Fearsome (32 page)

“What about all the cracks and imperfections?”

“They add to the individuality of each piece of furniture,” he says, walking me towards two women.

“Noelle and Gemma. This is Jessica.” They smile and shake my hand. I’m struck by their attractiveness.

Gemma is a redhead like me, yet her hair is smooth and perfectly straight down to her shoulders. She is very pretty with a nice, slender figure. We study each other as if we’re competitors. I doubt Carson picks up on this, but I sense Gemma is having the same thoughts as me about Carson.

“Very pretty hair,” Gemma says with a lovely English accent. “I wish mine was thick and wavy like yours.”

I smile, however, I’m no match for this woman who is closer to Carson’s age and has much more experience and confidence. She is polished and beautiful.

“Noelle and Gemma are designers, too,” Carson says. “They are creating the new line with me, but they also do some of the heavy lifting.”

I notice the women wear the same heavy gloves; they look cool and trendy in their jeans and work boots. I envy them for getting to work here with Carson. Actually, maybe I even hate Gemma for being here where Carson can see her every day. Jealousy really does make us feel ugly inside.

Carson continues and there’s excitement in his tone. “The business is changing since I started. It used to be guys who were good at carving and tinkering in their woodshops. Some of our new staff, like Gemma and Noelle, have college degrees in design and actual work experience in the craft.”

His reserve is breaking down and the real Carson is coming through as he gets more animated describing his business to me. I admit I like having his hand on my lower back in a possessive way, which is noticeable to Gemma. I’m also relieved when he propels me away from the pretty women to introduce me to others. Everyone is looking at me with wonderment as though it’s a novelty to see Carson with a woman who isn’t a part of the business or trade.

I get caught up in his attention and relax a bit. It’s being next to Carson that makes me heady. There’s something intense about the room with its crackling fire and the dry air that leaves my cheeks rosy and my hair curly and voluminous rather than limp. Aside from my paintings, I never have mystical experiences like this. I am Cinderella, transformed from a sooty cinder girl into a wild haired redhead. Maybe it’s my active imagination, which is fine. What’s wrong with finding happiness in my own world in my own way?

By the end of the tour, Carson and I have changed our demeanor. His hand is on my shoulder and I find myself standing closer to him, especially when I laugh.

“Can I take you out for lunch?” he asks.

“I can’t go anywhere dressed like this.” I sound like I’m fishing for compliments. I could see how Carson looked at me when Gemma remarked on my pretty hair; he had that glazed, lovelorn look of admiration that every woman enjoys. I have no shame and milk it for all I can to feed my sagging ego.

“You can absolutely go anywhere you want like this,” Carson says.

“You came!” Dylan exclaims as he bursts through the partition door. Damn these Blackard boys and doors.

“Carson gave me the complete tour. I love it. It’s amazing,” I reply, thinking I may be overdoing it.

“Good.” Dylan grins at us.

“Am I missing something?” Carson directs at Dylan.

“Your lunatic brother made you a very big sale.”

“How big?” Carson asks skeptically. Dylan hands him a stack of papers I assume are wholesale orders.

“Wow. Cool, Dylan,” Carson compliments as he flips through the pages.

“More importantly, are you going to the party tomorrow night?” Dylan asks me.

I look at Carson and then Dylan scoffs at his big brother. “Seriously, you didn’t even ask her yourself?”

Carson’s face blanches with embarrassment. We’re both uncomfortable being directed by Dylan.

“I wouldn’t miss your hillbilly hoedown for anything,” I say in my best honky-tonk accent.

“Ha! We’re not that backwards. Don’t be surprised if you see some women in Prada,” Dylan says. “But you can come in a burlap sack and you’ll still be the prettiest girl there.”

It’s an awkward moment for all three of us, Dylan innocently flirting as comes naturally to him. I rub his head as a show of his impromptu jest.

“I’m more interested in your hoedown outfit than anything from Prada,” Carson says, eyeing my hand that was touching Dylan. “Does it come with clogs?”

