Нора Робертс - The Last Boyfriend

“And then some,” Beckett agreed, snuggled with Clare on the sofa they shared with his mother and Willy B.

“It’s really done.” Justine sighed. “When I think of the past two years . . .”

“Would you do it again?” Clare’s mom, Rosie, asked her.

“Don’t give her any ideas.” Ryder cast his eyes to the ceiling.

“I wouldn’t, not this. This was a once-in-a-lifetime.”

“Thank you, God.”

But she laughed as she booted Ryder’s foot. “I have other ideas. For later. For tonight?” She lifted her glass. “Here’s to my boys. Ryder, Owen, and Beckett. You made my dream come true.”

Ryder reached over, laid a hand on hers.

“You dream good,” he said after a moment. “Just do me a favor and sleep quiet for a while.”

From the gleam in her eye as she sipped her champagne, Owen suspected she already had another dream going.

Good nights came late and lazily. Avery calculated Justine and her father had some sort of signal to make the sleeping arrangements a bit less awkward for their children.

Or at least the male children, she thought, as she didn’t feel awkward at all.

Her father lumbered out while Justine remained. A few minutes later, Justine wished them all sweet dreams.

By tacit agreement no one mentioned the fact Justine and Willy B were spending the night together just down the hall.

Maybe, if she thought about it, the fact she and Owen would be spending the night together at the other end of that same hall, awkwardness—or more likely amusement in her case—would ensue.

So she didn’t think about it.

Instead, inside the Deco flair of Nick and Nora, Avery stretched her arms high. Everything felt good, she decided. Everything felt just exactly right.

To please herself, she turned in a circle to take in the room, and saw the champagne on ice.

“You copped a bottle!”

“Hey, I prefer the term liberated.” On her grin, he walked over to pop the cork.

“This is like dreamscape—or some beautifully produced play, and I get a starring role. A beautiful and downright snazzy room after a lovely, happy party, with champagne provided by a sexy guy. I’d check my list if I had one, but I think I currently have it all.”

He offered her a glass. “Now you do.”

“To having it all then.” She tapped her glass to his, sipped as she wandered.

“It really went well, didn’t it?” she said to Owen. “Lots of happy faces, lots of happy talk.”

“All of that, and you had to see and hear most of it. You seemed to be everywhere at once.”

“I can’t sit still at a party.” She set the shoes she carried beside the dresser. “Gotta keep moving or I might miss something. You disappeared for a while.”

He took off the tie he’d already loosened. “I toured some people through, then had to close the doors in E&D.”

“Elizabeth was all over tonight, too. I caught her scent several times.”

“I ran into your father up there. He wanted to let me know he’d be staying there—he and Mom. In E&D. Together.”

“Hmm.” She leaned back on the dresser, eyeing him as she drank champagne. “I suspected as much. And how did that go?”

“He fumbled around a lot, like he does, and still managed to say all the right things. Meanwhile I fought a desperate battle to keep any and all imagery out of my brain. We both did okay.”

“That’s good. I think—”

“Then he pinned me about you.”

“He . . . What?”

No amused smirk now, Owen noted. “No fumbling there. He’s a lot more on-point when it comes to his little girl.”

“Well, for God’s sake,” she began, then tilted her head. “On second thought, it’s kind of sweet. And funny. How’d that go for you?”

He pulled off his shoes, set them beside hers. “It was a little strange, a little illuminating.”

“Really?” Enjoying the idea of it, she sipped more champagne. “What did he say?”

“That’s between us men.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re his Avery,” Owen said as he crossed to her. “The most important thing in his life. I’d say the center of his life. You’re important to me, too.”

She smiled. “It’s nice to be important.”

“You are.” He set his glass down, laid his hands on her shoulders, ran them down to her elbows and back. “Maybe I haven’t told you, or shown you.”

He looked so serious, those blue eyes more intense than quiet, she found herself just a little off balance. “We go back. We know we’re important to each other.”

“We go back,” he agreed, and laid his lips softly, very softly on hers. “But this is now, and this is different.”

She tipped her head back a bit more. “There is that.”

Not just that, he thought as he slowly deepened the kiss. He wasn’t sure what, wasn’t sure of the all, but it was more than heat generated and needs met.

He felt her slide into it, little by little, and knew—at that moment—he wanted exactly that. A long, slow slide.

He took the glass from her hand, set it beside his.

It always surprised him how soft she was. Lips, skin. Everything about her was so bright, so vivid, yet the soft played its part.

And her heart—a softness there, too. He’d known it, always known it, but . . . He needed to pay more attention to those soft places.

“I love how you feel,” he murmured. “Your skin, your mouth. And how what you feel inside shows in your eyes.”

She braced the heels of her hands on the dresser at her back. “Right now, I’m feeling dazzled.”

“Good. Then I’m not alone.”

He framed her face and kept the kiss soft as her skin, tender as her heart. And lifted her into his arms.

The breath caught in her throat. She’d expected fun, maybe even foolish. Instead he swept her away, made her feel weak and trembly, and a little unsure.

“Owen.”

“Your hands are so small.” He laid her on the bed, then lifted one of her hands to press the palm to his. “They look delicate, but they’re tireless. That’s the surprise of you. Then there’s your shoulders.” He nudged a strap aside. “The skin’s so smooth and pale, but they’re strong. They’ll hold a lot.”

Lowering his head, he glided his lips over her shoulder, down the line of her throat.

