Till I Kissed You (26 page)

She didn't look away. And suddenly it didn't matter if her heart were splayed open for his dissection. He moved, his strokes gaining in ferocity with each twist of his hips. She clutched at his shoulders and arms, the muscles thicker and more solid than she remembered, and pressed her heels against his backside, trying to impart her growing need.

He heeded her unspoken plea, shortening his thrusts, but driving into her harder and faster. The impossible happened. She climaxed again. A moaning scream tore from her throat, as she bucked and arched and pulled his body closer.

Once her body calmed, he kneeled between her legs, big and hard and still inside of her. She'd never seen the expression on his face. It was almost scary in its primal, blinded need.

He wrapped a hand around each of her ankles and pushed her legs up and out. He went wild on her, but her body was primed and welcoming. She raised her hands and pushed against the headboard, wanting to feel everything. On his last thrust, a low growl reverberated around the room, his head back, the tendons in his neck taut, the hands around her ankles squeezing.

The boy she'd given her virginity and heart to so many years ago had turned into a man in every sense. His body glowed in the soft light, his chest heavily muscled, rising and falling as if he'd sprinted across a finish line.

The fair skin of her thighs was in contrast to the naturally darker tone of his hips. He was unblemished and tanned across his shoulders and chest. She'd seen his bare chest earlier that summer, but now she could touch him.

With his eyes closed, she pushed up to an elbow and ran her hand down one side of his body from shoulder to waist and back up to cover his heart. It thumped along. He dropped an ankle and covered her hand with his, but didn't open his eyes.

Even in his strength, his body trembled. A womanly satisfaction she hadn't felt since their first time together had her blowing out a long, slow breath to control the well of emotions.

He opened his eyes into hers. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. Their impetuous sex against her wall had been a physical release valve against the pressure that had built all summer. This seemed different.

He was the first to move, flipping her shoes to the floor one at a time. His gaze never left hers. The connection beyond the physical stayed intact even as he withdrew from her body and stretched out beside her. She turned her head so they could maintain eye contact. He propped his head on one hand while he tangled the other in her hair. The electricity in the air faded, leaving her surprisingly comfortable, even though they were naked on top of the covers.

“Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured you laid out on my bed, your hair spread out on my pillows?”

A residual power, bolstered by his confession, coursed through her. “Since I tackled you in the dark with your marauding bunnies?”

He hummed, not answering her directly. “Could you feel this thing growing between us that night?”

She dropped her hand to between his thighs, her fingers brushing over him. “I could feel it all right.”

His smile made his eyes twinkle, yet a seriousness lurked somewhere in his expression. “You were smoking hot all self-righteous about your mama's tomatoes.”

“You were trying to ruin my festival.”

He made a scoffing sound. “The loss of your mama's tomatoes wouldn't have put a dent in your local supply.”

“Then why did you go after her tomatoes?”

“Because she never thought I was good enough for you. I wanted to hurt her.”

“Even after all this time?”

He avoided answering by dropping kisses along the side of her breast, moving toward the nipple. How her body could crave more, she didn't know, but her back arched. He took her nipple at the same time he tightened his hand in her hair and tugged, the prickles at her scalp somehow intensifying her pleasure.

“Oh my goodness.” Her breathless exclamation made him smile around her breast.

“I'd forgotten how responsive you are with me.” A shadow stole his smile, his insecurity a surprise.

She threaded a hand in his hair and tugged his face to hers. “I'd forgotten too.”

He took her mouth in a drugging, fierce kiss that left her reeling. The veering from playfulness to intensity was brand-new even if her unbridled reaction to his touch wasn't. Childish feelings had no place between them.

“You're not tired, are you?” His lips moved against hers, and she felt the words more than heard them.

He made love to her again. This time he pulled her on top to ride him and let her set the rhythm until she took her pleasure, then he guided her, his hands strong on her hips, in a harder, faster ride until he climaxed.

