Kristen Ashley - The Will

Josie was in a similar mood.

So they made out on her couch in her house, the couch that used to be Lydie’s in the house that Lydie had given her granddaughter.

It was a long time after they were done, when they’d had coffee, he’d made her eggs and toast and he was waiting not very patiently in the kitchen for Josie to get ready to take on the day, when he thought that Lydie would like that.

All of it.

And she’d like it a fuckuva lot.

I stood in Jake’s kitchen, my hips to the counter, Jake standing very close in front of me, his eyes holding mine, his hand wrapped around the side of my neck, my hand wrapped around my mobile which he’d slapped into my palm five seconds earlier and said one word, “Mick.”

I did realize that I had to call Mickey, of course. I hadn’t forgotten.

However, Jake behaved very patiently and his usual kind and wonderful after that horrible debacle with Henry (about which I refused to think for my first reaction might have been tears but after he said the crass things he’d said and the way he spoke to me, so far my second, third, fourth and fifth reactions were wanting to throw something—my sixth was wanting to throw something at Henry).

Jake had then been more of his usual kind and wonderful, acting like we had all day to embrace (in other words snog, and very pleasantly) on the couch and after, making me a delicious breakfast of poached eggs on toast.

Jake’s patience clearly ran out after that and I knew this when I was swiping mascara on my eyelashes upstairs and I heard him bellow from downstairs, “How much longer, Slick?”

Yes.

Bellow.

Up the stairs!

It wasn’t like he was a stranger to my bedroom. He’d been in there even before we were lovers.

At his bellow, I took my mascara wand and tube with me and walked all the way to the landing, which was half a flight down.

There, I saw him at the bottom of the stairs.

“You ready?” he asked the instant he saw me.

“If you’d like to ask me a question, Jake, you are more than welcome to come to my room and ask it rather than shouting it up the stairs.”

His lips twitched and he stated, “I take it that means you’re not ready, you’re feelin’ in the mood to be uppity and tell me off and do it wastin’ time you could be using to finish getting ready.”

“Yes, indeed, I’m not ready but what I’m attempting to do right now is educate you about the fact I do not like to be bellowed at,” I informed him.

His lips twitched again before he replied, “Babe, got a voice, one I can turn up the volume on so there’s no reason for me to haul my ass up the stairs when I can shout up them.”

He seemed not to be listening to me, which I found mildly irritating.

Unfortunately, he was also rather handsome standing at the bottom of the stairs looking amused and I knew teasing me so that irritation was only mild.

He lowered his voice and his face got serious when he said, “Slick, gotta pick up Ethan at eleven and we gotta go to the arena to get your Cayenne before we do that. You need to get a move on.”

That was also mildly irritating, the fact that he was justified in his impatience.

“I’ll get a move on,” I assured him, turning to do just that but stopping when he called, “Babe.”

I looked down at him again.

“It will seriously not go unappreciated if you leave your hair down.”

For years, I’d arranged my hair in chignons, twists or ponytails. And for years, I had not been the kind of woman who did anything that a man asked me to do (unless that man was Henry but he was my employer).

However, when I returned upstairs to finish preparing for the day, outside of finger combing a fabulous elixir through my locks, I left my hair down.

And I was glad I did when I got the look Jake gave me as I descended the stairs.

I was even more glad when I got the kiss Jake gave me when I reached the bottom.

We got my Cayenne, Jake followed me home and I left it there and climbed in his truck. We then picked up Ethan and as we rode to Jake’s house Ethan informed us at length and in great detail about how “awesome” and “epic” and “unreal” Combat Raptor was.

While Ethan was rattling adorably on, I found that it was rather a surprise that the morning after Jake and my relationship changed so enormously, I was just as comfortable in his presence…and then some.

This was because gone was the yearning. Gone was the pretending.

This was not a dream.

It was real.

