Audrey’s Inn Read online

  “What did they do?” he asked, sounding concerned.

  “Nothing bad,” she hurried to reassure him. “They’ve been helping me jump-start my business. Buying all sorts of gift packages and relocating activities here so that they can pay for renting the space and drinking and eating.”

  At the OGs’ request, no doubt, Rachel had brought in the book club members, who asked to have meetings by the pool. Oh, and she had invited Audrey to join. People were planning bingo nights, senior dances, and painting classes al fresco. How the OGs had managed to convince everyone to move all these activities to the inn instead of the community center, which was free and in perfect working order, was beyond her. Although Audrey imagined the bar service for the terrace and the pool probably helped. They were selling cocktails at an alarming rate, threatening to wipe out their booze inventory days before the supplier’s next visit, and Red was baking so many Death by Chocolate cakes, their kitchen looked like a bakery conveyer belt.

  “I got one of those gift cards,” he said with a sidelong smile. “A romantic getaway for two.”

  She tried to sound detached and unconcerned. Probably failed miserably. “Are you bringing your girlfriend?” She stopped dead in her tracks, horrified that she’d never asked— “Wife?” Maybe she’d been presuming too much, and dinner wasn’t a good idea. “I really didn’t mean to hit on you by demanding dinner. I won’t hold you to it.”

  “Don’t sweat it. No wife. No girlfriend,” he said noncommittally. “I’m barely on speaking terms with myself, let alone having to deal with another human being.”

  Good to know. Or maybe not. She wasn’t sure.

  “You?” he continued, oblivious to the fact that Audrey must be as red as a frigging tomato. “How come you don’t have a man by your side, helping with all this shit?”

  She snorted. “Me and men don’t mesh well.”

  “You into women?”

  No, but if the last male specimen she’d encountered was anything to go by, she was going to consider changing sides. “Nah, just bad track record with men. My last…” What had Andy been, really? She wasn’t sure anymore. “…boyfriend turned out to be…” A monster? “…let’s just say he and I ended up on very bad terms.” Which was the understatement of the century.

  “I see. Did you go with your gut then too? When you hooked up with him?”

  She shook her head. Andy had been so… flashy, it had blinded her. It hadn’t blinded Pudding. Pudding had taken one peek at his picture and had scrunched her nose. “I don’t like him,” she’d said before burying her face back in her computer screen. “There’s something off.”

  Too bad Audrey hadn’t listened to her. But Pudding was kind of a recluse, didn’t like anyone, so Audrey disregarded her gut. She figured it—and Pudding—were exaggerating. Ha! Famous last words.

  Con studied her. “I see. Well, if they get to be too much, the OGs,” he said, giving her whiplash with the sudden change of subject, “just let me know. I’ll rein them in.”

  She wasn’t sure anyone could rein them in, but she nodded, happy they were talking about something else.

  “And about dinner. I always settle my debts too. Especially when I’m bribing someone to not bring me up on assault charges.”

  “Have there been many of those?” she asked before she could tell her mouth to shut up.

  “Nah,” he said drily. “But my life as a civilian has just started. God knows what I’ll get up to.”

  He wasn’t joking. At least it didn’t look like it. He sounded sad. Resigned.

  “You have my number,” she pointed out, deciding to overlook his last comments. “So that you know, I love Japanese food, sushi and sashimi in particular. Send me a date and time—along with the details I asked for.”

  He snorted, amused. “Man, you’ve got a one-track mind.”

  Well, she’d been described in worse ways.

  The silence between them stretched, but it was in no way uncomfortable. “You can’t sleep at night?”

  “Day or night, I have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep for more than two hours at a time. So I come here. Don’t think you’re special in any way,” he hurried to explain. “My grandmother’s back yard is in perfect condition, and so is Mike and Kyra’s.”

  She smiled. “I see. So when it comes to gardens, you’re like those elves in Hogwarts who come out when no one can see them and do all the chores.”

  He frowned. “Hogwarts?”

  “Never read Harry Potter, soldier?”

  He shook his head. “Too busy with real shit.”

