Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel (14 page)

She flicked it on, held it between her teeth and climbed, looking down every few rungs to make sure he was following. She breached the top onto a rectangular landing about six feet long and four feet wide. It seemed newer, the metal smooth and untarnished. She bounced a couple of times, and everything felt secure.

He climbed up beside her, the space forcing their bodies close. Her shoulder brushed his arm, their hands only inches apart on the rail. Minutes passed. While she gazed over the treetops toward Cottonbloom, her other senses were focused on him.

The slight movement of his body as he breathed in and out, the heat that passed between them, sparking a warmth deep inside of her, the scent of his woodsy cologne, subtle enough to make her want to bury her face in his neck.

She flashed back to watching a shirtless Nash jump rope, graceful and agile. Her attempt to hide her wide-eyed stares had resulted in pristinely clean equipment. The second time she was confronted with his bare chest had been as startling as the first. Her stumble had been innocent enough, but touching his damp, hard pec was her downfall. She couldn’t stop thinking about running both hands up and down the muscles. And lower.

Colors burst over the trees, the bangs reverberating a few heartbeats later. She climbed onto the lowest rail and raised her arms, calling to the night sky, the sense of freedom exhilarating.

He wrapped an anchoring arm around her thighs and laughed. “You really are wild.”

The show lasted less than fifteen minutes, the finale a short continuous burst of color and sound.

“From up here you can’t tell where Louisiana ends and Mississippi begins, can you?” His voice rumbled in the still aftermath.

The trees spread as far as she could see, but the river was down there somewhere, twisting and flowing. A protectiveness surged through her. “Did you tell people about our little town and have a good laugh?”

“I didn’t talk about home much.”

“Why not?” She hopped off the rail and propped her hip against it.

“Once I left, it was like stepping out of a fairytale. Talking about home, analyzing my childhood would have destroyed it somehow.”

How could he look back at his mother dying, the loneliness he’d experienced, the bullying at school with nostalgia? “What fairytale were you living in? Because my life was closer to a tragedy or maybe a horror movie.”

He faced her and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, trailing his fingertips down her neck in the lightest of caresses. Tingles followed in their wake.

“Most of the fairytales passed through the ages were depressing and bloodthirsty. A way to warn against immorality. But the best had an element of magic. That’s what Cottonbloom has as well. Can’t you feel it?”

“A dark magic maybe.” She wished she could take his glasses off and search his eyes for answers to questions she would leave unspoken. How could they resurrect a friendship that she’d thought had died years ago? Was the sparking attraction between them part of Cottonbloom’s dark magic that would end in tragedy and tears?

He broke first, shrugging off the backpack, setting it on the platform, and unzipping it. A blanket emerged first, and he covered the metal-latticed floor. He sat, his legs dangling over, and patted the spot next to him. She joined him, a smile ghosting over her lips.

Next came a bottle of wine and two red Solo cups. It was when he pulled out a fancy corkscrew that humor gained the upper hand over the mishmash of emotions tumbling in her chest. She had smiled and laughed more with Nash over the course of two days than over the past year. Her cheeks were sore from it.

“You have got to be kidding me. If we were really in high school, you’d bring a flask of Jack you siphoned off your dad, not wine.”

“We don’t have to reproduce the experience with complete accuracy. Anyway, I’d pick a nice single-malt Scotch if I were going that route. I thought you might prefer something milder.” The cork came out with a pop, and he poured them each a glass.

She took the cup and swirled the red wine around. “I’m not much of a drinker period, and certainly not a wine aficionado. Is this something you picked up along with hot tea?”

“Yep. I started for the most pretentious of reasons. To impress a woman.”

“What happened?”

“The woman didn’t stick, but my appreciation of wine did.”

She pulled at a loose string on the blanket to cover her discomfiture at the thought of Nash with another woman and took a too-large gulp. She choked off a cough. The wine was woodsy and rich, meant to be sipped and not guzzled like a bottle of Boone’s Farm.

“Did she break your heart?” The question strangled out of her throat.

