Bliss Brothers (Complete Series), page 29
He’s only going to leave. He said that the first night we met, and he had no reason to lie.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Don’t look so shaken up. It’s just lunch.”
5
Driver
THE THING about Roman telling me to get back on the road is that now I am called to do the opposite. It’s in my soul, all the way down into my DNA. My mom would tell you the same thing. “You always had your way about everything.” She must have said that a thousand times while I was growing up.
I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks. She’s not the kind of mom who flits around the Bliss Resort, giving it homey touches and micromanaging. Not by far. Since Dad died, she’s been traveling. And it’s me who wants to be in charge of my own destiny.
Driver: Are you still in the Southern Hemisphere?
I send her the text knowing it could be hours or days before she replies, but that’s okay. It’s better to be a little less attached to people.
I’d almost convinced myself that I’m not attached to Holiday as I made my way through the lobby and out the narrow hallway that leads to the outer courtyard.
If she was gone, then that was it. That was the universe telling me that it was time to let go of the mystery girl who appeared out of nowhere on the beach a month ago, came back to my house with me, and, to put it lightly, rocked my fucking world.
The bigger surprise was that she wasn’t gone. And then she agreed to eat lunch with me.
Did I hold her hand all the way back to her uncle’s cottage? Damn right I did. Right up to the moment she sat down on one of the tall stools at the kitchen island in the sundress that has been driving me crazy for the last hour.
And now I’m here, trying not to look too hard at it.
Truth be told, she’s been on my mind every second since I woke up in bed without her all those weeks ago. I caught myself more than once looking into the windows of passing cars on the freeway, hoping like an idiot for a glance of her strawberry blonde hair.
She considers me with big gray eyes, her chin in her hand, like she’s sizing me up for something more than lunch. It wouldn’t get to me, normally, but with Holiday…
“So, first things first.” I rub my hands together. “What are you hungry for?”
Holiday purses her pretty lips. “Honestly?”
“I’d say honesty in this case would be a good baseline. I can and will cook for you, but why waste this moment on food you don’t want?”
She smiles, eyelashes lowering. “Honestly…pancakes.”
“All right.” I clap my hands together and turn to survey the rest of the kitchen. It’s not a bad vibe in here. Professional-grade stuff, but without the snobby professional-grade cavernous room around it. It’s open and airy, the kitchen leading right into a living room that I wouldn’t mind hanging out in. “Do you have all the stuff for pancakes?”
“Mmm. There should be plenty of stuff in there. I don’t do the shopping, so I’m not sure exactly…”
I turn around to face her. Her cheeks are pink. Sheepish. That’s the word that comes to mind. “That makes sense.”
“Does it?”
“In a house this size, yes. It makes sense that you don’t do the shopping.”
“I would normally do the shopping,” she says as I start rummaging through the cupboards. “This isn’t…how I normally live.”
“You don’t normally live in a lakeside mansion?” I turn so she can see me smiling at her. “I’m not judging. I don’t normally live at the resort, either. I spend a lot of the time in roadside motels.”
I catch her raising her eyebrows before I turn back to the work at hand. “You spend time in roadside motels?”
“Yeah. I don’t like flying, and the gas probably adds up to more than what it would cost to hop a flight out of the city and back, so I try to save where I can.”
“I didn’t think the Bliss Brothers were big savers.”
“I can see why you’d get that impression.”
“We used to visit here as a kid. My parents called it the Big-Spender Resort.”
“They’re right about that. A lot of the people who visit spend pretty big. But we’re not all about the private club. We have lots of affordable spaces, too.” I pull some Bisquick out of the cupboard and drop the box onto the counter. “I sound like a brochure.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Enough about me.” Butter from the fridge. Milk. Sugar. Vanilla. Two eggs. “I want to hear more about you.” A bit of baking soda, which I don’t see until—there it is.
“There’s not much to know about me.”
“Didn’t seem that way a month ago.”
She shifts in her seat and I open more cupboards. Mixing bowl. Tucked next to the mixing bowl is a griddle that fits over the stove and plugs into a wall outlet that seems made for this.
“You wanted to know more about me a month ago?”
I have to turn around and look her in the eye for this. “Holiday, I don’t even know your last name, and I’ve thought about you every day since then. Why else would I be making you pancakes?”
HOLIDAY
Why else would a person walk all the way down the beach to cook pancakes for another person? Specifically, why would Driver come all this way to cook for me?
He doesn’t know me at all.
If he did, he wouldn’t be standing in the kitchen stirring things into a bowl. Too many things.
“These look like complicated pancakes.”
He throws me a grin over his shoulder and my whole body bends to catch it. “I bet you follow the recipe on the box, don’t you?”
I always have, and it’s never been very good. “Yes. And it’s Taylor.”
“What’s a tailor?” He whisks melted butter into the Bisquick.
“My last name. It’s Taylor. Now you know.”
“Now I know.”
I study the lines of his shoulders as he whisks more ingredients together. Driver takes the time to separate out the egg yolks from the whites, stirring them in at different points during the recipe. Pancakes made from the box’s directions have always tasted too much like egg to me, but I have a feeling these won’t.
