Till I Kissed You (25 page)

Sawyer's hands tightened around the edge of the counter. The mere mention of Heath Parsons set him on edge. After the drama between Heath and Tally and Nash, he wished the man would disappear.

“Did he bother you?”

“Not really. But, I'm wondering if he's the man.”

“The man?”

“The one from Mother's garden and maybe the one who broke into my shop. If so, he's probably the one who set the pavilion on fire and cut the baskets.”

“He's an asshole, no doubt, but is he that dumb?”

“Desperation trumps dumb. Is he desperate?”

“I have no clue.” He stared into her eyes. “What would he have to gain?”

She shrugged and tipped the glass back, emptying it. He took the glass with one hand and wrapped the other around her wrist. He didn't want Heath Parsons or the festivals or anything else to put a pall over the evening.

“You know what?” He shuffled his legs farther apart and pulled until their hips met. He moved his hands to her waist, and she braced her elbows against his chest, her hands curled over his shoulders.

“What?” she asked softly, her gaze somewhere around his throat. She looked young and unsure, and he shot back to their first time. The sweet innocence of her touch and the intoxicating welcome of her body.

“I don't want to focus on anything or anyone but you. Let's leave all the rest for the morning.”

Her throat worked as her gaze swept up. “The morning?”

“Yep. I want you in my bed all night. You got any objections, mayor?”

Something flared in her eyes. He hoped it was excitement and arousal, but the tentativeness of the shake of her head made him wonder if a fair amount of the emotion was fear.

“I'm going to take real good care of you. You don't need to worry about a thing.” He levered himself forward, walking her backward, their bodies still locked together, their feet shuffling in tandem.

They reached the door to the hall and he turned her, his hands on her shoulders guiding her to the darkened stairs at the end. He kept their bodies close, taking each step slowly, afraid if he let her go, she might bolt for freedom.

She paused when they made it to the top. “I've never been up here.”

The statement startled him. Of course, she hadn't. He'd bought the farmhouse well after college graduation. The first time he'd stepped foot in the house, he'd heard the echoes of memories. He'd envisioned his own children running through the halls and out to play on the river or in the woods. None of that had come to pass, but it was still his dream. He just hadn't found the right woman. Yet.

While she'd never tread across the wood planking to his bedroom, she'd haunted this house through his dreams. Too many times she'd come uninvited to torment him in delightful ways at night. He'd awoken frustrated and angry more mornings than he could count. Angry she was only a figment of his imagination, angry at himself for his inability to move on.

“The bedroom is at the end of the hall.” He tightened his arm around her waist, thankful she was real. Flesh and blood and fire.

She took a small step, and then another. He followed, his heart and lungs cramping. With the toe of her high heels she pushed the door open, and they stood in the threshold. The drapes were open and moonlight softened the stark lines of his furniture. A wave of self-consciousness had words tripping out.

“Not as sophisticated as your room.”

“No.” She cast a teasing smile up at him, shifting to tuck herself under his shoulder, her arm around his waist. “But it suits you. No frills. Although, how do you survive without some cute throw pillows?”

She stepped from under his arm farther into the room. He propped a shoulder in the doorway, watching her wander his domain with a sense of possession and satisfaction that disturbed him. She turned on a small lamp on his dresser. Soft light permeated the room.

A single picture sat next to the lamp. An old one of his family before everything went to hell. She leaned closer to touch his face in the photo.

“Look how cute you were.” The smile she tossed him was sweet, and he had the urge to hug her close and bury his face in the waves of her hair.

His past was like a once-complete, unbroken picture, now fragmented into regrets and sadness. Some memories, like his parents' death, would stay forever shattered. But some, like his breakup with Regan, seemed to be knitting themselves back together. The broken, unfinished place inside of him mending the more time they spent together. Yet it was fragile.

“Do you mind if I clean up?” she asked.

“'Course not. The bathroom's back out in the hall.”

