Jack and Ginger (Sacred Heart Coven Book 3) (15 page)

Ginger grabbed a hair clip and twisted her hair up on to the top of her head. She put two fresh towels on the closed toilet beside the tub and tested the water with her toes. It was a little bit on the hot side, but she would eventually get used to it once she got in. It took her a few minutes to ease into the heat, but it felt good. She felt her face flush from her rising temperatures.
 

Letting her head rest against the cold tile, she pondered whether to read or write. Reading a good book, would be nice, but that would require her having to sort through her daunting list of books. She could of course just aimlessly choose one of them. She did download all the books for a reason; at least most of them, if not all should have been something she thought she would have enjoyed.
 

She opted for the pad of paper and a ballpoint pen. When she decided to start writing something, she envisioned herself talking about her goals and other possible aspirations. Never did she expect that once her pen hit the paper that her heart would open up and bleed out onto the page.

"Dear Dad," she whispered so low she wished she hadn't heard the words. "God," she softly begged with hurt so deep. The mere idea of writing a letter to the only man she every truly loved or relied on, almost broke her in two. She slowly focused the pen to glide across the page.

Dear Dad,

So much has happened in the short amount of time that you have been gone. I suppose you know that Roger asked me for a divorce. It was a hard blow after just having lost you. But I know you would agree with the fact that it was the best thing he ever did for me.

I wasn't ready for you to go. And not having you in such a desperate time in my life was almost unbearable. It seems so unfair; I imagined that we would have so much more time together. Plans and dreams that we shared that will now never come to fruition. I am now alone and still yearning to be guided by you.
 

I still find myself leaning on the very idea of you. In fact, even in your absence I find that I now have the capacity to see more clearly the lessons you taught me. I call upon you so often; wishing that I could remember the melodic timbre of your voice that always brought me inner peace and strength, but you're gone.

Ginger's hand shook as she released the pen from the paper. Her chest began to tighten and a lump formed in the center of her throat making it hard to swallow. The clear evidence of her writing the letter was burning at her eyes with the unshed tears that she still held back. Ginger was hot, her body wet, covered in perspiration and steam created by the hot water her body was submerged in.
 

I bring to mind your proud eyes to boost my inner strength. Knowing that you always believed in me reminds me that I am worth believing in myself. It is a priceless gift that many children never receive even from those that come from the wealthiest of homes.
 

Being here in your home that I now call my own is filled with bittersweet memories. Every time I round a corner or I have news to share I expect to find you there. I will not allow that to cloud my efforts to fill these walls with as many memories as I can. Memories that I know would bring a smile to your face.
 

I pray every night that you hear me when I ask you for your guidance and protection as I walk through this precious time I call life.

I was living in the dark, filled with the deceit of my reality, one I probably helped to carve. I know I can't blame everything on Roger, I was an active participant in my life even if it was that of standing down and letting him lead the way. Unfortunately I let him usher me away from myself. I am thankful to say that I am on the road back to my own identity. An identity and a self that is true to who I know I am and who I can continue to grow to be.
 

There are moments that feel futile without you here, but then, I picture your face and the look in your eyes when we were together and I remember...to have hope.
 

I am missing you with every ounce of my soul. There won't be a day in my life that goes by without you being a part of who I am.
 

Forever your baby,

Ginger

Ginger halted the flow of ink and pinched her eyes together not fully realizing that the tears had been cascading down the cheeks of her porcelain skin. Red strands of her hair fell from her clip sticking to the honey like tears getting caught in the torrent of unresolved sadness.
 

She tossed the notepad and pen onto the floor just past her floor mat. She couldn't wipe at her face while she held them, and her hands, until this point, were the only thing left that were dry.

She leaned over the edge of the tub letting her breasts rest on top of the cold lip of the tub to grab at one of the towels she put out for when she finished her bath. She took in a ragged nasal breath and her nostrils vibrated as she wiped the tears and sweat from her face.
 

As she buried her face in the soft bumpy terry cloth she again pinched her eyes together as hard as she could, trying to stop the shed of overdue tears. She took another breath and tossed the towel back on top of the toilet.
 

She sunk back into the hot water now allowing it to cover her hands and her chest. Ginger slid her butt down toward her feet, sinking further beneath the transparent glow of forgiving fluid. She was submerged, letting her limbs float gently in what felt like a pool of tears. Once she couldn't hold her breath any longer she decided it was time to come up for air and a cool sip of her beer.

Ginger rose felling more relaxed. She almost cracked a smile, feeling good about her emotional purge and allowing her the moment with her father. She reached for a sip of her drink and the crisp fresh bit of fall went down so easy, emptying half of her glass.

She had shaved earlier in the day, so she was hesitant to use the scrub on her legs, but she decided to gently use it to exfoliate her upper body. She rubbed the abrasive mixture in long sweeping motions up and down her arms. She let the remaining salt skim across her chest. Her hands were covered in oil, although most of the salt had washed away into the bathwater she rubbed what remained with the pads of her fingers in a circular pattern around each one of her breasts.

She continued to massage them until she felt the erect tips tickling at the palms of her hands. She palmed the fullness of one breast while she let her other hand sink down her belly until she found her way to the tingling bud between her legs. She grabbed at her now throbbing mound, the tips of her fingers covering her soft outer folds.

Images of Redford climbing out of his rental car started to play out at she let her eyes flutter shut. Instead of him walking to greet her at the pizza place she pictured him walking toward her now in the dark.
 

Still with the palm of her hand flush against her freshly shaven skin, Ginger let her fingers slide between the folds of her skin increasing the pressure with a subtle circular motions, not quite rubbing.
 

