by Lindsey Hart
I’m pretty sure this is what infatuation feels like. Or maybe my brain signals are getting scrambled by lack of blood flow because I’ve been walking around in a constant state of lust. My dick has been doing most of the thinking, using up all the blood flow and oxygen in the process.
Rowan suddenly turns. She’s not smiling, but the intensity in her eyes steals my breath. “Do you think people can change?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I guess it depends.”
“Us, I mean. Me. Really change?”
“I think so. Everyone does. It’s inevitable.”
“I’m not talking about aging or changing your opinion on something, although that can be really useful. I mean, do we really change what we want and who we are? At the very center of us?”
I have to shrug. “I’m not a philosopher, so I don’t really know. I studied business, which is about as opposite from philosophy or things like that as possible.”
Rowan’s lips twitch. “But you have to have an answer. Or an opinion?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. That’s the best answer I can give. I don’t have the answers to a lot of things. All I know is I’m glad you’re here. That we’re both here right now.” I suck in a hard breath because that was not supposed to pop out. I’ve said more tonight than I’ve said in ten years, at least when it comes to deeply personal stuff.
Rowan’s expression softens, but her eyes become more guarded at the same time. Right. It’s a not so subtle reminder that neither of us was looking for this. Whatever this is.
“Cliff…”
“Rowan.”
“I’m supposed to be talking about how your date went. I’m supposed to be sitting here thinking about my last-ditch chance at finding you a good match.”
“What if I don’t want you to be thinking about any of that?”
“It’s unprofessional not to.”
“What if I don’t care? What if it isn’t? What if none of that matters? What if we’re just two people who want to enjoy a fire in a decrepit barn in the middle of nowhere? What if I’m… What if I’m just a guy who wants to kiss you right now because I think you’re beautiful and amazing?”
Rowan scoffs, but then her face goes carefully blank when she realizes I’m serious. That I’m not teasing her or arguing with her or trying to push her into whatever we usually push each other into. Sparring matches or sparks or battles of wills or whatever it is.
“Cliff…” She says my name again, but it’s different. There’s that same note of warning there, but there’s also something else. Something deeper. Darker. Wistful.
Rowan might be able to keep a straight face, but she can’t keep the desire from flooding her eyes. Her pupils explode, her lips part, her skin flushes, and the firelight illuminate all of it.
“I’m stubborn,” I blurt. “I’ve been childish. I was hurt, and I let the dagger stick in me and poison me for a long time. I have no doubt that I’m no catch. I think most relationships go to pot sooner rather than later. I don’t honestly see the point in any of it, and not just because I’m worried about getting hurt, though I have to admit it would be nice not to. I thought I’d be happy living the rest of my life as a single person. I know I have a lot of work to do. It should never have taken my mom, of all people, to make me see this. I get how none of that is remotely attractive or even complimentary. I know that the first time I saw you smile, I wanted to see it over and over and over. The first time I heard you laugh, I felt like the sun had just come out after—I don’t know—ten years of darkness or something. I also know I’d rather cut off my left nut than hurt you. And I know that right now, I want to kiss you.”
“Oh… oh, really?” Rowan whispers. The flames continue to flicker over her features, both hiding and emphasizing the play of emotion there. Uncertainty. Desire. Fear. Anticipation. Pain. Longing.
“Really.” I nod. “And I think you’d like to kiss me back.”
CHAPTER 12
Rowan
Cliff doesn’t move. I don’t move. We’re both frozen in place in this terrible, amazing dance we’re doing without even moving. My mouth is suddenly so dry that I can’t swallow. I can feel my breath coming rapidly, my chest rising and falling. Harder. Faster.
I realize I’m looking at Cliff’s mouth. I quickly snatch my eyes away. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I suddenly want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Not only is my entire body rippling with awareness, but my skin is also prickling with fear. Can we start this? Should we? Would it really be starting anything? We haven’t had the best experiences. I don’t think either of us truly believes that romance and love work out. At least not for people like us. For other people, maybe.
Do I really think that? If that’s true, what happened to me? Did Calvin break the best parts of me? Did I let him do that? Or did I do it to myself after? Was Cliff right the night he said I’m just as broken as everyone else? Do I just mask it well? How can I arrange people’s happily-ever-afters and not believe in it myself?
“Cliff,” I breathe. His name comes out like I’m begging him, though for what I can’t be sure. Am I begging him to kiss me? Or not to kiss me?
I don’t know what I’m doing, but suddenly, I’m standing. I’m standing, and I’m studying the fire because it’s the only safe place to look. I feel like it’s an apt metaphor. If I take one more step, I’ll be in the heart of the flames.
Cliff stands too, so quickly that his lawn chair folds in on itself and crashes to the ground. I nearly jump straight into the fire at the noise, and he glances behind him. Suddenly, he laughs. It’s a nice sound. Masculine. Husky. It sounds really, really good on him. It’s also infectious, and soon I’m laughing too, even though I’m not entirely sure why. I just know it feels good. It releases the tension building between us.
