by Staci Hart
Luke moved the last frames off the flat cart and stretched his back, arms over his head. His shirt crept up, showing a sliver of his abs. I knew every ridge of those abs so well, I could draw a map of them in the dark. My bottom lip made its way into my mouth as I watched him openly and without a stitch of shame. And why should I feel ashamed when Luke took every opportunity to grope, squeeze, caress, or put his lips on me?
Seriously, I had no idea how we hadn’t been found out yet. Not officially at least. I had a feeling all the Bennets knew—with the exception of the matriarch—though no one had uttered a word. Well, except Ivy, who waddled out with her hand on the small of her back.
She had plenty to say on the subject of my fling that was feeling less and less like a fling by the day.
“I’ll go grab the last load, if you want to get started breaking the installment down,” he said, watching me watch him with a sideways smile on his handsome face.
“All right,” I answered with a flush of my cheeks.
Ivy watched us a little too closely. “See ya tomorrow, Luke.”
“Don’t pop yet, Ivy. We’ve got too much work to do to lose you.”
She snorted a laugh. “It’ll be like the old days—I’ll just have the baby out in the greenhouse and finish picking flowers for the day.”
His face wrinkled up. “Please don’t do that either.”
Ivy laughed, shaking her head. “Bye, Luke,” she said pointedly.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” He put his hands up and headed back into the shop.
The second he was out of earshot, she made a wicked face at me. “Have fun with your boyfriend tonight.”
I scoffed. “God, you are the worst, you know that? He’s not made out of boyfriend material, Ivy. He’s made out of charm and impulsivity.”
She shrugged. “He’s had girls coming in here for weeks to throw themselves at him, and he hasn’t taken a single one out.”
“How do you know?” I deflected against the ache in my chest that he might have done just that without my knowledge. “Maybe he goes out after he leaves here.”
“And that would be just fine with you?”
I groaned. “You’re a broken record. Why can’t we talk about your uterus or something? Braxton Hicks contractions? Mucus plugs? I’d take mucus plugs over this.”
“I mean, if you really want to talk about my body fluids, I’m here for it. Just not as an avoidance tactic. You know,” she said, stepping closer and lowering her voice, “I heard him talking to Kash in the greenhouse yesterday about you, and it was all hearts and flowers.”
“Well, we do work in a flower shop.”
“He likes you, Tess,” she insisted.
“For now. For right now. I can’t expect anything else but that.”
She eyed me. “Tess, let me tell you something. Something straight from the mouth of your fling queen.” She paused. “Are you listening?”
I folded my arms, frowning at her. Because I was a hundred percent sure I didn’t want to hear what she was going to say.
“I’m listening,” I assured her.
“Flings don’t happen every day for three weeks. Flings don’t spend every waking minute with each other. They don’t eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. Whatever this is, it is not a fling. Luke and I? We had a fling—it was never going anywhere, and neither of us wanted it to. He and I fooled around for ages, but never, not once, did he ever look at me like he looks at you. So I’d encourage you to think about that for a hot second and figure out what your next move is. Because if you aren’t interested in dating him, you’d better quit this. Now.”
Cold dread shot through me, followed by a hot burst of possession and defiance at the thought of quitting Luke. I didn’t want this to end, and I didn’t want to walk away. Where would I even go? Wherever I was, so was he. And his presence was the bright spot in every single day.
I didn’t even have to speak.
Ivy lit up with smug certainty. “Aha! That. Right there.” She pointed at my face. “That feeling you have right now? That raging no that just screamed through you? That’s why he’s your boyfriend. And he wants to be. So quit fighting it and just say so already, for God’s sake. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know anyway.”
I sucked a noisy breath through my nose since my jaw was locked shut.
Ivy looked mighty proud of herself. The sight made me want to both cry and throttle her.
Because she was right, and the realization that Luke and I were in a relationship was an ice bucket on my thin delusion. And here I’d been, so happy pretending, and along came Ivy, who had to ruin everything with her damnable truth, the one I’d been avoiding. But now, it had been said. And once a thing was said, the only thing you could do was own up to it.
Ivy rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand what the problem is, Tess.”
“The problem is, I don’t know how to do this. Not with him. He’s too … resplendent.”
She laughed. “What?”
“He’s larger than life, somewhere above us all. He’s got the gravity of the sun, Ivy. No one can match him. No one can be equal to a man like that.”
She made a face. “How are you turning something good into something bad? This is not a bad thing. I’d like to state for the record that I’ve never seen you so happy and carefree as you have been the last few days. When was the last time you organized the supply drawers?”
I opened my mouth to answer but paused, realizing it had been weeks. “There hasn’t been time.”
“When was the last time you made a list? Stressed over your pictures for Instagram? Worried over your dad? Mrs. Bennet?”
My brows drew together when I frowned. “I … I don’t know.”
“And when was the last time you slept in? Did something spontaneous? Laughed until you cried?”
I blinked. “Today. I did all that today.”
“And that’s because of Luke. Just like you haven’t seen him forget something, show up late, give up on a project. He’s been the picture of dependability. And that’s because of you.”
