10
He woke her gently once he turned the engine off. “We’re at your place, Curly. Wake up.”
She’d talked and talked on the drive back but once they got to North Bend she’d begun to slow down. He knew she’d been up since four the previous morning to do a job before she’d come to the Gorge, so he was fine to let her sleep.
In lieu of taking a helicopter back, he’d had his car brought out to the Gorge and they’d driven back after the show had ended. The rest of his gear would go back to his house, but he had a suitcase and his wheels and Mary Whaley in the passenger seat, and all felt right with the world.
She stretched, opening her eyes. “Oh man. I’ve been asleep awhile. I’m sorry.”
He came around to open her door. “You needed it.”
He grabbed his bag and followed her to the door and then inside. It smelled like her and he paused. He’d only been there briefly, once before when he’d given her a ride home the morning after the wedding.
Pictures took up most of the wall space. He wandered, looking. Her as a child with her brothers. “Is this you and Jules?”
She came over, smiling. “Yes. From fifth grade. She still looks pretty much exactly like that.”
“Is it weird that she ended up with your brother?”
“They’ve been meant for each other for a very long time. I’m thrilled for them both. He needed her. She’s ruthlessly organized, a calming element in his chaos.”
“I like the way you talk about your friends.”
“I’m extremely fortunate to have the people in my life that I do. Are you hungry?”
“Do you have any work today?”
“Nope. I’m off all day long.”
“Mmm. Good. So yes to breakfast, because you need to be fueled up for what I’m going to do to you. Twice. Maybe even three times. Then a nap and we can start over.”
“My bedroom is around the corner and to the left. You can put your things in there.”
He left her bustling around her kitchen, curious about her room.
A big bed. Wrought iron. Bright blue bedspread with orange sheets his mother would call tangerine. It was crisp and fresh and bright. It smelled like vanilla and citrus. More pictures on the wall in here. Some art he wagered came from Daisy, her friend the artist. Books on shelves with cracked spines so he knew she’d read them all.
A robe hung on a hook on the back of her door. The yellow one she’d worn in New York. A mirrored tray on her dresser had a few simple pieces of jewelry on it. He noted she didn’t wear much dangly stuff, opting for simple hoops in her ears. She wore her nails short with clear polish. He figured with her job, her hands in other people’s food all day, she wouldn’t risk a ring that got gunk stuck in it or nails she’d only mess up. Mary was practical that way.
When he came out, it was to the scent of ham and strawberries.
“Wow.” He went into her kitchen and noted that she kept an eye on him. “You don’t like people in your kitchen, do you?”
She laughed. “It’s sort of a joke among my friends. But people have a tendency to touch and adjust, even when they don’t mean to. I like things just so. When people mess with my just-so it makes me cranky and messes with my food mojo.”
He backed off, sitting at a stool at the nearby island. “I totally understand. I have an office at my house. Well, an office and a practice space. When I practice I want to be alone sometimes. They know that if I’m in there they’d better leave me alone. We have a larger space in a studio, a renovated barn actually, where we practice and record together. But my space is about my art. I like it how I like it. Tell me if I can help. Otherwise I’ll be right here watching you cook. Because frankly I’ve never seen anything sexier than you making food.”
She blushed. “Flatterer.”
“Maybe so. But it’s true just the same. Whatcha making?”
“Fried ham, some gravy and toast. Oh and some strawberries, blueberries and mint. Sorry it’s nothing fancy.”
He laughed. “Nothing fancy? Curly, toast is nothing fancy. Ham, gravy, toast and fruit with mint is so fancy.”
“Should have asked if you were like low carb or anything.”
“When I come off tour I let myself go for a few weeks. I get up when I want. Eat what I want. Do what I want. Then I get back to working out and being on a schedule. We’ll be starting a new record later in the fall. But for now, I will not only eat gravy, I will eat lots of it.”
“That’s what a girl like me likes to hear.”
They ate their breakfast at her large farmhouse table, taking one end. She poured coffee and fresh juice and he just let himself be.
“This is the best thing I’ve eaten since the last time you cooked for me. Do you ever get tired of it? Want to have others cook instead?”
