“Okay.” It was a whisper. I tilted my head so that I could press my lips to his.
“ARE YOU TWO COMING OR NOT?”
I shook with restrained laughter at Dominic's demand coming from somewhere downstairs. My face heated, knowing Cotton's brothers were well aware what we could be doing up there alone in a bedroom. After a long sigh, Cotton took my hand and led me downstairs.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Magnolia
We all rode together, in Beau's giant SUV. He drove and offered to be our designated driver. Elliot sat shotgun and messed with the radio, never happy with one station more than the length of one song. We didn't get many stations in the middle of nowhere of the mountains, so he cycled through the options fairly quickly. Cotton climbed into the back row, a bench seat, leaving captain's chairs in the middle row for Dominic. I immediately appreciated the benefits of a bench seat. Cotton slid my body as close as possible to his without my being on his lap. He insisted I wear my seatbelt, because my safety was paramount. Our nearness allowed for ample touching, and his hand rode higher and higher up my thigh until his fingers met with the thick material of my swimsuit that I still wore under my shorts. He managed to keep up his end of conversation with Dom - they were discussing whether they should renovate the big barn into a living space since they don't use it as a barn - all while his fingers moved against me in a delirious pattern. I had a harder time keeping a straight face and acting like I wasn't about to come apart.
“What would we even do with it after it was renovated? You moving into it?” Cotton asked, clearly not keen on the idea.
“No. I like living in the house. I figure it will be good for whoever couples off next. The house is Denver's and he doesn't care how long we stick around. But at some point, we'll all be settling down.” Dominic was making too much sense, and it was weird that he was being so logical.
“Yeah. If Beau doesn't move in with E, they can live out there.”
“Beau is moving in with me.” Elliot said the words casually, over his shoulder. “He'll see the wisdom of my ways eventually.”
Beau didn't answer. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the obnoxious dance song Elliot had left to play on the radio. I gasped when Cotton's fingers moved in a smooth circle, providing delicious pressure to my most sensitive point. Holy hell. Dom squinted at me in question; I re-worked my face into a hopefully casual smile.
“If it's not Beau, then that leaves you.” I answered sweetly, trying to mask my mounting pleasure in Cotton's fingers as they continued to build me up.
“No. That leaves Cotton.” Dom shook his head and then his body, like he was shaking off the idea of commitment. “You two can live out there.”
That time when I gasped it was in reaction to Dominic's words. Cotton's fingers pressed harder, his movements made more intense by Dom's assumptions, or by my answering gasp. I placed my left hand over Cotton's thigh and squeezed. Beau and Elliot chimed in, but I missed what they said. As soon as Dom turned to face forward, Cotton finished me. He flicked his hand in a way that tore me apart, released all the bits of me that had built up into a quiet explosion. I sucked in a sharp breath, tried not to move or react outwardly, other than to dig my fingers harshly into Cotton's thigh surely leaving behind moon-shaped fingernail marks. He slid his hand back down to a decent place on my leg and his half smile gave away how pleased he was with himself.
I let my hand slide up his thigh. I had to do it. If for no other reason than to feel him hard beneath my hand, evidence of his physical longing for me. He let me have only seconds of soft exploration, before taking my hand in his and holding it away from that long hard part of him. He wouldn't let go of my hand or let me touch him again. I couldn't ask him why or press the issue.
Beau was parking barely a minute later, aligning his ridiculous big SUV in a field of vehicles. Rows and rows filled the grassy pasture, a flat spot surrounded by rolling hills. Someone had set up flood lights, vaguely marking the ends of the impromptu lot and giving us just enough light not to trip. It was easy to follow the other people, the sounds of laughter and music, and the flicker of firelight. We had to maneuver down a steep slope, back and forth on switchbacks cut into the side of the cliff that fell to the creek. The bonfire was huge, people milling all around the clearing at the side of the creek, fanning out in all directions but remaining central to the flames.
Cotton held my hand and helped me get down there without falling. His brothers carried the supersize cooler of beer to the bottom.
