Two Mississippi.
Three Mississip . . .
His left arm snaked around my waist as his right hand traveled up my thigh. Hart opened his eyes a split second before pressing his lips to mine. The rhythm of the kiss was slow and methodical, his tongue moving deeper into my mouth with each swirl around mine. It was a kiss making up for each year we missed being together. It was a kiss taking all the pain away.
Hart broke from my lips, both of us gasping for air. “I love you, Bryson.”
It was a kiss welcoming Hart home.
“Hey! That tickles!” I yelled, giggling as my back lurched off the bed.
His fingers wrapped around my ankles, holding my legs in place. “Keep still.” Looking up, his golden brows pushed into his forehead at the same time a devilish grin appeared. “God, you’re still so wet. Maybe, if I blow on it . . .”
Hart was leaning against the headboard, shirtless and in black sweat pants. I was stretched out across the bed wearing one of his white T-shirts. The acoustic version of “Latch” by Boyce Avenue swirled in the air. With my feet resting just below his smooth chest, Hart swept the deep dark red polish over my nails.
Lifting up on my elbows, I eyed his handiwork, wiggling my second toe. “I think you put a little too much polish on that one.”
“Bryson, please, my mother was a painter. Artistic talent oozes from every pore of my body.”
Intently focused on the task at hand, he paid meticulous attention to each brush stroke. Hart looked hot doing pretty much anything but this was definitely a contender for the top five.
A shiver ran through my body as I flopped back onto the bed. “I stand corrected, Rembrandt.”
A stream of warm breath drifted over the top of my foot, causing me to squirm a little. I had dreamed, wished, and prayed about the moment when Hart admitted he loved me. But the dream didn’t hold a candle to the real thing. Now that I had a frame of reference for what a true connection and being in love with someone really felt like, there was no turning back. Hart Mitchell had set the gold standard that no other man would ever be able to achieve.
My gaze drifted up to the large painting hanging above the bed. I’d stared at it several times before, always getting lost in the beautiful blend of blues, greens, oranges, and yellows. I still wasn’t able to shake the feeling that I’d seen it or something similar to it.
“All done,” he said, placing the bottle of nail polish on the nightstand.
I lifted my feet straight up in the air, checking the final product. “They look gorgeous. Thank you, Remy.”
Hart grasped both ankles, pulling my legs down toward his chest, causing my head to pop up.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He planted my feet back on his chest. “These babies have to dry completely before you start moving around or you’ll ruin my masterpiece.”
I relaxed back onto the bed. “Yes, Master.”
“Say that again.”
“Yes, Master?”
“It’s got a nice ring to it. We should try it on for size next time I have you service me.”
Without raising my head, I grabbed one of the pillows beside me and chucked it at him.
“Hey! Watch the nails!” He laughed.
“I’ll Master you only if you Mistress me.”
“I could get into that.” I heard the smile in his voice.
We were quiet for several minutes enjoying the music and being together. My eyes closed while strong hands massaged up, down, and all around my calves and feet.
“Mmm . . . that feels amazing.”
“Glad it meets with your approval, Mistress.”
“It does have a nice ring to it.”
Hart’s thumb mindlessly glided back and forth over my ankle as a deep chuckle vibrated from his chest followed by more silence. Just as I was on the verge drifting into an unexpected nap something cold and wet pressed against my arm. Squealing, my eyes shot open as I bolted into a sitting position and tried to yank my feet free. But Hart wouldn’t let them budge.
With his head rested back and eyes closed, he said, “Butter, I told you no one wants your toys.”
I turned to a pair of liquid caramel eyes hidden behind a large squeaking yellow chicken. Butter dragged the toy over the edge of the bed trying to find a playmate. Two whimpers slipped before the bird dropped. Her long pink tongue unrolled from her mouth and hung off to the side.
Tilting my head to the side I gave Butter a smile. “It’s okay, girl. Thank you for offering me your drool-drenched toy.”
Prancing around in circles, her tail swished back and forth before she flew out of the room.
“Bryson, our kids will steamroll over us if we don’t present a united front.” He teased.
Curling my toes into his chest, a warm sensation spread throughout my body. I knew he was joking. It was much too early in our relationship to even consider having children. But the fact that he saw a future for us had me floating on cloud nine.
Lying back on the bed, I propped up my head with a pillow and stared at the man of my dreams. “Tell me about your mom.”
The corners of his mouth drifted up into a bittersweet grin.
“She was lovely . . .”
My heart skipped a beat hearing him use the same word to describe his mom as he used for me.
With his thumb in perpetual motion, he continued. “. . . And had a quiet strength and peace about her. Even during difficult times she found something to be grateful for.”
“Colin said she was the cool mom of the group.”
His eyes opened, filled with love, heartache, and a hint of surprise. “When did you and Colin talk?”
For a brief second a twinge of panic hit my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t have revealed I’d been talking with his friends about his life.
“We were just shooting the breeze during the basketball tournament.”
He tipped his chin up acknowledging my answer.
His expression hardened slightly. “She and my dad divorced when I was six. He went off to do his thing, which included a new wife and kids. So it was pretty much just me and Mom.”
