17. Seventeen
Seventeen
Henry
W hen Juliet feathered her lips across mine, my ability to formulate a coherent thought about anything other than her evaporated. She fit so well in my arms—so soft, so right.
I was determined to let her set the pace, even when the gentle insistence of her mouth made me want to groan. Instead, I let one hand slide to the small of her back, then grinned against her mouth when her fingers curled into my hair to angle my lips for better access.
She wasn’t shy or tentative in any way, merely painstakingly thorough. I’d always considered myself a patient man, but this slow progression sent tempting streaks of liquid fire through my veins. While she directed the kiss, I focused on learning her: the flare of her hip, the sweetness of her mouth, the soft hum of pleasure in her throat when my fingers stroked along her spine.
I couldn’t remember ever being so completely enthralled by another person before.
When she finally drew back, I swallowed a sound of protest. My hands stayed right where they were as I studied her expression. If her inadvertent blushes were appealing, the flush of passion under her fair skin was absolutely intoxicating.
“Wow,” she breathed. “Even the unflappable Henry Walker finally looks a bit ruffled. Definitely a spark.”
“More like an inferno,” I said as I drew her mouth to mine once more.
This time, she sighed against me, ceding control in the sweetest possible way. We went no further than kissing, but that invisible thread between us wound tight, tugging until her body melted into mine.
After several more long, thorough kisses, we managed to safely bank that fire, though heat still smoldered in her eyes. I touched my lips lightly to hers one last time before she served up bowls of ice cream from the freezer and we moved to the living room with our dessert. When she settled herself a polite distance away, I set my bowl down on the arm of the couch to tug her close to my side.
“I think we’re a bit past the ‘leave room for the Holy Ghost’ stage,” I teased.
Once she was snuggled up against me, I noticed a sketchbook lying on the side table. Curiosity got the better of me.
“Can I look at this, or is that too personal?”
“Be my guest.”
Juliet gestured regally with her spoon, though her smile looked a little self-conscious. I ignored my ice cream to flip slowly through the sketches. Most were landscapes, but there was one of Gramps working in the gardens at the inn. Even though he was turned away, I recognized him immediately and grinned.
“These are fantastic. You’re incredibly talented,” I said, lingering on the drawing of my favorite spot on the lake. She’d captured it perfectly, right down to the soaring eagle overhead and Blue pouncing in the waves.
When she scoffed around a mouthful of ice cream, I turned and took her chin in my hand, ignoring a tiny dot of mint chip at the corner of her lip.
“I mean it. Nan was probably the most amazing artist I’ve ever known, and you blow her out of the water. You better learn how to take a compliment, because there are going to be a whole lot of them coming your way.”
She shrugged it off despite my admonition. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll show you my paintings someday.”
Setting aside the sketchbook, I leaned over to kiss her, enjoying the taste of mint against her lips.
“I’m feeling pretty lucky already.”
Juliet hummed contentedly and we finished our dessert in silence. I returned the bowls to the kitchen, noticing when I came back that she was absentmindedly rubbing her injured knee. I sat back down at the end of the couch, grabbed the pillow I’d slept on the other night, and settled it on my lap.
“C’mon, lie down.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”
“If your knee is getting stiff,” I said patiently, “the best thing to do is stretch out and relax. I won’t bite. Not unless you ask me to.”
She looked skeptical, but I bounced my eyebrows to make her laugh. Grudgingly, she did as I suggested. I realized this might have been a bad idea as soon as she lowered herself to my lap, but as I stroked my fingertips through her hair, I couldn’t regret the feeling of her soft, warm body against me.
“What is this cologne you wear?” she asked, closing her eyes.
I scoffed. “I don’t wear cologne. Always seemed too fussy, which isn’t really my style. I might have gone through an Axe Body Spray phase in high school, but we don’t have to talk about that. Ever.”
Rolling carefully, she opened her eyes to glare up at me for a beat before pressing her face to my chest. She drew a deep breath, settled back down, and shook her head.
“There is no way in hell you just naturally smell this good. Like ocean waves and sunshine.”
Laughter rumbled through my chest when I realized what she meant and I returned to sifting my fingers gently through her hair.
