One Reckless Summer (27 page)

And then the skies opened and it poured.

She could almost feel all of Destiny sighing in relief.

The weatherman had predicted rain for the next day or so, but had been unsure of how much, and this looked like a desperately needed soaker—thank goodness. She could stop watering the flowers incessantly, and the lawn would green up again, and the air would feel breathable for a little while. Ah…

Of course, after a few minutes, she got
used
to the rain and decided to do something constructive. But first, she put a stack of her mom’s old albums on the stereo in the corner, having found she liked listening to music she knew her mother had enjoyed, and even finding some of it to be surprisingly hard rock, records Jenny hadn’t known
her mother owned
. So even Judy Tolliver had a little bit of a secret side. That made Jenny smile, and hearing the music made her think about her mom living, thriving, being happy—as opposed to the shrine, which had only made her think about her mom dying.

While she listened to the records, she did some computer work—catching up on e-mail and doing some web-surfing. In particular, she found herself
Googling
topics she thought might be part of the curriculum she would create
if
she found herself teaching at the high school level this fall.

She still wasn’t at all sure about staying—especially if her dad continued to be angry with her—but she found herself returning time and again to Mick’s advice about doing what felt right.

She wasn’t sure if Destiny would feel right to her forever, but in ways, it was starting to feel right for right now. Maybe a year, maybe more. Maybe sticking around would be the exact move that would fix things between her and her father. Maybe once Mick was gone, her dad would relax.

Ugh—once Mick was gone?
She sighed, her stomach sinking to realize, once more, that he would be leaving soon—but then she went back to trying to concentrate on the lesson plan she was reading online. Not that it worked. Once she got Mick on the brain, he tended to stay there.

Just then, Night Ranger began to sing the
rockin
’, “Don’t Tell Me You Love Me,” and Jenny’s gut pinched.

Oh God, I wish I didn’t love him. If only I’d truly kept it casual, like I planned. What a nightmare.
But it was too late for that now.

Now all you can do is muddle through—and hope you don’t fall apart once and for all when he goes.

Just after dark, Jenny sat curled up on the couch, rereading Stephen
Hawking’s
A Brief History of Time
and listening to the rain. After a few stop-and-start downpours earlier, the rain now fell in a steady rhythm, and she’d turned off the A/C to open the windows and let the fresh air inside. She knew “green” didn’t have a scent, but that’s always how she thought the air smelled after it rained in Destiny—green and fresh and fertile, like new life was emerging all around her.

She’d just begun to wonder if she’d heard movement outside, in the driveway, when a knock came on the back door, and her heart flip-flopped in her chest. She’d not expected him
tonight
of all nights, given the weather.

Stunned, she rushed to the door, pulled it open, and found him standing there, drenched and absolutely beautiful. In fact, the stark male beauty somehow just emanating from him struck her nearly senseless. “It’s raining,” she heard herself say dumbly.

He arched one eyebrow. “Thanks for the newsflash, pussycat.”

Why couldn’t she breathe suddenly? Then she figured it out. It was because he looked so good wet.

“So can I come in?” he asked expectantly.

Oh God—she was just standing there gaping at him getting rained on. “Oh—yeah—of course,” she said, stepping back out of the way.

Mick walked past her, to the sink, where he smoothly stripped off his gray T-shirt and wrung it out. “Sorry for dripping all over your floor,” he said.

But Jenny didn’t answer—because if she’d been having
a hard
time breathing
before,
it had just gotten a lot worse. Because now he was wet
and
shirtless. Holy God.

When he raised his gaze to her, she realized she was standing there in her pajamas ogling him as if she’d never seen him before.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing,” she managed. “You just look…um…
good
.”

A hint of masculine arrogance transformed his expression as he dropped the shirt in the sink
,
then cast a wicked grin, reaching for her. “Bet I’ll
feel
good, too.”

And yep, no problem there—he definitely did. His skin was wet and hot and slippery, and as he pulled her close, his muscular arms wrapping around her, she didn’t even mind the fact that he was getting
her
wet now. When he kissed her, even his mouth was wet, and she suffered the sensation of wanting to drown in him.

“Funny,” he whispered in her ear then, “but I didn’t think pussycats
liked
water.”

She pulled back, looked up into his dark eyes. “Huh?”

Then she caught his teasing, seductive smile. “After the ice, and now this, I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for water.”

“Uh, no,” she said automatically, because she really saw the ice and this as two different things—one had been about the contrast between cold and heat, and this was just about the way he looked.
Which, when she glanced down at his slick stomach, made her bite her lip and suck in her breath.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” he asked with a playful smile, as if her denial was preposterous.

She smiled back into his eyes. “The fact is, Mr. Brody,” she said, finally finding her voice, along with some teasing flirtation, “
everything
you do
gets
me hot. Water has nothing to do with it.”

He looked pleased—but still playfully skeptical. Taking a step back, he took her hands in his and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s go outside, pussycat, and I’ll prove it.”

Jenny let her eyes go wide. Was he serious? “Um, hello? It’s raining out there. Why would we go out into the rain when we have a nice, dry house here?” Then she smiled. “Take off your jeans and I’ll even put them in the dryer for you.”

“Nice try,” he quipped, “but I want to go out in the rain with you.”

She simply tilted her head and gave him a look—one that still said,
No, you’re crazy.

“Don’t you ever do anything impulsive?” he asked critically.

She gasped. Come on—how dare
he
? “Um, hello
again
? Sex in the woods? And don’t forget the kitchen.” She held one finger up in the air.

