But he will, I can see it in his eyes—the mirth, the impending joy. I grab a bucket of soapy water by the hitching post and turn back to him, tossing the contents on him before he can step out of the way.
Reilly’s smile falters, and what I just did slowly hits me. He stares down at his drenched, soapy clothes, and I straighten, my hand already covering my mouth. I’ve started a war. “I’m so sorry.” I scour his body, his face. “I shouldn’t have—”
My semi-frantic apology is cut short by the sound of Reilly laughing, a deep, surly sound I’ve never heard before. Is that an angry laugh? I begin to panic.
He shakes his head and stomps toward me, his eyes filled with the promise of revenge.
I scream and race the dozen yards to the side door of the stable, toward the other hose I know is coiled outside.
Water sprays the backs of my legs, and I can hear Reilly’s footsteps fast approaching behind me. I scream again, and the horses startle in their stalls, neighing as we run by, but I’m too riled up to care. Thankfully, Alison isn’t home, so she doesn’t think I’m being murdered out here.
“Shit,” he bites out.
I peer back at him just as I reach the side door. Reilly’s hose won’t reach any further. “Ha. Ha. Sucks for you!”
The instant our gazes meet, I know I’m in trouble. “Oh, that’s it,” he says and he drops the hose, heading right for me.
I squeal in anticipation and fling the side door open. The sun beats down on me, and I can feel the water already drying on my clothes and skin as I fumble with the rusted spigot.
“Crap,” I hiss. It isn’t working. Reilly’s only feet from me, I can hear his footsteps approaching more quickly. I make a mad dash for the buckets by the giant water trough a few yards down just as Reilly steps outside.
“Oh, hell no,” he mutters. He’s not running, but his footsteps are closing in behind me, and I yelp; the thrill of it all makes my heart race and peals of laughter escape my throat.
“You started it—”
Reilly’s arms wrap around me from behind and I screech, frantically trying to squirm out of his hold. “No you don’t,” he says. His arms are solid and his hold relentless.
I wriggle wildly, attempting to reach the bucket only a few feet out of my reach. But struggling against Reilly becomes pointless. He’s taller and he practically lifts me off the ground as he takes a step backward to steady himself. He handles me like I’m no more than a feral, squirrelly animal cub.
I’m laughing so hard my face hurts, and I try to catch my breath as he effortlessly turns me around in his arms, until my chest is heaving against his.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, breathless, though not as much as I am. His irises are bright, his pupils wide, and he’s scouring my face.
Our laughter slowly ceases and my body stays as the adrenaline drains away. I’m painfully aware of our proximity. All that’s between us are panting breaths and a sexually charged tension that sobers me to the point of excited fear.
I hold my breath, afraid to move.
Reilly’s eyes narrow on me.
The silence between us is unbearable. And I find myself once again grappling with what I want and what I shouldn’t. I decide I don’t care what the repercussion are—how much I’ll hate myself later. I kiss him.
The kiss is desperate, hungry, more demanding than I mean it to be, but I can’t stop. I want this. I want him—the taste of him, the feel of him. I miss him—this. He’s real and strong and virile and warm, and I want it all.
The memory of our last kiss sends a wake of chills over my body. Each stroke of his tongue against mine makes my insides burn and tighten with an unimaginable wanting that sends every nerve ending into a frenzy. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, but he slows down. Worried he might stop, I pull him snugger against me, wordlessly pleading.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he breathes against my lips.
“Please . . .” I pull his mouth back to mine. He tastes salty and somehow sweet, and I don’t care what happens when it’s over, I just want him. I’ve always wanted him, and this is my chance to have him. To feel alive again.
“Sam,” he rasps.
I pull his bottom lip between my teeth, not giving him a moment to think and change his mind. “Please,” I repeat, begging. I hate myself for it, but I can’t turn it off, I don’t want to stop. Even if he leaves later, he wants me now, and I want to be wanted. I can feel his desire coiled in the tension of his body, in the constant drumming of his heart in his chest and the hardness in his pants pressed up against me.
