Every Minute

by C J Burright

  “Notice anything different about me?” He narrowed his eyes, expectant.

  What a weird, off-the-subject question, and so like Garret. She eased back as much as she could, considering his unrelenting grip. Obsidian eyes glaring, nothing new. Golden hair gorgeous as always, even flyaway as it was from an impromptu pursuit. Same stubble that drove her crazy with the need to touch. His mouth, even while set in a grim line, made her lips tingle at the memory of his kiss. She shrugged. “You plucked your eyebrows?”

  His mouth tightened. “Check out my breathing. Not a single gasp, even after sprinting seven blocks. I’ve kept up with my running.”

  “Thanks for rubbing it in.”

  His expression went from intimidating to the edge of scary. Pirate—and not a friendly one. “I’ve been running because I knew at some point in our relationship I’d be required to chase after you.” Even his voice was menacing, low and dark. “I won’t let you get away that easily.”

  That tiny thrill turned into a rollercoaster. “Not stalkerish at all.”

  He snarled, deep and dangerous. “Another subject for discussion after we hash out this one.”

  “Hash out what, Garret?” She forced her gaze to his, her stomach knotting in a cold ball. “Everything London and Bob said is true. I told you straight out. I’m not girlfriend material.”

  “You’re right. You’re not girlfriend material.” His expression softened, which was equally bloodcurdling. “You’re Garret Ambrose material.”

  “Gah!” She wrestled free enough to flail. “What does that even mean?”

  A dog in the yard beside them barked, and Garret pulled her into a brisk walk. Since he aimed in the direction of her house instead of Bob and London’s, she offered no resistance. Once across the street, he slowed his pace. An arborvitae hedge screened the houses, a semblance of privacy, and only their steps and breath interrupted the silence. He glanced at her.

  She pretended not to notice, her heart running too hard, too fast. Whatever he was about to say, she wasn’t ready to hear it.

  He squeezed her hand, a silent signal to prepare for inevitable doom, Garret-style. “I wasn’t planning to tell you my secrets tonight.” He blew out a breath. “Don’t think I’m weird.”

  “Too late.”

  He grimaced. “I walked right into that.”

  “Easy victim.”

  His smile was tight. “From the moment I saw you on the sidelines, watching life happen around you from the shadows, I understood getting to know you wouldn’t be a cakewalk.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, as if to lessen the sting in his words, not that it was necessary. She wasn’t a pastry in any form. “That night, for a heartbeat, you made my world stand still. That’s when I made my vow.”

  Chills danced over her skin, everywhere, and not the kind that went with the heebie-jeebies. Life poised on the brink of an unstoppable shift. She’d felt it at Joey’s diagnosis too, but this didn’t carry the same dreadful weight. This felt like an enchantment in a world void of magic. It stole her breath. She opened her mouth to slow the hurricane rushing her way, but he pulled her to a sudden stop and kissed her hard, knowing exactly how to stall her protest. When he released her, her head spun.

  “My first vow was to break through your defenses, because I sensed what slept beneath was deeply important.” He captured her face with both hands and caressed her jaw with his thumb, his expression gravely serious. “My second vow, later, was to make you mine.”

  Stunned, trapped in his gravity, all she could do was stare, trembling as he ripped out her seams.

  “How long that takes, how much patience and dedication, sweat and tears I have to spend make no difference. I’ve waited years to find you. I’ve been looking for you without knowing it was you I looked for. I only knew that something wasn’t exactly right, a restlessness that wouldn’t leave. Then I found you and everything settled into place. I won’t stop fighting for you. Ever. Do you understand me?”

  Nodding, she fisted her hands, her last line of resistance against the storm erupting inside her, a clash of fire and ice. “My comprehension is excellent, Ambrose, but your listening skills stink. I thought you were awake when I told you I don’t want to care. I don’t want substantial relationships.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t want to—I can’t—love you the way you deserve.”

  He blinked. Slowly, he smiled. “You love me.”

