Meant for Me (Take Me Now) Page 3

  Reaching for the scissors, I comb out a section of hair and start snipping away. I’m not a professional stylist by any means, but I’m competent enough to give him a decent trim. I measure how much I’m going to cut between my fingers as the pieces of hair start to fall to the floor. His eyes are shut, but there’s a smile on his face like he’s in a state of pure and utter bliss.

  When I finish with the top, I kneel down to work on the sides. He can’t prevent his eyes from opening when he senses how close I am to him. He tries to get me to meet his gaze, but I keep my attention on what I’m doing, drawing the comb through his sideburn. He blinks when I bring the scissors near his face. I make a few snips then caress his neck reassuringly. I move around him to cut the other side, making sure everything looks even. We’re practically nose to nose as I make a few extra passes, wanting him to look perfect. It’s intense, feeling the weight of his stare on me. I can’t believe I got through all of that without kissing him.

  I step back for a moment in anticipation. Now for the part I’ve been waiting for. I don’t know why but I’ve always wanted to shave the guy I love. Those kinds of scenes in movies never fail to turn me on. The man and woman are touching but not touching. Every movement is heightened. Every breath is labored. Every touch is charged. They’re playing at restraint when really they’re bursting at the seams. I admit that I always wanted to feel that level of sexual tension that such an intimate act creates. Not through a screen—but in person.

  And Eric is about to help me live out that fantasy.

  My heart races as I pick up the can of shaving cream, shaking it for all it’s worth. I tremble, squirting a generous amount onto my hand. I can’t believe how nervous I am. My mouth is watering as I dab my finger into the rich lather. He’s looking at me with such intensity that I almost chicken out and rinse my hands in the sink. Instead, I rub them together before spreading the shaving cream onto his stubbled cheeks.

  I cover his mouth, gliding my fingers across the faint beginnings of a mustache. His face is nearly all white, and I chuckle to myself as I remove the lather from his lips with my thumb. He groans when he feels my finger on his mouth. I grin as I wipe the lather from my hands onto the towel before reaching for his razor.

  I try to get in a good position as I raise the blade, but I feel awkward. He gazes at me warily, afraid that I’m going to cut him. He’s at my mercy now. A surge of heat shoots through me, and I press my thighs firmly together. He shifts uncomfortably on the tiny stool, causing me to look down. There’s a huge bulge in his boxers. I purse my lips to keep from smiling. I’m not surprised that he’s enjoying this, too.

  I start by making a large vertical stroke down the length of his cheek. I love the sound of the bristle of his beard scraping against the path of the razor. It’s so sexy. Elated by my first attempt, I turn on the water to rinse off the razor before making another pass. I continue my way across his face from left to right, pleased by my progress. So far, I haven’t even nicked him. Familiar with the drill, he lifts his chin, allowing me free access to his neck. The blade scratches against his skin, causing him to flinch. I stop what I’m doing and wait for any blood to appear, but there isn’t any. Now that I’m in the home stretch, I have to calm my nerves. The last thing I want to do is cut him. I’m not used to handling a razor over the angles and planes of a man’s face. It’s a lot more difficult than the long, easy strokes I use to shave my legs.

  With the last swipe, I want to jump up and down and scream, “I did it.” Instead, I bury his face in the towel, blotting away the last remaining traces of shaving cream. I can’t resist running my knuckles against his cheek. His skin feels so incredibly smooth. I love when he’s clean-shaven. When he’s scruffy, his stubble scratches my face and neck. His kisses end up leaving a trail of red marks that can last well into the next day. Not to mention, his mouth feels best between my legs when it’s not irritating the delicate skin surrounding my inner thighs.

  He runs his hands over his face, examining my handiwork. He smiles at me, indicating that he’s pleased with the results. He’s usually in such a rush to get to the garden center that he doesn’t take his time getting ready. On the days he does shave, it seems like he’s always gulping down his morning coffee with bits of toilet paper stuck to his face to stem the bleeding where he cut himself. I’ve even caught him trying to shave with the bathroom mirror still fogged up from his shower. Oh, the crazy things men do.

