Read The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine Online

Authors: Kate Angell

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BOOK: The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

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Chapter 11

T
hey rejoined the party. They ate. They drank. They marveled at the decorations. Talked to the townspeople. Laughed. On the surface, they'd put the scene in the sunroom out of their minds.

An hour had passed.

But Chloe couldn't stop thinking about the way Jack kissed her.

Couldn't stop looking at him.

And he couldn't stop looking at her.

By silent, mutual agreement they had made sure not to touch each other.

But every look brimmed with tension.

It was eleven thirty and neither one of them made any mention of going back to their room. Their room with the tiny bed and nowhere else to sleep.

Jack's gaze met hers. Lingered far too long. Her skin heated.

She couldn't look away.

The way he'd kissed her. His mouth, hard and demanding on hers.

The press of his cock between her legs, the thrust of his hips.

She sucked in a breath.

It was a kiss. Just a kiss.

His attention drifted to her lips, his gaze seemed to trace the bow of her mouth.

God, she needed some air.

Abruptly, she pulled away from the conversation and turned to the zombie bride and groom they'd been talking to. “If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get some air.”

Jack watched her. “I'll go with you.”

Ack!
No. She couldn't be alone with him. She held up a hand. “That's not necessary.”

As fast as she could, without appearing to run, she turned, weaved a path through the partygoers, and stepped outside.

The cold air hit her bare skin and she shivered. Even though it was still reasonably warm for October, she shouldn't be out here half-naked. But she didn't care. Maybe the cold would knock some sense into her.

She ran down the steps, turned, and headed down the path to the lake. When she got there, she stopped at the water's edge and stared up into the night sky, filled with a million stars. The moon was huge, bright and white, making the dark water sparkle like magic.

It was breathtaking and calming. She took a deep breath and exhaled.

She could handle this.

The cold air numbed her skin and she hugged herself, running her hands over her arms.

It was one week. If she still wanted to jump his bones next Friday, she could. But she had to be smart about this. It was Jack. His friendship was one of the most important things in her life.

She was a naturally impulsive person. She was not risk-averse. But this was Jack. She needed to take her time.

The sound of shoes hitting the ground sounded behind her, signaling someone coming down the path. She craned her neck and looked behind her to find Jack, carrying her coat in his hands.

Of course he'd come find her.

She frowned. If she needed to resist the temptation of him, why had she removed herself from the party and come to a place guaranteed to make him follow? Rose Cottage was making her stupid.

When he reached her, he put the jacket around her shoulders. “I thought you'd be cold.”

She slipped her arms into the sleeves and shivered as the fleece slid against her skin. “Thank you.”

She looked back over the lake and he stood behind her in silence.

She took a deep breath. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice soft.

She could feel the heat of his body. The moon hung low and full, beckoning her. She swallowed hard. “Jack?”

“Yes, Chlo?”

Her name never sounded so good as when it came from his lips. From his gorgeous mouth that was now imprinted on her skin, that she could still feel against her lips. “Don't sleep in the car.”

A beat of silence. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying I don't want you to sleep in the car.” She cleared her throat. “As soon as we fall asleep we'll be fine.”

“We're still waiting until Friday?”

“Yes.” Friday seemed an eternity away. “It's the smart move.”

“It is.” His arms wrapped around her, and he bent to whisper in her ear, “It would be easier to be smart if I didn't want to be inside you. Didn't want to feel you come.”

She shuddered. Sex had always been a subject they'd never discussed. One of those taboo topics they avoided. It was strange to hear him utter those words, say things she'd never envisioned him saying to her, but they lit her on fire. “If we still feel this way on Friday, maybe you will.”

His lips brushed her throat, raising the fine hairs there. “I can give you an orgasm and not fuck you.”

She closed her eyes and fought against her base desires. “I don't think that's realistic.”

He pressed an openmouthed kiss on the curve of her throat. “Probably not.”

She melted against him, craning her neck and arching. “Maybe we should revise our plan to Thursday.”

“Monday,” he countered.

She licked her lips. “Wednesday.”

His tongue licked across her pounding pulse. “Tuesday.”

She moaned. “Don't you work?”

“I can come over at midnight on Mondayâtechnically it will be Tuesday.” His breath was hot against her inflamed skin.

“Isn't that cheating?”

“It will be Tuesday.”

Two days, she could make that. It was enough time. “All right. Use your key. I'll be naked.”

“Jesus, Chloe.” He twined his fingers in her hair, and she turned her head, looking up at him.