“Did you have any type of relationship with your dad?”
“He’d send the obligatory Christmas and birthday presents. But he wasn’t very giving of his time.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I hated that Hart’s dad basically dumped him and his mom for a new shiny family. My parents had been married for years. My dad had more in common with Ryan since both of them loved sports and fishing. But he still made it a point for us to have father-daughter time even if that meant putting on a big flowered hat and attending a pretend tea party. It was hard for me to fathom a father not wanting to take part in his child’s life even after a divorce.
Each time Hart talked about just his mom, his expression softened. “Don’t be. Between my three uncles, Mom made sure I had strong male role models in my life. Hell, she even acted as assistant coach for my little league soccer team. She didn’t know the first thing about the game. But she was always there cheering me on.”
“Was she always an artist?”
He nodded. “An extremely talented one.”
“Her work is beautiful.”
“Yeah it is. She was also one of the lucky ones being able to actually make a living doing what she loved, running the Hope Mitchell Gallery downtown.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Things were going really good until they weren’t.”
It had been ten years since his mother’s death but the pain rolled off of his body as if she’d died yesterday.
“My mom used to tell me, you can get past the death of a loved one but you never get over it.”
Hart glanced away for a moment, blinking. I placed my hand on his thigh and gave it a slight squeeze. When he didn’t react, it dawned on me it was because he couldn’t feel the comfort I offered. Then it was my turn to blink back tears.
“She went in for a routine checkup and . .
. um . . .” He cleared his throat. “. . . Was already stage three.” His voice cracked and my heart broke.
I sat up, wanting to wrap my arms around him, but he pressed my feet into his chest even more. Leaning back, I supported myself on my outstretched arms and listened.
Hart’s gaze focused on his thumbs that were still gliding slowly over the top of my ankle. “After three years, five surgeries, and so many rounds of chemo, I lost count, the doctors told us they’d exhausted every possible treatment. At the time it was hard for me to wrap my head around what was going on. I didn’t understand how they could just give up on her.” Hesitating, he looked at me with tear-glazed eyes. “She was my mom.”
A steady stream of tears rolled down my cheeks as I swallowed a sob. I didn’t know who needed my arms around his body more, Hart or me. I wriggled my legs trying to set them free but Hart held on.
“Because it was just the two of us, the doctors along with my dad thought it was best if I went to live with him while Mom was admitted to the hospice house. It felt like this stranger wanted to plop me in the middle of his new life, expecting me to fit in. But Mom wanted to stay home for as long as possible and I was determined to make that happen. She’d give me some type of signal when she was ready to leave.”
Hart was even stronger than I initially thought. As I looked at him, I said a little prayer to his incredible mom, thanking her for raising this incredible man.
“I don’t know what I would have done without Miss Polly. She and I worked out a pretty tight routine. She stayed with Mom during the day while I was at school. She kept the place spotless. Always washed, ironed, and put away the laundry. She even ironed the sheets because Mom liked them that way.”
Hart took in a deep breath and continued. “When I was a kid, every morning after I left for school, without fail, she went into her home studio to create. She always said it was the second love of her life next to me.” He paused again, reining in his emotions. “Even during the roughest chemo treatments she still wanted to paint. It was like oxygen to her. As she became weaker, I’d set up her canvas, paint, and brushes just the way she liked them and helped her to the studio. Then one day I had set everything up and went to get her. I walked into her room and she was still in bed, which was unusual. That day she told me she didn’t feel like painting. And I knew that was the signal.”
Wiping my tear drenched face with my palms, I pleaded. “Hart, let go.”
The second he loosened his grip, I scurried to the head of the bed next to him. Pedicure be damned. Curling my arms around his head, I brought him to my chest and slowly combed my fingers through his hair. Hart’s arms snaked around my waist and tightened. His body didn’t shake but I could feel the dampness of tears on my shoulder. We stayed in this position for a long time, neither of us saying a word or making any attempt to move.
Not only did this man have strength of character but also presence of heart. He wasn’t afraid or embarrassed to show his feelings for the ones he cared for. Although, I got the distinct impression that opening up and making himself this vulnerable was reserved for only a few select people, namely Colin and now me. I was honored and grateful to be added to the list.
With his arms still wrapped around my body, Hart lifted his head. The tips of our noses stayed connected. I cupped the side of his jaw, pressing my lips to his. A small knot formed in my stomach. If I hadn’t been such an idiot back in high school I could have at least formed a friendship with Hart. I hated myself for not being there for him.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you during her illness and the accident.”
“You don’t have to apologize, Bryson. Everything happens for a reason, even if we never understand the why.” His nose trailed up and down mine. “She really wanted to meet you.” His warm breath wafted over my lips as the words came out like a loud whisper.
Pulling back slightly, I squished my eyebrows together. “What?”
“What?”
Sniffling, I composed myself. “You said your mom really wanted to meet me.”
“You caught that, did ya?”
I’ve witnessed Hart’s intense gaze, sexy grin, flirty winks, his caring and loving eyes, and his drop dead, don’t-fuck-with-me look. But the expression on his face was a new one and out of this world adorable. He looked like a boy who’d just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Yeah, I caught that. Care to explain?”