Still breathing hard, her body sated and lax, he tucked her under the covers, cuddling her into his body. She faced away from him, her eyes closed, her body boneless and sore and satisfied. His fingers traced patterns over her shoulders like he was playing connect the dots.

“I remember every single one of your freckles.” He laid kisses along her shoulder blade.

“I always hated them. Mother called them blemishes and said they ruined my chances at Miss Mississippi. She used to rub lemon juice on them.”

“Your mama is a … she's something else.” The dripping irony wasn't a shock.

“I know she can be a bit much, but she loves me. I think.”

“Maybe too much. She didn't want to let you go. To me or to the world.”

She shifted around so she could see him. “What do you mean?”

“No man would have been good enough for you. But I was her worst nightmare.” He brushed her hair back. “And based on her reaction the other morning, not much has changed.”

“Do you want it to change?” She wasn't sure what she was asking, but she tensed.

He rolled to his back and tucked his hands behind his head. “I think you should quit toeing her line and do what makes you happy. What would make you happy?”

You
. She didn't say the one word that would probably send him running into the swamps, buck naked. “I'm proud of what I've accomplished in Cottonbloom. I've thought a lot about the state of Mississippi in general. The poverty, the illiteracy rates, the domestic abuse.”

His head lifted off the pillow. “You want to run for state office.”

She hadn't told anyone. Not even Monroe. The papers to file for a run at the state house of representatives was tucked away in her office. How had he guessed so easily? “You don't think I'm crazy?”

“Crazy? Baby, I think you're insane for wanting to deal with those wahoos up in Jackson, but Mississippi would be lucky to have you. If what you've done in Cottonbloom is any indicator, you might just catch Mississippi up with Louisiana.”

Behind the tease in his voice was true admiration. He believed in her. He always had. “But Mother—”

“Don't tell her. Or tell her, but understand she'll try to talk you out of it. You can do it, Regan.”

She pillowed her head on his arm and snaked an arm and a leg over his body. His assurance shouldn't mean so much, but it did. Anything felt possible. Even the rekindling of something she'd thought had burned into ash. But the ember they had lit would need to be nurtured. Would he welcome questions about what they were doing and where they were going?

He pulled her close, his sigh relaxing him. Time would reveal his intentions. Until then she would hold him close. When they'd been together as kids, she'd never thought it would end. Their last time had been a hurried hook-up in his brother's truck. Fun and lighthearted before heading to their respective colleges. Their schedules had kept them apart for weeks, allowing her mother to fertilize the seeds of doubt she'd been assiduously planting.

If she'd known it would be their last time, would she have held on tighter? Would she have extracted promises and made promises of her own? Or was it best not to know when the end was coming?

She tightened her arms around him and hoped the trickling tear that managed to escape onto his shoulder went unnoticed. Even after his breathing settled into a steady rate, she forced herself to stay awake, savoring the feel of his body next to hers and the welcome she'd found in his arms, even if it was only for a night.

 

Chapter Nineteen

He awoke to gentle snuffling and the awareness of a sweet softness pressed into his side. Before opening his eyes, he took a deep breath, plagued by a vague sense of melancholy. Some things had changed, but not her scent. Her scent had captivated him from their first date. Innocence and seduction weaved into something uniquely Regan.

He cursed the light leaking through his curtains. If the pleasure he'd found with her hadn't been so all-consuming, he would have stayed awake longer, teased her into another round. His body's call for rest had trumped his desire.

Images from his dreams reentered his consciousness. They had been populated by Regan, but not of the erotic variety he battled most nights. Instead, they were echoes of the kind he'd had after they'd broken up. Heart-wrenching loneliness even as she slept in his arms.

What if he refused to let her leave until she agreed that whatever this was between them wasn't the final chapter to their old relationship, but a new beginning. Would he scare her? It smacked of desperation.

He pulled the sheet down, exposing one perfect breast. The nipple pebbled as if sensing his appreciation.

