by Amelia Shea
“So, um, Cia’s nine?”
He nodded. “Yeah, last month.”
Bailey stared back at him with a small lighting gleam in her eyes. “I bet you’re a good dad.”
He shrugged. He liked to think he was. He loved his girl more than anything and would do anything for her. She was still young enough she adored him, but his time was running out, he guessed. Before long, she’d be bringing boys home, and he’d be forced to scare the living hell out of them.
“Is she super girly or a tomboy?” Bailey took a bite of her food and watched him. She may not realize it, but he was falling harder for her every second she asked about his daughter. Most of the women he casually dated in the past weren’t looking for anything serious, or maybe they were. It hadn’t mattered. He was waiting for the right woman. He eyed Bailey. Here she is, well worth the wait.
“A little bit of both.”
Bailey smiled. “I was like Cia when I was younger. I’d roughhouse with my brothers wearing my dress-up clothes and flower crown.”
The rest of the meal was spent casually talking about Cia and her family. When he finished his meal, he drank a beer waiting on Bailey. She grabbed his plate and started cleaning up, which he helped along with.
He rested against the side of her fridge, watching her struggle with washing the pan. Each time her sleeve would get wet, she’d stop. She refused to pull up her sleeves, and Saint knew why. Exposing her scars was something Bailey didn’t do. He understood why. People, even with good intentions, had a habit of staring.
He wouldn’t come into her life and demand she change. Whatever worked for Bailey, he would deal with whether he agreed with it or not. Except around me. Hiding herself in his presence, he wouldn’t allow. Setting it up now would prove easier for her in the future. He pushed off the fridge and rested his bottle on the table making his way to stand behind her.
“How ’bout I dry?”
She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “You don’t have to. I was going to set them in the dryer rack.”
He curved his lip. “I don’t mind.”
He reached across the counter for the towel, and his chest grazed her back. He heard the small intake of breath then her hands pulled away from the faucet. The corner of her sleeve was soaked.
Saint tossed the towel on the counter and reached around her body, pressing his chest against her back. His hands clasped the cuffs of her sleeve, and he pulled them up to her elbows. He’d expected her response. She froze without saying a word, gasping a short breath. His fingers trailed down both arms, and she shivered against his touch. He knew it would be difficult, but covering up in front of him was not an option. Her hair brushed again his chin as she bowed her head.
“Does it bother you?”
The uncertainty in her voice was a knife through his heart.
“Yes.” He sighed. “It bothers me.”
Her head nodded, and she stepped closer to the sink breaking contact. He mirrored her move, and his chest sidled up against her back once more. He wasn’t going to lie to her. He would be honest and give her everything he was feeling. He’d waited too long for her to take things slow when it came to her scars. He was prepared to put it all out there.
His fingers trailed down her arms again, circling over her scars. Her hands seemed shaky. “It bothers me knowing someone hurt you, bothers me I didn’t know you back then, couldn’t help you.” His hand trailed over her skin, up her arm. He caressed across her shoulder up her neck before cupping her jaw and tilting her face toward his. He was struck by the uncertainty daunting her eyes. He angled closer, strumming his thumb lightly over her cheek. “It bothers me you suffered. You were in pain for a long time. No matter how much time has passed and how much you healed, you’ll always have a reminder staring back at you. I’m glad you can move on, but it bothers me you’ll never forget. And it bothers me that I can’t do anything to make it better.”
It may have been too heavy for their first date, but Saint was prepared to give her everything and not hold back. Her bottom lip fell open, and her brows spiked to her hairline. Maybe he should have waited. Her lips pressed together. If she wanted to say something, he wasn’t sure she’d be able to get it out.
She gulped, keeping her gaze locked on his. He released her jaw, sliding his hands over her shoulders down to her arms again, and she glanced down at the sink.
He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Too much?”
She slowly shook her head, and he continued to caress both of her arms.
