Page 36 of Keeping Mr. Sweet

“I had no idea,” I tell her, holding her hands on my chest.

“I know.” One side of her mouth flicks up in a sentimental smile that crinkles her eyes. “I was just that pain in the ass that never went home. But that night I was the closest thing you had to grab onto. Boy, did I know that feeling.”

“I don’t remember.” No matter how hard I try the memory doesn’t rise to the surface. All I see is my dad lying on the floor of his office.

His skin was this weird shade of gray and his face was contorted in pain. He whispered something. Maybe doctor. Or ambulance. I don’t know. Christ, my knees were shaking, though, as I picked up the phone on his desk. I don’t recall anything in detail after that point.

“You were sitting on the side of that big old clawfoot tub, a bottle of scotch in your hands. It was half empty, and I didn’t know if you’d spilled it, drank it, or bathed in it. The smell was everywhere. I remember staring at the stag on the label, and the 21 years and wondering if it tasted as bad as it smelled. And then I touched your shoulder and you looked at me for the longest moment before you put your arms around my waist. I’d never seen a man cry before. I wasn’t sure how to handle it when you sank to your knees, clinging to me, and put your face to my belly.”

“I shouldn’t have put that on you,” I whisper. She was only a kid and she saw me fall apart, when I was supposed to be the one who kept shit together that night. “Did I scare you?”

“No.” She shakes her head, her eyes suspiciously bright. “When I left that bathroom, I was eleven years old and absolutely certain that no one else’s arms would do. It took another three years before I realized that I’d been in love with you since that night and even longer to work out that my body wanted more than your arms. You had no idea though.” She takes a breath and a few seconds to let her story sink in. “That’s why I couldn’t love Talon. I couldn’t feel that way about anyone because it was always you.”

“Hell,” I murmur. How did I not know this? How did she hide it from me for so long?

“What?” she asks, tugging her hands free of mine. “Do you not believe me?”

“I believe you.” My heart hammers at my ribs, begging to be hers. Surely, she can hear how loud it is. “I just can’t believe how much time I wasted. I thought you needed time to deal with heartbreak. I thought you needed time to live on your own. When you were so serious about us I figured it was because you were struggling with everything else. I had no idea how wrong I was.”

“You weren’t wrong.” She tucks some hair behind her ear as she turns to walk away. “Wish that you were, but you weren’t. I wasn’t ready to get married. Could you imagine me settled down, Sam?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s as ridic…” She slowly stops and twists around to face me. The grooves on her forehead deepen. “Sorry?”

“Yes.” I take a step toward her. “I can imagine you settled down, Ash. I can see you in my bed every night, and I can picture you in my kitchen with your belly round from our kid. I can imagine it because I saw how happy you were when it was just you and me. And I know what it looks like because I listened to every dream you had for yourself, and for us.” Another step. She glances at my feet, her lashes fluttering so minutely I almost miss the surprise, and the longing. “I just didn’t understand that you knew what you needed.”

“Sam.” She exhales my name as she moves to one of the clean work surfaces. I catch her eye in the copper pots hanging above. “Let’s be serious.”

“I am.”

“You can’t be.” She turns to face me.

“Why shouldn’t I be? Do you think I don’t know exactly what I want? You’ve been here nearly two weeks, but it only took me days to know you still belonged in my bed. I made a mistake when I pushed you into leaving all those years ago. I want you in my life, Ash, and I’ll fight for it, however you need me to fight.”

“You are serious, aren’t you?” Her pupils flare and there’s a tremor in her voice, a breathlessness at the idea that I might mean what I say. Or is it because she’s scared to hope I mean what I’m telling her? “I’ve watched you go too many times. I won’t do it again.”

I stood aside while she packed her bags and refused to look me in the eye. Clutched at the pain in my chest that left me reeling and uncertain of recovery. Each time I could have asked her to stay, I chose to let her go. I let her believe that I could do without her, instead of holding onto her with both hands the way she wanted me to, because I told myself her excuses were valid points instead of things she knew I would believe if she told them to me.

I crush her to me. Silk strands tangle around my fingers and wrists like strings of a spiderweb as I hold her face between both hands. Eyes wide, her lips drift open under my gaze. The tip of her tongue swipes across them, leaving them glistening pink and juicy like a summer peach. With a groan I lower my mouth to taste her and dip my tongue between those generous lips that fall further apart to let me in. Resisting what’s between us is futile. It always was. I scoop her up and deposit her on the countertop so that I can get closer to her.

Her legs part to me, her knees knocking against my hips while she tilts her head back and teases my tongue deeper into her mouth with her own. She’s malleable and at the same time in control. Her lips command me to own her as much as they tell me I’m hers. A tiny whimper escapes her as I bite her bottom lip, pulling it between my teeth and leaving it glossy and swollen. She’s absolutely stunning with her eyes closed and her mouth, still wet from my kiss, separated to her winded breaths.

Hell, I can’t catch my breath. My chest tightens with how much I need her. No one else has ever come close to her.

She winds her arms around my neck and tangles her fingers in my hair, tugging at the roots. “Do you know how many times I wished to hear you tell me you wanted me to stay, instead of always believing I didn’t know what I needed?”

“I’m telling you now.” I wrap my arm around her waist and brush my fingers along the bumps of her spine, taking note of each one. “I’m asking you to make this your home. Here. With me.”

“Don’t you understand?” She presses her mouth to mine, desperately, again and again between words. “I can’t escape you no matter how hard I try. All I ever want is to come back to you. You’re more my home than that house I grew up in, or the people who pretended to give a damn about me because they were paid to.”

Cradling her chin, I skim my lips along her neck. “That’s because this is where you belong. With me.”

“Remind me,” she says, her hands moving from my hair to my shoulders to my chest. They flatten on my pectoral muscles momentarily before drifting to the buttons on my shirt and undoing first one and then another. “Remind me how I belong to you.”

I’m fascinated. Rendered speechless. Motionless while she undoes each button and drags the edges apart. She bites her lip and squirms where she sits, lifting one thigh and then the other as though she couldn’t possibly sit still. The insides of her knees rub against my legs, the heels of her boots dig into my muscles. Christ, I missed her intensity and her passion so much.

“Do you want that?” I ask, curling my fingers around the nape of her neck. “Is that what you need to be happy, Ash? Not just a home but someone to keep you?”

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