So with epic love stories and grand gestures in mind, I stalk toward Jules. I move in three strides as she retreats three. The bumper of Carter’s car is my ally though, and I step forward again as she finds herself trapped against it. I push my body up flush with hers and she curves her spine back in an attempt to keep her personal space.
It’s cute, but unnecessary. I’m not letting her go. She must realize this because her eyes go wide and her mouth drops as she attempts to protest. Attempts and loses because I slide my fingers into her hair and sweep in, claiming her lips for my own.
She doesn’t fight me. Her body freezes; her hands, still holding her lunch, are down by her sides, but she kisses me back. It’s unexpected, given her scowl one minute ago. I nudge my hips closer to hers as I kiss her deeply. My fingers massage the curve of her neck and into her scalp as the kiss shifts from hard demand to soft giving.
When I realize she deserves more than a public mauling, I pull away with a groan, mourning the temporary loss of her lips. I kiss her cheek right along the edge of her lips as I regain control of myself and my ability to form words.
“I’m not screwing this up again.” I give her another kiss, a quick peck this time. “I’ll be damned if I let another guy step in and get a chance with you before I do.” I nod slightly toward Carter to make my point as my hand slides from the base of her skull to her lower back and presses her body as physically close to mine as possible as if to prove a point. ‘You’re mine,’ my inner caveman wants to growl.
“I . . .”
“Shut up and kiss me, Buffy,” I order softly into her mouth as my lips descend for a second time. I’ll apologize for the crude order later. Damn caveman!
With this kiss, she participates 100%, dropping the bagged lunch and water bottle to the ground and fisting my shirt as she molds herself to my frame.
Behind us, Carter clears his throat. “Well I’ll leave you two alone, I guess. Be careful of the paint job, Rutledge.”
I should question him, get the full story on why I just came upon him shirtless with Jules, but my brain isn’t computing rational thoughts right now. My brain is too busy loving the turmoil and the feeling that Jules’ jaw under my thumb ignites within. It’s too busy singing praises at the little sigh Jules makes when my teeth graze over her bottom lip and the way she shivers at the touch of my hand at her waist. There’s no rational thinking here.
Except, what was she doing with Carter? Caveman West awakens . . .
“Why the hell are you hanging out with Carter Cooper?” I ask as I force my lips to stop kissing her again.
“You’re going to let me speak now?” she asks. Her hands release my shirt and her tone is cold in spite of the kiss we shared. I’m gathering she’s not a fan of Caveman West and his highhanded ways by the scowl on her face.
“Actually—” I tilt my mouth near hers again; I’m more than happy to keep her from talking if it involves her lips on mine. To my surprise, she laughs into my mouth. Yeah, her roller coaster emotions aren’t confusing at all.
“I need air,” she gasps, punching my side with more playfulness than malice. Her fingers touch her lips as she sidesteps me, attempting to put space between us.
“What was that?” she asks, sounding more confused than angry now.
“How come you’re hanging out with Carter?” I counter, tugging on the hem of her shirt to keep her from running too far.
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so, bud. I asked you first.” She bends down, picking up the items she dropped. She appears so aggravated by our kisses, and maybe even a little unfazed, that I find myself covering up my own feelings.
“It was just a kiss.” Such a lie. It wasn’t just a kiss. That was epic. That was me stepping into the game at long last. That was fate.
“You kiss all the girls you know like that?” My lips twitch into a satisfied smirk before I can control them because I see it now. She’s acting all cool and collected, but she’s as bad at keeping her feelings in check as I am. Her brows knit together angrily. “Nice way to accost a girl on the street, Rutledge.”
She goes to leave, knocking into me. I allow her one step before I tug her backward into my chest. Her spine straightens at the contact, but she can’t fool me. I lower my mouth to her ear, grazing it as I point out the obvious. “You didn’t seem to complain, Buffy.”
So help me, she is a mixture of strawberries, flowers, and the most alluring paint scent I’ve ever had the pleasure of inhaling. I drop my hands, preparing for her to leave if it’s what she wants, because if I touch her for another second I won’t be able to fight this battle of whatever the hell it is we’re fighting. I want her so badly, but I want her to want me too.
