All I Ever Wanted Read online

  He looked at me warily. “That bad?” He handed me a tissue from the Kleenex box on the end table. “You’re crying.”

  I shook my head. “It was beautiful, Alex. I loved it. Thank you.” I wiped my eyes. “What did you name it?”

  “Well, I always have trouble with titles.” He unplugged the guitar, put it back in its case, and returned to where I was sitting. He stood right in front of me, staring down at me with a thoughtful look. “I’m open to ideas. For now I’ve been calling it ‘Samantha’s Song.’ But I might have to change it to, oh, maybe ‘Amanda’s Song’ or something.” He broke into a grin, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Then he reached his hand down and took one of mine, pulling me up. I saw his Adam’s apple jump as he swallowed. “You do know I should probably drive you home.”

  “I thought I made my intentions pretty clear back at the barn, Alex. Unless—” I paused. “Unless you don’t want me to stay.”

  To that, he answered with an actual eye roll before he brought his lips down on mine and kissed me with no thought of how we would breathe. And for a while, I didn’t care.

  Then, I pulled back, gasped for air, and said, “Lack of oxygen makes me lightheaded. We’d better lie down.” And I pushed him onto the bed.

  He chuckled for a second…and then he didn’t anymore. He started kissing me again, pulling at the bottom of my shirt, which was tucked in, and yanking it free of my jeans. Slowly, sensually, he began to lift it off me. Soon, it was gone. Just like in my dream this morning. Just like when we’d been in Cincinnati together. Then my jeans disappeared too, and he was gliding his fingers along my thighs in a game of hide and seek with my panties. This move I remembered from October as well. And from my recent dream featuring him. I felt myself starting to sweat. It was a kind of freaky déjà vu on multiple levels.

  But did I care? No.

  I answered him by getting rid of his shirt too. And starting on his jeans.

  “You would have to have button-flies,” I hissed, fumbling to get a semi-decent grip on one button with my fingers. “Way to make it more difficult.” It had not been this difficult in my dream.

  “Hey, don’t want anyone to think I’m easy.” He kicked off his sneakers, but he let me struggle with the buttons for another minute before he groaned. “Samantha…God, I want you so much, and I lied, okay? I’m easy. For you, I’m very, very easy.” He pulled one of my hands away from his fly and kissed my fingertips. Then, with a flash of speed, he unbuttoned the jeans, slipped them off, and got rid of his briefs too.

  I couldn’t move at first. It was all I could do to gape at him and his beautiful, lean body. In the dim light, I could see the leopard tattoo on his arm. I wanted to reach out and trace it. And there was a small scar line to the right of his navel. And a smattering of freckles on his chest. Taking in all of him in one glance overwhelmed me.

  Finally, I ran my index finger along his erection from base to tip. Touched the moistness. Swirled. Beside me, he drew in a sharp breath. Then I moved in to kiss the very same trail I’d made with my finger. Skimming along his skin with the tip of my tongue—slowly, slowly—until he moaned, pulled me up and off him, and flipped me on my back faster than I could blink.

  “Alex, is everyth—”

  “Shh,” he said. “Give me a second. I just need…one…sec.” He was above me now, breathing hard and staring into my eyes as though he could see deep into the secrets of my soul. And it was this. This moment that I could remember so clearly—when things had stopped between us back in the fall. When I’d pulled away. I’d been terrified then of what he’d see.

  But I wasn’t afraid of him reading the secrets in my eyes anymore. He was already aware of so many of them. And I could hear my friend Bree’s voice in my head urging me to “take a risk, Sami—just take one risk.”

  “Alex, it’s time to continue where we left off,” I whispered to him.

  He licked his lips. “You sure?”

  I slid my hands up his smooth back to his shoulders. Up to his neck and the back of his head. And then I pulled him closer to me. Closer still until our lips met and I could lose myself in his kiss.

  “Yes,” I said into his mouth. Then I kissed his jaw and said, “Yes.” And then I kissed the bottom of his chin and said, “Yes,” again.