His mouth was on hers in an instant.

His tongue moving against hers. His lips insistent.

His palm splayed over her stomach, warm against her cold skin.

Desire crashed through her, threatening to suck her under. She twisted, needing to get closer. His hands were everywhere. Leaving a blazing trail in his wake. His thumbs brushed the undercurve of her breasts. She moaned, rising to tiptoes to get closer.

What were they doing?

He pulled away and whispered against her mouth, “Now.”

“Yes.” She was past sanity.

His grip on her hair tightened. “We need to go inside.”

She nodded.

He pulled away and took her hand.

In silence they walked back to the cottage. When they got to the steps, Amelia Rose was there, saying good-bye to some of the guests. She nodded. “You've given in to the magic.”

Jack ignored her as they made a beeline to the hallway where their room was.

But Chloe's blood ran cold. Was that all this was? Some spell? Intention? The power of suggestion? Was it this house that was making them give in to a feeling that didn't really exist? She didn't know how that was possible, but then, why? Why after all this time was this happening? Why now, at thirty, couldn't they keep their hands off each other?

It was strange. And tonight, with her desire for him bordering on compulsion, she believed that it was this house, this place, the suggestion of their future affecting them. If they gave in now, they risked ruining a friendship for temporary insanity.

It wasn't worth it.

Jack pulled the key out of his pocket. She put her hand on his arm.

“Jack, we can't.”

He turned back to look at her, his expression pained. “It's two days. What's two days?”

Nothing. Nothing at all. She swallowed. “It's not that.” She gestured behind them, into the empty hallway. “It's this house. How do we know it's not this place casting a spell on us?”

He turned back around to face her. “Do you honestly believe that? That this is a spell?”

She frowned. “I don't know what to believe. But ask yourself, why now? Are you saying we just had better control over our bodies at sixteen than we do now?”

His brow furrowed. “Okay, I'll admit you have a point.”

Her attention snagged on his mouth, and she bit her bottom lip, still remembering the taste of him. “Does this not feel out of control?”

“Yes.” He stepped closer. “It's like I can't keep my hands off you.”

“Exactly.” She took a deep breath. “We've got years of friendship at stake, and I don't want to mess it up. Do you?”

Chapter 12

C
hrist. When she looked at him with those huge eyes, he couldn't think straight.

But he knew this was important to her. She was important to him. In fact, she was the most important thing in his life and he would do anything to keep her happy. And she had a point. He sighed and nodded. “You're right.”

Something flashed across her features, a mixture of regret and relief. “If we still feel like this after we leave, we'll figure out what to do. Okay?”

“Okay.” He could do this. He was a man of self-control. It was one night. He could keep his hands to himself for one night.

He twisted the door handle and flicked on the light, plunging the room into a soft glow. He looked at the bed. “How should we do this?”

She stood beside him, arms crossed, scowling at the bed. “First things first, lots of clothes.”

Even as she said the words, she shrugged off her coat. He took in her bare skin, flat stomach, the curve of her waist and the swell of her hips. The long legs, firm and toned. The plunge of cleavage. He waved a hand at her. “That outfit has to go.”

She looked down at herself. “Agreed.”

“You have sweatpants, right?”

She nodded. “Do you?”

“I do.”

“That's a start.” He jutted his chin toward the bathroom. “Do you want the bathroom?”

“Sure.” She gave him an overly bright smile. “We can do this.”

“Piece of cake.” He nodded toward the open doorway. “Now, go, and please, dress as matronly as possible.”

She laughed and went into the bathroom.

He shrugged out of his jeans and tossed on a pair of sweats, leaving his pullover in place. He stared at the bed.

Fuck, it was small.

But if they were doing this, he needed to act as normal as possible. And normally he'd stretch out and make himself comfortable. Maybe that was the key. Being normal. Acting as he always had. Except, no touching.

It was a solid plan. He grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV, sat on the bed, and stretched out. He tossed his cell on the nightstand, and mindlessly flipped through channels while he kept an ear cocked for the bathroom door.

He settled on the History Channel. Watched some scientist talk about evolution without paying the slightest attention to what was being said. Finally, the bathroom door opened and Chloe stepped out.

He frowned at her.

She looked all . . . puffy.

She held out her hands. “This is about as unsexy as I can make myself.”

He blinked at her. “What are you wearing?”

“About four layers of clothes.” Hair in a slicked-back ponytail, her face free of makeup. She cocked a grin at him. “My own personal chastity belt.”