  She shook her head, struggling not to shatter. How could he pick that shard out of everything else? “You’re like summer and happiness in a sippy cup. You bring everyone around you to life. That’s just who you are, and you need to be with someone who can give you that in return, someone who can be completely invested.” Her chest ached, each word driving a new nail into her heart. “That someone isn’t me.”

  “I don’t have to surround myself with symphonies and sunshine to be happy.” Wearing his dreamy smile, he used the low, honeyed voice that melted her bones and disabled her resistance—a double whammy on her defenses. “All I need is the music of your heart beneath my ear.” He slid his warm hand beneath her coat to her back and pulled her unresisting body against him. “The soft sigh of your breath. That little purr you make when I kiss you right here.” He pressed his lips to the ultrasensitive spot right beneath her ear.

  Tingles spun a web down her neck, into every nerve. He was right. She made that noise without even thinking. He awakened things in her without permission, things she couldn’t leash, things she needed to keep caged.

  “Don’t pretend with me, Adara. You can’t hide in solitude and silence forever. You’re too bright for that, which is why you can’t stop caring, why certain people refuse to leave you alone. They see you clearly through all those walls you lurk behind, waiting to be found.”

  “Aren’t you listening?” Her voice scraped in her throat, strangled and desperate. “I don’t want to be found.”

  “Nevertheless, neshama, you’ve been found, and I won’t let you burn out. I won’t let you simply exist.” He cocked his head and gave her his soul-searching look, the one that saw everything. “I didn’t have to personally know Joey to understand that solitude and silence isn’t the life he wanted for you. What about the promise you made to him?”

  The cold knot in her stomach expanded, unstoppable, a writhing, crawling beast she couldn’t control anymore. It dragged up all the deep, dark feelings she’d kept locked down and exploded, breaking every chain. She pushed out of Garret’s grasp and words she’d refused footholds even in her thoughts shot free, sharp as glass.

  “Screw Joey. Screw my promise. It’s not like he’s here to make me keep it, is he?” She flung her arms, her voice echoing into the empty sky. “He used his sickness to coerce me into making a promise he knew I didn’t want to keep. He got the easy part of the deal. He got to die, while I’m still here. He left me to deal with everything alone.” As fast as the explosion came, the flames died, leaving her cold and empty. She sobbed, her chest too tight to breathe, making her next words nothing more than ragged gasps. “He left me.”

  She couldn’t bear to look at him, to determine whatever emotion his expression held. Her own shame, anger and betrayal choked her enough already. As he opened his arms to her, she turned away, which only resulted in her back firm against him, his arms wrapped around her and his stubbly cheek on her temple.

  “Joey was like you, too full to contain.” Adara closed her eyes, trembling. “People loved him and he loved them. He made the world richer.” Her voice rasped, barely a whisper. “It should’ve been me.”

  “Never.” He squeezed her even closer, enclosing her in a sure, steady warmth. “Call me selfish, but I’m relatively certain your brother wouldn’t have passed as my muse. He probably would’ve fought me for attention. It would’ve been tragic on so many levels.”

  She smiled through her tears, unable to stop an image of Joey and Garret battling it out on stage, two unconventional violinists. She would’ve sold her body to science to see t
hem together. A wobbly gasp slipped out. “It would’ve been epic.”

  “That too.” His sigh skated over her cheek. “I don’t have any sage wisdom to offer. I only know, fair or not, that we’re still here while others aren’t, and I refuse to believe there isn’t joy among the tears. We weren’t left here to only suffer.” He gently turned her to face him and thumbed her tears away. “I can’t guarantee the number of minutes I have left on this earth, but I promise that whatever are left to me, they’re yours.”

  Leaning her forehead against his T-shirt, she shook her head, defeated and drained. “I just confessed I’m furious at my deceased brother, betrayed my deathbed promise to him, admitted my deepest flaw and you twist it all to your own diabolical musician agenda. You’re incorrigible.”

  “Honest.” He sounded insulted. “There’s a difference. And it’s not my fault if the truth happens to align with my intentions, which are honorable, by the way. Some might even go so far as to call them gallant.”