All hesitation vanishing, Reilly pulls me up into his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist as he steps back into the stable and inside an open stall. He fumbles around then sets me on a stack of feed bags, solid and unyielding beneath me, but I don’t care.
There are no words, only sounds—impatient moans and incessant panting as his fingertips press and caress and explore my body, his lips devouring every inch of my exposed skin.
I gasp when his hands cup my breasts, the searing warmth of his palm through the wetness of my top making me shudder. He leans in, kissing me again, making my body burn with a deprived, salacious hunger that makes me moan with wanting. I yearn for a release so badly.
Fumbling for the hem of his wet shirt—needing to see all of him, wanting to run my hands over the hard muscles I know are hidden beneath—I grab hold, pull away for only a panting breath, and tug it over his head.
He grins, leaning forward, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth. What sounds like a growl emanates from his chest and his hands rake down my body, searching for more bare skin.
Impatient, he yanks my top off and grabs onto my hair, pulling my face to the side as he kisses his way down from my earlobe to my collarbone. The hot, humid air around us is arousing against the wet trail left by his tongue, and as his kisses descend between my breasts, I arch back, further. I whimper, lost in a lustful land of fantasies and ecstasy come true.
My fingers rake through his hair, grabbing hold of what little there is, and I pull him toward me with the power of my legs. Reilly grabs my hips and tugs me closer to him.
“I need you, Sam,” he growls, his lips devouring mine before he dips his head down to my chest—sampling me, licking me, sucking on me until I can’t contain myself and I cry out. The feel of his hot breath against my breast, the warmth of his tongue against my sensitive flesh, nearly brings me to tears. How have I survived without this? I want Reilly inside me. More than anything I’ve ever wanted, I need to feel the pleasure-pain I know awaits. I need him to fill me, to ravage me into oblivion.
When his fingers trace the waistband of my shorts, warmth pools between my thighs, and I can feel myself unraveling in his arms. He unbuttons my shorts and struggles to get them down my sweat-dampened legs. I laugh and lean back, only opening my eyes again when I realize he’s stopped.
“What’s wrong?” I prop my elbows up on the feed bags. “Why are you stopping?” I half-smile on an exhale, and just as my vision begins to refocus, Reilly’s fingertips brush over the cuts just below my hip. I wave his concern away, refusing to let anything ruin this. “It’s nothing. I must’ve scraped it.”
I try to pull Reilly closer to me, but he pulls away, all his attention on the angry, raw skin.
“You have scars,” he says quietly, not taking his eyes off my hip.
I groan. “So do you. It’s fine.” I reach for his arm, but he doesn’t budge. The instant I realize this horrifyingly uncomfortable moment isn’t going away, dread washes over me, my passion and desperate desire to be with him receding with it. Now, I’m just naked and exposed under his scrutinizing stare.
“Why do you do this?” he whispers, his thumb brushing gently over the wound.
“I told you, I scraped myself.” Even though he knows I’m lying—I can tell by the pitiful look on his face—my self-preservation won’t let me act anything other than stupid. I push him away and fix m
y bra.
“You said that last time,” he says. When Reilly looks at me, I can’t help but feel shame and anger at the concern that fills his eyes. “Why do you do this to yourself?” His thumb brushes lightly around the red, irritated cut, and I slap his hand away.
“I said it’s nothing.” I push him away from me and jump down, scrambling to pull my shorts back up. They stick to my sweaty body, making it difficult, and my frustration only amplifies the more I struggle.
Reilly steps closer, his bare chest in front of me, a reminder of the mistake I almost made, and my anger builds to blazing. I can feel his gaze on me, burning against my skin as I hurriedly dress. “Sam, please—”
“God dammit! No, Reilly. Jesus! We make out and suddenly you think I’m going to bare my soul to you or something? I told you it’s nothing, so just leave it alone. Stop asking me about it.” I pull my tank top over my head, unable to even look at him.
