Once and Again (10 page)

“You like to be in control.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” Given that he’d had pretty much none as a kid, it would be important to him now. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. About Briarwood, I mean.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too. About your—” He paused and scratched his jaw. “Well, about everything, I guess.”

“Here’s to having setbacks.” Carolyn held up her Prosecco. Jake raised his own bottle and clinked it against hers.

They sat there for a while, drinking and listening to the sound of the waves hitting the pylons underneath the pier, the crash and roll reminding her of the youth that had slipped away. The Prosecco began to work its magic and she no longer felt the chill. It was just her, the water, and the night air. And Jake.

Jake took another drink and leaned back on his elbows, his knees propped up in a half-sit, half-recline, like he used to do. He seemed more relaxed now. Probably because he was a little drunk, like her.

“Just like old times,” she said, no bitterness in her voice this time.

That one magical summer, they’d spent long evenings like this, watching the water, talking and then later, making out as long as they dared. This wasn’t quite like old times. But it was the closest she’d come in a while.

Jake didn’t answer, so she reached out and covered his hand with hers. His knuckles were warm and rough. “Jake?”

He didn’t move, and when he spoke, he was still watching the water. “The other day, after you gave me your presentation, why’d you step in with me and Chelmsford?”

“I—I know things aren’t good with you and the Board. Mr. Chelmsford respects me, and I guess I wanted him to see that I respect you. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” She pressed the top of his hand with her palm.

“Did you ever think about me? You know. After?” He still didn’t move or look at her.

She withdrew her hand. “Sometimes.” Being back here had done it. In the dark of her room when she couldn’t sleep, the memory of his mouth and hands burning her with a want she couldn’t slake. When the foghorn blew late at night and every gentle thing he’d ever said would settle in her brain and not leave. “Did you ever think about me?” she whispered.

Jake was quiet for a long time, and when he finally met her gaze, he wouldn’t let go. “Every fucking day, Caro,” he said. Anger burned in his eyes. And more—desire. She could see it in the way he was pressing his lips together, the way the muscle ticked in his jaw. The way he used to look at her, like she was his. Only his.

There was so much between them. So much she needed to say, that she
should
say. But either because she was a little drunk or a lot sorry, the words just wouldn’t come out.

“Jake,” she said, her voice breaking.

He sat up and swept the back of his hand over her cheek before burying it in her hair. He looked like he was about to kiss her, but then he stopped and closed his eyes hard. When he opened them, he stared at her intensely just for a second. And then his mouth was on hers, warm and smooth and malty.
Forbidden.
With the tip of her tongue, she licked the seam of his lips, showing him what she wanted. He opened his lips and returned the favor, sweeping his tongue over hers, delving inside her mouth, all but demanding a response.

And he got it. Sensation swept over her and it was almost too much. She reached for his shirt and held on, needing something to bolster her from the onslaught of emotion.
This
was what she needed—to touch and to feel. To forget the pain of the past, just for a moment. To focus only on the clawing lust she’d thought she’d never have again.

Because when she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend the last decade and a half had never happened. That they were back to the way things were
before,
to feeling so good it hurt inside because nothing could ever feel this way again.

Except this with him.

His mouth moved over hers, testing, tasting, pushing her the way she’d always hoped he’d do but never dared. He took control now, gripping her head in his hands and tilting her face to just the right angle for him to sweep his tongue deep inside, possessing her. It wasn’t sweet anymore. It was desperation, neediness, echoing in the way her nipples hardened and her sex clenched, the way every tiny sensation was amplified.

She slid a hand up the front of his shirt, feeling his abdominal muscles ripple under her fingers. When she slid higher, the hands in her hair gripped tighter and tighter, his fingertips throbbing against her skull.
Yes. Please.

But before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her hand in his and tugged her up. He practically dragged her down the dock, blanket in hand, and leapt off just above where land met water. Hands around her waist, he lifted her off the dock and spread the blanket out on the damp, rocky sand. “I don’t want splinters in my ass.”

She almost laughed. Typical, practical Jake.

