Read Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel Online
Authors: Laura Trentham
Then He Kissed Me: A Cottonbloom Novel (34 page)
“Exactly, my father and aunt are
right there
.” His eyes widened in emphasis.
She giggled. “I know, but you and your dad are finally getting to know each other, and I think your aunt would be lonely.”
“I don’t know, Delmar is making regular appearances. She might want me and Dad gone.” He paused and played with her fingers. “How about we stay at my place temporarily? Until we can build something bigger. I’m already scouting land along the river.”
“Are you serious?”
“I already told you, I’m a professor. I’m always serious.” His smile belied the point.
“Which side of the river?”
“Land is cheaper on the Louisiana side.”
“Nash, that sounds perfect.”
He kissed her again, this time slow and sweet. Time ceased to have meaning. He lay back and took her with him, his body hard, his lips soft. A moan snuck out.
A throat cleared. Tally’s eyes popped open to find Nash wearing a similar deer-in-headlights look.
“I … uh, didn’t mean to interrupt.” Regan sounded both embarrassed and interested.
Tally scrambled off Nash, pulling at the spandex of her workout shirt. “You’re not interrupting.” The polite response shot out of her mouth even though they all realized Regan had interrupted.
“I didn’t see you at first, and then…” Her apologetic grimace seemed sincere. “I wanted to check to see if the gazebo would be ready by this weekend.”
“Why?”
“Thought I might invite a band in to play Saturday night.” Regan’s expression turned from apologetic to scheming.
“Our side is having our normal block party Saturday night with my uncle’s bluegrass band.” Tally’s eyes narrowed. No matter what Nash had said, the woman was as slippery and deadly as a cottonmouth.
“Well, considering you never invite anyone from Mississippi…” Regan held her hands up.
“Everyone is invited. It’s implicit. Monroe had a blast last time we had one.”
“She was only there because—” Regan squinted toward the footbridge.
Tally shifted. Sawyer strode toward them. Energy crackled around him. As he got closer, she could see the tight set to his jaw and his uncharacteristic frown. The sight of Regan applied flint to the anger stiffening his movements.
“You’ve taken things too far, woman!” His voice was so rough and cutting, Tally flinched even though he was obviously not addressing her.
The target of his fury took a step back, into the shadows of the gazebo. Sawyer kept barreling toward them as if he planned to run Regan into the ground. She grabbed one of the square columns of the gazebo as if bracing herself for impact. He stopped three feet shy of her.
“I promised on my parents’ grave I had nothing to do with burning your gazebo down.” He jabbed his finger in her face.
Regan had paled, her usual bravado absent. “I believe you.”
“Then why did you do it? Or have someone else do it? Lord knows, I can’t imagine you out in the river getting your hands dirty.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sawyer.” She wrapped her hand around his finger and pulled it down.
Tally stayed still as if any movement would draw attention, but Nash squeezed her hand, and she looked over to find a question in his eyes. She gave a small shake of her head and a shrug.
“
Someone
took wire cutters to at least fifty crayfish traps last night. Not only did good, hardworking men lose their harvest, but now we might be short for the festival.”
“Are you accusing me?” There was outrage but also surprise in Regan’s voice.
“Who else? You want to get back at me for the rabbits. Tit for tat? And I know you still think I’m an arsonist.” He gestured toward the rebuilt gazebo. “But this was taking it too far. You’ve caused grief for several families. How long have you been planning this little retaliation?”
“I want to win the contest and the grant money, and I’ll admit to doing some not very mature stuff, like painting your wall. But, I wouldn’t deliberately destroy someone’s livelihood. Surely you know me better than that.”
“You were awfully quick to judge me when the gazebo was burning. Let me see your hands.”
“Why?” Regan balled her hands and tucked them behind her back.
“To check for blisters.”
Regan harrumphed. He grabbed her forearm and pulled her right hand around. Taking her hands in both of his, he examined them.
“See? Nothing.” Regan’s voice was breathy, and she tugged. For a few heartbeats, Tally wasn’t sure if Sawyer was going to let go.
“Fine. So you got someone else to go out and sabotage me out of spite.”
“In the shock of the moment, I did think you were involved with burning down my gazebo, but I know you’re not an arsonist.” She laid a hand on his arm. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment.
“To be honest, I have a hard time picturing you cutting a bunch of traps. Or even hiring someone to do it.” A large portion of his aggression seeped from his voice. “You like your revenge in your face and warm rather than under-the-table sneaky.”
Regan crossed her arms. “Thanks. Really favorable character analysis there, Sawyer.”
Nash cleared his throat, and everyone turned in his direction. “Seems to me someone doesn’t want either festival happening.”
A numb wave passed through Tally in spite of the heat. The roll of cash in her uncle’s drawer snapped into her head. Could he be involved? She couldn’t imagine him sabotaging his own nephew. Plus, all of those crayfish harvesters were his friends. Where had that money come from?
Regan and Sawyer continued pointing fingers at various members of their respective communities, their arguments buzzing like white noise. Nash took Tally’s hand and whispered, “What’s wrong?”
Forcing a smile, she nudged her head toward the warring exes. She didn’t want to put Sawyer or Regan on the warpath. Not until she talked to her uncle. “I’ll tell you later. Promise. After I move my stuff over to your place.”
The warmth that flared in Nash’s face turned her fake smile into a genuine one. He curled his hand around her nape and pulled her in for the sweetest, hottest kiss of her life.
