Nothing strapped down now, nothing sensible. He had her arms over her head, wrists cuffed with his hand, her skirt hiked to her waist.
He battered her against the front door until the orgasm simply shredded her to pieces.
And with his own release his breath was ragged in her ear. He braced her against the door. She realized when her head cleared a little it was as much to keep his own balance as to hold her up.
"Thanks," she managed.
"It was at least fifty percent my pleasure."
When she wheezed out a laugh, he eased back, studying her face as he brushed her hair aside. "I had a different order of business in mind. Initially."
She could nearly focus again, and oh God, she loved the color of his eyes. "Order of business."
"You know, a couple of adult beverages on the veranda, or walking around the gardens. Some dinner with conversation. Then I realized I'd just be thinking about sex through all that, which would spoil my appetite." He ran a hand up her leg as he spoke, had her quivering once more.
And gently smoothed her skirts back into place. "That's one thing," he continued, "but I believed you might very well be in the same frame of mind. Here I'd be having you over for dinner and spoiling your appetite. That's no way to treat a guest."
"I see. So am I to understand we just had at each other against your front door because you didn't want to be rude?"
He grinned at her. "Absolutely. Only reason. Steady yet?"
"I think so."
He stepped back, glanced down. Bending he picked up her ripped panties. He said, "Oops."
She laughed. "I don't know why I bothered to put on good underwear."
"They were momentarily appreciated. I could lend you a pair of boxers."
"I'll pass on that, thanks all the same. I'll just use the bathroom for a minute."
"Yeah, sure. Listen, Phoebe… " Absently he stuffed the torn panties in his back pocket. "Included in that original order of business was my intention to suit up a bit more formally."
She stared at him, a quizzical smile on her face. Then it sank in, the smile dropped away to a look of stunned realization. "Oh. Oh, God."
"I stopped thinking," he began. "I'm-"
"It was mutual, as much me as you." Stunned, she rubbed the space between her breasts where her heart gave a couple of hard knocks. "I take the pill, but-"
"But," he said with a nod. "I can only tell you I'm habitually a hell of a lot more careful. We can exchange blood tests if you're worried. I can tell you, too, that's the first time that front door's been used in such an interesting manner. I may have it bronzed, but meanwhile, I'm sorry, and I'm willing to sacrifice a vial of blood if it gives you peace of mind."
"Let's just say we'll be more careful from this point."
"Okay."
She picked up the purse she'd dropped. "I'll be back in a minute."
She got a good look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Flushed, the sleepy cat-that-gulped-a pint-of-cream eyes, hair tumbled. All well and good, she thought. And God knew it had been good. But she wasn't allowed to be that reckless, and couldn't be again. Next date, she promised herself, there would be condoms in her purse.
When she came out he wasn't in the foyer, or the front parlor. She called out his name as she started to wander, then followed the answer to a room off the kitchen. Party room, she decided. A grand old bar, lots of cushy seating, framed posters of what she saw were reproductions of old magazine ads. All deco and stylized.
There was a card table that looked to be an antique like the bar, and display cabinets filled with this and that. Some of the this, she noted with amusement, were Pez dispensers.
"The gentlemen's club," she said.
"Sort of." He came around the bar with two glasses of wine. "Hungry?"
"I think you already took care of that."
His grin was quick and pleased. "That's good because I called in for the pizza, but I told them to bring it around in about an hour. Thought you might like to have a drink outside, maybe in the garden. Watch the sun go down."
"That's exactly what I'd like."
She went with him through a set of French doors onto the back ve randa. And there, scanning, she took a sip of wine. "Nice-the wine," she qualified. "The rest? It's like a little piece of fairyland, isn't it?"
"Lots of secret places. I got carried away with it once I really started."
"So… " She stepped down, crossed the patio. "Why aren't you hiring whoever designed and created this to design and create the gardens you want at this shop you're planning?"
"You talked to Ava."
"She's terrified and thrilled in equal measure."
"Well, here's the thing. This? I sort of designed some of it. Not really designed, but fiddled around. I had help, and it's kind of evolved and shifted and changed its original layout."
"Whatever the original, this suits you." Phoebe turned a slow circle. "Fanciful, as I said, and its lack of formality enhances the charm." He was looking at her now, only at her. "You standing in it enhances the charm."
She made a mock curtsy. "Aren't you gallant?"
"If I were, I'd have come up with something romantic about blooms or blossoms."
"You did fine. As to Ava?"
"Yeah, Ava, and the place. I don't think I'm going to have time to fiddle so much with that project, and I didn't really want the team sensibility. I wanted a woman's, a woman who understands a house like that one, an area like that one, and knows how to, well, lay the landscape, to put in the flourishes and the color so people walking or driving by will say, 'That's Savannah right there.' I like what she's done with the house on Jones."
He pushed through an ornate iron gate. Phoebe saw instantly what he'd meant about secrets. It was a little island on the island, one of tranquillity and whispers, with its little pool with floating lilies, its fanciful statue of a winged fairy.
She walked over to a small curved bench of white marble, sat. "Not just a good deed?"
"I don't mind good deeds or suspicious minds, as yours tends to be. But I don't mind profiting by being a good judge and picking people for projects they're suited for."
"Ever pick the wrong person?"
"A few times. I don't think Ava's one of them."
"She won't be. She had this house in West Chatham when she was married, and she created the most amazing gardens. She even got written up in Southern Homes… You knew that, didn't you?"
His dimple flicked on. "I might've come across something."
"Smarter than you look, and that's a pure compliment."
"You, too." He leaned over, kissed her breezily. "Want to walk around a bit, maybe down to the pier?"
"Yes, I'd like that."
Bricked paths, arbors and trellises, copper urns going soft and green, and pretty music as the evening breeze stirred hanging glass and wind chimes.
The sun was sinking, turning the marsh into shimmering colors. From the pier she could see other homes, other gardens, and what she thought was a young boy sitting on the edge of a pier with his line in the water.
"Do you ever do that? Fish off here?"
"I'm a crappy fisherman. Rather just sit here with a beer and let someone else drown the worms."
She turned around, noted how far they'd walked. "The grounds are more extensive than I realized." And there, she noted, were the sparkling waters of a swimming pool. "A lot to maintain. I'm still having a hard time seeing you as the country gentleman. How about that long story on how you ended up here?"
"It's not all that interesting."
"Not all that interesting to you, or potentially to me?"
"Probably either."
"Now, of course, my curiosity is piqued and, unquenched, will depend on imagination to satisfy. Such as you built it for a womanunrequited love, heartbreak-who left you for another man."