This is the continuation of yesterday’s scene, which is here.

Usual disclaimers apply.

Current Word Count: 27,239

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She pulled back first and looked up at him. All of her previous anger was gone. She reached up and touched his face and he kissed her palm.

“Stay another day,” she said. “Please believe in me. I haven’t done any of these things. I swear.”

He winced and tried to look away from her. “Phoebe, I’ve got to get on with my life. I have people counting on me.”

“But next week is Thanksgiving. Where are you spending it?”

“At my house.”

“Alone?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Too soon to tell. I don’t make those kinds of plans very far in advance.”

“Stay here. With me. With my family.”

“Phoebe . . .”

She clasped his shirt between her hands and looked up at him. “I’d like for you to be here.”

“But, Phoebe, I don’t believe all of this stuff.”

“Do you believe in turkey?”

“Stuffing with andouille sausage and bourbon pecan pie and pumpkin pie with walnuts . . .”

She smiled and then shrugged feeling a little lighter. “I can make those things happen.”

“Chere, I know you can. I’ve tasted your cooking, but I’ve still got commitments.”

She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. “Everyone has Thanksgiving. Everyone.”

He raked his hand through his hair and sighed. “I’ll make some calls in the morning.”

She grinned up at him and he pulled her flush against him and kissed her. She entangled her fingers in his hair as she had been wanting to do, jealous of the frequency that his own fingers did so.

“Make love with me, chere,” he said, his voice warm against her temple.

She felt something tauten and pull between her legs, but her brain jabbed her, reminding her not to give over so easily.

“I can’t.”

“Why not? I know you want this. If I slipped my hand . .”

She gripped his wrist before his fingers could dip beneath her waistband. “I want it. Yes. I want you, does that make you happy?”

“Not really. I’d be happy if we said no more words and just made each other happy. I want to taste you. I want to hear you scream my name.”

“I’m not a screamer.”

“I can make you one.”

She shook her head and laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“I do,” he said, his lips moving over her eyebrow. “I can make you forget everything just by being with me.”

His lips moved to her neck, her own personal Achilles heel. She arched her throat and let him nibble and kiss and lick. She felt a moan escape between her lips. She felt the movement of his smile against her throat and almost wanted to stop him from continuing because maybe he was right. Maybe she would scream, even though she wasn’t one. Maybe he was changing a lot of things about her. Or not.

“I can’t. Not in my Aunt’s house.”

“Let’s go to yours.”

“No. It’s not protected.”

“Oh, please, chere. Let’s not do the hocus pocus. Let’s make love.”

She placed her palms on his cheeks and leaned back so that she could look him in his startling blue eyes. “It’s not hocus pocus. It’s real. And I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

His eyes were still glazed. “Fine. Then make love to me here.”

Phoebe leaned into him and rested her cheek his chest, listened to the steady thump of his heart while she wrestled with herself. There hadn’t been anyone since David. She had dated, but nothing more than a few dates.

His hand stroked her back gently and he placed kisses on her purple curls. She lifted her lips to kiss him again and knew that she would say “yes” because she wanted to. It was time to stop running away and being frightened all of the time.

“Well, chere?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll make love with you.”

“Really? Are you teasing?”

Phoebe frowned. “Your tone makes it sound like you don’t want to.”

“Oh, but I do. You may have to give me a few minutes to get over the shock. I was sure you would always be the one that got away,” he said.

Her eyebrows rose higher. “The one that got away? Nice. Essentially I’m just like all of the other women?”

Maybe he heard the edge of temper in his voice because he ran his hands up and down her arms as if to pacify her. “No. Definitely not like any other woman.”

Her eyes narrowed as she considered him. She sincerely wanted to make love with him, every inch of her body wanted it and she had no doubt that he could probably make her feel very, very good. But the reminder that she was just one among many. Another woman he would easily forget afterward. No. Her self-respect probably deserved better than that. Because what for him would be instantly forgotten, for her, not so much. Not that she would throw herself on a pyre out of misery. She wasn’t that invested. She laughed.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I’m trying to decide if sex with you is worth it.”

“Chere, I’m surprised you have to think about that. I have a triple A rating.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s triple X,” she said, then smiled. “Tell me something.”

“Anything.”

“Do you even take the women you have sex with out on dates?”

He shrugged and looked almost embarrassed by his answer. “Sometimes. Mostly no.”

“It’s really a whole different world with you. You sing a song and women just throw themselves at you.”

“It’s usually more than one song, chere.”

“You’re like the male version of a siren.”

“You talk a lot when we could be making love,” he said.

“But is that what we’d be doing? Making love? Have you ever been in love?”

“No. I have never been in love. But sex is loving another’s body so in effect it is making love.”

“Such a smooth talker. You have an answer for everything.”

He tugged on a purple curl. “Enough talking, chere. Why not make love with me?”

“I could think of a thousand reasons. But tonight I’m going to keep them to myself and experience the groupie life,” she said.

As the meaning of her words dawned on him, his grin grew wide and he almost whooped, but sensed that maybe that would be pushing it just a bit too far.

end