"Chelsea," he says. "You don’t mean it."
"I mean every single word, Mayson. I mean it from the bottom of my heart to the tips of my fingers." I turn my head to the side and look up at him. "And I’ll remind you of this every single day that you let me." I swallow now. "Let me love you, Mayson."
I don’t wait for him to answer me. I just inch my way closer to his lips. "I love you," I say softly, and then my lips fall onto his. I close my eyes and just feel him all over me. His tongue slips into my mouth as my hand goes to the back of his neck.
"Chelsea," he says as he moves his head from one side to the other. "I’ve dreamed of this moment," he says. "I’ve dreamed of kissing you." He kisses me so softly it feels like a dream. "Every single day."
"I’m here," I say, and one of his arms wraps around my waist. "I’m always here." His mouth falls on mine again.
"So wrong," he says between giving me kisses. "So fucking wrong." His hands cup my face, not letting me go. "So perfectly fucking wrong."
"Or," I say, my tongue sliding across his lower lip. "Or perfectly right."
Chapter 19
Mayson
"Perfectly right." Her voice is strong, and she never wavers.
I push her hair behind her ears. "You need to stop," I say, and she shakes her head.
"You need to listen to me." She holds my face, leaning in to kiss me. The fear that was in her eyes when she got here is now gone. "I’m not going anywhere, and neither are my feelings."
Her hands go from my cheeks now to my lips. "Trust me."
“No one," I say, my hand going to rub her face like she is rubbing mine, I look into her eyes as I say the next part. "No one has ever said that to me before,” I say another secret that I’ve never shared with anyone. "Not even my mother."
She blinks away tears as she looks at me. "She loved you." She smiles at me, and she furiously blinks away tears. "How can she not? Look at how perfect you turned out to be."
"Chelsea." Her name is on my lips all the time lately.
"Don’t you dare," she says, leaning in and kissing me, and my heart fills for a whole different reason. "Don’t you dare say anything."
"Will you let me even if I wanted to?" I lean forward and kiss her jaw.
"No," she says, and the timer rings. "Do you want to help me cook? Maybe it’ll be a stress release."
I swallow, and I don’t tell her that her in my arms is the only stress release I need right now. I don’t tell her that just kissing her makes everything better. I tell her none of that because she deserves better than me, no matter what she says. "Sure," I say, and she steps away from me, going to the fridge and grabbing stuff. "What are we going to do first?"
"Well, one, wash your hands." She points at the sink and laughs. "God, I just sounded like my grandmother."
Walking over to the sink, I wash my hands and turn around to see her at the stove. "How are your cutting skills?"
"It’s okay, I guess. I’m used to just cooking for myself," I say. "I’ve never complained."
"Okay, chop this." She puts the celery and an onion in front of me. She turns and walks over to the pot, putting the chicken in the water to cook.
"What is your favorite thing to eat?" She grabs another bowl and starts to cut apples.
"I don’t think I have a favorite," I say. "When we are away, our food is usually bland and in a bag."
"There has to be something you would eat every day if you could." I swallow because I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that, and I am also pretty sure I shouldn’t tell her.
"I guess I’m more meat and potatoes than fish and rice," I say.
"Well, then I’ll stick to meat and potatoes," she says from next to me. I look over at her. "What?" She looks over at me.
"You," I just say. "You would do that, wouldn’t you?" I ask, and she looks at me, confused. "Cook meat and potatoes every day if that is what I wanted."
"Well…" She shrugs. "I like that, too. So technically, I would be cooking it for myself. But…" She smirks. "I do a mean maple-glazed salmon."
I don’t say anything else to her because I can’t. Just the thought of having dinner with her every night is too much for me. I don’t have time to get sidetracked with her. I can’t go there, knowing that at any minute it could be taken away from me.
She shows me step by step what she is doing, and she helps me make the dough for the apple pie. "All you have to do is knead it." She puts her hands on mine as she shows me. Our fingers link with each other. "Gently," she says. She looks up at me, and everything I told myself is out the window. Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me, and her smile fills her face, making her even more breathtaking.
