First intermission, p.1
First Intermission, page 1
Table of Contents
First Intermission — A Novella
Voices
First Intermission | A Second Chance Romances novella
Scene I
Scene II
Scene III
Scene IV
Scene V
Scene VI
Scene VII
Scene VIII
Scene IX
Scene X
Scene X1
Scene XII
Scene XIII
Scene XIV
Scene XV
Scene XVI
Postscript
Further Reading: The Banker
Also By Lois Breedlove
About the Author
First Intermission — A Novella
By Lois Breedlove
SIGN UP FOR Love Notes, a newsletter specifically for the romances written under the Lois Breedlove name. Get announcements of new books and stay abreast of what is what is happening among the four friends in Moscow, Idaho, who believe in a second chance at love, and that anything is possible if you’ve got women friends who have your back.
Published by L. J. Breedlove
License Notes
This story for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this story with another person, please send them to my website for their own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. While place descriptions and news events may coincide with the real world, all characters and the plot are fictional.
Contact Information
For more information about this author, please visit http://www.ljbreedlove.com/. Email address is lois@ljbreedlove.com.
Voices
Book 2.5 in the Second Chance Romances series
Two weeks, a loop out of time. Two weeks, when Gail Tremont is not a professor, and Jake Abbott, an injured Marine veteran, isn’t a student. A time when they could just be friends and lovers.
Two weeks.
A more sensual novella that fits in between book 1 and 2 of Gail Tremont’s trilogy.
Four women friends, each with their own trilogy, braided together. They’ve got each other’s backs. And really? There’s little you can’t do if you’ve got friends like that.
The books are releasing in chronological order (roughly). If you’d prefer to read a trilogy at a time, you can find the reading order at http://www.ljbreedlove.com/moscow-idaho
First Intermission
A Second Chance Romances novella
Editor’s Note: Gail Tremont and Jake Abbott will continue their story in Voices, Act 2. Interlude #1 is for those who like a steamier romance. It isn’t necessary to read it to follow their story. But if a closed-door romance leaves you wondering what’s going on behind that door? This story is for you.
Scene I
Jake
Jake looked around Gail’s home with interest, aware that she was watching him and that he amused her. He liked the house. He really hadn’t had time to look much when he’d been inside earlier — he’d been focused on Andrew Blake and the weapon he had pointed at Gail. He glanced at the floor, there was a blood spot on the rug. He grimaced.
“We’ll have to get that out,” he said. He liked the rug, it was all different shades of blues: indigo, teal, sky. The whole room was like someone had taken a treasure chest of jewels and used them to color the room. Topaz on the walls, amethyst on the couch. Pillows in jade and garnet. He grinned. “I like this room,” he said turning to her. “A jewel-box room.”
She laughed, but he could tell she was pleased. “You want a tour?” she asked.
He grinned. “I saw the kitchen,” he said. “I assume there is a bathroom and dining room?”
She nodded. “And stairs,” she said solemnly, but her eyes danced with laughter.
“Ah,” he said. “Stairs. Yes, I’d like a tour upstairs.”
She took his arm and tugged him toward the kitchen, turning and heading up the stairs. They were narrow, and he pulled her closer. It was a good enough excuse, and Gail wasn’t protesting.
“Two bedrooms, a study and another bath,” she said. “I decorated my study after I returned from London.”
He looked in and laughed. It looked like an English gentleman’s club. Shades of brown, leather chairs, a substantial desk with a computer on it. And books. Books were everywhere, starting with the shelves, but also in piles by the reading chair and on her desk, and for some reason, another pile by the door. There was art on the walls, and a large map with pins it filled the space behind her desk.
He looked closer. “Pins where you’ve been?” he said.
“The blue ones,” she said. “The green ones are places I want to go.”
He thought about what it would look like if he added the pins of his nomadic life. Maybe red for blood? He stopped that thought.
“And a bedroom?” he said, matching her solemn tone earlier. “You mentioned a bedroom.”
“Two,” she said. “A guestroom. It’s not fit to be seen, because I got back from Mexico two weeks ago and dumped all my purchases in it, so I could dive into the Other Voices competition. But my bedroom? Would you like to see it next on the tour? Or the bathroom?”
He smiled, dimple flashing. “Your bedroom would be a pleasure to see next,” he said.
She pulled on his arm, leading him in there.
He laughed with delight. “Gail, this is like some room a geisha would create for her pleasure and the pleasure of her suitors,” he said, looking around at the layers of silk and the collections of fans on the wall.
She smiled, and came up close to him, standing so close that their breath intermingled. “Exactly what I aimed for,” she said, sounding pleased. “And will you let me please you, Jake? Two weeks? A loop of time cut out for just us, Gail Tremont and Jake Abbott? Isn’t that what we said?”
