And my intention can’t be lost on her, because her breath speeds up, and she swings a leg over my hip. The temptation to roll her beneath me and grind into her is so great it makes my teeth ache, but I want her driving this, so instead, I roll onto my back, bringing her on top of me.
We let out twin moans as soon as she seats herself astride me, the length of my rock-hard erection pressing against her heat. Iris’s hands smooth down my chest, making my breath go choppy. Her fingers breach the hem of my T-shirt and press against the scorching skin of my abs. Taking this as permission, I slide mine just under her top. I put my hands right to her waist, right where I’ve touched her before, but this time, my thumbs caress her bare belly.
I moan at the feel of her silky warmth and bring my lips to her ear. “I’ve wanted this,” I confess. “I’ve wanted to touch you here with nothing between us.”
Her answering moan is high and soft. “You don’t—” Her breath hitches. “You don’t know how good that feels.”
She grinds against me, and synapses in my brain burn up and ascend like paper lanterns. My hands move in the only direction that makes any sense now.
Down.
I grip the firm swell of her ass, the clinging sport leggings so thin I nearly lose what’s left of my mind.
“Oh, God, Beau,” she pants, and that’s all the urging I need. My fingertips slip beneath the waistband of her pants as she grips my waist.
I can make her come with my fingers right now. With my mouth after that. And—
“Wait.”
I freeze at Iris’s breathless word. She pushes herself up, panting above me, her brows knit in distress. “Beau, wait.”
Chapter Eighteen
IRIS
“I can’t do this,” I manage, my voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this here.”
Beau yanks his hands from my pants so fast, the elastic snaps me like a rubber band.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, but he’s shaking his head. Hard.
“No, I’m sorry.” And with one wholly impressive ab curl, he’s sitting up with me straddling his lap. His hands rest gently on my shoulders. “I went too fast. Are you okay?”
“Oh… yeah. Yeah... Yes,” I stammer. “I—I’m more than okay.” Other than losing the ability to speak coherently. “I just… have to be careful.”
Beau’s hands settle lightly on my waist as though he’s steadying a tower of glasses. One false move and everything shatters. That’s how I feel too. Like I’m dangerously close to screwing up this whole day.
“We haven’t… known each other long,” Beau says, choosing his words carefully, and watching my expression as he does. “But I wouldn’t hurt you, Iris. I hope you know that.”
“Oh, I know that,” I say with immediate certainty. “I just have to be careful with, well, what people see.”
A crease forms between his brows. “You have to be careful what I see?”
I lay my hands on his cheeks. “No.” I laugh lightly, hoping he’ll understand. “Not you. Other people. If someone came along on the trail while we were… and recognized me, it would be…”
The crease between his brows becomes a frown. “It would be bad.”
I nod. “It could be. Especially if there were pictures.” I suppress a shudder at the thought. Because Moira would come unglued. She’d flay me alive. Add to the fact that she has no idea that I’m here and no idea I’m spending the day alone with my substitute dance instructor—my very hot and considerate substitute dance instructor whom I couldn’t stop thinking about even before the kissing—and if I survived her wrath, I’d never hear the end of it.
But there’s no reason to worry about that now because there aren’t going to be any pictures of Beau with his hand down my pants because his hands aren’t going to be down my pants.
Yet, I’d like to note for the record, that I’m very much in favor of Beau’s hands down my pants. I’m no expert in hands down the pants, but taking into consideration how incredible his kisses and caresses and cuddles all feel, I sense that his hands down my pants would have led to something extraordinary.
And I’ve never had extraordinary. I haven’t even had ordinary. Not from someone else, I mean.
Sure, from a small collection of reliable and discreet battery-powered personal items that live in my bedside drawer, but that’s it.
Before today, I didn’t even know I wanted to have ordinary. But with Beau, I do.
I do.
I do.
I definitely do.
Just not in the middle of a state park.
But I don’t think I can ask him if he wants to come back to my place. Especially considering that my place is a five-mile hike and a one-hour drive away. And he has a class to teach.
And I probably shouldn’t be asking him anyway. Maybe I can no longer tell myself that Beau isn’t interested—that bulge I’m straddling certainly feels like he’s interested—but that doesn’t change my own obstacle. Time. I may spend a lot of time wanting Beau, but I don’t have much to do anything about it.
Today has been amazing. Maybe it’s best to just leave it at that without complicating things with sex. Even extraordinary sex.
All of these thoughts take about two seconds to process, but I’m still sitting in Beau’s lap (I don’t want to move). And my hands are still on his cheeks (I don’t want to let go). And my eyes are fixed on his mouth (I don’t want to look away).
He reaches up and runs the back of his fingers down my cheek. “I get it.”
I half expect him to gently nudge me off his lap and beat a hasty retreat out of the woods. It wouldn’t be the first time a guy was ready to jet as soon as I let him know sex wasn’t on the table.
But that’s not who Beau is, I’m discovering. Because instead of easing me off him, he lays us back down again and tucks me in the crook of his arm. With his other hand, he clasps my fingers and rests our joined hands on his chest while he stares up at the passing clouds.
Pressed against his side, I feel his whole body relax when he sighs, and the sensation makes me sigh too.
