by Mary Frame
“I like cooking. I’m majoring in culinary science.”
In the mirror, Caroline’s eyes brighten and she leans in, crossing her arms and resting her elbows on the table. The move pumps up her cleavage.
It’s so natural, like she’s not even aware of it. She is good.
“You like to cook? You should cook me dinner sometime.” She trails her fingers over her pearls and watches him from under her eyelashes.
Beast’s ears go red.
He rubs the back of his neck and picks up his phone.
What do I say?
Do you want to cook her dinner? If so, just say you’d be happy to.
Fingers flying, he tells her he does.
Caroline beams at him.
And just like that, I’ve been rendered useless. I’m like the eye holes in Daredevil’s mask. He doesn’t need me. Envy claws at my insides. Caroline is confident. She knows what she wants and she goes after it. She might be putting out this whole Suzy Homemaker vibe, but it works for her. I can’t even make out with someone at a party when we’re both boozed up.
I shake my head and try to focus on the conversation playing out behind me. This isn’t about me.
“You’re so sweet. And that voice. It’s so sexy.”
He rubs his neck. I know he’s not sure how to respond. I text him before he can ask.
Tell her thank you. I hit send and then sigh and type some more. And if you think anything of hers is sexy, respond in kind.
He reads my text and a few seconds later, Morgan Freeman speaks. “Thank you. I like your voice, too.”
Hmmm. Maybe we’re not quite ready for the sexy talk.
But it’s still rather endearing. And Caroline seems to agree because she’s looking at him like she wants him to be her next meal.
My screen brightens with an incoming text. Am I screwing this up?
You’re doing great. Relax.
He takes a visible breath and his shoulders lose a half inch of tension.
Her smile deepens, eyes sultry even in the reflection above me. “We can go somewhere else and do less talking. You won’t even need your phone.” And then she puts her hand on his and bites her lip with perfect seduction.
She must practice the move. When I try stuff like that in the mirror, l look like a piranha.
Life is so unfair.
His giant shoulders are bunched again. He’s frozen.
I send him a text, forcing my thumbs to key out the words. If you want to go, then go. I can get a ride.
His head twitches to the side, a denial.
Why wouldn’t he? She’s cute. She’s damn near perfect and she’s throwing herself at him. She’s all but begging for it. My teeth grind. My hand clenches on the butter knife sitting on the table. I will not turn around and throw it at her head.
Then he’s typing and Morgan Freeman’s voice fills the air again. “I can’t today. Maybe next time?”
Caroline sticks out her out bottom lip in a pretty pout. “I’ll be out of town for the next two weeks. Family trip to Florida. We’re leaving day after tomorrow.”
He types. “When you get back then?”
She’s all dimples. “That sounds great. I should get going. I have a lot of packing to do.” She stands and after a brief hesitation when he remains seated, she leans over, kisses him on the cheek, and leaves.
Five minutes later, we’re back in Fitz’s truck. We waited until she pulled out of the parking lot to leave the diner together.
I expect Beast to want to chat, but apparently, he needs a minute to process because without a word, we’re on the move. We’re almost to the road that leads to the ranch when he pulls off onto the dirt shoulder and stops under a tree.
He puts the truck in park and rubs his face.
After a few minutes of silence, I have to ask. “What is it? Why didn’t you go with her?”
His head lifts and his gaze cuts to mine.
His mouth opens and for a second my heart stops, thinking he’s actually going to speak, but then he pulls his phone out of his pocket and slides to the middle of the bench seat.
I scoot in his direction to better read what he’s typing.
I’ve never . . . the words stop.
I stare at his profile. “You’ve never what? Had sex?”
No. Yes.
He stops again.
“What is it? You’ve what, never been kissed?” I laugh.
He’s not laughing. I glance up at him in the silence and find him watching me, dark eyes wary, brows low.
“Oh.”
He looks away.
“No, Beast.” I put a hand on his arm but he won’t meet my eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny, but it’s also not a big deal.”
That gets his attention. Eyes wide, brows up. He’s incredulous.
He types on his phone. I’m nineteen.
“So what?” Another thought makes my stomach drop. “Beast. Oh my god. When I attacked you with my mouth, is that why you stopped me?”
He rolls his eyes so hard, his head circles with the effort. You didn’t attack me. But kind of. I was nervous. I don’t know what to do. I’m probably bad at it.
“So.” My brain is trying to put all this together. Beast. This giant, hunky man has never kissed anyone? It doesn’t compute. “You’ve never ever even . . .” I trail off since he starts typing.
His thumbs fly over the screen. I’ve never so much as held someone’s hand. You put two and two together.
“I get it, I’m just surprised because you’re so—”
He continues typing. It’s not like I’ve had opportunities. Not until we moved here.
We stare at each other for a second and then he types again and my eyes fly to his fingers—the large digits flowing across the small phone.
Women will look at me but once they figure out I can’t speak, they move on. It’s too hard, and I’m not worth the effort.
No wonder he was so empathetic about my own feelings of worthlessness. He knows what it’s like.
“Beast, you’re worth every effort. If women can’t see that, it’s their loss.”
