straight. In the morning— if she could ever get to sleep—her world would return to normal. Her vineyard, winery, and the work she loved would suppress the tumultuous moonlight madness keeping her awake.
Jake had spent the day sleeping, so when he woke up at eight, he knew he was going to be up for the night. For the next few hours, he worked on some rough sketches for re-modeling the restaurant. Nothing major. The main dining area didn’t need much altering, but he would be adding the sports bar he’d always wanted, and that would entail more substantial changes. Walking downstairs, he eyeballed the dimensions of the spaces, the position of the windows overlooking the river, considered the possibility of adding a terrace outside, decided the east wall would probably have to be knocked out to make the bar area larger.
He wanted his River Joint to be like the bars he’d hung out in back home in Seattle: neighborhood places where people could relax, eat good food, visit with friends. He’d been thinking about his menu for a long time, probably as long as his discontent with the razzle-dazzle world he’d inhabited for so many years had been simmering in his brain. He wanted a menu heavy in small plates so customers could taste a variety of foods and flavors. And he wanted a bar menu that ran the gamut from Bud to private-label liquor with wines from speciality vineyards.
He made lists on top of lists, e-mailed more of his suppliers on the West Coast, decided about eleven that it wasn’t too early to call some vineyards in France. An hour later, he set down the phone, having ordered several hundred cases of his favorite wines.
It was nearly midnight, he was hungry, and the small niggling thought he’d been able to keep at bay with constant activity suddenly surfaced.
He literally muttered, “No,” aloud, rose from his chair overlooking the river, and hied himself upstairs to his kitchen. He’d make himself something to eat, then maybe go for a walk. He was not going to call Liv Bell only hours after leaving her. He wasn’t some horny adolescent who couldn’t control himself. So get a grip.
That stern admonition lasted ten minutes—maybe less. Whether he liked it or not, his cock had other ideas, and his sex drive being what it was, he struggled to keep himself in line. With considerable effort he restrained himself from calling her, flipping through the channels on cable instead, looking for distractions.
Wouldn’t you know—nothing appealed.
For five minutes more, he tried to talk himself out of obsessing over having sex with Liv again. It was totally bizarre how he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t fucked plenty of beautiful, blonde models before.
So what was the freaking problem?
Was it some voodoo magic? Yeah, right.
Was he just flying high now that he was living his long-unrealized dream? Possibly.
Was Liv Bell hotter than other women? Absolutely.
So there. A simple answer. It was just pure lust. Nothing to angst over. He was experiencing basic male urges. Although his fierce impatience to assuage them did give him pause. For maybe another two seconds.
He glanced at the clock. Midnight. Fuck—it was late.
He picked up the phone anyway and hit 411 for information.
A few moments later, having received her number, he waited for the connection to click through.
Liv answered on the first ring.
“Did I wake you?”
“I should say yes, but no, you didn’t. For some reason, I can’t sleep.” She wasn’t about to say he was the reason nor that her pulse rate had accelerated big time on hearing his voice.
“Same here. Although I slept all day, so I’m not exactly tired. How are Janie and Matt doing?”
“Good. They’re sleeping.” Is that why he called? Hoping to talk to Janie?
“So what are you doing?”
“Trying to sleep.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“I admit you’ve been in my thoughts,
Jake had spent the day sleeping, so when he woke up at eight, he knew he was going to be up for the night. For the next few hours, he worked on some rough sketches for re-modeling the restaurant. Nothing major. The main dining area didn’t need much altering, but he would be adding the sports bar he’d always wanted, and that would entail more substantial changes. Walking downstairs, he eyeballed the dimensions of the spaces, the position of the windows overlooking the river, considered the possibility of adding a terrace outside, decided the east wall would probably have to be knocked out to make the bar area larger.
He wanted his River Joint to be like the bars he’d hung out in back home in Seattle: neighborhood places where people could relax, eat good food, visit with friends. He’d been thinking about his menu for a long time, probably as long as his discontent with the razzle-dazzle world he’d inhabited for so many years had been simmering in his brain. He wanted a menu heavy in small plates so customers could taste a variety of foods and flavors. And he wanted a bar menu that ran the gamut from Bud to private-label liquor with wines from speciality vineyards.
He made lists on top of lists, e-mailed more of his suppliers on the West Coast, decided about eleven that it wasn’t too early to call some vineyards in France. An hour later, he set down the phone, having ordered several hundred cases of his favorite wines.
It was nearly midnight, he was hungry, and the small niggling thought he’d been able to keep at bay with constant activity suddenly surfaced.
He literally muttered, “No,” aloud, rose from his chair overlooking the river, and hied himself upstairs to his kitchen. He’d make himself something to eat, then maybe go for a walk. He was not going to call Liv Bell only hours after leaving her. He wasn’t some horny adolescent who couldn’t control himself. So get a grip.
That stern admonition lasted ten minutes—maybe less. Whether he liked it or not, his cock had other ideas, and his sex drive being what it was, he struggled to keep himself in line. With considerable effort he restrained himself from calling her, flipping through the channels on cable instead, looking for distractions.
Wouldn’t you know—nothing appealed.
For five minutes more, he tried to talk himself out of obsessing over having sex with Liv again. It was totally bizarre how he couldn’t get her out of his mind. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t fucked plenty of beautiful, blonde models before.
So what was the freaking problem?
Was it some voodoo magic? Yeah, right.
Was he just flying high now that he was living his long-unrealized dream? Possibly.
Was Liv Bell hotter than other women? Absolutely.
So there. A simple answer. It was just pure lust. Nothing to angst over. He was experiencing basic male urges. Although his fierce impatience to assuage them did give him pause. For maybe another two seconds.
He glanced at the clock. Midnight. Fuck—it was late.
He picked up the phone anyway and hit 411 for information.
A few moments later, having received her number, he waited for the connection to click through.
Liv answered on the first ring.
“Did I wake you?”
“I should say yes, but no, you didn’t. For some reason, I can’t sleep.” She wasn’t about to say he was the reason nor that her pulse rate had accelerated big time on hearing his voice.
“Same here. Although I slept all day, so I’m not exactly tired. How are Janie and Matt doing?”
“Good. They’re sleeping.” Is that why he called? Hoping to talk to Janie?
“So what are you doing?”
“Trying to sleep.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“I admit you’ve been in my thoughts,
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