  She grabbed her cell, searched for a pic of Dobby, and showed it to him. “This is one of those elves.”

  He scowled at the half-naked and emaciated elf. And no wonder; she should have picked a better shot. That one was appalling.

  “Do I really look that bad?”

  She laughed. “Elves depend on their masters’ good hearts.”

  “So I look like shit and I’m a slave. Fantastic. Getting better and better. Tell me more about that sorry-ass excuse for an elf. Shitty masters, I reckon, huh?”

  They lay there for a long time while she told him about the world of wizards and Muggles. He dozed off. He looked so at peace when he slept. And so damn handsome. She had to fight the urge to caress his face.

  She would have loved to stay there with him the rest of the night, but she hadn’t come prepared and she was getting cold. How these people called this early summer, she didn’t understand. She wondered if he was cold too. It didn’t look it, but again, she didn’t want to risk startling him, so she didn’t touch him. Why the hell it was so difficult to resist that urge, she didn’t know. She’d sworn off men. Yet here she was. Seeking him. Trying to get him to take her out to dinner. Why? After her last experience, she hadn’t had problems keeping away from men—the very opposite.

  Hoping he could get more than a couple hours of sleep this time, she carefully covered him with the quilt and left silently, wondering also, why it was so difficult to leave him there.

  * * *

  Connor walked home feeling refreshed and lighthearted. He’d woken up alone on the grass, covered by a quilt that smelled like Audrey, after sleeping a record of three hours without a single nightmare. Her scent had probably helped relax him. He could have left the blanket on one of the tables by the pool, knowing it would find its way back to her, but he didn’t want to part with it. Not yet.

  A shame he didn’t get to wake up to see her face. She’d really surprised him, showing up in the middle of the night and looking gorgeous, rocking the hell out of the just-rolled-out-of-bed look. He’d always seen her composed and dressed up, hair and makeup perfectly in place, an unbreakable business façade armoring her. This time, though, she’d worn pajamas and a robe. No makeup, no hairdo. She’d looked younger and more vulnerable and so fucking beautiful.

  He entered the house, hoping to go straight to his room. Then he spotted Greta on the couch, channel-hopping. The table was set, a hefty breakfast on display.

  “So many channels and nothing worth watching,” she muttered as she saw him.

  “What are you doing already awake?” he asked, approaching. “It’s not even seven o’clock.” Although, judging by the toast, ham, sausages, scrambled eggs, and the fruit salad on the table, she must have been up for quite a while.

  “Pffft. I’ve already had time to do some cleaning and chat with the girls. Once you grow old and have nothing to do, you lose the capacity to sleep your life away too. So unfair.”

  Connor smiled. He understood the sentiment. His grandma was already dressed, her faithful turban on, and she was wearing makeup.

  “And then this TV isn’t cooperating,” she continued. “Aside from cartoons and news, there are only documentaries about ancient mummies. Do these TV producers understand the only ones watching at this hour are old people and kiddos? If I wanted to see shriveled-up mummies, I’d look in the mirror.” Her cell beeped, and she hurried to read the message. “
That’s right. Even Wilma agrees. Last month we were at a funeral, and this”—she pointed at the mummy on the screen—“looks exactly like him. Come here.”

  Con sat beside her and watched as she produced a picture of someone in an open casket, remarkably similar to the mummy on TV.

  “Behold Joshua Shreibner, doppelganger of some lost Egyptian pharaoh who apparently was poisoned. Joshua farted himself to death. Or so his wife claimed. Doctor said cancer. My money is on the wife.”

  Jeez, these OGs were nuts. “Why are you already dressed to kill and wearing makeup? Do you have somewhere to go? Do you want me to drive you?” He was about to get into the shower and then go to Boston himself, to the VA hospital.

  “Not going anywhere today. I had to put makeup on for face recognition to work. This stupid cell phone doesn’t recognize me otherwise. Can you believe it? And full-blown makeup with pajamas didn’t seem right.” Con wasn’t sure how to answer that, but he wasn’t given a chance because his grandma forged ahead. “Say, have you heard from your dad?”

