Until You (The Redemption, #1)(69)

She freezes momentarily. “What do you mean they saw us kiss?”

“That’s what you were interrupting on the porch. They arranged this whole sleepover tonight because they said you deserve more than a kiss in a living room. They say I should buy you flowers and take you on a date. That girls love that. Is that what you like, Tennyson?”

She eyes me warily, thoughts fleeting through her eyes—ones that look like doubt and reasons why we shouldn’t do whatever it is that we’re doing—but she doesn’t put words to them. That tells me I’ve won the battle for now.

Let’s hope it isn’t a Pyrrhic victory.

“This is the best part of our fight.”

“What is?”

“The kiss and make up part,” I murmur and capture her lips again.

“It is?”

“Most definitely.” I slide my hands under her shirt and along the soft skin of her back as a soft sigh falls from her lips. “And then I let you use me again.”

“Is that so?”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” She laughs, and I love the sound of it. “And then after you’re done punishing me with your great body and incredible sex, I’ll take you out for the date you deserve.”

“I think you have the order backwards there, Madden.”

“Who says there has to be an order?” I shrug, this time trailing my fingertips over her abdomen. “Maybe sometimes I like dessert before the main course.”

I capture her laugh with my kiss. Then my hands begin to roam. Over her hips. Beneath her shirt to the bare skin of her back. Over and then past the waistband of her yoga pants to the apex of her thighs.

My groan is automatic when I feel how slick and ready she already is for me. When I see how aroused she is by our kiss alone. When I hear her mewl and see her spread her legs apart more for me. Welcoming me. Wanting me.

Decision made.

I’m eating dessert first.

She yelps when I lean forward and close my mouth over her clit through the fabric of her pants. My warm breath heats the fabric as I draw in the scent of her arousal.

Definitely dessert first.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


Tennyson




I lean against the bedroom door with my eyes closed and every part of my heart full—yet aching at the same time. Somewhere downstairs, the girls chatter on to Crew about their sleepover. Their giggles and his exclamations float upstairs where I excused myself to get some work done.

But I don’t need to work.

I simply need a minute. To think. To breathe. To lie to myself and say I did everything possible last night to slow things down with Crew. To move back to my cottage. To protect him and the girls from the possible danger that could come to them—the danger that haunts my nightmares where Kaleo finds me and hurts them out of vengeance.

I tried.

I did.

But then Crew was the incredible human being he is.

He could have been a prick. He could have taken the first out to have this scattered, guarded woman gone from his house, but instead, he made me laugh with his declaration of our first official non-fight fight.

Then there was the official non-makeup makeup that was . . . it is why I’m standing here with my eyes closed, my head against the door, just trying to take every single memory we made last night and commit them to memory.

Crew made everything about our unanticipated night together perfect. The drive to the top of Freemont Hill, where we sat and watched the lightning bugs flicker to life while eating a picnic-sized charcuterie board complete with a rather nice zinfandel. Then venturing three towns over to Summerset Steak House where the only thing we ordered was one of every dessert on the menu. We went on to have an impromptu judging contest over each of the eight desserts. Then with stomachs full, cheeks sore from laughing, hearts full, and heads a bit loopy from another bottle of wine once we got back home, we did a little skinny-dipping in the pool. Or rather we did only after turning the security cameras off, followed by sex where for the first time in a long time, we didn’t have to worry about being quiet.

Or where we actually caved to our whims and had said sex.

The way he made everything about the past sixteen hours carefree and uncomplicated, romantic and understated, made me love him more when I already love him as it is . . .

Love?

The word staggers me. The thought more so. The feeling that warms my entire body when I repeat it in my head triumphs both.

Love.

We never said anything about love. I never told myself I was allowed to love anyone again, let alone a man as incredible as him. Because love takes trust . . . and I never thought I’d trust another man again either.

But here I am, falling for Crew. Correction, already fallen for Crew. I don’t know why my revelation strikes me by surprise. Aren’t the classic symptoms of love waking up thinking about someone, wanting to be with that someone all day, and then going to bed dreaming about them?

Because outside of work, of helping Bobbi Jo and her merry band of helpers, of giggling with the twins and teaching them the proper way to torment their father . . . that’s pretty much been the past six weeks.

And it can’t be.

It can’t happen.

But here we are.

Here I am.

What the hell am I supposed to do about it now?