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The clock told her she had half an hour left, and she wasn’t sure what to do with herself, so Olivia simply sat on the couch with her hands folded in her lap. If she wanted to, she could just go to Jamie’s house and share a meal. She knew that. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted to have him. She wanted to feel him on her and in her. So, scary as it was, she wouldn’t back down. Someone had to be the first after Victor, and it was going to be Jamie.
After thirty quiet, calm minutes, Olivia stood, put on her heeled sandals and left for Jamie’s place. She’d approach fun the way she approached everything: with logic and calm.
Logic, calm and a crazed, thundering heart. It seemed that fun wasn’t easy to trick, because by the time she reached Jamie’s place, she couldn’t hear anything past her rushing pulse.
She vaguely noticed that he lived in a beautiful neighborhood of large houses, and his place was no exception. The porch was split into two entrances, and she walked up to the left one and knocked. When she started getting dizzy, she made herself breathe, even when she saw a figure approach behind the frosted glass.
“Ms. Bishop,” he said, a smile spreading across his face like a warm, melting treat. “Thanks for coming.”
Hopefully he’d be repeating that same phrase later.
She fought back a nervous laugh as he opened the door wider and motioned her to step inside. She started to walk past him, then stuttered when he moved to kiss her. At the exact moment she realized he’d meant to kiss her cheek, she turned in to kiss his lips. It was too late then. Their mouths bumped awkwardly before she stepped away.
Damn it.
The door clicked closed.
“It smells good in here!” she said brightly.
“Thank you.”
“And …” She finally registered her surroundings and turned in a slow, awed circle. “It’s so pretty!” This was no dingy apartment. It wasn’t even a man cave. The tall windows were open to the breeze, letting sunlight fall across wood floors. The baseboards and doors were warm, polished wood against almond-colored walls. “How long have you lived here?”
“About eighteen months.” He led her toward the back, to a small kitchen done in dark granite and stainless steel.
“Beautiful. I didn’t expect this.”
“Oh, yeah?” he opened the oven and pulled out a pan. “What did you expect?”
She cleared her throat and didn’t answer.
“Neon beer signs? Posters taped to the walls?”
“No. I—”
“I save those for my bedroom. Then I know I’ll start the day off right.”
“Stop,” she said, slapping his arm.
Jamie snagged her wrist and pulled her into him. “I’ve been waiting to do this.”
His arms curved around her, his mouth touched hers, and the world crashed into them. She parted her lips and his tongue slid in, and though it started warm and slow, she was soon pushed against the kitchen counter while Jamie’s tongue worked her mouth and his hands clutched her hips. She clutched him right back, loving the way he smelled and tasted and felt. For three nights, she’d fallen asleep with his voice winding around her. She’d been waiting for this.
They’d shared kisses before, but this was something different. His whole body was pressed to her. She shifted, and his hips nudged her, and lust turned inside her like a screw tightening.
Maybe he’d take her right here. Maybe he’d just set her up on the counter, and push her skirt up and her panties down. She’d never had it like that before, hot and desperate in the kitchen, cold granite against her back. She was wet already. So wet she could feel it.
Something buzzed loudly, and Olivia jerked back.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice rough. “Excuse me for just a moment.”
When he moved away, her nipples peaked at the sudden coolness he left behind. She felt like she was about to burst, but Jamie still moved easy and calm as he leaned over to pull another pan from the oven. “Baked omelette,” he explained, as he set it down. “I hope you don’t have anything against bacon.”
“No, I tried being a vegetarian a few years ago. I was embarrassingly unsuccessful.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“On the fourth day, I was so desperate for meat that I stopped at a convenience store on my way home from lunch and bought a taquito. I ate it at the cash register while I was still paying.”
“That’s pretty bad,” Jamie said. “And here I thought you were so straitlaced.”
She smiled even though her laces had been measured with a level. “I can get pretty crazy, I guess. Whatever you do, don’t get between me and a tray of taquitos.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Despite her intense hope, Jamie didn’t return to her. Apparently there’d be no sex on the counter. The man was determined to feed her. He moved to the fridge and pulled out a bowl, and Olivia’s eyes trailed down to his bare feet. Everything about him made her mouth water, even his feet. He looked young and adorable in his ancient jeans and T-shirt. When he reached back into the fridge, his shirt rose, and Olivia caught a glimpse of his tight back, the curve of his hip bone standing out in mouthwatering relief.
