Soldier, Handyman, Family Man Page 13

  *

  Wednesday afternoon, it was awfully hard to face Peter with memories of Laurel and their Monday lovemaking night flashing fresh in Mark’s mind. But he’d promised another surfing lesson, and because he wanted to build bridges and not tear them down with the kid, he walked Peter to the storage shed with a planned surprise, not caring if the kid saw it as a bribe or not, because it wasn’t his motivation.

  “First off—” Mark decided to dig right into the conversation they needed to have “—I just want to say I’m not the kind of guy who abandons his friends. And I consider you a friend first, Peter.”

  Peter found something fascinating with his tire-tread sandals rather than make eye contact.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes,” he said begrudgingly.

  “So you’ve got to understand that if your mother and I like each other, your world isn’t coming to an end. That nothing’s going to change between you and me. Right?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess? Is that all you think of me? After all the time we’ve spent together, don’t you think you can tell if I’m being honest or not?”

  Finally Peter glanced up, skipping over Mark’s steady gaze and off toward the hotel. “I believe you.”

  “Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Peter’s head bobbed quickly back in Mark’s direction.

  He gave Peter the old surfboard he’d been working on, and his reaction was predictably jazzed. Mark sensed they’d entered a new level of trust and, hopefully, friendship.

  To top things off, Peter had his best ride ever that afternoon. They’d hooted and high-fived, and Mark could see new confidence in the kid who’d run off just two short days before.

  *

  Thursday, after making love with Laurel a second time just that morning, it was downright awkward stepping in with the twins when Laurel had a meeting with a town historian. Last minute, she’d promised a quick tour of the B&B, and Peter was at the high school library working on a term paper.

  Claire and Gracie had a school assignment to gather as many different leaves as they could for an art project the next day. While Laurel gave the B&B tour, Mark took the girls on a walk. They hit the residential area a couple of streets up that was lined with an assortment of trees, including maple. Though the field trip was mostly to get them out from under Laurel’s feet, he wanted to do whatever he could to help her build her business.

  Because he cared about her? The thought was surprising whenever he had it, but it was true, and he caught a wide smile on his face in a reflection on a parked car window.

  Each girl carried a brown paper bag. Gracie piled leaf after leaf in hers, while Claire was more discerning, choosing the biggest or the most colorful. While Claire stood with hands on her hips, making a choice, Gracie put down her bag and found two huge brown and orange maple leaves nearly the size of her head, then ran in circles flapping them in the air.

  “I’m pretembering I can fly,” she sang.

  “She means—” Claire started.

  “I got that one, hon. I know what she meant,” he said gently with a reassuring smile.

  Gracie grinned at him.

  Claire pushed her pink glasses up her nose and mumbled “Pretending” anyway.

  For different reasons, he wanted to hug both children, which jolted him. Maybe he was getting in way over his head with Laurel and her kids. But he had to admit, standing in the late-afternoon sun, watching them make over leaves like they were the greatest invention on earth, felt kind of good. And he didn’t mind—scratch that, liked—he liked spending time with the twins. Yikes.

  *

  Friday morning, Mark got invited to Laurel’s for breakfast. She’d made an incredible egg soufflé, lighter than air, and filled with fresh garden herbs. She planned to serve one for her guests on Saturday morning, and wanted his opinion. They took two bites and made super-satisfied groans to each other, then he fed her a bite and she fed him one. That led to more pleasurable sounds, looking into each other’s eyes, and leaving their brains on the back porch, because next thing they knew, they were doing it on the kitchen island.

  A half hour later, Laurel had the great idea to try out the modernized, room-enough-for-two bathtub in suite number three. After what they’d done in the kitchen, a bath sounded like a great idea. For fun, Mark picked Laurel up and carried her in his arms up the stairs until halfway up, where he realized he wasn’t as strong as he thought.

  “Just a second,” he said, on the midpoint landing, then hoisted Laurel over his shoulder like a sack of cement and continued up.

