Chapter 12 On a Steaming Hot Tin Roof #2
With the final piece secured, they climbed down and stepped far enough back to properly admire their work.
It was obvious they’d lost the log cabin charm of the original, and knowing that Elliot’s tastes leaned more toward organic architecture than modern farmhouse, Lainey imagined panic brewing inside his wavy-haired, design-obsessed head.
He removed his gloves and adjusted his glasses, taking it in.
She took a deep breath. “Now, before you say anything, I know it’s not representative of the ‘natural architecture movement’ and it sticks out like a sore thumb, but it’s watertight and—”
“We made this.” The smile built steadily across his face until suddenly he was bursting. “This is a roof. That we installed ourselves.”
“Yeah. We did,” she replied, batting the dust off her jeans with her gloves.
He pressed his hand to his forehead like his happiness was so great, it was liable to take his head off with it.
“So it’s okay?” she asked, laughing.
His reaction was so bold and bright. It made her desperate to do more things to elicit that same response.
“Of course it’s okay.” He turned to her, giving her the full force of his exuberance. It landed hot on her skin like sunshine.
“Holy shit, Davis!” His hands gripped her waist, and he lifted her into the air in a rush.
He spun her around, the world blurring into streaks of green and brown.
“We made a roof,” he shouted, a little too close and a little too loud, but still utterly thrilling.
Giddy with laughter, she slung her hands around his neck.
She was weightless as strands of her hair fell loose from her ponytail.
When her feet floated to the ground, their lips touched. Just for a second. The briefest accidental brush. As though they were doing a dance and it simply was the next step—only they’d forgotten they weren’t supposed to be doing that part.
When her shoes skimmed the grass, there was an opportunity to pull away. It would’ve been so natural to jump out of his arms and act as though nothing had happened. They hadn’t kissed yet, not really. Surely, this little whisper couldn’t count.
Her heart didn’t race, but stilled, as though someone had pressed pause on the two of them. She watched the moment pass, then another, as she felt his shaky breath brush against her lips, neither of them making a move for the easy out.
She’d never be able to remember if she wrapped her legs around his waist first or if he’d already picked her up by her thighs—but suddenly her back was pressed against the side of the cabin and his lips were on hers, his tongue urging her mouth open for him, making her gasp.
He tasted like mint Life Savers and salty skin.
She tugged on his hair, wanting to grab at pieces of him.
It was soft and slick in her fist. Heat swirled in her belly, licking up her chest and into her neck, where Elliot’s thumb pressed across her collarbone.
His other hand was still gripping her thigh, his hard chest bearing down against hers.
Every inch of her was pressed against his warmth and solidity and safety.
This was never going to be a normal first kiss.
The tension had been building between the two of them since he climbed into the back seat of her car in the rain.
They’d let their attraction develop into something unstable—volatile—and this was their reckoning.
Her kissing him the way you kissed someone you’d fantasized about kissing.
Him touching her how you touched someone you’d dreamed about touching late at night when you were all alone and in desperate need of a cold shower.
“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this,” he gasped into her mouth, his lips attentively responding to each little nip and noise like they were of the utmost importance.
“Me neither,” she responded, arching her back into him. She was surprised she had the wherewithal to answer. It was hard to think when she was hoisted up against a wall with Elliot between her thighs.
“I had a dream like this once,” he breathed. “Well, dreams.” The word, rough and needy, somersaulted through her body.
“Of this?” she asked. Her fingers leisurely mapped the lines of his chest as his mouth meandered down her neck. “Against the raccoon piss cabin?”
“No.” His laugh vibrated against her throat. “Of this. On the kitchen counter. In my truck. In my bed…”
With each word, his hands traveled. Elliot was taking this heat between them as seriously as he took everything else.
It made her want to take it seriously, too.
She wanted to memorize the way he moaned into her skin.
She wanted to make him do it over and over until she could recall it, years from now, with perfect clarity.
She wanted to learn what made him come apart and the sounds he made as she watched it happen.
“Should we really be doing this?” he asked, but he hadn’t stopped kissing her. Thank god he hadn’t stopped kissing her. “This isn’t some kind of psychological warfare, is it?”
He smiled against her lips, but she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything anymore.
She turned her head away, suddenly claustrophobic. “Put me down,” she demanded curtly.
He blinked. “Sure,” he said, guiding her to the ground. “Did I do something?”
She braved a look at him. His face was sweet and messy. She almost liked this version of him more than any of the others. And she quite liked the others.
But Elliot’s words still bit at Lainey’s insides. “ ‘Psychological warfare’? Was that supposed to be a joke?”
“Of course it was a joke. Mostly,” he explained, fixing his glasses on his face. “Since that night at my hotel, I’ve been operating under the assumption that we were never going to cross this line, so I’d be stupid not to wonder—”
“Oh my god.” Her cheeks burned. “Well, this is humiliating. I’m glad to know where we stand.”
“Lainey. Stop,” he said, clasping her hand before she could make a break for it.
“I shouldn’t have said that. My second thoughts weren’t even about you; they were about me.
” He straightened to his full height, creating even more distance between them.
“If I’d known something happening between us was a possibility—”
“What? You wouldn’t have married me?” she asked, dropping his hand.
“No. I don’t know,” he said, his voice cracking.
With the back of his neck cradled in his hands, Elliot worked to control his breath.
She placed a palm on her chest, attempting to do the same.
“I definitely would’ve approached this whole thing differently, if I knew you’d want something more serious. ”
She gathered her arms over her chest. “I never said I wanted that.”
“We’re married, Lainey. I think the ship has sailed on ‘friends with benefits,’ and even if it hadn’t, it’s not worth risking everything over some casual—”
“It was just a kiss, okay?” Lainey cupped her hands to her cheeks, trying to bring her core body temperature down seven degrees by sheer force of will.
She thought back to the way she’d so confidently teased and tormented Elliot the night he proposed.
How sure she’d been that she’d never feel anything beyond an uncomplicated fleeting attraction for him.
Now, she was straightening her shirt next to a raccoon den and attempting to recollect the basics of color theory to determine whether her green shirt was making her face appear more or less like a tomato.
“It was an accident. Not, like, a play for something more or some kind of manipulative tactic.”
“I never should’ve said that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” His brow furrowed, then smoothed again, as if rejecting one thought for another. “But it’s probably a good thing I did, because it wouldn’t be smart for us to take this beyond friendship anyway.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
He didn’t nod or shake his head. He simply grabbed his neck and stared down at their dusty boots in torment. It was confirmed. Whatever was happening between them simply wasn’t worth it.
“We should clean up these boxes,” he said, as though moments ago he hadn’t had her pinned up against a wall with her bottom lip between his teeth.
So she did what anyone else would do and cleaned up their project in sexually tense silence.