She was going to do this. She really was. She was going to see him naked. Touch him. Wrap herself around him. What a damn strange idea. She almost felt like she was watching herself in a movie, acting out a part.
“Olivia, can you grab this?”
This? She’d grab anything he wanted. But in the end it was just a bowl of cut fruit, and she sadly followed him through the kitchen and past the table toward the back door.
He was being very sweet, making an effort, but she didn’t really need any of this. Did he always go to this much trouble for a simple round of sex? No wonder he was so popular. Service with a smile.
Her eyes on his ass, it took her a moment to notice where he’d led her. He set a carton of orange juice and a bottle of champagne on a round table. “Mimosa?”
“You have to ask? Does anyone ever say no to that?”
He frowned, but she was too distracted by her surroundings to worry. “What a great place, Jamie.” They sat on a wide deck outfitted with the table and chairs and one lounge chair. That deck dropped one step down to a smaller area that included a Jacuzzi half-hidden behind a trellis. But the rest of the yard was the amazing part. A stone path wound through gardens and rock formations. At the very back of the long yard, a little waterfall fell in a perpetual tumble over a six-foot-tall rise of boulders. “It’s so beautiful. Peaceful.”
“Thank you.” He gestured for her to sit down, handed her a mimosa, then disappeared back inside. He’d already set the table, and she found herself smiling down at her plate and the silverware, laid out with perfect neatness on a folded paper towel. Her coffee cup read, “My other mug is a pint glass.”
“Do you want help?” she called.
“Nope.” He stepped out, balancing two baking dishes, some serving spoons and one coffeepot. “If there’s one thing I can do, it’s serve a table.”
He stuck the spoons smack into the middle of each dish, which reminded Olivia of the folded paper towels. His attention to detail didn’t reach Martha Stewart levels. He was kind of adorable. Again.
She served herself some eggs and some coffee cake, and the combined smells were heavenly. Her stomach rumbled, but as she reached for her fork, Jamie reached for the champagne. She made herself wait politely while he poured champagne, and then the orange juice. Then he raised his glass. “To fun,” he said.
“And new things,” she added.
Five minutes later, Olivia was embarrassed to realize she’d already cleaned her plate. And emptied her glass. “Oh, my God, that was amazing.”
“Have more,” he said, already tilting the bottle. Golden liquid bubbled and sloshed. Olivia giggled and wondered if she was tipsy. Then she stole another dollop of cake.
“So did you always want to be a teacher?” he asked as he took another huge serving of bacon omelette.
“No, not really.”
“You just fell into it?”
“Yes.” She’d fallen into it, all right. Helped by the steady push of her husband’s hand. She tried not to sigh. “But it’s a subject I love. My parents were investors and entrepreneurs. There’s a lot of specialized knowledge that goes into the business side of food service. Stuff a restaurateur wouldn’t necessarily know. I like helping with that.”
He stared intently at her. “Yeah?”
“It’s a tough field. Starting a restaurant is risky and stressful and time-consuming. I like the idea of helping people with it.” In fact, she’d meant to become a consultant, not a teacher. She opened her mouth to say that, but then let the words fade away, unable to form them in a way that didn’t sound pitiful. She’d fallen in love with Victor. He’d wanted her time and energy invested in his career. And so that’s what she’d done. She’d taken a low-paying job at the university, because his career was important. Of course it was. Who could’ve argued with that?
Jamie stared at her, his eyes narrowed as if he were trying to puzzle something out. Olivia wanted to shrink down and protest that she’d done what she’d thought best at the time. Yes, she’d been an idiotic twenty-three-year-old, marrying a man who’d played her perfectly, but she’d meant well. He’d been recently tenured, after all. He’d had a career to build.
“It’s not a bad job,” she said quietly.
“I have an idea.” He didn’t sound disapproving. He sounded … excited?
