Till I Kissed You (24 page)

“Not really.”

His eyebrows were drawn down, leaving his eyes a mystery as he studied her for a moment. “I'll be right back, okay?”

He didn't wait for her answer, but walked off, lost in the crowd of people by the keg. She chafed her arms, not cold but uncomfortable. A man sauntered toward her from the parked trucks and SUVs on her left.

Heath Parsons. She'd wavered between dislike and fear of him in school. He'd made fun of her hair and freckles and sticklike legs until she'd popped him on the nose on the school bus in fourth grade. Tears had shined in his eyes as they'd stared at each other, both in shock, in the aftermath.

He'd shoved her hard against the window, his eyes promising retribution. Not long after, Nash had moved from Louisiana to Mississippi to live with his aunt and started in their school. He had been the poster child for the bullied nerd, and easy prey for kids like Heath. Selfishly, she'd been happy someone else had become the focus of his ire.

She shuffled toward the group of people and craned her neck. No sign of Cade or Monroe or Sawyer. Only six feet away now, Heath flinched slightly when he saw her and veered in her direction.

Her lips curled in a smile in spite of the swirling negative memories of him. Their paths had rarely crossed since high school graduation in spite of living in the same town.

“Regan Lovell? What in tarnation are you doing here?”

“I'm here with a friend.”

“Monroe and Cade Fournette have been thick lately. They around?”

“Somewhere. How have you been?” An ingrained habit of making small talk came to her rescue.

“Had a streak of bad luck. Got laid off back in the spring.”

“Sorry to hear that.” No evidence remained from the beating he'd gotten from Nash a couple of weeks earlier. Although, she'd guess his ego was still bruised.

“Yeah, I bet you are.” He spit a stream of tobacco to their right.

An awkward silence stretched, yet he didn't move on.

“Nice to see you after so long. Maybe we'll run across each other again soon.” She all but shooed him away with her hands.

“Heard your shop got messed up. Police have any idea who broke in?”

Her polite smile froze, the nerves on her neck tingling a warning. “I'm not sure. They've dusted for fingerprints.”

“Bet they won't find any.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Doubt he was dumb enough not to wear gloves.” He pushed at the tobacco pooching his bottom lip with his tongue.

The idea that flashed would qualify her for the FBI. She watched him from beneath her lashes, the fib rolling off with the ease of a seasoned investigator. “I don't know, he misspelled a message he left for me, so my guess is he's pretty stupid.”

“What?” More defensiveness than was warranted cut the word short. She didn't recognize the tense set to his shoulders until they relaxed with his chuff and he stepped off, walking backward a few steps. “Whatever. Hope they find him.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” She mimicked his earlier ironic tone, but softly and to his back.

While she couldn't definitively say he had been the man outside her mother's garden, his size and walk put him on the short list.

Sawyer jogged out of the crowd, a smile on his face. This time she didn't have to work for the smile on hers. The worry and tension Heath had instilled melted under the heat of Sawyer's gaze as it trailed down her body.

“You ready to head out?”

“Sounds good.” And it did. Maybe someday she would be comfortable hanging out at a bonfire with him, but a tentativeness to their interactions still existed. Even though she knew many things about him, they had both changed and a new dynamic pushed and pulled between them looking for balance.

He kept hold of her hand and led her past the line of trucks and SUVs and into the woods. The farther they went, the softer the ground became, and her pointy heels sank.

“My shoes…” She braced herself against a nearby pine and slipped them off. “If I step on another pinecone, you'll have to carry me back.”

“How about I carry you right now?” He swung her into a cradle hold. She yelped and grabbed around his neck as he laughed. “Anyway, we're not going back.”

She pushed away from his shoulders, but the darkness was too deep to see his expression. “Hold up. I'm not skinny-dipping with that crowd just through the trees.”

He stopped short. “Would you skinny-dip if we were alone?”

She huffed out a few “huhs” and “I means” before settling on “Maybe.”

