My first impulse is to reassure her. She’s not falling in. But when a woman like Iris tells you to hold her, you thank God and hold her.
So I send up my prayer, loop the dog’s lead around my wrist, stand behind her, and plant my hands on her waist. “I’ve got you.”
Iris lifts her phone and searches for the alligator through its screen. I try to focus on the image, but I can’t. Standing behind her this close is too much. My eyes make demands.
She’s bound her hair in a ponytail and braided its length, leaving her lovely neck exposed. Her skin here, too, is misted in sweat, glistening. If I kissed her right there, I’d taste salt.
My mouth waters, and my abs clench.
I shut my eyes, trying to get a hold of myself, but without sight, my other senses take up the slack. The perfume of her skin—Tupelo honey and sweat—teases my nose. I’m only inches away from burying it into her hair.
My nostrils flare to pull her in, and when her atoms flood my head, I hunger for more. For intimacies I’ll never have. The sudden urge to thrust my nose between her thighs and know the secrets of her scent has me biting back a moan.
With my eyes still closed, I feel Iris step forward, closer to the edge. I grip her tighter, opening my eyes, and find her struggling to steady the phone for a crisp shot.
She takes another step, and on instinct, I wrap my arms around her. “Easy,” I warn, holding her against me.
Iris gasps softly, and I don’t know if it's from my embrace or the realization that she’s standing at the edge of the boardwalk. She glances down. Maybe at the water. Maybe at my arms. Who knows? Her nervous laugh provides no clarity.
“S-see what I mean?” she asks, her voice shaking. “I’m a disaster magnet.”
“You’re okay,” I promise. “I won’t let go.”
Her next rush of breath is jagged, giving nothing away. She’s motionless for a long moment, her arms in front of her, phone between her hands. Then she adjusts the focus and takes several clear shots.
She lowers her arms slowly, and this time takes a step back.
We stand on the edge of the boardwalk, her back pressed to my chest, my arms locked around her middle. I want to hook my chin over her shoulder, tuck her snugly against me, turn this into something it’s not. But that’s not why we’re here.
What is she even doing with me?
Iris puts a hand on my arm. “Thank you.”
I don’t want her to thank me. I take two steps backward, bringing her with me until she’s safely away from the edge, and let her go. Iris’s hand stays on my arm, glides down my wrist, and clasps my hand again.
Right. We’re still on the bridge. I hold on while I can.
We start to walk, but Iris stops us. “Hang on.” She plucks the mouthpiece of her Camelbak, flicks open the valve with her thumb, puts the mouthpiece to her lips, and drinks.
Just watching makes my tongue feel like sandpaper. I swallow dryness.
She pulls the tip from her lips. “Thirsty?”
“Yeah.” The word is a husk of air, so I nod.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Iris angles the mouthpiece toward me, but it’s tethered to her pack, so I have to lean in close to take the rubber tip between my teeth.
It’s like the first hit from a joint. When you know you’re about to do something that’ll change the way you see the world. What touched her lips seconds ago now touches mine. I drink. The water is cool, life-giving, and I realize just how thirsty I am.
Just how much I want this.
I drink deep. And when I finally step back, a cool bead of water slips down my bottom lip. Before I can wipe it away, Iris’s hand is there. She presses her thumb to my lip. My eyes snap to hers, but she’s looking at my mouth.
It’s not just her touch but the look in her eyes that has every nerve in my body rerouting to intersect the tip of her thumb.
Then her gaze flits to mine, and she jerks her hand away, as if coming to herself. But that look she just wore? The one full of longing? I’ve never seen it before. Not on anyone. Not like that. Yet I know it's for me, and I want it back.
I catch her hand as she pulls away, and I bring her palm to my lips. Her own lips part as her breath hitches, and I don’t take my eyes off her. I’m just as surprised as she is to be here, but we’re here.
“Beau?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but I hear all I need to hear.
“Yes,” I answer.