Then his hands were in her hair again and he was pulling her down and she was on her back on the blanket, him half on top of her. She wrapped a leg around his waist and inhaled. He smelled like moonlight and lost youth. And then his mouth was on her neck while experienced fingers roamed everywhere, sliding up her rib cage, cupping her breast, pinching her nipple just the way she liked it, heightening her sensation until she was slick between her thighs. Like they’d never even been apart. She stroked his arms, his back, his leg, while a thick, hard bulge pressed into her side.

Pure, raw need shot through her, more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced, the culmination of years of pent-up longing and regret.

Jake slipped a hand down her jeans, right into her panties. He groaned and she knew what he’d found—her, wet and wanting. He’d always known how to play her body, to make it sing, and he’d only gotten better with age. Practiced fingers stroked and flicked and she came so hard, so fast, she didn’t even realize she was going over until her back arched into the air.

“Christ, Caro,” he said, gathering up her boneless body and kissing her neck. “That was fucking beautiful.”

This was the way it was. The way it should have been.

He shifted off her a little and she reached for his fly. He stopped her hand. “No,” he said, his face a mask. “We can’t. You’re you and I’m…me.”

“We can,” she said, sliding her hands onto his hips. “We have to.” He should have been hers. She needed him to see that.

“Caro—” His voice was inching into warning territory, but she cupped his ass and he sucked in a breath. Then she trailed her tongue along his collarbone, eliciting a hiss. “I want you,” he groaned.

“I want you, too,” she whispered. “Hurry, please.”

He fumbled with his zipper.

“Do you have protection?”

“Yeah.”

While he slipped on the condom, she slid her jeans all the way down and kicked them off. Even through the blanket, she could feel the cold sand, but she didn’t care. Jake spread her thighs open and settled himself at her entrance. Then he pushed in just a little bit, awakening sensitive nerve endings she’d long forgotten. His face contorted with pleasure and he inhaled sharply.

And then, without waiting, he slid home.
Oh,
he was big, bigger than she’d anticipated.

She used to imagine how he’d feel, his thickness slipping between her swollen flesh. Used to dream about it, long after she should have stopped.

Now here she was, taut and tight, stretched to accommodate Jake embedded inside her.
This
was what she’d turned her back on so many years ago. Completely giving of herself, and him reciprocating in kind. Involuntarily, she clenched her muscles around him.

“Ah, fuck, Caro,” he said, burying his face in her neck.

And then he began to move.

For some reason, that was her trigger. Not the alcohol, or the kiss, or the first orgasm, or Jake sliding inside, but his slow, easy glide powered by the movement of his narrow hips.
This.
His complete mastery of this most intimate act was what pushed her over the edge.

Fifteen years of denial, of longing, of need, tamped down under family obligations and expectations burbled up, sweeping over her in a rush. Even through the overwhelming physical pleasure, she hurt.
God,
it hurt so much she gasped, and then Jake’s mouth was on hers again, soothing the pain, which brought on a fresh wave of sick sadness, heavily layered with guilt and loathing.
Stop thinking. Please, just stop thinking.

She must have started crying because Jake stopped moving his hips and picked up his head. “Oh, shit. Are you okay?” And that brought on even more tears.

She shook her head yes and kissed him, tasting salt on her lips. “Don’t. Don’t stop.” She’d wanted this for so long, and now her brain was ruining everything.

“We can’t do this,” he said, his words clipped.

She turned her head away and the tears dripped sideways, sliding over the bridge of her nose, pooling into the hair by her temple. “I just always thought you’d be my first,” she said, her voice thick. “I wanted you to be my first.”

The waves crashed on the shore, once, twice.

“Caro.” His tone was gentle now. “C’mon. Look at me.” She shook her head, so he carefully turned her face back to him. The expression on his own was one of agony. “I wanted that, too.”

And then he covered her mouth with his, pulling her under, drowning her in pleasure and emotion and hate and love, wrapping around her heart so tightly she could barely breathe. Then he flicked his hips again and slipped his hand between their bodies, stroking and rubbing in all the right places and she came again, harder this time, and he did, too, groaning into her mouth.

When it was over, Jake wrapped his arms around her and held her, the roar of the waves echoing the rushing of the blood in her ears. And as she lay there, the darkness cloaking her shame, the chill seeping into her bones, the loneliness and the regret eating at her like a disease, all she could feel was him, still buried deep, anchoring her to a world she didn’t even know anymore.

