Chapter 155

Jon smoothed back her bangs, stretching his legs out on the couch. The warm weight of her was the first bit of reassurance he’d had in months. He was still ready for her to leave again. How long would it be before he could trust that she’d stay? Did he have any right to ask her to?

She’d trusted him with the real story about why she’d run away from him. He couldn’t even imagine that kind of guilt, but the fact that she’d kept all of that inside of her instead of sharing it with him put a microscope over his own flaws.

They talked about everything but their personal demons. Oh, he’d shared his fears about Richie, about the music, about his ex-wife—but they’d forgotten to let each other in on the important things that build the foundation of a relationship. He wasn’t used to sharing anything, not even his emotions. He didn’t have to share anything with Dorothea anymore—she knew it all.

But Tessa didn’t. Tessa needed to know all those little nuances about him. She deserved to know all the dark spaces inside him as well as the light. The fact that her absence in his life had torn such a hole inside of him was proof of her worth. Making her see that would be the test. As he drifted off with her, he had to wonder if his unyielding stubborn streak was a match for hers.

He woke with a jerk, her weight gone. Even before he could peel both eyes open, he crashed off the couch, catching himself at the last moment. Rounding the couch he rushed into the kitchen screeching to a halt when he found her standing in front of the stove. His gut slowly unclenched.

She was there.

Not gone.

When she turned, licking the tips of her fingers, his gut returned to clenching. Her hair was scraped back in a stubby ponytail, her bangs brushing into her eyes making her look like a teenager. The licking didn’t.

She stopped, an oven mitt in the shape of a lobster encased her hand, as their eyes met. The last smacking sound of her now clean fingertip was the only sound in the room. She turned back around, her shoulders stiff now. “Dinner should be ready in a little bit.”

His eyebrow rose. “You cooked?”

She looked over her shoulder, the copper-blonde swish of her bangs couldn’t quite hide the flash of humor in her eyes. The smile was quick, but definitely there. “Don’t get all excited, it’s just ziti and sauce with tons of cheese to cover up the fact that it’s from a jar.”

“Works for me.”

“I didn’t really want to go out, so you’re at the mercy of my less than stellar culinary skills.”

He moved forward as she opened the oven door, carefully setting the pan in the center of the rack before popping the door closed with her foot. When she bumped into him, she quickly side stepped him with a mumbled apology. He tried to grab for her, but she slipped to the other side of the galley kitchen. “Running again?”

Tessa stopped, her arms crossing low on her belly. “No.”

He walked toward her slowly, watching her crawl deeper into herself. It was as if she wanted to disappear. It was definitely going to be a one step forward, six steps back kind of night. Instead of pressuring her, he brushed her bangs away, kissing her temple before he pulled down a bottle of wine.

In deference to the Italian of their meal, he poured them each a glass of merlot. The tang of currant filled the bowl of the glass as he took his first sip. “It’s good.”

“Monique wouldn’t let Mary and Tom have crap wine in the house.”

He dropped into the chair at the café style table. “Tell me about the Bouchets.”

Tessa’s glass stopped just before her mouth. “I think you know plenty,” she said and took a sip.

“I know that Mary loves you like a daughter. I know that Tom wants to rip my face off for hurting his little girl—that’s about it.”

Her peaches and cream skin flushed as she took a deeper draw. “You’re exaggerating.”

He sat back, resting the glass on his belly as he unfolded his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “You didn’t see Tom. I was walking when I left because of Mary and no other reason.” At her skeptical look he laughed. “I’m serious. That man loves you to pieces.”

Her eyes misted a little before she looked down at her glass. Clearing her throat didn’t make her voice any less hoarse. “Well, I love him too—them too,” she corrected.

He kicked out the chair across from him. “How long have you known them?”

She picked at the stem of the glass for a minute before she sat down. “I was older. After college, when I got the merchandise manager position at Barnes and Noble in Manhattan. I actually took the position that Nic had interviewed for. She hated me at first.”

She seemed to relax a little. He pressed for more, his palms outstretched on the table, but still not touching her. “I have a hard time picturing that.”

“Well, when I screwed up the biggest shipment order just before Christmas she covered for me instead of screwing me over—we were fast friends after that. Could have been the case of Belgian truffles I sent her that broke the ice though.”

Her half smirk was filled with memories that forged a friendship. Much as it was with he and Richie and the other guys in the band. The fun stuff was easy, it was the hard times that cemented bonds. “Chocolate knows no bounds.”

“You have no idea.” She stood, walked to the fridge and reached for a little cabinet above it. “Shoot.”