"Your eyes," she says. "Your eyes go darker when you look at me." I swallow down that she knew this, that she took the time to get to know all the little parts about me. "But they are the darkest when you come close and right before you kiss me." She leans in now and kisses me ever so softly.
I stand with her in the kitchen the whole time, and when she walks away from me, I follow her. I want to pretend I’m following her to learn, but I’m following her just to be next to her. Her hands graze mine sometimes, and then she moves around me by holding my hips, and my cock is just going to explode at this point. "It smells so good," I say, watching her wash all the pots while I dry next to her.
"Why don’t you take a shower?" she says, handing me the last pot before turning off the water. "Then we can eat when you come out."
"Yeah," I say and put the pot down. "That sounds good." I lean down and kiss her on the lips, and I want to kick myself for just blatantly doing that. But the smile on her face makes me forget everything.
I walk over to the bedroom and take a shower as hot as I can stand it and then as cold as I can tolerate it. I ignore all the warnings shooting off in my head, telling me to just stop whatever this is. I can’t think about her in that way. She doesn’t need the shit I have in my closet.
I slip on a pair of boxers and sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. Walking out, I stop when I hear the soft music playing. The shades are all closed, and the lights are dim, and the table looks like she just set it. I watch her move around the kitchen and see she has changed. Her hair is loose, and she is wearing green pants that are loose but tight at the ankles. She wears a long-sleeved white shirt, and when she looks over at me, I see that one of her shoulders is bare. "It’s done." She smiles as she bends and takes the potpie out of the oven. I walk over to her, and I can smell her citrus smell. If I could, I would lean down and kiss her shoulder, but instead, I just think about it. "You look handsome," she says, smiling, and all the words are stuck in my throat. All. Of. Them.
She walks over to the dining room and places the pie in the middle of the table. "Do you want a beer?"
"No." I shake my head. "I’m going to stick to water."
She walks back to the fridge and takes out the jug of water and another one of sweet tea. "I didn’t make a side."
"The potpie is enough, Chelsea," I say, and she smiles at me. When I get really, really close to her, she looks up at me. Don’t kiss her, don’t touch her, my head is screaming at me. "You look beautiful," I say, putting one hand on her hip and then bending to kiss her lips.
"Thank you." She smiles shyly and sits down in the chair. I only sit when she does. She grabs my plate and scoops out some chicken potpie. She then serves herself half the portion.
"Do you say grace?" she asks, and I just shake my head.
"Do you?" I ask, and she avoids my eyes. "We can if you want."
"I usually just…" She avoids my eyes, and it kills me that she is afraid to tell me something. I put my hand on hers, and she looks at me from the side. "Thank you for keeping Mayson safe," she says and then mumbles, "Amen."
I take my hand off hers and grab the fork. The minute the food touches my tongue, I moan. "This is so good."
"Doesn’t it taste a bit better knowing that you cooked it?" she asks me and I laugh.
"Let’
s be real, you tolerated me," I say, and I just look at her. "It was one of the best days in a long, long time. Being with you," I say before I can stop myself. But now that it’s out there, how do I take it back? Better yet, I don’t want to take it back. "I shouldn’t have said that."
"Why?" she asks, avoiding my eyes, and it kills me that I made her sad. It kills me that anyone can make her sad, but most of all, that it was me. But my girl doesn’t avoid anything. Instead, she folds her arms on the table in front of her, and she stares at me. "Why shouldn’t you have said that? Is it because you don’t mean it?"
"No," I say, shaking my head. "Not at all. I do mean it. I mean every single word," I say, and my hand cups her cheek. My thumb rubs her cheekbone. "I just meant that."
"Eat before it gets cold." I nod and finish my plate. She gets up and grabs the empty plate. I look up at her, and she kisses me so naturally, it’s as if I’ve been doing it my whole life.
"Do you want ice cream with your apple pie?" she asks, and I get up and walk to her as she cuts the apple pie. She places a piece on the only plate on the counter.