It was beautiful. Enchanting. Mesmerizing. My eyes locked onto the ebb and flow of the fire, caught in its trap of light and heat. Cotton led me around to a large felled tree with plenty of room saved for the MacKennas. They were royalty enough in our town to have warranted the people at the bonfire saving them prime seating. Cotton sat on the trunk and pulled me between his knees, my back to his chest. He was content to hold me and let me get lost in the powerful pull of the bonfire.
I think I laughed and smiled and talked, but time passed in a manner I couldn't keep hold of, and I didn't try to keep track. I stayed squarely held by Cotton, happy to lean into him, to feel his steadiness at my back. He held a beer in one hand, and me with the other. The party raged all around us, loud and chaotic.
I was so caught up in my own happiness and warmth that I didn't see him approach.
“Maggie.” Vincent was suddenly standing in front of me.
I focused my eyes on him, and hated that he looked unhappy. His head was dipped to look at me, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his knee length cut off skinny jeans. He was adorable as ever, all his tattoos blurring together in the darkness and dancing light of the fire.
“Hi.” I sat up straight, pulling myself off Cotton's chest. If he hadn't been alerted to Vincent's presence yet, he was then. Cotton's hand on my waist tightened.
“Can I talk to you? For just a minute.”
“Yes, of course.” Cotton didn't release me when I moved to stand. I peeled his hand away from where he gripped and held me.
I turned to face Cotton before I went with Vincent. He didn't bother to hide his feelings, anger and jealousy on full display. I leaned in a little closer to speak without having to yell.
“I'll be right back. I owe him an explanation.”
I didn't look back at Cotton. I didn't want to see the barely contained rage that might lurk behind his eyes. I knew his eyes stayed on me. I felt the pinpricks of his staring on my back. I saw that Vincent was aware of Cotton's glare in our direction, too. I wondered how well they knew each other. They had been in the same grade in school and surely had talked or hung out at some point. I couldn't remember.
“I'm sorry about the way I broke our plans.” I led with that simple truth and offered up an apology.
“Me too.” He looked down at me, his face cast in shadow, his expression pained. “I woke up thinking we had plans today. Then I saw that you cancelled. I didn't know what to think.”
It was shitty the way I had cut things off with him. I knew it, and I didn't have a good explanation. But we'd only gone out once, and weren't in a relationship, so I knew too that he wasn't crushed so much as maybe disappointed.
“I wasn't expecting to ...” I turned and looked back to where Cotton sat, movement and life all around him, still as his focus never wavered from me. “Cotton and I ...”
“It's okay, Maggie.” He shook his head and I could tell it was an effort to help me not feel so bad. “I was disappointed is all. I also wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“I am. Thank you.” I reached out a hand and touched Vin's arm, a brief reassurance. It was sweet he was worried about me. I hadn't handled things well. “I want you to know that I had a good time with you. It wasn't you.”
I heard the cliché nature of my words too late. I hung my head and rolled my eyes at myself. Vin chuckled.
“So, you and MacKenna, huh?”
“Cotton? Yeah?” I felt the need to clarify g
iven the sheer number of MacKennas and my known relationship with Dominic. “It was kind of sudden.”
He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, then closed it. His eyes were framed with creases of concern as he looked me over. I opened my mouth to explain, but then closed it. I didn't need to defend myself to him. The pause between us was heavy, awkward. I wondered what else could be said and decided there was nothing left.
“Listen, just ... just be careful.” Vincent stepped in close to me and said the words low.
He moved in to give me a sort of one-armed hug. I reached an arm his way, to have it snatched back. Surprise came first, then a trickle of fear. Before I could settle on one or the other, I was behind a solid wall of person. Cotton. My heart began to slow, my fear receding, as I took in the familiar sight and smell of him. I wiggled to free myself and shift from where he'd moved me out of the way. He didn't let go or give me an inch of wiggle room. I settled for putting my free hand firmly on Cotton's shoulder blades, to let him know I was there, solid and waiting.
