Chapter 23 – Davis
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DAVIS
His hands. Good god, his hands. He’d scrambled her brain with those hands. He’d made her moan, like moan , with those hands. He’d taught her something with those hands. Because a woman, she now knew, could tell a lot about a man by the way he massaged her shoulders. A lot about their patience, their responsiveness, their attentiveness. A lot about the way their big, warm hands and skilled, nimble fingers might feel on other parts of her?—
“Shit!” she yipped, yanking her handlebars to the right when her front tire veered off the trail. Narrowly avoiding skidding into the trees, she mentally slapped herself. She needed to focus. She needed to focus, specifically, on the trail—which was fairly technical on this portion of her ride—and not on Kev’s preternatural ability to work a muscle until it tensed, twitched, clenched, and then released.
But focus was hard to come by, fleeting and slippery. Because aside from blessing her with his stellar masseur techniques, he’d also made her a picnic. He’d gone to see Cole and Mira. He’d faced them, apologized to them, tried to make things right with them. And then he’d bought more food than she could have possibly eaten.
Kev didn’t have a lot of money, and she knew what that stop had cost him. But he did it for her, without fanfare, without wanting any acknowledgment at all. But just because. Just because that’s the kind of man he was.
The kind of man who made her insides light up like a Christmas tree whenever he was close. The kind of man who threw pinecones at the stars with her. The kind of man who was so thrilled that the pony at Jen’s barn got along with River, and that River wouldn’t be alone in her pasture anymore, that his eyes had gone all glassy when he’d told her about it. The kind of man who had done everything in his power to get his life back on track, to heal their relationship as much as possible, to make amends. Truly make amends in the way he’d defined it in his letters. Not just by saying sorry and trying to move on. But by living with his choices, owning them, working through them, letting them transform him into someone new.
He probably didn’t know this, because the realization only fully dawned on her right then as she broke through the trees, leaving the shade of the forest behind to bask in the sunlight, but he’d transformed her into someone new too. Someone who was willing to give second chances. Someone who’d learned that being brave sometimes meant being vulnerable. Someone who no longer believed that things could be broken beyond any hope of repair.
Someone who admired him, cared about him, thought about him from the moment she woke up to the second she fell asleep again. Someone who was wrong. Because she didn’t want to be only friends with him. She wanted more. She wanted everything.
And she wanted it now.
Despite pedaling so hard her quads caught fire and each breath she took scorched her lungs, it still took her another forty minutes to reach the next stop. Forty minutes of fantasizing about the rasp of his soft stubble under her fingertips, his even softer lips brushing against hers, curling into a smile as he whispered things she was suddenly desperate to hear into her ear. Forty minutes of wanting and needing with a sharp clarity that rang through her bones and heated her blood. Forty minutes that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that time was not fixed but relative, stretching out depending on the thirst of the observer.
And just when she thought she couldn’t take another torturously slow tick of the clock, there he was.
At the bottom of the hill, he sat in a folding chair, one ankle hooked over the other knee, sunglasses covering his eyes, reading one of his romance books. Because of course he was.
He’d set up a little bistro table beside him with several cupcakes and a champagne glass full of yellow sports drink on top of it. And she didn’t care what she looked like. She didn’t care that she was sweaty and red-faced and gasping for air. When she hopped off her bike, pulling off her helmet and chucking it to the side, she didn’t care that she was being rash and wild. And when he set down his book, slid his sunglasses up into his hair, and said, “Davis?” with a mildly concerned expression, she didn’t even care that it was the middle of the day. That they were in broad daylight and anyone driving by might see them.
Marching up to him while he rose to his feet, she took his shirt in both hands and said, “I want to kiss you.”
Even though she’d entered his space with the force of a tidal wave, he stood his ground, his hands rising to cup her face. “Whoa, slow down,” he said, brushing her damp hair back off her forehead.
“I don’t want to slow down,” she said, because time had decided to speed up now, reminding her of how much of it she’d wasted already. “I know I’m gross and sweaty, and I probably look terrible. But I want to kiss you. I need to kiss you. Please, Kev.” She knew how desperate she sounded. She didn’t care about that either.
His gaze shifted restlessly between her eyes and her lips and back again. “That’s not it, baby. Believe me.”
Baby. Oh fuck , he’d called her baby. The word was a key springing the lock on some box of hope and longing and need she’d buried so deeply inside herself she’d almost forgotten it existed. But now she knew. Now she felt it all. Now she wouldn’t survive another minute without his lips on hers .
“You could roll around in literal garbage and you’d still be the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. But friends don’t kiss.”
Grabbing his shirt even more tightly, she practically growled, “I don’t want to be friends.”
