Barefoot in Lace (Barefoot Bay Brides Book 2) Page 25

  Annie drew back and gave her a serious look. “He’s struggling as much as you and Alex,” she said. “All that dreamy bachelorhood about to go down the loo.”

  But he hadn’t always been a bachelor. She shook her head, not ready, willing, or even free to share his story. “If only it were that easy,” she said instead. Adding an impulsive hug, she slipped back into the apartment to check on Alex.

  Tom was quietly cleaning up the rest of the kitchen, waiting expectantly when she entered. “You done for the night, Pink?”

  “Actually, I’m going to check on Alex.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, frowning.

  She hesitated a moment, not at all prepared to tell him that his niece not only didn’t want his guardianship, she wanted Gussie’s. The conversation would be hurtful and horrible and, honestly, the idea was unrealistic. After the emotional rollercoaster she’d been on today, she simply couldn’t bear to dive into something that heavy.

  “She’s been a little weird all day,” she said, purposefully vague.

  “Damn it, I didn’t even notice.” He put up his hands in frustration. “How can I miss something like that?”

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “But really sweet that you care.”

  “I do care,” he insisted.

  “I didn’t notice, either,” Gussie admitted. “I was all focused on my brother.”

  “Which is understandable,” he said. “He’s your long-lost brother, but I should be more in tune with her.” He set down his dishtowel. “I’m going to talk to her.”

  And Alex might bring up the whole topic of guardianship. At the very least, Gussie should be there. “I’ll come with you.”

  “That’s a good idea. I can learn from an expert.”

  She slipped her hand into his, and they walked down the hall together, a weird, buzzy feeling between them. It wasn’t just attraction—that was always there. It wasn’t that they had a joint mission—they both cared about Alex, so it made sense. It was more like…

  This is what family did. What parents did. What two people who loved a third and made a unit—

  “Gussie.” He stopped her before the door. “What’s the matter with you?”

  She didn’t dare blink, because her eyes had filled. Along with her heart. God, she wanted this so much. She wanted this to be real, not a freecation.

  “I’m worried about her, that’s all.”

  He slipped his arm around her and tapped on the door with his free hand. “We got this,” he whispered.

  Which only made it worse.

  “I’m asleep.”

  “Funny, you sound awake,” Gussie said.

  “I’m tired, Gussie.” But the slight hiccup gave away the truth. She was crying.

  Sharing a quick look, Gussie nodded and Tom turned the knob, and the light instantly clicked off. The bedclothes rustled as she feigned sleep.

  “What do you want?” Alex asked. “Why are you both here?”

  “Because we both are worried about you,” Tom said, his voice as gentle as Gussie had ever heard it.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine,” Gussie said, going to sit on the edge of the twin bed. She reached for Alex’s cheek, but the girl whipped to the side and Gussie barely grazed her. It was enough to feel the tears.

  “Why are you crying?” Gussie asked.

  “Why do you think?”

  “You miss your mom,” Tom said, coming up behind Gussie and putting strong hands on her shoulders, the support so real and welcome.

  “Actually, not this very minute.”

  “In other words, you’re crying about something else,” Tom said.

  She didn’t answer, which meant yes.

  “Too dark for charades. Should we do twenty questions?” Gussie suggested. When there was more silence, she took a stab. “Did one of us do something to upset you?”

  In the bit of moonlight in the room, Gussie could see Alex turn to face them, looking from one to the other, her eyes wide. As if she thought it was weird that they came in together, too. Weird and a little wonderful.

  Alex and Gussie were on the same page there.

  “How about that boy?” Tom said, making Gussie smile at the Dad-like tone in his voice.

  “Eddie’s fine,” she said with a sniff. “And so’s Lizzie.”

  Gussie thought for a minute, stumped. “Then what is it? Are you homesick? Physically sick? Reading a sad book?”

  Alex sighed. “It was Luke.”

  “Luke?” Gussie startled at the unexpected answer. “My brother made you cry?”

