Till I Kissed You (30 page)

When he didn't seem inclined to stop and talk to her, she caught up with him as he reached his truck and grabbed his sleeve. “Hang on a minute.”

“What?” He propped a hip against the fender in his typical stance, facing her with his arms across his chest. Where was the man who had held her on his lap, rehashed the past with her, and gave her hope? Where was the man who'd made love to her the night before and made her believe they were building something new?

Although things with Ms. Martha weren't concluded and the festivals hung over their heads, she couldn't wait for the perfect time to clear the air between them. Things would always be complicated, but maybe complicated wasn't bad, maybe it was interesting.

“Listen. Things were weird this morning with your sister … and stuff.” Her courage faltered. She'd never asked a man out on a date. What if their night together had been a one-time thing for him? What if he turned her down and humiliated her? Didn't she have to try anyway? “Do you want to maybe see each other again? Or something?”

The longer the silence stretched, the hotter her face became until it rivaled the surface of the sun. His face was serious, no mocking laughter threatened at least. Her tongue bumbled around. “Look, if last night was just … I mean, if you don't want to get together, I—”

“Get together? You mean hook up?”

Answering her question with a question only tipped her further off-balance. “Sure, if that's what you want.” After they grabbed dinner, she wouldn't protest if they went back to her place. Not if it was anything like last night. “As long as no one busts in on us again.” She smiled at her weak attempt at a joke, but no answering tease cracked the seriousness of his expression.

“Yeah, getting seen would probably ruin your rep.”

“What?” The embarrassment factor had nothing to do with her reputation.

“How about tonight? I'll pick you up at seven.” His gaze skimmed down her body. “Wear a skirt.”

She nodded, relief streaking through her body like a cool blast of air. He had said yes. Seven was late for dinner on a Sunday, but maybe they would go to the country club if he wanted her to dress nice. Even though a strangeness still permeated the air between them, an actual date would be the next step to creating something new.

“I'll see you tonight.” Her smile came easier as she moved to her car. He hadn't moved from the shadow of his truck, his brow scrunched low. She waved and drove off, her body already thrumming with the knowledge she would see him again and soon.

*   *   *

Sawyer slammed his back door open. A clawing pain was ripped at his heart.
Mr. Fournette,
she'd called him in front of the social leaders of Cottonbloom. The air of guilt around her had been unmistakable, but she didn't feel guilty enough to not want to sneak around with him. It shouldn't have hurt, but a crippling ache rushed into his hollowed-out stomach.

He flipped the shower on and stepped straight into the lukewarm water. Regan's mama was right. He scrubbed himself as if the feeling of not being good enough to touch the likes of Regan Lovell could be washed away.

The flare of hope when she'd suggested getting together was crushed when she'd agreed to a hook-up. What he really wanted was to take her out, talk over dinner, maybe cuddle on the couch and watch a movie. He wanted to goddamn cuddle, and she only wanted to get laid somewhere no one could catch his dirty hands on her.

Last night he'd made her scream his name. And he'd do it again tonight. Make her beg. One more time. Then he'd be done with her and her mama and all of Cottonbloom, Mississippi. He'd work his ass off for Cade and ignore the feeling that something was missing from his life.

The hours crept by. He pulled on a pair of broken-in jeans and a T-shirt. As he was driving over the bridge, he tapped the brakes. Why had she agreed that he pick her up? More discreet if she met him somewhere for their booty call. Rolling down her street, doubts wormed their way into his self-righteous resentment.

No, this was their thing. Creeping around on the river or the back roads. They'd never flaunted their relationship in high school. She'd seemed fine with the fact he hadn't had the money to take her anywhere fancy. It was clearly more than charity on her part. She hadn't wanted to parade him around to her family and friends in Mississippi. He understood that now.

He parked at the curb, barely refrained from flipping a bird toward her mama's house, stomped through the grass to her front door, and banged with his fist.