Her teasing smile had turned tentative. He wouldn't be surprised if the next thing he heard was the gravel spinning from under her wheels. She walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

What now? Did he strip and wait in bed for her or was that too presumptuous? He blew a slow breath out and rubbed his hands down the legs of his jeans. Jesus, he was nervous. At the very least, she would be comparing him to his younger self. How would he measure up?

From the bottom drawer, he pulled out two candles he kept for when the power went out, lit them, and turned off the lamp in the corner. He also verified he had condoms in the top drawer in case she insisted he use one. He hoped she didn't. The feeling of burying himself inside of her bare had been amazing.

He straightened his bedcovers and fluffed his utilitarian pillows. After pacing the room once, he sat, ran his hands through his hair, weaved his fingers around his nape, and stared at an etched scar in the flooring. She was taking forever. Was she having second thoughts?

A small gasp from the doorway sent him up so fast he rocked the straight-backed wooden chair against the wall. She shifted on her heels, fingered the collar of her shirt, her gaze pinging from the bed to the candles to him, and back again.

He held out a hand and said nothing. She stepped forward and slipped hers into his. The slight tremble roused a warm protective feeling. Keeping hold of her hand, he pulled her into him, slipped his arm around her waist, and swayed them.

Her soft laughter vibrated her body and sent a thrill through his. “There's no music, Sawyer.”

“A shame. I should have been better prepared. We never got to dance together, did we?”

“No, I don't guess we did.” She relaxed in his arms and nuzzled her lips against his jaw.

“I wanted to take you to prom so bad.”

She pulled back so their eyes met. “I thought you were fine not coming?”

“I wanted to hire a limo and pick you up at your mama's house with a big corsage, dance all night, and then get a hotel room. Somewhere we could be alone with a bed for once.”

Her eyes were sad but understanding. “You didn't have that kind of money. I know you didn't.”

Even though it was the truth, it still hurt. “Were you being nice or was it your mama or would you have been embarrassed to show up with me in a rented tux in Cade's old truck?”

“I wouldn't have cared about the truck or a corsage or a limo or even a hotel room, but Mother didn't want me going with you, and knowing your situation, it was easier all around if we didn't go together.” She smoothed a hand over his heart and dropped her eyes to the motion. “I wish I'd gone with you anyway. I was a coward.”

He stopped their sway and covered her hand with his. “What are you now?”

“All I know is you make me feel brave. Make me want to take chances. Doesn't mean I'm not scared.”

He understood because the same feelings were battering his heart. “Me too.”

The fact they were finally in the same boat on the same river calmed him. Maybe she felt the same. Tension left her body, and she smiled her little half-smile. Talk of the future would ruin the moment. Anyway, the present was very, very good, and he wanted to savor it.

He leaned in to kiss her and backed her toward the bed. Her legs hit the mattress, throwing her balance off. She fell to her back with a burst of giggles. He crawled over her, propped his elbows on either side of her, and smoothed her hair back. Her face was alight with the same joy that warmed him from the inside out.

Her soft body under his became a welcome distraction. Everything felt new yet familiar. In the light of day, he would broach questions of the future, but tonight he wanted to explore a new magic.

*   *   *

The gamut of emotions stampeding through her made it difficult to think clearly. The part of her that had spent years protecting her foolish, vulnerable heart urged her to step away, apply brakes to the careening train of emotions.

Her body's needs overruled emotions and logic. She arched under his weight pressing her into the soft mattress. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she could examine every nuance of tone and word. Tonight she would succumb to the hunger of lust and longing streaking through her body. Would he be the playful, gentle lover she remembered, or would he take her with same intensity he'd shown when he'd rocked her world against the wall? She was desperate to discover.

He stood at the edge of the bed, the loss of his weight setting her adrift in her own insecurity. Taking her hands in his, he kissed the back of each and pulled her to sitting. He transferred his attention to her face, brushing his lips over her forehead, her fluttering eyelids, her cheeks.

“Take off your clothes.” The confidence in his voice was new and exciting and frankly terrifying.