“I love to go out to eat. Love to taste other people’s food. But I’m horribly judgmental. If it tastes like someone phoned it in, or worse, got it out of a vat and made it in the microwave, I get vexed. I don’t mind simple food. I love pizza and hot dogs. I just don’t like those places with menus that come in three-ring binders and you know that to have a twenty-eight-page menu everything is from a vat, a freezer or a can. I can do that at home; why go out for that?”
“Good question. What is your position on diner food?”
“I love diner food. Next question.”
He grinned.
“Microwave popcorn?”
“Love it. Eat it for dinner sometimes, though I do have a few different mixes I shake in for extra flavor. And I do make a homemade version of Cracker Jack.”
“Of course you do, Curly.”
“Cooking makes me feel better. It relaxes me to create things. I’m not Eric Ripert or Jean Louis Valpar, but making food, sharing it with people pleases me. I feel like I was supposed to do this.”
He remembered something. “Wait here.”
He jogged to her room, digging through his bag until he found what he was looking for and returned to the table.
“What is it?” She examined the little box.
“A present. Open it.”
Inside was a little silver container and a bag.
“A salt cellar!” And not just any old salt cellar, but one that would last forever and take a beating. The bag was—she paused to open it and sniff. Sassafras hit her nose first.
“We were in New Orleans and went to this place that had the best gumbo I’ve ever eaten. The owner swore it was because of their filé powder they made right there, specifically for the restaurant. I convinced her that I knew someone who would do justice to her filé if she’d sell me some. The cellar I saw at a shop in Portland yesterday. My mom actually saw it first. Just little somethings. Not a big deal.”
He blushed and she felt herself fall for him a little bit. Which she knew was a bad idea, but he’d clearly done this thinking of her. Not jewelry. Not a fur coat or something like that. But a salt cellar and some filé powder. It was like the best gift ever.
“It’s hard to find the right filé so I can’t wait to try it. In fact, I’ll make some gumbo for dinner to give it a test run. As for the cellar, I love it. This is so thoughtful.”
He drained his coffee and stood. “I want to see you naked.”
She got up, moving to the door to be sure it was locked. “My friends tend to be bargers. Can’t have that.”
When she got close, he picked her up, surprising her, but not for long. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, holding him in place as she kissed him.
He held her easily, taking a few steps until her back met the hallway arch. He pressed against her just enough to send a wild thrill through her. He sucked her tongue, sliding his along it in a way surprisingly close to the way he ate her p-ssy.
Like a switch he pressed, just a look or a touch from this man and her libido went from simmering to roaring inferno. She wanted. So much. Wanted him to f*ck her. Touch her. Whatever. She wanted to leave scratches on his back. Wanted to be just a little sore when she woke up from their nap.
And she knew he’d make it happen.
He bit her neck and she made a needy sound. Her hands made their way around his arms to grab at the hem of his shirt so she could get it off.
“Can’t wait,” he murmured and went to his knees, keeping her in his arms so her butt came down on his thighs instead of the floor.
“Damn, you’re good.”
He ripped the shirt she wore up over her head. Her bra followed and she got her belt and jeans open and off as he managed to get his jeans open. She grabbed his cock and he nearly snarled.
“Now.”
“You’re not ready.”
She took his hand, guiding it to her p-ssy, and proved him wrong.
“F*ck.” He dug in his wallet, pulled out a condom, and within a breath she was on her back in her hallway and he was pressing into her.
His jeans were still on and they brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs with each thrust. Hard and fast. She wrapped her thighs around his waist, holding him close, keeping him deep. He felt so good this way. Hell, she felt so good this way.
His hands held her ass, keeping her at the perfect angle, dragging his dick over her * again and again. Outside the sun began to rise and birds sang as he f*cked her on her runner.
He got to his knees, thrusting still. The muscles of his abdomen rippled with his movement as his skin gleamed from the sweat of hard work. “Will you make yourself come, Curly? Hm?”
