Rekindled Read online

  They were both a little sleep-deprived.

  But it was worth it. He brought the ax down on the top of the log, putting his sexual frustration into the motion. Because it was the only way he was burning through anything in the next few hours. All he could do was exhaust himself.

  Although he needed a break. Definitely. He set the ax down and stripped his shirt off, using the fabric to wipe the sweat off his chest. He slung it over his shoulder and headed down toward the house. Surely Lucy would have some lemonade or iced tea for him. Which was all he wanted from her. Honest.

  He pushed the front door open and walked in. Lucy was dusting. It was very domestic and weirdly sexy all at the same time, and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with the onslaught of feelings that tumbled down on his head.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Lucy turned, eyes widening. She was good for his ego. “Hi yourself.”

  “I’m thirsty. I was wondering if there was anything to drink?”

  “Lemonade,” she said, turning back to her dusting.

  He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge, a completely surreal feeling shrouding him in a fog. Even without kissing there was some weird domestic vortex that seemed to be surrounding them both.

  Strange, because it wasn’t something he’d ever had, and yet he recognized it. And a strange part of him wanted it. Which was even weirder because he knew that this was a lie. This kind of quiet, sweet union. And forget one existing that could be this companionable and also be filled with crazy hold-on-to-your-hat sex. Nope. Wasn’t possible.

  Of course, there were Lucas and Carly. Mac didn’t know about their sex life, and he didn’t want to, but he knew they were happy. So happy it made his gut hurt to look at them. He was happy for Carly. Thrilled for his sister, and for his best friend, that they’d found some happiness after having had such tough childhoods.

  But they were two in a million. That kind of thing just wasn’t out there for him.

  Especially not with Lucy.

  “What do you want for dinner?” she asked.

  He froze. That sounded like a wife question. Not a housekeeper question. Which was stupid, because it was her job to cook for him. But the lines were so blurred and the boundaries just weren’t helping right that second.

  “I thought I might go out,” he said—not a lie, because he was thinking he might right now.

  “Oh.” He could tell by the tone of that single syllable that she wasn’t very happy about it. But that was too bad. They weren’t in a domestic partnership, not matter how things might feel. And that meant he could go out if he wanted to.

  “That frees you up tonight,” he said. “You can work on more plans for Carly’s deal.”

  “The fund-raiser for the school district,” she said, her tone waspish.

  “Right, the fund-raiser. Well, you can work on that.”

  “Great. I will. When do you think you’ll be back?”

  “Late.” He was shooting himself in the foot and he knew it. Pushing himself straight into a cold, womanless bed for the evening. Because he was being an ass and he knew it. But he also needed to remind her, and himself, what this was.

  He wasn’t accountable to her. She wasn’t accountable to him. They were just having sex. That hot, sweaty sex they both needed.

  Of course, he wouldn’t be having it tonight, but he was doing his part to maintain the status quo.

  “Late late?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Great. Well.” She set down her dust cloth. “I’ll see you in the morning, I guess. I’m going to go work on Carly’s thing,” she said, the phrase dripping with disdain.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, not able to leave things quite so bad. “I didn’t mean to minimize it.” Especially since that was what her ex had done. All the time.

  She nodded. “I know. Thanks.”

  “See you.”

  “Yeah.”

  Lucy turned and walked out, and Mac waited for a feeling of right to settle over him. For a sense of accomplishment to hit. He had done what needed to be done. If only he felt more triumphant. He just sort of felt like a douche. A douche who was going to bed alone tonight.

  ***

  Lucy tried to ignore the hurt that had lodged itself down deep in her chest. But it was hard to ignore because it just… hurt.

  She could sense when the tide had turned in the house earlier. It was when she’d asked what he’d wanted for dinner. And suddenly he’d gotten this frozen, wide-eyed look, like a buck in the headlights. And then he’d said he was going out.

  She snorted and flipped open the notebook she was using to keep track of her expenses for the barbecue. Thankfully, Carly had managed to get the PTA and the city council on board with the concept, and now it was just a matter of making it all work.

  Using an outdoor venue, one that was being provided free of charge by one of the student’s parents, went a long way in reducing costs. But they were still going from an exclusive formal affair to an inclusive event that was still supposed to maintain an element of luxury.

  No big deal.

  Yes, thinking about this was way better than thinking about Mac and his attitude problem. She didn’t care about Mac like that anyway. She was just disappointed because sleeping with him was the highlight of her day. She’d found out she liked sex a lot more than she’d thought she had.

  And she refused to feel bad about it. With Mac, she got everything she wanted without having to risk anything. If only the lead weight in her chest agreed with that.

  She scowled and picked up the phone that was installed out in her house. One day, when circumstances improved, she would get a computer for her event planning, and a cell phone.

  She paused. Was she really thinking about a career? A future? She smiled in spite of the hurt feelings. Because she was. She had a goal. One that went past survival. It felt like a huge step.