The door opened. His anger felt out of place confronted with her tentative, sweet smile that made her eyes dance. In her swishy skirt, high heels, and V-neck sleeveless sweater, she looked ready for a church social, not a hook-up in his truck.

Her smile slipped as she took him in, and slivers of uncertainty sent a tingle up his neck. His plan was set. “You ready?”

“Let me set the alarm.” She disappeared back inside. He turned on his heel and headed toward his truck. Hesitating, he glanced over his shoulder, his gaze tracing the long line of her legs. Her heels were ridiculous. Instead of forcing her to climb into his truck by herself, he opened the passenger door and waited. There were limits to his assholery.

Her legs were more ridiculous than her heels. The skirt swished a few inches above her knee, exposing seductive glimpses of her thighs. Thighs that had clenched him tight the night before. Her sweater clung to the curves of her breasts, the white lace of her bra peeking from the deep neckline.

She took his hand and stepped onto the running board, finding her seat but not releasing him. Her fingers brushed up his forearm a few inches. Goose bumps rose in the wake of her touch. “Thanks,” she murmured.

When he joined her and cranked the truck, his internal organs seemed to have started a bar fight. “Thought we could head out on a back road. For old times' sake. What do you think?”

He waited. Her answer would determine which direction he took.

“Sure. I guess.” Her agreement lilted into an almost-question, sounding another alarm in his head.

He swallowed and pointed them back toward the Louisiana line. They were silent all the way down the rumbling pavement to a field in front of the river. He parked, rolled the windows down, and turned the radio up. He raised the console between them, turning the front into a bench seat.

“So all that stuff with Ms. Martha was pretty crazy, huh?” Her hands played in the folds of her skirt.

“Lots of crazy in Cottonbloom.”

“Which side?” She laughed softly, the sound prodding his heart to beat faster.

He didn't want to talk anymore. Everything she said and did confused him. They were only good at one thing. He wrapped a hand around her nape and drew her closer. He felt her resistance right before their lips met and stilled, holding her in place but not forcing her forward.

The sun was low in the sky, and fingerlike shadows danced over her face. The longer he looked in her eyes, the more confused he became. He didn't want to hurt her. It would be like slicing his own heart open. He would allow himself these last moments with her before putting her in the past forever.

He took her lips and moved his hand into the artfully tousled waves of her hair. One kiss followed another, each one more frantic and passionate. She slipped her arms around his shoulders, her fingernails leaving erotic trails of sensation through the thin cotton.

He circled her waist and brought her to his lap, her back against his front. She tried to turn, but he pressed a hand against her ribs. He couldn't risk getting lost in her eyes. “This is how I want you.”

She arched her back and her head fell onto his shoulder. He nuzzled her neck the same time his hands cupped her breasts. She breathed his name. The realization that this was the last time he would touch her ripped at his soul.

He slipped his hands under her sweater and covered the soft, lace-covered skin. Her nipples were hard against his palms. She loved his touch. Why couldn't she love all of him?

“Do you want me?” He rasped the words in her ear. Her intake of breath and the spreading of her legs was answer enough.

With one hand staying to toy with her breasts, he hooked his feet around her ankles, drawing her legs even farther apart, and lifted her skirt with the other hand. She writhed on his lap. He was harder than he'd ever been.

The petty part of him wanted to take her then and there. Sate himself inside of her. He grazed his knuckles over her damp underwear. The white lace matched her bra. He slipped a finger underneath. She felt amazing. Soft and smooth and wanting.

“Do you like this?”

“You know I do.” She circled her hips, driving him crazy. He bucked into her with a low moan.

“You like my rough, dirty hands on you, don't you?”

She hummed and searched for his mouth. He drove his tongue next to hers, but retreated.

“Say my name.”

“Sawyer, please.” He recognized the tinny, plaintive note in her voice.

“Tell me how much you want me.”

“I want you so bad. I've wanted you for so long.” The thread of longing tugged at something similar that unspooled from his heart. He paused in his ministrations, but she wouldn't allow it.

