Page 9

9

Taylor

A fter a sleepless night full of tossing and turning, I blink against the bright light shining into the bedroom. Moving quietly, I turn to take in the man beside me, and tears prick my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him, and maybe I’m young and stupid, selfish even, to think it wouldn’t have mattered to him that he was my first—that I gave my virginity to him.

Was it a big deal to me?

It absolutely was. I wanted him to be my first, so I guess I can’t think it wasn’t going to matter to him. He didn’t want to take something he considers precious and important from me. I can only assume he thinks I’ve been a virgin this long because I was holding out for the right guy.

Was Elias that guy? Yes, he was. But I hurt him by not being honest.

It gutted me when he told me I didn’t know him—especially after he proved he knew me through his touch—and after he washed himself up and crawled back into bed with me, few words were spoken.

I blink back tears and crawl from the bed, making my way to the bathroom. It’s still early, and I promised to make breakfast, so I need to get myself showered, put on a smile and step into the role I’m here to play.

I hurry into the shower, grab the body wash and shampoo from my bag on the sink, and climb into the huge marble stall when the water turns hot. I adjust the spray and every movement, every sore muscle is a glorious reminder of the tender, incredible way Elias took care of me. I reach for his body wash instead of my own, and pour a generous amount into my hand.

I try to focus on the day ahead of me, and not what happened last night when movement outside the shower catches my attention. Dropping my hands from my body, I turn to see Elias standing there, looking so lost, and so sad, my heart skips a beat.

“Hey.”

My gaze falters, drawn down to the sight of him in nothing but boxers. His tall, powerful frame exudes both strength and a quiet vulnerability. I can't help but admire his physique, but when I glance back up, his eyes pierce through mine, searching, almost pleading. Not in a way that feels sexual, but with a rawness that catches me off guard. There’s sorrow there, and guilt, for taking my virginity.

His jaw tightens as he struggles to form words, his chest rising and falling with an unsteady rhythm. “Last night,” he begins, his voice low and tight. I see the conflict in his expression. Before he can say more, I reach out, my hand a quiet plea for connection. His features soften as he quickly sheds his boxers, stepping into the shower and into my space, his warmth wrapping around me as the water falls over us. I lift my eyes to his as he towers over me, overwhelming me and the space as he brushes my damp hair back. “T… I was a dick.”

“No, you weren’t,” I say quickly, shaking my head in complete disagreement. “You were anything but. You didn’t want to be my first, and I?—”

“Stop,” he cuts me off, his voice thick with emotion. His hand comes up to cradle my cheek, his palm warm against my skin. Intense eyes search mine. “Taylor, that’s not it. That’s not it at all. It’s the fact that I was your first.” He exhales sharply, dragging his free hand through his damp hair before clenching it into a fist. “Fuck, it’s just… I didn’t want to take that from you. Do you understand? I didn’t want to be the one to—” He stops, his frustration breaking into a self-deprecating laugh. “God, I sound like some old-fashioned idiot, don’t I?”

Despite the tension, a small laugh escapes me. “Yeah, Grandpa, it’s a little old-fashioned. But honestly? It’s kind of sweet.” I shrug, my tone softening. “You’re a product of your family, and that’s not a bad thing. I love your family. I love that they shaped you.”

“What we did was…” He pauses, making a fist with the hand still on his head. He pulls it away, mimicking an explosion as he opens his fingers. “Boom…mind blowing. But I don’t deserve to be that guy for you, Taylor,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the rain-like drumming of the shower. His hand drops from my cheek as if he can’t bear to hold on any longer.

I step closer, my hands finding his broad shoulders. I give a little squeeze and his eyes briefly close. “Yeah, you do,” I whisper. “You are that guy.” I pause for a second, wanting to give weight to my words and add, “The only guy who could have taken care of me like that. My first time would never have been that good with anyone else.”

His shoulders sag, the weight of his guilt and hesitation giving way to something softer, and I know we’re going to be okay. We fall silent, and he fills his hand with body wash, and begins to clean my body. He washes all my parts, and when he reaches between my legs, his head lifts, his eyes on me.

“Are you sore, babe?”

“I’m okay.” He touches me lightly, a tender caress of my most sensitive spot, and a small moan catches in my throat. His hands still. “Is that supposed to be turning me on, because if it is, I have to take a rain check. I have waffles to make with Grandma.”

“I’m not taking you again, right now, T. You need the day to recover from last night.”