  I lean forward, intending to kiss him, but catch myself at the last moment. I want to draw this out as long as I can, and his lips are distracting me. I nuzzle against the softness of his cheek and whisper in his ear, “Did you like that?”

  He doesn’t even give me the chance to respond as he lifts me up, placing me between his legs. He raises my arms, skimming his hands down my body as he fumbles with the hem of the shirt. In one swift movement, he draws it over my head, sliding my hair through the collar.

  Standing up, he makes quick work of removing my thong. He’s in such a hurry that it’s still hanging around my ankles when he hoists me onto the bathroom counter. His mouth crashes onto mine as I tug on his boxers. They’re so snug around his hips that they won’t budge. I groan against his lips and he takes the hint, freeing his hands from my hair in order to yank them from his body. Anxious to reclaim my mouth, he tries to move between my legs, but my stupid thong prevents him from spreading them open. He’s wild as he bends down to untangle the strap that’s now wedged between my toes.

  My breasts jiggle my hair as I burst out laughing. We’re both naked and absolutely desperate for each other, but seeing him so intently focused on freeing my thong from my feet just cracks me up. I can’t stop. He looks up at me like I’m crazy. He has no clue how I was imagining this whole perfect movie moment in my mind about how this would all play out. Romance in real life is so much more ridiculous.

  I can tell he wants to take me now, but he’s debating whether or not to stifle my laughter with his mouth and keep on going. Despite the fact that he’s kneeling on the bathroom floor that’s covered with pieces of his hair, I can see a spot of shaving cream I missed behind his left ear. His hair is still wet, unstyled, and plastered flat against his head. But to me, he’s never looked sexier because in this moment he’s fulfilling every fantasy of mine and then some.

  I open my legs to him with a devilish grin. If he wants me, he can have me, even if I can’t stop giggling like a schoolgirl. He slides between them, pulling my hips into him and tossing my legs around his waist. He’s inside me before I can even blink. I cling to his shoulders as I already feel myself clenching around him.

  Oh yeah, reality is way better than any movie.

  Chapter Four

  Eric

  I really hope having so much sex isn’t going to hurt the baby, but I can’t get enough of Ivy.

  I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, not even Cassidy. I was such a clumsy kid back then. I didn’t know how to draw things out and take my time. I was awkward as hell. Two virgins making love for the first time, well… Things didn’t go so smoothly, not for the first couple of tries at least. It took us a while to get our timing right and get in sync with each other. The chemistry was there and I was definitely attracted to Cassidy, but I always handled her with kid gloves like I was afraid I was going to break her or something. And then after she got sick, I felt like a jerk for wanting her that way when she was suffering so much.

  But it was more than that. With Cassidy, I realize I was holding myself back. I didn’t try things I knew she wouldn’t like. I didn’t ask her to do things she wasn’t comfortable with. I held her up on a pedestal, not wanting to defile her in any way. To me, she’d always be so pure and innocent—the kind of girl a guy feels a duty to shelter and protect. She was my delicate rosebud I had to keep safe.

  The moments we shared were tender and sweet. There was nothing wild or passionate about them. She always felt shy about her body, preferring to turn off the lights and dive deep beneath the
covers. She was thin and small-boned, lacking any real womanly curves. She regretted being so flat-chested even though it made no difference to me. What concerned me more was how tiny she was. I knew it hurt her when I was inside of her, stretching her to the limit. She didn’t like the physical act of intercourse all that much, and I usually did what I had to do then withdrew from her. She preferred to cuddle and have me gently rain kisses all over her body. She liked when I was gentle with her.

  With Ivy, sex couldn’t be more different. From the very first night, I did things with her I’d never done with Cassidy—things I’d been dying to try and things I had always wanted done to me. We were ready to explore our bodies with abandon. It had nothing to do with shame or guilt or trepidation. It had everything to do with satisfying our hunger for each other. Her body was a natural fit for mine, taking me in as far as I could go. For the first time, I felt free being with a woman. I could let loose and really go for it without the fear of hurting her or causing her pain.

