You Make Me (16 page)

I spread mustard and tried not to drool. He never glanced my way, so I was free to check him out the entire time. Part of me felt guilty since Ethan and I had just broken up, but at the same time, my attraction to Heath pre-dated Ethan. It felt like it had nothing whatsoever to do with Ethan. But I had expected Heath to show up and immediately push his agenda and I’d been prepared to deflect that a little. Enjoy it a little. This I didn’t understand.

It almost felt like he was being…brotherly to me.

Which was the cruelest of all ironies.

He swung again, whacking the log hard, splitting it in two perfectly even pieces. I sighed, my body betraying me. His body was more mature now. But so was mine. It made me restless.

After we ate Heath poked around the living room while I lay on the couch, watching him. “I missed the ferry,” he said, nonchalantly, picking up an old newspaper and frowning at it.

“Did you?” I asked, equally nonchalant. “I wasn’t watching the time.” Which was a lie. I had known he was at risk for missing it, and I’d chosen to stay silent.

“This is from 2006,” he commented.

“That’s new for most things in this house.” I was lying on my back, hands behind my head, content to relax and study him. “Want to build a fire with all that wood you chopped? It will be dark soon.”

He dropped the newspaper. “We can do that.”

“Or we can watch a movie.”

“How about we watch a movie, then make a bonfire?” He went to study the old and small collection of DVDs. “Where did half of these come from?”

“Most of them Brian borrowed from the library and never returned. Pick any one.”

He did, just grabbing one and turning on the TV and old school DVD player. He opened the case and put the disc in. Remote in hand he came over to me. “You’re hogging the couch.”

That hurt my feelings for some reason. “I’m comfortable.”

He dropped down on the floor at my side, his back against the couch. “Diva.”

Without warning there were tears in my eyes.

Heath made a sound in the back of his throat. “What’s wrong? I was just joking. I don’t think you’re a diva. Cat, talk to me, baby.”

“Why won’t you touch me?” I asked, ashamed that I was so needy, but needing to know the answer. “You’ve been avoiding touching me all day.”

He rubbed his hand over his face and gave a small laugh. “Trust me, it’s not because I haven’t wanted to. It’s hard as hell to control myself.”

I had rolled onto my side so that our faces were only a few inches apart. “Why do you have to control yourself?” I whispered.

“Because it has to come from you,” he said earnestly. “Your relationship just ended. You’re vulnerable. I could take you, but then I would own you because I made it happen. And what I love the most about you is your spirit, your independence. Your will. Taking you would be like trying to grab a wave and hold onto it… it’s impossible. It would wash away.” He reached out and stroked the back of his hand down my cheek. “Do you understand that? I need it to be your choice, for both our sakes, even if holding back kills me.”

I looked into his eyes, amazed at how well he knew me, how despite all that time apart, he still knew what I would need. Because he was right. As much as I would want him to make it easy, and take control, the choice had to be mine. I couldn’t just let something happen between us, it had to be conscious. “How can you understand me more than I understand myself?” I asked him, leaning into his touch, softly kissing his knuckles.

His eyes bore into mine. “Because you make me. Because I didn’t exist, not in any way that matters, until I met you.”

Chapter Thirteen

I sighed. It was a quiet exhalation of breath, but it was also an internal sigh, in my heart. One single tear fell down my cheek, onto his hand, and I knew that he was right. Our lives, our souls, were entwined. For good or bad, I was connected to him in a way that defied time, logic, and distance.

“I love you,” I said. “I always have.”

“I love you, too. It used to bother me, that I didn’t know who I was or where I came from, just that my mother was a runaway with a fake name. But when I met you none of that mattered because I figured out who I was- the man who had been born to love you.”

“Oh, God,” I whispered, hand trembling as I covered his where it rested on my cheek. “I missed you.” All the fears, the worry that it was merely teen infatuation, concern over the future, evaporated. I didn’t care what had happened yesterday or what was going to happen tomorrow. I just wanted to feel his lips on mine, his arms around me.

I was in an awkward position, propped on one elbow, but I didn’t want to wait. Leaning forward, straining, I watched him watching me, knowing that he knew what I was about to do. If he wanted me to touch him first, I would. I would cross that line because I had to let him know what he meant to me. That despite planning a future without him, I’d never stopped loving him.

