Somebody to Love (26 page)

Parker sighed, put aside the red notebook and sat back in the old wooden chair. She’d slipped away from the wedding and was down on the dock, still in her dress. Beauty lay at her feet, contentedly staring out at the water, which was a purplish-blue under the darkening sky.

Lovely wedding. Just lovely, all that happiness so palpable. She’d laughed and eaten and truly enjoyed sitting with Lavinia and watching the bride and groom. Little Violet Jones fell asleep on her lap, an achingly wonderful moment, the sweet smell of the little girl’s head, her limp, warm weight so welcome.

But mostly, she’d felt James. Felt his every smile, directed at her or not. When he’d touched her face, his eyes so dark, she’d been unable to even breathe. Thought he might kiss her for a second. So, in typical fashion, she bolted, but from that moment on, she’d
felt
him. His laugh hit her in the stomach in a warm, aching squeeze, and each time those smiley, dark eyes met hers…well, hell, there it was again, that strong, tingling pull she’d only ever felt around him.

Music from the reception drifted down from the green and out over the water, the thump of bass and occasional roll of laughter easily heard from the dock. The music changed from fast to slow…something by Norah Jones, the words just out of reach.

The tingling pull started again. She turned her head, and there he was, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up, his tie loosened, standing at the foot of the dock, watching her. Beauty’s tail swished.

“Hey, James,” she said mildly.

Mildly, right. Her heart was shuddering, it was beating so fast.
Jump him,
Spike advised.
He’s a guy. He’ll love it.
In her mind, the former child angel wore a black leather jacket and squinted through a haze of cigarette smoke. She should look into medication for this.

James came over to her, the dock rocking gently. He stood in front of her and held out his hand. “Come on, coward,” he murmured. “You owe me a dance.”

His hand was warm and sure. He pulled her to her feet, right against him, and Parker thought she might actually swoon, because he smelled so good, was so warm. Her entire body seemed to melt into his as his arm slipped around her waist. Her hand went to his shoulder, and James tipped his head and smiled at her, just a little. Parker swallowed, then put her cheek on his solid shoulder.

Norah Jones’s smoky voice floated across the water, and the waves lapped against the dock, and she and James stood there, barely moving.
Do something, James,
she thought.
Help me out here.

Slowly, slowly, he slid his hands down her bare arms, threading his fingers through hers. His hair tickled her neck as he bent his head, his lips warm as he kissed her shoulder, and the relief was so immense that her knees wobbled. He smiled against her neck.

Parker slipped one hand against his chest, feeling the solid thumping of his heart, such a sweet, intimate feeling that the ache in her grew sharply. His lips moved higher up her neck, his beautiful mouth smooth and warm against her skin.

Beauty suddenly decided that James was all right, because she chose that moment to stand, putting her paws against his knee, as if she was cutting in. James smiled down at the little dog, then looked at Parker, and honest to God, she was actually dizzy, his smile was that good, crinkling his eyes, changing his face.

He leaned in a little closer, still smiling, still not kissing her, but please, it’d better be soon or she might die. She closed her eyes, and thank goodness, his lips were against hers, the softest brush, so smooth and warm. Another brush. Then he did kiss her, a gentle, soft kiss that she returned carefully, almost shyly.

This was so different from that first time, so long ago, when she’d barely been thinking, when she’d used him to distract herself from loneliness. This was slow and tender and meltingly wonderful, James’s mouth against hers, waiting for her response. Then he cradled her head in his hands, angling for better access to her mouth, and kissed her more fully. Her hand slid into his thick, curling hair, and he held her closer, that beautiful mouth kissing hers as if there was nothing more he wanted to do other than stand out here and do exactly what they were doing.

Beauty whined, and James smiled. He pulled back a little and smoothed Parker’s hair back from her hot face.

“The blackflies are starting to bite,” Parker whispered.

“Maybe we should go in,” he said, that smile still playing at his mouth.

“Okay.”

Then he took her hand and led her off the dock, up the stairs and into the house, and Parker went with him as if it was normal, not as if her legs were watery and her whole body was pulsing with a warm, honeyed glow; as if this was old hat, no big deal, when the truth was, she felt something akin to terror here, all that warm, glowing stuff aside. Beauty leaped neatly onto the couch, ditching them, the good dog. James led her down the hall, past his room. There was her bedroom. Yep. Terror.

James stopped outside her door, tilted her chin up and kissed her again. He stopped almost immediately this time, pulling back to look at her. “You okay?” His voice was gentle. Which made sense. He was a gentle man.

The thought somehow made her more scared than ever.

“Yeah! No. It’s just…I’m a little…nervous,” she heard herself say.