  Alex shot up and reached for the light, the sudden brightness making them all blink but instantly revealing how hard Alex had been weeping.

  “Why couldn’t he have been my dad?” she burst out. “I mean, first, he shows up, and I was sure…I was so sure that when we walked in he was going to, like, throw his arms around me and say, ‘Alex! My daughter!’” She swiped at snot and tears, her eyes fierce with sadness and shame.

  “Oh, Alex.” Gussie sat on the bed to hug her, totally and completely understanding why she would have thought that. “I’m sorry you thought that’s who he was.”

  She pushed back, shuddering on a sob and clearly ready to let it all out now. “And then he has to be so nice. And funny. And everyone loves him.”

  Gussie gave a dry laugh. “He was born that way.”

  “Well, why can’t I have a father like that? Or…” She looked up. “An uncle?”

  Ouch.

  Tom’s grip on Gussie’s shoulders tightened a little. “Don’t think I’ll ever play charades that well.”

  The poor attempt at humor in the face of harsh criticism nearly folded Gussie in half. Alex was wrong, and the comment wasn’t fair. She reached up to put her hand over Tom’s in solidarity.

  “Listen, Alex, I know that a strange man arriving here and the way he looked—I totally get that you might have had that moment of joy, only to have it fall apart into disappointment. That’s a real pain, and you’re entitled to feel it. But you’re not entitled to insult and compare and hurt your uncle.” She leaned forward, getting close to Alex’s teary face, trying to capture her thoughts so they had the most impact and effect on Alex.

  “Let me tell you as a woman who has had and lost a family in a lifetime, a person who comes into your life and is willing and able and ready to love you to the best of his or her ability—whether they are related by blood or not—is a gift from God. Accept it graciously, honey. No matter if it’s exactly what you wanted or not. It’s what you have.”

  Alex stared at her, and after a long moment, she lifted her gaze to meet Tom’s. “Sorry,” she said.

  “S’okay, kid. Luke’s a great guy, and think of it this way, now you have two uncles.”

  Gussie’s heart flipped. What did he mean by that?

  Alex didn’t quite get the full unspoken message, but she seemed appeased—and maybe that’s why he said that—and tired. She nodded and reached out to hug Gussie. She even let Tom kiss her on the cheek.

  Gussie tucked the blanket under Alex’s chin, turned the light out, and walked to the door where Tom waited.

  She took each breath slowly, stepping into the hall as he closed the door.

  “What did you—”

  Silently, he leaned her into the wall and kissed away the question. And any comments, teasing, or discussion about what just happened.

  “I don’t want to be alone,” he whispered gruffly. “Not for one more minute.” He lifted her a little off the floor, scooped his arm under her knees, and started carrying her to the opposite end of the apartment.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  He might have kicked the door too hard and snapped the lock with too much force. Didn’t care. He might have hit the bed with too much pressure. Whatever. He might have had a little more finesse, but all that would come sometime, next time, later, when he wasn’t crazed with the need to explore and examine and excite every inch of Gu
ssie.

  And no “might” about it, Tom definitely heard a seam tear as he furiously worked to get them both undressed, but he didn’t give a crap. If he paused to so much as whisper a word to Gussie, then he’d start to think. Right now, he did not want to think.

  He wanted to feel. Close. Warm. Naked. Gussie. He wanted dear, sweet, funny, sexy Gussie to be all his in the most intimate way, and from the way she was kissing, touching, and stripping, the feeling was utterly mutual.

  By the time they were naked on the sheets, both were breathing too hard and kissing too much and moaning too often to talk or think or second-guess their actions.

  He flicked his tongue along her jaw and throat, his hands already at home on her breasts and stomach. Under his lips, he heard her groan and whimper, nails lightly scraping his back as they rolled over and found their fit. Which was perfect.

  Everything was perfect.

  And then she dragged her fingers down his abdomen and closed her hands over him with a feminine sound of pure, raw satisfaction and appreciation. Like she’d been yearning to touch him.

