Cedar Cove Collection (Books 1-6). Debbie Macomber
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follow him into the house.
The interior was only partially finished, she noticed. Pieces of furniture were positioned on bare floors. The walls were mostly framed in although unpainted. The kitchen had new appliances and white-tile countertops, but only a plywood sub-floor. A linen-covered table with candles sat in what must be the living room. The light was dim, coming entirely from a couple of small table lamps and what spilled through from the kitchen. Large picture windows revealed a staggering view of the Seattle skyline.
“Let me take your coat,” Jon said.
Maryellen wanted to resist, she really did. Instead she slipped the coat from her shoulders. Jon took it and walked over to a closet without doors and placed it on a hanger.
“Would you like to see my home?” he asked.
She nodded. “Who’s the builder?”
“Me,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m doing everything myself.”
She remembered Jon telling Terri he was a jack-of-all- trades. Now she realized how accurate that statement was. He led her through the house. The only room with a door was the bathroom. The master bedroom was upstairs and had a balcony facing the water.
“I sit out there in the summer with my morning coffee,” Jon told her.
Maryellen could imagine it—the peace and silence, the clear, fresh beauty of Puget Sound in early morning.
“I have five acres here,” he continued. “Before you wonder how could I afford this property, I should tell you the land belonged to my grandfather. He purchased it back in the 1950s for practically nothing. When he died he left it to me.” A timer rang in the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready.”
He helped her down the stairs, leading the way and clasping her hand in his own. Once back in the main part of the house, he escorted her to the table and pulled out a chair.
“Can I do anything?” she asked.
“No,” he assured her.
First he lit the candles. The he poured the wine, a spicy Gewürztraminer. After that, he brought out a salad—lettuce with sliced fresh pear, shaves of Roquefort cheese and wonderful honey-coated roasted walnuts. The dressing was a delicate raspberry vinaigrette.
“Oh, my,” Maryellen whispered after one taste. “This is incredible.”
“It’s only the beginning,” Jon promised.
They had one glass of wine with the salad and another before the entrée of baked salmon with a dill sauce so creamy Maryellen closed her eyes to savor the first bite. Dessert was an apple-and-date torte.
Between courses, Jon filled her wineglass again, opening a second bottle, and when they’d finished dinner, Maryellen was warm and slightly dizzy. He brought her to a comfortable sofa. A classical CD—she recognized Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons”—played in the background.
“I’m going to need lots of coffee,” she told him.
“It’s already brewing.”
She could smell the rich aroma. Feeling flushed and utterly content, she leaned her head against the back of the sofa and looked out over the astonishing view. Lights twinkled like fireflies in the distance, and the dark water reflected a three-quarter moon. Jon had turned off the lights, so her own image wasn’t mirrored in the glass. There was nothing to interfere with the view.
He sat down next to her. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Then as if she might misunderstand the question, he added, “Being here with me, I mean.”
“It’s been very…nice.”
“Admit it. I’m not so frightening, am I?”
She shifted sideways to look at him and smiled. “You can be.”
“When?”
“When you kiss me.” It must be the wine talking, yet it was the truth.
Jon took her hand and examined her long, tapering fingers. “This might come as s surprise, but your kisses frighten me, too.”
“I frighten you?” This didn’t surprise so much as amuse Maryellen.
As if to prove his point, he bent forward and pressed his mouth to hers. It was a gentle, undemanding kiss but one that promised so much more.
“See?” he said in a low voice, sounding unlike himself. He flattened her hand against his chest. “Feel my heart.”
“Yes… It’s beating hard.” Her own heart was pounding, too. Wanting to reveal what his kisses did to her, she leaned toward him and placed her mouth over his. The kiss was deeper, longer, more involved. By the time it ended, Maryellen’s head was swimming. “Feel my heart,” she whispered.
Jon laid his large hand over her chest, but then as though he couldn’t resist, he cupped her breast. He gave her ample opportunity to stop him, but she couldn’t. The feelings his touch produced in her were too exciting. Too enticing. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on her blouse as he continued to kiss her. Even before he’d finished, she reached behind and released her bra, letting her breasts spill forward. Jon caught them with both hands and groaned when she leaned closer and ran her tongue along the inner edge of his ear.
After that, everything happened so fast, Maryellen lost track of who undressed whom. All she knew was that they were on the sofa and Jon was about to make love to her. His eyes held hers as he positioned himself above her.
“Do you want this?” he asked.
She closed her eyes and nodded, so eager for him that she wrapped her arms tightly around him and urged his mouth back to hers.
“Say it,” he insisted.
“Yes, please.”
Their lovemaking was long and slow. And it was exquisite, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. At some point during the night, they moved upstairs to his bed. Exhausted, Maryellen fell into a deep sleep with Jon’s body curled around hers, his arm over her waist, his hand pressing her close.
Shortly before dawn, with morning just beginning to light the sky, she stirred. Startled, barely aware of her surroundings, Maryellen woke and abruptly sat up. “Where am I?” she asked.
“You’re with me,” Jon said and brought her back into his arms. He kissed her again and she turned to face him.
The second time they made love, she sat atop him, her long hair streaming over her shoulders and onto her breasts.
In the morning, Maryellen woke first and lay quietly in his arms for several moments, considering what she’d done. Jon Bowman had seduced her—and she’d let him. He’d wined and dined her and then he’d lured her into his bed—and she’d let him. She’d been a willing participant, without a thought to birth control or any form of protection. This was insanity.
Careful not to disturb him, she slipped out of the bed, mortified to find she was completely nude. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she gathered her clothes piece by piece and held them against her breasts. She’d put her underwear on and was stepping into her wool slacks when Jon appeared at the top of the stairs, naked from the waist up.
“You’re sneaking away?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. Her intentions were obvious, and they didn’t include breakfast over coffee and a newspaper, either. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did. Are you going to pretend it didn’t?”
Her face burned red. “Yes.”
“Maryellen, be reasonable.”
“No—we have a professional relationship. It can’t be anything else.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t have any answers without launching into explanations she didn’t