  And I couldn’t get enough of her body. I wanted to learn every inch of it, what she responded to and what she didn’t. She let me touch her wherever I wanted, as deep as I wanted. Knowing that I had to fight off Will and Ryan in order to be with her, I just assumed she was a lot more experienced than I was. So I was surprised when she revealed that we had been with the same number of people—two.

  Call it old-fashioned, but hearing that she hadn’t slept with dozens of guys helped soothe my male ego a bit. She was responding to me because she wanted all I had to give, not because she had a bag of tricks up her sleeve that she gained from previous exploits. At heart, she was eager to embrace her sexuality. It made her come alive. And the best part about it? I was the one driving her desires. She was hot—for me.

  Sure, women eye me up, but only because I’m blessed with broad shoulders and a job that keeps me toned. I don’t need to hit the gym to build muscle. It comes with the territory. But I wasn’t always this way. Back in high school, I was still growing into my body. I leveled out at 6’3” with arms that eventually bulked up thanks to the sweat of my brow working the land. Before I graduated, I ran my grandma’s farm, moving in with her until she passed away at the end of my senior year. It was a lot to take on for someone so young, but it gave me the confidence I needed to start my own business. I knew even at twenty-two that I could handle it.

  I guess that’s why I admire Ivy’s get-up-and-go spirit. She reminds me so much of myself. She doesn’t want any free rides. She wants to earn everything herself. Her family doesn’t have a lot of money, so she was putting herself through college, combining her partial scholarship with a variety of part-time jobs from waitressing in a diner to answering phones in a dentist’s office and everything in between. It really freaked her out last summer when she wasn’t able to bring in an income. Her internship was unpaid and took up the majority of her time. She basically saved as much as she could before the spring semester ended and hoped she’d be able to get by living on a pretty frugal budget.

  She’s super smart and deserves so much more than the hand she’s been dealt. If Lauren hadn’t screwed things up for her, she’d be at the main campus right now pounding the pavement, looking to uncover her latest story. Whiling away her time in the country has to be killing her. She never complains, but I know she’s bored here. There’s not enough excitement for her. She likes to be on the pulse of things, finding a scoop, investigating a lead. The only noteworthy event at Riverside Gardens is when Shep needs a bath in tomato juice after chasing a skunk. Not exactly headline-grabbing stuff.

  That’s why I have to let her go to L.A. even though I don’t want to. I can’t have her come to resent me, making her feel trapped. The baby was a surprise—one we didn’t see coming. But it’s also a tie that forced her to swap her life for mine. We both want to live as a family and raise our child together, but that requires sacrifice on both of our parts. She lost out on a promising career and I have to work longer hours. It’s not going to be easy supporting three people instead of one.

  I’d like nothing more than for Ivy to return to school and finish what she started, but with a baby on the way, it’s just not possible. If she weren’t pregnant, I’d have no problem financing her last year. But there have been so many extra costs connected to the baby that I never anticipated. Ivy’s health insurance isn’t the greatest. Her mom lost hers, so she’s on an individual plan where she has to reach a staggering deductible before her coverage kicks in. So far, I’ve had to pay for every test she’s had out of pocket. And that’s before the baby clothes, car seats, cribs, bottles, diapers—the list goes on and on. I bought all of these things before but Ivy and I both agreed there was no way we could use what Cassidy and I had purchased for our baby. There were too many bad memories attached to that stuff. All I know is that it probably would’ve been cheaper if Ivy went back to college instead of getting pregnant—at least until I was able to get the garden center out from under its mountain of debt.

  Starting a business from scratch is tough. There are so many initial costs and investments that need to be made in order to get it going. I had to buy the land. I had to purchase an inventory. Most things I can grow myself, but not everything. I’d love to increase the size of my staff, but I can’t afford the payroll taxes accompanying every new hire. I pay Jack under the table whenever he can moonlight for me, and my dad does the books for free in his spare time. Things are tight, but I’m hanging in there.