“I don't want any trouble, man.” Vincent proclaimed, trying to diffuse the situation.
“Don't touch her again.”
“Cotton. Let me go.” I pounded my hand on his back, as if he were choking and needed me to dislodge something from his throat.
He adjusted me so that I was at his side, but he did not let me go.
“Look, I was just checking in with her, making sure she was okay.” Vincent's words were casual, placating even. His posture was relaxed, seemingly unaffected by the angry beast of a man that confronted him.
“She is none of your concern, Berry.” Cotton's voice was laced with a threat. His posture gave away how easy it would be for him to snap and cause a heck of a lot of trouble.
Once again, Vincent looked like he wanted to say something, but refrained from following through. His eyes met mine and his concern was clear. I tried to look happy in order to relieve his worry. I didn't think it was effective. But Vin shrugged and walked away. I watched him join a group of people not far away. He didn't look back.
“Cotton Alexander MacKenna.” My voice laid out a demand, and he answered by looking down at me. His face was still a storm. “What was that?”
“He doesn't get to touch you, Maggie.”
I made a sound of protest, a funny noise from the back of my throat. What had happened with Vin was nothing. Truly innocent and friendly. Did he not trust me? Was this what he meant by not being willing or able to share me?
“Hey.” I placed my still one free hand to his cheek. He was so tall, it was a reach. I took in the fear in his eyes, the worry that overtook the anger. “I ...” choked on the words that almost came out, swallowed roughly and tried again. “People might hug me, and that's not a bad thing. I'm a hugger. You have to trust me.”
“It isn't about trust. I trust you.” Cotton still radiated violence and restraint. I pressed forward, my breasts to his chest, reminding him I was right there with him. His eyes drifted closed for a second before he refocused on me. His inherent gentleness toward me came through.
“When you stood up for me before, to my mama? I liked it. Too much probably. Because no one has ever done that for me. Put me first, not for their own good but mine.” I sighed and stretched up onto my toes. His breath staggered in reaction. His riotous jealousy and anger shifted to tenderness laced with hot flames of desire. “When you came over just now, and pulled me behind you? I didn't like it. I didn't know what to think because I didn't need protecting.”
My voice was soft, and even as I lifted higher, he bent his head lower. I knew he heard what I said because a deep line formed between his eyes and his hold on me increased.
“I don't want to scare you. I will try to control the all-consuming need I have to intervene when another man touches you.” He ground out the words in a low harsh whisper and hovered an inch from our lips touching. I shivered. “I did warn you. I won't be good at sharing you.”
“Don't worry, Cotton.” I clutched at him and my breath hitched. I wanted him to close the space and kiss me. “I only want you.”
His lips met mine with a fury. A tumultuous desire that came out in his rough hands, his possessive claiming of my lips and my body, and a rocking of my foundation. Vaguely I heard hoots erupt around us, a delirious mix of voices calling out in support as well as mock disgust. I paid attention only to Cotton's lips on mine, my hands on his solid shoulders and arms. I was aware of the heat building inside me, the summer night and the bonfire come to life as an inferno of need. He lifted me, easy as if I was weightless, and I automatically wrapped my legs around him. I secured my body to his as he walked us through the crowd until we were shrouded in darkness. The people partying faded into background noise. The night was suddenly cooler away from the fire, the press of bodies, and out into the relative open. Finally, without everything else, I could hear the babble of the creek that ran alongside us.
“Magnolia.” My name was a prayer on his lips, a break in the concentration he applied to kissing me. I gasped and panted and moaned in turn. He held me and I clung to him. His lips professed their devotion to my skin as he licked and kissed every inch he came to. “You are mine,” more kissing, more groping, “as I am yours.”
If he hadn't held me, I might have swooned. A lack of oxygen mixed with a fluttering heart left me light headed.
“I am yours,” more clinging, more lust, “as you are mine.”