I laugh and slap my hand playfully against his arm. Dylan follows the move in slow motion, not as a jealous former lover, rather as a man who wants to bow out of this threesome.

“I have to give Daisy these orders.” He takes the papers from Carson’s hands and heads quickly to the front counter.

“It’s too weird having me here,” I say. “I’m going to go.”

“No. I’m glad you’re here.” Carson takes hold of my arm to stop me from moving away. “Don’t misread this. That was Dylan being generous to both of us.”

“He is different,” I say, searching for a better word to describe Dylan’s small transformation.

“He has committed to going through with the program this time. He can do it.” Carson releases my arm, but closes the space between us to make this more personal.

“I think he’ll be very successful. There’s an eagerness in him, he seems renewed,” I say. As much as I care about Dylan and want to help him, I’m wondering if Dylan is the main thing Carson and I have in common.

“You’ve been a good friend to him over the last few weeks; I was wrong when I told you to stay away from him. He still talks about you a lot, but in a new way; he says his conversations with you help. Thank you for that.”

Carson struggles to think of something else to talk about, but either we have nothing other than our shared concern for Dylan and our afternoon of sex, or we’re both too afraid to go beyond small talk. That is my fault, of course. I wanted to slow my dating life down. Unfortunately, I’ve essentially put it in a coma and Carson is being too careful around me, or maybe he has lost interest. Regardless of his quest to push me and Carson together, Dylan’s no prophet and I’m not very good at reading men.

“Sure,” I say.

We’re stalled for more dialogue. Moments ago, I thought I was in a magical realm and I thought the man I’ve been attracted to for months was experiencing the same desire for me; suddenly, I’m a nervous, doubtful ninny again. I hate that nag inside of me, however, she’s very persuasive and I feel the need to leave immediately.

“I have to get going.” I back away and then walk quickly through the work area to gather my clothing by the front door.

Thirty-Two

I’m out the door of Blackard Designs and running back up home, sliding and stumbling on the shoulder of the road, yet determined to keep moving away from the shop and Carson as fast as I can.

“Hey!” Carson yells through his window as he drives his truck alongside me. “Get in.”

When I shake my head and keep running, he guns the engine and drives the truck farther ahead. He blocks my path by parking the truck at an angle across the shoulder so the only way I can pass is to climb down in the ravine off the shoulder or go left into oncoming traffic. There are very few vehicles, but intentionally running around his truck to the other side of the road would look juvenile, even for me.

I climb into the truck, out of breath and panting.

“You can’t run along the side of the road in this weather. I’ll take you home,” Carson says.

“No, I don’t want to go home.” I look out the window, pull my wet cap off again and ruffle my hair. I am too anxious, sad and scared. “Take me anywhere else.”

Carson starts driving. “What happened?” He looks upset. I turn away, keeping my gaze on the scenery.

“Nothing. Everything is great at the house. I just need a break from work and staring at the same walls and my sleeping dog.”

“Okay,” he says, however, he keeps glancing at me warily.

“Take me to the Ridge, the place where people hike and have picnics.”

“Sure. I know the Ridge. I’ll take you there.”

Carson cranks up the heater and I take off my wet vest and my shoes, which are pretty much demolished. The heater gets my skin good and toasty, especially when I put my bare feet on the dashboard. “Do you mind?” I ask.

“Not at all,” Carson replies, looking at my feet as I rub them.

He’s not wearing a jacket so he must have left in a hurry to chase after me. I like the idea of that, but I’m not kidding myself with unrealistic fantasies anymore.

We drive in silence while I keep my focus on the passing houses and farms. After a few miles, Carson takes the truck off the main road onto a steep dirt road, which takes us to another smaller, inconspicuous, makeshift road. He shifts down into a lower gear and we begin crawling over the uneven ground. I could not have driven here on my own. Carson is obviously very experienced with the terrain and handling a vehicle that requires some clever uphill maneuvering.

“Goodness,” I say when we reach the top and drive onto a flat area.

The Ridge overlooks a valley of smaller towns and hills buried in snow. There’s no one up here since it’s really only used by locals in the summer and fall months.