Yes. The woman who’d given birth to an eight-pound, nine-ounce bouncing baby boy in a total of three hours. No drugs, either. Not really virgin-bride material.

His eyes were dark. “We don’t have to do anything, Parker,” he murmured, and his voice alone made Lady Land croon.

“Right. No, I know that. Which, thank you, by the way.” She took a shaky breath. “No, James, it’s just the last guy I was with was…” She felt her head wiggling around like a bobble-head figurine and managed to stop. She looked at his chest, which seemed like a safe place to park her eyes. “You. You’re the last guy I was with.”

He didn’t answer. She continued looking at his chest. Fascinating shirt, all white and, um…cottony. Then he cupped her face so she really did have to look at him.

His eyes were soft. And he was smiling. He looked so relaxed, how could he be relaxed when she was about to jump out of her skin?

“And that was… But this…” she said. “It feels—it feels different.” Her voice was a whisper now.

Very slowly, as if she were a skittish fawn—Why a fawn? Why not a skittish mule or ferret? Oh, Lord, her brain was going to explode—James kissed her, just a soft brush on the lips. “Maybe because we’re friends now,” he murmured.

And that was it exactly. Whether it was good or bad, she didn’t know.

It was probably good.

He leaned in, so slowly, and kissed her again, and without quite realizing she’d moved, she found her hands were sliding against his lean rib cage, up to his chest.

“Is that a yes?” he whispered, pulling back the slightest bit.

“It’s a yes,” she breathed.

“Good.”

“Yes.”

He reached behind her and opened the door, his mouth finding her again, hot and slow and sweet. Backed her into the room, one hand undoing her hair clip, sliding his fingers through her hair, down her back. Her dress was suddenly looser—he’d unzipped it, clever lad—and his tongue brushed hers, and suddenly her hands remembered what they were for. They were for unbuttoning his shirt, even if they were shaking a little. His skin was hot and smooth, and she jerked his shirt open, exposing that beautiful torso, and pulled him down on the bed, suddenly desperate to get him on her, in her.

He captured her hands in his and pinned them gently above her head, his fingers twining with hers. “Not this time,” he whispered, kissing just below her ear. “This time, we take things slow.”

Then, his mouth hot and sure as he tasted her neck, his hands releasing hers to slip her dress off her shoulders, James proceeded to show her why some things in life shouldn’t be rushed.

And you know what?

The guy had a point.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

W
HEN
J
AMES
WOKE
up, the sun was at an odd angle, shining right into his face. The bed felt different.

He bolted upright. Reality, or really, really excellent dream? Nope, this was her room. Clock said 8:13 a.m. The latest he’d slept in months. He turned his head, and sure enough, a gorgeous female was looking at him.

Just not the one he expected.

“Hey, Beauty,” he said, and the dog wriggled closer and rolled on her back, offering her stomach, which he rubbed obligingly.

Man. Best night of his
life.
Parker Harrington Welles, with him. All night. For a few seconds there, when they’d come up from the dock, he’d thought she might bolt and they’d have to start all over again. Or never.

Nope. The Fates smiled on him, and if she wasn’t the most beautiful, softest…the way she’d said his name with a little gasp of surprise as she came, and the sweet, soft sinking afterward, as if her bones had dissolved and all she could do was curl against him, her hair cool and smooth against his shoulder.

Shocking. It was shocking, how good it had felt. Maybe it was years of unrequited imagining, but James could honestly say that there was sex, which was always a good thing.

And then there was last night. Which was unbelievable.

Where was she, anyway? He didn’t hear anything going on in the rest of the house. No shower running, no noise from the kitchen.

He got out of bed and pulled on some clothes, an image of Parker on top of him actually making him stop in his tracks.

Best. Night. Ever.

She wasn’t in the kitchen. Wasn’t on the dock. Wasn’t painting in his room, wasn’t outside in the little yard. Wasn’t swimming, thank God.

No note, either. Odd, because she’d been leaving him little notes as to her whereabouts lately.

At that moment, his cell phone rang.
New Hampshire Correctional
.

Shit. “Hey, Harry,” he said.

“James. How are you?”

Great, Harry. Just shagged your daughter. A few times, actually.
“I’m, uh, I’m good. How are you?”

“Not bad.” There was a pause. “How’s Parker?”

So, so good.
James grimaced. “She’s excellent. I mean, uh, very good. She’s fine. I mean, she’s looking forward to seeing her son next weekend.” He closed his eyes.

“Good. How’s the house coming along?”

“Pretty well.”

“She hasn’t been to see me. You think you could get her to come down?”

James paused. “Well, I think you should ask her yourself, Harry. It’d probably mean more, coming from you.”

“Is that right? And now you know my daughter better than I do?”

