Fisher's Light(26)

With quick hands, I grab onto the front of his button-down shirt and yank it open, buttons flying off and falling clickety-clack all over the floor. I need this. I want this. I need to feel how much he wants me, how much he needs me. I need him to take me and claim me and bruise me with his hunger for me.

“Whoa! Jesus, Lucy, slow down!” Stanford shouts in surprise and a little bit of irritation.

His smooth, cultured voice is what brings me back to the present, brings me back to myself. It’s not the raspy Southern drawl I was hearing in my mind. His thin lips are not the full ones I was feeling against my mouth and his smooth hands are definitely not the rough ones I was feeling against my breast. My face heats with mortification and shame as I quickly scramble off of his lap and take a few steps back from the couch.

Stanford stands up, holding his ruined shirt together with his hands as he looks at me like I’m insane. I probably am. Screw that, I definitely am. My total loss of control is a direct result of seeing Fisher tonight. Seeing him again, even though I knew it was coming, threw me for a loop, invoking feelings in my body that had long been dormant. He shouldn’t be allowed to look even better than he did the last time I saw him. It was the stubble, that’s what it was. That f*cking stubble and those damn dimples that popped out when he smirked at me. His face was covered in coarse, dark hair and it reminded me of that day in our kitchen when he came home from his last deployment. It made me think about everything that I dreamed about, fantasized about and craved that I kept to myself. I’d become a sex-starved, bumbling mess of hormones and I’d attacked Stanford like he had the magic stick that would cure what ailed me.

“That was…unexpected,” Stanford says with an awkward laugh.

Bringing my hands up to my heated cheeks, I try to cover the redness I know is there.

“I’m sorry. I don’t…I didn’t.”

I stammer, completely humiliated and having no clue how to talk myself out of this situation.

“It’s okay, Luce. I just wasn’t expecting that. I thought you wanted to take things slow and you caught me off guard. You don’t seem like the type of girl to do something so…crazy,” he says as he runs his hand over his hair to flatten down the mess I made of it when I was practically ripping it out by the roots.

He’s so busy trying to fix his hair and hold his shirt together that he doesn’t see the irritated look on my face. Why the hell does a woman have to be considered crazy because she wants a man and isn’t afraid to show it? Granted, it wasn’t Stanford I was so hot for, but that’s beside the point. Unless my hearing is as off as my mind tonight, the guy I’m dating just called me crazy.

“I think you should probably go,” I inform him, crossing my arms in front of me and trying not to tap my foot.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

He closes the distance between us and kisses my cheek, running his hand down the top of my head, and I have to force myself not to jerk away from his touch. I’m being a bitch and I know it. Stanford’s right, I acted completely unlike myself tonight and I can’t really blame him for being a little shocked by my behavior. We’ve made out, we’ve done a little light petting above the clothes and I’ve always stopped him when he’s tried to go further. All of a sudden tonight, after running into my ex-husband, I practically maul him on the couch. In the middle of the sitting room at the inn. Where any of the fifteen guests in residence could have walked in.

Yep, definitely losing my mind.

I push the attitude and anger deep down and put a smile on my face, walking him to the front door.

“How about I take you to lunch tomorrow?” Stanford asks. “I have a meeting at the bank at eleven and it shouldn’t take too long. Maybe we can have a picnic on the beach or something.”

I smile and nod. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll make sure Ellie can cover things here and I’ll meet you at the bank. Say, around noon?”

“Perfect,” Stanford agrees. “Sleep tight, Luce. And really, don’t worry about tonight.”

I keep the smile pasted on my face as he gives me another quick peck on the cheek before walking out the door. I make sure not to slam it behind him and take a deep breath as I pace anxiously around the sitting room.

Damn you, Jefferson Fisher. Why in the hell did you have to come back now, when things were finally starting to look good in my life? Stanford is a good, stable man and he treats me well. I have no business fantasizing about a man who shoved me aside and didn’t want me. The only reason he pulled that shit tonight at the bar was because he saw me with Stanford and couldn’t handle it. Why the hell he thinks he has any reason to be jealous is beyond me. His ego probably couldn’t stand the idea that someone else would actually want me after he ripped me apart. The next time I see him, I’m going to make it perfectly clear that he needs to stay the hell away from me. I’m sure Melanie would be more than happy to pick up where they left off last year.