Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  The despondency in his voice had her gripping his hand tighter. “You’re not unlovable, Uncle Del. I love you.”

  His brown eyes glimmered and his lips relaxed, not quite smiling but the sadness in his face eased. “I don’t know what I would have done without you kids over the years. Gave me something to aspire to.” He patted her hand and her grip loosened. “Wish I’d set things right a long time ago.”

  “It’s not too late.” She’d told Ms. Leora the same. Did she really believe it? Had Nash turned her into a sappy romantic?

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have it on good authority that Ms. Leora still thinks about you too.”

  He sat up straighter, his hands curving over his knees, and looked down at Nash. “Does she?”

  “I’m not sure exactly what she thinks about you, but she kept your letters,” Nash said softly.

  “My letters…” Her uncle shifted to the side and flipped on a lamp. The light banished the lingering despondency. His knee bounced with a restless tension. “What should I do?”

  Her love life wasn’t ripe with good examples. All she had was Nash. She caught his eye and said, “You could take her a bouquet of her favorite flowers.”

  “She was always partial to wildflowers. Is she still, Nash?”

  Nash gave a slight shake of his head. “I’m not sure. I can’t recall her having fresh flowers around much.”

  Her uncle pushed himself up. “I need to get gussied up.”

  “You’re going over there right now?”

  “I’m getting older by the minute. No time to waste.” He shuffled toward the back bedroom.

  Tally stared for a moment before shaking herself out of her shock. “I can’t believe it. How will your aunt react? Will she throw him out? God, what if she crushes his feelings, Nash?”

  “Either way, the two of them need closure. They’ve spent the last fifty years drifting on different rivers, neither one of them finding what they were looking for. But for the record, I don’t think she’ll throw him out. You didn’t see her the day she was looking through that old box.”

  Energy born from anxiety had her falling back into old habits when she’d kept her uncle’s place tidy. She tossed a couple of empty beers bottles and an empty bag of chips into the trash. Nash stood in the middle of the room, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

  She moved to the kitchen and washed the few dishes piled in his sink. The water coming from the faucet was tinged with sulfur from the well. Bile crept up her throat. She’d come to hate that smell. Hated the way it clung to your hair and your clothes. Like the devil had moved in.

  She opened drawers, looking for a dishtowel. She’d half-closed the bottom drawer when the contents registered, and she reopened it slowly. A white rubber band bound a roll of money. She thumbed through it. All twenties. An estimate put it at close to seven hundred dollars. Her stomach bottomed out.

  “What’s that?”

  She dropped the money back in the drawer. Nash was over her shoulder and she hadn’t realized it. “It’s a wad of cash.”

  Nash didn’t seem to think anything unusual of the money, drying and stacking the dishes. A different sort of worry inserted itself. Her uncle did odd jobs all over the parish, even into the Mississippi side of Cottonbloom, but she couldn’t recall him ever having that much cash sitting around. He lived hand to mouth.

  The squeak of a door startled her. Her uncle emerged from his bedroom, and Tally couldn’t do anything but stare. His hair was parted and slicked to one side in a style reminiscent of a bygone era. He wore the khaki pants usually reserved for Sunday mornings and funerals and a plaid button-down, a red bowtie at the collar.

  “Do I pass muster?” He held his hands up and spun around.

  “You look”—she searched for a word—“dapper.” And he did.

  He adjusted the bowtie. “It’s a clip-on. You think she’ll notice?”

  Nash spoke up. “I think she’ll be so surprised to see you, she won’t care about your bowtie.”

  Tally and Nash followed him outside. Her uncle hesitated between house and truck. While he hadn’t been the most responsible caretaker, he’d always been around to give hugs and tend to her bumps and scrapes. He’d believed in her and encouraged her when things at school had been their worst. She loved him. Even though she worried Ms. Leora would hurt him, Nash was right. Her uncle and his aunt both needed the closure.

