Sex and the Widow Miles (The Women of Willow Bay) (4 page)

I
followed him into the living room. His shoulders were broad in the navy sweater he wore—he had the California surfer look going big time in spite of living in Chicago. Why the hell was I noticing that? And why had my heart suddenly speeded up? This was the same guy I’d snarled at a few days ago. Nothing had changed.

“
I’m okay, thanks.” My voice sounded strained. “Carrie packed my entire wardrobe, so I’m sorting through it.”

“
We’re due about six inches. You set for food?” He turned those gorgeous eyes on me and my belly flipped.

What the hell?
Was this some kind of reaction from the meds, or was I missing Charlie and sex so much that my imagination was running completely amuck? Sex had been such a non-issue since Charlie died, I hadn’t even had the desire to try the vibrator Carrie had given me for my birthday last summer. Yet here I was, belly reeling like I was on rollercoaster just because Will offered me a sweet smile. Is this what happened when depression started easing?

Oh, no! Helluva time for my libido to make a reappearance.

His brow furrowed slightly. “Do you want to come with me? We should hit the market before it gets too—” He caught my eye.

I
leaned against the sofa, arms crossed under my breasts, simply gazing at him. I was frozen there, unable to respond, my mouth as dry as a desert. Was I actually lusting after a guy who’s practically a stranger? And almost young enough to be my son?

Yep
.
Desire curled in my lower belly, although it had been such a long time, I barely recognized the sensation. Blood rushed to my cheeks and my body warmed as I stared at him standing there in Liam and Carrie’s living room, looking like an MTV beach party host.

Will
’s face changed from friendly curiosity to something else, something indefinable. But when his gaze locked on mine, his expression altered completely. Concern and worry creased his brow as lust literally took my breath away. A major menopausal heart palpitation began coming on. My pulse pounded in my throat and in my ears as he walked toward me. I pressed my fist to my chest.

“
Hey, are you all right?” Reaching for me, he leaned down to peer into my face. He was so close his cinnamon-sweet breath warmed my cheek. With a little sympathetic cluck, he tugged me into his arms. “Julie, it’s okay… it’s okay. I know this must be hard.”

He
’d completely misread me, but my arms slid around his waist anyway. I pressed myself against his chest, inhaling the scent of him—clean, crisp, woodsy. Dear God, I’d forgotten how it good it felt to be in a strong man’s arms. How delicious to have a man’s hands smoothing over my back, a man’s body warm and hard next to mine. He stroked my hair, murmuring little comforts. Shamelessly, I basked in his embrace.

Will
’s hand came up between us, the back brushing my breast as he tucked one finger under my chin to lift my face to his, and the atmosphere between us heated up immediately. Our eyes held as those aqua lights darkened. His lips hovered over mine for a few seconds before, with a groan, he kissed me. He certainly wasn’t misreading me now. It was a great kiss—a little tentative at first, but when I didn’t protest, he increased the pressure. His tongue stroked into my mouth as my pulse kicked into overdrive.

Tunneling his fingers into my hair, his hand cupped the back of my head, holding me still for his fervent
kiss. I couldn’t help responding, meeting his tongue with my own as a fire stoked between my legs. My nipples pebbled with the touch of his chest next to mine. My hands crept up his back, tracing the muscles there as my tongue sought his.

The therapist had warned me the meds I was taking might dampen my
sex drive. Apparently, she hadn’t counted on Will Brody, because my libido was on point. I slipped one hand under his sweater only to find his undershirt keeping me from the warmth of his bare skin.

When he slid his other hand down my back to my behind, pressing my lower body to his, evidence of his arousal was unmistakable. The feel of his erection against my belly splashed icy reality over me.
Oh, sweet Christ in heaven! The last time a hard-on pushed into my stomach like that was on Mackinac Island.

Charlie!

What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t do this… no way. Not with Charlie lingering in my mind and heart.

Wrenching myself from his lips and arms and gasping for breath, I backed a few feet away and bumped into the grand piano next to the huge window that overlooked Lake Michigan. My elbow hit a framed picture, which sent a couple more clattering over and one skittering across the floor.

I wrapped my arms around my waist as my words came out on a little choked sob. “Oh, God… I… I… “

“
Julie?” He blinked, confusion and lust evident on his face as guilt washed over me.

“
I’m sorry, Will.” I could still feel his heat on my body and his lips on my mouth—the feeling only increased my shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“
I’m not. Not one bit.” It was the last thing on Earth I expected him to say.

“
What?
”

“
Look, I’m attracted to you.” His hand shook as he ran it over his mouth and then he dropped down onto the arm of the sofa as if his legs wouldn’t support him. “I can’t help it. You got me with the Louisville Slugger and that dopey hat. Why do you think I’ve been hanging around so much for the past few days?”

“
Good Lord, Will, you hardly know me. Plus, I’m old enough to be your mother.” I blurted it out without thinking.

“
You are not.” He scowled at me.

“
You’re closer to my son’s age than you are to mine. I’m way too old for you.”

I wasn
’t even sure why we were having this discussion. Getting involved with Will Brody—hell, getting involved with
any
man—was out of the question. I belonged to Charlie Miles, I always would. Will would be nothing more than a way to scratch an itch. An itch I’d mistakenly believed had died with my husband. I couldn’t do that to such a nice guy. Besides in my current state of menopausal moodiness, no way could I handle playing cougar to Will’s teenaged crush.

“
Bullshit.” Will’s voice trembled. “I’m thirty-nine years old—in most cultures that’s considered an adult.”

“
Well, I’m fifty-two and in
this
culture that’s considered practically a senior citizen.” My heart still pounded. My face was feverish and a trickle of sweat ran between my breasts.

