Driftwood Lane (Nantucket #4)(70)

She stared in the direction of her door. Should she get Jake? Could he do anything about it? He might be asleep, and she hated to disturb him, hated even more to be alone, face-to-face with him.

Maybe the electric would return on its own. She stared into the darkness waiting, as if her wish might make it happen. But a minute later there was still no bathroom light, no night-light in the hall.

Meridith sighed. She couldn’t afford a flooded basement. She had to do the responsible thing. A floorboard squawked under her feet as she exited her room and shuffled down the hall. The wood was cold against the pads of her feet. The children’s rooms were quiet. She felt her way along the wall to the doorway that separated the wings.

Having come to trust Jake, she no longer locked it when they had no guests. The doorknob turned easily, and the door swung silently open. She felt her way along the chair rail. The nautical room doorway, more chair rail, the guest bath, chair rail. Jake’s door.

Her palm traced the glossy surface of the five-panel door. Closed. He must be asleep or he would’ve come to find her, or at least gone to check the breaker box or whatever he might need to do.

She let her fingertips rest against the flat panel, wondering if it was worth waking him. What was in the basement, really? Some old boxes and a concrete floor. But flooding brought mold, and mold wreaked havoc on health.

Stop being such a baby, Meridith.

She tugged her nightshirt down, then rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. She could be wearing a clown costume for all he’d know.

Closing her fist, she tapped lightly, not wanting to startle him. Her heart echoed the drumming of the rain on the roof. She was being ridiculous.

There were no sounds from the other side. She tapped again, harder. He’d surely hear that even if he were sleeping. She thought she heard the squeak of his mattress and turned her ear toward the door.

A thump sounded, then Jake’s muffled complaint.

A moment later the door latch clicked. She felt the whoosh of air on her skin, smelled the woodsy, spicy smell of Jake. Before she could stop herself she drew in a lungful of the fragrance. Heaven.

“Meridith?” His voice was close.

“Sorry to wake you,” she whispered, though the children were too far down the hall to be disturbed. “The electric went out.”

“I noticed.”

She thought she detected sarcasm and imagined his lips twitching. She hated not being able to read his face.

“It’s probably just the storm,” he said.

“There’s a light on down the road, and I haven’t heard any thunder. I’m worried about the sump pump.”

He was quiet a moment, and she wondered if she was overreacting. Maybe she should say never mind and slink back to her room.

“Sounds like it’s really coming down. I’ll go check. Where are the flashlights?”

“In the laundry room cabinet above the dryer. Is there anything I can do?” She moved aside so he could pass, but anticipated his direction incorrectly. A flash of bare skin grazed her fingertips. His stomach.

Jake went still. “I can handle it.” His tone was hesitant, breathless.

Meridith’s stomach tightened in a knot even as the air around them seemed to pulse. His body heat warmed her skin, and his breath stirred the hair at her temple. A shiver shimmied down her spine.

He was there, so close. She could smell him, hear him, feel him. Of its own volition, her hand reached into the space. The pads of her fingers grazed the warm hard flesh of his stomach.

She heard his sharp intake of breath even as his muscles flexed under her fingers.

“Meri . . .” he whispered, a warning.

She should withdraw her hand, step away. Yet she couldn’t seem to move.

She felt his work-calloused palms on her cheeks. A moment later his lips touched hers. He took her mouth, stole her breath. His lips moved with sureness, possessing her.

Her hands crawled up his chest, around his neck, into his hair. It was soft and thick between her fingers, just as she’d imagined.

He pressed her into the doorframe. His jaw scraped the tender flesh of her palms. His breaths were ragged. Or were those hers? They were melded into one and it wasn’t enough.

His lips lifted a fraction. “Meri,” he whispered.

She registered her complaint by closing the distance. She’d never felt such need. He was like water for her thirsty soul, food for her famished heart, and she took it all greedily.

He groaned, setting off an earthquake that rippled all the way through her.

“Meri,” he mumbled against her mouth. The sound of her name on his lips was the sweetest of music. She wanted him to say it over and over again. She would never tire of it.

“Meri,” he said, pulling back, a breath away. But this time, the hands framing her face held her in place.

Her heart was rapid staccato, stealing her breath. She gulped in air.

“I love you,” he whispered.

His voice registered, but the meaning didn’t sink through her foggy thoughts.

He gave her a little shake. “Did you hear me?” His thumb moved down her face, along the corner of her lip. “I love you.”

His ardent tone cut through the fog, clearing a path for his words.

She shook her head.

“Yes.”

She was so stupid. How had she allowed this to happen? Did she think because they were blind in the darkness that it didn’t count? That there would be no consequences?