Famously Engaged (11 page)

“I think you need to take a minute.”

“I can’t take a minute. I can hardly breathe for missing my mother. My home’s always been like a haven to me, but I’m beginning to wonder how much of that feeling came from the

house and how much from my mother. If you weren’t here…”

“I am here.” He paused for several beats and she braced

herself for an intrusive question until he plucked at the fabric draped around her shoulders. “And you’re wearing a tablecloth.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat and managed a

shaky laugh. “I’m wearing it by request. Unfortunately, my fiancé has a few issues. He thinks he’s a rock god, he’s got hair that he’s convinced millions of women adore even though it’s in desperate need of a trim, and he also has a thing for chickens. And…”

He hugged her closer, his tension mounting as she let the moment stretch. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Just between us, he thinks his hands are glass slippers.”

…

Revisiting the glass slipper scenario wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he’d entered the kitchen, but Beth had changed his priorities. He stepped behind her and slid his hands beneath the tablecloth, trapping her arms by her sides as he filled his hands with her breasts. She pressed forward, her back arched and her breath short.

“My dress,” she said. “It’s in the way. I think.”

“You’re not meant to think. If you’re thinking, then I’ll have to stop.”

Her soft gasp made him smile. “You’d stop?”

He moved to stand beside her and slid one hand down to rest on her bare knee, skimming one finger over it in a circular motion.

“Is that what you want?”

“No.”

Thank God. He didn’t want to stop. Ever.

“You stopped.”

“I’m distracted by possibilities. Be patient.”

Her breath hitched when he caressed the back of her knee, and he absorbed the feel of her through his fingertips.

Unbelievably, this house felt like home. Not someone’s home, but his. The rich food smells, the eclectic style of decorating, and the sense of history made him feel like he belonged. Beth intensified that feeling.

“Jake?” She’d curved the side of her body against him and nestled her head against his chest. The small intimacies she took without thought were the ones that meant the most.

He rubbed his chin against the crown of her head. “What?”

“I need to kiss you but I’m balanced kind of precariously.”

She needed to kiss him.
He leaned down and pressed kisses against her jaw and the corners of her mouth, making her wait.

She turned her head at just the right moment and he kissed her as if they had all the time in the world. One hand massaged the breast it held while the other continued a slow climb up her thigh, flirting with the hem of her dress beneath the voluminous tablecloth.

After years of searching in all the wrong places, he’d finally stumbled across perfection. It had nothing to do with fame or fortune or music.

Beth’s dress rode up as her knees parted for him. He stroked forward then retreated, forward again and back, exploring alittle farther each time. As far as distractions went, this had to be right up there with the best of them. For th e next fifty years or so, this would be where his mind wandered when it wasn’t actively engaged in something vital. To Beth’s kitchen. To Beth, her breathing shallow, her inner thighs so smooth, silky, and warm.

He brushed his knuckles over her underwear once, twice, waiting for her to complain about the delay.

“Jake?”

Yes!
He directed the conversation the way he wanted it to go.

“You can’t see my hands? Relax. You’re not supposed to.”

She spluttered. “I’m not supposed to think or see? What else is on the list of things I’m not supposed to do?”

“Talk,” he said. A welcome shot of adrenaline infused his body. “If you want to do something, you can get your hands free and hang on to the counter.”

Her mouth opened—presumably to argue—but his fingertips toyed with the elastic of her panties, and all that came out was a soft moan. Frustrated by his hand’s limited range of movement, he used his knee to prod the leg closest to him. “Tuck your foot around the back leg of the chair.”

He thought she wouldn’t do it, but her legs parted for him in the sweetest come-on ever. Everytime Beth
perched
somewhere within touching distance, she blew his mind, and even though she was all covered up and respectable, he longed to return the mind-blowing favor.

“A welcome distraction?” he asked.

“Very welcome.”

He laughed when she clutched the edge of the counter for balance.

