It was nearly eleven when Ava decided to check on Jack, who was now a couple of rows down from her. The sun had melted away the clouds, and she had already stripped down to the tank beneath her long-sleeved shirt. She’d expected to find Jack had done the same—ditched the navy thermal that brought out his stormy blue eyes for a tight-fitting undershirt.
She mentally prepared herself for the sight of him, for how the cotton would cling to the taut muscles of a man she’d only known as a boy. What her brain had not counted on, however, was for him to be wearing no shirt at all.
She dropped her shears, and her mouth followed suit.
Look away, she willed herself, but free will didn’t seem to exist at the moment.
A soft sheen of sweat glistened on his shoulder blades. His jeans hung low on his hips, and she followed his tanned skin, the muscles that moved and worked in precision, to the band of his boxer briefs that peeked out from the worn denim.
And then…she yelped. “Shit!”
She slapped at the back of her neck as Jack spun to face her, grinning.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” she yelled, and his smile quickly faded as he strode toward her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brows creasing in concern.
Her hand was cupped to her neck, but it wasn’t the pain of the sting that made her breath catch in her throat. It was Jack Everett, sweaty and shirtless and skin dusted with dirt—everything about him so far from the boy he was and instead so inherently man.
“A bee,” she said, her voice shaky.
“Shit,” he hissed, echoing her earlier sentiment. “Let me see.”
He shoved the shears in his back pocket, which tugged his jeans a little lower, and she followed the line of golden hair that trailed from his belly button to whatever lay beneath the denim and cotton.
It wasn’t like she was unaware of what was there or even that she hadn’t seen it. But this brooding specimen before her was, himself, unknown to her. And as he pulled her hair back to investigate the wound, the strange man who was Jack Everett sent chills across her heated skin.
“The stinger’s stuck. You got a tweezers in that bag of tricks back in the truck?”
She shook her head, wincing as his hand brushed against the sting.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice rough as he stepped back to face her. “I’m ready for something other than a banana and a health food bar anyway,” he said with a soft smile. “Let’s head back, get rid of that stinger, and regroup. You’re not allergic, are you?”
She shook her head again. For someone who worked most of her adult life outside, she’d been stung plenty and had needed to remove a stinger once before. Okay, so her mom had done it because it had hurt like hell. But she could handle the pain now. Hell, she’d given birth—had endured an IV, an epidural, and an eventual C-section. She could certainly manage a bee sting without her mother’s help.
Jack drove again, and she willingly let him. She sat in the passenger seat and piled her hair into a messy bun, securing it with the hair-tie she wore around her wrist. The breeze from the open window both soothed her burning skin and irritated the lodged stinger, so she gritted her teeth for the short drive and appreciated, for once, that Jack was not the chatty type.
The house was empty when they returned, and Jack led her straight to the bathroom next to the guest room where he slept. He found the tweezers in the medicine cabinet and set it on the counter before washing his hands.
He was still shirtless.
“I got it,” she said nervously. “Thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.”
He raised a brow. “You don’t want my help removing a stinger from the back of your neck.”
His words weren’t a question, merely a statement outlining her stubbornness.
She went to work washing her own hands. After drying them on the towel hanging next to the medicine cabinet, she shook her head, the movement sending a shock wave of pain from the site of the sting straight through her entire body.
She hissed in a breath through clenched teeth. “I’ve got tweezers and a mirror,” she said. “I’m all good.”
Jack held his hands up in surrender and backed out through the doorway.
“Call me if you need me.”
She pressed her lips into a tight smile—and closed the door.
Ava wasn’t inflexible, but the position she was in now, butt against the counter and head craned to try to see the bee sting in the mirror, was ridiculous. When she brought the tweezers toward its target, she misjudged the distance between her hand and her neck, effectively stabbing the swollen, inflamed skin.
She swore, then groaned at her inability to take care of what should be a simple task.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
She spun to face herself in the mirror, rolling her eyes at her dirt-smudged face, at the spots of color on her cheeks that spoke not only of the jolt of pain at her miscalculation of depth but also at embarrassment.
“Can I come in now?” Jack asked when she didn’t respond to his knock.
Needing his help for this didn’t mean she needed him. She could have gone home, called one of the other baseball moms who weren’t exactly friends. Because who had time for friends when she was running to practices, games, the school book fair, and the bake sale? She still had her girlfriends from high school, but they were only now starting to get married and have kids. While she was at double-header baseball games, they were dealing with colic and diapers and ohmygod—Ava had no one to call in a pinch for a stupid bee sting.
She huffed out a breath. “Fine,” she said. Then only to herself added, And please be wearing a shirt.
The door clicked open, and he was, of course, still half naked. He set a glass of ice on the counter.
“Hand ’em over,” he said, palm up, as he turned his attention to the tweezers.
She did. But before he brought metal to flesh, he set the instrument next to the glass and instead reached for an ice cube, bringing it to her neck where he rubbed small circles over the sting.
Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a soft moan. “God that feels good,” she admitted. She looked up to meet his reflection in the mirror. One strong hand rested on her left shoulder while the other, the one with the ice, kept up at soothing her skin.