He shakes his head. If I kiss Caroline, I’ll be terrible at it and she’ll tell everyone and I’ll never date again.
“I get being nervous about it. But if she likes you, and it’s pretty obvious she does, she won’t care. It won’t matter.” And actually it’s kinda hot, him being all huge and handsome and untouched. Does that make me a pervert?
Is that how it was with you and Jack?
“Yes.” I shrug. “Sort of. We were both young. So there were a lot of mutual nerves happening. But then we got comfortable and . . . well, it was never that great, actually. But Jack and I are not you and . . . Caroline. Or anyone else. We were not good together. Jack wasn’t good in general. With Jack, sex was about him getting off and not much else.”
I should have seen the signs.
It seems like Jack was kind of a dick.
I nod. “Kind of being an understatement.”
He frowns down at his phone, no longer typing. I scan out the window, giving him a little space to collect his thoughts.
He taps my arm and I turn back to him.
He’s holding up his phone in my direction.
We could kiss.
Chapter Ten
A kiss is a message too intimate for the ear,
infinity captured in the bee’s brief visit to a flower,
secular communication with an aftertaste of heaven,
the pulse rising from the heart to utter its name on a lover’s lip: “Forever.”
–Cyrano de Bergerac
* * *
“You want to kiss me?” I ask, incredulous.
His eyes are wide and shocked like he didn’t mean to type the words.
Fingers flow over the phone screen. Never mind. Forget I mentioned it.
“No.” I put a hand on his forearm. “I’m glad you did. I’m flattered.”
I’m more than flattered. I want to kiss him, too, even though
I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t kiss him and shouldn’t want to. I’m not staying here. He considers me a friend and nothing more. Otherwise, why would he ever have asked me to help him with Caroline?
His jaw flexes and oh dear I’ve done it again.
The only thing that would make this worse is if I keep talking. So of course, that’s exactly what I do. “No. I mean, you’re right. We could kiss. That way, you can be comfortable when she gets back and wants to,” I gesticulate wildly with one hand, “you know, fool around or whatever. I swear, I can do it better than the last time when I sort of made out with your chin.” I end on a grimace. Definitely taking sales off the list of things I could do with my life. I can’t even sell myself.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He blinks rapidly, looks out the front window. Lets out a huff and then faces me. His gaze darts for a hot second to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
Then he types into the phone. But would that be like cheating?
“No. You and Caroline went out for coffee once. You haven’t discussed dating exclusively, and it’s only a kiss. We won’t do anything else. It’s practicing. As friends.”
Just a kiss.
“Yes.”
He types and then his head whips up to watch me read his words. You’re sure you want to kiss me?
I laugh. “Beast. You’re hot. Trust me, it’s not going to be a hardship.” My face warms with the words, but he should know the truth.
His brow crinkles in this adorably confused way. Hot?
I nudge his arm with my shoulder. “Stop fishing for compliments. I know I don’t need to explain that further.”
But I don’t know what I’m doing. And I’m weird.
I laugh. “No, you aren’t. I’m the epitome of weird. My best friends are fictional characters. The weirdest person in this truck is me.”
I hold my breath and wait for him to answer. I want him to say yes. I want him to say no. What if this is an awful idea?
But then . . . he nods.
A flash of surprise followed by a fluttering of nerves skates through me. “Okay, then.” My mouth is dry.
I angle my body to face him. He watches, his head turned in my direction, but he doesn’t move. His frame is rigid, shoulders tense.
“Relax. We’re not doing anything crazy, just a simple brush of lips. No tongue. Don’t be nervous.”
I’m trying to convince myself more than him. My hands are clammy and my heart is thumping like it’s attempting to exorcise itself from my body.
He turns and now we’re facing each other directly.
He watches me with the same blank expression he’s had since the moment we met, but now it’s different. Now I can almost reach out and touch the thoughts flickering underneath the surface. The twitch in his jaw, covered by the scruff on his face. His features are hard planes, serious and austere, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes mirroring my own curiosity and nerves.
I place a hand on his shoulder. There’s no way I can reach his mouth without a little help. “Want to meet me halfway here, big guy?”
After a slight hesitation, he tilts down. I stretch up. With an intake of breath, I lean into him and brush my lips against his. It’s no more than a whisper of movement.
But I feel like I’m taking advantage of him or something. I lean back to search his face. He’s tense. His mouth was relaxed against mine, but his eyes are screwed shut.
I smile and my nerves flutter away. “Beast,” I murmur.
His eyes blink open, then search mine.
“We don’t have to do this.”
He signs, I want to.
“Are you sure?”
He nods.
“Okay. Then relax. Breathe slowly through your nose.”
He lets out a breath and then nods again.
“Let’s try again. And I’m not going to move, okay? We’ll just . . . touch for a minute. You all right with that?”
He nods, faster this time. And he takes the lead, leaning down into me and resting his lips against mine. I keep my breathing slow and steady, letting our lips settle in to get comfortable. For someone who is hard everywhere, his lips are soft and full and warm. I keep my hands a gentle pressure on his shoulders, and after a minute his massive form loses an inch of rigidity and he relaxes more.