“Bruised it. She was older, more sophisticated. The relationship took on shades of
Pygmalion,
with me playing the part of Eliza Doolittle.” He smothered a husky laugh. “I learned a lot from her though.”

She wasn’t sure if she was imagining the sexual undertones in his admission or not. Pygmalion sounded like pig latin, but the name Eliza triggered a memory. “You mean
My Fair Lady
?”

“That was the movie version of the book.”

Why did it always come back to books with him? How could she expect to hold his interest when her favorite show was
The Bachelor
and his was probably Discovery Channel documentaries? She took another sip. “What’s your favorite TV show? Be honest.”

“Come on, seriously? That show about the Green Arrow, of course.”

Laughter sputtered out of her. Maybe he hadn’t changed so much after all.

“What’s
your
favorite show?” His question cut her laughter off like closing a water spicket.

“Discovery Channel documentaries?”

His side-eye glance said more than words. She hid her smile in the rim of the cup, pretending to take a sip. “Fine. If you must know, it’s
The Bachelor
.”

The humiliated sting of her confession was worth it when his laughter rolled through her. “I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard of it. Why do you like it?”

“I suppose it makes me feel better about my choice in boyfriends. Heath doesn’t look so bad compared to some of those losers, and I don’t look so pathetic.” She was aiming for a joke, but his smile reversed itself and he stared at her for a moment.

“You deserve way better than him, Tally. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“My looks aren’t the problem.” She fiddled with the ends of her hair. While she might not be the male ideal splashed across swimsuit magazines, she was in good shape and never had a problem attracting a certain sort of man.

“Then what is?”

She shrugged. The childlike motion was foolish and evasive. Nash deserved more. More than her. “I squeaked through high school.”

“So you keep saying, but lots of people aren’t cut out for college. Seems to me you’ve done extremely well.”

She had. She told herself that all the time. “You’re right. I’m doing fine. Hey, can I have some more? What’s so special about this wine?”

Her tactic was probably as transparent as Saran Wrap, yet he went along, detailing the wine’s pedigree as if it were a prize pureblood hound. While she had initially been feigning interest, his enthusiasm poured into her, and she found herself asking questions.

“I’ll bet kids line up to get into your classes.”

He dangled his hands over the lowest rail, letting the cup swing in his fingers. “Sorry, I tend to ramble on when something interests me.”

“No, I was being serious. Your passion is infectious, and you’re incredibly eloquent. I guess that comes from all the reading you do.”

His smile was as infectious as his enthusiasm for wines and just as intoxicating. Her heart picked up its pace, a mild buzz from the wine drowning out her nerves. She needed to loosen up. Have fun. Who knew how long this thing between them would last?

“We didn’t make it down to grab some of Rufus’s barbeque. Are you hungry?” he asked.

“You brought food too?”

“Simple crackers and cheese.”

“Sounds perfect.” And it did.

She faced him cross-legged while he arranged a circle of Brie and crackers on a paper plate. He scooped a chunk on a cracker and held it out to her. Her breath caught in her throat as she opened her mouth and took his offering. The rich soft cheese exploded in her senses. She took a sip of wine, the flavors mixing in perfect harmony. Everything seemed focused and sharper.

Once they’d polished off the cheese and wine, he pulled a can of spray paint out of the backpack, stood, and brushed crumbs off his lap. “It’s time to get down to business. What should I write?”

She joined him, the volume of her low buzz increasing. “Nothing too high-falutin’.”

“High-falutin’?” His laugh echoed around them. “You’re funny.”

“I love your laugh.”

He froze midshake, his laughter withering. She covered her mouth, shocked into stillness. Why had she said that? It was true, but he didn’t need to know how she felt. Darn Nash and his delicious wine.

“You always were sweet,” he said softly.

“I’m not anymore. I’m bitter and sour.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I never learned to make lemonade, I guess.” A breeze swirled around them and moved him closer. Even though they weren’t that high up, the air felt cooler, thinner.

“There’s one thing on my list I haven’t told you about.” The tease in his voice had been roughened away.