“Oh, that must be the soap. Libby’s husband, Mark, makes organic bath and body products. He runs a gift shop in town. This one is my favorite, I think he calls it ‘sea salt and driftwood’ or something along those lines. I try to keep it stocked up at home, since he sells out regularly.”
She hummed in approval. “Well, it’s my favorite too,” she assured me, then peeked up at my face. “Your doctor ex-wife is married to a man who makes soap for a living? That’s an interesting pairing.”
“They’re happy,” I said simply.
Damned if I wasn’t happy, too, sitting right here with Juliet curled up on my lap. While one hand toyed with her hair, the other stroked lightly along the delicate skin of her forearm, swirling between a constellation of freckles. I watched, fascinated, as her eyelids fluttered closed again, but my entire body tightened when a soft sigh drifted past her lips. It was like every move she made was an aphrodisiac designed just for me.
“You have such sensitive skin. You respond to the barest touch, even in the most innocent of places,” I mused.
The dark teal shirt she wore pulled taut over the curve of her breast as she twisted to shoot me another glare. It wasn’t nearly enough to stop me from wanting to touch far more than her arm.
In fact, it only spurred my imagination onward.
So responsive, indeed. Now I was responding to her in return. I was grateful for the pillow under her head.
With a broad smile, I shrugged off her scowl. “Just an observation.”
Juliet let out an indignant sound, but she snuggled back down onto the pillow and closed her eyes again. It seemed she enjoyed these soft caresses enough to let go of a brewing argument. I noted that little fact for the future, since I was sure her temper would make a regular appearance when we spent more time together.
“What was it like, growing up here?” she asked softly.
A sharp pang of sympathy for her stabbed at my chest. Not only had she lost her mother, she’d also lost the chance to meet a grandmother everyone in this town had loved dearly. The only friend she’d ever mentioned was on the other side of the world while Juliet packed up her old life and moved halfway across the country on her own. It was no wonder she was lonely.
While I stroked her hair, I told her about things I rarely spoke of because everyone in our small town knew it all already—my enduring friendship with Libby and Mark, my close relationship with my family, the homesickness that hit when I went away to college, my joyous return to Spruce Hill after graduation.
“I worked a boring, soul-sucking job for a long time after college. A few years ago, Nan went through a bout of illness that made it difficult for her to handle everything she’d been doing at the inn by herself, so she offered me a job one day when I stopped by to visit Gramps. I almost turned it down, mostly because it was a pay cut, but I’ve been grateful every day since I started working there.”
“I’m glad you got that time with her,” she whispered.
“I’m glad, too. Working at the inn taught me that there’s more to life than a paycheck. We never know how much time we have left with the people we love, so we should do everything we can to take advantage of each day with them.”
When she drew a shaky breath, I cupped her face in my hand and smiled down at her.
“I was there the day she saw your picture from that art gallery, you know,” I said, running my thumb across her cheek. “I don’t remember ever seeing her so happy. I don’t cry very easily, but . . . when she ended up in the hospital right after that, I wept like a baby. It just wasn’t fair.”
Tears slipped past her long lashes, rolling silently down her cheeks, so I shifted us both in order to cradle her against my chest. Her fingers tightened into the fabric of my tee. I held her like that for a few minutes, then pressed my lips to the top of her head.
“None of it makes any sense,” she said, her voice muffled against my sternum. “Why would my mother leave here? Why would she lie to me? All that time, all those years I could have known Nan. Why would she take that from me?”
“I don’t know,” I said softly, “but I’ll help you figure it out.”
When she looked up at me, her eyes shining under a veil of tears, I kissed her with a tenderness that soothed the pain rising in my own chest at her grief. I hoped it would help to soothe her, as well.
“Thank you,” she murmured, lifting her hand to my cheek.
“Anything for you, Red.”
She bit her lip for a heartbeat, then tilted her face up for another kiss. I grinned as her expression shifted from sadness to something entirely different, something I recognized all too clearly as a reflection of my own desire every time her lips touched mine.
Juliet might not have a wealth of happy memories in this town, but as my fingers tangled in her hair to draw her closer, I was determined to create a few for her.