  “Okay.” He exhaled and set about rifling through a little bag on the nightstand. I heard the distinctive rip of the condom packet and could see him roll it on. “I’m all yours.”

  For how long? I couldn’t help but wonder with sudden panic. For tonight, yes. At least he was mine tonight. But how easily he could’ve been with that blonde instead. And there would always be some blonde. Or some redhead. Or some brunette. Some temptation or other. It was the way of things with musicians in Alex’s world. I couldn’t blame him if he chose someone else on some other night.

  As I kneaded the muscles in his shoulders and biceps, he bent his head down to taste my nipples. I arched my back, and he immediately slid one of his arms between me and the bed to pull my body against his. To take more control.

  And I let him. I put all of my doubts aside, if only for tonight, and I let him take me wherever he wanted.

  His mouth, his hands, the strength of his limbs—I was cradled and consumed by his touch. He seemed to merely tap the elastic of my lace panties and then, next thing I knew, they were gone. Flung across the room somewhere probably un-findable. Not that I cared. I just wanted him in me. I told him so. And he listened.

  “I’m here,” he whispered, thrusting in deep, making me gasp. And then pant. And then moan. He pulled out a little bit and thrust in again. Harder. Deeper. “But you don’t have to rush this, Samantha. I’m not going anywhere.”

  You are though. Just not tonight.

  “I’m with you. All the way,” he murmured. “Don’t be afraid to let yourself fall.”

  Oh, Alex, I already have.

  But maybe he couldn’t see it, and I didn’t hold that against him. I was doing my best not to show him how squishy and sensitive my heart was. How easily he could bruise it.

  “I’m not afraid,” I lied. And I reclaimed just enough control to reach the back of his thighs. To grip them tighter. To pull him nearer still. To run my fingers just high enough between his legs to tease him from behind. To press into him until his cry echoed through the room and the friction between our bodies all but sparked fire.

  In a flash of heat and light, we ignited, and I was caught in the flame with him.

  Even when only glowing embers were left, we still remained linked together—in silence and in sweat. I closed my eyes and slept. For how long, I couldn’t say, but the next time I was aware enough to remember anything, we were no longer connected. Alex was on his side, facing me. Still naked and uncovered. And I had only a snatch of the comforter around me, lifted from the edge of the bed.

  I slid down to the carpeted floor, retrieved the few clothing items of mine that I could find, and spotted my pink coat illuminated by a stray shaft of moonlight. I slipped them all on, and continued to stare at Alex while he was deep in slumber.

  So masculine and beautiful. Both strong and sensitive. Powerful and, when he was awake, intensely aware of everything.

  I wanted to remember him like this. I didn’t want the awkwardness of the morning. The certainty that he’d be leaving town tomorrow…or, rather, today. It had to be long after midnight. In a matter of hours, I knew he’d be gone.

  Just thinking about it made me feel like I’d been sucker-punched. I was already under his spell and we hadn’t even spent a whole weekend together. I could only imagine how much more painful our separation would be for me if I let myself get drawn fully into his orbit. Get too attached to the enchantment of his world. Or, heaven forbid, if I started fantasizing that the two of us had any kind of a real future together.

  How could we? Long-distance relationships were a tough road, even under normal circumstances. But add in his striking good looks and intelligence? His musical talent a
nd ability to attract women simply by walking onto a stage? We were doomed.

  Anything magical we’d shared would soon fizzle under the sharp realities of everyday life. Nothing looked the same during a normal workday as it did on the night of a festival. The morning light would prove that soon enough.

  I played with the corner of the comforter. It was soft and easy to manipulate quietly in the dark. I covered him with it and waited until he’d snuggled into the fabric, a half smile on his lips.

  Then I blew him a kiss, slipped out of the room, and walked away from my Land of Make Believe.

  Alex

  Good thing it was so freakin’ cold. And good thing the walk to Mirror Lake, where they were having their “Winterfest ice-skating party” or whatever on this chilly Sunday afternoon, was so freakin’ long. Gave me time to cool off a little.