“But—”
“I know what I said. But I was confused then. Everything was so intense, and I was scared. But Kev, you made me a picnic. You wrote me letters. You make me laugh.” She glanced down at the little table, her voice wobbling when she said, “You got me cupcakes and fancy Gatorade.” She met his stare again, insecurity trickling over her skin. “I know I’m kind of a mess. I know I’m indecisive and flailing and trying to figure it all out. And if that’s too much for you right now, I’ll understand. I’ll leave you alone. I’ll get back on my bike and ride away. I’ll?—”
His lips crashed into hers before she had a chance to finish her sentence, his hand gripping her neck while hers slid over his chest. Touching him. Feeling him. Kissing him. Finally.
Wild, primal noises tore from their throats as he kissed her like she’d never been kissed before. Like she’d wanted him to kiss her for so long it almost hurt. With tongue and teeth and unrestrained craving. With hands roaming along her back, down her thighs as he hoisted her into his arms, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him while he sat on the edge of the little chair some still-functioning corner of her mind really hoped was sturdy enough to hold their weight.
On second thought, who cared. If it broke, she’d ride him down to the ground.
“ Fuck , baby,” he whispered between her lips.
“I know,” she whispered back. She’d forgotten how good he was at this. How perfect his lips molded to hers. The softness of his tongue even when it demanded entry into her mouth, seeking a deeper connection, seeking more. She’d forgotten how phenomenal it felt to press herself against him, her breasts against his chest. Her heart against his heart. The rightness of it, like this was where she belonged. This. Right there. In his arms. In his lap, with his hands sliding from her hips to her ass, squeezing.
“Davis?” he asked between kisses. “What…is that?”
“Hmm?” she replied, her eyes rolling back while he broke away from her lips to trail kisses down her neck.
Squeezing her ass again, he asked, “Are you wearing a diaper or something?”
Laughter burst out of her as she met his hungry gaze, his pink, smiling lips. “It’s padding. Bike shorts have padding. Four hours in the saddle is brutal on my ass.”
“Can’t have that,” he said, kneading her sore muscles through the padding, rocking her against him, letting her feel exactly what the kiss had done to him. “I fucking love your ass.”
Because she’d wanted to for so long—because she could now—she slid her hands along his jaw, the rasp of soft stubble against her palms feeling just as perfect as she’d remembered. She realized how much she’d missed looking at him at this distance. The triangle of freckles dotting his right cheek, the dark gold forest of his eyelashes, the strands of silver fanning out from his pupils, floating like tinsel in a sea of dark blue waves. He was so gorgeous. So beautiful. So perfect.
He was staring at her too, his gaze traveling from her eyes to the bridge of her nose, sinking to her lips, her chin, her throat.
“I’m sorry,” she said, grasping for her bearings while his fingers closed around her hips. “I’m sorry I jumped you. I guess surprise fancy snacks are my weakness.”
With a low chuckle and a smile that displayed his dimple like another little gift, making her heart go whump , he said, “In that case, expect them every day.” He licked his lips, rolled them together. “And never be sorry for kissing me. Ever. Definitely don’t be sorry if you do it again.”
Staring at his mouth, wanting more of him already, she said, “But anyone could drive by?—”
“I don’t fucking care,” he said, leaning forward to close his teeth over the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Enough to feel, not enough to hurt. Then he kissed her there, gentle and sweet. And she melted like ice cream left a second too long in the sun.
“I don’t care if you’re a mess,” he said. “I don’t care that you’re still trying to figure it all out. I’ll take whatever you’ll give me. Anywhere you’re willing to give it to me. For as long as I can.”
She wanted to give him everything. She wanted to give him her entire heart, now and forever. But they’d moved too quickly last time, racing headlong into something they’d never even had the chance to define. Something they’d barely even talked about. Something they’d just leaped into because it had felt so perfect.
Only it hadn’t been perfect.
Something had let him slip away from her. Maybe if they took things more slowly this time, more carefully, she could find out what that thing was. Maybe she could keep it from happening again. Maybe, if they didn’t rush, if they were careful, she could keep…him.
“Hey, it’s all right,” he said softly, sensing her hesitation, grazing his lips along the length of her neck as shivers skittered down her arms. “You don’t need to say anything.” His breath ghosted over her jaw. “Just kiss me. That’s all I need, Davis. Just kiss me.”
This time when her lips met his, the kiss was exactly the way she needed it to be. It was deep and slow and patient. The breeze caressed her cheeks while his hands slid up her back. Trees rustled in a soft whisper above them while his fingers curled around the nape of her neck. His tongue brushed over hers, and a cloud drifted in front of the sun, cooling the air between them.
When they pulled apart, they did it wordlessly, pressing their foreheads together, sharing the same breath. Until she said, “I’ve missed that.”
He turned his head, just enough to roll his forehead tenderly over hers. “Me too.”
“Can we do it again? Like, later?”
Pulling her in close, he nestled his face into the hollow of her neck and said, “Absolutely.”