, the tension.
It felt good to move, to let herself go with the music, let her hips clock the beat.
She didn’t think anything of it when someone bumped her hard from behind. It was all part of it. But when it happened a second time, she glanced around.
“Am I in your way?” Naomi asked the sulky blonde.
“You’re damn right.” She gave Naomi a pissy little shove. “And you’d better get out of it.”
“Cut it out, Marla,” Jenny warned. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to the bitch in my way. You can’t just come around here and try to take what’s mine.”
“I don’t have anything of yours.”
Several of the dancers had stopped or slowed, eased back to stare. The attention had spiders crawling over Naomi’s skin. To avoid any more, she held up her hands.
“But if you want the floor, it’s yours.”
She started to back off, and the woman shoved her again, slapped out at the friend who said her name, grabbed at her arm.
“You’ll be on the floor if you don’t stay away from Xander.” Eyes gleaming from too much beer, too much frustration, she shoved.
Avoiding attention, sidestepping confrontation—those were hard-learned habits. But defending herself, standing up, those were ingrained.
“You don’t want to touch me again.”
“What’re you going to do about it?”
Smirking, drunk-sure of her ground, Marla planted a hand on Naomi’s chest and started to push. Naomi grabbed her wrist, twisted, and had Marla squealing as she dropped to her knees.
“Don’t touch me again,” Naomi repeated, then released her and walked away.
“Naomi, Naomi! Wait.” Jenny caught up with her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She’s drunk and stupid.”
“It’s all right.”
It wasn’t, it wasn’t all right. She heard the buzzing, felt eyes following her. And she saw Kevin making his way through the crowd toward them, annoyance and concern clear on his face.
“I’m just going to go. Why ask for trouble?”
“Oh, honey. Let’s just go outside, take a walk. You shouldn’t—”
“I’m fine.” She gave Jenny’s hand a squeeze. “She’s drunk enough to try something again, and I need to get home to the dog anyway. I’ll see you later.”
She didn’t run. She wanted to, but running made it too important. But by the time she got out to her car she felt as if she’d run a mile in a sprint. And the shaking wanted to start, so she just braced herself against the door until she could gather herself to drive.
She straightened quickly and dragged out her keys when she heard someone coming.
Xander just closed a hand over hers before she could hit the lock release.
“Wait.”
“I need to go.”
“You need to wait until you stop shaking so you can drive without running off the road.” He let go of her hand to put both of his on her shoulders, turned her around. “Do you want an apology?”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“No, I didn’t, unless you want to count that I had sex with Marla twice—when I was seventeen. That’s about fourteen years ago, so it shouldn’t apply here. But I’m sorry she upset you and made a fool of herself.”
“She’s drunk.”
“You know, like brilliance, I never find that a decent excuse for being an asshole.”
She let out a short laugh. “Me either, but it’s a fact she’s drunk. And she’s fixed on you, Xander.”
“I haven’t given her reason to be in fourteen years.” Hints of frustration leaked out, but he kept his gaze calm, and on hers. “Plus, for nearly seven of those she’s been with or married to someone I consider a friend. I’m not interested.”
“Maybe you should tell her that.”
He had, more times than he cared to remember. But given the current circumstances, he accepted that he’d have to do it again—and hurt someone he had a fondness for.
No, you didn’t get through life’s labyrinth without it.
“I don’t like scenes,” she added.
“Well, they happen. You play in enough bars, at enough weddings, you see every kind of scene there is, more or less get used to it. You handled it, and that’s all you can do.”
She nodded, hit the lock release.
He turned her around again, pressed her back against the door.
Not fair, not right, she thought, for him to take her over this way when her feelings were so raw, so unsettled.
Not gentle, not soothing, but a struck match to dry timber. And his mouth, just his mouth taking hers, set it all raging.
He took her face in his hands—not gentle there either—as if temper bubbled just under the surface.
“You walked in, and the air changed. I wasn’t going to tell you that. It gives you an advantage, and you’re enough of a challenge.”
“I’m not trying to be a challenge.”
“It’s one of the things that makes you one. I want you. I want you under me and over me and around me. And you want. I’m a good reader, and I read that from you clear enough. I’m coming by your place when we wrap tonight.”
“I don’t—”
He took her mouth again, just took it.