“How am I going to help if you don’t tell me?” She couldn’t stop staring at his mouth, and dabbed her tongue along her lower lip.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be willing to help me cross it off.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Could be. Might start a fire even.” He removed his glasses and tucked them into a pocket of his shorts.

The moon had risen and his brown eyes seemed to reflect back the meager light.

“I want to kiss you.” The words fell between them like it was a done deal, yet he moved more like a predator, slowly, cautiously, giving her a fighting chance at escape. “Not a peck on the cheek like when we were eight, but an honest-to-goodness, grown-up, man-woman kiss. Does that freak you out?”

It totally did. Not because she was disgusted or creeped out. The opposite. The compulsion to kiss him at the river had almost overtaken her. But this was Nash.
Her
Nash. Her stomach spiraled in a slow arc of nerves and anticipation.

Whenever she was nervous about something, like the school spelling bee, Nash had made her list the worst, most outrageous things that could go wrong. She reverted to old habits, the questions popping out in a rush of words. “What if you start thinking about Charlemagne to keep from being bored? What if you’re totally grossed out? What if you can’t look at me the same way? What if we can never be friends again?”

She had backed into the tower, and he braced his hands on either side of her head. “I can guarantee I won’t be disgusted or bored. I’ve been thinking about kissing you since that first night at the Rivershack Tavern. Maybe you’ll hate me slobbering all over you.”

“Maybe,” she whispered, even knowing it was a lie. Every part of her was drawn to him like filings to a magnet. Good sense kept her from confessing her biggest fear.

What if she didn’t want him to stop at a kiss?

“Listen, this is just an item on my list. One kiss. If the kiss is weird and either one of us doesn’t like it, let’s agree that it won’t affect our friendship. We’ll keep hanging out.”

“What if we do like it?” The possibility threw open a door she wasn’t sure she wanted to slam shut or run through.

“Well, then. I might have a lengthy addendum to my original list.” He cocked his head. “What’d you say we do something really crazy?”

Unlike at the river, the narrow platform offered no escape, and she was glad. She didn’t want to escape, even as the most vulnerable parts of her screamed at her to run. While she was perfectly willing to risk life and limb and trouble with the law, the risk Nash posed to her heart was too great to contemplate. But this was only a kiss—how dangerous could it really be?

“Okay.” The word came out as soft as a breath.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his body. She didn’t fight the compulsion this time, but reached for him, one hand threading into the hair at the back of his head, the other grasping at the shifting muscles across his shoulder.

Maybe the wine had lowered her natural inhibitions, but the reality was she’d wanted this since the moment he’d walked into the bar too. The possible fallout didn’t matter—nothing mattered—when his lips touched hers.

The passion that exploded caught her off guard. He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, skimming his tongue along the sensitive flesh before nipping it lightly. Something thumped to the platform, followed by a clang and a thud. The entire platform could fall and she wouldn’t have noticed until impact.

He cupped her face with both hands and forced her fully against the slight curve of the tower. The metal had retained a portion of the sun’s heat and stoked the sparking fire inside of her body. He pressed into her, lifting and fitting them together until she was on her toes.

Her mouth parted in invitation, and he accepted, curling his tongue around hers. A whimpery moan escaped her throat. She didn’t have a chance to be embarrassed. An answering rumbly growl vibrated his chest and ratcheted up their kiss to inferno levels.

His hair slipped through her fingers, soft and springy. She sought bare skin and snaked her other hand up the bottom of his shirt to caress back muscles she’d admired in the gym. He felt even better than she’d imagined—smooth and hard and strong.

She wanted his hands all over her. She wanted him to bend her over the rail and take her from behind. She wanted to re-create the scene from their morning together but this time stay to take him in her mouth. She wanted to lie back and stare into the treetops while he drove her wild. She wanted all the naughty, dirty things she’d dreamed about. And more.

His erection settled against her hipbone, and she squirmed. In contrast to the biting passion of his lips, he caressed her face and massaged her scalp and neck with gentle fingers. He slid his lips along her cheek to tug her earlobe between his teeth. Her head lolled, offering him her throat. He skimmed his lips down her skin, stopping to nip at her pulse, his stubble offering its own caress.