Reviving Haven (21 page)

I wake up alone. Latch’s side of the bed is vacant and the sheets are cool to the touch. I cross the floor and open the bedroom door. The entire house feels empty and is very quiet—I hear nothing at all. I cross to the balcony, pulling the sliding glass door open and walking outside. The sun is warm, yet there’s a slight chill in the air. I lean over the railing and scout the beach for Latch. I don’t see anyone. I step back inside, sliding the door closed. I decide to cleanup and change before continuing my search, so I take a quick shower and then change into jeans and a tank top. I brush my teeth and pull back my hair into a high ponytail. Once I’m satisfied with my appearance, I leave the bedroom.

As I
’m about to go downstairs, I notice the door next to the bedroom is wide open and I decide to sneak a peek. The room is almost all white, which is pretty but stark at the same time. It’s Latch’s office. He probably creates his graphic masterpieces in here. A large drafting table is in the middle of the room. There are three computers and a laptop sitting across from the table. The only other furniture is one lone chair. Many sketches are pinned and taped up on every wall in the room. The drawings of Latch’s video games are amazing, hauntingly beautiful in a macabre way. His attention to detail is quite astonishing and his drawing technique is nothing like I’ve ever seen. I close the door behind me and make my way downstairs.

It
’s eerily quiet. Frankly, it’s a little unnerving to be alone in Latch’s house. I decide to take a walk along the beach, hoping to find him. As I reach the bottom step of the stairs, I see him waving in the distance. He’s walking out of the surf with his board in hand. As I get closer, it becomes hard to swallow as a knot in my throat forms. He stands there, shaking the water out of his hair. His body is coated with salt and sand, and water beads on his chest, trickling toward his belly button and trailing the cut of his V. I stare, licking my lips. He chuckles as he stabs his board into the sand, freeing his hands.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I may have to strip you naked right here on the beach and have my way with you.”

He observes me through his wet eyelashes. Then he takes one long stride towards me, wraps his arms around me and draws me into his body. His wet skin penetrates my clothing. His kiss is possessive as our tongues probe each other’s mouths in exploration. He tastes like salt and coffee. I feel his arousal press against my belly, which causes me to softly gasp into his mouth. He fists my ponytail, wrapping it around his hand and pulling me even closer. I really want him to take me right here on the sand.
But not without coffee first
, I chuckle to myself.

I pull away from him. He looks displeased. I grin and pat him on his butt, a butt that is so taut and muscular I could bounce a quarter off it, as Weezie would say.

“I need coffee badly, like you need to hook me up to an IV of it,” I exclaim dramatically, trying to adjust my now damp clothing.

Latch laughs as he pulls his board from the sand. Taking my hand, we begin walking back to the house. He leans his surfboard against the garage as we make our way upstairs.

“It’s too late for breakfast so I’m going to make us pasta salad for lunch. While I’m cooking, feel free to inject as much caffeine as you deem necessary. However, right now, I’m jumping in the shower. Care to join me?” He arches a brow with his patented panty-dropping smile.

“So sorry, already took one. I
’m officially clean.” I grin as I flop down on the sofa.

“You know, I can help you with that—I mean the clean part.”

His lips curve into a seductive smile. I pretend not to be affected, but my body is constantly betraying me. I find myself questioning another shower. I jump off the sofa and guide him toward the stairs.

“Please have mercy on me and do take a shower.” Waving my hand in front of my nose, I feign smelling a foul odor in the air.

Latch looks at me and grabs his chest, pretending to be wounded. I smile. As he heads up the stairs, I make my way to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of fresh brew. I fill a cup and drink it with relish. I need the jolt, considering that I don’t have the stamina or the vigor of a twenty-five year old male. Caffeine is my only hope to keep up with him. I head back into the living room and relax while enjoying another cup of coffee.

About fifteen minutes later, a showered and refreshed looking Latch strolls down the stairs in nothing but a pair of khakis and a smile. I almost choke on my coffee. His hair along with his body is still damp. His eyes are alive with green, blue and gray hues. The stance he takes in front of me, and the way he looks at me makes my body stir; I want nothing more right now than to have him inside of me. Latch is definitely sex on a stick and then some.

Latch struts towards me and bends his head down. He tilts my chin up, running his tongue across my lips. Before I met him, I would have considered the act crass, but with Latch, it’s sensual as hell. He kisses me on the cheek then walks into the other room. I hear him going through the refrigerator in the kitchen and then the pantry. I poke my head into the kitchen, watching him line up ingredients, including several vegetables. He catches me watching him and smiles. He picks up a large knife and begins chopping up the produce.

“I promise
, this masterpiece will more than make up for any meals you may have missed,” he says, winking, referring to my missed dinner last night. He still has no idea about my super-secret ninja raid on his kitchen in the wee hours of the morning.

I move the rest of the way into the kitchen and lean against the far counter, watching him prepare the food on the center island. His face reflects intensity as he works and I smile to myself—I
’m still astounded that this particular man has so much passion for cooking.

“Well, Mr. McKay, I know you
’re a gourmet cook, an award winning video game designer, a connoisseur of panties and a faux botanist. Tell me, are there any other accomplishments I should know about?” I ask, beaming in his direction.

He puts the knife down and his eyes focus on me like a laser-beam, penetrating me with the color of dark azure. He wipes his hands on a towel and takes a step toward me.

“You forgot ‘sex god.’” His voice sounds like smoked velvet.

I bite back a swallow. There is no disputing that he is the embodiment of a sex god. I take a step toward him, studying him closely. My lips press together into a devilish grin.

“Well, technically, Google search has you categorized in with the womanizing manwhores,” I say stone faced.