He started walking again, shifting her to avoid trees, and murmured, “Well, now, I'll have to keep that in mind.”

“You're going to hurt yourself.”

He made a scoffing sound. “You weigh next to nothing.”

Although she wasn't petite, she appreciated the compliment. “I meant carrying me through the woods in the dark. You're liable to walk us into a tree or straight in the river.”

“I can see, remember. Anyway, I could close my eyes and find the river.”

“Based on what? The sound of the water?” She strained, but all she could hear was laughter and noise drifting from the bonfire and the softer sounds of the wind through the trees.

“That and a feeling I get.” The reluctance in his voice intrigued her.

“A feeling?”

“Don't laugh, but the river's always been my constant. It's … alive.” The streak of sentimentalism in his voice didn't surprise her. After all, this was the man who'd planted a row of flowers for his dead mother.

Everything in her chest seemed to be playing musical chairs. With her heart in her throat, she kissed his cheek and tightened her arms around his neck.

“Here we are.”

The sound of water lapping softened the calls of cicadas and muted the crowd. She could barely see, but surefooted, he descended into a washed-out gully. She grabbed him tighter.

“Don't look so worried. You trust me, don't you?” he asked.

The advantage he had over her in the dark meant she had no idea beyond the testing tone of his voice what he was thinking. The question loomed larger than the context of letting him carry her into the dark woods. Did she trust him?

The truth was … she wasn't sure. But everything he'd said to her that afternoon rang true. She wanted to believe him. Anyway, she no longer was a naïve love-blinded teenager. This time she would keep her eyes wide open and her defensives at the ready.

She nodded, and he continued up a hill. The sound of the river gurgled louder and moonlight sliced through the break in the trees, reflecting off the water. The scene was magical.

He put her down but when she turned to him, he shushed her and whispered, “An owl roosts on the far bank. If we're quiet enough, we might see him.”

She leaned into the nearest tree trunk. A pine by the feel of the bark and the smell. He was focused outward, toward the water, while she stared at him. In the meager light, his face appeared solemn and thoughtful. The part he played around town was the friendly jokester with the ready smile.

She knew differently. While she was sure now that he hadn't told her everything, he'd told her more than anyone else knew about his life after his parents' death. The struggles, the sadness, the pressure to succeed. And the responsibility of holding his two darker siblings together when everything threatened to fracture.

She'd had a part of him that no one else had been privileged to see. And she'd thrown it away because she hadn't been brave enough. Tears stung the backs of her eyes.

“Look.” He pointed toward the water, and she tore her gaze off him in time to see a huge white bird coast a few feet over the water, its wings silent. It rose with a beauty and grace that brought a different sort of tears to her eyes and settled on a tree branch. Its hoot startled her after the silence of its flight.

“How did you know?” She kept her voice low and gestured.

“Sometimes when I can't sleep, I'll come out on the river.”

“To hunt?”

The owl hooted again. In the aftermath, he whispered, “To hunt peace, I suppose.”

Maybe he was feeling as confused and anxious and hopeful about their confessions that afternoon as she was. She curled her hand around his neck, wanting to soothe the rawness she sensed in him.

Her eyes drifted shut. She didn't need light to find his lips. He'd been her constant for enough years that she could find her way to him even in the darkest night. Their kiss was simple and sweet with a twinge of sadness.

Against her lips, he said, “Will you come home with me?”

The question struck sparks in her body and burned away the melancholy of the moment. “Yes, please.”

“You've become such a lady.” He wound his fingers in her hair. “I remember a girl who wasn't afraid to get a little wild in the back of a pickup or a boat.”

“I'm not messing around with you out in the sticks with half of Cottonbloom, Louisiana, a stone's throw away.” She tried to sound priggish, but a small laugh snuck out.

He skimmed his lips across her jaw and bit her neck. His warm breath at her ear sent shivers through. “For once, I'm in complete agreement. I want all night and a big bed. What do you say?”

They'd never had either together. “Yes,
please
.”