  She protested but giggled. “I’m not that heavy.”

  “I know, you’re the perfect weight and height and—” He could go on because in his book, she was perfect in every way. But he wasn’t sure how she’d feel about him being crazy about her. “—and I’m the one with a problem. I’m not as strong as I like to think.”

  They’d made it to the top of the stairs. “Which way?” he said, playfully biting her hip, since it was so close to his jaw.

  “Ahh!” She giggled more. “Stop that. To the left. Door number two.” At least she didn’t insist he put her down.

  He followed her orders and found his second-favorite room in her B&B. Smaller than the others, but with a skylight that kept the room bright and open, and a bathroom that overlooked the ocean with enough privacy to leave the curtains apart.

  He slowed at the foot of the bed. “Want to stop here first?”

  She gave an impish glance. “Maybe after the bath?”

  “I like the sound of that. Will we have time?” He knew the twins got picked up at noon.

  From over his shoulder she checked her watch upside down. “Yes, but you’d better let me down. All the blood is running to my head, and I think with your wicked plans we need to reverse that.”

  He planted her feet securely on the antique and restored pale blue bathroom tile, then looked at the modern tub taking up nearly a third of the space. He waited for her to get her bearings, made sure she wasn’t dizzy, then kissed her bright red face. “I never get tired of kissing you.”

  She blinked and looked pleased. “We’ve only been kissing for a few weeks.”

  “Best few weeks ever.” What was wrong with him, acting all crazy about the girl? He could scare her off if he kept this up. Or maybe she liked it.

  Instead of chasing her away with his admissions, she settled her palm on his chest. They may not have taken off their clothes in the kitchen, but he’d opened his shirt so he could feel as much of her as possible. Now, the warmth of her hand turned him on as much as if she nibbled his earlobe. But what moved him the most was the way she didn’t look directly into his eyes. Instead, she watched her hand slide over his chest and along his side, down to the rim of his jocks. He liked where this was going.

  Her lids lifted quickly and she gave a coy smile. His zipper was still down, from their little foray in the kitchen, and as she continued to stare at him, her hand slid beneath the band of his briefs, then around to the back to grab his glute. “Let’s get these off you.” Seductive, persistent and right to the point. He liked it.

  A few simple words, and he sprung to life again. Though in this case her actions spoke louder as she yanked down his jeans and freed him of his underwear.

  While the tub got filled, they spent their time wisely, touching, tasting, working each other up for what he was sure would be the best bath of his life.

  She directed him into the tub, filled with the perfect temperature of water, then she straddled him. With his head against the cushioned end of a well-planned tub, the view of Laurel’s breasts up close and oh so personal, as well as the spectacular ocean over her shoulder, he thought he’d gone to heaven. From the exquisite expression Laurel wore, he was positive he’d brought her along with him.

  Soon water was sloshing everywhere, up and over, onto the tile, but they didn’t care, because they had a whole lot
of other stuff going on. The best lovemaking Mark could ever remember, why? Because he cared about the woman on his lap who took the entire length of him, and gave as much as she took. Tight and deep inside Laurel, bringing her to the brink, was the one place he felt healed and complete. And nothing else mattered.

  Several minutes later, after the water settled down, and his heartbeat returned to normal, he held her close to his side and kissed the top of her head. All he wanted to do was hold and protect her. And something more—he wanted to be a man she deserved.

  As though she could hear his thoughts, she lifted her face, making close contact with his vision. They didn’t say a word to each other, but her nearly fully dilated pupils sent a powerful message. She was as much into him as he was her. Sexually satiated, a tender rush overtook him. He slipped his fingers around the base of her head, his thumb caressing the front of her ear, then drew her near and kissed her with a feeling he could only describe as love pulsing in his heart.

  Laurel stopped the kiss, to gaze at him quizzically, as though she’d felt it, too. As the fine hair on his neck stood on end, her nipples pebbled and gooseflesh covered her chest and shoulders. Something powerful had passed between them. And yeah, whatever it had been, the feeling was mutual.

