Second Chance Charmer

by Brighton Walsh

  She begged herself to stop cataloguing his features there, but her eyes didn’t listen as they continued their path of no return until they reached his best feature—his mouth. His lips weren’t overly full, but the curve of his top lip begged to be traced—and she had too. With her fingers. And her tongue.

  Low, so low she wasn’t sure Mac or Ty could even hear him, he said, “Stop lookin’ at me like that, or I’m gonna start thinkin’ you want more than you’re sayin’.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her eyes glued to his lips.

  Said lips kicked up a notch on the side. He leaned closer—how was that even possible when it felt like they were as close as they could be while in mixed company? “C’mon, Willowtree, let’s go down the hall and discuss your options. Alone.”

  His words shattered her trance, reminding her exactly why she shouldn’t be in such close proximity to him. She crossed her arms over her chest, desperate to hide her reaction. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was still attracted to him.

  Even if it was the painfully obvious truth.

  “Funny, I didn’t think you were a tattoo artist,” she said. “Though, to be fair, I guess I really have no idea what you’ve been doin’ with your life since I haven’t heard from you in a decade.”

  He reached up and rubbed his fingers over his jaw, studying her. “I didn’t want to have to bring out the big guns for this.”

  She set her shoulders, narrowing her eyes at him. “Oh yeah? What’re those?”

  He leaned even closer, his breath a whisper of air against her mouth. “Either go back there and listen to what I have to say, or I’m gonna tell Mac and Ty the sound you make when you—”

  She yelped and didn’t even think about it as she slapped her hand over his mouth, her eyes wide in horror, darting over to where her sister and Ty sat, oblivious to what was going on between the two of them. “You wouldn’t,” she hissed.

  Along with a raise of an eyebrow and a nip to her fingers currently pressed against those perfectly shaped lips of his, everything about his body language said, try me. She studied him, wondering if he was bluffing. The sure and steady way he stared back at her indicated he absolutely wasn’t. Not even a little.

  She shoved her hand harder against his mouth, pushing him toward the hallway off to the left. “I hate you.”

  He stepped back with a smile and led them down the hall and into an unoccupied bedroom. “Knew you’d see it my way.”

  “Not like you gave me a hell of a lot of choice.”

  “Aw, I think you and I both know you just needed an excuse to come back here.”

  “You are such an arrogant jack—”

  The word cut off on her tongue as he reached out, his fingers hooking around her hip, his thumb pressed to the space where the black bird was permanently marked on her skin. After all this time, how did he remember the exact location? His touch burned through the thin layer of her shorts as he rubbed the area in tiny circles, her nipples hardening almost painfully at the intimate touch.

  “Why’re you thinkin’ of getting this removed, Willowtree?”

  She swallowed and tried to think about anything other than what it felt like to have his hands on her. She failed. After ten years, it’d been easy to brush off the connection she’d remembered between them. To wave it off as childish infatuation. Pretend she’d built it up in her mind and it hadn’t been as electric as she’d once thought. But now? Now that he was eliciting reactions in her with a single thumb that other men hadn’t been able to garner with their whole bodies and hours of time, it was clear she’d only been fooling herself. The two of them together were a perfect storm.

  “Because I don’t want to see it anymore,” she said, forcing herself to speak through a throat clogged with desire.

  “Is that right? Seems to me you might need a little reminder to fly.”

  Oh, that was rich coming from him. Her days of flying were long gone. “Yeah, well, there was a flaw in your plan. Because when I see this bird now? All I think is how you flew, Finn. So forgive me if I don’t want that reminder on my skin every day for the rest of my life.”

  His grip on her hip tightened as he tugged her until their fronts pressed together. And—whoa, momma—she wasn’t the only one heating up at their nearness if the hard ridge pressing against her stomach was any indication.