I have a lot of feelings, watching him standing in the afternoon light of this gorgeous kitchen.
“What else did you want to know?”
Driver’s watching the clock on the stove. “You can’t whisk it too long, otherwise it starts to get weird.” After exactly one minute, he stops whisking and opens the drawers on either side of the stove. On the third try, he comes up with plastic wrap, which he uses to cover the bowl, then pops it into the fridge.
The fridge door closes on its own with a low hiss, and Driver comes to stand at the island, both hands planted and the muscles of his shoulders outlined by his shirt. Those eyes—those eyes. I could melt right off the stool.
“I never expected to see you again.” He narrows his eyes. “You said you lived a few places down from the resort that night.” That night resonates, every moment flickering through my brain like a silent film. “Still, I didn’t think you’d be here when I got back.”
I bite my lip. “Are you…disappointed?”
He laughs. “Hell, no. Only surprised. You seemed like…something out of a dream.” The laugh deepens to a self-deprecating chuckle. “A good dream. A great dream.”
“I thought the same thing when I saw you standing on the beach.”
“Today? Because you looked kind of sick when I saw you earlier.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I’m fine. And I meant…a month ago. When I first saw you there. And I wanted…”
“You wanted a night of company. That’s how I remember it, anyway. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
“Why…” I clear my throat. “Why is the pancake batter in the fridge?”
“It’s in the fridge,” Driver says, his voice dropping into a range that’s so smooth that all I can feel is the cool of his sheets sliding against my skin, his hand on the small of my back, that rush of satisfaction… “Because it needs to rest for thirty minutes minimum before I make the pancakes.”
The bed. His room. The streetlight outside, bathing him in a glow I can still see now. Is that my bra lighting up my nipples like that? I’ve never been so aware of the fabric in my life. I’ve never been so aware of how the bar stool cups my ass.
“What happens if it doesn’t rest?” The words come out breathy and low, and Driver must hear the come hither in them because he comes around to my side of the island and turns me slowly, so slowly, until he can press his hips between my thighs and put both hands on my face.
I can’t breathe. I don’t want to breathe. I want him to kiss me again, and then I want him to take me to bed, and I never want to get back out. Not today. Not tomorrow. Never.
He leans in close, the heat of his breath gentle on the shell of my ear. Goosebumps. Instant goosebumps. “If the batter doesn’t rest, the pancakes don’t measure up.”
“Measure up to what?”
“Your expectations.”
“I—” My brain is mush. “I never knew pancakes could be so sexual.”
He laughs. “I don’t think pancakes are sexual.”
“What counts, then?” I know the question doesn’t make abundant sense, but in this moment, making sense is probably my lowest priority. “What counts as—”
Driver kisses me.
He puts one hand on the back of my neck, pulls me in close, and kisses me, his lips possessive and hungry on mine. The kiss deepens, edging into territory that might end in me naked on the kitchen island. My knees open another inch to let him get closer. I want him closer than this. I want him naked. I want me naked.
“Driver,” I gasp. I should tell him—I should tell him before he slides the strap of my sundress down my shoulder, I should tell him before—
There goes the strap of my sundress.
“Driver, there are bedrooms.”
“See?” He pulls back, blue eyes blazing. “I learn something about you every second. I didn’t know you were a bedroom girl.”
“I could be a kitchen girl.”
“You could be a miracle,” he says, and oh, God, I should tell him…and I can’t tell him. I can’t say anything, because he’s kissing me senseless, and then he’s taking me to bed.
6
Driver
THE PANCAKE BATTER rests for three hours.
We spend the first hour in Holiday’s bed, which I find strangely familiar in a way I can’t put my finger on until she rolls off of me, her head landing on the opposite pillow with a soft burst of the scent of her shampoo.
It’s not just the clean, soapy scent that makes this feel like home. It’s the pillowcase, and it’s the sheet. The housekeeper probably washes those, just like the housekeeper does the shopping.
I stay in enough hotels to recognize it.
She’s pink-cheeked and happy, her body curved toward mine as she catches her breath. A loose tendril of her hair falls across her cheek. Nothing in the world could keep me from reaching out and brushing it back, so I do.
Her eyelashes flutter as she opens her eyes. “What are you looking at?”
“You.”
A sleepy smile curves the corner of her lips. “What are you thinking about?”
I’m spent, my muscles tired, and I say the first thing that comes to mind. “You’re really not planning to stay here long, are you?”
The smile flits away from her face, coming back as a more rueful version of its former self. “What makes you think that?”
“You…” I trace the path of her hair back over her ear with a fingertip. “You said this isn’t how you usually live.”
“It’s not how I usually live.” Holiday tugs the sheet over her waist, but not high enough to cover her breasts, which I consider to be another small miracle. “I’m only here for the summer.”
Something seizes in my chest. I’ve never liked August, because it wheels by too quickly into fall. I like it better when the days are long and the sun is relentless, and no matter how early you get up, there’s always a hint of dawn on the horizon. Or there’s about to be. “What are you doing when the summer ends?”