  In silence, they lay in the tub, holding each other, kissing and nuzzling from time to time, until the water cooled. Only one thing bothered him. A drip, drip, dripping. He glanced at the pedestal sink with the antique faucet and saw the source.

  “I’ll fix that for you,” he said.

  “I think you could fix everything for me,” she whispered against his chest.

  *

  The increased and intensifying meetings with Laurel made Saturday morning extra tricky facing Peter. His mother blew Mark’s mind, and they couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. But the kid had penance to pay, and seeing the gazebo project to the end, as Laurel had put it yesterday morning while naked and tangled up in Mark’s body, would help build character.

  Yeah, they’d reached the point in their relationship where they talked about all kinds of things after they made love. He hadn’t shared so much or so easily with another person of the female persuasion in his entire life. He also got the impression Laurel needed their stream-of-consciousness talks as much as he did. After sex, when they were completely relaxed and intimate with each other, that’s when they really opened up.

  Mark and Peter touched up the gazebo’s white paint, then attached matching bouquet holders on each side of the arched entry. His mother had insisted on it. The morning sun beat down on his shoulders, and he felt alive like he hadn’t in several years.

  “I brought you some lemonade.” His favorite neighbor, Laurel, handed him and Peter each a plastic glass of the best minted lemonade Mark had ever tasted. He knew her guests had to love it, too.

  “Thanks,” he said, hoping the smoldering gaze he gave Peter’s mother went over the kid’s head, because, hey, he couldn’t help it.

  Her shy smile in response was nearly his undoing. Really? He’d seen every inch of her, felt and kissed just about everywhere, too, but right now in front of Peter and the Saturday morning sun, she got shy. He smiled long and happily at her, and she let him look at her the way he wanted.

  “You won’t believe who I just got off the phone with,” she said a few moments later, pride and excitement in her voice.

  “The president?” Peter could be witty when he wasn’t practicing being a reticent teen, and it always surprised Mark.

  He snorted. “Good one.”

  “A president, Mr. Smarty-Pants. Of the historical society.” Laurel batted her lashes first at her son, then Mark. If she kept this up, he might have to walk her backward against the fresh paint and kiss her senseless. Because that was what they seemed to do best.

  “And?” he said instead.

  Her eyes brightened, that enthusiastic expression reminding him of Gracie. “They’re adding our B&B to their monthly tours!” One arm shot up like she’d just won the million-dollar lottery, and she looked so damn cute, he wanted to kiss her in the worst way.

  “Hey, that’s great!” Mark couldn’t help himself another moment. He put down his drink and gave her a celebratory hug, swinging her in a circle. And by her reaction, he knew where her twins got their giggles.

  “What’re we celebrating?” His mother came walking across the lawn, the contagious joy making her smile. Or maybe it was seeing her son laughing and smiling, hugging and twirling a woman like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Mark let Laurel explain the good news. Then Maureen hugged her, too. “How wonderful!”

  After things settled down, Maureen got a look at the finished gazebo. “Wow, this looks great!” She smiled at Mark and Peter. “You guys did a fantastic job. I can’t wait to have our first wedding here.” She glanced at Laurel, then clapped her hands. “I have an idea—why don’t we all celebrate Laurel’s good news tomorrow night. Instead of having dinner in the pub, let’s have it out here in the gazebo. We can barbecue. Laurel, bring the kids and we’ll picnic outside.”

  “Sounds great.”

  But Maureen wasn’t finished. Her eyes widened more. “We should work out a wedding package where the couple, who may want a nicer suite than we have to offer, can get married here, by the beautiful sea, then after the reception in The Drumcliffe restaurant, they can walk right across the street to your B&B.”

  “To start their honeymoon! That’s a fabulous idea.” Laurel looked amazed and nearly as excited as his mom. “Have you seen my newlywed suite?”

