by Zoe Dawson
I sat there dumbfounded until she came back. “Booker? Are you coming?”
“I’ve just got to take care of the fire. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Right, the fire. Thanks.”
As I doused the fire in the fireplace, I remembered that burnt-out husk of the piano. What I hadn’t told Aubree was that I cried like a baby afterwards, on my hands and knees in the ashes and mud.
I’d been sixteen years old and had just realized that I’d still been expecting my father to come for us. But I knew then that he wasn’t ever coming back. He hadn’t wanted us, and that realization had been the worst pain I’d ever felt.
I wasn’t ready to tell her that. It would make me too vulnerable, too open. Guys hate that. I felt bad about it, but I figured when I was ready, I would tell her. If I was ever ready. So, I guess I kept my secrets bottled up because if I let them loose, I probably wouldn’t be able to stuff them back in, and no telling what would happen then. And I knew it would hurt, and I didn’t want to relive that pain. Not now. So maybe the secret protected me a little, and even though my conscience was still bothered, I felt a little better about my decision.
It wasn’t until I was in one of her soft guest room beds that I realized that Aubree hadn’t told me her chicken dream. I would have to worm that out of her. I wondered why she wouldn’t tell me how she knew in high school that I wasn’t such a badass. I guess she would tell me when she was ready. Yeah, I wasn’t so thickheaded that I didn’t learn something about myself tonight. And something about Aubree.
I couldn’t have been lying there for more than fifteen minutes when there was a knock on the door.
I sat up, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Booker?” Aubree said through the door.
“Yes,”
“May I come in?”
“Sure, sugar,” I scrambled under the covers since I only had my underwear on.
She opened the door and stood silhouetted against the dim light in the hall.
“Are you all right?”
“No, not really.”
This is a colossal mistake.
“Come here,” I invited.
She closed the door and padded across the room, then pressed a knee to the bed.
I repeat. This is a colossal mistake.
“Is this too…much?” she asked.
“Too much?”
“That I’m here in a bedroom with you after we just had that discussion about sex.”
“You wanted to go slow. Isn’t that what you said?”
“I said we could go slow, since I think you’re having doubts.”
“I’m not having doubts. I’m having a seizure.”
“What?”
“I’m kidding.”
Her brow furrowed. Then she tucked her chin, and her hand slid up to cover her eyes. A soft curse left her mouth. “This is so embarrassing.”
“Why?”
She brought her other knee up on the bed and rested there. She wrapped an arm around her waist. I’d expected her to be jumpy about being alone with me. We might have talked and made out, but she barely knew me. Why wasn’t she jumpy?
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. There were so many nights when I’d thought about her that this seemed more like a dream than reality. “What’s wrong?” I asked, continuing to watch her. She’d gone very still.
She didn’t answer, and after a moment, I realized she couldn’t. She was trying too hard to control whatever emotion had caused her to pull in on herself.
“Hey,” I said, moving closer to her and ducking my head to better see her face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” The lie was barely a whisper. A tremor went through her. I saw it in the brief trembling of her shoulders, in the nervous adjustment of her fingers across her brow. “Yeah, I’m just peachy.”
She went to get off the bed and I reached out and touched her shoulder. She froze. Her head came up and our eyes met.
She was close, very close, her scent coming to me on the air, all warm woman and soft, sweet musk.
Intoxicating.
I found myself breathing deeper just to have more of her. Fuck. I was a moron, trying to breathe her in—but, man, I loved the way she smelled. I didn’t know what to make of the shadowed expression in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I reached out and gently brushed my fingers down her arm.
She hesitated before answering, her gaze dropping. “I shouldn’t have come in here. This could get so complicated.”
There was that jumpiness finally, but I don’t think it had to do with me. I think it was about what was going on with her.
I slid my thumb along the soft cotton of her sleepshirt, then the silken softness of her skin.
“Booker, I—”
I wanted to kiss her. I didn’t think I could stop myself.
“What?” I prompted.
She made a small, dismissive gesture, part shrug, part turn of her hand, and I didn’t want to be dismissed just yet.
“I’m scared,” she said. “My aunt is the only relative that I have left. Returning has taken a toll on me. After what happened...” She paused, her jaw tightening for an instant. “I don’t want to be alone. I just thought…if you wouldn’t mind…” she stopped herself short and her hand came back up to cover her face, then her voice wobbled when she continued. “If you wouldn’t mind just holding me for a little bit.”
My heart flipped end over end over end. She was asking me for something so basic, trusting in me to deliver. The knowledge of what it must have taken for her to ask washed up against me, all her barely-concealed frustrations and worries and fears, and suddenly I got a glimpse into what is was like for her.
It must feel awful to be alone.
And it did me in.
I retreated, and disappointment flashed across her eyes until I lay back and opened my arms. “Remember that shoulder I offered earlier? It’s actually one of a matched pair—that’s two shoulders, equipped with some hard-hugging arms, and a chest to rest on. Come here, sugar.”
With a soft sigh, she gave me the best smile, full of trust and comfort and gratitude.
