Chapter 8 #2
“Existing is enough,” she says, then sips her wine. “It intrigues me knowing that men like the ones I write about actually exist. I feel like I’m going crazy and all of this is a weird dream I’m going to wake up from,” she says. “You know those sequences?”
“And when you wake up, what would you do?”
“I’d write you,” she says, her smile widening. “So I guess whether it’s a dream or not, I’ll finish my book on time.”
My eyes soften. “How’s the writing going?”
She leans back, tipping her head toward the stars. “Great. I think I’ve found my groove again.”
“Yeah?” I see joy radiating from her. The woman sitting before me is already different from the grump who showed up on my porch steps three days ago with no patience and a city girl attitude. This version of Scarlett is more relaxed, less guarded, and…dare I say, happy.
She lowers her gaze to meet mine. “I’ve been feeling inspired lately.”
My wineglass lingers just below my mouth. “I could read into that statement.”
I glance toward the fire, and so does she.
“You could,” she replies. “And you’d probably be right.”
The fire crackles, smoke rising into the sky in lazy spirals. I hear something rustling in the garden, probably Harry or a stray cat. As the minutes pass, more stars make their appearance.
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, wineglass hanging from one hand. The firelight catches in her hair, turning the ends to bronze. Scarlett is gorgeous without even trying. Her existence is more than enough.
“Are you always this distracting?” she asks.
My mouth curves. “Depends. Are you distracted?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
“I haven’t thought about my deadline since dinner,” she admits. “When we’re together, it’s almost like it doesn’t matter.”
“Good,” I say. “It means you’re living in the moment.”
“Haven’t done that in years.”
The warmth filling my chest has nothing to do with the wine. “Things are changing for the better.”
“They are.” Her gaze sweeps across my face.
The idea of touching her, just reaching out and brushing her hand, or her knee, or tucking that loose strand of hair behind her ear, nearly overtakes me. But I don’t move. Her gaze flicks down to my mouth again, then back up.
She sets her wineglass down like she’s making a decision.
“You think too much,” she says.
I raise a brow. “That so?”
She nods once. “You’ve been staring at me for the last ten minutes.”
“I plead the Fifth.”
Scarlett leans toward me, close enough that I have to tip my head to keep looking at her face. She doesn’t say anything else. She just leans in and kisses me.
And God help me, I fully kiss her back, reaching around to place my hand on the back of her neck.
Her mouth is warm and sweet from the wine, and the second our tongues slide together, my brain goes static.
Scarlett tastes like fire and permission, and I forget every single reason I had for pretending this wasn’t happening with her.
She shifts and sighs into my mouth, and I pull away.
Her eyes blink open, dazed, like she realizes she lost control.
I create some space, placing my hand on her cheek, thumb brushing the softness of her skin.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she says and goes still.
“You shouldn’t have. But you did.” It kills me to watch the flicker of confusion cross her face. I feel the shift in her spine and see her rebuilding whatever walls we just lowered.
“I will ruin your life,” she adds. Her mouth moves into a straight line, like she’s trying not to feel anything at all.
I clear my throat. “I’m capable of doing that myself, thanks.”
“I’m sorry. My last relationship fucked me up. I don’t even know the most basic things about you, like if you’re currently seeing someone.”
“I’m not,” I whisper. “Also, I’m not a cheater. Never have been. Never will be. I’m not casually seeing anyone, either. I’ve got no fucking time for that.”
That makes her smile. It may be small, but it’s real.
“I don’t do one-night stands,” she says. “I’m not that type of girl.”
“I never once thought you were,” I tell her, grabbing her hand. “I’m not in a rush, Scarlett. I’m not going anywhere. You’re the one leaving.”
She nods. “You’re right.”
There’s more distance between us now, but much less than there was before she kissed me.
“You make me want to take risks,” she admits.
“Take them with me,” I urge.
“You don’t understand,” she whispers. “People stalk my relationships, Ezra. I can’t let anyone find out about you.”
“Luckily, I can keep a secret,” I say.
She gulps down the rest of her wine, finishing the glass. “I should leave before this goes too far.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
She doesn’t argue, but we don’t say much as we follow the narrow path to the cottage.
Shit got too real between us.
Scarlett walks close enough for our hands to brush. Touching her so subtly drives me fucking wild.
When we reach the porch, she turns toward me. Her eyes search my face like she’s looking for an answer to a question she hasn’t asked.
“Thanks for dinner,” she offers.
“You’re welcome. We should do it again sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good night, Scarlett.”
“Night.”
She steps inside and closes the door behind her.
I stand there, trying to convince myself to walk away like it’s nothing, even though it is.
By the time I reach the tower room, I’m already unbuttoning my shirt. The windows stretch high and wide, and for a second, the view of the moonlight cast over the ocean calms me. The garden is below, and the stars are above. Everything is quiet.
The windows stretch across the wall, opening wide to the sky. Up here, I feel detached from everything, almost like I’m in the clouds.
I walk over to check my recently completed projects that are on the wooden racks near the back wall. It’s routine, something to focus on while the rest of me tries not to think about her.
As I turn toward the backyard, my eyes drift toward the cottage.
I expect to see Scarlett at the desk, maybe curled up in a robe on the couch with her laptop or handheld recorder, working.
What I see instead nearly knocks the breath out of me.
In the reflection of the mirror, from this angle, I see her on the bed.
Her skin’s still flushed from the heat, and her dark hair is splayed on the pillow.
When I see her hand tucked inside her jeans, I can’t move.
She’s radiant in the soft yellow light of the bedroom, looking like something out of a dream. Scarlett wiggles out of her pants and panties.
I should look away, but the curve of her hip is mesmerizing. Knowing I worked her up this much nearly undoes me. I swallow hard as her fingers trail over her breasts, pinching at her nipples like she’s teasing herself through every ache and answer.
If I concentrate hard enough, I can almost hear her breathy sighs, the little catches in her throat as she lets herself feel everything. My cock stiffens immediately. How hot she makes me is visceral.
Fuck.
She circles her clit with slow movements, her other hand palming one breast. Scarlett grows greedier, squeezing her nipple as she rocks her hips against her touch.
She’s not in a rush as she teases herself, knowing exactly what she wants.
I’ve never seen anything sexier in my damn life.
I wish it were me rocking her fucking world.
The rhythm, the tension in her thighs, the way her mouth parts on a moan I can’t hear, it’s too much. My pulse is beating in my ears. I should stop watching, but I don’t. She picks up the pace, fingers working faster now.
When her back arches off the bed and her mouth falls open, I know she’s close. Her body moves with precision, chasing it, owning it. Her orgasm hits, and she rides it out. The look on her face when she comes is so fucking beautiful.
Her fingers fall away, and a satisfied smile curls at her mouth as her body goes limp.
I’m stunned, utterly fucking wrecked, and so damn hard, it’s painful.