Chapter 8
EIGHT
RHETT
We eat dinner on my porch: steak, potatoes, fresh bread, and a bottle of red she brought from the city.
By the time the sun drops below the far ridge line, the porch smells like warm wood and rosemary, and neither of us wants to go inside.
I plug in the old turntable I keep above the bench out here, flick on a string of mismatched patio bulbs, and let Patsy Cline croon over the landscape.
I offer her my hand. She looks at it, then at me, pretending to judge.
Always making me work for it. “Do you even know how to waltz, Calder?” “Enough to fool a woman who’s had half a bottle.
” She laughs, pushes her hair back with a flat palm, and slides in close.
My hands settle right where they’re meant to—one at her waist, the other holding her fingers, her palm hot against mine.
Moonlight catches dust in the air, the grape stains on her lips, the way she’s studying me without blinking.
We dance slowly, stepping nowhere. There’s a heaviness in the air tonight, like we’re standing in the eye of something about to happen.
I can’t remember the last time someone touched me like this—like I’m worth a damn. Even through her thin cotton dress, I feel how charged she is, her body electric. She fits me in a way that’s criminal. She tilts her chin up. “You were right,” she says, low. “All those weeks ago. About Sagebrush.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I could stay anywhere, if you were around to dance me through it.”
I can’t help it, I grin like an idiot. “Be careful, or I’ll ask you to stay forever.”
Her hand travels up, thumb tracing my jaw. “Promise?”
I answer her with a kiss. It’s meant to be soft, but she tastes like honey and smoke, and once I start, I can’t stop.
I back her up, careful not to bang her against the porch rail, and deepen it until she’s breathless.
She digs her fingers into my shirt collar.
Her mouth opens, and I lose myself: the taste of her tongue, the pitch of her breath, the way she exhales like she’s been waiting her whole damn life for this.
When we part, her eyes are glassy, wet at the corners. “Rhett,” she says. Just my name. Heavy.
I don’t ask. I just pick her up, one arm under her knees, the other under her shoulder blades.
She yelps, pretending outrage, but holds tight as I carry her inside and down the narrow hall to my bedroom.
The air in here smells like cedar and laundry and the lemon soap she used earlier.
She kicks at the door until it swings shut.
I set her down, and she pulls me forward until my legs clip the edge of the bed.
The tension in her is palpable, a live wire—I toy with her hem, brushing my knuckles up her thighs, and she trembles.
“First time I saw you,” I say, “you took my fucking breath away.”
Her laugh comes out as a half-gasp. “Your arms,” she manages. “When you were helping Beau in the barn. I tried to look somewhere else.”
“Yeah?”
“I tried not to stare, but—” Her voice wavers.
I take her hands and slide my palms up her forearms, easing the straps off her shoulders. The dress puddles at her waist, and I slide it off the rest of the way. There’s nothing underneath but smooth, pale skin, and my mouth waters at the sight.
I’m greedy with my hands: I grip her hips, thumb the curve of her stomach, the soft place beneath her ribs. She shudders, eyes closing, like she can’t stand to watch the damage being done.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, and I mean it. I mean it with a desperation I barely recognize.
Her hands are already on my shirt, yanking buttons, popping half off their threads.
She wants this fast and rough, but I need slow.
I slow her with a kiss, bite her lower lip, and drag my hands lower.
Her thighs part as if they’ve been waiting for me all along.
I slide down to the carpet, and she laughs, the sound gusty and abashed as I set her knee over my shoulder.
Her scent is sweet and raw. I bury my mouth between her legs, and she cries out, sharp and electric.
I take my time—long, lazy circles with my tongue, savoring every shiver and helpless twist of her hips.
She clamps a hand over her face to muffle the moans, but it doesn’t help.
She makes these little begging sounds, and I want to play them on repeat forever.
I work her up, over the edge, her whole body locked with tension until she breaks apart, hips bucking, crying out my name.
I stand, wipe my mouth with the back of my wrist, and lay her out on the bed. Her eyes are wild, her lips wet and swollen, her cheeks painted a high flush. I take off my jeans, and she reaches for me, greedy, insistent, tugging me down.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, princess. I wish you could see what I’m looking at right now.”
She smiles and brushes the hair off her face. “My view is pretty fantastic, too.”
Without another word, I push into her—slow, deliberate, watching her face open with it.
She exhales my name like a prayer. I pull back and press in again, deeper, and her spine arches off the mattress, nails raking hot lines down my back, pulling me closer, harder.
I give her what she’s asking for. Her thighs grip my waist, and I feel every shiver move through her like a current.
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you, Hannah,” I say, the words spilling out raw and unplanned, my mouth at her throat.
She answers by dragging me down until there’s no space left between us, teeth at my shoulder, breathless: “Don’t ever let go. ”
I come hard, stars behind my eyes, my whole body caving around hers.
Even after, I don’t move—just stay there, breathing her in, forehead pressed to hers.
Her pulse is still going fast under my palm.
The ceiling fan turns slowly overhead, stirring the warm air.
Outside, Patsy Cline has long since gone quiet, and the only sound is the two of us settling—her exhale, my heartbeat, the soft complaint of the mattress as she shifts closer and finds my hand under the sheets.
She folds her fingers between mine, tight. Kissing my knuckles, my wrist, my chest. Her hair is a halo leaking out onto my pillow. “You really think this is it?” she asks, voice soft.
I kiss her temple. “I know it.”
She hums, content. “You’re not easy to love, you know.”
“Neither are you,” I confess.
She grins, victorious. “Good. Guess we’re stuck with each other.” I wrap her in my arms, roll us until she’s on top, grinning down at me like a sunrise. And even with every scar inside me, every broken thing I’ve been, I know I’ve finally met my match.