More. More. More. My lips begged his to never stop. His hands asked me to surrender, and I did so willingly. Every kiss, every touch, every shared breath brought us together. Until nothing could tear us apart. My heart beat against his chest, finding the rhythm of his equally pounding heart, so that they joined in harmony.
I stayed that night with him. As he had asked, I spent the remaining hours of that night curled into his body, as he held me close. I slept with his fingers tangled in my hair, and my knee hooked over his legs. He was too warm, vital even during the night, and I craved the closeness we shared in those moments. I never wanted to give it up. I had found a home there, tucked safely into his side, without rhyme or reason, trusting only my heart. I woke to his watching me, his eyes both sad and happy, his embrace both tender and fierce. I recognized the fear in him, that he would do something to cross a line and scare me away. As I'm sure he saw the fear in me, that he would leave me for my own good. There was no need to voice those fears, only a need to hold on tight to one another. So we did.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cotton
I didn't sleep for any real stretch of time. Not with Maggie there in my arms, not with a chance to observe her so closely and with no recrimination. She surprised me when she agreed to stay with me. When I'd made the request, it had been a need so strong I couldn't hold back asking it of her. I was sure she'd shoot me down, tell me to take her home. After I played the role of Jealous Asshole at the bonfire, I was more sure than ever she'd want to be done with me.
I couldn't sit there, just sit there and let him touch her, not when I saw how much he wanted her. Maggie felt bad for how she broke their plans, and I knew she would want to apologize to him. Vin's eyes had flicked to me, past where Maggie stood before him, and he hated that she was with me. I could see it in him, the disapproval, as if he had a say in her life or mine. I didn't give a shit what he thought about me, or my relationship with Maggie, but putting his hands on her was taking it too far.
The thing of it was, after, when she yelled at me, I liked it. That spark in her eyes and whip in her voice. Then she immediately softened, caressed me, and called me down from the place I had gone. She should have shoved me away and sent me packing. At least read me the riot act. Nope. Maggie pulled me into her and let me devour her with my need for physical contact with her. People were watching us. Partly that was a good thing, as it cleared up any doubt that she was with me, and only me. But Maggie's reputation was precious to me, and it wasn't something I was willing to throw away.
Only
tarnish. A little.
I pulled her away from all those eyes and ravished her mouth with my mouth and her body with my hands. I kept her away from everyone as long as I could and went as far with her as I could without crossing a line. Then she said yes, yes she would come home with me and spend the night.
It was a gift. Those hours with her pressed to my side, her limbs greedy to tangle with mine. I watched her sleep. I spent hours breathing her in and slowing my breath and my heart to match hers. I let my fingers softly glide along every bit of exposed skin. I had convinced her to take off her clothes from before and sleep in one of my t-shirts. The fabric swallowed her small body and pooled around her while she slept. She smelled like Maggie, sweet and haunting like burnt sugar and gardenias, and also like me. It was the convergence that became toxic to my sensibilities. I didn't stop touching her all that night.
I thought to get up and start coffee and breakfast for her, but was reluctant to leave the bed we shared. When I shifted and went to peel one of her arms from around my waist, she woke up. Her dark lashes fluttered as she looked at me and remembered where she was. I was struck with sudden sadness that came from knowing I couldn't keep her forever, not really. She would grow tired of my shit at some point and set me free. But when I looked into her sleepy face, her eyes brazen and challenging, her hold on me was one that told me she wasn't letting go. Her biggest fear wasn't that I would continue to be a jerk, but that I would leave her.
I pressed my face into her hair and cradled her head in my hands.
“I will never leave. Not unless you tell me to go.” I mumbled and whispered and she didn't hear. She hummed and snuggled ever closer.
“Are we still hiking today?” She asked, her body wriggling and stretching beneath my hands.
“If you want.”
“I want.”
I smiled at my ceiling as she trailed fingers over my bare chest. It was already after seven, and by the time we ate, went by her house, and drove up to the trail, it would be mid-morning. If we waited any longer, it would be too hot to be enjoyable.
The Guilt of a Sparrow Page 21