  “You think I don’t have the same damn reminder? That you were here the whole time without me? These are your roots on me, Willowtree,” he said, pulling up his shirt and giving her a glimpse of the tattoo on the side of his rib cage he’d gotten the same day as hers. The one she’d drawn for him so long ago. The top was obscured by his shirt, but she knew what’d be there—the wispy leaves of a willow tree. The trunk twisted and contorted until it widened at the base, the roots spreading like outstretched fingers near his hip. Had there always been so many? She couldn’t remember.

  Finn reached down and grabbed her hand, pressing her fingers to his skin. His muscles rippled under her touch. “These are your roots on me, and no matter what’s happened between us, I’d never want anything to erase what we had. Because what we had was real, Willow, and you know it. Don’t forget that. Don’t discount it.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him all they’d experienced was puppy love, but the words wouldn’t come. They were frozen in her throat because they’d be the single greatest lie she’d ever told in her entire life. Without any conscious thought, her fingers started tracing the lines of ink on Finn’s skin, and all she could do was watch. He was so solid and warm under her fingertips, his puffs of air growing faster and faster against her neck, then her cheek, then her lips.

  And even though it’d been a long time, she knew what was coming a split second before he pressed his mouth against hers. Her sound of protest was lost in the space between their mouths as he swiped his tongue against her lips. And then there was nothing but Finn and his sinful mouth and his body flush against hers. He swept his tongue inside her mouth, and Lord, had he always tasted this good? Had he always kissed this good?

  Never breaking away from her mouth, he walked them until Willow’s back was pressed against the wall, and then he just sort of…settled in. His hips held hers against the wall, the length of his erection pressing into her, proving this wasn’t at all one-sided as his hand continued its maddening path along her hip. But then—Lord, then he slipped his thumb under the waistband of her shorts until there was nothing between his rough fingertip and the part of her body forever marked as his. If it were possible, the soft caresses had her melting even further into him.

  He kissed her like he was a starving man feasting on his first meal in a month. She’d forgotten how he’d always put his whole body into it, the heat and solidness of him pressing against her, making her feel safe and secure. Finn groaned into her mouth as he deepened the kiss even more, and all she could do was clutch him, one hand fisting the front of his shirt and the other pressed against his side where her tree was eternally imprinted.

  “You feel so damn good,” Finn said against her lips.

  Willow murmured her agreement into his mouth because there was no denying it. Her body was on fire, her nipples hard points pressing against his chest, her skin lit up from the inside out. And then Finn’s thumb, rubbing maddeningly against her tattoo, slipped to the right until he was as close to the Promised Land as he’d been in a long time. He didn’t try to push it any further, just ran his thumb back and forth right above where she was wet and ready for him until she thought she’d die.

  After a blink and an eternity, his heated mouth slowed until he pulled away, kissing along her jaw, flicking his tongue against that spot behind her ear that’d always made her knees weak. Then he brushed his lips against the shell of her ear, his words just a breath. “You feel that?”

  She didn’t think he actually expected an answer—which was a good thing, since all of her brainpower was being used to keep herself upright.

  “I know
you do,” he said. “I know you’ve felt it every day since I came back. Think about this before you do anything, all right? Think about us, Willowtree. That’s all I’m askin’.” He scraped his teeth along her earlobe, and then…then he removed his thumb from her shorts, removed every inch of his body from hers, and stepped back.

  His face was flushed, his eyes molten as he stared at her. His chest heaved with breath, and she didn’t have to look down to know the evidence of his arousal would be apparent in his jeans, but she wanted to. Lord, she wanted to more than anything. Wanted to pull him back to her, wanted to strip him of his clothes and see what other changes had been made to the body she’d once known so well. And that thought scared the ever-loving hell out of her.

  With his hands clenched into fists, as if he were physically restraining himself from coming toward her again, he gave her hip one last look, and then he left.

  As she stared at the door Finn had gone through, her fingers pressing to the lips he’d so thoroughly kissed, she wanted to call out a thousand things at his retreating form. Most of them pertained to the fact that he had no right to ask that of her when he clearly hadn’t thought of the two of them when he’d left.

