Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The diner’s bell jingled overhead, its brass chime cutting through the late afternoon hum of conversation and clinking cutlery as Rowan shouldered the door open.
He balanced the white box in one hand, Nora-Mae’s looping scrawl across the top in smudged blue ink: ‘Two extra slices, just in case, sugar.’
She had winked when she’d slid it across the counter, her eyes flicking between him and Enya with the kind of knowing look that made Rowan’s neck itch.
Damn, he wished ‘just in case’ was for the quiet moments, the ones where words weren’t needed and something sweet might fill the silence, instead of just in case they were still hungry.
Don’t be stupid.
She’s not ready for anything, and she’s not the kind of woman you just scratch an itch with.
Unless you are looking for more, then keep your hands behind your fucking back and your cock in your pants.
Did he listen to his internal warnings? No, no, he did not.
His hand found Enya’s without hesitation, his fingers threading through hers like they’d been designed to fit perfectly right there.
She didn’t pull away, stiffen, or do any of the things that would’ve told him he was pushing for more than she wanted to give.
He suppressed a shudder as her palm pressed against his, and her thumb brushed over his knuckles in a slow, deliberate stroke that sent a jolt straight up his arm, settling somewhere dangerously close to his chest—right where his pulse was already pounding like he’d run ten miles under the desert sun.
The touch was casual, almost absentminded, but it also…
wasn’t. Not with the way her fingers tightened just slightly when he squeezed back.
Not with the way her shoulder brushed his as they stepped off the curb, her warmth seeping into his soul as if determined to rope, brand, and keep him forever.
I should have left the truck at Hay’s.
Stupid move, driving it over here.
Dumbass.
He cursed himself for his lack of foresight.
With the truck parked only half a block down, they would be there too fast. Rowan didn’t want to rush, and he didn’t want the peace that settled deep inside him to end.
He should have been wary that everyone in town could see him holding Enya’s hand.
But he couldn’t bring himself to care. Let Marla peer through the post office front window with her binoculars as she dialed his mother’s number.
Let the old men on the bench outside the barbershop nudge each other and mutter about ‘kids these days.’ He didn’t give a damn.
Not when Enya’s fingers were warm in his, not when her laughter and teasing still hummed in his ears, making his ribs ache.
The second he’d clocked the way her lips wrapped around a bite of that damn lemon meringue pie, and the sound of her happy moan of enjoyment made his cock stand to attention, he’d decided he was going to hoard the memory for the shit moments when he needed to pull himself back from the edge of oblivion that came from having to work in shitholes around the globe.
He loved his job. Loved. It. And he was damn good at it, but there were times he skated a little too close to the edge of sanity, that he needed something, anything to keep him from being like one of the assholes he and his team hunted.
She’d do that.
She could be my sanity in the fuckery that is war.
He’d never forget how watching her as she’d licked a smear of filling from her thumb had made his heart race, his balls ache, and his throat go dry.
She’d caught him staring, of course, and had held his gaze, her eyes dark and knowing, before she’d taken another bite, slower this time, her lips parting just enough to let him see the glisten of sugar on her tongue.
It had been torture. Sweet, deliberate torture.
And now, with her hand in his, the memory was a live wire under his skin, making every touch, every glance, feel like the edge of something he wasn’t sure he should want.
He unlocked the passenger side first, because that’s what his father had drilled into him, and what his momma had reinforced with a sharp tsk and a reminder that ‘ladies don’t climb over gear shifts, Rowan.
’ But when Enya turned to hoist herself up, her hip brushing against his, he didn’t step back.
The air between them had thickened into something heavy.
She paused, her boot on the running board, and looked up at him, and he forgot how to breathe.
He clenched his hand to keep from reaching out and tucking that loose strand of hair behind her ear. The urge was ridiculous. Worse, he knew it would be reckless, but then she smiled, and his entire world tilted.
He pushed the bakery box past her and dropped it on the seat, ignoring how the corner crumpled slightly under the impact.