  “No.” His dad always turned his phone off when he went on vacation, and this time had been no exception. Con was sure they were staying in contact with the lawyer, though, who’d already started the competency proceedings. “Don’t worry, Grandma. I’ll get him to drop all this nonsense. Play along for now. The judge will appoint a shrink to do a mental evaluation.”

  Greta scrunched her nose. “I’m a bit on shaky ground with judges after last time.”

  “Have you offended any shrinks lately?”

  She pondered for a second. “No, not that I recall.”

  “Then we’re okay.”

  Five minutes with Greta would suffice for the psychiatrist to realize she was more than competent enough to manage her own affairs. Yeah, she didn’t give a rotten fuck about authority or doing what other people expected, but if you weren’t allowed to let loose when you had a foot in the grave, then when? Being unapologetic and a bit manipulative wasn’t being incompetent—the other way around, actually. “Just don’t worry. And try to behave for the time being.”

  “It’s not me I worry about,” she said. “Where’ve you been, my boy?” She looked concerned. Sounded concerned too.

  He sighed. “Nowhere, really.”

  “You aren’t eating. You aren’t sleeping. What is going on?”

  Plenty was going on. Nothing his grandma needed to know. She’d never be able to sleep again, and she had enough difficulties as it was. No need for him to add to it. “I actually slept, Grandma. I fell asleep at the inn, on the grass, after doing some pruning.” At her outraged expression, he shrugged. “You were the one who wanted me to help Audrey, remember?”

  “During the day, hon. Like a normal person.”

  He knew his grandma would nag him, and he didn’t have an answer for her – at least one that wouldn’t give her nightmares, anyway—, so he walked to the table and took a slice of toast. He wasn’t hungry but eating would make Greta immensely happy. And she’d slaved over that breakfast.

  As expected, the eyes of the old lady beamed with excitement while he ate. “Take some bacon.” She pushed the plate over as he polished off the toast in three bites. It was amazing what a bit of sound sleep could do for a man. Or the scent of a woman by his side.

  Greta grabbed the quilt he’d left on the chair and sat. “What’s this?”

  “Nothing. I’ll return it to its owner tomorrow.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him but remained unexpectedly silent. Con wolfed down two pieces of bacon and got up. “Thanks, Grandma. I’m running late. I’ve got to take a shower and then go to Boston for some paperwork.”

  Seeing him eat must have left her speechless, because she just nodded and watched with a big smile as he took the stairs two at a time.

  Once in the bathroom, he chucked his clothes, and his good mood took a nosedive as he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He averted his eyes. He’d never been one to admire his body, but now he couldn’t stand the sight of it. It was a blessing that the worst was in back. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Too bad that shit was never out of mind.

  He turned the shower on at full blast and went under it, relishing the hot water. He soaped and rinsed and soaped again. It pleased him that in spite of the shower gel, he could still smell Audrey’s scent, as if it had imprinted in his nostrils. It was sweet, with a hint of vanilla and something spicy—a dark promise of sorts. Her smell brought her image to his mind, as vivid as it had been in person several hours ago. Soft and rumpled from sleep and agreeable. So sexy.

  He realized that the half-erection he’d sported since waking up was now at full salute. Wow, that was a surprise. He palmed himself and hissed at the contact, the pleasure alien to him after so long. It had been ages since he’d had the urge to jack off, and look at him now, so hard he could hammer nails at the mere memory of Audrey.

  He was dying to take her out to dinner, get to know her better—intimately—but he wouldn’t. Shouldn’t. The fact that he was jacking off was a clear sign he needed to stay the fuck away from her. And he should stop this shit too. It was just going to make matters more difficult.

  That thought, though, held no power whatsoever. His mind had been hacked; his body was in charge now. He massaged his cock harshly and closed his eyes, wishing it was Audrey touching him. His horny mind conjured her image, wantonly dressed, the gown she’d worn to the party all wet and clinging to her gorgeous body. He could see her in front of him, stroking his cock, her small fingers not reaching around the shaft while she whispered in his ear how much she wanted him to fuck her. His breathing accelerated as he braced his other hand against the wall for balance.

