Chapter 9 #2
I narrowed my eyes at him skeptically. “You bought this big house so you’d have someplace for junk mail to get delivered? Why not get a condo or a townhouse?”
“Grew up on a ranch, remember? This place might not be that, but any home with my name on it needed to have some space.”
“Hate to break it to you, brown-eyes—but so far as I can tell, this is a house , not a home . A home has character. This place is practically a blank slate.”
Smirking at me, he folded his arms across his chest and replied, “Yeah? And what would I find if I walked into your house?”
“My house isn’t just my home—it’s my sanctuary. It’s the first place I’ve ever been able to call mine. It’s the first place I’ve ever felt free.” The words poured out of me without a second thought, my filter obviously temporarily disabled.
Or maybe I knew, deep down, he’d seen enough of me now to understand.
I frowned as I dropped my gaze down to my lap, realizing he’d know what I meant better than most when I admitted, “It’s why I didn’t want Georgia or Tommy anywhere near it.” I closed my eyes, willing myself to shove them back to the furthest, darkest corner of my mind.
I pictured my garden. My safe haven. My paradise.
“Hey.”
I hadn’t heard him move, but as he spoke, he grabbed hold of my right thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. My eyes flew open, and I caught a glimpse of his ink covered hand before my head snapped up to find he was there—standing directly in front of me.
“Not somethin’ you need to worry about. Not anymore.”
What did you do?
The question crept to the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t ask it.
Fact of the matter was, whatever he did—he’d done it for me.
Rather than dig for details, I found myself reaching for a fistful of his tee-shirt, my heart rate speeding up as my awareness of his proximity began to clear away the mess in my mind.
That, and the scent of him.
In the wee hours of morning, the cedar and amber were more subtle—leather and his natural musk fighting for dominance, reminding me of the wild man he was.
The next thing I knew, his mouth was on mine.
The hum that crawled up my throat was completely involuntary, but as his tongue sought entrance between my lips, it forced its way out.
As if the sound was all the permission he needed, he wrapped his free hand around the nape of my neck, holding me steady as he opened his mouth wider and consumed me.
I tugged at his shirt as I spread my knees, making space for him.
I needed him closer. Fuck—but I was powerless against his kiss.
With my opposite hand, I felt my way up his arm, wrapping my fingers around the side of his bicep as I tangled my tongue with his.
Our teeth clashed, his beard scraped the delicate skin around my mouth, and my sex pulsed as desire began to pool in my belly.
I was so lost in him I barely heard the sound of the oven—its beep alerting us that it was preheated. Twister was the one to break our kiss, but he didn’t let me go right away.
His face still mere millimeters from mine, he shook his head slightly then breathed, “Damn. Forty-one fuckin’ years. Never met a woman I liked kissin’ as much as I liked fuckin’—until you .”
Before I could even begin to process what he said, he nipped my bottom lip between his teeth, grazed it with his tongue, then slowly pulled away. His hand at my nape and the other at my thigh gave me a squeeze, and then he was gone—at the freezer, pulling out the frozen pizza.
I watched him, all the while certain in all my thirty-four years, I’d never kissed a man I liked as much as I liked him.
Even just the thought made me feel trepidatious, but I kept my ass on his counter anyway.
Whatever we were doing was only for now.
He wouldn’t hurt me because it would never get that far.
It couldn’t be more obvious he wasn’t the type to settle down—and I sure as hell was not looking for anything serious.
‘I got you, sparky. You’re safe.’
I brushed aside the memory, determined not to ascribe any significance to it, then sought out my next distraction.
“Got anything to drink?” I asked, swinging my legs before I hopped off the counter.
“Couple Coronas in the fridge. No limes, though.”
“I think we’ll live,” I said as I went to snag them.
“What’s the deal with your yard? You got all this land, anything going on out back?” I wondered aloud as I uncapped the beers.
I handed him a bottle as he turned from setting a twelve-minute timer.