I whirl away from the fire. I walk fast, but instead of retreating from the barn, I walk further in. There are old stalls there, sagging and decrepit, but still holding up. There are old horse tacks on the walls and a stool in one corner. It looks like an old milking stool, and I have to smile just thinking about what this place would look like restored to its former glory.
“I think you should fix it up,” I whisper. I don’t think Cliff hears me, but when I turn around, he’s standing just a few feet away. My heart skitters wildly.
“Really? You don’t think it would ruin its ancient aura?”
“No.” I glance around again. There’s a hayloft in the far corner. Strands of ancient hay still cling to the boards. Silvery cobwebs are illuminated in just about every corner of the place. In daylight, I’m sure there would be a thousand streams of light making their way through the gaps in the boards. “Maybe. I don’t know. Part of this makes me feel kind of sad. Part of it is really beautiful. I keep thinking about what it looked like when it was brand new. And how it looks now. How time has broken it.”
“Has it?” Cliff folds his arms over his chest, making his leather jacket creak and groan in protest even though it isn’t even that tight. I shiver again when I think about the play of his muscle and bone below.
“I don’t know. I guess so. Doesn’t it break all of us?”
“A few weeks ago, I would have said yes.”
Boom, boom, boom, crash—the sound of my heart furiously beating against my ribs then stopping altogether. “And now?”
“Time is inevitable. I keep hearing all these self-help-quotes about really living, not just existing. I always thought they were stupid.”
“They are stupid.” I can’t help it. I have to smile just a little. “When they’re put that way. The message isn’t, but we see it so often that it just gets cheesy after a while and ruins the intent in the first place.”
“I don’t know if this place just existed or if it really lived,” Cliff says gently.
His eyes meet mine, and my stomach pinches hard. If I said other parts weren’t humming and throbbing right along with my rapid heartbeat and crazy pulse—well, I can’t say it. I can’
t even think it with a straight face. Whatever has been happening between us from the first second is undeniable. I don’t know what it is. I don’t even know if I want to put a term on it, but it’s there. Shimmering in the air between us—and no, it’s not just the weird heat waves coming off the fire and meeting the cold air.
“I guess if you rebuilt it, you could find out.”
Why did I say that? Am I even talking about the barn? I should tell Cliff that I’m blowing smoke out of my ass and ask him to take me home. I should tell him that if his last date didn’t work out, which I’m now sure it didn’t, I’d send him his third profile tomorrow afternoon. I should be thinking about my job. About my work. About how wrong being here technically kind of is, but I’m not. I’m not thinking about any of that.
Cliff takes a few steps forward. He walks toward me purposefully but gently, as if he’s scared he might scare me off. Or maybe he’s scared he might scare himself off. I don’t know. I just know my brain suddenly goes haywire and stops sending me signals about thinking about things. Instead, it starts sending me physical shocks that I feel throughout my entire body.
I swivel, leaning casually up against a supporting beam that once belonged to a stall. Or maybe it’s part of what’s holding this place up. I don’t actually know. I’m not thinking about beams or barns. I’m thinking about Cliff. And how he’s just a foot away.
“Can I kiss you, Rowan?” Cliff’s voice contains just a shade of doubt and uncertainty. I like that he’s asking me. That he’s not demanding or taking something from me. It shows just how much he truly understood what I just told him about my past experience.
My breath escapes me in a burning rush. The air snaps, as though it’s charged.
Cliff edges closer. So. Very. Close. When I breathe in, I can smell the rush of his delicious scent.
Say no. Leave. Leave now before this gets out of hand. One kiss and you’re done. That’s all it’s going to take. “Y-yes,” I stammer. “Y-you c-can.”
Cliff’s face is inches from mine. His breath hits my cheek, so warm in the chill of the air. Behind us, the fire cracks and pops. I couldn’t imagine a more romantic setting if I tried. I never thought about kissing Cliff until tonight. Okay, I never thought about truly kissing him in real-life until tonight. There might have been a tad bit of fantasizing before this, but fantasies aren’t reality.
There isn’t anything contrived about this. It doesn’t feel at all wrong. I already know that when our mouths meet, it isn’t going to be like anything I ever experienced. Yes, I’ve been kissed. But no, I’m sure it’s not going to be anything like I’ve ever felt before.
My eyes flutter shut, and my head tips back. I can feel Cliff’s warmth, but he doesn’t press himself into me. His nose brushes against my cheek, then his cheek brushes against mine. It’s rough and deliciously soft all at once. I shudder when his lips brush against my cheek. They’re slightly cold from the chill in the barn, but they linger there before brushing up to graze my forehead, and I can feel the warmth then. They skim over my nose, and a strange, wild sound escapes my throat.
Our bodies aren’t touching, but I want more. I want so much more. I want Cliff to really kiss me. To kiss me until I can’t breathe. To kiss me until I can’t think. To kiss me and crush me into the beam I’m standing up against. I want him pressed into me until I don’t know where I start or where he starts or where anything starts and ends.
I know my cheeks are flushed—as flushed and hot as the rest of me—by the time Cliff’s lips finally skim over mine. He’s gentle. He barely touches me at all. It’s a brush of lips against lips, and then he goes to pull back. I hardly classify that as a kiss. Before I know what I’m doing, I reach out and clasp his face and drag it back to mine. Our lips clash hungrily, searching, as natural as if we were both made just for this very instant.