His eyes darkened, his hand still on my cheek. His lips parted but I knew he wasn’t going to say anything.

I kissed him, and it was a trembling, tentative kiss, partly from the angle, partly from being emotionally overwhelmed. A soft brush over lips I knew so well. I pulled back an inch, closing my eyes, just collecting myself.

“The idea of that kept me alive for three years,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Kiss me again. Please.”

Moving his hand down, over my chest, to my waist, I shifted so I could wrap my arms around his neck. This time when I kissed him, it was slow, languid, a deep, deep longing expressed between us. So much time. So much fear. My fingers massaged at the nape of his neck, and I closed my eyes, sinking into him. I had been kissing someone else for a year, and Ethan kissed differently, with shorter, noisier presses and I had learned to adjust, accommodate that.

But it only took the one for me to remember how to kiss Heath, to slide back into what worked so well between us. They were deep, hot kisses, mouths perfectly aligned, my body in tune with his. He moved on the floor, shifting so that he was more fully facing me. He gripped my waist tightly, and threaded his free hand into my hair, his tongue teasing my mouth open.

That soft invasion, that thrust and withdrawal, had me groaning, desire coming in a huge flood of desperate need. What had started out as a trembling brush of my lips over his had dived into a hot tango of tongues, our movements hungry, anxious. He pressed me back, down onto the couch and he slid over me, his muscular arms holding his body up so he brushed against, but didn’t crush me. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said, pushing my hair back off my face. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I wasn’t sure if he was asking about us being together after today or if he was asking about sex, but I was absolutely positive about both. If he wasn’t talking about being together, I didn’t actually want to know right then, so I wasn’t about to ask for clarification. I just nodded. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He kissed me again, hard, before pulling back and staring down at me. “Thank you.”

Heat stained my cheeks at his words. He looked fierce, and yet vulnerable. Like he’d been unsure what he might find when he got here to Vinalhaven. Yet he’d come anyway. I lifted my head, lips seeking his, and he met me halfway. I sank back down as he kissed me over and over, an eager reacquainting that felt like I had ached for forever, had thought would never happen. Yet here it was. Here we were.

When his hand started to roam up under my shirt, towards my breasts, I gave a sigh of pleasure.

But suddenly he paused. “Let’s go in the bedroom.”

“Okay.” The couch would work but he didn’t have a lot of room to maneuver.

He stood up and held his hand out to me. I took it, lacing my fingers through his. As we walked up the stairs, it felt odd to be in the house, just the two of us. I didn’t think that had ever actually happened before and I felt nervous, like my parents would walk through the doorway. Which of course wasn’t going to happen. But the corners had shadows and the house was cold. It would have been lonely staying there alone for longer than I had.

And no one else belonged there with me except for Heath. I never would have brought Ethan here. Ever.

It was my room he took me to, easing me down onto the bed in the dark carefully. Rolling over, he switched the lamp on so a feeble glow illuminated us and the bed. He pulled his shirt off over his head and I traced my fingers over his muscles, over tattoos he hadn’t had before, one a pirate ship, another a quote in a foreign language I didn’t recognize.

“I’m afraid,” I confessed, fingertips moving up to touch his bottom lip. I wanted this so much, but I was scared, too. It mattered to me, what he thought of me. That he enjoy me.

“Afraid of what, sweetheart? Are you afraid of me?” He looked puzzled.

“No! Of course not. I could never be afraid of you. I’m afraid that it won’t be the same. It won’t be good… enough… for you.” I was pretty sure I would die if he’d gone off and realized that what we had shared was amateur stuff and it- I- could no longer satisfy him.

But he looked incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious.”

“Cat.” He took my hand and put it on his erection. “We’ve been kissing for less than ten minutes and I want you so desperately I can’t even think. I’ve loved you for five years. I’ve thought about our one and only time together a million times, wishing I had one more chance, just one more kiss, one more touch. It will always be more than good enough with you. It will always be the ultimate, because you’re my ultimate.” He kissed me. “Do you understand?”