“What you just said? It’s probably the sweetest thing any man has ever said to me.” Her voice shook with a slight gasp. Her back shifted against his chest. “Thank you, Saint.”
“Don’t thank me for speaking my truth, sweetheart.” His lips grazed over her head.
Her body, which had been completely on edge, relaxed against him as he continued touching her, never lingering, just a soft caress. Her scars didn’t bother him, not the way she thought, and he was out to prove that point. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
“How about we do a fire in the back?”
She turned her head and smiled. “Yeah?”
He smirked. “You got marshmallows? ’Cause no self-respecting bonfire can happen without them.”
Her nose scrunched, giving her an adorable innocent glow. “Didn’t peg you as a roasting marshmallows kinda guy,” she whispered.
He leaned closer. “Marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers are a staple in my house. Cia wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He pressed his lips against her head and shifted over, grabbing the towel and picking up a pan from the rack. Bailey continued washing dishes. He caught her peek up at him with a smile, which he gladly returned.
They were done within ten minutes before he headed out to the yard to start the fire. He took note Bailey hadn’t moved her sleeves to cover her arm.
****
The fire crackled and popped from the pine. Fire was mesmerizing and calming. This wasn’t the first time she’d sat by the fire, but having someone with her was new.
“You build a better fire than me.”
His soft rumbling chuckle made her smile, and she glanced over at him. His stare was on the flames, legs extended straight, and leaning back into the chair, his hands clasped around the bottle resting on his stomach. God, Saint is hot.
“Thanks for coming over tonight.” It was a lame excuse for conversation. The talking had ceased, and they were in a lull right now. He glanced over.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
She smiled. She tried to put his admission into the back of her mind. If she thought too long, she’d probably freak out. Then more silence. He’d leave soon, right? She bit her lip. The last thing she wanted was for this night to end. She knew eventually it would, and she still wasn’t convinced this had been a full-fledged date. Of course, it’s a date. Maybe he was feeling pity for her after the whole Dobbs debacle. But to blow off the club run just to have dinner with her, it had to mean something. Or not. It seemed like a date. Wasn’t this how dates went—dinner, conversation, hanging out, and ending the night with a kiss. A kiss? Was that even in the cards for them? He’d have to make the first move. There was no way she was leaning in and risking the rejection. She felt her face burn with the mental image playing over in her head. She’d lean in, rise on her toes because he’s a foot taller, angle her head to the left, grasp his strong shoulders, and boom…. he’d turn away. Her stomach rolled in a painful twist.
“I’d never turn away, sweetheart.”
Her heart stopped, her entire body ceased any movement, and her belly dropped. She wasn’t even breathing. Did she just speak out loud? Her mouth opened, but nothing came out, no words, no breath, nothing. No, she imagined him saying that. She slowly lifted her gaze from the fire and peeked over at Saint, who was staring at her. Oh my God. No!
She did, she had said it out loud. Tears were threatening, the moisture building. Embarrassment had been a way
of life for Bailey since she was a kid, but nothing, not one time had she ever felt the despair she had now. The need to run in the house, lock the doors, and hide in her bed forever was real. Go, run, now!
She planted her feet on the ground, prepping for her escape, still locked in a gaze with Saint.
“I-I…” She clamped her lips shut, knowing nothing comprehensible would come out.
Saint shifted forward, resting his beer on the ground and emerged from his chair, taking a step closer to her seat. He stopped staring down at her. Her heart was erratic, and if glanced down at her chest, he’d probably see it beating through her shirt.
“Been waiting on a kiss since I saw you stumble down the aisle at the town meeting, coming in with your head down, red hair flying around you, then you settle in, looked up, and I was done. Couldn’t take my eyes off your face, those lips.”
Her bottom lip fell open, and she stared in shock. She remembered very clearly their first meeting. She also remembered trying her best not to stare at the back of the room, bringing them unwanted attention. At the time, she was trying to be polite, as they stuck out like a sore thumb in the small town hall. It had taken effort once she’d gotten a glimpse of the man with the violet eyes. The same eyes staring down at her. He’d been waiting a year for her? Is that what he was saying? She swallowed the lump in her throat.
