Chapter Nine
Cara
Already soaked to the bone, we take our time heading back to the car. Smith pulls me after him stopping for my masterpiece waiting with Polly before closing us into the shelter of the car.
We kissed. I’m still reeling from that kiss.
That perfect, heart-stopping kiss should never have happened, but god I’m glad it did.
Alive. That’s what happened the moment our lips touched.
I remembered what it’s like to feel alive.
And I crave it. I crave the lightning that floods my veins whenever his hand brushes mine; when his lips meet mine.
How had I forgotten?
“We can stop at the bed and breakfast to dry off since it’s on the way. If you’re okay with that?”
Rain pounds against the roof of the car, the sound almost deafening. “Sure,” I reply, still on cloud nine. It’s a miracle I’m even coherent enough to speak.
Smith's hand reaches across the dash, coming to rest on my thigh and goosebumps break out on my skin. A shiver runs down the length of my spine and it has nothing to do with being soaking wet. Smith must have noticed because he reaches for the controls of the dash, turning the heat to blasting.
The downpour has made the roads a maze of potholes, the journey out to the paved road is like riding in a four-wheeler. Every bump and jostle made worse as Smith’s hand wanders farther up my thigh with each jolt making concentrating on the road near impossible.
Things between us have gotten even more complicated. The way he keeps asking me why I left has anxiety pooling in my stomach. He deserves to know, I know that much, but I can’t even admit to myself why I left.
By the time we pull into the long driveway to The Rosebranch, the rain is nothing more than a drizzle.
It’s been years since I’ve been here, but I can’t say that it’s changed much.
Darla comes into the shop from time to time and she’s as friendly as ever even if she does scoff anytime she sees the covers of my romance books.
Old ladies can be such prudes sometimes.
Smith holds the front door open for me and it’s like stepping into a time capsule.
I’ve been in Rose Prairie since I was a pre-teen and whenever family came into town, I would find myself bounding up these creaking stairs.
The same pictures line the walls which might have been painted at least once in all the years I’ve been here.
Smith chuckles, his hand resting on my lower back as I point out how little this place has changed.
Our shoes squish with every step and for a moment I worry that we’ll ruin the carpet with our soaking wet shoes. I glance over my shoulder to make sure we’re not leaving a trail of water in our wake. Darla would throw a fit at me if I did.
“My room’s to the left.” He points down the hallway at the top of the steps.
His hand never leaves my back and I wonder if that kiss has reignited something in him too.
I know it has in me. If he were to take his hands off me at this moment, it’d be like sucking the oxygen from the room. I’d cease to exist.
This is what I’ve been trying to avoid. I started out wanting to keep things professional, and here I am, the one that crossed the line. Yes, he pulled my lips to his, but I had started it.
Truthfully, there wasn’t a lot of pumpkin in his hair, but I couldn’t stop my hand from sweeping through his hair. It unearthed memories of lying in bed together, his head resting on my chest while I played with the dark strands. Memories I’ve worked so hard to keep out of my head.
Smith showing up at my literal doorstep has thrown me for a loop.
He stops us in front of a solid wood door, a gold-plated eight nailed in the center. “Ignore the mess,” he instructs as he turns the key, the lock clicking open.
Stepping into the room, I can’t help but laugh.
Clothes hang from the large four-poster bed and notebooks are tossed carelessly on the dresser.
The picture of the half-naked man on the cover of our book club pick catches my eye, his dark-rimmed glasses resting beside it.
“I guess that’s another thing time didn’t fix.
You always were a mess.” Not just a mess, but the messiest person I’ve ever met.
Sure, he looks all put together, but the man is a closet hoarder.
Alright, maybe he’s not that bad, but he leaves a trail of destruction.
I could always pinpoint his location by following the debris left in his wake.
He dodges wayward clothing and steps into the bathroom. “Hey, I’ll have you know I know exactly where everything is. It’s an organized mess. No.” He sticks his head through the door jam pointing a determined finger in my direction. “It’s organized chaos.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” I tease, catching the towel he playfully tosses at me as he leaves the bathroom.