“If there’s a light on,” he continued, “I’ll knock. If there’s not, I’ll turn around and go home. You’ve got a couple hours to figure out what you’d rather. Text Jenny when you get home. She’s worried about you.”
He opened the door for her, held it open as she yanked at the seat belt.
“Leave the light on, Naomi,” he said, and closed the door.
—
She’d left a light on for herself, and turned it off, very deliberately, while the dog danced around her in desperate, delirious welcome.
“Just you and me.”
Determined not to dwell on the disaster of the evening—and wasn’t she racking them up—she went back to the kitchen. She’d make tea, take something for the stress headache banging in her skull. And let the dog out for a last round, she reminded herself, before she locked up and went to bed.
“Sleep’s the great escape,” she told Tag, who clung to her every word, every move.
Since he wanted her close, and she wanted the air, she went out the back with him, sat watching the moon over the water, drinking soothing tea while he wandered.
She didn’t want scenes, she thought. She didn’t want complications. This was what she wanted, this right here. The quiet, the peace of moonlight over the water.
It calmed her, settled the jumps the altercation with a drunk, jealous woman had wound up inside her. She’d just stay away from Loo’s, from Xander, from everyone else for a while.
Plenty of work to do, and she could take that trip to Seattle. Maybe take two or three days there.
Tag came back, sat beside her.
If she could find a motel that took dogs, she realized, and laid a hand on his head.
She hadn’t thought she’d wanted him either, she remembered. And now . . . Now she needed a motel that took dogs if she took a trip.
“Why don’t I mind that? I should mind that.”
They sat, companionably, for more than an hour.
He rose when she did, walked in when she did, followed her as she checked locks. He walked upstairs with her, darted to his bed to get his stuffed cat, and though he settled down with it, he watched her while she checked her email, her accounts.
As she worked, she’d glance back, see the dog continuing to watch her. Did he sense her restlessness? she wondered.
She got up to put on the fire, hoping that would settle them both.
When it didn’t, he walked back down with her, waiting while she turned on the light again.
“This is a mistake, a terrible, stupid, shortsighted mistake.”
Still time to change her mind, she thought. But she wouldn’t, no, she wouldn’t change her mind. So she walked into the kitchen again, this time pouring herself a glass of wine.
And went back outside with the dog again, to wait for Xander to knock.
—
He caught the tiny glimmer of light up ahead, and everything inside him unknotted. He’d told himself he’d accept the dark—the choice would always be hers—but that glimmer lit inside him like a torch.
She’d left the light on—just one, but one would do.
He parked his bike beside her car, swung off with the guitar case still strapped to his back. He wouldn’t leave it out in the air overnight—and he fully intended to stay.
He’d heard the dog bark, approved that. Nothing like a dog for an early-warning system. And his knock brought out another trio of woofs.
When she opened the door, Tag rushed out to wag and lean and wag some more. But Xander kept his eyes on Naomi, with the dark house behind her.
“I’m coming in.”
“Yeah.” She stepped back. “You’re coming in.”
When he did, she closed the door behind him, checked the lock.
“I worked out some things to say if the light was on.”
“Would you have gone home if it wasn’t?”
“I can want, you can want. But unless you open the door, I stay out. Until,” he corrected. “Until you open it.”
She believed that, realized she could trust that. He might overwhelm, but he’d never force.
“Confidence or patience?”
“It can be both.”
“I’d go to the wall telling myself I’m not impulsive. But I have this house, this dog, and I left the light on when I swore I wouldn’t.”
“You’re not impulsive.” He unstrapped the guitar case, set it against the wall by the door. “You just know how to make a decision.”
“Maybe. All right, I’ve made a decision. This is just sex.”
He didn’t smile, just kept his gaze—patience, confidence—locked on hers. “No, it’s not. You know that, too. But I’m more than happy to start with that. Tell me what you want.”
“Tonight, I want you, and if that doesn’t—”
She broke off when he gave her a yank so her body met his. “I’m going to give you what you want.”
She let herself take. If this was a mistake, she’d regret it later. Now she’d take, she’d consume, she’d let herself gorge on what was offered.
Needy, she dragged at his jacket, fighting it off as the smell of leather surrounded her. As it fell to the floor, he backed her toward the steps, pulled her sweater over her head so fast and smooth it might have been air.
Tag’s tail batted against her legs.
“He thinks it’s a game,” she managed.
