She walks over to the wine rack and takes down a bottle. “Do you think Casey would mind if we opened a few bottles?”
I look over at her. “I don’t even think he knows what’s in that rack.” I laugh while she comes over, opening some of the drawers to search for a corkscrew. She pours herself some wine once she gets it open and takes a sip.
“This is really good,” she says. Walking over to the liquor rack, she comes back with a bottle of whiskey. I watch her while she pours some in a small glass and hands it to me. “Cheers.”
I wipe my hands and grab the glass. “Cheers.” I gently clink my glass to her, and we both take a sip.
“Okay, what can I do to help?” she says, walking next to me. “Do you want me to start on the salad?”
“Yeah,” I say, and she touches my hip when she walks by me. I watch her grab the things in my arms, and she puts them down right beside me.
“This is fun,” she says, taking another sip of wine and then looking at me. “Us preparing dinner together.”
I smile at her. “We’ve done this before.”
“Not while married.” She lifts her left hand, laughing and taking another sip of wine.
“No, not married.” I lift my own hand, wiggling my ring finger.
I stand beside her while I marinate the meat, and she cuts the lettuce. She leans over, and our hands slide next to each other, and she takes another sip of wine. Moving around her, I touch her just because like little touches on her hips.
Every single time I touch her, she takes another sip of wine. She does just as much touching, and every single time she finishes doing something, she either walks by and touches me or leans into me. I see her cheeks flushing, so I lean in and give her just a little peck. Then she drinks more wine, and my stomach sinks. Is she drinking because she thinks we are going to sleep together?
I walk away from her to go to the grill. “I’ll be grilling,” I say, and she nods.
“I’ll set the table.” She turns and gets on her tippy toes and her shorts ride up, showing me her long, lean tan legs. Her shirt also rolls up, showing me her tan tummy even more. I swallow down the lump in my throat and then go outside.
I watch her set the table from outside. She drinks another two glasses of wine, and her hands are almost shaking. When the meat is done, I walk in, and she turns around with a smile. “Smells good, Mr. Mayor.”
I smile at her as I walk to the dining room table that she set. I sit at the head and she takes the seat to my right. The salad bowl sits in the middle of our plates. She put another bottle of wine beside her and even put my whiskey on the table. I set the plate of steak down next to the salad, and she turns and walks back into the kitchen to grab the baked potatoes. I wait for her to sit down before taking my seat. She picks up my plate, preparing it like she always does.
“Thank you,” I say, taking a sip of my whiskey.
“You’re welcome, dear,” she says, laughing while she prepares her own plate. “How many women have cooked for you?” I look at her. “I mean, you date a lot.”
“Some would say you date a lot also,” I say, and she just looks at me. “Do they cook for you?”
“Not even once. I make sure my dates are out in public so there is no gray area,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “What about you?”
“No,” I answer, my stomach burning. “They don’t cook for me.”
“Well, at least I have that one up on them then.” She cuts into her steak. “Have you ever been in love?”
I take my glass of whiskey. “Yes.” Her eyes now fly up, and I see that they are a darker blue.
“You’ve been in love?” she whispers. She looks down, and I swear I see tears in her eyes, but she grabs her glass of wine, and when she looks back at me, there are no more tears. “You’ve never told me,” she says while cutting her steak and avoiding my eye contact.
“I’ve never really told anyone,” I say, hoping she looks at me, but instead, she drinks another sip of wine. “Have you?” I ask as she leans back in her chair, my heart hammering in my chest as I wait for her answer.
“The steak is cooked perfectly,” she says, avoiding the question. I want to press it again, but I’m not sure she’ll even remember this conversation. So instead, I just finish my steak without the both of us really talking. She gets up first and walks to the kitchen, bringing her plate with her. “This was one of my best dinners I’ve ever eaten.” She looks over at me, smiling, her cheeks pink and her eyes a light blue. She walks over. “Thank you.” She bends, putting her face in front of mine. “For cooking,” she says and kisses me on the lips lightly, then she moves away just a touch. “And for everything.” She kisses me again. This time, her tongue slides in with mine. I want to get lost in her kiss. I want to get lost in her, but I don’t want our first time to be because she’s drunk.
“You’re welcome,” I say softly as my hand comes up to touch her face. “I would do anything for you,” I say. I see her swallow and then move out of my touch. I try not to let it hurt, try not to dwell on it, but when I get up and bring the plates into the kitchen, she starts walking around me, holding my hips again. When she runs her hand up my back softly while she walks by, it takes all my willpower not to ignore the fact that she drank too much and touch her the way I want to touch her. When the kitchen is cleaned up, I lean against the counter, and she mimics my stance. “Are you tired?” I ask.
“Not really.” She walks over to me and wraps her arms around my neck, getting on her tippy toes. “We can maybe go into the bedroom.” My hands go to her hips, and I want so much to take her to the bedroom. I want so much to tell her all of the things, but I don’t want her to have to get drunk to be with me.
“I think I’m going to take a shower,” I say and see the look in her eyes change and her hands fall from my neck. Her shield is suddenly up.