“I’ll get it.” He reached around her, the curve of her butt brushed against his cargos, his wrist against hers and he dragged in pears and ocean before he opened the door.

Her voice was husky as she moved out of the way. “The gold box.”

He flicked it forward and shook it on the way down. “Leonidas huh?”

“Well he was a very special king,” she grinned, snatching the box.

“Special enough to get Chocolate named after him instead of the Spartan thing, huh?”

She laughed. “Now, you only get one. Don’t want to ruin your dinner.” She opened the box. “Take a sip of that wine first.”

Pleased that she seemed to be relaxing a little, he lifted his glass. “Never have to tell me to take a drink of wine, babe.”

“Just take a sip, lush.” She plucked out a piece of chocolate, handing it to him.

He shook his head, opening his mouth. She rubbed the tip of her ring finger with her thumb for a second and placed it on his tongue. Curling his tongue around the hard shell, he watched her eyes dilate. Biting into the chocolate, he moaned at the burst of smoky chocolate center working with the currant of the wine until his mouth tingled. “I think I might have to cross myself after that one.”

“Me too,” she mumbled.

His lips quirked up into a smile. Taking a chance, he leaned down, moving in slow as her eyes went wider with awareness and the tip of her pretty little tongue darted out to wet her lips. He wanted to give her enough time to pull back if she wasn’t ready, but her chin lifted. The quick puff of her breath against his mouth, the flutter of her lashes as her eyes closed, the heady scent of her—all of it made the wait sweeter. He knew her taste would be sweet and smoky like her chocolate.

The buzz of the oven timer had her jerking back.

Could molars grind to dust? He was pretty sure it might be possible when she stepped around him and donned her lobster again. Picking up his glass again—knowing the moment was gone, he refilled and took a swallow.

Her bright smile when she came back to the table had him refilling again.

Six steps back.

Hell.

~

“Goodnight, Jon.” Tessa pressed her cheek against the door jamb, a sliver of light from the hallway highlighted her empty bed. He could be there with her. Inside the room, his warm body next to hers—his skin next to hers.

He reached behind his neck, dragging his shirt up and over his head. She’d seen him do it countless times. The notches at his hips were deep and tight as his cargos settled low on his hips, the cotton stretched out from the all day wear. The line of hair arrowed deep then roughened at the snap, making her mouth water. She knew what lurked behind the zipper. She also knew what didn’t. No hint of white or black rose above that snap—just skin.

She’d had him just the night before. She could have him again. It just felt…wrong. Too soon. Too much Jon.

“Goodnight, Tessa.” He smiled ruefully over his shoulder and closed the door to the guest room.

She followed suit and flicked on a few lights. He’d humored her the entire evening. Hell, she even had him playing Uno for God’s sake. Anything to stop him from asking personal questions, or sitting close—hell, even just touching her.

She’d poured—scratch that—heaved out a lifetime’s worth of emotional crap all over him that morning. She was surprised he didn’t run screaming down the beach until he could find his car. No, he’d held her until she’d returned to a semi-human state. He’d let her sleep—probably drool, in all honesty—on him.

The man was bucking for sainthood for God’s sake. She was an absolute wimp to make him go to bed alone. He wouldn’t do anything. He seemed to be able to read her better than she even knew herself right now. It would be nice to be held. She looked back at the door, then turned back to her bed.

No.

Not yet.

She didn’t deserve all the sweet Jon she was getting. She deserved the recriminations and the hard words. She deserved the anger. She deserved anything but the understanding. It was the understanding Jon that had her ready to dive under the covers and pretend the world didn’t exist.

She dragged on a pair of boxer shorts and a tanktop, flipping open the shutter style windows to get a hint of a breeze. The night had turned heavy—she’d been at the beach long enough to know a storm coming off the ocean by morning.

Crawling into bed, she closed her eyes at the mussed sheets and dented pillows. His scent was everywhere…musky and just that little bit of citrus freshness that clung to his skin. Sex. It was there like a teasing breeze that came and went like trade winds off the ocean. Sultry and warm as a breath.

Jon.

All over her heart and all over her bed.

As much a part of her as breathing.

She lifted the pillow to her nose and fought the urge to go to him. Instead, she rolled into the sheets that smelled of him. Instead, she curled the downy duvet around her shoulders, tucking it around her neck where he usually tucked his chin. Instead, she kicked her feet out to the cool sheets and found only air, not his hair roughened legs.

She turned her nose into the pillow and breathed deep.

It so wasn’t the same.