The moment she is free from my grip she rounds on me. There’s anger, but I also sense her willingness to surrender to me beneath that angry facade. All she has to do is decide to forgive me. When her eyes soften as we stare at each other, I grin. She is raising her white flag.
“You and Carter?” I ask in a civil tone this time. I need to be sure it’s nothing.
“I was riding by and saw him. Asked if I could help.”
“You’re friends?” I recall Carter being at the Ice Shack the night of the storm, but I also remember he was fighting with Tommy, so I don’t know where he fits into all of this.
“No. Um, he went out with Tanya this summer. I guess, I don’t know. When I saw him I just felt like I needed to stop and speak to him.”
I relax, feeling somewhat placated by her clumsy explanation. I’d heard rumblings at a party over the summer about Carter and Tanya hooking up. There were some girls at the barn who wouldn’t stop bitching about loyalty and shit one night, as though Rossview and Hillsdale were the Texas equivalent of the Jets and the Sharks.
“Well, um, thanks for that kiss, I guess,” Jules babbles, skirting by me. She’s damn jumpy today, and what the hell? Thanks for the kiss?
I turn, following her with my eyes as she tosses her lunch into the construction dumpster outside of Carter’s mom’s shop. I don’t speak; I’m too curious about what she plans to do next. Is she really going to leave, just like that? And if that’s her intention, will I let her?
She stops two steps from the dumpster and everything stills as I wait. Her stance changes and I smile knowingly as her fingers flex by her sides. We’re not done here yet.
“Damn you!” she hisses as she stomps back to stand before me. “What the hell was that kiss for? Why did you walk away from me last week? You brushed me off after I opened up to you.”
My smile grows with every wild arm movement and temper tantrum stomp she gives me. I can’t help myself.
“Don’t you dare kiss me ever again,” she shouts, her fists landing on my chest as she pushes against me, making me laugh harder. My hands catch her wrists, yanking her forward as she continues. “You arrogant jacka—”
Her colorful noun is cut off by my hungry lips. I don’t let up until her rage softens, and even then I only pull back enough to speak, keeping my forehead pressed to hers.
“I already established I was a major jerk the other night when I sent you texts saying I’m sorry, so let’s not waste time repeating arguments or lying to each other. I’m a jerk, and you sure as hell want me to kiss you again.”
I’m so sick of playing games. I’m tired of pretending I don’t care, and I sure as hell don’t want her pretending she doesn’t. Her lips don’t lie.
She stares at me silently, so I push her. “Am I wrong?”
“No.” Her voice is a whisper.
My nose nudges hers playfully in an attempt to take some of the sting out of my earlier tone. “Oh, you wound me. I was hoping you would at least disagree with the part about me being a jerk.”
Jules’ head falls back as she laughs. “Sorry to disappoint you, but you are a massive jerk,” she grumbles. I frown. “But—”
“I like butts,” I tease with a wink at her olive branch.
Jules’ mouth twists and contorts as
she attempts to remain serious. It must have been the wink; these warm brown eyes work like a charm every time. I’m about to finish her off with another sweet move when she turns the tables and completely takes control with a single touch. Her hand cups my face, the warmth of her palm sliding over my jaw as the soft pads of her fingertips brush my cheek, and all of a sudden I’m no longer the player, I’m the playee. I’m the cartoon dog with his jaw dropping to the floor, eyes bugging out. Austin wasn’t lying; I am totally whipped.
“But you were right,” she confesses as I turn into putty in her hand. “I do want to kiss you, West Rutledge. Why fight it anymore?”
Stay calm, West, stay calm.
“So there’s really nothing stopping us anymore?”
Jules shakes her head and I tilt mine forward, nuzzling at her jaw because I can’t stop myself.
“Then can you come with me now?” I ask as I savor her salty, sweet taste on my lips.
“Where?”