  But then she remembered his willow tree tattoo, prominent and untouched, when the rest of him had been inked up over the years—tattoos she hadn’t given herself permission to catalog, but ones she would’ve had to be blind to miss—and the ache in her heart grew. Which only worried her more, causing the ache to turn into panic. Finn wasn’t supposed to elicit those kinds of reactions from her. Not anymore.

  When she had her bearings enough that she trusted herself around mixed company, she walked out to the living room to find Mac and Ty still playing the Xbox. They both looked up at her entrance, and Mac’s eyes flitted to the front door, where Willow assumed Finn had fled through only moments before.

  “What’ll it be, Will?” Ty asked.

  So much for having a plan when she left there tonight, because now her brain was all jumbled, and even if she could’ve made a decision, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to trust herself.

  “I’m gonna think it over, and I’ll let you know,” she said, her voice shaking only a little. “Mac, you ready?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure.” Mac got up from the couch, tossing the controller to Ty. “Thanks for the game.”

  “Anytime. See ya, Haven girls.”

  Mac headed out onto the porch, but before Willow stepped over the threshold, she turned around to address Ty. “Don’t mention my decision to Finn, all right?”

  “What decision?” he replied with a wink.

  “Exactly,” she mumbled, then stepped out, shutting the door behind her as she sagged against it.

  “Girl, what the hell happened in that back room? Finn looked like he was ready to combust when he came out.”

  That made two of them.

  Willow shook her head as they walked to the car. “I’ll tell you as soon as I figure it out myself.”

  Finn couldn’t say he hadn’t participated in some ground-shaking kisses in his time, but he could say, unequivocally, he’d never experienced one like he’d just had with Willow. At least, not in the time since he’d left her.

  As he headed back to his temporary apartment, his lips still tingled from touching hers, her taste still lingering on his tongue. Jesus, the things he’d wanted to do to her. So much more than just kiss that tempting mouth of hers. He’d wanted to spin her around to the empty bed in the room, press her into the mattress and lay himself on top of her. Grind his cock into all that welcoming heat between her legs. Trail his mouth down every inch of her and find out if she tasted as good as he remembered.

  But instead, he’d left. He’d had to. Kissing her had been about showing her there was something to them. That her removing the tattoo on her hip, removing a part of their history, would be a mistake.

  And, shit, hearing her saying she’d wanted that part of herself changed? Erased? As if it’d never happened? It’d nearly wrecked him, especially considering the tattoo he bore of hers was as much a part of him as his fucking heart.

  The willow tree she’d drawn for him—the one she’d sat by him for hours as it’d been inked on his skin—was the only thing he’d had tethering him to her for all those years he’d been away. And he’d made sure it’d done its job, not allowing himself to forget about her, even when she’d probably thought he hadn’t given her a second thought after he’d left.

  Truth was, he’d thought about her every damn day.

  And every year on her birthday—the same day they’d gotten tattoos in the first place—he went and got another root added at the bottom of the tree. He might’ve spent years being thousands of miles away from her, but she’d been stamped on his heart—and his body—forever, her very essence permeating down to his bones.

  After that kiss in Ty’s house, after how she’d responded to it, melting into him, her tongue meeting his stroke for stroke, there was no doubt left in Finn’s mind that Willow knew what still crackled between them. And didn’t just know it, but felt it, same as he did.

  He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to push her to explore it with him.

  He walked up the stairs to his and Drew’s apartment, unlocking the door and walking into their temporary home. Nola had been right—it was in okay shape, all things considered. It was smaller than their place in California, but it worked for now. It had the same hardwood floors that ran through the main floor, though these weren’t nearly as worn as the ones downstairs. They’d needed to give it a good scrubbing and vacuum a few thousand dust bunnies, but it was in working order now.

