I stared at my glass for a moment, my pointer and middle fingers on either side of the stem. There was never a time when this topic didn't hurt like hell. "But you got stew out of it, so that's not a terrible bargain. Right?"
"The stew only came my way because my dad took off on a last-minute golf trip with some of his friends yesterday. I'm told she gave him a very hard time about choosing between golf and the stew, which she'd spent all day making."
"Sounds fair," I replied. "It also sounds like you see a lot of your family."
"I do." He pulled open the oven door, bent down to peer inside. "My brother and sister both live in Boston and my parents are in New Bedford. I'm always seeing one of them."
"That must be nice." There was a note of bitterness in my tone that I hadn't intended and Linden noticed immediately.
"What about your family? Are they in Georgia?"
I shook my head because no, I didn't have any real family there but more importantly, no, we could not talk about this now. "Not too much. Can I get out some dishes or set the table? Tell me what to do. If you don't, I'll invent something to do."
He stared at me for a long, knowing beat before saying, "Yeah, sure. Grab some of the deep bowls up there, in that cabinet."
We sat across the battered old kitchen table from each other as we ate. The stew was really good. It was the kind of meal my mother liked to call stick to your ribs food. And the popovers were interesting. The hollow muffin seemed like a symbol of my present stage of life but it was tasty with butter.
Also symbolic.
We discussed my projects at Midge's house and the times I'd spotted Sinatra wandering around the yard. We discovered neither of us had seen a new movie in years and we seemed unscathed by this. There was a touchy moment when Linden asked if Cleary was my married name and I only shook my head in response. He grabbed a recent copy of the local paper and pointed out an article about the Halloween events.
Halloween was a big deal around here.
Apparently it was almost October and I needed to start caring about Halloween.
We washed the dishes together, me at the sink because I was going to crawl out of my skin if Linden refused to let me do something. He parked himself beside me while he dried the dishes, an eye on me as if he expected me to light the sponge on fire. Then he set the last spoon aside and came up behind me, his hands falling to my waist and his body warm against my back.
"I want to kiss you again." He dragged his lips along the back of my neck, under my ear. "But I don't think that's what you need."
I braced my palms flat on either side of the sink. "And who are you to determine what I need?"
There was a moment where he hesitated but it was gone before I could examine it. He tightened his hold on my hips and rocked against me, every hot inch firm against my backside.
"Someone who tends to be right about these things."
I didn't know whether he was trying to be amusing with that comment but I laughed just the same. "Why do you think you're right about this?"
He hummed against my neck—maybe it was a growl—and I nearly lost my balance from the rumbly waves that noise sent coursing through me. "Because I know I won't stop at kissing you."
He was so hard. His shaft was thick and solid, even through the layers of his jeans and my leggings, and my thoughts condensed down to the empty, needy clench between my legs. I was pinned here, between an unyielding man and a cast-iron sink, burning up, and everything was blurry when I tuned into the rolling pressure of his body. Of what it could be.
"Because I'll want more than your mouth and this is not the night for that," he added.
"That's a decision you own?" I asked as his hand traveled up my belly, settled on the underside of my breasts. "All yours?"
"Yeah. It is."
It wasn't only my thoughts gone blurry now but all of me, every eyelash, every centimeter of skin, every muscle that couldn't decide whether to clench or melt.
"For as much as I want you"—he ran his knuckles over my pebbled nipple, tearing a gusty sigh from me in the process—"tonight's not the night, Peach."
With all the severity I could muster, I asked, "And what has led you to that determination?"
He passed his knuckles over me again, catching that nipple between the joints of his middle and index fingers when he reversed course. He clamped down—and didn't release. "Because you need your rest. It's been a long day and you've been through a lot."
"Excuse me but—"
"I'm not hearing it. The fire was enough, but everything else? Not happening. You need to get the shadows out of your eyes."
"And my divorce official?" There I was, fixer extraordinaire, negotiating with the man pinching my nipple so hard I could feel my pulse throbbing in my core.
His beard rasped the back of my neck when he nodded. "It would help."
"Preston went ahead and got engaged. He didn't wait," I wailed.
"One of the many reasons I hope I never come face-to-face with him," Linden replied, growly as ever.
He brought the heel of his palm to the center of my back, kneading his way up my spine until he reached the base of my neck. He pressed, gently forcing my chin to my chest while he rubbed the gathered tension.
"This seems unnecessarily paternalistic." It was possible I moaned this but I stood by my point. I didn't need his strict daddy routine.
"Maybe so." He continued working my neck and shoulders while holding my nipple hostage. "Doesn't change anything. You need sleep, Jas, and rest too."
"Those things are the same."
He dug his thumb into a knot between my shoulder blades. "They are not."
"Don't decide you know better. I'll agree, it's a moment of upheaval for me. But that doesn't mean I can't say yes or no. It doesn't mean I don't want to hear your kidnapping fantasies while you back me up against a tree."
He leaned in, his beard brushing my ear. My nipple was throbbing throbbing throbbing and he went right on pinching as if he could do this all day, all night. "You liked that, did you?"
"Just because I liked hearing it doesn't mean I want you to do it. If you think I want you stealing me out of my bed in the middle of the night, you have a crowbar coming your way."
I felt the laugh move through him. "There goes that plan."
"Yeah, workshop that one a bit. Shine it up and come back to me with a fresh version."
"Here's what's going to happen, Jasper," he said, his voice drained of all teasing. "I'm going to offer you the fold-out bed in my den or that sofa over there in the living room because there was a motherfucking fire in your house today and I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay there. I've slept on both and can say, without a doubt, the sofa is much more comfortable. I'd offer you my bed but I know you'll pitch a fit over that and then set the kitchen on fire again with whatever you bake to live up to your honor code. "
"I couldn't possibly—"
"Hush. I'm not finished. Since I know you're not going to accept these offers, even if you should, I'll just invite you to come over and use the shower and anything else, anytime you want. I have a packed day tomorrow and I'll probably be out early but you don't have to wait for me to leave or get out of here before I come back."