Carolyn sat in her tiny office at Briarwood, trying desperately not to move. Because even four days later, every time she shifted in her seat, she still felt him inside her. And more—the lick of heat of his mouth on her neck, the rasp of his facial hair against her cheek, his hands on her breasts. She sat ramrod straight because if she moved, her back—bruised from the rocky beach—reminded her all over again what she’d done. It was more than distracting.

It was dangerous.

How did people move on after a night like that? What did people do after they’d been stripped naked and rubbed raw? Finally having Jake should have been everything she’d always dreamed about, but instead, she’d just felt…shattered.

It would be so tempting to chalk everything up to a little too much Prosecco and a lot too much nostalgia, but it was so,
so
much more than that, and she damn well sure knew it because of all the horrible ironies, she’d fallen for him. Again.

And even worse, she wanted him for who he was now, not for who he was then, but because the baggage ran so deep on both sides, there could be no future. Payback for every awful, self-centered thing she’d ever done in her life.

He’d called. Left messages she’d ignored. But she couldn’t lock herself in her bedroom and curl up into a little ball, even though she desperately wanted to. There were debts to pay, obligations to keep. She couldn’t let anyone else down, least of all herself.

She was so far inside her own head that it was a relief when Richard Handel rapped on her open door.

“Carolyn? You busy?”

She shook her head. “Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” the man said, stepping inside and leaning back against the door frame. “I just wanted to check in with you. See how you’re handling the ownership change. I heard that Mr. Gaffney asked you to put on a welcome party for him.”

“Yes, he did,” Carolyn said, careful not to say
Jake
in front of Richard. The man noticed everything, down to the tiniest of details. In fact, Richard had been the assistant manager back when her family had paid tens of thousands of dollars a year to be Briarwood members, and thankfully, she’d made a decent impression on him then. If she hadn’t been as polite to the staff, if she hadn’t been the person she was, things could have gone a lot differently when she’d come crawling back to Briarwood, looking for a break. Richard was good to her—was good to everyone, actually. “I’ve done the preliminary work. Would you like to see my proposed guest list?” she asked, pulling it out.

Richard took the list from her and gave it a once-over. “Good. Invite the Grotons as well. There’s talk they’re considering rejoining the club.”

“Okay,” Carolyn said, making a quick notation on her copy. “Done.”

“And what are you planning for the event?”

“Late spring is a gorgeous time at Briarwood,” Carolyn said, now in her element. “The air is clear, and the trees and flowers are in bloom. Why not show off the beauty of the grounds while we give Mr. Gaffney a formal introduction? I’m thinking drinks in the garden at five while the sun is still out and the weather isn’t yet too chilly. We’ll move into the grand ballroom at six fifteen to start a five-course, sit-down dinner showcasing Chef Lefoute’s inspired cuisine. Before the first course, we can have the Chairman of the Board do a brief introduction, Mr. Gaffney can make his remarks about the changes coming to Briarwood, show off the new plans, and afterward, we’ll finish dinner. Dancing and drinks later while Mr. Gaffney circulates among the crowd.” She looked at Richard expectantly. “What do you think?”

“What I think doesn’t matter as much as what Mr. Gaffney thinks,” Richard said, taking off his glasses. He cleaned the lenses with a soft cloth, then put the glasses back on. “Have you presented this to him yet?”

Carolyn nodded. “Yes. He didn’t give me much feedback, but he has a copy of the proposal, and I’ve left the door open for questions.”

“I see,” he said. And she was sure he did. “It’s good, but to be honest, you don’t really need my opinion. You know what you’re doing. I may have taken a risk when I first hired you, but you’ve proven yourself time and time again. You have this.”

“Thank you, Richard,” she said, her voice quiet. “Coming from you, that means a lot.”

“Is your dad home from the hospital yet?”

She shook her head. “Not quite. The doctors told him to relax, so he headed to Nantucket,” she said, trying to keep her voice light so Richard wouldn’t know she was telling a half-truth. “It’ll be good for him.”

“Ah.” Richard paused for a moment. “Well, I’m sure he’ll be home soon. And Carolyn, if you’re having problems with Mr. Gaffney, you come to me, understand?”

