Chapter Eighteen
Daylight is little more than a pink splash across the peaks when we pull into my driveway. Wes’s SUV, new windows gleaming in the fading light, is right where Eric said it would be.
There’s a weird ache in my chest at the sight. In the five years since I bought the house, there’s never been anyone but my family waiting for me when I get home—and those unannounced visits never end well. What would it be like to come home to someone?
What would it be like to come home to Wes?
The sudden longing brought on by the thought surprises me with its strength.
I kill the ignition and lean back into the driver’s seat without looking at him before he can catch the want that’s probably painted all over my face.
It’s too big. Too dangerous when I still don’t entirely trust that he’s in this as much as he says he is.
No matter how badly I’d like it to be true, if I learned anything from my mother’s parade of men, some of life’s biggest disappointments come packaged in pretty words.
Wes reaches for the door handle. “I guess we better go inside.”
“A break from the car would be great,” I reply with a laugh that hopefully doesn’t sound as forced as it feels. With his arm slung around me, we grab our bags and start for the door.
“If there’s time before we leave tomorrow, I’m fixing that death trap stair,” Wes grumbles when he steps over the rotting step.
“It won’t take long, and I’ll feel better knowing you’re not going to hurt yourself.
” He yawns, waiting at my side while I fiddle with the lock and pretend I’m not having feelings about how casually he insists he’s going to fix something I’ve been meaning to do for a year.
“I’m thinking we order a pizza and crash early. You in?”
Like we’re a couple who just got home and are about to spend a night curled up together on the couch. It’s a fleeting glimpse of the life I just imagined—and I like it far too much.
“As long as we can get something green with that pizza,” I tell Wes as we shuffle into the house. “And I don’t care what sort of insane delivery fee they want to charge. We are not getting back in the car tonight.”
“What do you want? I’ll take care of it.”
I blink. “You mean that, don’t you?”
He gives me an odd look and mutters something about a low bar and people with shovels. “It’s just pizza, darlin’.”
“I know. I just…” I flush. “It’s really nice, that’s all. I get tired of deciding all the things. You don’t make me do that.”
It isn’t until that moment I realize how true it is.
In the last three and a half weeks on the road together, I can’t remember Wes once turning to me at the end of the day and demanding to know what the plan was for dinner.
Most of the time he’d already looked at the options and gave me two or three to pick from.
It made the decisions so effortless that I hardly realized I was deciding at all.
“I like looking after you.” Wes presses a kiss to my temple. “Go relax. You mind if I throw laundry in while we’re here?”
“If I ask you to throw mine in too am I going to end up with all my clothes three sizes too small?” I ask. I’m only half teasing.
He shakes his head with a low noise. “Sloane, darlin’, I know you’ve got your reasons, but one of these days, I’m going to need you to stop assuming that I’m as useless as your brothers.”
“That wasn’t what…” Guilt stains my cheeks instantly despite his gentle tone. “Sorry. I just—”
“You don’t need to apologize.” Wes cups my jaw in his palm and drops a light kiss on my forehead before pointing at the door that leads to the basement. “Laundry down there?”
I nod, watching him go before grabbing my camera bag and heading for my office while my emotions engage in a mental melee.
I don’t bother flipping on any lights, just drop the bag on my chair and then duck into my bedroom to change into something more comfortable.
Except when I open my closet, I skip right over the sweats and grab a long maxi dress that’s both soft against my skin and features a plunging neckline.
The fabric is thin enough that it might actually be a nightgown, but since I only ever wear it around the house, that’s never been a problem.
I doubt Wes is going to mind.
I’m still finger-combing out the remnants of my braid when I yawn my way back into the living room at the same moment he emerges from the basement.
He’s changed too, now in loose gray sweatpants and yet another black T-shirt.
He freezes with his hand still on the doorknob, hunger replacing weariness. “I like that one.”
“And I like those sweatpants.” I let my stare dip lower. “Though I really hope you wear underwear in public.”
It startles a laugh out of him. Wes glances down, as if he wasn’t already aware that his pants leave nothing to the imagination. Maybe we had similar thoughts. “We’re not in public, though, are we?” he teases with a smug grin.