  She hugged him; the scent of his cologne couldn’t mask the essence of the river that emanated from him. His rounded spine and knobby shoulders made her wonder how he’d gotten so old without her noticing. “Everything will be fine. Go get Ms. Leora some flowers and knock on her door.”

  Her uncle’s arms tightened around her before letting go. The nervous smile on his face was hopeful, and he winked. “You two are welcome to hang out, but don’t wait up for me.”

  She waved him down the track until he was out of sight. A deep breath of loamy, humid air was both comforting and disturbing. The tops of the pine trees swayed in the wind as if beckoning her. She weaved through the trunks, the white of their trailer flashing. Dimly she was aware Nash followed her.

  The old trailer had seen better days when Uncle Delmar had hauled it into the clearing for them. Now it was straight-up dilapidated. Vines were crawling up the sides, pulling it to the earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

  She turned around. Nash’s gaze was on her and not the trailer. Without letting doubts and insecurities take hold, she walked into his body and wrapped him tight. His arms came around her, his hands making circles on her back.

  She buried her face in his neck and breathed in his uniquely male scent of woodsy cologne and books. “Thank you for coming out here with me.”

  “So this is it, huh? Home sweet home?” His dry humor eased her melancholy.

  She kept her head on his shoulder, titling her face to look. “In all its glory. Obviously, it wasn’t in such bad shape then. Cade kept talking about moving us to an apartment in town, but when Sawyer left for college, things got even tighter. Cade was determined Sawyer wasn’t going to come out of school saddled with huge loans. I knew he would work himself to death to send me too.”

  “Your family is amazing, Tally.” The awe in his voice had her pulling back.

  “What do you mean?”

  “To lose your parents, your house—everything really—and to claw your way back up. Cade holds more patents than you can count, Sawyer is the parish commissioner, and you—”

  “Own a gym. Big whoop-de-do.”

  “Sometimes I want to shake some sense into you. You started the gym from scratch. It’s successful. You shortchange yourself all the time. Almost as if you want to get the hit in before someone else can knock you down.”

  She stared in his eyes. Monroe had told her the same thing, but hearing it from Nash made it impossible to ignore. “You’re right.”

  “About what?”

  She almost smiled at his shock at her easy agreement. “You’re right about me not owning my success.” She blew out a breath and wondered if this was how alcoholics felt at their first meeting. “I’m Tallulah Fournette and I’m proud of what I’ve built.”

  Nash’s face lit with his smile. “That’s my girl.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, only wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her lips against his neck. He wrapped her tight against his chest. She flicked her tongue against his pulse point. His skin tasted like sunshine—warm and a little bit salty.

  “Have you ever had sex in your truck?”

  His arms jerked. “Can’t say that I have.” His voice was hoarse but had the excited lilt of a boy offered a lifetime supply of candy.

  “Is it not on your list?” She smiled against his skin, the stubble on his jaw tickling her. What would that little bit of stubble feel like against her breasts or her inner thighs? Need carved out a hollow place in her lower belly.

  “It is now in the number-one position.”


  She laughed and turned her back on the trailer. They walked toward his truck, arms around one another. Before she stepped into the pine trees, she cast one last look over her shoulder. Her past seemed to cling to her like the vines slowly destroying the old trailer. But finally she felt them loosening.

  Nash was good for her. He reminded her how to laugh, how to play, how to see the good around her.

  The truck was bouncing through the ruts when he spoke again. “Where can we go?”

  “There’s an overlook a few miles down. Teenagers go there to mess around.”

  “You went there a lot?” The bite of animosity shortened his words. She could only assume it was motivated by jealousy. That shouldn’t make her happy. It did. She turned to the passenger window to hide her smile.

  “I went down there to smoke a little weed, drink some beers.” She directed him to a secondary road.

  The asphalt was crumbling along the edges, forcing him to drive down the middle. Trees encroached on both sides. A premature darkness covered them, but like switching on a light, they emerged onto the overlook, the sun not yet dropped behind the trees on the far bank. Warm orange light suffused through the cab, the effect surreal and magical. Compared to the stream behind their old houses, the river flowed by wider and wilder.

