Page 78 of Beach Cottage Kisses
That one night had shown him more of Iris than he’d gleaned in three years’ time. The twin thing—the two of them didn’t share it with each other, but their shared knowledge of the connection, of the silent understandings, gave them a bond of their own. At least for him, it did.
As to the rest of her confidences…it was like the woman had been a figure in a black-and-white video to him before, and had now appeared in three-dimensional, full-color, concrete form.
And boy did he want to touch that form.
To hold it while she slept. To tickle it and make it laugh, just to hear the sound.
To raise it to heights of ecstasy that made it emit other sounds he yearned to hear. Carnal ones.
It. Not her.
With Iris, he could only live on the friend side. To cross over would obliterate that which he most cherished. Knowing her. The beautiful person she was.
Not just because he didn’t trust himself not to start taking her presence for granted and getting wrapped up in the daily life that he knew consumed him. But because he’d come to realize that if he pushed her for anything more, she’d have to back away.
He had no idea what he’d do if he lost Sage. But he could make some pretty accurate assumptions. It would literally be like losing his legs. Or a portion of his thought processes. The way Iris had described her mother’s handling of her own terminal illness—teaching her daughters to rely on each other, instilling in them that because they had their special bond, they’d never be alone—explained why she didn’t want another committed relationship in her life.
Chances were good she’d never be able to trust her heart that completely again.She’d lost faith in forever with anyone, for sure.
Along with an ability to trust that there’d be years in between finding love and losing it. Ivy dying at seventeen had shown Iris an awareness of death’s toll, of its ability to come at any time for anyone.
He could only imagine the pain she associated with loving someone deeply. But his awareness of the pain’s existence told him what he needed to know.
Unfortunately, none of his new awarenesses, his understandings, shut down his attraction to her. The more he knew, the more he wanted to know. The more he had of her, the more he wanted to have.
Period.
Had nothing to do with any pheromones or other hormonal nuances she might be sending out. Nothing to do with her having been hit by an emotional tornado.
He looked at her, he got hard. He heard her voice, he got hard. He thought about her, he got hard.
A small price to pay for knowing her.
And not nearly as painful as the leg and back injury he’d been dealing with all week.
The bigger worry was that she’d figure him out. See the evidence he’d been managing to hide. Which was why, on Saturday afternoon, when Joel went out to his van after their session and came back to hand him a pair of crutches, telling him he’d graduated from phase one of his recovery journey, Scott let out a whoop loud enough for the dogs to hear from the beach. And very studiously and carefully followed all the instructions the therapist had already given him to prepare for crutch use.
The crutches were the key to his freedom. To having his house to himself again.Where he could walk around hard all damned day if that’s what happened.
More likely, with the woman and her scent out of his home, his libido would settle back to that of a healthy, thirty-one-year-old male. He’d get hard. He’d deal with it. And move on.
He’d never been short of women open to having casual sex with him. Had never had to go looking for them, either. The invitations came on an embarrassingly regular basis.
And although bringing to mind a few of the most recent women who’d hit on him raised no current reaction in him at all—there wasn’t one of them he’d want to have see him in his current state—he knew himself well enough to know that as soon as he was healed enough to please a woman, he’d feel all the right things in all the right places.
But he was getting ahead of himself. First step back to normal life was getting Iris home to her own place. And meeting up with her on the beach, rather than in his bedroom.
Filled with victory, with determination and a rush of energy, he thanked his physical therapist, waved him off and, positioning the crutches under his arms, headed off toward the back door, planning to meet Iris and the girls on the back porch.
He was halfway through the kitchen when the door flew open. “Scott!” Iris called before she’d stepped inside, her voice kind of frantic sounding.
“Yeah?” He hurried forward, wincing as his back took on the unfamiliar work.
She rounded the door, saw him and stopped. “Oh!”
Frowning, he watched for the girls to follow her in. “What’s wrong?”
“I heard you yell…” Her tone brought his gaze to her face. Her eyes were wide.
