Get a Life, Chloe Brown (The Brown Sisters #1)(79)

Chloe squeezed his hand, her marshmallows forgotten. “What was his name?”

“Leo.” Just the word curved Red’s mouth into a smile, and she was struck by an odd, sudden certainty that Redford Morgan’s near-constant cheer had come from one man in particular. Leo.

“He sounds wonderful,” she murmured.

“Yeah. He was. Sometimes I wonder …”

He trailed off, but she thought she knew what he was going to say. She knew, because she knew him—not just the achingly cool, charming, handsome man who was quick to joke and quicker to help, but the not-so-shiny parts beneath that formed the foundation of who he was. The parts that some people might look away from because they were a little less easy to swallow. The parts that called to her just as much as his sweet smiles. “You wonder if he’d be disappointed in you.” The way Red, as she’d realized over these past weeks, was disappointed in himself. “Because of whatever it was that happened to you in London.”

He turned to look at her so fast, his hair flew around his face like a flame. “I—London was—” He sighed, his grip on her hand tightening. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I don’t know why I brought this up. Did I bring this up? Look, have a marshmallow.”

“Red,” she whispered. “You don’t always have to be okay.” She leaned closer and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He was still for a moment.

But then he looked at her, and smiled, and murmured, “I know. But I am okay, with you.” The moment shimmered with something beautiful and delicate, and it wasn’t broken when he turned away. It lingered, fine and lovely, under the surface. He pushed a marshmallow onto her skewer, and when she complained, he popped one into her mouth, too. Then he loaded up his own and showed her exactly how close to hold them to the fire, and for how long.

Then, when her mouth was full of the first hot, sticky, melting bite, he caught her gaze and said in the gravelly voice that rolled right over her clit, “Now, in the name of camping, bad decisions, and your list, you and me are gonna play a game. ”





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Red watched as the sympathy left Chloe’s dark gaze, replaced by something hotter than the campfire. Her lips curled, that familiar, uneven smile so sexy he felt it in his chest—and his balls.

“What kind of game?” she asked. Her tongue snaked out to catch a dripping blob of marshmallow, and every inch of his body snapped to attention. He hadn’t thought this whole “toasted marshmallow” thing through. He hadn’t considered how fucking irresistible she’d look licking up gooey, white dessert, or how the light of the fire would make her skin glow like polished mahogany and her eyes light up like smoky amber. He hadn’t imagined something this innocent could make him want to suck sugar off her tongue and drag her into the tent.

He should’ve, though. He always wanted Chloe. In every possible way.

She was still waiting for a response, arching those winged eyebrows at him, so he cleared his throat and finally answered, “Twenty-one questions. It’s a time-honored camp tradition amongst people who’re trying to get into each other’s sleeping bags.”

She crossed her ankles and leaned closer, her shoulder bumping his. The simple touch shimmered through his core like a shot of molten gold. “I’m assuming you didn’t learn that from your granddad.”

He swallowed to clear the roughness in his throat. This whole experience was for her, and she seemed to be enjoying it, so he wasn’t going to grab her and make it all about his lust—at least, not yet. “I learned it the same place I learned about s’mores, smart-arse. You can’t deny, this game looks fun in films.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Isn’t it the game where a girl asks something useful like, What’s your favorite animal? and then a horny little monster—ahem, I mean a boy, uses his turn to ask if she’s ever had anal sex?”

Red’s lips twitched. “Maybe. Luckily I’m not a horny little monster”—lie—“so I’ll only be asking you very meaningful questions. But you can go first.”

She tapped her fingers against her lower lip. “I need more marshmallows to help me think.”

“Don’t start.” He nudged her shoulder. Must have caught her by surprise, because she almost toppled over in response, saved only by his hand on her arm.

“An attack!” she cried, all dramatic as if they were in a film.

“It’s not my fault your balance sucks.” He pulled her up again. Actually, he sort of … picked her up a bit, and settled her between his legs. Now his thighs bracketed hers, her back resting against his chest. She was close enough that he could smell the floral stuff she put in her hair over the smoky sweetness of toasted marshmallows, close enough that her body heat seared into him like a brand.

Perfect.

“All right,” he said, trying to sound authoritative. “Now, you start.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Were you teased at school about your name? And, you know, your hair and everything?”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his arms around her like he was a fucking koala and she was his forever tree. “I got some shit at school—who didn’t?—but it never bothered me. My mum gave me this name. She told me it’s a good one. And her hair’s a hell of a lot redder than mine, but I always thought she was the prettiest lady in the world, so I didn’t care what people said about the color.”