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It’s her second day with my family and she has already found a comfortable place among them. She and Chloe are almost the same age and have a lot in common, but she connects most with Emma. I think it’s because she plays with the girls and they have taken a special liking to her, which is unusual. Mila doesn’t like anyone. Especially me.
She’s on the floor with the girls and I see the way my mum watches her. Her natural ease with my brother’s children doesn’t escape her attention.
My mum is sitting next to me on the couch. “I don’t know how she won Mila over. That kid doesn’t like anyone.” I think I could be a little jealous. “She likes Laurelyn better than me and I’m her uncle.”
“Laurelyn’s mother material. Mila senses that about her.” We watch them play a few more minutes and Mum leans over to whisper in my ear. “If you don’t do something about it, she’s going to make a wonderful mother for some other man’s children.”
I’ve watched the way my family has interacted with her for two days and realize my mistake. I shouldn’t have brought her here. They’re all falling in love with her.
41
Laurelyn Prescott
We’re driving back to Avalon and I’m thinking how I’ve enjoyed the last three days with Jack Henry’s family. We’ve spent the last seventy-two hours pretending to be head over heels in love. It was so easy to play the part, I have to ask myself if I was pretending at all.
I’m curious to see if we revert back to our former selves now that we’re away from his family or if we’ll continue our romantic façade. I’m too afraid to ask because the answer—either one—scares me.
He reaches for my hand and rubs his thumb across the top of my hand. “You’re quiet.”
I can’t tell him what I’m thinking. He would freak out. I think. “You have a great family. I’m glad I got to meet them.”
“They think you’re pretty great too. Especially Mum. She was in heaven seeing us together.” He squeezes my hand. “Thank you for helping me make her happy.”
“My pleasure.” And it was my absolute pleasure.
I go to sleep in the car and it’s late when we get to the vineyard. Mrs. Porcelli is already gone for the evening, but we find she has left us a welcome-home dinner on the stove. I’ve never minded cooking or cleaning, but I must admit that walking in to find a home-cooked meal after a five-hour drive is a definite perk of living with Jack Henry.
He brings our bags in from the car and drops them in the laundry room before he joins me in the kitchen. I lift the top of the casserole dish to see what we have. Hmm, maybe it’s some kind of chicken casserole? “Smells good. Are you ready for dinner now?”
I feel him behind me and his hands are creeping under my cotton dress. “I’m ready for dessert now.”
Mmm … I love me some him.
He goes straight for the kill, sliding his hand down the front of my panties. “Jack Henry, we just walked through the door.” I check the clock on the stove. It’s only a quarter past five. What if Mrs. Porcelli is still hanging around?
“It’s been a week,” he groans in my ear as he teases me with his fingers.
“It’s been three days,” I correct him as I drop my head back against his chest. But it could be three minutes and I think I’d want him again.
He slips a finger inside me and then another. “I can’t help myself. It feels like forever since I’ve been inside you.”
I feel his rock-hard erection grinding against my bottom while he slides his fingers in and out of me. The way his hand is positioned, his fingers are rubbing my sweet spot and each stroke brings me closer to orgasm.
“Come for me, Laurelyn, and say my name when you do.”
Now, I’m grinding down on his hand and I’m saying his name in my head over and over until I fall over the edge into pure oblivion. “Jack Henry,” I cry out with the familiar spasms I’ve come to love so much.
I recognize the sound of a tearing wrapper so I know what’s he’s doing. I feel his fingers loop around the waistband of my panties and he drags them down my legs until I step out of them. “Hold on to the countertop. We’re not going to make it to the bedroom.”
I wrap my hands around the edge of the solid granite in front of me and he uses his knee to push my legs apart. One of his arms loops around my waist and yanks me so that I’m bent just the way he wants me. I feel him there, against my wet core, and then he pushes inside me with a force reflecting that of his pent-up sexual frustration.
I cry out at the surprise of the sudden intrusion and he stills. “Too rough?”
It only takes a moment for me to adjust to this position and then I’m rocking against him wanting more. “No, don’t stop.”
We synchronize our rhythms and he pounds into me over and over until I hear my name. That’s when I know he’s slipped over the edge. So I follow him.
Two Weeks Later
I wake at four in the morning with lyrics racing through my head. I almost leave the bed to go to the piano, but I don’t. I can’t stand the thought of losing one minute of lying next to Jack Henry.
After he’s gone to work, I scramble to the piano to play the tune that danced in my head all morning and struggle to remember the exact words I was sure I couldn’t forget.
I jot down lyrics telling my story—how I wonder who will take my place after I’m gone and how I am secretly desperate for him to ask me to stay because I love him so much. I struggle because my hand isn’t fast enough to get the lyrics down as they flow from my head.
I put the words to music and sing them aloud, adjusting the melody for the best sound. I raise the key to test the tone of the chorus.
As I sing, I have that feeling you get when you’re being watched. Since Mrs. Porcelli often listens to me play, I look toward the doorway expecting to see her, but it’s not. It’s Margaret McLachlan.
My heart jumps into my throat. I immediately think something terrible has happened to Henry and she sees the fear in my eyes. “Nothing’s wrong, Laurelyn.”
I bring my hand to my chest, as if to calm my erratic heart. I get up from the piano and she meets me halfway for a hug. “Jack Henry is out on the vineyard. Should I call him?”
“No. I didn’t come to see him.”
I’m confused by this and I gesture toward the couch. “Come sit with me. Would you care for some coffee?”