“Helps if you take down the swelling a bit. Makes the stinger easier to grab.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, eyes closing as relief—and desire—spread through her. She didn’t bother asking her body to shut off its response. There was no use. She’d all but forgotten about the bee sting.
“All done,” Jack said.
“Huh?” she asked absently, eyes opening wide to see him shaking the tweezers into the sink, the tiny shard that was the stinger falling into the porcelain bowl next to a partially melted ice cube.
Cold water dripped down her shoulder as her gaze met his, and he gave her a self-satisfied grin. “The ice also works as an anesthetic for patients who might be a little more skittish.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I am not skittish. And how did you become so adept at tending to bee stings, anyway?”
The hand that was on her shoulder slid down her side, coming to rest on her hip.
She swallowed.
“Walker wasn’t always so standoffish,” he said in a low tone. “There was a time, when he was much younger, that he let me help when he got hurt. When he actually admitted to needing my help.”
She sighed and reached for his free hand, the one pressed to the counter next to hers, and gave it a soft squeeze. “You’re good at it, Jack.”
It was his turn to close his eyes, to avoid her fixed stare. But that didn’t keep her from continuing.
“You raised them. As much as you thought you weren’t cut out to be a father, that’s exactly what you were to your brothers. They needed a father figure when yours wasn’t up to the task, and you stepped in without a second thought.”
His forehead fell against the top of her head, and he released a breath.
“What about what you need?” she asked him, and his fingertips pressed into her hip. “Who helps you?”
“Ava, don’t—” he started, but her hand was already pulling his from the counter and to her other hip. He lifted his head, his eyes locking on hers.
She saw the heat that mirrored her own.
“I know we agreed to take things slow, to step back. But maybe we need to get this out of our systems first,” she said.
She needed to get him out of her system once and for all.
“I’m leaving,” he said softly, and her throat tightened.
“I know. Your life is in San Diego. A see-you-for-the-weekend dad is still more than anything Owen could have possibly dreamed of. And I don’t have any expectations beyond right now—”
“Not San Diego,” he interrupted.
Somehow, studying his gaze through the mirror’s reflection gave her the illusion of safety, that whatever came next, she’d withstand it.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
She felt his chest rise and fall against her back as he tilted his head up and then back down again so his eyes met hers.
“I’m not taking a leave of absence because of the funeral and the vineyard. I’m moving. I’ve already packed up my apartment and shipped most of my things to New York.”
“New York?” she blurted, turning to face him, and the safety of the mirror was gone. Nothing was between them other than a few centimeters of space, the air thick with the remnants of their past and a future that seemed impossible—especially where Owen was concerned.
He nodded once. “It’s a promotion. I already accepted. With the ranch mortgaged, it’s a chance for me to help Luke and Walker more than they’ve ever needed me to before, especially if the vineyard tanks. And I know you said you and Owen are fine financially—”
“We are,” she blurted, though she knew in his way he was just trying to do the right thing. That part of him hadn’t changed. “I’m starting my degree in the fall. Part-time, obviously. Between that, and Owen, and still working at the vineyard, my life is going to be pretty crazy, so it’s not like I’m expecting whatever this is between us to be anything more than…”
Than what? Because right now it was a distraction, and she wasn’t about to let Jack Everett, those eyes, and his ability to swoop in and save the day knock her off course again.
He was ready to offer Owen a secure financial future. But not a personal one.
What did she really expect—that he’d uproot his life for them once the truth was sprung on him?
Fine. Yes. Maybe a little bit. But that was about as rational as what she was doing right now—raising both of his hands to cup her breasts.
“Christ, Red.”
She wasn’t wearing a bra.
He let out a soft growl. “Jesus, Ava,” he ground out, his thumbs stroking her taut nipples. “What the hell are you doing?”
She arched into his palms. “Getting you out of my system so I can freaking think straight. This is it,” she assured not him, really, but herself. “This one time. Then we can both move on.”
She spun in his arms again so she could only see him in the mirror, then clasped her hands around his neck. He dipped his head so his lips brushed against her ear.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” He peppered her jawline with achingly soft kisses. “Because I’ll stop if it’s not.”
His voice was rough. And sexy. And stopping—for her—was not a possibility.
“It’s what I need,” she whispered. “What do you need, Jack? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”
He pinched one of her tight peaks and grazed his teeth along her neck.
Her breathing hitched.
“This,” he whispered. “I need this.”
They didn’t need each other. Only this, their bodies’ combined demand for release. Everything else would be clearer once whatever was brewing between them was allowed to boil over—and then simmer.
She grabbed his hands and guided them to the hem of her tank, hesitated for a second, then lifted her arms so he could pull it over her head.
Her jeans rested low on her hips, and he traced the line of the faint scar across her pelvis.
“Owen went into distress during labor,” she said. “The cord was wrapped around his neck. I had to have a C-section.”
His hand stopped moving, and she dropped her head and groaned. “I suppose childbirth talk kind of kills the mood, huh? Not the sexiest of subjects.”