Oh my God. This… This is snuggling.
The realization hits me like a freight train. I have never snuggled. I’ve been on dates (a few). I’ve made out (a handful of times). I’ve had sex (twice and not worth mentioning). But I’ve never snuggled.
And snuggling with Beau is heaven. Better than sex. Better than my battery-powered ordinary.
I should be gazing up at the sky, like he is, relaxed and easy. But I’m not. I’m staring at his profile because this feels so good, I don’t want to put my attention anywhere else.
Beneath me, supporting my neck, his arm is both solid and cushioning. Under my arm, his broad chest rises and falls with a soothing rhythm. The hard length of his body pressed against me feels like a safe place to rest. Beau’s hand wrapped around mine makes me feel… chosen.
Yeah, that’s new.
I’d like to feel like this at home.
The words from that first Cajun song we danced to come back to me in a rush, and I have to shut my eyes because my throat has suddenly gone tight.
I’d like to feel like this at home.
I swallow hard, eyes stinging.
Because I have nothing like this. I’ve never had anything like this.
And it feels pretty damn important. Like breath. And blood. And hope. Like something impossible to live without, and yet I’ve been living without it. But how could I be living without something as major as breath or blood or hope?
That would make me like a zombie or a vampire or some other undead creature from Hexed. And things never end well for them.
But since I don’t crave brains, and I can walk in daylight, undead isn’t the right word for me. Maybe it’s just half-dead.
My throat gets even tighter at the thought of that realization. When did I become half-dead? Was there ever a time I was fully alive?
With some serious eyelid aerobics, I blink back tears because I can’t let m
yself lose it in front of him.
Distraction. I need a distraction. Beau’s staring up at the clouds. He still looks relaxed and content. Maybe I should try cloud-watching too.
I roll onto my back and look up. What few clouds there are drift high, high above us. They are horsetails, painting the sky in wispy brushstrokes. My breath deepens and my throat eases a little. These clouds have it so easy. They don’t have anywhere to go or anything to do.
“I have no idea what that’s like,” I rasp aloud.
Beau’s arm around me tightens in a brief squeeze. “What what’s like?”
I nudge our joined hands toward the sky. “That. Those clouds. They’re just so… unbusy.”
His chest constricts once in a laugh. I feel it under my arm and against my side. It’s a nice feeling. “I like your word choice.” Then he squeezes me again. “Maybe you could learn what unbusy is like if we watch them a little longer.”
I cloud-watch for a second. “That might be a really bad idea.”
“Why’s that?”
I sigh. “Because if I learned how to be unbusy, I’m sure it would get me into trouble.”
I don’t think about how this sounds until Beau responds.
“You’re under a lot of pressure, aren’t you?” His voice is like a caress. So soft it’s dangerous for my composure—and the swelling lump in my throat.
Distract. Deflect. Divert. “You know what they say,” I chirp, powering through the emotion and ramping up a cheer-leader level of enthusiasm. “With enough pressure, you can make a diamond.”
He says nothing for a long moment. Then Beau rolls onto his side, still holding me but now he’s above me, his gaze intent and serious.
“You don’t have to do that with me.”
I blink. “Do what?”
“Keep things light. You’re so genuine, and it’s a good thing,” he says. Then he licks his lips, seeming to weigh his words. “It’s something I really like about you. You let things show, but then when you think you’ve shown too much, you make a joke to hide again.”
He’s right above me so there’s nowhere to look. Nowhere to hide right now. Heat floods my face.
“Oh God,” I groan, squeezing my eyes shut.
“What’s wrong?” Even with my eyes closed, I can tell he’s smiling.
“This is awkward. I hate awkward.”
His laughter makes me open my eyes. If I’m being honest, the way Beau looks when he laughs is too good to miss, no matter how embarrassed I am.
He strokes a thumb down my cheek. “You’re adorable.”
“And awkward,” I add.
“I’m not afraid of awkward,” he says, his smile wry. “There are a lot worse things than awkward.”
And the words just cliff-dive out of me.
“Clearly, you’ve never had a Brazilian wax.”
Time stops for a horrifying two seconds. The look on Beau’s face is beyond shocked.
Good God, what is wrong with me?
And then he collapses on top of me, laughing loud enough to fell the trees. Laughing, he wraps his arms around me. I’m frozen with mortification until he kisses my neck. He wouldn’t be kissing my neck if he thought I were some weird-ass weirdo.
I close my arms around him and just enjoy the moment. I can put a bag over my head later.
“Y—You’re right.” He pushes himself back so he’s looking down at me again, his laughter fading to aftershocks. “I’ve never had a Brazilian wax.”
His face is red, and his eyes are damp from laughing so hard. And, yeah, I did that. At the expense of decorum and grace, maybe, but making him laugh feels like a win.
“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” I put my hand on his chest in pretend compassion. “For your sake.”
His laughter erupts again, and he shakes his head. “You’re a natural.” His eyes lock with mine and his smile softens. “You can joke around if that’s easier. But it’s also okay to tell me that your life is hard and you’re exhausted half the time.”
The next words cliff-dive, too. Buck naked.
