So long. It had been so long. If he pushed her away and gave them up because of her foolishness, it had all been worth it for the single blazing memory of his lips on hers once more.
He didn’t push her away, though. He skimmed his hand up her spine to cup the back of her head, his fingers winding in her hair. His lips moved against hers, parting and sucking her bottom lip between his teeth and nipping.
She slid her tongue along his upper lip. He released her bottom lip and dabbed his tongue against hers. She was aware enough of the voices still outside the closet door to still the moan that threatened to overtake her.
The kiss was sensual and intimate. It wasn’t like any kiss she’d ever experienced, even in her past life with him. Pent-up need and lust had her tightening her arms. The hand in her hair fisted and tugged, the prickles along her scalp registering as pleasure and speeding through her body. She pressed closer to give her aching breasts an outlet. He curved his other hand over her backside and squeezed. The heat from his palm felt like it could incinerate her thin cotton yoga pants.
He shifted them around until she was against the door. The hinges creaked slightly and they stilled, tongues touching, his leg pressed between hers. She fisted a hand in his soft hair, longer than it had ever been when they’d been together. After a few beats when nothing momentous happened, they resumed the mind-numbing tumble into pleasure.
His hips bucked into her, and her pelvis tilted to cradle his hardness. She squirmed, raising her leg to hook around his thigh, opening herself further. Her head lolled against the door and his lips glided down, gently biting the tender flesh. His hands trekked up from her hips to circle her torso, his thumbs close to the undersides of her breasts. She arched, her body begging for more.
An outer door slammed shut, the sound echoing in the empty store. Reality crashed down. He lifted his head, but kept his body against her. His expression was a mystery in the dark, and she wasn’t sure if she was grateful or not.
What were they doing? The same question seemed to occur to him because he took a step back and braced his hands on the door, caging her in. Not that there was anywhere to escape to inside the closet. She didn’t want to leave anyway.
“They’re gone.” His whisper sounded strained, and relief made her knees wobble more than his kiss had. At least she hadn’t been the only one affected. One thing he couldn’t fake was his hard-on.
“Was it the police?”
“Looked like Deputy Preston’s cruiser. Let’s be thankful he didn’t find us. There would be no talking ourselves out of getting arrested. The man is a total hard-ass.”
“How in the world could you see? And how did you navigate the storage area with no light?”
“I have good eyes. All the Fournettes do. We were born night hunters, I guess.” She felt more than saw his shrug. While her eyes had adjusted as well as they could, there wasn’t much light to draw on.
“How did I never know that?”
His chuckle helped to dissipate the sexual currents. “Didn’t want you to know I was eyeballing you in the dark back in the day when we hooked up.”
“You are so bad.” No heat was behind her words. His confession made her feel more nostalgic than anything.
“You were so sweet and shy with me back then. Didn’t want to scare you.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, and not expecting it, she startled slightly at his touch. She barely stopped herself from nuzzling into his hand.
She needed to get back on solid ground. “We’d better get out of here in case they come back. Those orange prison jumpsuits would not look good on me.”
“I don’t know, you could make just about anything look good.” He opened the door and she stumbled backward, out of the closet. His compliment was just as unbalancing.
“Since we’re here we might as well take a gander. It’s not like we’re going to set the place on fire or steal anything.”
The smile he aimed at her made her press a hand over her heart. The damn thing actually fluttered. It had been a long time since he’d turned the force of his charm on her, and it seemed the years hadn’t tempered her girlish reaction. If anything, the years without his smile made her aware of how much she’d missed it. Missed him.
She tried to cover her discomfiture with tease. “Well, if they come back and we get arrested, get ready for some good old boy named Bubba to make you his bitch in prison.”
He laughed, and the sound coasted through her body, soothing the raw nerve endings. She wanted to record his laugh, put it on repeat, and wallow in the sound. She touched her kiss-swollen lips to find them upturned. Not a pageant-style smile but an eye-squinching grin that would earn her mother’s disapproval.
She cleared her throat and firmed her traitorous mouth into a line. “I’ll show you where I saw the can.”
The meager light from the front window bled only a few feet into the storeroom, but it was enough. The tarp was where she remembered, against the near wall. She lifted it to find … nothing. She ruffled the canvas as if to summon the can with magic.
“I swear it was right here.” She pointed at the empty spot where not even a ring of dust or moisture remained.
He hummed and sniffed the heavy canvas. “It smells a bit like gas, but it’s hard to say.”
“I’m not making this up, Sawyer.” Her tone veered defensive.
“You are many things, but delusional is not one of them.”
“Thanks. I think.” She rolled her eyes knowing he could probably see her in the dark. Sure enough, the white of his smile flashed. “I’ll bet she moved it. Can’t you use your super-power eyesight and search for it?”
He scanned the room. “I’m good, but not that good, and it’s too risky to turn on a light. I’m sure they’ll be upping the patrols tonight. You still parked out front of your shop?”
“I am.”
“Good. They’ll assume you’re working late. Let’s hit it.”