“Well, all that worked out pretty good,” he reminded her. Then his voice deepened, with what sounded like a dare. “Do it again. Get wet with me, Jenny. Get messy.”

The hair on Jenny’s neck stood up as chills ran down her arms. Mick Brody got her hot in a way no other man could.

Apparently, her temptation showed on her face, since he prodded her some more, tugging her closer to the door. “Come outside with me, pussycat,” he said, voice low, seductive. “Let me get you wet.”

“Already did,” she assured him breathily, thinking of what was going on in her panties right now.

A little sexy-as-sin smile curved the corners of his mouth. “Wetter then. Wetter than you’ve ever been before.”

And after that, she couldn’t protest anymore. Even as crazy as it felt to let Mick lead her out the door in a pale pink
cami
and pajama bottoms, she let him. Even though, despite the falling rain, it somehow felt like walking into fire, flames. Because it was one thing to be seduced by him, over and over again, and even to welcome it, to relish it. But this felt different. This felt like…final surrender.
Total
surrender. A man she would willingly follow out into the rain for sex was a man, she knew, who could make her do
anything.

As they stepped out and the rain began to pelt her skin, she stopped, glanced up at the dark sky from which it fell, and said, “I’m gonna get drenched out here.”

“That’s the idea, honey,” he said. And then he pulled her to him, kissed her like he was devouring her—and the rest just happened.

It was as if the rain…freed her somehow, as if it took away any last barriers, any last inhibitions inside her. One minute they stood in the wet grass making out, touching each other’s faces, arms, shoulders—and the next he was lowering her top, taking the straps down, pushing it to her waist, baring her breasts to the rain, as well. When he sank his mouth to one nipple, she had the sensation that he drank of her, suckling off the wetness, making her whimper, before moving to the other breast. At the same time, he shoved down her
p.j
. bottoms, along with her underwear, and as the rain began to roll down her rear, legs, she realized that she
wanted
this now—she wanted to get wet with him, too.

She found herself pressing him down into the old wooden swing that hung from the big maple tree in the side yard. Found
herself
dropping to her knees in the wet grass and working at his zipper, freeing that part of him to the rain, as well. She heard her own gasp—why was she always a little surprised by how big and hard he was for her?—and then she found herself dipping down, taking him into her mouth.

When she’d done this before, she’d done it for
him,
wanting to pleasure him—but now she did it for her, too. She wanted to feel this—suddenly, she wanted to feel
everything
with him,
do
everything with him. And maybe the rain was washing away the barrier to that last little bit of herself she’d held back—the part of her that wanted to be aggressive and brazen, the part that still worried just a little what people would think if they knew, the part that harbored those last bits of guilt, about her mother’s picture, about her father’s ideas of who she should be. Because in that moment, suddenly, it was gone, all gone, completely. And nothing remained but her naked body and her desires and the man she wanted to be with.

“God, honey,” he growled above her, his fingers threading through her hair, “aw, that’s so damn nice—yeah.” And his words fueled her, made her feel wild and good and like a skilled lover—until she wanted still more.

She rose to climb into his lap, straddling him in the swing, ready to have him inside her. He helped, his breath ragged and hot, using one hand to hold the chain at his side supporting the swing and the other to mold to her ass and push her downward.

They both moaned as he entered her, and she looked boldly into his eyes and breathed, “You feel amazing.”

“You feel…just like I wanted you to,” he said hotly. “Wetter than ever before.”

She moved on him as she had many times, undulating rhythmically, finding her pleasure. But she never took her eyes off
his,
and his gaze on her never wavered, either. “Aw, baby, that’s right,” he rasped. “Ride me.”

Again, the heated words spurred her on, made her feel wild and free as the rain sifted down through the tree branches onto them. “You make me live,” she heard herself say without planning.

His breath still came hard as he thrust slowly inside her. “What, honey?” he murmured, their eyes still locked.

“You make me live, Mick. You force me to live. I came here to bury my head, but you make me live.”

He kissed her then, hard and urgent, his fingers tangling in the wet hair at the nape of her neck. She twined her arms around his broad shoulders, took in everything about the moment—the darkness, the wetness, the wildness, the cool, moist air, how he filled her so deeply, and how everything inside her was starting to move in just the right way, coming together, taking her closer, closer—until she toppled into ecstasy with him one more glorious time, clinging to him, sobbing against his neck, loving the way his arms closed around her, holding her tight.

A few seconds later, Mick was pumping up into her again, harder now that she’d come, making her feel him way up inside. “More,” she whispered, “more.”

“You want more, pussycat—I’ll give you more,” he growled,
then
drove still harder, harder. And then the world tumbled and they crashed to the ground—the swing had broken and they both let out small groans of shock, but they didn’t stop moving together. He rolled her onto her back in the wet grass, plunging deeper, and she met each stroke,
then
rolled
him
onto
his
back.

She wasn’t sure how many times they rolled that way, getting wetter and wetter, but finally she stopped and he towered above her and pinned her wrists to the ground as if to say,
I win.
And she thought—
no, we both win.
And she said between jagged breaths, “I want you to come in me,” and he did.

When they finally went still, she realized the rain had stopped. But they were no less wet for it. They lay side by side in the grass, utterly soaked, his jeans at his knees, her
cami
in a wad at her waist—and she’d never felt better. She even heard a giddy trill of laughter escape her throat. Then she found Mick smiling at her, looking just as sexy and dangerous as ever. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing. This was just…pretty damn fun.”

“Told you, pussycat.”

But then she let her smile fade. Because her heart was beating so hard, pumping so much emotion through her veins. “I meant what I said before, about making me live.”