  She sighed and dialed Sarah’s number. The other woman had become her sounding board, and even though she was sure she shocked her prim friend now and again, she was also sure it was good for her. Everyone needed to be shocked sometimes. Mac managed to shock her every night.

  “Hello?” Sarah picked up on the first ring, something Sarah often did, since she seemed to always be at home in the evenings.

  “Why aren’t you out?” Lucy asked.

  “Nowhere to go. What’s up, Lucy?”

  “Nothing. Something. I think I’m messing things up with Mac.”

  “How?”

  “I think I might feel something for him.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “Yes. It’s very bad. It’s not what either of us wants. I want to get over this thing with my ex and find a real job and some independence. I need to figure out who I am.”

  “And you want to be happy?” Sarah asked.

  “Well, yes. Who doesn’t?”

  “So, what will make you happy?”

  She sighed. “I’m afraid to try for happy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know if I’ve ever really had it. I’m afraid to want it because if I do… if I do and I can’t have it…”

  “What makes you happy?”

  “Mac does.”

  “You were the one who told me a woman should go for what she wants. You’re kind of my hero, Lucy. You fought your way out of a horrible situation; you’ve fought to get back on your feet on your own terms. To find out who you are apart from what that… that horrible man you were married to said you were. Don’t stop fighting now.”

  Lucy swallowed hard. “I think I love him.”

  “I know,” Sarah said.

  “And if he doesn’t love me back?”

  “He’s an idiot. He should love you back. He should be be
yond happy and honored that he has you.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to get this complicated.”

  “I know. Why should you be happy with okay? Why not go for great?”

  Lucy chewed her lip. “I have nothing left to teach you, grasshopper. You’ve become the master.”

  Sarah laughed. “Not really. It’s a lot easier to say than it is to do.”

  “So, let’s both do it. Let’s both shoot for amazing. How about that?”

  “I… yes. Yeah. I think… that’s a good idea. Let’s do that.”

  “Then it’s a deal. No more okay for either of us. We both deserve more.”

  ***

  “It’s not that late, Mac. I think you’re becoming a lightweight in your old age.”

  Mac stopped in the doorway, his hand paused on the light switch. He could see Lucy’s silhouette, see where she was sitting on the couch. He turned the light on, and his breath caught.

  She was wearing a red dress. Red lipstick. She looked… out of his league. She looked like the woman he’d imagined she’d grow up to be. Confident. Cool. Sophisticated and sexy all at the same time.

  She definitely didn’t look like the kind of woman who should be working for him. She didn’t look like the kind of woman he could ever hope to hold on to.

  “I have to get up early,” he said. It was a lame response, but there wasn’t enough blood left in his brain to help him come up with a better one.

  “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe I should let you go to bed then?”

  “No,” he said. “No.” Because he’d come to some kind of conclusion while he’d been out at that stupid bar. He didn’t know where the conclusion would lead him, but it was there nonetheless.

  A blonde had bought him a drink. And then she’d come over to make conversation. And she’d made it very clear that with little effort on his part, the two of them could have ended up, if not in bed, horizontal in the cab of his pickup truck.

  But he hadn’t been tempted. Not even a little. Because all he could do was obsess about Lucy and the issues from earlier. And about how much he wanted her to be in his bed tonight. The idea of sex didn’t seem that appealing when the woman wasn’t Lucy. And that was almost unheard-of.

  He was faithful to the women he dated, always. But if a random woman flirted with him while he was out, he turned her down with a little feeling of wistfulness. There had been no wistfulness tonight. Nothing but the desire to get back home and fix things with Lucy.

  For whatever reason, she was the only woman he wanted right now. So that meant, until that changed, he intended to keep her as close as possible.

  “If you don’t want to go to bed, what do you want to do?” She draped her arms over the back of the couch, thrusting her breasts into prominence.

  “I have a feeling you have something in mind?”

  A half smile quirked her cherry-red lips. “Why yes. Yes I do. Take off your shirt.”

  She didn’t have to ask him twice. He tugged his t-shirt over his head and stood in front of her, waiting for his next command.

  “Boots. Pants. Underwear. I want you naked,” she said.

  “Oh, Lucy, you really are the perfect woman,” he said, working to comply with her wishes.

  “Not perfect,” she said, standing up. “But not as bad as some people have made me out to be.”

  “You seem like a pretty bad girl to me,” he said.

  Dark eyebrows shot up. “Do I?” She sounded intrigued by the thought.

  “Right now? Oh yeah.”

  “You like bad girls?” she asked.

  “Hell yeah.” Her eyes flickered down to where his cock was unashamedly announcing just how much he did.

  “I spent an awfully long time being good. Sit down.”

  He took a seat on the couch, obeying her command. A little turned on by it.

  “And I think being good is highly overrated,” she continued. “Highly.” She reached around behind her and tugged on her zipper, her dress loosening, falling down to her waist, revealing her lacy, red bra that did nothing to conceal the dark shadow of her nipples beneath.

