Inn & Out (A Romantic Comedy) (Five More Wishes Book 2) (9 page)

“Woman, you’ve never said anything dumber in your whole… What are you doing here?” He demands, noticing me for the first time.

“She’s avoiding Thor,” Jean explains.

“No, I’m not,” I say. “I wanted to watch you work. I admire your craftsmanship.”

“I think Beryl is afraid to pork Thor,” Jean tells Bert.

“I can’t keep up with the soap opera,” he complains. “He should just marry you and get it over with.”

“Who’s getting married?” Thor asks, walking into the room. I jump in surprise.

“Nobody!” I yell.

“Okay. Okay. No need to get upset about it. Soup’s on, everybody.”

Jean puts her hammer down and wipes her hands on her overalls. “Nope. We’re going out for pizza.”

“What?” Thor asks. “But I’ve got pot roast ready for you.”

“Sorry, boy,” Bert says. “We got to eat with the mother-in-law.”

My mouth drops. “Your mother’s alive?” Then, I realize the bigger issue at hand. “You’re leaving us alone for lunch?”

***

The pot roast is delicious, but I’m having a hard time swallowing. The tension is thick, and the kitchen table where we’re sitting is surrounded by a cloud of hormones. “So, you and Jordyn,” I say, cutting through the hormones. “Did you have an affair with her? She’s married, you know.”

He laughs. “We were high school sweethearts. At least we were during our senior year, but Jordyn’s aspirations included a Jaguar and a live-in cleaning lady, and my aspirations were military service.”

“Oh.” He’s shut me down. So far, I can’t find any bum characteristics in Thor Stockman, former navy SEAL and current innkeeper. “So, war. That had to be tough,” I continue, changing the subject.

His eyebrows knit together, and a small smile grows on his face. “You want my war stories? I don’t think so.”

“They’re probably hard to relive. Traumatic.”

He searches my face, as if he’s memorizing the placement of my eyes, my nose, and my mouth. Especially my mouth. “Beryl, this here between us is going to happen.”

My fork drops out of my hand, landing on the plate with a loud clank. “It is?”

“You can run, but you can’t hide.” That shows what he knows. I’ve been hiding all week. I have a thick layer of hair on my legs, too. That totally negates his assertion that “this is going to happen.” Right?

He leans over and puts his hand on the back of my head. “Have I told you that you have the sexiest hair I’ve ever seen?”

“My hair’s sexy?”

“Very.”

That’s a good thing, considering what’s growing on my body right this second. Oh, no. He might be right about this going to happen. “Are you sure?”

He stands, and his shorts are bursting with his sureness. I guess his appendages are proportional. All of them.

Thor puts his hands under my arms and lifts me up, carrying me until my back is against the kitchen wall between the broken pantry door and the ancient refrigerator.  He presses his body against mine, and it’s a good thing he’s holding me up because my bones have turned soft, and left to my own devices, I would melt to the floor in a heap.

“From the first moment I saw you,” he says, his lips almost touching mine. “I wanted you.”

“You did? I thought I annoyed you.”

“I’m a glutton for punishment.”

“God you talk good,” I moan.

“You’re the hottest woman I’ve ever known, Beryl. Sizzling hot.”

“Gee, I love the Sizzler.”

“You want boeuf bourguignon for dinner?” he asks, and before I can answer, he lifts my hands above my head and pins me against the wall. I can feel all of him pressed against me, and my traitorous body grinds against him.

I want him so bad, and that’s the first truly honest thought I’ve had in days.

His lips graze the side of my neck, and I bend my head to give him more access. His lips are hot and soft. His touch is gentle, almost not there, which drives me half-mad with desire. Just as I can’t stand it any longer, the gentle caress turns rougher and his lips nuzzle my earlobe. I want to touch him, but he has my hands above my head. He gathers them together in one hand, and his other glides down my body until he slides his hand under my shirt and finds my right breast, freeing it from my bra.

I moan, and Thor takes that as invitation to kiss me. And then I know…Rhett was right. I’ve never been kissed properly. Not until the very second when Thor’s mouth takes mine, his lips crashing against my lips, his tongue sliding into my mouth, letting me taste him.

I’m aware of his hand on my breast, caressing, teasing, and moving lower under the waistband of my skirt to the panties beneath. My wet, wet panties. The world spins, making me dizzy. I’m almost disappearing, becoming desire itself, but it doesn’t scare me. Instead, I feel powerful, open…almost reborn as a new person.