  The overlook was deserted. He parked, rolled the windows down and turned the engine off. The subtle sounds of nature filled the silence. Crickets, cicadas, and bullfrogs weaved a harmonious song.

  He shifted the seat as far back as it went and reached toward her breast. She hadn’t expected him to pounce on her like a horny teenager and tensed. He pulled the tie off her braid, the end hanging over her right breast. Her nipple hardened at the subtle brush of his fingers. With one hand, he unwound the first few inches.

  “Get on my lap.” The command in his voice fired equal amounts of excitement and trepidation.

  She scrambled over the console and straddled his hips, pressing her pelvis against his growing erection. He pushed her shirt up and over her head and broke the world record getting her bra off. The suddenness surprised her but before she could react, he tossed it to the floorboard.

  “Geez, how much practice have you had undressing women?” Naked from the waist up and with his gaze roving her body with an intensity that was almost frightening, a protective instinct overcame her, and she covered her breasts with an arm.

  He took her wrist, his hand big and strong and gentle. He could force her arm away, but he only held her wrist, his thumb caressing the underside. “I practiced with a bra on my pillow. After two grueling years of study, I got to put my honed skills to practical use my senior year in college.”

  Pride and playfulness wove the admission. A laugh snuck out of her. She’d forgotten for a moment, this was Nash. He was a different breed of man than she was used to. The sense of trust he inspired relaxed her. Only then did he draw her arm away.

  He took a swift, shallow breath. His chest seemed to move faster.

  She laid a hand over his heart. “Do you need your inhaler?”

  A smile crested his face, and he took a deep shuddery breath. “My asthma is not what’s stealing my breath. You’re so unbelievably beautiful. Will you take your braid out?”

  Tears burned up her eyes. She tilted her head back, letting gravity pull them back down. Was she seriously teary because he’d spouted romantic nonsense? She blinked. Dangit, that’s exactly why she was teary. It was a forgone conclusion, she was officially a sappy romantic.

  The tremble in her fingers slowed the process, but finally, she shook her hair around her shoulders. He shifted her on his lap, leaning her back over his arm. He nuzzled his face into her neck, kissing his way down to her breasts.

  Her body was ridiculously responsive to his touch—almost embarrassingly so. Her nipples were already peaked and straining toward his mouth. The tickle of his stubble along the side of her breast shot fire through her veins.

  She threaded her hands into his hair and forced his mouth to the tip of her nipple. “Quit torturing me.”

  “Beg me.” His voice was rough and teasing at the same time.

  “Please, Nash.”

  “Please what?”

  “Please, I’ve wanted you all day. Seeing you work with your shirt off, your pants riding low. God, I wanted to climb on top of you. I’ll bet half the ladies in town are going to dream about you tonight.” It didn’t matter they both still had pants on. The satin of her panties slipped against her as she ground herself against him.

  He grazed her nipple with his teeth followed by the flick of his tongue, but she needed his mouth. Passion had burned away her pride.

  “I dream about you every night, Nash. Dream about you taking me in every way imaginable.” It was all the truth, yet somewhere in her head, her conscience hit a panic button. The alarms didn’t have a chance to register.

  He pulled her nipple into his mouth at the same time his hand covered her other breast, pinching her nipple between his fingers. Blinding sensation shot through her body as her hips bucked into his. The relief of her orgasm held any regret at bay. His head fell back against the seat, his eyes closed. She scattered kisses over his face. Each slow grind of her hips against him sent another wave of pleasure through her.

  Her body was draped over his, her face buried in his neck, his hand roaming her bare back and into her hair. Slowly, her body ceased its undulations against his and she stilled. Had she dry-humped Nash? Why couldn’t she teleport like one of his superheroes? Or wipe his memory clean?

  “Did that really happen?” His breath tickled the hair at her temple.