I let out a pleased squeak when he sweeps me into his arms, deposits us both on the couch, and kisses me like it’s been ten months instead of ten hours, before reluctantly pulling away. “Got a place you like or should I pick?”
I pluck his phone out of his hand and pull up my favorite pizza shop in town.
We bicker over toppings for a few minutes—pepperoni and pineapple absolutely go together and Wes is just wrong about olives—but once the order is placed, he tosses his phone onto the ottoman and waggles his eyebrows at me, heat and mischief building in his eyes.
“They said thirty to forty minutes. What do you think we should do with ourselves until then?”
His playfulness is contagious. I tap my chin like this is a difficult question and widen my eyes innocently. “The grocery store is only ten minutes away. You need anything before we head back out? I think I could grab some water, maybe a few apple—”
My giggles die when Wes rolls me under him on the couch, his hands skimming over my body. “There’s something about you in a dress that makes me a little feral,” he admits in a low rasp. “You don’t actually want to go to the grocery store, right?”
I shake my head, reaching up to drape my arms around his neck and pull him closer.
We kiss slowly at first, his weight pinning me to the couch, his scent surrounding me.
Neither of us rushes it. The kisses gradually deepen from sensual to something hotter, soft caresses that grow into my nails digging into his shoulder and his fingers dancing down my thigh.
“I bet I can make you come before the pizza gets here,” Wes says in a low rumble while gathering fistfuls of my dress with one hand. “Wanna find out?”
My breath catches. The unsatisfied ache between my legs screams Yes, please! but I’m not in the mood to get interrupted by a delivery driver. “They could be here soon,” I hedge, glancing at my watch. It’s already been twenty minutes.
“I better be fast, then.” Wes kisses me again, though his hand doesn’t move until I mutter Fuck it under my breath and pull him down by the back of his neck.
It could be that I’ve been dying to get his hands on me again, or it could simply be that he’s that good, but he winds me up with near expert precision. Less than ten minutes later, he shoves me off a cliff, my chest heaving and pleasure rolling through me in wave after wave.
Breathing hard, I almost miss the sound of a phone buzzing on the ottoman. Wes licks his fingers clean with a wicked grin, radiating smug satisfaction. I’m about to yank him back down when his phone buzzes again.
He glances at the screen with a huffed laugh. “That’ll be the pizza,” he says, oh-so-pleased and a little breathless as he helps me pull my dress down and sit up. “Told you I could do it.”
“You’ll notice I didn’t contradict you.” I point down the hall to the bathroom with shaky fingers. “You answer the door. I’m going to clean up the mess you made.”
And pretend my legs aren’t wobbly with little spasms of pleasure still making my muscles twitch.
“You liked it.” Wes glances down and smirks at the very obvious erection straining his sweats. “But, uh, about the door? Slight problem.”
I give him a firm stroke over his pants. “I’m not seeing any problems.”
He presses against my hand despite his choked laughter. “You want me to scar the driver?”
“Good thing we ordered contactless,” I remind him before removing my hand and taking a step toward the bathroom. “Maybe after we eat we can see what other sorts of bets you want to make.”
“I don’t need to win bets when I have you,” Wes says with the sort of sincerity that tightens my throat in a heartbeat. Then he grins. “Even if you are an uncivilized menace who doesn’t understand the majesty of olives on pizza.”
After we finish eating, Wes heads into the basement to throw laundry into the dryer while I clean up from dinner.
Anticipation turns my hands clumsy. By unspoken agreement, neither of us tried to move things any further than fooling around, despite sharing a hotel room most nights.
Not when we were both so exhausted we could barely keep our eyes open.
Tonight we have all the time in the world. The quick and dirty orgasm Wes gave me on the couch did nothing to cool my lust; if anything, it was an appetizer.
The fact that he’s been at half-mast ever since doesn’t help either.
My eyes dart down the dim hallway toward my bedroom.
There’s still so much we haven’t talked about.
After looms larger and larger the closer we get to the end of my chase season, an enormous question mark looming on the horizon.
Physical intimacy with Wes is already intense.
I already care too much. It’s already going to wreck me if this was all a game to him.
Is it really smart to tie another knot in our emotional threads right now?
I still haven’t asked him about the cars again, now that we’re here. Now that the choice isn’t one he’s making at the risk of being stranded hundreds of miles from home.