The glitter of the room, the fragrance of flowers, and his hands on her, featherlight. Everything in her surrendered, to him, to the moment, to this new gift as unexpected as the sparkling key around her neck.

He gave her the slow, the quiet, the achingly tender. No one had ever touched her, not quite like this, or made her feel . . . precious.

He eased the dress down, gliding his lips over newly exposed flesh, making it quiver. Making her sigh. He watched the way the light played in her eyes before she closed them, the way her body moved under his hands and mouth. And felt the way her heart beat under them, thickly.

Then faster when he guided her up, as he urged her higher. She clutched at him, riding that crest. Until the wave broke, and her hands slid away to lie limp.

Like that, he thought as he undressed. Like that, open, exposed, drenched in pleasure.

He took her mouth again first, drowning her in the kiss as his hand slid down, down to cup her. To tease a moan from her.

Then slipped into her, into hot, wet silk.

Now he trembled, steeped in her, trembled in the quick, desperate wanting of her. But he gave her long, slow strokes. Torturous, glorious.

He gripped her hands, linking them as beat followed beat. The air thickened, seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. He saw her face, only her face as he said her name—or perhaps only thought it.

But her eyes opened, locked on his. Hands and bodies joined, he lowered his lips to hers. Complete as they took that long, slow slide off the edge together.

*   *   *

In the morning, in the quiet, he watched her sleep. It was so rare to see her still.

He thought back to the planning stages of the inn, the debates, adjustments, countless meetings—and through the months of the long build.

He’d never imagined he’d spend his first night here with Avery sleeping beside him.

Now it was done. The inn, that first night. Another build underway, another plan. And here she was, sleeping deep, her hair a bold streak against the snowy pillow.

What happened next?

He planned, anticipated, calculated. It’s what he did, in his life, in his work. But he couldn’t quite formulate a plan where Avery was concerned, couldn’t see his way clear to anticipate the next step, calculate the next move.

It seemed strange—they knew each other so well. Shouldn’t the next step, the next move, come easily?

Maybe it would, he considered. So why worry?

He slipped out of bed, a little surprised when she didn’t stir. He eased the door of the bathroom closed, studied the glass shower with pleasure.

“Let’s give you a spin, baby,” he murmured.

He tested out the jets, the rain head—and, sniffing at the green tea and ginger shower gel, decided, with considerable relief, it wasn’t too girly.

By the time he reached for one of the fluffy bath sheets, he was awake, alert—and decided he needed coffee, pretty much now.

Shaving could definitely wait.

He pulled on jeans, tossed a flannel shirt over a thermal. He decided against the work boots—too noisy on the stairs—and settled on socks.

And still, Avery didn’t stir.

He slipped out of the room, headed downstairs, and didn’t hear a sound until he turned toward the kitchen. From there he followed the scents, and the murmur of female voices.

“Good morning, sweetie.” Bright-eyed and busy, his aunt offered him a welcoming smile as she set bacon to drain. “Coffee?”

“Name your price.”

She puckered her lips, took his quick kiss before reaching for the pot.

“What’s this?” he asked gesturing toward the white chef’s coats both she and Hope wore.

“We thought it presented a clean look,” Hope told him. “A little more upscale than aprons.”

“I like.” With the speed of experience, he snatched a slice of bacon before Carolee could slap his hand away.

She pointed at him. “No filching. Breakfast starts in a half hour.”

“But there’s bacon now. How’d you like The Penthouse?”

“I felt like a queen. I was so damn tired, but I just had to wander all over, sit on every chair awhile.” She shook her head, laughing at herself. “I kept thinking it was like a dream. I remember when Justine and I picked out those fabrics. And there I was sitting on them.”

“How’d you like your room?” Hope asked him.

“It was great. Made me wish I’d worn a fedora. I think everybody must’ve settled right in once we called it a night. And everybody must still be settled right in because I didn’t hear anyone moving around when I came down.”

“Guests are allowed to sleep in. But if you’re hungry, we can fix you up pretty quick.”

“I’m okay.” But he grabbed another slice of bacon while his aunt had her back turned. “Maybe I’ll take some coffee up to Avery.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” Then Carolee narrowed her eyes when he bit into the second slice of bacon. “And sneaky.”

Hope poured the coffee, doctored it Avery’s way. “Tell her to take her time. That’s what chafing dishes are for.”

He went back up, slipped back inside. She’d stirred, he noted—enough to stretch diagonally across the bed. There may not be a lot of her, he mused, but given the chance she could fill the best part of a bed all on her own.

He sat on the corner, leaned down and kissed her cheek. When that didn’t work, he brushed a hand up and down her arm. Giving up on the gentle awakening, he pinched her.

“What! Ow! Huh?”

“I wanted to be sure you were still alive.”

“I was . . .” Shifting a little, she rubbed her fingers over glassy eyes. “In a Harry dream.”

“A what?”

“Clare’s Harry. He has these weird, vivid dreams. I had a Harry dream about green giraffes with red splotches. It sounds Christmassy and cheerful, but no. I was on one in this stampede, and dressed like Lady Gaga. I think. Is that coffee?”

“Yeah, I think you need it.”

“Thanks. And the Animal Crackers monkey was on one, chasing me. He had teeth.”

“Does that happen often?”

“No, thank God. But we drank all that champagne last night. After,” she added with a sleepy smile. “It may have played into it. You’re all dressed. What time—” Her eyes popped wide now as she scanned the clock. “Shit! It’s almost eight.”