"It's still shitty, Jon. You're allowed to be mad."
"Oh, I was. Believe me, I was." There was that deep voice again, low and dangerous and kind of...hot. "No one calls me Jon, by the way."
"Do you hate it?"
"No. But no one calls me that."
"Except me."
The lips quirked again. "Yes."
Luciano jumped down and began licking his privates, which were publics if you were a cat. Jonathan nudged him away, and the cat left with an impressive yowl.
"How's that woman you mentioned?" I asked. "Remember? In divorce group? You said there was someone you liked."
"I'm quite sure I never said that."
"Well, Carly said you said it. In a prior session."
"So much for the group's confidentiality clause."
"You were on a date the night Eric dumped me. Was that the woman?"
"No. That was my cousin."
"Oh. Well, according to rumor, there was a woman, and you liked her." I pulled a throw pillow against my stomach. "Come on. It's raining, we have wine, I'm Dr. Lovely's stepdaughter. You can tell me. How is she?" I felt oddly jealous. But of course he'd be dating someone. Though a little clenched, I'd discovered that Jonathan was...well, a kind man. A good father. He had those eyes and that voice. "There was a woman, right?"
He glanced at me. "Yes."
"And? How's it going with her? What's she like?"
"It's...complicated."
"Why?"
"She doesn't know what she wants."
"Oh, one of those." So she was stringing him along, then, huh? Sounded like she needed a hearty slap.
"Have you made your move?" I asked.
"No."
"Why?"
"I repeat-it's complicated."
"Why is it complicated? God, this is like pulling teeth! Can you put two sentences together, please?"
He turned his head to look straight ahead once more. These humans and their interactions. So maddening. "She just got out of a long-term relationship."
"So? Maybe she needs a good bang to get over him. A little boom-boom-pow."
Jonathan didn't answer. Thunder rolled across the fields outside, but it was fainter now.
Then he turned those beautiful eyes to me. "Also, she works for me."
I sat bolt upright. "Really? Who-Oh."
Oh.
I felt hot. My whole body felt flushed and tight and tingly.
"I'm not quite sure she even likes me." He shifted so he was facing me. "Though recently, she seems to like me a little more."
My heart jerked in my chest. "Just to be clear," I said, my voice husky, "we are talking about me, right?"
He closed his eyes for a second-why do I get the idiots?-then opened them. "Yes," he said, his voice so deep it was just a rumble. He didn't look away, and there it was, that glimmer of gold in his strange, beautiful eyes.
"I do like you," I murmured. "But only when you smile."
Very slowly, he obliged, one side of his mouth leading the way, a crooked, small smile, and God, he was just ridiculously appealing. My heart jackrabbitted in my chest, furiously pounding, and I was pretty sure I couldn't feel my legs.
"Are you going to kiss me, or are you just going to sit there staring?" I asked.
He leaned forward, set his wineglass on the coffee table, took mine from my fingers and set it down next to his. His movements were slow and precise. He looked at me a beat or two (or seventeen, it seemed), then cupped my face, his long fingers sliding into my hair, and then he did kiss me.
His mouth was gentle but sure, his lips perfect against mine. He was warm and solid and my hand went to the side of his neck, feeling the strong thud of his pulse there, his smooth skin. Then his mouth moved, and good God, Jonathan Kent could kiss like there was no tomorrow. His tongue touched mine, and that was it, I was abruptly lost and found at the same time. My whole body throbbed, and it was a wonder I didn't just dissolve into a big puddle of yes.
I grabbed his head and kissed him back, crawled onto his lap, still kissing him, pushing him back against the cushions, straddling him. I groped for the buttons on my shirt, and God, his mouth, I loved his mouth so much, and who knew? Who even knew Jonathan Kent could kiss like this, long, luxurious, hot kissing that rendered me blind with lust, and who cared? I had two fistfuls of shirt in my hands and was pulling and tugging, and he was doing the same, and now his hands were on my skin, burning me in the most wonderful, intense way, and all I could do was feel.