  And thanks to their handful of friends who still lived in the area, they’d been able to fill it with castoffs. Someone’s cousin/momma/friend had had what they’d needed sitting in unused guest rooms. Southern hospitality at its finest.

  Finn tossed his keys on the counter in the small kitchen as he strolled into the living area and found Drew on the phone. He tipped his chin in Finn’s direction before speaking to whoever was on the other line. “Yeah, we got the box. We’re doin’ all right otherwise. Ty’s momma spotted us a few things, and we got most of the rest from Nola’s cousins.”

  If Finn had to guess, he’d place bets it was their momma, calling to check in on them, same as she’d done every day since they’d been gone. The separation was getting to her, that much was clear. It was the longest the three of them had been apart in…well, ever. If that made him and Drew momma’s boys, so be it. But the three of them were all they had, so they stuck together, through thick and thin. And there’d been a lot of both over the past twenty-nine years.

  “He’s fine. Just walked in,” Drew said, glancing Finn’s way, his eyes doing a quick sweep over his brother. Even though Finn was certain nothing in his body language said anything about what had happened with Willow, he also knew his brother would know something was up. Same way Finn had known when Drew’d lost his virginity to Lexie May sophomore year of high school. Sometimes it was awesome being a twin; sometimes it was a little awkward and damn inconvenient.

  Finn fell into the corner of the couch, throwing an arm across the back as he waited for the phone.

  “All right, Momma. I’ll let y’all talk. Love you.” Drew tossed the phone in Finn’s direction before getting up and strolling into the kitchen.

  Finn brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, Momma.”

  “Hey, sweetheart. Y’all gettin’ on okay there?”

  With one hundred percent certainty, Finn knew she’d asked Drew the same thing. But every time she asked, she did so with such sincerity, he couldn’t fault her for it. He wasn’t sure if the concern was because she wasn’t used to being away from them, or if it was because she was worried about the reception they’d receive in Havenbrook. When they’d left, he and Drew were only a year or so out of their rebellious teen years where they’d gotten up to everything from petty vandalism to property damage. Add that in with being from the wrong side of the tracks, born t
o a teenage single momma, and they’d had outcasts and troublemakers branded on them from birth.

  “Doin’ fine here. Spent today doin’ demo and working on some repairs on the plaster. Things are movin’ along.”

  “So y’all think you’ll be comin’ back soon, then?”

  “I’m not sure.” The thought of leaving now, before he’d had a chance to explore whatever this was between him and Willow, left him with a rock in the pit of his stomach. “We haven’t even begun to pick out the finishes for the space yet. And Nola can’t be dealin’ with all that while she’s still workin’ at the auto shop. She didn’t have as much money put away as we did.”

  “How’s that sweet girl doin’? Haven’t talked to her in ages. You tell her to give me a call, would you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now what’s this I hear about you talkin’ to Willow Haven?” she asked.

  Finn blew out a breath and shot a glare at his brother who’d taken a seat on the other end of the couch. Drew’s only response was to shrug as he took a swig from his beer.

  “I’ve gotta talk to her, Momma. She’s in charge of things at town hall now.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, her displeasure hitting him like a ton of bricks, even through the phone line. “What exactly do you think’s gonna happen between y’all, with your history?”

  Honestly? He had no fucking idea, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna tell his momma that. He knew what he wanted to happen. Could finally admit to himself he didn’t just want to see Willow happy, but he wanted to see her happy with him. A connection like theirs was once in a lifetime, and he’d be damned if he let her pretend it wasn’t there. He just had no idea how to go about getting her on board with it.

  “I know what I’m doin’,” he said.

  She tutted. “From where I’m sittin’, you don’t know much of anything. Honestly, Griffin… Stringin’ that poor girl along. I raised you better than that.” Silence hung from her side of the line for a moment. “Unless…unless you’re thinkin’ about stayin’?” she asked, her voice tinged with something that sounded an awful lot like hope. But that couldn’t be right. Why would him moving back to Havenbrook make her happy?