Page 40 of Tart
“I understand that this is a small town, and if we get married, we’ll have to live as such.”
“A fast marriage in this town only means one thing to everyone. Can you handle that?” I asked, angling my head toward him.
“I know the truth. You aren’t pregnant. It won’t take anyone else long to figure that out, too. I’m not worried about it. People do fall in love and get married quickly for other reasons.”
“They do?” I asked, surprised. “I don’t have a lot of experience with falling in love. Haylee and Brady took nearly seven years to kiss the first time.”
He laughed, and I was glad it didn’t sound so tight this time. “That’s the exact opposite of instantly falling in love. I used to work with a guy in my last district who took the elementary school secretary out on a first date, and they were never apart again. He took her home, she stayed, and they married the next week. They’re still married twenty years later.”
“Those cases are rare, though.”
“They are, but not unheard of when it comes to love. Besides, why are you worried about what everyone else is going to think?”
I laughed and rolled my eyes to the sky. “You didn’t grow up here, Bishop. You don’t understand the nuances of having been born, raised, injured, and running a business in the same town. Certain expectations are had for the hometown girls.”
“Courtship and marriage to a hometown boy?” I tipped my head in agreement. “Screw that antiquated idea, Amber. You’re a modern woman who can do whatever the hell she wants without worrying about what the knitting club or ladies’ aid groups are tutting about.”
“Tutting about?” I asked, laughing. He lowered his brow at me, and I sighed. “I know what you mean. You’re right, but it’s hard when you grew up in that environment. Even my mother still believes I’ll marry a nice boy from my class,” I said, using finger quotes.
“Maybe she’d be happy with a nice boy who lives next door,” he said with a wink. “Then again, I’m not a boy. I’m a nice man, so I suppose that’s going to be harder for her to accept. Your dad will probably be an even harder sell.”
I shook my head, the motion jilted and twitchy. “Understand that when I do get married, whenever that may be to whoever that may be, my parents will rejoice and be glad. I’ll no longer be their problem. They won’t be faced with the constant guilt of this,” I said, motioning at my leg stretched out toward the fire. “They’ll be happy to pass me off to the first guy who is remotely interested in taking care of me, so they no longer have to do the job.”
He stood and knelt next to my chair, hugging me. “I’m sorry you have to live like that, tart. You don’t deserve that kind of treatment. Nothing that happened was your fault.” His arms squeezed me tighter, and I put mine around him unconsciously, needing the closeness of someone to comfort me. I was worn out. Being strong all the time was hard work. I just laid there on his shoulder and let him comfort me in a way that I usually found hard to accept. Maybe that was because the comfort came from someone with pure intentions.
I sighed, my eyes heavy as they stared into the fire. “I know it’s not their fault either. People deal with trauma in different ways.”
He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear then sat back down in his chair. “That’s true, sweetart, but it’s still not right.”
I cleared my throat and motioned at his house, ready to change the subject. “What about like, you know,” I said, gesturing around with my hand until he grabbed it and held it down. “Wifely duties.”
“That’s not a thing, Amber. I’m capable of cleaning and doing laundry just the same as you are. I don’t expect you to clean up after me or wash my boxers.”
I stared into the fire to avoid eye contact, uncomfortable with him still holding my hand. “I didn’t mean those kinds of duties,” I whispered. “I meant like wifely duties,” I said, emphasizing wifely this time.
His hand squeezed mine, and he sighed. “Okay, first of all, if sex feels like a duty, you’re doing it wrong. That said, marrying me in no way enters you into a contract that requires time spent in my bed.” I nodded without saying anything because part of me wanted to spend time in his bed. A big part of me. “Unless you want to, of course.”
My head snapped to the left, and I eyed him in shock. “Do you want to?”
He rubbed the front of his shorts absently. “You have no idea how much,” he said on a moan. “But I can control myself, so you don’t have to worry about that. I’m not a teenage boy fumbling around in a cabin in the dark, desperate to get laid. I have better ways to deal with those urges now.”
I don’t know what possessed me to do it, but I stood and braced a hand on each arm of his chair, leaning down. “What if I want to worry about it?”
My lips crushed his then, and the swoop of my stomach told me I wanted to do a lot of things with this man. My heart pounded when he pulled me over onto his lap and held me tenderly, his tongue exploring mine. When it caressed the roof of my mouth, his moan filled the night sky louder than thunder.
He buried his hands in my hair and ripped his lips from mine to hold my gaze. All I saw in those eyes was desire. The firelight reflected in his green garnet globes was indicative of the fire inside him. I could feel it as I sat on his lap. I could feel every hard ridge of him.
His nose touched mine, and he stared into my eyes like they were wells without a bottom. His thumbs rubbed my temples while he took a shuddering breath after the kiss. “I swear to God, Amber Larson, all I need is thirty days to convince you that love is easy, and taking a chance on marrying me will be the best decision you’ve ever made.”
“Thirty days, eh?” I asked, my lips seeking his for another sexed-up moment of lusty desire. “You’re pretty confident, Mr. Halla.”
“That’s because we’re not that different, Miss Larson. We’ve both spent years alone yearning for the one person that we had an instant and easy connection to in this world. I found that person in the back of a cupcake van on a rainy morning a few weeks ago. She peddles bread and tarts by day, but by night, she’s the only thing I see in my dreams. This,” he whispered, pressing his hard rod into my thigh, “has never reacted this way to a woman so immediately or viscerally. You turn me on in the blink of an eye and make me harder than I’ve ever been. All I need is thirty days to teach you how to accept that as the truth.”
“A lesson from the teacher?” I asked before his lips were back on mine. He pried my mouth open with his tongue and dodged in, stroking, caressing, and thrusting in a way that said he had every intention of one day showing me his tongue wasn’t the only thing capable of those motions.
I dragged my lips away from his to suck in air and calm my pounding heart. “If you keep kissing me like that, it won’t take thirty days.”
His deep, sexy, and soulful laughter filled the night. “My secret weapon is working,” he moaned, his gaze holding mine. “You’re such a beautiful tart. My mouth waters every time you walk into the room.”
