Page 21 of Weather the Storm

MAGNOLIA

The following morning, I wake to Simon knocking on my bedroom door. “Come in,” I mumble, burrowing down deeper into the fluffy covers.

“Look at you, sleepyhead. Time to get up.”

“Why?” I pull the comforter down just enough to peek at him. “Seraphine gave me the day off.”

“Yup,” Simon replies. “So I could teach you to drive.”

Groaning, I sink back under the covers so only my hair is visible. I feel the mattress dip, alerting me to the fact that Simon is now in bed with me.

Oh my God, Simon is in bed with me.

Suddenly, my libido is raging, and all I can think about is all the things we could do in this bed, which is so unlike me. Like I said, Simon McAllister is waking up a side of me I never knew existed.

He tugs the covers down before flinging them to the floor, leaving me in nothing but that shirt of his. I gasp as the cool air meets my skin, and Simon stares, speechless. He feasts on the sight of my exposed legs, slowly dragging his gaze from my pink-polished toes to my thighs, where his eyes linger.

His slow perusal has me feeling like the temperature in the room is rising. I try my best not to squirm under his scrutiny but fail. “It’s…impolite to st-stare.”

Simon all but growls, “The things I’m thinkin’ aren’t very polite, so I guess that’s fitting, huh?”

His words draw a whimper from me, but not one of fear. No, sir, this is desire, pure and simple. “Simon,” I whisper, and he dives for my lips.

He kisses me thoroughly, morning breath be damned. He kisses me like a man starved for a year then presented with his favorite meal. He devours me wholly, and my God, being devoured feels so,sogood.

After what seems like hours, Simon breaks our kiss, always stopping us before we get out of control. “Shower. Dress. Meet me in the kitchen in twenty.”

Not wanting to stop but knowing it’s for the best, I agree and scurry from the bed to the bathroom. As alluring as it is to attempt to quench the need Simon has lit in me, I don’t, fearing he’ll know something’s up if I take longer than usual to get ready.

Dressed casually in a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, I amble into the living room and find Simon waiting on the couch. “Ready?” I ask him.

“Born ready. The question is, are you ready?”

Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I give him a hesitant nod.

Simon springs up from the couch and snags my keys from the hook as he breezes past me. “Then what’re you waitin’ for? Let’s go!”

I follow behind him, beelining toward the passenger side of my Civic.

“Where’re you going? Can’t learn to drive if you’re not behind the wheel, Goldilocks.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I say, “Figured you’d show me first.”

“Nope, gotta do to learn. Hop in.”

Our fingers brush as we pass one another and he hands me the keys. My hands tremble slightly as I slide into the driver’s seat and begin adjusting the position of the seat and the mirrors.

Simon watches with a slight smirk as I move the seat up a smidge and then back, up and then back, before finally settling on the same spot I started in.

I repeat the process with the mirrors—in then out, up then down. Finally satisfied, I insert the key into the ignition and turn…only, I turn for too long, and the engine makes this awful choking sound.

Tears burn, threatening to spill over. “I’m hopeless.”

“No, you’re not. Try again, and as soon as you hear the engine turn over, let go.” Simon’s voice is low and calm, so soothing.

I try again, doing as he said, and sure enough, the engine cranks.

“Now, check your mirrors and put the car into reverse.”

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