I stared at her, stunned.
“I mean, he’s still immature, but that’s just a male Bennet genetic trait.”
A laugh burst out of me. “You … you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
Before I could answer, I heard the cart squeaking toward us. Ivy nodded at me, her face softening. She pulled me into a hug.
“I love you, Tess. Stop fighting.”
I held her close, breathed deep the scent of roses and peonies. Then I let her out, locking the door behind her.
And I turned to face my fate, which lay in the hands of the last man I’d ever thought I’d give such power.
LUKE
My smile died when I saw the look on Tess’s face.
It was somewhere between facing a firing squad and getting caught naked in public. Wide, dark eyes. Lush lips flat. Neck long as a swan, on full display, her auburn hair piled high on her head.
“You okay, Tess?” I asked, my brow furrowed and dread gripping my heart. It raced against the feeling.
For two weeks, I’d been waiting for this, whatever it was. A hammer to fall. A shoe to drop. A dozen times, I’d tried to talk to her, to define what we were, to have the dreaded relationship talk. But I never did. Partly because I didn’t know what to say. Partly because I had the undeniable feeling she would reject me the second I put her on the spot.
But the unspoken words underscored every moment, every word, swam in the undercurrents of a joke, an offhanded observation. She didn’t think I was serious, didn’t believe me to be capable. I was a fling, but I was a friend. We’d spent every minute together that we could for weeks, and not strictly because of proximity.
I could hear the truth of her feelings in the way she laughed, feel it in the way she touched me. See it in the way she lit up when she caught sight of me. It was the same fire that lit in me. But if
I acknowledged it, if I said the words, I could lose her.
Never before had I been so unsure of where I stood with a woman. And never had I been so certain of where I wanted to stand.
Beside Tess.
Her throat worked down a lump. “I … I’m okay. I think.”
“Is Ivy all right? Did she … did she say something to upset you?”
She shook her head. “Just the truth.”
I felt my weight sink into my shoes. “Was it a good truth or a bad one?”
“I … both, I think.” She paused.
I didn’t speak. It was always me, making light. Changing the subject. Ignoring what was left unsaid to spare us both from having to answer to it. But not this time. It had to be her.
And she seemed to know it.
Her chin lifted, though her eyes were afraid. “What are we, Luke?”
The band on my lungs squeezed tighter. “What do you want us to be, Tess?”
“I’m afraid to say.”
“Because you think I’ll say no?”
“Because you might say yes.”
Hope zipped through me like a bottle rocket. I closed the space between us quietly, slowly. “What do you want, Tess?” I asked. “Tell me so I can give it to you.”
Her jaw fit in my palm, her eyes searching mine. “What if you can’t?”
“There’s nothing you could ask for that I couldn’t give.”
Her brows edged closer, though not in anger. In sadness.
“Do you trust me?” The question was gentle, still, pleading.
“I … I do.”
“Tell me what you want.” Loud was my pulse in my ears, and in the roar were the words I wanted to hear from her lips, seconds before she spoke them.
“You. But not just this, not just what we’ve had.”
A smile flickered on my lips as I did some quick math. “What we’ve had? Five hundred hours since the first night. Two hundred and fifty of those, I’ve spent with you. Know how many of those you’ve been in my arms? Twenty-one. Give or take.”
Her cheek rose against my thumb as she smiled.
“Tess, I know you don’t think much of me. I know you don’t think I can be what you need. And I plan on showing you every single way you’re wrong. All you have to do is let me.”
Another hard swallow as she looked up at me with pride and fear. “Why am I scared?”
“I don’t know. Because if you don’t think I’m serious about you, you haven’t been paying attention.”
A small, conceding laugh through her nose.
“Let me prove it,” I commanded. “I’m not asking you to promise anything. I don’t want anything to change. All I know is when I walk through that door, it’s your face I look for. Every night when we say goodbye, I don’t want to go. And I don’t know what that means besides this: I don’t want to be your fling, Tess.”
“Say it again,” she said softly.
With a smile, I looked deeper into her eyes. “I don’t want to be your fling. I want to be your everything.”
A pause, a breath, a smile. “Never in a million years did I ever think I would hear you utter those words, least of all to me.”
“Should I say it again? Louder maybe?”
She laughed, the sound sweet and tender. “No—if your mom hears, she’ll come down here, and then you can’t kiss me. And I really want you to kiss me.”
“Anything you want, Tess,” I said, my heart singing as I brought my lips to hers.
I’d kissed her a hundred times. In the dark and in the sunshine. Gently and with demand. I’d kissed her greedily, and I’d kissed her with adoring care.
But this was the first time I kissed her with possession—not only of her, but her of me. The warmth of her body, the light in her heart, the matching of two flames in the meeting of our lips. When the kiss broke, I saw ownership written all over her face. And I knew it was written all over mine.
Her eyes opened slowly, meeting mine as her lazy smile spread. “What are you gonna do with me now?”
“Oh, I have an idea or two,” I said, bringing my lips to hers to steal a kiss and seal a promise.
I was about to boyfriend the fuck out of Tess Monroe.
