Bending Over Backwards (13 page)

“We can’t, not here.” He realized what she meant as they heard the peals of children’s laughter, a family climbing down the path close by.

“Let’s find somewhere. Fast.”

Need made his voice low, his desire fierce as he took her by the hand and they both made their way up the path more quickly than they had come down.

In the car, finally alone, Leo took her in his arms again, plundering her mouth with kisses. The urgency was hot inside of him as he tasted her, feeling like he had to pile as many moments up as he could to resist the tide washing them away.

As if feeling his desperation, Jasmine pulled back, studying his face, her hands framing his jaw.

“Hey, what is it? Are you okay?”

The soft concern in her eyes, mingled with the passion, seemed to calm whatever had surged up inside of him, making him wild for her. He took a deep breath, smiled and got hold of himself.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just crazy for you. Maybe we can explore some more and then find some food—at a place with a room for the night?”

Her smile was all the reassurance he needed.

Jasmine had been lifted out of herself and out of her life. Her normal routine was as shattered as the windows of her shop, but she couldn’t seem to mind. For the moment, she indulged in the fantasy, staring out over the salt marshes that created the view from the balcony outside the room they’d rented.

It was a weeknight, so they’d gotten lucky finding a vacancy. Leo had also insisted on paying for it—and it had cost a fortune, she presumed.

Still, it was lovely. They’d registered after lunch and had a perfect afternoon in bed after washing off the sand from the shore. Jasmine felt loose-limbed and relaxed like she hadn’t in a long time.

Tomorrow, it would be back to real life. Back to contractors, rebuilding her studio and dealing with the pressures of reality. But none of that seemed as dire as it had before. Fixing the place up with friends, feeling like a part of her community, and having this time with Leo had made her feel less alone than she ever had.

While she was here, Amanda was picking up the morning class and a few others. Jasmine had hated to leave her group, but Amanda needed the money now that some of her other sessions were canceled. Also, Jasmine felt confident that the students would be in good hands. So for now, she could enjoy this fantasy time with Leo.

The problem was that she liked it a little too much. She liked Leo too much. She didn’t want to lead him on, but she wasn’t sure how to handle what was happening between them.

“You could be in a painting, you’re so lovely.”

He joined her on the balcony, sliding his arms around her waist as he kissed her neck. She felt the bare skin of his chest warm through the light fabric of the dress she’d hastily purchased so that she had something to wear for dinner.

Dinner didn’t seem to be on Leo’s mind, though, as his hands traveled up to her breasts, the touch making her gasp.

Crazy. No other man had ever had such an effect on her. With Leo, all he had to do was look at her the right way, it seemed, and she was ready. When he touched her, she was gone.

“You’re not dressed.” The way he was kissing the back of her neck made it hard to breathe right.

“Almost. I just have to grab my shirt,” he said against her skin. “Or we could stay here and order up.”

She liked that idea. Liked the idea of never leaving this room, staying here with him, wrapped in their sexy cocoon of bliss. But maybe that was the best reason to leave.

“You make a tempting proposal, but I’m starving,” she said lightly. “And I did buy this dress.”

“You’re right, of course. And we have the rest of the night.”

She nodded as she turned to face him, though the more she thought about it, spending the night had been a bad idea. It was what lovers did. People in relationships.

He looked appreciatively at her, his eyes approving as he slid the back of his fingers over the gauzy bodice.

“It looks gorgeous on you.”

He kissed her once more and then turned to retrieve his shirt from where he’d put it over the back of a chair earlier. As he turned his back, she wanted to touch him again, to bring him back, but the spell had been broken.

She’d broken it. On purpose, she reminded herself.

The room was large with quaint paned windows, a huge antique cast-iron bed, and blue and white decorative items. All of the décor followed an ocean theme. They hadn’t remade the bed, and the messy sheets and blankets were very inviting. So she looked away.

“What’s wrong, Jasmine?”

She tried to act surprised. “What?”

“I can see it in your face, the wheels turning. Something has you worried.”

It was disconcerting that he could read her so well. He didn’t really know her, but she felt like he did.

“I was thinking that maybe we should catch the late ferry after dinner—they have one a little after ten—or a water taxi.”

He finished buttoning his shirt, but more slowly, as if trying to process a response.

“Why?” he asked. “We have the room until tomorrow.”

Tension gripped her, strangling the relaxation she’d been enjoying moments before.

“I just…I think it would be better to go back. This has been wonderful. I’ve loved spending the day with you, but—”

“We’ve spent the night together before, Jasmine. Why is this different?”

She shook her head, suddenly feeling confused. He was right; they had. But this
was
different.

“Because this is more like what couples do. Like a vacation or something. It’s like we’re pretending to be something we’re not. You helping me with the store, us being here…it’s starting to feel real, but it’s not.”

Her tone was frustrated, and she knew she wasn’t really making much sense. Some kind of fear had crawled its way into her chest, tightened up into a ball and made her feel like she needed to get out. Now.

She expected anger, equal frustration, or any number of responses from Leo that would be, in some ways, completely understandable. But he simply tipped her chin up with his fingers and leaned in to kiss her. Lightly.

“I get it. You’ve had a lot happen in the last few days. You’re a bit rattled. But this is still real. We don’t have to name it, or put a schedule on it, or worry about expectations. We could just enjoy it, don’t you think?”