It’s Iris who closes the distance between us. And it’s no gentle kiss. We collide. Nothing tentative or hesitant. She kisses me with intention and fever. I kiss her with hunger and need. Her soft lips open for me, and the invitation makes my heart ache and my blood sing. Her fingers grip my hair as my tongue meets hers, both sensations sending a current of euphoria to the base of my brain and then the root of my cock.
The moan I held back only minutes ago resurrects itself and hums out of my throat. Her moan is a soft echo.
God, I want to make her feel good.
I wrap her tight in my arms, sealing our bodies and deepening the kiss. Her breath ramps up. So does mine. The sounds of our discovery—heated breath and pleasure—land on the water’s surface and seem to join Nature’s symphony. The frog songs. The bird calls. The cicada’s cries. I remember where we are, and I don’t care.
Iris, this lovely, innocent, joyful, funny woman is kissing me. Me.
God, let me give her what she needs.
“You feel so good,” she pants, seeming to answer my first prayer if not the second.
“You’re so damn sweet,” I rasp between kisses. I mean this in every sense. Now that I’ve tasted her, I don’t want to stop. But her sweetness is bone deep. She is goodness to her core. I want to be good for her.
Iris is clasping me behind my neck, standing on tiptoes to help compensate for our height difference. She kisses me again before she sinks down onto her heels, breaking the kiss and bringing her hands down to my cheeks.
The kiss is behind us, but I have no idea what’s ahead.
Her smile is wry and welcome. “Nothing like what I expected,” she says again.
I grin. “You mean, you never expected to find yourself kissing a Cajun in the middle of a cypress swamp?”
She laughs. And then she laughs again, harder, at some joke I don’t get. “To be honest,” she says, still giddy, “I first thought that your uncle’s last name was Bear, and my biggest fear was that I’d be abducted by the cast of Swamp People, so I can’t say some version of that never crossed my mind, but this is way better.”
Her crazy answer is so out of left field, I laugh until I’m breathless. No one’s ever made me laugh so much. I kiss her again. It’s almost impossible to believe what’s happening, but however long this is going to last—and I have no doubt it won’t be long—I want to savor it.
She pulls back with a sudden jolt, wearing a look of alarm. “But, I mean, I don’t do this. Not ever,” she says in a rush. “I wouldn’t want you to think that.”
“I didn’t think that.” It’s the truth. It’s not hard to imagine her making friends wherever she goes. It’s not hard to imagine her being affectionate with people around her. But this moment feels stolen and rare. I’m dazed and surprised, and it feels like I’m not alone.
“You didn’t think that,” she repeats on a whisper, wearing a look of relief and curiosity. “What did you think?”
What the hell are you doing with me?
It’s the first thought that surfaces, but I don’t give it any air. So I go with the second one instead.
“Holy shit, she likes me too.”
Her face lights up as she giggles. “I do,” she exclaims, pulling me back down for another kiss.
We kiss. And we kiss. Going slower this time. Teasing lips with tongue and teeth. Our breath heating. Our hands caressing.
Sometime later, a canine whimper brings us back to earth.
“Mica doesn’t understand why we’re not exploring,” she whispers.
Iris laughs. It feels really good to make her laugh. Though not as good as kissing her. But I won’t press my luck.
“Should we keep going?” I say, nodding toward the trail ahead of us. I hope she says yes, but I want her to know she has options. She doesn’t owe me anything. “Or we can head back if you’re—”
“Let’s keep going,” she says brightly. “I brought a picnic.”
She takes my hand again, but this time Iris weaves her fingers between mine. It’s small. But it’s also not. Hand in hand, we cross the bridge.
“How’s this?” she asks, pointing to a small, open patch between a semi-circle of pine trees.
The boardwalk is about a mile behind us, and except for a couple of times when muddy spots on the trail forced us to walk single file, I’ve been able to keep Iris’s hand in mine. We’ve talked the whole time, about my tiny house, her modeling days, and where we’d both like to travel if we could go anywhere right now—Iris: the Mediterranean, me: Croatia.