I scooped her up, the kiss breaking when she squealed her surprise. Her arms hooked around my neck, her cheeks high and smiling, flushed and pretty.
“We have work to do,” she halfheartedly argued around her laughter as I hauled her to the back.
“We will. As soon as I’m sure you know I’m serious about you.”
She giggled. “Even if I already believe you?”
“I don’t think there’s any way you could possibly know just how serious I am, Tess.”
Her face opened up, her smile falling.
I kissed her to cover the depth of the admission, though I feared my lips gave it away.
Into the greenhouse, down to storage I carried her, not setting her down until we were all the way in the back, in the section we’d claimed for our own.
Supplies filled the space, dumped unceremoniously in the back corner near the leftover hay from winter mulching. There were frames for hanging installations. Tables and baskets. Things I’d built, things we’d salvaged. Dried flowers hung in bundles from some racks, and across the space, we’d haphazardly strung white twinkle lights we’d used in the last installation. So we could work comfortably in the dark, I’d explained to my mother.
I’d omitted what exactly I was working on and why I needed to be comfortable.
I moved to plug the lights into the extension cord, snagging the flannel blanket from an ancient rocking chair to spread out into the hay pile.
Tess sighed, smiling sweetly as she looked around. “You know, if I’d organized this, everything would be in neat little rows and tidy piles. And I’d never have known that I preferred it this way. It’s organized chaos. Kinda like you.”
I stepped into her, sliding my hands around her waist. “And here I thought you hated my chaos.”
“Only because it scared me. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a creature of habit.”
A laugh rumbled through me. “Who, you?”
She laughed in echo. “The biggest shocker is that I’m admitting it, I’m sure. But … you make it less scary.”
“And you make routine anything but boring. I woke up at nine the other day and it felt like half my day was gone.”
She wound her arms around my neck, threading her fingers. “Look at you, acting like a grown-up.”
“And look at you. A little bit wild.”
“Oh, I don’t know that I’d go that far, but I’m afraid the taste I’ve had might have ruined me forever. I don’t think I can go back.”
“Then don’t,” I said against her lips. And I took them to remind her why she should stay.
I wrapped her up in my arms, pulled her as close as I could get her, felt every inch of connection from thigh to breast. She was as familiar to me as she was a discovery, the girl I’d known, the woman I’d come to need. This body had been mine for weeks.
Now I wanted the heart inside.
Never had I known a woman who held the power to change me. But Tess did. And as scared as I should have been about that, I wasn’t. Because I wasn’t just discovering her.
I was discovering myself.
She brought out the best in me, settled me in a way that didn’t feel like chains. It felt like roots, alive and sinking into the earth, thirsty and seeking. The depth those roots had twisted had been misjudged until tonight. Until I thought I would lose her but kept her instead.
No, I wasn’t scared. I was determined. Hopeful. Zinging with possibility.
Because Tess was my new adventure.
Slowly, I kissed her. Tasted the sweetness of her. Felt the warmth of her. Deliberate hands slid down her waist, under her shirt, up her ribs. A flick of my fingers, and her bra unhooked. I broke the kiss, separated our bodies. She reached for me, but I took her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm, returned it to
her side.
She stood still other than the rise and fall of her chest and the flash of her lashes, her face upturned and lips parted, waiting.
My fingertips spoke for me, brushing her cheek, skimming her neck with possession. The stroke of her breast became a squeeze, the weight in my palm exactly right. I wanted her skin. Wanted to see the pale of her nipple as it tightened and rose.
Her shirt was gone before I decided to take it off. Those thirsty fingertips skated over her shoulders, taking the straps with them. Down her arms they went and to the floor. But I didn’t register the motion. Not once that flesh I’d wanted was exactly where I wanted it.
I wanted so much.
I wanted her russet hair wild, loose. I wanted it fanned out, wanted it against the pale of her skin. So I freed it, shook it out, slipped my fingers in until they were deep enough to cup her nape. Tendrils of red against snowy white. Dark eyes searching mine. Lips, lush and waiting.
The breath I drew pulled her closer, my fingers tightening in her hair, exposing her neck, offering her mouth.
And I took it for what it was.
Mine.
Our lips were a hard seam, tongues searching. Searching. My whole life, I’d been searching, restless and restive. But in that moment, I wanted for nothing, sought nothing but her. I sought the heat of her with my fingertips as they slid into her jeans. I sought the depths of her mouth with my tongue. Sought the control of her by way of her hair in my fist, my desire to transmit my ownership of her, to translate the weight of proof.
Because even now, she didn’t believe. She didn’t think I could be what she needed, not yet.
But she would.
I broke the kiss once again, leaving her reeling, hair spilling over her shoulders, eyelids too heavy to open, breasts jostling as I slipped my hand free in order to rid her of her jeans. I pushed them over the swell of her ass, down her hips, to her knees. I captured her nipple with my lips, hands busy with her panties. With a shimmy and a kick, she stepped out of them both. And all I wanted was to drop to my knees right there, to pay homage to her breasts. To kiss my way down her body. To hook her thigh on my shoulder and taste her until she couldn’t stand.