My heart melts into a puddle at the bottom of the shower. Could this guy be any sweeter? Why the hell isn’t he taken? Oh right, something happened in his past and he’s not dating. But he is having sex.

With me…

“As much as I’d like for you to take me again, right here in this shower,” I begin and he cocks his head, like he’s in awe of me for some reason, I continue, “We can’t. No way do I want Grandma questioning me over waffles, asking why I’m late.” I wave my finger at him. “She’s far too astute.”

“Yeah, discussing my sex life with her is not on my bingo card today.” I laugh at that and warmth moves into his eyes as he questions me again. “But you’re really not sore?”

“Not in a bad way.”

“Okay, maybe tonight, I’ll just use my tongue.”

A hard quiver goes through me and he grins. “Elias.” I reach around him and whack his cute backside. “You can’t say things like that to me before I’m about to go downstairs and be with your family.”

“I mean, I can. I just shouldn’t,” he counters.

I roll my eyes, and he cups the back of my head, dropping a soft, tender kiss onto my lips and I sigh, sagging against him. God, I love the way this man touches me. Once he finishes washing me, he guides me under the spray and I quickly wash my hair as I focus on his hands and the way he’s running them over his own body. It really is hard—no pun intended—to do nothing as he strokes his steel-hard cock.

“Maybe I’ll use my mouth later too,” I tease and he groans.

“Yeah, okay. I deserved that.” He gestures with a nod. “Go, get dried off and I’ll meet you in the kitchen later.”

“You need some alone time?” I ask, and he groans again.

“I need something, and if you don’t get out of here right now, you’re asking for trouble.”

I laugh and step from the shower. “Nah, you won’t touch me when you think I’m sore.” Grabbing a big towel, I dry quickly, then turn, offering him my backside as I lean forward to wrap my hair.

“Jesus Christ, Taylor.”

Laughing as he turns the water to cold, I hurry to the bedroom and pull on a pair of jeans and sweater. I do have a dress for dinner, but breakfast doesn’t require anything fancy, plus I’m cooking and I’m not the tidiest person in the kitchen. I usually get more food on me than on the plate.

I put my damp hair up in a ponytail, and forgoing makeup, make my way downstairs to find Grandma in the kitchen, reading on her kindle as she sips coffee. Her face lights up when she sees me and for a second my heart stalls. Damn, I don’t want to hurt her. I can only hope that Elias finds someone he can love forever and soon.

My throat takes that moment to tighten.

What the hell? Why do the thoughts of Elias with another woman suddenly not sit right with me? That’s ridiculous. I’m here to play a role and we’re having a little fun while playing it. I mean, we do need to make these lovely people think we’re intimate. The only way to do that was by having sex, right?

Sure, Taylor. That’s the reason you seduced him.

“Good morning.” I gesture to the e-reader in her hand. “Anything good?”

“Hot romance novel,” she tells me as she waves her hand in front of her face. I can’t help but grin. This woman is full of surprises and I love her all the more for it. “Do you read romance?” She stands and makes her way to the coffee pot. She arches a brow and I nod.

“I do, and did you know that one of the players for the Seattle Shooters…” I glance over my shoulder to make sure the coast is clear, and when Grandma comes back with the coffee, I lean in and whisper, “He’s a romance novelist. Goes by a pen name, but I can hook you up. Our secret, though.”

Her eyes go wide. “You’re kidding me?”

“Wouldn’t kid about that,” I tell her with a bob of my head. I pick up the little pitcher of milk from the tray and add a splash to my coffee when I notice she’s gone quiet, thoughtful.

Blue eyes lock on me when I lift my head. Oh God, is she going to talk about our ruse? She puts her hand over mine and I sense things are about to get real. “Child, I’m so sorry to hear about your mother and the situation with your father.”

“Thank you,” I manage to get out past the lump in my throat. I swallow it down. “Dad and I are good now. It’s my brother who needs to work things out with him.” She gives me a tight smile. “I’m…Elias told me about Grandpa.” A warm, longing smile comes over her. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, dear.” The fine line around her eyes crinkle as a melancholy look comes over her face. “He would have loved you.”

My heart pounds so hard, I fear she can hear it. “I’m sure I would have loved him too.”

She squares her shoulders, and that’s it. The end to this conversation. We both said what needed to be said and she’s moving on. “Now hook me up.” She slides the e-reader my way.

“Turkey is in the oven already?” I ask when I see the oven light on.

“It’s a big one. Had to get it on early.”