His laugh was throaty, and she squealed when he scooped her back up. Instead of heading back toward the bonfire and his truck, he picked his way closer to the water and set her down. Cool metal was under her feet. He'd put her in a boat.

“Is this yours?”

“I wouldn't steal someone's boat, Regan.” He tutted, but with ill-concealed humor, and stepped in. The boat rocked and she dropped her shoes and grabbed his forearms. “Cade and Monroe came by boat from the shop. They're going to take my truck.”

He guided her backward until she hit the horizontal metal seat with the backs of her calves. She sat, slipped her shoes back on, and found handholds on the edges of the boat. He stepped back and shoved them off, hopping back on and passing her to get to the stern.

Night cast a dark veil for her, but his movements were smooth and sure. He cranked the engine, a quiet murmur, and the wind tossed her hair. The trees thinned and she could make out the high banks and the wide section of river they travelled.

He veered them to the left, up a different branch, this one narrower, the water flowing faster and splashing up on her hands. A dock came into view, the white clapboard of his house glowing in the moonlight. He drove the boat straight up onto the land instead of the dock.

“Sit tight for a minute.”

He bypassed her and tugged the boat farther up on the bank, tying it off to a tree. When he returned, she stood and he swept her up again. She could hear him splashing through the shallows before hitting the dirt-packed bank. Only a couple of weeks had passed since her impetuous accusations of tomato treachery on this very bank.

Now the man she thought she hated was carrying her to his house, and if she hadn't misread his signals, he planned to leave her very satisfied. Nerves jumped. With the exception of their quick, dirty sex against her wall, this would be their first time together in a very long time.

What did it mean, if anything?

 

Chapter Eighteen

Regan was a welcome weight in his arms, keeping him grounded. Sawyer rubbed his chin against her temple. Her natural sexy scent weaved with the earthy smell of the bonfire. He hadn't been sure if she'd agree to head off into the darkened woods with him, much less up the river.

Cade and Monroe would drop his truck off later and had strict instructions not to interrupt if Regan's car was still out front. Nerves and anticipation battled, much as they had when he was a teenager with her. It seems some things hadn't changed.

But some things had. They were adults, and instead of snatching time in the back of a truck or on a blanket under a tree or in his boat, he had a king-sized bed upstairs and all night long.

He set her down once they reached the patio where the footing was less precarious. The back door was unlocked. He waved her inside first, unlacing and toeing off his muddy boots. The hall light provided dim illumination. Tension ratcheted higher. He ran his hands down the back of his jeans.

“Do you want a drink or something?” He stepped forward, opened a cabinet, and pulled down a bottle. “I've got some of that Jack you like.”

“A little would be welcome.” She shifted on her heels. His gaze travelled all the way down her lean legs.

“You've got the most amazing legs. Always have.” The thought bypassed his filter to his mouth. When her shoulders relaxed and a small smile flashed over her face, he was glad he had spoken without thinking. It had been one of her rare, real smiles. While her big, white pageant grins might win voters, they hid her real emotions. Her real smile quirked only one corner of her mouth up, dimpled her cheek, and made him feel like they were sharing a private joke.

“I guess you have my mother to thank.”

“Next time I run into her, I'll do just that.”

Her smile fell. “You wouldn't really.”

What had she meant by that? Did she want to keep things on the down-low like they had as kids? He hesitated before handing over a tumbler with a little whiskey. “Cheers.”

They tapped glasses, and she took a sip. Her gaze cast upward toward him, unintentionally flirty. Or maybe intentionally flirty. She hummed and darted her tongue across her upper lip. He choked on his own sip.

“My vandal has good taste. It's the only thing he stole.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The whiskey I kept in my filing cabinet. It's the only thing that was actually missing.”

He threw back the rest of his drink, set the tumbler down, and leaned back against the countertop. “That's odd.”

She traced the edge of the glass with a finger. “When you left me at the party, I ran into Heath Parsons.”