Chapter 13
Thirteen
Rhett
Concrete took entirely too long to cure for my taste.
Now that I’d actually gotten started on the porch, I was itching to see real progress instead of this prolonged worse-before-better phase we were in since I’d effectively braced the roof and ripped out everything else.
But I had to wait for the new, properly poured concrete footers to truly cure before I put any real load on them, which meant I couldn’t do squat for a few more days.
I’d been loathe to take time away from Pepper’s house, so I’d thrown myself into other things that needed doing, starting with the overgrown landscaping.
Some of it had been cut back prior to the demolition of the porch, but since I’d begun, I didn’t see any reason not to finish and do a good job of it.
It was one more thing I could take off her place.
After that, I’d gone hunting for things to do, stuff to fix.
I swapped out light bulbs, cleaned out gutters, replaced the busted doorbell, re-organized the shed.
All things that had been on her honey-do list for longer than I cared to think about.
Not that I was her honey anymore, but it felt good to set things to rights.
To take care of her in a way I should have been doing all along.
I hadn’t said a word to Pepper about it.
Wasn’t even sure she’d noticed. She hadn’t exactly been avoiding me since I’d made my proclamation that I intended to court her again, but she hadn’t sought me out, either.
She’d need time to decide how she felt about it—about me—and I refused to pressure her about it.
I was here to prove with my actions that things could be different this time.
That would mean far more to her than empty words.
And maybe by the time she was ready to talk about it, I’d have something more concrete to tell her about my job.
I’d gotten word already that I was moving on to the next phase.
All that studying I’d done during deployment and rehab had paid off.
I’d covered my absence to take the test with the excuse of letting the concrete set up.
Not that Pepper was asking for any kind of accounting of my time, but I was compelled to say something, lest she feel like I was abandoning things in the middle again.
I balanced precariously on the stepladder, holding one of the blown glass pendant lights as I carefully connected the wiring.
The kitchen was dim with the power off, but enough afternoon light filtered through the windows that I could see what I was doing.
I’d found the three fixtures wrapped in newspaper and tucked away in a box in the garage.
They were gorgeous—hand-blown glass in swirls of amber and blue that would cast the most incredible patterns when lit.
I wondered where Pepper had found these.
We’d argued for months over what to put in here.
I’d wanted something practical and bright.
She’d wanted something with character. These were definitely character, and I had to admit she’d been right.
They’d transform the kitchen from merely functional to something special.
The first one was already up. I was working on the second when I heard the garage door open. Well, shit.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I glanced down to see Pepper staring up at me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She was still in her work clothes—black pants and a gray t-shirt with the Kiss My Grits logo, her auburn hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Even looking irritated, she was beautiful.
“Found these in the garage,” I explained, gesturing to the pendant light in my hand. “Thought I’d hang them for you while I was waiting on the concrete to cure.”
“I also noticed you cleaned out the gutters,” Pepper said, her voice rising. “And the shed—that was you too, right? The hedges are trimmed, the dead branches from the oak tree are gone, and somehow every burned-out lightbulb in this house has magically been replaced.”
I carefully descended the stepladder, setting the pendant light on the counter. Her eyes followed my movements, bright with something that looked like anger but didn’t quite feel like it.
“Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I just saw things that needed doing and—”
“And what? You thought you’d just waltz back in here and fix everything?” She took a step closer. “All the little things you never had time for when we were married?”
I winced. “That’s fair.”
“Is it? Because I don’t understand what’s happening here, Rhett.” She gestured wildly around the kitchen. “You’re installing the pendant lights I bought two years ago. Lights I know you’d think were impractical and too expensive.”
“It’s your house.” I needed to remind myself of that, as much as her. “And they make the room, which is exactly what you’d have said if I had been around to argue about them.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say things that make it hard for me to stay mad at you.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to manipulate you, Pepper. I meant what I said the other night. I’m trying to be better. To show you I’ve changed.”
She stared at me for a long moment, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. I couldn’t read her expression—it was a storm of emotions I couldn’t untangle.
“Damn it, Rhett,” she whispered.
Then her hand shot out, fingers curling into the fabric of my t-shirt. She yanked me toward her with surprising strength, and before I could process what was happening, her mouth was on mine.
There was nothing tentative or sweet about the kiss. It was fire and fury, her lips as much a demand as punishment as they devoured mine. And I was here for every moment of whatever madness was driving her.
Matching her intensity, my hands found her waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her shirt. This wasn’t the careful, measured reconnection I’d been planning, but there was no way I was stopping now. Not unless she surfaced long enough to say no.
Pepper’s hands were everywhere—clutching my shoulders, sliding up my neck, fingers threading through my hair. She bit my lower lip, drawing out a groan. God, I’d missed this—missed her—with an ache that had never dulled, not once in all our time apart.
I stepped forward, and she moved backward, our bodies fully in sync as they’d always been. The small of her back hit the edge of the counter, and I lifted her easily, setting her on the cool granite. But it wasn’t right—too high, too cold, and there were upper cabinets she could hit her head on.
Without breaking the kiss, I scooped her up again. She made a surprised sound against my mouth, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carried her the few steps across the kitchen to the heavy farmhouse table.
The table that had been our first real furniture purchase together.
The table she’d fallen in love with in that little antique shop in Mobile, with its thick, scarred wood and sturdy legs.
I’d complained about the price, the massive size, but I’d never been more grateful for the solid heft of it than right this moment.
I set her down on its edge, and she immediately spread her knees, making space for me to step between them. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer until we were pressed together, chest to chest. The heat of her body against mine was intoxicating.
“Pepper.” I breathed it against her mouth, my voice rough with want.
She answered by kissing me harder, her tongue sliding against mine, her fingers working at the hem of my shirt, seeking skin.
I simplified the matter by reaching back and tugging my shirt straight over my head.
Those gray-green eyes went dark as her hands spread over my pecs, and I was grateful all the scarring from the shrapnel and the surgery was on my back.
I didn’t want anything to take her out of this moment.
I pressed her back against the table, rocking my hips against hers while I worked up her shirt and tugged down her bra.
Then I fastened my mouth on one nipple and feasted.
Her legs tightened around me as she worked herself against my erection.
Her fingers curled around my nape, fingers kneading as I did the same to her breasts, exactly how she liked it.
I brought to bear every iota of knowledge I had about how this woman liked to be pleasured.
She gasped and writhed beneath me, until at last she shattered, my name a keening cry on her lips.