“Yeah, that is a good idea,” she says. “Why don’t you go first?” She turns and walks away from me, and I want to call her back. I want to hold her hand and sit on the couch with her, but she has closed herself off. I saw it in the look she gave me. I walk to the shower, feeling defeated as the warm water runs down my body. When I slip on my boxers and shorts, I open the door and find all the lights from downstairs turned off.
After I walk downstairs, my eyes roam the area, looking for her, and I find her in a ball on her side. Her eyes are closed, and I have to wonder if she is faking. I stand here for a minute, and when she doesn’t move, I grab one of the throw blankets and cover her with it. I sit next to her, not knowing what to do. We are both in uncharted territories, and the last thing I want to do is lose her. I put my head back, closing my own eyes, and the next thing I know, light is coming into the house directly on my face as if someone is holding a flashlight. I put my hand up to block the sun from my face and open one eye. The smell of coffee hits me right away, and when I turn to look over in the kitchen, I find Savannah moving around.
“What time is it?” I ask, mumbling.
“A little after seven,” she says, and I see that she has changed from what she was wearing yesterday.
“How long have you been up?” I get up, going to the kitchen, and when she turns around, I see that her nose and her eyes are red from crying.
“I don’t remember.” She avoids looking at me. “I got up and took a shower.” She grabs her coffee cup, bringing it to her lips. “Then I couldn’t fall back asleep.”
I walk to grab a cup and pour coffee in it. “You should have woken me up.”
“There was no use in both of us being awake,” she says, standing exactly where she did yesterday right before she wrapped her arms around my neck, and I told her I was going to take a shower.
“I came out, and you were fast asleep on the couch.” I bring the cup to my lips. “It’s a rough day when your wife falls asleep on the couch two days into your marriage.” I can’t stop myself from saying the words. I don’t know what I was thinking, but what I wasn’t expecting was her comeback.
She blinks and looks me straight in my eyes. “It’s a rough day when your husband can’t stand your touch and runs off to shower.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Savannah
I don’t know why I say it because I told myself for the past four hours that I was not going to bring it up. I was not going to let the hurt of him not wanting to be with me affect anything. He married me because he had to, not because he wanted to, the voice chants over and over in my head. The thought cuts me right through the heart, and no matter how many times I’m blinking away the tears, they fall anyway. “It’s a rough day when your husband can’t stand your touch and runs off to shower.” I watch his eyes and then see his mouth hang open as I put my cup of coffee beside me. “There is a certain look we have to give the public.” I start to say my speech that I also spent the night thinking of. “So in public, we can be all lovey-dovey, but when we are behind closed doors, it’s just Beau and Savannah, best friends.” The sting of the words are so much more when they are out of my mouth and not just in my head.
“What the fuck?” he says, putting his own coffee cup beside him. “What did you just say?” I look at him as he stands there, his shorts low on his hips and his chest perfect and chiseled. His black hair falls across his forehead, and his beauty makes my heart hurt.
“I just stated the obvious,” I say, not even caring anymore. “I obviously wanted to.”
“You wanted to what?” His voice comes out in almost a growl. “You wanted to get so shit-faced so you could muster up being with me?” His words shock me, and if I wasn’t leaning on the island, I would have stumbled back.
“What?” I whisper.
“You drank all night.” He points at me. “All night, you had to drink in order to actually kiss me.”
“Me?” I say, pointing at my chest. “You think I drank all night because of that?” My head is spinning as I take in his words.
“Well, you start drinking, and then all of a sudden, you can touch me and kiss me,” he says, looking out the window and then looking back at me with hurt in his eyes. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what was happening.”
“For your information,” I say, my voice going just a touch louder. “I was drinking to muster up the courage to tell you all the things I wanted to tell you.” I almost stomp my foot like a child having a tantrum. I don’t give him a chance to say anything. I waited too long for this moment to back down now. “I sat there and asked you if you have ever been in love with someone,” I remind him. “I know I asked the question, but I wasn’t ready for the answer.”
“Oh, well, it’s better than a non-answer,” he throws back in my face. “You didn’t even answer the question.”
“You’re an asshole!” I shout. “I didn’t answer the question because there was a fucking lump stuck in my throat.” A tear escapes me now, and I brush it away with a vengeance. “I didn’t answer the question because I didn’t want to admit that I’ve been in love with you my whole goddamn life, and you love someone else.” I finally admit it to him, and the tears make my vision all blurry. “So yeah, I didn’t answer the fucking question because I couldn’t stand to hear you answer it.”
“You love me?” he says like he’s in shock or maybe he doesn’t want to hear it and maybe I just ruined the only true friendship I’ve ever had. “You love me,” he says again, and all I can do is look out the big window at the sun shining. I look at the water, and it looks so peaceful. “Look at me.”
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything,” I say, turning to walk away and save a bit of my dignity, but he puts his hand on my arm to stop me from going.
“Look at me, Savannah,” he says softly.
“I don’t want to.” I look down, and a tear rolls down my cheek and lands on his fingers. “I can’t,” I finally admit.