“I’m going to live in New York City.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” She looks down, her lips pursed.
“You don’t look thrilled about that.”
“I’m thrilled,” she says, and it makes me laugh because it’s so obviously a lie. At least it brings a smile to her face. “I’m nervous.”
“Are you going there for a job?”
“I’m going there to be an editor for a publishing house.”
“And you…don’t really like editing?”
“I don’t really like living in the city,” she admits, following it up with a nervous laugh. “I haven’t said that to anyone but my best friend.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“You’ll have to take it with you when you leave.”
It takes me longer than it should to realize that she’s digging, and I lean over and press a kiss to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling her melt beneath my touch. “I’m not leaving today.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Am I in your bed right now?”
“Yes.” Holiday smiles, then tilts her face toward mine so I can kiss her again.
We spend the second hour in her bed, too.
I lie on my back next to her, the sheet draped over both of us, watching the ceiling fan spin around in lazy circles. The fan is white, the room is white, the sheets are white. It’s almost clinical, but there are enough blue accents that it makes the whole room feel like it’s bathed in cool water.
Or maybe that’s just me.
“I’m so hungry,” she says, her hair spread out on the pillowcase next to mine.
“The batter’s more than rested by now.” I move to push back the sheet and she catches my hand.
“Just…wait.” She doesn’t need to tell me twice. I’m hungry, after two hours in bed with her, but I’ll starve to death before I force herself out from between these sheets before she’s ready. “I don’t know…I don’t know what we’re doing.”
“We’ve had a lot of sex.” I don’t let go of her hand. “On two separate occasions now.”
“You made me elaborate pancake batter.”
“I did.”
“It’s not a one-night stand anymore.”
My breath catches in my chest. It’s not a one-night stand anymore. It’s a one-night stand and a one-afternoon stand.
“Are you okay with that?” she asks.
I turn over onto my side so I can see her face, but Holiday keeps looking up at the ceiling. “Are you okay with that?”
“I’m leaving for the city at the end of the month.”
“I’m leaving on assignment from my older brother before then.”
She takes a glance at me out of the corner of her eye. “What would you do under…any other circumstance?”
“This isn’t any other circumstance.”
“What would you do under this circumstance?”
I suck in a deep breath. The choice should be easy. The road is where I feel the most comfortable—the most in charge of my own life. Roman’s directive to get back out there and find more sponsorships should have sent me running to my house to get my car. I’ve left enough times now that I don’t even need to pack a bag.
And yet there was the look on Charlie’s face in Roman’s office, his expression worried. He almost never looks worried. Charlie’s too busy making spreadsheets in his mind to have a human expression like concern.
But he had one today.
Still, all of it pales in comparison to the woman lying next to me in bed. There’s a dangerous element to how I feel about her. It would be so easy to stay here, day after day, and never make it back to the road. And then who would I be? Roman?
I can’t be Roman.
She’s asked me a question.
“I would say that it’s all right to change your mind.”
“My mind?” She turns her head, watching me. “I didn’t change my mind, necessarily.”
“I changed mine. I thought it would be enough to spend one night with you. Now I don’t think it is.”
“How many days would you need, do you think? To know if you wanted more days?”
“Do you want more days?”
She’s up from where she’s been lying on the bed in a flash, raised on one elbow, her face inches from mine. “Yes. I want more days. Whatever I said on the beach that night, whatever I…did…the next morning, before you were awake…”
“Under those circumstances, I can’t blame you for running away.”
“I can’t blame you for running away, either.”
“I didn’t run. I went to work.” I went to work in as many far-off locations as I could. I spent four full days in Arizona. I run the pads of my fingers down the outside of her arm. Part of me chafes at the realization that I’ve been in this bed for so long this afternoon. Part of me wants to get behind the wheel and drive until well after the sun sets.
But more of me wants to be here.
“And I was here, waiting.”
It’s cute, but it’s ridiculous. “You were not waiting for me.”
“Weren’t you out there waiting for me? Isn’t that what you said?”
“You followed me out there. I wasn’t waiting. I thought—”
“You thought you’d signed up for a one-night stand.”
“You are too hungry for this.” I throw the sheets off both of us and she gasps, grabbing for them. “We’re past the one-night stand now. Way past it. But hey, if it’s out of your system, then it’s out of your system and I’ll go, right now. No hard feelings.”
This isn’t the full truth. I’m not sure if I’ll ever have feelings for Holiday that aren’t wild and raw and completely out of proportion with a one-night stand. I could swallow them, though. I could get back on the road and drive until she was nothing but a memory in my rearview mirror. I could put myself back behind the wheel.
“Don’t go.”
I look into her eyes for several heartbeats, the blood rushing through my veins, every muscle tensed and wanting to get closer to her. Why? Why? I’ve seen a hundred beautiful women come through the resort. A thousand. None of them has ever made me want to shut out the world, not even a little. None of them has ever made me want to stay.