  Fire shot from one end of his hard-on to the other, agonizing and fierce, forcing him to rock into her fist and damn near howl with the intensity of the feeling.

  He eased out of her touch and pinned her arms so she couldn’t have him shooting off like a desperate teenager in a minute. Instead, he concentrated on kissing her, tasting every curve and dip and slope he could find.

  But he needed his hands to touch, and when he released her, she instantly clutched his head, digging into his hair, guiding his mouth from pleasure point to pleasure point.

  Her sighs, her scent, her every move shot more blood and need into him, making him harder and hungrier.

  “Too good,” she murmured, lifting her hips so he could suckle her belly button. “Too good.”

  “Don’t worry,” he laughed into a kiss. “Nothing’s too good, Pink.” He proved that by feathering more kisses, lower and lower, until his tongue touched that one single point of perfection, and she gasped.

  “That is.” She began to move against his mouth, her fingers stabbing his scalp. “Too good. Too…good.” She tasted exactly as he’d imagined—too many times—tangy and salty. “It can’t last. Can’t.”

  He lifted his head and looked at her face in the dark shadows. “Don’t think about that now, okay? We have tonight. All night.”

  They held each other’s gazes for a long moment, then she closed her eyes on a long, jagged exhale. “Okay. Then do that some more.”

  He found his way south again. “I could”—he kissed her inner thigh—“do this”—and the other one—“for hours.” He licked her quickly, teasing another moan out of her. Looking up, he caught her head lolling from side to side.

  Skin flushed, eyes closed, hair tousled, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen. Her nipples protruded, wet from his mouth, pink and juicy and inviting. Her abdomen squeezed tight, her arms extended to him.

  “You’re lucky I don’t have a camera, ’cause this angle? Insane.”

  Her eyes popped open. “You wouldn’t dare. I’d kill you.”

  “But I’d die happy.” He crawled back up to her, planting kisses on all those beautiful places he’d just admired and ending up at her mouth. “I’m content to take that picture with my mind. It’s one I won’t forget.”

  He nestled close to her, lining up their warm bodies and sliding a leg over her thighs. He grazed the rise of her breasts, appreciating the feminine undulation and round shapes. Chill bumps blossomed on her skin, and her nipples budded like cherries.

  He kissed one, then leaned back to caress her some more.

  Blood thrummed and sweat tingled and something deep and low inside him threatened to splinter from the sheer goodness of Gussie. Maybe not so low…since that fractured feeling was more in his chest.

  In the vicinity of his heart, damn it.

  She wet her lips and gave a single nod, the order all he needed to get where he wanted. He grabbed the condom he’d left on the nightstand and opened it to sheath himself, resenting even that moment of letting her go.

  Finally, he dropped down to the bed, held her gaze for a long moment, and eased himself into her. Both of them hissed at first contact, but then they moved in concert, each breath in syncopation as he moved inside her, slow and easy, before sliding into fast and hard.

  His brain flatlined when he fit all the way, her wet, warm womanhood stretched around him, too intoxicating for him to think.

  “This is good, Gussie. So good.”

  “Shh.” She quieted him with a kiss.

  “No talking?”

  “No talking about how good it is.”

  He tried to scowl at her, but that took too much effort away from the achy pleasure of each thrust into her.

  “’Cause good always ends,” she whispered.

  He slowed, then stopped, throbbing in her but determined not to plunge into her one more time until she was completely quiet on the subject of ending. “Stop talking about the end,” he ground out. “In fact, stop talking, period.”

  She looked up at him, and for the first time, he saw sadness in her eyes. Moonlight made them glimmer, but a deep, deep darkness stole the smile from her eyes.

  No, Gussie. Don’t feel. Don’t think. Don’t take that chance.

  He squeezed his eyes closed and wiped his brain of every word, strictly feeling. Feeling pressure grow into a scorching need for release, feeling his pulse pounding in his veins, feeling the heavy, savage punch when he lost the battle to last one second longer.