“You need to look at me so you can see,” he says, and I feel him moving closer to me. “You need to see my eyes to know the truth.” His hand slips down my arms, and he stands right behind me. I feel his heat through my T-shirt. “I need to tell you the truth.” I don’t move. “You gave me your side, so let me give you mine.” I turn and see the tears in his eyes. “You asked me if I’ve been in love, and I answered yes,” he says, and I’m not sure I can hear this. “But what you didn’t ask me or give me a chance to say is who I love.”
“I don’t really want to know,” I say.
“I fell in love with you when I was ten years old and you kicked me in the balls for tugging your hair,” he says, and now it’s me who stands in the middle of the kitchen with my mouth hanging open. “I fell in love with you even more when you were pregnant. I watched you dig so deep for all the strength to continue. I watched you build a business from scratch, and I watched you become the most amazing mother and woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve done this the whole time, falling so far in love with you that there is no one else out there for me.”
“But,” I finally say, “you go on all these dates.”
“Yeah, because you go on all these dates,” he says. “So I pretend I don’t care by going on these excruciating dates.” His thumb rubs my cheek. “Dates that I always end after an hour and then come in search of you.” All of his words have shocked me; all of his words have left me without words. “Think back to all the dates I went on and how I would show up at the bar at nine. Because that is when business would die down and you could sit down with me.” He wraps one arm around my waist. “You did your own fair share of dating.”
“Well, yeah.” I look down and then look up. “But if you notice, it was always after you went on a date.”
“So you dated because I was dating?” he asks, smiling and I’m forgetting that I started this conversation with me being angry. I push away from him now, or at least I try, but he doesn’t let his hold of me go. “Not so fast,” he says. “You love me.”
I roll my eyes now. “Well, you heard me say it.” I want to put my hands on my hips.
“I want you to say it again,” he says. I look at him, and he smiles the same smile that always makes me do whatever he wants even though I don’t want to do it.
“Fine, I love you,” I say. “You big horse’s ass.”
He throws his head back, and he laughs. “Of course she can’t just say she loves me and leave it at that.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes and try to step out of his embrace.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says, pulling me back to him tighter. “You aren’t running away this time.” His tone is very tight and to the point. “No, not this time, Savannah. It’s time to put the cards on the table.”
My heart speeds up, and my stomach goes to my throat. “I think we did put all the cards on the table.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I just put down a couple of cards. I’ve dated all these women, and I haven’t kissed one of them.” He must see the shock in my eyes. “I haven’t even laid a finger on them to even help them up.”
“But …” I say. “But …”
“I didn’t date these women because I wanted to. I dated them because I thought the one woman who I wanted didn’t want me back.” He rubs his nose against mine.
“Well, you never asked me,” I whisper. “I didn’t drink last night because I didn’t want you to touch me.” My hand comes up, and I run my finger over his collarbone. “I drank so I could have the courage to finally tell you how I felt. We were married, and you didn’t even know that I love you. You didn’t even know that marrying you was making my dreams come true. You didn’t even know that in my whole life you were the one thing missing.”
“Well, then,” he says. “I don’t feel bad about tricking you into marriage then. Once I put that ring on your finger, I said so many things to you in my head.” He picks me up now and places me on the counter. My legs open, and he steps between them. “I said the vows, but I meant every single word and more. You’ve made my dreams come true, and you didn’t even know it.”
“Be
au,” I say, and he just shakes his head.
“You’re mine,” he says. Leaning in, he rubs my nose and kisses me lightly. “That ring on your finger means you’re mine.” He rubs my nose again, kissing me one more time lightly. “But now, I’m going to claim you.” My breath hitches, and his hand goes to my neck, and his lips crash down on mine. I open my mouth for him right away; my hands go to his chest and then up while my legs cross at his back. His kisses before were nothing like this. He kisses me like he owns me. He takes control of the kiss and tilts his head from right to left, trying to deepen the kiss. He wraps one arm around my waist and picks me up, walking toward the stairs. Our mouths never leave each other as we make up for all those years of not saying anything. I kiss him like it’s the last time I’m going to kiss him, giving him everything that I have.
“I love you,” he finally says when he lets go of my lips. Burying his face in my neck, he kisses and sucks, and my senses are on overload.
“I love you,” I say right before he sits on the bed with me straddling him. My hand goes to his face. “I’ve told you I love you so many times in my head.” My finger traces his lips. “When you would walk away and I would say bye, I would whisper under my breath that I love you.” I lean down and kiss him just a bit. “When you would make me laugh and hug me, there were so many times it almost came out of me.”
“Every time I used to say I’ll see you later,” he says, “it was me saying I love you.” I push him down onto his back and place my mouth on his, but he flips me on my back. “I promise you round two will be better.” I laugh and then his hand pulls up my shirt. I automatically cover myself up, and his eyes fly to mine.
“I have stretch marks,” I say, “from when I was pregnant.”
“You don’t ever hide from me. Not now, not ever.” He moves my hands away from my chest, bending down and taking a nipple into his mouth, and my back arches up.
“You,” he says, his voice going low. “You are my kryptonite.”
Southern Storm Page 16