He kissed her. He threaded his fingers through her hair. He liked her hair, the color of dark honey, longish and tangled, always challenging any control she attempted. He savored the feel of it in his hand. Then he tugged her closer, just the few inches necessary for their lips to touch. He’d been right. It was a pleasure to kiss a woman nearly his height. She responded to his kiss, licking his lower lip, then sucking on it gently. He felt the pleasure of her touch go through his body, touching all of him. Just a kiss, and he was aroused. He opened his mouth and let her explore, feeling her lips, her tongue. His eyes closed half-mast in pleasure.
He slid his free hand around her — he wasn’t going to let go of that hair, it felt too good — to pull her closer so she could feel what she was doing to him. She responded by sliding her hands inside his jacket, running her hands along his abs, then around to his back, stroking the muscles there. He could feel the warmth of her hands as she pressed closer.
He couldn’t remain passive any longer, he pressed open her mouth seeking the warmth and textures there. His hands stroked her back, felt the layers of silk and tiny sequins that made it sparkle. He stepped back.
“Turn around,” he ordered, and when she did, he unzipped the dress, and let it slide down, so she could step out of it. He gently put the dress on the chair at the dressing table and turned to look at Gail.
She stood there, facing him, letting him look. Tall and slim, with more curves than he’d realized as he’d watched her throughout the week in her usual jeans and shirts, and red Converse tennis shoes. He liked those Converse. But he liked the heels she was wearing now too. Coupled with the black lace bra and matching thong, and sheer black stockings that seemed to cling by themselves? She was a man’s fantasy to keep him company on lonely nights. He savored it, storing it for lonely nights to come. Two weeks? He set that aside and focused on now: The picture she made was amazing. He wanted to feast his eyes forever.
But she stepped toward him, and slid his suit jacket off, and carefully draped it on the back of the chair. She turned back to him, and undid his tie, added it to the chair, and slid her hands under his shirt so she could touch him. She sighed happily.
“I wanted to do that the first time I saw you,” she said. “Wanted to slide my hands under that black T-shirt and run my hands over these abs and chest, and just feel. And then, thwarted,” she added dramatically.
He laughed. He wanted her touch so badly. It had been so long since someone touched him like this. Since he held someone, and someone held him. His throat closed, and he had to blink back tears.
“Jake?” she said. And she ran a finger along his eye, stroking his cheek, touching his mouth. “Tell me.”
“I’m so hungry for your touch,” he said. It came out a harsh whisper. He cleared his throat. “But Gail, I’m...,” he searched for the words to tell her how broken his body was. He couldn’t.
She traced his lips, and smiled gently. “You’ve been a soldier, a warrior,” she murmured, somewhat whimsically. “And you’ve paid a price. They carried you off the battlefield on a stretcher didn’t they?”
“Running Code Red,” he said in affirmation. “And then I spent months in the hospital while they stitched me back together, and more time in rehab, trying to rebuild muscle in my legs and in my back so that I could walk again. First with a walker, then with a cane. And now? If I pace myself, with only a slight limp when I’m tired.”
She kept tracing her finger along his face, along his jaw. When it came near his mouth again, he caught it, nibbled on it, sucking gently. He watched what that did to her; w
“They tell me that eventually the scars will fade,” he said. “But I warn you, right now? They’re red and angry looking.”
She shook her head slightly, and then she started to unbutton his shirt, ignoring his warnings, showing him with her touch that those scars wouldn’t matter. He hoped that was still true when she saw them. Hoped that if she pulled back, horrified at what war had done to his body, he could stop making love to her and let her go. And survive the rejection.
He hadn’t found anyone he was willing to risk that rejection for. Not before he saw her in that bar leaning there looking like someone from another world surprised to find themselves in this one.
He smiled at the whimsy. Then he slid the palms of his hands up over her ribcage, up her breasts, and he smoothed his hands over them, feeling the lace of her bra between his fingers and her skin. He felt her nipples harden into his palms, and he stroked them with his fingers.
God, it felt good to be touched and to touch.
Gail had finished unbuttoning his shirt and she pulled it free from his trousers, and pushed it back and off his arms. He let her work at it, standing passively. There was something appealing about her concentration and determination.
The shirt fell to the floor, and they left it there. Gail ran her hands over his chest, teasing his nipples, tugging lightly on the hair on his chest. She followed the hair that narrowed pointing down his belly, and he groaned. She kissed his nipples, then trailed her lips down the same path her hands had taken.
“God, Gail,” he said. He held her head, to stop her movement, although he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to feel her mouth on him like that. He took a deep breath. “I...,” he stopped, not even sure what he intended to say.
She pulled back a bit, and he let her. She stood, looking him in the eye, and studied him for a moment. “Is this the first time you’ve been with someone since it happened?” she asked quietly.
He nodded.
“How long ago were you under fire?”
He hesitated, because he had to think about it. “Almost a year,” he said at last. “Recovery, rehab, it all takes a long time. And even longer before they were convinced I could manage in the world. Vets can have a hard time as civilians. And I’d never known anything but the military. And they were afraid...,” he trailed off, ashamed to admit they’d had him on suicide watch. “Then a doctor found the announcement of the competition; she’d been watching me write, I guess. She talked me into submitting it. It gave me a goal. You know?”