If he examined the last few years of his life, he wondered how much of his drive to succeed—climbing to plant manager and becoming parish commissioner—was to prove himself to Regan, to her mama, to his family, and to himself.

His parents' death had hit him as hard as Cade and Tally, but he was the optimistic one, the one who was expected to smile through it all. While Cade was sacrificing everything for the family, he'd expected Sawyer to continue on with his life. School, studying, sports. The pressure to not let Cade down and the need to contribute something to the family had been suffocating.

Sawyer was the one who insisted they eat together. Insisted they talk and play games. He was the glue. The one Tally talked to when she was hurting over Cade's defection. The one who'd dragged Cade back home when he needed family but was too proud to ask.

With Regan he had been able to drop the smiles, share the troubles he hadn't wanted to burden his already-fragile family with. She'd given him hugs and smiles and kisses. She'd cried for him and laughed with him.

Through it all though, a crushing sense of not being good enough dogged him. He was tired of smiling and pretending and sick of wondering if he was finally good enough. But how could he ask her without revealing his heart, his intentions?

Neither of them was ready for that. But, that didn't mean he couldn't try to convince her in other ways how well they fit together. He could show her, even if he couldn't tell her. His body was primed from the feel and sight of her body. He shifted to face her, tucking his leg between hers. Although her eyes were closed, she arched into him, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest.

Any question as to her state of wakefulness vanished when her hand circled him and guided him to her entrance. He pushed inside an inch, and her eyes fluttered open with a gasp he couldn't classify as pleasure or pain.

“Are you sore?” He'd taken her twice the night before—hard. Maybe now he could make up for his frantic need.

“A little, but I want you.”

Memories of their first time dredged through the mire of need in his brain. He pushed fully inside of her, and they both released a pent-up sigh. He brushed her tousled hair off her forehead. He didn't want to move, didn't want whatever was growing between them to vanish like it had when they were young.

Banging sounded downstairs. They froze. The cocoon of their night was ripped apart.

“Sawyer?” Tally's voice rang through the house. He and his sister would have a long talk about boundaries. “Where the heck are you?” Footsteps sounded on the steps, but stopped prematurely.

Regan pulled away as if she'd been hit by a taser and scrambled for her clothes, a litany of “Oh Gods” falling from her lips. Even though the presence of his sister and the possibility of getting caught with his pants down cooled his ardor, he wanted to take Regan into his arms and tell her to calm down. So what if Tally knew about them? Wouldn't everyone soon?

Unless, there was no “them.” Unless Regan was ashamed and didn't want anyone to know they were hooking up. He rose and pulled on his jeans sans underwear more slowly, attempting to gauge her reaction.

Panic seemed to be the predominant emotion. When she came closer to scoop up her shoes, he grabbed her arm. “Why are you having a fit? It's Tally.”

“Exactly.”

“Can I see you again?”

Behind her panic, other emotions brewed, but as always, she was a mystery. “Sure, let's meet up or something.” Her tone held a bait, but he wasn't sure what she was fishing for. He dissected her words for hidden meanings. Did she mean she was up for a booty call? Or a date? Or did she have the damn festivals on her mind?

From the stairs, his sister's throat-clear echoed. “Oh Lordy, I'll just be…”

Regan twisted out of his grip and made a run for his door, fumbling with the doorknob before slipping out. He followed, barefoot and bare-chested. He didn't give a crap what his sister thought, but Regan sure did.

Sawyer watched her retreat from the front porch, the day already heating. He muttered a curse at fate, at himself, at Tally's timing. Her unexpected drop-ins had never been a problem in the past as he'd never brought a woman back to his place. Easier and less messy if his getaway was clear. Now Regan was the one making a getaway.

He slammed the door on his way back to the kitchen. Tally had the good sense to look chagrined. “Whoops. Sorry about that, stud. Thought you two were just trying to work out the mystery of the festival saboteur.”