Across the room, Smith unceremoniously removes his outer flannel, the fabric clinging to his arms as he struggles to get it off. I watch frozen, the towel pressed tight against my damp neck as the black shirt lifts over his head before landing on the floor with a wet splat.
He did not look like this six years ago. He was muscular before, but more lean. Now he’s downright built. Chest hair is sprinkled across his sculpted pecs leading down to a dark trail that slips below the waist of his pants.
Long gone is the twenty-two-year-old boy. Before me stands the man.
He seems oblivious to my ogling until I notice the slight smirk on his face. “Okay, big guy, I see what you’re doing.”
“And what is that?” he asks in mock innocence.
“You’re trying to seduce me.” I point an accusing finger at him rendered ineffective by the towel clenched in my fist.
“I think you’re reading into things,” he says with a shake of his head.
He flexes his muscles so obviously that I laugh.
“If you want, I can find you a shirt to wear. Your sweater is dripping on the floor.” Sure enough, there’s a growing puddle spreading beneath my feet.
The sweater that once clung to my curves has stretched down to my knees from the water weighing it down.
A zipper hums and the floor creaks as I examine my sopping-wet sweater that suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds before dropping the towel to soak up the mess I’ve made. Movement in front of me makes me glance up only to see Smith’s naked chest right in my face.
Oh shit.
I swallow, my throat going dry from the view in front of me. “Thanks,” I whisper, my voice strained as I take the shirt dangling in the space between us. His eyes burn down on me. He’s standing so close that I can feel the heat coming off his skin.
“Now who is doing the seducing?” He asks, his fingers reaching across the expanse between us to run along the collar of my sweater.
My breath hitches at that simple touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My tongue darts between my lips as my heart flutters.
Smith shuffles closer, his mouth inches above my own.
“You can’t look at me like that Care, without me wanting you.
Having you stand here, in my room, looking at me with hunger in your eyes is the biggest temptation I’ve ever had.
” His other hand slips around my head gently pulling my hair free of its ties until it hangs down my back.
“I’m giving you the choice right now, Care.
You can take my shirt and leave like you did all those years ago.
” He slides his hand up my neck to rest on my jaw. “Or, you can stay.”
Those three simple words unlock something inside me I didn’t know I needed. I can stay. All those years ago I felt like I didn’t have a choice. But I have one now and there’s no question in my mind about the answer.
The shirt he handed me falls to the floor, landing among the towel and scattered clothing.
He doesn’t move an inch as I lift the soaking hem of the sweater.
Smith’s eyes widen, his gaze drifting down to watch me as I begin to undress.
A small sigh of relief leaves his lips as I pull the sweater over my head and let it fall to the floor.
The second I’m free from the wet confines Smith’s mouth is on mine.
His lips worship my mouth, this kiss nothing like the one that came before it.
Smith unleashes everything to me, bearing his heart and soul in one single act.
All the pain, hunger, and most of all love seep into every fiber of my being, taking all he’s giving me.
Tears I’ve been holding at bay for what seems like years begin to stream down my cheeks as our mouths work to mend what had been broken.
What I broke.
He pulls back, his sapphire eyes filling with unshed tears, his thumb wiping away my own.
A hand slowly glides down my spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake until he lifts me into his arms. I slide my hands into his inky black hair, loving the feel of it running through my fingers and bring my mouth down to his.
He holds me tight against him as he carries me to the large four-poster bed, laying me down softly.
Smith moves lower, his lips trailing down my throat, kissing his way down my body.
My hands trail down his back and across his broad shoulders.
He’s the last person who ever saw me like this.
The last person whose skin has brushed against mine so intimately.
Living without him, without us, has been my own form of torment. What had I done all those years ago?
Smith places soft kisses on my stomach as he moves lower down my body. My heart, once pounding, seems to cease beating as he flicks his blue eyes up my body, connecting with my own before he slides off me.
I sit up, a protest ready to spill from my lips.
He stands, his hands never leaving my legs as they come to a stop at my boots. “Relax,” he says softly. “There’s too many clothes in the way.” Looking down, I see exactly what he means.