His jaw tensed, and his eyes darkened. “Then seeing you on the street, the old man screaming at you and knowing I was seconds from introducing my fist to his face if he took one step closer. He didn’t. He left, you turned around, and again, same feeling. I was done.”
Oh my God.
“Now.” he paused. “You’re staring up at me, a sweet blush across your cheeks, a small glimmer in your eyes and again, those soft lips. A year of wanting. I’m done, Bailey.”
Her heart raced and a tingling sensation coursed through her blood. She licked her lips, racking her brain for something to say. She had nothing. He’d left her speechless. Stop thinking. She rose from her chair, not thinking of blurting out anything, or her own embarrassment. She moved closer, trailing her hands up his chest. Even through the fabric of his shirt, she could feel him. Strong and masculine. She tipped up her chin and rose on her toes at the same time his head angled and dipped down. For as nervous as she was, nothing could keep her from kissing Saint. It certainly wasn’t her first kiss. However, it had been a long time. Four years to be exact. Her introduction back with Saint was comparable to getting karate lessons from Bruce Lee. He was so out of her league. Her fingers trembled, and she cursed her nerves. She could probably blame it on the chill in the air if he asked. Saint wouldn’t ask though.
His lips brushed against her, soft and slow. Nothing like what she expected. His mouth caressed hers. It wasn’t passionate or a throwdown kind of kiss. If anything, it felt as though he may be holding back. She got up the nerve to rest her shaking hand over his heart and leaned into his chest. She was teetering on her toes and wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay. Her lips skimmed over his as her heart pounded.
Saint took her weight, bracing her back and pulling her up against his body, leaving her feet dangling. Her immediate reaction was to grasp his shoulders, and when she did, it was like his button had been pushed. His kiss deepened, and she spread her lips, hoping he would take her cue. He didn’t, and she was done waiting. She slipped her tongue past his lips, licking his thick bottom lip before swirling her tongue with his. His hand gripped her and crushed her against his chest.
She peeked her eyes open slightly to find his closed and immediately shut hers. Closed eyes kissing.
She caressed his neck with the pads of her fingers, digging into his skin. His lips were like silk sliding over hers.
He didn’t break away even when he started moving and taking her with him. He was holding her in an iron tight grip, and her legs spread over his lap as he settled back into his seat. Her entire body was heating up from being so close to him. She was like a second skin over his chest and lap. She curled her hands over his shoulders while he caressed her back and slowly skittered over her ass.
She had obsessed over the prospect of kissing Saint, but not much of what would come after. Of course, he was a man who had available women whenever he wanted at the clubhouse. A simple kiss was not going to be enough for him. He’d want more, and by the bulge pressing against her, he was ready now. She gripped his shoulders and fought against wanting him inside her, and fear of getting naked in front of him.
She angled her head, wanting to get as close as possible to him. Her need was so great she swiveled her hips against his growing erection. Her desire was in battle with reality. She just wanted to be closer. She glided her tongue against his and moaned slightly. She gasped when his hands slid around to her waist, and he leaned back. She was straddling him, and as comfortable as she was, kissing was one thing, talking in her current position made her uneasy.
Saint lingered a soft kiss on her lips and kept his hands steady on her waist. Heat rose up her neck, and she refused to meet his stare. They were only inches apart when he settled into his seat.
She stared at his belt buckle and licked her bottom lip. Without looking at him, she could feel her skin tingle knowing his gaze was locked on her.
The heat from the fire was making her back hot. She reached around and tugged at the hem of her shirt, letting some air in. She refused to glance up, unsure of what she was doing. Her hand rubbed against his when she was adjusting her shirt. Saint released her waist and clasped his hand in hers, his thumb strumming over her knuckles in a very soothing, sweet gesture. She smiled slightly.