  “I don’t know why—”

  He gripped her hips and pushed against her, turning her bumbling explanation into a gasping moaning of his name.

  “If I’m not inside of you in thirty seconds I’m likely to embarrass myself in my pants. Get naked—now.” He pushed her to the seat and worked on his zipper.

  His command was easier to follow than trying to explain why she had no self-control around him.

  Her shorts and underwear were off in record time. They reached for one another at the same time, and he pulled her back on top of him, taking her mouth in a kiss so devastatingly sensual, the buzz of pleasure hit her like a shot of his favorite single-barrel Scotch. She rocked her hips, this time nothing separated them, and she slid over him with the perfect amount of friction. Another climax hovered, ready for her to grab hold.

  He maneuvered her hips up and fit himself at her opening, pushing inside of her a mere inch. “Look at me,” he said in a guttural, rough voice.

  With her hands gripping the back of his seat, she pushed back from him, her body begging for more but his hands holding her out of reach. She tossed her hair over her shoulders, a whimper of distress escaping. She felt feverish, ready to keel over if he didn’t get inside of her. She rolled her hips, but his hands stayed tight.

  “I love seeing you wild.” The look in his eyes burned away any embarrassment or shame.

  “I need more. Please, Nash, I need your big, hard—”

  He slammed her hips down. As the rhythm increased, his fingers bit into the flesh of her hips. She welcomed the almost-pain. It centered her in the moment.

  Her body got what it wanted, what it needed, what she had been begging for. Another orgasm ripped through her like an EF5 tornado, destroying every flimsy wall she’d tried to erect around her heart.

  He muttered a curse and pulsed inside of her. She squeezed around him, echoes of pleasure cascading down to her toes.

  His head was resting on the seatback, his eyes closed. She lay a hand on his chest, worried about an asthma attack, but his breathing didn’t seem haggard or distressed, and his heartbeat thumped strong.

  She cupped his cheek and ran her thumbs across his cheekbones and along the line of his jaw. He was handsome, but even more, he was kind. Why was she surprised? He’d always been different than the other boys. He’d never pulled her hair or called her names.

  In
stead, he’d taken her hand in kindergarten to show her a spider and explain how it was unfortunately non-radiated, so there was no chance of becoming Spider-Man.

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. Everything she couldn’t say aloud went into her kiss. What if he’d never come back to Cottonbloom? What if the circle hadn’t been completed? Would she have spent the rest of her life feeling incomplete?

  But there was fear in the kiss as well. Fear of what the future held. She didn’t believe in fairytales or his comic books anymore. Life was hard and sometimes tragic for no reason. If the Fates decided to rip them apart again, then it would happen. Her uncle and his aunt were a living testament. A sense of melancholy made her kiss him all the harder.

  His lips came alive under hers, and his gentleness tempered her desperation. With his hands running up and down her bare back and with him still inside of her, he calmed her fears.

  His soft T-shirt caressed her breasts and the zipper of his pants pressed into her calf. He hadn’t managed to get his pants all the way off. She smiled against his mouth. The fact she could smile, even want to laugh, after the most intense sexual experience of her life steamrolled through her.

  She loved him.

  She pressed her lips harder against his to keep from saying the words aloud. It wasn’t shock or fear or even happiness that sent tears like little pinpricks at her eyelids. It was relief. Of course, she loved him. How could she not?

  Her profound, almost painful, vulnerability was offset by the safety he imparted with every look and touch. The urge to tell him stamped out any logical arguments. She pushed back from him. His head tilted and his hands stilled on her back. Expectation thickened the air. Her breaths came faster, and she wet her dry lips, ready to be truly reckless.

  The sound of an engine getting closer was like a pin to a balloon, breaking the sense of solitude. The whoop of voices out of opened windows carried through the evening air.

  He pushed her off him and had his pants up and buttoned in two seconds. She yanked her T-shirt on, forgoing the complications of her bra, and shimmied her underwear and shorts back on.