Page 48 of Betsy
She lowered herself onto the seat next to mine, as tightly wound as a strand of her hair. I picked up her fingers and held them loosely in my hand. “Is this okay?”
She stared down at where our bodies connected, the calluses on the tips of my fingers snagging on the silkiness of her skin. She swallowed and nodded, but her shoulders were held back as if by an invisible string.
I readjusted my hold on her hand and lazily traced circles around each of her knuckles in turn. Four beats for each knuckle. Four knuckles. Four-four time, each knuckle a complete measure. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Slowly her shoulders lost their rigidity and she began to relax.
The metronome of my touch continued on the back of her hand. One, two, three, four. “Betsy.” My fingers trailed the valley between her joints and rounded the base of the next. “There are so many things I want to say to you. To ask.” I let a pause impregnate my silence. “But I don’t have people close to you to question like you did,” I teased.
A cheeky grin rounded her lips, and she flashed me a haughty look out of the corner of her eye.
“Did you get the answers you were looking for?” I whispered to her profile, my breath fanning the wisps of hair at her temple.
She turned her chin to face me, her long lashes rising to skim the bottom of her brows. “No,” she murmured, her gaze searching mine. “I found the opposite.”
My thumb froze, the beat of my heart going off rhythm.
“I found something better.” With her free hand, she reached over and covered my heart, sending it racing in a three-eight time signature. “I found you.”
My tightly held control snapped in two. Every instinct, every desire I’d reined in was unleashed with those three soft-spoken words, and I couldn’t get it back under control. Couldn’t muster the desire to even try.
My mouth crashed down on top of Betsy’s, an invitation to seek and explore to her heart’s content. If she thought she’d discovered who I was, then I’d lay myself bare for her. I’d hold nothing back. She could have it all. All of me.
Every caress of my lips, mingled breath, shared touch—it was all a complex and yet simple-at-its-core overture. The promised beginning of a beautiful composition. The introduction to something even more substantial and lasting.
Could she feel my heart pounding beneath her palm? Hear all the things I longed to say expressed in my kiss? Know I’d do everything in my power to protect her from whatever had hurt her in the past? That I could easily fall in love with her? That I might have started to already?
Betsy met me touch for touch. She was fire, stoking the flames already burning through my veins. Every passionate challenge she’d ever flashed me through her gaze echoed in her kiss. I could imagine a future in which I told her I loved her and she replied with a competitive,I love you more. Where she goaded me with comments like,that’s all you’ve got?until I was wrung dry giving her my everything.
I gentled my touch, my senses coming back to me. So much for patience. For waiting or talking first.
I kissed her again. Chaste and sweet compared to the urgency which had driven me to take her lips in the first place. I’d feel mortified except for the fact I hadn’t been alone in my unbridled lack of control. Betsy had been right there with me. Matching me beat for beat.
I kissed her one final time then forced myself to lean back. As much as I loved losing myself in her touch, we still needed to talk.
Her hair was a halo of riotous, wild curls around her head, the product of my hands invading and tumbling through the silken mass. The disarray gave her an untamed, uninhibited look that made a feral growl climb its way up my throat.
Betsy’s fingertips grazed her bottom lip, pulling my gaze to her red, plump mouth. I swallowed hard and forced my eyes to the ceiling, pulling deep breaths into my lungs.
“That was…” Betsy trailed off as if the rest of the sentence was out of her reach.
“I know.” I looked back down at her and gave her a sheepish grin. “I think we might need to talk now more than ever.”
“What do you want to talk about?” A thread of trepidation in a tapestry of composure.
I picked up her hand again, needing to touch her in some way. To keep the connection between us. “First off, your rule.”
“What about it?” She rested her temple against my upper arm.
“Well, do you still intend to keep it?”
She glanced up and smirked. “For you, I’ll make an exception.”
My chest squeezed. Would that be enough? Had she really come to a place of vulnerability, or would she be waiting for me to mess up in some way to justify her rule from the start?
“Why’d you establish that rule in the first place?” I asked, trying to keep my voice unaffected.
Betsy didn’t answer for a long time. I started to wonder if she even would. Maybe she didn’t think her heart or hurts were safe with me. I didn’t know what else I could say or do to show her otherwise.
“About two years ago, this high school kid walked into my studio wanting to record a few original songs. He’d saved up his money from his part-time job, and I respected his hard work and dedication, so agreed to give him some pointers as well as recording and editing time.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “The boy could charm the last two cents from a beggar and they’d thank him for it.”