  But she lost it first, biting her lip to hold back a scream, digging her nails into his skin, and bucking hard into his hips.

  He came watching Gussie lose all control, a hazy, hot spill that made him tremble and groan and, finally, fall onto her to smash his mouth against her mouth and helplessly kiss her. And kiss her. And kiss her some more.

  And that cracking feeling in his chest started again, and this time, he knew why. Oh, man, he knew exactly why he felt that way, and it wasn’t good.

  “Shit.”

  She snorted softly. “Is that postcoital poetry?”

  He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken aloud. “Sorry.”

  She pushed him away enough to look in his eyes. “You are not apologizing for that.”

  “Not for what we just did.”

  She pushed harder. “Then what are you sorry for?”

  For a long time, as long as it took both of their heartbeats to get to anything that resembled normal and their breathing to turn smooth and steady, he looked into Gussie’s eyes and thought of all the different ways he could answer that question, settling on light and easy instead of the truth.

  “I’m sorry I dragged you caveman-style and threw you on the bed.”

  “Are you kidding? Best move ever. I may tell all my friends. Hell, I might blog about it.”

  He laughed, hoping he’d deflected questions.

  “Now tell me what you’re really sorry for, Tom.”

  He hadn’t deflected anything. He looked away. “I could have, you know, asked first.”

  “I’d have said yes. I was fully prepared to say yes.” She turned his face, forcing him to look at her. “Yes.” She smiled. “But you do have some explaining to do.”

  “Really? I don’t want to talk now. I want to sleep.” He took a moment to clean them up, then settled under the covers, curling his whole body around her.

  “You think I’m going to fall asleep and not ask for an explanation?”

  “What’s to explain, Gus? I’m crazy about you. I’ve had a hard-on since I met you. You’re adorable, amazing, loving, funny, and…and…”

  “Don’t stop now.”

  But he had to before he said too much. Way too much. Because now that the urgency had faded and his body was sated, now that they were done, shouldn’t he suggest she go to her own bed? He had a perfect excuse—Alex could wake up at any moment.

  Yet, he didn’t say a word
. He held her and let every inch of their bodies touch, their heartbeats right next to each other, their mouths a kiss apart. Seconds drifted into minutes and minutes into a half hour of nothing but matching breaths.

  He stroked her hair and repositioned them to a classic spoon, wrapping his arm around her stomach and a sliding a leg over hers, locking her down.

  He kissed the back of her head, purposely letting his lips touch her scar, adding pressure, trying to communicate how he felt about her, no matter what scars and flaws she had.

  “Okay, Pink, what kind of explanation were you looking for?”

  She didn’t answer, just breathed her next, even breath, sound asleep in his arms.

  For the first time in five years, four months, and nine days, Tom didn’t sleep alone. Maybe he should start keeping track of time differently now, no matter how scary that was.

  Maybe this should be night number one…of many.

  * * *

  In the recesses of her mind, Gussie heard a noise, a footfall, a door creak. But sleep so totally owned her right then, she didn’t move. Sleep and the weight of a masculine leg wrapped around her, not to mention a strong man’s hand on her stomach and the delicious pressure of an urgent erection nestled against her rear end. Add to that the heaviness that comes with a contented heart, the feeling that all is right—or will be—with the world.

  She wrapped her hand around Tom’s, entwining their fingers before she brought his knuckles to her lips to kiss, trailing her mouth over his forearm to his tattoo.

  Panta monos.

  Why was she doing this to herself? Why was she falling so hard and completely into this man who did not want the kind of forever connection she craved? And why did it have to feel so good, even though she knew that when it was over, it would hurt like a bitch on wheels.

  Warm, soft lips pressed against the back of her head, directly on the mottled skin that used to make her cry in her bed every night. She could cry in this bed, too. Of joy.

  Instead, she reached behind her and got her hand around Tom’s morning erection, sighing as he pulsed and grew in her hand.