Olivia had trouble adjusting to this unexpected turn. “What kind of idea?”
“Maybe we could help each other.”
She cocked her head in question.
“You want to learn how to have fun….”
“Yes …?”
He smiled, but it didn’t hold quite his normal level of confidence. “And I want to learn how to turn the tasting room into a real brewpub.”
His plan wasn’t exactly a shock. She’d assumed he was heading in that direction. But it was a shock to hear him present their problems as an equal exchange. Was he proposing that she work for him in exchange for sex?
“Jamie, I … I don’t know.”
“What do we have to lose?”
“If I’m going to be working with your family, I’m not sure it would be appropriate to—”
“You won’t be working with my family. My family doesn’t know anything about this.”
“I don’t understand,” she murmured, reaching for her glass, grateful he’d refilled it.
Jamie leaned back and held his own glass loosely between his fingers, turning it as he stared down at the tilting liquid. “My brother doesn’t have a lot of confidence in me. Hell, nobody does. I guess I’ve brought that on myself. Let’s just say there’ve been some instances of questionable judgement.”
“With the business?”
“No, not exactly. Years ago, I sowed my oats fairly widely. And once you’ve cast yourself in the role of black sheep, it’s hard to shake it off.”
“Were there drugs involved? Anything illegal?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s just that … my brother and I are nothing alike. He’s a paragon of responsibility. I could never compete with that, so I didn’t bother trying.” He shrugged. “It’s complicated. But in the end, it comes down to this. We’re equal partners in the brewery, so whatever I propose, I’ll have to convince both my sister and my brother that it’s a good idea. So I need help. All the help I can get.”
“Well, of course I’d be happy to help. But I don’t need you to—”
“No, that’s not true. You need help, too. And I happen to be a lot of good at fun. I cut my teeth on it.”
Her face was so hot it prickled as if she’d just fallen into a field of stinging nettle. “But sex? I can’t just—”
“I didn’t say anything about sex.”
Oh, Jesus. She pressed a cool hand to her cheek. “I don’t understand.”
“I mean fun. Staying up later than ten, for instance.”
“I like to—”
“Sleeping late. Getting drunk under the stars. Skinny-dipping. Going to a strip club—”
“A strip club?” she yelped.
He winked. “And maybe we could work in a little can’t-wait-for-it, gotta-have-it sex against the bathroom wall while we’re at it. Assuming you’d consider that fun.”
“I think …” Her face still burned. Her throat turned on itself until she couldn’t believe she could still draw breath. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t how people went about things, not even older divorcées and younger men. Maybe she should be insulted that he wanted her to bargain for time in his bed. Or against his wall.
On the other hand, it made things easier, didn’t it? No worries that it was something special. Something deep. They were just … scratching each other’s backs. Exchanging services.
Now that she thought about it, maybe this was how it was done. Maybe she was a sugar mama, albeit a rather poor one.
Isn’t that how older men did it? Men like Victor offered guidance, stability, a wise hand along the way. Younger women offered tight bodies and simple needs.
“Well?” Jamie prompted, setting his glass on the table and sitting up straight. He looked right into her eyes, not the least bit embarrassed. How did he do that?
Olivia forced herself to sit straight, too. She’d wanted him anyway, hadn’t she? “All right,” she said, surprised at the conviction in her own voice. “You’ve got a deal. But I want my first lesson today.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I DIDN’T BRING a swimsuit,” she said, confused despite her earlier bold declaration.
Jamie tried to look serious, shaking his head as he slipped the last of the dishes into the sink. “Haven’t you listened to anything I said?”
He could almost see her reviewing his list of fun. In fact, her lips moved as she repeated it to herself. Her eyes widened. “But today … I thought we’d …”
“What?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know what she meant.
She stammered, her face pinkening again.
“Take it slow?” he prompted, letting her off the hook. But he knew exactly what she’d meant. She thought they’d just have sex, and apparently she welcomed it. Jamie’s blood pumped faster, filling his veins until his body felt tight.
She leapt on his words and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Take it slow.”
“But I’m trying to teach you how to jump in feetfirst. Starting with the hot tub.”
