Page 65 of Bursting With Love
“What?” Aida yelled.
Savannah jumped back. “I know, okay? It’s way too soon and he’s got shit to deal with, and I’m on the rebound and a million other things that should send me running for the hills.”
“Oh no, honey, that’s what got you tangled up with him in the first place.” Aida crossed her arms and tapped her cheek with her finger. “Good in bed?”
“Very.”
“Treats you well?”
“Adoringly,” Savannah answered.
“Kind?”
“Yes, but rough edges until he feels safe.”
“Skeletons?” Aida narrowed her eyes again.
Aida’s ability to cut through bullshit was one of the many traits Savannah loved about her. “Wife died in a car accident. He was the one who found her. He blames himself.”
“Ouch.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Priors?”
“No relationships or women for two years. Military background. He’s also a pilot.” She knew that would strike Aida’s adoration for men in the fast lane.
“Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. Two years? You’re kidding, right? Either that or this man is so good in bed that he’s turned you into an idiot.”
Savannah shook her head. “No women since his wife died.”
“You sure he’s not gay?”
“One hundred and fifty percent sure.” Savannah leaned on the desk beside Aida. “What am I gonna do? I can’t keep my hands off of him, and I love his voice. God, his voice is like…it’s like hot chocolate on a cold day.”
Aida rolled her eyes. “Oh God. Here we go down La-La Lane.”
“I’m being serious. When he talks to me, I swoon like a teenager. And when he touches me, I turn into a sex-starved seductress.”
“Hmm. Now, that could be interesting. Do you have anything in common? Besides sex, I mean.”
Savannah shrugged.
“Wait. You think you love him and you know nothing real about him? Savannah Braden, what would your father say? Or Treat? My God. Treat would not be pleased.”
“Actually, I told Treat that I really liked him and he was supportive.” Savannah stood and pulled up Jack’s website on the computer.
“Treat was supportive of a guy you’re screwing and know nothing about?” Aida shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“He checked him out. You know my brother, always overprotective. He said he’s a good guy. He just has a lot to deal with. Listen, I like him, okay? A lot. I think I…” She trailed off, then whispered, “Love him.”
“Yeah, I got that. So when can I meet him? Let me see for myself.” Aida stepped off the desk and looked over Savannah’s shoulder at his website. She squinted, moving closer to the screen, then backed away again. “The man is hung like a horse. Look at the bulge in his jeans.”
Savannah clicked off the website. “Jesus, Aida. Is that really all you saw?”
“No. I saw woods, dark hair, dangerous eyes, and a killer body with a huge schlong. No wonder you like him so much.”
Savannah pointed to the door. “Out. I gotta get this document finished.”
“Fine, I’ll go, but I want a date and a time. If you really are falling for some mountain man, I gotta check him out myself.” She pulled the door open and looked over her shoulder. “And I promise not to look at his package.” Aida flashed a smile and walked out.
Aida had uncovered a new issue that Savannah hadn’t yet contemplated. The idea of being in the city with all those eyes on me makes my skin crawl. Her life was in the city, and no matter how much she enjoyed a brief woodsy retreat, she’d worked too hard for too long to give up her career, and her career was in the city. She looked at her cell phone and wondered if she’d hear from Jack soon. He’d said he was going to see Linda’s father. His emotions were already so raw, and Elizabeth had told her that Ralph was ill. She hoped the visit didn’t prove to be too much for Jack.
What am I doing?
We aren’t planning a future.
We’re…falling in love.
I’m in big trouble.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
JACK HAD FORGOTTEN how much he enjoyed driving his father’s old Ford F-150. He’d given it to Jack when he and Linda had purchased the chalet. Jack was a motorcycle guy, not a truck guy, and at the time, he’d taken the truck as a way to hold on to the memories of riding shotgun with his father when he was just a boy. For all his father’s gruff exterior, when he was in the old truck, that facade seemed to fall away. He’d ramble on about life, war stories, but not in the preaching way he usually did. When they were in the truck, it was almost as if his father forgot that Jack was his eldest son, and instead he spoke with the ease of a storyteller. Jack loved the old truck because of those memories. At first when he’d driven it, it had felt too confined, too slow, and too plain for Jack’s taste, with the navy blue stripes above and below a wide silver band that ran around the body of the truck. Over the years, Jack had used it to haul lumber, move rocks, and pick up furniture, and such. Now, as the old truck ambled up the driveway on his way back from Home Depot, Jack took comfort in the vehicle. He liked knowing that his father had driven it before him, and he was coming to terms with the size and heft of it. It only took twelve years.