But as we’ve talked, our linked hands have carried on a silent conversation all their own with squeezes and strokes that have derailed my train of thought more than once.
And now I get to trade hiking with Iris to sharing a picnic, and I welcome the chance to be able to watch her instead of watching my footing.
She digs a blanket—a frickin’ blanket—out of her pack, and I offer to take it from her. As soon as I have it spread out as neatly as the uneven ground will allow, Mica wastes no time claiming one corner of it.
“Go ahead, and make yourself comfortable, Mica,” Iris quips. The dog faces her, panting softly, but, I swear, it looks like he’s grinning.
“You can even make the dog laugh,” I tease.
“I told you. He laughs at all my jokes.” She hands me a plastic container. “I hope you like hummus.”
“I do,” I say, taking it from her. I peel open the container to find a hearty sandwich cut on the diagonal. The bread looks artisanal. The cross section reveals a layer of hummus, red pepper, Greek olives, and sprouts.
“Where did you get this?” I ask. She didn’t have time to go to a deli this morning, and we didn’t finish our lessons until almost nine last night.
“I made it this morning,” she says, grinning.
“It looks great.” I take a bite, and flavors flood my mouth. “Mmm. Is that feta?”
Her smile grows. “Yeah, I took a chance you’d be okay with it. But you put olives and cheese on your board, so I figured I was safe.”
“I’ll eat pretty much anything, and this is really good,” I say, taking another bite.
She opens her container, but there’s no sandwich inside. Just a dollop of hummus sprinkled with feta and next to a stack of sliced vegetables.
I raise a brow. “No bread?”
Iris makes a face. “Too many carbs.”
She already has somebody in her life who hassles her about food, so even though I want to point out that we’ve been hiking for hours, I don’t. At least she’s eating.
And as long as she’s okay, I don’t want her to have to worry about anything. Not while she’s with me.
And I just want to know her.
“So you don’t like Cajun music,” I say, pulling the topic from the air.
Her eyes widen as she bites into a cucumber topped with hummus. “I never said that,” she hedges.
My chuckle is low and wicked. “You don’t have to,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s okay. It’s not for everyone.”
She blows out a relieved breath. “Good. Some people get so protective about their music.”
I shrug. “You could say I’m protective about anything that keeps the Cajun culture and Cajun French alive,” I say because this is who I am. And as much as I want to know her, I also would like her to know me. “But that’s about preservation. Not preference. What kind of music do you prefer?”
“Something with a soul.” She munches a celery stick. “I think I wore out my air pods on Billie Eilish’s When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? But it also depends on what I’m doing,” she says, looking thoughtful. “If I’m in the gym, Ramon usually loads our playlist with Lizzo and Cardi B. Anything to make the time go by faster.”
“You work out a lot?” It’s a stupid question, considering the kind of shape she’s in.
“Yeah,” and then she gives me a slow, obvious once-over, “so do you.”
I try to arm-wrestle my smile, but it’s winning. And, damn. I’m blushing too. I can’t remember the last time a woman made me blush. “I lift at the gym at school sometimes, but I mostly keep busy on my landlady’s property.”
“Doing what?” She’s seen the blush. That’s obvious by her smile. She’s eating it up.
Oh man, I love having her eyes on me. My skin becomes volcanic.
“Mowing. Clearing fallen branches. Splitting wood. Patching leaks in the roofs of her barns and sheds. That sort of thing.”
“And then there’s dancing,” she says with a grin.
“Then there’s dancing.”
“So, basically, you’re always exercising.”
I chuckle. “Hardly. I think the thing I do most often is grade.”
I’ve killed the sandwich. I deliberate for about two seconds and then stretch out on the blanket and tuck my hands behind my head. We have time before we need to head back. I want to linger.
“Want some dessert?” Iris asks, reaching for her pack.
I pinch my brows together. “You brought dessert?”
Her smile is playful. “It’s really fancy. I worked hard on it.” I know she’s teasing even before she pulls two peaches from inside the pack. She leans forward to hand me one. “They’re from somewhere around here called Ruston.”