A short raspy breath escaped as she arched her back from the chills she was starting to give herself. The anticipation of not knowing how Redford would touch her, she let her fingers explore her yielding flesh. Imagining his fingers caressing her body. Even in the water she felt the slippery natural lubrication she was able to produce with the simplest graze against her most sensitive spots.
 

She pulled her hand up and ran it over her belly and back down her inner thigh teasing at her senses. She wanted more and she was going to give it to herself.
 

She stroked at the dark areola of her left breast and watched as the center hardened into a tight little bud resting just above the surface of the water. The candlelight created a soft yellow glow that made it difficult for her to look into the water to see her hand.
 

She tipped her head back and flicked at the tip of her already hard nipple as she let her right hand find its way back and slid it up and down between her inner most folds. Every time her fingers came up toward her belly she stopped and rubbed the small swollen nub a few times before allowing them to slide back and forth a few more times between the folds each time letting the tips of her fingers enter a little bit more.
 

Ginger's back began to arch as her pace started to quicken. She slid her left hand down to take over the rubbing while her right hand began thrusting one, then two, fingers until she felt herself open enough for a third finger.

Her breath quickened, she heard shallow guttural moans coming from her throat. She hadn't even realized she was doing it, she was too focused on the waves of pleasure that she was inflicting on herself...

Ding Dong...

Ding Dong...

Ginger was just about to take herself to a pleasure paradise and the doorbell started to ring off the hook. She grunted and grabbed a towel.

Chapter Fifteen
 

GINGER HEARD THE COMPUTER BLEEPING off the hook now in unison with the ringing of the bell and the knocking at the door. She certainly wasn't expecting anyone, she didn't order anything, and she was pretty sure that anyone who would be looking for her father would know he had passed.

She had a towel wrapped around her body. The strip of fabric was barely wide enough to cover both her full breasts and her round behind. She made a note to herself she should invest in larger body towels.

She got out of the hot bath so fast that she had to pause and brace herself against the wall to stop herself from falling. She felt like she was going to black out. She had never passed out before; she didn't want this to be her first time either.
 

It only took her a second to regain her composure, but the ringing and bleeping were relentless. The clear sound of a fist pounding on the other side of the door was a bit unsettling.
 

She got to the door and realized and or remembered that she didn't have a peephole. That would be something that she would need to rectify. Either having someone come and install one or order a new door that has one.

"Who is it?" she called through the solid wood door that separated her from someone who clearly either had no manners or was very inpatient.

"It's Jack. Is Art home?" a man's voice answered. His voice was little bit muffled.
 

Shit!
Ginger thought. What was she going to do now? There was a part of her that was dying to see what the deal was with this guy, but seriously what was she supposed to say to him? Her curiosity got the best of her.
 

She opened the door before she remembered that she wasn't dressed. She looked down at her skimpy towel and held it tight with her free hand as she peeked her head around the slightly adjacent door.
 

"Can I help... you...? Ginger's voice trailed off when she realized that it was not Jack standing on her welcome doormat. It was however one of the last people she would have expected to be standing there.

"Ginger?"

"Redford?"

They spoke in unison. Questioning each other's presence.

"What are you doing here? And why did you say your name is Jack?" Ginger still did not open the door; she was hiding her body behind the heavy slab of wood. How did he know where she lived?
 

"How do you know Arthur, this is Arthur Thorn's home is it not?" He stood there with a six-pack and a giant bag of roasted peanuts.
 

His hair was less slicked back than it was when she met him earlier that morning. He was no longer in a suit, but a Pearl Jam concert tee and a pair of cargo shorts and some very beachy looking flip-flops. A big contrast to the crisp professional garments he adorned during the day.

"Yes, Arthur is my father, was my father. He, um wait how do you know him and why did you call yourself Jack?" Ginger was still confused and not sure she should trust him. He seemed like a great guy at dinner, but this was a bit of a creepy coincidence.
 

"Oh my first name is Jackson and my last name is Redford. I just grew up playing football and everyone always called me Redford, it kind of stuck. But my family and some of my friends do call me Jack."

He shifted the beer under his arm. And he smoothed back his silver mane. It was so healthy and shiny, she could see herself running her fingers through it. Ginger couldn't help but notice the twinkle in his eyes from her porch light.

"This is crazy. I didn't know if I would even see you again. Is your father home?" he asked with a confused look on his face.

"No, maybe you should come in for a minute. I think I have some things I need to explain," Ginger said slowly gliding the door so not to lose her towel.

She looked down and saw that the rounds of her breast were pinched together by the tightly drawn terrycloth. She had a world of cleavage going on. She was about to pull it up over the soft mounds, but she realized that she could already feel enough of a draft on her bottom that if she had pulled it up, her cheeks would be peeking out of the bottom half of the towel.

"You have to excuse me, I was taking a bath when the door bell started to ring, and then the computer. I didn't have time to get dressed." Ginger felt his eyes on her body, she liked it, she wanted him to have a taste of what she had to offer him. But she also knew that she needed to get dressed. "Let me go grab my bathrobe."

His eyes flashed from her breasts back to her eyes. "Take your time. Do you mind if I pop these in the fridge so they don't get warm?"

"Go ahead. I will be right back." Ginger dashed down the hall. She could probably just as easily put on a pair of sweatpants, but she just grabbed her pink satin robe off the back of her bedroom door. She didn't want to leave Redford or Jack, now she wasn't really sure what to call him, alone.

She had been avoiding telling this man, who was apparently her father's friend, that he had passed away. She guessed it was a good thing that she had already met him and knew enough about him to feel comfortable having him in her home. This was all her fault. And now she had to pay the price for her avoidance.