Chapter 5
Chapter five
Maeve
I spend the morning trying to act normal.
It doesn’t work.
Every time I pass the closed door to his room, my pulse picks up.
Every time I catch sight of his truck through the window, I think about last night, the way his hands felt on my hips, the way his voice broke when he told me not to push.
The problem is, I want to push. I’ve never wanted anything more.
By the time I hear him moving around in the workshop, I’ve already made up my mind.
I tie my hair back, pull on jeans, and walk across the yard.
The morning air is cold enough to bite through Graham’s flannel I’m still wearing, but my skin’s too warm to care.
The shop door is open, and he’s bent over a long plank of oak, running sandpaper along the edge.
His arms flex, the motion steady, controlled. He doesn’t look up.
“Graham,” I say.
He grunts in acknowledgment. Keeps working.
I step closer. “We can’t pretend last night didn’t happen.”
That makes him stop. He sets the wood down and finally meets my eyes. “You’re right, we can’t, but we’re not going to repeat it, either.”
My chest tightens. “Why?”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
He wipes his hands on a rag, breathing slowly. “You’re Connor’s sister.”
“He shouldn’t factor into us. I’m not a child.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You’re acting like it.” I move closer until I’m right in front of him. “You said I don’t know what I’m asking for. I do. I know exactly what I want.”
He goes still. His jaw works, like he’s swallowing a hundred words he shouldn’t say. “What do you want, Maeve?”
“You.”
It’s quiet after that. His breath gets heavier, and I see the control slip from his face. I step between his knees, and his hands twitch like he’s trying not to touch me.
“I can’t be the one to start it,” he says.
“Then don’t.” I grab his shirt and pull him forward. “Let me.”
The sound that comes from him is half moan and half growl. His hand finds my waist, firm, rough, grounding. When I lean in, he exhales against my mouth like surrender.
The kiss starts slow, all heat and frustration. Then it breaks open. He lifts me onto the workbench like I weigh nothing, wood dust scattering under my thighs. His mouth moves against mine like he’s been holding this back for too long.
My hands go to his hair, tugging until he groans. He kisses me harder, deeper, until my back hits the cool wall and I gasp into his mouth.
He curses low, then gives up pretending. His hands slide under my thighs, dragging me forward until I feel the hard line of him against me. His breath is uneven, hot on my neck.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“If it’s anything close to what you do to me, I do,” she whispers against my lips.
His mouth finds the skin just below my ear. “You keep showing up in my shirts, looking at me like that—” He bites gently, enough to make my whole body shiver. “—and you expect me to stay calm?”
He bends, his mouth finding me again, my collarbone, my shoulder, the tops of my breasts. His hands settle on my hips, strong and sure. His voice drops, rough and low.
“You want me to snap?” he whispers. “You want to see what happens when I stop fighting this?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I want all of it.”
He kisses me like that’s the only answer he’ll ever need. His tongue slides against mine, slow and deep. His hand traces up the inside of my thigh, stopping just short of where I need him most. He’s teasing, deliberate, maddening. I twist my fingers in his hair and pull until he growls my name.
“Graham.”
“Say it again.”
“Graham.”
He grips my hips and drags me closer, his mouth claiming mine again, hungrier this time. The movement of his body against mine steals every breath I try to take.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers, voice shaking.
“You,” I say again, almost a cry. “I want you. Please stop pushing me away.”
He does precisely what I ask.
The next moments blur. There’s heat, motion, a low rumble from his chest when I gasp, the scrape of his beard against my neck, the sound of my own voice saying his name over and over.
When he finally pulls back, both of us are breathing hard, our skin flushed. His forehead rests against mine.
“Tonight,” he says. “I’m going to make you mine.”
“Do we have to wait?” I ask.
“Yes, we’re going to do this right. I’m not taking you for the first time standing up in my dusty workshop. We’ll have dinner, without wine, and then see where that leads us.”
“Okay,” I whisper as I kiss him one more time. I wouldn’t mind him taking me here, right now, but hopefully, we would make it there in the future.