by Maisey Yates
Screw that.
Now he was kissing her. Deep and hard, and exactly the wrong way to kiss a woman who’d just confessed that she had never been kissed before.
She’d never been kissed before. That reality roared through him like a triumph and that should make him feel ashamed. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Rain was pounding against the back of his neck, rolling down his shirt collar, soaking him clear through to the bone, but he barely felt it. He was on fire inside, so if the rain did anything, it just kept him from turning to ash right where he stood.
Maybe the kiss had started out as an attempt to show her something. To teach her a lesson about attraction. To show her that no amount of pretending to like kale and coffee would ever replace real, raw desire.
But the moment their lips touched that had burned away. And it became about him. About what he wanted. About what he had barely allowed himself to admit he wanted.
Except, no matter how firm he’d been with himself when it came to not forming the words in his mind, he’d always known it would be like this if he touched her.
He’d known if they kissed, it would teach her more about desire than a lecture ever could. He’d known—deep down—that if he ever took her in his arms, he would make sure he erased Asher’s name from her brain.
Because this thing between them was powerful. Had been from that day in the parking lot at Stim. He was pretty damn sure there had been something there when he saw her at the funeral. But then both of them had been consumed by grief, and it had manifested itself in the form of a dull, hard ache that had bloomed in his chest and spread outward. The deep desire to make sure she was taken care of, to give her something, to help her in some way.
The truth was, the ferocity of that feeling had shocked him. As had the feeling of being unequal to the task. And maybe that was why he had avoided Clara for so many months since coming back to town.
Or maybe it was this. Maybe it had always been this.
He parted from her for a moment, taking in the sight of all her beauty.
That tiny, yellow dress of hers was clinging to her curves now, sticking to her skin thanks to the rain. The material was nearly transparent and he could see her tight, hard nipples through the fabric. He dropped his hat, not caring if it fell in a puddle, and wrapped both arms around her waist, drawing her hard up against his chest as he kissed her again.
He angled his head, forcing her lips apart as he stroked his tongue against hers. She gasped, small firm breasts pressed against him, making him so hard he was sure he was about to bust through the front of his jeans.
She didn’t know how to kiss.
That fact didn’t discourage him. Not in the least.
It should. Dammit all, it should. But if it wasn’t him teaching her, if it wasn’t him holding her in his arms, it would be Asher.
And there was no way in hell, Earth or heaven he was going to let some other man teach her how to do this. No. This moment was his. He didn’t deserve it. But he was going to take it.
She lifted her hand, tentative fingertips pressing against his jaw, sliding from just beneath his ear down to his chin. Soft. Inexpert. Nearly enough to make him come then and there. He forced himself to get a grip on his control.
She angled her head then, and her tongue darted out, slipping into his mouth, sliding down against his lower lip, around the perimeter. He shivered, shook, like he was the damn virgin.
A virgin. Dammit all, Clara was a virgin. His best friend’s younger sister. His dead best friend’s younger sister, who’d been put in his care. Forget foxes. He was a tiger in the henhouse, and he was ready to devour her whole.
She was holding on to his face with both her hands now, clinging to him as though he might escape her, her lips savoring his, her whole body pressed against the length of his own. She had thrown herself into this, into their kiss, and there could be no question about whether or not she wanted it. Clara Campbell might try to eat kale for Asher, but she hadn’t even been able to eat a sliver of cooked onion for him. He doubted she would submit herself to a kiss in the rain if it was anything less than what she wanted.
She didn’t know better. She didn’t know from desire. Didn’t know from attraction, from need. Didn’t know where this was headed.
He did. His cock was hard, and he was so close to the edge, one more shift of her hips against his might send him straight over. If it had been any other woman, he would have had that wet dress pushed up over her hips by now. Would have freed himself from his jeans and thrust deep inside of her.
But then, if it had been any other woman, they wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be this close to losing it. Wouldn’t be so mindless with need that foreplay, finesse and basic precautions didn’t seem all that important.
She pushed her hands into his hair, tangling her fingers deep in it, clutching his head tight. Her teeth scraped against his bottom lip and he groaned, barely able to keep himself together. He tightened his hold on her. He reversed their positions, pressing her up against the side of the barn.
He rocked his hips forward, letting her feel just what she had done to him. Letting her feel just how hard he was. She gasped, wrenching her mouth from his, letting her head fall back against the roughhewn wood.
“Alex,” she said, breathless, panting, her blue eyes clouded with desire.
Rain rolled down her face, like tears she hadn’t yet shed. Tears the earth seemed to know she would. For him. For this. Because she was inexperienced, and she was young, and no matter what he might tell her, no matter what he might tell himself, there was no way it could end without them.
And that did it. That brought him crashing back to reality.
Lungs burning, he stepped away from her, cursing that moment of sanity with his every ragged breath.