Gail nodded. Her eyes were on him, searching, watching. But not judging. He swallowed.
“And then I was admitted to the competition. That gave me a destination, and the doctors said I was ready to leave.” He shrugged. “I had never been to Idaho. It seemed as good a place as any. What little I owned went in my pickup, and I drove. When I got tired, I stopped.”
She kissed him, gently, not a kiss to arouse, he thought, but a kiss of acceptance, maybe? Of empathy.
“Love me, Jake,” she murmured. “Let me love you.”
And then she grinned at him. “You do remember how, right?’
And he laughed. Something loosened inside that had been tight and painful. He smiled back at her. “I think I remember,” he teased. “You can direct me through it, if I don’t, right?”
She laughed, and she kissed him, and then everything was OK.
They took their time. No need to hurry, Jake thought. He undid her bra, and slid off her thong. “Let me,” she said and took off the hose.
He watched her with a half-smile. “How do those things work?” he asked.
“They’re called thigh-highs, and they cling. Supposedly. Moving is risky, however,” she answer pragmatically. He laughed. She reached for his belt, and he let her undress him too. She did it slowly, stopping to touch him, or ask about a wound or scar. She kissed one particularly bad spot. “A kiss makes it better,” she said seriously.
He laughed. “I’m happy to let you try that theory out.”
She grinned. She gently took his cock in her hands. It caught him by surprise, and he jumped a bit. She raised one eyebrow, but he nodded. Yes, he was OK; God, was he OK.
When he couldn’t stand still for her exploration any longer, he pulled her to her feet, and then guided them both to the bed. She pulled back the comforter, and then the top sheet.
“Condoms in the top drawer,” she said. And he was grateful. It was nice to have an adult as a partner. There wasn’t any coyness here, not even shyness. At least she wasn’t body shy; he admitted he might be struggling with shyness a bit. But Gail was making it easy to just enjoy the pleasure of touch. And he was grateful for that too.
He got out a condom, and Gail took it and put it on him, turning it in to a sensual experience. He took her nipple in his mouth, sucking on it, teasing her, until he felt her arch against him, and he moved down her body, exploring finding the small spots of response. Each person was unique, and there was delight in discovering what Gail reacted to. He stroked her thighs, moving them a part to he could explore her inner parts, the hidden folds, the sensitive nub.
She reached for him, and guided him into her body. He moved inside her, establishing a rhythm, and she met him and they moved together, and for the first time he felt that calling it a dance made sense. He felt her arousal build, and he reached between them to stroke her, bringing her higher and higher, and he felt her shudder into a climax. He let go, and followed her into release. And my God, it felt good.
Really good.
He buried his face into her neck and shoulder, holding her, and he never wanted to let go.
Scene II
Gail
Gail lay in her bed, enveloped by Jake’s body. This was the perfect celebration of a stressful competition, she thought, wanting to laugh. She smiled, feeling satiated, feeling like every inch of her body had been touched, stroked, soothed.
Jake might focus on the scars and wounds, but she felt the muscles and strength below the skin. She knew he’d lost weight, probably a lot of weight. He still looked good in his suit, but it had been loose. He looked good whatever he wore; but his dark jeans and black T-shirts did something for her, no lie. He said he had been in rehab.
He had the long, lean lines of a dancer, and she wondered if he ever done any dance — beyond swing in a honkytonk bar. That memory made her grin. Those broad shoulders and shoulders, then tapering down to his hips. The powerful thighs, that even now she could feel resting between her own legs.
“You’re laughing?” he asked, chuckling himself.
“I am,” she admitted. “I’m feeling incredibly good.”
“I can live with that reaction,” he said. “Do I need to move?”
“No,” she said. “No.”
“Good,” he murmured.
She stroked his back, long leisurely strokes, delighting in the feel of the muscles under her hands. She felt him relax against her. She was going to fall asleep, she thought. She should get up, use the bathroom — all those practical things — but she didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to dislodge this amazing man.
Two-week loop out of time, she reminded herself. Then she set all that aside, set aside the future, to delight in the pleasure of the moment, of touching and being touched. Of feeling a body pressed against her.
And especially this man. Now that the stress and responsibilities of the week was over, she had this collection of images of Jake she just wanted to think about: that first night in the bar, dancing with him, telling him stories and making him laugh. She’d seen him hurt and vulnerable by someone’s rejection of his play. She’d watched his kindness to Becca and his unobtrusive support for her in dealing with Andrew Blake. There was a series of snapshots of him making friends with Chris and Keisha, and with the MFA leads. He was comfortable in his own skin, she thought. From what he said, a university environment was completely foreign to him. And yet, he blended in easily. She saw him sipping his coffee from One World, the cup emphasizing his circle beard and those eyes of his. She saw him moved to tears by the reading of his own play. And then him walking onto the stage to accept the accolades for his play — deserved accolades.