What she said made his ears burn, but when he eased his hand beneath the side elastic of her panties she went quiet. He pressed one finger against her opening and groaned his approval when it slid right in and her inner muscles hugged it tight.
What he
wouldn’t give to be welcomed with a hug like that every night when
he came home.
The thought of it made him lean in close to Beth’s ear. “Honey, I’m home.”

She gripped his finger and relaxed, gripped it and relaxed.

“Welcome home.”

He entertained a brief thought about all the glorious comforts of home and then he was lost, his fingers probing inside her, his thumb slicking back and forth over the tight little bundle of nerves nestled between her damp folds.

He ached to move forward and stand between her legs, but if he did that he’d discard the tablecloth and the majority of their clothes and find himself naked and desperate and half a house away from the nearest condom.

Standing beside her, relying on his senses of hearing and touch to guide him, was a special form of torture. He wanted to see, or even better taste, and inhale the scent of her arousal while the tablecloth shut out the rest of the world. His erection rode against her hip through all the layers of fabric, his vision clouding as yet another pair of Jake Olsen jeans threatened to cut off his blood supply.

Beth’s breathing was shallow and punctuated with low whimpers of intense pleasure.

“Make it stop.”

She’d sucked in two ragged breaths to get three words out and he laughed.
He was about to burst, and she thought she had
problems?
He was tempted to indulge her but he had an even better idea. “You make it stop.”

“But I—”

His free hand settled between her shoulder blades, the pads of both thumbs pressing in a sudden strategic movement. She shifted sharply, causing delicious friction, and her eyes widened in recognition.

“Just you this time. Ready?”

She nodded and then surged forward when he slid his knuckles over her nape. She repeated the action without further prompting and treated his ears to a groan of disbelief as she rubbed her clit against his thumb. From there it was easy to work with her, nudging her along, while allowing her to think it was all down to the subtle rise and fall of her hips.

Hurry up, darling, I’m dying here.
“Don’t hurry on my account.”

She laughed breathlessly and shook her head as her body hovered on the edge of release. “I didn’t realize there was a time limit.”

“And if there was?”

The sudden pressure on his fingers answered for her. He pulled her body closer to his and tried to ignore how painfully hard and unsatisfied he was while she screamed out her pleasure.

Her eyes had closed but they’d been fixated on his when she’d lost control. It was such a rare privilege to feel and see and share so much while he was fully dressed and she was cloaked in an old-fashioned tablecloth.

God, he was losing it. He’d met Beth yesterday.
Yesterday.

Every shared intimacy with Beth felt like a small miracle, but their so-called engagement had to be clouding the issue.

This tablecloth incident was nothing more than sex at its most convenient—immediate, without delay for optional extras such as undressing.

The trust in her eyes hadn’t been an illusion, though. He could attribute a lot to their fake engagement and Beth’s recent loss, but neither of them were taking advantage of a convenient situation without any thought for the other. She gave, he took, and then they swapped. It was instinctive and while they lived in this secluded bubble, their partnership rocked. It was too bad that their bubble was scheduled to burst tomorrow.

“Shush, take it easy,” he said when her body slumped against his. “I’ve got you. I’m a total wreck. How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. That was—” She laughed and pressed her face into his chest. “I don’t know what that was. I’ll never be able to cook in here again without thinking of you.”

She’d said something similar that morning about thinking of his hands supporting her breasts every time she was naked. Pride welled inside him as he realized he’d stamped himself on two important parts of her life. Stroking his free hand over her hair, he tried to keep the smug note out of his voice. “Excellent. I’ll be your assistant chef.”

Jake switched gears. “Dinner’s ready. I’ll play for you while you plate it up.”

“Play for me?” She glanced around, her features softening as her gaze landed on the guitar he’d balanced against the back door.

“Really?”

She leapt up and grabbed him by the arm, her eyes alight with mischief as she tugged him out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom he’d been assigned. “Keep yourself busy for a bit.”

She grinned and trailed her fingers over the stubble on his jaw.

