Chapter 24
twenty-four
. . .
Violet
Could today get any worse?
Dad’s gaze finds me first before sliding to Rowan. Recognition flickers there—a slow blink, the tightening of his jaw.
Mom’s reaction is gentler, her smile tentative.
“Dang it,” I whisper. Dad’s making his way toward us, Mom trailing half a step behind with a tight smile.
“Violet,” Dad says, curt and to the point. His gaze moves to Rowan, and something about the way his mouth sets seems like a test. “Rowan.”
“Mr. Larkin,” Rowan says. “Mrs. Larkin.”
Mom’s smile softens. “Hello, Rowan. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, ma’am, it has.”
The silence after is awkward enough to taste.
“We were just finishing up,” I say quickly, hand tightening around my purse strap.
Dad ignores me. “I hear you’re back in town for good.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Got yourself a nice place out on Route 8. Heard you’ve been fixing it up.”
Rowan gives a slight nod. “I have. Needed a project.”
Dad’s quiet for a moment too long. “Lot of folks remember your dad,” he says, tone even. “That trailer park had more trouble than tenants.”
Rowan doesn’t flinch. “Yeah,” he says, “he left a legacy, alright.”
Dad studies him, but there’s no malice. More like…the caution of trying to decide if he’s looking at a new man or an old shadow.
“I’m not him,” Rowan adds, meeting Dad’s eyes directly. “Wasn’t then, and I’m sure as hell not now.”
“No?” Dad raises an eyebrow. “Apple usually doesn’t fall far from the tree, son.”
“No, sir. But sometimes it rolls a hell of a long way downhill before it takes root.”
Rowan’s hand finds mine under the table, his thumb brushing across my knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him.
He glances at me, and there’s something in his eyes—old wounds, maybe, but no bitterness. “You don’t need to be.”
Dad exhales and scrubs a hand over his jaw. For a second, I think he might say something cutting. Then his eyes slide to me, and something in his expression shifts.
“You seeing him?”
I clear my throat. “I am.”
Mom places a gentle hand on Dad’s arm. “David, let’s not interrogate them in the middle of a coffee shop.”
“I’m not interrogating anyone. Just talking.”
“You’re doing that thing with your jaw,” she says sweetly. “The thing that makes people nervous.”
I bite back a surprised laugh. Mom catches my eye and winks before turning her attention back to Rowan.
“It really is good to see you, Rowan,” she says, and I can tell she means it. “You are always welcome at our table.”
Dad makes a sound that’s somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, but he doesn’t contradict her. “Well,” he mutters, “guess we’ll let you get back to it.”
Rowan dips his head in acknowledgement before my parents move toward the line.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper as soon as they’re out of earshot. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Rowan reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. “Hey, look at me.”
I can’t. If I look at him, I’ll break. The humiliation burns hot under my skin, shame crawling up my throat. Tears prick behind my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back.
“Violet,” he says, softer this time.
When I finally meet his gaze, the first tear spills over. Apparently, crying in public is my thing now.
“He had no right to talk to you like that.”
“It’s okay,” Rowan says.
“It’s not.” My voice breaks as more tears follow. “It’s not okay.”
Rowan looks down at our intertwined fingers before meeting my eyes again. “Look, your dad…he’s not entirely wrong.”
I freeze, my tears suddenly forgotten. “What?”
“About me,” he clarifies, his voice low. “I’m not good enough for you—”
“Stop.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “Just stop.”
He blinks, caught off guard.
“Don’t you dare sit there and tell me my dad is right about you.” The anger rises fast and hot, but it’s not at him. It’s at the idea of him doubting himself, of anyone doubting him. “He doesn’t know you.”
“Violet—”
“No.” I lean forward, gripping his hand tighter. “I get to decide who’s good enough for me. Me. Not my father, not anyone else. Do you understand?”
His eyes widen a fraction.
“I watched you walk away once,” I continue, my voice trembling. “I’m not doing it again.”
He swallows hard, his gaze never leaving mine. After a moment, he lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
“You’re something else, Violet Larkin,” he murmurs.
I give him a small smile. “Yeah, well. You bring it out in me.”