“I think that was a little more than making out.”
When I look up, his cheeks are flushed and his chest is still heaving slightly.
“Yeah, well, thank God we stopped before it turned into something we’d both regret.” I pull my crooked ponytail out and run my fingers through my tousled hair. I stop halfway through, gripping at my hair, wishing I could pull this whole memory from existence. “I can’t believe I almost did that,” I mutter.
“Because being with me would be so horrible,” Reilly says, and the edge in his tone makes me bristle and cower at once. His sweat-sheened face is hardened when I look at him again.
“You know this isn’t easy, Josh. We’ll always be complicated. It’s as simple as that. This wasn’t going to make it better.” I have no idea where my decidedness comes from, but I embrace it. I need it now, more than ever.
“Look,” he says, pulling his shirt back over his chest.
I hurry past him, out the open stall door.
Reilly steps out behind me. “I know you don’t want to talk to me about it, and I get it, but you should talk to someone. You can’t just keep doing this to yourself. It’s not—”
I round on him. “—your business!”
His eyes widen, round with surprise, then turn hard and cold. His jaw clenches.
“You don’t get to show up after being gone for four years and decide you want to be with me, to decide you want to protect me and be a part of my life again, Josh. I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone. I’ve been doing fine on my own—”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
“—so leave me the fuck alone!” My body is trembling, my vision clouding with tears, and I clamp my mouth shut, locking in the impending scream rising in my throat.
Reilly’s nostrils flare, and I wait for him to yell something horrible back at me, but he just takes a step back, gives me a curt nod, like he finally understands, then walks past me, out the stable entrance.
Shit. Shit. Shit! “Josh,” I breathe, rubbing the back of my neck. There are too many thoughts and too much feeling to know what’s right and wrong anymore. I follow after him. “I’m sorry, it’s just that . . .”
But he is already disappearing toward the hill, and the last ounce of pride I have left prevents me from running out after him. So I stand in the stable, dumb with my racing, miserable heart, feeling more humiliated and tangled and broken than I know what to do with.
Twenty-Five
Sam
“So, are you wearing the red, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress or the one with the black lace bodice and the tan chiffon skirt?” Though I can hear Mac speaking, I’m too busy staring out the window and down the drive, searching for approaching headlights.
“Sam?”
Standing up straight, I turn and face my full-length mirror for the seventh time to double-check that everything is in its place. “I’m wearing the black bodice with chiffon skirt. I decided on the black heels and that pink lipstick you gave me.” I stare at my somewhat exposed cleavage. “I look like a slut, Mac. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
“I guarantee you don’t look like a slut, Sam. Wait, how did you do your hair? You didn’t put it up in a god-awful bun, did you?”
I can’t help but laugh. “You would be proud of me . . . I think. I left it down, and before you ask, yes, I also showered and shaved my legs.”
“Thank God.” She lets out a breath.
“I even pulled out that big curling iron I haven’t used since prom.”
“You better take a selfie and send it to me.”
I laugh. “I am not taking a selfie. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
“Come on, Sam. This is epic. Nick won’t believe it either.”
I roll my eyes and wipe a smudge from beneath my eyes. “You’re hilarious.” I let out a deep breath of my own, wondering if I’m being utterly ridiculous in even entertaining the idea of this date with Adam. But then Reilly comes to mind and I’m more than grateful for a bit of a distraction, especially after what happened yesterday.
“Ouch!” Mac shouts into the phone.
“Are you okay?”
She groans. “Yes, I’m trying to wax my eyebrows. I think the wax is too hot.”
I chuckle, picturing her squinting with one eye open and wax coating her face. “No more Francesca?” I ask. “I believe you referred to her as ‘the one’ the last time you went to her.”
Mac grunts, and there’s muffled movement on the other end. “Yeah, well, if I can save twenty bucks a month and do it myself, I’m willing to give it a go. I’m never going to get my own place at the rate I’m going.”