  She snorted, and the laughter in his chest hummed through her, surprisingly soothing. It would be so easy to surrender to this, to stay surrounded by his warmth, leaning against his sturdy frame, taking comfort in his voice, his laugh, his words.

  His love.

  Moisture splattered the back of her neck, and she lifted her face to the night sky. Slate gray clouds hid the moon, and rain fell in fat, slow drops. Thunder rumbled in the distance, warning of the approaching storm.

  “I’d say we have ten minutes before we’re soaked.” Without releasing her hands, Garret glanced down at her Doc Martens. “Can you run in those?”

  She lifted her chin. “I perfected sprinting in stilettos. I teach third-graders, remember? Boots are a breeze.”

  A sly smile brightened his face. “Race you to my house.”

  By the time she’d stomped onto Garret’s front porch, Adara’s hair was plastered to her skull, her sweater and coat stuck to her with a mixture of sweat and freezing rain, and her feet ached from running almost a mile in shoes better made for kicking in doors. She felt amazing.

  Breathless, she spun as Garret joined her, only a few steps behind. Her ankle injury and non-workouts against his regular running made them a close match. Close, but not quite equal. “I’m impressed,” she gasp-laughed, dragging in breaths. “You’ve completely lost your gimp, and the death-warmed-over pallor didn’t make a comeback. Of course, I could be wrong. It’s a little dark out here.”

  “Violin aerobics.” He gulped for air, bracing his hands on his knees. “I’m starting a new fad.” Steam rose from his wet back, ghostly fingers in the porchlight. “Maybe then I can keep up with you.”

  “Doubtful, but I won’t stop you from trying. Watching you flounder is too much fun.”

  “Whatever it takes to make you smile, neshama.”

  She bared her teeth at him, but a lightness had eased over her with the run in the rain, leaving her surprisingly buoyant. There were so many things she could account it to. It was her first run since hurting her ankle, and it felt good to stretch her legs again. Competition always gave her a shot of adrenaline, no matter the lack of worthy contestants. She’d confessed a darkness she’d harbored since Joey’s death, setting it free, and Garret hadn’t ditched her. Maybe it was a combination of all those things.

  Garret straightened, flipped his wet hair out of his face and grinned.

  A ribbon curled around her heart, tentative. Holy whoa, he’s dazzling. Irresistible. She stepped into his personal space and fisted his wet shirt. Ignoring his suspicious expression, she dragged his mouth down to hers.

  His lips were cold, wet with rain and sweat-salty—and the best thing she’d ever tasted. The responsive groan of approval he made spiraled low in her belly, an edgy, pooling heat. She didn’t protest when he grasped her head with both hands and angled his face, deepening the kiss. He crowded her back a step and pushed her against the front door, his solid body crushing, taking command of her mouth with his tongue.

  Her legs trembled, possibly from the run, more likely from the sudden flames tumbling through her veins. She couldn’t process him at all once and instead focused on one piece at a time. The seductive scrape of stubble. Long fingers tangled in her hair. The subtle neroli scent. Callused fingertips trailing her neck. The deep hum rising from his chest. The muscles flattening her breasts and stomach and thighs in delicious conflict, every part of him hard and male, except his lips and tongue. Soft and silken, those he used with relentless, coaxing assault, destroying her defenses. She was running out of ways to fight him off.

  He broke the kiss, breathing just as fast as when he’d arrived in second place. The house alarm system beeped, barely audible above her pounding heart. She kept her eyes closed. Thankfully, he didn’t move. Without his support, she would’ve melted on the porch, her legs unable to hold her up.

  “We should go inside,” he murmured at her ear. “It’s cold out here.”

  Is it? She hadn’t noticed, not with the inferno he’d forged inside her.

  “And we’re wet.” He still hadn’t moved, his cheek resting on hers. “You getting sick isn’t on my diabolical musician agenda.”

  “Right.” She bit her lip and opened her eyes. “We should definitely get out of these clothes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Shivering, Garret hung his dripping coat beside Adara’s in the shower and grabbed a towel on his way out. He should be steaming, not only from her unexpected kiss but her flirtatious words right after. Chara, if she was trying to kill him slowly, it was working.