Oh, most definitely, boss.
“Something wrong?”

“It would be
pleasant,
James, if my only child decided she could get her ass in the car and visit me.”

“Okay. I’ll pass that message on.”

“Thank you.” Harry’s voice was curt.

“So how’s sobriety?” James asked.

There was a long pause. “It’s harder than I thought,” Harry acknowledged. “Sorry if I’m being a prick.”

“No, Harry, you’re fine. You’re in prison. You’re supposed to be in a bad mood. Maybe you should join a gang, make some friends.”

Harry laughed. “You’re the only friend I have, kid.” There was an unfamiliar note of sincerity in his voice. “All right, James. Take care.”

“You, too, Harry.”

Bringing up Harry was not really on James’s list of top ten things to talk about with Parker. Especially now, when she’d apparently bolted. Her car wasn’t in the driveway, so she must be either at the diner or the flower shop. Or on the Interstate.

A note would’ve been nice.

Parker, warm and sleepy in bed next to him, would’ve been even better.

With a sigh, James took a shower, fed the dog and walked into town. She wasn’t at the diner, which was packed with pretty much the same folks he’d seen at the wedding yesterday. He said hello to a dozen or so people, got two coffees to go and headed for Lavinia’s.

As he walked in front of the open window of the shop, he heard Parker curse. “Tell him I’m on a delivery,” she hissed, completely audible. James rolled his eyes and went in.

“Hey, Lavinia,” he said, setting one cup of coffee on the counter and taking a sip of his own. “Brought you a coffee. Didn’t think you were open so early. On a Sunday. And look at you, here all by your lonesome.”

Lavinia stubbed out her cigarette on her palm, looking somewhat like a creased and grumpy badger. “I don’t
usually
open so early on a Sunday morning, you’re right. But as you might know, I live upstairs, and some crazed idiot was unlocking the door at six-fuckin’-thirty. To clean up the shop, she said.” Lavinia picked up the coffee and took a sip. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. So this crazed idiot, I guess she’s on a delivery, huh?”

“Ayuh. Something to that effect.”

James nodded. “Well, I’d like to send her flowers.”

“Sure. Your money.”

“Okay, here’s what I want the card to say. You ready?”

Lavinia picked up a pen and grinned. “Go for it, kid.”

“Dear Parker, thank you for the best sex I’ve ever had, even counting the last time you did me, which was also fantastic. Still, last night was even better. I’d love to have these encounters more than once every few years, and as we are currently living together—”

The door to the back room opened. “Okay! Fine! I’m here. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

“Parker, hi, what a shock. I thought you were on a delivery.” He grinned at the sight of her flushed face.

“I’ll leave you two lovers alone,” Lavinia said with a rusty chuckle. “Eavesdropping the whole time, of course.”

Parker waited till Lavinia went into the back room. “James, I’m sorry I had to leave so early. I, um, had to clean up.”

“No, you didn’t. You’re avoiding me.”

“Okay, yes, I’m avoiding you.” She shoved a piece of hair behind her ear, pinched her pinkie, then folded her arms over her chest and looked at the floor, Princess Agitation. “I wasn’t sure what to say.”

“I missed you,” he said.

She pinched her pinkie again, biting her lip, as well. Very agitated indeed. “I— Can we—” She stopped herself, looked down for a second. Sighed, then raised her eyes back to him. “Last night might’ve been a huge mistake. I don’t know. I’m not really sure what I want here, or what you want, or what… Anyway, I need to think a little bit, and I’m not ready for a conversation yet.”

He was not going to let her shovel some wrongheaded story again. “Well, for what it’s worth, last night
wasn’t
a huge mistake, as far as I’m concerned. And I don’t believe you think it was, either.”

“Well, I— You might be right. I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, his voice containing a hard edge. Good. “You blew me off the last time, Parker. You really gonna do that again?”

She looked at the floor again. “No,” she whispered. “I’m just thinking. Okay? I’m not blowing you off. And I’m sorry that I bolted this morning. As you might be aware, I’m not really good at relationships.”

She looked so miserable that he wanted to leap over the counter and kiss her stupid.

“Give me a few hours, okay?” she asked.

Well, shit. He couldn’t really say no, could he? Still, he couldn’t suppress a sigh, either. “Fine.”

“Thank you for finding me,” she whispered. “It was very sweet.”

That was the thing with Parker. Made him crazy on one hand, made him crazy on the other, but for two entirely different reasons. Plexiglas heart vs. gooey caramel center.

“I’ll be at home,” he said. “And I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.”

“My Gawd, that’s wicked romantic,” Lavinia called. “Nice one, Jamie.”

“Thanks, Vin,” he called, not looking away from Parker.