“I’m exhausted most of the time.” And, hell, if I don’t feel as naked as those cliff divers.
He holds my gaze with his liquid brown eyes. “I know.”
He knows. And it’s okay for me to admit it. I breathe out, a lightness filling my limbs.
“Wow.” Honestly, I’m surprised to find myself still lying on the ground instead of hovering a few inches off it. “It feels good to say that out loud.”
Beau nods. “Anytime you want to unload, I’m here.”
Just like the snuggling, this offer is something I’ve never really had before. Not like this. Not with this unflinching intimacy. Not with this sturdiness.
And the sturdiness? It’s pretty damn sexy.
Right now, I’m sure that if I stay here beneath him any longer, my will is going to crack, and then woe unto any unsuspecting hikers.
So instead of tearing off Beau’s clothes and becoming one with nature in a whole new way, I take a deep breath and let it out, allowing myself to drink in the intoxicating solidity of his body on mine for one more moment.
And then. “We should probably start heading back.”
Beau has been watching me with a gentle smile, and he doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by this pronouncement.
“Probably so.” Then, to my delight, he presses one soft, chaste kiss to my lips. Then he’s up on two feet and reaching down a hand to me. He helps me up, and together we pick up the remains of our picnic.
When we start our return trip, Beau and I reach for each other’s hand at the same moment, which leaves us both smiling.
We talk, but not as much as on the way up. Things are different, and we both know it. But here’s what I don’t know: What happens now?
If I had more than the bare minimum of dating experience—and I don’t—I might know what to say or what cues to read about what this all means and what’s okay. Was what happened between us just chemistry and opportunity? Was it more? Even if it was, does it matter? We have to work together four nights a week. No matter what, I still have to dance with Beau Monday night.
No. That’s not the right way to put it. I still get to dance with Beau Monday night. And Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday night. That thought alone is like someone throwing me a life preserver.
So, yeah, I want to keep seeing him. No surprise there. But is seeing him outside of lessons really such a good idea?
There’s definitely a spark between us. More than a spark. A blaze. If we give that blaze any more oxygen, it’s going to burn like an inferno. And it doesn’t seem like what I feel now has the potential to fizzle out in a few weeks.
But a few weeks—well, another seven weeks—is all I have. Then it’s back to L.A.
If we let this burn, one of us could get hurt. Could I handle that? Is that even fair to Beau?
The cypress bridge is just ahead of us, and I glance up at him. My heart does a little free fall seeing him at my side. He’s so beautiful. And it’s hard to describe, but part of his beauty is that he’s so self-contained. He’s used to being alone, being a little apart from everyone else. Quiet. Peaceful. Even just knowing him for a few weeks has shown me that.
And today, he’s shared a little of that quiet peace with me. What would happen to him if we got involved? If things burned hot like a star and then I left?
Quiet and peaceful doesn’t mean invulnerable. Would I hurt him?
God, that would be awful.
I squeeze his hand and memorize the feel of it in mine. Because maybe all I’ll have of him, outside of our lessons, is right now. And maybe that’s for the best.
When we reach the bridge, I walk slowly. Carefully. But not because I’m afraid of the crossing, but because I want my time with Beau to last.
By the time we reach Beau’s truck, I’ve convinced myself that this day—this beautiful, amazing, unforgettable day—is a one-time thing. Like seeing a shooting star: bright, awe inspi
ring, and rare. As much as it moves you, when it’s gone, it’s gone.
And I can live with that. I think. Seeing him four nights a week might be hard, because I’ll want more, but I know how to live without things I want. I’ve had years of practice.
This is what’s best for him, and it’s what’s best for me.
I’m telling myself exactly that when Beau fires up the truck and aims us back toward the highway.
“Today was great,” he says, squeezing my hand on the center console. Yes, we are still holding hands. I’ll hold his hand all the way back to town if he lets me.
“It was great for me too.” It feels like an invisible sparrow flutters its wings in my chest.
Settle down, I silently scold. Be cool.
Be cool. That’s the plan.
Beau brakes at the stop sign on State Highway 13 and looks at me, his expression open, but cautious. “Could I see you again?”
Why did I think I could be cool? I can’t be cool. Not with his eyes on me like that. My first impulse is to make a joke.
Of course you’ll see me again. On Monday for dance lessons.
But even in my head this doesn’t sound the least bit funny. Just juvenile. Beau deserves better.
I inhale a deep breath. “I want to see you again…” I squeeze his hand, having trouble continuing.
His left brow lifts slightly. “Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?” I expect to see bitterness in his eyes, but I find only patience. Kindness.
I swallow. “I hate that there’s a but coming, but here it comes.” Cold sweat mists the back of my neck. “But I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Beau’s mouth tightens, and he frowns just a little, but the softness in his eyes doesn’t change. He nods once, and then his hand slips from mine.
And you know what? It feels awful.
He puts both hands on the steering wheel and makes the turn. The cab is silent.
I hate the silence. I hate it. But I have no idea what to say. Actually, I have too many things to say, but I don’t know if any of them will make this better. As the forest disappears behind us, I feel like I’m leaving the happiest version of myself behind.
Two-Step Page 19