I appraise myself once more in the mirror, the nerves starting to bubble up again.
“Doesn’t it feel nice to get gussied up?” Mac says, like she can see me.
“Um, actually, it feels like I’m trying too hard. What’s wrong with a summer dress and sandals?”
“Sam, you’re not in high school anymore. You’re an adult. This is a legitimate date. It doesn’t hurt you to dress up every once in a while.”
I can hear Mr. Carmichael calling Mac in the background. “I gotta go, Sam. Apparently my dad’s burning down the kitchen. Call me when you get home so I can hear all about Prince Charming in the flesh.”
I say goodbye with the promise to do so, no matter what time I get home. I’ve only known Adam for a total of six hours and three phone calls, not nearly enough to consider him my Prince Charming, though the jumping beans in my stomach would suggest him more than just an acquaintance.
Just as I’m second-guessing my dress choice, I hear a knock at the front door. “Shit!” I panic, not wanting Alison to answer in her robe with her words slurred from too much drink. I just hope to God she’s already passed out or in the shower.
Grabbing the clutch and pathetic excuse for a sweater Mac made me promise to use so that I didn’t grab something of my own, I practically prance downstairs to get the door. Alison is just about to get off the couch as I reach the living room.
“I got it, you don’t have to get up. I’ll be home late.” I hurry past her, toward the front door.
“Where are you going? And what are you wearing?” I’m afraid to turn around, to hear what derogatory comments she has tonight, but then she simply says, “Have fun,” and I’m out the door, nearly falling into Adam’s arms.
“Good evening, beautiful,” he says as he appraises me in the porch light. “Wow, you look amazing.”
I blush, the level of ridiculousness I feel in wearing this getup quickly diminishing as Adam scans me from head to toe, slower and more appraising this time. I straighten and smile, feeling a tad more confident. “Good evening yourself, and thank you.”
“Shall we?” He gestures toward his shinny Audi parked in the driveway.
Adam walks me around to the passenger side, and I can’t help but feel a little giddy. “I think this is the first time in years I’ve ridden in a vehicle without four-wheel drive and a hitch in the back.” Though it’s intended as a joke, it’s sadly the truth.
“Such service . . .” I say, batting my eyelashes. “I’m not sure a country girl knows what to do with such chivalry.”
Adam shuts the passenger door, leaving behind the scent of aftershave. It smells rich, almost floral, and expensive, and I surprise myself when I close my eyes and inhale, uncertain if I like it or not. Like it matters.
Adam opens the driver’s side door and climbs in. “What, no cowboys swooping you off your feet?” he says, continuing our conversation from before. “No guys lining up at your door, asking your father to court you, despite his massive gun collection?”
My smile falters, but only momentarily, before I salvage what I can. “Believe it or not, chivalry is pretty dead in these parts.” Clasping my hands in my lap, I take a deep breath. “So, where are you taking me tonight?” When I glance at Adam, he’s watching me, a curious look on his face.
“Last time I was in town, I ate at this great place called the Apple and the Pear. Have you been there?”
I stifle my laugh and bite my tongue, holding my impending sarcasm back. “No, I haven’t tried it yet,” I say pleasantly. Adam is a nice guy who has no idea what my life has consisted of the past three years and counting. He has no clue that I could never justify spending the money it would cost to eat there for one fancy meal. “I hear it’s great.”
“Perfect, I think you’ll really like it.”
The rest of the conversation into town is superficial, but I like it that way. It seems neither one of us wants to talk about anything too personal, seeing that we barely know one another, so there are no awkward moments of tension or reflections of the past. We talk amicably about the summer and how fast time is going by. We discuss his sister’s final year of college in the next town over, Stockum University, where Nick is also attending. And we talk about horses, or at least his lack of knowledge of them, and his desire to one day move to Kentucky and invest in horse racing.
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 24