by Jill Shalvis
“You know what I want,” she whispered.
He lifted his head. The look in his eyes as they met hers caused a rush of heat and desire. “Now?” His voice was low, giving her goose bumps over her entire body. The very best kind of goose bumps.
“Now,” she said. “Here.”
The words had barely left her mouth before he turned them, pressing her to the door now as his mouth came down on hers. Things got hazy then, in the very best of ways. Clothing became optional, pieces flying as fast as they were discarded.
“Charlotte.”
She had her back to the door, her legs wrapped around him as he leaned into her, supporting them both, poised to give her the biggest diversion she’d had in a long time. She wriggled her hips impatiently. “Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” she gasped. “I am. I’m surer of this than anything. So not to be rude or anything, but do it, Mateo. Do me. Here. Now.”
With a rough laugh, he gave her what she wanted, and then neither of them were laughing. There was no more talking either. Well, unless she counted the deliciously erotic dirty talk . . .
Chapter 23
Jane pulled up to her grandpa’s cabin and smiled. “That was fun.”
Hand on the car door handle, his face lit only by the ambient interior dashboard, her grandpa smiled back.
“Haven’t been out past midnight in a long time. Levi’s family was nice.”
“Very,” she agreed, realizing she was still smiling. They were nice. And funny. And irreverent. And . . . pretty great.
“Jane.” Her grandpa waited until she looked at him. “You’ve changed everything for me, Jane. I hope you know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“For coming to me and showing me what courage is, for reminding me that love had to be earned. For including me tonight like I’m family, like I’m important to you.” He lifted his hands. “For everything, really.” Reaching out, he put his hand over hers. “I love having you back in my life, Jane. I won’t be careless with you, not ever again. I promise you that. I hope you’ll agree to continue to see me.”
“I’ll be leaving soon, but we can stay in touch.”
He gave a sad smile at the reminder she would be gone, and suddenly something seemed off about him, so she turned her hand over and squeezed his. “Grandpa? You feeling okay?”
“Never better.”
She nodded, stared at their entwined hands, then into his eyes. “You’re going in for regular checkups?”
“Yes.”
“And all is okay?” she pressed.
“All is okay.”
“Promise me,” she said.
He looked her right in the eyes and smiled. “I promise. Good night, Jane. Love you. To the moon and back.”
Her eyes filled. That had been her grandma’s favorite saying. She’d whispered it to Jane every single night. “To the moon and back,” she repeated.
He got out of her car. She watched him walk carefully up to his door and vanish inside. She stayed there until the lights came on, then pulled away and headed back to Charlotte’s house.
She let herself in and then stopped short when she realized that she’d just walked right in without worrying about whether to knock or not, like she really did live here.
Like it was home.
It felt right. In fact, everything felt so right that it scared her. How she could be so fierce in her everyday life, but when it came to the personal, to the heart and soul of things, she always second-guessed anything good.
Shaking her head, she went into the kitchen and grabbed a can of cat food from the stash she’d been keeping in the pantry. She prepared a plate for Cat and opened the back door.
The big gray cat strolled in like she owned the place, sat back on her haunches, and gave Jane a haughty look. “Meow.”
Cat-speak for “you’re late.”
“And you’re not supposed to be in the house,” Jane said and set down the plate on the kitchen floor anyway.
Cat sniffed at it, then settled herself in, eating daintily, tail twitching. She took her time finishing, and then without so much as a thank-you, she headed out into the night.
“You’re welcome!” Jane called after her.
The house was quiet. Yawning, she tiptoed down the hall and then stopped short in shock.
Charlotte was painting Jane’s bedroom door. “Meant to finish this and get in bed before you saw it,” she said with a grimace.
Jane shook her head. “What are you doing?”
“Painting.”
“It’s two in the morning.”
“And . . . ?” Charlotte asked.
Jane just looked at the big, curvy letters in blues and greens that spelled out her name. Well, they spelled out J-A-N because the E hadn’t been filled in yet. There were mountains and trees sketched out around her name, also not yet painted.
“The paint’s oil based,” Charlotte said. “More permanent than Sharpie. Just to hammer home the point that this room is yours and only yours. Also, I had to watch YouTube videos on how to draw the mountains and trees, so if that’s not love . . . Oh, and I printed up a billion-year rental agreement for you on your dresser. Sign it.”
A billion-year rental agreement. Clearly, Charlotte had lost her noodles. “But—”
“No. No buts. We’re doing this.” She paused. “You’re not going to freak out, are you?”
“I’m trying,” Jane said slowly. “But I think I’m too tired for a freak-out.” She grabbed a paintbrush and started filling in a tree.
Charlotte just stared at her.
“What?”
“You’re never too tired to freak out when you think you’re putting down roots by accident.”
Jane just kept painting, concentrating very hard on the tree, making sure to fill it in just right.
Charlotte gave a low laugh. “You slept with Levi again. You must really like him. Like really, really like him. As in maybe even love him.”