He glanced down for a second. When he looked back up, a sexy grin coupled with soft eyes made an appearance.
“I love you, Bryson,” he said, just before pressing his lips against mine. His tongue lightly flicked between my lips, trying to coax them apart.
My mouth flattened into a straight line as I brought my hand up and pressed it on Hart’s forehead. “You think you can distract me with your sexy mouth?”
Goose bumps popped up along my skin as his hand tickled up my thigh and slipped under the T-shirt. “I was going to let my fingers take a crack at it too.”
The aforementioned fingers were about an inch away from their final destination.
I glued my knees together. “Explain, please.”
He removed his hand and leaned back. “Mom’s biggest fear was that I’d be lonely after she was gone. She knew the guys, my uncles, and even my dad would be there for me. But at some point people go back to their everyday normal lives. She was a romantic and thought if I had someone special by my side I’d never be lonely. So I kind of told her you were my girlfriend. You gotta understand . . . I would have told Mom anything to give her peace of mind so she wouldn’t worry about me, even if it was a lie.”
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
“It really wasn’t that far from the truth. I wanted you, and you definitely played a starring role in a lot of my wet dreams.”
I slapped his arm. “Hart!”
He grabbed my wrist and placed a kiss in the center of my palm.
Narrowing my eyes, I said, “That’s why you showed up at the prom . . . because your mom wanted you to go.”
“That and I wanted to see you . . . and dance with you at least one time.”
My chest tightened. That brief moment was the only time Hart and I danced before he lost the full use of his legs. By the look in his eyes he was thinking the same thing.
“She loved Tony Bennett and got the biggest smile on her face when I told her we danced to him. Of course I left out the part about your humongous nipples.”
I raised my hand to slap his arm again but he grabbed my wrist, tugging me to his chest.
“In fact, that painting . . .” Tilting his chin, he indicated the giant painting above his bed. “. . . Was inspired by the prom story. It was the last work she completed.” A hint of sadness clouded his eyes but was gone in a flash.
“It’s the aquarium,” I said, twisting my body to gaze up at the painting. “Every time I looked, it felt familiar but I couldn’t figure out why.” Shifting, I grabbed the headboard and pulled myself up to get a closer look at the Hope Mitchell original.
As I stared at the painting for the umpteenth time it came alive with memories. “I can see it so clearly now. All the different hues of blues, greens, and yellows whooshing around this section . . .” I waved my hand over the area. “. . . Looks like the bottom of the sea. And right up at the top . . .” I stretched my arm, pointing. “See how the color intensity gets weaker until nothing is left but bright white like the sun crashing into the surface of the water.” Concentrating on the very middle of the canvas, I saw something I’d never noticed before. It was so faint and blended in seamlessly that at a quick glance it was easy to miss. “There’s a couple dancing.”
Looking down I was met with smoky blue eyes filled with love and desire. Hart’s hand traveled up my left calf, sending a shiver through my body. His rough beard pricked my sensitive skin as his lips grazed over my right upper thigh, placing soft wet kisses along the way. His left hand continued its trek up, roaming over my cotton
panties. My body buzzed with anticipation. Light kisses alternated with the feel of his scruff-covered cheek gliding between my inner thighs. I closed my eyes and let my head loll back. Sliding his hands down to the back of my thighs, he spread my legs apart before pushing his face between them.
“Hart.” I sighed.
“Hmmm?”
The deep rumble of his answer vibrated against my core, causing my knees to buckle. Hart’s right hand shot up, palming the right side of my ass as he held me steady.
I dug my fingers into the dark wood and moaned. “Oooh, god.”
Hooking his fingers around the top of my panties, he slipped the cotton over my ass and down my legs.
“Keep talking,” he mumbled before plunging tongue first inside of me.
Me: Hey, it’s been a month and a half. We need to talk and iron out details.
Will: I’m swamped at work. Be able to take time after the holidays. Salary will still go in joint account, bills will be paid.
Me: I appreciate that. I’m busy with work too but we really need to get the papers drawn up and move forward.
Will: After the holidays.
“Exactly what are we doing here?” Sophie’s face scrunched up as she eyed rows of camping, fishing, and hunting gear.
It had just turned midnight and was officially Black Friday. Sophie and I had been going out on Black Friday since we were fifteen. When we first started the tradition we didn’t have any money so we weren’t interested in the sales. We just thought it was cool to be at the mall late at night/early in the morning, whichever way you wanted to look at it.
“I told you Hart and his friends are going on their annual fishing trip in a couple of weeks. And I wanted to put his Christmas present together and give it to him before they go so he can use it.”
“Let’s get crack-a-lackin’ and get this over with. The Coach store is calling my name.”
I checked my list then scanned the signs at the front of each aisle, hoping for some direction. I wasn’t a very outdoorsy person. I liked being outside when the weather was nice and I loved going to the beach. Sitting around the pool with a glass of wine always interested me. But growing up around my dad and brother who were big into camping and fishing, I’d picked up a few knowledgeable tidbits. So I wasn’t at a complete loss in a store like this.
the Dance Page 33