I don’t think any of my books would be what they are without music. Growing up in Tennessee, I rebelled against the country music that was the standard fare so close to Nashville. I listened to pop, but also discovered U2 and REM and Tori Amos. Then, my senior year of high school, Garth Brooks came out with his first album, and I slunk off to buy the tape(!), hoping no one would recognize me. I still can’t not sing along to “Friends in Low Places.” Talk about a great song to inspire a book! Over the years, I’ve evolved and listen to everything, but when I started writing southern-set small-town books, I rediscovered a love of country music and have come to really appreciate the mini-stories in each song.
I have a playlist put together for the entire Cottonbloom series, but this book in particular had some standout songs … Sam Hunt’s “Take Your Time” inspired the scene where Tally and Nash meet again as adults. Chase Rice’s “Gonna Wanna Tonight” inspired their trip to the top of the water tower and Nash’s list. As far as non-country, Ed Sheeran’s “Photograph” inspired the thread of past photos in the story. Wishing everyone happy reading and many inspiration songs!
Read on for an excerpt from
Laura Trentham
’s next book
Till I Kissed You
Available in August 2016 from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
Chapter One
Regan Lovell ran her hands up the shifting muscles of her lover’s back, lost in a state of wonder. The rhythm of his thrusts progressed from slow and steady to wild and erratic. It didn’t take long. He moaned softly in her ear, his hot breath sending shivers through her body.
It was done. She’d lost her virginity to Sawyer Fournette.
While it hadn’t been the out-of-body experience the romance novels she’d read in preparation would have her believe, it had been magical in its own way. She clasped her knees around his hips and wrapped him tight in her arms, his body sagging over hers, his breathing ragged.
Her mother would be horrified she’d given up her virginity at all, much less at eighteen, before she could use it to barter for a doctor or a lawyer at Ole Miss. She expected Regan to get an MRS degree, just as she had done thirty-odd years before.
But what would send her mother into an early grave was who she’d lost her virginity to. Her mother deemed Sawyer a Louisiana swamp rat and considered Regan’s fascination with him a phase. A means to rebel against her parents and their expectations, and that’s all.
What her parents didn’t know, or couldn’t accept, was that Regan had dreams and ambitions and a heart of her own. It wasn’t a phase or a rebellion; it was love.
He stirred against her, his sparse chest hair tickling her breasts. She crossed her ankles around his backside, holding him inside of her. “I love you, Sawyer.”
He pushed up on his elbows. “I love you too, Regan.”
“Forever?”
“And ever.” The humor and love in his voice were honestly more satisfying than the sex had been.
“Even after I eat too much barbeque and get fat and my hair turns gray and I lose my marbles like Nana Rosemary?”
“Even so.” He kissed the tip of her nose, and she smiled at their game.
Other more immediate questions clawed at her chest.
Will you love me after we go our separate ways for college? Will you love me even though prettier girls will try to lure you away? Will you wait for me?
He wiggled his hips free and dropped to her side in the bed of his brother’s old pickup truck. She looked down her body, but everything looked the same, not that she really expected this final crossover into womanhood to leave a visible mark. She was irrevocably changed but not in a way her mother or her friends could pinpoint.
Now the sexual haze was clearing, she became acutely aware of her nakedness. Subtle rustling while he disposed of the condom had her biting her lip and reaching for the edge of the threadbare quilt as cover. Was there a bloodstain like she’d read about in books?
Cooling air wafted over her. Through the arms of the pines, twilight cast shadows that shifted with the breeze. The river was close enough to serenade them with bullfrog croaks but far enough to avoid the worst of the bugs.
Citronella candles burned on the tailgate, keeping the mosquitoes away. She closed her eyes. The scent of the candles mixed with the pines and Sawyer to form an intoxicating blend she’d never forget.
Sawyer stripped the corner of the quilt away and blanketed her with his body. His expression was a mystery. He alternated between a too-mature seriousness and a boyish playfulness, leaving her unbalanced.
His everyday life was far removed from the plush elegance of hers across the river in Mississippi. But that’s one reason he drew her. He was different, exciting, and had more depth than all the boys in her school combined.
There was more to him than sports and parties. With him, she wasn’t afraid to talk about things that interested her—not cheerleading and beauty pageants, but world events and politics. He didn’t laugh when she laid out her dreams even though she wasn’t yet out of high school.
He believed in her.
“Did I hurt you?” He brushed her hair back from her forehead.
“A little. You were bigger than I expected.”
His laughter made her smile. It always did. “That was the perfect compliment.”
“Was it? Well, it’s the truth. Not that I have any basis for comparison, but I’m sure yours is the best.” His chest rumbled against hers, the vibrations electrifying her toes and fingertips. “Was I … okay?”
“Ah, baby, you are everything I’ve dreamed about and more.” His lips tickled her ear, but she needed to see his eyes. See the truth or lie. She cupped his cheeks and forced his face up.
Nothing but love shone from his face. The kiss he gave her was sweet and retained a hint of the innocence they’d entrusted to each other that night. She squeezed her eyes to shut off the spigot of tears that threatened. His weight pressed her down into the ridges of the truck bed, not that she planned to complain. She would stay all night under him if she could.
She would love Sawyer Fournette forever.
ALSO BY
LAURA TRENTHAM
FALCON FOOTBALL E-SERIES
An award-winning author,
Laura Trentham
was born and raised in a small town in Tennessee. Although she loved English and reading in high school, she was convinced an English degree equated to starvation. She chose the next most logical major—Chemical Engineering—and worked in a hard hat and steel-toed boots for several years.
She writes sexy, small-town contemporaries and smoking-hot Regency historicals. The first two books of her Falcon Football series were named Top Picks by
RT Book Reviews
magazine. When not lost in a cozy Southern town or Regency England, she’s shuttling kids to soccer, helping with homework, and avoiding the Mt. Everest–sized pile of laundry that is almost as large as the to-be-read pile of books on her nightstand.