A little lump formed in her throat. “I’ll do that,” she managed to say. “Thanks.”

Richard looked like he was about to leave, but then he pulled something from his pocket. “Oh, I almost forgot. Here.” He handed her the paper—a flyer for a meet-up at Mountain Laurel Cakes, the bakery where Jane Pringle worked. Carolyn had seen it posted on the staff bulletin board.

“What’s this?” she asked, even though she already knew.

“An event on Friday,” Richard said. “I thought maybe Jane would have spoken with you about it.”

“She mentioned it,” Carolyn said. But she hadn’t given it too much thought afterward, given everything else on her mind.

Richard cleared his throat. “Anyway, I thought since you’ve been taking care of your dad for so long that you might need a break. Maybe meet some people. And look,” Richard said, pointing to a line in the middle of the page, “free cake.”

Richard was looking at her with hope in his eyes. He wanted her to get out. Make real friends. He probably thought the same thing she had—that she and Jane would hit it off.

And then she realized that the true purpose of his visit wasn’t to check in with her about Jake’s party but to give her the flyer. This was just like the time when he’d come into her office to confirm that evening’s events, but instead had told her about the Eastbridge Garage, a place that did repairs but also sold used cars. Of course she didn’t have any money, but owner Matt Rhodes was a single dad, and she’d been able to barter etiquette lessons for his teenage daughter for the sedan. Richard had done so much for her already, she’d never be able to repay him. Never.

Carolyn almost started to cry, but she forced a smile onto her face instead. “Who doesn’t love free cake?” she said.

“Exactly.” Relief colored Richard’s face. “So you’ll go?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Richard made a little harrumphing noise in his throat. “It says the event is for ladies only.”

“Oh,” Carolyn said. “So it does.”

“And at any rate, I’m not free this Friday. Maureen and I are going to the Westport Country Playhouse. Devon is the assistant lighting technician for their production of
Gypsy.
” Maureen, a speech and debate coach at Staples High School, was Richard’s wife, and Devon was Maureen’s high school–aged daughter who was always doing lighting for something, whether it was a production at the Playhouse or the music shows they sometimes put on at Westport’s Compo Beach. In fact, it was how Richard and Maureen met—he’d tried to hire one of the Playhouse’s lighting technicians for an event at Briarwood before Carolyn had come onboard. All their regular techs were busy, but they’d given him Devon’s name. He’d hired the girl but because she was a minor, Maureen had escorted her to the job. And the rest, as they say, was history. As Richard liked to say, he’d gone looking for a lighting tech and had ended up with the two lights of his life instead.

“I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“Reena’s really looking forward to it. And of course, we’re both so proud of Devon.”

She tucked the flyer into her purse. “Well, if I go, I’ll tell you how it went.”

“Good, good.” Richard gave her a small smile. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Thanks, Richard.”

He smiled at her, genuine warmth in his eyes. “You’re welcome. By the way, are you planning on trying out Summer’s new yoga class tonight? I tried to get Maureen to go, but she says she can’t on a school night.”

Carolyn nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re kind to do that.”

“If my role is to plan events and I haven’t sampled one of the offerings at Briarwood, I’m not really doing my job, am I?”

Richard smiled, as if to say he knew Carolyn’s excuse was complete bull. Truth was, the longer she stayed at work, the less time she had to spend at home alone. Summer could have asked her to jump into Long Island Sound naked and she would have done it.

“You think about that Friday night get-together, Carolyn,” he said. “And do me a favor. Just go.”

“And breathe in and hold. Yessss,” Summer’s soothing voice intoned. There was gentle pressure as Summer pulled Carolyn’s shoulders back. “That’s it. Now release the snake and bend into Child’s Pose.” Those same soft hands pushed between her shoulder blades, urging her into the familiar yoga position. “Good.”

The irony wasn’t lost on Carolyn that she’d once paid thirty dollars per class at an upscale Manhattan yoga studio, and now the only way she could afford yoga is if she got in for free. Even though being at Briarwood was infinitely preferable to puttering around her house, Carolyn almost regretted her decision—it was always painful to think about her old life—but two-thirds of the way into the class, when her stiff muscles were stretched and her head was pleasantly blank, she changed her mind.

