Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(50)

I remember this. Chasing windmills.

It was always this way with Scarlet, this easy. As though my touch erased the tension in her body and she couldn’t hold on to both the fear and to me. The temptation had always been there, to kiss her, make her mindless, and then make her mine. But then after she wouldn’t truly be mine, not in a real, lasting way.

Scarlet gripped my shirt at my sides and tugged, her lips parting, welcoming, inviting. I battled the desire to devour and demand, knowing she needed my gentleness, not my greed. Slow, deep kisses punctuated by her soft moans and hitching breaths.

Where she touched, I touched. That had been my promise so many years ago and I’d broken it only once. As much as my body screamed and begged to move faster, take more, slide my hands down her curves, untuck her clothes and touch her bare skin how I craved, I would not make that mistake again. Definitely not now.

She’d opened a window. Come hell or high water or famine or the end of days, I was climbing through that damn window. But I was moving slow. I wasn’t giving her any reason to shut it, not ever again. I swore to God, I was going to be a fucking saint.

Which was why, after one more savoring slide of my tongue and sucking bite of her lip, I pressed my forehead to hers and tucked my chin to my chest, striving to cool my mind and the building urgency in my body. My palms hadn’t moved from her face. I was touching her, she was touching me, she wanted me, I wanted her, and that was enough. For now.

We stood like that—close, our hands on each other—for a time. I got the sense she was afraid to move or speak, and I knew how she felt. But I wanted her to know this was real and, God willing, it was just the beginning.

Lifting my head, I pushed my fingers into her hair, encouraging her to give me her eyes. She did. Hazy and trusting, hopeful, they traveled over my features.

Inclined to let her look, I pressed her open palm against my heart and kept my voice low as I said, “Scarlet—”

Ding!

She tensed. A second later, the unmistakable sound of those elevator doors opening tore through this new beautiful reality we’d just created, and I muttered a curse.

But before I could separate us completely, she grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me forward, stealing one more kiss just as my brother Duane said, “Oh, uh. Damn. We can leave.”

Leaning away, her gorgeous gaze hooked into mine, a little giddy, a little desperate, and she smiled. “No. It’s all right. We were just, um, just—”

“Y’all were kissing,” Cletus announced, and I closed my eyes for a few seconds, wanting to strangle him. “That’s what y’all were doing. We have eyeballs and brains and they both work just fine.”

Scarlet rolled her lips between her teeth and covered her face with her hands. Unable to stay the instinct, I gathered her in my arms, wanting her to tuck her head under my chin and against my chest. A surging satisfaction rumbled through me as she accepted my embrace, a sense of searing rightness.

“Can you give us another minute?” I turned my head in profile.

“Actually, we can’t. They’ve opened the museum for normal tours.” Duane sounded truly remorseful. “And we got tickets for the Uffizi next. They’ll expire if we don’t get over there in time.”

I threaded my fingers through the fine silk of her copper hair. “Fine. Go on. We’ll come up right after, assuming the button works this time.”

“Roger that. Come on, Duane.” I heard the shuffle of footsteps, another ding, and I tightened my arms around her, placing a kiss on top of her head. Then Cletus added, “For the record, I take credit for this,” just before the doors slid shut.

Scarlet’s shoulders were shaking, she was laughing, and the sound eased a restive part of me, anxious for a sign of her happiness.

It took me a few seconds to realize I was laughing too.

“Now he’s never going to stop.” Her words were muffled.

“No. I reckon he won’t stop.” I couldn’t help but think, good. I didn’t always want or appreciate my brother’s brand of assistance, but in this case, good. Obviously, we’d needed all the help we could get. “But I’ll talk to him, see if I can get him to ease up a little.”

“So.” Her arms came around my chest and she bent her head back, gaze wide, still looking hopeful but with a heavy dash of uncertainty. “What happens now?”

“Now . . .” I took a moment to memorize her like this, just in case, and I had to forcibly stop myself from saying, Now, irrevocable commitment. Assurances. Legal ones. Contracts. Marriage. Today. Right this minute.

Reminding myself to be a saint—in patience and intentions—I swallowed the demands, instead saying, “Now we do things right.” And even though it required smothering every instinct and desire within me, I added, “We take things slow.”





“That’s stupid.”

With considerable reluctance, I tore my eyes from Scarlet’s back and glanced at Cletus. “Don’t push it.”

“Of course I’m going to push it.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, his frown severe. “Y’all’re moving at a snail’s pace.”

“At least we’re moving.”

He grunted. Then he grunted again. “If you look at today’s events, the only time you made any progress was when we stepped in and forced the issue. If we didn’t push it, then you’d still be attempting to merely coexist with the woman.”