“There are razors under the basin if you’re interested. I’m going to my bathroom to grab the quickest shower in the history of the world so I don’t miss my private concert.”

He’d barely had time to lather his face with shaving cream when she joined him, smelling of peaches and wearing an elegant vintage wrap over a slinky white nightgown with eye-catching splits that didn’t know when to stop. He forgot about shaving and wiped the lather off with a wet towel.

“Fifties movie-star glamour?” He searched for words more appropriate than the
hell yeah
his mind was supplying. “Works for me.”

A flush of color fired up her cheeks. “It’s a compromise. I wanted to dress up for a one-off concert, yet be ready for bed too and not get cold in the interim.”

Her list made him want to whirl her off her feet and spin her around, but he couldn’t be held accountable for what would happen if he touched that silky nightie. “You’ve done well.” He led the way to the kitchen so he could pick up his guitar before the last of his resolve crumbled.

His signature song, Five Awesome Emperors’ first worldwide hit, was a ballad he’d played acoustically more times than he could remember. Ironically he’d penned it as a warning to his mother after she’d forgiven his father for having a string of affairs. Jake had told her she deserved better, and she’d disagreed. He hadn’t seen his family since and the wound was still raw after all this time. Tonight there was no need to hold back on the emotions the song evoked.

“Wow. I’ve heard that song so many times, but never like that.

This is going to sound crazy but I want to hug you.”

Not crazy at all.
“If you get anywhere near me wearing that…”

She grinned and scooted out of reach. “Can I make a request?”

“Does it involve coming closer?”

“Not if you want dinner. ” She retrieved a second wineglass from a drawer and reached for the open bottle of wine.

Curious as to what she would have requested, he strummed the opening bars of “Never Really Gone
.
”

She paused with the wine bottle tilted above a glass. “How did you know?”

“It’s personal.” Catching her frown, he stopped playing. “The 
song
is personal. I wrote three for my family. You’ve heard one, this is the second.”

“Is the last one ‘Midnight Anarchy’?” She stepped closer and put her hand on his arm. “Don’t look so surprised. I couldn’t pick you out of a line-up, but I’d recognize your voice anywhere and you’ve just played two of my three favorite songs.”

He moved to set the guitar aside but she stopped him.

“Play for me. I want what’s real, remember?”

He hadn’t forgotten, but the rift with his family seemed remote when she was around. Being on tour occasionally had that same effect, but it was a difficult thing to sustain. Beth stared at him expectantly so he feigned hunger. “After dinner.”

“Oh, sure.” She laughed as she turned away. “You’ve earned it.”

…

It was late when Jake set his guitar aside and pushed to his feet. 

An open fire crackling gently in the grate provided the only light in the sitting room. He watched the shadows flicker over Beth as she slept. Had he ever seen anything quite as beautiful? Knowing she was like sand trickling through his fingers—because he was here today but not to stay—made him reassess the choices he’d made in his life. If he wasn’t on the road nine months of the year…

He put a stop to that line of thinking and closed his eyes so he could revisit the drowsy contentment on Beth’s face as he’d serenaded her to sleep. He had no right to feel possessive. Yet he did. That he’d met her only yesterday seemed to have no bearing at all. What was the point of differentiating between a day, a minute, or a lifetime, when every moment with Beth had etched itself on his soul?

Tomorrow would bring changes beyond his control, and he’d regret every second spent apart from Beth. Retrieving the quilt from her ottoman, he tucked it gently beneath her chin and toyed with the silky ends of her hair. When kissing her awake threatened to become a viable option, he left her to secure the perimeter of her house. Having something precious to protect was a novelty, one he thought he could easily get used to.

She was captivating. Ironically, he felt persecuted. He paused to trace his fingertips over the slight indents on the doorframe that had marked her height annually as she’d grown up. He didn’t have these kind of deep-seated roots, didn’t tick a single box on her husband-hunting list, shouldn’t be drawn to her. Why did her life seem like a rich tapestry and his like a black hole of emptiness?