She cupped her breasts, her thumbs sliding back and forth over her nipples. He watched with such naked greed it only emboldened her. He took one of her hands, sucking on her fingers, making them wet. She felt a little woozy just watching, it was so hot. The tug and draw on her fingers echoed in her nipples and *. Then he guided those fingers to her *.
Shew. He was so dirty it left her delirious. She stroked over her *, slow but firm. Drawing the pleasure out, knowing he watched, knowing it fed his pleasure in turn.
And then he reached back to adjust her leg, his fingertips finding that place behind her knee. She blew out a gust of air as her muscles tightened around him.
“Shit.” He did it again, this time with a little more pressure, sending ripples of sensation from that spot to her cunt. “This is so f*cking hot.”
She agreed.
He dug into her p-ssy in short, deep thrusts. The carpet at her shoulder would most likely leave a mark. And she found she liked that idea.
She was so close. Her body knew it. Her eyes drifted halfway closed as she took him in. The power of his upper body, the hotness of the way he still wore his jeans while she was totally naked. The fullness as he f*cked into her body while she fluttered around him. It was nearly too much and then it simply overflowed as she came.
He bent, one hand on the carpet next to her head to brace his weight, and he sped up. Deeper and harder. Over and over until he came as well, dropping that final inch to kiss the last of her wits away.
“Now I think I could really take a nice, long nap.” He kissed her once more and then behind her knee before helping her up.
* * *
She woke up after a long nap, feeling much better. He was still sleeping so she got up carefully and headed to the bathroom. After a shower she’d check her work messages and make another pot of coffee.
One message from her assistant to let her know the breakfast had ended well. She’d known that already because she’d checked in once she’d arrived in eastern Washington yesterday. A call from Jules, apologizing and asking for a return call. A message from Daisy checking in to see if she’d returned from the Gorge yet. Cal being grumpy because she hadn’t called Jules back yet. Her mother. Two calls about possible jobs. She wrote those numbers down as she turned her laptop on and called up her calendar.
Damien came out of the bedroom right as she was dealing with the second call. He moved to her quietly, kissed the top of her head and indicated he was going to shower.
He looked as good going as he did coming.
Once she got that call taken care of she figured she’d best deal with Daisy first.
“I’m back. We got in at nearly four this morning.” She discarded the junk in her inbox as she made the call.
“Was it fun?”
She smiled. “Yes. It was an awesome show. Adrian was amazing. Sweet Hollow Ranch was amazing. Gillian should be back today too. Miles starts school on Tuesday.”
“I can’t believe he’s going to be in high school. Our little Miles.”
“He’s so mature. This trip really changed him. He carries himself differently. With more, I don’t know, authority? Gillian positively glows.”
“Is he there?”
No use pretending she didn’t know Daisy meant Damien. “Yes. In the shower.”
“I’m waiting for you to invite us to dinner.”
Mary laughed. “All right. Come to dinner. Bring some wine. Let Levi pick. I’m making gumbo. I saw some good-looking shrimp at the market day before yesterday. I’ll pick some up with some spicy sausage. Damien gave me some filé powder and I’m anxious to try it.”
“Yum. Are you assailing my choice in wine?”
“Your man has excellent taste. In wine and women. If I wanted a painting, I’d definitely ask you.”
“You should invite Jules too. She’s sad. She didn’t mean to upset you.”
Mary sighed. “For god’s sake, it’s not the first time I’ve had a spat with Jules. I’ve known her since kindergarten. We’ve fought about probably every single thing under the sun. Why everyone has to be involved with this is beyond me. He’s going to be here two days, then he goes back to his life. I don’t want to overshadow this visit with any negativity or drama. I’m done with it. Things will be fine but I’m not going to let anyone make me feel bad or stupid or guilty.”
“She’s sorry. She loves you. We love you. We let that get in the way and ended up making you feel a way we never intended. You know how miserable she is when she’s in a fight with anyone. I’m sorry. I want you to be happy. I really do. I like him. I like that you like him. I promise.”
“I’ll see you guys at seven. But if this comes up, I’m not letting you have any food.”
“That’s so sneaky.”
“I’m a sneaky bitch.”
Daisy laughed as she hung up.