We sit there for a moment, the world slowly coming back into focus around us. The chatter of other customers, the hiss of the espresso machine, the bell above the door as people come and go.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say finally. “I believe I promised to supervise your fence repair.”
His lips quirk up in a half smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
I’m still seething. I can’t believe my dad did that. And right after that run-in with Travis, to top it all off.
No, he didn’t go all southern get your hands away from my daughter when he could have. But he did ensure his words landed maliciously.
I storm down Rowan’s back steps with a bottle of water clenched in one hand, ready to launch into another internal rant, but I stop dead in my tracks.
Rowan’s shirt is long gone, tossed carelessly onto the porch rail, and now he’s just bare skin and muscle and sweat. So much sweat.
My brain refuses to cooperate. Every line of his shoulders, the way his arms flex as he stretches, the gleam of sweat tracing the ridges of his chest… It’s absurdly, ridiculously sexy.
I blink. Hard. Because Jesus.
For a second, I forget I’m angry at all. His jeans hang low on his hips, and a slow trickle of sweat trails from his collarbone down the center of his stomach before disappearing into the edge of his waistband. I’m not even sure I’m breathing.
I meant to bring him water. That was the plan. Hydration. Basic kindness.
Instead, I’m rooted to the ground, watching him like I’ve never seen him before, which is ridiculous because I have. I’ve seen him up close, tasted his skin, fallen asleep wrapped around him.
But this…this is some kind of primitive fever dream. This view is doing things to my already ragged, emotionally wrecked state of mind.
He glances up, catching me staring, and that damn crooked smile of his appears.
“See something you like?” he drawls, leaning his weight against the post hole digger he’s been using.
I clear my throat. “I brought you water.”
“Thanks.” He strides over to me, and I can’t help but track the movement of each muscle. The tattoo on his bicep flexes as he reaches for the bottle, fingers brushing mine.
“You’re staring, Larkin,” he says, voice low.
“You’re shirtless,” I counter.
He takes a long drink, his throat working as he swallows, and I’m transfixed by the way a droplet escapes the corner of his mouth and slides down his jaw. He catches it with the back of his hand, smirking.
“Still mad about your dad?” he asks.
“Furious,” I admit. “But currently…distracted.”
His laugh is warm and deep, and it settles low in my stomach. He steps closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
“I like you distracted.” He leans down until his lips are just a breath away from mine. “Makes me feel like I’ve got a fighting chance.”
Then he kisses me softly, his lips tasting faintly of salt.
“You always have a chance,” I murmur against his mouth.
“You’re too good for me.”
“Stop that. I mean it, Rowan. No more of that talk.”
He exhales, eyes searching mine. “Old habits.”
“Then break them.” I trace my fingers along his collarbone, watching goosebumps rise in their wake despite the heat.
“Stubborn woman.”
“You like it.”
“I love it,” he says, sliding his hands to my waist, calloused fingers skimming under the hem of my shirt. The contrast between the rough texture of his palms and the gentleness of his touch sends electricity through me.
“You’re sweaty,” I say, but I don’t pull away. If anything, I lean closer.
“And you’re overdressed.” His eyes darken. “Seems unfair.”
“Life’s unfair, Wolfe.”
He huffs a laugh, fingers tightening at my waist. “You’re killing me.”
“And you’re supposed to be fixing a fence.”
“Fence can wait.” His mouth finds the curve of my neck, and I melt into him. “You can’t.”
“Rowan…”
“I’ve been thinking about tasting you for hours,” he rasps, lips brushing my ear.
“About tasting what, exactly?” I whisper, my voice barely holding together.
His teeth graze my earlobe, and I shiver despite the afternoon heat. “Your sweet cunt, Violet.” The words send a wave of heat straight to my core. “I’ve been dreaming about burying my face between your thighs. Feeling you fall apart on my tongue.”
My knees nearly buckle. I grip his shoulders for balance, fingers digging into slick, heated skin.
“Can I taste you, baby?” he asks, pulling back to meet my eyes. There’s hunger there, but also patience. Always patience with him.
