Chapter 6 #2
I return her affection and offer, "Thank you. And this party is too much."
"Not at all," she says, waving her hand in front of her face.
One by one, the Cartwrights all step up to hug me, but all I can see is the one at the end of the line.
Willow.
My heart stops. She's in a yellow sundress, and I swear the sun looks dull in comparison.
The fabric clings to her, taunting me with a whole new set of fantasies I shouldn't be creating. But her bare shoulders beg for my lips. Her legs somehow seem longer than normal in her platform sandals, and all I want to do is run my hands up her thighs and past her fluttering hem.
Then there's that damn bow, screaming to the world "innocence," right between her breasts, and I'm convinced she glued it on her dress only to drive me crazy all night.
So I go through the motions, careful not to lean into her family members when they hug me. The strain against my zipper is relentless. I can't get the thought of hiking up that sundress and stealing her innocence until she gasps my name like a prayer and a curse all at once.
By the time she gets to me, I need another cold shower. She pins her soft smile on me like I'm more than I am or someone worth saving. The unfamiliar and unwelcome pull in my chest slowly twists, aching for something I should never have nor take.
"Happy birthday. Surprise," she teases, a slow flush in her cheeks appearing.
I'm imagining things.
I don't move or speak, afraid of what I might say or do. Yet today isn't my lucky day. Her presence only makes it worse.
Her torturous scent flares around me, dragging more buried desires to the surface. My gaze drifts over her body in slow motion, unable to linger in places I should never consider looking at or touching.
When I finally lock my eyes back on hers, hitched breaths flow between her parted lips. Her maroon cheeks highlight the unclaimed fire innocently burning in her blues.
She's pure sweetness with unspoiled grace, and my chaotic thoughts turn so clear, there's no denying it.
I want Willow Cartwright. But it's more than some high school crush.
I don't want a quick fix. I want to ruin her until the sun comes up, breaking her into pieces. And there's another truth I already know, which scares me more.
I'll watch her shatter around my body before putting her back together, only to do it again.
She inhales slowly, that bow I have to stop myself from pulling apart, moving with the action. She rises on her tiptoes and curls her arms around me.
Unlike the others, I don't keep my body away. I tug her closer, wrapping my arms around her waist. My lower body throbs against her stomach, and I murmur in her ear, "Thanks, sugar."
She stiffens.
"You smell good," I add before I can stop myself.
She slowly retreats, pinning an expression full of a million questions on me. A runaway wisp of hair falls across her cheek.
"There's the birthday boy." Chelsea's voice cuts in, causing Willow to tear her gaze off me.
My gut dives. I squeeze Willow's waist and release her, turning just as Chelsea throws herself at me.
Like with the other Cartwrights, I go through the motions, staring at Willow over Chelsea's shoulder, only to receive a sharp pain in my heart.
Hurt floods Willows's face.
It hits harder than any slap could. Buried in her expression is a question she won't ask, and a thousand things I might not be man enough to give.
Or worse...
Maybe I will.
I try to pry Chelsea off me, but she only hugs me tighter.
Willow's mouth curves into a tight smile, and she nods. Then she spins on her heel and walks away.
Chelsea finally retreats, gushing, "It was so hard keeping this a secret from you! How surprised were you?"
"Huh?" I question, tearing my fixation off Willow and giving Chelsea a cool once-over.
Everything I obsessed about for months morphs into the average. Her curled hair, polished and perfect, along with her bold, painted red lips, seem boring compared to Willow's flyaway hairs and soft, pink mouth.
She babbles, "On a scale of one to ten, how surprised were you?"
I stare at her.
What a dumb question.
Her smile grows. "You must still be in shock."
I clear my throat, admitting, "Yeah, I'm in shock." But it's not about the party.
How did I not notice Willow before?
She's Jacob's daughter.
Jagger and his brothers will kill me.
"Hey, Wyatt," a breathless female voice interrupts, and a hand wraps around my bicep from behind.
Chelsea's eyes narrow. "Hazel."
I turn my head and refrain from groaning.
Willow's annoying friend beams at me. "I wanted to come give the birthday boy a hug."
I have to get out of here.
"Can you two excuse me, please?" I say, tipping my hat. Then I glance into the tents, searching for Willow.
Jagger slides his arm around me and hands me a red Solo cup. "Thought you might need one of these."
"What is it?" I question, glancing at the fizzing cola.
"Drink it," he orders with mischief in his eyes.
I obey, grimacing as the whiskey overpowers the soda.
"Don't be a pussy," he taunts.
I down the cup's contents, hoping it'll cool the fire smoldering inside me.
"All you gotta do is make the rounds for an hour, then you can sneak off with Chelsea," he directs.
I clench my jaw.
"What's that look for?" he asks.
"Nothing. How do I get a refill?" I ask.
He grunts. "Mason has a flask. He'll fill you up."
"Great." I scan the party again.
"Jagger. Are you going to let the birthday boy have all the fun?" Hazel cuts in.
I groan, irritated once again.
Jagger turns and looks her over, his lips curling in approval. "Meaning?"
She giggles. "He shouldn't get all the hugs, should he?"
Jagger tosses me a sinister look, then steps closer to her, sliding his arm around her waist, and stating, "Darlin', I think a kiss on the cheek is appropriate too, don't you?"
She bats her eyes and flirts, "Well, if you want one from me..."
Annoyed and on a mission to find Willow, I leave them and enter the first tent.
The band is playing country music, and a dozen couples line dance. Guests fill tables, laughing, drinking, and eating. I know all of them, and every step I take pulls me into another conversation.
I'm halfway into the tent when I spot Willow. Our eyes meet, lingering on each other until Howard Stetson slaps my shoulder.
"Wyatt Houston, it's about time you came to say hello," he roars.
I turn and put out my hand. "Mr. Stetson. It's nice to see you."
He shakes my hand and declares, "It's Howard now. Once you become a man, we're on a first-name basis."
"Thank you, sir," I reply, then glance back, but Willow's no longer in the same spot.
My stomach sinks, and I curl my fist at my side.
I need to find her.
I excuse myself from the conversation, get stopped by more people, then spot her.
The entire night is a game of cat and mouse.
There's a flash of her bare shoulders, a curl of her innocent smile, a sneak peek of her sun-glazed legs.
I find her, only for her to disappear, swallowed by the crowd that never seems to dwindle.
She's a dare that I'm not sure I'll win, but I spend the night chasing her shadow.
Every circle of guests, every song, every too-loud laugh that isn't hers keeps me ignoring Chelsea's numerous attempts to grab my attention.
Then, I spot Willow on the edge of the dance floor. Her hips sway like sin to the song. I push through bodies, but she's vanished by the time I get there.
As my irritation hits a high, it suddenly dawns on me. She's been leaving me breadcrumbs all night. Between her lingering scent, lip gloss on empty cups, and the bow on her yellow dress taunting me all night, she knows what she's doing.
If she thinks she can avoid me all night, she's wrong.
If she wants a chase, then I'll give her one.
When I catch her, this game is going to end.
The only thing I need to decide is if it's her up against the wall or writhing underneath me.
Either way, Willow Cartwright's going to plead for me, my body, and all the things she's only imagined. I'll make her beg for the stretch, cry for more, and when she breaks around me, she'll never forget who made her a woman.