So, although I would have chosen not to have a surprise altercation with Henry in the foyer of Lavender House where he shared he’d been in love with me for twenty-three years yet did not one thing about it (it was at this juncture I decided I wanted to throw something at him), Jake was mine before it, during it and after it.

Thus, I could throw myself in his arms and cry into his neck and feel his hand stroking my hair and listen to his words attempting to soothe me.

And I did.

And I was delighted I could.

Because it felt beautiful to have someone close in a time of need who gave you precisely what you needed. Outside of Gran, I’d never had that.

Thinking on it, since the day after Gran’s funeral when I met Jake, I had it.

And now I knew he was marvelous in bed. I knew he was generous there. I knew he cared that he gave me pleasure before taking his own. I knew every inch of his body was beautiful for I’d seen them all and touched most of them. And I knew I very much enjoyed sleeping beside him and (maybe more) waking up there.

But this was the only change.

The rest of it was Jake and me.

In preparing for the day, I took that time to go over Jake’s behavior since practically the moment we met and I felt slightly foolish that I had not grasped that Jake and I had been dating thus there was a Jake and me.

But that didn’t change the fact that there was indeed a Jake and me. He liked it. I liked it.

Even so, it was not lost on me that there were some anxieties curling under the surface of my happiness.

The last man I’d chosen, the last one I’d let in, the one and only relationship I had outside of my high school boyfriend…

It didn’t bear thinking about.

But Jake was not him.

Nor was he my father.

Jake was gallant, protective, generous, selfless and tenderhearted.

And none of those were my father or…him.

So although I’d never attempted to have a relationship with a man, not for twenty-three years, and it was clear I was embarking on a relationship with Jake, and Jake was all things Jake (thus I didn’t want to lose any of them), those anxieties were curling under the surface.

Even so, I knew I had only to discuss them with Jake and from what he’d already given me, I had the strong suspicion he’d help me set those anxieties away.

And that felt beautiful too.

We went to his home and I was delighted to discover it was rather an old one, but one in very good condition, standing tall (three stories) and proud. Through some dense trees it even had a view of the sea.

I also discovered during the tour Ethan gave me that Jake had a good eye for decorating, which was rather shocking but not unwelcome. Of course this eye came with a mind to comfort but the colors and pieces he chose were excellent (albeit manly—so manly I feared Amber felt cast adrift in that masculine sanctum), the furniture very high quality and the fixtures and fittings handsome.

He could use some toss pillows to add a splash of color and his wall décor seemed rather slapdash but these were minor issues.

During the tour, I decided I had three favorite rooms in the house.

The kitchen, which was obviously built as an extension, with its exposed beams in a beautiful blonde wood that jutted under skylights so prevalent they appeared to be the entire ceiling, stark red cabinets, stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops.

Jake’s bedroom on the top floor, which had a masculine but extraordinary sleigh bed that was so enormous, at first glance it seemed to take up the entire room, and regardless of the fact that it was unmade, it was also extremely inviting. Not to mention its master bath which also had skylights, a very large shower with smooth stone flooring and three shower heads and an oval bath that had steps up so it was sunken and would be a giving-yourself-a-facial, pumicing-your-feet, soaking-your-cares-away woman’s dream.

And, last, his office, next to his bedroom, which was what had the view to the sea. It also had a fabulous antique desk and a seating area by the window consisting of comfortable chair with a table and lamp which I took one look at, longed to find a book and curl up there to read and, should my mind wander, gaze at the sea.

On the way back downstairs, Ethan announced, “Dad totally did all this stuff. With Tom and Bert and Coert and sometimes Mickey.”

I stared at the back of his head while we were descending.

“Pardon?”

He looked back at me grinning. “Place was a dump. Totally. Dad gutted it and fixed it up before we moved in. We got pictures. Wanna see?”

I absolutely did, so I nodded.

We got to the bottom of the stairs and Ethan ran off, presumably to get the photo albums.

This was when Jake claimed me, pulled me to the kitchen, pushed me into the counter, slapped my mobile into my hand and said, “Mick.”