My breath catches in my throat. Every nerve ending in my body screams yes, but the words won’t come. Instead, I nod, probably too eagerly and definitely without an ounce of composure.
It takes less than a second for him to push me gently onto the porch steps and sink to his knees. His hands slide up my thighs. My breath hitches as his fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down my legs along with my panties with agonizing slowness.
“Rowan,” I whisper, glancing nervously around us. “We’re outside.”
His blue eyes meet mine. “No one for miles, darlin’. Just us.”
The reassurance doesn’t do much to calm my nerves, but then his mouth finds the inside of my thigh, and rational thought becomes a distant memory.
He presses a kiss there, then another, working his way higher. Strong hands spread my thighs wider as he lowers his head, then oh my god.
The first slow drag of his tongue has my head falling back. He groans against me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted, and the vibration sends sparks shooting up my spine.
My fingers clutch at the wooden step beneath me. His mouth is gentle at first, exploring with soft, teasing strokes. Then he grows more insistent, his tongue circling my most sensitive spot before flattening against me.
“Oh god,” I breathe as pleasure spirals through me.
His hands grip my thighs, holding me open for him as he devours me with single-minded focus. The contrast of his rough stubble against my tender skin only heightens every sensation. I’m exposed, completely at his mercy, and I’ve never wanted anything more.
His tongue presses deeper, and I let out a moan that echoes across the open field. I should be embarrassed, but I can’t bring myself to care. Especially not when he’s looking up at me with those hungry blue eyes.
“You taste so fucking good,” he growls against me, the vibration of his words sending another jolt through my body. “Better than I imagined.”
I can’t speak, can hardly breathe as he slides his hands underneath me and lifts my hips to meet his hungry mouth. His tongue flicks rapidly against my clit before circling it, teasing me to the edge and then backing away.
“Please,” I whimper, my hips bucking against his face.
He alternates between broad, flat strokes and precise flicks that make my thighs quiver. When he wraps his lips around my clit and sucks gently, I cry out. My hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, holding him right where I need him.
He hums against me, the vibration pushing me closer to the edge. I’m trembling now, completely undone by his mouth as he works me with a deliberate precision that makes me want to scream.
“Rowan, please,” I gasp, my voice breaking. “I need—”
He answers by sliding a finger inside me, curling it upward as his tongue continues its relentless assault.
The stretch of his finger, the wet heat of his mouth, the burn of his stubble against my inner thighs—it’s almost too much.
My back arches off the porch step, and I don’t even recognize the desperate sounds coming from my throat.
He moans against me, as if he’s getting as much pleasure from this as I am. His finger pumps faster until my orgasm hits. My fingers tighten in his hair as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. I cry out his name, not caring who might hear.
When I finally open my eyes, he’s looking up at me with a wicked grin, his chin glistening with the evidence of what he just did to me.
He holds my gaze as he drags his thumb across his bottom lip, gathering the wetness there.
I watch as he slides his thumb into his mouth, sucking it clean with a deep, satisfied groan.
Oh. My. God.
“That…” I whisper, trying to remember how to breathe. “That was...”
“Not nearly enough,” he finishes, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh that makes me shiver. His stubble scrapes against my sensitive skin as he works his way back up my body. “I could spend hours between your legs and still need more.”
I’m trying to remember how to form words when he says, “I like having you spread open on my porch steps. Next time, I’ll take you out front where anyone driving by can see how pretty you look when you’re soaking my face.”
My entire body flushes hot. “Rowan!”
I cover my face with my hands, mortified at how he affects me. His fingers gently pry mine away, and he’s still grinning.
“You’re adorable when you blush,” he says, pressing a kiss to my palm. “But don’t worry, I was just kidding. Only I get to see you fall apart like that.”
The possessive look in his eyes makes my stomach flutter. I’m embarrassed at how much I like him teasing me about being seen, how easily he makes me lose control. More than that, though, I’m struck by how safe I feel with him, even when I’m completely vulnerable.
“You’re bad,” I grumble, snatching up my shorts.
Once I’m dressed, he helps me to my feet. “C’mon,” he says, lacing his fingers with mine. “Let’s get you something to drink before I’m tempted to misbehave again.”