“I don’t know.” Jane bit her lower lip. “Okay, maybe. But we’re not talking about it. Because if we did talk about it, I’d be putting it out there in the universe for karma to mess it all up somehow. That’s how my life goes, you know. The good stuff isn’t ever real. So yeah . . . not talking about it. Ever.”
“Jane.” Charlotte got to her feet. “You do realize you deserve to be loved just like any other girl.”
Jane couldn’t help it, she hugged Charlotte. “Yeah, and right back at you, babe.” She stepped back and took a closer look at Charlotte and laughed. “You want to tell me why your shirt’s on backwards?”
“Um . . . I dressed in the dark?”
“Uh-huh,” Jane said, fascinated by Charlotte’s sudden blush. “And the love bite on your throat?”
“Shit.” Charlotte slapped a hand right to the spot. With her free hand she jabbed her paintbrush in Jane’s direction. “You know what? I’m pulling a Jane. We’re not talking about it. Ever. Because if we were to talk about it, that would be putting it out there into the universe for karma to mess it up somehow.”
Jane stared at her for a long beat. “Fair. So . . . we’re just going to paint?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Jane dipped her brush into the paint again. “Just tell me it was Mateo.”
Charlotte grinned dopily. “It was Mateo.”
Jane laughed, then stilled at the unmistakable meow right behind her. She turned and found Cat sitting there in the hallway, watching with her sharp gray eyes. “How did you get back inside?”
“I’ve got the basement window cracked open,” Charlotte said.
Cat sauntered closer, all the way to Jane’s door, which she gave a light, half-assed scratch to with her front paw.
“I think she’s knocking,” Charlotte said dryly.
Jane opened her bedroom door.
Cat stared at her for a long beat, then walked inside, head and tail high, as if she owned the place. Then she jumped up on Jane’s bed and made herself at home.
; On Jane’s pillow.
Jane felt the last piece of her heart click into place and looked at Charlotte. “So . . . can we add a pet clause on that billion-year lease?”
Chapter 24
A few minutes later, Charlotte crawled into bed, satisfied from Jane’s reaction to her newly painted bedroom door, but also still smiling a little dreamily about how she’d spent the earlier part of the evening.
In Mateo’s bed.
And Mateo’s shower . . .
Then his bed again.
Okay, yes, she’d then sneaked out of said bed and back to her place, but baby steps, right? Besides, he probably hadn’t even realized that she’d left. She plumped up her pillow and told herself to go to sleep. She’d just finally drifted off when she was jerked awake by a knock at the front door. “No,” she said out loud.
When the knock came again, she blew out a breath and slipped out of bed. Because nothing good ever happened at three in the morning, she grabbed the fireplace poker on the way to the front door. She looked through the peephole and froze.
Mateo.
And he didn’t look thrilled. Huh. Okay, so maybe he’d minded her sneaking out. But really, he should be thanking her. She was a restless sleeper and she liked to sleep diagonally across the bed and—
“I know you’re in there, Charlotte,” came his sleep-roughened voice. Which for the record, was almost as good as his sex-roughened voice. “I can hear you breathing.”
That actually couldn’t be true, because the minute he’d spoken, she’d stopped breathing.
“Charlotte.”
With a grimace, she opened the door.
Mateo took in the sight of her. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, which she’d stolen. Nothing else. Well, except the fireplace poker. Not to mention her undoubtedly defensive attitude. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” she asked.
“Good question.” He stood there in the freezing night wearing nothing but a pair of sweat bottoms, looking rumpled and roughly sexy—and good God, was that a bite mark on his neck?
She’d bitten him too?
“Normally,” he said, “I prefer to share breakfast with the person I just slept with. But then again, you didn’t sleep. Instead, you waited for me to fall asleep and then sneaked out. In the middle of the night. While it was snowing. Without a coat or your shoes. Without so much as a note.” He gave a long once-over. “What kind of a southern woman doesn’t leave a missive, Charlotte?”
Guilt swamped her and she sagged, dropping the poker. “I know, I’m sorry, it was awful of me, but I didn’t know what to do.”
Pushing off from the doorjamb, he took a step toward her, still not touching her with anything other than that piercing dark gaze. “You didn’t know what to do,” he repeated, sounding like he was trying to make sense of that.
She wanted to take a few steps back from him because she needed thinking room, which was hard with his larger-than-life presence filling up the entire foyer. But she didn’t move away because she didn’t want him to think she was afraid of him.
She wasn’t.
She was afraid of her own heart, of what that heart wanted. “I didn’t know what to do,” she said again, softer now.
“Okay, then let me make a suggestion.” He took another step until they were toe-to-toe. Lifting a hand, he traced a finger along her jaw. “After we make love, after we have pillow talk and cuddle, after you do that sexy-as-hell thing where you curl into me, murmur my name in that sensual little sated sigh, and close your eyes . . . you don’t sneak out into the winter night wearing, near as I can tell, next to nothing. Instead, you talk or yell, laugh, cry . . . hell, climb on top of me and ride me like a bronco again, whatever you want. Sleep is also a good option.”
“I didn’t ride you like a bronco.”
He gave her a heated look, which made her blush. He was right. She’d ridden him like a bronco and had practically yelled giddyup while she was at it. “Okay, one time.”