“This all right?” It wasn’t a whisper. Saint had a low, calm voice. It was smooth, and he never hiccupped any words or got flustered.
“Uh-huh.” It was all she could make out without letting her voice crack or stutter. Oh, he must have thought she was a fool or a tease or so inexperienced, he was completely regretting ever agreeing to coming over tonight. His hand tightened around her.
“Are ya gonna look at me?” he asked.
She flickered her gaze up through her lashes to find Saint staring at her. Even in the dark with dim lighting, his purple eyes were amazing.
“I do something you didn’t like?”
She furrowed her brows. Was he nuts? She loved every damn thing he’d said and done since he got there. Maybe it was a prelude to what he was thinking. Reverse psychology?
“Did I do something you didn’t like?”
The corner of his mouth jutted softly. “I like everything you do, Bailey.” He paused. “A little too much, I think.” His brow perked up in a sinister arch. If not for his smile, she might have been nervous.
She licked her lips and cleared her throat. She didn’t have the confidence or the ease that Saint had when he carried himself. She was a babbling idiot.
“Should I get up?”
“Not unless you want to.” He wrapped one arm around her waist and hoisted his chest forward, which sent her leaning back. Had his arm not been locked around her, she might have fallen. He wouldn’t have let me. She watched as he stretched out his free arm and grabbed his beer from the ground before settling back in his seat. The movement sent her rubbing against his erection.
It was a strange position to be in, sprawled over his lap. It was too intimate, and she wasn’t sure where she should put her hands. She eyed the armrest to his left and reached out with a single hand. His grip around her waist didn’t give, and she glanced up to find a small smile playing on his lips.
Without even realizing she was doing it, her lips curled, and she sighed. “You have a nice smile, Saint.”
His eyes crinkled. “Yeah?”
She nodded. Then the silence. Another awkward moment of her straddling him, which made her uneasy.
“I should get up. I’m probably crushing ya.”
He snorted and lifted the bottle to his lips. She was mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Such an odd thing, though
she found his extremely sexy. Then again, she had yet to find something on him she didn’t find sexy and arousing. From his lips to his neck and knowing his toned chest and thick arms, she was shifting her weight and fighting against a throbbing clit. Her cheeks burned wondering if he could read her well enough to know she was wet.
“What did you do today?”
She blinked, focusing on his question. Hopefully, her libido would settle down with generic talk. If this conversation turned to sex, she might just orgasm, fully-clothed, on his lap.
“Dodging calls from Dobbs.” She chuckled. It was an attempt to get her mind off anything other than her lingering sexual frustration. She wasn’t prepared for his reaction.
All sense of ease drained from Saint’s features, and his cheeks hollowed. A small tick plagued his jaw in a faint twitch. Oh, this isn’t good. She shifted on his lap, pushing against his arm around her waist. Her breath hitched, and her heart pounded. Since the incident, any show of anger set something off inside her. Self-preservation, maybe. She gripped the armrest, keeping her stare on him. She needed to keep him in sight in case he was set off and came at her. She’d made that mistake once. It wouldn’t happen again.
His brows dipped, and he scanned her face, down her body, and landed on her hand tightly wrapped around the chair. He sucked in a harsh breath loud enough for her to hear.
Truthfully, she didn’t know Saint. She knew of him, knew how people talked of him with god-like status, knew the men respected him. She didn’t really know Saint or what he might be capable of. She had no idea how he handled anger. Her breath shallowed. She was in the most vulnerable position, with a man she didn’t really know.
He trailed his gaze up to meet her stare, and his eyes softened. Slowly, he unraveled his arm from her waist, and she noticed his fingers didn’t touch her body. She was left merely sitting on him, free to get up.
“Whatever you’re feeling, whatever has got ya wound up with fear, Bailey, you let it go when you’re with me, sweetheart.” His voice was low as usual, but she heard the restraint with each word. “I’d never hurt you.” His chin lowered. “Never lay an unwanted hand on you. You hear me?”
