Chapter 5 #4
She huffed out a breath, feigning annoyance. “Cuntcake and twatwaffle are some of her most used.”
Boone laughed, unconcerned. “Sadie’s not a stranger to bad words. For one thing, she’s in middle school.”
Mila grinned. “True.”
“And for another, Lena makes zero attempts at cleaning up her vocabulary in front of our daughter. Never has. I had to sit down with Sadie and give her the ‘do as I say, not as your mother does’ speech when she was in first grade, and the teacher called to let me know Sadie had told a little boy in her class to go fuck himself.”
Mila’s eyes widened. “No way.”
“She’d spent the previous weekend with her mother, and when I asked her where she’d heard that word, she admitted it was Lena who’d said it to the boyfriend she’d been having a fight with.
I called Lena and read her the riot act, but she accused me of overreacting, then insisted Sadie had most likely picked it up from the guys I was working with at the time.
My ex-wife is very good at deflecting blame.
” Boone sighed. “Shit. I don’t want to talk about Lena tonight.
So what about you? How do you plan to corrupt my daughter? ” he joked.
Mila paused, trying to come up with something, though nothing popped to mind. “I actually wish I could think of something, but unlike my sisters, I’m the boring one.”
Boone frowned. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Not really,” she lied, wishing she hadn’t said that aloud. “I’m just not adventurous like Lucy, or quirky like Nora, or wild like Remi. I’m just sort of the…” She sought a word that might make her seem even a little bit interesting, because she’d be damned if she said sweet.
“The good girl,” Boone said, filling in the blank with words that should have supported her assertion that she was boring. But he said the words in such a way that Mila didn’t just feel interesting, but sexy. Surely that couldn’t have been his intent.
She drew in a slow breath, liking it more than she should when he called her that.
When Boone ran his finger along her cheek, she knew her damn blush had given her away.
It was virtually impossible for her to hide the way Boone made her feel.
She’d never felt an attraction like this, so she had no shields.
He dropped his hand, and they started walking again. When they reached the edge of her yard, Boone grasped her hand, pulling her to a halt.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mila,” he said.
“Thanks. You too.”
Something in her tone must have given away her true feelings about the holiday, because he tightened his grip on her hand. “Not a fan?”
“It’s just another day, isn’t it?” This time, she didn’t bother to temper her words.
“I thought women loved the romance of the holiday. What the hell was that dance just about otherwise?”
Mila grimaced. “It’s only romantic for those in love.”
“I see,” he said, and she could see he did.
“Want to know a secret?” Mila asked, the vodka she’d drunk loosening her lips more than was wise.
He nodded.
“I’ve never had a date or even gotten a kiss on Valentine’s Day.”
“Never?”
“Never.” She was touched by his look of disbelief. It soothed the parts of her that felt undesirable as one Valentine’s Day after another passed without her finding love.
“What’s wrong with the men in Gracemont?”
She laughed, secretly pleased by how aghast he seemed. “Thanks for pretending it’s them, not me.”
“You really don’t see it, do you? Guess it’s up to me to correct that wrong.”
Mila didn’t have time to respond or even analyze what he meant before Boone’s hands grasped her shoulders, and he pulled her toward him.
She gasped the moment his lips touched hers, Boone capitalizing on that by brushing his tongue against hers.
She tasted the cinnamon and apples from the pie Edith Millholland had baked.
That was the last sane thought she had as Boone deepened the kiss, claiming her lips like they were the spoils of war.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers digging into his hair, grabbing it tight enough that Boone groaned. She immediately opened her fists, sorry for hurting him, until he murmured, “Keep holding on, darlin’,” without lifting his lips from hers.
Mila had been kissed before, but never like this. Boone’s lips were hard and soft at the same time. His hands strong, yet gentle. She was struggling to breathe, to stand, to do anything other than drown in this kiss.
Time stopped moving as the two of them got lost in the silence of the night, the soft light of the moon, and the shelter of the trees.
Mila sucked in a harsh, much-needed intake of air when she felt the rough bark of a tree at her back. When did they leave the path?
None of her brain cells were functioning, every single one short-circuiting when his large thigh somehow found its way between her legs.
She moaned, rocking her hips, her body shifting into overdrive as Boone’s hands drifted beneath her coat, cupping her breasts and squeezing, the lace of her bra stimulating her nipples until she was panting for breath.
Her panties had been damp from the dance they shared, but now they were downright soaked.
Her entire body tingled when he pressed his thigh against her core harder, higher, making sure her clit was now part of the action.
Everywhere Boone moved her with those strong, powerful hands, she followed, desperate for more.
His hands lowered to her hips, gripping hard as he increased the pace of her movements.
“God, yes! Please, Boone,” she cried, her head falling back against the tree, hard enough it should hurt. However, all she could feel was the relentless pulsing between her legs.
Sadly, her words broke whatever spell had fallen over them.
Boone froze, stiffened, then pulled away.
She started to demand he finish what he’d started, but speaking was beyond her abilities now. He’d robbed her of air for too long with those drugging kisses. By the time her vision cleared, and she could focus again, she’d swallowed down the demands—hating the regret suffusing his features.
“Mila,” he started, huskily.
All she had to hear was her name to know where this was going.
He was going to warn her away again, probably even start offering a million excuses why this couldn’t happen.
She didn’t want to hear them. She’d been on the receiving end of his “I’m not looking for a relationship” speech before, and she couldn’t stand to hear it again. So she cut him off.
“Wow. You really know how to correct a wrong,” she said, smiling the lightest, most carefree, nothing-to-see-here grin she could muster.
Given his frown, she suspected she’d managed nothing better than a pained grimace.
“Mila,” he started again, his voice softer. If he apologized for that kiss, she would die. “Listen—”
“It was just a kiss,” she hurried to lie. While she wasn’t overly experienced, she was smart enough to know that was way more than a kiss.
Boone’s shoulders were stiff, his gaze studying her too intently. Somehow, she found the strength to push away from the tree, though she was wobbly enough that Boone quickly reached out, placing a steadying hand on her elbow.
“Too much vodka,” she whispered, hoping perhaps she could convince him she was tipsy enough that this would be forgotten.
Ha fucking ha.
She’d remember that kiss on her deathbed.
Pulling her winter coat around her, Mila was grateful the wool was thick enough to hide her nipples, which were now hard enough to cut glass.
Boone looked like he wanted to say more, but if he did…
His features softened, something like worry creeping into his eyes. Great. She probably looked emotionally fragile or some horrifying shit like that.
Turning away, she started walking across the yard to her house. It took a couple of seconds, but then Boone moved as well, taking his place at her side. They made the rest of the short journey in silence.
Because what the hell could they say after that?
Sadie must have heard them climbing the stairs, and she met them at the door.
Their goodbyes were short and quick, and less than two minutes later, Mila was climbing the steps to her bedroom.
Her body hadn’t quite gotten the message that Boone and their heated interlude in the woods was over, because every part of her was still vibrating, shimmering… anticipating.
Mila stripped off her skirt and blouse, her bra and damp panties, then crawled into bed without bothering to put on her pajamas.
They would just be in the way, since there was no way she was falling to sleep tonight without taking care of unfinished business.
It took less than five minutes for the memory of Boone’s kiss and her tried-and-true vibrator to produce the much-needed orgasm. And it wasn’t one of the lukewarm ones she usually managed, the ones that got the job done but just barely.
Nope. This one was legit, mind-blowing, and proof that what she’d been doing in the past would never satisfy her again.
So…great. Boone wasn’t just the kind of guy who would ruin her for other men. But also for masturbation.
She was screwed—figuratively, but never literally.