  Adara huddled in the foyer, her teeth chattering. Already relieved of boots, socks and sweater, she had an uncanny way of looking both miserable and beautiful at the same time. Her drenched jeans and black T-shirt clung to each slim curve.

  Every muscle stretched until his entire body vibrated, a plucked steel string ready to snap. With any luck, she liked beasts. By the time she accepted him, he’d be hardly human. But right now, she needed basic care more than pawing and licking. He wrapped the towel around her shoulders and herded her into the music room aka living room. Eventually, he’d expand, but his bed still hadn’t arrived, and until he convinced Adara she was his as much as he was hers, he was content with one room.

  “R-running in the r-rain.” She clung to the towel with shaking hands. He clearly needed to cook for her more. The woman didn’t have enough natural insulation. “G-great id-dea.”

  “Too late to protest now, darling.” He dug through his clothes, still folded neatly in his suitcases in one corner. Dressers should arrive with the bed. “Especially since you’re the victor.” His favorite thermal shirt in one hand and sweats she’d need to cinch to keep on in the other, he guided her to the bathroom. “Change, then we can argue over the merits and drawbacks of running in the rain.”

  He shut the bathroom door and forced his cold feet to the kitchen before he changed his mind and turned to other ways to warm Adara from head to toe. He ached for her, and every time she tried to push him away, the need only intensified, ingraining her deeper in his soul. She thought she couldn’t love him the way he deserved, and that little slip-up—that she loved him, whether or not she’d actually confessed it point blank—had sent him soaring. For now, it was enough, and he’d have her full and willing confession before jumping the next hurdle. With Adara, he had to do everything right—no compromise, excuses, rushing or half ways. There’d be no going back, not for either of them.

  His fingers numb, he managed to drag two mugs and a bottle of cinnamon whiskey from the cupboard, even poured without making a mess. He wrangled the cups into the microwave with only one splash on his foot.

  “Hey, Garret?” Adara’s muffled voice drifted from the hallway. “I’m having issues.”

  He froze. Having grown up with London and her girl issues, a dozen unpleasant possibilities popped into his head, none of which he could help with. He stockpiled food, not feminine products.

  Before he could respond, she shuffled in, we
aring his shirt. It dropped almost to her knees and swallowed her hands by several inches. His pulse picked up as possessiveness surged, wild and raw. Adara in his shirt was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  “My fingers are still too frozen to unbutton my jeans.” She raked her wet hair back. “It’s a problem.”

  Ben-zonna. He steadied himself against the counter and gripped it hard. Was this some sort of test of his fortitude? Garret sucked in a silent breath and pasted on a smile. With any luck, it didn’t hold a creepy vibe. “My unfeeling fingers barely conquered the microwave, but I’ll give it a shot.”

  Biting her lip, she lifted the hem of her—his—shirt, exposing a strip of pale skin and the top button of her jeans. And he thought his hands trembled before.

  He stepped close, and a heady concoction of rain on her skin and coconut slammed his senses. An inch away, he hesitated. “My hands are cold.”

  She rolled her eyes. “My whole body’s frigid, so we’re good.”

  “I won’t tell Ian.” He grinned at her growl and fumbled with the button, trying his best to ignore a flashback of the scrap of black lace she’d swiped from her underwear drawer the night she’d stayed over. His fingers felt five times their size and a hundred times clumsier, not the most memorable first time of unbuttoning his soulmate’s clothes. “For the record, I’m not usually this incompetent in loosening up a woman’s buttons.”

  “Your experience or lack thereof doesn’t concern me, band geek.” The hint of laughter in her tone erased any bite.

  He got a halfway decent grip and forced the button through the hole. The steel wire strung through his body flexed, stiff and throbbing. He’d bet anything she wasn’t cold lower. All he’d have to do is keep going, slide the zipper down. He lifted his gaze to hers.

  Gray as a storm, her eyes shimmered with distant lightning. She was biting her full, beautiful, lower lip. Chara, he wanted her to look at him that way every day, not just at unexpected intervals.