I nodded.

He kissed me again. “Do you trust me?”

I nodded.

His lips buried in my neck. “Do you want me?”

Nod. “Absolutely.”

“Then don’t be afraid. Don’t ever be afraid when you’re with me.”

“I won’t,” I whispered, my ankle wrapping over the back of his. I wanted him closer, body hard on mine. I gripped his bare back as his lips trailed down my neck, and over the front of my shirt, his teeth scraping my nipple.

He popped the top three buttons on my fitted plaid button up. It was a blue color and he watched me as he undid it. “This shirt brings out the blue in your eyes.”

“I think my eyes are green,” I said, knowing why he was saying it. It was an old joke between us. My eyes were actually brown, something I had lamented to him once. So he had taken to teasing me, always giving me the same line. I always gave him the same response.

“I think they’re beautiful.” He bent over and kissed the swell of my breast.

I lifted my hip, stunned at how much I physically wanted him. He kissed me, sliding down the cup of my bra and playing with my nipple, teasing it with his tongue before finally clamping down and sucking. I felt every flicker, every tug and tease, deep down between my thighs, and I was gasping already, my eyelids heavy. His hand palmed my other breast and I bit my lip, moving my hands restlessly over his back, enjoying every touch, my body alive with desire. At random intervals he raised his head and gave me a kiss, sometimes with his tongue, sometimes without.

I felt helplessly inactive, wanting to please him, but not knowing how. I’d been completely inexperienced in our teen fumblings, and I didn’t feel much more like a seductress now. I was torn between wanting to just enjoy myself and let him do whatever he wanted, and wanting to be the one who gave him pleasure, who showed him how much he meant to me. But he was undoing my jeans and I temporarily forgot about wanting to blow his mind, because his hand had found its way inside my panties. It seemed he was going to blow my mind first.

“Heath,” I breathed.

He didn’t answer, his mouth over my breast, as he stroked over my clitoris and down into my dampness. I moaned, arching my hips to meet him. We found a rhythm easily, grinding and stroking and kissing.

“You taste so good,” he said, before suddenly sitting back and jerking at my jeans. “I want to taste all of you.”

I was already breathing hard, and as he yanked violently at my pants, I reached behind and undid my bra. I wanted to be naked, to feel all of him. I tossed it, desperate to have it away from me. We’d never been naked together before, not completely skin on skin, and he seemed to be of the same mind as me because after my jeans were off, he ditched his quickly. It was already different than our gropings under and over each other’s clothes in our relationship before. Our lust was darker, more mature, questing, and without hesitation.

He dipped his tongue into my bellybutton, then he shifted downward, pulling my knees apart as he kissed over my most sensitive flesh. “Oh,” I moaned, head falling to the side, fingers tugging at his hair. I needed to hold on as he did the most delicious things to me. My knees fell further apart and my tight need swelled and broke on a hot, intense orgasm.

It caught me completely off guard and I jerked, yanking at his hair. “Shit, oh, damn, Heath…”

Glancing up at me over the length of my body, his expression was feral, pleased. “Memories couldn’t do it justice,” he murmured. “You taste better than I remembered.” He kissed my inner thigh.

Body still tight, wet, I sat up, bending over so I could give him a deep, hard kiss. I hadn’t thought about the fact that my scent would be on his lips, his tongue, and while it startled me, I didn’t mind. It felt right, everything with him. I didn’t want to hold back. I wanted to taste him too. Sliding my hands down his chest, I followed the trail with my lips until I reached the waistband of his boxer briefs. Peeling it back, I found his erection with my kisses, sliding my tongue over his smooth flesh.

He made a sharp sound in the back of his throat and I figured I’d made a wise choice. It wasn’t my greatest skill in life, but I figured enthusiasm worked in place of technique. Heath didn’t seem to be objecting as I closed my mouth over him and moved up and down, using my saliva to create a rhythmic glide. His fingers dug into my shoulders. After a minute or two, he actually yanked on my hair, pulling my head backward.

I didn’t lose my grip on him, I just glanced up at him in question, knowing I wasn’t doing it wrong. I could hear in his breathing, feel in his tenseness, that I was doing it very, very right.