Jasmine wanted that so much she couldn’t stand it, and that was the problem, she realized.

How much she wanted Leo to be a regular guy on the beach. Someone with whom she had incredible chemistry. Maybe someone with whom she could imagine building a future, like she had rebuilt her own life.

But he wasn’t. Leo was like sand. When his memory came back like the tides, he’d be gone.

Jasmine knew that one of her biggest challenges as a yogi was living in the moment. Noticing it and embracing it. Most anxiety was born of anticipation of moments yet to come or worrying about ones that had past.

Leo was only promising her the moment. He’d never pretended they had more. She was the one extrapolating that. Maybe because it was what she wanted, but what she couldn’t have. She was running again. Trying to avoid being hurt or losing something she was coming to care about.

She firmed her resolve not to do that. She could enjoy this—enjoy him—for what it was.

“You’re right. We can enjoy this time together and not have to worry about what’s coming next, right?” she said, hoping she sounded convincing.

“Yeah. We’ll take one step at a time,” he said huskily.

She noticed that he hadn’t finished buttoning his shirt.

Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry for dinner anymore. She wanted to drown herself in every moment that they had.

She’d come up for air later. Deal with what came after, later.

Sliding her hands inside the open vee of his shirt, she ran her fingers over his chest, up the strong cords of his throat to his jaw. She leaned in to kiss him, softly at first, then deeper. His arms came around her, tight, his body pressing against hers, needy, as if they had been away from each other for far too long. It had only been a few hours since he’d been inside her, and yet she longed for him almost painfully.

She wanted to embrace the longing, to fully experience it. Not run away. Not make excuses or think about her escape routes.

She unbuttoned his shirt as he slid the zipper down the back of her dress, his hands slipping under the silky material to glide over her bottom.

“Room service?” he said against her ear with a sexy chuckle, biting the lobe.

“Mmmm, whatever.”

He pulled back, looking at her seriously. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured. I want this time with you, Jasmine. However much of it there is.”

She nodded, leaning her forehead against his.

“I want you too. And this. So much. I think it’s what scares me, wanting this so much.”

Leo groaned against her skin, and Jasmine felt freer than she had in a long while by admitting what she wanted and letting go of her fears.

“It’ll be okay,” he said against her mouth.

She nodded, feeling less and less like talking.

As he eased the dress down her body, following its path with his mouth, everything was forgotten except how he made her feel. Though she was living completely in the moment, she knew she wouldn’t forget this, ever.

Chapter Eleven

Leo thought this could possibly be the best summer of his life. Better than when he was sixteen and he’d convinced Cindy Hubble to make out with him at the State Fair, and better than the summer when he had landed the job at the investment firm that had been his dream.

He remembered more of his past every day in crashing, surprise flashes of memory that eventually gave way to a gentler ebbing of moments, images, and whole chunks of the years that he’d buried after the shooting. One morning that week, he’d awakened next to Jasmine, but thought he had to get up and get to work. He’d frantically searched for the alarm clock, worried, and then remembered where he was.

It had been a weird moment, to say the least, but then he found Jasmine curled up next to him. She’d awakened too and had proceeded to distract him quite nicely from his confusion. She hadn’t seemed to notice his momentary disorientation, and he hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t told her about his memory coming back at all, in fact. She had enough on her mind, and he could feel the distance increase between them every time he did tell her something that happened from his past.

She also remained closemouthed about hers.

While they had been enjoying their time together and spent most of their nights together—sometimes at her place, sometimes at the beach house—they didn’t share too much more than that. At least, she didn’t.

It was as if they were living in a snapshot, a moment in time, isolated from the past or the future. Jasmine seemed content to leave it that way, while Leo thought about it all the time. Increasingly, he struggled with his need for more while not wanting to push her away.

Jasmine had let him into her home, let him help her remodel the studio, let him into her body—in that way, they were completely open with each other. Sexually, he shared deeper, more intimate moments with her than he had with anyone else in his life. He was beginning to think he was addicted to her. He couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. When had sex ever been this powerful for him? Now that he could remember, he could safely say never.

If he’d met her while he was working, would she have still turned his life upside down? Made a dent in his devotion to his job? He thought so. Maybe. Looking back at his past, he felt like his former self remained a stranger of sorts. As if someone else had lived that life.

They shared some things. She loved fried foods, reality TV and chocolate chip cookies, but he had no idea about her past, except what she had told him several weeks ago when they had dinner. She’d told him that her father had committed suicide, but she never said much about him otherwise. She never talked about her future, her dreams, except for the studio and her work.

Leo told her what he could, hoping she might share in turn. Mostly about his mother, growing up on Long Island, and anything else that didn’t have to do with his work.

He’d loved working in finance, and he had been damned good at it. But Leo didn’t feel that love anymore. Whatever had driven him before, it was gone.

Now, he thought, as he looked around his living room, he was in danger of becoming one of those guys on TV, the junk hoarders.

Well, maybe not that bad. But he couldn’t seem to stop from bringing items back to the beach house, which was more and more like, well, a home. Antique furniture he’d picked up filled empty spaces, and he had restored a few small pieces with plans to work on more.

When he took in the room, the cast-iron pans he’d hung on the walls, the old hand-knotted rug he’d put in the kitchen, and the aged pottery collection he was accumulating, he felt good. Grounded.

This was
his
stuff.
His
place.

He was making it all his.