Thor finally releases my arms in order to lift me into his, cradling my body against him. Carrying me with no effort at all, he walks through the kitchen into the living room and up the stairs. He walks past his room, straight to mine. Closing the door behind us, he gently lays me on my bed. He leans over me, never breaking eye contact.

“Beauty,” he breathes. “My beauty.”

Standing, he slips his t-shirt over his head and lets it drop onto the floor. Then, he removes his shorts and his boxer briefs. All of Thor is released, and there’s a lot of him. He looks down at me with a visible hunger. A lot of men have wanted to sleep with me, but not one ever wanted me for myself. Thor wants me, all of me, and I’m prepared to give myself to him in any way he wishes.

Quickly, I squirm out of my skirt and take off my shirt. Thor helps me out of my panties, and his deft fingers unhook my bra. Like a panther or a graceful athlete, he lays on top of me, his knees separating my legs and his weight resting on his forearms. I wrap my arms around his back and pull him down on me. My knees lift to feel him nestle in my sensitive folds.

He kisses me, again. The first one wasn’t a fluke because this one is just as good. It’s like an explosion between us as our lips touch. Perhaps it’s some kind of chemical reaction of perfectly matched hormones mixing together, like a homemade bomb. I grow aggressive as my need reaches its zenith.

I want him. I want him more than I’ve wanted anyone or anything in my entire life. Two weeks of pent up desire are having an effect on me, changing my DNA and requiring me to become one with Thor. In the recesses of my mind, I realize the failure and eventual doom of this relationship, but for now I can’t deny the physical need to sleep with Thor. Besides, how can my feelings be real when I’ve only known this man for fourteen days? Fourteen days to know a man. Fourteen days to love a man. It doesn’t take a genius to know that it can’t be real. It doesn’t take a genius to know that my heart will be broken.

But none of that matters now. I only care about what’s happening right this second, about making my body one with his. I squirm against him, urging him to enter me, but he has other ideas. He lifts himself off of me, and travels downward. His hands touch the insides of my thighs, separating my legs further, and his mouth follows his hands, his rough beard scratching at my skin. I moan, and my body writhes under his touch, an intense need building.

My hands reach down for him, and I find the back of his head. My fingers rake his thick hair. “My sweet Beryl,” he groans and tastes me, his tongue teasing and licking my clitoris. My mouth opens, and my head falls back against the pillow. My hands forget Thor and reach for my own breasts, caressing them as Thor caresses my core with his mouth. I writhe against him, any self-consciousness evaporated as I approach my climax. It builds in me with a vicious intensity, taking over my body and my mind. I moan Thor’s name, urging him to follow me wherever I’m going, but I can’t wait for him. My body comes to its climax, my rigid torso lifting off the bed, as I convulse with absolute fulfillment.

In the calm after the storm, I lay on the bed unable to move or speak. “I’ll be right back, beautiful,” I hear Thor say. The mattress moves when he leaves the bed. A minute later, he’s back. I turn my head to see him ripping open a condom packet. He lies back on top of me, and I return to myself enough to guide him inside me.

“You feel so good,” I say.

“You’re so wet, so perfect.”

He rocks gently against me, withdrawing and returning over and over, filling me completely. I grip his ass and pull him closer. He puts his arm under my leg and pulls it up over my shoulder, allowing him to enter me even further. I gasp as my body reacts to him, building toward another climax. How will I ever live without sex with Thor? How will I ever be happy without his body in mine?

“I’m so screwed,” I moan.

“Oh, beauty, we haven’t even begun.”

***

We make love three more times. At one point, Jean calls out from the first floor, demanding her dinner, but we ignore her. A few minutes later, Bert bangs on our door, hollering something about beef. Smart Thor has locked the door, and once we recuperate enough, we make love again. This time, our kisses are feather light, the sex sweet, as Thor takes care of my now tender flesh. But tender or not, we don’t stop. As we come together, we look deep into each other’s eyes and read everything there.

Afterward, we lie in each other’s arms. Thor covers me with a sheet, tucking it around me. “I’m starving,” I say. “It’s probably not safe to go downstairs, though, right?”

The room has grown dark, and Bert and Jean have probably gone back to the guest house for the night, but staying in this perfect moment of intimacy with Thor is so much better than any snack. “I’m sorry about asking you about war,” I say. “I know thinking about it upsets you.”