“Alex...” He couldn’t tell what the use of his name meant there. If it was a question, if it was a command. But it didn’t matter. Clara wasn’t going to dictate this thing between them. She couldn’t.
He was supposed to protect her. More than that, if she knew...
She would be disgusted that she’d ever touched him.
“Do you want to do that with him?” His voice was rough, hard, and he hated himself a little bit. But then, what else was new?
“I... I don’t understand.”
“Your date. Do you want him to grab you, do you want his tongue in your mouth? Do you want him to grind his hard cock up against you? Is that what you want?”
Her eyes widened, the way her hair was, slicked back and soaking wet, her skin washed clean by the rain, combining to make her look as young and innocent as she was. “No.”
It was a simple answer. A quick one. And his body gloried in it.
His brain knew he shouldn’t. But more masculine parts of him gave a big hell yeah.
“That’s why your date sucked. Because if you’re going to pretend to like food you hate, and to care about music you think is awful, you better really want to have his hands on you. If you don’t...it just isn’t worth it.”
He turned away from her, bent down and picked up his hat from a puddle of water, shaking it out.
“I want you to put your hands on me.”
Her words were soft, and they nearly blended in with the sound of the falling rain, but they hit him like a bullet between the shoulder blades.
He turned back to face her. “You don’t know what you want.”
“Yes I do. I want...what we were just doing.”
He shook his head. “No, baby.”
“Don’t try that with me, Alex. You kissed me like that to teach me a lesson, and we both know it. You’ve been dismissive of Asher and the way that I felt about him from the beginning. So great, you were right. I wasn’t that into him. I was into the idea of him. And I...my heart would really like it if I cou
ld be into the reality. Because I love the idea of him. I love the idea of the relationship we could have. But...that’s not this, is it? That’s not desire. It’s not attraction. And I do have to have that. You can’t just have good intentions and fantasies of keeping bees together.”
He should feel like he’d won something, since she’d apparently now processed the lesson he’d wanted to teach her. But now he was questioning himself. His motives. Everything.
And he couldn’t do more than this. It would be wrong, whether she understood it or not.
“Well, you’re not going to get beekeeping with me, Clara. This? This is all I’ve got. I can give you down and dirty, no question. But you need to wait until you find the guy who can give you both.”
Alex knew when the time came, he would sure as hell hate that guy too. But it didn’t matter. Because what could he offer her? Sex while he fixed up the ranch. And hell, his body liked the idea of that. But everything inside of him, everything that made him a good man, a good soldier, a good brother in arms knew he couldn’t do it.
Jason had asked him for one thing. He had asked him to take care of his little sister. And he sure as hell hadn’t meant by screwing her senseless.
“What if I don’t want both? I’ve never felt like this before. I didn’t know I could. And I need... Alex, I need something. I just feel so alone all the time. And cold. And this felt...hot.”
He firmed his jaw, gritted his teeth. This was as good a time as any. He had to do it. For both of them. “Clara, I saw Jason die.”
She jerked back, as though he had struck her. She wiped at water running down her face, then wrapped her arms around her midsection, like she was trying to hold herself together. “I had a feeling you did.”
“There’s more to it than that. Jason died taking a bullet for me. He saved me. I’m standing here because he’s dead. Standing on this ground because he’s underneath it.”
The color drained from her face, from her lips, and she shivered. Seeming cold for the first time.
“Think about how you feel about that trade and let me know if you still want this.”
He turned away from her again. She wouldn’t want anything more. Not after that. Hell, he would be lucky if she wanted to speak to him. She had been angry at Jason already. For dying on her. But it was more than that. He had sacrificed himself.
And he knew—with all of himself—that Clara was wishing at the moment she could make it so Alex traded places with Jason. So that Alex was the one in the casket.
And that was fine by him. Because it was nothing he hadn’t thought himself, even wished for.
He walked away from her without looking back and told himself it was for the best.
* * *
ON NUMB FEET Clara stumbled into the house. She was freezing cold, and her lips were still tingling, still swollen from Alex’s kiss.
Alex.
Her head was aching, a dull, pounding sensation.
She had been told the story of how Jason had died, in very vague terms, as though people were trying to spare her. She’d known that his actions had prevented people from dying. But nobody had said that he had literally thrown himself in front of a bullet to save Alex.
Clara covered her mouth with one hand, then the other, bending over, feeling like she had been punched in the stomach. She stood there for a moment, frozen, grief making her feel as though she had turned to stone.
But gradually, she came back to herself. She began to warm. Her mind protecting itself by moving those images to the deepest recesses of her brain. And bringing forward Alex.
She pictured the kiss. Relived the feeling of Alex’s hands moving over her bare skin. So rough. So perfect, just like she had imagined. She wanted Alex. She couldn’t pretend that wasn’t what this was anymore. Why she was fixated on his mouth. Why she continually compared Asher to him.