“Ruston peaches are the best.” I take it from her and test the fruit with a gentle squeeze. It gives just enough so I know it’s ripe, and then I take a bite. Juice runs down my lips, and I have to prop myself up before it makes a sticky mess of my beard. “Mmm. Perfect.”
Iris sets aside her near-finished lunch and bites into the other peach, her eyes going wide at the tart juice. She reaches into her pack again and produces two paper napkins.
I take the one she offers, grinning. “What else you got in there?”
She shrugs. “Just a few essentials. Not too much.”
“Like what?”
Iris grabs her pack and peeks inside. “Let’s see… aside from the stuff I already took out like the blanket, our lunches, Mica’s water and treats, I have a first-aid kit, bug spray, sun block, and a protein bar.” She rootles around in the pack. “Oh, and a deck of cards.”
I blink. “Why the cards?”
She grins. “It’s kind of a hiking joke between Sally and me.”
I wait. Then finally. “Are you gonna share?”
A laugh bubbles from her. “The cards are for emergencies only.”
I choke on a laugh. “What kind of emergencies would require cards?”
She wrinkles her pert little nose. “Zero days.”
Zero days? And then I remember the hiking lingo. Zero days are ones when the weather is so bad, hiking is impossible. Or when a hiker gets sick on the trail and needs to rest in a hammock or tent. For one reason or another, zero days are usually miserable.
I cock a brow at her. “And you thought you’d need those today?”
Her smile breaks loose. “That’s the thing. It’s sort of a Murphy’s Law deal. If you pack the cards, you won’t need them... Half the time,” she adds, with a little tilt of her head.
I give her a mock scowl. “You were worried I’d bore you? And we’d have to resort to a game of Go Fish?”
Her brows leap. “No, quite the opposite. You’d get tired after a few hours of my company and need to disappear in a game of solitaire.”
My laughter booms through the forest. “You’ve got to be joking.” I toss my peach pit into the woods. A lucky raccoon will clean
his teeth on it later.
She’s put on a smile, but she gives a self-effacing shrug. Her peach pit sails just as far as mine. “You can’t be too careful.”
My eyes zero in on her blush. I roll onto one elbow, reach over, and nudge her pack aside. “Never.”
Her eyes narrow in confusion. “Never what?”
“I’d never need that deck of cards.”
Her eyes dance with questions. I don’t answer them. I don’t tell her that time moves too fast when I’m with her. That all of our dance lessons feel like they last fifteen minutes instead of ninety. That I’d be a better teacher if I let her dance with Ramon every time so I could stand back and observe, guiding her where needed. But I don’t let her dance with Ramon because I want her dancing with me.
I don’t tell her that I’ve caught myself thinking of idiotic reasons to call her on the days when we have no lessons. I don’t tell her that I would have done anything with her today. Taken her grocery shopping. Watched Disney on Ice. Robbed a bank.
Okay, I would have tried to talk her out of that one. But you get my point. Judging by the look on Iris’s face, however, she doesn’t. I turn my hand palm up, outstretched toward her to make it clear.
“Lie down with me.”
Her lips part on a startled breath, but she doesn’t hesitate. As soon as she slips her hand into mine, I tug her against me and close my eyes because—
Damn, that feels good.
I let my lips find her neck, and when they do, she gives the most irresistible little sigh. I kiss and taste her, working my way to her mouth. Her lips and tongue taste of peaches, burn like fever. Lying with her body pressed against me, I’m instantly hard.
Iris’s hands are in my hair, her short nails grazing my scalp. I cradle her in one arm and run my free hand behind her ear down her neck. She shivers in my embrace. I want to touch her everywhere. I want to make her shiver again.
I want to make her come.
But I don’t know what’s allowed, so I let her lead how we touch. Still, I kiss her. I kiss her the way I want to make love to her. Showing her what I want to do with my tongue. Promising with every lap and flick that I know how to take care of her. That her pleasure is my drug.
Two-Step Page 18