  The dress on the imaginary Audrey was almost see-through from the water, and her dark hair was stuck to her head and shoulders. It didn’t seem to bother her, because she jacked him and herself, her fingers deep between her legs. Her ministrations and throaty moans of pleasure were driving him insane. She went on tiptoe and kissed him softly on the lips. “I want your cock inside of me,” she whispered, her body shaking from her impending release. “My mouth, my pussy, my ass. You choose.”

  Fuck, he wanted to make it last, to savor this, his first orgasm in months, but it was not to be. He couldn’t prevent his hand from moving faster and faster over his cock, especially as he thought about how it would feel to spread Audrey wide open and plunge into her depths, her plush pussy barely yielding for him, hot and tight and so damn wet. How she would tremble underneath him—or flat against this tiled wall—and urge him on with ragged moans. He could almost feel her hands on him, her nails digging into his shoulders, even her teeth marking him as he fucked her, her little body taking all of him again and again until he was so deep inside her, he could feel her heartbeat on his cock.

  Fuck, too hot. His balls were hard, his dick madly jerking, cum already poised at the tip. His muscles were bulging with barely contained tension and his teeth were clenched. He had to backpedal—but his imaginary Audrey was not too interested in backsies. And apparently neither was he.

  He barely managed to pull back and looked at her. He’d ripped the dress off her and had pushed her against the wall, hooking the backs of her knees over his elbows and spreading that sweet pussy wide open. It was pink and bare and so damn tiny, her folds swollen from his rough treatment and tightly wrapped around his cock.

  “Don’t you dare stop,” she panted, contracting her inner muscles around his dick, hard. Oh, God. He thrust into her to the hilt, until his groin pressed her clit and she let out a throaty moan. Then he set a fast rhythm while she whimpered but took all of him.

  “Fuck me harder,” she begged to him, sinking her nails into his back. “Any part of me you want, it’s yours. I’m yours.”

  It was a good thing his hand was braced against the wall, because his legs were about to give way. His whole body shook. He curled his fingers around his shaft tighter and, after two more strokes, he flung his head back and came explosively, hoping the
shower muffled his roar as thick, long jets of cum burst from his cock.

  Chapter Four

  Audrey made it to the pool and stopped dead in her tracks. Had someone rented the area for a supermodel photoshoot? There were several perfectly sculpted girls lying in the hammocks, talking and sipping cocktails, while a crowd of men swarmed around them, flirting with them. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought she’d been teleported to an episode of Love Island USA.

  “What’s going on?” she asked Suzy, who was bringing drinks to the women. It was barely noon, but the place was packed.

  “Word got out that the girls from Bottoms Up are here, and suddenly all the eligible men in Alden—and a bunch of married ones too—decided to take a dip at the pool.”

  Then it dawned on her: Red had told her that four former coworkers had rented rooms for the weekend. So that had caused the commotion. And no wonder, because Red’s friends were gorgeous. Audrey was 100 percent straight and even she felt like flirting with them.

  “They’re here because of us,” one of the girls said, picking up a drink from Suzy’s tray. “I hope it’s okay. Red said you could use the business.”

  “Are you sure they aren’t bothering you?” Audrey asked. After all, Bottoms Up didn’t open until late in the evening, which meant the girls would likely be here for a while. Maybe they’d prefer some peace and quiet?

  “Nah. We know most of these guys from Mike’s self-defense classes. We’ve beaten them left and right. We’re friends.”

  “Okay,” Audrey said with a smile. Everybody was having a great time, and the inn was making money. Who was she to complain?

  Someone called to her from a table on the terrace, reminding her why she’d come to the pool area to begin with—the romance book club. They weren’t having a formal meeting, but were deciding on what to read next. Audrey walked toward a waving Rachel, who was surrounded by at least ten women, most of whom Audrey was not familiar with. Rachel, she knew. Kyra, Mike’s wife, she’d met during the opening party, as well as Holly, the sheriff’s dispatcher. The pregnant brunette was Christy, the librarian.