  “You won’t get an argument from me.”

  She pushed her dress down her hips, and then it was just her in a red bra, panties and black stilettos. His mouth went dry, his stomach muscles so tight they hurt.

  She sauntered to the couch, her expression intense, her eyes not leaving his. She put her knee up on the couch, reveling in her dominant role. He liked it too, but he had something else in mind he liked even better.

  He took hold of her thigh and tugged it up so that her high-heeled foot was on the couch, the other on the ground, and the very tempting heart of her was right within his reach.

  He extended his finger and let it drift beneath the seam of her panties, sliding his finger through her folds, finding her wet and ready. “Bad or good, Lucy Ryan-Carter, I just think you’re perfect.” He slipped a finger deep inside of her and her head fell back, a sharp curse on her lips. He liked seeing her like this. Liked seeing the woman she was becoming. Not prim or proper. Not nervous. Confident in herself. In the woman she was.

  “You’re pretty perfect yourself,” she said.

  She put her knee back down on the couch and put her other one on the other side of his thigh, so that she was straddling him. “I came prepared.” She reached into her bra and produced a condom packet, an impish smile on her face.

  “You just got more perfect,” he said, kissing her deeply, taking the condom from her hand. “I didn’t think it was possible.”

  After taking care of the precautions, her pushed her panties aside and she moved over him, sliding down onto his length, her lips shaped like a perfect O.

  He put his hands on her hips and thrust up inside of her, and she matched his movements, meeting him. Challenging him. Pushing him. It was building too fast. His arousal peaking too far, too fast, clashing with the emotion that was raging through his chest.

  He was nearly blind with it, the blood roaring through his ears, blocking out the sound. There was nothing but Lucy. Her skin. He scent. The way she felt, so tight and hot and perfect around his body.

  The way she made him feel.

  “Mac,” she breathed, release shuddering through her, fingernails digging into his skin.

  And that was enough to push him over into the abyss. He felt like he was burning alive, like the fire would consume him. There was no way anyone could survive so much heat.

  But he did. And when he came back to himself, Lucy was there.

  And he found he couldn’t breathe. Because she made him crave something he’d vowed he would never, ever need.

  Not because he didn’t want it. But because he was afraid of what might happen if he did.

  Chapter Ten

  Lucy’s world was officially rocked. And it was all Mac Denton’s fault. But she wasn’t upset about it. She didn’t have that kind of floating hazy feeling she often had after release. Not this time. Instead, she felt this incredible clarity. Everything seemed sharper. More real.

  Everything made sense.

  “I love you,” she said.

  She hadn’t meant to say it. Hell, she hadn’t realized she’d meant it until the words had come out of her mouth. But she did mean them. She meant them with every newfound piece of herself.

  He went stiff beneath her, his muscles locking up, his whole body tense. “What?”

  “Do I really have to repeat myself?”

  “You had better.”

  She moved away from him, suddenly feeling very exposed where before it had all felt so natural. So right.

  Now she just felt stupid and awkward. Laid bare. And it didn’t have much to do with her nudity.

  “I said I love you,” she said, cold dread winding itself around her stoma
ch, making her feel like she couldn’t breathe.

  “Lucy… no. This isn’t what this was supposed to be.”

  “I know that,” she said. “Don’t you think I of all people know that? I just got out of this… miserable marriage and I’m trying to put the pieces of my life, pieces of myself, back together, and the last thing I need is a committed relationship, or strong feelings of any kind for someone, but… but I have them. Because you’ve been a part of this process. You’ve supported me.”

  Mac’s eyes were blank, his expression cold. “Don’t confuse that with love, Lucy.”

  Anger spiked in her veins, hot and unreasonable. “I’m not confused about love. Not now. I used to be. I used to think that love was there because I’d made vows to a man, so it didn’t matter how he treated me. Didn’t matter that he thought I was stupid and worthless, and that he told me so. I thought just because he was my husband it meant he loved me, but I was wrong. He didn’t love me. He didn’t even like me. He owned me, and that’s what he loved. He loved having me in his power. And I didn’t know that possession wasn’t love. But I know that now. You’ve never once tried to put me down, or put me in my place, and you of all people had a reason to. I earned your disdain, and still you had too much decency to.”

  “Listen to yourself, Lucy,” he said, standing. “Your husband was an ass, so you’re confusing common courtesy with something deeper.”

  “I’m sorry, is that what you consider screwing a woman on your couch? Common courtesy? Silly me. I thought it might be more than that.”

  “Don’t. You were the one who said it could be all physical. You were the one who said you could handle it.”

  “Yeah. I can handle it. I’m pretty strong, in case you missed it. Look, still standing. But you know what? Just because I could handle it, doesn’t mean I didn’t develop feelings.”

  “That’s not handling it.”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t seem to be handling it,” she said, not sure where the calm tone of voice came from. Not sure why she was able to stand him down, feeling totally strong and justified.