Where? I want to take her everywhere and anywhere she’ll let me take her. I want to bask in the glow of her blue eyes. I want to touch her soft skin and smell her strawberry perfume until I’m sick of it, as if that will ever happen. I don’t care where we are. I want to be with her.
“Does it matter?”
“No.” She takes my outstretched hand. She doesn’t care where we are either.
This is the beginning of our epic love.
Twenty-Two
I have trouble suppressing my smile as we drive away from town and into the country. I have one place in mind—South Berry Farm.
This time I pull around the back of the farm to a well-worn gravel trail where no one will see my bike. The paths through the field aren’t as wide in this back section of the farm, but we’re less likely to be bothered by anyone working today, and that’s what I want.
We hold hands as we walk through the maze of crops until I find a relatively smooth area of ground to sit on.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Jules sighs, settling herself on the ground and tipping her head back.
The sun colors her hair a fiery red and I prop myself on my elbows so I can soak up the look of her. The cut above her right brow is nearly gone, the scab reduced to a red line on her pale skin. The skin beneath her eyes looks too dark to me, as though she’s not sleeping well, but otherwise her face has healed. Her eyes are closed as she rolls her neck back and forth on her shoulders. Her lips rub together and I sigh. Her bottom teeth catch and tug at her lips, stirring up my desire to kiss her again.
I puff out my cheeks, swishing the air back and forth before blowing it out in an attempt to keep my mouth busy. As though she’s reading my thoughts, her eyes open and she cocks her head to the side, looking down upon me with raised brows.
“Can I kiss you now?” I ask, leaning closer.
“Shouldn’t we talk?”
“I’d rather kiss you first. We can talk later.” She’s sitting up, so I throw my arm over her stomach and tug her backward and sideways until she rolls to her side and is facing me. My lips skim hers and she sighs into my mouth.
“Talk is overrated, I suppose.” She scoots closer, rolling into my body and hovering above me.
My hand roams from her hip down over her ass. This amazingly strange machine gun type of chuckle releases from her throat and my hand stills as she sinks into me further.
“What?” I ask, wondering if I’ve uncovered a ticklish spot.
She laughs against my lips. “Your hand is on my, um, nether region.”
“Oh, uh, sorry?” I remove my hand reluctantly.
Sitting up with a laugh, Jules returns to sitting cross-legged next to me and combs her hair back from her face. Her cheeks flush as she explains, “I wasn’t complaining. It’s just weird.”
Okay, that is not something a guy wants to hear at the start of a make-out session. I sit up, guessing Jules has decided it’s time for us to talk.
First things first, since I would like to be allowed to touch her ass at some point in our relationship, I dig for more info. “Weird, how?”
Jules has this look about her when she’s thinking. I’ve caught on to it over the past ten days. It’s as though her eyes go blank; she’s looking at me, but past me. And her mouth, her damn fine, kissable mouth, tightens around the edges as though she’s sucked on a lemon. It’s adorable and highly appealing to every part of my body, although that may just be a Jules side effect.
“It’s you and me,” she admits after some thought.
Well, that’s not an answer I can work with. “Could you possibly be a little more vague?”
And now she’s nervous. Nervous Jules is a completely different look: the wary face, the glances around at her surroundings, the way she rubs her hands together and bites her lip. I reach into her lap, taking one of her hands and wrapping it tightly in mine.
“Jules? You can tell me anything.”
I don’t hear her deep inhale as much as I see it. I brace myself for her reply. I’m worried she’s going to tell me she’s changed her mind, that this isn’t what she wants.
“You’re Spike and I’m Buffy, right? Like fire and gasoline. The rebel boy who walked away from everything and the cheerleader who dated the golden boy. We are so cliché.”
Damn, it’s as though she’s rummaged through my brain, picking out all of the reasons my mind told me we wouldn’t work. I contain my laughter to a ridiculous snort.
“More cliché than the head cheerleader dating the quarterback?” Her mouth snaps shut. “What’s your point? So we’re cliché. I can’t douse this fire any more than you can,” I tell her.
“Fire?” she asks.