A shiver passed down her body, branching out to every extremity, making her tingle. Her experience since him had been limited, and she had no idea what he expected of her. But she was unable to deny him and fumbled the buttons of her blouse open. He pushed the soft silk over her shoulders, the rougher pads of his fingers a welcome contrast to the soft fabric. He slipped the bra straps over the curve of her shoulders, his thumbs staying to feather along her collarbones.

“Now the bra.”

Her white lace bra was pretty, but suddenly felt too girlish with the pink ribbon in the middle and where the straps met the cups. Two tries later, painfully aware of his eyes on her, she slipped it off. A deep sigh escaped from him, but he didn't touch her.

Even though her hair wasn't long enough to cover her nakedness, she shook the waves forward using them to camouflage her no-doubt splotchy cheeks. Her shorts were next, and she stood, her ankles shaky in her heels. He took a step back, and she could almost feel his gaze like a physical touch. Her nipples peaked without being touched. Moving faster now, she undid her shorts and pushed them and her panties to the floor.

“Leave your heels on and lay down.”

The husky rumble in his voice settled her unease. He wasn't unaffected. She swept her gaze down his body. The definite bulge in his pants lent her a sense of confidence, and she scooted back on the mattress. Confidence or not, she kept her knees pressed together as she lay back on the pillows.

He gazed on her, not moving. The moment drew out for too long. Cool air from the ceiling fan caressed her body. The sense of overexposure and vulnerability morphed into a strange awareness. Every nerve ending joined in the call for his touch.

Her need was growing uncontrollable. Did he want her to beg? His eyes narrowed on her with a searing heat the same time a teasing smile turned his lips. A naughty playfulness had her arching on the bed and running her hands from her hips up to her breasts.

“Are you trying to drive me insane?”

He stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. His jeans were off in record time, and she didn't have time to process or enjoy the sight of him in his underwear before he was running his hands up her legs from ankles to knees and back again.

“You in these shoes…” He lifted one leg and laid a kiss on her calf.

“What about them?”

“When you strutted up to me all sassy and pissed off after the town meeting, you incited all sorts of dirty thoughts.”

She remembered having a few dirty thoughts herself. “I wanted you to press me up against the wall that night. So. Bad.”

“Did you really?” His hands trekked farther north until he gripped her thighs. “I've been having dirty dreams about you for years, but things reached DEFCON 5 levels this summer.”

Her thighs tightened against the outward press of his hands, and she covered one of his hands with hers. “Sawyer, I…”

“I'll be gentle, baby, I promise, but I want to make you scream my name. Trust me.”

His hazel eyes bored into hers. In that moment she would have given him anything. Everything. She dropped her hand and relaxed her legs. He pushed her thighs apart as his hands slipped under her backside. His shoulders wedged her legs apart.

When he put his mouth on her, she squirmed. He hummed and petted her leg, and under his care, the tangled swirl of emotions and physical need unspooled into only one thread. A thread she grasped and held onto until she climaxed.

The burst of pleasure was simple and satisfying. Maybe she had wanted to scream, just a little, but she confined the burst of emotion to a long, low moan. In pleasure's wake was the realization she hadn't entrusted herself to any man since him. As simple as the physical pleasure had been, the complications were immense.

He didn't give her a chance to dwell on the complicated. “I'm sorry Regan.”

His hips had replaced his shoulders between her legs, his chest hair rubbing her sensitive nipples in a pleasure-pain. “For what?”

“I'll take my time with you later. I need you now. You understand?”

He was bare and hot against her, his underwear gone. Maybe disintegrated in the chaos of her orgasm. Rational thought ceased. He pushed inside of her, slow and steady, yet he didn't chase his own climax as promised. Instead, he stayed propped up on his elbows, watching her.

Could he see all of the scary emotions vying for dominance inside of her? Could he see how close he was to battering down the walls she'd spent a decade building? Could he see how unprotected she was against him, how easily he could destroy her?