I take that as my cue to move. Nothing heavy, a simple slide of mouths back and forth, getting the feel of him. He smells like breath mints and aftershave and soap. My hands float up to curve around his neck, brushing against the hair at his nape. It’s silky smooth, the strands gliding through my fingers with intoxicating softness.
He shifts closer, his hands coming up to settle on my shoulders. Fingers gripping, he pulls me against him. Our lips are still stroking together but now my chest grazes his and I almost groan out loud.
I’m getting hot real fast. There is nothing friendly about any of this. And we haven’t even used our tongues. Oh dear.
I pull back to meet his eyes and get a gander at his reaction.
He’s focused on me with a dark intensity, both of us attempting to analyze the other.
He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs. I struggle to pull my brain cells back into working order.
My breathing is faltering as I pull air in through the nose. This is nothing more than friendly pecking. No big deal, right?
“Good, good.” I clear my throat and force my voice into a businesslike tone. “Okay, now we’re going to do it again but this time with a little more action. Tongue action, I mean.” My face heats. I am such a dork.
He nods, leaning forward again eagerly and I stop him with a hand on his chest. We’re so close I can make out individual eyelashes and a small freckle near his temple.
“Here’s the thing.” I work to keep my tone light. “You want to start slow and kick it up a notch at a time. Don’t be like Slobber Man.”
His lip twitches at that.
“I mean, you gotta read the mood and not get there too quickly. If you’re unsure, it’s always best to pull back and work your way up to it, slow and steady. Got it?”
His eyes are fixed on me. He nods and wets his lips.
His soft, warm mouth is like a beacon.
We both move this time, mouths meeting in a rush. After a few seconds, I tease the seam of his mouth with my tongue. He opens and I brush inside. We’re both tentative at first, tongues playing together in slow movements. His hands slide from my shoulders to curve up, settling at the juncture where my shoulder meets my neck. His thumb stops against the thrumming of my pulse.
I’m already hot and bothered, but that simple movement along with the tantalizing pressure of his tongue rubbing against mine sends heat flooding through me. And I mean flooding. Fires. Biblical proportions. Desire is a storm ready to eat me alive. But desire isn’t a strong enough word. To call it something as simple as desire is like labeling Chris Evans sort of handsome.
I pull away, and his fingers trail the rest of the way up, surrounding my face with his giant hands, making me feel tiny and delicate. We stare at each other, breaths colliding. His eyes burn with the same fire that’s raging through me.
His hands continue to be tender even as he reels me in, and then his tongue is in my mouth again. My eyes fall shut and the world disappears. All that exists is me and him and our bodies, this moment, his tongue against mine and his hands surrounding my nape.
I want those hands everywhere. Thoughts of what he could do with those fingers ignites a whole new storm of fire. I need to be closer to him. The urge is more than a craving, it’s a requirement. I rub my thighs together while pressing my upper body to his, getting only a hint of relief from the contact. A thrumming pulse pounds inside me. More, more, more. The desire battering at my insides is like its own entity, a symbiote with the power to make me even more violent than Venom.
What is wrong with me?
I yank backward, scooting to the opposite side of the cab.
Air saws out of me.
Beast is frozen in
the middle of the truck, staring at me like I just reached down and picked up Mjolnir.
“Good, good, that’s really good.” My voice is high. Breathy. Not normal. None of this is normal. I never thought spontaneous combustion was scientifically possible but I’m revising my opinion.
Damn. This is worse than I thought. And by worse, I mean better. He is a fast learner.
“Is it hot in here?” I fiddle with the AC vent, trying to point it at me but I can’t even focus on my own hand movements. It’s like my hands aren’t connected to my brain anymore. No more brain. Brain mush.
His eyes are gleaming. He slides back over to the driver’s seat. The tension between us is so thick, it’s like a physical wire stretched between us. I could reach out and touch it.
“I think that’s good. You’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about.” My voice comes out weird. Clipped, yet still quavering.
“Can I ask you a question?” Morgan Freeman’s voice asks, startling me out of my daze. He’s not leaning in to have me watch him type this time. Probably smart. Keep our distance.
“Right, yes. Of course.” I roll my hand in a circle. “Shoot.”
He types and then looks at me before the words emerge. “Was it okay?”
A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble out of my throat. I swallow it down. “Beast, that was more than okay.”
His head cocks at me for a second and then he’s typing again. “Does it always get intense like that?”
“Truthfully? No. Not in my limited experience.” Never. I was never this insanely turned on with Jack, not even when we first started dating. Granted, I was only sixteen, but still. The boiling devastation that erupted just now is like nothing I ever experienced with Jack, even as we got older and more comfortable with each other. I never had my brain turn itself off and reboot.
“That’s good right?”
I nod. “It was good. It was very good.” It was too good. “I don’t think you’ll need any more of my help in that department. The department of looove,” I crack with a forced chuckle. Shut up, Fred. My hands clench in my lap. I need a cold shower.
This was a terrible idea. The best, most terrible idea.
He puts his phone on the seat between us. Then we drive back to Granny’s.