He laughed. God, she was adorable.

He wanted to eat her up.

No. Wait. He wasn't supposed to be thinking of that.

She glanced nervously around the room. “Should I turn off the light?”

“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “No problem.”

She put her hands on her lumpy hips. “We're under control?”

“Completely.” He was a liar. Even with her dressed like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, he wanted to devour her.

She glanced nervously at the bed, back at him, then back at the bed again.

Jack held his breath, waiting for what she might do, half-expecting her to run screaming from the room.

She padded over on bare feet, the only part of her body, besides her hands, not covered. She sat cautiously on the bed, and craned her neck to look back at him. “Tuesday.”

He flexed his fingers. “Tuesday.”

She nodded, then lay back against the headboard, precariously balancing herself on the very edge of the mattress.

And, suddenly, it irritated him. Not her, but the situation. That years of easy, comfortable friendship had all been ruined by some stupid, sudden burning attraction.

Eyes glued to the screen, she asked, “What are you watching?”

“The History Channel.” His stomach tightened. His gaze skimmed down her overly padded body instead of staying on the television where it belonged.

There wasn't one thing sexy about her.

Not one.

Sure, she looked kind of cute, but she did not look sexy.

She was lumpy, and covered more effectively than a nun.

And he still wanted her.

Was still hard. Still fighting the urge to roll over toward her.

For as much temptation as she provided, she might as well have been wearing black lace lingerie.

He blew out a breath.

She blinked at him. “Is this okay?”

He shook his head. “Chlo, I hate you being so tentative. So far away.”

“Me too.” She rolled over, propping her head up on her open palm to look at him. “But I don't know what else to do.”

His attention snagged on her lips, lingering far too long. “Can't we just act normal?”

Her teeth scraped along her bottom lip. “Yes, of course, that's what I want, too.”

Gaze roaming over her, he said, “Normally you'd be lying next to me, your head on my shoulder.”

Was he daring her? What exactly was wrong with him? If he was supposed to resist her until two days from now, then her curled up next to him wasn't a smart idea.

But his brain had run off to parts unknown.

Besides, he did want them to be normal.

It had only been a couple of hours and he already missed her.

She took a stuttery little breath. “I can do that.”

He rolled onto his back and patted the space next to him. “Good.”

She stared at him for a good fifteen seconds, then slid next to him, before resting her head on his shoulder.

He tensed, his body tightening with desire he tried to ignore.

Her fingers slid across his stomach before coming to rest.

He had to bite back the groan.

He cleared his throat. “See, just like normal.”

“Yep, totally normal.” Her hand twitched on his stomach.

To his horror, his cock went from semi-erect, to full-on raging hard-on. Impossible to hide in sweatpants.

“Oh.” She let out a gasp.

“Sorry.” Christ. This was worse than being a sixteen-year-old kid.

She went to move away, but he tightened an arm around her. “Please, don't. Just give me a minute.”

She settled against him, but she was no more relaxed. “This seems . . . like a bad idea.”

“It's okay.” He closed his eyes and willed his body to calm. “I miss you already.”

“Me too.”

“This is so awkward.”

She laughed, and buried her head into the crook of his arm. “It is.”

He ran a hand down her back. “At least I can't feel anything.”

Her fingers moved a bit over his stomach. “I wish I could say the same.”

He did groan now. “Don't say things like that.”

“I'm sorry.”

He rolled his neck, shifting to find a comfortable spot. He could do this. He handed her the remote. “Put on what you want.”

She flicked through stations at lightning speed before settling on a black-and-white movie with Cary Grant racing around on the screen. She dropped the controller to the bed. “
Arsenic and Old Lace
.”

“A classic.”

Her fingers splayed over his stomach, the muscles tensing under her touch.

They lay there like that, for he didn't know how long, both of them breathing slow and deep, almost meditative.

He didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to the television.

He only focused on her hand. The taper of her fingers. The curve of her palm. The fine bones of her wrists.

He envisioned encircling her wrists with his hands. How his fingers would wrap around her, the squeeze of her bones in his grasp. Holding them over her head.

His body on top of hers.

Thrusting into her.

The image. It was so damn vivid.

His cock roared back to life. He moved a palm down her back.

She seemed to stop breathing.

He ran his thumb over the edge of her sweatpants.

Her fingers dipped lower on his stomach.

He pulled up one layer of fabric.

She inched lower.

He peeled away another piece of cotton.

Her leg slid up his thigh.

He bunched up a top.