There was just one thought left. It didn't make sense, but it felt true all the same.
I'd been waiting for this kiss all my life.
* * *
"I'm sorry, but you need to leave now."
Not really the words a woman wants to hear upon awakening the morning after she was banged silly.
But Jonathan was holding a cup of coffee, and his expression was...well, it wasn't clenched, angry or disappointed.
It wasn't quite happy, either. I accepted the coffee and sat up, covering my naked self with the sheet, unsure of how to feel. On the one hand, I felt amazing. I'd been shagged to within an inch of my life. Three times, mind you.
On the other hand, Jonathan was kicking me out.
"I have to get my daughters in half an hour."
"Right. Okay. Well." I took a sip of the coffee and looked up at him.
He sat on the edge of the bed. "Thank you."
"Oh, sure. Salads and sex. My specialty."
His hair was mussed, curling over his forehead, and my hand wanted to smooth it back. But my hand wasn't quite brave enough to do that, because you know that old saying about the cold light of day. Also, his resting bitch face was on.
Or maybe it was the shyness again.
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said.
"Okay. Great. I'll just...get out of bed, then."
"Good."
Back to Captain Flatline. Still, a man without a heartbeat couldn't do the things he'd done to me last night. Nuh-uh.
He seemed to read my thoughts, because he leaned forward and kissed my bare shoulder, the faint scrape of razor stubble in contrast to his soft, warm lips, and my hand worked up the courage to stroke that hair.
"You need to go," he murmured.
So much for my dreamy state. "And you need to work on your pillow talk," I said. He gave a nod of acknowledgment, and I couldn't help a smile.
I got out of bed, grabbed my dress, which he'd thoughtfully brought in, and got dressed in the bathroom. The mirror showed a serious case of bedhead, smeared mascara under my eyes and a glow to my complexion. I couldn't wait to tell Kate about this; I'd sent her a quick text last night between rounds one and two, letting her know I wouldn't be home.
Jonathan was waiting downstairs, standing by the door. "Okay. Uh...talk to you tomorrow," I said.
"Yes." He started to say something else, then opted against it, leaned forward and kissed me gently.
Everything in me softened. Brain, heart, bones. I felt a blush creep into my cheeks. "Bye," I whispered, then fumbled with the door handle. Left, right, push, pull, nothing worked.
He reached around me and opened the door. "Bye," he said, his voice so deep it was just a vibration in my chest.
I glanced back at him as I walked down the path.
He was smiling.
I tripped, staggered, managed not to fall. "I'm fine," I said. "Bye. Have fun with your daughters."
"Ainsley?" he called.
"Yes?"
"Your car is at the office."
Right. There was that. "So do I have to walk back?"
"You do not." He came down the walk, keys in hand.
As usual, the ride was mostly in silence. This time, however, it felt different. Silence, I was coming to realize, could mean quite a lot.
When we got to the parking lot of Hudson Lifestyle, I leaned over, kissed my boss on the cheek, earning a flash of a smile. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said.
"Roger dodger," I replied, not even minding the fact that I sounded idiotic.
I almost hit a tree on the way home, thinking about that mouth, and those hands, and his eyes. And his voice. And his smile.
He'd call me tomorrow. And that would be lovely.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kate
On Sunday afternoon, as I was leaving the studio after reviewing approximately a million and twelve photos Max had tweaked in Photoshop, I saw a woman walking down the street. She held a bouquet of yellow flowers in her arm and was beautifully dressed in a red pencil skirt and white top with capped short sleeves. Strappy black shoes with heels so high and sharp they could be used as a murder weapon.
I myself was sweaty and stale, since the air-conditioning wasn't working in the studio. I wore skinny jeans and a T-shirt that said I Mac & Cheese, the heart made of macaroni noodles. Beat-up sandals. In Brooklyn, I'd look normal. In Cambry-on-Hudson, I looked homeless. I'd have to go shopping soon. I was a wealthy woman now, and I lived in a wealthy town. If I wanted to, I could dress like that woman, every day, even.