“I can’t wait.” A warm feeling curls around me like a comforting blanket. I love my brother, and honestly, I wish he was here with us, because he’d enjoy eating around a table with a family as much as I do. But he’s with Sahara, and I’m sure he’s having a wonderful time. It’s strange I haven’t heard from him. Although like Elias said, maybe that’s a good thing.

Just thinking of Elias sends waves of longing and need through me. Great, after this weekend, I’m worried I’m going to be craving the man, and that can’t happen. I take another drink of coffee. “This is delicious, Grandma.”

She beams. “I can hook you up,” she tells me as I pick up her e-reader. “Let me grab the waffle maker.” She winks at me. “Don’t worry, it will be our little secret.”

Why do I get the feeling she’s talking about Elias and me?

I gulp down my worry and do a search for Brandon’s books. I download a few books as Grandma gets out the waffle maker and a bunch of ingredients. “Are Cheryl and Randall still sleeping?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Once they smell the waffles, they’ll be down.”

“Elias too.” I grin. He’s not down yet and I suspect he’s giving me quiet time with Grandma. The man knows how much I miss mine and the fact that he’s lingering upstairs warms me in way that’s dangerous for my heart.

Grandma comes back to the table with a recipe card and pen and slides it to me. “Don’t worry, this will be my little secret.”

“You have to share with Cheryl.” I begin to jot down the recipe and instructions.

She winks at me. “In good time.” She slides me another card with the lasagna recipe. “Keep this guarded.”

I salute her and laugh. “You have my word, and I promise to make it for Elias.”

“Good.”

I finish writing out the waffle recipe, the secret ingredient being a dash of cream of tartar, and a little bit of orange zest. Once done, I drain my coffee cup and stand. “Let’s get started.” Grandma hands me a blue apron, like she already knows I’m a messy cook and I grin. She really is a sly one. I tug it on and she pulls on a flowery, frilly one.

She claps her hands. “Okay, let’s get to work, girly.”

I laugh at that and place the recipe on the counter. Grandma gathers the rest of the ingredients, and I heat the waffle iron. She hums along and we talk about the weather, and her knitting club, and my acting classes. It’s an easy conversation, one that I could be having with my own grandmother and it fills me with happiness.

I pour the wet liquid into the flour, and watch Grandma stir gently. This isn’t her first waffle rodeo. Laughing, I mention, “Our friend Noah Jonesburg from the Bucks used to make his daughter pancakes. When they were lumpy, he told her the lumps were wish lumps.” Grandma chuckles. “She wished for a mom.” My heart pinches as I think back to Mom.

“Did she get one?”

I wipe my face with the back of my hand as I think about Brighton and Noah. “Yeah, she did,” I say quietly. “If you could wish for anything, what would it be?”

“For my grandson to be happy and in love,” she says softly as she grabs a cloth and washes off the batter I’d clearly smeared on my cheek. Everything in her action tugs at my heart, and I take a fast breath. Another relaxed shrug of her shoulders and then, “Since that’s already happened, lumps will be wasted on me.”

Her response catches me off guard, and my heart stalls. “How do you know he’s happy and in love?” He might be happy, but in love? No. Grandma has it wrong this time.

Another casual shrug. “I can tell he’s happy and in love by the way he looks at you.” There’s a new kind of contentment about her, one I didn’t see right away last night.

“How does he look at me?” I ask, my voice a bit shaky.

“Like you’re the only thing that matters in this universe.”

A rustling sound pulls me from her words, and I turn to find Elias leaning against the archway, ankles crossed, his eyes locked on me. The sight of him does the craziest things to my pulse, and it could be because I’m emotional from cooking with Grandma and missing my grandma and my mom. But what is the look in his eyes? I swallow at the familiarity in it as I recall the last time I saw it. Last night.

Before I can catch myself, I whisper, “That look…” My gaze darts to Grandma, but she’s busy stirring, her movements unhurried. She might as well be miles away, though I know she hears every word.

“What look?” Elias asks, his voice low and husky as he straightens to his full height.

It’s the same look he gave me last night, warm and tender, yet hungry and full of want. But it can’t be love. It can’t be love.

This is just a ruse, right?

Without lifting her head, Grandma chastises, “Elias, get in here. That wall can hold itself up.” She mumbles something about a pretty-boy statue, and her words pull me from my erratic thoughts. “The table is not going to set itself, you know.”

Elias grins at me as he steps into the kitchen, and with Grandma watching us, he bends and gives me a tender kiss on the cheek. Grandma makes a contented sound, like she knows something I don’t. But she’s wrong about Elias, right?

Jeez, Grandma you’re killing me here.