“It doesn’t upset me. I lost some dear friends, but it was part of the job.”

“I know about PTSD. Do you have flashbacks?”

“I don’t have PTSD, Beryl,” he says, letting his fingers trail down my arm to my breasts and over my nipples.

“It’s okay. You can tell me.”

He lifts me up on top of him so that I’m straddling his body. “I don’t have PTSD. War wasn’t fun, but I escaped that particular hell. I had my military life. I did it, and it’s done, and now more than anything, I want to do this.”

“This?” I ask, laughing.

He smiles, making my heart leap. “The High Tide. I want to run it for the rest of my life.”

I nod. It’s a powerful thing to know what you want in life. “That’s not my plan,” I say and regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth. Running the inn and living with Thor are not part of my plan. But in this happy moment, I wonder if my plan can change.

I also realize that Thor hasn’t asked me to stay.

The next morning, I wake to an empty bed and the doorbell ringing over and over. There’s something wrong about it, and it takes me a few moments to realize that Thor or Jean must have fixed the doorbell. The house is starting to come together. The doorbell continues to ding dong. Either no one else hears it, or they’re not in the house. I quickly slip on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, run downstairs, and open the front door.

A short man—about five-feet-tall—bald with buck teeth and wearing a brown, corduroy suit is standing on the front porch. “Are you High Tide Events?” he asks.

“Yes, yes I am.” I smooth my hair. “May I help you?”

“I’m Charles Foster. I want to do a photoshoot at the side of the house over the tide pools.”

“A photoshoot? That sounds wonderful.”

His face brightens, and he smiles, showing his array of crooked teeth. “I’m ready now if you are. Do you take American Express?”

I don’t take American Express or any credit cards. For now, we’re strictly a cash and check business. I have to expand soon, though. Charles agrees to pay with cash if he can start the photoshoot immediately.

“Sure. Why not?” I say.

“Good. I’ll get Matilda out of the car.”

I step outside and see Thor walking from the behind the house. He joins me on the porch, and we watch Charles go to the back of his SUV. “What’s going on?” Thor asks, putting his arm around my waist.

“We have a new client. He’s doing a photoshoot with his wife. Or maybe she’s his girlfriend,” I add. “I don’t know. He didn’t really say, but her name’s Matilda.”

“Beryl, what have you done?” Thor demands, dropping his hand.

“What do you mean?”

He points at Charles’ car. From the back door, Charles tugs at a leash, and the world’s biggest alligator slithers out.

“Is that his girlfriend or his wife?” Thor asks.

“I’m going to scream.”

“Don’t scream.”

“Okay,” I tell Thor. “I won’t scream. Not unless a giant alligator is walking in the front yard.”

“Good, because the giant alligator is following the little guy to the side of the house.”

Thor walks down the porch steps. “Where are you going? Are you crazy?” I ask.

“No way am I missing this. Come on.”

“There’s a giant alligator,” I say, as if Thor isn’t aware of it.

“Come on,” he says with entirely too much glee.

In a moment of stupid bravery brought on by my unhealthy curiosity and the joy of being with Thor, I follow him. Sure enough, Charles is positioning the alligator on the cliffs, taking several pictures of the beast.

“Mr. Foster, this is Thor. He’s the co-owner of the High Tide,” I call out. The alligator turns his head toward us and hisses. I scream and jump onto Thor’s back, like a cat climbing a tree. To his credit, Thor holds me there, piggyback style.

“So this is Matilda?” Thor asks Charles.

Charles nods. “The love of my life. I go everywhere with her. I’m going to be buried with her.”

“Probably sooner rather than later,” Thor whispers to me, still smiling.

“You’re loving this,” I say to him.

“This is awesome. This is what makes life worth living. This and fucking. Fucking is good, too.”

“Gee, you’re so romantic.”

“I love your legs wrapped around me,” Thor says. “Even though we can’t do much in this particular position.”

“Are you propositioning me next to the alligator?” I ask.

“Is there an alligator? Your thighs distracted me.”

We watch Charles and Matilda’s entire photoshoot, which includes a multitude of selfies. Halfway through the bizarre scene, I relax enough to let Thor lower me to the ground. I stand in front of him with his arms wrapped around my chest. I want to have the paramedics on hand, but Thor gives Charles the benefit of the doubt, and sure enough, Matilda doesn’t eat him. Not even one bite. After an hour, Charles herds Matilda back into his SUV and drives off, leaving us one hundred dollars richer.