“Other than grass I gotta mow all summer long, nope. If I wanna grill, I pull it out of the garage and do it in the driveway.”
I stared at him, suddenly really glad I’d only ever been to his place at night so I couldn’t see the absolute waste of potential I imagined sprawled behind his house.
“So, basically—if you’re not workin’ you’re ridin’; if you’re not ridin’ you’re partyin’; and if you’re not partyin’, you’re camped out on the couch in your blank slate of a house watchin’ TV.”
“What can I say? I keep it simple,” he teased, tilting his bottle toward his lips.
He swallowed a long pull, and I did the same.
Honestly, I didn’t have any room to judge. If anything, my life was even more boring than his—just decorated better. And I preferred it that way.
Glancing around him, I noticed there was still ten minutes left on the timer.
I could only think of two ways to pass the time.
Makeout or find something to watch on TV.
Seeing as I didn’t think making-out would help me keep my clothes on, I made up my mind, turned on my heel, and journeyed out of the kitchen.
I could feel his eyes on me as I walked into his living room.
Atop his coffee table were five remote controls.
I looked to the television setup he had—the large screen mounted to the wall; the sound bar suspended beneath it; the plain, wooden cabinet that housed the rest of the electronics I assumed belonged to the controllers—then shot a flat expression his way.
“Well, are you just going to stand there and make me figure it out, or do you think you could point me in the right direction?”
He smirked. “Little silver one. Push the power button, and everything you need will turn on.”
I reached for it, pointing it at the television as I grumbled, “If it’s that easy, why keep all the other ones around?”
“Just in case.”
The little silver one was attached to his Apple TV, and the home screen was a grid of all his streaming apps. I glanced at him from over my shoulder and said, “Pick one.”
Rather than answer with his words, he made his way out of the kitchen and came to stand beside me. He plucked the remote from my hand and navigated into the Peacock app, pulling up the fourth season of “Yellowstone.”
“Wait, no,” I insisted, snatching back the remote. “I haven’t finished season two.”
“The whole thing is over and you’re still in season two?”
I frowned but didn’t bother aiming it at him as I scrolled back and jibed, “You’re one to talk. You’re not finished, either.”
“That’s by design. I don’t like cliffhangers.”
“Yeah, well, me neither. But some of us like to read and don’t spend all our downtime binge watching TV series.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re a real smart-ass?”
I could hear the smile on his face before I looked up and saw it. I tried not to smirk, but those smiling eyes made it hard not to as I replied, “You’re certainly not the first, brown-eyes.”
He nodded toward the television. “Go ahead and start one. Pizza’s about done. I’ll bring it over.”
As he returned to the kitchen, I went to sit on the couch—which was actually really nice suede leather and super comfortable. Five minutes later, the timer on the oven sounded. A couple minutes after that, Twister handed me a plate with four small slices of pepperoni and sausage pizza.
We ate sitting next to each other, pushing our plates aside on the coffee table when we were finished.
Twister then stood to take off his kutte, and I watched him fold it then toss it on the other side of the couch before resuming his seat.
He removed his boots next, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leaned back against the cushions.
Looking right at me, he lifted his arm and demanded, “Get your ass over here.”
Something forbidden and tempting stirred in my belly at his invitation, but I didn’t move.
“What?” I asked instead.
“If I’m not fuckin’ you, I’m holdin’ you—and I’m pretty fuckin’ beat, so kick your boots off, get your ass over here, and take a load off.”
It wasn’t a good idea. I knew it wasn’t a good idea.
But I couldn’t seem to forget what it felt like to be held by him.
‘I got you, sparky. You’re safe.’
Convincing myself I’d much rather chase away memories of snuggling with Twister than any sort of confrontation with my mother and Tommy, I reached for the laces of my boots and began to loosen them.
As soon as my feet were free, I moved closer to Twister, fitting myself against his side as he draped his arm around me.
It felt nice. Really nice. Too nice. Too intimate—and yet I stayed.
A little while later, as the sun began to rise, my eyes began to close, and I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.