Burying Water
Page 19

Leaning down, I skim the pebbles for a few small stones. I toss one stone, a second, a third, listening to the faint plunking sounds as they hit the water.
The water.
The idea blooms inside my mind, growing, sending a ripple of excitement through me.
It’s been there all along.
“What’s that smile for?”
I hold out the temporary ID.
Ginny scowls. “Don’t be testing my patience now. Hand it on over.”
I do, and then ball my fists under my armpits and hold my breath as she squints at the temporary driver’s license that the nice man from the DMV issued me this morning. Sheriff Gabe had my identification papers finalized with the judge last week. Then he used his position to cut whatever red tape was required to get me a driver’s license test. I earned a perfect score. The petite, dark-haired woman said that she would have thought I’d been driving for years.
I know when Ginny reaches the line that shows my new name because her scowl fades. “Water Fitzgerald?”
“I hope you don’t mind, but I figured if we’re going with the whole cousin story, then it might make sense.” That’s the official explanation that Meredith and I came up with. Second cousin, once removed, from Pittsburgh. I got hurt in a car wreck. It may keep the gossips at bay.
“Hmm . . . Smart thinking,” she offers in an unusually soft tone. I wait for her to make some snide comment about my choice of first name. When she doesn’t, I exhale in relief.
“So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take the truck out for a drive. I won’t go far, I promise.” I pat my phone in my fleecy pocket. “And I have my phone on me, just in case.” I’ve left Ginny’s ranch several times with Meredith and Sheriff Gabe, but now I’m desperate to wrap my hands around the old yellow truck’s steering wheel and just drive off, with no destination in mind.
Ginny makes an unintelligible noise in response and then turns her focus back to her quilt, her slippered foot pushing off on the wooden floor to get the bench swinging again.
I don’t wait another second. I walk as fast as I can and climb into the big truck. I’ve driven it up and down the driveway for mail a few times, so I’m ready to hear its struggle as I turn the key. Finally the diesel engine relents, kicking in with a slight rattling sound.
With a wave toward Ginny, I ease it into drive and give it gas.
She watches me roll by, her quilt resting on her lap, a slight smile on her lips.
SEVENTEEN
Jesse
then
“Jesse?” There’s something about the way she says my name. It gets my blood pumping hard through my veins in an instant.
“Uh . . .” I roll my head to check on Boone, stretched out on the other side of the sectional, remote in hand. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Were you planning on coming over to work on the car tonight?”
I check the digital numbers on the cable box. Nine thirty. I’ve done exactly what I planned on doing all day today. Sweet f**k all, while nursing a hangover. I went out to shoot some pool with a couple of buddies last night. I ended up drinking too much and comparing every woman who approached me to Alex. They all fell short. Needless to say, I came home alone. “No plans on it.” It’ll take Viktor a week or two—at least—to “appropriate” the parts, I’m sure. I pause. “Why?”
“Oh, I was just going to tell you not to bother. The power’s out with the storm.”
“Really?” This is the worst November I’ve seen in Portland yet. I’m surprised we haven’t lost our power too. “It’ll be back up soon, though, right?” Back in Sisters, when there’s a good storm and it knocks our power out, it can be down for an entire night. But Viktor and Alex live in a rich neighborhood. I’m sure the rich get priority service, even with the electric companies.
“It was out for hours the last two times.”
“So . . . what are you gonna do until then? Too early to go to bed, I guess?” There’s not much else to do in a power outage except sleep and . . . well, I’m assuming Viktor isn’t there.
“I’ve checked into a hotel. I can’t sleep when the power goes out and I’m in the house alone.”
“And you were going to be alone all night, weren’t you.”
“Yeah.” I hear the hurt in her voice. I have a good idea why he’s not coming home and I’m guessing she does, too.
Fingers snap to my left. Boone, mouthing, “Who’s that?”
I answer him with a middle finger. Last thing I need is for him to know that Viktor Petrova’s wife is calling me and it has nothing to do with a car. I’m guessing she just wants to talk.
Or maybe not.
I go out on a huge limb and ask, “You want company?”
There’s a moment of hesitation, then, “Yes.”
I spend all of three seconds evaluating whether this is a good idea. It is 100 percent not a good idea.
“Where are you?”
The second she opens the door into her dimly lit hotel room, the second I see her long, shiny blond hair, I feel the urge to tangle my fingers in it.
“Hey.” She steps back just far enough to let me pass through, close enough that our shoulders brush and I catch her perfume. Much milder than what she wears to the club. From this vantage point, I have a good view down her loose purple top and I try not to stare.
“You look good. I mean . . .” Even in the shadowy entryway, her cheeks glow with a blush. She scans the soft, navy V-neck I grabbed from Boone’s closet while he was huddled under the small overhang outside on our balcony, having a smoke. It’s better than anything I have. And tonight, I wanted to look good.
I let out a low whistle as I step into the room, my eyes taking in all the abstract patterns and dark colors. When I pulled my shitty Corolla into the lot of the RiverPlace Hotel, I knew the rooms would be way out of my price range. “How much does a night here cost?”
“Close to eight hundred for this room.”
Jesus. “Nice view.” I push back the black-and-white curtains to take in the dark silhouettes of docked sailboats along the river.
I sense rather than see her close the distance to stand right behind me. “Well, I figured that Viktor should at least pay for me to be in luxury while he’s cheating on me.” Her bitterness is palpable. Which explains what motivated her to pick a place like this.
“Is he? For sure?”
“I called the hotel he stayed in last time—when I found the receipt—and asked for them to put me through to Mr. Petrova. He answered on the fourth ring.”