How could I have gotten it so wrong before? I knew this would feel right, but I had no idea…
His lips hold a promise that makes every fiber of my being ache for him. I want to lean up against him. To feel every delicious hard inch pressed against me. I want his hands on me. I want my hands on him. I want us tangled up together. Here. In this barn. In the cold. I’m already tingling, and he’d keep me warm.
Cliff’s lips glide over mine. My hands fall to somewhere around his belt region. Except he’s not wearing a belt. I scrabble for a hold on something, digging one hand into his belt loop and the other into the curl of his pocket. My lips part beneath his, inviting him in. He’s gentle, but he’s also passionate. My entire body feels like it’s fully alive, burning with the brightest light and the hottest fire.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I let out a moan and melt against him. He’s delicious. His tongue sweeps over mine, caressing it and giving me just the barest hint at all the other skills it might have. I shudder and let out another whimper when I think about his tongue in other places.
Apparently, he’s thinking about it too, because his mouth leaves mine. While I’m panting, his wonderful, warm mouth descends to my neck, and his tongue licks a hot path there that literally leaves me weak in the knees. He suckles my neck until I’m a purring, hot mess. I’ve heard of the whole ‘putty in the hands’ saying. And it’s true. Because that’s what I am now. Putty. I want him to mold and shape me.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever really lived before, but I feel very alive now.” My cheeks heat up when Cliff’s lips pause, and I realize I said that out loud.
“I suppose that makes two of us.” His lips hungrily find mine again, and I respond with just as much eager starvation.
He devours me while my hands pretty much attack the zipper on his leather jacket and try to work it off his sexy, broad shoulders. His hands tangle with mine, and I realize he’s working on undoing the buttons on my coat as well. When Cliff gets it open, the cold air hits me all over, but so does the heat from his body.
My hands shake as I push his jacket all the way off. He does the same for mine. I start feverishly working at the button on his jeans after that while he goes to work on mine. We keep going, our mouths warring, tongues tangling, hands a frantic tangle of fingers, and items of our clothing falling and dropping around us.
I frantically try to tear my jeans down my legs a few more inches by alternating steps and hops and internal curses for having picked such a tight pair. Giving up on my jeans, I lift Cliff’s t-shirt over his head with my hands while his hands move to free the clasp of my bra behind my back. As he tosses my bra to the side, his mouth latches onto my nipple, which is already tight and straining—not because it’s pretty darn cold in here—and I just about lose it.
I throw my head back against the beam I’m still leaning against as tendrils of fire roar through me. Cliff does incredible things to my breast while I keep trying to shimmy my jeans down my legs. They’re just below my knees now, and I sense the impending victory, so I keep working at it. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop doing dirty, delicious, god-like things to my breasts with his tongue while he pushes his jeans down and steps out of them at around the same time I finally free myself from mine.
When we press together again, I’m amazed the spark shower we set off—like the combustion of fire and gasoline—doesn’t light the whole barn on fire.
Cliff raises his head and suckles my neck gently. We’re both naked now except for my panties and his boxers. He presses up against me, warming me, and I can feel the huge, hard bulge contained in his boxers. When I say huge, I mean, it feels really, really big. With a capital B.
I cling to him, one hand tangled in his hair, the other already digging my fingers into his perfect, broad shoulders.
“Are you cold?” he rasps against my neck. “There are other places—better places for this than here.”
If there are, I can’t think of any, but then again, my mind has pretty much gone completely and totally blank. I feel like Cliff is a magician. He’s sure as hell creating magic with my body.
“No,” I whimper right near hi
s temple. “No, I’m not cold. If I am, I can’t feel it, and even if I could, I wouldn’t be worried about it.”
“You don’t think this place is too gross? Uncomfortable? Is this too much?”
In my current state of need, I’m pretty sure it’s not enough, but I’m not going to come out and say it. “It would be awesome if there was hay up in the hayloft still. Unrotten, fresh hay.”
“It would be itchy.”
“It would still be cool in the clichéd kind of romantic sort of way.”
“We could always save this for the backseat of my car. Or I could take you back to my place, and we could—”
“No. I like it here. It’s nice. It kind of reminds me of camping, actually, since I can see the stars through the cracks in the roof, and we also have a fire going.”
Cliff sucks at my neck again, biting down gently, and I see stars inside the barn. “I have a condom in my pocket.”
“Oh,” I snort. “That’s kind of convenient, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t come with any expectations.” Cliff raises his head, his face and tone of voice totally serious. “Really. I was not planning on this. I did think ahead to how frustrating it would be not to have it, though, so I threw it in there as an afterthought.”
“Was it a good afterthought?” I involuntarily swivel my hips into his erection, trying to ease the ache building between my thighs at the thought of him slipping out of his boxers, slipping on the condom, and slipping into other, choice places instead.
“The best,” he whispers huskily before he slides down to his knees.
His fingers work my panties off, pulling them gently down my legs before his hands curl around my hips. He drags me to him, and when his tongue hits me, I know for sure that I was right. He really is a magician.