Oh great, a hot flash.

I was mortified and frustrated… and longing to hurl myself back into his arms and kiss him stupid. I let my eyes slide away from his as I zipped my hoodie up to my neck. Swallowing hard, I turned to stare out at Lake Michigan glistening in the sunset nine stories below. How could I have let this happen? What was wrong with me? Was I
that
starved for affection? For sex?

God, how humiliating.

As unobtrusively as I could, I rubbed my tank top between my breasts to try to dry off and blew a frustrated breath into my bangs in an effort to gain some composure.

Dammit, dammit.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle a guy making a pass. Photographers and male models—the ones that were straight anyway—made passes all the time. It was how they entertained themselves during a long shoot. But this was
Will,
Liam’s best friend, and I could tell from his face that the kiss wasn’t simply a pass. It was a declaration. When I turned back around, he was slumped on the arm of the leather sofa, staring at me. The look in his eyes was unfathomable and I was at a complete loss as to what to say to him.

Suddenly he
stood up, equilibrium seemingly restored. “I’m ordering us take-out,” he said, apropos of nothing. “How about Thai? Do you like peanut chicken? We can have it at my place because I have beer and I’m sure you don’t. So come on, we’ll go over and watch an old movie. Carrie told me you love Katherine Hepburn. I have
The African Queen
on Blu-ray.”

“
Will—”

H
e held up his hand to stop me. “We’re not done, Jules—not by a long shot. I don’t believe for one minute that kissing you was a mistake, but we’ll let it be for now.” He grinned and my heart speeded up all over again. “Relax, okay? Obviously, you’re not ready, so I’m not going to push you. I promise. Dinner, beer, and a movie—two friends—nothing more.”

He started
for the door and slowly, I followed him, still blushing and confused. My mind was whirling. Frankly, I wasn’t worried about
him
, I was worried about
me
. Will had touched a place in me I thought was dead. Finding out that it wasn’t shocked me right down to my socks. My body was a morass of lust and longing, and this sweet guy was the one who’d awakened it in me. Dear God, how was I going to close this Pandora’s Box? I had to. No question about that. But even as I tamped down the feelings, I watched him, big and blond and broad, and heat seared in me.

“
I have to tell you about what I saw in Paris.” He opened the door and held it for me. His tone was completely conversational, the flush gone from his cheeks.

How in the world did he switch gears so easily?
When I passed by him, the sexy male scent of him nearly did me in, and in my head, I cursed the whole concept of pheromones. I stole a quick peek at his face. Not so much Mr. Cool as he seemed. His eyes betrayed him—they were still dark with emotion.

He shoved one hand his pocket as I slipped past him, and his voice quavered ever so slightly as he continued,
“There was this guy on the Metro with a monkey…”

FIVE

A couple of days later,
I loaded the boxes and garment bags of clothes into Carrie’s Prius and headed for the charity she’d told me about on the phone the night before. Will’s Google maps indicated the place was only a few miles from Carrie and Liam’s Lakeshore Drive apartment building. She was thrilled I was donating the clothes, and I wondered if secretly she’d hoped I’d do just that when she over-packed me so vigorously, knowing I would never need all those suits and dresses. The charity she’d recommended—a place called
La Belle Femme
—was part of a shelter that served battered women in Chicago.

“
It’s a wonderful place, Jules,” she’d told me last night on the phone.

I could almost see Carrie curling up in the big armchair in her family room as she settled in for a long chat. The mental picture caused a twinge of homesickness for my big house next door to hers on the shore as she waxed enthusiastic about the shelter and the shop.

“The Chicago Symphony does a benefit for them every fall, and Sarah Everett—the woman who runs the shop—is a gem. She used to be an Atlanta socialite and lived in the lap of luxury, but her husband abused her terribly. When she escaped him a couple ofyears ago, she devoted her life to helping other battered and abused women. She came to the shelter for protection, but stayed on. Her settlement from her divorce helped them open up the boutique.”

“
These clothes aren’t geared for that type of place,” I’d protested. “All these designer suits and dresses. How can
they
use them?”

“
Actually, your stuff’s perfect! This little boutique gives their clothes away—they help women get back on their feet and prepare them to go out on job interviews. So many of these women have been mentally and emotionally bruised, as well as physically. Honestly, they don’t have the confidence to pick out a pot roast, let alone dress themselves for a job interview. Sarah and her staff are terrific.” Carrie’s enthusiasm was contagious. I was getting curious and perked up a little as she warmed to her subject. “Sarah lives above the shop. I’ll call her and tell her you’re coming in with some clothes. I think you’ll like her.”

So here I was, scouring for a parking spot on the narrow street off Michigan Avenue, trying to get
as close to the shop as I could and wondering how in blue blazes I was going to lug the boxes from the car. Maybe Sarah Everett had a cart or a dolly or…
something
. I carefully parallel-parked and was piling out when the door to the little shop flew open.

“
Get your sorry ass out of here and don’t ever show your face in my shop again, y’all hear me?” A tiny redhead stood in the doorway shouting at the man who’d stumbled out the door ahead of her. He was at least three times her size, and yet he was practically cowering. “If you so much as look in the window again, I’m callin’ the cops, ya got that?” Her strident voice carried down the street practically to Michigan Avenue.

The man backed away from her, his hands open and raised. He said something I didn
’t hear.

T
he little fireball practically spat at him. “Don’t you dare say another word, jackass. You just keep movin’!”

She turned and caught sight of me
, watching with apparent interest as I stacked one box on top of another and walked her direction. “Lock that vehicle or it’ll be gone when you get back out.” She marched back into the shop.