My initial anxiety dissipates as I ponder the fact that we are alone up here in our private snow tower. He parks the truck, although he keeps the engine and heat running.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.

My feet are hot, so I remove them from the console and pull my knees up to my chest. I rest my head back against the seat and sigh.

“Is it all about sex?” I ask. “Us?”

Carson looks confused for a moment before he then shakes his head. “No. If it were about sex, then I would have spent the last five months getting laid every day. With you, by the way.”

I laugh nervously.

“We spent one afternoon together, Jess.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m waiting. I’ve been waiting for you.”

I unbuckle my seat belt and climb over to his seat. Straddling him, I kiss him before he can say anything. It takes him two seconds to register what is happening before his hands are buried in my hair and he’s dragging a long, hungry kiss across my lips. My heart is racing along with my voracious desire to have him inside of me. The need is blinding and doesn’t allow for any slow tenderness. We’ve been at a distance from one another for so long—too long—we’re both fireballs of energy; grabbing one another, kissing and pulling clothing off.

My fleece top is off and thankfully, I wore a regular bra and not my running bra, which is more cumbersome to remove. This bra snaps off with a flick of the fingers. I remove my tights like an acrobat, my tongue probing Carson’s mouth while my hands pull the clingy fabric from my limbs. I’m completely naked on top of him; Carson is unhinged, his hands roaming up and down my body. He undoes his jeans and yanks them down enough so I can pull his cock out.

“There.” He points to the glove compartment. “I think there are condoms in there.”

“Oh really?” I laugh. “You keep condoms in your truck?”

“From a while ago,” he says, watching me handle his cock. “It’s been a long time. Really. See if—” He groans.

I arch over and open the box to dig through papers until I find two condom packages.

“I wonder if they’re still good,” I say, examining the packages and torturing him with my stall. He grabs one from me and rips it open, sheathing himself before I can continue teasing him.

Then he gasps when I impale myself on him with one quick lunge.

“Oh, damn,” he groans. “I would like to have this everyday with you. Every single damn day.”

I smile down at him and keep lunging and thrusting against him with my knees planted on either side of his seat. I hold his headrest to steady myself as I move faster and let my head fall back. Carson is holding my ass and thrusting into me while his hands and mouth are on my breasts. I focus on one thing only, pumping and thrusting, building up to my release. I can sense Carson holding back so he doesn’t come too soon, but he’s in overdrive, too. He trembles beneath me, trying to maintain control, yet his quiet grunts give him away.

He begins rubbing two fingers against me where our flesh keeps slamming together. The sensation he creates with those two fingers and his lusty expression is enough to drive me over the edge.

“Come,” he commands, but it is really a plea.

The delicious spasms come in robust waves and grow more intense as I look down at Carson and my naked body against him. I buck harder against him until the pleasure is pouring out of me like a sieve. Carson wraps one hand around my ass and the other behind my head so I don’t slam into the steering wheel. Then he pounds into me, ramming quick thrusts until he shouts my name with his release.

We’re both breathing hard as he wrenches me back into his lap with a full embrace. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and rest my head against his neck, still panting. It’s only then that I feel my leg cramping from the tight space, but I don’t want to disrupt our moment together.

“You’ve lived here five months and we’ve had sex twice,” he says between breaths into my hair. “So, this should be enough evidence for your question. No, we’re not about sex, but I sure like when we are.”

I reluctantly climb off him and get dressed.

“You’re so quiet,” he observes as he fastens his jeans.

I lean against my seat and study his beautiful features. He plays with a few tendrils of my hair and caresses my face.

“I think I always wanted you. After a while, when I slept with…” I decide not to mention Dylan’s name.

“What were you going to say?”

“I always imagined I was with you when I wasn’t.”

He smiles. “But that’s a good thing, right? Lucky me.”

“Is it a good thing? Or do I make poor decisions?”

“I don’t understand,” he says, his hand holding my chin.

“Never mind.”

“Don’t
never mind
me. Who do you think of when you’re with me?”

“You. I always think of you.”