  I guess the last time around I was so consumed with Cassidy’s deteriorating health that I wasn’t paying attention to how expensive having a kid really is. Cassidy’s parents helped out with a lot, and I had a little nest egg after I sold my grandma’s farm. It was going to tide us over until life got back to normal, but it never did.

  Now I kind of wish I hadn’t built this house right away. I didn’t have to have the finest quality wood for the closets or the top-of-the-line bluestone for the fireplace. I could’ve kept things simple, but I didn’t. Building this house was what kept me alive after Cassidy died. It was my love letter to her, and I wanted nothing but the best inside and out. I was consumed in finishing it, wrapped up in the project for months. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I sawed, hammered, and drilled until my fingers bled, blowing through what little I’d inherited from my grandma in the process. I didn’t sock any money away for a rainy day. Instead, I used it to hide out from the world.

  So I feel like a dick since I can’t provide for Ivy and the baby the way I want to, the way they deserve. Sure, she likes working with Will on the screenplay. She’s doing what she loves and what she’s good at, but the chances of it turning into something are slim to none. There’s not a lot of money in independent filmmaking. The budgets are a fraction of what is spent on major blockbusters. Some indies are even bankrolled through fan contributions on fundraising websites. Investors are lucky to break even since the audience for these types of movies is relatively small. The only chance of hitting it big is by building a word-of-mouth following at one of the major film festivals. Only then does an independent film have a shot to break into the mainstream come Oscar time. At least, that’s how Ivy explained it to me.

  I’m not even sure if Will is giving her credit for her work or if she’s just writing under his name. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s using her for all she’s worth, not expecting to pay her a dime if the movie’s successful. She hasn’t signed any type of contract, and while there’s an email trail of correspondence between the two of them, he’d probably deny that she had any involvement if the project takes off. He’ll most likely pay her a small lump sum to keep her quiet and that’ll be it. He’ll pocket the rest.

  I feel like I’m sending Ivy into a den of thieves to get bamboozled by a bunch of Hollywood bigwigs. She’s a young girl with an extraordinary amount of talent. She doesn’t have an agent. She doesn’t have a lawyer. All she has is me. And it would gut me if they take advantage of her out there. Yeah, Will’s paying for her flight and her hotel room,
but that’s about it. The whole thing doesn’t sound too promising.

  I haven’t read the script yet. Ivy won’t let me until it’s done. She says she feels weird about me seeing her unfinished work. But I read all her articles in the Independent Gazette and she was fine with that. I was always stoked to see her byline whenever I opened the paper. It was cool to actually know the writer. Check that—love the writer.

  I look at her now as we get inside my truck to drive to the airport. I can’t help remembering our first ride together, bringing a container of gas to her stranded car after it had died on the dirt road leading to the garden center.

  ***

  “You don’t have to do this, you know. I’ve already kept you waiting for forty-five minutes. You must have a million things you have to do.” Ivy glances at me anxiously.

  “True, but I want to,” I respond, giving her a wink. “It seems like your day’s been bad enough as it is. The last thing I’m going to have you do is lug this heavy container out there by yourself. C’mon, get in.”

  “But you already gave me a pair of shoes. I can’t keep taking without giving something back in return.” She pouts as she hops up next to me on the seat. I take a second to enjoy the moment. A girl hasn’t ridden next to me in quite some time.

  “Are you forgetting that the whole thing was my dog’s fault? We’re even as far as I’m concerned.” I crank the ignition and the engine roars to life. Shep, hearing the sound of the truck, comes running with the heel of Ivy’s shoe in his mouth. “See what I mean?”

  She takes one look at Shep and loses it. She’s laughing so hard that she’s practically crying. There’s something about her laugh that makes me want to join in. We’re cracking up as Shep gets more and more annoyed that I’m taking someone else for a ride and not him. He jumps up on the passenger door, hanging his paws over the window, making us laugh even harder.