He led the way to the back door, and she kept hold of the back of his shirt. He turned the dead bolt, cracked the door open, and checked outside. With a chuck of his head, she slipped by him and pressed herself against the brick wall, trying to make herself invisible. The night teemed with noise in comparison with the pall of the shop.
He locked the door and grabbed her hand. He helped her up and over the hip-high wall that marked the far side of the alley. Behind it was a gravel lot she hoped would turn into more businesses. She’d pushed the zoning changes through the previous year. A line of crepe myrtles formed the boundary of the back of her street.
The dark line of the building that housed her shop along with three other businesses was a stark line. She didn’t have a storage area at the back of her shop or the room to pull her truck around to load anything from her office, so she rarely used the back door.
He hesitated under the drooping pink blossoms. “Which one?”
She dropped his hand to fish out her key. The lock turned and the door opened with a loud squeak of disuse. Once they were inside, the adrenaline coursing through her eased, leaving her spent. She flipped on her office light and plopped into the chair behind her desk. Sawyer sat across from her and rested his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his hands through his hair.
Would he mention their impromptu seven minutes in heaven? She blinked, seeing him clearly for the first time. His T-shirt was black, his jeans so worn, the knee was fraying into a rip. His hair was tousled and his shirt was halfway untucked. She had done that. She ran her tongue over her lips in remembrance.
“What a night. I wouldn’t turn down a shot of that whiskey you have stashed.” He let his hands dangle between his knees and looked up with a half-smile.
“Of course, of course.” She blew out a steadying breath and turned to pour them both a shot. If he planned to ignore their epic make-out session, then so would she.
He raised his glass. “Here’s to breaking the law.”
“Here’s to not getting caught.”
A knock reverberated. She
bobbled her glass, managing to spill most of the whiskey down her shirt. Rising, she brushed at her shirt and shifted back and forth.
“Ohmigoodness, what if it’s the deputy? What if he knows?” The sense of safety was shattered and the meteoric rise to panic was steeper with this adrenaline rush.
Sawyer put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed until she stopped shuffling and looked from her wet shirt to him. “Settle down. The police are probably checking on things. That’s all. Go answer the door and tell them you were working late and you appreciate their kindness in checking on you.”
She nodded like a bobblehead, but his sense of calm spread outward and brought her down a notch. Pageants had taught her to control her nerves, and on the walk to the front door, the trembles in her body subsided. Although nothing could get her heart out of her throat, no one would be able to tell through her smile.
She glanced through the shade. Sawyer was right. Deputy Preston stood like a bear on the other side, feet braced apart and an answering scowl to her smile. He might have been handsome if it wasn’t for his air of surliness.
She opened the door, but didn’t invite him inside. He peered over her head into her shop. “Evening, Deputy. Did you finally catch wind of the man who was in Mother’s garden?”
She hoped to put him on the defensive, but his voice held no hint he was chagrinned. “No, ma’am, and without a description, we’re not likely to find him. You haven’t seen anyone prowling around, have you?’
“No.” She pursed her lips and drew the word out as if really considering the matter. “But I’ve been back in the office.”
His eyes narrowed and coasted down her shirt. He wasn’t the ogling type, which meant he was probably making note of her wet shirt and the fact she smelled like a distillery. “I came by earlier and knocked, but you didn’t answer.”
“I like to listen to music.”
“I didn’t hear music.”
“I use earphones.”
“I didn’t see a light on.”
“In the dark.” She tittered an unnatural laugh and tapped her temple. “I find it spurs the old noggin. Helps me with decorating ideas.”
He leaned closer, and she leaned away. He took a deep breath. “There’s been some suspicious activity.”
“What kind?”
“The suspicious kind. In light of recent events, I would advise you to close up shop and head home. Surely”—his gaze coasted down her torso again, and the heat that flared from her body probably vaporized the alcohol into even smellier fumes—“whatever you’re working on can wait until morning.”
“Certainly it can. I’ll wrap things up and head out.” She smiled and tried to close the door. His boot inserted itself.
“Are you all right to drive? I can give you a lift home if need be.”
The small act of kindness was outweighed by the fact he probably thought she was an alcoholic. “I’m fine. This was an accident. I’ll even take one of those breathalyzer things if you want.” She schooled her face into what she hoped conveyed a serious, very sober civic leader.
He harrumphed, tipped his hat, and ambled back to his patrol car, parked behind hers. She waited until his taillights turned the corner before turning off the lights and returning to her office. Sawyer was tipped back in the chair, his booted feet on her desk, a huge smile on his face.
“You like to sit in the dark listening to music and drinking, huh?”
“What was I supposed to say? Worst case, he thinks I have a drinking problem.”
“He didn’t want to give up any info, did he?”
She clasped her hands behind her neck. “You think he thinks I was up to no good?”
“He can’t prove anything, but we’d better skedaddle. He’ll be back by sooner rather than later if I had to guess. Can I bum a ride to my truck? Not good if he catches me on this side of the river.”
She would worry about putting everything to rights in the morning. Right now, she wanted to be safe inside her house. “Where’d you leave it?”
