41
Laurelyn Prescott
We’re driving back to Avalon and I’m thinking how I’ve enjoyed the last three days with Jack Henry’s family. We’ve spent the last seventy-two hours pretending to be head over heels in love. It was so easy to play the part, I have to ask myself if I was pretending at all.
I’m curious to see if we revert back to our former selves now that we’re away from his family or if we’ll continue our romantic fa?ade. I’m too afraid to ask because the answer—either one—scares me.
He reaches for my hand and rubs his thumb across the top of my hand. “You’re quiet.”
I can’t tell him what I’m thinking. He would freak out. I think. “You have a great family. I’m glad I got to meet them.”
“They think you’re pretty great too. Especially Mum. She was in heaven seeing us together.” He squeezes my hand. “Thank you for helping me make her happy.”
“My pleasure.” And it was my absolute pleasure.
I go to sleep in the car and it’s late when we get to the vineyard. Mrs. Porcelli is already gone for the evening, but we find she has left us a welcome-home dinner on the stove. I’ve never minded cooking or cleaning, but I must admit that walking in to find a home-cooked meal after a five-hour drive is a definite perk of living with Jack Henry.
He brings our bags in from the car and drops them in the laundry room before he joins me in the kitchen. I lift the top of the casserole dish to see what we have. Hmm, maybe it’s some kind of chicken casserole? “Smells good. Are you ready for dinner now?”
I feel him behind me and his hands are creeping under my cotton dress. “I’m ready for dessert now.”
Mmm … I love me some him.
He goes straight for the kill, sliding his hand down the front of my panties. “Jack Henry, we just walked through the door.” I check the clock on the stove. It’s only a quarter past five. What if Mrs. Porcelli is still hanging around?
“It’s been a week,” he groans in my ear as he teases me with his fingers.
“It’s been three days,” I correct him as I drop my head back against his chest. But it could be three minutes and I think I’d want him again.
He slips a finger inside me and then another. “I can’t help myself. It feels like forever since I’ve been inside you.”
I feel his rock-hard erection grinding against my bottom while he slides his fingers in and out of me. The way his hand is positioned, his fingers are rubbing my sweet spot and each stroke brings me closer to orgasm.
“Come for me, Laurelyn, and say my name when you do.”
Now, I’m grinding down on his hand and I’m saying his name in my head over and over until I fall over the edge into pure oblivion. “Jack Henry,” I cry out with the familiar spasms I’ve come to love so much.
I recognize the sound of a tearing wrapper so I know what’s he’s doing. I feel his fingers loop around the waistband of my panties and he drags them down my legs until I step out of them. “Hold on to the countertop. We’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”
I wrap my hands around the edge of the solid granite in front of me and he uses his knee to push my legs apart. One of his arms loops around my waist and yanks me so that I’m bent just the way he wants me. I feel him there, against my wet core, and then he pushes inside me with a force reflecting that of his pent-up sexual frustration.
I cry out at the surprise of the sudden intrusion and he stills. “Too rough?”
It only takes a moment for me to adjust to this position and then I’m rocking against him wanting more. “No, don’t stop.”
We synchronize our rhythms and he pounds into me over and over until I hear my name. That’s when I know he’s slipped over the edge. So I follow him.
Two Weeks Later
I wake at four in the morning with lyrics racing through my head. I almost leave the bed to go to the piano, but I don’t. I can’t stand the thought of losing one minute of lying next to Jack Henry.
After he’s gone to work, I scramble to the piano to play the tune that danced in my head all morning and struggle to remember the exact words I was sure I couldn’t forget.
I jot down lyrics telling my story—how I wonder who will take my place after I’m gone and how I am secretly desperate for him to ask me to stay because I love him so much. I struggle because my hand isn’t fast enough to get the lyrics down as they flow from my head.
I put the words to music and sing them aloud, adjusting the melody for the best sound. I raise the key to test the tone of the chorus.
As I sing, I have that feeling you get when you’re being watched. Since Mrs. Porcelli often listens to me play, I look toward the doorway expecting to see her, but it’s not. It’s Margaret McLachlan.
My heart jumps into my throat. I immediately think something terrible has happened to Henry and she sees the fear in my eyes. “Nothing’s wrong, Laurelyn.”
I bring my hand to my chest, as if to calm my erratic heart. I get up from the piano and she meets me halfway for a hug. “Jack Henry is out on the vineyard. Should I call him?”
“No. I didn’t come to see him.”
I’m confused by this and I gesture toward the couch. “Come sit with me. Would you care for some coffee?”
“No. I’m fine, thank you.” She takes a seat on the sofa and I sit on the edge of the chair across from her. It seems the appropriate place for me to be—on the edge of my seat—because I’m dying to know what has brought her to Avalon.
“I’m sorry. I would have called, but I had no way of getting your number unless I asked Jack Henry, and I don’t want him to know I’m here to see you.”
This is news I wasn’t expecting. “You’re here to see me?”
“Yes, Laurelyn. I know you’re only here for two more weeks and I have something I want to say to you.”
I clutch the cushion of the chair to hold on so my ass doesn’t fall off into the floor. “Okay.”
“I know my son very well, and Jack Henry loves you. I see it in his eyes every time he looks at you.” Is it love she saw or was it the fa?ade? “He wouldn’t have brought you to meet us or into our home if he didn’t. Trust me. That’s not something he does lightly.”
She’s smiling. “So now, I’m going to be a very forward and meddling mother. Do you love my son?”
Wow. I’m taken back by her question, but I know the answer without thinking about it. I should be guarded and not willing to confess it so easily, but I want nothing more than to scream it from the rooftop. “Yes. I love Jack Henry very much.”
She smiles even bigger and pats the cushion next to her. “Come sit next to me.”
I get up from the chair and do as she asks. She faces me and takes my hands. “Believe me, he’s going to be a stubborn jackass when it’s time for you to leave in a couple of weeks. He isn’t going to want to put his heart on the line and ask you to stay, but he will be sick with himself if he lets you go. Because you love him, you have to spend the rest of your time together showing him why he should ask you to stay.”
Whoa. I’m not sure, but I think Margaret McLachlan is advising me to get it on with her son. Does she think I haven’t already been doing that?
How do I make her understand about our agreement without telling her? “We knew we’d only be together for three months, so we agreed from the start that our relationship wouldn’t become serious. I don’t think he’s changed his mind about that.”
She squeezes my hands. “Hon, it doesn’t matter what you agreed to. If you love each other, that changes everything. Trust me. Nothing else matters. And a little nookie to change his mind never hurts, either.”
Yep. That’s exactly what I thought she was suggesting.