He hooked a finger under her chin, gently lifting it so his eyes could once again lock on hers. Then he shook his head. “You’re the sexiest woman I have ever seen,” he said. “And the strongest. There is nothing you could do to make me not want you like this. Don’t you get that?”
What she got was that she wanted him like she wanted air. She wanted his hands on her, in her. His lips hot against hers and the taste of him lingering on her tongue long after they parted. She tried to give voice to all of this, but all that came out was a soft “Okay.”
He spun them both so their hips were against the sink, their bodies perpendicular to the mirror so he could still watch as he bent to take one of her rosy nipples into his mouth.
She dug her fingers into his hair and cried out as his teeth nipped.
All the while she watched him watching them, and every synapse of every nerve fired off at the thrill of it.
She unbuttoned his jeans and gripped his hard length through his briefs. He repaid her with another satisfying growl.
“We should shower after all that hard work,” she said, breathless from his touch—from touching him.
She snuck her thumb inside his waistband and swirled it over his wet tip.
“Ava,” he groaned, then backed away from her to pull the shower curtain from the tub so he could turn on the water.
Wordlessly they finished undressing each other. She stared at the man before her for several long seconds—the light dusting of hair on his chest, the ridged muscles of his abdomen, the sheer solidness of his form. He was beautiful in a way that made it hard to breathe.
He pulled her over the lip of the tub into the warm spray, leaving the curtain open as he pressed himself to the tiled wall and pulled her back against him, their naked forms framed once again in the mirror.
She didn’t protest.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he said in her ear before he lightly bit her lobe.
She watched his hands cup her breasts, and then one traveled south, below her belly button, her scar, and finally between her legs.
Her breath caught as he parted her, teasing her entrance before one finger slipped inside.
“Jack,” she cried softly, and his cock ground against the flesh of her back.
No sir. This was not the boy she’d fallen in love with. This man knew a woman’s body—knew hers in a way he couldn’t have when they were two inexperienced teens figuring this out together.
“You’re like warm silk,” he said, exiting her slowly until his slick finger reached her swollen center.
She whimpered, grabbing his wrist. “More,” she squeaked. “Please.”
He smiled wickedly at her in the mirror. Two fingers entered her this time, and she threw her head back against his chest, eyes squeezing shut so she could try to keep it the hell together.
She writhed against his erection, and he swore.
“Inside me,” she said, almost unable to form the words. “Please,” she begged.
“Open your eyes, Ava.” He pumped his fingers inside her warmth, and her legs went completely boneless. Somehow, though, she didn’t fall.
Jack wouldn’t let her.
She opened her eyes, meeting his in the slowly fogging reflection of their need.
“I’m not gonna lie,” he told her. “I want to make love to you. But not like this.”
He exited her again, his fingers now tracing maddening circles around her clit.
“Not…like…what?” she asked, gasping between each word.
The steam won out, and she could no longer see him—see what he was doing to drive her out of her mind.
He spun her and backed her toward the tiled wall of the tub, pressing her against it and then kissing her until she nearly forgot her own name.
“Not when you’re driving me so crazy I’m not sure how long I’ll last inside you.” He kissed her again. “Not when I won’t be able to lay you out properly and give every inch of your skin, every freckle, the attention it deserves.” Another kiss. “And not when I can’t promise you anything beyond these next few weeks.”
There it was again, that tightening in her throat that made her unable to respond with any words at all.
“I can still stop,” he said, apparently reading something in her expression. “The last thing I want is for you to regret this.”
She shook her head. “Don’t stop,” she managed to say. “Please don’t stop.” Because whatever came after this, she didn’t care. Not now. Not when she could have him for today. For this one moment, even if it was their last.
And before he could ask her again if she was sure, she kissed him and grabbed his cock, stroking him from root to tip.
“Ava,” he groaned against her lips.
And then he was kissing her cheek, her jaw, down her neck and breasts until he lowered himself to his knees where he sprinkled kisses on the inside of each of her thighs.
She sucked in a sharp breath anticipating what would come next, but nothing could prepare her for his hot breath against her folds, for the sensation of his tongue sliding along her opening and then circling her aching arousal in achingly precise strokes.
She was nothing more than a blob of freaking Jell-O, her knees buckling as he slipped two fingers back inside while his tongue worked her expertly into complete and utter madness, all while he somehow kept her from melting into a puddle onto the bathtub floor.
The orgasm came over her like a fifteen-foot wave, pulling her under until she was gasping his name—and for air.
He held her close as she shuddered against him, as she slid down the wall and into the tub in front of him, standing no longer an option.
Who the hell was she kidding? Get him out of her system? She’d just let him right in to her goddamn system.
He was leaving. She was taking control of her life and career.
This. Was not. The plan.
He brushed her wet hair from her face and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “That’s what I needed.”
She forced herself back into the moment. “But what about…?” She stared at his rock-hard length.
“I’m fine,” he started to say, but she closed her hand around his base and squeezed. “Red.” She stroked him slowly.
“Stand up,” she said. “Your turn.”