“And after?”
Damn. Yeah. After, she’d curled into him and closed her eyes, trying to soak up his warm, hard body and the way it held hers, marveling at how he had a way of making her feel safe and secure. “But staying the night, that’s what girlfriends do.”
“Yeah. And?”
“I’m not your girlfriend.”
“Really?” He shifted in closer now, so that they were sharing air. Like they had when they’d had their mouths fused to each other, sharing deep, sensual, erotic kisses . . . “Because only a few hours ago it felt a hell of a lot like you were my girlfriend. Like when you—”
On a choked laugh, she reached up and covered his mouth with her hand. “Don’t.” But it was too late. Memories washed over her, his worshiping every inch of her body, her turning the tables and doing the same to him, knowing she might never be able to get enough of him . . .
“Charlotte.” His voice was terrifyingly gentle as he removed her hand from his mouth and held on to it. “Maybe we should talk.”
“It’s three thirty in the morning.”
He just looked at her.
She squirmed. “Talking makes things real. And real things . . . well, they end, Mateo.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Stop running.”
“I’m not trying to.” She tossed up her hands. “Look, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a handful.”
“That’s okay, I’ve got two hands.”
She smiled, but her eyes also filled. “I told you from the very beginning,” she managed around a rough throat. “I don’t date. And I don’t sleep in other people’s beds either. I . . .” She broke off to breathe. “I can’t sleep in other people’s bed. And you know why.”
His eyes softened as he reached for her, sudden understanding in every line of his body now.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really am, but—”
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Charlotte,” he murmured, slipping a hand in hers. “We could always try your bed.”
She stared down at their entwined fingers, running the pad of her thumb over his calloused palm. She shivered, remembering some of the things his hands had done to her, all incredibly, amazingly perfect. “I don’t sleep well if someone else is in my bed.”
“Then lucky for you I don’t mind sleeping on the floor. Did it for most of my premed college years actually. Couldn’t afford my own room, so I couch-surfed. It was better than a park bench.” He reached back out the door and picked up something he’d apparently left on the porch before knocking.
A rolled-up sleeping bag. “This thing has seen a lot,” he said. “Your floor will be luxurious accommodations, trust me.”
She stared at the sleeping bag and realized . . . he’d known her problem all along. Known and understood. And had come up with a work-around. As if maybe she truly, honestly did mean something to him.
“My floor is hardwood,” she said inanely.
His eyes twinkled, but he didn’t smile. “Doesn’t bother me, as long as it doesn’t bother you.” With his free hand, he tipped her face up to his. “Does it bother you, Charlotte? That I want to sleep near you? That I want to be with you?”
Staring at him for a long beat, she slowly shook her head.
He smiled, stepped all the way inside, and closed the door at his back before taking her hand and just looking at her.
Letting her make the move, she realized. So she led him upstairs, her heart pounding in her chest and in her ears. Incredibly aware of him at her back, she brought him inside her room.
He shut the door, walked to her bed, and pulled back her covers, gesturing for her to get in. “You’re cold,” he murmured, “wearing only that stolen shirt.”
“Borrowed.”
“What’s mine is yours. Besides, I love the way you look in it.” He pulled the covers up to her chin, planted a hand on either side of her head and leaned in to kiss her softly. “’Night.”
Then he unrolled his sleeping bag and slid into it. On the floor.
Neither came.
She let out a breath and dropped a hand over the side of the bed.
Reaching up, he slipped his into hers. “Sweet dreams, Charlotte.”
For a beat, she lay there, taking in the room. Quiet. Warm. Dark. She could hear Mateo’s steady breathing from the floor.
Hers wasn’t steady. In fact, she might not be breathing at all. Because it was decision time. Right here, right now. If she was going to face her fears, there was no better man to do that with than Mateo. She knew this because every time she was anywhere in his proximity, she felt a calm wash over her, as well as a sense of anticipation. The very best kind of anticipation. It was like her body recognized him as a soulmate.
Even as her brain pretended such a thing didn’t exist.
She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to give one horrific memory the power to steal away the hope of a happy future. She wanted to reach out and grab what was hers for the taking.
She was scared. Terrified, actually. But she was also a hundred percent positive she was doing the right thing. “Mateo?”
“Yeah?”
She slid out of her bed. “Move over?”
He scooted and made room for her, and she crawled into his sleeping bag.
Chapter 25
The next day Jane grabbed her lunch bag from the Homeward resort’s staff fridge where she’d stashed it and headed outside. The temp was a brisk thirty-two degrees, but in the sun at high altitude, it would feel warm and glorious. And after five hours in the packed urgent care, she needed some warm and glorious.
But even working as hard as she did in Tahoe, she enjoyed the work. For one thing, she didn’t see the death and gore up here as she did for the rest of the year.
But the biggie, the thing that kept her coming back, was the connections she’d made in spite of herself. She’d grown roots here. Her relationship with Charlotte. Mateo. Even Cat. Her grandpa . . . And she knew the list wasn’t complete without Levi on it, no matter how temporary they were.