  Not enough to keep me from being mad. Oh, no. I was still mightily ticked. But at least it was enough to keep me from wanting to yell. Very loudly. In public. About something very private.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets and felt an object in there that reminded me yet again why women were so crazy-making. Why I had every right to be angry and hurt. And why Samantha Abbott, in particular, was responsible for causing this reaction in me for a second time in less than three months.

  I stopped short and stared at the petite wooden warming lodge situated next to a charming family-friendly frozen-over lake packed with skaters of all ages. Jesus. Did everything in this town have to be so damn cute?

  After taking several deep breaths of the frigid January air, I worked up the nerve to go inside the lodge. It was swarming with townspeople—what a shocker—and, of course, it smelled delicious. I spotted a big platter of apple strudel, some slices of cinnamon bread (without my icing and pecan embellishments though—too bad), and a couple of big beverage dispensers labeled Abbott House Coffee and Mexican Hot Chocolate, respectively. The latter was one of Samantha’s specialties. I’d tried a mug of it yesterday and loved its distinctive flavor. But then, I’d been in a much better mood yesterday.

  There were a couple of workers in there selling Abbott’s Sweet Confections treats and beverages. People who were not, to my eye, individuals who looked like actual Abbotts. The one Abbott I’d thought—at least until early this morning—I knew fairly well was in the building though. Her back was to me and she was in a deep tête-a-tête with that friend of hers. That same curly-haired brunette from the Bake Sale on Friday. Maya. The one who’d “warned” her about me.

  A few kids were racing around inside and bumped into me in their haste to get back to the lake. Outside, I could see more kids, many more adults, and a few dogs on or around the ice. It made a pretty picture. A Norman Rockwell kind of scene, especially with that famous bridge visible in the distance.

  But I didn’t come here to look at the scenery or to join in the zesty delight of the community and their latest act of good, clean fun. I came here to talk to Samantha.

  She didn’t see me at first, and the glances I managed to catch of her expression had me worried. She looked out of sorts. A little sad. It made my anger dissolve instantly. But then, when our gazes finally met, her frown deepened and my anger returned like a boomerang. Why was she upset? I was the injured party yet again. What the hell had I done to her?

  I clenched my jaw, crossed my arms, and waited until she walked over to me.

  “Hi, Alex,” she whispered.

  For a sec, I was at a complete loss for words. I wanted to scream, but she was speaking so quietly. So sadly.

  “Here’s what I want right now,” I ground out. “You see those small brown paper bags over there? The ones you put the cookies or the pastries in for customers?” I pointed to them.

  She squinted at me. “Yeah.”

  “I’d like one. Now.”

  “Just the bag?” she asked. “But why don’t I give you a piece of my mom’s apple strudel? It’s very good and—”

  “No strudel.” I was not in the mood to eat any damn thing, and I sure didn’t want to be bribed with sweets. “Only the bag.”

  “Okay.” She went over by one of the workers and grabbed one. When she handed it to me, I reached into the pocket of my leather jacket, pulled out the balled-up slip of white lace I’d hidden in there, and stuffed it into the bag so no one else would see what it was. Then I gave the paper sack back to her.

  She peered inside, her blue eyes widening at what she saw, and I heard her fast intake of breath. She nudged me over to the corner of the lodge, away from the teenagers at the table nearby who might overhear us.

  “Um, thank you for returning my panties,” she murmured so faintly I could barely hear her. “I couldn’t find them…earlier.”

  “Yeah, well, it might’ve helped if you’d looked for them in the fucking daylight, Samantha,” I whispered back. I could hear the accusation in my voice, but I didn’t care. I was ticked and I was wounded. Still. It wasn’t like I’d woken up at noon and expected her to be there waiting for me. I was awake at four a.m. and she was already gone. And since I’d driven her to the B&B, it meant she had to have walked home. Halfway across town. Probably two miles in the darkness and cold…

  Just so she could leave me.

  Dammit. Why hadn’t she stayed until this morning?