His free hand found the curve of her waist, his fingers spreading over the soft fabric of her sweater, and pulled her against him with an urgency that should’ve scared him…
but didn’t. Nothing about this did. He wasn’t stupid enough to lie to himself that the way her breath hitched, her hands came up to his chest, and her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt didn’t drive him crazy as his gaze locked onto her mouth for what seemed like long moments before she reached up and pressed her lips to his.
I’m so fucked.
Enya made a sound, something between a gasp and a sigh, that vibrated against his lips and sent a shudder down his spine, before her hands cupped the back of his head, her fingers tightening in his hair as she dragged him closer.
Her lips parted under his, and Rowan groaned low in his throat because fuck, she tasted like sugar and lemon and something uniquely her, something that made his head spin and his knees weak.
The sweetness of the pie mingled with the salt of her skin was intoxicating and addictive. He wanted to drown in it.
He pressed her against the truck, his body shielding hers from the street, from the prying eyes of the town, from everything but what was happening between them.
She didn’t seem to notice or care that they were in full view of the whole town, and he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about it, either.
Especially not as her hands slid down his chest, her nails scraping through the fabric of his shirt, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
When her teeth grazed his lower lip, Rowan nearly lost it.
His grip on her waist tightened, his fingers digging in just shy of bruising, as he deepened the kiss.
His tongue swept against hers in a rhythm that had nothing to do with gentleness and everything to do with raw need and desire.
Enya arched into him, her breath coming fast, her heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape her chest and merge with his.
For a second, the world narrowed to this: the heat of her, the taste of her, the way her fingers clenched his shirt like she was afraid he’d stop.
Like she needed this as much as he did. As if she was just as terrified as he was of what that meant.
He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her thighs pressed against his, the way her body fit against his like she’d been made for him.
The thought was dangerous, reckless, and everything in between.
But it was there, burning through him, and Rowan refused to push it away.
Somewhere, a shrill, obnoxious trill of noise cut through his haze of need like a blade. Rowan ignored it at first, his mouth still on hers, his hands still gripping her waist like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. He barely registered it was a phone until it rang again, and then again.
Shit.
If ever there was a reminder that the real world didn’t give a damn about whatever fragile, perfect thing was happening between them, this was it. But still, he didn’t pull back. Did the universe not understand how hot and epic this kiss was?
Enya pulled back, her chest rising and falling fast, her lips swollen and red.
She looked dazed, stunned, as if she couldn’t quite believe what they’d just done on the street for all to see.
He wanted to kiss her again just to wipe that look off her face, to replace it with something raw and real and his.
He wanted to tell her it was okay, that she didn’t have to overthink this, that he wasn’t going to let her regret it.
But the phone rang again, the sound grating against his nerves, and the spell that had wrapped them up in the moment shattered.
“Fucking hell.” He cursed under his breath, pressing his forehead to hers for just a second, breathing her in, memorizing the way she felt against him. Then he forced himself to step back. The loss of her heat was immediate, a physical ache, like someone had ripped a layer of skin away.
He dug the phone out of his pocket, already knowing who it was before he saw the screen.
The words UNKNOWN CALLER glared up at him, mocking him for daring to want or take something for himself.
He blew out a frustrated breath, swiped his finger across the phone, and answered.
He winced at the roughness in his voice but refused to force his eyes to leave Enya’s. “Salieri.”
“Jesus Christ, you sound like you’ve been running a marathon.” Gallus Mercier’s voice was dry, amused, tinged with that familiar drawl that always made Rowan want to punch him. “Or getting laid. Please tell me it’s the latter. You’re insufferable when you’re celibate.”
Enya’s eyebrows shot up, her lips parting in surprise.
Rowan flipped the phone away from his mouth long enough to mouth fuck off at it, even though Mercier couldn’t see.
Enya bit her lip, but the corner of her mouth twitched, as if she was fighting a smile.
The sight of it sent a fresh wave of heat through him, which was the last thing he needed right now.