"Are you not having any?" I ask, my mouth watering even though I’m stuffed. She shakes her head. "We can share,” I say, and she gets the ice cream, digging one scoop out and placing it on top of the hot pie.
We stand in the middle of her kitchen at the counter, and she walks over and gets two spoons. "You go first," she says, and I cut into it, the ice cream melting into the piece. I take the piece and put it on my tongue, and the heat from the pie with the cool of the ice cream makes me close my eyes.
"If you ever think about another career,” I say, taking another spoonful and now holding it up for her to taste. "You should think about becoming a chef."
She laughs, taking the apple pie from my spoon, and I pull it out too fast and a drop of ice cream remains on the corner of her mouth. I bend down to catch the drop with my tongue. She wraps her arms around my neck as my tongue slips into her mouth.
Dropping the spoon on the counter, I thread my fingers into her hair, pulling her even closer to me. We get lost in the kiss. Her hands going from my neck to my face, making sure the kiss doesn’t stop. Her chest molds to mine, and I want to pick her up and carry her over to the couch. I want to lie with her and get lost in all the kisses she’ll give me.
"Chelsea," I whisper and look at her as her eyes flutter open. The blue is now just a touch darker. Our chests rise and fall in unison. "I have never wanted anything in this world the way I want you," I admit. "Nothing and no one."
"Good." She smiles. "The feeling is mutual." I look down now, knowing that’s all we can have. But I also know that I’ve never let myself have what I want in my whole life. "You should get to bed," she says to me as if she senses my turmoil.
"I think that is a good idea,” I say, and neither of us moves.
"What do you want, Mayson?" she asks. "What do you really really want?"
All the words come to me and all the reasons also. But what comes out next shocks us both. "You." Her breath hitches as my heart hammers in my chest so hard and so loud. I think it’s going to come out of my chest. "I want you."
Chapter 20
Chelsea
I hold my breath as he fights with his inner demons. I can tell in his eyes how conflicted he is. I can also tell he’s never ever put himself first. "What do you want, Mayson?" I ask, knowing that I shouldn’t push him, and I’ve already pushed him out of his comfort zone. "What do you really really want?"
I’m expecting him to push me away, but what he says makes me gasp. "You." His eyes are so unsure. "I want you."
I walk to him, putting my hands on his face and feeling him. "Then have me," I whisper. His arms fly around my waist, and he moves his hand into my hair. His tongue slips into my mouth, and I get lost in him.
"I want," he says as he trails the kisses from my lips to my chin. "I want to pick you up and carry you to the couch."
"How about," I say, my eyes are still closed as he kisses me, "we walk over to the couch?” I turn in his arms and slip my hand in his as I drag him to the couch, sitting down and pulling him next to me. "I know you are almost healed, but I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, and he pulls me to him.
"You won’t hurt me," he says, his voice gruff as he buries his hand in my hair and kisses me again. We kiss until we are both breathless. "We should get to bed," he says, and I lean in, kissing his neck. He gets up now and holds out his hand to me. I slip my hand in his and turn to walk over to the hallway. "Good night, Chelsea," he says, leaning down and kissing my lips. "Sweet dreams."
Turning, I walk to my bedroom, and I miss him. I wish he would have followed me to my room. I slip into bed and look toward the hallway. The minutes turn into over two hours, and I finally get up to make myself some tea. I try not to make noise, but when I walk out of my bedroom, I find him lying on the couch, looking out the window at the stars. "What are you doing here?" I ask, and he looks over at me.
"I couldn’t sleep," he says. "So I thought I would look at the stars and try to see the beauty in them." My heart speeds up in my chest, and my stomach flutters.
I smile, walking over to the couch. "And?"
"The only thing I could think of was you." He reaches up and grabs my hand, pulling me down to him. I try not to squish him. "Lie with me," he says, and I don’t answer him because I can’t. The lump in my throat threatens to come out like a sob, and he might freak out. Instead, I lie on the couch with my back to his chest as he wraps his arms around me. We don’t say anything as we both look at the stars, and it takes me less than ten minutes to finally fall asleep.
