Ginger's Heart (A Modern Fairytale, #3)(133)

“And if I touched you . . . right there . . . right now . . . you’d come for me quick, darlin’.”

Her breath was shallow and ragged as she arched into him. “Y-yes. Yes, I would.”

He slipped his hand out of her jeans and took a step back, placing his other hand on her shoulder to steady her from lurching forward.

“Huh?” she whimpered, her eyes popping open, her mouth gaping.

“Tonight’s goin’ to be just fine,” he said. “Stop worryin’.”

Then he adjusted his pants, winked at her, and left the office.

***

Three hours later, sitting beside him in her car on the way to his place, Ginger couldn’t help wanting a little revenge for the way he’d left her hot and aching, though she couldn’t deny that he’d alleviated her worries. Or rather, he’d distracted her from them. Her body had been soaked and primed when he left her alone after teasing her, rotten bastard, and she’d had to go through the remainder of the workday so aroused, it almost hurt.

“I thought we could go to my place and order food,” he said. “I’m not much of a cook.”

She glanced at his profile. Too handsome. Gran was right. But all hers. Finally.

“That’s fine.”

In the backseat was her flowered duffel bag, packed with shorts and a T-shirt for sleeping, her sexiest underwear, two pairs of jeans, two blouses, a soft, off-the-shoulder sweater, and her favorite fuzzy socks. It had felt exciting, and a little naughty, packing a bag to stay at Cain’s place all weekend. And right. Oh, so right.

“You mad at me?” he asked. “About earlier?”

She sighed, staring straight ahead out the window. “It was a mean trick.”

“You still worried?”

She gave him side eyes, feeling ornery. “No.”

“Then, mission accomplished.” He chuckled softly and turned on the radio to country music. “And you better get your fill of me this weekend, darlin’, because I will not be around next weekend.”

She turned to him. “What? Where’re you goin’?”

Old insecurities about Cain leaving rose quickly to the surface, but she forced herself to stay calm. He’s not runnin’. He’s not runnin’. He loves me. He doesn’t do that anymore.

“Reserves trainin’,” he said. “NOSC in Louisville, to be exact. I’m leavin’ on Wednesday. Back on Saturday night.”

“Oh,” she said, her shoulders relaxing. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t realize you were still . . .”

“In the service? Aw, I doubt they’ll deploy me again for a while, princess. But yeah, I’m goin’ to keep my foot in with the Reserves. I liked it.”

“You did, didn’t you?” she said, turning slightly to face him. “And it was good for you.”

He nodded. “Made me grow up. Learn how to be a better man.”

“You were never a bad man, Cain.”

“You were the only one who saw the good in me, once upon a time.” They stopped at a traffic light, and he turned to her. “You always saw the good in me, Gin.”

“There was always good to see,” she said.

He stepped on the gas when the light turned green. “Raisin’ hell down at the distillery? Screwin’ my way through high school? Drinkin’ until my momma called Woodman to come and find me? Breakin’ the heart of the sweetest girl I ever knew?” He shook his head. “I was no good. I was trouble, baby.”

“You weren’t a saint,” she agreed. “But you weren’t the devil either.”

He turned left, drove by a fountain, waved at the guard who raised a gate for them, and continued straight ahead, by rows and rows of lovely, landscaped, manicured townhouses in a posh, private community.

“This . . . this is where you live?”

He didn’t answer, but she watched his lips twitch as he suppressed a smile. They drove for a half mile or so, past a clubhouse, a pool, and tennis courts, before he turned right, down Nightingale Lane, stopping at number 12 and pulling into the driveway.

“Home, sweet home,” he said, cutting the engine and turning to grin at her.

“Cain!” she said, smiling back at him. “This is beautiful!”

He nodded. “I need to be honest with you. When I bought this place? The only person I was thinkin’ of was you. I wanted you to like it, to feel comfortable here. Somethin’ about it—aw, I don’t know—somethin’ about it sort of reminded me of McHuid’s, I guess.”

Her heart grew wings, fluttering in her chest as she processed his words. He’d bought this place for her, for them, knowing how much she would love it. She thought about him showing up at Gran’s two nights ago, about how he’d pulled her from the depths of despair when she’d been grieving Woodman, and suddenly she saw him through six-year-old eyes, remembering how his black hair shone in the sun when he was nine and he told her to jump into his arms.

And right now, part of her wanted to jump again—to launch her body across the seat, straddle his lap, and kiss him like the world was ending, but that would only delay what she truly wanted. She wanted all of him.

“Take me inside,” she said, her voice husky and low.

His eyes darkened. “My pleasure.”