  “Why are you so mad?” she asked, but I didn’t believe this was a sincere question.

  I stared at her, incredulous. “You left. In the dark. In the middle of the night. Without a car or a ride home. You left. Without a note or a text or a kiss goodbye.”

  “I gave you a kiss goodbye, Alex, but you were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

  “You didn’t want to face me. That’s not the same thing.”

  She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I was scared, and I left. I just—I didn’t want to do this today.” She motioned at the space between us. “I didn’t want to see you after the magic of last night had worn off because—because it was so wonderful.” She stared up at me, pleading with me to believe her. Some of the tightness in my chest eased a little at her words, but not all of it.

  I nodded for her to continue to explain herself. It was only fair to at least hear her out.

  “I know things can’t last between us,” she said. “Just like I know I can’t sleep late and daydream for another hour when it’s a workday. Just like I always had to go home again after being in my secret kingdom. I had a curfew, and real life was waiting for me.”

  I glanced around the warming lodge. So many laughing, wholesome people. And there she was, wearing her heavy wool sweater and one of those red Abbott’s Sweet Confections aprons, working again in the midst of all the community fun.

  “So, what then?” I asked her. “You’re saying last night with me wasn’t real? That being here today is, though. That it’s a return to drudgery for you after an evening of playing Cinderella at the ball. That any kind of happily ever after in life or love is impossible, so you won’t even try to improve anything or speak up for what you want, right?”

  She shrugged. “You make it sound like I’m being ridiculous, Alex, but yeah. Fairytales don’t last.”

  “Well, I don’t buy it. I think you’re just using that argument as an excuse. With your family and with me.”

  She raised her eyebrows at me in surprise.

  “Tell me something,” I said. “Do your parents expect you to take over the bakery when you’re done with college?”

  “Me? Probably not. Oliver, maybe. He’s so gifted with—”

  “I don’t want to hear about your pain-in-the-ass brother.” When I said that, her eyes immediately cut to the window, and I spotted him out there. On the lake. Helping this little grade-school kid skate. It was cute and sweet, and I had to admit that I wasn’t really mad at him. “Sorry, Samantha. Nothing against Oliver, okay? But I’m asking about you. What are your goals? What do you love doing?”

  She considered this for a long time. Looked at me like I was
trying to trap her in a logistical fallacy, which I kinda was.

  Finally, she said, “I love reading novels and poetry. Talking about stories. I’m sort of like you in that way, but I don’t write songs the way you do. I’ll probably end up majoring in English Lit. It’s what I enjoy most.”

  “And if you do that, will it disappoint your parents? Will they try to stop you?”

  She shook her head. “No, they’re not like that. They try to be supportive. And I want to be of some real help to them at the bakery when I’m here. I’m just tired of pretending I’ll ever get good at baking. They keep ignoring what’s right in front of their faces.”

  I raised my eyebrows at her this time. “Well, I guess we both know where you picked up that trait, huh?”

  She made a face.

  “Who made this Mexican Hot Chocolate? You did, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “But that’s nothing really—”

  “Shh. I’ve been hearing about it all weekend. Fine, maybe it’s not actual baking. I get that. But it’s something you can do for your family that the customers really like. I loved it. Have you ever considered just being honest with your folks about what you enjoy doing and taking some initiative when it comes to the hot beverages? You know, help them and the bakery in a slightly different way by specializing in creative and unusual drinks?”

  She was thinking about this, but I didn’t wait for her to answer.

  “You could maybe start telling them more about the things you love doing in college as well. They sent you there so you could get an education, Samantha. I don’t think they’d be all that thrilled if you ended up completely unchanged by the experience.”

  Then I pointed at the workers currently in the building. “And unless those people over there are your distant cousins or something, it doesn’t seem like your parents are opposed to hiring outside help. You don’t have to keep pretending you love baking and serving. Maybe you’ll still have to pitch in when you’re home, but I’ll bet if you’re helping out the business in other ways, they’ll let you off the hook a little more often with tasks like these. And you’ll resent it less too.”