Page 75 of Grit
She opened the door and flipped on the single light. “I don’t have a temper.”
“Yes, you do.”
She felt her temper rising and took a deep breath. “Do not.”
He smiled and pressed her against the dresser. “You’re being so good. Look at you, Miss Melissa Oxford.”
“I wish you’d forget that story.”
“Did you have a crush on me?” He kissed along her collarbone. “That just occurred to me tonight. You must have been what? Thirteen? And you were so formal. Did you think I was cute?”
Melissa couldn’t say anything. Her heart was in her throat.
“Did you?” He grinned. “Don’t be shy. You were adorable.”
“Cary, I wasthirteen. I had a crush on all cute boys at that age.”
He gasped. “You mean it wasn’t just me?”
She couldn’t stop her smile as she hopped up on the dresser. “Stop.”
“My heart is broken. I thought Miss Melissa Oxford, sixth Spice Girl, who always knows where she is, only had eyes for me.”
“You were a cute boy with a cool car.” She put her arms around his neck. “I’m sure lots of teenage girls had a crush on you.”
“I wouldn’t want to brag.” He ran his hands along her hips and squeezed. “Fuck, I love your legs.”
She hooked a leg around the back of his thighs and pulled him in. “You’re very talkative tonight.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “I’m happy.”
Melissa’s heart felt like it would burst. “I’m glad.”
“I know there’s a lot going on, but I’m really happy, Melissa.” He kissed the arch of her cheek. “It’s all going to work out somehow.”
She turned her face to his and took his mouth. She didn’t want to talk anymore. She wanted to forget about the skinny girl on the paint horse. She wanted to forget about her responsibilities and her burdens.
“Cary.” She let her head fall back as Cary explored every inch of her neck with his mouth. As she braced herself on the dresser, his hands roamed over her body. He squeezed her hip and ran a hand up the curve of her waist. He stroked her breast over her sundress, then dipped his thumb under the low neckline, testing the firm flesh of her right breast and making her temperature skyrocket.
“When do you have another free weekend?” he whispered. “Come to my place. Stay the night.”
“I can’t.” She could barely think. His mouth and his hands were driving her to distraction. He said something, but she didn’t hear. “What?”
“Why can’t you come over?”
“I can. I can’t stay the night.”
He pulled back. “Why not?”
“I-I just can’t.”
“Missy, your mom and mine know what’s going on between us.”
“I know they suspect, but—”
“But what?” He caged her with both arms. “What’s the problem? We’re both adults.”
She ran a hand along his jaw. “It’s not that simple.”