It had all been a desperate attempt to cling to that crush. That safe, simple crush that didn’t bring parts of her life crashing together with damaging, desperate impact.
She padded into the kitchen, her wet hair and dress leaving a trail of water droplets on the floor. She opened the fridge and took out a can of Coke. She popped the top and wandered into her bedroom, plopping down onto the bed. It was so strange that she had been in here only a few hours earlier wrestling with the idea of what to wear. It seemed like a different day. A different week. A different woman.
She lifted the Coke to her lips, tipped it back and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She lowered the can. It was gratifying, that she looked different. Considering she felt completely changed. And sure, some of that was the fact she closely resembled a drowned rat at the moment, but there was more to it than that.
Her makeup was all gone, washed away by the rain. Her hair was hanging lank and stringy. The yellow dress was completely stuck to her body, and she could see her nipples through the thin fabric. It was amazing that she could feel embarrassed about that, all things considered. Considering she’d had her tongue in Alex’s mouth only a few minutes ago.
Considering what he’d just told her about Jason.
She closed her eyes, a tear tracking down her cheek that she hadn’t felt coming. What had Alex expected, telling her that? That she would be angry at him? That she would wish he was the one who was dead?
Clara set the Coke can down on the floor, curled her fingers around the edge of the mattress. She took a deep breath and leaned forward, lowering her head. She didn’t know what she felt. She was so proud of the man her brother was, even though it was a sharp, painful kind of pride that stabbed her through the chest with every breath.
She felt sad. Angry. Lost. Jason had given up his life for his brother in arms. And he had left his sister behind. That hurt. It hurt, even if it shouldn’t. It hurt even if it was selfish. But there was so much death in her life and it felt wrong that she should have to experience more of it.
At the same time, she knew if Jason hadn’t acted as he did, it was possible neither of them would’ve survived.
And then, finally, the most shocking emotional ball hit full force and bloomed in her, spreading all through her midsection, making her feel weak, making her feel like all of her energy, all of her strength was draining away.
She lay down sideways on the bed, curling up into a ball.
Alex. She was so very, very grateful that Alex was alive. So warm, so vital. She couldn’t imagine a life like that being snuffed out. And no, she hadn’t been able to imagine Jason dead either. But Jason was dead. And Alex was here. And everything in her was so grateful for that fact.
Was that a betrayal? What did that make her? Because if she’d been asked hypothetically how she would feel in this situation, she would’ve guessed that she would wish Alex and Jason had traded places. And she knew that’s what Alex had imagined she would want, as well.
She closed her eyes tight, more tears running down her face.
On the heels of that realization came a shiver of fear. What if she lost Alex? She had lost everyone else. What would keep her from losing him too?
For a moment that fear was a dark, oppressive thing that seemed to push down on her. That seemed to push her deep into the mattress, weighing her down, making it impossible to breathe. She felt dizzy, and she forced herself to draw in a long, slow breath, then let it out just as slowly.
Of all the things there were to worry about, losing Alex was not a rational concern. She knew that. But she had faced the worst so many times, it was impossible not to entertain the thought. And it was strange to think that Alex mattered as much as he did. But he had become a huge part of this point she was at in her life. A place she hadn’t chosen to be. A place he hadn’t chosen either.
She was just putting one foot in front of the other, hoping to get through, hoping to get to the next day. To the better day.
She rolled over onto her back, the cold air hitting her wet dress, making her shiver. She should get up. She should get in the shower. She should deal with herself, with reality. She didn’t move. She just lay there, and she began to replay the kiss. Her first kiss.
His lips had been soft and firm, the stubble from his beard rough and wholly masculine. Just like the rest of him. All those things she had once assumed would be too much for her had been just right as it turned out.
But then, whatever she was going through, Alex himself seemed just right for it too.
Maybe it was because he got it. Maybe it was because, out of everybody, he probably understood her best.
And she knew, absolutely, that he had not told her about Jason to make her feel that way. No, he had told her about Jason to drive her away. But she didn’t want him away. And if she could go back to the moment when he had walked away from her tonight she would.
She would go back to it, and this time, she wouldn’t let him leave.
But beyond that... Well, she supposed she had some decisions to make.
It was a funny thing, because she had been putting off decisions for quite a few months now. Who would have thought a confession that brought her grief closer to the surface—and a kiss—would propel her closer to being functional.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would go and see Alex. And they would talk. Talk about Jason. Talk about where to go from here.
Tonight, she would take a shower and do her best not to catch a terrible cold.
Tonight, she would try to sleep without the memory of Alex’s mouth, his hands, his everything, keeping her awake.
She had a feeling that of the two immediate objectives, she would fail at one of them. She sat up, pushed herself into a standing position and began to walk into the bathroom, peeling off her wet dress as she went.
And as she kicked the much debated dress onto the floor in a damp heap she had to wonder, if she had picked a different outfit, might she not have ended up hating her date and kissing the wrong man?
