The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(59)

His words stop abruptly. It doesn’t matter. I know what he was about to say.

I pull back a little to look at him, and his eyes, those smiley eyes, are so sad.

In all my times with Ethan, I have never seen him cry, not at Jimmy’s funeral, not in the horrible days immediately thereafter, not ever. I wonder now what warehouse of emotion he’s got bottled up in his heart.

Ethan pulls back, too. Very gently, he runs his thumbs under my eyes, wiping away my tears. “Don’t cry, honey. I can’t take it,” he whispers.

And then I kiss him. His lovely, full mouth is so warm, so familiar. For about three entire heartbeats, he doesn’t move a millimeter. Then he kisses me back, just a little, his lips barely moving, and I slide my fingers through his hair and pull him a little closer, and oh, God, I’ve missed him. Missed this.

His arms tighten around me, and the hangers rattle again as we knock against them, and now his lips are on my neck, the gentle scrape of his beard contrasting with the warm silkiness of his mouth. My knees soften in an almost painful rush. Then his mouth finds mine again, and the kiss is not so gentle this time…desperate, hungry, hot and forbidden and utterly welcome. His tongue brushes mine, and molten heat leaps through my veins. My hands move to his chest, and his skin is hot, practically burning me through the cotton, and I can feel the hard thudding of his heart. Without thinking, I tug his shirt and slip my hands underneath.

“Lucy,” he mutters against my mouth. “Honey, wait.” But I just kiss him again and slide my hands against the smooth skin of his back, his ribs, and pull him closer, wanting him against me. He shifts so we’re closer, his mouth hot and hard. Waiting is forgotten.

Suddenly the door opens, and I release Ethan so fast that I stagger into the hangers once more. He catches my arm, and we turn to see who’s there.

“Jesus, you guys, can’t you do it in the backseat of a limo like everyone else?”

It’s Parker. She grins and puts her hands on her slim hips, raising an eyebrow. My face is on fire, guilt fanning the flames of lust, and I nearly choke on the sudden clamping of my throat.

“Hello, Parker,” Ethan murmurs calmly, not letting go of my arm.

“Tsk, tsk,” Parker says. “Making out at a wake? Shame on the both of you!” Glancing over her shoulder, she smiles. “I found them, Mrs. Lang.” My stomach rises in abrupt horror, and I clap a hand over my mouth. Then Parker looks back at us. “Just kidding, guys,” she says with a flashing smile. “You’re safe for the moment. But seriously, straighten up and get out of there, you wicked children, you.”

With that, she closes the coat room door and, I presume, leaves.

Which leaves me with Ethan. I take a wobbly step away from him. His hair is rumpled, his cheeks are flushed, his shirttails hanging out. I swallow convulsively. So classy, making out in a funeral home. Quite the aphrodisiac, apparently, to those of us pervs who enjoy shagging our brothers-in-law.

“Lucy.” Ethan hasn’t moved. His voice is low.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, looking at the carpet. My hands are clenched into fists.

“Look at me.”

I nod and force myself to obey.

Ethan’s face is calm. He tips my chin up a little farther, and man, it’s hard to look into those gentle brown eyes. But I do. “Give me a chance,” he says quietly. A cold fist squeezes my heart. “Give me a chance to be with you. The right way this time.”

I open my mouth, then shut it, then try again. “Ethan, you know I…”

“You have to.” His gaze is steady and sure.

My heart, which wasn’t too regular a few minutes ago, knocks wildly around in my chest. I do have to. I know it. It’s just…

“Okay,” I whisper.

He cups my face in his hands, and just looks at me. Then he smiles, and my dopey heart surges out to him, even as my stomach churns. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

My knees buzz painfully, and numbness seems to have gloved my hands. The pebble in my throat is more like a fist right now.

Ethan kisses my forehead, and I close my eyes and put my hand over his heart for a second, then step back and adjust his collar. He grins, tucks his shirt back in and then opens the door and peeks out. “All clear,” he says, looking like his old mischievous self.

“See you around, cowboy,” I mutter, then totter down the hall on wooden legs to rejoin my family. For the rest of the night, I can barely hear. I feel slightly ill.

I believe I’m in deep trouble.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I WALK HOME AFTER THE WAKE, hoping to settle down. My stomach’s been a wreck since Ethan kissed me—well, since I kissed him, to be fair.

I don’t know what I’m doing. Ethan is not the type I want. He’s much too…too…lovable. I swallow sickly and head off down the street. Past Nubey’s Hardware, past Zippy’s Sports Memorabilia. Haven’t seen a customer go in there in months, and I wonder idly when Zippy will give up the ghost, if the Black Widows will be able to find another tenant. It’s eight-thirty, and Mackerly is quiet, Aunt Boggy’s wake being about the extent of socializing in this town tonight. And here’s Bunny’s. See you in a little while, I think, looking forward to the quiet balm that is bread baking, the sweet yeast smell of the dough, the warmth of the oven. Odd, to be so fond of a place, but I do love the bakery. I just wish it wasn’t slowly dying.