She scooted forward and slid under the covers, then snuggled all of her sweetness against my chest, her hair so soft.
My arms closed around her, and I had never felt so needed in my life. I was glad that I could be there for her now that so much time had passed since the events on Wild Magnolia Road.
I drifted in what I could only call bliss. Drifted and sank down into slumber until I was awakened by her restless legs and mumbling.
“I’ll work harder.”
She tossed, her hips moving against me.
“I’ll be the perfect chicken!”
“Aubree?”
She twisted a few more time and then her eyes snapped open. “What happened?”
“Chicken dream?”
“Dammit. Not again.”
“How often do you have this dream?”
“A lot.”
“Tell me about it.”
When she explained it, I might have lost a few points because I laughed. It was the cutest dream I’d ever heard. But it was also telling. “It doesn’t take a genius to work out the meaning behind that one.”
“I know.”
“Must have been rough, your childhood.”
“Up until Aunt Lottie found me, yes. My mother wasn’t a very happy woman. I just thought if I was as good as I could be, she would love me. But it seemed that the harder I tried, the worse it got. I don’t think she wanted me.”
“I know how that feels.”
“Tell me the truth. After you burned that piano, you got upset, right?”
“At the risk of losing more macho points, let’s just say it wasn’t my most shining moment.”
“Don’t you know that a woman loves a man who can express what he’s feeling?”
“What Cosmo quiz did you get that out of, huckleberry?”
She snorted.
I brought my
hand up and smoothed my fingers along the curve of her jaw. Truth was I was going all tender with this girl because she’d had a tough time, but she still seemed able to be optimistic. She might be a little uptight, and I decided she really did need someone like me to show her the lighter side of life. Humor was, after all, my armor of choice.
Her eyes met mine and we shared something elusive and mystical. It spun out of us in a heated, tangible, invisible arc from her gaze to mine. I got goose bumps.
I turned my head, rolling to my side, and opened my mouth over hers. She let out a soft gasp, which was perfect, and her hand came up to hold on to my waist.
She had the softest mouth, and I thought I could explore it for the rest of my life without ever getting enough. She cupped my face, her fingers touching me like she couldn’t feel me intensely enough, sliding into my hair and slipping over the back of my neck.
She melted into my arms, and I hadn’t expected how that hard pang to my heart would make me aware that this wasn’t the right time.
I tried to break the kiss, but she wrapped her arms around my neck and devoured my mouth with such fierceness that it went straight to my groin in a wave of pleasure so intense I groaned.
My fantasies had nothing on reality. Really, when I thought about getting this close to her it was all about getting my dick inside her, claiming her, making her mine. But, man, who knew kissing could be so fucking fantastic?
But damn reality intruded. She was vulnerable and scared, and I wasn’t going to make our first time about that. I stopped, right then, right there. Stopped and for a few seconds didn’t move, not an inch, just tried to catch my breath and find my brains. Unfortunately, they had gone way too far south.
She didn’t move either, just lay there with her mouth on mine, her breath ragged, her body trembling—and I knew we were going to make love. It was a given. Because this time it wasn’t just about getting the dick inside.
She’d kissed me like she was drowning and I was the rope that could save her. All my fantasies shattered in the reality of having her in my arms with her mouth hot on mine, her body moving against mine, all curves and softness and need.
Gently, because I couldn’t resist, I kissed her again, brushing my mouth across hers in a light caress, saying soon. Easing us both down a notch.
Not an easy task, because when I looked down at her, her face flushed, her mouth wet, feeling her breasts rise and fall against my chest with every breath, I still wanted to get inside her.
Her eyes drifted open, her gaze slowly recovering from a drowsy dazed state to a thunderstruck, oh-my-god green. That’s when it hit me that she was feeling exactly what I was feeling. We were definitely on the same page.
“Not tonight.”
I shook my head.
She nodded.
Aubree was like that unobtainable goal, always on the mind, always just out of reach. Was my heart on the line here?
I snorted as she snuggled against me.
Of course it fucking was.
It wouldn’t be sex with her.
It would be something else.
I knew that with every fiber of my male psyche.
Why?
Because that girl got to me.
#
When I woke up the next morning, the sun was out and Aubree was gone. But I could still smell her sweet scent. The pattern from the curtains was etched like lace across the bed. I turned to look at the bedside clock. It was nine. Aww, the life of a writer. It was glorious. My own schedule, no one telling me what to do, the possibilities of stories an endless stream in my head.
I rolled out of bed and dressed, feeling amazing. As soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs, I smelled the coffee, eggs and bacon.
Aubree was at her computer, her hair in that tight ponytail, staring at the screen and tapping keys. “Eggs and bacon in the warmer. You’ll have to make your own toast.”
“What?” I said. “This is terrible service.”
“I can’t imagine why that would be.” She glanced up at me with a cheeky grin. “This isn’t a hotel, Outlaw.”
“Do I have to pour my own coffee, too?” I grumbled.
“Yep. Do you need help counting how many lumps you want? Remember, two comes after one. There’ll be a test on it later.”
