My stomach hollowed as I recalled the way he’d driven deep inside me, so deep it had hurt. Never in my life had I experienced anything like the way that sharp twinge had started to feel good. How could pain accompany pleasure like that? How had two opposite sensations merged inside my body, so seamlessly that I couldn’t tell where the pain stopped and where the pleasure began? Which was which?
And I’d screamed and panted and gasped and clawed at him like an animal. He’d drawn something out of me, a part of myself I didn’t even know was there, a part that existed only to want so ferociously, I could think of nothing else—not our crude surroundings, our nonexistent relationship status, not even our privacy. I never once worried about how loud I was or felt ashamed of my desire or stopped to fret that well-bred ladies should not appear to enjoy sex so unabashedly. (Bet I was the first Thurber woman to fuck a farmer in a forest.) I’d loved every minute of it. Even his O face.
Was sex with Jack always like that? I wondered if the mad desperation of it was due to the fact that it had been so long for both of us or if he was always so rough and aggressive.
You’ll never know. Understand?
Out of nowhere, Old Margot made an unwelcome appearance.
You both agreed it was a one-time thing. Leave it alone.
I frowned, waiting for New Margot to speak up and defend my right to another mind-blowing orgasm, but that scone cold bitch said nothing.
See? Even she agrees. There is no universe in which you and Jack Valentini make any sense whatsoever. Fine, he’s not the jerk you thought he was this afternoon, but the reasons you need to forget about him still exist, not to mention that he’s made no secret of the fact he’ll be glad to be rid of you when you’re gone. Finish up your work here and get back where you belong.
Sighing, I rolled over onto my stomach and closed my eyes. Old Margot was right. In ten days, I’d be back in my world, and this would just be that craziest-thing-I’ve-ever-done story I looked back on and laughed about.
Or cried about. One of the two.
Seventeen
Jack
I lay in bed that night, waiting for the guilt to assault me. For my conscience to prick me. For my ghosts to haunt me. For regret, for tears, for a bitter taste in my mouth. All the familiar things that usually accompanied a sleepless night.
But it didn’t happen. Even Bridget Jones lay beside me, content and purring. Didn’t she know what a horrible person I was?
Come on, I thought angrily. Someone needs to scream at me for this. Make me feel bad. Demand to know how I could do such a thing. Make me answer for this, God. I shouldn’t come away unscathed.
But God was silent tonight.
Instead the voice in my head was Margot’s. I don’t even know why I want this so badly, but I do.
It was a mystery to me, too, this explosive chemistry between a beautiful, sophisticated city girl and a rough-around-the-edges country guy like me. Where did it come from? And why did it have such a grip on me? It drove me insane the way I couldn’t stop thinking about her. All I could do was pray that giving in to that desire would get her out from under my skin.
I was likely out from under hers, anyway. She’d been pretty quick to decide we should just pretend it never happened. Not that I disagreed—I didn’t need anyone in my family to know about it, and I certainly didn’t want to pursue any kind of relationship with her. I wasn’t free to do that.
My heart would always, always belong to someone else. I’d made a promise to Steph, and I intended to keep it. Not only that, I wanted to be the kind of man she’d be proud of. I wanted to honor her memory. I wanted to honor her.
Thinking about how to do that kept me up long into the night.
In the morning, after checking on the animals, I went up to Pete and Georgia’s for coffee. I could have made it at the cabin, but I owed them both an apology and wanted to get a few things off my chest.
I knocked twice on the back door before letting myself in. “Morning.”
Georgia looked over her shoulder at me from where she sat at the kitchen table helping Cooper with his breakfast. “Morning.” Neither her tone nor her face was particularly welcoming.
I’d expected that. “Pete around?”
“He’s out front.”
“OK to have some coffee?”
“Help yourself.”
I poured a cup, ruffled Cooper’s hair, and went out to the driveway, where Pete was changing the oil on an ATV. “Hey,” I said.
He glanced at me. Barely. “Hey.”
“Almost done?”
“Not really.”
“Can you take a break?”
“For what?”
“I have something to say, and I want to say it to you and Georgia at the same time.”
My brother laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I think you said enough yesterday.”
I took a deep, slow breath, fighting my instincts to get angry and snap back. “I was wrong yesterday, and I’d like to apologize.”
“You should apologize to Margot.”
“I did.”
He looked up at me in surprise, shielding his eyes from the sun. “You did?”
“Yes.”
Turning his attention back to the oil filter, he was silent for a few seconds. “I’ll meet you inside in five minutes.”