Then, what else could a guy do? He went home.

* * *

“F
IVE
YEARS
? P
LEASE
.
Jonah’s thirteen years younger than I am. Jamie’s what? Twenty-nine? Thirty? That’s totally legal. So he’s your beautiful boy toy. Run with it.”

“Beats the electronic solution,” Lavinia added.

Parker sighed. Advice from Chantal and Lavinia—probably not the best role models.

“There doesn’t seem to be a good ending here,” she said, trying yet again to explain. “When I thought about a summer fling, it was with someone I barely knew.”

“Trashy,” Vin said admiringly.

“So he’s not just a fling. But he’s not stepfather material, either. He’s…I don’t know. Glib.”

“Is he glib? What does glib mean, exactly?” Lavinia said, scratching her head.

“It means insincere and shallow,” Chantal answered.

They were drinking cheap white wine at some odd little structure in the middle of nowhere, half bar, half restaurant and the only alternative to Dewey’s in a forty-mile radius. Chantal had dropped by the shop to chat that afternoon, and Lavinia, claiming Chantal was an expert on all things male, had spilled out Parker’s deeply personal issues. A girls’ night had been deemed necessary, and as Parker wasn’t really sure about going home, here they were at Jason’s Taverne.

Parker sighed. “See, he’s only here this summer because my father told him to come. He’s being paid. Not to have sex with me, maybe, but still. I can never tell if he’s sincere or jerking my chain. And half the time, I think he’s only nice to me because it’s part of his job.”

“But your father’s in jail, so James doesn’t have a job, does he?” Vin asked. Parker shrugged.

“And he might be glib,” Chantal said thoughtfully, “but he has the best ass in town since Father Tim. Hey, I’m married, not blind.”

“So have a fling,” Lavinia said. “God knows you could use one.”

“Thanks, Vin. You’re so sweet to say so.” Parker sighed.

“Why not, Parker?” Chantal agreed. “Lavinia’s right. Have a fling. He’s there, he’s edible, you’re horny—”

“Okay, okay. What if
I’m
not fling material?” Parker said, cheeks hot. This whole conversation was extremely uncomfortable.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Chantal said, eating some popcorn and waving to some guy at the bar who was eyeballing her. “Sorry,” she called. “Happily married.” She refocused on Parker. “Call it a summer romance. What are you afraid of? If James was good at seventeen, I can only imagine—”

“And again, I’m so uncomfortable talking about this,” Parker said, leaning her forehead against her fist. The cheap wine was doing its trick. “What if I break his heart or something? What if he breaks mine?”

Lavinia drained her Seven and Seven. “Then you’ll both be older and wiser and write a song about it or something. I don’t know, sweetheart. He seems like a guy who’s been around a bit. Looking like that, hell, he probably has to hold women off with a bowie knife.”

Where Lavinia came up with her expressions was a mystery.

“When does your son come up?” Chantal asked.

“Sunday. A week from today,” Parker said. Thank God, Nicky would be back in her life. Her little rock.

“So have a fling for a week, Parker. Enjoy yourself. Live a little.” Chantal patted her hand. Just then her phone rang. “Speaking of boy toys,” she said, clicking on. “Hi, babe. Don’t bother me. I’m out with the girls. Oh, really?” Her expression changed to a sex-kitten purr. “Is that right? Uh-huh. Go on. You did not. You did? Ooh. The whole thing? Well, I love you, too. I’ll be home in twenty minutes.” She hung up the phone. “Baby’s asleep, Jonah did the dishes and washed the kitchen floor.” She stood up and smoothed her dress over her lush hips. “My husband is about to get laid. Parker, my advice is, go for it. See you, girls.”

Lavinia drove Parker back to Gideon’s Cove. “Want me to drop you off?” she asked as she came up to the flower shop.

“No, I’ll walk. I could use the air. Thanks, though.” Parker sat for a second. “You’ve been really good to me, Lavinia. I appreciate it.”

“Ah, shit, it’s nothing.”

“It’s a lot. I wish I’d known you when I was younger.”

“Well, you’re hardly in the grave now, are you?”

“Guess not. You’re gonna love Nicky.”

“I’m sure I will, sweetheart. Now get outta my car.”

The stars were blazing overhead. No light pollution up here, that was for sure. The town was quiet, as it was after 9:00 p.m., and the smell of pines and salt filled the air. The shushing of the water in the cove was soft and lovely tonight.

She could do a fling. Sure. Maybe. Probably not, actually. Last night hadn’t felt like a fling. The first time, at Esme’s wedding, yes. That was porno-movie sex. Definitely flingish. But last night had been slow and long and tender, and there’d been smiling, even.

Bugger.

I fail to see a problem here,
Spike said.