Page 50 of Building Courage

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Tucker prayed for control as he looked into Brynn’s eyes. He grew hard with need. The knowledge that she had survived and was standing in front of him whole and well ramped his desire higher. The need to mate was a kind of life affirmation.

He raised his hands to cup her face and sealed his lips to hers. Her mouth parted beneath the pressure, and his tongue reached for hers. She responded with an urgency that fed his own. His hands moved down her back, molding her against him. When her body, her hips, moved against him in a bid to press closer, he groaned beneath the kiss. God, he wanted her.

Brynn’s voice was breathy and soft when she asked, “How much practice does it take for you to be that good?”

The humor eased the need, and he laughed. “That’s not all I’m good at.”

Color crept into her cheeks. He kissed her again with less heat and more tenderness.

When he raised his head, she slipped away from him.

“I’ll make a salad and some bread to go with the pasta.” He was satisfied to see the color rise in her cheeks and hear a breathless note in her voice.

“Need any help?”

She moved around the small island that separated the living room from the kitchen. “No. I’ve got it covered.” She took out a variety of vegetables, a cutting board, a bowl, and a knife.

She showed more than a little proficiency in chopping and dicing the vegetables and tossing them in the bowl.

Tucker wandered around the room, taking in the space. Two wildly patterned turquoise chairs bracketed an octagonal-shaped maple end table sporting a copper lamp that looked more like an abstract sculpture than a light fixture.

A cream-colored couch sat before the room’s one large east-facing window. Beside it was a tall floor lamp shaped like a tree with outstretched branches and a concave glass shade.

“Did you buy the lamps from an artist?” he asked.

She wielded a knife and cut slices from a loaf of Italian bread. “Yes. I had a friend in college who was taking welding classes. I bought the materials and drew out the designs I wanted, and she made them for me. I took photos for her shower, bachelorette party, and wedding in trade.”

“The lamps are amazing.”

“I think so, too.”

In front of the couch was a live-edge coffee table made from a slab of wood. On the far wall was a computer desk with drawers on one side, and on each side stretched a matching row of waist-high wooden cabinets, which he thought probably held materials and files from her photography work. A flat-screen television was centered on the wall above the desk, but what drew his attention was the collage of framed photographs scattered in a random pattern and size across the wall on either side of it.

An elderly woman sitting on the stoop of her home, a police officer directing traffic, a mother cradling her baby as it nursed, a little girl playing with a puppy, an Indian woman dressed in her sari. And there were more. All walks of life, all ages, all nationalities. And all beautiful.

She wandered around the island to offer him a glass of iced tea. “The pasta is almost done, the salad is ready, and in five minutes, I’ll pop the bread in.”

“What kind of photos did you take today?”

“Advertisement photos for a yacht to draw in people with money to rent it for vacations and events, like engagement parties or weddings.”

“I like these.” He gestured toward the photos.

“Thanks.”

“Any pictures of your family?”

“In the hallway leading to the bedroom.”

“Okay if I check them out?”

“Sure.”

He wandered down the hall and saw pictures of what had to be her brothers playing basketball in someone’s driveway, one reclining in the hammock on a deck, one sitting atop a picnic table, all of them kayaking on a lake, and another of them all three hamming it up for the camera. All three had dark hair and the same sherry-colored eyes. But there wasn’t a single picture of Brynn or her parents in the group.

“Didn’t anyone want to take the camera from you and take your picture?” For once, he didn’t measure every word.

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