  “Not yet.”

  Laurel slipped her arm through Maureen’s and started down the lawn. “Come over and have a look. It’s gorgeous and isolated from the other rooms.” Laurel smiled at Maureen as they walked arm in arm. “I think you’re onto something.”

  “I know I am.”

  The sight of Laurel and his mother acting like best friends warmed Mark’s chest. She was becoming a part of their little beach community, a part of his family’s business and a part of his heart. The thought sat like a cold stone on his chest, yet perspiration appeared above his lip, and the look he shared with Peter could only be described as awkward.

  *

  Sunday night Mark stood back, watching Laurel and her kids interacting with his entire family, and, forgetting the hesitation he’d felt the other day, his smile came from deep inside. He’d been asked to grill the chicken, and though they’d planned to eat outside tonight, most of the activity took place farther away on the yard from the built-in patio grill. Still, he watched as Keela and Laurel had an intense conversation about something, probably school-related, while the three little girls played like lifelong friends, chasing Daisy around in circles.

  Peter and Sean parked themselves on a picnic bench nearby and discussed The Drumcliffe’s and Prescott B&B’s websites. Peter’s knowledge was impressive. From the look on his father’s face, the kid had impressed him, too.

  Soon, Mom picked up where she’d left off with Laurel, and announced to the family their big plans for linking their amenities together where wedding packages were concerned. Sean and Peter had a quick follow-up conversation about that, too. How to link the websites together, and how to share photographs of the “wedding” gazebo and the “honeymoon” suite across the street.

  He wished he wasn’t stuck grilling meat, but enjoyed seeing Laurel and her kids getting unofficially inducted into the Delaney clan.

  Conor came strolling over with a beer in his hand for Mark and a soda for himself, since he was scheduled to work that night. “How’re things going between you and Peter?” He lowered his voice to ask, since Dad and Peter were close by.

  Mark thanked him for the beer with a nod and took a quick sip. “As good as can be expected. I still don’t think he’s crazy about my seeing his mom, but he’s not complaining. To me at least.”

  Conor’s gaze skipped away to the lady in question across the yard, sitting on a picnic table bench. Currently, Daisy
had her front paws on Laurel’s knees and was trying her best to lick Laurel’s face. She giggled and dodged the inevitable for as long as she could, until the friendly dog’s tongue landed smack on her mouth.

  “And how’re things going with her?” Conor arched his gaze in her direction, rather than be obvious and point at her.

  Under his brother’s scrutiny, Mark felt his ears heat up. Yeah, he had it bad, and he and Laurel had just started getting to the good stuff. But there was no way he’d admit that to Conor, who’d pester him until he spilled some details. Details that he’d prefer to hoard for himself. “Good, man. Really good.” He hoped he’d sounded casual enough.

  Conor narrowed one eye. “You dog.”

  “What?” Suddenly, Mark needed to turn a whole lot of chicken legs and breasts, and wow was he busy.

  Then came Grandda. “’Tis a beautiful night. Dinner smells grand. How’s the world treatin’ my boys?”

  “Same old, same old, Grandda,” Conor answered first.

  Disappointed with Conor’s reply, Grandfather threw his attention to Mark. “And you, my boy, need your old grandda to drive you and her—” he tossed his head in the direction that Laurel stood with the other women “—to dinner again?”

  It’d been a while since they’d had an official date, mostly because of their schedules and Peter’s running away. Mark had been holding off from making waves by taking Laurel out again. Now that his grandfather had mentioned it, the idea was a good one, and he had a special place in mind. “If it would be okay, I might like to borrow the golf cart next time and drive her myself.”

  “Of course,” Padraig said, smiling at Mark, then glancing across the yard to Laurel with her hair blowing in the wind. She wore a sophisticated but simple cream-colored outfit, pants that fit her curves to perfection and a silky top that billowed in the breeze. Even her flats were beige. “She’s a good one, Marky.”