“He’s not going to stop. You know that, right?”
“I do.” So much resignation in those two words.
“So what are you going to do?”
She doesn’t respond right away and when she does, it’s not an answer. “Why am I not good enough, Jesse?” I can’t imagine what it’s like—to be twenty-two, beautiful, and married to a guy who has no intention of being faithful. He sure as hell doesn’t go out of his way to hide it, either.
I admit, I knew what I was getting myself into when I scribbled her room number on a scrap of paper; when I stuck a couple of condoms into my wallet. Since hanging up the phone, I’ve felt like a live wire, exposed: just waiting to make contact with her so I can pass this current through me, so she can feel it too.
And when I turn around to meet her eyes, I know that she’s waiting for it. “You’re plenty good enough, Alex. He’s the problem. Not you.”
The second my tongue touches her lips, she responds, opening to let me taste the inside of her mouth. There’s no doubt she wants it. But when I slide my free hand under her shirt and up her back, pulling her tight into me, I can’t ignore how stiff her body is. I break free to look down at her, at the wild mix of thrill and fear and nervousness dancing within her wide eyes.
What she said to me last night in the garage . . . I can read a lot into that, but I don’t want to. I shouldn’t. She’s trapped in a shitty marriage with an ass**le, she’s kissing strangers on the side of the road—the girl’s a head case right now. I don’t want to confuse her, make things harder for her than they already are. “Is this really what you want?”
She lets go of my arms and takes three steps back to the bed. Turning off the one lit lamp in the room, leaving us with only the glow from the city lights outside the window, she pulls the hem of her shirt over her head and tosses it to the bench at the end of the bed. Her bra follows quickly, giving me a glimpse of a set of small but firm br**sts, with perfect pink ni**les. And then, gripping the waist of her pants, she shimmies them off, underwear and all.
A bare and trembling Alex sits down on the end of the bed and stretches her hand out for me. As if I wasn’t hard enough, the rest of my blood rushes downward and I feel myself strain in my jeans. I don’t think I could stop myself from going to her even if I tried. Still, why does this not feel right? I mean, I’m dying to get inside her, but something is setting off alarm bells inside my head right now.
Her hands immediately go for my belt and I yank my shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. Her eyes skate over my chest as adept fingers unbutton and unzip, pushing my pants and boxers down to my thighs. Her hot, wet mouth takes me in immediately.
“Damn.” I close my eyes as my head falls back, remembering that arrogant ass**le’s comment yesterday about Alex’s talents.
Now I know what’s bothering me. Well, aside from the fact that we shouldn’t be doing this, period. And that I’m thinking about her husband.
“Stop.” I groan as I ease her mouth away from me. It takes me a few moments to slow my breathing. “You’ve never been with anyone other than Viktor, have you?”
She bows her head. When I slide my hand under her chin to lift her face and she twists away, I clue in and mentally kick myself. She thinks I’m rejecting her. She thinks I wasn’t enjoying that.
That’s not the issue at all.
The issue is that all she knows is an egotistical, demanding husband who has probably never even considered what she may want or need. I won’t claim that I’m not a selfish person. Right or wrong, I want this. But I don’t want it to be all about me. I drop to my knees in front of her and say, “Alex. Look at me.”
Dejected eyes meet mine. “That’s not what I meant by that question.” I slip my hands around either side of her jaw. “What do you want? Right now, from me.”
Tentative fingers reach up to touch my lips. “I want you to just kiss me for a while. A long while.”
She wants to go slow. I pull her face down into mine, sliding my tongue past her lips, quickly losing myself in her mouth and her eager response, letting time tick away, fighting every urge I have to let my hands wander. Ten minutes, an hour, an eternity passes—Alex’s lips are red and swollen—and then she eases herself back on the bed, her hands pinning mine to her face, pulling me with her, until we’re both lying down. I can’t help myself anymore, my fingers memorizing the firm, smooth curves of her br**sts and the insides of her thighs.
And how ready she is for me.
She gasps against my mouth as I touch her for the first time, and then releases a soft, shaky breath before kissing me again, letting her legs fall apart.
If she told me that he’s never bothered to touch her like this, I wouldn’t be surprised.
But she won’t be saying that about me.
When I try to break free from her mouth and move, her hand on the back of my head tightens and a soft “no” escapes. “Don’t stop kissing me, please.”
I smile, dropping my mouth into the crook of her neck. “I won’t. I promise.” Her body tenses only slightly when I start sliding down, her fingers gently digging into my back as my mouth leaves a wet trail the length of her body. She squirms lightly when I dip my tongue into her belly button.
And when I push my hands between her thighs and slide my tongue inside her, I’m pretty sure she stops breathing for a moment. But I don’t stop, not until her muscles strain within my grasp, and her fingers tug at my short hair, and her pelvis bucks against me, and her entire body shudders.
I stretch out on my back alongside her, watching her chest heave with each ragged breath, her body lying limp. Wondering what’s going on inside that head of hers as she stares up at the ceiling.
Finally she rolls her head to meet my gaze, her lips red and raw and so damn tempting, and my mouth is on hers again, and my body is covering hers, her thighs wrapped around my hips.
“Shit.” I pull back just before I slide into her. It would be so easy to—she’s so ready. “Hold on.” I hang off the bed to grab my pants and fish a condom out of my wallet. I’ve never had issues opening one of these, but now I struggle to rip the foil open with my teeth as Alex’s hot tongue slides up and down my throat. “Fuck,” I groan, finally getting the package open and the condom on.