It was too easy. She was too responsive. He wanted it to last forever, but she wasn't allowing forever. She covered his hand with hers and drove his finger deep. She shattered, and he practiced some deep breathing exercises to keep from following her.

She went limp against him and weaved her fingers with his, still touching her intimately. The sound of their breathing overlay the soft country song playing and the escalating noise as dusk approached. She twisted enough to nuzzle her lips against his throat.

God, he loved her. Again. Or had he ever stopped? Was she the reason he'd never gotten serious with another woman? How could he admit his feelings after so many years of animosity? So many years of believing lies and building distrust. How could they build something that lasted on such shaky ground?

With the willpower of a saint, he uncoupled their hands and shifted her off his lap. He missed the weight of her, the feel of her against him already. At first she didn't move, her skirt bunched around her upper thighs and her breasts exposed.

He looked out the front windshield, adjusted the seat, and gripped the steering wheel. The rustle of clothes signaled she'd gotten the hint. Leather creaked and she laid a hand on his forearm. His muscle jumped.

“Do you want me to…” Her voice tread through the dimming cab.

Of course he wanted nothing more than to have her touch him in any way she wanted. “I'm taking you home.”

“Home? I thought we were going someplace nice for dinner?”

He swiveled his head toward her, surprise jamming his brain. “Dinner?”

“You told me to wear a skirt.”

His mouth dropped open but he was at a loss. The silence didn't last long.

“Ohmigod. I am an idiot. You wanted sex. Easy access. That's it.” She scooted farther away and stared out the passenger window, her hand over her mouth.

His moral high ground grew shaky. “You indicated you were good to go for a hook-up.”

“Excuse me for not being clear. I was asking you out on a date since it didn't seem like you were going to make a move. Yes, I wanted to hook up, because … well, the other night was pretty spectacular. At least for me. Obviously, you were just scratching an old itch or something. Take me home.”

“You ran out on me so fast I nearly got whiplash.”

“Your sister—who doesn't particularly like me if you haven't noticed—walked into your house while you were freaking
inside
of me. What did you expect me to do? Invite her in for the show? I was mortified.”

“You were ashamed.”

“Of course I wasn't ashamed. I'm a grown woman, Sawyer. This isn't
The Scarlet Letter
. Take. Me. Home.”

When he didn't move, she leaned over and turned the keys. The engine roared on. Not knowing what else to do, he shifted into drive and got them moving. The headlights cut through the gloaming, bugs flying in every direction. She kept her window down and her face averted.

“You didn't seem too happy to see me this afternoon at your festival gathering.” He lobbed his last potshot, hearing the defensiveness in his voice.

“I was acting as Cottonbloom mayor. You are a colleague. Did you expect me to drop to my knees and give you a blow job?”

If he'd heard tears in her voice he might have pressed harder, but anger ripped through her words, smashing the last of his logic. But he knew one thing. He'd royally screwed everything up. He pulled up to her house and grabbed her wrist before she could escape.

“What?” she clipped out.

He would have welcomed the anger that marked their recent relationship over the chill that blasted from her now. “Look, tonight was a misunderstanding—”

“Same as in college, huh? That seems to happen a lot with us, doesn't it? Good luck with your festival.” She hopped out and slammed the door, rocking the truck. Before he could formulate a reply, she was gone.

The poverty and hunger and loneliness of his youth had left wounds that had festered. He'd always been the one to put on a smile for everyone else. Just like Regan did.

She had been the one he talked to. Once she cut him out of her life, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her until he had a grasp on her again. A fleeting grasp as it turned out.

 

Chapter Twenty-one

Regan sat behind the counter of her shop and made phone calls confirming details about the festival and checking things off her list. With less than a week to go, her neck was sore, her head hurt, and she didn't even want to consider the state of her heart.

The bell tinkled as the front door opened. Tallulah Fournette stepped over the threshold and looked around as if exploring an alien planet.