“I know someone who’s going to get some lumps.”
She giggled and it sounded damn good. I popped two pieces of toast in the toaster and poured my coffee. “What comes after one again?”
She giggled again, which had been the plan.
I came back into the room and she was still at it. “What time did you get up?”
“Seven.”
“Damn, woman. That’s too early.”
“Well, I don’t have a gazillion dollars in the bank like some people.”
“I don’t have a gazillion dollars.”
“Oh?”
“I have two gazillion.”
She huffed and I laughed.
“Go soak your head.”
“Only if you join me. I need a shower.”
The room charged up like fireworks were sizzling and exploding all around us.
“I’ve already had a shower. I don’t want to get all pruney.”
I heard the toast pop and I backed into the kitchen like there were mines on the tiled floor. It was really important to get my toast buttered before it got cold. Hell, all I would have to do is hold it. My body heat would steam it right up.
I went back in with my breakfast and sat at the end of the couch, watching her work some more and eating. “What are you doing today? You staying here?”
“No, I’m going to the hospital to visit with Aunt Lottie. I called the doctor already and they said her condition hasn’t changed, but her brainwaves are good. They still think her brain just needs time to heal, but of course head injuries are tricky. She’s breathing on her own, she had no fracture, and no surgery.”
“That’s great news, Aubree.”
She looked at me, her eyes bright. “It is. After the hospital, I’m having lunch with Verity and River Pearl. Then we’re going over to Verity’s house to see some clothes she made.”
“What about tonight?”
“Tonight I have a date with you.”
I choked on my eggs.
“I’m not sure what it’s going to be. More frog murders, and hence more froggie guts—”
When I opened my mouth to remind her about the fried goodness, she held up her hand.
“—totally for a good cause, and we know where that leads.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “Or if we’ll be roping ‘gators and riding them like bucking broncs, or maybe a nice picnic on that great deck you have while we watch the sunset. Maybe you’ll even grace me with an a cappella version of Blue Bayou.”
“Is this a multiple choice test? If it is, I choose b. I haven’t ridden a ‘gator in a pretty long time. Just call me the ‘gator whisperer. I think they’re going to make a Movie of the Week out of it. There might even be a book.”
“Got it. ‘Gator-riding clothes.” She gave me a whimsical look and shut her laptop.
“You didn’t ask me what I would be doing.”
“I’m not nosey like someone we both know.”
“Oh, is that a fact?”
“Stone cold.”
“Come here,” I said, my face must have tipped her off.
“Nope,” she backed up. “If I go over there, I may never get out of the house. Kissing you is like getting sucked into a really amazing, tactile black hole. You’re the astronaut of awesome.”
I set the plate on the coffee table and vaulted over the couch. She laughed, pivoted, and ran.
I caught her in the hall, hauled her around and up against me. I looked down into her face, her back braced against my arm, her fingers warm on my skin where she held onto my upper arms. I think she had a thing for my biceps.
She had no idea how beautiful she was; she never had. She’d always been brainy, her superpower, but she was clueless to w
hat everybody else knew, that she was stunning.
She didn’t know it, but I’d often fought Damien Langston over her reputation. There was no shortage of posturing males that had set their sights on her. But I’d seen her in fourth grade, when she’d moved from Baton Rouge to Suttontowne, and that had just been that.
My guess was that Aubree didn’t date much in high school because of her uptight attitude, her low self-esteem, and her smarty-pants-know-it-all air, and I guess I had to be counted as a deterrent. Despite the reputation my brothers and I had in town, violence wasn’t ever at the top of my list for ways to take care of business. Most guys in high school didn’t want to mess with the Outlaws. We were a matched set of bad-ass bad boys. Not really because we wanted that reputation, but because, unfortunately, it was a necessity. It was much better to be known as an ass-kicker than a target.
The whole guy thing with girls was so naturally physical, physical confrontation was inevitable. Guys had only one goal with girls, gettin’ them some, and other guys were well aware of that concept, and that’s why they got so pissed off. So when Langston had started talking like he’d nailed her, I’d called him out. It hadn’t taken more than a fist in his face to solve the problem, but a pattern had been set.
Aubree Walker was Mission Impossible. When she’d left for college after what had happened on Wild Magnolia Road, I had gone a little crazy, angry crazy. I knew there were guys in college. A whole hellava lot of guys, and all of them would want her.
I knew exactly what I wanted.
And now here she was, so damn close. The intoxicating floral scent of her perfume couldn’t mask the fundamental female scent of warm skin and soft breath, of the back of her neck and the lace of her bra and panties, unmentionables wrapped around just the curves I wanted to get my mouth on.
And she was going to let me.
With our eyes locked, hers filled with that wonderful shine, desire building between us, with the night a tantalizing tease, and years of fascination behind us, she told me she wanted me.
Geezus. I didn’t know if I had it in me—to kiss her this time. It was like Russian roulette. To just kiss her. I’d done it at my house and upstairs last night, but she’d broken down, and the emotions I’d felt then swamped me again.