He lets out a loud laugh, nodding his head toward mine in defeat. He turns and picks up his knife, continuing to make our lunch.

Without looking up he says, “I promise, Ms. Wells, to amend my ways—absolutely no more womanizing. I swear to be your manwhore only.” Thinking about what Latch is promising me is overwhelming. I’m not sure if he’s sincere, but I do appreciate the sentiment.

He puts the knife down. I crack a smile and chuckle as I walk over to him, slip my arms around him and press a kiss to his bare back.

“Let me help you. I’m fully caffeinated and wired,” I say as I lean my head into his back.

I brush my fingers across his shoulders, tracing the tattoo on his right arm. His posture shifts, indicating how easily he
’s aroused. It makes me giddy knowing how my touch affects him. For the first time, I feel sexually confident because I’m the one who turns him on. I’m the one he wants. For once, a man makes me feel like I have worth, value. Everything with him feels normal, natural. Being with him feels like home. It’s as if I belong with him. I feel like I have known him years instead of less than a month.

Latch turns and hands me a knife. I begin cutting up the broccoli and cauliflower. Once the
pasta is boiled and drained, Latch adds everything else. He tosses the salad and adds a homemade Italian dressing. We take the food outside to the patio to eat and enjoy the view.

“What
’s going through that pretty head of yours?” He asks, putting his fork down.

I place my knife on the edge of the plate and pick up the napkin to wipe the corners of my mouth.

“Thinking about you and how different you are from what I thought. You’re really a nice man, Latch.” I speak with honesty and I mean every word.

Latch shakes his head. “Oh God, help me, you think I
’m nice. Haven’t you heard
nice
is like the kiss of death when it’s in reference to a man?” he quips.

“Oh, but remember, I called you a womanizing manwhore too, and quite a few other things you don
’t know about,” I taunt him.

“Maybe I can be all things to you . . . nice, and a manwhore, but only for you. Don
’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold, no matter how sullied it is.” He lifts one eyebrow as he smirks.

“Latch, tell me about McKay Enterprises, what do you actually do?” I question as I poke the salad with my fork.

“All very technical,” he states, grinning. “I started drawing when I was quite young.” He pauses. “I suppose I got very good at it. When I was about seventeen and still in England, I was going to design school and I was approached by several companies regarding doing graphics for video games. Games at that time were just coming into their own, nothing like they are now, which is huge. Anyway, after I came back to America, it seemed to me there were too many politics involved in the industry, so my mother introduced me to a few of her business acquaintances and I decided to try creating games on my own.”

“That
’s quite ambitious for someone so young,” I say, touching his arm.

Latch
’s eyes flare. “I’m kind of an ambitious guy. What about you, what’s your passion in life?” Latch asks as he takes a drink.

“Well, you know I have the bookstore and I love what I do. To be honest, I
’m not that talented in anything except books.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Latch suggests slyly. “I find you are extremely talented in many areas.”

I find myself once again blushing, feeling my body respond to his words.

“Aside from
those
talents, I would love to write a book someday. I know it sounds silly, but I’d love to pen a great romance novel.” I peek over at Latch, waiting for a response.

“I can see that happening. I could be your muse.”

We sit there and continue eating the rest of our lunch and talking. Once we finish, we go back indoors and Latch takes our dishes and puts them in the dishwasher. We move into the living room and settle on the sofa, and then turn on the flat screen. Latch stretches out, laying his head across my lap. I sigh with contentment and comb my hand through his hair, and then trace his beard with my fingers as I glance down at him.

“I
’m curious. In the photos I’ve seen of you, you never had any kind of facial hair, only an occasional scruffy look. You know—the one that all the sex gods have.” I laugh. “When we first met, I was sure your razor must have been hijacked with your hairbrush. What prompted you growing a beard . . . laziness?” I giggle as I manage to grasp some of his beard and tug lightheartedly. I actually like Latch with his facial hair. It makes him look very sexy . . . well, more than normal, I suppose.

“Yeah, it was probably laziness in the beginning. But after I met you, I decided to keep the beard
. I’ll keep it short and trim, but it’s staying,” he replies with conviction as he runs his hand over it. Our fingers meet. He sits up and puts his arm around me.

“I know you think the age difference is a big deal, so I
’ll do whatever is necessary to make you more comfortable. The beard stays—I believe it makes me look older. If that reassures you, then that’s all that matters.” There’s sincerity in his voice that literally squeezes my heart.

I
’m petrified of the way I feel right now. The gentleness he has shown me, and his acceptance of all my inadequacies, has shaken me to my foundation. This is not supposed to happen. I shouldn’t feel these things for him. He makes me believe and fills me with desires, even though I have a dreadful past. I’m so afraid this will end badly, that we can never be, and the weight of the knowledge is crushing my spirit. All the things I’ve read about Latch might be true, but he’s so much more than how he’s portrayed in the media.

Jared had been wrong. I might
be flawed, but I’m not as broken as he claimed I was. Latch is a living, breathing example of everything I can have if I just take step up and take it—believe in it.

It
’s getting late and I know this unbelievable weekend is ending. The thought of not being in his bed tonight saddens me, but it’s time for a reality check, and going home will show me the truth and let me know if Latch will see me again after this weekend.

“Latch, I should probably get going.” I nudge him.

A frown shadows his face as he pulls me on top of him. I can feel his hard length straining against his shorts as he wraps his arms tightly against me, grinding his erection into my belly.

“I don
’t think I can let you leave without being inside of you again,” he whispers into my mouth. His scent and warmth makes my sex tighten, my skin tingle. I try to pull away, but he holds me firm.