“Outside of Tally’s gym.”
She stepped onto the sidewalk first, taking a careful look around. No sign of Deputy Preston or anyone else for that matter. She gestured Sawyer outside and locked up behind him. She slid behind the wheel and had the car started before Sawyer managed to fold himself into the passenger seat.
“How can you stand this tin can?” he muttered.
“It’s fun to drive and easy to park. It helps that I’m not built like a linebacker.”
“I was a wide receiver, thank you very much.”
“Not for long.” She couldn’t stop a burst of laughter. How could she ever forget their eyes meeting over the thirty-yard line before one of Cottonbloom, Mississippi’s, linebackers leveled him?
“That hit that was all your fault. Distracting me in that short skirt.”
“Ten of us were lined up all dressed exactly alike. Why do you blame me?”
“None of them had legs like yours.”
“Please.” She shot him a side-eye, but a dark secret place in her heart stretched and sighed as if awakened by the events of the night. She was inexplicably happy, which made her understandably worried.
His truck was the only one on the street. If the deputy had cruised through the Mississippi side, he might add things up and actually get the correct answer.
“Do you still have the master key? I’ll need to return it first thing in the morning.”
“I don’t want to know, do I?” Amusement and apprehension threaded his voice as he held the key out to her. A reddened place where she chomped him was visible.
She took his hand in hers, dropped the key into the cup holder, and brushed her fingers across his palm. “I’m so sorry. I came close to breaking skin.”
“I deserved it coming up to you like I did. Was only thinking about keeping you quiet. If something like that happens again, you bite even harder, you hear?” This time only worry registered.
She nodded. She should let go of his hand, but her fingers kept on stroking the callused skin of his palm. His hands had always been rougher than other boys’ because his life had been different from the boys in her school obsessed with video games.
The kiss they’d shared squatted between them, as yet unacknowledged but very much alive. He pulled his hand from hers and levered himself out of the car.
Ducking his head down, he said, “Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Sure thing. Around.”
He disappeared into his truck, and she mashed the accelerator, squealing forward a few feet before getting her foot under control. So that was it. He wanted to act like the kiss never happened. Maybe in a couple of days the feel of his lips and hands and body against hers would fade and she’d be able to do the same.
Chapter Nine
Darkness had fallen over Cottonbloom when Regan crossed the bridge into Louisiana and turned down River Street. The streetlights made the colorful brick fronts glow with a vitality that the Mississippi side couldn’t match. Both sides had their strengths, but she couldn’t deny the pull of the laid-back charm of Cottonbloom, Louisiana. Too many storefronts sat empty though. If she were Sawyer, she’d offer some incentives to get businesses in and operating.
But she wasn’t Sawyer. She wasn’t in charge of this side of the river, which is why she was once again skulking around in the dark. She’d driven her work truck instead of her red Bug. Not that she was up to anything illegal or immoral, but being caught might prove awkward.
Since their breakup, she had cultivated a distorted image of Sawyer—cold, untrustworthy, unreliable. It was the only way she could move forward. But over the summer since they’d both entered the festival competition through Heart of Dixie, things had changed between them. They’d gone from ignoring each other’s existence to adversaries to reluctant partners to … she wasn’t sure.
The image of him she’d clung to cracked, revealing someone who resembled the boy she’d loved. And the kiss in the Quilt
ing Bee’s storeroom had reminded her that some things never die, but they can change. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, dreaming about him. He was haunting her. The problem was she wasn’t sure which Sawyer had set up camp in her head—past or present.
The bare patch in his flowers had given her an idea. Another really dumb idea. She stopped the truck close to where she remembered the bare area was and got out. No one was around. The whine of the tailgate as she lowered it made her grimace and glance around again. She pulled one of the three pots of flowers to her hip and grabbed a trowel.
The flowers represented more than a beautification project for Sawyer. She remembered lying in the truck bed with him, staring at the stars, and listening to him talk. It was rare he talked about his life in the trailer with Cade and Tally. Looking back, she wished she’d asked more questions about his reality, but she’d been too young and immature to recognize or understand how difficult things were for him. But he loved to talk about his parents and his life before they were killed.
Laughter and love and lazy summers. He’d talked about his mother and how much she reveled in the chaos of her flowers. He’d promised to plant a field of flowers as beautiful and wild as Regan someday.
He hadn’t planted these for her, but every time she looked at them, she was cast back to that night under the stars. The love that had burst between them. A love she’d assumed would last forever. The flowers had come to mean something to her, and she wanted to fix them for him.
She’d planted a similar bed of flowers in the back of her house, not wanting to examine the whys behind the sentimental move. Easier on her heart if she’d planted simple hostas. After she finished her glass of red wine that evening, she’d dug up a quarter of her flower bed.
Now here she was, trowel in hand and on her knees, skulking around in the dark like she was a criminal. It didn’t take long to uproot the old flower roots and transplant new ones. She watered them from the two cans she’d loaded as well. Besides the disturbed dirt, the bed looked healed, the riot of color restored.
Till I Kissed You Page 8