“He’ll get used to it.” Xander pressed her back against the wall on the stairs, turned her blood to lava—molten. “This is mine,” he said to the dog. “Settle down.”
Reaching back, Xander flicked open her bra, flicked the straps off her shoulders. “You really need to be naked.”
“Halfway there.”
Hands, big and rough, took her breasts, callused thumbs running over her nipples, stealing her breath while his mouth enslaved her.
He wanted her just like that, desperate, quivering, against the wall. Too quick, done too quick, he warned himself, and pulled her up the rest of the stairs.
The world spun, bursts of light through the dark—heat lightning—shocked sounds she barely realized came from her. She tore at his shirt—where was flesh, she needed his flesh. And when she found it she all but sank her teeth in.
They fell on the bed with streams of moonlight slanting like bars, with the unearthly whisper of wind over the water.
He smelled of leather and sweat—and of the wind over the water. He felt of hard muscle, roughened hands, and bore her down with his weight.
The panic wanted to come but couldn’t carve its way through the needs. Desperate to meet those needs, she found his belt, fought the buckle. And his mouth, rough as his hands, closed over her breast.
She arched up, shocked by the bolt of pleasure, the sheer strength of it. Before she could draw the next breath, his hand pressed between her legs.
When she came it was like falling into a hot pool. She couldn’t surface, couldn’t reach the cool and the air. He only took her deeper, yanking her jeans down her hips, using his hands on her.
Hot and wet, slick and smooth. Everything about her drove him mad. Her nails bit into him as she bowed up. In the dark her eyes were blind and dazed. Her heart, his heart, hammer blows as he fought to free himself.
He couldn’t have stopped if the world ended.
When at last he thrust into her, he thought it had.
For an instant it stopped—sound, breath, movement.
Then it all rushed back, a tidal wave that battered and swept and pounded beyond reason.
He lost himself in it, in her, gave himself to it, to her.
When it broke in him, she broke with him.
She lay limp, still, with her heart still raging. Her body felt bruised and used, and so utterly relaxed. Since no coherent thought would form, she let the attempt go.
If she just stayed like this, eyes closed, she wouldn’t have to think of what to do next.
Then he moved, rolling off her. She felt the bed dip with his weight. She sensed movement, more shifting.
“Back off, pal,” he muttered.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting my boots off. Nobody looks good with his pants around his ankles and his boots on. The dog has your bra if you want it.”
“What?”
She blinked her eyes open. In those slants of moonlight, she could see Xander sitting on the side of the bed, see the dog standing there, tail wagging, something hanging out of his mouth.
“That’s my bra?”
“Yeah. You want it back?”
“Yes, I want it back.” Now she rolled over, reached. Tag did his down-in-front, tail-up move. Wagged.
“He thinks you want to play.” To settle it, Xander rose—tall, built, naked—and plucked the stuffed cat out of the dog bed. “Trade you.”
Tag dropped the bra. Xander picked it up, tossed it on the bed.
“Is that a naked mermaid?”
Naomi glanced at the floor lamp. “Yes. It doesn’t go in here.”
“Why not?” And he did what any man would and stroked a hand over a bronze breast.
“It’s going in the room I’m doing for my uncles. They’ll love it.”
All so casual, Naomi thought. That was good. No intense pillow talk.
Then he turned, looked at her. Ridiculous to feel exposed now, she thought, after what they’d just done to each other. But she had to suppress the urge to cover herself.
“We’ll call that the fast and the furious.”
“The what?”
“I take it you’ve missed some movies.” He walked back over, obviously not bothered by being naked, and sat on the bed. “Still, it would’ve been faster and more furious without the dog. Being focused on the goal, I’d have banged you against the stairs, but he’d have been all over us. You do that, you tend to miss the finer details. Like how you look, right now, in blue moonlight.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“Glad to hear it.” He skimmed a finger over the little tattoo riding low on her left hip. “Like your tat. Lotus blossom, right?”
“Yeah.”
A symbol of hope, he thought, endurance, as it was beauty that grew out of mud.
“What kind of rocker are you?” she asked. “No tats.”
“Haven’t found anything I want that permanent.”
He cupped the back of her head, leaned in to kiss her—softly, a surprise.
“We’re going to slow things down some this time.”
“We are?”
He smiled, eased her back. “Definitely. I don’t want to miss those fine details this time around.”
Later, Naomi could attest he hadn’t missed a single one.