My eyes flutter open when I feel him move behind me. "Am I hurting you?" I jump up, afraid I’ve hurt him.
"No." He shakes his head. “I was trying to," he says and stops.
"What?" I ask, looking him up and down to make sure he’s okay.
He looks down, almost as if he doesn’t want to tell me. "I was trying to place my hard-on down."
My eyes suddenly fly to his cock, and I can see he’s definitely up. "I didn’t want you to wake up and have it poking in your back."
"Um," I say, and my cheeks blush now. "I’ll make coffee," I say, ignoring his eyes. He gets up from the couch, and I hear him walking to his bedroom. Looking over, I see it is almost five thirty in the morning. When he comes out of his bedroom, I say, "I made you coffee."
He takes the cup from me and then turns. "Let’s sit outside," he says, and we walk out to sit outside on the stairs.
"I’m sorry," he says, and I look over at him, the coffee cup at my lips. "About before. It was—"
"If you say it was a mistake." I shake my head, taking a gulp of the hot coffee and burning my mouth. "That is going to be a hard one to swallow." I laugh now. "Get it? Hard one."
He shakes his head and looks down. "I meant I didn’t mean to disrespect you like that."
"I’ve never been with anyone," I finally tell him, my head telling me not to say anything and my heart holding on for dear life. "Like I’ve dated guys, but…"
"Are you saying…?" he says, and I feel suddenly so dumb.
"My mother was known as the town slut,” I say and blink away the tears. "I mean, not now, but when she had Ethan." I swallow down. "Shit went down, and I don’t really know the whole story because frankly, it doesn’t matter. My mother is amazing. She is kind, she is loving, she is selfless when it comes to the people she loves and us." I look up at the sky as it starts to turn colors now. "She’s been with my father for over twenty years, and people still talk about her. Less than before, but you would hear whispers even when I was in school." I wipe away the tear coming down my cheek. "So I wasn’t going to give them anything more to talk about. I was going to show them that my mother raised a lady. That she wasn’t what those people said she was." He wraps his hand around my shoulders and pulls me to him, kissing my head. "So you may think that we have this amazing family. And we do. But every family has some cracks in the foundation. It�
��s about finding the crack and sealing it shut."
He doesn’t say anything. We just sit and stare at the colors that fill the sky. We finish our coffee and walk in with the empty cups just as the door swings open, and Ethan walks in.
He stops in his tracks and smirks at Mayson. "You ready to hunt?" he says, and my stomach falls to the floor.
"Fucking right, I am," Mayson says without missing a beat. He walks to the bedroom.
"What’s going on?" I ask Ethan, trying to control the beating of my heart. I don’t even blink when Mayson is back and dressed in camo pants and a black T-shirt. The tattoo on his arm sticks out so much, or maybe I’m just focusing more on it.
"We are going to the base and share what we found out," Ethan says, looking at Mayson. He walks over to him and slaps his shoulder. "You look skinny."
"Fuck you," Mayson says, pushing Ethan away.
"Okay, let’s go," Ethan says, and I stand here with my heart in my throat.
"I’m not leaving her alone," Mayson says, stopping Ethan in his tracks.
"Quinn is on his way," Ethan says, and I’m both annoyed and a little pissed but mostly sad he’s leaving.
"I don’t need a babysitter," I say, turning and not looking at either of them. "I have plans today anyway," I say, walking into the kitchen. "Have fun hunting," I say over my shoulder and walk to my bedroom. I make it to the bed before I hear the front door slam shut.
I don’t move from my bed, and I don’t know why I think he’s going to come back and kiss me goodbye and tell me everything is okay. Deep down in my heart, I just know I’ll never have him.
I ignore the pain in my chest while I get changed into my jean shorts that show off my lean, toned legs and a white short tank top that molds to my chest and falls just about my belly button. I slip on flip-flops, and I’m walking out the door when Quinn arrives.
Southern Heart Page 11