I contemplate waving the comment off. I look at Jules’ hand in mine. “Yeah,” I admit, gaining strength from the anchor she provides for me with those five fingers. She steadies my emotions and quiets my inner demons. The way I feel when I’m around her, when I think of her, it’s as though there’s a fire consuming me. I can’t stop the flames, they’re too intense.
“I want to be near you all the time. Like, freaking stalk-your-house-and-stand-outside-your-window near you.”
Shit. My feelings are scary to me; I can only imagine how she perceives them. Jules moves closer to me and places her head on my shoulder.
“I get it, West, except for the crazy stalker issues. I meant it when I said that everything changed the moment you touched my hand.”
“It changed for me, too. I need you.” And I hate needing anyone or anything. I kiss the top of her head.
“Then why did you freak out on me at the park?”
“Because I suck?”
“Not good enough.” Of course it’s too simple of an answer for her. She lowers her voice as she continues, “After the twenty texts you sent me, the conversations we had, the moments we shared last week during the funerals, you walked away from me Thursday night when I was baring my soul to you.”
Damn it, I really do suck. In trying to protect myself, I hurt her.
“Come here.” I tug her arm, pulling her between my legs. I wrap her in a tight hug from behind as she leans into my chest
“You told me you dumped Stuart Daniels because of me. I know I may act like I don’t care about much in this world, but I do. It freaked me out. I wanted you to be sure of what you’d done. I don’t want to screw this up. You’re too perfect for me to screw things up.”
“I’m hardly perfect, and Stuart is far from being the golden boy everyone thinks he is.”
I want to argue her view of her own perfection. Her perfectly smooth, slim neck is within my reach and I bury my face into the curve between her neck and shoulders. A content sigh leaves my lips. “I seriously didn’t expect you. I don’t like needing things, Jules.”
She tilts her head, granting me better access to her skin. “Well you’re stuck with me now.”
“I am, huh?”
“Yep. Remember you said you weren’t going to kiss me until I was your girl?” she asks, nudging my face from her skin and
looking over her shoulder at me. She grins as though she’s carrying a secret. “You’ve kissed me, West Rutledge. You’re done for.”
I steal a kiss from her smiling lips. “I was done for way before that kiss, gorgeous. Way before.” She turns her body into mine and I touch her cheek before kissing her deeply.
The rustling of corn stalks in the absence of wind interrupts our kissing.
“Holy crap! What’s that noise?” she asks, curling her legs into her chest and angling herself into my torso. Her hand grips my shirt, fisting it so tightly I have to pry myself loose.
Something is breaking through the stalks off in the distance. Unsure of what is coming, I get to my feet, dragging her with me. Pushing her behind my back, I peer into the dying vegetation.
“West?”
The cracking of stalks and slapping of leaves are too noisy to be a bird or squirrel, but they’re too quick to be a person. Unless they’re running. The likelihood of a crazed criminal racing through a cornfield in Tyler, Texas is low.
“It’s okay,” I insist when Jules lets out a squeak as the sounds edge nearer to us. “I’m sure it’s—” Heavy panting and a deep snort reaches us, followed by a whine. “Bear.”
Sure enough, Bear, the farm owner’s Australian Shepherd, comes bounding through the stalks, a whirl of cream and red fur nearly knocking me over in his haste to lick my face.
“No, Bear, sit,” I order with a laugh as Jules dances around behind me in her attempt to keep away from the huge, wet nose Bear is trying to sniff her with.
“Gah, is he friendly?” she yelps.
“Yeah, he won’t hurt you. Trample you or sniff you to death, yes. But he won’t eat you.” I laugh as Bear’s front legs go down in a ready to run position and he barks at us playfully.
I slap at his rear, riling him up as I skid around in the dirt, growling at him as he growls back. Jules plays my shadow, sticking to my back.
“Are you afraid of dogs?” I ask when Bear plops his butt on the ground and takes a moment to lick himself and scratch an itch behind his ear.
“No, not at all.” I look at her skeptically. She shakes her head. “For real, I’m not. He’s just huge and . . . energetic.”
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