Summer was obviously heading into warm-down, since she turned off the lights in the room, allowing only the waning daylight shining through the windows to illuminate the space. Carolyn did her best to relax her muscles, some of the tension leaving her body as her forehead rested on the backs of her hands.
Yes.
This was just what she needed tonight.

She refocused her efforts on clearing her mind, letting the weight of the day leave her as she sensed Summer moving around the room, making gentle adjustments to the other women in the class.

“Now please lie on your backs. It’s time for Corpse Pose,” Summer said, her voice soft but clear.

Carolyn flipped onto her back, spreading her arms and legs.

“Feel the tension leave your body, the cares of the day drifting away until all that is left is peace.”

She closed her eyes, and a few moments later, felt a little tug on one leg, then the other, as Summer stretched her farther. Carolyn breathed in deeply, imagining her muscles as soft and pliant as taffy. For the briefest of moments, her mind was mercifully empty. But then, as people started to stir, real life entered back into her consciousness—money, her dad, and of course, Jake. She didn’t want to think about the man who seemed to see through to her very being, gauging its worth. She wasn’t perfect. She was just trying to make her way. Yet somehow, being around Jake dredged up the memories of every mistake she’d ever made.

“Please sit up and once again, join me in our meditation position as we all say, ‘namaste.’ ”

The eight-person class echoed the word.

From the front of the room, directly in front of the windows, Summer beamed beatifically at the small group, her ponytail swinging as she glanced around. “Thank you for joining me for our first twilight yoga session. We’ll be continuing this series through the end of May. Have a beautiful evening.” Then she bowed deeply to the group.

After the class was over, there were soft murmurs from the participants. A few went up to Summer to thank her. Once the others were gone, Carolyn went up, too.

As she approached her friend, Summer grasped her hand. “This was such a success, Carolyn. Thank you again for getting Richard to agree that non–club members could come tonight. I feel like I finally moved things forward. You know this is the first yoga class we’ve ever offered?”

“That is just sad,” Carolyn said, shaking her head. “But not surprising. It’s like we’re stuck in a time warp.”

“I know! It’s all aquatic movement and Jazzercise. Richard keeps talking about getting our numbers up, but until we actually offer classes people want, we’re stuck!”

“Look, when you first floated this yoga idea by me, I couldn’t believe you weren’t already doing it. We can’t just cater to our current members; we need to attract new ones. So by getting outside folks to see what we have to offer, we can induce them to join. Or maybe we can make some money by offering more classes to the public—shake things up a little bit.”

“I’m all for anything to make money for Briarwood. I can’t afford to lose this job. And I’m so nervous about my meeting later this week with the new owner.” Summer began to twist the end of her ponytail. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if he doesn’t understand what I can bring to the table?”

“He will like you, Summer,” Carolyn said. “It’s impossible not to like you.” The woman was so congenial that even Eric never raised his voice to her. “And you’ll show him
exactly
what you can bring to the table—a fresh take on well-being. It’s not just yoga classes. It’s everything you’ve done here—the organic products, helping to educate the massage therapists, and the nutritional services you have available. Plus, you really have everything organized. You told me Richard said your numbers looked decent.”

“Only because we started providing salon services,” she said, sniffing a little. The elderly clientele was notoriously interested in having their hair coiffed for seemingly any occasion.

“You saw a need and you took advantage of the opportunity,” Carolyn said firmly. “You’re doing great. All you need to do is to show Jake Gaffney that.”

Summer gave a little shudder. “The man makes me nervous. His chakras are all misaligned.”

Carolyn nodded. “Yes. I can see how you might think that,” she said, trying not to let her lips twitch. “But you have nothing to worry about. Go into the meeting and show him your stuff.”

Summer stopped twisting her hair. “You have a beautiful aura,” she said, placing her hand on Carolyn’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

The yoga session with Summer reset both Carolyn’s body and brain. Her mind was clear and focused. This late at night, the clubhouse was deserted and the quiet was welcome, especially since she still had work to do. It was a bit awkward to be wearing workout gear at the club, but no one was around, so she simply kicked off her sneakers under her desk, settled in, and began to plow through the logistics for tomorrow’s events.