Page 74 of Save the Date
The one remaining, infinitesimal rational part of her brain not subsumed with crazed lust told Cara that this current situation was insane, indecent, and yet, weirdly intoxicating. She was naked, except for her panties, which weren’t all that substantial, with her tushie pushed up against the cold metal shelves of her refrigerator. It was broad daylight outside. Her front door wasn’t even locked. What was she thinking?
Right now, the contents of her fridge, not all that exciting—the past-expiration-date quart of milk, half-head of Romaine lettuce, containers of no-fat Greek yogurt and assorted Tupperware containers of leftover roast chicken, steamed broccoli and molding strawberries, not to mention the pickles, mustard and Paul Newman balsamic vinaigrette—were getting the show of their lives. What was she thinking?
She didn’t care. And she definitely didn’t want to think.
Cara smoothed her hands over Jack’s flat belly, hooked her fingertips into the waistline of his jeans, pushed them down to his narrow hips, appreciating the hollow of his hipbones. She let the palm of her right hand drift leisurely down to his crotch, pausing there. Now it was his turn to gasp. She glanced down, and just the tiniest smile played across her lips as she saw his erection straining against the denim fabric. She grasped his waistband and nimbly unbuttoned his jeans.
She stopped then, and ran her hands back up his chest, feeling the rough texture of hair, of muscle and bone. And something else. She opened her eyes, frowned. Tiny black flecks of some hardened substance dotted his chest. With her fingernail, she scraped off a fleck and held it up for him to see.
“Roofing tar.”
“Oh.”
“From the barn at Cabin Creek. So it’s all your fault.”
“We’ll have to work on that,” Cara said. She lowered her head, and with her tongue and teeth, gently teased his nipples as her hands slowly inched downward, down toward the waistband of his jeans. With her thumbnail, she raked the metal tines of his fly. Down. Up. Down again. She cupped him with the same hand. He moaned into her hair. “You’re killin’ me here.”
She was naked, except for that languorous smile and a tiny pair of panties. Pink, with flowers. Naturally. He rolled them easily past her hips, her thighs and knees. And then gravity did the rest. She stepped daintily out of them and kicked them in the direction of the dress.
He kissed her and pulled away, finally able to feast on the sight of her—naked, just the way he’d imagined her since the first time he’d spotted her in that pink dress at his brother’s wedding. Only much, much better.
Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders, and her chest was lightly freckled, her full breasts flushed pink. She had a narrow waist that belled out to full hips and a delicious, rounded butt.
Cara didn’t have the taut, angular physique of Zoey, who spent most of her waking hours at the gym, and the rest of them obsessively weighing herself and measuring every morsel, every calorie of food she ingested.
This was a woman’s body, the body of somebody with an appetite for the good things in life. This was a body he could spend a long time exploring.
Only now, her lips were slightly blue, and her skin was pebbled with goose bumps. And those shivers he’d felt, when he’d pressed himself urgently against her?
“Are you cold?”
“G-G-G-God y-e-s-s-s.”
30
“What about the dogs?” Cara asked, as he pulled her down the hallway, toward the bedroom. She was glad he had his back to her, convinced her frostbitten butt was probably permanently imprinted with the Frigidaire logo.
“They’re on their own.” Jack plopped down on the edge of her bed, unknotting the laces of his work boots, kicking one free, then the other. He pulled her down beside him.
Suddenly shy about her state of undress, she clutched for the quilt draped over the foot of the bed, pulling it across her exposed breasts. “Maybe we should check on them. They’re awfully quiet out there. I hope Poppy isn’t showing Shaz how to dig up my peonies.”
He yanked the quilt off. “I’ll buy you a carload of peonies. Later.”
Cara crossed her arms across her exposed breasts. Was she actually going to go through with this? She hadn’t been with a man since leaving Leo, had only slept with two other men before marrying Leo. And what about birth control?
Too late. Jack scooted backward onto the pile of pillows at the head of her bed, tugging at her hand. “C’mere.”
She was stretched out beside him. He turned toward her, gave her a lazy smile. He ran his hands down her side, all the way down, and then back up. One hand slid between her thighs and paused there. Cara gripped his shoulders.
“Um, Jack?”
His tongue was making slow, excruciating circles around her nipple. Her body curled into his as he stroked and nipped and kissed, and she knew she could lose her mind—and self-control—any minute now.
“Hmm?”
He rolled away from her, just a few inches. “Don’t worry. I’ve got something in my pocket.”
Cara looked down. “So I see.”
