“Anytime.”
“You kept me from jumping up and screaming during the movie.”
“Why give her the satisfaction?”
“That’s exactly right, but I was close to giving her plenty of it.” Tipping back her head, she rose on her toes enough to meet his mouth with hers. “Now I’d rather give you plenty of it.”
“How about some give and take?”
When he ran his hands under her sweater, up her back, she boosted up to lock her legs around his waist. “You have the best ideas.”
Tonight, she wanted the heat and the movement, the fun of being able to give and to take. His hands on her body, his lips on her skin, lingering, lingering until everything in her ached and burned.
For more. Still more.
All hunger and greed, she rolled with him, urging him to take more, still more, even as she did.
She was like a brush fire under him, over him, around him. Hot and quick and dangerous. He told himself he let her set the tone, the pace, but he wasn’t sure he had a choice. Tonight, she consumed.
Urgency elicited urgency. He, breathless as she shuddered under him, gripped her hands with his. As he drove into her, he watched her face, watched the shocked pleasure flash over it. Watched her eyes go opaque as her breath caught, then released on a moan.
Though she shuddered, she moved with him, beat for beat on a fast, reckless climb. At the crest, their entwined fingers vised together, and held tight.
* * *
At three, the clock sounded, and Sonya slept on. Trey lay awake beside her listening to the music drifting up the stairs.
And from somewhere deep in the house, the sound of a woman weeping.
* * *
It surprised her when Cleo stopped in the library doorway before nine the next morning.
“You’re up early for Cleo.”
“I want to give the painting some time today, so gotta get started. Trey’s already gone?”
“He’ll soon be taking his first appointment of the day. Meanwhile, the Doyle Law Offices website is going live in five, four, three, two, one.”
“And the crowd cheers,” Cleo said, and stifled a yawn. “Need coffee.”
She came back in ten minutes with a mug.
“I just texted with Corrine Doyle. She strikes me as a woman who lines up her ducks.”
“Yeah, I’d say that’s accurate.”
“It looks like this duck is posing in her Ryder yoga outfit tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. She moves fast. Is that good for you?”
“Suited both of us. She’s arranged to use the little yoga studio in the village, and I can run some errands after.”
“Should I go with you? I should go with you.”
“You should not, because then you’d be all, maybe you should do this, do that, look this way, look that way.”
“I would. I couldn’t help it, but—”
“She’ll send you the best shots. Go back to work.”
“We should talk about what you’re doing with your hair.”
“No, we shouldn’t,” Cleo called back, and kept walking.
Sonya considered different pitches for changing Cleo’s mind. She even debated the chances of insisting—and killed that thought in its infancy.
Still, she fretted about it until, shortly after her midday walk, she got files emailed from Corrine Doyle.
In the first she found a dozen photos of Eddie on a bike. He wore a suit and tie, a backpack. She’d blurred the background enough he might have ridden on any street anywhere.
Young man riding to work, she thought.
The second file held another dozen, this time of Owen. Sweaty and sexy, she thought, sleeveless black tee, heavy weight curled toward the shoulder, biceps popped, face set, and eyes focused.
She studied ones of him standing, but thought: Nope, the close-up of the curl said it all.
“This is going to work.”
Immediately, she switched over to play with her two choices and the layout.
At the end of the day, she jogged into the kitchen.
“I’m making a salad,” Cleo told her. “We’ve got enough pork and potatoes for another meal if it’s just us, plus salad.”
“Fine. Look at this.”
She showed Cleo the evolving layout on her tablet.
“Ooh, a very handsome bike rider—love the suit and tie idea. And biceps. Mmm-mmm-mmm.”
“I know, right? Sexy.”
“You’ve already got a man.”
“I can still appreciate the mmm-mmm-mmm.”
“True. I pity the woman who can’t.”
“Picture you in your yoga pose, a couple kids playing basketball, Trey reaching for that line drive or fielding a bouncer, and so on. I think when I get them all, I’ll do a poster. Like, In sports, in life, Ryder’s got you.”
“You’ve got it going, Son.”
“I’m going to hit it for another hour or two after dinner, keep it going.”
“Works for me. I’m giving my mermaid—well, Owen’s mermaid—a little more time tonight.” Stopping, Cleo huffed out a breath. “Well, Jesus, Son, when did we get so boring?”
“Boring, my ass. We’re driven, creative, professional women. We forge our own path.”
“Damn right.”
“Besides, we went clubbing just a little while ago.”
“We did. We did that, but you know, maybe we should think about having a party. A gathering. A get-together.”
“A shindig?”
“A shindig. You know, something with food and drink and conversation. We know people. There’s the Doyles, and Owen—you could open it to the other cousins. There’s Bree and Manny.”
“John Dee, maybe the rest of Rock Hard.”
“Maybe add in your Poole’s Bay clients, the flower ladies, Gigi.”
As an idea struck, Sonya plucked a crouton out of the salad bowl and popped it into her mouth. “Not a shindig so much as an open house. You’ve got your High Street merchants, the mayor, and like that.”
“Keep it very informal. People come, people go during a, what, maybe three-hour period.”
“I’m liking this. People will come. They’re curious. Besides the Doyles, hardly anyone’s really been inside the manor for years, if ever.”
“It’ll take some planning.”
“We’re good at planning.”
“Nobody better,” Cleo agreed. “I can do an illustration of the manor.”
“Which I can use to create invitations.”
“I’m seeing Corrine tomorrow. I bet she’d know who should go on the guest list.”
After dishing up the meal, they sat at the kitchen counter, working on the details.
“Late May,” Sonya decided. “Early June. We’d have some green, some blooms. We’ll do some planters. People would be able to use the deck, the gardens.”
“If this shapes up the way it looks like it could, there’s no way our meager talents can handle the food.”
“So, we use every restaurant in the village—spread it out. Something from the Lobster Cage, from the pizzeria, from the hotel kitchen, from the bakery, the China Kitchen, the Village Pub. A little bit from all.”
“Smorgasbord, and excellent community relations. It’s genius. We’d need servers.”
“We tap Bree, Anna’s husband, get some help figuring that part out.”
“We’re beyond shindig, Son. We’re having An Event.”
Thrilled, Sonya bounced in her chair. “Who says we’re boring?”
“Not me.”
They went back to work, both full of ideas and enthusiasm.